by Anne Conley
The gun that had shot the Tannerite load was a .243, based on the shell casing found at the scene. That was a high-caliber rifle cartridge, a popular round for hunters. It was for rifles and shot accurately up to about 200 yards. Dex’s carport was about seventy-five yards from the explosion. Not an accurate shot for a typical shooter with a .45.
But who knew how typical Dex was? She spent too long going over his file—what she could find, anyway—and knew he wasn’t a recognized marksman or anything, but one of his last cases before retirement was interesting. He had ended up shooting a perp in a hostage situation, saving the woman but killing a rather prominent, if unstable, member of the Austin elite. And his first case with the new security firm after retiring was another shooting, this one appearing to be gang-related. A local senator had been killed, and his son hadn’t been seen since. Still an open investigation, but leads were getting cold.
No wonder IA was sniffing around him.
Speaking of IA, Amber remembered Eileen’s words and decided she would document everything with Dex. If this came back to bite her in the ass, she would be covered. But she wouldn’t officially file anything with the boss man until she knew for sure. At least, not more than necessary.
She’d already talked to Nguyen this morning, giving him a rundown of what had happened at the scene of the incident. He’d been interested in the fact it had gone down across the street from Dex Hollerman’s house, but when he learned the explosion was Mims’ carport, he’d shifted focus to the fact he was a city councilman.
Maybe that’s where she should look. She’d already decided to look into Mims more. Maybe she should just forget about Dex altogether. He could be telling the truth. But how could she forget the images branded on her brain of him in his underwear?
Amber decided to look up Mike Worthington. Sometimes when she did something totally unrelated, it helped her brain rest on what she was supposed to be thinking about, and it helped some things click into place. She told herself this was unrelated.
Mike Worthington was every young woman’s worst nightmare. Stalking women where they worked, he would follow them home and hide in their closets, kidnap them, take them to his house, and rape and torture them until they were dead. It was horrific, and two young women had survived after some guys from Pierce Securities had gone all urban guerillas on his ass. Misty—the woman she’d met this afternoon—was one of the women who had been rescued, and the two girls had recovered and started the coffee shop to help other victims of violence.
Something shifted inside Amber. While Pierce Securities seemed unorthodox and got too personal with their jobs, they were clearly doing good things. The fact they still supported the victims they’d rescued was something as well. She read Dex’s notes on the case, since he’d been the responding officer, and found he was every bit as disgusted with their methods as she was. But his admiration was clear in the fact he’d gone to work for them after his retirement, and Amber couldn’t help but agree somewhat. Sometimes, as a police officer, trying to keep the chain of evidence for the DA’s office was a pain in the ass but necessary. Without the proper evidence trail, it couldn’t be admitted in court, and bad guys would get off.
Catch-22.
“Brought you a sandwich.” Gabby dropped a greasy bag on her desk before leaning next to her. “Whatcha doing?” He squinted at her screen and saw what she was looking at. “Oh boy. That was a clusterfuck, for sure. The mayor climbed all up our ass for that one.”
“Yeah. I was at Grounds for Redemption earlier and got curious. Thought I could give my brain a break.”
“Definitely. Brains need breaks often.” Amber snorted, but he ignored it. “You could have told them you needed to wash your hair or something.” Referring to her arriving at the scene earlier, he shrugged, picking at his nails. “Now you’re going to be here all night doing paperwork.” He pulled the chair out, grabbing a stack of leads while Amber tamped down her temper. Hair washing? Is it 1952?
While Gabby grunted and breathed heavily next to her, as if his belly were a burden he couldn’t hold up in his seat, she chewed on the inside of her cheek, closing out the screen she was on. Her own partner didn’t take his job seriously, much less hers. Nguyen acted like everyone under him was incompetent. Eileen made her feel like she was out to get her for no damn reason. She was hitting one brick wall after another.
