Chapter 8
A jackhammer pounded a full-volume symphony of misery in her head. And her stomach. Better not to even think about that. Gabrielle groaned, rolled out of bed, and face planted on the floor. Flashes of memory from the night before came back to her as she lay there trying to summon the will to rise.
Lord, no. Tell me I didn’t. Her eyes popped open and she jerked upright, then immediately regretted the sudden movement.
Looking down, she realized she wasn’t naked.
That would have been a good sign, except .
. . she never slept in T-shirts. Which could only mean that someone else had put this T-shirt on her. Someone else being?—
Oh God, it was no dream. She’d gone to bed with Devlin Sinclair the night before.
Apparently had a good time of it, too, she thought, glancing around the room.
Clothes were strewn everywhere, not in their usual neat stacks or hung up in the closet.
Holding her throbbing head, she forced herself to go back over the evening.
Alfonso’s. Wine. Several glasses of wine.
She groaned again. How much had she had?
And Devlin, looking even more mouthwatering than usual. Oh yeah, she’d done it.
She detoured to let the dog out, deciding Rocky would have to wait for her breakfast until Gabrielle didn’t feel like she was dying.
Hoping it would help clear her mind, she stumbled into the shower.
Twenty minutes later, after aspirin and a shower, teeth brushed and coffee in hand, she felt almost human.
But she still couldn’t remember everything.
Up until the moment Devlin had carried her into the bedroom, she was fairly clear, but once there .
. . Get real, Gabrielle. She’d thrown herself at him, practically ripped her clothes off and said, “Here, take me.” What the hell did she think had happened?
How could she have been so stupid? So reckless?
So irresponsible? Going to bed with Devlin didn’t worry her nearly so much as not being able to remember what had happened.
What she’d said and done. What he’d said. And done.
Her stomach fluttered wildly at that last thought. Not one for self-deception, Gabrielle didn’t pretend she’d slept with Devlin because she was upset or drunk. She’d done it because she wanted to, and had since she’d met him. Now if she could only remember it.
She never did things like this. Never had before, anyway. And blaming everything on the disastrous scene with Franco the previous morning wouldn’t work, either. Being upset was no excuse for her rash behavior.
The doorbell rang. Cautiously, she peered out the peephole.
Great. Two men she’d give a million bucks not to see, and naturally, one of them stood on her doorstep.
Maybe if she pretended she wasn’t home, he’d go away.
No, that was the coward’s way out, and she’d been enough of a coward lately to last her a lifetime.
Gabrielle swung open the door, but before she could utter a sound, Devlin hauled her into his arms and planted a long, lingering, hotter-than-sin kiss on her lips.
Thirty seconds into it, her legs felt like the center of a jelly donut.
“Hi, beautiful.” He drew back enough for her to catch a glimpse of laughing gray eyes before he kissed her again.
Beautiful? He made it sound sincere, even though she knew he must say it to all the women he…
kissed. Gabrielle hung in his arms with all the backbone of a rag doll.
His smile really should be outlawed and so should the way he kissed.
She found herself responding, opening her mouth, accepting his tongue, meeting it with hers.
Good grief, what was she doing? Talk, don’t kiss, she ordered herself.
Flustered, she wedged a hand between them and shoved against his chest. “Wait,” she managed to say.
Devlin loosened his hold, but kept his arms around her.
Gabrielle caught her breath and wished his embrace didn’t feel so supportive. So good.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He walked her backward toward the couch. “We don’t have enough time for what I’d really like to do with you.”
He started to kiss her again, but she pulled away, unable to halt the flush that heated her cheeks or the erotic sensations he’d provoked with his kiss. “No, I mean, we need to talk.”
He glanced at his watch. “Can we do it on the way? I told the sergeant we’d be there by ten.”
Mystified, she blinked at him. “Be where by ten?”
“The police station. You didn’t forget we were going over the Sabatino case files, did you? The police reports.”
“This morning? On a Saturday? But I can’t—” Police reports, she thought. Her head throbbed, the pain returning full force. She couldn’t let him go alone; she had to see those reports. “I’m not ready,” she said, gesturing at her cutoffs and cropped shirt.
