He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

stood in the doorway, patiently watching, waiting, as if a woman slamming a door on the chief of police’s foot was a normal occurrence. With this man, maybe it was.
    Her fingers curled around the edge of the door and she couldn’t help but notice she had to look up to meet his gaze, a rare experience for her, since she was six feet tall. His eyes were a rather remarkable shade of emerald green with little flecks of gold around the edges. And he smelled absolutely wonderful: a warm, clean, masculine scent that made her nostrils flare in appreciation.
    Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized she’d been staring at him for far too long. He’d flustered her and she hated that.
    “I know you don’t want to speak to us,” he said, his voice deep and rich. “But I believe you may be in danger. We won’t take much of your time.”
    His respectful tone and impassive expression helped soothe her embarrassment. If he’d raised a mocking brow or grinned, she wouldn’t have had the slightest twinge of remorse about kicking him off her property.
    She glanced behind him to the street, and was relieved to see he’d at least had the sense to come in an unmarked car. A shiny, new-looking, black Mustang with dark tinted windows sat at the curb. Realizing she was probably drawing attention right now with these two men standing on her porch, she reluctantly stepped back to let them inside.
    Hugging her robe tightly against her body, she was suddenly painfully aware of how thin the silky fabric was. “You can sit in the living room while I get dressed.”
    She motioned toward the end of the foyer and escaped to her left down the long hallway that led to the master bedroom of her fifties-style ranch house. She sat on the edge of the bed and hid her burning face in her hands. Had she really deliberately smashed the chief of police’s foot in the door? Could he arrest her for that? Then again, she hadn’t exactly invited him in, so it was his fault.
    He was pushy, literally. She couldn’t stand men like that, men who used their strength and size to intimidate women. So why had her mouth gone dry and her skin all tingly when she looked into his eyes?
    Before the attack she’d been attracted to tall men, mainly because they made her feel less self-conscious about her own height. But after the attack everything had changed. Big men now made her nervous, brought back feelings of helplessness she never wanted to experience again.
    Shaking her head at her confusing thoughts, she dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a blue button-up blouse, then crossed to her master bath and quickly took care of her needs.
    Eyeing herself in the mirror one last time, she grabbed a pale pink lipstick and added a quick touch of color. When she realized she was primping, she tossed the lipstick down in disgust and left the bathroom. Before she entered the living room, she pulled some of her hair forward over her right shoulder to cover her scar.
    Detective Riley rose from the couch when she walked into the room. He gave her an apologetic nod. She smiled reassuringly and motioned for him to sit back down. She didn’t know if he was silently apologizing for flinching or just for being here, but she decided to forgive him for both. He had a youthful, boyish look about him, and she doubted he meant any harm. Besides, his pushy boss had probably strong-armed him into coming here.
    The boss in question stood in front of the fireplace, staring at the landscape hanging above the mantle. His profile was turned toward her, and her stomach jumped at the look of pleasure on his face as he admired the painting. The smile softened the angles, made him seem less intense, more approachable.
    She must have made some kind of noise because suddenly he turned, his gaze locked on hers. She quickly moved away and sat next to Detective Riley, leaving the chief no choice but to sit in one of the two recliners that flanked the couch.
    He chose the one closest to her, folding his large frame into the chair. She felt a twinge of remorse over her childishness in making him sit there. He made the recliner look like dollhouse furniture with him squeezed uncomfortably between the cushioned arms. He’d unbuttoned his suit jacket and his light blue dress shirt hugged his flat abdomen.
    She glanced up and cringed as she realized he’d caught her staring at him.
    Again.
    Twisting on the sofa, she turned to face Officer Riley. He was shorter than Richards by several inches, far