Intimate Caresses (The Love and Danger Series) (4 page)

“What happened?” she asked and
she felt his hand on her back, rubbing back and forth.  Oh, that felt good!  And when he massaged the tense muscles in her shoulders….!  She thought she might just pass out from…okay, so she wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to pass out from.  Was it the fact that her obnoxious, horrible boss was dead?  Or was it because the man beside her was touching her and she was both drawn to him in an odd, sensual way while at the same time, he terrified her right down to her red, painted toenails?  Either way, his touch was causing her to stop hyperventilating.  Or maybe it was just that his warm hand felt like it was putting her skin on fire as he tried to soothe her.  It wasn’t soothing.  In fact, it was the exact opposite of soothing.  It was making her more than a little bit crazy. 

Brock felt her skin through the silk of her shirt and wanted to pull her onto his lap, to feel her curl up around him so that her body was touching as much of his as possible. 

He took a deep breath himself and shook his head mentally.  Damn!  She was a suspect and he was supposed to be interrogating her.  Not making love to her! 

He cleared his throat and pulled his hand away before the temptation to lift her onto his lap became too strong. 

He stood up and watched as she lifted her head, her eyes slowly coming into focus and those blue eyes latched right in on him. 

“So what do you know about the murder?” he asked, watching her reaction.  These first interviews were always so important.  Impressions were formed, leads discovered.  He could usually sniff out the culprit within the first few
interviews.

Unfortunately, Brock wasn’t sure what his gut was telling him in her case.  He figured he was too dazzled by her temper and her figure, not to mention those baby blues of hers.  He thought about getting
Colt in here to interview her, but then quickly discarded that idea.  Colt was a worse womanizer than Brock.  There was no way he was letting his partner close to this little woman. 

As soon as his words registered, she glared at him.  “I hate to break this to you, but I wouldn’t even touch the man to murder him.  There’s no way I’d get close enough to that man. 
Always dangerous.”

She stood up, prepared to leave and trying not to be insulted by his questions, but
she was somehow hurt that he could even believe something like that about her.  Nina realized that was an unreasonable reaction.  They didn’t know each other in any way other than their superficial work titles.  And even that she’d messed up on, calling him an officer instead of a detective. 

But as soon as she looked into his eyes, something shifted inside of her.  “I need to leave,” she said, trying to sound firm, but her voice was softer than she’d intended. 

When he simply stood there, staring down at her, she grew uncomfortable.  Looking into those strange, green eyes, she found herself feeling that perplexing sensation again.  Like she wanted to kiss him.  Or touch his scar and heal the wounds she sensed deep down inside of him.  How crazy was that?

“Are you going to let me go?” she asked, still looking up at him. 

The side of Brock’s mouth twisted slightly.  “I don’t think I am,” he replied.  He wanted to move closer to her, to put his hands on her waist and slide his palm up against her skin. 

Were they still talking about Jared’s death?  Nina wasn’t completely sure. 

Without thinking about it, her hand reached up and touched his scar.  “Does it hurt?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. 

Brock was so stunned by her touch, he almost jerked back.  His face burned where her hand rested.  “No,” he replied, his voice gruff.  No one had ever touched his face like this, he thought.  Women avoided touching his scar, possibly thinking it might be contagious. 
But not this woman.  She didn’t look repelled, either, which was another unusual reaction. 

“It must have hurt like the dickens when it happened though,” she said, her eyes smiling up at him.  And then her fingers did something strange.  Those soft, gentle fingers, the tips of them at least, moved from the top of his scar near his eye all the way down the white line to his jaw where it ended and, even though he didn’t have a mirror, Brock would swear t
hat the scar faded somewhat after her touch. 

“It wasn’t pleasant,” he finally said.  Even that was a shock.  Women only asked about his scar with a light of excitement in their eyes, as if his scar made him dangerous and somehow evil.  He’d never admitted anything about it, not even how he’d gotten it to anyone but
Colt, Sam and Walker.  But then again, they were his friends.  His
male
friends.  He trusted them with his life. 

Women?
  Nah.  No reason to trust them.

