Читать книгу Christmas Male - Cara Summers - Страница 11

LIEUTENANT FIONA GALLAGHER walked the way she drove—purposefully and fast. They’d come to Georgetown in separate cars, so he’d had time to observe the competent way she threaded her way through Washington traffic. Because of the season, parking was at a premium. They’d parked their vehicles several blocks away from the Georgetown bistro where her boss had summoned them.

She’d said nothing since she’d joined him at his car, where she’d passed along the news that as soon as Amanda Hemmings had reached the hospital, she’d been rushed in for X-rays, but hadn’t regained consciousness yet. Fiona had delivered the information in a matter-of-fact voice, but if D.C. read her correctly, she wasn’t any happier about the news than he was. Many of their questions might be answered if they could just talk to Amanda Hemmings.

In spite of her killer heels, the lieutenant strode along the sidewalk at a fast clip. For now, D.C. was willing to let the silence stretch between them.

The twenty-minute drive from the Mall had given him some time to think about how he was going to handle her. Professionally. General Eddinger had already made the arrangements. Like it or not, he and the lieutenant were going to work together on this case. The question was, how did he want it to play out? In his experience, there were two ways to work with a partner: around them or with them. And he bet he knew exactly what choice Fiona Gallagher had already made.

They’d nearly reached a corner when she realized she was outpacing him and slowed down until he caught up.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“No problem.”

It wasn’t the first example of her thoughtfulness. Earlier at the sculpture garden, she’d arranged for one of the squad cars to drive his mother and sister to Union Station so they could catch the eight o’clock train back to Baltimore.

As they crossed the street, D.C. took her arm and felt her stiffen.

“I don’t need help crossing the street, Captain.”

“Maybe I do.”

The look she shot him was cool and assessing. “I don’t think so. You don’t impress me as a man who needs much help with anything.”

D.C. smiled. “Thanks, but you’d be wrong. I want your help solving this case. And my guess is that you’re not happy at the prospect of working with me.”

“Your guess is correct. But don’t take it personally. I don’t have a history of working well with partners.” Stepping up on the curb, she turned to face him. “My last one was shot.”

Her tone was flat, but D.C. saw the flash of pain in her eyes and understood. “He’s alive?”

“Yes. It was a shoulder wound. He’ll be returning to work in a few weeks.”

“You’re lucky. My last partner didn’t make it. He died in the same little skirmish that sidelined my leg.” The words were out before he could stop them. He hadn’t talked about David’s death. Hadn’t been able to—not even to his family.

“I’m sorry.” She reached for his hand, linked her fingers with his.

For a moment, silence stretched between them again. The understanding in her eyes eased the tightness around his heart.

“Let’s hope we both have better luck this time,” he said finally as she freed her hand and continued to walk. “In the meantime, I think it might be good if we got to know one another. Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m a cop.”

“C’mon, Lieutenant. You know a lot about me. Turnabout’s fair play.”

Stopping, she turned to him. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“You’ve met my mom and sister. You’re practically part of the family. They liked you, by the way. They really appreciated you getting them to Union Station. But showing them the Rubinov—they’re not going to forget that.”

Nor was he going to forget that moment when she’d pushed her coat aside and pulled the necklace out of the front of her dress. The gesture had left him with a vivid image in his mind of exactly where the diamond had been nestling.

“Next time my big brother calls to check up on me, I’ll let you talk to him. Jase is ex-navy and special ops, and he runs a security firm in New York. I called and asked him to run a background check on Amanda Hemmings.”

She was studying him now, her eyes narrowed. D.C. had the uncomfortable feeling that he was on a slide under a microscope.

“I’ll even tell you my deepest and darkest secret.”

Her brows arched. “And that is?”

“What D.C. stands for.”

Fiona suddenly felt the corners of her mouth twitch. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Tell me if you change your mind.”

The man was charming. She had to grant him that. And that charm might help while they were questioning suspects. He might prove useful in other ways, too—especially with that brother who could run background checks.

