Unlikely.
He raked his hair, clearly frustrated.
Despite herself, she remembered his hand grazing her. It’d been strong and capable. Forceful but gentle. Exciting. She remembered how hard he’d been, just from one kiss, and shivered.
“Walk away before you do something stupid,” she mumbled to herself. She turned and strode into the night, back to her threadbare motel room.
Chapter Six
W here the hell was she? She’d been right there a moment ago.
Ramirez focused on the space ahead of him. He could almost see the outline of her, a ghostlike silhouette walking away. It must have been his grandmother’s woo-woo talk getting to him. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and went south, down the alley. There was more transportation in that direction, and parking was available if she’d driven. Not to mention the club’s entrance, which he didn’t put past her to go back into.
Any doubts he had about her involvement in the crime were wiped away after her little scene inside. He knew she was hiding something.
He focused on locating her, but her words kept playing in his mind. “
I’d rather have you.
” Completely insincere, but damn it if it didn’t grab him low and hard, nevertheless.
Hard was right, and everything about her had contributed to that state. Her lips, her hands, her body—allalarmingly right. But because he hadn’t had sex in a while, or because they’d just felt right? He wanted to rationalize it with his celibacy, but he couldn’t lie to himself.
Only she didn’t read true. Not the way she was dressed, or the way she acted. Even her name sounded false. Sophie Mitchell? Yeah, right.
Not seeing her, Ramirez looked left, toward the long line waiting to get into the regular club. Nothing. Looking over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of her bright head turning a corner.
“Shit,” he said as he took off after her. He didn’t care what she claimed, his gut said she was involved in the murders, one way or another. And his gut feelings were never wrong. He’d had these same feelings with Gabrielle Sansouci Chin. He still believed she was complicit in a couple of murders, but he’d never been able to prove it. He wasn’t letting this one get away.
He saw her walking down the street with complete confidence, her stride long-legged and sure, even in the idiotic heels she wore. A woman as tall as she was, with legs so long, didn’t need to wear heels like that. She would have been perfect barefoot.
He frowned. Thinking about any part of her being bare wasn’t a good idea. He needed to keep this professional. Personal feelings had no place in a case.
He ran after her, concentrating on keeping his footsteps stealthy. He knew the moment she sensed him—her back stiffened and she looked over her shoulder at him.
Suddenly the outline of her body wavered, as if his vision was going blurry. What the hell? He blinked, confused, but it still didn’t clear.
Acting on instinct, he lunged and grabbed her arms. The moment their skin touched, the wavering stopped. He whirled her around and pressed her against the building next to them. “I don’t think we’ve finished our talk, Ms.
Mitchell.
”
She glared at him, and he had the impression it was the first real emotion she’d shown all night.
“You know I could call you on police brutality,” she said angrily. “You can’t detain me unless you’re willing to take me into the station.”
He arched an eyebrow. “How do you know police procedure so well?”
“Reruns of
NYPD Blue,
” she said with the haughtiness of a queen.
A lithe Elvin queen. He looked into her mysterious light gray eyes, noticing her sharp cheekbones and determined chin, and pictured her with that pale blond hair streaming around her as she lay naked on a forest floor, the surrounding trees raining leaves on her body.
Ridiculous. He steeled himself against the fantasy and glared back at her. “We both know you aren’t who you say you are.”
“Who do
He raked his hair, clearly frustrated.
Despite herself, she remembered his hand grazing her. It’d been strong and capable. Forceful but gentle. Exciting. She remembered how hard he’d been, just from one kiss, and shivered.
“Walk away before you do something stupid,” she mumbled to herself. She turned and strode into the night, back to her threadbare motel room.
Chapter Six
W here the hell was she? She’d been right there a moment ago.
Ramirez focused on the space ahead of him. He could almost see the outline of her, a ghostlike silhouette walking away. It must have been his grandmother’s woo-woo talk getting to him. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and went south, down the alley. There was more transportation in that direction, and parking was available if she’d driven. Not to mention the club’s entrance, which he didn’t put past her to go back into.
Any doubts he had about her involvement in the crime were wiped away after her little scene inside. He knew she was hiding something.
He focused on locating her, but her words kept playing in his mind. “
I’d rather have you.
” Completely insincere, but damn it if it didn’t grab him low and hard, nevertheless.
Hard was right, and everything about her had contributed to that state. Her lips, her hands, her body—allalarmingly right. But because he hadn’t had sex in a while, or because they’d just felt right? He wanted to rationalize it with his celibacy, but he couldn’t lie to himself.
Only she didn’t read true. Not the way she was dressed, or the way she acted. Even her name sounded false. Sophie Mitchell? Yeah, right.
Not seeing her, Ramirez looked left, toward the long line waiting to get into the regular club. Nothing. Looking over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of her bright head turning a corner.
“Shit,” he said as he took off after her. He didn’t care what she claimed, his gut said she was involved in the murders, one way or another. And his gut feelings were never wrong. He’d had these same feelings with Gabrielle Sansouci Chin. He still believed she was complicit in a couple of murders, but he’d never been able to prove it. He wasn’t letting this one get away.
He saw her walking down the street with complete confidence, her stride long-legged and sure, even in the idiotic heels she wore. A woman as tall as she was, with legs so long, didn’t need to wear heels like that. She would have been perfect barefoot.
He frowned. Thinking about any part of her being bare wasn’t a good idea. He needed to keep this professional. Personal feelings had no place in a case.
He ran after her, concentrating on keeping his footsteps stealthy. He knew the moment she sensed him—her back stiffened and she looked over her shoulder at him.
Suddenly the outline of her body wavered, as if his vision was going blurry. What the hell? He blinked, confused, but it still didn’t clear.
Acting on instinct, he lunged and grabbed her arms. The moment their skin touched, the wavering stopped. He whirled her around and pressed her against the building next to them. “I don’t think we’ve finished our talk, Ms.
Mitchell.
”
She glared at him, and he had the impression it was the first real emotion she’d shown all night.
“You know I could call you on police brutality,” she said angrily. “You can’t detain me unless you’re willing to take me into the station.”
He arched an eyebrow. “How do you know police procedure so well?”
“Reruns of
NYPD Blue,
” she said with the haughtiness of a queen.
A lithe Elvin queen. He looked into her mysterious light gray eyes, noticing her sharp cheekbones and determined chin, and pictured her with that pale blond hair streaming around her as she lay naked on a forest floor, the surrounding trees raining leaves on her body.
Ridiculous. He steeled himself against the fantasy and glared back at her. “We both know you aren’t who you say you are.”
“Who do
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