With that reminder, he stepped back and her hand fell away.  As soon as that happened, he wanted to step closer again and lift her delicate hand back up to his face.  Hell, he wanted to go home and shave again so he could feel her hand without any whiskers to hamper feeling her soft, amazing touch. 

Murder, he reminded himself.  He was here to solve a murder. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said with a rougher than needed tone. 

Nina blinked and stared up at the man, shocked that she’d taken such liberties with a stranger.  “I’m sorry.  That was inappropriate of me,” she said but had to clasp her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t reach out and touch him again.  Even now, her hands were burning, wanting to pull his cotton tee-shirt out from the waistband of his jeans and explore his flat stomach.  Why was her mind thinking that this man would be so fascinating?  What was it about him that drew her so intensely? 

Whatever it was, she had to fight it.  He didn’t like her. 

And she didn’t like him, she told herself.  Good grief, she didn’t like men!  And this one was ready to try and figure out what she’d been doing last night.  No, she couldn’t let him find that out.  Goodness, her nighttime activities were more top secret than the work she was doing here at the office.  At least in her mind.  She’d never let anyone know about her night work.  That was too important.  And she was so close!  So close to her goal and she just needed a little more time.  Everything would be perfect very soon. 

“Um…” she stepped back herself and bumped into the conference room table, reaching back and gripping it with her hands.  “What was the question?”

Brock had no idea.  He’d been too busy watching the emotions rush across her pale features, too fascinated by those blue eyes.  Damn, he wanted to just stand here and stare at her. 

And then the day’s events came back to him and he just about pummeled himself mentally for getting so off track.  And with a suspect! 
“What were you doing last night between the hours of eight and midnight?” he asked.

Nina thought back and bit her lower lip.  “I was in my apartment. 
Alone.  I’m afraid I don’t have an alibi for last night.”

He watched her
carefully, noting the shifting eyes that told her that he’d just hit on her secret.  Had she left her apartment?  Come back to the office and found her boss here?  Or had she never left?  Had she and her boss been having an after-hours affair that had ended in a fight?  In a fight that had ended in death? 

Somehow, he didn’t think so. 
“You didn’t make any calls?”

She shook her head.  She worked eight or nine hours here, then headed to her apartment and worked another eight hours on her
personal project. 

Adding up those hours, she suddenly realized how sad her life had become.  This man probably went out and had loads of fun.  He looked like the type that would play poker every week with his buddies
. And on the other nights, he’d probably be picking up women in bars and showing them what an amazing lover he was. 

Thinking back, she used to have lots of friends.  When she was married to Steven,
almost every weekend they’d either gone out to restaurants or bars with friends, had friends over for dinner, or went to their place.  Since her divorce, she’d pushed people away, too afraid to trust new people after everything Steven had stolen from her.  She was just this moment realizing that he’d stolen so much more than she’d realized. 

“No,” she shook her head, crossing her arms over her stomach.  “I didn’t make any calls.”

“What did you watch on television?” he asked, surprised that he was making this much of an effort to help her find an alibi.  Even if she could name any TV show, it still wasn’t a good enough alibi.  But it would help.

Again, she shook her head.  “I don’t watch television.”

That was surprising, he thought.  He wasn’t a big fan of television himself, thinking it was a monumental time suck, but to hear someone else say it so unequivocally was surprising. 

He moved closer, unable to stop himself.  “Any chance someone saw you coming or going from your house? 
A neighbor?  A friend, perhaps?”

Nina shivered, not with fear over the need for an alibi, but because of how close he’d come again
, eliminating the space between their bodies.  His heat and the male scent of him was overwhelming. She liked it, probably too much.  “No.  Perhaps some people saw me come home around five-thirty or six, but since I didn’t leave again until I left for work this morning, no one would have seen me.”  She cleared her throat nervously.  “But the absence of an alibi doesn’t make me a murderer.”

He knew that.  “I’ll be in touch,” he said and forced his feet to carry him backwards, giving her space again.  He didn’t want to.  Hell, he thought he’d be perfectly happy having her close for a long, long time.

