by D. C. Stone
“What makes you think I’m going to take it away?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What else is the FBI good for but encroaching?”
He laughed, a rich, hearty, too-sexy sound.
Charlie peeked over her shoulder, a little disappointed at how his shades blocked her view of his gorgeous eyes. His brows wiggled behind the lenses as they reached her car.
“Admit it.” Trent Rossi leaned against the vehicle and her pulse jumped to her throat.
“Admit what?”
His grin spread. “You want me to take off some clothes.”
She gulped, the beat in her neck pounding. Yes, please. “Nice deflection from the subject. Get over yourself, Rossi. I don’t care. I’m going to enjoy watching you get all hot and sweaty. And then I’ll be hearing those three sweet little words. Come on, you can try them on for size now. Matter of fact, I’ll help you get started. Say it. ‘You were right.’ Three simple words.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Hot and sweaty, huh?”
Of course he would latch on to that part. Don’t think about it, Charlie. Do not…
Crap. There it was. Agent Trent Rossi, all hot and sweaty, rising above her own body as he handed out pleasure.
She ducked her head, avoiding his question and slid into the car.
****
Sitting next to a bay window in a very small and intimate Italian restaurant, Trent wanted nothing more than to get under Detective Lopez’ skin. She put on a good front, acting as if she was a tough woman who didn’t take shit from anyone. But from the few stolen glances and words they’d exchanged, he knew differently. Something was there, a spark of vulnerability he wanted to dissect and slowly peel away. Sort of like the clothing on this all-too-sexy small town woman sitting across from him. He’d love to take his time taking each piece off. With his teeth.
Palm Trees.
Hot, sandy beaches.
Coconut.
Never before had the smell garnered so much of his attention. However, with the waft of a breeze sailing past Charlie and the scent of her hitting him, Trent’s mouth watered. He craved a taste.
Keep cool, Rossi. Get your head in the game.
He read over her case notes, unsurprisingly detailed, and his admiration for all he had seen the Nyack Police Department accomplish crept up a notch. They did not miss much, seemed to be on top of their game when it came to running thorough investigations.
Drawing back, he closed the notebook as an older woman set spaghetti on the table. Garlic, tomatoes, and basil assailed his nostrils, covering the tempting scent of the woman sitting inches away. Trent relaxed and let out a deep breath as his body settled.
He reached for the fresh parmesan and Charlie scoffed. Her nose wrinkled as she stared at his food. He frowned.
“Something wrong?”
She looked up. “You’re really going to eat all that?”
He shifted his gaze to his bowl. “Um, yes. I intend to.”
“Aren’t you worried about what all those carbs and sugar are going to do to you since it’s so late?”
He resisted the urge to grin. Barely. He affected her more than she let him see. Now she was worried about his body, huh? Interesting. He loved to play and he’d go along with it. “First my body and now you’re worried about my heart?”
She snorted and grabbed the black pepper, dousing her salad with a healthy shake. “So what do you think of the case?”
She ignored his question. He’d let her get away with it.
For now.
“I think you’ve done a phenomenal job at keeping detailed notes. I’d like to get a look at your forensics review and possibly send a few things for retesting in New York.” He dipped his fork into the thick noodles and twirled a heap of spaghetti around the tines before wrapping his mouth around the utensil. An explosion of spices assaulted his taste buds. Despite the restaurant being a small Mom and Pop place, the cooking could not be denied as excellent, and the recipe, authentic. Just another thing he had to give credit to Charlie for. Back in the City, he’d most likely be ordering take-out or eating a frozen TV meal. On the way into Nyack, they’d passed a Mickey-D’s, but the last thing he wanted to do was continue shoveling junk into his body. So close to the crimes, and with all he had to do, he needed to stay on top of his game and not bogged down with crap.
“Retesting?” The look on her face told him how disgusted she was with the suggestion. “What makes you think we missed anything, or what do you think we’ve missed?” Her voice held just a knife’s blade of irritation.
He chewed and swallowed, the sublime tang hitting a spot in his empty stomach. “It’s not that I think your team can’t handle it.” He wound another bite around his fork. “I want to run some comparisons to the results we pulled in D.C. Outside of that, though, we need to figure out what this guy’s MO is so we can discover his signature behavior.”
She eyed him over her field of greens with speculation he could almost taste, even over good food. Distrust marred her features, which made unease prickle at his shoulders. He hated that look directed at him. And he had no clue where it was coming from. Sure they’d gotten off to a somewhat bad start, but he’d thought they were getting over that, especially with all the teasing and flirting they’d been doing for the past few hours. He sighed and dropped his fork, then set his elbows on the table. The setting sun behind her did two things at once. It reminded him of how much time he had before they’d be expected to part ways. He liked being in her company. There was something about Detective Charlie Lopez that kept him anticipating what smart-ass remark would come out of her sexy mouth. Parting even for the few hours tonight, when he’d go to the hotel, and her to wherever she stayed wasn’t a deadline he was looking forward to.
But soon, the sky would darken and the crimes would start again. It wasn’t a question of if, but when.
