9. Scarlett #2
I move past Stephens, grab a set of gloves from the command table, and crouch to inspect George Weston myself.
The grim remains smell like cooked meat on a barbecue, and that makes my already queasy stomach revolt.
I force myself to breathe only through my mouth, as I lean in closer to get a look at the way his body has been purposely displayed.
It appears that Ashmaker has shrined him in garbage, some of which is now nothing more than sodden soot.
My eyes land on the space where his cock should be, and I don't see any lumps that would confirm that he's still intact.
"His cock?" I question without taking my gaze off George, even though Jasper's already told me it's missing.
I want to hear it for myself. I'm going to be dotting all my fucking i's and crossing my damn t's, especially if I'm the one likely to take the blame for something going wrong with the investigation.
"Removed. Most likely, like the others, pre-mortem. Once we get him back to the morgue, I'll be able to confirm if it's lodged in his throat."
Stephens' voice becomes background noise, as I allow myself to trail my glance over the details that might have been missed.
It's not that Stephens or even Garnier aren't great at their jobs, it's just that Ashmaker isn't speaking to them.
He's leaving clues for me. My gaze rises to the area around George Weston, surveying the garbage and dumpsters littering the alleyway, as old buildings rise up around us.
There's graffiti on most of the walls, some of it old, some newer and crude, with drawings of phallic symbols and gang tags.
My glimpse lands on something small etched into the concrete wall, just past where George lies.
I lean forward, careful not to step into the line of evidence, and pull out my phone to snap a picture.
"You got something, Lyssa?" Jasper's voice is so close I can feel his warm breath on the back of my neck, making the hairs on my arms rise, and my heart rate skyrocket.
Everything in me that's filled with excitement wants to show him what I might have discovered, but instead I pocket my phone, turn around, give him a frigid glare, and force him to put space between us.
"Nothing. I'm not sure any of these gang signs have anything to do with this crime, just being cautious. "
"Agents?" A young uniformed officer calls over to us, and both of us turn in his direction. "One of the neighboring businesses thinks they might have caught the perpetrator on their security camera."
A thrill races through my veins as I instantly step away from the remains and head in that direction, with Jasper quickly following me.
My sneakered feet slip on the slick asphalt, and I momentarily slide, and just as I am about to lose my balance, Jasper's warm palm meets my lower back, steadying me.
"Steady there, Scarlett." I glance over my shoulder at Jasper, only to meet his smoldering gaze.
He quirks those sinful lips, before his straight, white teeth bite down on the plump bottom one, and suddenly I'm filled with the desire to bite down on it too.
It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him to remove his hand, but I can't seem to make the words leave my lips.
The warmth of his touch penetrates through my thin shirt, branding me, and I realize suddenly that I'm holding my breath. Fuck.
"It's a good thing you're not wearing your usual sexy heels.
You'd probably break an ankle in this alleyway, and then I'd have to carry you," he smirks playfully.
I'm still way too focused on the feeling of his fingers touching me to come up with a witty retort.
All that's working through my misfiring brain is that he thinks my shoes are sexy, he wants to carry me around, and he smells like sin.
Jesus, what the fuck is the matter with me? I pull away from his touch, taking a much-needed deep breath, as I put distance between us. Focus, Scarlett, you have a job to do, and it's absolutely not to jump your coworker's bones.
The problem with trying to reason with yourself is that you know you're a goddamn liar.
Right now, if someone slipped their fingers down my panties, they would find them soaked at just the thought of Jasper's muscular arms cradling me as I nestled into his warmth.
That's a huge fucking problem because that can't ever happen.
I can't let my guard down and certainly can't sleep with the guy I'm competing with for a promotion.
We step into the tiny shop that looks like it repairs bicycles.
Various older models, some hanging by their wheels from the ceiling, greet us, and parts are crammed onto every surface.
The scent of stale oil, grease, and metal permeates the space, and the overall feeling is dim, cluttered, and claustrophobic.
My OCD instantly kicks in, and my fingers itch to start cleaning and organizing everywhere I look.
"Charming..." I hear Jasper utter below his breath behind me before bumping into me.
I'm almost positive that he uses the movement as an excuse to sniff me like a deviant.
"Over here, Agents," Officer Bruce motions, as I read his nametag.
I step into the back room, which is even more crammed with boxes and parts.
Jasper instantly presses his large body flush against my back, leaning over my shoulder with his impressive height to see into the room.
OH MY FUCKING GOD! Is this idiot pressing his cock into my backside, and is he getting hard, or is that my imagination?
"Garnier," I grit through clenched teeth.
"Yes, Scarlett?" I purse my lips and count to ten in my head, yet he doesn't take the hint and allow even an inch of space between us.
"You know, I never realized how short you actually are without those heels.
Petite, bite-sized even." He daringly rubs his whiskered chin against the top of my head as a way to further empathize our height difference.
"I really like this version of you, Scarlett. It makes me feel all huge and manly."