Page 63 of Hoofin’ It

“No. Former co-worker.”

“Ah. Cop, then?”

“Yep, and she’s pretty pissed I’m a better shot than she is.”

“Shane, you’re a better shot than half the members of the FBI. That was some seriously nice shooting, and you’re no slacker in the footwork department. That course was set up to force you to move and take shots from all angles. That’s not easy.”

Coming from an undercover FBI agent, the complement meant a lot. “It was nothing, really.”

“Nothing except hard work and a lot of dedication to learning how to use a gun. That wasn’t your gun.”

“We use the M&P22s on the force, so I’ve fired them before.”

“Still.” When we reached my car, I wished I’d gotten something at least a decade newer and with fewer rust spots. “Ah, you’re one of those.”

Even I recognized when something didn’t sound promising. I guessed what she meant. “The ‘my main car is a cruiser’ type?”

“Yep. My main car is an FBI marked SUV. It’s like that one,” she said, pointing at the black vehicle parked several spots away. “However, mine’s blue.”

“Is there someone hiding in there, or did you drive yourself here?”

“Unlike my colleagues, I didn’t get lost. I learned from their mistakes. I wisely asked someone for very detailed directions on how to get here. I’ll be following you out of here, and if you ditch me in Lower Chicago, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

Why did I find cranky women threatening to end my life so damned attractive? While Michelle would flatten me given half a chance, her temper made her more dangerous. When Marian delivered her ultimatums, the hint of a smile lowered her lethality rating significantly. “Where am I taking you?”

“FBI headquarters downtown.”

“I’ll cut you a better deal. I’ll take you to my apartment, ditch my car, and drive you there myself. Fastest way is through the alleys of Lower Chicago, and I’ll lose you in the maze for sure.” With morning rush hour over, I might even be able to get her there in an hour, assuming construction cooperated. “In exchange, tell me how you found me.”

Marian’s smile widened, and she pulled out her phone and showed me the display. “I tapped into the tracking software on your phones. I figured the two stationary signals were the spares, so I got the address and came here.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I forgot about that.”

“I rather like it. That said, you should uninstall it. Convenient for me means potentially convenient for others. Will I be interrupting anything important if I borrow you for a few hours?”

Marian didn’t seem bothered by my long silence. If my luck held out, she thought I was thinking over my schedule rather than remembering her on my lap. “Nothing important, just submitting my resume. No appointments I can think of, and I’m no longer required to appear in court.”

“I’ve been following the trial, and I did confirm with the CDC you weren’t going to be in court before flying in. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

I hid my disappointment with a smile, recognizing professionalism when I saw it. “It’s no problem. If I lose you, I’ll pull over so you can catch up. I presume you have my number.”

“You presume correctly. Let’s go.”

Chapter Eighteen

If I invited Marian up to my apartment, would she take it the wrong way and murder me?

I needed to grab something from my fridge to keep me from melting into a starved puddle at her feet. While I had no problem getting on my knees and begging, I’d rather do it for something more pleasant, like a repeat of the evening in the nightclub, except in my bed. The idea of her hair on my pillow did unfair things to me.

So did the thought of her in a pair of jeans.

I spent the entire drive to my apartment attempting to exorcise the memory of her naked body warming mine. Despite popular belief, thinking about puppies and kittens didn’t help. Sports didn’t help, either, although I made progress analyzing my performance at the shooting range.

Michelle’s behavior bothered me enough to distract me from Marian, but not in a good way. Before the court case, she’d been a little standoffish although friendly, but she had changed, and I wasn’t sure if it was for the better. Upsetting the status quo wouldn’t earn me any friends among the prejudiced, and the CDC was presenting me as a victim of unfair discrimination—discrimination she’d participated in.

Learning I could shoot better than her, essentially rubbing her ignorance in her face, wouldn’t earn me any points with Michelle. At least Stripes hadn’t been there; I scared him enough without him realizing how good of a shot I was. Rumors spread fast around the station. It wouldn’t be long until everyone learned I knew my way around a gun beyond standard qualification.

I hadn’t hidden my shooting skills on purpose, but I hadn’t boasted about them, either.