Read Online When Night Falls by Jenna Mills - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jenna Mills
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amusement as well. “Frisk me again?”
Surprise flickered through her. Not bloody likely, she answered silently. A woman didn’t touch lightning unless she had to.
“I’m going to take supreme advantage,” she said instead, “like any good cop would.”
An enigmatic light glinted in his eyes. “Wallace Clark’s daughter is going to take advantage of big bad William Armstrong? This could be interesting.”
“Not you,” she corrected, irritated with herself for enjoying the game. “The situation. You put on a good front. All that bluster and belligerence, that I-don’t-give-a-damn look in your eyes.” She braced a hand against the cold brick wall. “But tonight you proved you might have a sliver of humanity beneath that tyrannical facade, after all.”
The possibility intrigued more than it should have.
“If you’re approaching a point,” he said softly, dangerously, “feel free to make it.”
“My head hurts like hell, and my vision is blurred. I’m not sure I even remember where I parked my car. You could leave me here, alone, or you can keep playing hero.”
His gaze took on an assessing quality, one reminiscent of a cop on the prowl. But he said nothing. Just stepped closer, using his body to crowd her against the wall.
“Walk away,” she invited, intrigued by his reaction, “and prove to me you’re the heartless bastard you want everyone to think you are.”
Surprise registered in his deep blue eyes, but again, he said nothing. Just watched.
Her heart kicked a little harder. While he had her against a wall literally, she had him against one figuratively, and they both knew it. He could walk away from her and her questions, but in doing so, he’d leave an injured woman alone. If he took her up on her offer, he proved he was as cavalier as he wanted the world to believe.
If he didn’t, he admitted he wasn’t.
“Or stay,” she invited. “And face the music.” Face her. Prove what she was beginning to suspect about the kind of man he was.
Armstrong swore under his breath, triggering a glimmer of satisfaction. She knew he wanted everyone to think him a dark, sinister force, she just didn’t understand why. He’d demonstrated an altogether different side tonight in the bar, and the cop in her wanted to understand the dichotomy.
She refused to think about what the woman in her wanted.
He leaned closer, bracing a hand against the wall near her face. “I didn’t think games were your style, detective.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know my style.”
A low light gleamed in his eyes. “Tell me, then. Tell me what you want.”
The breath backed up in her throat. She was a trained cop. Tough, seasoned, prepared. She’d chased suspects down darkened alleys and up multiple flights of stairs, but she couldn’t recall feeling so winded while standing absolutely still.
“I want to know what you were doing down here in the first place,” she said. Maybe Kirby was right, after all. Maybe playing with William Armstrong was a little like playing with fire. “Deep Ellum hardly strikes me as your scene.”
“Like you said. You don’t know me well enough to know my scene.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, it’s not. But I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I? What are you doing down here? Following me? Last I knew you were calling it a night.”
She’d been in bed, all right. And she’d done as he asked. She’d dreamed. Of a man. Heat, intensity—
Jess broke off the thoughts, tempted to unfasten her leather coat and let some cool air in.
“Tell me something, Detective. If I found Braxton so easily, why didn’t you and your partner? Face it. You don’t want to help me.”
“Detective Long knows what he’s doing.” But damn it, Jess thought. How had Kirby missed this? Or had he? “You really think a kidnapper would come down here and play with his band if he’s got Emily tucked away?”
He lifted his free arm to the other side of her face,
Surprise flickered through her. Not bloody likely, she answered silently. A woman didn’t touch lightning unless she had to.
“I’m going to take supreme advantage,” she said instead, “like any good cop would.”
An enigmatic light glinted in his eyes. “Wallace Clark’s daughter is going to take advantage of big bad William Armstrong? This could be interesting.”
“Not you,” she corrected, irritated with herself for enjoying the game. “The situation. You put on a good front. All that bluster and belligerence, that I-don’t-give-a-damn look in your eyes.” She braced a hand against the cold brick wall. “But tonight you proved you might have a sliver of humanity beneath that tyrannical facade, after all.”
The possibility intrigued more than it should have.
“If you’re approaching a point,” he said softly, dangerously, “feel free to make it.”
“My head hurts like hell, and my vision is blurred. I’m not sure I even remember where I parked my car. You could leave me here, alone, or you can keep playing hero.”
His gaze took on an assessing quality, one reminiscent of a cop on the prowl. But he said nothing. Just stepped closer, using his body to crowd her against the wall.
“Walk away,” she invited, intrigued by his reaction, “and prove to me you’re the heartless bastard you want everyone to think you are.”
Surprise registered in his deep blue eyes, but again, he said nothing. Just watched.
Her heart kicked a little harder. While he had her against a wall literally, she had him against one figuratively, and they both knew it. He could walk away from her and her questions, but in doing so, he’d leave an injured woman alone. If he took her up on her offer, he proved he was as cavalier as he wanted the world to believe.
If he didn’t, he admitted he wasn’t.
“Or stay,” she invited. “And face the music.” Face her. Prove what she was beginning to suspect about the kind of man he was.
Armstrong swore under his breath, triggering a glimmer of satisfaction. She knew he wanted everyone to think him a dark, sinister force, she just didn’t understand why. He’d demonstrated an altogether different side tonight in the bar, and the cop in her wanted to understand the dichotomy.
She refused to think about what the woman in her wanted.
He leaned closer, bracing a hand against the wall near her face. “I didn’t think games were your style, detective.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know my style.”
A low light gleamed in his eyes. “Tell me, then. Tell me what you want.”
The breath backed up in her throat. She was a trained cop. Tough, seasoned, prepared. She’d chased suspects down darkened alleys and up multiple flights of stairs, but she couldn’t recall feeling so winded while standing absolutely still.
“I want to know what you were doing down here in the first place,” she said. Maybe Kirby was right, after all. Maybe playing with William Armstrong was a little like playing with fire. “Deep Ellum hardly strikes me as your scene.”
“Like you said. You don’t know me well enough to know my scene.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, it’s not. But I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I? What are you doing down here? Following me? Last I knew you were calling it a night.”
She’d been in bed, all right. And she’d done as he asked. She’d dreamed. Of a man. Heat, intensity—
Jess broke off the thoughts, tempted to unfasten her leather coat and let some cool air in.
“Tell me something, Detective. If I found Braxton so easily, why didn’t you and your partner? Face it. You don’t want to help me.”
“Detective Long knows what he’s doing.” But damn it, Jess thought. How had Kirby missed this? Or had he? “You really think a kidnapper would come down here and play with his band if he’s got Emily tucked away?”
He lifted his free arm to the other side of her face,
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