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“Why is that?”
“Because I’m not a good FBI agent,” he told her simply.
Detective Ashley Jones cocked one eyebrow, raising her pen and chewing on the end of it, her full lips puckering around the narrow tip. Yet another distraction. He couldn’t help wondering if she knew how sexual her act appeared, and if she did, why she was using such tactics on him? To get him to open up to her? Hell, he’d been tried, used, and abused by much better manipulators than this pretty little cop.
She wrote something on her pad, tore off the bottom half of the page, and slid the paper across the table to him. “Thanks for your time, Special Agent Reed,” she said, standing and closing her notebook.
Chase glanced down at the piece of torn paper without touching it. We’ll keep it off the record then. Call me. 314-840-9334. Ashley.
He slid the piece of paper off the table and then into his back pocket. Heading for the door, he ignored the curious looks the uniforms gave him and didn’t look at Ashley. And to think he’d doubted he’d head home with any phone numbers tonight. Looked like he’d scored after all, and with the hottest woman he’d seen in that club all night.
CHAPTER 2
“CRAP!” ASH SLOWED when she turned onto her street, hesitating when she saw her ex’s car parked in front of her house. “Not now,” she moaned.
Danny was the last person in the world she wanted to deal with right now. It had been a long day, preceded by a really long night. She didn’t have enough energy to take him on.
Her cell phone rang and she picked it up out of her cup holder on her dash, staring at the word “unknown” on her small screen. Her gut tightened. This was her personal phone, her private number that only her closest friends and her parents knew. There wasn’t any reason for anyone to block their number and call her. And she was pretty sure it was next to impossible for anyone to track the number down.
It rang a third time and then a fourth while she crawled down the street, practically coasting, and nearing her home. As it quit ringing, going to voice mail, Danny turned in his driver’s seat and then opened his car door. She had half a mind to accelerate and lose him before he could follow her.
Ash pushed the button to roll down her passenger window as she pulled up alongside Danny. “I’ve had no sleep. I’m tired and I’m grouchy. So if you’ve come over to fight, we’re going to have to reschedule.”
“I’m not here to fight.” He sounded uncharacteristically passive. Which made her even more leery of talking to him.
Rolling her window up, she turned in front of his car and pulled into her driveway just as her cell phone buzzed, indicating voice mail. If she pushed her garage-door opener on her visor and pulled in to her garage, Danny would walk in behind her. It would be hell getting him out of her house. And she didn’t want him inside. She didn’t want to leave her car parked in her driveway, either.
“Double crap,” she groaned, resigning herself to putting her car away. She was too exhausted to have to come back out and pull it into the garage later.
Danny stood alongside her car in the dark garage as she grabbed her purse and phone. Whoever had blocked their number and called had left a voice-mail message and in spite of her ever-growing exhaustion she wanted to hear the message.
Would it be the FBI hunk she’d run into at Club Toro?
“You look like hell,” Danny said, closing in on her before she could shut her car door.
“What do you want, Danny?” She didn’t stop him when he reached around her and closed her car door for her.
The garage door closed, engulfing them in darkness. Ash made her way to the door leading into her kitchen, punching in the security code for the alarm, and then opening the door to her home.
“I wanted to talk to you about . . .” He hesitated, leaning on the doorknob just inside the kitchen. “Mindy Simpson.”
Ash dropped her purse on the kitchen table and stared at her ex. In the four years since their divorce, he’d put on some weight. She’d heard he was dating someone now but did her best not to keep up with his life. With no kids, and not much property shared, their divorce had been as amiable as could be, and there had been little reason to keep in contact since. Danny usually seemed to find reason though, especially if he needed to take advantage of her being a cop. She should have guessed tonight’s visit wouldn’t be anything different.
“Why are you asking about her?” she asked.
“She was killed last night.”
“I know. I was on scene.”
“That’s what I heard.” He let go of the doorknob and ran his hand over his closely shaved head, his entire body seeming to deflate when he exhaled loudly. “Can you tell me . . . I mean. Hell,” he groaned, looking absolutely tortured when he lifted his watery eyes to her. “Did she suffer a lot before she died?”
“Oh hell, Danny. Don’t tell me you were seeing Mindy Simpson. She was twenty-three years old.” No one she’d interviewed who’d claimed to know Mindy had mentioned Danny.
She wasn’t sure she remembered him ever looking so upset. Danny was all man, the macho, never-let-them-seeyou-cry type of guy. Yet the man who stood in her kitchen looked like he’d just lost his puppy, or worse, someone he really cared about.
“I’m sorry, Danny,” she said, hugging herself and refusing to hug him. If he came over thinking she might crack and feel sorry for him, he’d learn soon enough she was made of tougher stuff than that. “How well did you know Mindy?”
“I’ve actually known her a couple years. We were on the same bowling league together. I took her out six months or so ago and we’ve been kind of o