“We can either work around each other or together,” he stated.

“True.” And on the drive to Georgetown, she’d already decided on the former, hadn’t she? She’d put on a good front, cooperate when he asked, and do her own thing.

“Working around each other is going to cost us time. And this is an important case. If we’re right and you’ve got the real Rubinov tucked near your heart, we’re dealing with the kind of theft that might have made history—if it had been successful. We need to find out why it didn’t work out that way. And how the legendary diamond ended up in Amanda Hemmings’s pocket.”

“There had to have been someone on the inside.”

“Agreed. My brother says that there isn’t a security system in the world that can’t be hacked into. But it would take a real pro to crack the one at the National Gallery. My gut feeling is that Amanda Hemmings isn’t that person.”

She nodded. “She was working for or with someone.”

“Or she’s an innocent pawn,” D.C. countered. “In any case, we’ll have to look at the owner. Gregory Shalnokov is a very rich man. My experience with the rich is that they’re never rich enough. If he puts the stone on display and orchestrates a successful robbery, he gets to have his cake, in this case the Rubinov, and eat it, too, when he collects the insurance money.”

Fiona found herself agreeing again. They would have to scrutinize Gregory Shalnokov.

“And to prove that I’ll make a valuable partner, I learned from one of the guards that the display case housing the Rubinov could only be opened with Shalnokov’s voice.”

She stopped short and turned to stare at him. He hadn’t had to tell her that. Not that she wouldn’t have eventually discovered it for herself.

As if he read her mind, he said, “If we’re going to be partners, it’ll save time if we share everything.”

“Okay.” As the first snowflakes began to fall, the wind stung her cheeks. Turning up her collar, she started down the next block. “Right now, the only suspect we’ve got is Private Hemmings. That’s going to be a PR problem for the army.”

“True.”

“I’m worried that you might have an agenda—to prove Amanda Hemmings innocent.”

“I won’t lie to you. That’s the outcome my general would prefer.”

She slanted him a look. “That could interfere with your objectivity.”

“It won’t. What about you? You’re also going to have a bit of a PR problem if one of your volunteers used her work to help out with the theft.”

“That won’t keep me from digging out the truth.”

“Then we shouldn’t have a problem. How’s the food at this restaurant we’re going to?”

“Excellent. But we’re not going there to eat.”

D.C. sighed. “A man can dream. What’s your captain like?”

“I wouldn’t want to spoil your first impression.”

“Fair enough.”

For half a block, they walked again in silence. And it was oddly companionable, Fiona realized. The street was quiet. At seven-thirty, residents had either left for the night or were celebrating the season with family and friends. Lights twinkled on shrubs, and Christmas trees glowed in the windows.

They were still a hundred yards from the corner when two figures rounded it and headed toward them. They wore jeans and hooded sweatshirts. Both male, Fiona decided. And young. Each was using earphones and one was texting a message. The Georgetown campus was only a short distance, so they could be college kids. But it was a little early on a Friday night to be heading back from one of the watering holes on P Street that students favored.

“Trouble,” D.C. murmured.

His instincts were aligned with hers, and adrenaline spiked through her. “A couple of hours ago I was practically praying for a little snatch and run.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

The two young men were drawing steadily closer.

“Look.” He spoke softly as he slipped his hand around her upper arm. “Let’s make it easy for them.”

“I’m not giving them my purse.”

“Of course not. We just want to throw them off guard. Follow my lead. When I turn you, bring your purse up between us.”

Without waiting for a reply, he pulled her close until only her evening bag separated them. Even while she slipped her hand in and grasped her revolver, she was intensely aware of other details. Other sensations. His chest was hard as a rock, and he was taller than she’d thought. In her heels, she still only came up to his chin. His hand was large enough to wrap completely around her arm. Even through her coat sleeve, she could feel the pressure of each one of his fingers. And she was pretty sure she’d need a crowbar to dislodge them.

