by Virna DePaul
She didn’t know how long they stood there, but eventually she focused on his worried gaze. She concentrated on the feel of his touch on her skin. Felt her breathing slow. Anxiety leaked from her like air escaping a balloon. It was still there, but she no longer felt as if she was about to burst.
“That’s it. That’s my girl. Good,” Jase murmured, and she took comfort in the deep rumbling of his voice.
Finally, she grasped his hands and pulled away, embarrassed by both the incident and her panicked reaction to it. “I—I’m okay. I’m sorry. I just… She surprised me, that’s all.” Again, Carrie raised her hand, rubbing her chin. Then she held out her hand for her files.
Reluctantly, Jase handed them to her. She felt his gaze on her as she checked the ground around them to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.
Jase propped his hands on his hips. “She’s a relative of the guy who shot you?”
Carrie barely glanced at him. “It doesn’t matter.” But God, it did. She’d almost melted down in front of him. She couldn’t afford to appear weak in front of anyone, let alone Jase. He was the person who rattled her the most, and therefore the person she had to be most wary of. She rubbed her arms, trying to warm her icy skin. It was a mild evening, and she was wearing a coat. Why was she so cold?
“Carrie…”
At his worried tone, Carrie’s gaze finally snapped to his. Licking her lips, she wished things could be different. That for just a second, he’d hold her. She hadn’t had a lover in years. Except for the one brief kiss Jase had given her over a month ago, she hadn’t allowed herself even the most casual contact with anyone, even a friend. A little human kindness. Was that too much to ask?
Yes, it was, she conceded as she remembered just how hard it had been for her to walk away from his kiss.
That kind of human connection always came with a price. Always.
She shook her head. Took a fortifying breath. Tried her best to give him a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Jase. Honestly.”
“What happened, Carrie? It looked like you were having some kind of panic attack. Maybe coming back to work tomorrow isn’t such a good idea.”
Her spine snapped straight, and she looked at him through narrowed eyes. “It might have looked like a panic attack, but it wasn’t one. I told you, I was just surprised.”
“The way you were surprised when Kevin Porter pulled a gun on you?”
“What’s—what’s that supposed to mean?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. God knows plenty of cops get hurt on the job. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. But you—”
“But I what?”
“But your report says you took cover while he was in the house. If that’s the case, how’d he shoot you?”
“I took cover, but I needed to detain him. I stepped out. I called for him to put his gun down. When he didn’t, I fired.”
“You fired and you missed,” he said quietly. “Anyone could have. It doesn’t make you any less of a cop. But maybe you haven’t quite accepted that. Maybe that’s what this is about. Maybe you need some more time before coming back to work.”
He was so spot-on she almost panicked. Laughing harshly, she focused not on his concern, but on what he’d gain if her return to SIG was delayed. “Of course. I almost forgot. You wanted the lead on The Embalmer case. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
“I asked Mac for the case,” he said. “But that’s not why I’m concerned.”
“No,” she sneered. “You’re just worried about me, aren’t you? Afraid I’m going to get myself killed? Well, I don’t buy it. You didn’t visit me in the hospital, Jase. Not once. So don’t act like you’re so concerned about me.”
Carrie almost groaned at the way his eyes widened with realization. Why had she said that? She should have been grateful he’d stayed away, allowing her to settle her scrambling emotions without having to deal with him, too. But she couldn’t deny that part of her had been hurt by his seeming lack of concern.
He opened his mouth. Shut it. Finally spoke. “I came to see you in the hospital right after you were shot. You were higher than a kite on meds, but I didn’t realize you wouldn’t remember.”
Biting her lip, she glanced away, not wanting him to see just how much his revelation meant to her.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to question your competence. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I just didn’t like seeing that woman come down on you, and I know you well enough to know you don’t reach out for help easily.”
His words took the steam out of her. He seemed sincere. And truthfully, she was too appalled by her own words and loss of control to argue with him further.
