They’d have called her.
She went to Ty’s office, filled half with urgency and half with dread over what the hell she’d find when she got there. From the hallway, she could see Ty and Isobel together, and the image stopped her like a good, old-fashioned sucker punch.
Ty was in his chair, and the redhead loomed over him, cradling his chin in one hand and holding something against his face with the other. Close. Personal. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the redhead was smiling and murmuring to Ty.
The disastrous image felt like a train wreck she couldn’t look away from. Not because there was anything wrong going on, but because the two of them looked so right. Jordan swallowed, almost gagged on how much sense the intimate little scene made.
Isobel Riley was attractive. Jordan imagined that most men might say beautiful. She was obviously smart enough to make it to detective. And anyone with eyes could see how Isobel looked at Ty.
How long before he looked back and saw what was missing in his life? A normal woman who wouldn’t fear all the things he wanted most.
Satisfied that he wasn’t seriously injured, she turned to leave. Isobel obviously had the situation under control. The ambition to fight for her man was replaced by a big wave of foolishness. And honestly, a little bit of fear that she just might not come out on top if Ty ever bothered to compare pros and cons.
“Jordan.” Ty caught up to her as she rounded the corner into the reception area. “Hey, wait a minute. What are you doing here?”
She stopped, turned back to him, and noticed his eye was almost swollen shut. Moving a hand to his face, she turned his chin to get a better look. “What happened?”
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Long, stupid story.”
No doubt, one the redhead knew every detail of. She pulled her hand back. “I need to go. I’m heading to St. Louis to check in at my precinct and talk to Bahan. I just wanted to let you know I’d be gone a while.”
He stepped closer, rested his hands on her hips. “Didn’t you forget something?”
“I don’t think so.” She kept her gaze focused on his chest, refusing to look him in the eye. “And if I did, I’m sure the redhead will cover it. She seems to enjoy taking care of you.”
“We’re not going there again, are we?” Aggravation was clear in his tone. “Are you mad because she got some ice for my eye?”
“Nope. Couldn’t care less.” She wriggled out of his hold and turned for the door.
“Jordan, stop.” He caught up to her, stepped in her path, and cupped her cheeks in his hands. He leaned in and kissed her—long and slow and exceedingly intimate for being in the middle of his cop shop. “Thank you for stopping by,” he whispered. “Please be careful on the back roads.”
“So this is your better half these days?”
Both of them turned to the redhead. Normally Jordan would have been embarrassed that someone had witnessed such a heated kiss, but under the circumstances, the devil on her shoulder actually wanted to flip Isobel the bird
.
Jordan looked back up at Ty. After a long, uncomfortable pause, she said, “Hi. Yes, I’m Jordan. Ty’s girlfriend.”
She channeled her inner ice bitch and held out her hand to the redhead.
Cherry-bomb barely returned the handshake before letting her gaze dip down to Jordan’s boots and crawl back up again. Hard to miss the not-so-subtle sizing-up.
“I’m Detective Riley with MHP. Nice to meet you.” Then Isobel looked up at Ty. “The Bensons and their attorney are here. We probably shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer.”
“Okay. I’ll be right in.”
Ty hooked a finger under Jordan’s chin and tilted it up. The act always felt like such an intimate gesture. The fact that he did it in front of the other woman chipped away at a bit of the ugly uncertainty in her heart.
“Did you need anything else, baby?”
A breeze flittered through the air as Cherry-bomb whipped around and stalked away. Isobel’s huffy exit was less than subtle.
“She still wants you. You know that, right?”
He shrugged and eyed her sweater and the cleavage inside it like it was a last meal. “And I want you. You know that, right?”
She smiled a little now, too. Because she did know it. And right or wrong, she felt just a little smug because of it.
“Officer McGee, my dad has another appointment. Would it be possible to start soon?”
Jordan looked toward the door of the interview room. A tall, thin guy with curly blond hair and big hazel eyes looked back at her. She pulled away from Ty. A wild shiver skipped down her backbone.
“I’m on my way, David.” Ty said.
