“Would you mind telling me why you were investigating this crime scene?” she asked, scribbling something on her pad and then looking up at him with a hooded gaze. Thick long lashes fluttered over her dark green eyes.
He lifted one shoulder lazily. Last thing he needed was his name going on file as having offered a tip to local law enforcement. He was home on downtime, but not necessarily by choice. “I’m an investigator. If a crime happens in front of you, wouldn’t you check it out?”
She put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand, studying him. A small smile he bet meant anything but amusement appeared. “It would depend on the situation. So this girl was murdered right in front of you?”
“She was murdered in front of a few hundred people,” he pointed out. “People you sent packing.”
“That wasn’t my doing,” she muttered under her breath.
Detective or not, she must not have a lot of rank. Possibly the older gentleman he saw headed up this investigation. He glanced around, no longer seeing him. The ME was securing the body on a gurney while two uniforms spoke with the staff behind the counter.
“Look,” he offered. “Your girl over there was drugged, slipped a Mickey. She collapsed off the barstool. A few people tripped over her until a bouncer noticed she was down. When they couldn’t revive her, they called 911. You’ve got the rest.”
“And I knew all of that before I came over here,” she said tightly. “You noticed something and you’re holding out on me, why?”
Maybe she was a better cop than he originally thought she was. “Yes, I noticed something. And it’s something you should have noticed, too.” Chase sighed. He wasn’t here to judge her. And maybe if he hadn’t been FBI for most of his adult life, he could actually be a normal citizen when taking time off. “Look. It’s late. You know who I am and I’m sure you can find me if you need to.”
“Give me contact information,” she said, her pen poised. “And then tell me why you’re holding out on me,” she added, glancing up at him through her thick lashes. A long strand of hair drifted over the side of her face and she tucked it behind her ear.
Chase lowered his gaze to her cleavage, which was more visible now with her sitting and hunching over her note pad. “I don’t want to go on record as helping you with this case. And trust me, you don’t want my name involved with your investigation.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m not a good FBI agent,” he told her simply.
Detective Ashley Jones cocked one eyebrow, raising her pen and chewing on the end of it, her full lips puckering around the narrow tip. Yet another distraction. He couldn’t help wondering if she knew how sexual her act appeared, and if she did, why she was using such tactics on him? To get him to open up to her? Hell, he’d been tried, used, and abused by much better manipulators than this pretty little cop.
She wrote something on her pad, tore off the bottom half of the page, and slid the paper across the table to him. “Thanks for your time, Special Agent Reed,” she said, standing and closing her notebook.
Chase glanced down at the piece of torn paper without touching it. We’ll keep it off the record then. Call me. 314-840-9334. Ashley.
He slid the piece of paper off the table and then into his back pocket. Heading for the door, he ignored the curious looks the uniforms gave him and didn’t look at Ashley. And to think he’d doubted he’d head home with any phone numbers tonight. Looked like he’d scored after all, and with the hottest woman he’d seen in that club all night.
CHAPTER 2
“CRAP!” ASH SLOWED when she turned onto her street, hesitating when she saw her ex’s car parked in front of her house. “Not now,” she moaned.
Danny was the last person in the world she wanted to deal with right now. It had been a long day, preceded by a really long night. She didn’t have enough energy to take him on.
Her cell phone rang and she picked it up out of her cup holder on her dash, staring at the word “unknown” on her small screen. Her gut tightened. This was her personal phone, her private number that only her closest friends and her parents knew. There wasn’t any reason for anyone to block their number and call her. And she was pretty sure it was next to impossible for anyone to track the number down.
It rang a third time and then a fourth while she crawled down the street, practically coasting, and nearing her home. As it quit ringing, going to voice mail, Danny turned in his driver’s seat and then opened his car door. She had half a mind to accelerate and lose him before he could follow her.
