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Sasha trembled slightly, goosebumps gathering over her arms. “I still have two and a half hours until I need to be at the gallery. I have my dress in the car, so I don’t need to go home.”
“Sit tight. I’ll be back.” He left her in the interrogation room and paced down the hall to the lockers. One of the perks of no longer being a patrol officer was wearing his own clothes, but he still kept workout gear in his locker to hit the station gym after his shift. There was bound to be a police academy sweatshirt in there too. He found what he was looking for and carried it back to the room. “Here. The station tends to be on the cool side.”
The sweatshirt would be huge on her, but it was warmer than the short-sleeved top she was currently wearing. She slipped it over her head, and the hem hit her knees. Brushing both hands at the nape of her neck, she untucked her hair from the hood and dropped it over her left shoulder, the various shades of copper and red reflecting beneath the fluorescent lights.
“Thanks. That’s a million times better.” The cuffs of the sleeves fell over her hands and stayed in place when she crossed her arms over her chest.
“No problem,” he grunted, trying to mask the growing soft spot he had toward her. Turning, he exited the room to retrieve the copies of her statement.
The next hour was spent signing paperwork, and he ordered them subs from the pizza place across the street. They ate and talked, keeping the conversation light until it was time to leave for the gallery. He stayed right by her side as they crossed the parking lot to the unmarked black SUV and made sure she was securely in the vehicle before rounding the car to the driver’s side.
He tried to relax his jaw as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. No cars stood out to him in particular. Hell, the highway was full of them, making it easier for someone to blend. At the last moment, he swerved off the exit ramp. Taking backroads through the suburbs would allow him to keep a closer eye on the cars behind him. The rest of the drive passed without event, but it didn’t ease the twitchy sensation in his limbs, and the feeling that something was about to happen tingling through his chest.
“Wait for me to come around,” he said gruffly, focused on the task at hand. She unbuckled and shifted to pull the garment bag out of the back seat. At least with his dress shirt and black pants, he would blend into the affair. He narrowed his eyes, surveying the dimly lit parking lot for threats, then opened the passenger side door. “Come on.” He rested his hand on her shoulder as they paced briskly to the glass doors leading to the building’s interior. The air was tinged with the smell of exhaust fumes, and another, lighter honeyed scent that he was starting to associate with Sasha. It reminded him of lemon custard.
Once inside, they took the elevator to the fifth floor, then walked down the short hall to the gallery. The glossy poured concrete slapped against their shoes, and a man and woman, both wearing black dress clothes, came forward to greet them. The place was polished, with an air of exclusivity that would deter anyone without deep pockets.
“Sasha, it is such a pleasure to see you.” The young man with dyed silver hair leaned forward, air-kissing both of her cheeks.
“We have everything all set, and I must say this collection is one of my absolute favorites. Just lovely.” The woman was older, maybe in her sixties. Her dark hair was short in the back, angled in long strands down her temples. The dark lipstick and heavy makeup she wore emphasized her pallor. “And who is your friend?” The woman extended a hand, and he met her cold, creped skin with his own.
“Detective Lambert. I’m Sasha’s detail tonight.” He sized them both up, then looked past them through the gallery. It was a small space, so it would be easy to canvas the open room and make sure there were no threats. He recognized her oil painting hanging on the series of white walls. The walls opposite the art were exposed brick, and the interior room with only one window was ideal.
“Oh, I didn’t realize.” Her gaze flicked to Sasha then back to him. “My name is Gwen, and this is Tyler, if you need anything. We never had the need of a detail officer. The gallery is quite safe, and our clientele is very elite, not the type to cause trouble.”
Horror flashed in Sasha’s eyes. “Oh, it has nothing to do with your clients. It’s a personal matter, but we don’t expect any interferences with the showing.”
Gwen nodded. “You can change through this door, in the back office if you’d like. There’s a private powder room.”
“Thank you.” Sasha moved toward the door, but he placed a light hand on her shoulder.
“I need to check it first.” He went in, cleared the area, and when he was satisfied it was empty, gave Sasha the go-ahead to enter before sweeping the rest of the gallery. He turned to walk back toward the front when his heart jammed into his throat. Sasha had shed his baggy sweatshirt and her tight jeans, replacing them with a royal-blue cocktail dress that made his mind whirl. The neckline dipped over her breasts, and the ruffled straps left her delicate shoulders bare. The gauzy material gathered around her waist, the hem hitting mid-thigh. He wasn’t sure how she’d had time to put her hair into an elegant twist at the back of her neck, secured with some type of sparkling comb. He had a sister and knew full well how long it took her to get ready in the morning.
She crossed the room to him, silver stilettos clicking against the floor. The color of her dress picked up some of the colors from her paintings and brightened her eyes. His throat was bone dry, as if he’d just swallowed a handful of crackers.
“What now?” she asked. “Is there anything I can do to help, anything I can get you?”
Because it would be inappropriate to tell her she was beautiful, unprofessional to say she was sexy as sin in that whisper of a dress, he shook his head. “No. Do your thing. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He followed her eyes as they shifted toward the door as the first guests began to filter in and catering staff quietly slipped amongst the crowd to circulate hors d’oeuvres and champagne. For the next two hours, he kept watch as Sasha lit up the room with her smile, but it was hard to ignore how it never really reached her eyes. It wasn’t just the cop in him that wanted to uncover the reason why she looked broken when she thought no one was watching.
He let his gaze wander the room, thinking of everything that could go wrong, assessing each scenario, sizing up the people swooning over her work, and the gallery employees hosting the event. Sasha had endless reserves of patience, taking time to answer questions and explain her work to the people dying to rub shoulders with her. Must’ve taken a heck of a long time to paint all of these pieces. Some of the canvases were larger than the artist herself. It was the kind of talent the typical population, himself included, couldn’t fathom. No wonder she hadn’t had a second off her feet the entire evening. Feet that must be sore and blistering in the heels that brought her up to his chin.
Airy laughter caught his attention. The sound had rippled from Sasha’s lips as she spoke with an attendee. Like her smile, the noise was hollow. Enough to fool most, but if he looked closely, he noticed something more beneath the surface. He was determined to uncover what it was.
Chapter Five
Sasha startled awake, recoiling from the hand against her shoulder. It only took her a moment to take stock of her surroundings. The blip of the radio, the warm whisper of cedar and sandalwood-scented aftershave, the gruff voice reverberating to her left. Her shoulders instantly relaxed, and she leaned into his warm palm instead of fighting to get out from underneath it. She glanced at the digital display on the dashboard. It was nearly midnight.
“You’re safe. You rested on the drive.” He removed his hand, instantly leaving her skin cold. She barely remembered getting into his car after the showing, dead on her feet after a sleepless night. If it were anyone else driving the car, she never would’ve nodded off. Gus exuded a unique type of agile competence that instantly put her at ease. She was safe with him.
“Resting is a polite word for a knocked-out, snoring, drooling mess, isn’t it?” She sat up straighter, heat tingling along her cheeks. God, how embarrassing.
His lips twitched in amusement. “No. You didn’t drool…”
She let out a long groan and buried her face in her hands, but the mortification didn’t stop the smile from forming on her lips. She liked that he had a playful side beneath the hard exterior. Her friend Ted always told her for a little thing, she snored like a big freight truck was rolling through.