Isobel came from down the hall and stopped next to the young guy. “I think we’re ready to start any moment now.” She looked back at Ty. “McGee?”
“I need to go, babe,” Ty said. “I’ll give you a call. Okay?”
Jordan snapped her focus from the young man to Ty.
Isobel crossed the room and hovered next to them.
“Is that your suspect?” Jordan asked.
Ty shot a sideways glance at Isobel. “Depends on who you ask, but I really don’t think so. Just someone we’re talking with right now. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Jordan took hold of Ty’s hand and squeezed. “That’s the vic’s boyfriend, isn’t it?”
Ty nodded. “Yeah.”
“Be very thorough with him,” she said.
“Jordan, was it?” Cherry-bomb’s face tightened when she interrupted. “We’re not at liberty to discuss the facts of a case with a—”
“Actually”—Jordan unleashed a back-the-hell-up look on Cherry-bomb—“it’s Detective Delany with the St. Louis County Police Department.” She had a good six to eight inches on the redhead and wasn’t above using it. “I’m not exactly a civilian. That is what you were going to say, isn’t it?”
“Still, you are not a part of this investigation.”
Jordan stood silent for a moment, incredulous. She hadn’t wanted to bitch-slap someone so badly since the arraignment of the drug dealer who had almost killed her on the last case.
She held the redhead’s gaze with a long glare. “You’re absolutely right, detective. There are some lines that should
never
be crossed, aren’t there?”
Chapter 8
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Jordan started her car and pounded on the steering wheel. For someone who was supposed to be psychic and intuitive, she certainly hadn’t seen this runaway train coming. She never, ever,
ever
entertained the idea that the girl in her dream had been connected to a case Ty was working.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to
work
this way.
“Damn it,” she murmured, letting her head thud back against the headrest. There weren’t any hard and fast rules about her dreams, but involving Ty in her visions any more than he already was didn’t feel right. Using the dreams on her
own
cases was one thing, but influencing the outcome of another cop’s investigation felt wrong.
Really wrong
.
What if she made a mistake? Wasn’t she the one who’d spent twenty years hating her own father based on a mistake?
The line had to be drawn somewhere. Ty was a good cop; he’d figure his case out without her help. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror as she backed out of her parking space. “Just once, couldn’t you be less than a total disaster?”
In St. Louis, Jordan cruised along Market Street until she came to the FBI’s field office. Thank God it was Sunday. Maybe she wouldn’t have to play twenty questions with the geriatric bulldog who guarded Bahan’s office.
When she found his outer office dark and empty, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Bahan glanced up at her when she opened his door and walked in. She waited patiently while he talked to someone on the phone and clacked away at his computer. When it seemed he might be a few minutes longer, she snatched a mint from his candy jar. He always had the soft ones that melted in your mouth like minty icing. He whizzed around in his big leather chair and started to work on a different computer, so she reached into the jar again and then stuffed a big handful of mints into her pocket.
He swung back around, hung up the phone, and shook a finger at her. “You owe me seven hundred and forty-two dollars.”
“For what?”
“For all the damn mints you steal. Agnes rations me, you know. She won’t let me have more than one jar a week.”
Jordan grinned. “Where is super-troll today, anyway? I figured she slept under her desk so she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to jump out and snarl at me.”
“Please. She’s a harmless old woman.”
“Bullshit. She’s like Yoda—little, shriveled, and seemingly harmless until you piss her off. Then she rains down on you like a shitstorm. And let’s face it, she hates me. And I’ve never done a damn thing to her.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She just thinks you’re . . . uppity.”
“What the hell kind of word is
uppity
? What the fuck does that mean?”
Bahan pulled at his collar, looking uncomfortable and guilty.
“What?” she asked. “Did you say something about me to her? Are you the reason she hates me?”
“She, ah . . . well, she wanted to fix me up with her granddaughter.”
Jordan sucked in a gasp and gagged on the mint. “Yuck. Is there a family resemblance?”
He laughed. “Kind of. Yeah.”
“So what does your love life have to do with me?”
He didn’t answer right away, so Jordan leveled a look at him like she had him in the hot seat.
