Finally, I gave in and pushed. “Why there? Aren’t they processing the evidence?”
“No. Everything was bagged and sent straight to cold storage. We don’t know why, except that they closed the case. We’re going to do some recon. Take pictures, get a feel for their security. We’ll send another team in if we decide it’s worth going after whatever they have.”
“What are you looking for specifically?” I knew what I would want, but I wanted to hear Eli’s answer.
“Her phone, laptop, and tablet. That would be the top three.”
His answer was the same as mine.
I nodded. “Good idea. It’s not like we have much else to follow.”
“No. You’ll wish you’d stayed behind and gotten a good night’s sleep.”
“Nope,” I said. “I told you. This is my case as much as it is yours. You’re not leaving me behind.”
Chapter Eight
ELI
Iexpected Sylvie to start chattering as we pulled onto the highway, the road stretching before us into the darkness. It was three hours and change to Knoxville—plenty of time to exchange life stories if I was inclined, which I wasn’t.
But Sylvie didn’t talk. She took off her hoodie and rolled it into a ball. Tucking it between her shoulder and the window, she snuggled in and seemed to fall asleep.
Why was I the tiniest bit annoyed by that? I didn’t know. That was the conundrum of Sylvie Calloway. I didn’t want a partner. I didn’t want to babysit some podcaster. I wanted to find Silas. And yeah, I wanted to know what had happened to Emily Shaw—mostly because she was tied to Silas, but also because Sylvie was right. The case was weird.
Emily Shaw had been a single woman who worked from home in data analysis. If she’d lived in D.C., I might have raised an eyebrow, but Knoxville wasn’t a hotbed of intrigue. And while the car bomb was interesting, the way the case had been buried so quickly left me with too many questions. I understood why Sylvie hadn’t been able towalk away, even before her van had exploded. So, yeah, I was invested on a couple of levels. But it didn’t mean I wanted a civilian glued to my side.
I glanced over, watching the intermittent light slide across her cheeks. Her hair was tightly braided, her clothes dark. She might be a civilian, but—and this was the part I was fighting—I liked her. Fuck. I was trying not to, but I couldn’t help it. She was smart, she was persistent, she was intelligent enough to be scared and to accept our help, but also brave enough not to let the fear hold her back.
I didn’t want to admire Sylvie Calloway. I did not want to like her. I definitely didn’t want to keep noticing how pink her lips were or the way she filled out that T-shirt and jeans. This wasn’t the time for me to break the rules about having sex with a client—never mind that Sylvie wasn’t a client. It was effectively the same relationship. She needed protection and help, and I was the person playing that role. Whoever was after her was a pro. Which meant I—we—had to be careful.
This wasn’t a game, and I was aware that while Sylvie saw us as partners, a big part of my job was to keep her alive. I wasn’t going to fuck that up. If I thought too much about her lips or how much I liked her laugh, I was going to get distracted.
The price of that distraction could be Sylvie’s life. Not a great way to pay her back for thinking she was smart and hot and funny. Our need for answers was the only thing tying us together. And the best place to start was the cold storage building.
Sylvie slept for almost three hours. After my initial annoyance, I found I didn’t mind. I liked the quiet, hearing her soft breaths beside me, knowing she was getting some rest. While she’d napped that afternoon, I suspected she’dslept very lightly after she’d gone to bed. Considering that I’d been almost silent going down the hall, she must have been awake and listening for me.
It was a level of moxie I admired.
Regardless, she needed her sleep, given what she’d been through in the last twenty-four hours.
We were half an hour outside Knoxville when she stirred, lifting her head and blinking, her eyes widening as she caught the sign on the side of the highway.
“Oh man, I’m sorry. I thought I’d close my eyes for a minute and then wake up and offer to drive the second half.”
I felt the smile curl my mouth. “You’re not driving.”
“I can drive an SUV,” she said with affront. “This thing isn’t as big as my van.”
“I’m sure you can,” I said. “You’re still not driving.”
“Why? Because I don’t have a penis?”
“No, because this is my vehicle and nobody drives my vehicle but me.”
“Okay, crazy,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t mind being chauffeured around. I was just trying to be nice. So, when we get there, how are we breaking in?”
I couldn’t help liking how her brain went straight to breaking and entering without objection. “You usually throw in a little B and E when you’re investigating a case?”
