After a quick stop to scan Brit’s retina, she was cleared to enter the building with Rebel.
“I’m sorry, Brit,” Dakota said, “but you aren’t permitted in here without him.”
“I understand,” she replied. “We appreciate your flexibility.”
Dakota regarded Rebel and chuckled. “You’ve got an accomplice.”
The guys laughed.
“You break the rules, and Brit provides the charm you don’t have,” Dakota said.
“I’m plenty charming,” Rebel replied.
When his gaze met Brit’s, she was biting back a smile.
The spike of energy traveled through him, their undeniable chemistry front and center. He couldn’t stop how he felt, but he’d do his damnedestnotto act on it.
Dakota escorted them down the hall, stopping in front of an open door. “Use any office but mine.”
She peeked into his office. Nothing beyond a desk, a chair, and a guest chair.
Dakota’s phone rang. “Make yourselves at home.” He entered his office and shut the door.
Rebel continued down the hall, stopping in front of an office at the end. “How’s this?”
She entered. “Works for me.”
They sat side-by-side at the small conference table. For the first time since he’d found Kurt’s lifeless body, he could breathe. Now, he could focus on finding the person who’d ripped his family to shreds.
After he showed Brit how to set up a share file on ALPHA’s website, she started uploading everything she had on the serial killer.
“We should start with emails and forensic reports, then create a timeline,” she said. “I’ll put together a follow-up list for the detectives and crime scene techs with our questions.”
They grew quiet, each reading through the case. He loved having her next to him. Loved breathing her in. Today, she smelled like lavender.
“We need a white board.” She left the office.
Seconds later, she returned, pushing in a white board. Then, she started writing.
An hour later, she’d filled the board with clues. Six victims. Five women, one man. Only the women had letters on their foreheads.
U L B L Y
She hopped on her laptop. “What’s the timeline for the murders?”
Karen’s progress notes were a jumbled mess. Rebel’s frustration morphed into agitation. It was taking too damn long to figure out her shorthand.
“What the fucking fuck?” he grumbled.
Brit was busy sorting through the police and M.E.’s reports.
“I got it,” she said before glancing over. She furrowed her brow. “What?”
He’d been locked in on her. Her beautiful profile, how laser-focused she was, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she flipped from one document to the next.
“What?” he echoed.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “You’re the one staring at me.”
