Running for Her Life by Beverly Long Page B

arrange their funerals. Two months later, she’d met Michael. Now, in retrospect, she wondered if her judgment had been impaired.
    “Well, hopefully, the two of you can make a dent in it during the six weeks that you’re here.”
    He kept his eyes on the road. “If it takes a couple extra weeks, I don’t think Chase will mind me staying at his place.”
    What kind of arrangement had he made with his current employer? “You must have had a lot of vacation time built up in order to take that much time off.”
    She didn’t think he was going to answer the question. Or move at all. They were stopped at the first intersection past the Fentons. There was no reason he couldn’t go. There wasn’t another car on the road.
    “Jake,” she prompted.
    He turned to look at her. “I’m on a leave of absence. I got shot in the leg about three months ago.”
    Shot. He’d been hurt. Her dessert rumbled in her stomach. “I had no idea. I mean, no one could tell. You’re not limping or anything.”
    He smiled. “I paid attention to what the physical therapist told me to do.”
    “Did they catch the man who did it?”
    “Woman. She was my partner. I returned fire and killed her.”
    His partner. The cops she’d known in D.C. were closer to their partners than to their sisters and brothers. It was a tight bond. “That must have been horrible,” she said. She reached out and touched his arm. “What happened?”
    Jake stared at her hand, then slowly lifted his eyes until they were staring at each other. “I don’t talk about it much.”
    It was the same thing he’d said about his divorce. “I…I’m just so sorry that happened to you. You must have trusted her a great deal. And it would have felt like such a betrayal, like a piece of you had turned bad.”
    He tilted his head ever so slightly and seemed to consider her words. “You know,” he said finally, “you’re the first person to say it exactly that way. How did you know?”
    She knew a lot about trusting the wrong person. About the bone-deep pain of being connected to someone and being terribly wrong about that person. “I…” Could she tell him? Could she take the chance? She just didn’t know. “I’m not sure,” she lied.
    He shoved the car into Park and leaned across the seat. “Tara,” he said, very quietly. Then he cupped the sides of her face with his palms, and kissed her.
    Gentle at first. His lips were warm and soft, and she could taste coffee and peaches. It had been so long and it felt so good. She opened her mouth, and he didn’t hesitate. The kiss went deep, his tongue in her mouth, consuming, possessing, owning. And just when she thought it would end, it didn’t.
    When he finally pulled back, he was breathing hard.
    Yikes. The man’s mouth is a weapon. He should carry a permit.
    “I’ve been wanting to do that since the first night I met you. And if it matters,” he added, a smile in his brown eyes, “you’re the first girl I ever kissed on a gravel road in the middle of nowhere.”
    The absurdity of the situation hit her. They were parking, or rather in Park, in a police car, and necking like high school kids. What the hell had Alice put in that peach pie? “I’m not looking for a relationship,” she said.
    “And I’m only here for a few more weeks.”
    It was the perfect arrangement. No strings. “That’s fair,” she whispered.
    He ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “At the risk of moving way too fast and you jumping out of this car, I’ve just got to ask—when we get to town, will you come to Chase’s house?”
    They both knew what the real question was. And she desperately wanted to say yes. For one night to forget that he was something she couldn’t have. To forget that she’d made choices that couldn’t be undone. To be young again.
    “My house is closer,” she whispered. She pointed to the right. “Turn that way.”
    He didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and accelerated. When they crested the next