Don't Look Away (Veronica Sloan) (27 page)

“Wait for what?” the detective asked, his eyes narrowing. Judging by the way he held himself—the hunched shoulders, the clenched arms—he was prepared for a fight, and had come in here looking for it.

“For you to finish whatever you need to do here before we leave with the head,” Sykes said pleasantly.

She was reminded of that flies/honey/vinegar thing and found herself wishing for a flyswatter. She suspected they were going to need it.

The detective’s face flamed and a vein popped in his forehead. “You’re not taking this guy anywhere.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand, detective,” said Sykes, still somehow keeping his cool, though his tone displayed the barest hint of steel. “We are authorized to completely take over this crime scene and remove anything we want.”

“Oh yeah? And are you authorized to take the shit-storm that’ll pour down on my head if I let you do it, and thereby ruin the case against the crazy nutjob who did this?”

“Detective…”

“Don’t even try talking me into it,” the barrel-chested man insisted, his brows drawn together in a violent frown. “You’re not taking it ‘til the M.E. examines it and signs off, which won’t be until morning.”

“We can’t wait that long!” snapped Sykes, a little of that famous cool drifting away.

“Tough. I’m the one whose ass will be on the line if this gets FUBAR. I’m the one who’ll have to go into a courtroom where some slick, high-priced lawyer will rip me a new one for releasing this guy’s head to two people who aren’t even in my jurisdiction, just because some damn chip in the vic’s arm says I’m supposed to.”

Sykes was rapidly becoming furious, she could see the bunching of his muscular shoulders under his suit jacket. “You’re obstructing justice.”

“So get me fired. Tomorrow. After I make sure I’ve covered my ass and made sure this investigation went strictly by the book.”

Knowing Sykes was building a nice, full head of steam, which might be interesting to see explode—another time, when the situation wasn’t quite so critical—Ronnie stepped in to diffuse the situation. She grabbed Sykes’s arm. “Look, forget it. We can wait until morning. I’m sure Detective Baranski will contact the M.E. and ask him to come in early so we can take possession and get back to D.C.”

She cast a demanding glance at the Baranski, who opened his mouth as if to bluster. But when he saw the warning shake of her head and the narrowing of her eyes, not to mention the way she was gripping Sykes’s arm in her hands, her nails digging into him to keep him from losing his cool the way he
never
lost his cool, he nodded once. “Yeah. Sure. That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

He’d saved face, which, she suspected, was the whole point of this ridiculous exercise.

“Damn it, Veronica…”

“Cool it, Sykes,” she insisted, not letting him go. She lowered her voice a little, watching as Baranski left the room. “We don’t need to escalate this. We’ve done a pretty good job of keeping a lid on the press. So far nobody’s connecting the cases and there hasn’t been any detailed coverage of the level of violence. But if this cop gets belligerent and starts screaming about the feds stomping on his case, the press will pick up on it and there goes our media blackout.”

He blew out a harsh breath and thrust a hand into his hair, then finally nodded that he’d gotten himself under control. Sykes looked tired, and she wondered how much of his anger and frustration were caused by the fact that he’d been working almost nonstop for several days. At least she’d had her own place and bed to go home to at night. He’d been living out of a hotel.

Which reminded her…. “I guess we should find a place to stay down here. It’s almost midnight. It doesn’t make any sense to drive back up to D.C. tonight, and then come back down in the morning.”

“There’s a decent place out by the interstate,” said the technician who’d just come back into the kitchen. He carried a body bag sized for a small person, or a child.

She supposed they didn’t typically carry head-sized ones.

“Thanks,” Ronnie said, grabbing her phone. “I’ll call and get us a couple of rooms while you finish getting whatever information we’ll need from here,” she told Sykes.

“Why don’t I make the call?” he said, the words sounding like they came from between clenched teeth. “I probably shouldn’t be in the same room with that asshole right now.”

