guy, right here,” she pointed a long slender finger with ruby polish to an eight-by-ten photo at the top of a neat stack, “sat at the next table pouring beer into an artificial plant. I noticed him when the beer splashed on my leg.”
A photo of the sandy-hair man reminded him of a young Brad Pitt. The girl with him thought so, too, judging by her adoring gaze. “Cain?”
“No.”
He purposely crowded her, making sure his shoulders and hips touched hers as they leaned over the lab table. She tapped the girl’s photo and inched away from his body. “This is Ellie, the girl who was murdered.”
He pushed the picture toward her and closed the distance between them, wanting to keep her off-guard, uncomfortable. “You’re outside. Where is this?”
Her nostrils flared slightly. She sniffed him again. He resisted raising his arm to check for body odor. His plan to keep her on-edge backfired since he felt like a specimen under her lens as she checked him out. Many women wanted to touch his face, but unless they were naked at the time, he refused. He wondered if she’d ask.
As though aware he covertly watched her, she re-focused her attention on the table. “Cottonwood Inn. I’d finished my job and was headed toward the surveillance van when the limo caught my eye.”
“Are these digital? Can we email them to my team?”
Mechanically, she bobbed her head, but he noticed the tension in the way she held her shoulders rigid, her lips pressed together in a tight line. What was she hiding?
“Do you want me to send the fingerprints and the copy of Cain McIntosh’s,” she pointed to another photo, “driver’s license and credit cards?”
“You have that?” He reached in his pocket for his phone. “I’m calling the team in. They can be here in the morning.”
Chapter Eight
This was what she’d wanted. Dreamed of, actually. To be part of a real investigation. To have access to data she wouldn’t normally have. To solve problems that made a difference. Cheating spouses were repetitive and boring. Without thinking, she clutched his forearm, ignoring the steel band of muscles that bunched underneath his jacket. “Will you let me help?”
He froze, the phone call suspended as he looked at her hand. Immediately she drew back.
“No.”
He’d used her. She’d spilled her guts and now he brushed her aside. This wasn’t right. “You expect me to blurt out everything I know, but you can’t let me be of assistance? I have skills. How do you think I got this stuff? You haven’t even seen the photos of the limo, yet.”
He tilted his head and studied her like a big dog approached an out-of-control kitten hissing and spitting, unsure how to proceed. Something about that gesture made her grit her teeth. Why did men always think they knew better, simply because they were bigger.
“You,” she stepped forward and poked her finger in his chest, “expect to ride in like the hero and scoop up information I risked my life getting.” Maybe a slight exaggeration, but he didn’t need to know that. “And then gallop off to save the day for untold women everywhere. Except I’m the one who’s been threatened.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she cursed her tongue. Just like her cousins, he growled when he wanted answers. “Who threatened you?” He gripped her hand to cease her finger poking. She hadn’t realized the air conditioner had chilled her skin until his warmth seeped into her.
“The guy with the limo.” She struggled to wrench her hand from his, but he didn’t release it.
“Start at the beginning. Tell me everything.” He snagged her second hand and forced both behind her, backing her until the stainless-steel table and the ungiving wall of his body hemmed her in. “Calm. Down.”
“How will that help?”
“Look at me.” He spoke quietly into her ear. Cezi flung her head backwards prepared at least verbally for round two. It was his eyes, she decided. She frequently
A photo of the sandy-hair man reminded him of a young Brad Pitt. The girl with him thought so, too, judging by her adoring gaze. “Cain?”
“No.”
He purposely crowded her, making sure his shoulders and hips touched hers as they leaned over the lab table. She tapped the girl’s photo and inched away from his body. “This is Ellie, the girl who was murdered.”
He pushed the picture toward her and closed the distance between them, wanting to keep her off-guard, uncomfortable. “You’re outside. Where is this?”
Her nostrils flared slightly. She sniffed him again. He resisted raising his arm to check for body odor. His plan to keep her on-edge backfired since he felt like a specimen under her lens as she checked him out. Many women wanted to touch his face, but unless they were naked at the time, he refused. He wondered if she’d ask.
As though aware he covertly watched her, she re-focused her attention on the table. “Cottonwood Inn. I’d finished my job and was headed toward the surveillance van when the limo caught my eye.”
“Are these digital? Can we email them to my team?”
Mechanically, she bobbed her head, but he noticed the tension in the way she held her shoulders rigid, her lips pressed together in a tight line. What was she hiding?
“Do you want me to send the fingerprints and the copy of Cain McIntosh’s,” she pointed to another photo, “driver’s license and credit cards?”
“You have that?” He reached in his pocket for his phone. “I’m calling the team in. They can be here in the morning.”
Chapter Eight
This was what she’d wanted. Dreamed of, actually. To be part of a real investigation. To have access to data she wouldn’t normally have. To solve problems that made a difference. Cheating spouses were repetitive and boring. Without thinking, she clutched his forearm, ignoring the steel band of muscles that bunched underneath his jacket. “Will you let me help?”
He froze, the phone call suspended as he looked at her hand. Immediately she drew back.
“No.”
He’d used her. She’d spilled her guts and now he brushed her aside. This wasn’t right. “You expect me to blurt out everything I know, but you can’t let me be of assistance? I have skills. How do you think I got this stuff? You haven’t even seen the photos of the limo, yet.”
He tilted his head and studied her like a big dog approached an out-of-control kitten hissing and spitting, unsure how to proceed. Something about that gesture made her grit her teeth. Why did men always think they knew better, simply because they were bigger.
“You,” she stepped forward and poked her finger in his chest, “expect to ride in like the hero and scoop up information I risked my life getting.” Maybe a slight exaggeration, but he didn’t need to know that. “And then gallop off to save the day for untold women everywhere. Except I’m the one who’s been threatened.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she cursed her tongue. Just like her cousins, he growled when he wanted answers. “Who threatened you?” He gripped her hand to cease her finger poking. She hadn’t realized the air conditioner had chilled her skin until his warmth seeped into her.
“The guy with the limo.” She struggled to wrench her hand from his, but he didn’t release it.
“Start at the beginning. Tell me everything.” He snagged her second hand and forced both behind her, backing her until the stainless-steel table and the ungiving wall of his body hemmed her in. “Calm. Down.”
“How will that help?”
“Look at me.” He spoke quietly into her ear. Cezi flung her head backwards prepared at least verbally for round two. It was his eyes, she decided. She frequently
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