Natural light washed over the detective’s olive complexion. His hand ached to reach up and touch her. He gnashed his teeth together and set his fork down.
“Look, I thought I already made this clear. I’m not going to take over here. I’m actually hoping to help. I profile, find signatures, identify possible victims before they’ve been hit, and uncover an MO. This is why the FBI chose me. I know profiling. But before we can try to identify other characteristics that could lead us to him, we need to take several steps. This is one of them.”
He paused and she lifted a brow.
Christ.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What, or who, had put that lack of faith there?
“Profiling is a whole process, a generalization about a certain type of criminal and his or her crimes. The characteristics of what make him or her stand out from all the others. Once we are able to complete the profile, we will be a step closer to narrowing the list of suspects. Then, when it is narrowed, we can push toward an arrest. Surely you know this. It’s not something that is missed in the academy or at the university. You said so yourself.”
His gut clenched at a random thought. What would these crimes do to this community, to her, once she learned more? Turning his head, he eyed the sinking sun’s rays before forcing his gaze back to his spaghetti.
“All right, Sherlock, how do you suppose we go about figuring him out? What can you see?” she asked, that same lace of sarcasm in her voice. He fought against grinding his teeth together. This needed to stop. He wasn’t there to be interrogated.
He swallowed another large bite and answered. “Well, from what I’ve reviewed, it seems his B&Es hold common parts such as the footprints outside of a window, the tool marks at the point of entry and lack of violence. There is one thing concerning about his approach, though.”
She took a sip of water and eyed him over the glass. “What’s that?”
“The lingerie.”
She stared. “Okay? What about it?”
He stuttered on a breath and picked up his drink. “Well, the lingerie is more of a signature behavior, as is the semen your
team found at the latest victim’s house. But—” He scratched his head and took a drink of soda, the fuzzy carbonation tickling his throat. “Something feels off. It doesn’t seem to match exactly what happened in D.C. It’s almost as if he’s progressed.”
She picked up a piece of garlic bread from his plate and he raised a brow, but didn’t say a thing. “What do you mean?”
“Well, the steps he has taken in the past few B&Es lead me to believe he could be stepping up his excitement. He may start taking chances soon.” She opened her mouth, but he rushed on. “Crimes escalate. They always do no matter what it is. Think about it, someone steals a piece of candy from the store and gets away with it. What are they going to want to do next? Steal more, right? So they go back and this time, they take two. Same thing goes for a sex offender, or in our case a pervert who likes to break in and steal women’s lingerie. I can’t confirm that will happen with this perp yet, so don’t go jumping to any conclusions. I want to take a look at some reports before we go down that road.”
Her lips pressed together, the lower one popping out slightly. His mouth watered, and it was not for what sat on his plate.
“How do you come up with all of this, Agent Rossi?” she asked.
He shook his head, but kept his gaze on her mouth. “It’s Trent. And simple.” He shifted his chair around the table until his leg brushed along her thigh. She sat up straight, but didn’t push away.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice hitching as he brushed his thigh against hers again.
A test, he wanted to say, but didn’t. He continued to focus on her mouth. This was lesson one-oh-one in impulse behavior. He could just explain how criminals sometimes couldn’t control their actions, were led by their impulse for gratification, but getting up close and personal with Charlie seemed much better than giving a lecture. “Thinking outside the box. Taking something I want. Forgetting about the repercussions.” He scooted closer. Her scent washed over him, surrounded him. He leaned in and inhaled along her cheek, blowing his breath out against the shell of her ear.
“A-agent R-rossi, I think this is highly—”
“In order to understand why a criminal is doing something, you must first start thinking like one. Doing so means you need to drop all pretenses for what is right.” That plump brim of a lip filled his vision and he licked his in anticipation.
She sucked in a sweet gasp that filled his ears.
“This isn’t right, Trent,” she said, her breath fanning across his cheek.
His gut flipped at the sound of his name coming from her lips and he leaned in, speaking against her mouth, hovering only a scant inch between their lips. “Say it again. Say my name, again,” he demanded roughly.
She swallowed, a gulp that pierced his hearing as her radio squawked. Her chair made a disgruntled noise as she pushed back and stood. He blinked, the mood broken and looked around. Holy shit, who had he been trying to convince about impulses? Realizing that he’d been two seconds from kissing her shocked the hell out of him.
Charlie fidgeted with her radio after yanking it from the table, and walked out of the small restaurant. He sat back with a resigned sigh and watched as she paced along the front of the property, the window and the soft street light giving him a glimpse into her agitation. He had no clue what came over him. He needed to be careful, as a larger game currently played, and much more was as stake. He could not afford to mess up now.
Rising from his seat, he went off to fetch the server and pay the bill, then get back on track.
He stepped outside and stood to the side, waiting while Charlie finished whatever call that had come through. The sweltering heat wrapped around him like a heavy wool coat and he rethought the standard FBI fashion guidance. He wasn’t going to last more than two days in this heat if he continued to wear suits. At least in the City most of their cases were handled inside a car or a building, not outside in the heavy summer humidity and heat.
