Christina gathered her three folders together and shoved them into her briefcase yawning open on the floor beside her. “Where are you staying?”
“Same place as you.”
“Great.” Her lips stretched into a polite, professional smile. Damn. Someone up there wanted to torture her. “You can follow me over in your car. It’s not far.”
“Well, I would if I had a car.”
She pinched her finger with the latch of her briefcase and then sucked it into her mouth. Someone really wanted to torture her.
“I took a taxi from the airport, left my suitcase in the squad room. I’ll just hitch a ride with you.”
“Sounds...good.” She wheeled back her chair and grabbed her purse from the credenza. She plucked her cell phone from the side pocket and checked the display, cupping her hand around it. She’d have to swap out the wallpaper photo of Kendall unless she wanted Eric to start asking uncomfortable questions.
The guilt washed over her in such a strong wave, her knees wobbled and she plopped back into the chair. She glanced quickly at Eric, but he was busy packing up his own stuff and didn’t notice her sudden collapse.
How could she keep Eric in the dark any longer? All the reasons she’d used to put off telling him about her pregnancy, including the fact that she didn’t know where he’d gone on his leave of absence, came tumbling down around her. She had no excuses left.
He probably still didn’t want kids and his last kidnapping case with the Bureau had pretty much reinforced that for him, but he should still know about his daughter’s existence.
And Kendall? She deserved to know her father even if he didn’t remain a constant fixture in her life—not that an absentee father ever did her any good.
As a child she’d even wished her father had already died some noble death instead of constantly confronting the hurt and pain that he just didn’t want her in his life if she wasn’t going to conform to his lifestyle.
But Eric was nothing like her father.
“Why are you still sitting there? You ready to go?”
“Just waiting for you.” She gripped the handle of her briefcase and slung her purse over her shoulder. She scooted from behind the desk, waving Eric through the door first.
She didn’t need to squeeze past him, brushing body parts, feeling the warmth of his flesh. It was bad enough they’d be sharing a car and a hotel.
They shuffled into the squad room to a few nods and a big smile from Officer Griego.
“Any breaks in the case?”
“Not yet. Have a good night.” Eric retrieved his suitcase from the corner and they stopped by the lieutenant’s office on their way out. His blinds were drawn and they could hear voices from inside.
Eric sliced a finger across his throat and pointed to the exit.
“Are you in the parking garage?”
“Too crowded. I’m in the lot across the street.”
They emerged into the sunlight and Christina took a deep breath of fresh air as she fished for her sunglasses in her purse. “You don’t realize you’ve been cooped up all day until you get outside.”
“It’s always a good idea to take a breather.” Eric slipped his own sunglasses out of his front pocket. “Now we just have a few hours left of daylight.”
“I’m over here.” She held her arm out and clicked the remote. “Do you even plan to get your own rental car?”
“With all the budget cuts in place? I’m lucky I got my own room in the hotel.”
She sent him a sidelong glance but sealed her lips. She wouldn’t go there. “At least the hotel is halfway decent.”
They approached the rental from the rear, and Christina popped the trunk.
Eric stepped beside her, nudging her shoulder with his and took the briefcase from her hand.
“Here, I’ll get that.”
“Thanks.” Would she ever get to the point where she could stand next to this man without going all gooey inside? She skirted the bumper and headed to the front of the car.
“What the heck is this on my windshield?”
Eric slammed the trunk and the little car bounced. “Parking ticket? I’m sure Rita Griego would be more than happy to take care of that for you.”
“It’s not paper.” She bent forward to get a closer look at the white mark in the corner of her windshield. Her belly flip-flopped.
Eric circled around the front of the car to the driver’s side. “What is it?”
She straightened up and turned to face him. “It’s our sign. It’s the sign from Liz Fielding’s necklace.”
Chapter Four
Eric’s jaw tightened and he ducked around Christina to get a better look. The symbol mocked him, and he felt like smashing his fist through the glass.
Why had he never remembered the necklace and that symbol before now? He may have told the police about it after the kidnapping, had probably even described it to them, but he must’ve erased it from his memory after that.
Christina stiffened beside him and grabbed his arm. “Who put it there?”
Turning, he scanned the parking lot, his gaze traveling across the lampposts. “There aren’t any cameras here, so we’re out of luck.”
“It must be someone connected to Liz’s murder.” Her fingernails clawed at his flesh through his suit jacket.
“Or maybe just someone connected to Liz.” He smacked the roof of the car. “We need to find out what that symbol means, and we’re going to start by going to Nora’s bookstore.”
“Nora’s bookstore?” She snapped a couple of pictures of the symbol with her phone’s camera.
“The Kindred Spirit. Think about it. Sounds like one of those fantasy, sci-fi places.” He leaned forward and scraped the edge of the white markings with his thumbnail. “White shoe polish.”
“Do you want to head over there right now?”