Amber had another hour before Dex was leaving for Dallas. She told herself she was going to work this case for her redemption, an effort to earn some respect. But part of her liked the unorthodox methods the Pierce guys used to get results. Because she needed to get results. And she’d get to see more of Dex, and if she would just relax and work with him instead of against him, they might find what they both needed together. Or maybe he could just lead her. He did know his shit, and she could put away some of her pride and learn something. She’d have to be careful and not go against department policy, but she could do this—go to Dallas and come back with something concrete for the team to work on. That would earn her some respect.
As long as she stayed out of the sack with him. Lord knew, she wanted a night with Dex Hollerman, but she knew without a doubt there was more than just sex. Amber was confident she didn’t have the brain power for something like that with him. First, she needed a car. She had new tires but didn’t trust her car for that drive, not without a new timing belt. Company car to the rescue.
Chapter Eleven
In the comfort of his SUV, Dex checked his rearview mirror for the jillionth time to make sure Amber was keeping up with him. She sucked at surveillance driving, for sure. She stuck out to him like a pleasantly sore thumb. It was cute. The drive to Dallas from Austin was about three hours, yet she tailed him as if they were weaving through city streets. She had gotten off his tail briefly a few times once they’d hit the interstate, but she was driving an Austin Police Department car and that was a dead giveaway.
The fact she was so close to him brought him a juvenile feeling of pleasure and triumph. Yeah. She dug him.
When he got to the hotel—conveniently located right off a different highway—she left him as he pulled into the parking lot. He grabbed his overnight bag and set off for the front lobby, scanning his surroundings as he did, looking for her to slink behind him while hiding behind pillars or something.
Disappointment filled him as he realized she was better than that.
At the front desk, he checked in, trying to secure a room for her.
“I think my girlfriend, Amber Banks, is coming in tonight, too. Can I get an adjoining room for her?” Conspiratorially, he leaned in. “She’s a little old-fashioned. But I want to pay for it because I think it’s cute, you know?” The college-aged girl behind the counter giggled and blushed as she clacked some keys on the computer in front of her.
“I have one adjoining room, but if you want to switch to a suite with two bedrooms, it might be cheaper for you. Unless she’s really old-fashioned?”
“That will work.” A pleased smile tugged at his lips.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Hollerman. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
Dex got to his room and splashed some water on his face. It had been a long day and would just get longer if he had a conflagration with Amber when she got up to the room. He really wanted a shower but was afraid if he walked out of the bathroom half-dressed when she arrived, she’d assume the worst and leave.
He spread his notes on the case out on the coffee table, a sort of peace offering, and went to the mini-bar to fix himself a well-deserved drink. Already today, he’d been locked outside in his underwear, spent three hours in handcuffs wearing nothing but said underwear, had a couple of intense moments with Amber, worked nearly a full day at the office, then drove three and a half hours through both Austin and Dallas traffic.
He sat down in the living area of the suite on the sofa, sipped his drink, and closed his eyes. He wanted to relive that kiss.
She had felt amazing under his hands. Her hair was s
o soft when he’d sunk his hands into it. He couldn’t remember touching a woman’s hair that silky before. His ex-wife was so long ago, he barely remembered her hair, but there was no way it was this soft. Marsha had put too much junk in her hair for it to ever feel that way. And he hadn’t been allowed to touch Eileen’s, which was fine; he’d never really wanted to do much more with Eileen than fuck. But Amber’s felt like satin, slipping and sliding between his fingers, even pulled up in that bun thing she wore.
And her lips. Jesus. They were thin lips but yielded to his kisses with a dizzying warmth.
He’d just gotten started on the noises she’d made when the door slamming broke into his erotic reverie.
“What in the ever-loving hell are you thinking?” Amber’s soft twang sharpened when she was angry, a sexy tell if there ever was one. And that wasn’t even getting to her eyes. When he opened his, the fire in her eyes sent a shock of lust straight to his groin, and he smiled at her, sweeping his eyes down her body.
She wore jeans.
