asked, his voice softening a touch.
“I’m okay.”
He looked up from digging through the backpack. “That’s a nasty bruise on your temple. Have you been losing your balance or feeling dizzy? Experiencing any headaches?”
“No, I’ve been okay. Though as you can see, I’m coming in late this morning. Gordon insisted.”
Turner nodded. “Your throat looks better today.” He returned to pawing through my bag. “I’m glad to see that. You could have been seriously injured.”
Alyssa seemed to think that any guy worth his salt would be turned on by my pepper spray mishap. Perhaps she was right. I did feel a certain tingly vibe growing between Turner and me. He was standing a little closer than necessary. Close enough that his spicy sandalwood aftershave, a clean scent that reminded me of the woods after a spring rainstorm, made me feel a little giddy.
Had he contrived this pat down so he could ask me out on a date? My heart started pattering a little faster.
What was wrong with me? I didn’t like guns. Or men with guns.
I wanted a sidekick, not a date. But there was something about Turner. He made me nervous as hell. Just the way he moved, like a predator tracking his prey, screamed danger. He probably knew how to kill a man at least seven different ways with his bare hands. But despite that, or perhaps because of it, I wanted Turner to stick close by me. He could protect me from the bad guys in the world. How crazy was that?
“No suspicious hairspray bottles in your bag today?” he asked and handed me my backpack.
“I didn’t have the energy to make a refill last night.” I hitched the backpack over my shoulder. “I was too busy trying to find out why Pauline was—”
“Wait a minute.” Turner lifted his dark glasses. Rich hazel green eyes met mine. I hadn’t noticed his stunning eye color yesterday. I’d been too busy worrying about how red they’d looked. “When you say Pauline, you mean Pauline Bonde, our murder victim?”
“Yes. And I’ve learned quite a bit about her. Did you know that she—”
“Ms. Calhoun!” he exclaimed and sucked in a deep breath. He took a second, much slower breath before continuing with a carefully modulated tone. “Casey, tell me you haven’t been playing detective.”
“You might say I’ve been poking around some bushes.”
“I see.” He pocketed his sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a wicked headache. “And despite express orders to keep quiet about our ongoing investigation, who exactly have you talked to so far?”
“I’ve been discreet,” I assured him. He had nothing to worry about with me. “I’ve read enough mystery novels to know how to conduct myself.”
He rolled his eyes.
Convinced he’d thank me for the information I’d uncovered so far, and hoping he’d share what the Secret Service had learned since yesterday, I told him about the doubts Alyssa and I had about why the killer had stolen my security pass.
“Why attack me, or anyone else, for a White House security pass? That doesn’t make sense. It isn’t as if he could use my pass to get access to the White House. There are too many redundant security procedures in place, such as the guards at the gate, to keep something like that from happening. He had to be after something else. And I have an idea of what that is.”
“I see.” Turner rubbed the bridge of his nose again.
Since he seemed willing to listen, I told him about Lorenzo’s affair with Pauline and her involvement with some kind of investigation into the banking community. I left out the part about how Lorenzo’s shoes matched the shoe I remembered seeing right before the attack. No need to get distracted by what must have been a coincidence.
It had to be a coincidence. I’d stared at my bedroom ceiling most of the night while trying to put all the pieces of this mystery together. Although it felt like I was working on a jigsaw puzzle where most of the pieces were
“I’m okay.”
He looked up from digging through the backpack. “That’s a nasty bruise on your temple. Have you been losing your balance or feeling dizzy? Experiencing any headaches?”
“No, I’ve been okay. Though as you can see, I’m coming in late this morning. Gordon insisted.”
Turner nodded. “Your throat looks better today.” He returned to pawing through my bag. “I’m glad to see that. You could have been seriously injured.”
Alyssa seemed to think that any guy worth his salt would be turned on by my pepper spray mishap. Perhaps she was right. I did feel a certain tingly vibe growing between Turner and me. He was standing a little closer than necessary. Close enough that his spicy sandalwood aftershave, a clean scent that reminded me of the woods after a spring rainstorm, made me feel a little giddy.
Had he contrived this pat down so he could ask me out on a date? My heart started pattering a little faster.
What was wrong with me? I didn’t like guns. Or men with guns.
I wanted a sidekick, not a date. But there was something about Turner. He made me nervous as hell. Just the way he moved, like a predator tracking his prey, screamed danger. He probably knew how to kill a man at least seven different ways with his bare hands. But despite that, or perhaps because of it, I wanted Turner to stick close by me. He could protect me from the bad guys in the world. How crazy was that?
“No suspicious hairspray bottles in your bag today?” he asked and handed me my backpack.
“I didn’t have the energy to make a refill last night.” I hitched the backpack over my shoulder. “I was too busy trying to find out why Pauline was—”
“Wait a minute.” Turner lifted his dark glasses. Rich hazel green eyes met mine. I hadn’t noticed his stunning eye color yesterday. I’d been too busy worrying about how red they’d looked. “When you say Pauline, you mean Pauline Bonde, our murder victim?”
“Yes. And I’ve learned quite a bit about her. Did you know that she—”
“Ms. Calhoun!” he exclaimed and sucked in a deep breath. He took a second, much slower breath before continuing with a carefully modulated tone. “Casey, tell me you haven’t been playing detective.”
“You might say I’ve been poking around some bushes.”
“I see.” He pocketed his sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a wicked headache. “And despite express orders to keep quiet about our ongoing investigation, who exactly have you talked to so far?”
“I’ve been discreet,” I assured him. He had nothing to worry about with me. “I’ve read enough mystery novels to know how to conduct myself.”
He rolled his eyes.
Convinced he’d thank me for the information I’d uncovered so far, and hoping he’d share what the Secret Service had learned since yesterday, I told him about the doubts Alyssa and I had about why the killer had stolen my security pass.
“Why attack me, or anyone else, for a White House security pass? That doesn’t make sense. It isn’t as if he could use my pass to get access to the White House. There are too many redundant security procedures in place, such as the guards at the gate, to keep something like that from happening. He had to be after something else. And I have an idea of what that is.”
“I see.” Turner rubbed the bridge of his nose again.
Since he seemed willing to listen, I told him about Lorenzo’s affair with Pauline and her involvement with some kind of investigation into the banking community. I left out the part about how Lorenzo’s shoes matched the shoe I remembered seeing right before the attack. No need to get distracted by what must have been a coincidence.
It had to be a coincidence. I’d stared at my bedroom ceiling most of the night while trying to put all the pieces of this mystery together. Although it felt like I was working on a jigsaw puzzle where most of the pieces were
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