John had wanted to kiss her.

So fucking bad, it made his hands burn with the need to reach out and pull her to him, to relive that feeling of being enveloped in her sweet scent the way he had in college. To feel that soft mouth give to his demand, let him part those lips and find her tongue, teasing and tasting her as she melted into him.

During their dinner, it had taken all he had not to focus on the soft curve of her mouth, the delicate spot on her neck he’d once known intimately. It was a spot he knew would elicit a moan if he blew on it. If he licked or nibbled at it, she’d practically purr in his arms.

The memory of what being with Ava was like had swamped his senses, drowning his sanity for a moment when he said goodnight to her, and he’d had to force himself to take a step back. Had to pin his hands at his side and force himself to stand down.

Even now, almost twenty-four hours later, he was thinking about the way she’d looked when she laughed at something he said. What her hand had felt like when he made the mistake of holding it.

The curb tripped John up, and he pitched forward.

Eric made a show of catching him before looking down at John’s feet. “You wanna change out of those stilettos before we do this?”

“Funny.”

“Thanks.” Eric kept moving, and John followed along.

“There once was a cop who liked heels,” Eric started, and John cringed. His partner liked limericks.

“But he probably should have stuck to wheels.”

John shot Eric a look. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Eric ignored him. “For when he couldn’t walk, people would talk. They’d laugh, and he’d blush at their squeals.”

“Christ,” John muttered. Time to get his head in the game. They were at the hospital to interview the victim in the most recent jewelry store robbery. He needed to stop thinking about Ava.

Easier said than done. He’d thought of nothing but her in the past few days. Sometimes, he had focused on her body and what he wanted to do to her; other times, he’d been thinking how he hoped she was telling the truth when she said she was happy with where she was in life. And, of course, there was the fact he’d felt the need to tell her about Lucia’s upcoming wedding.

That little tidbit had slipped out, and John couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been trying to prove something to Ava. Like maybe he felt the need for her to know he wasn’t still hung up on Lucia.

He didn’t want to analyze why he needed to show Ava that.

He jammed a finger on the elevator button after he and Eric checked in at the front desk and got the room number for the victim.

When they entered the elevator, and the doors slid shut, Eric spoke. “You want to talk about it?”

John gave him a blank look.

“Okay, we’ll do it your way.”

John sighed. When Eric got it into his head that there was something they needed to talk about, he’d needle John until he gave in. He was like a potholder-knitting, rocking-chair-riding, teetotaling granny that way.

“What is it you think I need to talk about?”

“I think that’s something only you can answer.”

John turned to his partner, hands on hips. “You’ve been watching those psychology videos again, haven’t you?”

Eric shrugged. “Cops have mental health challenges. Sue me for wanting to get a jump on things.”

They reached their floor and stepped out, moving down the hall to the nurse’s station. John introduced himself to one of the nurses on duty and asked her to show them into the victim’s room.

“From what we’ve heard of his injuries and the severity of the assault, I’m guessing he’ll feel better seeing a nurse enter the room first,” John explained.

The nurse nodded and led the way, entering a room close to the desk they’d just come from.

“Mr. Woods? I’ve got the police officers we were expecting here with me. Do you feel up to talking?”

An older man with pasty white skin and bandages covering much of his face lay in the bed. There was no other evidence of injuries, but John knew from talking to the doctor that he had several cracked ribs.

He and Eric moved to stand over the bed so the man wouldn’t need to move his head to see them. John wasn’t even sure that was possible. He had needed surgery to repair broken bones in his face. The hemorrhaged blood in the whites of his eyes was only one of the things that would take time to heal.

“Mr. Woods, I’m Eric Cantu and this is my partner, John Sevier. We’re with the Major Crimes Unit of the Dark Falls PD.”

“You don’t look like a Cantu,” the man said, his words slightly slurred as though talking was an effort. John was surprised to see the tips of his lips tilt as if he might smile. He probably couldn’t do more than that, but even that much was a good sign. Their victim was a fighter.

Eric laughed. “I get that a lot.”

John hadn’t known it before he partnered with Eric, but apparently Cantu was often thought of as a Mexican name. Eric was Italian and his looks broadcast that fact loud and clear. He’d explained that, at one time, Cantu was a common Italian name but now it wasn’t associated as much with Italians. It was surprising how often people brought that up when Eric was introduced.

John started the interview, wanting—needing—to get the guys who did this off the street. The amount of violence done to the man in front of him was something no one should have to go through.

“Mr. Woods, we’d like to ask you some questions about what happened yesterday, if you’re up to that.”

He lifted his arm where an IV needle was attached to a vein in the back of his hand. “They’re giving me the happy juice, but I’ll try.”

John nodded. “We’ll try to make this quick. We’ve talked to your coworker, Jordan, and we’re going to be getting video footage of the robbery.”

“Jordan is okay.” Mr. Woods didn’t seem to be asking a question, more confirming something he’d already been told.

“He’s shaken,” Eric said, “but he wasn’t hurt physically.”

“He’s a good kid,” Mr. Woods said.

“Mr. Woods,” John started, wanting to get what they could from him while he was awake and functioning. “Did you recognize any of your attackers? Did anything about them seem familiar?”

He had a feeling they wouldn’t be able to question him for long, so John skipped having the witness tell them all he could remember. He wanted to lead this conversation to see if they could get anything useful before Woods hit a wall and needed to sleep.

“Covered. Masks.”

John had been hoping they might have seen the suspects in the shop in the days leading up to the attack.

“How about their voices? Did anything about them seem familiar to you?”

Mr. Woods began to shake his head, then stopped with a harsh wince, his skin going even grayer, a sharp response to what was obviously a very painful movement. “No.”

The nurse was hovering, and John knew there wasn’t anything more they would get from the man just then.

“We don’t want to wear you out, Mr. Woods. We’ll let you rest. If you think of anything you want us to know, you can have one of the nurses get in touch with us. We’ll make sure they have our contact information.”

He mumbled a response, but John could see his eyes already closing. The man had a long and painful recovery ahead of him. It wasn’t a road John would wish on anyone.