Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(19)

Emm nodded, waved, and got into her own car. That night, after another light restaurant meal that didn’t appeal to her, she scowled at her silent cell phone. She’d hoped all day it would ring with Ross’s number. She was expecting him to call with the evidence warehouse address so she could view the pipe. She hoped he hadn’t gotten cold feet. . . .

She tried to concentrate on the historic study she was writing on a building she’d surveyed in Baltimore before she left. The investigation with Ross hadn’t taken much of her time so far, so she was scrupulous enough to put in her hours in other ways, and she had plenty of work. This particular building had been purchased recently by an experienced developer of historic properties. His intent was to do an apartment loft conversion, but his initial application for historic tax credits had been denied. He’d appealed that decision, bumping it up to Emm.

She already knew the building, so reviewing the pictures, plans, and current zoning information should have been easy for her. Instead, she was having a hard time concentrating. She started when a firm knock came at the door. She was in her teddy, sipping a glass of wine, so she called out, “Give me a minute,” while she dug through her suitcase for her robe. She finally found it and wrapped it tightly around herself. There was a view hole in the door, but she wasn’t surprised to find it opaque. Lots of little things tended not to work in old buildings. Besides, she felt entirely safe, so she flung the door open.

“Oh, hello . . . Ross. Mr. Sinclair.”

Ross smiled. “I like the first one better.”

She flushed as a thorough blue gaze ran over her from her mussed hair to her makeup-less face and down the old chenille robe, fraying at the sleeves, to her slippered feet. Wishing she’d taken time to buy that new robe she’d kept promising herself, she opened the door wide and stepped back. “Would you like to come in?”

“For just a moment.” He entered as she closed the door. With that all-seeing, all-encompassing gaze she’d noticed the first time she’d met him, when he wrote her the ticket, he took in her worktable, laptop, files, and messy, half-open suitcase. His smile had disappeared as he reached for something in his pocket. “I had this brought up from evidence today. Is this your sister’s custom pipe?”

Emm’s stomach fell in disappointment. She’d wanted to see more of the evidence than just the pipe, and he knew that, damn him. Still, she carefully turned the plastic bag over. It had a series of numbers written on it, along with Yancy’s last name, but even through the bag she recognized it instantly.

“Yes, that’s it. I’ve seen her smoke it often enough . . . but I thought you said you wanted me to view more of the evidence, clothes and the like?”

“This is enough authentication because the lab already confirmed it was custom, one of a kind.” When she still stared at him, his gaze fell. “I decided this was quicker and easier than taking you to the warehouse.”

For me or for you? The words almost escaped before she swallowed them. She knew he was trying to keep distance between them, and she knew why, because she felt the same electrical current every time he was near. It was raising the hairs on the nape of her neck now.

Her voice was cooler than she intended, but she had to know. . . . “What happens now? Now that you have confirmation from a family member that Yancy and probably Jennifer are in this group of women taken by the Los Lobos cartel, what else can I do to help?”

He shrugged. “It’s not your job, it’s mine, but this was helpful. These men are extremely dangerous, as should be evident given the way your sister was snatched when she was looking for her daughter. I promise to keep you apprised of any progress . . . an easier task, of course, when you’re here. . . . You heard from the structural engineer?”

“Yes, he’s working up a proposal. If it’s okay, I asked him to copy me on it as well.”

“Of course.”

“He’s swamped, so he said it might be a week or so before he can get here to do the survey.”

“As long as we get it done before my family comes to Amarillo, that’s fine. They’re going to start arriving toward the end of the month.”

“We should be able to make that.” She sat down on the bed, waving him into the one chair, crossing her legs and bouncing the fluffy slipper on her heel. She could tell herself she was just fidgety, but in reality she knew she was transferring sexual energy to kinetic energy. The motion also caused the bottom of her robe to gap open, but she was feminine enough to want him to look, to provoke at least some of the same vulnerability she felt in his presence. His gaze raked her legs compulsively, but he quickly looked back at her face.

“I never figured you for chenille.”

The words took a moment to click. “Why don’t you say what you really mean?” At his guarded look, she added softly, “You’d rather not have to figure me at all.” Her foot perversely bounced faster and her slipper flew off, brushing him in the shin.

She expected him to kick it aside, but instead he picked up the slipper and knelt at her feet. When she stayed frozen in shock, he calmly lifted her foot onto his bent leg and put the slipper back on. Then he held her foot on top of his knee, appraising her legs closely and thoroughly, so thoroughly that she blushed. She snatched her foot away, the fleeting contact making all her feminine parts excruciatingly sensitive.