What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(13)

But not the usual cops and sheriffs and detectives. They had hundreds of stories that spoke about their heroism. No. She wanted to delve deeper into the way technology was altering the way police tracked down criminals.

Unfortunately, Griffin Archer refused to even take her calls. That was the only reason she’d decided to use a different approach. If he wouldn’t talk to her over the phone, then maybe she could convince him face-to-face. And the perfect opportunity had offered itself when the local college had requested she do a series of lectures.

When she’d traveled to California, she hadn’t intended to try to fool him. Not consciously. But from a young age she’d trained herself to become a woman who never accepted the word no. How else could she succeed? So she’d used her journalistic skills to discover Griff ’s routine, and decided to approach him during his morning run.

The last thing she’d expected was to be knocked so off-balance by Griff that she forgot her own game.

He was nothing like she’d expected.

Okay, he was brilliant. That was a given. And clearly obsessed with his work.

But he was also gorgeous. The dark curly hair that made her fingers itch to run through it. The finely chiseled lines of his face. A slender nose. A wide brow. A strong jaw that added a stern masculinity to his features.

His eyes were velvet brown and he had a boyish, crooked grin that melted her heart.

Then there was the lean, sculpted body that made women stumble when he jogged past them.

She wasn’t a nun; there had been men in her life. But none of them had made her brain shut down when they glanced in her direction.

In all honesty, it was supposed to be the other way around.

She smiled, sometimes she fluttered her lashes, and they did what she asked.

Was it any wonder she’d so badly blundered her attempt to lure him into giving her an interview?

“Making yourself at home?” a dark voice drawled from behind her.

She abruptly turned to discover Griff standing in the doorway, his expression stern.

“I’m sorry, I’m just naturally curious,” she said, trying not to notice the awareness that sizzled through her. The last time she’d approached this man she screwed up everything by allowing her raw attraction to cloud her thinking. She couldn’t afford to let it happen again. “You have a lovely home.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “You sound surprised.”

“I suppose I am,” she admitted, her gaze skimming over the cushy furniture. The place reminded her of her grandparents’ home in Indiana. Warm. Inviting. Lived in. “I saw your partner’s condo featured in a magazine. This is nothing like it.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like feeling I’m living in a fishbowl. This is much more . . .”

“Comfortable,” she said when his words trailed away. “The condo is a showroom. This is a home.”

Something flared through the dark eyes before his lips flattened. Had he reminded himself that she was the enemy?

“Tell me why you came here.”

She studied him. Was this a trick question?

“I told you. I need to convince the police these are real,” she reminded him.

A sharp shake of his head. Apparently, she’d given the wrong answer.

“One last time,” he warned. “Why me?”

She glanced down at the envelope in her hand.

A part of her understood his confusion. She had pictures of dead women. The cops should be all over the case, even if they didn’t personally like her, or the book she’d written.

And deep inside she knew if she tried hard enough, she might find a police department that was willing to at least check into the possibility there was a killer out there.

So why was she here?

The answer was simple. She wanted him to find proof that the pictures were real so she knew beyond a doubt that this wasn’t a hoax.

There.

She’d admitted it to herself.

She didn’t want to press the issue if there was a chance she was making a fool of herself.

Acutely aware of his gaze that was watching the emotions flit over her face, she squared her shoulders.

“I need to know the truth,” she told him. “You’re the only one who has the skill to give me that.”

He frowned, but he didn’t throw her out the window. She considered that a win.

“Flattery, Carmen?” he instead drawled.

“It’s not flattery,” she retorted. “You’re the best, and you know it.”

“If I find out this is some sort of stunt, I’ll make you regret trying to screw with me.”

She spread her arms. “You can do your worst,” she assured him.

Or his best, a wicked voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Carmen was quick to squash the voice. Griff wasn’t doing anything to her or with her that didn’t involve photos of dead women.

She grimaced. And as a means of dampening her lust, that was a doozy.

Releasing an exasperated breath, Griff pointed toward a doorway near the fireplace.

“Let’s go into my office.”

With long strides he was across the room and entering the attached office. Carmen scurried to keep up, her eyes widening as she stepped over the threshold.

Once again Griff managed to catch her off guard.