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“Do you want to give me that file before I retreat to my own room?”
“Oh, are you leaving? You don’t need to. We still have a few hours before we have to get going. I was just going to kick back and watch some TV—unless you don’t think you can concentrate on the file with distractions.”
He scratched his chin. She was the biggest distraction of all, but if she wanted him to stay he would. “I always work with background noise. Mind if I camp out on the love seat?”
“Be my guest, and don’t you dare shave.”
“Huh?” The plate he’d been stacking on the tray clattered as he dropped it.
“The stubble works—black shirt, stubble,” she said with a grin as she flashed him a thumbs-up, “you’re in with the brujos.”
He shook his head and hoisted the tray. “Just don’t expect me to cast any spells.”
Her luscious lips curved into a smile. “I couldn’t imagine that, but the scruff should stay.”
He opened the door and propped it open with his foot as he placed the tray on the carpet outside. “I’ll keep it. Now let me have a crack at that file.”
“It’s on the bed.”
He sat on the edge of the mattress and reached across the rumpled bedcovers to grab the file folder. Christina’s scent engulfed him and he almost burrowed into the covers to get lost in it.
He gripped the edge of the folder and resurfaced to reality. “I’ll give this a fresh set of eyes.”
She dropped to the bed just as he cleared it, punched some pillows into place and settled against them. She aimed the remote at the flat screen TV. “I’ll try to keep the sound down.”
“Believe me, I’ll let you know if it’s too loud.” He sprawled in the corner of the love seat and dropped the folder in his lap.
Once he got engrossed in the details of the case, the TV really did become background noise. Even Christina’s presence faded to one corner of his mind.
After about an hour, he tilted his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes. As his muscles relaxed, the sounds and smells of the room came back into focus. Once again Christina’s perfume tickled his nose, and the droning voice on the TV began to form actual words.
He listened for several minutes and then opened one eye. “Are you watching a true crime show?”
“It’s about that murder up in Seattle, the father who killed his family and tried to blame it on intruders.”
“Yeah, that guy’s a straight-up sociopath—dead eyes.”
“Remember when Ray was telling us about that reporter-turned-true-crime-writer who wrote a book on this case?”
“Yeah, the one who’s interested in my father’s case?”
She pointed at the TV. “There she is. They interviewed her as part of this show.”
He dropped his chin to his chest and squinted at the screen. An animated brunette was waving her hands around, punctuating her words with gestures. “Okay, remind me never to talk to her.”
“She’s fascinating. She interviewed the guy in prison, and he turned on the charm thinking he’d get favorable treatment in her book. Guess she saw right through that because her portrayal of him is not at all flattering.”
“As a sociopath, he probably thought he had her wrapped around his finger.”
She muted the sound. “I probably should’ve been watching that dancing show or something.”
“You don’t have to hide your interests from me, Christina. I already know you’re kind of morbid.”
“Speaking of which, it’s time to get into character.”
“I’ll leave you to get ready. I’m going to try to catch a few winks before we go.”
“I’m too wound up to nap. I’m going to hop in the shower. I’ll knock when I’m ready.”
“And the file?” He tapped the folder. “I didn’t find anything either.”
He retreated to his room and spread out on the bed, setting the alarm on his phone for a wake-up call in forty-five minutes.
It came all too soon. He took a quick shower and pulled on some black jeans, black T-shirt sporting an old album cover from The Who and a pair of motorcycle boots. Just as he stomped the second boot on the floor, Christina tapped on the door.
He called out, “I’m ready.”
She peeked around the edge of the door and whistled. “You look hot.”
“For a brujo.”
“For anything.” She widened the door and stepped through, her black skirt rustling around her ankles.
“And you look appropriately witchy.”
She’d outlined her eyes with black liner and tousled her dark hair so that it hung like a disheveled curtain around her shoulders.
