Damn it! Kevin let the screen door slam behind him. His hand now against Dani Flynn’s shapely neck, his other one gripped her tiny wrist as he moved her along. He hated being a dick. She’d forced him to arrest her. All she had to do was eat her breakfast, gather her shit, and let him drive her anywhere, a bus station, train station—long as it was out of his county. He’d have even paid for the damn ticket.
What the hell had she tried to pull in there? He’d known the Fallon’s since . . . forever. Daniel Fallon had loved his wife Deidre. No way in hell had he . . .
“Step,” he ordered and angled her down the steps to the gravel drive, ignoring the tremble of her body. She’d been crying since he marched her down the hall. He hated tears, especially a woman’s. He’d seen his share of crocodile ones. He knew the difference.
Damn it. Hers were real.
He moved her toward his patrol car, his grip now on her upper arm for added security. She’d bolt given the chance. Kevin unlocked the car and opened the door, guiding her down. “Watch your head.” He tucked her inside and hesitated before gazing into those eyes of hers. They were wet and frightened. Kevin’s gut clenched—and a very familiar blue, now that he thought about it. Shit. Was she telling the truth?
He kept himself bent, his face level with hers. “Ms. Flynn. I’m going to read you your rights. Do you understand?”
She snuffled and raised her chin, the tears streaming down her face. He cursed under his breath and grabbed some napkins from the glove compartment. He gently wiped her face and placed the napkins to her nose. “Blow, Ms. Flynn.”
She did, and then he crumpled the napkin in his hand, shoving it in his pocket. He stood, Mirandize her, and shut the door. Keeping an eye on her and the passenger door, he came around and got in, shutting it. Dani Flynn’s soft, feminine sobs filled his patrol car. She didn’t resemble the young teen she portrayed last night in jeans and a sweatshirt. Womanly, in the pretty spring dress, he guessed she’d borrowed from Kate or Bren, exposed her delicate shoulders, back, and the slight swell of her breasts, all of which trembled slightly.
Kevin gritted his teeth. She’d made him feel like a bully, picking on someone far smaller than he. Kevin reached over and brought her seatbelt around her waist, his arm brushing Flynn’s tight thighs where her dress had ridden up when he placed her in the car. He clipped the belt in place, his eyes lingering on her slender legs, he’d already checked out when he escorted her from the Langston’s family room to their kitchen. He grimaced. He was a cop not a saint.
He sat back and took a long breath through his nose, then scrubbed his face hard. “Look. I’m not the enemy here, Ms. Flynn.”
She turned slightly in her seat, her face puffy from crying. She stared at him for a brief moment, and then raised a sable brow over a less than friendly striking blue eye. “Isn’t it only your enemies you handcuff, then?”
She had a point.
“You forced my hand in there.”
She gave him her back. “I only spoke of the truth.”
“And I asked you for proof. The Fallons and Langstons are good people, Ms. Flynn. Hardworking people. What is it you want from them?”
She turned back, fresh tears escaping down her face. She raised her shoulder and tried to wipe them away.
Kevin leaned in. “Hey, stop crying.” He wiped her cheek with his hand. “Let me help you, Ms. Flynn.”
“I don’t like it when you call me Ms. Flynn.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “What would you like me to call you?”
“Dani, would be fine.”
“Okay, Dani.” He started the car. He wouldn’t put it passed Bren to be scouting them out through one of the windows. They had to be curious about her, especially after the bombshell she’d dropped in the kitchen.
He couldn’t say for sure if there was any truth to Dani Flynn’s claim. But the similarity in their eyes—not just the color—but more the expression surrounding both Daniel Fallon and Dani Flynn’s eyes had an uncanny likeness—maybe pure coincidence. Or perhaps, now that she’d said it, his brain couldn’t help but see it.