Page 21 of To Catch a Sub

Finally, she tapped the stack of papers together, and then held them out to him.

“I’m sorry about that, Detective…” She looked chagrined.

He was fantasizing about her, and she’d forgotten his name. Humbling.

Landon took them, but set everything aside, offering his hand. “Detective Malik.”

She slipped her hand into his.

Tension and awareness crackled through him, the feeling exponentially stronger with skin to skin contact.

The woman’s gaze jumped up to his, her lips parted.

Chemistry. This was raw sexual chemistry.

Landon squeezed her hand gently, just to see what would happen.

She made a small sound—a sigh or a moan, he wasn’t sure which word fit that sexy little noise—and lowered her gaze from his.

Need ripped through him. Not just desire, but need. The need to have this woman. To make her submit to him. And then when she was his, helpless by choice, he’d give her pain-laced pleasure so intense she’d scream and beg for more.

Fuck.

He was at work for fucking fuck’s sake. Not only at work, he was currently working a case that was probably the scandal of the century.

An estimated five-hundred pieces had been stolen from the British Museum.

He looked around the Duveen Gallery again. An hour ago he’d had an argument with one of the museum directors in this very same room. Landon wanted the museum to re-authenticate all pieces currently on display, and the director acted like Landon asked him to shoot a member of the royal family. Once the director stormed off, Landon had stayed, letting the quiet awe of the gallery soothe him so he could get a handle on his frustration.

He doubted that the Parthenon Sculptures, which his grandfather still called the Elgin Marbles, had been stolen and replaced with replicas.

But right now, Landon had a duty to consider every worst-case scenario.

He needed to get back to work, not sitting here having Dom fantasies about the museum worker who’d brought him?—

He looked down at the papers.

—an inventory.

An inventory?

Landon slid his hand from hers, and snatched up the list.

“Is this an inventory?” He started flipping through pages, heart racing. “So there is a complete inventory.”

When the museum quietly admitted they didn’t actually know what was missing, because their collection was so vast it hadn’t been catalogued, Landon had thought they were joking. Hoped they were joking.

“Actually, there’s not.” She rose from the floor and sat beside him on the bench. He had to check the urge to put his hands on her to help her up.

He frowned. “That’s what the director told me… I still can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I,” she admitted, glancing around guiltily. “I probably shouldn’t say that.”

It was after hours, and the museum was closed, but there were plenty of people, both staff and police, in the building. It had been several days since the theft was discovered, but everyone was still in crisis mode.

“Actually, a lot of the biggest, most famous museums don’t have a comprehensive list of their own collections,” the woman said.

Landon paused to consider the information. “Does that make this better or worse?”