“It can wait. I need to get out of this suit. I’ll make sure the store is open later.” He pulled out his phone and slid into the car. He tapped in a search for the bookstore and checked the location and hours. “They’re open until midnight—the witching hour.”
“Technically, midnight is not the witching hour. That would be 3:00 a.m., sort of the opposite of the time Christ was born at 3:00 p.m.”
“And you would know.”
“Did you just call me a witch?”
He glanced at Christina’s profile. Her smile was bright but brittle. He’d have to tread lightly. Too much unfinished business and animosity lay between them. “Isn’t your half sister into some of this stuff?”
She loosened her grip on the steering wheel. “Yep. She inherited some of my father’s particular gifts just like I did, and she ran with them.”
“How close are you to her? Maybe she could help us with this sign.”
“Not that close. I haven’t spoken to her in over a month, and I’m not comfortable discussing these things with her.”
“Okay. Forget that.”
She wheeled the car into the circular driveway of the hotel. “Do you want me to drop you off in the front?”
“Just park. I can wheel my suitcase in.”
She made the turn and slid a card into the slot for the parking arm, which creaked open. “Do you think I’m being followed?”
“Someone knows you’re working this case and knows your car.”
“Do you think that sign on the windshield is there to tell me something or threaten me?”
“I don’t know, Christina. Either way, it’s a break.”
“Either way, we need to inform Rich.”
He hauled his suitcase from the trunk and piled Christina’s briefcase and his own bag on top of it. She waited while he approached the front desk.
“Checking in. Brody.”
“I have your reservation right here, Mr. Brody, room 632.”
Christina made a sharp movement beside him. “I’m in 634.”
The clerk tapped a few keys on her keyboard. “Those two rooms are connected. That was a special request on the reservation for Mr. Brody.”
Eric held up one hand. “It wasn’t me. Travel made my arrangements.”
The hotel clerk’s gaze darted from him to Christine. “D-do you want a different room?”
“It’s fine.”
“Fine.” Christina echoed in a faint voice.
Eric tapped his Bureau credit card on the counter once before handing it to the clerk. He had to get ahold of his professionalism here. But why had the Bureau decided it was a good idea to pair him with his ex-fiancée on a case? Of course, it wasn’t the Bureau who had made that decision. It was the killer when he decided to leave those tarot cards on his vic in San Diego, linking that crime with Christina’s three cases.
He followed Christina’s clicking heels, dragging his suitcase behind him, trying to keep his eyes off her swaying hips.
She’d always been slim and athletic with some nice curves. Now those curves had become dangerous. She’d filled out where it mattered most.
Professional, Brody.
They got off the elevator and Christina stopped halfway down the hallway. “That’s yours and this is mine.”
“I’ll try to keep the noise down.”
She slid her key card into her door. “Well, let me know when you’re ready to head out to Kindred Spirits.”
“Do you want to join me for dinner first?” He’d suggest that to any colleague, wouldn’t he?
Her long lashes fluttered. “Sure. Knock on my door when you’re ready.”
Eric stepped into the room, closed the door and slumped against it, allowing the facade to slip from his body. He’d always been able to be himself around Christina, but now he felt as if he had to hold himself in check.
He shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it in the closet. He crossed the room to the window and paused halfway there, glancing at the door that connected his room to Christina’s.
He didn’t need the temptation, but if he requested a different room he’d come off looking weak or worse, as if he really cared that she was on the other side of the wall sleeping, undressing, showering.
He smacked his fist into his palm. He could get through this assignment.
Filmy, white drapes covered the windows and he yanked them back to reveal a view of Union Square. He’d grown up in this city. Knew it like the lines crisscrossing his palms, but his job with the FBI had taken him all over the place, including D.C. where he lived now. Could he ever live here again with the constant reminders of his family tragedy, and views of the Golden Gate Bridge from vantage points all over the city?
He left the drapes open and crashed across the bed. It was high time he came to terms with that past, including his kidnapping as a child.
He stared at the ceiling for several seconds until he heard the shower from Christina’s room. He toed off his shoes and sat up on the edge of the bed where he got rid of his socks and loosened his tie.
Dinner and then the bookstore—no drinks, no casual conversation, no flirting. Definitely no flirting.
He shed the rest of his clothing and padded into the tiled bathroom. Bracing his hands on the vanity, he hunched closer to the mirror. What did she see when she looked at him? Had he changed in the past two years like she had?
Because she had changed. He couldn’t put his finger on it. She seemed softer, less brittle. Maybe in stoking his anger against her, he’d built up her hard shell in his mind.
He’d watched for it, but he never did see that book come out about his father. Never saw any wedding announcement for Christina and Ray Lopez either. Not that he still didn’t see Lopez around.
In fact, Lopez had been sniffing around his brother’s case recently, trying to poke at old wounds. Sean had shown Lopez a lot more courtesy than he would have. Of course, Lopez had never been in cahoots with Sean’s fiancée either.