His gaze slid slowly down her body and back up. He might as well have used his hands instead, from the effect that long, provocative examination had on her. Her skin burned, tingled. Her stomach tightened in anticipation.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” A wickedly charming smile spread across his face. “After last night I’m not surprised.”
She hadn’t forgotten everything that had happened the night before. “Hold it right there,” she said, struggling to establish control. “We’ve got to talk before we go anywhere.”
He raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “All right. Got any more coffee?”
“Help yourself.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she watched him walk out of the room. Dammit, he looked as good in blue jeans as he did in a suit. Maybe better, she admitted, admiring the way the denim hugged his rear and his lean legs. How could she possibly have forgotten having sex with him?
“What’s on your mind?” he asked when he came back and sat beside her on the couch.
Gabrielle stared at him, incapable of speech.
What could she say? By the way, Devlin, what exactly did happen last night? I seem to have passed out before the big moment. Oh, right. Only if she was into self-flagellation and humiliation.
Bailing out, she said, “I can go over the police reports by myself, if you want. Free you up to pursue another avenue.” He wouldn’t go for it, she knew, but what the hell.
“It’s not a problem. Besides, you don’t have your car, remember? I’ll drop you by Alfonso’s afterward, and you can pick it up then.”
Plastering a fake smile on her face, she conceded to the inevitable. “Let me change and we’ll go.”
“Is there something else you wanted to talk to me about?”
An innocent question. Gabrielle stopped at the hall doorway and looked at him. Why did she get the feeling he’d asked that question with a purpose in mind? His bland expression gave nothing away. “No, nothing,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
A short while later at the police station, Gabrielle tried to keep her mind on the business at hand, but with Devlin sitting across from her it was impossible.
He didn’t talk, he simply read the reports, thoroughly, like any competent lawyer.
But his mere presence, especially given what had happened the night before, distracted her until she could have screamed with frustration.
That might have been why she almost missed it.
It should have shouted to her, even buried as it was in the back of several other records and files concerning the arrest. It was a hole big enough to drop the state of Texas into, a glaring error in the chain of custody of the evidence that practically guaranteed Franco Sabatino’s case would be thrown out of court.
The officer in charge of the evidence room hadn’t noted the time when the evidence was transferred to him.
The transportation officer’s signature was there, but nowhere did it state that the evidence officer had logged the evidence in at a given time.
No familiar thrill of triumph accompanied the discovery. No sense of accomplishment, no swell of excitement that here lay the key to winning another case, the key to her career.
Instead she felt sickened that she would be instrumental in making certain that, once more, Franco Sabatino escaped paying for his crimes.
With this development she knew they would get him off.
And she realized with stomach-churning dread and despair that there was nothing on this earth she wanted less than to see Franco Sabatino go free.
* * *
“Nothing here to get Sabatino off,” Devlin muttered, flipping another page.
Though he never counted on police error, it sure made his cases easier when it occurred.
“Not even a hint of a glitch.” He snapped the last file shut and tossed it on the table in disgust. “How about you?” he asked Gabrielle. “Find anything?”
She looked at him for a moment, blinked, then looked away. “Nothing,” she said, gathering her stack of reports together and closing the files.
“Damn!” Frustrated, he slapped his hand on the table. “This isn’t looking good.”
“Something—” She hesitated and cleared her throat. “Something’s bound to turn up.”
Was it his imagination or did she look paler than she had a few minutes ago? “What enthusiasm. You sound like you’d just as soon it didn’t.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she snapped, fiddling with the files. “You’re not the only one who wants to win.”
Considering her, he said slowly, “I hadn’t thought so.”
Definitely paler. Something was up with her.
From what he’d seen that morning, Gabrielle hadn’t been able to concentrate worth jack on anything.
Tense and distracted didn’t begin to describe her.
He felt an unwanted flash of guilt, knowing that last night was bound to be at least part of her problem.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. The words snapped out, and her head had come up belligerently. She met his gaze dead-on.