Cast the First Stone by David Warren (i have read the book a hundred times txt) 📗

This man. Her fingers played with the button of his dress shirt, then found his hot skin and the fine hairs of his chest. Yes, she heard the sirens, sensed the dangerous pull of him, but now ignited, she hadn’t the power to stop.

Didn’t want to. Because something about his intoxicating presence made her feel alive, brave and yes, even brilliant. Every part of the person she longed to be.

“Okay, I think I figured it out—Whoa!”

Her brother came skidding into the room and Rembrandt jerked away from her, his hands on her arms to steady her.

“Sorry!” Asher turned, about to exit—

“No, it’s okay, Ash—” she started, but Asher had already fled.

She laughed.

Not Rembrandt. His eyes widened and something that looked horribly like guilt flashed across his face. “Um…I…”

Oh, for Pete’s sake, they weren’t teenagers. “Take a breath, Rem.” She patted his chest, then pushed him away, completely aware that her wet hair lay in tangles, her skin probably flushed red, and surely anyone could see her pounding heartbeat.

Still, no regrets here.

“What did you find, Ash?” She followed him into the den, keenly aware of Rembrandt behind her, and when Ash sat down at the computer, she noticed Rem run a hand behind his neck, glance over at her, then away.

Rembrandt Stone looked suspiciously like he might be freaking out.

Huh.

So maybe the guy didn’t break the rules often either. So much to learn about him.

Rem crossed his arms over his chest, planted his feet and stared at the screen, at the listing of stores, with addresses.

“There are five stores that carry this coffee in the Metro area,” Asher was saying. “Two, of course, are the locations of the previous bombs, but there are three more, two in Minneapolis, one in St. Paul.”

“Can you print out the addresses?” Rembrandt said, his tone now all business.

“Sure.” Asher hit the print button and Rembrandt walked over and stood over the printer, as if he could magically make it print by glaring at it.

Asher glanced at her, grinned. Eve hit him on the back of the head.

The printer spit out the list and Rembrandt took it. Returned to Asher.

“Okay, now I need you to hack into the International Children’s Defense League and see if you can get me a list of names.”

Asher lifted an eyebrow. “Um, if it has private donors, it’ll be an encrypted site. It’ll take time.”

“How much time?”

“Hours. Days, even.”

By the look on Asher’s face—

“You don’t know if you can do it,” Eve said.

Asher shrugged. “I’ll try.”

Rembrandt checked his watch, something that looked like an antique. She’d noticed it the first day—and the fact that John Booker had one that looked just like it. Must be a department thing.

“It’s after 3 am. I’d better get you home, kid.”

That was probably the right decision. But she glanced at Rembrandt, searching for something that might indicate he was coming back…

He didn’t look at her, staring at the printout.

Okay, and now they were back in middle school.

Asher got up and headed to the door.

She caught Rembrandt’s arm, and he turned. Barely met her eyes.

“What’s going on?”

He drew in a breath. Then, oddly, lifted his gaze to hers, reached out and touched her cheek. He drew his thumb down it in a caress, a gesture so sweet it left her wordless.

“I don’t want any more regrets,” he said quietly.

Then he walked out the door behind Asher, and closed it.

Chapter 17

Maybe I haven’t been completely clear about the way things were between Eve and I, the first time through. The fact is that we didn’t exactly hit it off right away. Sure, I brought her coffee, offered to pay for her busted camera, but like I said, I wasn’t all that bright back then and it didn’t occur to me to ask her out for at least two months. And even when that did finally happen, it was just the first step on a long road.

I liked her, sure, but during that season she was trying to track down her father and brother’s murderer, and although we worked together, flirted, downed a few after work beers and occasionally found ourselves folded together on her sofa, we dodged any commitment for a couple of years.

Then came my undercover years, and that’s another story, but it’s hard to love a man you hardly see, and when he does finally turn up, he looks like he’s just escaped from a maximum security prison, and tells tales that are straight out of an FX television series.

Let’s just say that Eve had her reasons for not wanting to tie herself to a guy like me.

And then there was Silas. Always in her ear, whispering that I was trouble. He was probably right, but it didn’t help our relationship.

Eve would argue with me, but I always suspected he was holding a torch for her.

Yet, despite Silas, despite the demons that kept me on the run, Eve and I kept finding each other, drawn by something bigger than ourselves, our fears, insecurities and even vices. We understood each other, more than anyone else in our lives could, and at the end of the day, respected each other.

Eve was my compass, my anchor to a life I desperately longed for, even if I didn’t know it.

I was the gasoline to the fire simmering inside her.

I’d forgotten how dangerous that combination could be until tonight when she stepped up to me, studied me with those luminous hazel-green eyes, holding more promise than she could even imagine, and kissed me.

I tried—really, with everything inside me, you have to know I tried not to kiss her. Because, awkwardly, my Eve, the one I was desperate to get back to, was in my head calling me a cheater. Yeah, I know. Weird. But the truth is, this Eve is not my Eve. Not yet. So maybe I am cheating.

But as her soft lips found mine, her aroma rising around me, everything merged into one succinct emotion. My Eve became now Eve, the gentle curl of her hair falling over