“It’s a mess of a case,” the agent said.
Maddie looked at her. “Sorry, I never caught your first name.”
“Elizabeth. Or you can call me LeBlanc, like everyone else.” She glanced out over the parking lot. “Team’s going to grab a drink now over at Blackjack’s Pub. You want to join us?”
Maddie watched her, instantly on guard. Was there a hidden agenda here? An invitation to get a beer with everyone implied that she considered Maddie part of the investigation, as opposed to a civilian witness. Brian had seemed intent on keeping her in the latter category—and controlling the information flow. Despite being unsure of her motive, Maddie was flattered to be asked.
But drinks with the team would include Brian, and that probably wasn’t smart. It was getting late.
“Thanks,” Maddie said, “but I really should get home.”
“Hey, you coming to Blackjack’s?”
She turned to see Sam pushing through the glass door.
“She’s on the fence,” Elizabeth said.
“You know, Beckman took off already.” He gave Maddie a knowing smile. “Coast is clear. Come on, have a beer with us.”
Maddie felt her resolve slipping. She didn’t want to go home to her empty house and her empty bed and her thoughts of those charred remains in the back of that car. She hadn’t even taken the crime-scene photos this time, and yet the brief glimpse was seared in her memory.
That was what happened when she allowed herself to develop a personal connection to a case. It was going to be a long, sleepless night—despite her exhaustion—and she wasn’t ready for it yet.
A beer sounded tempting, the company even more so. After a bad crime scene, cops were the only people she could stand to be around. They’d seen the same horrors she had, and there was an underlying comfort level, because they didn’t pry or push or show the slightest hint of lurid curiosity about her job.
“Come on,” Sam said again.
Maddie looked down at her wool coat, which had blood smudges on the front. Her blouse was wrinkled, and her hair was falling out of the neat chignon she’d worn to trial that morning.
“You look fine,” Elizabeth said, reading her mind.
“I don’t even know where I’m going.”
“That’s easy.” Sam smiled. “Follow me.”
Brian stepped into the crowded bar and scanned the room, fully expecting to be disappointed. But she was there, sitting at a corner table with Sam and Elizabeth and a few others from the task force. When he’d seen the white Prius outside, he’d thought there was no way in hell he could get that lucky.
He eased through the crowd, reaching the table just as they all scooted their chairs back and stood to leave.
“Hey, look who’s here,” Elizabeth said, prompting a chorus of greetings from everyone but Maddie.
Sam slapped him on the back. “Damn, Beck, you got stitches? This calls for another round.”
“Sorry, not for me,” Elizabeth said. “I need to get home.”
The others echoed the thought and shrugged into coats. It was late. They had to work in the morning.
Brian made his way over to Maddie. She fisted her hand on her hip and glared up at him, and he felt a warm shot of lust.
“Don’t leave,” he said.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to the ER! I could have driven you.”
He sent Sam a look as the rest of the group headed for the door. A trio of women claimed the table, and Brian saw the panic flit across Maddie’s face as she realized she was about to be left alone with him.
“Second thought, I better call it a night.” Sam squeezed Maddie’s shoulder. “Thanks for hanging out, Maddie.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
She watched him leave, and then she turned to face Brian, clearly pissed off.
“How come you didn’t tell me you needed stitches?”
“Let me buy you a drink.”
She checked her watch. “It’s late.”
“One drink, Maddie. Come on, I just got here.”
She looked conflicted. She didn’t like being talked into things, which, ironically, made him more determined to try. Before she could think up another excuse, he took her hand and led her to the bar.
“What are you drinking? Cape Cod?”
“I’ll have a Sprite.”
He gave her a look, and she sighed.
“What are you having?”
“Bourbon.”
“Fine, I’ll have a bourbon and Coke,” she said. “Make it a diet.”
Brian refrained from criticizing her drink choice as he flagged a bartender. When he turned around again, she was chatting up a middle-aged man a few stools over. She smiled up at him as he offered her an empty stool.
Brian brought the drinks over. “Nice going. I didn’t know you could bat your eyelashes like that.”
She ignored the comment as he handed over the glass and squeezed into the place beside her. It was crowded, but he didn’t mind leaning against the bar and looking down at her. She’d left her coat somewhere, and he was finally able to get a better look at the silky white blouse he’d first noticed back at the ballistics lab.
She took a sip and rested her glass on the counter. “How many?” she asked.
“How many what?”
She rolled her eyes. “Stitches.”
“Six. It’s no big deal.
She shook her head.
“So what’s the word on the case? You guys were talking about it, right?”
“Part of the time. But then we got sidetracked with Daryl’s football stories.”
Of course they had. The veteran agent’s glory days as a tight end for LSU were one of his favorite topics of conversation, especially if there were any women around. Elizabeth was immune to him, but he probably saw Maddie as fresh meat.
“Don’t get too impressed,” Brian said. “He tends to exaggerate.”