Charlie walked over to him and tucked her hands in the back of her pockets. The move thrust her chest outward and really, what hot-blooded man wouldn’t look? He made sure to do it fast before her attention turned to his face.
“What the hell was that inside?” Her voice was hard, but spoken softly as if she wasn’t sure what he’d been trying to do. He chose his words carefully, needing more than a professional reason to tread lightly.
“Look, Charlie, I didn’t mean any offense, and I’m sorry. It was more of a lesson in impulse control.”
She made a face and he could tell she didn’t understand. Okay, time to try another way.
“All right,” he started and widened his feet, settling in for what he did best, his job. “Impulse control and control of one’s actions are two different things. With impulse, what you’ll find is many perps can’t manage this and after they are caught and evaluated, they are labeled with Impulse Control Disorder. Many of your common criminals are this type. Gamblers that can’t quit, pyromaniacs, kleptomaniacs, and sexual deviants. Understanding this disorder can help you as an Investigator to track your perp better.”
“But I thought you didn’t know if they have this disorder until after they are caught and evaluated. How can you think our guy, if it is just one guy, has this?” she asked, her face scrunching into a mask with no small amount of incredulity.
Trent spread his hands, getting into their discussion. Sweat gathered along his spine. It really was damn hot, but he had Charlie’s attention now and he didn’t want to chance moving this inside and losing her. “Well, that’s a good question, but think about it. If it is the same guy, the stages he’s going through are progressing and that’s important in tracking him.”
“Like moving from merely watching a woman undress to actually breaking into the house and becoming somewhat of an active participant by touching her sexy underthings?” she asked.
He nodded. She caught on quick. “Exactly, and with ICD the main aspect is that impulse. It’s a growing tension that the offender can no longer fight. Once it gets too strong, they have to release it and in doing that, they obtain pleasure, get relief, and then possibly grief over committing the act.”
“Still doesn’t explain why you tried to kiss me, Agent Rossi,” she snapped, her eyes holding his.
“Trent,” he said, reminding her.
Her mouth twisted, so he went on. “With ICD, if I was the perp, I wouldn’t have been able to control my actions. But knowing I don’t have it—”
“One can only hope,” Charlie cut in.
He grinned. “Or that,” he said and chuckled. “That would mean I was in control of my actions and was doing what one would consider to be coming on a little strong.”
“You think? How about next time you just tell me what you’re trying to do, instead of using me as your guinea pig.”
He bowed his head in mock surrender. “Of course. Can we get out of this heat now? I’m sweating my ass off here. And without having to be reminded, yes, Charlie, you were right.”
She chuckled and the sound brushed against him with soft fingers. “I actually need to head back to the station and take care of an old case. You need a ride to the hotel, or are you okay from here?”
His hotel was in the opposite direction of the station, and even though it was hot as hell, the walk wouldn’t kill him. “Naw, I can make it from here, unless you maybe don’t want to continue this lesson back at my room?” He had to tease her. He couldn’t resist.
She scrunched her face again and really, that look shouldn’t make her look cuter, but damn if it didn’t. So he told her as much.
“That was cute, Charlie, but yeah, I thought so. Goodnight.”
Chapter Five
“That had better be some strong coffee.” Charlie accepted the cup with a grateful smile. Heat spread through the Styrofoam, reminding her of the warm, comfortable bed she had been pulled from thirty minutes earlier thanks to another home invasion. Four-thirty in the morning was definitely a time she considered night, especially
when the sky was still black. Getting yanked out of bed at this god-awful hour reminded her that she was, yes, the lead detective on this case. Her emotional tug of war with what Trent had done to her outside the restaurant last night also weighed on her mind and after a shit week of no sleep, it put her in a dangerous mood. On one hand, she was ecstatic that she finally garnered the attention and respect. But on the other, she still felt as if she was in over her head. Ready to sink with the ship.
Detective Dwayne Gonzalez nodded and stepped back, turning so he stood next to her. She took him in. As if made for him, a blue suit molded to his body, tie in place, hair orderly, and his green eyes were bright with alertness. Every bit a marathon runner, his lean muscles showcased the mocha-colored skin that sent women all over Nyack—even her at times—swooning. Her best friend, current roommate, and partner crossed his arms over his chest and studied the scene. The room was in disarray, items scattered left and right. A lamp lay forgotten on the ground, and the window drapes billowed in the wind.
She took a hesitant sip of coffee and continued to scan the area, noting specific details. An out of place piece of plastic on the floor, coins laying on the dresser, diamond earrings sitting inches away. Then, her gaze fell to the bed. She cursed and hot liquid scalded her tongue. Lingerie lay haphazardly scattered across the mattress.
Lowering the cup from her mouth, she wiped the burning fluid away with her other hand. This was just another piece of the puzzle that added to her overall investigation. Dwayne’s voice rumbled next to her.
“You catch any sleep?”
She cast a glance his way. “I was just resting when you walked in. My head was pounding out the latest electronic dance song, and my vision wasn’t any better. I was trying to wait for the aspirin to kick in.”
