Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) by Cynthia Justlin

brain and he couldn’t get rid of it. Blood roared through his veins. He wanted to taste her.
    Her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. “I don’t think...” Her voice wavered to a stop.
    He couldn’t kiss her. It was wrong. Inappropriate.
    But he needed to do it.
    He cupped her chin, tilting her face. “Don’t wimp out on me now.”
    He slid his hand across her jaw to cradle the back of her head and crushed his lips to hers. She tasted of sadness and salty tears, two things that pricked his conscience, but her soft, warm lips pushed him over the edge and made him forget all about his rigid principles. He deepened the kiss. With a flick of his tongue he coaxed her lips to part.
    She should stop him. Slap him. Do something to stop this madness. He’d do it himself...in a moment.
    Her tongue touched his, lighting a fire deep inside him. He pushed his hands through her hair, the silky strands sifting through his fingers as he angled her head back, devouring her mouth, exploring it with his tongue.
    What the hell was he doing?
    The thought ripped through him, his sense of right and wrong beating him over the head. He’d crossed the line. Comfort was one thing. Taking advantage of her distress an entirely different—and loathsome—matter. He nipped her bottom lip, allowing himself one last taste before pushing her away.
    Their ragged breaths mingled in the silence.
    She bent her head, hiding an intriguing glimpse of desire mixed with guilt and heartsickness. “Don’t do that again.” Her ragged voice was tempered with a confusing mix of steel, but it didn’t keep him from wanting to kiss her again…and again and again.
    No. He couldn’t let himself slip that way ever again. He had a job to do. His name, his career was on the line. What in the hell was he doing kissing Grace and forgetting, for even one moment, what he was here to do?
    “You looked like you needed it.” He knew he should apologize, but couldn’t summon the regret. She’d needed the solace, maybe not in the way he’d given it, but that’s the only kind he knew how to give.
    “I don’t need anything from you. Except to find Ryker.”
    “Fine by me.” Ryker’s backpack lay on the floor between them where it had fallen when they’d—yeah, he didn’t need a reminder of what they’d just done, lest he become tempted to do it again. He tipped his head to the pack. “Look inside it.”
    Grace reached out a shaky hand and scooped the backpack off the floor. The zipper groaned in the tense silence. He held his breath, hoping the odds were stacked in their favor and they’d luck out with a clue.
    She sighed, staring into the large compartment. “Wildlife magazines. God, Ryker loves those. A flashlight.” She shook her head. “Nothing.”
    He exhaled. “Try the front.”
    She yanked the next zipper open and stuck her hand inside the smaller pouch. Her eyes shot to his. She withdrew a thin object and held it up. A credit card? He squinted. No, not a credit card.
    A cardkey.
    Tense excitement raced through him. They had a lead.
    “Recognize it?”
    She palmed the thin strip of plastic. “No.”
    “Any idea what it goes to?”
    “Never seen it before.”
    “It’s not Ryker’s?”
    “No. He doesn’t need a key for anything.”
    He shoved a hand through his hair. “Damn.”
    “What do we do now?”
    “Whatever that key is for, it has to be important. Its gotta be Mark’s.”
    Finally, a solid lead. The key wasn’t the right type for a lockbox or a padlock. Not to mention the fact that it was too high tech to belong to something ordinary like a safety deposit box. Which meant it had to belong to an office or some other facility where Mark kept important files. Like research. Evidence.
    He leapt to his feet. “So we find what the key fits.”
    He snagged his backpack off the floor and strode to the door.
    “Wait.”
    He stopped, impatience sparking to life, and turned back to where Grace still kneeled on the floor.
    She rose to her