strychnine. Raven knew their brew didn't need poison to be considered downright lethal. But the man eventually accepted the offer.
"Yeah, make it black."
As Tony disappeared among the throng of people, Raven escorted Delacorte to the elevators. After she punched two on the elevator panel, they were hoisted to the second floor. Glancing to her right, she caught his reflection in the dull metal doors. Those eyes. She remembered her visit to St. Sebastian's cemetery, seeing the name Delacorte chiseled in stone. The man's past reflected in his eyes now. Then again, maybe she read too much into him.
When they reached their destination, the doors opened. Out of reflex, Raven touched his elbow to direct him to the interrogation room. An innocent gesture. But the intensity of his stare took her aback. Her reaction had been tangible—like an electrical shock to the heart. Damn it all. Control yourself, Mackenzie.
"This way." She swallowed hard. "We've got number four."
Delacorte held out his hand, indicating she take the lead. Still, he hadn't said a word since the first floor. His effortless sensuality unnerved her. Only one way to combat that.
"You know, if you've lost your voice, maybe we should stop off on three. File a report."
Her sarcasm earned her continued silence on his part, but for an instant, she thought she saw a spark of humor in his eyes. His expression softened for a second. It caught her by surprise.
Aha! Score one for the Raven lunatic. She basked in the glow of her small victory. More than likely, wishful thinking tainted her perception. She'd love to melt his icy veneer to see what lay beneath. Then again, maybe his true nature would leave her wishing she'd left well enough alone. The thought of him with his guard down sent shivers across her skin. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this. It scared the hell out of her!
He allowed her to enter the room first, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the table strewn with photographic evidence. Raven was eager to see his reaction after they'd staged it for that purpose. And if he didn't recognize the church, she would ask him point-blank about the significance of the location. But his reaction had been anticlimactic. If Delacorte had been shocked by the graphic nature of the scenes, he never let on. His expression remained poised and unreadable as he sat in one of the chairs.
"The body was found in the small chapel at St. Sebastian's." She hesitated, allowing him time to react. Her eyes held firm, watching for a change in his body language. But the man looked unflappable as he thumbed through the photos.
"Was Mickey religious?" she finally asked.
A low chuckle escaped his chest, sounding more like he'd cleared his throat. "The only thing Mickey revered was the almighty dollar." Raising his gaze, he added, "And himself."
"Dunhill must pay pretty well. His apartment's nicely furnished and his clothes cost more than I'll make in a lifetime." She sat in the chair across from him. Her eyes never left his.
"That sounds like you're insinuating something, Detective." A thin smile appeared, then vanished. "Tomorrow morning, eight sharp at the Dunhill Tower on Michigan, ask for me. I trust you can detect your way there. I've got you set up with the Human Resources Department. They've been instructed to give you all that you need on Mickey Blair."
As if he'd heard a sound, he raised his head toward the large picture mirror along the far wall. Staring beyond his image reflected in the glass, Christian shifted his focus. Raven knew Tony stood in the next room, watching. Uncanny; the man seemed to sense her partner's presence.
"We'll want to see his office, too." Her voice rose a notch, echoing in the small room as she tried to distract him. "And any other place he might have personal effects."
"I'd anticipated that." He stood and stepped toward the glass, then turned abruptly to face her, leaning his back on the mirror with his arms folded across
"Yeah, make it black."
As Tony disappeared among the throng of people, Raven escorted Delacorte to the elevators. After she punched two on the elevator panel, they were hoisted to the second floor. Glancing to her right, she caught his reflection in the dull metal doors. Those eyes. She remembered her visit to St. Sebastian's cemetery, seeing the name Delacorte chiseled in stone. The man's past reflected in his eyes now. Then again, maybe she read too much into him.
When they reached their destination, the doors opened. Out of reflex, Raven touched his elbow to direct him to the interrogation room. An innocent gesture. But the intensity of his stare took her aback. Her reaction had been tangible—like an electrical shock to the heart. Damn it all. Control yourself, Mackenzie.
"This way." She swallowed hard. "We've got number four."
Delacorte held out his hand, indicating she take the lead. Still, he hadn't said a word since the first floor. His effortless sensuality unnerved her. Only one way to combat that.
"You know, if you've lost your voice, maybe we should stop off on three. File a report."
Her sarcasm earned her continued silence on his part, but for an instant, she thought she saw a spark of humor in his eyes. His expression softened for a second. It caught her by surprise.
Aha! Score one for the Raven lunatic. She basked in the glow of her small victory. More than likely, wishful thinking tainted her perception. She'd love to melt his icy veneer to see what lay beneath. Then again, maybe his true nature would leave her wishing she'd left well enough alone. The thought of him with his guard down sent shivers across her skin. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this. It scared the hell out of her!
He allowed her to enter the room first, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the table strewn with photographic evidence. Raven was eager to see his reaction after they'd staged it for that purpose. And if he didn't recognize the church, she would ask him point-blank about the significance of the location. But his reaction had been anticlimactic. If Delacorte had been shocked by the graphic nature of the scenes, he never let on. His expression remained poised and unreadable as he sat in one of the chairs.
"The body was found in the small chapel at St. Sebastian's." She hesitated, allowing him time to react. Her eyes held firm, watching for a change in his body language. But the man looked unflappable as he thumbed through the photos.
"Was Mickey religious?" she finally asked.
A low chuckle escaped his chest, sounding more like he'd cleared his throat. "The only thing Mickey revered was the almighty dollar." Raising his gaze, he added, "And himself."
"Dunhill must pay pretty well. His apartment's nicely furnished and his clothes cost more than I'll make in a lifetime." She sat in the chair across from him. Her eyes never left his.
"That sounds like you're insinuating something, Detective." A thin smile appeared, then vanished. "Tomorrow morning, eight sharp at the Dunhill Tower on Michigan, ask for me. I trust you can detect your way there. I've got you set up with the Human Resources Department. They've been instructed to give you all that you need on Mickey Blair."
As if he'd heard a sound, he raised his head toward the large picture mirror along the far wall. Staring beyond his image reflected in the glass, Christian shifted his focus. Raven knew Tony stood in the next room, watching. Uncanny; the man seemed to sense her partner's presence.
"We'll want to see his office, too." Her voice rose a notch, echoing in the small room as she tried to distract him. "And any other place he might have personal effects."
"I'd anticipated that." He stood and stepped toward the glass, then turned abruptly to face her, leaning his back on the mirror with his arms folded across
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