Not a uniform, but faded blue jeans hugged her curvy hips and long legs. She paired them with a tank top under a flannel shirt she probably had over a concealed holster. Yeah, he wasn’t about to tell her what he was really thinking.
“I was thinking it would be easier for you to tail me if you knew when I was coming and going. I asked for adjoining rooms, but the clerk one-upped me.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her legs, imagining them bare and smooth. Jesus, it had been a long time since he’d felt this way about a woman. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes again, desperate not to fuck everything up with her.
“Yeah, well, I had a plan,” she huffed, even as she dropped her suitcase and moved over to the chair opposite him in the small seating area, throwing herself into it.
“Well, we can make a new one. Together.”
There was a long pause as she took a couple of deep breaths. While she breathed, she watched Dex, her whiskey-colored eyes absorbing him. Him. They softened as she spoke. “I have to do this by the rules. I’m having to work hard to get anyone in the department to take me seriously. They can’t think this is personal.” Her eyes hardened again, that fire coming back that Dex had grown so fond of. “And if you’re doing this to get in my pants, that’s not how I work.” Leaning back, she crossed her arms, the distance she put between them obvious, her boundaries loud and clear. Then, she actually capitulated. “What’s your idea?” Her voice had softened as her anger dissipated, or maybe she was great at compartmentalizing that shit. It was a useful cop tool, the ability to stifle anger in interrogations.
He needed to stifle something if he was going to work with her. And it certainly wasn’t anger.
Dex opened his eyes, putting lusty thoughts out of his brain and trying to focus on why they were here. “Well, we don’t know why Perkins comes here, or who he meets, if anyone. That’s what we need to find out first, I’m thinking.”
“You want to go scope out the bar area? Meeting rooms? There’s, like, a ton of them.” Her eyes widened with excitement, and it only served to make Dex’s cock harder. Jesus, who knew working with a sexy cop would bring out these emotions in him? Just seeing her in her element, getting ready to take on a massive case like this, made him ridiculously protective, proud, and possessive. He wanted her.
Dex swallowed the thoughts and managed a nod. This hotel was a convention center, so there were meetings all over the place. “Yeah.” He dug around in his laptop bag for a binder he’d made up with Perkins’ pictures. “This is the guy I’m looking for.” He slid the binder across the table and spun it so it faced her. “I still don’t know why he’s doing what I think he’s doing.”
“You think he’s the one behind the explosions?”
“It would make sense. Except I still don’t have a motive, and without a motive, it’s nothing more than a hunch, don’t you think?”
She nodded as she looked at the picture of Terry Perkins. He was young, good-looking, and relatively clean-cut. His hair was a little long but not hippie-long. He fit in with the crunchy hipsters who thrived in Austin—eating organic, all-natural junk and driving around smart cars and stuff. But with a job as a driver for one of the car companies in town, he didn’t make a ton of money.
“Yeah, if we are looking for the same man, we need a motive, his accomplices, and some plan of action to take him down before he hurts someone.” Amber chewed on her lips as she looked at the picture. “But you have to be diligent with how you collect information, Dex, or the D.A. can’t use it. You know that, right? I need to be in on everything so I can do the proper chain of evidence.” Her eyes pled with him, and he knew he would do anything for her. At least he understood the rules she was playing by. He nodded. “So can we put whatever is going on between us on the back burner to get this asshole?” Her eyes on him burned a hole through his skin. And he loved it.
“Sure.” She was flipping through his binder, jotting down notes in her notebook. He wanted to touch her, get her attention so she understood him, but sitting all the way over there in the chair had him just pinning her with his eyes. “But I want you, Amber.” I need you. Her eyes snapped up to his as she froze in the chair. “It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted …” Needed. “… a woman this bad, if ever. I don’t date. I don’t know how to flirt. And I won’t be a gentleman when we finally do this.” That wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted to say, but it got his point across. He was a gentleman, he just knew he would lose control when the time finally came. Dex gripped his thighs in a wild gesture of restraint. “But it will happen. Your lips are all I’ve thought about today.”
