Chapter 6 – BEAU
BEAU
Lisa is a menace.
She doesn't know it. Or maybe she does, I can't decide.
She's sitting here flipping through my files, asking Mrs. Holloway questions in that calm, frustratingly professional voice that makes me want to lean over and kiss her just to rattle her cage. I’ve seen how passionate it is.
This detached, formal version of her irks me even though I know it’s designed to let Mrs. Holloway know she’s in a safe pair of hands.
I’ve tried to stay away, even actively avoided bumping into her, which is hard in a town like ours, but that desire, that same overwhelming attraction to her I had that very first night in the bar, hasn't faded one bit despite the rational parts of my brain knowing this is a woman I should stay away from.
Every time she moves, every time she leans forward to look at a document or tucks her hair behind her ear, it feels like a kick to the balls.
Every fucking time.
She’s human. She cares more about her job than your connection. She doesn’t want to date you, I remind myself, over and over, gaze locked on her flame red hair that’s become my obsession.
“Beau?” Lisa raises an eyebrow at me, and I clear my throat.
Shit, there was a question.
I tip my head to Mrs. Holloway, encouraging her to answer, giving her a reassuring smile, and she does, growing braver as her understanding of the complex fraud increases.
Lisa gives me an odd look—she knows I wasn't listening—then with a despairing shake of her head, her luscious locks shimmering as she moves, she resumes her perusal of the documents.
Her hair is loose around her face, and every time she shifts, the colour changes depending on how the light hits it.
I noticed it the second she walked in here because any time other than that night in the hotel, even when I've seen her in the distance, she's had it tied up or hidden under a ball cap.
"And this invoice here," Lisa says, pointing to a highlighted line item on the spreadsheet in front of her. "This is one of the fake companies?"
Mrs. Holloway nods along, eyes glistening.
"Wembley Consulting," I confirm. "Doesn't exist. The money was transferred onwards immediately to here."
When Mrs. Holloway makes a small, wounded sound, I reach over and squeeze her hand briefly before passing Lisa the next document.
As I hand it over, our fingers brush. It's nothing more than a graze, barely a touch, but the tingles that dance across my skin are dizzying.
Fuck.
Stifling a groan, I pull back too fast, covering my reaction to her by reaching for another file, but I hear her breath catch, hear her pulse jump, and from the corner of my eye, I clearly see the wounded look on her face.
"This is all so overwhelming," Mrs. Holloway says, looking between us with watery eyes. "I knew we were losing some money, but I just couldn't figure out where. I didn't even know you could create fake companies."
The protectiveness I’ve felt since taking this case resurfaces again. She doesn’t deserve this. I’ve seen every part of her business. Her employees are paid well and treated fairly. She consistently sponsors community events, children’s sports teams, and prints at cost for charities.
How dare anyone take advantage of her?
"We'll make sure anyone who’s stolen from you is held accountable," Lisa assures her, stopping short of promising her she'll get her money back.
Chances are, it's long gone, squandered on fancy holidays, new cars and designer clothes.
I doubt it's sitting in an investment account waiting to be returned.
"And at least you found out now rather than in another year's time. "
I say nothing. I'm too busy not looking at Lisa's mouth, not noticing the shine of lip balm on her lower lip. Cherry. I can taste it on the air, and suddenly, I'm back in that hotel room, licking it off her lips and swallowing her moans.
Christ. Shifting in my chair, I blink hard, trying to clear the images from my mind and pinch the bridge of my nose.
"I think," Mrs. Holloway says, mistaking my long blinks for tiredness. She rises from her chair with the careful movements of someone whose joints ache, "I should make us all some tea. Or coffee, if you prefer, Detective?"
I glance at the clock. Lisa’s been here an hour already, and I’m not sure how much longer I can last.
"Tea is fine," Lisa says sweetly. "Thank you."
Mrs. Holloway heads for the door, already knowing what I want after long hours of working together.
"You don't have to get us anything," I say, but Mrs. Holloway waves me off with a small smile.
"Shh. I need to keep busy," she says. "Let me be useful while you explain this mess to the Detective." She pats my shoulder as she passes, a gentle, grandmotherly gesture, and then she slips out of the office. The door clicks softly behind her.
And the room immediately shrinks to just her and me.
Without Mrs. Holloway as a buffer, the silence feels heavier. Lisa’s still looking at the bank statements, or pretending to at least, while I stare at a spot on the wall just over her left shoulder.
"Five thousand in a single month," Lisa says quietly, shaking her head as she studies the figures before looking up at me with a weary sigh. "And that was just the most recent one. It's awful. They've taken so much from her."
She folds her hands in her lap and looks at me with an earnest smile.
"You've done a great thing here. This is really detailed. We can definitely use it to build a case."
Aware I'm being defensive, I can't stop my default reaction. "Surprised?"
Lisa straightens, looking genuinely stunned. "I'm not. I meant… I didn't mean…"
Narrowing my eyes, I double down on choosing to be difficult despite knowing deep down that’s not how she meant it.
"She'd still have some of that money if anyone had listened to her when she first reported it,” I point out. “Holt basically told her to go away.”
Lisa goes still. It's the truth. She might not want to hear it, but it is. If I see that guy again, he’s going to get a piece of my mind.
