“You enjoy working here, Ms. Grantham?”
Her fingers curled tighter around her oversized cell. “I do.”
“Well paid?”
Blue eyes shot to his. “Not bad.”
“Good bosses?”
Her expression seemed amused. “I like my job, Special Agent Kincaid. I like my bosses.”
He wondered if she was the other woman. “Did you know Cindy Resnick?”
“Only in passing,” she replied. “I haven’t been here that long.”
“Not going to rock the boat?”
A flirty smile touched one side of her mouth. “Not even a ripple.”
They got to the front door and he nodded his thanks. He didn’t think the next woman he spoke to was going to be quite so frank about her intentions, but the last thing he needed was a journalist catching scent of a bioterrorism threat.
He needed to make sure Pip West stayed well out of his way.
He climbed into his Bucar and started the engine. Maybe he could feed Pip just enough information to keep her occupied while he got on with doing his job of keeping the American public safe from harm and bringing the bad guys to justice. Feed her a few crumbs to keep her satisfied.
He cursed himself because the idea of keeping Pip West satisfied appealed on many different levels, and most of them had nothing to do with his work at the FBI.
Chapter Eight
It was late afternoon and Pip had claimed a loveseat just outside the main bar area in the hotel lobby where she’d arranged to meet Adrian Lightfoot. The lawyer had texted to say he might be delayed. She didn’t want to go to her room. She knew enough about herself to know if she did, she might never come out.
She busied herself tracking down contact details for as many of Cindy’s friends and workmates as she could find using her friend’s social media profiles. Pip messaged the people she’d met over the years, and one grad student had said she was coming to the hotel to see her.
Pip hoped the lawyer and student didn’t both turn up at the same time.
She’d emailed Cindy’s Ph.D. advisor but he hadn’t gotten back to her yet. She’d met Professor Everson at Cindy’s parents’ and brother’s funeral. He’d been awkward but seemed well meaning. Cindy hadn’t always agreed with his opinions, but she’d admired him and he’d seemed to respect her. Hopefully he’d do a reading at the service. Something that would enable others to appreciate just how brilliant her friend had been.
Pip had fended off several unwanted advances by being completely absorbed in what she was doing and politely but firmly saying “no” when someone sent her a cocktail.
When someone sat down in the seat beside her even though there were other chairs available she gritted her teeth. She sank slightly toward the middle of soft green leather sofa and looked up to see a familiar face.
Huh.
“How’d you find me?” she asked.
“FBI, remember?” Agent Kincaid’s eyes glinted with humor.
A huff of laughter took her by surprise. It was the first in weeks. She sobered. She’d expected him to contact her. She hadn’t expected him to track her down in person. “You needed to speak to me?”
“What were you doing at Universal Biotech earlier?”
“Yippee. It’s my turn to get grilled again.” She settled back against the arm of the loveseat. “Why are you so interested in my movements, Agent Kincaid?” She tilted her head to one side and batted her eyelashes at him, but she couldn’t maintain the facade for long. Her grief seemed to have stolen the happy pieces of her personality, anything that wasn’t nailed down with misery or sadness.
“Assuming you weren’t breaking any laws,” he countered.
“I kept it under the speed limit every step of the way.”
“Traffic offenses are the least of my concerns,” he murmured. “It’s your mouth I’m worried about.”
He hadn’t meant anything dirty but the temperature shot up twenty degrees and she wanted to fan her suddenly burning cheeks. She cleared her throat. “I’m not allowed to talk now?”
He grunted. “You can talk as much as you want. But you’re not allowed to interfere with my investigation.”
There you had it. Classic law enforcement bullying. Trying to shut down and shut up anyone questioning their authority.
“What exactly is your investigation?”
Those intriguing eyes of his watched her, revealing nothing.
“Why’d you go see Dexter?” he asked, feigning casual about as successfully as she feigned meek.
“I was trying to get a feel for what he knew about Cindy’s death.”
“Which had been my intention until someone beat me to it. Something I’m trained for.”
“Well, I didn’t know you were going to talk to him.” Her voice rose defensively.
“Now you do.”
“Look, Kincaid. I’m a journalist—”
“I am well aware.”
She ignored the snark. “And I’m trained for it, too. I’m not a mind reader. Unless you give me a list of all the people you don’t want me to talk to, I’m flying blind.”
Kincaid sat there silently regarding her.
She forced herself to calm down. She needed to find the truth behind Cindy’s death and this man could help her. “I talked to Dexter about preparations for the funeral. Asked if he had any ideas about input for the service.” Not that she’d take them. Cindy would hate the idea of her cheating ex orchestrating anything to do with her memorial, but she wanted the guy onside.
Kincaid raised a cool brow at her. “Is that why you were making out with him in the foyer?”
“Making out?” She gaped. “You’ve either been married too long or forgotten what ‘making out’ looks like.”
The blue in his eyes darkened. “Not married and I haven’t forgotten a damn thing about anything except to avoid doing it in public.”
