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“Ma’am, I’m talking to you,” he continues. “What were you doing at the crime scene?”
There are far fewer people on the sidewalk here. The kind of place where the normal person doesn’t walk unaccompanied no matter the time of day, and I’ve been navigating for years. I turn the corner into the space between buildings, knowing the fine AF detective will follow me. And when he thinks he’s blocked off my exit and cornered me, when the large rectangle of the garbage bin hides us from the street, I stop and face him.
My arms cross over my chest. “I might have been there, but what are you doing following me?” I ask, getting the jump on him.
The detective is even finer up close, marked for his status by the square bulge in his pocket and the badge hidden underneath. Not to mention, I’ve looked up every law enforcement agent in the city, from tenured to rookie, at one point or another.
His name is on the tip of my tongue, and I can’t for the life of me remember anything but the D. I also can’t stop myself from glancing down at the juncture between his legs. I’m sure he’s got a fine D as well.
The man blinks, pulling up short. What does he see when he looks at me?
“You walked away from a crime scene wearing clothes better suited to downtown. You don’t belong here, so who are you?” he wants to know in return.
“Am I a person of interest to you, Officer?” I use the term to prod an answer out of him, secretly delighted when he falls into my trap.
“It’s Detective Bishop,” he corrects me.
His attitude marks him as a cop even if the coat says he should be on a runway somewhere. No, I tell myself. He’s too rough for a runway. But the coat is good quality. A girl can appreciate a man who knows quality.
I smile at him, flashing teeth. “I’m new to this part of the neighborhood, and I got worried when I heard the sirens. I decided to come over, check it out,” I say easily, keeping my tone light and airy. “Nothing else.”
Except Detective Bishop takes a step forward. “You’re lying.”
“How would you know?”
He opens his mouth to answer, then snaps his lips closed.
“You don’t believe I’m just a concerned citizen?” I press.
He shakes his head. “Honey, I’m sorry, there is nothing about you that speaks to you being a concerned citizen. You’re not one of the crows, either. I’m willing to bet actual money you knew the vic in some capacity. Ah.” He breaks off. “I’m right, aren’t I? Were you scoping out the crime scene because of it?”
Shit. Not good. Maybe I really am a terrible actor. He’s made me in less than ten minutes.
“Detective Bishop…I’m glad there are men like you protecting the city. It’s not right when young men are cut down in the prime of their lives. And in such a gruesome manner,” I say to divert his attention.
Devan.
His name comes to me in a flash.That’s it. I knew I recognized him. There are files on Devan on Broderick’s laptop detailing the other man’s involvement in a situation from several years back. They’re not supposed to be accessible to the rest of the members of the Black Market Syndicate, but I have ways around firewalls and protections that others do not.
I’m very good at my job.
Devan seems like a man who is good at his job, too. Maybe that’s why I stayed at the scene this morning for a little longer than prudent. Rather than checking on Everett to make sure there wasn’t a hint of life, or evidence, left for the cops to find, maybe I stayed because Devan is just so fucking sexy. And it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man who gets the girls tingling the way he does.
A long time? Fuck. Try never.
Tingles are rare in life and rarer in my line of work.
“You seriously trying to blow smoke up my ass?” His voice takes on the haughty tone of someone who sees straight through the lies and is a little insulted you even tried.
I try not to feel properly chastised. “There wasn’t much blood, but the way his neck gaped open the way it did…” I play up the shudder for the detective’s benefit. “I hope you catch this killer soon.”
He’s not buying it. Any of it.
“You have nothing to worry about, ma’am.” He’s not moving, either. “My partner and I are on the case, and we have an excellent record of closure. Now, why don’t you tell me about your connection to the stiff?”
“I don’t think you’re going to be able to close this one,” I murmur.
His gaze sharpens. “Why not?”
