He’s not going anywhere.”
I must have paled considerably—or gone completely green—because Hayes blew out a resigned sigh and clicked on the lights and sirens. Then he sunk the accelerator to the floor and we jerked through an intersection, cars screeching around us, action-movie style.
“He’s dead, remember? Not going anywhere? This is not a chase scene from Cops!”
“If only,” Hayes muttered as we reached the commute gridlock on Market Street. I saw heads swinging in our direction, tourists hugging their GAP purchases to their chests, civilian cars peeling to the sides to let us through as our police sirens howled.
I started to feel Hayes’s adrenaline, and as we sliced through town, I tried to hold back a grin.
“Can I get a set of these lights and sirens for my Honda?” I asked, poking at the ceiling. “It would seriously cut my commute time in half.”
Hayes chuckled and took a corner at record speed and I rolled into him, my seat belt cutting off my circulation, my head thumping against his chest. His firm, soap-smelling chest. I breathed deeply, hoping my olfactory ogling wasn’t completely obvious.
“You women are always turned on by danger,” he said, staring down at me with a seductive grin.
I struggled to sit up, to keep myself from getting too comfortable, nestled against his chest. “As if,” I managed to mutter, letting my heartbeat slow to a normal rate.
After a few minutes, Hayes slowed the car down and pulled into the driveway of a swanky Pacific Heights Victorian. As he pushed the gearshift into park I noticed the crime-scene tape, the swarm of cops and onlookers, and then it hit me: there’s probably a dead person inside that house. I clamped my mouth shut, feeling my teeth begin to chatter. My heart started to speed up again.
He killed the engine, pulling the key out of the ignition. Hayes kicked open the car door and stepped out, then dipped his head back inside and looked at me. My feet were bolted to the floor, my eyes boring through the windshield at the one-car garage door in front of me. My palms were damp, and I held them firm against my thighs.
“You coming, Lawson?”
I tried to lick my lips, but I had no saliva. I prayed to God, Buddha, Oprah—whoever might be listening—then forced my lips to move. “Is it still in there?” My voice came out raspy and low.
Hayes’s dark eyebrows shot up, almost lost in the soft brown curls that tousled against his forehead. “It? You mean the perp? No, he’s not still inside.”
Hayes sat down again in the driver’s seat and looked at me, his blue eyes warm and concerned. “The place was clean when the guys got in here. From what I hear, the vic may have been dead awhile.” He reached out and touched my arm softly, his fingertips soft and trailing up my forearm.
“You’re fine. You’ve got practically every cop in the area looking out for you.” He grinned. “Plus one very adequate detective.”
My stomach flip-flopped, but not in the delighted, hot-guy-touching-me sort of way. It was just that I had never seen a dead person who was actually … dead.
“The body,” I whispered, “will it still be in there?”
Hayes looked confused, his dark eyebrows knitting together. “Of course. This is a crime scene. They won’t have moved anything—or anyone—until we go through. Is that what you’re afraid of? Seeing the body?”
I bit my lip. “Um, no.” I forced a nonchalant lilt into my voice, not wanting to appear the meek, freaked-out little girly girl that I actually was. “I was just checking.”
Hayes blinked, a small smile playing on his lips. His voice went soft and I was touched by the kind warmth in it. “It’s never easy walking into a crime scene, Lawson, but we really need you here to help with this. You’ll be okay, I promise.”
I nodded, certain that if I opened my mouth to answer properly, my thundering heart would fall out onto the car floor.
Stepping out of the car, I followed
I must have paled considerably—or gone completely green—because Hayes blew out a resigned sigh and clicked on the lights and sirens. Then he sunk the accelerator to the floor and we jerked through an intersection, cars screeching around us, action-movie style.
“He’s dead, remember? Not going anywhere? This is not a chase scene from Cops!”
“If only,” Hayes muttered as we reached the commute gridlock on Market Street. I saw heads swinging in our direction, tourists hugging their GAP purchases to their chests, civilian cars peeling to the sides to let us through as our police sirens howled.
I started to feel Hayes’s adrenaline, and as we sliced through town, I tried to hold back a grin.
“Can I get a set of these lights and sirens for my Honda?” I asked, poking at the ceiling. “It would seriously cut my commute time in half.”
Hayes chuckled and took a corner at record speed and I rolled into him, my seat belt cutting off my circulation, my head thumping against his chest. His firm, soap-smelling chest. I breathed deeply, hoping my olfactory ogling wasn’t completely obvious.
“You women are always turned on by danger,” he said, staring down at me with a seductive grin.
I struggled to sit up, to keep myself from getting too comfortable, nestled against his chest. “As if,” I managed to mutter, letting my heartbeat slow to a normal rate.
After a few minutes, Hayes slowed the car down and pulled into the driveway of a swanky Pacific Heights Victorian. As he pushed the gearshift into park I noticed the crime-scene tape, the swarm of cops and onlookers, and then it hit me: there’s probably a dead person inside that house. I clamped my mouth shut, feeling my teeth begin to chatter. My heart started to speed up again.
He killed the engine, pulling the key out of the ignition. Hayes kicked open the car door and stepped out, then dipped his head back inside and looked at me. My feet were bolted to the floor, my eyes boring through the windshield at the one-car garage door in front of me. My palms were damp, and I held them firm against my thighs.
“You coming, Lawson?”
I tried to lick my lips, but I had no saliva. I prayed to God, Buddha, Oprah—whoever might be listening—then forced my lips to move. “Is it still in there?” My voice came out raspy and low.
Hayes’s dark eyebrows shot up, almost lost in the soft brown curls that tousled against his forehead. “It? You mean the perp? No, he’s not still inside.”
Hayes sat down again in the driver’s seat and looked at me, his blue eyes warm and concerned. “The place was clean when the guys got in here. From what I hear, the vic may have been dead awhile.” He reached out and touched my arm softly, his fingertips soft and trailing up my forearm.
“You’re fine. You’ve got practically every cop in the area looking out for you.” He grinned. “Plus one very adequate detective.”
My stomach flip-flopped, but not in the delighted, hot-guy-touching-me sort of way. It was just that I had never seen a dead person who was actually … dead.
“The body,” I whispered, “will it still be in there?”
Hayes looked confused, his dark eyebrows knitting together. “Of course. This is a crime scene. They won’t have moved anything—or anyone—until we go through. Is that what you’re afraid of? Seeing the body?”
I bit my lip. “Um, no.” I forced a nonchalant lilt into my voice, not wanting to appear the meek, freaked-out little girly girl that I actually was. “I was just checking.”
Hayes blinked, a small smile playing on his lips. His voice went soft and I was touched by the kind warmth in it. “It’s never easy walking into a crime scene, Lawson, but we really need you here to help with this. You’ll be okay, I promise.”
I nodded, certain that if I opened my mouth to answer properly, my thundering heart would fall out onto the car floor.
Stepping out of the car, I followed
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