“Really? Now, isn’t that interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because he went on and on about what a great agent you are. ‘Best rookie they’ve ever sent us,’ I think were his exact words.”
“Huh.” Brian swilled his drink, feeling guilty now that he’d insulted the guy.
On the other hand, Daryl had about three ex-wives and a reputation for using his badge to seduce women.
“Sam was singing your praises, too. They seemed intent on impressing me.” She gazed up at him suspiciously. “So I have a question for you—and I want an honest answer.”
He rested his drink beside hers and waited.
“Did you coordinate this?”
“This what?”
“Inviting me here.”
He smiled. “Maddie, I’ve been in the ER for two hours. I didn’t even know you were here until five minutes ago.”
Which didn’t really answer her question. He’d told Sam he planned to stop by later, so she was right in sensing that this was a setup.
The woman behind him got up, and Brian claimed her vacated stool. He looked at Maddie, but she still didn’t seem convinced.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“About an hour.” She stirred her drink with a little red straw and looked up at him. Her gaze went to his temple, where he’d caught a shard of debris when the warehouse exploded. Something flickered in her eyes. Sadness? Worry? He couldn’t tell.
He leaned closer. “You all right?”
She lifted a shoulder.
He looked down and noticed her hand in her lap. Her left wrist was scraped. There was a smudge of dirt on her cuff, and he realized that, unlike him, she hadn’t really had a chance to pull herself together yet.
She watched him watching her. “What?”
“It’s been a long day.”
Her expression turned solemn. “I’m sorry about Jolene.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Your friends think you’re being too hard on yourself.”
Jolene had been his witness. He should have protected her. He pictured her burned remains and got a knot of anger in his gut. He no longer wanted to arrest Mladovic—he wanted to make him pay for what he’d done, or ordered done, to those girls. This case was personal now.
Brian looked at Maddie, with her soft hair and her silky blouse and her feminine hands that were all scraped up—probably from tripping around in the dark tonight while he’d been chasing after a suspect.
He remembered her reaction when she’d thought he was trapped in that fire. She’d totally lost it. He’d practically had to peel her off of him.
This woman was a mix of contradictions—tough one minute, vulnerable the next. Sometimes she seemed happy to be with him; other times, she made excuses to leave. Brian didn’t get it. He knew she was attracted to him, and yet she kept putting up roadblocks.
“You’re a puzzle, Maddie.”
She eyed him warily and picked up her glass. For a while, they drank in silence, as the energy of the crowded bar swirled around them. Brian shifted on his stool, and their knees brushed, but she pretended not to notice. He watched her trace the condensation on her glass with the tip of her finger. He remembered what she’d said about paying attention to how people touched things. He’d been doing it ever since their conversation.
He tipped back his drink, watching her, and plunked it onto the bar.
“Why’d you get into this, anyway?”
She looked surprised. “You mean my job?”
“Yeah.”
He looked at her eyes as she thought about what to say. Maybe it was the booze kicking in, but she seemed pensive now, maybe a little more relaxed. “I don’t know, really.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“I guess . . .” She stirred her ice cubes. “I guess probably for the same reason you did. I think people should be held accountable.”
She didn’t look at him, but he studied her face.
“This is about your daughter.”
Her gaze lifted.
“The person who killed Emma, was he held accountable?”
She shook her head, just once, and the look in her eyes was so raw he almost turned away. But hell, he’d brought it up.
He leaned closer. “I’m sorry,” he said, knowing how fucking inadequate that was.
“Thank you.” She picked up the skinny red straw and poked at her ice cubes some more. “How did you know about that?”
“Call it a guess.”
Seconds ticked by as he watched her.
“It was a hit-and-run.” She cleared her throat. “We’d been at the park playing, and I was parallel parked on the street. I’d just buckled Emma into her car seat and was pulling out when someone took a corner too fast and T-boned us.” She glanced up at him. “The damage was on Emma’s side. We rushed her to the hospital—”
“We?”
“The ambulance. She slipped into a coma. Never woke up.”
“Jesus, Maddie.”
The bartender stopped by, and Brian ordered another round. She didn’t object.
He watched her, waiting to see if she’d keep going. He didn’t want to interrogate her. He just wanted to listen. The look on her face put a familiar ache in his chest. He’d seen death in combat, including one of his closest friends. It wasn’t the same as losing a child—he got that—but the loss had changed him.
“I was in a funk for a long time.” She turned her glass on the bar. “My marriage fell apart. I didn’t give a shit about anything. Some days, I wanted to disappear. Other days, I was so furious with the world I wanted to kill someone.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep. I was having panic attacks.”
“That still happening?”
She glanced up, and he thought maybe he’d embarrassed her. “It’s probably been years.” She paused. “I’ve got my life together now, mostly. But it never goes away.”
Their drinks came, and she took a big sip.
“And the police?”
She shook her head. “They never found him. Or her. My own child, and I don’t even know. Isn’t that pathetic?”
Her voice was tight with anger and guilt and probably a dozen other emotions he didn’t understand.
