Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(70)
“I already know I’m focused on the right suspect! You want to know how? Because I’m a detective and I’ve got years’ worth of experience doing what you tried to do this afternoon with absolutely no training whatsoever, which is close in on a suspect, build a case, and ultimately obtain an arrest warrant.”
She rested her hand on her hip. “So, you’re not grateful at all to have a DNA sample to help you do that?”
“We’re using other means.”
“Why?”
“A lot of reasons, none of which concerns you. Or didn’t until you decided to barge into the investigation.”
“You see it as barging, I see it as helping. Whatever.” She got two plates down from the cabinet. “Anyway, DNA evidence is much more conclusive than anything else you’re doing, and that’s a scientific fact. I took a calculated risk and it was worth it.”
He shook his head.
“What?” She opened a carton of noodles.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.”
His words hit her smack in the center of her chest. Yet another example of how totally different Sean was from Matt.
Brooke looked up at his eyes, simmering with frustration, and she felt guilty. He was truly worried about her, so much so that he’d worked himself into a fury over it. But he didn’t deal with his emotions the way Matt did. Not at all.
She stepped closer to him, and he watched her warily as she rested her hand on his chest. The starched cotton felt warm under her fingertips.
“I’m sorry you don’t agree with my tactics. I’m not sorry for what I did, though.”
“Brooke—”
“The results should be in sometime tomorrow, and you guys can move forward one way or another. And if Rachel has a problem with what I did, then she can ignore the findings. But at least you and your team will know whether you’re wasting valuable time.”
He took a deep breath and blew it out. Then he combed a hand through his hair.
“Stay for dinner.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and she saw the emotions warring in his face. “I should go.”
She turned to the cabinet and took down a wineglass. She poured a glass of merlot and handed it to him.
“Stay with me, Sean. Please?”
? ? ?
Sean didn’t need wine. Or food. He just needed her to look at him with those seductive blue-green eyes that promised him the world.
She was so damn beautiful, and he needed to turn off the anger coursing through his system because he couldn’t stand for her to see him lose his temper.
He took the wineglass and set it on the counter beside him. He was still pissed off, and he had no business being here when he felt this way. He never wanted her to think he was one of those tightly wound guys who would lose their shit in the heat of the moment.
“Relax.” She stroked her palm over his chest again.
“I can’t. I’m worried about you.”
Worried was an understatement. In the past week, Sean had watched two young women get zipped into body bags, and the idea of Brooke crossing paths with the man responsible made Sean queasy with fear.
He removed Brooke’s hand from his chest, needing her to focus on what he was saying. “What you did was dangerous, Brooke. I don’t want you on that guy’s radar.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not.”
She slipped her arms around him, filling him with the tantalizing scent of her wet hair. She rested her head against him, and he couldn’t resist squeezing her tight. All day long, he’d felt this aching hole in his chest. And she seemed to know right where it was because she rested her palm over the spot.
“You’re dressed up.” She smoothed her hand down his tie. “Where were you today?”
“A deposition,” he said, allowing himself to be lured into a change of subject.
“Oh?” She eased back and looked at him curiously. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” She lifted an eyebrow at his sharp tone. He was shitty company tonight, and he needed to make up a reason to leave.
“How’d it go with the interview?”
“Interview?”
“Cameron and the sketch artist.”
“It didn’t happen. Cameron threw up in the car on the way to the police station. His mom says he has a nervous stomach.”
Brooke’s brow furrowed with worry.
“They rescheduled for tomorrow afternoon, and they’re going to try again.”
She rested her head against his chest. He didn’t tell her she’d been right about the kid being traumatized, because she obviously knew. But they needed him anyway, so traumatized or not, they planned to get him in front of the sketch artist.
This case was so fucked-up. Sean hated that an innocent little boy was right in the middle of it. He hated that Brooke was right in the middle of it. But she wouldn’t let it go, and Sean’s inability to stay away from her wasn’t helping matters. He needed to leave.
She tipped her head back to look at him, pressing her breasts against his chest.
“Brooke—”
She kissed him, cutting off the lame excuse he’d been about to give her.
He wasn’t going anywhere. Not when she had him wound up like this—a tight ball of nerves and frustration. He’d been like this all day, but worse since he’d seen her outside that restaurant, only footsteps away from the prime suspect in two vicious homicides. What the hell was she thinking?