Ash pushed the button to roll down her passenger window as she pulled up alongside Danny. “I’ve had no sleep. I’m tired and I’m grouchy. So if you’ve come over to fight, we’re going to have to reschedule.”
“I’m not here to fight.” He sounded uncharacteristically passive. Which made her even more leery of talking to him.
Rolling her window up, she turned in front of his car and pulled into her driveway just as her cell phone buzzed, indicating voice mail. If she pushed her garage-door opener on her visor and pulled in to her garage, Danny would walk in behind her. It would be hell getting him out of her house. And she didn’t want him inside. She didn’t want to leave her car parked in her driveway, either.
“Double crap,” she groaned, resigning herself to putting her car away. She was too exhausted to have to come back out and pull it into the garage later.
Danny stood alongside her car in the dark garage as she grabbed her purse and phone. Whoever had blocked their number and called had left a voice-mail message and in spite of her ever-growing exhaustion she wanted to hear the message.
Would it be the FBI hunk she’d run into at Club Toro?
“You look like hell,” Danny said, closing in on her before she could shut her car door.
“What do you want, Danny?” She didn’t stop him when he reached around her and closed her car door for her.
The garage door closed, engulfing them in darkness. Ash made her way to the door leading into her kitchen, punching in the security code for the alarm, and then opening the door to her home.
“I wanted to talk to you about . . .” He hesitated, leaning on the doorknob just inside the kitchen. “Mindy Simpson.”
Ash dropped her purse on the kitchen table and stared at her ex. In the four years since their divorce, he’d put on some weight. She’d heard he was dating someone now but did her best not to keep up with his life. With no kids, and not much property shared, their divorce had been as amiable as could be, and there had been little reason to keep in contact since. Danny usually seemed to find reason though, especially if he needed to take advantage of her being a cop. She should have guessed tonight’s visit wouldn’t be anything different.
“Why are you asking about her?” she asked.
“She was killed last night.”
“I know. I was on scene.”
“That’s what I heard.” He let go of the doorknob and ran his hand over his closely shaved head, his entire body seeming to deflate when he exhaled loudly. “Can you tell me . . . I mean. Hell,” he groaned, looking absolutely tortured when he lifted his watery eyes to her. “Did she suffer a lot before she died?”
“Oh hell, Danny. Don’t tell me you were seeing Mindy Simpson. She was twenty-three years old.” No one she’d interviewed who’d claimed to know Mindy had mentioned Danny.
She wasn’t sure she remembered him ever looking so upset. Danny was all man, the macho, never-let-them-seeyou-cry type of guy. Yet the man who stood in her kitchen looked like he’d just lost his puppy, or worse, someone he really cared about.
“I’m sorry, Danny,” she said, hugging herself and refusing to hug him. If he came over thinking she might crack and feel sorry for him, he’d learn soon enough she was made of tougher stuff than that. “How well did you know Mindy?”
“I’ve actually known her a couple years. We were on the same bowling league together. I took her out six months or so ago and we’ve been kind of o
n again, off again ever since.”
“So were you on again, or off again as of last night?”
“We were going to go out last night but got into an argument. Hell, Ash, some of her stuff is at my house right now.”
“You were supposed to go out last night but got into a fight? Did you know she was at Club Toro?”
“She went there to spite me,” he growled.
“Goddamn, Danny. You get in a fight with your girlfriend who then goes to one of the largest meat markets in town to spite you and ends up dead— murdered,” she stressed.
“Wait a minute.” His anguished look disappeared and Danny straightened, narrowing his gaze on her. “Don’t you start playing cop with me, sweetheart.”
“I’m not playing cop. I am a cop,” she stressed. “And I told you I was too tired to fight.” Regardless of what he might have thought coming over here, what he had just done made him a stronger suspect than anyone they had right now. Pointing that out to him would start one hell of a fight, and one she was most definitely not in the mood for. “Why are you here, Danny?”
“I want you to tell me what happened. Who the hell did this to her?” he demanded.
