Shame on Him

CHAPTER 7

Lorelei. Come on, snap out of it, baby. Look at me.”

The voice registers in my brain but it doesn’t make sense. That voice wouldn’t be talking to me this nicely. He’d also never call me “baby.”

I feel warm hands on my face and my head is turned so I’m no longer staring at Andrew Jameson’s dead body. Now I’m staring at a well-muscled chest in a tight blue shirt. My eyes slowly travel up and I see Dallas staring at me with a worried expression, his thumb wiping away at something on my cheek.

“Jesus Christ, you’re bleeding. Breathe, Lorelei.”

At his command, I let out a shaky breath and suddenly feel tears pooling in my eyes. I blink rapidly, refusing to let them fall. I don’t know what Dallas is doing here or why he’s being so nice to me, but I will absolutely not fall apart in front of him. That will only give him more ammunition.

Glancing around, I realize it’s gotten dark. The sun was setting when I pulled up to Andrew’s house. I must have been sitting here for a while. I remember sitting against the wall, afraid to go outside in case the shooter was still out there.

Everything comes rushing back at once. Talking to Andrew, a few seconds away from him telling me who killed Richard, and then gunshots. I wasn’t even scared at the time—I must have been moving on pure adrenaline. But now the breaths are leaving my lungs quickly. Too quickly. I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate.

Dallas turns my face back to him and bends his head lower so he’s looking directly in my eyes. “Don’t look over there. Just look at me. It’s okay. Nice and slow.”

Nice and slow. In and out. Don’t think about the fact that there’s another dead body just a few feet away from me or that Dallas has the most amazing gray eyes I’ve ever seen and they’re currently looking at me with gentle concern instead of irritation.

Dallas slides his hands off of my cheeks and I immediately miss their warmth. He reaches down and grabs both of my wrists, pulling my hands up and inspecting them.

“Fuck. Your hands are full of glass,” he curses as he gently starts plucking a few pieces out.

I look down and realize he’s right. I stare unblinking at the palms of my hands. They are covered in dots of blood and tiny shards of glass and they suddenly hurt like hell.

He lets go of one of my hands and quickly reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. He brings it up to the side of my face and presses it against my cheek. I flinch when it touches my skin and feel a small sting of pain.

“It’s all right—it’s just a small scratch. A bullet must have grazed you,” he says calmly.

The look on his face contradicts the softness in his tone. He’s clenching his teeth and a muscle ticks in his jaw. He’s probably angry with me that I came in here, acting like I knew what I was doing, and now a prime suspect is dead.

I want to defend myself, but I can’t make the words form. What if it was my fault? Maybe someone saw me leaving Stephanie’s house and they followed me here. What if I’m the reason Andrew Jameson is dead?

The distant sound of sirens pulls Dallas’s gaze away from mine and he quickly looks out the open door and then back to me.

“Hurry, get up.”

He grabs my arms and pulls me to my feet.

“The cops are going to be all over this place in ten minutes. You need to get the fuck out of here,” he tells me, pulling me toward the door.

“What? What are you talking about? I can’t leave,” I tell him, finally finding my voice and planting my feet firmly in place, refusing to move. “I just saw a man shot to death. A man that I was questioning in a murder investigation. I need to tell the police what happened.”

Dallas huffs in irritation, clenching my arm and trying to pull me closer to the door. Even though I’m a little confused by the careful way he handled me moments ago, it doesn’t escape my notice that right now all he cares about is getting me out of here. Judging by all of our interactions since we met, there’s only one possible explanation for his need to shove me out the door before anyone sees me.

“You just want the stupid glory all for yourself. I hate to break it to you, but I’M the one who found out about Andrew Jameson, not you. I got here first and you can’t stand that, can you?” I fire at him.

The sirens are getting closer and Dallas turns away from me to look out the front door once more.

“Get your head out of your ass for two seconds here and think about what you’re saying,” Dallas says angrily, his hands still wrapped tightly around my arms. “You were here questioning someone for a murder investigation. A murder investigation that you aren’t supposed to be anywhere near.”

His words flip a switch in my brain and all the fight leaves my body. He’s right. What would I even tell the police when they got here? That I just happened to stop by the house of a man who worked with Richard Covington and it was just a coincidence that he was shot down right in front of me?