“I might have given her the impression that I had feelings for you.”
“What? Why the hell would you do that?”
“I didn’t want her to hate me because I refused to date her granddaughter. So I told her I was hung up on someone else. She asked if it was you, and it seemed like a harmless fib.”
Jordan leaned forward with her hands propped on his desk. “I cannot believe you did that. Now she’s going to think we’re in here fooling around every time I come by.”
“No, she won’t. I sort of implied that you shot me down and I’m heartbroken. Now she just feels sorry for me and brings me chocolate cake and homemade stew.”
Disgusted, Jordan shook her head. “No wonder she thinks I’m a bitch. Why don’t you get a new secretary?”
“Are you kidding? Agnes is golden. In under a minute, she can put her hands on any document I’ve worked on in the last ten years. Nobody fucks with me because they’re scared to have to deal with her.
And
she brings me food.”
Jordan narrowed her eyes and opened his candy jar. She stuffed another big handful of mints in her other pocket. “Say
nothing
. Men are assholes. All of you.”
He chuckled. “That sounds ominous. Is there trouble in ranch-topia?”
“No,” she said. But even she could hear the defensiveness in her tone. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Ty’s murder investigation has him working with a female detective from Highway Patrol.”
Bahan stared at her. “And you think because he’s living with you, he shouldn’t be allowed to work with other females?”
“Well, smartass, the last time he worked with this particular female, he slept with her.”
“Oh.” Bahan leaned back in his big old chair.
“Seriously? That’s the best you can come up with?
‘Oh.’
” She shook her head and dropped down into a chair in front of his desk. “Fucking men.”
He laughed. “Hey, just because McGee’s in trouble doesn’t mean I’m going down with him.”
“I got news—you already went down with him. The exact moment you confessed I’m your Agnes beard.” She sank deeper into the chair.
He raised a brow.
She hated that amused, you’re-such-a-female look. It made him look like he should be saying,
Bond . . . James Bond.
“What?” she finally asked.
“You’re really twisted up about this, aren’t you?”
“No. And that’s certainly not why I stopped by. I wanted your help with something else.”
He held up his hand. “No, it’s okay, I’ll play Dr. Phil.” He leaned forward and steepled his hands. “So how does it make you feel knowing Ty and this other woman . . . shared evidence?”
“You’re a dick,” Jordan said, but she laughed as she said it. “How do you think it makes me feel? I want to kick her ass.”
“Does this woman have a name?”
“Cherry-bomb.”
Now Bahan laughed. “Her name is Cherry-bomb?”
“To me it is.”
She felt like an idiot. They were joking around, but the thought of Isobel Riley underneath Ty or on top of Ty or up against a wall with Ty made her heart feel like it could explode right out of her chest.
“All right,” he said, much more seriously now. “I’m guessing you’re overreacting as most females tend to do, but I’ll give you the lowdown from a man’s perspective.”
He leaned his elbows on his desk. “First of all, do you
honestly
think he has feelings for this woman?”
She shrugged, but then shook her head. “Not really. I don’t think so.”
“How long was he with her? A couple weeks? A couple months?”
Ty would not be happy she was discussing this. Hell,
she
wasn’t happy she was discussing it. But she did kind of want another guy’s perspective. “He said, and I quote, ‘it lasted about as long as it takes to brush your teeth and wasn’t quite as enjoyable.’”
Bahan howled.
“I’m glad you think my life falling apart is funny.”
He coughed and threw on his poker face. “Sorry. Was there alcohol involved?”
“I think so. He said that they had just wrapped up a case and went to a bar. Then they . . . you know . . . and then parted ways and never talked again.”
Bahan rubbed a hand across his mouth as though fighting to hold back his amusement. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said.
“I know you’re a good investigator, but you can’t ask four questions and know whether or not . . .” She sighed, feeling incredibly foolish. “Never mind, you’re right. I’m being stupid, and I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
She dug into her bag and pulled out her dad’s file to change the subject.
He slapped his hand down on top of the folder before she could open it. “Jordan, you
are
being stupid. How long did it take McGee to call after you had sex for the first time?”
