Material Witness by Lisa Mondello, L. A. Mondello Page A

living room was open to the kitchen area, filled with
brightly shined stainless steel appliances and a white and gray marble
countertop that gleamed under the track lighting above.
    The FBI had taken pains to make the
safe house comfortable. Jake knew that equal pains had been taken to hide the
state-of-the-art equipment meant for keeping both “clients” and agents comfortable
and secure for a dangerously long time.
    He squashed down the feeling of being
impressed and went about searching the rest of the house. Cassie held tight to
his heels at every turn. He could feel the heat of her behind him as he moved,
heard each little burst of breath as she remembered to breathe. And she was
literally on his heels when she plowed into his leather jacket and stepped on
the back of his boot.
    He'd felt it, but he knew she felt
the connection between his hard boot-heel and the toe of her canvas sneakers
more.
    “Ouch,” she muttered softly as they
moved on through the kitchen.
    “You don't have to follow that
close.”
    She did it again.
    Jake spun around. “Cassie, the lights
are on and no one, but us , is here,” he said delicately. “I know you're
nervous, but I assure you, here, more than anywhere else, you'll be safe.”
    She opened her mouth to speak but
quickly clamped it shut.
    The sound of the car engine firing up
drew Jake’s attention to the window. He quickly walked over to the window and peered
outside. Red taillights bounced down the driveway toward the road.
    “Agent Bellows has finished his
perimeter check. See? All clear.”
    Chewing on her bottom lip, Cassie
pointed down the hallway. “Shouldn't you have checked the coat closet?”
    Jake heaved an exasperated sigh,
knowing his unrest was fueled by fatigue more than frustration.
    He peered down at the delicate
features of her face. As it had last night, the small beauty mark to the side
of her full lips teased him. He'd wondered last night if she'd purposely put it
there for show. Now, seeing her cleanly scrubbed face and creamy complexion, he
knew for sure that it was something nature had blessed her with, a true mark of
beauty.
    He needed some distance from this
woman, and the only way he'd get that was when they were both locked in their
own bedrooms for the night. Deciding the quickest way to achieve that would be
to appease her, he gripped the doorknob of the coat closet at the entry of the
hallway and yanked it open.
    “See? No Bogey Monster in there,” he
said, trying to keep the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth from
showing.
    Cassie knotted her arms across her
puffed-out chest and glared at him.
    “In one of my books—the one I was
telling you about at the station—there was a gunman waiting for the agent in
the coat closet.”
    “How'd he get in?”
    “He strangled the guard.”
    Jake glanced at Cassie over his
shoulder. “Do you really think it was such good therapy for you to write crime
novels?”
    Straightening her spine, she
sputtered, “Of course.”
    “I think you were right last night.
You have an overactive imagination.”
    Jake checked the remaining rooms
while Cassie stayed rooted behind in the hallway, fuming. He might have
imagined it, but he thought he'd actually seen steam rise from her head.
    “Are you done making fun of me yet?”
she called out as he checked the last room.
    Jake peered at her face and that
nagging emotion welled inside. His heartbeat hammered in his ear just seeing
her vulnerability, making it hard for him to breathe.
    “I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt
your feelings. I’m just tired.”
    She hesitated for a moment, looking
at the floor, the door and then at his face. “Did you check the closets in the
bedroom?”
    He had to keep himself from laughing.
Bogey Monsters aside, Cassie was right about one thing. Everything about this
whole situation was absurd. Here he was, Mr. Keep-Yourself-Detached, looking at
an incredibly beautiful, sensual woman, and he was supposed to keep her