by Paige Tyler
She leaned against the doorjamb, a smile curving her lips. “I can’t wait.”
The urge to go back for another kiss was almost irresistible, and he had a hell of a time turning to jog down the steps.
Crap, he was in so much trouble.
Chapter 7
“Earth to Bree. Come in, Bree.”
Bree gave herself a shake and looked up from the file she was reading to see her assistant, Leslie Moore, standing there with a smile on her face and a big pile of folders in her hands.
“And she’s back.” Leslie walked into Bree’s office with a laugh, her shoulder-length blond curls bouncing. About Bree’s age, she was married with one child in kindergarten and another on the way. “You looked like you were a million miles away. Everything okay?”
Bree returned her smile. “Everything’s fine. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so I’m a little fuzzy this morning.”
Leslie nodded understandingly. “Have you tried chamomile tea? It does wonders for me whenever I can’t sleep.”
“I’ll do that,” Bree said, though she doubted there was any tea in the world that would have slowed her whirling mind after last night’s date with Diego.
She took the stack of folders Leslie held out and set them on her desk, thanking her for the help. Leslie was definitely worth her weight in gold. She spent hours digging up background info on cases, then printing it out and putting it into some usable format. It would have added days to every case Bree handled if she had to do it herself.
But instead of opening one of the folders to see what Leslie had unearthed for her, she stared into space, her thoughts once again turning to last night and what was, without a doubt, the most amazing evening she’d ever had with a guy. In fact, the date had been absolutely perfect. There was simply no other way to describe it.
In her experience, first dates were awkward, sometimes painful, affairs, where two people with very little in common strained to fill long, uncomfortable stretches of silence with inane conversation. But last night had been nothing like that. Instead, the conversation had flowed nonstop for hours as they talked about things Bree would never have imagined discussing with a man on their eighth date, much less the first.
Whether the topic was Brandon, her jackass ex-husband, or the pain Diego had gone through when he’d become a werewolf, there didn’t seem to be anything they couldn’t talk about. Being open and honest with Diego seemed as natural as breathing. It was something she’d never experienced before—with anyone.
But as amazing as the conversation had been, it paled in comparison to that kiss. Okay, technically it wasn’t simply a kiss. It had been a make-out session of the best kisses Bree had ever experienced in her life.
Sighing contentedly at the memory, she opened the top folder and flipped through a few pages, trying to focus on personal details of Garth and Vera Williamson’s case, but it was difficult to think of anything other than Diego and how attracted she was to him.
Attracted?
Oh, hell. Who was she kidding? She was falling for the hunky SWAT cop big time.
The movie about the runaway bus and the guy and girl who end up mistaking the resulting adrenaline rush for something more abruptly flashed into her head. Part of her worried the same thing was going on with her and that she was merely feeling grateful for what he’d done for Brandon and her at the diner. But another part of her knew that wasn’t it at all.
Truthfully, the intense connection she and Diego seemed to have was a little scary. If he hadn’t tapped the brakes while they were making out on the couch, Bree knew there was a good chance she would have climbed onto his lap and… Well, from that point she had no idea how much further things would have gone because she’d never done anything like that with anyone before. Then again, she’d never been that into a guy before. That was why she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. She’d spent half the night thinking about what had happened…and the other half fantasizing about what could have happened.
Picking up her coffee, she took a sip, then rested her elbows on the desk, cupping the warm mug between her hands. While she was kind of bummed Diego had suggested taking things slowly, she knew he was right. Because this wasn’t only about her. Brandon needed Diego in his life right now, both as a male role model with his head on straight and as a werewolf.
Brandon really liked Diego. Her son hadn’t stopped talking about how awesome he was from the moment they’d met him at the diner. If she messed things up by pushing things too fast, she wouldn’t only ruin her chances with a great guy, she’d likely also wreck the relationship between Diego and her son.
With another sigh—and a prayer this could work out for both her and Brandon—Bree forced herself to get back to work, turning her attention to the files before her, hoping she’d find some little detail that’d help with the cases. In addition to the Williamson and Montagne thefts, she’d picked up two additional cases—an elderly couple whose Ming vase had been stolen and a Texas oil baron who was missing a bowie knife that had belonged to Jim Bowie himself.
She was jotting down notes when she heard Leslie walk in. Bree looked up to give her assistant a smile, only to stiffen when she saw that her ex-husband was with Leslie.
What the hell is he doing here?
“I found this attractive guy in the lobby,” Leslie practically sang, a big grin on her face. “He said he was looking for you, so I brought him straight here.”
“Morning, Bree. I brought you coffee and a cheese Danish,” Dave said, standing there in a four-thousand-dollar suit and two-thousand-dollar shoes, using that charming voice he only pulled out for special occasions while holding up a small white bag and a signature cardboard cup from Starbucks. “Thought you might want something to eat while we talked.”
Leslie’s smile broadened, her look one of pure approval. Only because Leslie didn’t have a clue who the hell Dave was or what a jerk he could be.
