Janelle Denison: Forbidden

“Oh, the sensible side of me knows that,” she said, leaning against one of the jasmine-draped columns. “But Anthony was gone so much that a part of me just feels like this is an extended leave on another case.”

He heard the pain in her voice that touched beyond her current sorrow. It mingled with the misery and loneliness he’d seen glimpses of the past few years, and grabbed at something deep and elemental in him.

Folding her arms across her chest, she turned her gaze back out to the sea. “You know, it was one of my greatest fears that Anthony would get killed working on some secretive, undercover case.”

“Getting killed in the line of duty is a risk all cops take.” He grimaced. The automatic response sounded trite even to his own ears.

“Yeah, Anthony told me that plenty of times,” she said, her lips pursing into a tight, angry line. “It never did do much to ease the fears and uncertainties or the long, sleepless nights.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Don’t be.” She waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss his apology. “You know, his occupation was a bone of contention in our marriage. He loved the risk of undercover work, the thrill of the danger that went with it. I grew to hate it.”

By the look in her eyes, she’d despised his occupation for more reasons than she’d ever divulged to him. “It’s not always easy being a cop’s wife.”

She tilted her head and regarded him speculatively. “Why didn’t you warn me before I married one?”

Recognizing the teasing sparkle in her eyes, he allowed a slow grin to lift the corners of his mouth. “Would you have listened?”

She laughed, the breezy sound breaking the tension caused by their previous conversation. “Probably not.”

The lighthearted moment reminded him why he enjoyed her company so much. “Then there’s your answer.”

She shook her head, and picked at one of the little white flowers, her face serious again. “Have you learned any more about the accident that killed him?”

He chose his answer carefully, not wanting to divulge any of the disturbing suspicions circulating about Anthony’s death being more than just an accident. “It’s still under investigation.”

“And it’s confidential information,” she added for him, bitterness creeping back into her voice.

He sighed heavily, wondering how many times she’d heard that same line from her own husband. “Yes, it is.”

She flicked the flower over the rail and watched it flutter to the landscaped lawn. “Well, when you’re at liberty to share the privileged information, I’d like some answers on what, exactly, happened.”

He nodded. Giving her closure was the least he could do for her. “As soon as the investigation is concluded, and the reports released, I’ll let you know.”

And for Paige’s sake as much as his own, he hoped the rumors of criminal involvement surrounding Anthony were unfounded.

Three months later

JOSH GLANCED out the windshield of his black Thunder-bird and scowled at the thick, gray clouds overhead. The dreary, temperamental weather settling over North Miami Beach suited his mood, which was grim, with an angry undercurrent as ferocious as the jagged bolts of lightning streaking across the darkening sky. The elements of the brewing storm about to break weren’t much different from the sense of betrayal raging within him.

Shifting his gaze to the luxurious, custom-built home he’d parked in front of, he attempted to push his surly emotions aside so he could mentally prepare himself for the unpleasant task ahead. Not easy, considering his personal feelings for the woman inside that house.

Paige.

Dread settled in his chest, and he scrubbed both hands over his face, feeling the burn of his two-day stubble against his palms. It had been that long since Lieutenant Reynolds had summoned him into his office and verified what had been mere speculation among the cops working on the case Anthony had been assigned to. With the help of the officers still working undercover on the case, Internal Affairs had concluded their investigation of the sudden, merciless death of Anthony Montgomery. The official reports had confirmed the rumors no one in the department, least of all himself, wanted to believe.

Anthony Montgomery had been dirty, and he’d tangled Paige in the middle of the mess. Because of Anthony’s deceit, she was about to be dragged into a world where violence and greed reigned.

Josh was her best hope of surviving.

A fresh wave of anger gripped him, and he tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. It outraged and disgusted him that Anthony had stooped low enough to put his own wife into such a dangerous situation.

You were his best friend, Josh, ol’ buddy. You knew better than most that Anthony rarely thought of anyone but himself.

Yeah, he’d seen that selfish, arrogant side of Anthony many times in the years since they’d graduated from the Academy together, but he’d believed marriage to someone as gentle and caring as Paige would tame and humble him. Not so. If anything, Anthony had grown more cocky and reckless. His last actions on earth proved his disregard for the wife he’d left behind.

Tamping down the flare of emotions, Josh flipped up the collar of his lightweight jacket, slid out of the vehicle and headed toward the front of Paige’s house. Thunder shook the heavens, and the wind began to howl and whip through the nearby palms and trees. Then the sky split wide open, and big, fat drops of rain began to fall. Within seconds, he was drenched.

With a distinct curse, he leapt onto the tile steps and ducked under the awning covering the front porch, which sheltered him from the pelting rain and wild winds.

“Great,” he muttered. Dragging his fingers through his wet hair, he pushed the thick, unruly strands into some semblance of order. His face was wet, too, the excess moisture trailing down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. “Just great.”

Puffing out an aggravated breath, he knocked firmly on the heavy oak door. Through the etched-glass insets he could see the soft glow of lights illuminating portions of the house, then a slim, blurred figure moving toward the foyer. A lock unlatched, then the door opened.

“Josh!” Paige smiled, surprise and pleasure brightening her striking green eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Recent revelations caused his fierce protective instincts to rise swiftly to the surface. “Do you always open the door to strangers without asking who’s standing on the other side?”

She blinked, taken aback by his abrupt question. “You’re hardly a stranger, Josh.”

He resisted the urge to reach out and shake her. “You didn’t know it was me when you opened the door.”

A dark auburn brow lifted, and she crossed her arms over her chest She looked nice and cozy and dry , Josh noted grumpily, taking in her cocoa-colored knit sweater that hung to mid-thigh, and slim leggings in the same shade. Her feet were bare, though, her toenails a light shade of pink. And her hair was down, a thick luxurious tumble of cinnamon and fire. The tips of his cold fingers tingled at the thought of burying them in such silky, sensual warmth.

“If the purpose of your visit is a lecture, Detective Marchiano, I don’t need it.”

“Seems to me you do.” He scowled at her for being so naive, and at himself for letting his mind drift to other forbidden enticements. “You’re too damn trusting.”

Before the night was over, though, he was going to shatter that guileless trust of hers, the serenity of her life, and make her suspicious of everyone she came into contact with.

The way she viewed the world would never be the same.