melted into him. He’d reminded himself he’d just been doing his job. That the woman running her hands up and down his chest and making him hard enough to pound nails was a murder suspect. He’d kept his hands on her face to keep them from traveling south to more interesting places. He might have given into his urge to touch her waist and hips and breasts. To drive her as crazy as she was him, but she’d slid her hands to his back, and he’d grabbed her wrists a split second before she’d discovered the recorder taped to his back.
He would have loved to have taken her up on her first and second invitation for coffee. He would have loved to have followed her inside and checked out her bra right before he’d have buried his face in her cleavage. He would have damn sure loved to have stripped her naked and do the hot sweaty deed, but he couldn’t have followed her inside and jumped on her. Breathless did her work in the victim’s bed, not her own. Sure, he probably should have followed Lucy inside and maybe gotten more information out of her, but he just wasn’t into prolonged torture.
The traffic light turned green, and by the time he got to the office it was the end of his shift. He filled Sergeant Mitchell in on what had taken place in court that day. They talked about the latest developments in the Breathless case. He had a date that night with a new suspect, Carol Rey, aka sugarbaby. Carol was an Internet dater, an employee of Hastings Books and Music, and she loved animals. Once again, Quinn would buy a woman coffee and set the bait to see if he could hook a serial killer.
By the time Quinn returned home after his date that evening, he was exhausted but knew it would be hours before he slept. Hopped up on coffee and conversation, his mind went over every detail of the past several hours.
Carol had been a nice-looking woman. She’d seemed normal enough—until she’d started talking about her ex-husband. She’d torn into the man, ripping him apart for his job performance in and out of bed. That kind of resentment produced a lot of hatred, and Kurt would e-mail her in the morning and set up a second date.
Quinn grabbed his laptop and files off the counter in the kitchen and moved down the hall to his office. He flipped on the light and walked to his desk in the corner. Across the room he’d set up a treadmill and weight bench. Detectives ate on the go, in greasy spoons, or at their desks. At the age of thirty-six, Quinn had to work out five days a week to stay in shape and stave off the love handles that plagued a lot of cops.
He sank into his office chair and set the laptop and files on his desk. He booted the computer and scratched Millie’s head as he waited for the program to appear.
Even after two months of online dating, Quinn was still taken aback at the things women confessed to virtual strangers on a first date. If they were telling him about past husbands and lovers, he was sure they were telling everyone else they dated, too. Sometimes it got so bad that he had to fight the urge not to lean across the table and say, “Honey, I don’t want to hear about your former husband’s foot odor, and I sure as hell don’t want to know he had to take Viagra, Cialis, or Enzyte. Some shit you just keep to yourself.”
Lucy was the only woman he’d dated that he’d actually had to ask about former boyfriends. Of course, Lucy had a bad habit of lying her ass off, so whether she’d managed the truth was open to speculation.
He reached for the phone on his desk and glanced at his watch. It was 9:30 p.m., and he flipped open his notebook and wrote down the time. On the fifth ring, she picked up.
“Hello.”
“Lucy, it’s Quinn.” He leaned back in his chair and moved his head from side to side to work out the kinks in his neck. “I’m just calling to make sure we’re still on for tomorrow night.”
“Hang on.” There was a pause like she put the phone down. A few drawers opened and closed,
He would have loved to have taken her up on her first and second invitation for coffee. He would have loved to have followed her inside and checked out her bra right before he’d have buried his face in her cleavage. He would have damn sure loved to have stripped her naked and do the hot sweaty deed, but he couldn’t have followed her inside and jumped on her. Breathless did her work in the victim’s bed, not her own. Sure, he probably should have followed Lucy inside and maybe gotten more information out of her, but he just wasn’t into prolonged torture.
The traffic light turned green, and by the time he got to the office it was the end of his shift. He filled Sergeant Mitchell in on what had taken place in court that day. They talked about the latest developments in the Breathless case. He had a date that night with a new suspect, Carol Rey, aka sugarbaby. Carol was an Internet dater, an employee of Hastings Books and Music, and she loved animals. Once again, Quinn would buy a woman coffee and set the bait to see if he could hook a serial killer.
By the time Quinn returned home after his date that evening, he was exhausted but knew it would be hours before he slept. Hopped up on coffee and conversation, his mind went over every detail of the past several hours.
Carol had been a nice-looking woman. She’d seemed normal enough—until she’d started talking about her ex-husband. She’d torn into the man, ripping him apart for his job performance in and out of bed. That kind of resentment produced a lot of hatred, and Kurt would e-mail her in the morning and set up a second date.
Quinn grabbed his laptop and files off the counter in the kitchen and moved down the hall to his office. He flipped on the light and walked to his desk in the corner. Across the room he’d set up a treadmill and weight bench. Detectives ate on the go, in greasy spoons, or at their desks. At the age of thirty-six, Quinn had to work out five days a week to stay in shape and stave off the love handles that plagued a lot of cops.
He sank into his office chair and set the laptop and files on his desk. He booted the computer and scratched Millie’s head as he waited for the program to appear.
Even after two months of online dating, Quinn was still taken aback at the things women confessed to virtual strangers on a first date. If they were telling him about past husbands and lovers, he was sure they were telling everyone else they dated, too. Sometimes it got so bad that he had to fight the urge not to lean across the table and say, “Honey, I don’t want to hear about your former husband’s foot odor, and I sure as hell don’t want to know he had to take Viagra, Cialis, or Enzyte. Some shit you just keep to yourself.”
Lucy was the only woman he’d dated that he’d actually had to ask about former boyfriends. Of course, Lucy had a bad habit of lying her ass off, so whether she’d managed the truth was open to speculation.
He reached for the phone on his desk and glanced at his watch. It was 9:30 p.m., and he flipped open his notebook and wrote down the time. On the fifth ring, she picked up.
“Hello.”
“Lucy, it’s Quinn.” He leaned back in his chair and moved his head from side to side to work out the kinks in his neck. “I’m just calling to make sure we’re still on for tomorrow night.”
“Hang on.” There was a pause like she put the phone down. A few drawers opened and closed,
Similar Books
