Hiding His Witness

C.J. Miller

Литагент HarperCollins EUR

Detective Reilly Truman has dealt with frightened witnesses before, but his gut tells him Carey Smith is on the run.Hiding out together, there’s no escaping the desire between them. But falling for Carey is not an option, because her pursuer will kill anyone she loves to get his revenge…

“Reilly, kiss me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The rejection stung but didn’t stop the need. “Kiss me.”

“Carey,” he protested, only halfheartedly.

“One kiss. One innocent kiss. It’s been so long, and I…”

“You what?” he asked, his eyes searching her face.

Wanted him. Couldn’t pretend otherwise. “Need you to kiss me.”

His eyes darkened and when he surrendered, his mouth capturing hers, the kiss was anything but innocent.

He tried to pull his lips away, perhaps to apologize, but she clamped her hand around the back of his head, holding him to her.

He tasted like mint and he smelled spicy, like a man, a real man.

He finally tore his mouth away. “We can’t do this.”

Still reeling from the impact of his kiss, she blinked in confusion. “Why? Why can’t we?”

“This isn’t right. You’re the witness in a case.”

About the Author

C.J. MILLER is a third-generation Mills & Boon

reader and the first in her family to write professionally. She lives in Maryland with her husband and young son. She enjoys spending time with family, meeting friends for coffee, reading and traveling to warm beaches around the world. C.J. believes in first loves, second chances and happily ever after.

C.J. loves to hear from readers and can be contacted through her website at www.cj-miller.com.

Hiding His Witness

C.J. Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

To Brook, for always reading and believing.

Chapter 1

After the streetlights came on, traveling alone along the empty sidewalk was a very bad idea. But Carey didn’t have money for a cab and the bus didn’t run at this late hour. She had no choice but to walk home. Most of the time she didn’t mind being one of the nameless, faceless inhabitants of the city. City meant anonymity, avoiding eye contact, and a life so fast-paced most people didn’t remember her name or when and where she moved.

And Carey moved quite frequently.

What she did mind were the rotten jobs she’d had to work the last eleven months. Without a social security card—or at least not one she was willing to share with her employers—the jobs were monotonous, low paying, and the hours terrible, hence her walk alone in the dark at midnight.

Carey pulled her jacket tighter around her, staving off the cold and clutching her Vogue magazine to her chest, and looked over her shoulder, left then right. With the news media blasting details of the grisly serial killings committed in this neighborhood, she prayed with every step she’d make it home safely.

She kept the hood of her worn gray sweatshirt tugged over her head, her baggy clothes disguising her gender, and stepped up her pace. Steam poured from the grates along the sidewalk and the streetlights that weren’t broken illuminated her way. Her landmark was the twenty-four-hour convenience store located across from her apartment building, its bright white lights and red-and-green sign shining into her windows. Three more blocks.

In the distance, police sirens wailed, sending a shiver up her spine. Another mugging? A murder?

“Shut up. I told you to shut up,” a voice bit into the night.

Carey froze, her muscles tightening, every instinct she had going on the alert.

Grunts and the dull thud of fists on flesh escaped from the alleyway ahead. Kicking into survival mode, she reached into her oversize jeans and grabbed her pepper spray, flattening herself against the brick building at the corner of the alley. Her heart hammered against her rib cage, threatening to reveal her presence. What should she do? Scramble into the entryway of the building and hope she went unnoticed? Turn and run