Her breath hitched when she inhaled sharply at his words, and that sexy flush rose on her chest again, making its way to her cheeks. Dex was proud of himself he didn’t stare at the modest cleavage that showed over her tank top.
“Okay. Um … enough of that. We need to check out the hotel and bar area. I’ll go look around the third floor where the meeting rooms are, and you go check out the bar and restaurant. We’ll meet down there in forty-five?”
“I’ll check the third floor, you watch the bar area. And give me an hour.”
He wasn’t about to let her go traipsing around the hotel to run into God-knows-what here. She was strong, he knew that. She was law enforcement, and they tended to have a certain inner strength that was just inherent in the job. Whether it was trained into them or not, she definitely had it. And he trusted her to do a good job, but some sort of possessiveness took over him and he had to put his foot down. She reluctantly agreed with a nod, fire flashing in her eyes.
Dex waited for Amber to stand before he did, not sure what if what was happening in his pants would alarm her or not. When she picked a bedroom and closed the door, Dex allowed himself a deep breath and went into the other.
Amber was in the bar a few minutes early, sipping a ginger ale through one of those tiny straws that didn’t do much, trying to blend in. She’d showered and changed, pinning her hair up as quickly as she could, trying to look like a woman about the town. She didn’t really have a wardrobe for downtown Dallas nightlife but was doing the best she could with a tiny black dress and some high-heeled boots she’d had forever. Amber hadn’t known what she’d been getting into when she followed Dex here and had only brought a small assortment of clothes to blend into her surroundings as best she could.
But when all the eyes followed her around the restaurant, she felt like she’d failed miserably. Giving in to a moment of self-doubt, she picked a seat at the corner of the bar where she could see most of the area and waited for Dex to get there.
She looked around, not hiding the fact she was waiting for someone, and pretended to search for him at other tables until she found who she was really looking for.
Her pulse started pounding with excitement as she recognized Terry Perkins sitting in a corner booth with two other gentlemen dressed in suits. They looked like they’d just gotten off work and had stopped in for nightcaps before heading home.
The group of men were relaxed and laughing loudly at some unknown joke, but they were all alert to their surroundings—talking under their breath when they weren’t laughing, eyes skimming the area. An older man, in his sixties or so with graying hair, caught her looking at him and raised his eyebrows as he examined her.
She felt a bit like she was under a microscope and averted her eyes by dipping her lashes flirtatiously. Amber didn’t want him to think she was scoping him out and tried to make it look like she was checking him out, instead. Scoping and checking—big difference, right?
When a hand burned through her dress at the small of her back and hot breath brushed her neck, she knew Dex had staked his claim. He whispered in her ear, “Good girl, you’ve found him. And holy fuck, your legs are hotter than I imagined.”
Her smile brightened at the idea she wasn’t alone anymore. When Dex moved around to position himself in the stool next to her, touching her the entire time and resting his hand on her leg, Amber lost all semblance of breath. It was as if the fire he’d started with his words earlier—the one she’d barely managed to tamp out—were reignited by a force she didn’t understand.
He had changed into a pair of casual dress pants and a button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone. That little glimpse of his chest, smooth but for a few crinkly dark hairs, almost undid her. But for some reason, what got her was his forearms—they were amazing. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and Amber felt a small gush of wetness in her panties. Uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, she pressed her thighs together to alleviate something. Anything.
Dex leaned forward, his eyes still on her legs. “Stop it, or we’re going back up to the room.”
She was sort of okay with that, but when the table in the corner let loose with another round of loud laughter, a bucket of sobriety hit her.
“Focus, Poindexter.” His eyes shot up to hers, warning written all over him. He squeezed her knee but didn’t remove his hand. “They’re planning something, the laughter is canned and not real. They’re discussing something, and then when the old guy tells them to, they all laugh like someone’s told a joke.”