But such was not to be.  He had a murder to solve and she was now at the top of the list of suspects.  Not only did she lack an alibi, she also had motive.  Not a good combination. 

For the first time since he’d become a cop, he sincerely hoped that the woman didn’t have means.  He’d have to run a background check, see if she owned any weapons…
  One step at a time, he told himself.

“
Whatcha got?” Colt asked, walking into the medical examiner’s office.  Brock was right behind him. Neither one of them gagged at the sight of the dead body on the long metal table with bright lights highlighting the gruesome picture. 

Joe pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.  “The guy was definitely killed by a thirty-eight,” he said, looking down at the body.  “It wasn’t a professi
onal hit, but whoever did this was a darn good shot.”  He pointed to the body where the heart used to be.  “Shot right through the left ventricle.  Death was instantaneous.”

Brock and
Colt looked at each other.  They’d shared their impressions of each person they’d interviewed.  They both agreed on four people who were at the top of their list.  The wife, of course.  They didn’t think she’d done it, but the spouse always topped the list.  The administrative assistant was a very good candidate as well.  There was a nanny who might have been involved with the guy, so she was a potential, and finally, Nina Jansen.  No matter how hard he tried, Brock couldn’t knock Nina off of the suspect list.

“What’s more interesting,” Joe said, interrupting Brock’s thoughts about the feisty
beauty, “is the amount of poison the man ingested before he was shot.”  He looked at his notes one more time.  “There were traces of anti-depressants in his system that would knock out a horse.  Ten times the normal prescription dosage.  Not to mention a huge quantity of bourbon.  The man was completely drunk.  His blood alcohol level was through the roof.”

Being drunk wasn’t a crime unless the guy was driving, so they dismissed that issue, but wrote it in their notes just in case it was important later on. 
“Any idea what the poison was in?”

Joe nodded.  “Definitely the coffee cup, which I’d originally suspected.  Since
Silverberg only had a sandwich for dinner, the medicine was more quickly absorbed.  The guy was drugged pretty well.” 

Brock and
Colt exchanged a look, both of them silently warning the other not to ask how the medical examiner knew that the victim had only eaten a sandwich.  Dead bodies, no problem.  Stomach contents?   Nope.  There was only so much disgusting stuff they could handle. 

“So he had a sandwich f
or dinner and bourbon-spiked coffee throughout the evening.  Were there any unexpected substances in the coffee pot we gave you?”

Joe walked over to one of the tables, read through some information,
then shook his head.  “No.  The medicine was only in the travel mug that had been sitting on his desk.”

Brock and Colt turned, going over their findings so far. 
“So whoever tried to overdose him put the anti-depressants in the drink before he came to work.  Or gave it to him while he was at work.”  They looked back to Joe, silently asking him to confirm their summary.

“Correct,” Joe confirmed. 
“The crime scene techs didn’t find any trace of the medicine on the counters or on the man’s desk.  It was definitely done outside the office.”

Colt
and Brock looked down at the body and were just about to leave when Joe stopped them again.  “One other thing,” he said and took his glasses off.  “The victim had sex before he died.  Very soon before he died.”

That was an interesting fact, both of them thought. 
“Any idea how soon?” Brock asked.

Joe shook his head.  “I can’t tell you in minutes, but I can get DNA from the fluids.”

That was a huge lead.  Colt and Brock both looked at each other.  “How long will that take?”

“Can you get me
comparison samples?”

Brock thought about how he’d like to get samples from
one woman, but dismissed the idea as completely unethical no matter how much fun it might be.  “Yeah, we can get you DNA samples tomorrow.  How soon will you be able to see if it’s a match?”

Joe sighed and leaned against the table.  “Usually in about five to ten days
, but if you guys are willing to sign for the additional expense, I can get something back to you within seventy-two hours.”

Colt
nodded his head.  “We’ll get the comparison samples, and if we need a push, we’ll let you know.  I’m pretty sure our captain will let us run with that.”

Brock agreed, but his mind was still on various ways he’d like to capture one woman’s DNA.  Too bad he probably needed a pure sample.  All the ways he was considering would contaminate the sample with his own
DNA. 