She rolled her eyes even though her pulse skipped a little. So, he wasn’t married. So what? Federal agent, remember? A man who’d yesterday threatened to arrest her for manslaughter if she didn’t do as he said. A man who’d searched her car for drugs that might have been responsible for the death of her best friend.
Not exactly relationship material.
“Pete grabbed me in a bear hug and wouldn’t let go,” she admitted grumpily. She hadn’t enjoyed the experience, but she hadn’t wanted to reveal her true feelings about the guy by pulling away and dousing herself in Lysol. Pete Dexter knew things about Cindy’s world she needed access to, and if her willingness to use him made her a bad person, so be it.
Kincaid leaned forward and picked up a coffee off the table. He eyed her across the top of the curling steam. “So, what did you make of Dexter’s reaction?”
“He cried.” She shifted uncomfortably. Dexter’s tears had seemed genuine enough. “A normal reaction.” The lump in her throat appeared out of nowhere and threatened to choke her again. God. “Honestly—I never really liked the guy. He’s conceited and a bit of an ass. He always treated me like the dumb kid sister who needed small words and a pat on the head. What did you make of his reaction?”
Kincaid’s expression remained neutral. He wasn’t falling for her invitation to share.
“Cindy knew I wasn’t that fond of him but I didn’t diss him to her. She loved him.”
“You sound like you were in love with her yourself.” Kincaid sipped his coffee.
“I was.” The shock and flicker of disappointment in his eyes had something hot and forbidden rolling low in her abdomen. “If we’d been lesbians we’d have found our soulmates and the search for true love would have been over. Unfortunately, we weren’t lesbians.”
His expression didn’t change but the tension in his fingers eased. He might not want to admit it, but he was a little bit attracted to her. He also didn’t like her very much.
“I loved her,” she told him. “Platonically.”
“So, the search for true love continues?” Cynical amusement edged h
is tone. His eyes dropped to her lips for just a moment and a buzz of warmth lit her skin.
Pip hadn’t given up on the concept of dating, just the practice. Some people were more lovable than others. And not everyone found their soulmate.
“Neither of us based our life decisions on love or men or relationships,” she told him briskly, although strictly speaking that was a lie. After college, Pip had moved to Miami to be with a guy. He’d cheated on her and gotten another girl pregnant. Now they were married with two kids and Pip was still single.
“Cindy planned to work in developing countries to eradicate some of the deadliest diseases on earth. It took guts to do what she did and she had no intention of stopping even when she found the right guy.” She sucked in a lungful of air, trying to quiet the constant hurt that raged inside. “She didn’t work on deadly diseases because she needed the money. She did it because she was passionate about helping people.”
“What are you passionate about?” His thumb stroked the side of the cup in a way that made her skin tingle.
“Me?” She laughed self-consciously. “I don’t even know anymore.” She looked away from the FBI agent’s piercing gaze. She wasn’t about to admit she felt adrift in this world and that she no longer knew what she was going to do with her life. Short term was easy. She was going to figure out the truth about Cindy’s death if it killed her. But long term?
“Cindy sounds like she was a good person,” Kincaid said eventually, filling the silence that stretched between them.
“She was.” She sniffed. “You’d have liked her.”
He gave her a questioning look.
“You both want to save the world.”
He grimaced. “I do not want to save the world.”
“Why else become an FBI agent?”
He shifted in his seat. “For the cool badge and gun?”
She snorted, crossed her legs and saw his gaze catch on her spiky black heels.
He looked up. Their eyes met.
A shiver ran down her spine. She pressed her thighs together and the silk of her stockings caused a rush of unwanted sensation to slide over her flesh.
“What are you working on?” He nodded to her laptop, derailing that uncomfortable rush of desire with a big slap of guilt.
“A list of people to contact about the funeral. And Cindy’s obituary.”
Words that had to stand testament to the life Cindy had lived.
Pip looked at the screen. They weren’t enough. They’d never be enough.
Kincaid stared up into the hotel’s enormous atrium with its futuristic-looking glass elevators zipping up and down. Then he met her gaze again. “I’m sorry about your friend. I guess I never said that.”
Fickle tears wanted to rise up but she fought them back. She’d shed her tears in private from now on. “Does this mean I’m no longer a suspect?”
“Surveillance cameras place you miles away when Cindy overdosed.”
The relief Pip felt was overshadowed by irritation. “I keep telling you there’s no way Cindy took drugs.”
“Yet the ME found coke in her system.”
Anger warmed her blood. “Maybe someone helped it get there. Without Cindy’s permission.”
His look turned pitying. “And sometimes people keep secrets.”
Pip drew in a deep breath trying to dampen her underlying annoyance. Hell, she’d been angry for days now. But he didn’t know Cindy. He didn’t know her.
“I keep asking, but you’re not saying. Why are you examining Cindy’s death?” She was sure he was hiding something. “Don’t give me that bullshit about it being SOP for people who work on controlled substances.”
“It is SOP for people who work on controlled substances.”
He was playing with her.
“I don’t believe you.”
He leaned closer. “I don’t care what you believe. You need to back off.”
“Cindy was my friend,” she bit out. “And I don’t think she took drugs.”