Bree stood and circled her desk, taking the coffee and Danish out of his hand and promptly handing them to her assistant. “Toss these out, would you? Or feel free to enjoy the Danish, if you want. And the next time my ex-husband walks into the building, ignore him. That’s what I always do.”
Leslie glared at Dave, the smile disappearing from her face. Taking the coffee cup and bag from Bree, she turned on her heel and headed for the door, pausing to pointedly toss Dave’s peace offering in the small trash can before leaving.
Dave grunted in displeasure, but Bree cut him off before he could say anything. “Did you forget the part of that conversation we had where I told you never to come to my office?”
“Come on, Bree,” he protested as she moved back around her desk, putting it between them. “Why do you have to be like this? I just want to talk. I was worried about how you were doing after what happened at the diner. You never called or texted me.”
“Why do I have to be like this?” She folded her arms, standing instead of sitting down so he couldn’t tower over her. “Maybe because we’re divorced and have been for over five years. Maybe because I’ve told you multiple times since you’ve gotten out of prison that I have zero interest in getting back together. Maybe because I’ve moved on and you can’t seem to get that.”
If Dave picked up on her anger, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he stepped closer to her desk. “Come on,” he said again, using that suave voice of his, the one he’d charmed her with when she was barely out of high school. “Let me take you to dinner tonight and we can talk about everything. You’ll see this isn’t anything we can’t work out. If you give me a chance, you’ll realize we’re meant to be together. We always have been.”
Dave spoke in the most rational tone of voice like he always did, making her concerns seem silly and unreasonable. It was a tactic that had worked on her for years. Well, no more. It had stopped being effective around the time she realized he wasn’t merely narcissistic and unstable—which w
ould have been bad enough—but a cold-blooded killer, too.
“Dinner? Just the two of us?” she asked, irritated he thought this line of crap would actually still work on her. “What about Brandon?”
He looked surprised for a moment, as if remembering he had a son. “Sure, bring him, too. I thought it could be the two of us at first, you know?”
Bree snorted. Dave had never treated Brandon as anything more than a bother. Certainly not as a son he loved.
“I’m not going out to dinner with you tonight or ever,” she told him.
His hazel eyes glinted with annoyance; then his face went blank. Like someone had pulled down a shade over his emotions.
“You know,” he said, eyeing her coldly, “sometimes I think about how nice it would be if you could make people do exactly what you wanted without going to the effort of trying to convince them.”
Bree knew her ex was dangerous, but this was the first time she realized how crazy he truly was. Who said things like that? “There’s something wrong with you, you know that?”
Dave slammed his hands down on the desk, a sneer curling his lip. “Why can’t you see I’m perfect for you?” he demanded, anger beginning to bubble beneath the surface. “I have nice clothes and a great job. In fact, Garrett, Wallace, and Banks are going to make me a partner soon.”
Bree had to fight the urge to call BS on that. Who would be stupid enough to put a murderer’s name on the company letterhead? Then again, they had hired him in the first place, and Bree knew from experience that Dave was exceptionally good at getting people to invest damn near every penny they owned, so anything was possible. Not that she really cared.
“None of that means anything to me,” she said. “It never did. But then again, I doubt you ever knew enough about me to realize that.”
Anger verging on rage filled Dave’s eyes, and Bree had to fight the urge to step back. She’d vowed a long time ago to never let him see how much he scared her. But that vow didn’t keep her heart from thumping like crazy in her chest.
“You’re sleeping with that asshole cop I saw you with the other day, aren’t you?” he demanded, hands tightening into fists as he straightened up. “What the hell is so special about him anyway?”
Bree owed Dave absolutely no explanation for the choices she made in her life, but in this case, she had no problem answering. Just so he’d finally get it through his thick head that they were done.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but it so happens Diego Martinez is everything you’re not. He’s a good, caring, compassionate man who risks his life every day for people he doesn’t know, and I thank God he was in that diner or Brandon and I would probably be dead. Oh, and he’s not a jackass with anger management issues, so that’s a bonus.”
That last part had been a stupid addition, and for a minute, she half expected Dave to move around her desk and come at her. He might have, too, if Leslie hadn’t shown up with several of their larger male coworkers.
“You need to leave,” Bree said, pinning Dave with a hard look. “Now.”
Dave clenched his jaw so hard she thought he might shatter his teeth, and she braced herself in case he got violent. But to her surprise, he slowly backed away.
“Being a cop is a dangerous job,” he murmured as he went, his face as cold and emotionless as Bree had ever seen it. “You might want to remember that.”
She opened her mouth to ask what the hell that meant, but he was already out the door.
“You okay?” Leslie asked, hurrying over to her as their coworkers followed Dave. Probably to make sure he left. “Do you want me to call the police?”
Bree shook her head, sinking into her chair with a shudder, her heart beating fast and her hands beginning to shake. She clasped them together on top of her desk so Leslie wouldn’t see.
