Waking Nightmare by Kylie Brant

can even be bought on the Internet. If Juarez does turn out to be our guy, he wouldn’t have had to work too hard to get his hands on them.”
    “But from what you’ve told me about the drug, we’re looking for an UNSUB who has the chemical skills to mix his own drug, and access to the ingredients, or—”
    “I see where you’re going with this.” Ryne sat back as the waitress approached and set a steaming plate of food in front of him. “Juarez probably doesn’t have the expertise, I’ll grant you that. But our perp doesn’t have to be scientifically inclined, he just has to know someone who is.”
    With amusement, Abbie noted that the waitress was spending an inordinate amount of time arranging Ryne’s plate in front of him and placing a napkin in his lap. Even more entertaining was his look of discomfit at the attention. Despite his expression, she didn’t doubt that he was a man used to a woman’s interest.
    Abbie’s food was delivered with much less care, and they both commenced eating. After the first bite, she discovered that she was ravenous. They were both silent for several minutes as they attacked their meals. She reached for her juice, drank, caught his gaze on her.
    He pointed his fork in her direction. “You went shopping.”
    For a moment her mind went blank. Then she looked down at the blue striped shirt she was wearing and made the connection. Caution slammed firmly into place. “Didn’t have a lot of choice. I suppose I should be grateful whoever broke into my place didn’t slice up my pants and shoes, too.”
    “I was thinking about that.” He chewed slowly, watching her. “Chopping up your clothes seems personal. A vandal might spray some graffiti, smash up the place, but what was done in your closet . . . sounds like something a woman would do.”
    For a moment Abbie’s heart seemed to stop. It was all she could do to force air into her lungs. With studied nonchalance, she picked up her fork and finished her meal. “Because only women would be interested in clothes? You’ve never met my hair stylist.”
    “Okay, maybe a guy. Definitely someone who knows how to get to you.” Although she refused to lift her gaze, she could feel his eyes on her. “An ex-boyfriend maybe. Do you have someone who might have followed you here? Someone pissed off at you?”
    At first she was so relieved to have him shift his suspicion from a female intruder to a male, that she missed the note in his tone. Surely it was her imagination that there had been a hint of something other than professional interest in the conjecture.
    Dodging both, she lifted her glass and drained it. “Hard to imagine anyone being pissed off at me,” she said in her sun niest voice as she set the glass back on the table. “I’m absolutely charming.”
    When she would have reached for her purse, he stilled her action with a hand over hers. “So you’re not going to tell me?”
    Ignoring the pounding in her veins, she gave him a blank look. “There’s nothing to tell.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, she thought, nudging aside a sliver of guilt. She’d probably jumped to conclusions last night. There was no good reason for Callie to have followed her here, after months of avoiding all contact.
    But good reasons were frequently absent from Callie’s behavior, especially if she’d gone off her medication. And any explanation about her sister would lead to revelations that she had no intention of making. Not to this man.
    Their gazes did battle for long moments. Long enough for her to see that his eyes weren’t always glacial. That they could warm with interest, concern, and maybe something a bit more personal.
    He withdrew his hand and she squelched an uncustomary note of regret. She didn’t do personal. Hadn’t for more years than she could count. And it was better that way. Less complicated.
    “When will you know whether you have a match between the blood in the vehicle and Billings?” She took a ten out of her