“And maybe you’re trying to make something out of this because you argued with your friend and there’s no other way you can figure out how to make amends.”
She flinched.
“What did you argue about anyway?” he asked.
“Work. Men,” she said bitterly.
“Boyfriend troubles?”
Pip looked away. “She was telling me I needed to get out more.”
“How come?”
She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “I haven’t dated in a couple of years.”
“Why not?”
“Bad experience.”
“What kind of bad experience?” His voice lowered to a tone that made her shiver.
“Just a crappy relationship. I tend to have terrible taste in men.” She looked up. His gaze locked onto hers and for a moment the air between them sizzled.
Federal agent, remember?
“What did you find out at Universal Biotech?” she asked instead.
“Not a lot.” His gaze landed fleetingly on her mouth. He leaned closer and she held her breath. “Leave it alone, Pip. Else I’ll have you charged with obstruction.”
Rather than backing away, this time she inched toward him until their lips almost brushed. Playing a game of chicken with their mouths.
“Freedom of the press. Remember?”
He narrowed his gaze before backing away. She’d won that round.
He scratched his head and she thought she heard him mutter “pain in my ass” but wasn’t sure.
“I actually came here because I spoke to the Medical Examiner,” he said and immediately her attention shifted to his words and not his mouth. He stretched his legs out under the table in front of him and leaned his head back, staring up at the forty floors worth of balconies. “The body should be released by the end of the week. You can arrange the funeral now.”
“What if I want a second autopsy?”
He turned to look at her and frowned. “That’s up to you. I can ask the ME to recommend someone if you’d like…”
She raised both brows and didn’t bother to hide her skepticism.
He laughed. “You don’t really think we’d invent the water in her lungs and drugs in her system, do you?”
His words were like a punch to her stomach. This was Cindy they were talking about, her best friend, not some Jane Doe.
He sat up and raked his hand through his short hair, looking contrite and troubled. “Sorry. I keep forgetting this is personal to you.”
She wiped her eyes, glad she’d worn waterproof mascara. Dammit, when was she going to stop crying?
“I know what the evidence is saying, but it isn’t the whole story. It can’t be. I know Cindy. There’s no way she snorted coke. Not unless someone forced her do it.”
He sighed and climbed to his feet, wrote a number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “That’s the number for the ME. The people there can help with arrangements to transport the body wherever you want it to go.”
She nodded. She wasn’t trying to be difficult. She just wanted the truth. If that truth turned out to be that Cindy made an error in judgment, she’d accept it. Eventually.
His lips formed an unhappy line. “You’re wasting your time, Pip.”
“It’s my time to waste.” And, let’s face it, she didn’t have anything better to do.
He stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable. Finally, he spoke. “If you come up with anything more solid than blind belief in your best friend, give me a call. I’ll look into it.”
“You’ll take me seriously?” she asked in surprise.
He laughed. “Lady, I already take you seriously. I’m just not sure about your motive.”
“Does truth need a motive?”
“Is truth always worth the cost?” he countered.
Her mouth dropped open, knowing he was talking about what happened in Tallahassee. “Are you saying I should have let that go? Information on a corrupt cop?”
“Why did
n’t you take the tip-off to the Feds?” His tone was soft, curious, rather than accusing.
“Lisa didn’t want me to. Said she’d only talk to me as long as I printed the truth on the front page. Said that once Frank was exposed he’d never be able to crawl back into the shadows.”
“Lisa?” he asked.
“Frank Booker’s wife. She was my informant.”
Surprise and then understanding entered his gaze. “And Frank Booker somehow figured it out.”
“I warned the chief of police he needed to pick up the detective before the story ran, but he didn’t believe the allegations.” It was her fault they were dead. Her, the police chief, and that miserable sonofabitch Frank Booker. “Why do you hate journalists?” she asked suddenly, knowing there was a story there.
He pulled a face. “I don’t hate journalists.”
“Liar,” she said softly.
“I just don’t like being manipulated.”
“Liar,” she repeated. And the shadow that moved over his eyes proved she was right.
Breaking their connection, a young woman came and stood behind the chair opposite and waved at Pip, trying to get her attention. It took a moment for Pip to recognize her. Sally-Anne Wilton, a friend of Cindy’s from the lab but her hair had been purple last time Pip had seen her at Christmas. Pip opened her arms to embrace the other girl. Immediately she was clamped in a needy hug.
Eventually Sally-Anne let go and took a moment to compose herself. Pip introduced Agent Kincaid and watched Sally-Anne’s eyes grow round at the mention of the FBI.
The agent handed Sally-Anne a business card. “In case you need to talk to anyone about Cindy’s death.”
Her brows pitched high. Were the FBI some sort of therapy support group nowadays? She didn’t think so. But Kincaid was advertising his involvement in Cindy’s death investigation loud and clear.
Her cell phone rang and she reached for it, but it was actually Kincaid’s. They had the same ringtone.
The agent checked the screen but didn’t answer. “I need to head back to the office.”
“No rest for the wicked,” Pip commented dryly.
Cold Blooded Page 10