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"Aren't you?" I counter, my voice low and teasing. "A handsome detective who only sees the world in black and white? You’d probably put your grandma in jail for jaywalking. Sounds like trouble to me."
He doesn’t show any signs of offense. He wears his Boy Scout ways like a badge. "I could say the same about you. A beautiful woman with questionable connections? That's a recipe for disaster if I've ever heard one."
I smile, enjoying the banter again. "My, my, Detective. Are you flirting with me?"
"Just stating facts," he replies smoothly, but the glint in his eye tells me otherwise.
We fall into an easy rhythm after that, trading barbs and witty remarks. The tension from earlier dissipates, replaced by a crackling, charged energy that's both exhilarating and terrifying.
As the evening progresses, I find myself genuinely enjoying Henry's company. He's sharp, quick-witted, and surprisingly funny when he lets his guard down. For a moment, I almost forget who he is and why we’re here.
As the waiter clears our plates, a feeling of disappointment settles in my chest. Despite the surprisingly enjoyable evening, I'm no closer to uncovering what Henry knows about Lazaro. The realization leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I toy with my empty martini glass, studying Henry's face for any hint of what he's thinking. But his expression remains frustratingly neutral, giving nothing away. It's maddening how easily he slips back into detective mode, all traces of our earlier banter vanishing like smoke.
Determined to salvage something from this encounter, I make a split-second decision.
"Well, Detective, it's getting late. Allow me to drive you home."
Henry's eyebrows shoot up, surprise flashing across his features before he schools them back into neutrality. "That's not necessary. My car is here."
I stand, smoothing out my skirt with deliberate slowness. "Are you afraid to let me know where you live?"
He hesitates, clearly weighing his options. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to decipher my motives.
"Come now, Detective.” I move over to him, leaning in close enough that he can smell my perfume. "Where's that bravery you're so famous for? Surely, Chicago's finest isn't scared of little old me?"
Henry's lips twitch, caught between amusement and wariness. "It's not fear. It's caution. A quality I'm sure you can appreciate."
I laugh. "Oh, I appreciate caution, Detective. But sometimes" —I lean in even closer, my breath ghosting over his ear— "a little risk can be… exhilarating. Besides, you said you’re worried about prying eyes. How can we collaborate on my brother’s case if we can’t meet privately?”
His cheeks redden, telling me he thought my use of feminine wiles was about something else. Good. I’m glad to have put him off-kilter.
I press on. "Unless you prefer we conduct our little tête-à-têtes in seedy diners and crowded cafes? I'm sure that won't raise any eyebrows at the precinct."
Henry sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You make a fair point. But you understand my reservations."
"Of course, which is why I'm proposing a compromise. How about a nightcap? We can discuss my brother's disappearance and any… related cases you might be working on." I believe Henry is as interested in me as I am in him, but I think dangling the carrot of justice will be more enticing than seduction. I try not to be offended by that.
I watch as he mulls my proposition over. The air between us crackles with tension. Just how much does Henry want my help? Enough to risk being alone with me?
8
HENRY
This is a bad idea. Every instinct screams at me not to let Lana D'Amato drive me home. Letting her know where I live could lead to a tanker full of trouble. Yet, as she leans closer, her amber eyes sparkling with mischief, my resolve wavers.
“This was your idea.” Her eyes are challenging. “Having second thoughts?”
The scent of her perfume fills my nostrils, and it’s intoxicating. I fight the urge to lean in closer. I know what she’s doing. She’s not the first woman to use her feminine mystique, but she’s the first to really tempt me.
With that said, I’m also aware that it’s not just fake manipulation. She feels the supercharged energy crackling between us as much as I do. She knows I feel it too and is using it to her advantage. If I were a different sort of man, I’d do the same.
I clear my throat to keep from getting lured in too deep. “We need to maintain professional boundaries."
Her eyes narrow in confusion. "Professional boundaries? You said you had info about Lazaro but you can’t say anything inpublic, and now you can't say anything in private. I thought we were supposed to work together. How can that happen if there is no place we can talk?"
I grimace, knowing I've backed myself into a corner. The growing attraction I feel toward her is dangerous, unprofessional, and could compromise everything I've worked for. But the promise of information about her brother Lazaro, and perhaps about Peter's father’s murder, is too tempting to ignore.
