Read Online THE FIRST SIN by Cheyenne McCray - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cheyenne McCray
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sonofabitch. I got out of the Explorer and shut the door harder than I should have. When we met up at the back of the SUV, I narrowed my gaze at him. “So what’s the deal?”
“We’re going to an Italian place I just discovered on Salem.” He turned away and I jogged a little to keep up. “So you figured out Little Italy all on your own.” Okay, I know my tone was sarcastic, but I was tired and irritated at this man’s arrogance. He didn’t have an accent that I could identify, so I knew he wasn’t from Boston. He probably came from the western side of the United States. He looked at me. “Are you always such a pain in the ass?”
“When someone forces me to do something I don’t want to, yeah, I am.” I wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore, so I didn’t say anything else until we reached an Italian “restorante” and bar and were seated.
The aromas of Italian food almost made me melt. It smelled so good that my stomach started to rumble despite the fact that I was ticked at Donovan.
As soon as the host handed us menus and walked away, I set my menu aside, folded my arms on the table, and focused on Donovan. “All right. So talk.”
“We need to set some things straight. His eyes had gone from vivid blue to a darker shade. Cobalt. He kept his tone neutral, but by the way the muscles in his neck corded and his jaw tensed he was obviously feeling anything but neutral. “Let’s make this clear.” His gaze focused on mine and I refused to blink. “We’re partners, and from this point on it’s our op. Not yours. Ours.”
A busboy set glasses of ice water on the table and bread that smelled strongly of garlic, but I didn’t take my gaze from Donovan’s. “I built Operation Cinderella from the ground up.” The surface of the cloth-covered table was rough beneath my arms as I faced off with him. “I don’t have a problem with you as a partner. But I call the shots.”
“Bullshit.” Donovan let out a sound that was like a low rumble, and his jaw worked as if he was grinding his teeth. “I’m not playing second fiddle in this op.”
The waiter arrived and we could barely take our glares from one another long enough for Donovan to order a bottle of Chianti and grilled bruschetta for an appetizer. Right then I didn’t care that he had the audacity to order for both of us. I cared more about his attitude about Operation Cinderella.
I shifted my arms, rumpling the tablecloth. ‘Team Supervisors don’t work in pairs, and I don’t need your interference.” The waiter returned, presented the bottle of Chianti, and poured it into our glasses when Donovan gave his approval. Without looking at the menu or the waiter, Donovan said, “We’ll have the veal marsala.’”
Obviously the waiter sensed the fact that his presence wasn’t wanted. He bowed and hurried away. “Well?” My tone was entirely hostile.
“Kristin. My sister.” Donovan’s voice was suddenly coarse, raw. ‘The bastards took her. She was sold as a sex slave in that auction you’re tracking. To an international buyer or domestic, I don’t know.”
“Christ.” I stared at Donovan like I’d been slammed in the face.
There’s a reason why cops aren’t assigned to cases that they might be too close to. Emotions run too high and smarts and a clear head take a flying leap.
My stomach clenched at the thought of what he was going through. It wasn’t like I didn’t understand. I personally wanted to bring these bastards down for killing one of my own. But my relationship with Randolph wasn’t that of a sister or even my partner.
The fury was still hot inside of me, but my mind was clear on what needed to be done and it would stay clear. As a matter of fact the heat of my fury was rising inside of me even now, but not because of my dead agent. I wondered what the hell Oxford was thinking letting this guy even within ten feet of my operation.
I studied Donovan more sharply as my mind worked that question over.
Karen
“We’re going to an Italian place I just discovered on Salem.” He turned away and I jogged a little to keep up. “So you figured out Little Italy all on your own.” Okay, I know my tone was sarcastic, but I was tired and irritated at this man’s arrogance. He didn’t have an accent that I could identify, so I knew he wasn’t from Boston. He probably came from the western side of the United States. He looked at me. “Are you always such a pain in the ass?”
“When someone forces me to do something I don’t want to, yeah, I am.” I wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore, so I didn’t say anything else until we reached an Italian “restorante” and bar and were seated.
The aromas of Italian food almost made me melt. It smelled so good that my stomach started to rumble despite the fact that I was ticked at Donovan.
As soon as the host handed us menus and walked away, I set my menu aside, folded my arms on the table, and focused on Donovan. “All right. So talk.”
“We need to set some things straight. His eyes had gone from vivid blue to a darker shade. Cobalt. He kept his tone neutral, but by the way the muscles in his neck corded and his jaw tensed he was obviously feeling anything but neutral. “Let’s make this clear.” His gaze focused on mine and I refused to blink. “We’re partners, and from this point on it’s our op. Not yours. Ours.”
A busboy set glasses of ice water on the table and bread that smelled strongly of garlic, but I didn’t take my gaze from Donovan’s. “I built Operation Cinderella from the ground up.” The surface of the cloth-covered table was rough beneath my arms as I faced off with him. “I don’t have a problem with you as a partner. But I call the shots.”
“Bullshit.” Donovan let out a sound that was like a low rumble, and his jaw worked as if he was grinding his teeth. “I’m not playing second fiddle in this op.”
The waiter arrived and we could barely take our glares from one another long enough for Donovan to order a bottle of Chianti and grilled bruschetta for an appetizer. Right then I didn’t care that he had the audacity to order for both of us. I cared more about his attitude about Operation Cinderella.
I shifted my arms, rumpling the tablecloth. ‘Team Supervisors don’t work in pairs, and I don’t need your interference.” The waiter returned, presented the bottle of Chianti, and poured it into our glasses when Donovan gave his approval. Without looking at the menu or the waiter, Donovan said, “We’ll have the veal marsala.’”
Obviously the waiter sensed the fact that his presence wasn’t wanted. He bowed and hurried away. “Well?” My tone was entirely hostile.
“Kristin. My sister.” Donovan’s voice was suddenly coarse, raw. ‘The bastards took her. She was sold as a sex slave in that auction you’re tracking. To an international buyer or domestic, I don’t know.”
“Christ.” I stared at Donovan like I’d been slammed in the face.
There’s a reason why cops aren’t assigned to cases that they might be too close to. Emotions run too high and smarts and a clear head take a flying leap.
My stomach clenched at the thought of what he was going through. It wasn’t like I didn’t understand. I personally wanted to bring these bastards down for killing one of my own. But my relationship with Randolph wasn’t that of a sister or even my partner.
The fury was still hot inside of me, but my mind was clear on what needed to be done and it would stay clear. As a matter of fact the heat of my fury was rising inside of me even now, but not because of my dead agent. I wondered what the hell Oxford was thinking letting this guy even within ten feet of my operation.
I studied Donovan more sharply as my mind worked that question over.
Karen
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