Cold & Deadly (Cold Justice: Crossfire #1)(23)

“What can I get you?” the server—“Caroline” according to her name tag—asked Sheridan with a big smile before running through the specials.

“Water, please.” He tapped his coaster on the table. “You have a big crowd in here like this every Tuesday night?”

The waitress wore a bright smile and a tight top that showcased a killer cleavage. Sheridan got top marks for not dropping his gaze below the woman’s chin, although those cherry lips were probably already accumulating a large tip.

Ava had once been those lips and that smile. She’d put herself through college waiting tables in a high-end joint in Portland. She’d had her ass pinched so many times it was a wonder she hadn’t stabbed somebody with a cocktail stick. Swapping high heels for steel-toe boots when she’d joined the Portland Police had been one of the happiest moments of her life, eclipsed only by graduating from the FBI Academy.

“Help yourself.” Ava indicated the wings when the server left. The chicken smelled good and she was drooling, but she wasn’t going to be the only one to eat and get messy. Sheridan already held too many aces. Good-looking, powerful, strong. Independently wealthy if his car was anything to go by—otherwise he owed the bank a lot of money.

He took a drumstick, chowing down as if he’d forgotten to eat lunch and dinner. Maybe he had. They were both using what precious little spare time they had to dig deeper into Van’s death. Food seemed irrelevant.

“You managed to get an evidence team out there?” She was surprised he’d contacted her to look at the footprints he’d found before calling Aldrich. Surprised and pleased. It didn’t mean he’d include her in anything else. But he’d wanted a second opinion before he’d reported it. The fact he’d called at all…maybe he wasn’t so bad.

Were those footprints proof of anything besides morbid curiosity? Were they from Van cleaning windows or doing some weeding? Or had someone gotten into Van’s house through that window? Shot him and staged a suicide? The main thing was to make sure the evidence was properly documented before it disappeared in case this thing ever went to court.

“ERT arrived before I left. After all, the director did leave orders he wanted ‘no stone unturned.’” He wiped his lips and fingers on a napkin and took a long drink of water.

Was that a dig at her? For what she’d done at the funeral?

“You called the director?”

She got the vibe Sheridan was connected to the higher ups, but she didn’t know for sure. Maybe he’d worked with them before. Maybe he knew them socially.

He shook his head, but something about the way he did it suggested he could have, if he’d wanted. He was connected all right.

“Aldrich. You going to eat anything?”

She picked up a drumstick and bit into the warm meat and the flavor dissolved onto her tongue. “Oh, my god, this is good.” She groaned. Fried chicken was the reason she could never be a vegetarian.

He glanced at her quickly and she slowed down, chewing her food self-consciously. He had a way of unsettling her, which irritated her. Her family were all about food. She’d grown up above a Greek restaurant in a small town in Oregon. Was it the fact he was senior to her? He was only a few years older, but being a Supervisory Special Agent was a world apart from someone who hadn’t yet officially graduated from New Agent status. Van had also been senior to her and she’d never felt self-conscious with him…

The structure of the FBI had appealed to her when she’d signed up. It gave her a target to aim for. She just hadn’t considered how it would feel to be on the bottom rung of that ladder after she left the academy with so many years to go.

Forcing herself to eat because she was hungry and her body needed fuel, she nibbled the meat down to the bone, then wiped her fingers. “Did you tell Aldrich I was there?”

“I told him that I was at Van’s house taking care of the place when I noticed footprints outside the office window. I let him suggest we get an evidence team back out there.” He picked up another wing as the server refilled his water. When she left, he continued. “I also persuaded him that it was his idea to dust the window for prints and check for any contact DNA. Just to be thorough.” He grinned and her heart gave a panicked little jolt.

“You’re good at manipulating people,” she blurted—anything that didn’t sound like she found him attractive. She could not afford to get a crush on this guy. It would be too humiliating.

A dimple cut into his cheek, but the smile dimmed. “Most people call it charm. You should try it some time.”

Ouch. The dig hurt more than it should.

The fingers of his hand tightened around his glass. “It’s an important part of my job, getting people to do what I want but making them think it’s their idea.”

“You like being a negotiator.”

“I like kidnap victims going home. I like people not dying.”

She liked that too. She took a sip of beer. “You sound defensive.”

He gave her a long, hard look and ignored the observation. Maybe she was imagining it anyway.

“This is where Van spent last Tuesday night?” Sheridan changed the subject back to what they should be talking about.

“Yup.” She looked at a table full of laughing women who were clearly celebrating something. “Not where I’d expect him to hang out.”