Читать книгу Dying To Play - Debra Webb - Страница 14

“Have a seat, Agent Callahan,” John offered before shooting Elaine a look that meant two things—sit down and shut up.

Too pissed off to be submissive, she ignored her boss and looked directly at Callahan, daring him to make the first move. This close, his gaze startled her. It was more than simply analyzing…it was penetrating. Pure blue, like today’s sky, only ice-cold. Those eyes bore the experienced lines of someone who had witnessed too much…given too much. A chill shivered through her.

“After you,” he said with a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. It was more like a practiced offering. A compromise he’d trained himself to make during situations like this.

Elaine blinked and looked away from those disturbing eyes. “So, who’s in charge?” she asked John, determined to nail down that point right off the bat.

“You’ll lead,” Callahan interjected. “So long as,” he qualified, “we understand each other.”

Oh, he was smooth. She knew precisely what he meant. So long as he got his way, she was in charge. She sent him another evaluating look. “I think we understand each other perfectly.” With that said, Elaine sat down. She didn’t miss the relief on John’s face. This was awkward for him she knew, but at the moment she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to play nice under present circumstances.

Callahan settled into the other chair, his gaze lingering on her. She could feel him watching her…weighing the challenge she represented.

“We don’t want any conflicting obligations,” John told her, getting back down to business. “I don’t want your focus scattered by anything. We’ll let Flatt fill in as deputy chief while you’re on this case.”

Elaine stiffened as insult was added to injury. No way was she taking this without a fight. “I don’t see the necessity. I’ll still report in as usual. I can handle both.”

John shook his head. “I’m in agreement with the Bureau on this one. The case needs yours and Agent Callahan’s full attention. Anything less is unacceptable.”

Fury flamed inside her. It didn’t have to be this way. “Why not Henshaw? He’s senior, let him fill in.”

“My decision is final.” The look John gave her was more telling than his words.

Elaine recognized the futility of arguing the issue further. Once John Dugan made up his mind there was no changing it. Whatever his reasons for choosing Flatt over Henshaw, she had no choice but to accept the situation. But she didn’t have to like it.

“Fine,” she agreed tightly. This whole day had sucked. What was one more injustice? She almost laughed. And here she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“I’ll need a status report every twenty-four hours,” John went on. “To keep the mayor abreast of the situation. I’ll also keep Senior Supervisory Agent Douglas informed,” he advised Callahan. “It’s my understanding that you’ll report directly to me throughout the investigation just like Jentzen.”

Callahan nodded. “That’s right.”

Surprise, surprise, Elaine thought. The Feds were staying out of the main loop. She wondered what hidden significance that goodwill gesture carried. Someone was pulling out all the stops on this one. No doubt to appease the mayor.

“So we understand each other here?” John asked looking at her again.

“Absolutely,” she said succinctly despite the fact that she didn’t understand any of it. And she damn sure didn’t like it. She hated this kind of politically motivated crap.

John stood, an act of dismissal. “Then I’ll let the two of you get started.”

Elaine snagged her purse and pushed to her feet. “Thank you, sir.” Disappointment flared briefly in John’s eyes at her curt tone. She refused to feel guilty for that, too. Though she felt sure he really didn’t like this any more than she did, she resented the feeling of helplessness it gave her. He’d been in on the decision making; she’d had no say at all. But he had a job to do. And so did she.

Not waiting for Callahan, she walked out while he was still shaking hands with John. It didn’t take the guy long to catch up to her. She’d just pushed into the stairwell when he breezed in behind her.

“We headed someplace special?” he asked as he slipped on a navy-blue jacket that exactly matched the silk tie he wore.

“Back to the scene of the crime. Where else?” Elaine started down the stairs without looking at him. If he was lead, would he have started someplace else? She banished that line of thinking. She was lead; she didn’t care what he would do.

“You want me to drive?” He was right beside her, his feet keeping time with hers. “My rented car’s—”

“I’ll drive.” She still didn’t look at him.

“Suits me.”

The last two flights of stairs were descended in silence. Well, silence, that is, if she discounted the war of conflicting thoughts and emotions inside her head. Every part of her that made her a woman wanted to cry out at the injustice fate had thrown her. The cop in her wanted to rant further about the whole setup of this little joint task force. But she couldn’t lose control…not right now. Later, when she was at home alone, she would allow herself to think about something besides the case again. Definitely not now, with some hotshot secret agent on her heels.

At the west exit that would take them to the personnel parking area, Elaine hesitated before opening the door. Something the chief had said suddenly rose above the rest of the chaos inside her head. She turned to the man waiting behind her. “Why me?”

His stare was analyzing and went on long enough to make her want to squirm, but she resisted. There was something totally unnerving yet somehow intensely spellbinding about his eyes. It was as if he could read her thoughts…could see inside her. She purposely cleared her mind, just in case.

“Does it matter?” he answered her question with a question, his voice carefully devoid of inflection.

“Chief Dugan said you asked for me,” she explained, suddenly uncharacteristically uncertain of her ground.