“Why, Sykes, are you saying I get to play nice cop? Start spreading the sugar instead of the vinegar?”

A tiny smile made his lips curl up. “Think you can handle it?”

“You’d be surprised by what I can handle,” she said, wagging her brows, glad she’d been able to lighten his mood, at least a little bit. Then, before he could respond, she left the kitchen and went looking for Baranski.

Ronnie spent the next hour gathering all the information she could about the case, knowing she would be able to gain a lot more once they retrieved the O.E.P. device from the victim’s head. The Richmond detective loosened up a little, though he didn’t go so far as to apologize for being a dick. Still, he was cooperative, answering any of her questions, offering to find answers to the ones he didn’t know. Sykes stuck close to the forensics guys, who were friendlier and more helpful, as if realizing there was a lot more going on here than a typical murder case. For the FBI to have an out-of-state agent here within a couple of hours of the discovery of the body, they knew something big was going down.

Finally, after the remains were taken away, and all the evidence marked, photographed and bagged, the local guys called it a night, meaning they could, too. Good thing. It was after one a.m. and she was beyond tired.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Sykes said, taking her arm and leading her out the back door as the last two cops finished packing up their stuff. “The hotel’s ten minutes away. Think you can stand sleeping in your clothes, or do we need to try to find a 24-hour Wal Mart?”

They probably could—the behemoth chain appeared to have stores in every town in America nowadays.

“That’s not where we’re staying, is it?” she asked, suddenly remembering the store chain had recently expanded into the hotel business. Wal Mart Villas were designed for shoppers who wanted to spend the whole weekend on a destination shopping trip where they could save money by spending every penny they had.

“No. But I’m sure we can find one, if you need to.”

Ronnie didn’t really want to waste time shopping for something to wear to bed when she usually slept naked anyway. “I’m good. Let’s just go.”

They arrived at the hotel a short time later. It wasn’t a standard roadside dive, where you could drive right up to the door of your room. Ronnie had stayed in her fair share of those over the years. Instead, they had to go inside and take the elevator up to their rooms, which were side-by-side, on the fifth floor.

When they reached her door, Sykes unlocked it and pushed it open for her. She stepped inside, leaving him in the hallway, but before he moved on to his own room, he held up his briefcase, which he’d hauled in from the car. “Hold up a sec.”

He reached into it and withdrew a small, travel-sized tube of toothpaste.

Her eyes widened and she thought she’d never seen anything so wonderful. “
Seriously
?”

“Yep. You’ll have to use your finger, though. I only have one toothbrush—I’d offer to share but I wouldn’t want you to get all trippy about it and think it meant we were going steady or something.”

She couldn’t help it; she fisted a hand and punched him lightly in the upper arm. “Jerk.” Then she grabbed the toothpaste. “But a well-prepared jerk, so I forgive you. Got anything else in that magic bag?”

“Uh huh. I always keep a few things in here, just in case I have to take an out of town trip.”

“You don’t happen to have a spare T-shirt and a pair of women’s underwear in there, do ya?”

A wicked grin appeared on that tired, handsome face. “I’ve got a T-shirt, but I’m wearing it right at this moment.”

She shivered lightly, imagining how that shirt would feel, all warm from his body, soft and sexy and broken in by that muscular form. And how it would smell—sultry and musky and sweaty. Man-smell was one of her favorite things in the world, and she imagined she would be enveloped in it if she pried that shirt off him.

Swallowing, knowing she was playing with fire, she murmured, “Please don’t tell me you’re wearing the ladies underwear too.”

He laughed softly. “’Fraid not.”

“And you don’t have a spare pair in your magic bag?”

He swallowed, then rubbed a hand against his lightly grizzled jaw. She could hear the raspy sound from a few feet away, and every feminine inch of her reacted to it. She doubted he had a razor in that briefcase, although it was possible.

She hoped he didn’t. Ronnie liked the five o’clock shadow that spotlighted the strength of his jaw. She liked thinking about that roughness brushing against her skin.

