She moved toward him, and the scent of cinnamon wafted his way. How in the world did she smell like cinnamon all the time? His mouth watered and his cock hardened.
“What do you mean, a body?” she asked, leaning over to study the notes scattered across the table.
He flipped open the nearest file folder to show a picture he’d shot with his phone earlier, banishing all thoughts of bending her over the table and taking what they both wanted. “New body, and I think Lassiter is the killer.” His voice was confident, not revealing any doubt.
She swung her gaze to him. “You’re not certain?”
He hated insightful shrinks. They always got too deep and screwed things up. “There are differences this time.”
She pulled out a chair and sat, reaching for the manila file folder. Her scent surrounded him, and as her gaze focused on the notes, intelligence shone in them that was as sexy as her tight body. “I’m surprised you didn’t call the whole team in.”
He shrugged. “I did, but then we decided to meet first thing in the morning. I wanted some time with this first.”
She stared at the picture of the victim. “Lassiter was obsessive and driven—he had his routine, never varied from it. He’s dead, Angus. Stop chasing ghosts.”
Angus sat straighter, his heart rate elevating. “That’s not what I’m doing.” Or was it? If Lassiter really was dead, he’d lose his team, and then he’d be alone again. After their recent successes, it was hard to believe the HDD would really shut them down.
She pushed the picture to the side to read his hastily scrawled notes. “Yes, it is, and we both know it.”
Angus inhaled quickly and then smoothed out his expression. “Wrong.”
“Right,” she murmured, reaching for the photograph. “In a whole year you have found no evidence that Lassiter is alive because he is not. Even the clue that had you rushing across the country a couple of weeks ago turned out to be nothing.” Her eyes softened as she studied the crime scene photo.
“I’m not wrong.”
“This victim is different. She has dark hair and is petite. He liked blondes before, and they were often curvy and tall. I think the smallest victim was just under six feet tall, and she put up a good fight,” she said.
Angus turned toward her. “You’ve studied the files.”
She let the photograph of the brutalized victim slide out of her fingers. “Of course I’ve studied the files. I know as much about your case as you do, except I’ve concluded that Lassiter really is dead. There’s no mystery or cover-up here. I’ve learned everything I can about your cases.”
“As much about me?” His jaw hurt, so he tried to loosen it. Heat coated down his throat as he held on to control with both hands. The woman really had no idea who he was and what he wanted to do with her. To her. “You’ve been studying me, Nari?”
She met his gaze without flinching. “Of course.”
He didn’t like that. Not at all. She wasn’t even trying to be coy or discreet. “I’m sure your HDD handlers appreciate that.”
She rolled her eyes. “They’re your handlers, too. I’ve never hidden the fact that I would’ve disbanded the team if you had gone off the deep end, and you’ve been right on the edge several times. But you can’t say I haven’t helped or even been loyal.”
True. Most shrinks would’ve shut down the team the first time they saw the dog drunk or Wolfe with a kitten sleeping in his jacket pocket. “Why are you here? You’re a first-rate shrink, whatever that means, and you’re wasted here, just keeping an eye on me and the team. It’s too low-level. Why take this on?” The question had kept him up at night, but he’d never really asked her.
For the first time she faltered. “The team needed me.”
“Enough,” he barked, the sound echoing around the room as he fought her stubbornness and his raw desire for the woman. Roscoe lifted his furry head, his German shepherd markings dark in the fluorescent lights. He blinked, must’ve decided all was well, and went back to sleep. “For once, tell me the truth, Zhang. Why the hell are you with this sad little group of agents nobody else wants? We really can’t be that large a threat to the HDD.”
She drew back. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? We’re both here and have a job to do, unless you go off the deep end again. Then it’ll be over for us all.”
Chapter Three
Nari scratched Roscoe’s ears in her minuscule office as Adele crooned from the speakers of her computer. After a sleepless night she’d just given up the idea of resting and headed back to work, wearing her black jeans and a mint-green silk shirt. Dressing up had been too much effort, although her opal jewelry and tall boots made her feel put together.
Roscoe set his jaw gently on her thigh, closing his soulful brown eyes and sighing. His markings were dark across the lighter fur on his face, making him probably the most handsome German shepherd alive, in her opinion. At least he wasn’t hung over.
“Did Angus drink that bottle last night after I left?” she whispered.
Roscoe opened one eye, looked at her, and then shut it again.
Oh, she didn’t think the dog really understood her question, but sometimes Roscoe seemed almost human.
