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But Justin Summers?
Eric leans forward, his mouth stopping behind my ear.
“You’re tensing up. Relax. Summers won’t be a problem.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“No, Bri,” he corrects. “Not easy for me. My ass is on the line, same as yours,” he whisper-yells.
“Can we head on in, Becky?” I say a little louder than necessary.
“Let me take you.” She scoots her chair backward, stands, and then walks over to Tom’s door, knocking. After a beat, she pivots around. “You both may go in now.”
“Thanks,” I say, sliding past her to enter Tom’s office.
He’s seated behind his desk, forearms stretched across the center, looking every bit in charge until his mask slips the second Alders enters behind me.
Glancing over, I see who I’m guessing is the Internal Affairs detective. He’s seated in a relaxed position at the end of the leather couch in Tom’s office. He sits up, taking me in as I do him.
Detective Summers is dressed in a dark gray suit with a light blue shirt that makes his striking blue eyes pop. The jacket is tight along his biceps, showcasing exactly what’s beneath the material. His blond hair is cut short in the back and styled longer on the top. The trimmed goatee and beard make him appear older, but I’m betting we are about the same age.
He’s not at all how I’ve imagined him. And very easy on the eyes.
“Andrews,” Tom greets, standing. I look away, giving my boss my full attention as Eric comes to stand beside me. “I don’t recall telling you to bring a guest.”
“Sir,” I start, but I’m silenced when Eric places his hand on my forearm. I turn my head, questioning him with my stare.
“I don’t plan on being here long, Chief,” Eric tells him.
“Alders, why do I get the feeling you’re here to fuck up my cut-and-dry case?” Detective Summers stands, crossing his arms over his chest, staring at Alders’s.
“Nothing’s ever cut and dry, J. You know that.”
My eyes snap up to Eric’s and then over to Detective Summers, noting the silent conversation they both seem to be having. Eric referred to him as “J” rather than Justin or addressing him formally. In the time I’ve known Drago, he too refers to those close to him by their first initial. Eric’s a lot like D when I think about it. Or at least I get that feeling. Perhaps when and if I get to know Alders more, that’ll change.
“Fair enough,” Detective Summers says, then his eyes glide over, landing on mine. “Justin Summers.” He walks forward, then stretches his hand out toward me. “IA, but I’m going to assume you know that already.”
“Brianna Andrews.” I slide my hand into his, squeezing. His palm is warm and gentle. Looking up, I can’t help but scrutinize his gaze. He’s doing the same to me, only it’s not my eyes he’s checking out. It’s my mouth. There’s a hint of approval behind the sparkle in his blue eyes. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but we both know it’s not.”
A low chuckle escapes his lips as his eyes flick back to mine.
“No. I guess it wouldn’t be if I were in your shoes.”
“Summers,” Ramirez calls out, earning all of our attention. “You know this man? Fill me in then.”
“Sir, I do,” Summers responds.
“No need.” Eric holds up his hand to Summers then pulls out the chain from under his T-shirt, letting it fall to his chest to reveal his badge. “Special Agent Eric Alders.”
Tom’s features visibly change; anger washes over his face.
“What reason would the DEA be in my office and with my detective, nonetheless?”
Eric flips the file folder up, slapping it against my arm to take it, which I do, and then step forward, handing it over to the deputy chief.
Tom’s eyes watch mine the entire time. He seems reluctant to take it at first, but finally, he pulls it out of my hand.
“What’s this?”