“If I knew I wouldn’t tell you.” She glanced at her phone, ready to hear her voice-mail message but needing Danny to leave so she could do so. “But I don’t know who did it. I’m sorry for your loss, but Danny, I’ve had a hell of a day, and night. Will contact you tomorrow and take your statement.” If she said “question him,” he’d clam up and not talk about Mindy.
“Mindy didn’t do drugs. No one will tell me shit since I’m not a relative. How could she just have died?” he demanded, ignoring Ash’s suggestion to discuss this tomorrow.
There wasn’t any getting rid of him until she appeased his tortured curiosity to some extent.
“I tell you what, once the reports are in on her death, I’ll tell you what I can, okay?” She nodded toward her living room. “Let me walk you out. I haven’t had any sleep in over twenty hours and I can’t think straight to help you now anyway.”
They got as far as her front door. Ash opened it, but then Danny turned on her, his expression fierce. “I want to know what motherfucker drugged her. You got that, Ash? I have a right to know who did this to her.”
There wasn’t any point telling him he didn’t have a right to know shit. Ash nodded, opening her screen, and willing him out of her home. Tomorrow, once her head was clear from much-needed sleep, she’d question Danny further, see if possibly her dunce of an ex-husband had any connection to Mindy Simpson’s death, or not.
After locking the front door, Ash didn’t bother making sure Danny left. She hurried into the kitchen and plopped down in the chair at the table then pulled up her voice-mail messages. Her hunch was right and her gut twisted while a warm feeling swelled inside her as she listened to Chase Reed’s rough baritone.
“I’ll be at your house at nine tonight, unless that is too off the record for you.” If there was a challenge in his tone, she ached to know what it meant. “If it is I’ll meet you out somewhere, but my guess is you’re too exhausted to drive.” He rattled off his number and Ash wrote it down, repeating the message to make sure she got it right.
She glanced at the wall clock as she laid her phone down on the small note pad where she’d written Reed’s number. “Lovely,” she moaned. It was going on eight. Barely enough time to shower before her FBI man showed up, and one with a mystery wrapped around him. The funny feeling in her gut swelled and became an annoying pressure between her legs as she hurried upstairs to find clean clothes and hop into the shower.
It was going on nine when she rushed back downstairs, her hair still damp. Exhaustion was replaced with trepidation and something else she didn’t want to put a label on when she reached the kitchen and there was a firm knock on the front door.
There wasn’t any point asking how he’d figured out where she lived. She’d only talked to Chase Reed for a few minutes but already she guessed he was the kind of guy who didn’t reveal his secrets.
Ash hurried to the front door, opening it just as Chase raised his fist to knock again. “Impatient, are you?” she half teased. Anything else she might have said dissipated as she stared at the incredibly sexy man filling her doorway.
“Care if I come in?” Chase didn’t move, but stood facing her wearing faded blue jeans and a black, plain T-shirt that hugged his muscular torso. A perfect six-pack, long powerful-looking legs, and well-defined biceps were only part of his sex appeal.
“Sure. That’s fine.” Ash managed to speak in spite of how dry her mouth suddenly was. She stepped back without tripping over her own feet as she allowed him to enter.
His hair was a shiny, coarse black with slight waves that covered his ears and almost made it to his shirt collar. But it was those intense blue eyes, a sharp, focused gaze, that made her feel he looked past her face and saw deep into her soul, and immediately knew all her darkest secrets. Chase walked past her, allowing her a moment to drool over buns of steel, and wipe her palms against her jeans.
“You got my voice-mail message.” He didn’t make it a question. When he turned and faced her, making no qualms about giving her a slow once-over, his dark, brooding expression gave her the chills.
“Yes, I got it.” At the same time, heat swelled inside her to distraction. She told herself it would be impossible not to react physically to a man who redefined the definition of the perfect male. “I take it there is something you want to tell me?”