“What are you…” Her whispered words trailed off as he bent his head closer. For one instant, she was sure he was going to kiss her. Every nerve in her body went on full alert. She should have moved—pushed him away. But she was helpless against the wave of longing that moved through her. For one instant, she lost track of every thought. All she wanted was to feel his lips against hers.

At the last moment, he angled his head and whispered in her ear. “Can you get your gun out?”

Ruthlessly, she focused. “Already did.” They were about to be mugged. In her peripheral vision, she saw a figure crossing the street. “There’s one behind us.”

“You handle him. On a count of three. One…”

He wasn’t giving her any time to argue. The other two were close enough that she could hear their footfalls on the pavement.

“Two…”

She didn’t like the plan. She was the one with the gun and he was outnumbered. What if…?

“Three.”

Even as she stepped away and brought her revolver up, she angled her stance so that she could keep D.C. and the other two in her peripheral vision. Still she barely caught the flash of movement as the cane struck one of the young men in the arm. He yelped in pain.

“Hands up,” she said to the one who’d approached from behind. This close she could see he was young, not more than fifteen or sixteen.

“Whoa.” He threw his hands out in front of him as if to ward her off.

Out of the corner of her eye, Fiona saw the cane flash again. This time a startled cry was followed by the sound of something clattering to the sidewalk. Then the two men D.C. had used his cane on turned and fled.

“Don’t shoot, lady!” The young man she had her gun aimed at whirled and ran, too.

She pivoted around fully in time to see the other two disappear around the corner. Only then did she lower her weapon and slip it back into her purse.

“Good work,” D.C. said.

“No, it wasn’t.” Anger, relief and annoyance had her voice tightening. “I had the gun. And you were outnumbered.”

“All’s well that ends well.”

It was only then that she saw the revolver lying on the sidewalk. They’d been armed. She never should have agreed…Slipping a hanky out of her pocket, she bent down to retrieve the weapon. “We let them get away.”

“They were kids.”

“Kids with a gun.”

D.C. merely shrugged. “We’ve got it now, and they’ll think twice before they try their little snatch-and-run game again.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Relax. It’s Christmas. Don’t you believe in second chances?”

She met his eyes. “What I believe is that we need to lay down some ground rules if we’re going to work together.”

“I’m not big on rules.”

“I am.” Fiona whirled to pace three steps away. Though she had a temper, she prided herself on keeping it in check. When she thought she had it together, she turned back and bumped into him. In the instant before they separated, she felt the sear of flames at every contact point. The intensity of the sensation shocked her, and she wanted badly to turn and run. Ruthlessly, she clamped down on the impulse. “Let me put it this way. You’re army. You’re used to giving orders. Usually, I’m not so good at taking them.”

“Meaning?”

“I should have handled the two coming toward us. You should have taken the one who was alone. But you didn’t give me a chance to tell you that. We have very different styles.”

His expression sobered as he studied her. “I can’t change my style. But you’re right. Part of my job in the army is to give orders. I can work on that. I’d even be willing to take turns.”

She hadn’t expected him to admit anything. Since he had, she felt compelled to add. “In this case your particular style worked.”

His smile was slow and engaging. “Admit it. You’re really not annoyed because we scared them away instead of arresting them.”

She lifted her chin. “We have a bigger case to work on.”

“Agreed.” He took a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. They were still standing close together—nearly as close as they’d been when he’d pulled her to him. She felt that knife-edged longing begin to build again.

Above the tang of smoke in the air, she caught the scent of his soap. Basic and wonderfully male. All she had to do was move, take a tiny step forward, and she could experience again the hard press of his body against hers. Just thinking about it had the searing heat returning. Her gaze drifted to his mouth. His lips were thin and very masculine. They would be hard and demanding. And she relived that instant when all she’d wanted was to have his mouth pressed to hers.

“You’re worried about what’s going on between us,” he said.