“Funny, I took you for somebody who wouldn’t bother wearing anything to bed,” he finally said, his voice a purr.

Their eyes met, their stares locking. They’d both been playing word games, both ratcheting up the tension over the past few moments, when they’d been standing a few feet away from a large, hotel room bed, far from home, away from everyone who knew them and everyone else involved in this case.

They might both swear it hadn’t been intentional, but, deep down, she suspected they’d both gone there on purpose.

“So, Sloan, you gonna invite me in?”

And there it was. The moment that had been building between them for months, since the first time they’d met in Texas, when she’d seen him, assessed him, judged him as a gorgeous asshole who she wanted with a desire that bordered on desperation.

She licked her lips. “Can we separate this out from the things you said in the car?”

He could have lied. Could have made promises he didn’t intend to keep. But that wasn’t Sykes.

He slowly shook his head. “No. We can’t.”

The blunt honesty, combined with the look of hunger on his face, melted her resistance, making him that much more attractive. She knew all the reasons she shouldn’t invite him in, should say goodnight and shut the door.

There was also one good reason to invite him in: Because it was inevitable. They were inevitable. They had been since the day they’d met.

Time to make a decision, to do it or rue it. Suddenly, Ronnie was sure of only one thing. She wasn’t going to rue it. Not ever.

“Yeah. Come in Sykes,” she ordered, stepping back and pulling the door open.

He did. She pushed the door shut behind him. Flicked the lock.

A heartbeat. Then they were in each other’s arms.

Their first kiss was hot and hungry. He tasted just as she’d thought he would—minty and spicy, hot and delicious. He devoured her, his tongue plunging against hers, and she twisted in his arms, turning her head, wanting him even deeper.

She pushed off his jacket. He tugged her blouse free from her pants.

They edged sideways to the bed, exchanging kiss after kiss. When they bumped into it, they didn’t fall to its plush surface right away, still focused on getting out of all the damn clothes that were separating them.

Something ripped. A button flew. Groans and sighs grew louder as did the sound of every gasping breath they exchanged.

Finally, his pants hit the floor, tangling with hers, and she was able to savor his strong, powerful body pressed against her from shoulder to knee. She cried out at the feel of his erection, thick, hard and heavy against her groin. Needing to see him, she fell back onto the bed, looking up at him as he crawled over her.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, her mouth going dry and her whole body shaking in anticipation. “Now I really am impressed.”

His eyes glittered in the low lighting of the room and he studied every inch of her as he covered her with his body. “I’ve been impressed with you since that first day in Texas, on the shooting range, when you told me I was a fucking show-off when I proved I could shoot .14 splits.”

“Gee, you’re such a romantic,” she said with a laugh, loving the blunt way they talked to each other. She’d always loved that their connection, while hot and physical, was also based on how alike they were. He spoke her language, if a little more elegantly, and she appreciated the way they communicated.

Especially now.

“You want me to tell you how beautiful you are, Veronica?” he asked, kissing her throat, tasting his way down to the nape of her neck. “Because you are. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve wanted you so much that when you refused to meet up with me after our training was over, I was ready to put in for a transfer to D.C. just on the off-chance I might bump into you.”

She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, loving the feel of his mouth on her. He used it everywhere, kissing his way down to her breasts, sucking her nipples until she was squirming beneath him. When he went lower, to taste the rest of her, she went a little crazy and dug her nails into his shoulder as she rolled back and forth on the bed.

She was whimpering with need by the time he moved back up and thrust into her in one hard, violent stroke. She buried her face in his chest to control her cries, and thrust up to meet him, their hips pounding together in heat, in need, in passion.

It was crazy-good. Also just crazy.

She knew they shouldn’t be doing this, that she shouldn’t have let anything happen to them. But damned if she could make herself regret it. Because while Jeremy was driving into her, forging a connection between them that she sensed would never be completely broken, she couldn’t remember a single reason they shouldn’t be together.