He looked around. “Where’s your car? I’ll walk you to it.”
She didn’t bother arguing with him, and he fell into step beside her. Once they reached her ancient four-door, she unlocked the driver’s side, saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Carrie, wait.”
Sighing, she looked up.
“You feel like getting something to eat? You can go home first. Change.”
He’d just said he cared about her. Back inside McGill’s, he’d admitted he wanted her but was ignoring that attraction because of their job. She was obviously doing the same. They’d rarely socialized as a team, let alone just the two of them. Why was he suddenly willing to change things? Because of Martha Porter? Because he’d sensed how much the woman’s disdain had upset her? Or was it because he truly believed her to be emotionally unstable, and somehow that made her more attractive to him? More like the vulnerable women he dated and less like the cop he worked with? It didn’t matter. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Jase,” she said firmly.
“Why? Because you might enjoy my company too much?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. We’ve already established that getting involved won’t do either of us any good—”
“Hold on. That’s not what I said and you know it. I said getting involved with you could interfere with our careers, which is something else entirely. I have no doubt being with you would do us both a tremendous amount of good. But I agree, there are important reasons to keep things professional. So what? We can still be friends, Carrie, even if we can’t be lovers.”
She shook her head. “You were right before. We work together. You want the case I’m working. Whether you want to admit it or not, given what you said about Porter getting the drop on me, part of you obviously questions my competency as a cop. I’d say even being friends isn’t a good idea. Besides, you don’t have female friends, Jase. You’re a serial dater. Hell, you barely even date. You please them and then you leave them.”
His mouth twisted. “Hey, don’t knock it. I’d love to please you. You’d never be the same afterward.”
She smiled at his unrepentant arrogance even as her body throbbed at the thought of him pleasing her. Her response emphasized just how addicted she was becoming to his unique blend of confidence and sexy masculinity. “And part of me would love to be pleased,” she conceded. His eyes flared, but she held up a hand, halting his step forward. “But it’s not going to happen. I’m going home.”
Jase leaned up against the other side of the car and planted his hands on top of the roof. “To do what? Think about the lady who spit on you? I’m talking an hour of your time, Carrie. Don’t I deserve that?”
The question wasn’t whether he deserved it, it was why he wanted it. Again, why the sudden need to spend time with her? Was this some kind of trick? He’d seen her in a weak moment and was hoping to see it again? Exploit it?
But he was right about one thing. Under ordinary circumstances, if she went home now, she’d just think about Kevin Porter and his grandmother. About her own inadequacy. Or about how empty her house seemed. Thankfully, she had something to distract her.
“I’ve got a big case I’m working, remember? That’s all I’m going to be working on until he’s caught.”
She pulled her car door o
pen and was about to get inside when he said, “So let me help you with it.”
Straightening, she tilted her head inquisitively before narrowing her eyes. “Boy, you’re on a roll here, Jase. What’s wrong? You don’t think I can do this alone?”
He pushed himself back so he was no longer leaning against her car. “Did I say that? It always helps to run things by a partner. That’s why Mac asked me to help him with the Monroe murder several months back. Do you honestly think he couldn’t have done it alone? You have a chip on your shoulder, Carrie. You might want to do something about it before it ends up getting you or someone else hurt.”
His words struck home. He was right. She was overreacting and sounding more emotional than logical. She was making her decision for purely personal reasons and, even worse than that, out of fear. Even though she’d thoroughly reviewed the files and formed her own conclusions, why not run them past Jase? He had more experience than she did. She shouldn’t dismiss his offer for help just because she was afraid of the sexual attraction between them. What kind of cop would that make her?
“I guess I could use your help.”
There was no hint of triumph on his face, which enabled her to relax even more.
He nodded. “I’ll follow you home.”
As he walked away, she called, “No funny business. I mean it, Jase. This is purely one cop accepting another’s offer for help on a case.”
