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“Did you see him? Any part of him?” she asked.
“Love, if I had, I would’ve given you that information rather than just having you poke at a dead body.” William felt his temper growing shorter. It was incredibly awkward for her to look at him this way. He wasn’t even sure where this empathy had stemmed from. Was it leftover feelings, or just part of her professional interrogation techniques?
So much for not letting her manipulate him.
“You’ve got to get back to work, don’t you?” he said.
Anne let go of his hand. “I do. There’s a lot of work right now. Be careful.”
“I always aim to,” William vowed.
However, that, like many other things he said on a given day, was a total lie. At least where Anne was concerned.
Chapter Eight
Following up with Captain Lopez that evening had been about as pleasant as Anne had expected. He hadn’t been too happy about the option to work with William Spencer as an informant. However, since his information had panned out for the mark on the body, and Jeffers had found three more unsolved murders with the same mark so far, Lopez had given approval to keep working with him as long as he proved useful.
“This case is getting big, Sutton,” Lopez had warned. “Keep it sharp, and keep it clean. If you need anything from the department, let me know. This isn’t the time to try to be a hero. Cases like this are the kind that get Major Crimes real interested once they get wind of them.”
Anne knew that too well. Major Crimes was notable for intervening on cases that were mostly solved, and no one wanted to lose a collar to them. Hence, the reason she had been getting so little sleep this week between the late nights and early mornings.
That morning had been a rough one, overall. She’d overslept. Evie hadn’t wanted to go with the babysitter at all. So she was running late, with hair that was still wet from the shower, and she had to change from her blouse to a tank top that she kept in the car because Evie had spilled sticky juice all over her.
Just the way she wanted to prepare for a glamorous gala.
When she reached the door to William’s suite, Anne felt aggravated and harried, and she hoped they could just pick out a dress quickly so she could get back to the station. Instead, William opened the door, and two things were apparent: his shit-eating grin and a rack of luxurious gowns waiting for her inside.
“When I told you your bun wouldn’t cut it, I didn’t quite mean this,” William teased.
“Don’t start. It’s been a rough morning.” Anne pushed past him and set her bag on the floor. “Can we get on with this?”
“Little sister hog the bathroom this morning?”
“Do I have to try on all of these?” Anne turned to the sea of sparkles and organza before her.
“No.” William shook his head. “Not the yellow. It wouldn’t match your skin tone. You’d look like Big Bird.”
Anne narrowed his eyes.
“Granted, it would be the only big thing about you.”
“At this point, Pigg’s hit man isn’t the one you need to worry about killing you.”
William chuckled. “I just need you to pick a gown, and I’ll have my tailor fit it for you.”
“Fine.” A
nne walked up to the dresses. She pulled out a peach gown with a trumpet skirt and large flowers.
“Ah, the Jovani,” William said.
“It looks like someone murdered their curtains.” Anne pushed it back into the rack.
William rubbed a finger along his lips to cover a smile.
Anne peered at the detailing on a long black gown. “This one looks like it belongs to a pregnant teenager going to junior prom.”
“You are the pickiest woman. That’s Sachin & Babi.”
