Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(43)
“I see. One of my colleagues is high up in the DEA on the East Coast, and I know he’s also trying to track the Los Lobos cocaine pipeline. If this Brett character is involved in distributing, as it sounds like he might be, there’s plenty of probable cause here to collar him for a more in-depth interview.”
Emm took a deep breath, feeling for the first time in over a year that there might actually be a breakthrough imminent. “Thank you. Both of you.” She stood and kissed Abby’s cheek.
Abby reddened, and Emm realized the brilliant forensics expert was far better at tearing cases apart than accepting physical affection. Emm offered Ross a tentative smile and got one in return that brought red to her own cheeks.
“Don’t I get a kiss, too?” His drawl this time was pure Texas, with no hint of a New York accent.
Emm said before she could correct herself, “I think you’ve had enough of that for one weekend.”
Abby’s eyebrows shot to her hairline as Ross laughed.
Emm scurried for the door. “I’m available for an interview the day after the survey. Thanks for listening.”
Ross’s taunting laugh and its promise of more to come followed her through the door, into the corridor, into her car on the short drive to her hotel room, straight into her dreams.
CHAPTER 9
The next morning, Emm dressed very conservatively for the survey, as if that could make up for the eroticism of her dreams. Ross Sinclair spent most of the night making love to her in front of his roaring fire, then doing unspeakably sensual things to her in his bed, then . . .
Emm shied away from her own flushed face in the mirror. “Traitor!” she muttered to herself, grabbing up her stuff and slamming out.
On the way to the buildings to meet Ross and the engineer, she tried the bromide, Just business, but it was no more palliative than sleep had been. No matter how she lectured herself on the facts—that she’d be gone soon, that she didn’t belong in Texas and Ross would never leave, that she’d just landed her dream job and couldn’t quit—she felt inevitability hovering over her like the thunder brewing in the distance.
In the end, as with most complicated things when they were distilled to their essence, reality was both stark and simple: She wanted Ross Sinclair. And he wanted her, too. Regrets aplenty she’d have afterward, but she’d always been a very poor practitioner of what might have been. At least she’d have a few happy memories to sustain her, for she had a feeling she was unlikely to ever again meet a man similar to Ross Sinclair.
Feeling at peace with herself for the first time since her arrival in Amarillo, Emm didn’t have to pretend a big smile when she saw Ross waiting in the lobby of the unlocked old building. He did a double take when he caught her expression, as if he’d never seen it before. His own eyes darkened, and his pupils dilated. He’d just opened his mouth to say something when the structural engineer arrived.
The next few hours were very professional. If the engineer, Burt, caught the strange undercurrents between Emm and Ross, he didn’t let on. He measured and took borings of the foundation and curtain wall, while the soils engineer took borings in the parking lot to confirm the soil was still supporting the old structure as designed after almost a hundred years. The soils analysis would also be the determining factor in whether more square footage and height could potentially be added to the building.
Explaining he was conducting something called a Rapid Visual Screening, Burt squinted at the “as builts” Emm had copied for him and walked every corridor, looking for signs of weakness or failure. He made notes on his iPad, and when Emm looked over his shoulder she saw a complicated Excel matrix he was feeding into as they investigated. He even took stud samples at a few places that showed a bit of sagging. He walked the basement and, with Ross’s permission, exposed a beam he was concerned about by using a small saw to cut a neat long hole in the wall. He took tiny scrapings of the old iron beam and shined a flashlight in both directions as far as he could see, testing its vertical stability with a laser-held device. Then he did the same on the higher floors and finally reached the roof. He walked it, staying away from the crumbling, darker area but agreeing with Emm that it was probably the source of the leak she’d found below. He took more measurements with the laser, making notes on his iPad until he was satisfied.
Then, shortly after noon, he bade the two of them good-bye and promised a detailed report in a week, about the same time the soils analysis was due.
“Twelve thousand dollars later . . .” Ross grumbled as he watched Burt saunter away.
“The bulk of his time is the analysis he’ll spend a week compiling, not the survey itself,” Emm pointed out.
Ross glanced at his watch and then back at her. “Do you have time for a late lunch?”
“Don’t you have appointments for the rest of the day?”
“I cleared my schedule until four or so.”
“In that case, I’d love to.”
He opened the door and escorted her out. “Where would you like to go?”
Emm hesitated so long he gave her that curious look behind half-mast eyes that was becoming both familiar and beloved to her. He raked his hand through his hair, leaving it more mussed than usual, and she realized he was nervous, too.
That knowledge gave her courage. “I’ve been wanting to try the room service menu at my hotel,” she blurted as she skirted past him, careful not to touch him.