He turned to face her but kept walking backward with his hands in his pockets. “Of course it is, darlin’. You’ve made it clear you don’t want to act on the attraction between us. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just one of the guys now.”
He couldn’t know how much that statement hurt her, especially since she smiled brightly after he said it. “Great,” she said. “Just keep that in mind and we should be fine.”
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN THEY GOT TO CARRIE’S house, or rather, to her floor of a tri-level house on Divisidero Street, Jase was startled by how girly it was. He was used to seeing her at work, in the detective’s pit with its straight-lined masculine furniture and her dressed in her button-down shirts and khakis. He knew she chose her clothes to appear androgynous, but he never thought of her as anything other than a woman. In fact, sometimes her professional facade had him salivating to unwrap the feminine package he knew lay underneath. Still, if he’d had to guess what kind of decor she preferred, he’d never have picked the shabby-chic stuff his frilly sisters were wild for.
Several soft watercolors, done in hazy washes of blues and purples, decorated the yellow walls. Her couch was covered with a faded floral slipcover, and her dining-room table was a polished cherry with curvy legs.
Cinnamon. The scent surrounded him as soon as he walked in.
Once inside, Carrie turned almost nervously to him. “Make yourself at home,” she said while avoiding his gaze. “I don’t think there’s much in the refrigerator. I’m going to take a quick shower and change.” She pointed to a nearby door. “Guest bath is right through there.”
Jase nodded. She walked into another room and shut the door. He heard the lock engage and then the sound of the shower a few minutes later.
For a moment, he was overcome by images of her naked body. Her naked, wet body. Her naked, wet, slippery body. He groaned. He’d never been so sexually obsessed with a woman in his life. What was it about her that got to him? And what had compelled him to offer his help with The Embalmer case anyway? He had the next few days off. If he wasn’t getting the lead on The Embalmer case, he should enjoy them. Visit the family. Play hoops with his cousin. Call Kelly Sorenson and see if the promise in her dark eyes turned out to be as good as it seemed.
Instead, he was going to put in extra hours helping Carrie on a case he’d wanted and that he wasn’t quite sure she was ready for, while at the same time trying to control his attraction to her.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Sure, he thought she was attractive, but she wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d seen or been with. She was a cop, for Christ’s sake. One who’d often claimed she could kick his ass and fully believed it. Instead of turning him off, the recurring threat had always conjured images of them rolling around on the floor together, their bodies touching and rubbing until they were ready to rip each other’s clothes off.
Jesus, he had a one-track mind. Carrie wasn’t just a cop, and she certainly wasn’t a sex toy for him to play with and then toss aside. She was a complex woman, one he didn’t know all that much about. Jase paced her small living room, looking for clues about the woman beneath the proverbial uniform.
Based on the books on her shelf, she was an avid reader, although she didn’t read true crime. She either went for science fiction or historical romance. That surprised him. She was so pragmatic and no-nonsense at work. Like her taste in home decor, her reading preferences made him wonder what else she hid from the world.
He noticed some photo albums. Took one out and flipped through it. He smiled at the pictures of her in various stages of adolescence. She’d been all arms and legs, awkward. Despite the fact she was only five feet six inches now, she’d towered over her classmates at various stages, boys included. He imagined she’d endured some heavy teasing, especially because of her flaming hair that had been more orange than red when she was younger. Still, the Carrie he saw in the photographs appeared happy. Confident. Which for a high-school student was pretty damn unusual.
At some point that seemed to change, however. After high-school graduation, she grew more serious. Several photos were of her with an equally serious-looking man, sometimes wearing his police uniform, sometimes not. Others were of her with several men, all in uniform, all with the same red hair and blue eyes. Not many pictures of her mother. It looked as if she’d disappeared when Carrie was very young.
Jase put back the album and pulled out another one. This one was a scrapbook, with article clippings and little mementos and her full name written in scrolled lettering.