Her mouth dropped open. She’d been to hell and back—a few times over—with Bahan. But her sex life with Ty was awkward to talk about. Plus she had crossed a lot of lines with Ty on the last case and wasn’t overly anxious to admit that to Bahan.
“You don’t have to answer,” he said. “But my point is, I’m betting he cared enough to get a hold of you.”
She nodded, remembering all too well. After the first time she had sex with Ty, he’d been waiting for her the next day in the parking lot of Buck’s, insisting that they talk.
“I’m no expert, but in my experience there’s a big difference between the woman you can’t wait to see again and one you feel obligated to call and yet never do.”
Bahan was right. Deep inside she knew that what she had with Ty was strong and meaningful. Overwhelmingly so most of the time. It was also complicated and scary as hell. “You’re right.” She nodded. “I know you’re right.”
“Of course. I’m always right. Now if McGee’s working, you want to grab a beer? I can give you more pearly words of wisdom—Bahan-style—and we can talk about your dad’s file.”
“Actually, I have a few things about my dad’s case that I want to research.” She filled him in on what she had gotten through that morning. “Ty immediately reached the same conclusion I did. We think it makes a lot of sense that someone suspected my dad was a cop and that the delivery was a test. When the truck got seized, they figured my dad and Steele were the rats and murdered them.”
“Sounds like a good assumption,” Bahan said. “I’m glad you got some answers.”
“Some answers, but not all of them. I’d like to see Steel’s file so I can compare it with my dad’s. And I still need to know who the Native American guy was.”
Bahan rubbed his forehead. She was chasing a needle through a mountain of hay, and they both knew it. She wasn’t sure how long his patience would last.
“Did you ever think that maybe you’re wrong about this guy? Maybe he doesn’t even exist.”
“Or maybe he’s still a part of the Delago organization. Maybe he’s the one who ordered the hit on my family. I don’t think I can put this to rest until I know who he was. What if he’s still alive? What if he’s still ordering hits on cops?”
Bahan’s only answer was the shake of his head.
“If there’s just the smallest chance I’m right, shouldn’t we at least look? What if he does exist and is still out there? He could be running a huge operation of his own right now. With the databases you have access to, and both of us looking, we could scan through a lot guys with known drug ties in just a few hours. At least we can say we tried.”
Bahan sighed, but she knew she had him.
“You’re going to owe me a lot more than stolen-mint money.”
She smiled and agreed. How could she argue the fact that she was racking up a hell of an IOU account with him? She was a little worried about the day he’d decide to cash it all in, but for now, she had a drug dealer to find.
***
Jordan made it home right about the time the sun was setting. Ty was kicked back on the couch with his legs propped up on the table, a beer in one hand and another empty bottle next to him.
“Hi.” She dropped down on the table in front of him.
Based on the cool stare, he wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he’d first appeared.
“I knew you were going into St. Louis, but I didn’t realize you’d be gone this long. I tried to make it home so we could grab dinner.”
“I figured you’d be tied up most of the day.” She shrugged. “I had things to look into. But if you wanted me home earlier, you should have called.”
“I did call. A few times.”
He was good and aggravated. She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. She’d dropped it inside her bag hours ago and never bothered to look at it again. “I forgot to charge it. Guess it died.”
He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “Even if you’re mad at me, it’s childish to refuse to answer your phone.”
“I’m not mad at you.” At least she hadn’t been.
“The tension today between you and Isobel was thick enough to slice. I could see how upset you were when you left the precinct. You’re telling me the run-in with her had nothing to do with you refusing to answer my calls?”
“I didn’t refuse to answer your calls.” And he was wrong about why she upset earlier. It hadn’t been Isobel. Not entirely. The tall, blond kid who’d murdered his girlfriend was what had thrown her. “I dropped the stupid phone in my bag and forgot about it. I’m not on duty, not even on call, so—”
“Being on duty doesn’t have jack-shit to do with understanding that I worry. You drive like a New York cabbie on these back roads. Not to mention you’re a drug cop, so every time you walk out that door there’s a target on your back. The least you can do is answer your damn phone. I have always done that much for you.”