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His voice was so sexy, I wanted to crawl through the now-ended call and wrap my legs around his waist. I rolled over on my side and dropped my phone on the bed. What was wrong with me? Since when was I sex-starved-Suzy?
I’d had boyfriends…and sex. It had been okay. I mean, sometimes it was better than okay, but it had never been great…until last night. Sex with Cope was off-the-fucking-charts great. And I couldn’t let it happen again.
Again, what had I been thinking? I’d been hired to find out whether Sumner Copeland was as dirty of an agent as Paxon Warrick. I had no doubt many approached similar assignments by having sex with the person they were investigating, but that wasn’t who I was. At least not who I was before I met Cope.
Rolling from the bed, I grabbed the clothes that would cover the bottom half of my body, pulled them on as best I could with the use of only one arm, and gathered my dignity.
“How was your nap, dear?” asked Laurel when I walked down the hallway and found her sitting on the sofa, reading.
“Great, thanks. I’m…um…I need my…uh…laptop.”
She set her book down. “Before you go, I was wondering if you and I might have a chat?”
“It isn’t the best time. I have?—”
She stood. “Ali, please?”
I walked over and was about to sit in the chair when she sat back down and patted the sofa beside her. I swallowed my groan and did her bidding. “What do you want to chat about?”
She weaved her fingers together and rested her hands on her knee. “I can’t help but notice that my son is quite taken with you.”
“Your son doesn’t know me, Mrs. Copeland.”
She raised a brow, and I didn’t care. Before she could say anything else, I stood. “Sumner and I met less than a week ago when I arrived in town to cover the trial of Paxon Warrick on behalf of the Express. After a handful of serendipitous encounters, during which your son portrayed a side of himself I have since learned isn’t typical of him, he felt obligated to look out for me. I am a journalist, your son is a handler for the CIA, and you are the wife of a senator who believes that people like me are his worst enemy, likely rightly so.
“Please do not misunderstand me. I appreciate everything you and your son have done for me. However, we both know that it doesn’t matter whether Sumner is taken with me or not. Goodbye, Mrs. Copeland.”
I squared my shoulders and walked to the door of the apartment.
“You’re wrong,” I heard her say from behind me.
I stopped and looked up at the ceiling, knowing my mother would be ashamed of me if I walked out without responding. I turned around, and she was within a foot of me. “Mrs. Copeland?—”
She held up a hand. “I, too, am quite taken with you, Ali. In many ways, you remind me of myself. What I was going to say, had you let me finish, is that I hope neither Sumner nor I have reason to regret it.”
There was nothing more for me to add. She would. And so would her son.
I was just inside my apartment when my cell rang with a call from Jessica.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. Cope?—”
“It’s okay, but listen. Something else has gone down, I’m not sure what or with whom, but Money is looking into it. He wants to hold off on meeting until next week, when he knows what it is.”
I ended the call, silently praying that whatever had gone down wasn’t something that would further implicate Cope. I shook my head, knowing what I really should do was call Jessica back and tell her to assign someone else to this investigation. Instead, I opened a bottle of wine.
16
COPE
When I got out of the elevator, Buck stood and walked toward me.
“Ali asked me to give you this.” He handed me an envelope. I took a step forward, and he moved between me and Ali’s door and shook his head. “She doesn’t want to see you, Cope.”
“Is that right?”
Buck nodded. “Read it.”
“You know what’s in it?” I asked, when what I really wanted to do was tell the asshole to fuck off.