“I’m fine,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing. “He left. That’s all that matters.”
Leslie nodded. “I’m so sorry about letting him in. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. Really,” Bree murmured. “Thanks for getting help. I’m good now.”
Leslie didn’t look like she believed that but left.
Bree turned her attention to the folders on her desk, picking up where she’d left off reading. She was halfway down the page when she saw four little words buried there that made her stop and take notice.
Garrett, Wallace, and Banks.
Bree sat up straighter, reading that part again to make sure she didn’t miss anything important. But after going through it twice, there was no doubt about it. Garth and Vera Williams used Dave’s investment firm to manage their wealth. Some guy by the last name of Reed was their brokerage advisor.
Pushing the Williamson folder to the side, Bree reached for the other three files and started flipping. They’d all invested with Garrett, Wallace, and Banks as well. They also had the same advisor—Reed.
Bree told herself to stay calm and not read more into this than there was. It could be nothing. Rich people tended to all use the same investment firms. Word of mouth and all that.
But she couldn’t deny this was the connection between the two thefts she’d been looking for. It wouldn’t be unusual for an investment firm of the caliber of Garrett, Wallace, and Banks to maintain a list of all valuables their clients owned as well as details on how they were stored. They might have pass codes and combinations for the various security systems in place to protect the stuff.
While all of that was interesting—and definitely worth digging into—there was also the impossible-to-ignore issue of her ex-husband working at the same investment firm that represented two clients who’d recently been robbed. His name might not be listed as their advisor, but as an employee, Dave would have access to the same information as Reed.
Maybe it was wishful thinking on Bree’s part, but wouldn’t it be great if Dave turned out to be moronic enough to screw up and get himself sent back to prison?
She took a deep breath. As much as she wanted Dave to be involved, Bree would do this right and let the evidence lead her where it would. On the downside, digging into Dave’s investment firm meant she’d probably end up running into him again.
As she began taking notes, Bree couldn’t stop herself from replaying all the hateful, awful things Dave had said. Of all of them, it was his parting shot that scared her the most.
“Being a cop is a dangerous job. You might want to remember that.”
Had that been a threat? Would Dave really try to hurt Diego?
Bree wanted to think it was nothing more than another example of her ex’s lack of impulse control, but if that’s all it was, why was she suddenly terrified?
* * *
“This is a complete waste of time,” Connor groused as he yanked a file folder off the stack next to him and flipped through it. “What the hell does the chief expect us to find anyway?”
Diego looked up from his own stack of folders to glance at Hale and Trey, sitting across from him and Connor at the conference table in the training building, wondering if either of them wanted to answer their pack mate’s question. Neither of them looked up, content to continue poring over their own folders. Even Kat the cat, sitting on the table by Connor, refused to glance up from the plate of tuna fish she was carefully nibbling on.
Everyone was ignoring Connor because this was the second time he’d asked the very same question. Then again, asking the same question over and over and expecting a different answer was a very Connor-like thing to do. Sort of like feeding a rescue cat tuna fish packed in sunflower oil because Kat was the only feline in existence that hated real cat food and refused to eat it.
Diego turned his attention back to the folder in front of him, going through every report the team had written over the past month, trying to find something they might have missed when it came to the bizarre incidents they’d been gone on recently. The
y’d been at it all morning and had nothing to show for it. But calling it quits wasn’t an option now that half of Dallas was officially losing its collective mind after word had gotten out that the three men who’d taken those hostages at the bank the other night were kids from a local college on the dean’s list who’d never so much as gotten a ticket for speeding. Pictures and tweets had been popping up all over social media ever since, friends and family swearing this wasn’t normal behavior for the trio. With the twenty-four-hour news cycle pushing it, Ernest Hobbs’s drug theory hadn’t just taken off. It had exploded. And Chief Leclair and her office were feeling the heat.
Which was why Diego and his pack mates were trapped under piles of paper in the conference room, looking for a connection between these latest suspects and the previous ones. Or at least an idea about where they might have picked up this new drug. If such a drug existed. Unfortunately, though Diego knew how important it was to find something—anything—to give the chief and her detectives a place to start, he was having one hell of a time focusing on the piece of paper in front of him.
The only thing he seemed able to think about was Bree and kissing her last night. Part of him was still kicking himself for leaving when he had instead of seeing where those kisses might have led. Because damn, did she taste delicious.
“Diego, are you reading that file?” Trey asked, jerking him out of his daydreams.
Diego gave himself a shake to see his pack mate regarding him with an amused expression. “I’m reading it,” he insisted as Connor and Hale—and even Kat—all lifted their heads to look his way. “Really.”
“Right.” Trey snorted. “That’s why you haven’t flipped a page in five minutes. It’s obvious your head is a million miles away. So, why don’t you tell us what’s up? It’s not like any of us are getting anything worthwhile accomplished right now anyway.”
Hale sat back in his chair, a knowing look on his face. “And before you try to say nothing’s up, I should probably point out that Bree’s scent is all over you.”