out on her dining-room
table, and she’d placed the files she’d brought to McGill’s on the table, too.
He shuffled through them, frowning despite himself when he saw the crime-scene
photos. He’d heard about the most graphic aspects of the case, but it was always
different when you had specifics in front of you. The Embalmer was a sick fuck,
all the more sick because he was so organized and methodical. According to Mac,
who’d talked to the Fresno P.D., everything The Embalmer did had a purpose.
Special meaning. No one had been able to figure out exactly what, though.
Knowing Carrie would want to get started immediately, Jase used
the hallway bathroom. It was just as frilly as the living room, with a lacy
shower curtain, rose-colored towels and little flower-shaped soaps next to the
sink. When he washed his hands, he once again inhaled the heady, sweet smell of
cinnamon. He dried off with one of her rose-colored towels. She seemed fond of
the color, which was odd. She never wore it. Always went with neutral colors.
Nothing feminine.
Again, questions came to mind. Why was she ashamed of shooting
Porter? Because she’d done it only after he’d gotten the drop on her? Or because
he’d gotten the drop on a female cop? Now that he was here, seeing how
ruthlessly she separated the two parts of herself—the woman and the cop—he was
sure he was right. It also made him wonder if it was the real reason she fought
him so much. Because he made her feel like a woman when she was on the job, and
it was the last thing she could handle.
When he came out of the bathroom, Carrie was in the kitchen
with her back turned to him. For a second, he simply enjoyed the sight of her
looking as casual as he’d ever seen her. She wore a loose T-shirt and sweats.
Her hair was still damp and hung loose around her face. Her feet were bare.
He could only see the faintest hint of her heels below the hem
of her sweats, but those few inches of pale creaminess were enough to make his
mouth start watering. Just like that, he wanted to remove her clothes and kiss
her from bottom to top, but he knew he couldn’t. He’d offered his help, and that
was what he would damn well give her. All he was going to do tonight was work
the case with her. He wasn’t going to flirt with her. Wasn’t going to try to
kiss her again. Certainly wasn’t going to wheedle his way into her bedroom and
prove to her that no matter what she did for a living and no matter how hard she
tried to deny it, she was first and foremost a beautiful, desirable woman.
He didn’t care. He was looking forward to a few hours talking
shop with her far more than he’d anticipated any of his dates or bedmates
in…well, he didn’t know in how long.
He cleared his throat, and she turned to face him.
She was wearing glasses. Sexy librarian glasses that reminded
him of a favorite fantasy of his.
“So did you have a chance to look at any of this?” she
asked.
He thought of the album and scrapbook he’d viewed. Wanted to
express his admiration for her. Wanted to ask her about her life. All the things
he didn’t know about her. Instead, he said, “I sure did. Looks like you’ve got
your hands full with this one, Carrie.” And maybe because he was trying so hard
to ignore his desire for her, he said the worst thing possible. “Now more than
ever, I’m surprised Mac and the commander agreed to give you the lead.”
* * *
A S SOON AS THE WORDS left his mouth, Carrie could
see Jase regretted them. Briefly closing his eyes, he shook his head and
groaned, “Way to go, Jase.”
It was the only reason she held back her instinctive urge to
gouge his eyes out.
He held up his hands surrender-style. “Look. That came out
wrong. You’re a good cop, Carrie, but even as far as serial cases go, this one
looks complicated. And we both know you’ve never worked a serial case before,
that’s all I meant.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” she said mildly.
“Sure, but
table, and she’d placed the files she’d brought to McGill’s on the table, too.
He shuffled through them, frowning despite himself when he saw the crime-scene
photos. He’d heard about the most graphic aspects of the case, but it was always
different when you had specifics in front of you. The Embalmer was a sick fuck,
all the more sick because he was so organized and methodical. According to Mac,
who’d talked to the Fresno P.D., everything The Embalmer did had a purpose.
Special meaning. No one had been able to figure out exactly what, though.
Knowing Carrie would want to get started immediately, Jase used
the hallway bathroom. It was just as frilly as the living room, with a lacy
shower curtain, rose-colored towels and little flower-shaped soaps next to the
sink. When he washed his hands, he once again inhaled the heady, sweet smell of
cinnamon. He dried off with one of her rose-colored towels. She seemed fond of
the color, which was odd. She never wore it. Always went with neutral colors.
Nothing feminine.
Again, questions came to mind. Why was she ashamed of shooting
Porter? Because she’d done it only after he’d gotten the drop on her? Or because
he’d gotten the drop on a female cop? Now that he was here, seeing how
ruthlessly she separated the two parts of herself—the woman and the cop—he was
sure he was right. It also made him wonder if it was the real reason she fought
him so much. Because he made her feel like a woman when she was on the job, and
it was the last thing she could handle.
When he came out of the bathroom, Carrie was in the kitchen
with her back turned to him. For a second, he simply enjoyed the sight of her
looking as casual as he’d ever seen her. She wore a loose T-shirt and sweats.
Her hair was still damp and hung loose around her face. Her feet were bare.
He could only see the faintest hint of her heels below the hem
of her sweats, but those few inches of pale creaminess were enough to make his
mouth start watering. Just like that, he wanted to remove her clothes and kiss
her from bottom to top, but he knew he couldn’t. He’d offered his help, and that
was what he would damn well give her. All he was going to do tonight was work
the case with her. He wasn’t going to flirt with her. Wasn’t going to try to
kiss her again. Certainly wasn’t going to wheedle his way into her bedroom and
prove to her that no matter what she did for a living and no matter how hard she
tried to deny it, she was first and foremost a beautiful, desirable woman.
He didn’t care. He was looking forward to a few hours talking
shop with her far more than he’d anticipated any of his dates or bedmates
in…well, he didn’t know in how long.
He cleared his throat, and she turned to face him.
She was wearing glasses. Sexy librarian glasses that reminded
him of a favorite fantasy of his.
“So did you have a chance to look at any of this?” she
asked.
He thought of the album and scrapbook he’d viewed. Wanted to
express his admiration for her. Wanted to ask her about her life. All the things
he didn’t know about her. Instead, he said, “I sure did. Looks like you’ve got
your hands full with this one, Carrie.” And maybe because he was trying so hard
to ignore his desire for her, he said the worst thing possible. “Now more than
ever, I’m surprised Mac and the commander agreed to give you the lead.”
* * *
A S SOON AS THE WORDS left his mouth, Carrie could
see Jase regretted them. Briefly closing his eyes, he shook his head and
groaned, “Way to go, Jase.”
It was the only reason she held back her instinctive urge to
gouge his eyes out.
He held up his hands surrender-style. “Look. That came out
wrong. You’re a good cop, Carrie, but even as far as serial cases go, this one
looks complicated. And we both know you’ve never worked a serial case before,
that’s all I meant.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” she said mildly.
“Sure, but
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