White Collared Part One: Mercy by Shelly Bell

Author:Shelly Bell [Bell, Shelly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-06-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Twelve Days to Elections . . .

“I APPRECIATE YOU coming with me to the house,” Jaxon said as they stood on the porch of his substantial home. Heck, she could fit ten of her mama’s double-wides in this place.

The professional crime scene cleaning company had given the all clear for Jaxon to return home, and since time was of the essence, he’d agreed to begin her training this morning in his personal dungeon.

She followed him through the front door, her voice echoing in the entryway. “It’s not a problem. I understand how difficult it is for you.”

He smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “You know most people who say something like that really don’t know how difficult it is. It’s like when people ask you how you’re doing; they don’t expect an answer other than fine. When you ask, I believe you really want to hear the truth.”

“That’s because I do.” Their gazes locked, knocking her off-kilter.

Jaxon appeared years younger than thirty-five, dressed in a relaxed pair of faded jeans and a simple black T-shirt that spread tightly across his broad chest. The suits she’d previously seen him in had hidden the masculine beauty underneath. He wasn’t built like a rich businessman. At least none she’d ever known. If she’d met him on the street, she’d peg him for a construction worker. Tall, lean, broad-shouldered. And she could drown in his expressive eyes.

“Your house is beautiful,” she managed to say, heading toward the winding staircase. “Umm . . . we should probably get started.”

A stoic blank slate replaced his smile. There was an air of duty in his stride as he climbed the steps to the second level of the house. He hadn’t spoken a word about returning to the scene of the crime, but how could it not haunt him? The scent of bleach was so thick it stung her nose and brought tears to her eyes. A tangible reminder of the violence it had scrubbed clean. But the stench of blood and death lingered in the memory, which neither bleach nor time could erase.

When they reached the landing, Jaxon stopped, his body taut with tension and his hands fisted at his side, showing he wasn’t quite as immune as he pretended to be. Instinctively, she rested her hand on his shoulder blade in an effort to comfort him. The hard muscles of his back rippled under her fingers.

“We don’t have to do this here,” she said.

They could have met at the law firm or in his hotel room, but he’d insisted on using his dungeon to give her the full effect.

He didn’t respond for what felt like minutes. Then he murmured, “Yes, we do,” and proceeded down the hallway.

The walls were decorated with bright, colorful paintings of landscapes. She didn’t claim to know the first thing about art, but this felt sterile and impersonal.

In the trailer where she’d grown up, the walls were covered with photographs of her parents throughout their marriage and every class photo of Kate through her freshman year of high school.

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