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“I know.” But he did. He couldn’t explain it to Lucy, not yet—he wasn’t sure he could explain it to himself. But Sean despised bullies, and Roger Morton had been a bully. Whoever killed him was a bigger bully, and that person was a potential threat to people Sean cared about: his partner, his business, and Lucy. The entire Kincaid family had treated Sean like one of their own, from Jack to Patrick to the brothers and sisters he’d met when he went to San Diego to help Patrick with a project last summer. Sean had a large family, but they weren’t like the Kincaids. His family was spread all over the world—Kane in South America, Duke in California, Liam and Eden in Europe.
He couldn’t help but wonder wistfully if his parents hadn’t died in a plane crash, would his brothers and sister have ended up in the same places they were today, or would they have been as close knit as the Kincaids? Probably not. All of them, from his parents down to him, had wanderlust. Only Duke had stayed at home, and that was largely because he’d taken on the responsibility of raising Sean, then a teenager, after the crash.
“Sean?” Lucy said, breaking him from his melancholy thoughts.
“There’s one more thing,” he said reluctantly. “One of the contacts I was trying to make is dead. Ralston. They haven’t narrowed the time of death, but he missed a flight last Sunday. I’ll figure out how it’s connected.”
“But—”
“Tonight, let’s just put it aside, okay?”
She sighed. “Okay.”
He didn’t think she’d be able to banish all thoughts of the situation from her mind, but at least he could work double time to distract her.
“Sean, thank you. I appreciate your attention.”
It took Sean a second to realize she wasn’t talking about his personal attention, but his professional interest in Morton’s death. He didn’t want Lucy to think of him only in a business context. He was good at reading women in general, but he was having a harder time knowing what Lucy was thinking. She kept a large part of herself closed off, and he needed to find a way to get her to open up to him.
At the Omni Shoreham Hotel, Sean bypassed the valet parking and parked his GT himself.
“Is no one allowed to touch your car?” Lucy asked as he opened her door.
“Especially not valets.”
Lucy glanced at Sean and her anxiety about the new information about another dead body faded. Sean winked at her and took her hand as she stepped from the car. Lucy felt that not-so-subtle tingle she’d had earlier when she first opened her door and saw Sean in the tailored dark-gray pinstripe suit, the cerulean tie nearly matching the blue of his eyes. He was breathtaking, and she wasn’t used to physical attraction. She admired good-looking men in an intellectual, “Yes, he’s attractive,” kind of way. But with Sean Rogan, her body reacted before her mind, responding to his voice, his touch, the way he looked at her, before her thoughts could catch up that maybe he was flirting. And that maybe she liked it.
Sean draped her wool coat over her shoulders in a gesture that was as timeless as it was endearing, yet she didn’t sense that he was being calculating. He took her arm as they walked through the lobby toward the fundraiser.
“Give me the rundown,” Sean whispered as they approached the bustling reception room. “Who’s who and all that.”
Lucy looked around. “There’s Fran Buckley, the director of WCF. She retired from the FBI several years ago. Senator Paxton introduced us when I interned with him, and I started volunteering.”
“You interned with a senator?”
“He was on the Judiciary Committee, and I wanted to learn everything I could about how Congress impacted federal law enforcement and criminal justice issues.”
“For your FBI career,” Sean said.
“Pretty much. I didn’t particularly like working in Congress, but I learned a lot.”
She scanned the crowd. “There are several elected officials here, the deputy mayor, and a lot of law enforcement—we have several cops who volunteer for WCF when off-duty. The chief of police is here. That pretty blonde next to the buffet? She’s Gina Mancini, Fran’s über-efficient assistant. She’s talking to Donald Thorne, one of our top donors. I don’t know who the other couple is with them.”
“Okay, overload,” Sean said.
“You’re in luck, it looks like they’re getting ready to start the speeches. And it won’t take long; Fran likes to mingle. That’s when she says she raises the most money—one-on-one.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“Thank you. Red wine, please.”
Lucy watched Sean stride to the bar, where he comfortably chatted with the bartender. He could walk into any room, any situation, and make friends. Lucy couldn’t remember ever being so comfortable or carefree—though carefree wasn’t quite the right word for Sean. He was alternately serious and driven, then light and fun. She wondered who the real Sean Rogan was, and if she’d find out.
After Fran briefly spoke about the state of WCF and gave her thank you’s, she introduced the chief of police, who gave a speech on crime stats and sex crimes in D.C. and the surrounding area.
Sean returned with her wine. He was drinking beer from the bottle, and she grinned. It fit him, sleek suit notwithstanding.
“Make a new friend?” she asked, nodding toward the bartender.