-#-

Although the day had started out well, and he was pleased with the information he’d uncovered, Daniels had been restless ever since he’d talked to Ronnie, who’d been on her way to Richmond with the Superman disguised as an FBI agent. He knew they would be there on business. Knew it was the case—another horrible murder—drawing them out of town together.

That didn’t mean he liked it. And telling himself they were just working didn’t put an end to the twisting in his gut or the faint nausea that stayed with him after he hung up the phone.

She wanted the guy. Wanted him bad. He’d known Ronnie for a lot of years, and he knew when she was hot for somebody.

Watching her with him had been brutal over the last couple of days. Because he’d known, from the minute he’d met Sykes at the hospital, that the two of them were going to end up together. Maybe not forever, maybe not even for the long term, but for at least a little while, Ronnie was going to be his.

Perhaps that was why he’d detoured after the phone call, heading not for the precinct, as he’d told her he was, but for a friendly bar he liked to frequent when he felt like slumming it and getting a little rowdy. The place, Rusty’s, wasn’t so-named because the owner had red hair or a dumb nickname. It was called that because the building looked on the verge of being condemned. The metal shutters and window casings were speckled with rust, the wood floor pitted and scarred, the tables sticky and wobbly. And the booze was strong and cheap.

He hadn’t been drunk for a few days, and he’d definitely been missing it. Tonight, when Ronnie was in Richmond, possibly overcoming her last mental hurdle about letting something happen between her and Sucks, had sounded like a damn good time to break his dry spell.

He’d arrived at the place at a little before ten, taken a stool at the end of the bar, and ordered straight bourbon. A few regulars had greeted him, asking him where he’d been.

None of the patrons in here knew he was a cop, and he wanted to keep it that way. People tended to be on their guard when they were aware they were in the presence of an armed officer of the law. Preferring to keep the liquor and the conversation flowing easily, he generally stayed out of the occasional fights and turned a blind eye to some of the negotiations for illicit sex that went on at the back tables. Fortunately, he didn’t have to ignore any drug deals. The owner of Rusty’s might be a roughneck, but his own kid had gotten addicted to Pure V and ended up in the morgue, so he had a zero tolerance policy for any of that crap.

After downing one glass of straight bourbon, Daniels had switched to beer. He had to drive home tonight and wasn’t about to risk a DUI. Even though he hadn’t gotten wasted, he did get a nice little buzz on, at least for a while. It dulled his frustration about Ronnie and Sykes. Eased the pain of it, too.

Folks around him were in a pretty good mood, despite the heat and the rumors about the White House murder, and he’d even managed to have a few friendly conversations. But now, after several hours in the loud bar, his alcohol-high had worn off, and his curiosity over everything he’d learned today had come back with a vengeance. Still trying to work out the mystery of the six deaths Ronnie had uncovered, he pulled the Internet printouts out of his pocket and looked them over. The reports were pretty blunt, straightforward, and if these guys hadn’t been connected by the O.E.P. device in their heads, he would just have assumed they were two more overstressed dudes who’d gone off their rockers and taken the violent way out.

“Hey, pal, it’s Friday night, work week’s over!” said a young stranger down the bar. He grinned and held up a glass.

“Actually, it’s Saturday morning,” Daniels replied with a smile. “But you’re right. Don’t need to be working on this here.”

He folded the pages and stuck them back in his pocket. It was time to get out of here. His mind was now back where it belonged—on the case—and he knew he’d wasted enough hours worrying about what might or might not be happening between his partner and Mr. Fantastic. He glanced at his watch. It was twenty-five after 1:00, a little more than a half-hour before closing time. He wanted to be back in the squad at 7:00 a.m., five and a half hours from now. Time to go.

Needing to make a pit-stop before he hit the road, he headed for the can. When he came back, he saw a full stein of his favorite tapped beverage sitting on the bar in front of his vacant stool. “What’s this?”