As she gave him a tiny nod, he fought the desire to cover her soft lips with his own. Just a soft peck, a brief reminder of what they’d once shared. Instead, Sinclair escorted her out of his lounge.
When he pushed open the exit door, it wouldn’t budge. He shoved his body against it, but it still didn’t give way. Only after he turned the handle and pulled it up, then shoved, did the heavy fire door open.
“I hear lifting weights will help with that,” she said with a smirk.
He chuffed out a laugh as he locked his club. “Damn door’s been sticking.”
“Uh-huh.” The mischief in her eyes made him smile.
He opened the back door of his sedan. Before she slid inside, she said, “Great job withthatdoor.”
God, I’ve missed her smart mouth.
She gave the driver her address and he pulled away from the curb.
Electricity whirled around them with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years. She’d been peering out the window as the car drove over Key Bridge and through the quiet streets of Arlington. Then, she turned and met his gaze.
Sparks flew.
Her breath hitched. Neither broke eye contact as the driver slowed for a traffic light. He wanted to hold her hand or pull her onto his lap and kiss her breathless, but he needed her to tell him they were on the same page first. So, he admired her from too damn far away.
His driver stopped in front of her apartment building in the Court House area of Arlington. As Sin got out and walked around, she opened the door and slipped out of the vehicle with such grace, he could only stare in appreciation at her sublime form. At the front door, she dug out her keys and unlocked the entrance. After opening the door for her, he waited.
C’mon, Evan. Don’t send me away.
Their eyes met and he fought against the desire to anchor his arms around her and kiss her.
“You owe me for derailing my case.” She vanished inside the building and down the hall. No smile, no thank you, and no invitation inside.
On the way to the car, his conviction soared. He would do whatever it took to make it up to her.
Whatever. It. Took.
5
The Video
Downshifting his Ducati, Sin veered off the G.W. Parkway and into Gravelly Point Park. The sun had crested the horizon and he watched as an airplane took off from a nearby runway and soared overhead. He pulled off his helmet and let the frosty air cool his overheated head, while the jet’s engines roared in his ears.
He’d taken the bike out in the darkness and had ridden for an hour. When he couldn’t sleep—which were most nights—he’d ride. The motorcycle calmed his soul while he tried to outrun his demons. But no matter how fast he flew, they always nipped at his heels.
Earlier, after taking Evangeline home, he’d gone to his office. While running a background check on her, he had tried tracing the origin of the death threat text. Beyond discovering that the burner had been purchased in Palm Beach, Florida, he found nothing.
That hadn’t surprised him. What had surprised him, however, were the results of his background check on Evangeline.
Another jet thundered through the air and he tracked its course as it headed west in the early morning sky.
He extracted the papers and re-read the report.
Thirty-three-year-old Evangeline Mae Worthington was a special agent with the FBI who worked in the Human Trafficking Division. Twelve months ago, her work had taken her to New Jersey to follow a case involving a mysterious baby broker calling himself Uncle Charlie.
She was single and had no children. Her mother lived in Falls Church and managed a suicide prevention hotline center. Her father—a retired Fairfax County police detective—lived in a 55+ community in Gaithersburg. Her half sister lived in Shirlington, and Birdwell Caraway, the FBI’s Deputy Director of Domestic Communications, was her former stepdad.
In addition to having worked a handful of cases with Evangeline’s father, he also knew Birdie. In all things, Sin trusted his gut. One of those men he liked and respected; the other he did not.
Evangeline had graduated from Maryland with a degree in Criminal Justice. Following in her father’s footsteps, she’d joined the police force. Four short years later, she was promoted to detective. She applied for the FBI academy, got rejected. Months later, she applied again, and was accepted, graduating top of her class at Quantico. Her first gig was out of the D.C. office, where she stayed for over a year before transferring to a field office in New Jersey. She’d been back three weeks on temporary assignment out of HQ in D.C.
A private jet passed overhead. As he glanced skyward, he tucked the papers back into his pocket. After watching a few more takeoffs, he pulled on his helmet, fired up his bike, and took to the road.
