Afterburn by Karen L. Abrahamson
Chapter 7—Secrets in the Rain
“So that didn’t exactly go as planned, Slick.” Clint Blacklock eyed Jason as he pushed into the dimly lit viewing room. The Drake woman had just left in a rush; headed to her office, she said, but he didn’t know if he believed her.
“She wasn’t exactly what I planned,” he growled and slouched into a chair and put his feet up, then stretched, trying to get some relief from the tension knotting his shoulders.
“She’s not telling us everything.”
“Gee, you think? She works for fuckin’ Homeland Security.” Jason closed his eyes against the disgust he felt. “Sorry, man. There’s something about her. I swear one moment she looked so hot I thought she was going to jump my bones right here and the next minute she was the ice queen. Not exactly an easy subject to read—or interview.”
He shook his head, but the image of her blonde hair and sullen—no—make that sultry, green-hazel eyes was burned in his brain.
“Well you had her on the run. She started to really crack when you told her about the cell phone. The cracks were fuckin’ canyons when you pulled out her drawing. Did you see her face? The way her eyes stayed on that pencil case of hers.”
“She wanted it. Bad. Funny, though. It held more of her attention than the drawing did. As if that evidence was worth nothing in comparison.”
Blacklock shook his shaggy head. “I never could get into those egghead girls with their purse version of pocket protectors. Now I know why.”
“As if anyone could have stood a chance in Patty’s presence.”
“Might have, if they didn’t have those pencil thingies.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Now that we’ve explained away your preferences in the female kind, can we focus on the case?”
Blacklock reached across the desk and snagged Jason’s files and pad of paper, glanced at the doodles, and then raised an all-too-knowing set of eyes to Jason. “Was that preferences in the female kind, you was talking about, Slick? Cause I think you might be causing me some concerns.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to do anything to wreck our case. You know me. Work’s the thing.”
“’Ridiculously dedicated’, I think were the words I used. Enough I been worried about you.” Blacklock glanced down at the pad again, then shoved it across the desk to Jason. “But seriously—look for yourself.”
Jason forced himself to look at what he knew was already there. Too many elegant eyes, as if she was looking at him still with that heated way only Vallon Drake had. He stood and went to the door. “Shit. It’s like she’s a chemical and I react.”
“Where you going, man?”
“To check out that parking garage again. She swore she heard that cell. Maybe our guys missed something.”
Clint shook his mighty head. “Listen, Slick. You sure this is a case you should be investigating?”
“You suggesting I should tell the Sergeant to reassign the case because I can’t control my dick?”
“Hell, no. I’m suggesting you should make sure she’s not a cliff and you’re not the lemming throwing hisself off.”
“So that didn’t exactly go as planned, Slick.” Clint Blacklock eyed Jason as he pushed into the dimly lit viewing room. The Drake woman had just left in a rush; headed to her office, she said, but he didn’t know if he believed her.
“She wasn’t exactly what I planned,” he growled and slouched into a chair and put his feet up, then stretched, trying to get some relief from the tension knotting his shoulders.
“She’s not telling us everything.”
“Gee, you think? She works for fuckin’ Homeland Security.” Jason closed his eyes against the disgust he felt. “Sorry, man. There’s something about her. I swear one moment she looked so hot I thought she was going to jump my bones right here and the next minute she was the ice queen. Not exactly an easy subject to read—or interview.”
He shook his head, but the image of her blonde hair and sullen—no—make that sultry, green-hazel eyes was burned in his brain.
“Well you had her on the run. She started to really crack when you told her about the cell phone. The cracks were fuckin’ canyons when you pulled out her drawing. Did you see her face? The way her eyes stayed on that pencil case of hers.”
“She wanted it. Bad. Funny, though. It held more of her attention than the drawing did. As if that evidence was worth nothing in comparison.”
Blacklock shook his shaggy head. “I never could get into those egghead girls with their purse version of pocket protectors. Now I know why.”
“As if anyone could have stood a chance in Patty’s presence.”
“Might have, if they didn’t have those pencil thingies.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Now that we’ve explained away your preferences in the female kind, can we focus on the case?”
Blacklock reached across the desk and snagged Jason’s files and pad of paper, glanced at the doodles, and then raised an all-too-knowing set of eyes to Jason. “Was that preferences in the female kind, you was talking about, Slick? Cause I think you might be causing me some concerns.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to do anything to wreck our case. You know me. Work’s the thing.”
“’Ridiculously dedicated’, I think were the words I used. Enough I been worried about you.” Blacklock glanced down at the pad again, then shoved it across the desk to Jason. “But seriously—look for yourself.”
Jason forced himself to look at what he knew was already there. Too many elegant eyes, as if she was looking at him still with that heated way only Vallon Drake had. He stood and went to the door. “Shit. It’s like she’s a chemical and I react.”
“Where you going, man?”
“To check out that parking garage again. She swore she heard that cell. Maybe our guys missed something.”
Clint shook his mighty head. “Listen, Slick. You sure this is a case you should be investigating?”
“You suggesting I should tell the Sergeant to reassign the case because I can’t control my dick?”
“Hell, no. I’m suggesting you should make sure she’s not a cliff and you’re not the lemming throwing hisself off.”