Eric stepped into the shower and let a steady stream of hot water cascade down his back. He rolled his shoulders to get the kinks out. The leave of absence had done him good. He didn’t want to have to take another after this case.
He twisted the towel around his waist. His toes sank into the carpet as he approached his suitcase in the corner where he’d parked it, his garment bag folded across the top. He hung up the garment bag in the closet and unzipped the suitcase.
He pawed through some shirts on the top and pulled out a pair of jeans. Dropping the jeans on the floor, he scooped up an armful of shirts and shook out each one before laying it out on the bed.
The knock on the adjoining door made him drop a shirt. “Yeah?”
“Are you ready for dinner yet?”
His gaze flicked to the towel slipping from his waist. “Give me a few more minutes.”
“I’m starving.”
“Five minutes.”
He left the shirts on the bed, grabbed a clean pair of underwear and stepped into his jeans. A sharp knock on the door halted his progress back to the bathroom.
“Ready yet?”
Blowing out a breath, he crossed to the connecting door, unlocked it and yanked it open. “Impatient, aren’t you?”
She made some reply that didn’t register with his brain—because all reasoning had fled the scene, crowded out by his visceral emotions.
Christina had shed the pantsuit and replaced it with a pair of dark skinny jeans topped with a wide-necked red sweater that slid off one shoulder, revealing a black lacy tank top. Her loose, dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she tossed it back as she sized him up with narrowed eyes.
“You’re not even dressed.”
He dipped his chin to his bare chest. “Almost there. You had the advantage of being here a few days. I went straight to the P.D. from the airport.”
“Excuses, excuses, Brody. Put some clothes on, will ya?”
He grunted and grabbed the shirt he’d dropped onto the bed. Had they slipped back into that easy camaraderie after just one afternoon spent together? That was part of Christina’s charm. She came off like one of the guys, but lurking beneath the sarcastic banter was a potent sensuality that could lure you in and wrap you up before you even knew what hit you.
Now that he knew all her tricks, he could resist her. He stuffed his arms in the sleeves of his shirt and his nostrils flared. Her exotic perfume wafted across the room and slid into his shirt with him.
“Did you bring the case files with you?” As he buttoned up the shirt in front of the mirror, his eyes strayed to her empty hands.
She arched an eyebrow. “I’m not bringing those to dinner. We know the basics. I have a notepad and pen in my purse just in case we have some amazing breakthrough.”
He wouldn’t bring case files to a normal working dinner either but this was no normal working dinner and he wanted the security of a distraction—a distraction from those dark, liquid eyes that shimmered with a hypnotic glow in candlelight.
“Give me one minute to make some sense of my hair.” He retreated to the safety of the bathroom, but she followed him.
“Really? Eric Brody uses hair product now?” She curved against the doorjamb like a long, lean cat.
He rubbed the gel between his hands. “It’s that or get a haircut.”
“Don’t do that. I like your hair longer.” She tilted her head. “How do the big boys feel about the long hair?”
“They haven’t said one way or the other, but then I don’t see much of them.” He rinsed his hands off in the sink and grabbed a towel.
“I’m sure they’re just thrilled to get you back, long hair and all.”
He stuffed the hand towel over the r
ack. “There are a couple of restaurants within walking distance to the hotel, but since we’re going to hit the bookstore after dinner we might as well drive.”
“There’s a restaurant I’ve been wanting to try for a while. It’s in the Haight-Ashbury district and should be pretty close to the bookstore, too.”
“Sounds good.” Anything sounded good about now—just to get out of this confined hotel room with Christina looking and smelling like sex on wheels.
Once in the parking garage, he stopped at the bumper of the little rental. “Do you want me to drive?”
“That’s okay. The car’s in my name.” She clicked the remote. “We don’t want to break any laws, especially with your brother, the SFPD detective, out on vacation.”
He had no choice but to be a passenger in her car while she sat in the driver’s seat. But he didn’t have to be a passenger on this journey. He didn’t have to be swept along a current of old feelings and desires. He’d been willing to give this woman everything, and she’d betrayed him...for a good story.
She swung the car into the line of traffic and sped up to avoid the cable car trundling to their right.
“It’s a little tricky driving these streets.”
“You’re a native—you should be used to it by now.”
“I didn’t drive much when I lived here—walking and public transportation have always been the best ways to get around.” She hunched over the steering wheel and peered at the road in front of her. “Do you think you’ll ever move back to the city?”
“You know I’m in D.C. now? I like it but if opportunity knocked, I could make my home here again.” He just might have to if he wanted to slay his demons.
“Do you plan to see your brothers while you’re here?”
“As you already know, Sean’s on an extended vacation, and I don’t think Judd’s in town either. I may take a trip up the coast to see Ryan.”
“Yeah, Sean had an interesting case a few months ago.”
“And Lopez was trying to get that story, too.”
Christina bit her lower lip.
The District Page 4