"She came to you guys first, but nobody took her seriously," I continue, knowing I should stop, but I can't. Instead, I shatter our brief, awkward, almost truce because knowing she won’t even go to a wedding because I’m there stings more than I want to admit.
The redhead staring at me switches from friendly to furious in a heartbeat, but she tries to hide it. My pulse races at the fire in her eyes.
"We can't investigate without evidence. And when she came to us, Mrs. Holloway had none. Just a feeling." Lisa's voice is cutting. "There are procedures. Now that we know where to look, we can help her."
I scoff. They took another five thousand from this lady while they were waiting.
"Right. Procedures," I say sarcastically, glancing toward the door, making sure we're still alone. "Those don't stop you from digging around."
Maybe they do. I'm not exactly up on all the details.
"Yes, they do. Rules. Ethics. Ever heard of those pesky little things? Not that you'd understand." Her cheeks flush, aware she’s venturing into dangerous territory.
“Would I not? And why is that exactly, Red?”
Does she think I’m a rule-breaker because of my family, my profession, or both? And is she brave enough to admit it out loud?
Lisa looks up at me, not rising to the bait, but there's a challenge in her expression now.
"We can't just go around ruining people's reputations, digging through their financial records based on accusations. If we do anything dodgy, the case will never stick. Some of us have to worry about cases holding up in court.”
And there it is.
Dodgy.
My eyebrows shoot up as her cheeks colour, regretting her choice of words. It would be pretty if it weren't for the way she's glaring at me.
"At least I get results," I say, flat and emotionless.
Lisa surges to her feet, hands on her hips. "It's easy to play hero when you don't have to worry about the consequences."
"You think I'm playing?" I step closer, looming over her, and stare down.
I take my job seriously. The police force would never accept me with the family history I have, so this is my way of undoing some of the damage my father did.
The people who come to me are generally desperate or have already exhausted all the normal avenues of getting help. And it's not something I take lightly.
"I think you cut corners when it suits you." Stubborn as hell, she juts out her bottom lip, and the desire to suck it has me gritting my teeth.
I can’t take my eyes off her mouth, even as I whisper, “You should know better than anyone that I’m very thorough about everything I do.” A pause.
Her scent blooms, and I breathe it in, unable to resist.
“I… you… how dare you…?” She hisses, checking to see if anyone could have overheard, always so worried about what other people think.
A growl escapes me, and Lisa's pupils dilate, recognising the sound as something other than irritation. Her fucking scent grows even stronger, more potent, more appealing, and I can’t help myself.
“You weren’t complaining at the time.”
We're in each other's faces now, standing close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her irises. Her cheeks are rosy. Her pulse is hammering in her throat with a mixture of anger and adrenaline, and my bear is roaring so loud, I can barely think.
And I can practically taste her arousal on my tongue.
"I'm talking about your methods, your investigative methods,” she quickly corrects, “not your… other… skills," she says, blushing hard. "And definitely not your family.” Her chin juts out as she gathers herself, pretending she’s not as turned on as I am.
Her tongue comes out to wet that very biteable bottom lip. “Stop being so sensitive and stop being a jackass. I said I was sorry. Can’t we just get along?"
Shaking my head, I lean down, letting my lips brush her ear as I speak, “I already told you, Red. We can’t be just friends. You want me and I want you. This is an all or nothing kind of situation, and you know it.”
She shivers, eyes blinking rapidly, breathing shallow and fast. The barest hint of a moan passes her parted lips before I come to my senses and realise just how dangerous being around this woman is. I must have lost my damn mind.
When I pull back, her hand shoots out and grabs the front of my shirt, tugging hard, and she yanks my face back down toward hers.
For one euphoric second, I think she's going to kiss me, and even though it’s playing with fire, I’m going to let her.
My hands come up, hovering at her waist, not quite touching, waiting for her to come to me. We're so close that her breath mingles with mine, and my bear pushes forward, eager to find out if she still tastes as good as I remember.
"Oh my."
Mrs. Holloway stands in the doorway, tea tray in hand, cups rattling against saucers. Her eyes are wide, her hand lifting to press her pearls to her throat.
Shit.
Lisa releases my shirt and shoves me away, stumbling back a step herself.
Pretending that it's not a gut punch to see just how embarrassed she is to be caught with me, I straighten, running a hand through my hair, jaw clenched so tight that I'm surprised my teeth don't crack.
"I'll just..." Mrs. Holloway is already backing away, tray still clutched in her hands. "Give you a moment."
She disappears down the corridor, heels clicking on the hardwood. The silence she leaves behind is both deafening and toe-curlingly awkward.
Lisa recovers quicker than my ego likes. She runs a hand over her hair and smooths her shirt, and when she speaks again, it's detective Lisa, not the fiery woman who was two seconds from smashing her lips onto mine.
“I think I’ve got everything I need here,” she announces. “I can tell you’re itching to get away from me, so just go.”
It's so far from the truth that I almost laugh. The problem isn't wanting to leave her. The problem is that I'm about five seconds from losing control and pushing her back against that desk to finish what she started when she touched me.
I sigh. We both know she’s the one who wants me to go.
I lift my phone and keys off the table before stuffing them into my pockets.
Unable to resist, I pause at the door and look back at her. She's beautiful and pissed off, and I want her so badly that I can't breathe. Ignoring the daggers she’s staring at me, I throw her a wave over my shoulder and close the door behind me.