“Which means he’s escalating.”
Backing up a few steps, she perched her hip on the corner of the desk, her face sober. “We really need to talk to her.”
He crossed to the couch and dropped heavily onto it. Exhaustion was seeping in, sapping his energy. “I thought you might have some ideas on how to approach her. Supposing for a minute she was a victim, why wouldn’t she have come forward?”
“Denial. Fear. Too traumatized.”
“Or covering for someone.”
She considered it, nodded. “Until we talk to her, it’s just speculation. But if she isn’t another victim, that leads to even more questions.”
He’d been partnered with guys for years before getting this in sync with them. If he weren’t so damn tired, the realization would have alarmed him. “Like why her tox screen indicates the same mutant drug compound in her bloodstream.”
“She’s connected to this case.” Abbie stretched her legs out in front of her, crossed them at the ankles. The action shouldn’t have been sexy. Wouldn’t have been for any other woman. His gaze crawled up the length of her legs, clad in black pants, lingered on her slim thighs, before moving to the black long-sleeved shirt she wore. The buttons marching down its front made a man fantasize about undoing them, one by one. Baring an inch of flesh at a time, driving both of them a little crazy by going real slow. Drawing it out.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Jesus, he was losing it, sitting here entertaining R-rated fantasies of a member of his task force. But his concentration was shot to hell. He’d completely missed what she was saying.
“. . . have come in contact with the UNSUB at some point. Or maybe with the offender’s drug supplier. Do you have a copy of her fire investigation report?”
It took him a moment to switch mental gears, a fact that annoyed him. “I have the incident report, but I’ve got a request in to get the complete fire and police investigative reports by tomorrow morning. Left messages for the officer and fire investigator to call me.”
“It’d be best to be fully apprised of all the details of the incident before talking to her. We can go over the facts of the reports tomorrow and plan a way to approach her, hopefully later in the day.” She waited, but when he didn’t say anything, she continued, “I want to go with you.”
Her tone said she was expecting an argument. He didn’t give her one. “Okay.”
At her surprised expression he continued, “That’s why I came. You’re the best qualified to figure out what she’s thinking, what approach will work with her.”
Yeah, Robel that’s why you came. Remember that the next time you start thinking about taking off her shirt, for chrissakes.
“It occurs to me that you’ve left out a few details.”
The wariness that flickered to life was instinctive. “Such as?”
“Such as how Dixon happened to get this information.”
She was no fool. He knew she’d read between the lines of whatever he chose to tell her. Which would be as little as possible, for many reasons. “Larsen apparently confided something to a friend. That friend told Dixon.”
Her smile was knowing. And cynical. “A female friend.” She lifted a hand to wave away any reply he would have made. “Don’t bother to respond. It’s pretty easy to see Dixon’s the type to have any number of . . .
friends
. Men like him are looking for something. When they can’t find it in themselves, they try to find it in every woman they meet.”
Stunned, he could only stare at her. He’d known Dixon for years. She’d known him for—what? Less than a week? And had probably talked to him three or four times, max. In his experience, women didn’t see through Derek Dixon. Just the opposite. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re spooky?”
Her smile disappeared. “You’d be surprised. That doesn’t explain how he got a copy of Larsen’s tox screen.” She gazed at him expectantly but he kept his mouth shut. “Or maybe it does.” Lifting a shoulder, she went on, “However it came about, the information is compelling. Who knows? It might turn out to be a break in the case.”
“He’d never let me hear the end of that.”
With both hands braced on the desk, she boosted herself up to perch on the edge. The act pulled her pant leg up several inches and exposed the edge of leather above her ankle.
An ankle holster. He had no idea why he’d always assumed she was unarmed. A dangerous assumption to make in his line of work. She’d never said anything to change his opinion. But then, that was probably the least of what Abbie Phillips hadn’t shared.
“How long have you worked for the SCMPD?”
He lifted a shoulder. “About a year.”
Her eyebrows skimmed upward. “Really? From the undercurrents I sensed between you two this afternoon, I’d have guessed you’d known each other much longer than that.”
“We were rookies together in Boston. I gravitated to undercover work; he did more public relations stuff.”
Her expression grew thoughtful. “Maybe that explains it, then.”
“Explains what . . . exactly?”
“He’s jealous of you, at least on some level.”
He barked out a laugh.
Dixon jealous of him? God, that was rich.
“Better hang on to your day job. Character analysis isn’t your strong suit.”
She looked at him coolly. “Character analysis
is
my day job, remember? In a manner of speaking.”
Shit, now he’d offended her. He was getting too good at that. “I just mean . . . Dixon’s got a pretty healthy ego. Hell, so do I. I think he gets off on being my boss.”
I pulled your career out of the trash heap, buddy. How about a little gratitude?
Dixon’s words from earlier that evening echoed mockingly. It was pretty safe to say that the man enjoyed being his superior. Hell, maybe that’s why he’d offered him a job. He’d wondered at the offer, but he hadn’t exactly been swimming in options at the time. His career in Boston hadn’t been over, but it had been dead-ended by his screwup. He knew it. His captain had known it. Dixon’s invitation had surprised him, but he hadn’t examined it too closely. Whatever the man’s reasons, Ryne had figured he could live with them.
“He admires you. That first day I spoke to him, he went on and on about your narcotics undercover work, and then your stint in homicide. He must have your jacket memorized. He recited a list of commendations and awards you received.”
Something in him stilled. “He told you all that?”
She nodded. “Some of it might have been to impress me with the team he’s put together for this investigation, but there was something in his voice. Sort of like the high school football team’s manager talking about the star quarterback, you know?”
