“This is from a coupla weeks ago,” Stryker explained. “That’s Parker Sandler, one of the bartenders. He came in early to restock the liquor. His shift ended at eleven.”
Instead of leaving the club, Parker pulled up a stool at the bar and ordered a beer from April. Whenever she had a lull, she’d talk to him.
“Lots of eye contact,” Emerson said. “Look, she touched his arm.”
“You got a Ph.D. in psychology, now?” Stryker fast-forwarded. Parker stayed until the club closed, then helped April clean up. She grabbed her backpack and they left out the front door. Stryker flipped to a different camera. Parker walked her to her car. She hugged him, then got in. He walked to the other side of the parking lot and jumped in his car, then followed her out of the lot.
“Looks like they’re friends,” she said. “Maybe more. Have you talked to him?”
“No.” He opened a different browser and logged in to The Dungeon’s employee website. “He called out sick the first night she didn’t show for work.”
“What about last night?” Emerson asked.
“He was here, but he kept checking his phone.” Stryker ran the video showing Parker checking his phone every ten minutes.
“Most people are phone obsessed,” she said. “I’m going to need to review the surveillance going back a few weeks, maybe longer. Can I get a copy?”
“You can review it here.”
“Making this difficult for me, aren’t you?”
“If I were playing hardball, you’d know it. Parker is on L2. You okay with strippers?”
“Come again?”
He paused while the atmosphere turned electric. Those were some loaded words. She hitched a brow and waited.
“Some people aren’t comfortable around topless women. I can bring him up here so you can talk to him.”
She exhaled a grunt. “I need to find a killer, Mr. Truman. Naked women cozying up to a pole won’t faze me.”
They continued staring into each other’s eyes while her sensuality lured him in. He wanted to kiss her so damn badly.
“Let’s do it up here,” she said, breaking the silence. “It’s private.”
The longer he stared, the more he wanted her. Wanted her beneath him, on top of him. He wanted to taste her and have her, again and again.Fuck, she’s killin’ me.
She cleared her throat, booting him from his fantasy. He texted Mavis to send Parker up. Emerson snagged his attention again. This time, by raking her fingers through her hair while her breasts pushed against her tight, white shirt.
She’s making me crazy.“I’m gonna stay with you.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.” She removed her long sweater, but he did not drop his gaze.
“My club, my rules.” He slapped his laptop shut, the frustrating grinding through him.
“I’m going to sit here,” Emerson said. “If you won’t leave, move to the sofa or sit at Mavis’s desk and work…or in your case,pretendto work. I don’t want him to feel like we’re ganging up on him. I’m soft-pedaling my approach.”
“A new strategy,” he grumbled. “I can’t wait to see this.”
She grunted out her frustration, which had him biting back a smile. He liked annoying the detective. She had it coming to her for all the aggravation she’d caused him.
He tugged out his hair tie, dragged his fingers through his hair. He caught her staring at him—more like, full-on gawking. He could not get a read on this woman. Good thing he didn’t give a fuck.
Tap-tap.
Stryker opened the door. No denying Parker looked uncomfortable. His hands were shoved into his jeans’ pockets, his cheeks were flush with color. “Mavis said you wanna talk to me.”
Emerson stood. Her easy-going smile sent a blast of heat through him.