His eyebrows rose into his hairline. According to her scrapbook, she was a first-class markswoman. She’d competed in the Olympics when she was seventeen. She’d been the youngest member of the USA’s shooting team and had won a silver medal. Several years later, she’d graduated from the police academy and joined the Army. And a few years after that, she’d become the first female sniper to join the Austin SWAT team.
She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she could kick his ass. He’d known she’d served a year on the SFPD SWAT before she’d joined SIG, but how come she hadn’t told him she was a markswoman? And if she was such an incredible shot, it made the fact she’d initially failed to shoot Porter even more disturbing. Once again, he couldn’t help wondering what had really happened that night. Or if his pushing things between them beforehand had played any part in it.
She hadn’t given a whole lot of details in her report about that night, and Jase had gotten the distinct impression she’d been deliberately vague. Was she hiding something? Something she was ashamed of? Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she’d had trouble dealing with what that old lady back at the bar had done to her, and that didn’t jibe with who he knew her to be. Cops met resistance and dealt with ugly confrontations all the time. Hell, he’d seen Carrie go toe-to-toe with guys twice her size and who had records that would make Al Capone look like a choirboy. Yet she’d freaked out because an old lady had spit on her and accused her of killing her baby boy?
Baby boy, his ass. Kevin Porter had shot Carrie, then tried beating her to death. If she hadn’t taken him down, she’d likely be dead. She’d done what she had to do. So why did he get the feeling she was ashamed of what she’d done? Of killing Porter? Of being a good cop?
Jase heard the shower turn off and replaced the scrapbook. Yes, she had good reason to be proud of her accomplishments, but instinct told Jase the scrapbook had been compiled by someone else. Someone who was proud of her. It showed someone cared about her and that she occasionally lowered her guard with othe
rs. At least, she had at some point.
He ruffled his fingers through his hair and looked around again. Several files and stacks of paper were strewn out on her dining-room table, and she’d placed the files she’d brought to McGill’s on the table, too. He shuffled through them, frowning despite himself when he saw the crime-scene photos. He’d heard about the most graphic aspects of the case, but it was always different when you had specifics in front of you. The Embalmer was a sick fuck, all the more sick because he was so organized and methodical. According to Mac, who’d talked to the Fresno P.D., everything The Embalmer did had a purpose. Special meaning. No one had been able to figure out exactly what, though.
Knowing Carrie would want to get started immediately, Jase used the hallway bathroom. It was just as frilly as the living room, with a lacy shower curtain, rose-colored towels and little flower-shaped soaps next to the sink. When he washed his hands, he once again inhaled the heady, sweet smell of cinnamon. He dried off with one of her rose-colored towels. She seemed fond of the color, which was odd. She never wore it. Always went with neutral colors. Nothing feminine.
Again, questions came to mind. Why was she ashamed of shooting Porter? Because she’d done it only after he’d gotten the drop on her? Or because he’d gotten the drop on a female cop? Now that he was here, seeing how ruthlessly she separated the two parts of herself—the woman and the cop—he was sure he was right. It also made him wonder if it was the real reason she fought him so much. Because he made her feel like a woman when she was on the job, and it was the last thing she could handle.
When he came out of the bathroom, Carrie was in the kitchen with her back turned to him. For a second, he simply enjoyed the sight of her looking as casual as he’d ever seen her. She wore a loose T-shirt and sweats. Her hair was still damp and hung loose around her face. Her feet were bare.
He could only see the faintest hint of her heels below the hem of her sweats, but those few inches of pale creaminess were enough to make his mouth start watering. Just like that, he wanted to remove her clothes and kiss her from bottom to top, but he knew he couldn’t. He’d offered his help, and that was what he would damn well give her. All he was going to do tonight was work the case with her. He wasn’t going to flirt with her. Wasn’t going to try to kiss her again. Certainly wasn’t going to wheedle his way into her bedroom and prove to her that no matter what she did for a living and no matter how hard she tried to deny it, she was first and foremost a beautiful, desirable woman.
