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I nod. “We’re missing something. I can feel it.” It seems like it’s right there, but still completely out of reach. Maybe it’s lack of sleep and therefore lack of focus, or maybe this guy is just that good.
Jay loosens his tie and picks up the pace. “We don’t have enough information yet to know much of anything, Frankie. I know you want this guy caught, but without linking the victims and without forensic evidence, we can’t do much.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” I’m not good at waiting. As if to prove my point that I’m terrible at patience when it comes to shit like this, a red light at the corner stops our forward progress. I push the button, hoping to speed up the change to the green light. Jay gives me the side eye and I smirk.
“What?” I say like I don’t know what he means.
I like to forge ahead, cutting through red tape and bullshit to get to the answers, to get the perp. To get justice for the victims. But Jay has heard my story about my LAPD ID badge opening every door in the city, but it can’t get me across a red light to save my soul. Well, unless I’m chasing a perp and then, all bets are off.
Jay laughs. “You’ve never been all that great at the waiting aspect of law enforcement. Your father was the same way.”
As always, the mention of my father stops me in my tracks. He’s been gone for more years now than I had with him, and when Jay brings him up, it always catches me off guard. In some ways, it feels like I hardly think about him, which is strange because if not for him, I wouldn’t be where I am today. “So, you’re saying my impatience is a genetic trait?”
“I’m saying don’t let the lack of progress get you down. The worst part of working a serial case is that the only way to get a better picture of the perp is more evidence.”
I nod as the light changes, and we hurry across the street to Beans & Things. “More evidence means more fucking victims,” I grumble.
Jay’s right, of course. “Yep.”
“That’s why you hate these cases?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
He nods, eyes scanning the crowds outside the bars and restaurants like he’s casing the joint. “It’s the main reason I hate them, yeah. You know what this city, hell this county is like. More criminals than I can fucking swing a bat at and a lot of ‘em haven’t been caught.” His jaw tightens, anger simmering just below the surface.
I let out a chuckle. “If that was supposed to be a pep talk, your game needs work, Hawkins.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up in that crooked grin of his as he opens the door to the coffee shop. “It wasn’t a pep talk, it was reality.”
“Ew, gross. Zero stars. Don’t recommend.” I step inside Beans & Things and the familiar scents put me at ease, a smile splitting my face. I inhale deeply, the scent of coffee beans mixed with hot milk, the warm buttery scent of fresh pastries. It’s familiar and so welcome, I instantly feel better. “Coffee,” I growl. “I need coffee.”
“We’re in the right place,” Jay deadpans from behind me.
I shoot him a glare over my shoulder, but before I can fire back at his snark, I slam right into a solid wall of muscle. Hot coffee splashes onto my shirt and I jump back. “Hey! Watch it,” I snap, irritation flaring as I take in the stain rapidly spreading across my top.
The man is easily over six feet tall, incredibly fit with thick brown hair perfectly styled. His hazel eyes swirl with shades of green and gold, full of apology. “I am so sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you. Here, let me help you.”
His voice is a low, gravelly rumble that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. Handsome doesn’t even begin to cover it—he looks like he stepped straight off the cover of a romance novel with that chiseled jaw and pretty pink lips framed by scruff. The expensive suit hints at money and status.
Tall, dark and panty-melting gorgeous is more like it. I give myself a mental shake, refocusing. “Don’t worry about it,” I say after dragging my eyes away from his distractingly attractive face. “All good.” I try to sidestep around him, but he blocks my path.
“I feel really terrible. At least let me pay for your dry cleaning?” That heart-stopping smile does absolutely nothing to sell the offer.
“Don’t worry about the shirt. I got it at Target.” I flash a smile, not to ease his guilt, but to end the conversation.
But his grin only widens, all pearly whites. “It looks good on you, and it’d be a shame if I don’t replace it.” The flirtatious tone grates on my nerves even as I grudgingly admit the guy has charm in spades.
Unfortunately for him, I’m immune. “Thanks, but it really isn’t necessary.” I move to go around him again, but he shifts, cutting me off once more.
“I insist,” he counters smoothly, that infuriatingly perfect smile not stopping.
“I insist on getting coffee.” I push the words through gritted teeth, my jaw clenched tight. This guy is really working my last nerve. “We’re good. Seriously.” Some women might eat up this pushy, relentless act, thinking it means he’s interested when it’s just an ego trip for most men. “Shit. That could be it,” I say under my breath as my focus shifts back to the case. Maybe my perp has a history of sexual abuse fueling his twisted urges to torture his victims like this.
The nuisance flashes another dazzling grin. “I’ll buy your coffee. And anything else you’d like.”
I roll my eyes, quickly weighing my options. If I was just some civilian, I might let him buy me the damn coffee and a bear claw just to end this ridiculous interaction. But I’m a cop, and I know exactly where letting guys like this buy you things inevitably leads. “Look, I accept your apology, okay? No need to throw money at me to make up for it.”
For the briefest second, something dark and sinister flashes in his hazel eyes before vanishing. But I’ve seen that look before…in the eyes of killers. I push that thought aside. I'm just projecting after obsessing over this case. “It wasn’t my intention to throw money at it,” he says smoothly. “But I feel terrible that my carelessness ruined your shirt. You serve our city. The least I can do is replace that blouse.”
Okay, now I’m irritated. This joker is smooth as hell with just the right mix of charm and looks. But I’ve dealt with enough manipulative dirtbags to recognize the game.