“You need to get the hell out of here right now.”

I stare at Dallas, more confused than I’ve ever been. Why is he helping me? He should be making sure I get thrown in jail for what I’ve been doing.

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.

“We don’t have time for this. Get in your car and go. Now.”

He pulls me against him and walks me through the doorway. He’s made sure to position himself in such a way that I don’t have to see Andrew lying on the ground behind him.

When I’m on the front porch, he finally lets go of me and I walk in a trance down the stairs and toward my car. The sirens are only a few blocks away now and I know I need to hurry. I run the rest of the way, fumbling my keys out of my coat pocket and wincing at the pain in my hands. I get in the car, start it up, and speed away from Andrew Jameson’s house and Dallas, watching in my rearview mirror as blue-and-red flashing lights pull up to the curb where I was just parked.

A few hours later I hear my doorbell ring and I realize I’ve been sitting on my couch staring at nothing since I got home. I should have showered. Or at the very least, washed the blood off my hands. At least I put on a fresh shirt.

Pushing myself up, I walk over to the door and look through the peephole. I’m not surprised to see Dallas standing on my front porch with his hands in his pockets.

I open the door and he walks right in without an invitation. I close the door and turn to see him pacing back and forth in the living room.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he finally says, coming to a stop with his hands on his hips.

Here we go again. He’s going to tell me what an idiot I am and how I’m not cut out for this line of work. He’s in my house and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him make me feel like crap.

Mirroring his pose with my hands on my hips, I let it fly. “I am sick and tired of people underestimating me. I might not have a lot of experience yet, but I’m good at what I do. I can solve this murder case!”

My chest is heaving and even though it feels good to let all of that out and not have it burning a hole in my chest, I have no idea what made me spew all of my insecurities at Dallas. I don’t know why I care what he thinks of me.

“Lorelei. Come on, snap out of it, baby. Look at me.”

His words from earlier echo through my mind. He was so careful with me, almost sweet. It’s like my subconscious knows there’s a nice guy in there underneath all of that cockiness. A guy who was worried about me and made sure I didn’t get in trouble.

He still hasn’t said a word since my outburst and it’s starting to make me uncomfortable.

“What, nothing to say now? No more insults or tips about how I’m just going to screw everything up?” I ask sarcastically, trying not to feel like a bug under a microscope as he stares at me. I’m sure he’s just taking his time trying to think of some way to put me down.

Without saying a word, he takes a few steps in my direction and stops in front of me. I flinch when he wraps his hand around one of my wrists and flips it over, brushing his fingers over my palm.

“You didn’t get all of the glass out,” he tells me gruffly.

I pretend like his close proximity has no effect on me and stare at the top of his head as he brushes a tiny shard of glass out of a cut in my hand.

“What happened with the police?” I ask him.

Dallas drops my hand and picks up the other one, concentrating on searching every inch of it for stray glass. “I told them I was there following up a lead and we were ambushed. I said it all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to pull my weapon.”

I want to thank him for getting me out of there and not saying anything to the police, but I still have no idea why he’s doing this. What’s in it for him?

“Do you think they believed you?”

He lets go of my hand when he’s satisfied that there’s no more glass and looks up at me. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold now that he’s no longer touching me.

“Of course they bought it. They dusted for fingerprints while I was there. Please tell me you didn’t touch anything when you went into the house. Doorframe, doorknob, anything like that?”

I shake my head no. The only things my hands touched were the floor and the side of Andrew’s neck. Hopefully they didn’t dust his body.

“Then we should be fine. They won’t find your fingerprints and the people in that neighborhood hate cops. When they go door to door questioning neighbors, no one will tell them if they saw anything.”

Dallas moves around me and walks to the door.

“Why are you doing this? Why did you help me?”

He pauses with the door open but doesn’t turn around. “Maybe I just like the idea of you owing me one, Lawyer. I’m sure it will come in handy.”

He’s lying. His words don’t have their usual snarky tone and he won’t meet my eyes.

“Just do me a favor. Start brushing up on your PI skills. I don’t want to have to save your ass again anytime soon.”