Colt
and Brock moved back to Brock’s office, where Sam and Walker were waiting in ambush. 

“We he
ard you pulled a shooting,” Walker said, leaning against the wall and tossing the “stress” ball in the air, catching it with his other hand.  “What’s going on?”

Sam was
reading a text message, smiling.  That could only mean that Hannah, his fiancée, had sent him a message.  Brock snorted, Colt rolled his eyes and Walker took the stress ball and tried to ping Sam’s head.  It was a wasted effort.  Sam might be madly in love with his woman, but he hadn’t lost any reaction time. Without missing a beat, his hand shot up and caught the ball before it even came close to his head.  “Nice try,” Sam said and tucked his cell phone into the case.  “Payback is hell.”

Walker
didn’t appear to be overly concerned.  Turning to Brock, he said, “Tell us what’s going on.  We just solved our case, so we’re ready to help.”

“I thought yours was a double homicide,”
Colt perked up. 

Sam shrugged.  “Drug violence,” he said and those were the only two words he needed to say.  Drug violence meant that there were too many people who were more than happy to brag about the vio
lence.  Some idiots even posted their confessions on social media sites to up their “street cred” – or their influence in the neighborhood.  They all thought police were too stupid to turn to the Internet to find their answers.  Once they had a suspect, it was just a matter of getting a search warrant and finding the weapon. 

Amazingly, many
drug dealers also didn’t have the common sense to get rid of the clothing they were wearing when they committed the murder. That meant that there was gunshot residue all over their clothing, the vehicle (if it was a drive-by), and even their skin.  Usually it was a simple matter of finding the suspect, matching up the gun, and connecting the gun to the perpetrator.  Most of the time, the murders weren’t even a challenge.  Other times, they were a complete mystery with too many people claiming responsibility.  Those were a conundrum. 

Brock and Colt went over their findings so far while Walker and Sam listened in.  The four of them brainstormed about the
leads they’d gotten to date.

Colt’s eyes
lasered in on a statement.  “What were your thoughts on this Nina woman?  You said she was hiding something.”

Brock thought about her blue eyes, that pale skin
, and her long, silky dark hair – it should never be constrained in a tight bun like she wore today.  He glanced at the clock on the wall behind Sam and realized that she was probably home, most likely kicking off those sexy heels, pulling the pins out of her hair, just like he’d like to be doing right about now if he were with her. 

Yeah, the woman definitely had hit all of his pressure points. 

“Earth to Brock!” Sam called out, taking the stress ball and preparing to throw it at his friend.

Brock looked up and blinked
– realizing all three men were staring at him while Sam held the ball in mid-throw.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled.

Colt, Sam and Walker looked at him, then at each other.  Simultaneously, they all three burst out laughing while Brock glared at them. “What the hell is so funny?” he demanded. He took the foam basketball he kept in his office and tossed it between Sam and Colt’s heads, right through the hoop suctioned onto the wall. 

Colt shook his head as his laughter died down.  “So do we need to scratch the lovely programmer off of our list?” he asked, teasing his friend.

Brock’s stomach clenched and he wanted to punch Colt in the face.  “Why the hell would we do that?” he asked, even though he was wracking his brains to find a legitimate reason to do that himself.  “She’s a prime candidate.  Rumors are all over the place that she and the victim were having an affair.  She has no alibi for last night and we haven’t even run a background check on her to see if she owns a weapon.”

Sam crossed his arms over his massive chest and grinned.  “You got it bad, my man.”

“Got what bad?” Brock asked, standing up and shoving his pistol back into the holster so it was nestled against his kidney.  He’d placed it in his desk when he’d sat down but was heading back out now.  He had a mission, which was to discover why the lovely lady was keeping secrets.  And what those secrets were!

Walker chuckled.  “Just like Sam,” he said, shaking his head.

Brock stopped and looked at Sam, wondering what they were talking about.  “Sam?  How am I like Sam?”

Colt slapped his back.  “Just go get her, buddy!”

Brock rolled his eyes and walked out the door, leaving them behind and ignoring their comments.