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“Don’t. In fact, if you can leak that you’re still investigating me, it would probably be better,” William suggested.
Anne blinked at him in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Why would you do that? I thought you wanted people to leave you alone? To get on with your life?”
“I do, but if I’m going to do this, I’d rather all the ne'er-do-wells assume I’m one of them. On top of that, the best way to catch a criminal is to let him get cocky. If the man who ordered the murder thinks the police are planning a case against me…” William picked up a pen and twirled it, thinking as he spoke. “I reckon he’ll be so flushed with success that he’d be more inclined to make mistakes and not guard his secrets.”
Anne seemed to consider that. “Not a bad idea. But it puts a lot of pressure on you.”
“There’s a man out there who stuck a knife in my gut and some unknown enemy following me. Trust me, love, I’m already under a spot of pressure.” William’s tone was dry and a little mocking, but Anne’s eyes widened, and she grimaced. This was not a joke she found very funny.
“I was right,” was all she said.
“You were right.” William rubbed his thumb against the scar on his middle finger. “I know how you love that.”
“I do. I’m not wild about this though.”
She stepped back toward him, and for some reason, he let her take his hand. Her long tapered fingers moved along his, splaying them apart as she looked for the mark. It was unmistakable. The doctors had stitched that up as well as his side, but the former injury hadn’t healed as evenly as the latter. Her fingertips moved over the scar and the bumpy flesh where the stitches had held his finger together. Her eyes fixed on his hand with an almost intimate expression.
“It was before I met you,” he said, although he didn’t know why he felt the need to explain.
“I remember the gash on your side,” Anne said quietly. “Why did the hit man use a knife on you, rather than a gun?”
“Maybe he realized it was more efficient. Maybe I’m bloody lucky. Who the hell knows?” William curled his fingers over, but she didn’t take her hand away. She just held his hand in hers and looked up at him with that intolerably sympathetic expression.
“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.