Keep it professional. If all they did was discuss the murder last night, she might be able to keep her mind from wondering what he looked like without his clothes on.
“Several things, actually.” He glanced around her home, taking his time inspecting the living room.
When he walked farther into her home, pausing in the doorway that led to the kitchen, she stayed a few paces behind him, trying to keep her focus on the way his black hair curled under at his neck. She could find no faults. His shoulders were broad and muscular. Her fingers itched, and she knew if she touched him he would be as hard as a brick wall. He wouldn’t catch her staring at that hard ass of his though.
“Do you have anything to drink?” he asked, disappearing around the corner.
“Make yourself at home,” she muttered, following him into the kitchen but making it to the refrigerator before he did.
“Thank you,” he said, his expression still dark and unreadable when she shot him a quick glance to see if there was any apparent sarcasm. He appeared to take her offer seriously.
“I haven’t had a chance to go shopping lately,” she began, telling herself there was no reason to apologize for not being a good hostess. He’d invited himself over. “It’s water or juice.”
“What kind of juice?”
“Apple.”
“Sounds good.”
Ash poured two glasses of apple juice and turned, feeling as if her kitchen had shrunk with him standing in the middle of it. Handing him his glass, she moved around him to the table.
“So what was it you didn’t want to go on the record as saying?” she asked.
“Did you investigate the deaths of Mary Harcourt or Daphne Sullivan?” he asked, holding his glass to his mouth but not sipping from it.
“I did Mary, but not Daphne.” She ached to know what he knew about all three deaths. Three girls being killed by a date-rape drug in the past week was definitely a pattern.
“Maybe you should look at all three deaths a bit closer.”
“Why? Do you think they’re connected?” she asked.
For the first time since she’d met him, he smiled. And holy crap! Dimples appeared in his cheeks and his teeth were straight. Bad Boy FBI man had an all-American good boy look about him, as well. Maybe she shouldn’t have let him in her home. Lawman or not, Chase Reed looked dangerous as hell; maybe not in the way of a criminal would, but if he had seduction on his mind, she was in serious danger— of losing.
Or would it be
winning?
“I’m not trying to insult you as a cop,” he offered, crossing his arms over all that brawn and muscle. “You don’t know me, but if you did, you’d gather the same impression you’re probably getting right now. I’m a purebred asshole.”
“I’ll remember that.” Keep it on the case, she told herself, making it a mantra and fighting not to smile back at him and get sucked into the sensual magnetism that he’d just turned up a notch. “Okay. Three girls have been murdered. Obviously they’re connected in more than one way. Tell me what you know and then we’ll see if I know anything you don’t.”
“I don’t know anything you don’t.” Apparently he wanted to prove the asshole claim. “But there was something you didn’t notice last night. I was watching you.”
“I know you were.” That just slipped out. She opted to sit down, which only created a bit of distance between them. But picking up her pen, which was still on the pad where she’d written his number, she started clicking it, staring at the way she’d written his name above his number. Chase— a rather unique yet fitting name for this man hovering over her.
“Did you notice any jewelry?”
She shot him a pensive look, and he cocked one eyebrow, as if willing her to remember the scene. When she’d first spotted him, stepping over the yellow tape as if he had permission, he’d squatted down next to the victim and looked at her wrist.
Ash hated missing something at a crime scene and later having the obvious pointed out to her. Call it her damnable pride, but she really got off on solving a case without anyone’s help. She struggled with the image, fighting to remember what he did when he reached for her wrist.
“That’s it. You remember,” he encouraged, his soft baritone too damned seductive.
It snapped her out of her concentration and she glared at him. Ash didn’t realize she’d been brainstorming, staring at him the entire time. He probably saw her face twist in an effort to remember what had been in front of her the entire time. But then it hit her; when he’d walked up to her and Charlie Madison he’d told them he couldn’t get a good look at her bracelet from the other side of the crime tape.