She set her drink on the bar and looked up at him again. “Okay, your turn. Why’d you join the FBI?”
The question caught him off guard.
“Come on.” She nudged him with her knee. “Why should you get to ask all the questions?”
“Fair enough.” He took a sip of his bourbon. “I guess because I wanted a challenge.”
“The Army wasn’t challenging?”
“I wanted something different.”
“And did you get it?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her. “It’s definitely hard. Although the Academy wasn’t.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s a real cakewalk.”
He leaned his elbow on the bar. “Well, not to sound conceited or anything, but it was. After everything I’d done in the military, there was really nothing to it.”
She smiled and patted his hand.
“What?”
“It’s nice to know you’ve got a healthy ego.” She grinned at him over the rim of her glass. “Go on. You were saying?”
“The hard part is the job itself. Building a case. Waiting on agencies to do things. Dealing with red tape, bureaucracy, that’s never been my thing.” He took another swig. “I’m more of a doer. And patience isn’t my strong suit.”
She lifted an eyebrow, and he felt a warm tug of attraction. Maybe it was the bourbon kicking in, but she didn’t seem so sad anymore. She seemed mellower. Looser.
Brian gazed down at her as the crowd ebbed and flowed around them. He looked at that mouth of hers that had been taunting him since the moment he’d seen it. He had the urge to kiss her, but he doubted that would go over too well in a noisy pub. Still, he was tempted. Sitting so close, it was impossible to ignore all the things he liked about her—her chocolate-brown eyes, the smell of her hair, the outline of her bra, barely visible through her thin white shirt. And that skirt. He never would have guessed gray pinstripes could be a turn-on.
She leaned closer. “Cut it out. You’re staring.”
“Sorry. I was just admiring your shoes.”
“My shoes?”
“Yeah, you look nice today.”
She winced. “I’m a mess.”
He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You look disheveled. In a good way.”
Her gaze narrowed, and she obviously didn’t believe there was any “good” way to look disheveled. But there was. He imagined her in his bed, with her hair all wild and her mouth swollen and her skin flushed from sex.
But imagining was about as close as he was going to get tonight, because he could tell that any second now, she was going to make an excuse to leave.
She glanced at her watch, right on cue. “And now—” She downed her last sip. “I really need to call it a night.” She stood up, forcing him to stand, too. He pulled out his wallet, and to his annoyance, she did, too.
“I got it,” he said.
“No, it’s okay.”
But he wouldn’t let her pay. After leaving some bills on the bar, he put his hand on the small of her back and steered her to the exit. She was a little wobbly in those heels, and he wondered how many drinks she’d had with Sam. He pushed open the heavy wooden door, and they stepped outside into the chill.
“Brrr.” She shivered and moved for the parking lot.
“Wait.” He caught her arm. “You okay to drive?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because you’ve been in there a while.”
She looked out over the cars and sighed. “You’re right. I should probably call a cab.”
“I could drive you home.�
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She reached for her purse. “You’ve been drinking, too.”
Yeah, but he outweighed her by about a hundred pounds.
“There’s a diner around the corner,” he said. “We could hang out and have some coffee, if you want.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “How do you know what’s around the corner?”
“Because I live here.”
“Where?”
He nodded at the brick apartment complex at the end of the block.
“Here here?”
He stepped closer and gazed down at her. “Lot of us live around here. It’s ten minutes from the office.”
She stared up at him, and he could almost see the thoughts tumbling through her head. Hope flared to life inside him.
“I should call a cab,” she said.
He settled his hands on her waist and felt her shiver.
“Or—” He pulled her closer. “You could come home with me and sleep it off.”
She laughed as she tipped her head back to look at him. “You want me to come home with you to sleep?”
“No.”
She gazed up at him, looking conflicted now. She wanted to turn him down again. He could tell. But she also wanted to say yes.
He kissed her. Her mouth was hot and soft, like he remembered it. He coaxed her lips apart and tasted the sweet woman-flavor he’d been craving. His hands went into her hair, and he tilted her head back and kissed her as long as he could—as persuasively as he could—until she was draped around him the way she’d been back at that fire scene. He loved her body. He loved all those lush curves and was dying to slide her out of that skirt.
A cold wind whipped up. She blinked up at him, dazed, and he glanced around. They were still beside the door. He pulled her under the overhang of the roof and eased her back against the wall, using his hand to cushion the back of her head so he could kiss her again. This time, she got into it, kissing him back and digging her nails into the back of his neck. She made a low moan that sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin. God, he wanted her. Now. Tonight.
She turned her head. “Brian.” She sounded breathless. And uncertain. She braced a hand against his shoulder, and his heart damn near stopped beating.
Please don’t say no. His whole life, he’d never pressured a woman for sex, but at this moment, he was ready to beg. He kissed her again, harder, pulling her closer so her breasts were flat against his chest. He slid his hands down her sides, and she felt soft and perfect and willing. He kissed her until she nudged his shoulders back and came up for air.
Exposed Page 14