Something shifted in those intense blue eyes…some barely discernible emotion she couldn’t possibly read. “Douglas asked for you. I wouldn’t have.”

Douglas—his boss. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who had a problem with a new partner. “You wouldn’t have?”

“I would have preferred a male partner.” That unsettling stare cut to her marrow.

“You think one of my male peers would do a better job than me?” she demanded icily. She felt a muscle tic in her cheek at the absurd notion that Flatt or Jillette or any of the others could do a better job than she could.

He shook his head. “I’m sure you’re more than competent, Detective Jentzen,” he said in that slow, quiet drawl, honey sweet and polished smooth. “But in my experience women are ruled more by their emotions than by their gut. Emotions can get you killed.”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “You would certainly know more about getting someone killed than I would.”

He flinched and she immediately regretted her words. At least to a degree. Obviously Henshaw had been right about Callahan’s past.

“Let’s just say,” he offered in that same controlled tone, “that I’d rather spare you learning how that feels.”

He reached for the left breast pocket of his jacket as if it were second nature. A frown lined her brow as she considered the small bulge in that same pocket. A pack of cigarettes?

“You smoke?” she asked, her intolerance of the habit more evident in her voice than she’d intended. This just kept getting better and better. Her favorite uncle had died of lung cancer after half a lifetime of smoking. She’d almost broken Henshaw from the habit. What the hell was she supposed to do with a good-looking, smooth-talking, cigarette-smoking partner who had gotten his last partner killed?

His hand dropped back to his side. “I used to,” he admitted, just a hint of reluctance weighting his words.

She arched a skeptical eyebrow. “If you’ve quit, why are you still carrying a pack?” She glanced at his pocket once more for emphasis.

“It’s a long story. One I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in.”

Before she could say anything else he reached around her and opened the door. Her breath caught at his unexpected nearness. The vaguest scent of aftershave, something she couldn’t readily identify, piqued her senses, made her want to draw closer.

Turning swiftly away from him, Elaine led the way to her black, badly-in-need-of-a-wash Jeep. She climbed into the driver’s seat and reached over to clear the passenger side. She tossed the files she’d taken home to review, her linen jacket, and a take-out box containing the remainder of yesterday’s lunch into the back seat.

Callahan slid onto the seat, his long, lean frame making the vehicle seem suddenly too cramped. He pulled on his seat belt after noting she’d done so. The act was awkward, unpracticed, as if he rarely performed it. Well, whenever he rode with her he would wear it. She would see to that. She might be stuck in this situation, but she would retain every aspect of control possible.

As she pulled out onto the street, she glanced at his profile. He had those chiseled good looks, all angles and shadows, that Hollywood clamored for in leading men. A pair of designer sunglasses slipped into place as she watched, only adding to the movie-star mystique. His dark-brown hair was short, a little longer on top where it waved, draping a few locks down his forehead for a sexy touch.

Just another reason to dislike him. He was too perfect on the outside. Women likely flocked to him in droves, only to discover the internal goods were damaged.

She fixed her gaze on the street before her. Damn, just what she needed. A new partner who would not only get in her way, but who would also create distractions, for her as well as any other female around, wherever they went. Dammit, dammit. Why the hell hadn’t Douglas picked Flatt or Jillette for this assignment? A realization of sorts struck her with staggering force. She was a woman. The Bureau likely believed she would be easier to control.

Well, Elaine didn’t like playing the submissive part. She didn’t like it one iota. She stole another sideways glance at her passenger. Midthirties, she guessed. Definitely not the marrying type. Before she could school the thought, she’d checked out his left hand. No ring.

She wanted to kick herself for looking. She didn’t care if he was married. She didn’t care that he was too damned handsome. She had a job to do, and Mr. Hotshot Superagent wasn’t going to distract her.

Pain stabbed deep in her midsection, followed by a burn at once familiar and dreaded. She grimaced. Dammit. She needed to eat. But she wasn’t about to go to lunch with this man. Keeping her eyes on the road, she reached for the Maalox in the center console. She opened it with a savage twist and drank a long, deep swallow.

Feeling immensely better as the thick, velvety liquid slid down her esophagus headed toward the volcano erupting in her stomach, she screwed the top back on and chucked the now-empty bottle onto the back seat. She’d definitely have to remember to pick up a new one.

He was staring at her again. She could feel him. She flexed her shoulders, a useless attempt to release the stress building there under his steady gaze. Only then did she consider how what she’d just done with the antacid probably looked to an outsider.

She stopped for a traffic light and turned to meet the question no doubt in his eyes behind those damnable shades. “Don’t ask. It’s a long story. One I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested in,” she said, repeating his earlier words.

His smile was slow in coming, like a dewdrop slipping down a tender new leaf, reaching for that point where the sun would glitter from it like Nature’s mirror. And when it reached fruition it was a sight to behold. Butterflies took flight in her stomach, and she knew she’d just witnessed an event as rare as a blue moon.

It was definitely something she wanted to see again.

And that only made bad matters worse.