He looked away, embarrassed by the analogy. “Listen to you. Next you’ll have us as prom dates. You misread him, that’s all.”
“I don’t think so. And you won’t have to worry about the ‘date.’ He dislikes you, too, in spite of your success. More likely because of it. And since you don’t seem too overly enamored of him, I just wondered . . .”
Her voice trailed off, inviting him to pick up the thread. He didn’t.
“Why did you come here to work for him?”
Deborah Hanna’s face flashed into his mind again. His gut clenched, and he shoved the mental image aside. “I had my reasons.”
She waited, a silent invitation for him to say more. When he didn’t, she said, “You must have felt the need to punish yourself.”
He stared hard at her, logic receding behind a red wall of emotion that surged too suddenly, too abruptly to be contained. The humor in her voice went unnoticed as haunting memories swarmed to the surface. He was on his feet and closed the distance between them with two quick strides.
Grasping her arms with ungentle hands, he shoved his face close to hers and ground out, “Do us both a favor and stay out of my head, Abbie. Believe me, you wouldn’t like what you find there.”
Chapter 13
Abbie drew in a breath, and belatedly Ryne became aware of how tightly he was gripping her. He consciously loosened his fingers, appalled by his loss of control.
“I was joking. I meant the weather.” His confusion must have shown on his face, because she went on, “The heat and humidity? I don’t remember all the times you’ve complained about it.” She looked wary, but unafraid. She should have been afraid. He sure as hell was. Afraid of the tidal wave of emotion that had crashed through him when he’d thought she’d angled a little too close to the truth.
For an instant he’d assumed that Dixon had opened up to her a bit more about his career than just to sing his praises. He was usually better at keeping the ghosts of his past locked away. And the last thing he wanted was to discuss them with her.
“Sorry,” he muttered, dropping his hands. And he was. Sorry and ashamed. There had been too many hits today, one right after another, touching on nerves he’d thought better protected. It was best to leave now before he did any more damage. She must already think he was crazy. Based on his performance today, he wasn’t so sure he didn’t agree.
“I won’t ask what you thought I was talking about.”
Slowly his gaze met hers, held.
“Like you said earlier, everyone is afraid of something. Some are just better at hiding it than others.”
He crooked a finger, tapped the knuckle lightly against her chin. “Scariest thing about you? You see too damn much.”
“And that frightens you?”
“To death.” He became aware then that he hadn’t moved away since releasing her. His legs were crowding hers. Without conscious thought, he spread his feet to straddle her legs with both of his. And watched her eyes go to smoke.
“You should be afraid now, Abbie.” He sure as hell was. “You would be, if you knew what I’d been thinking most of the time I’ve been here.” He toyed with the top button on her blouse with thumb and forefinger. Her breath drew in, and her lips parted.
“I haven’t been at my most rational the last few hours. So I’m going to leave reason to you.” He dipped his head, inhaled her scent. “Tell me to leave.”
“So the decision is all on me?” There was a catch in her voice when he pressed his mouth to the pulse, where it beat wildly at the base of her throat. “Doesn’t seem exactly fair.”
“I’m not feeling ‘fair.’ ” What he
was
feeling would be unmistakable, given the way he was pressed up against her. He had no doubt she’d call an end to this, bring him to his senses and send him home, where he ought to be.
But until she did, he was going to indulge himself. He cupped her head in his hands, threading his fingers through the baby soft hair at her nape. With his thumbs, he traced the line of her jaw. It felt too delicate to be capable of setting so firmly.
It wasn’t set now, though. There was a tremble to her lips when he covered them with his, a shudder to her limbs when he moved closer. Her hands came up to clasp his wrists, but she didn’t push him away. And because he still expected she would—that she
should
—he took the kiss deeper.
Her flavor was tantalizingly familiar, calling up the memory of the last time he’d touched her. Tasted her. The recollection only whetted his appetite for more. He drank deeply from her, hormones kicking to life. Despite his warning, he had no doubt he could stop this before he crossed the line of good sense. But before that happened, he’d take his fill.
Her tongue met his, a long velvet glide. The muscles in his gut clenched. Angling his mouth over hers, his kiss turned demanding. There was heat here, so at odds with her usual impassive manner. It tempted a man to see if he could fan that heat further, stir it into something hotter, wilder, that sent both of them up in flames.
And if it meant both of them forgot, for just a little while, well, that couldn’t hurt either.
Her hands released his wrists and slid up his arms to twine around his neck, urging him nearer. He snaked an arm around her waist, hauling her close, mouth still slanted over hers. Tongues battled. Teeth clashed. He should be worried about the greed that sprang to life so easily. But it was more pleasurable to focus on the desire that flared inside him. And he was nowhere close to getting his fill.
He ran his palm over her ass, squeezed. She was slightly built but she didn’t lack curves, and her backside had been fashioned by a very benevolent god. He wanted to strip her down and explore with hands and lips and tongue every inch of the silky flesh she kept hidden. Maybe then he’d quench the thirst for her that had been slowly building since he’d first laid eyes on her.
She tore her mouth from his, and his arms tightened instinctively. But instead of moving away, she brushed her lips along his stubbled jaw, back and forth, before testing it lightly with her teeth. Her hands went to tug his shirt loose from his pants. Then her palms were skating up his sides, across his chest, and the feel of flesh on flesh caused his pulse to riot.
Her neck was a long sleek line that begged to be explored. His mouth sped down it, then up again. He lingered at the hollow of her throat, bathing it with his tongue. She was a study of contrasts, delicacy on the outside hiding a will of steel. A professional exterior that almost successfully concealed the exquisite femininity beneath.