Oh, yeah, she was worried about it in same distant corner of her mind that wasn’t consumed with the desire to frame his face with her hands and drag his mouth to hers.

“You’re wondering if it will interfere.”

It already was. It was interfering with her ability to think about anything but D. C. Campbell. A sudden surge of impatience helped her regain her balance, and she dragged her gaze away from his mouth. “We’re both adults. We can ignore what we’re feeling.”

The fingers toying with her hair moved to trace the line of her jaw. “I’m not so sure.”

As her pulse scrambled, then raced, Fiona once more found her mind in tune with his.

In a lightning-fast move, he thrust his fingers into her hair. “Why don’t we test the waters?” he asked as he covered her mouth with his.

Fiona froze as a riot of sensations flooded her system. Her blood pounded, her skin heated, her bones melted. One part of her mind rejoiced. Finally!

She couldn’t seem to control the response that sprang out of her, wild and wanton. Her arms wound around him and she pressed closer and closer until every plane and angle of his body was molded to hers.

She felt very small against him, very fragile and gloriously feminine. She relished the unusual sensations. His mouth was so demanding, his taste so dark and compelling. So male. Greedy for more, her tongue moved aggressively against his, seeking, searching. As she heard his moan, felt his heart pump against hers, arousal and excitement shot through her. Never had she felt this alive. Urgency built with such speed, such intensity that she couldn’t control it. Didn’t want to. There was nothing but him—his arms, his lips, those sleek, hard muscles. Nothing but him.

Test the waters. That’s what he’d promised himself when he’d lowered his lips to hers. But he’d expected resistance, anticipated it. Perhaps he’d even wanted it. If she’d just struggled a little, he’d have known how to handle it. But when she’d melted against him, he’d discovered he’d never been in more dangerous territory in his life.

He could drown in her. Willingly. But not quietly. He felt as if he were being sucked into unknown depths by a riptide. This woman could take him places he’d never been. He found the idea intriguing. Irresistible.

The sudden urge to touch her was overwhelming. He wanted to slip his hands beneath her coat and run them up her sides, molding, teasing, tormenting. He imagined slipping his fingers beneath the hem of her dress and moving them up those strong thighs until he found and probed her center. Just the thought had needs exploding violently, painfully.

In some small, rational corner of his mind, D.C. knew that if he started to touch her, he wouldn’t be able to stop. But the street was quiet, and fewer than ten paces away, shadows blackened the space between two old Georgetown homes. All he had to do was to draw her into the darkness, and he could have her. He could take her up against the wall of the house before either of them regained their senses. It would be crazy and wild. And wonderful.

Only one thing held him back. The undeniable certainty that she could drain his control away as easily as she could pull the plug on a bathtub full of water. Fear sliced its way through all the other sensations. With it came the same gut feeling of danger that he’d sensed when he’d been taking notes in the sculpture garden. Tearing his mouth free of hers, D.C. drew air into his lungs, hoping it would cool the heat radiating through him. This woman had the power to change his life.

Very carefully, he set her away from him. For a moment, he felt winded, as if he’d raced to the top of a very high cliff.

And he’d very nearly jumped off.

It gave him some satisfaction that she looked as if she, too, had been blindsided by the kiss. Her eyes were dark and clouded, her mouth moist and swollen. And he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. But if he did…

Clamping down even more tightly on his control, he said, “Fiona, are you all right?”

Admiration filled him as he watched her eyes clear and her focus return. “You…shouldn’t have done that.”

“Maybe not. But I’m not going to apologize.”

Her eyes flashed. “Did I ask for an apology?” She whirled, but he snagged her hand before she could move away.

“Look on the bright side. At least now we know what we’re dealing with. We just have to decide what we’re going to do about it.”

The look she shot him was very cool. “Don’t get your hopes up, D.C.”

He laughed then and felt a little of his tension ease. “A man can dream, Lieutenant.” And he was pretty sure that the dream was going to come true—whether they wanted it to or not.