Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(5)

She realized the officer was holding open her door and got out. He caught her arm and escorted her up the steps. She followed meekly enough because she had no choice and because, deep down, she knew she’d been foolish to go so fast. She noted a prominent Texas Ranger seal on the door, and a bad feeling poked her in the stomach.

It couldn’t be . . .

Inside the lobby area, he nodded at a receptionist behind a thick glass wall. She buzzed them in, looking curiously at Emm. Emm was sure she didn’t fit the type of the usual culprits paraded through here. Her mug shot should be interesting. She debated sticking out her tongue . . . but she’d already pissed this peace officer off enough. Please, let him just be a lieutenant or something, she said silently to herself.

When he brought her to another officer’s desk—“Corey Cooper,” based on the plaque at his desk—and sat her down while he fetched paperwork from a stack in a copy room, she smiled tentatively at the young officer. He looked Latino, so she tried a smile and a polite “Buenas días.”

He nodded, his dark eyes skimming her legs appreciatively before he shielded his gaze with thick dark lashes. He began filling out the paperwork the other officer had handed him. The tall Texan in the black hat curtly explained the facts of the case and finished with, “We’ll take a shared arrest on this one. It may not quite make the record books, but it’s close.” He unlocked Emm’s handcuffs and stuck them in his back pants pocket.

“How fast?” asked the young Latino officer.

“One twenty-five and rising.”

Corey whistled, cocking his head as he eyed Emm’s expensive but very conservative suit. But he stayed professional and just kept filling out the arrest forms.

Emm read his thoughts, as she was so adept at doing. “I don’t look the type, huh?”

The other officer had stepped several feet away and was now thumbing through messages an assistant had handed him.

As Emm eyed him, she remembered his offhand remark, my first speeding ticket in at least ten years. He was an upper-ranking officer, obviously. She was in an office with a Texas Ranger seal on the door and a bigger one in the middle of the floor.

She was Irish, or at least one quarter Irish. She kept the shamrock her grandmother had given her in her wallet as a talisman. She couldn’t be that unlucky, especially at the start of a new job. No way could he be the Ross Sinclair she’d researched.

Captain Ross Sinclair, Texas Rangers.

Emm looked at Corey but made sure black hat could hear her. “Some people do drugs, others eat too much, some drink to excess. I speed. And while it’s something of a compulsion, as vices go, is it really so awful? I’m a very good driver. I’ve never even had a wreck; check my driving history.”

Corey looked like he was about to shrug, but his boss, whom Emm now realized black hat must be, tossed his messages aside and strode back to tower over her. “If you’d worked as many highway accidents as I have, you’d realize the sheer stupidity of that remark. Sometimes the remains at accidents involving such high speed have to be scooped up. Literally.” He swung on his heel and stalked away before she could respond.

Corey eyed her blush with a bit of sympathy. “The captain’s brother died in a high-speed accident. He was driving a BMW.”

The sharp pang became a knife. Black hat had never showed her a badge, but he’d been so obviously an officer of the law, she hadn’t asked to see one. Finally admitting the better part of valor, Emm just shut up and cooperated as best she could to get this over with. While Corey finished the paperwork she looked around, noting all the Texas Ranger certificates on the walls. She eyed Corey’s crisp shirt but didn’t see a badge. Corey wasn’t wearing it, but when she craned her neck, she saw a badge sitting on his desk, where he could grab it. Even she recognized that famous Lone Star.

The knife became the sword of Damocles, hovering over her foolish head. In her background research on her adversary Ross Sinclair, she’d smirked at his occupation, thinking it appropriate enough for a man who liked to boast his authority. Her heart now hammering against her ribs, Emm scrabbled around in her purse for the yellow ticket she hadn’t even glanced at when he’d given it to her on the road. She’d signed in the appropriate place but had been too agitated to pay any heed to his name.

She spread the crumpled ticket on her knee. The bold signature leaped out at her.

Captain Ross Sinclair.

Emm stifled a groan, hearing her grandmother’s voice more strongly than ever. Emm, me girl, that temper will get the best of you one of these days.

Glumly, she eyed the calendar on the wall. This was the day she’d been looking forward to all her life, the day she finally began taking an active role in preserving the old structures she wanted to protect for future generations. Her first case, her first chance to prove herself by persuading a powerful scion of a wealthy family that renovating old buildings was usually better than tearing them down, and she’d blown it before she started. She’d even been taught negotiation tactics in her schooling and had always made As in those courses because she really was good at reading people and being diplomatic—at least where her job was concerned.

And to top it off, her initial research had indicated this Ranger office was also managing the task force to which the Baltimore police had referred Yancy and Jennifer’s cases. With the luck she’d had since she’d crossed the state line, Ross Sinclair was probably heading that, too.