as she plugged in a kettle. “And I’m staying in a fucking motel?” His attempt to simulate humor failed.
“That’s right, you are,” she insisted. And as he continued to scan the place, she walked up and poked him firmly in the chest. “Don’t even think about it.”
Frustrated, he argued, “How do you rate?”
Vicki hated being questioned on everything she did—all the steps she put into motion during her investigations. She took the time to plan ahead, have systems and people in place so she could make things happen with a phone call—a trait she refused to attribute to her father. Many resented her for it, but she knew what assumptions were driving Hank’s resentment. “Maybe if you’d show a little cleavage, you’d get your way too.”
“Bullshit.” He tried to pretend this wasn’t exactly what he was thinking.
“That’s how I do it, you know? I suck and fuck my way into getting anything I want.” She glared at him with complete disdain. “That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
Her accusation sliced like a knife to the belly—because it was true. “I didn’t—”
Her tone sharpened. “During the salary freeze last year, I negotiated a side deal in lieu of my well-deserved raise. I do a good job for the bureau. This is the least they can do.”
His mouth ran away without him. “A lot of people do a good job.”
“Well, I do it better, and I have my own people make the arrangements. The bureau only has to sign the expense report. Besides, there is nothing stopping anyone else from asking, is there?” She lurched forward into his face. “That’s the difference between me and someone like you—I actually have the balls to ask.”
She was right up in his face. Head pounding, sandpaper scraping across his skin, fists clenching, he had never wished that a beautiful woman were a big, burly man so badly in his life.
She knew he was done, but her voice remained cold. “Why don’t you go home and shower or something? You look like a grubby hobo.”
This was something he intended to do long before she had opened her big, fat mouth. He stared through her, seething. She stood there before him wearing her tailored, skintight pantsuit, too many buttons free from modest constraint. She wore it too well—her fury making her all the more desirable. He bit back calling her a whore, an arrogant bitch—because that wasn’t who he really was.
He despised the hold she had over him. She dressed professionally, but found a way to wear it so that it magnified her already powerful attraction—worn to drive men mad, and it was working. If this woman was ever to offer herself, it would be on her terms and her terms alone. Her price would be the man’s free will—and she would get her price. He hated himself—his damned weakness … the male weakness. His skin ached, and his head throbbed—his muscles sizzled as if they were dipped in acid.
He sucked it deep, trying his best, but the words still came out like a curse. “What about the report?”
Wrath flashed across her face. “Trust me. I won’t screw you over, Hank.”
“I didn’t—” He stopped. She was right—he was done. He shouldn’t have come. Report be damned. He left.
† † †
Sheriff Roscoe watched the mayor calm the crowd down a third time as clamorous echoes filled the room, eroding any chance that the speaker could be heard. Tensions were running higher than he had expected.
“Silence!” Travers finally yelled into the microphone. “I said, silence !” That second louder command permeated the noise and swallowed it down to the ordered murmur. “As I said earlier, details cannot be forthcoming at this stage, unless the agents feel it’s helpful.”
Voices tumbled over louder voices. “I said, quiet!” His scream slipped into a punishing feedback loop from the microphone. The crowd winced into silence.
An old farmer took advantage of the dwindling roar and stood out of turn. “I heard he lobbed her head
“That’s right, you are,” she insisted. And as he continued to scan the place, she walked up and poked him firmly in the chest. “Don’t even think about it.”
Frustrated, he argued, “How do you rate?”
Vicki hated being questioned on everything she did—all the steps she put into motion during her investigations. She took the time to plan ahead, have systems and people in place so she could make things happen with a phone call—a trait she refused to attribute to her father. Many resented her for it, but she knew what assumptions were driving Hank’s resentment. “Maybe if you’d show a little cleavage, you’d get your way too.”
“Bullshit.” He tried to pretend this wasn’t exactly what he was thinking.
“That’s how I do it, you know? I suck and fuck my way into getting anything I want.” She glared at him with complete disdain. “That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
Her accusation sliced like a knife to the belly—because it was true. “I didn’t—”
Her tone sharpened. “During the salary freeze last year, I negotiated a side deal in lieu of my well-deserved raise. I do a good job for the bureau. This is the least they can do.”
His mouth ran away without him. “A lot of people do a good job.”
“Well, I do it better, and I have my own people make the arrangements. The bureau only has to sign the expense report. Besides, there is nothing stopping anyone else from asking, is there?” She lurched forward into his face. “That’s the difference between me and someone like you—I actually have the balls to ask.”
She was right up in his face. Head pounding, sandpaper scraping across his skin, fists clenching, he had never wished that a beautiful woman were a big, burly man so badly in his life.
She knew he was done, but her voice remained cold. “Why don’t you go home and shower or something? You look like a grubby hobo.”
This was something he intended to do long before she had opened her big, fat mouth. He stared through her, seething. She stood there before him wearing her tailored, skintight pantsuit, too many buttons free from modest constraint. She wore it too well—her fury making her all the more desirable. He bit back calling her a whore, an arrogant bitch—because that wasn’t who he really was.
He despised the hold she had over him. She dressed professionally, but found a way to wear it so that it magnified her already powerful attraction—worn to drive men mad, and it was working. If this woman was ever to offer herself, it would be on her terms and her terms alone. Her price would be the man’s free will—and she would get her price. He hated himself—his damned weakness … the male weakness. His skin ached, and his head throbbed—his muscles sizzled as if they were dipped in acid.
He sucked it deep, trying his best, but the words still came out like a curse. “What about the report?”
Wrath flashed across her face. “Trust me. I won’t screw you over, Hank.”
“I didn’t—” He stopped. She was right—he was done. He shouldn’t have come. Report be damned. He left.
† † †
Sheriff Roscoe watched the mayor calm the crowd down a third time as clamorous echoes filled the room, eroding any chance that the speaker could be heard. Tensions were running higher than he had expected.
“Silence!” Travers finally yelled into the microphone. “I said, silence !” That second louder command permeated the noise and swallowed it down to the ordered murmur. “As I said earlier, details cannot be forthcoming at this stage, unless the agents feel it’s helpful.”
Voices tumbled over louder voices. “I said, quiet!” His scream slipped into a punishing feedback loop from the microphone. The crowd winced into silence.
An old farmer took advantage of the dwindling roar and stood out of turn. “I heard he lobbed her head
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