“And you want to get a room here?”
“Unless you’d rather go somewhere else.”
She angled her hips to exert more pressure on his groin, and he felt his blood rush south. The smell of her, the feel of her—it was absolutely intoxicating. He couldn’t even think of Lynnette when he held Skye in his arms.
“But you’ll go back to her, right?” she said. “You’re already planning on it.”
If he ever wanted to look himself in the eye again, he had to.
When he didn’t respond, she stiffened and tried to draw away. “Forget it.”
“Wait. I—I don’t really have a choice,” he finally answered.
The hurt in her eyes wounded him more than any cutting words she could’ve uttered. “Then I don’t have a choice, either, David. I won’t take the leftovers. Just…just leave me alone, okay?”
“Wait! That’s not how it—”
“Ms. Kellerman?”
Skye had begun to free herself from his grasp, but David didn’t want her to walk out on him before he could say something to make her understand. He hung on, only to be blinded by the flash of a camera.
“I’m Juanita Lowe with The Sacramento Post,” a short, stout woman announced when they could see again.
David dropped his hands.
Skye looked flustered but quickly composed herself. “You’re doing a piece on the fund-raiser?”
“Not on the fund-raiser per se.” Ms. Lowe’s eyes cut between them. “I’m planning to do a series on The Last Stand.”
“That’s wonderful.” Skye smiled that same fragile smile he’d seen earlier. Damn it, he wished she could understand how torn he felt.
“Many of my past clients are here if you’d like to talk to them,” Skye was saying.
“I’d rather start with you, if that’s okay. Do you have a few minutes so we could discuss the shooting last night?”
No wonder Ms. Lowe was interested in Skye. She wanted the inside scoop on the latest excitement.
Unable to resist trying to protect her, David said, “Ms. Kellerman isn’t in a position to speak about that yet.”
Ms. Lowe’s shrewd eyes swept over him with predatory interest. Obviously, she didn’t appreciate his involvement. “And you’re…”
“David Willis.”
“Ms. Kellerman’s husband?”
He winced. They’d been so caught up in their attraction they hadn’t exactly been dancing like casual friends, or even colleagues. This question suggested that the journalist had definitely noticed. “No, just a friend.”
“Oh, of course. Ms. Kellerman isn’t married.” She smiled slyly. “But your name sounds familiar. Have we met?”
“I don’t think so,” he said, but it took her only a second to place him.
“You’re the detective who originally investigated Ms. Kellerman’s case, aren’t you? I wrote for the ‘On the Spot’ section before I moved to the crime beat, but I followed Burke’s trial pretty closely. You were mentioned quite often, as I remember.”
Too often for David’s taste. Sometimes the media worked to his benefit by quickly disseminating information. But they also disseminated the kind of information he’d rather not take public. In his experience, journalists couldn’t be trusted. “I could’ve lived without that,” he said.
“It’s great that the two of you turned out to be such close…friends, but—” she looked at Skye and assumed a more innocent air “—isn’t it up to Ms. Kellerman to tell me whether or not she’d like to speak to me? After all, she’s the one who faxed over a press release earlier this week.”
“I’d love to stay and chat, but I was just on my way out,” Skye said and started for the exit.
David knew Skye wasn’t capable of putting on the public persona she needed right now. What they were feeling was far too intense.
“It won’t take more than a few minutes,” the journalist called after her.
The wan smile that curved Skye’s lips as she turned back made David feel guilty about the complication their involvement posed. “I’m sorry, Ms. Lowe,” she said, “but I have a terrible headache. If you’re still interested in an interview, why don’t you give me a call at the office sometime this week?”
Juanita Lowe frowned but nodded toward her cameraman, who snapped another picture as Skye walked away.
Skye didn’t so much as glance back or wave. She stopped briefly to say goodbye to Charlie Fox. Then she passed into the hall.
David wanted to go after her. He hated that their conversation had ended the way it had, interrupted by this journalist. But, as long as Lowe was watching, he was better off keeping his distance. Telling Skye about Lynnette wouldn’t change anything; Lynnette would still stand between them.
“How long have you and Ms. Kellerman been seeing each other?” Juanita Lowe asked.
David smiled as blandly as possible. “Now you’re interested in doing a story on her private life?”
She shrugged. “You’ve scared off my quarry. I might have to take what I can get.”
“Who on earth would care whether or not we’re involved?”
Her eyebrows went up. “Your wife?”
“Fortunately, I’m not married,” he bluffed.
“The department?”
Most of the guys at work, including the chief, wouldn’t be any happier to see him with Skye than Lynnette would, but he wasn’t about to give Lowe any traction. “Sorry. She’s a victim from one of my old cases—a case that’s been closed for three years. That’s hardly a conflict of interest,” he said and strode to the exit himself. He hoped he’d disguised his emotions sufficiently, that Ms. Lowe would forget about what she’d seen. But the picture on the front page of the paper the following morning told him she’d decided to exact what revenge she could. It showed him with Skye in his arms, both of them wearing an intense expression, certainly nothing one would expect to see on the faces of acquaintances at a charity ball. The caption read: Detective David Willis of the Sacramento PD and victims’ advocate Skye Kellerman dance at last night’s fund-raiser, which netted $121,500 to assist victims of violent crime.
The accompanying article focused on the story of a burn victim who’d been helped by The Last Stand. It didn’t mention David, which made Ms. Lowe’s annoyance with him all too obvious.