Chapter 4 #2
“So, Grill really isn’t your fan,” she said.
“I’m heartbroken,” Vander said. “You got your bike?”
“No, I got an Uber.”
Keeping hold of her, he started toward his X6. He could still taste her on his lips. He flexed his free hand. “I’ll drop you home.”
“Are we going to talk about that kiss?”
Shit . Of course, Brynn would wade straight in and not dance around it. He kept silent.
“Was it just to make it clear to those people in there that I’m the property of Vander Norcross?”
It would be so easy for him to say yes. Let her believe it was all just part of her cover.
“No. It was a mistake.” He stopped by the X6 and turned to face her. She was partly in shadow.
“It was. A big mistake.” She tossed her mass of brown hair over her shoulder. “It’s done now. We move on and do our jobs.”
Vander cocked his head. Her tone was all no-nonsense. It irritated him that she could shrug it off, like swatting an annoying fly.
He stepped forward, pinning her against the SUV.
“Hey.” She pressed a hand to his chest. “You just said the kiss was a mistake.”
“I know.” He pressed an arm to the vehicle above her head.
She smelled like fresh soap—no cloying perfumes or creams for the detective.
“So back up,” she said.
“No.” He leaned in, their breaths mingling. “Why haven’t you punched me yet, Detective?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Really?”
“Damn you, Norcross.” With her eyes on his, she cupped his face and pulled his mouth to hers.
Fuck . Again, she was a jolt to his system, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
He pressed against the cool metal and ravished her mouth. She bit his lip, and he ran his hands down that fit, compact body.
Desire exploded, urging him to take her. Take what he needed.
The ringing of a cell phone broke the moment.
She broke the kiss and cursed, fumbling in her pocket. “Goddammit.” She yanked out the phone. “Sullivan.”
He watched her face change. It hardened, a tough look entering her eyes. She cursed, instantly looking every inch a cop.
“Where? Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“What happened?” he demanded.
She slid the phone away, and set her hands on her hips. She sucked in a breath. “Drugs turned up at a dance party in SoMa.”
He heard the cutting anger in her voice. “And?”
“Stardust. And now a kid is dead. I need a ride to headquarters, then—”
“Give me the address. I’ll take you.”
“Vander, that’s—”
“It would be faster if you don’t argue.”
Her lips flattened. “Fine.”
He circled the SUV while she climbed into the passenger seat. She told him the address in the South of Market area, not too far from his place. He started the engine.
“My colleagues are interviewing everyone at the party. The dealer was there earlier, selling his goods. He said it was high-quality. Asshole.” She slammed a palm on the dash.
Vander wondered what poor teenager had made a bad and fatal choice. “You can’t save them all, Detective.”
She sat back in her seat, massaged her temple. She looked tired and pissed. “I know. My father taught me that. Pick your battles, focus on who you can help.”
“He’s a cop?”
“Was. Died in the line of duty.”
Pride, love, and grief. Vander heard them all. And damn, he found her an attractive combination—soft and firm, giving and tough. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, it was a long time ago.” She cleared her throat. “All the new Wanderers were here at the clubhouse tonight, but any one of them could’ve been at this dance party beforehand.”
“Yes.” It didn’t help narrow it down. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up at the warehouse. There was a string of police cars and ambulances out front. He noted the crowd huddled behind the police tape.
Brynn was out of the SUV before he’d turned off the engine. He followed her, and watched her brisk strides as she slipped under the tape with a nod to a uniform.
An older detective ambled over. His shirt was rumpled, his hair equally disheveled. It took Vander a second to place him. Detective Mike Jankowski. Twice divorced, but a solid cop.
“Nice outfit, Sullivan.” Jankowski eyed her bare legs and cowboy boots.
It was an attempt to lighten the mood, but Vander could tell the situation was too grim for the teasing comment to do much.
“One dead?” she confirmed.
“Yeah. Three in the hospital getting their stomachs pumped. A few high, dizzy, and puking.”
“What a mess.” Her jaw worked, then she stiffened.
He followed her gaze. The paramedics were pushing a gurney out of the warehouse, with a body covered by a sheet on it.
“Sarah Bello. Age twenty-one,” Jankowski said.
“Fuck.” Brynn rested her hands on her hips.
“Nothing you can do for her,” Vander said.
He’d long ago gone numb to dead bodies. In Ghost Ops, he’d seen too many die, in far too many different ways. Some friends, fellow soldiers, allies, and enemies. Too many women and children.
Brynn looked up at him, and there was something stark in her eyes. “I can find the person responsible. I can stand up for her and stop the asshole.”
She pivoted and strode toward the witnesses, who were still wearing their party clothes but huddled under blankets. One was retching into a bucket.
Vander watched Brynn and thought of that look in her eyes.
She was a woman who understood the darkness he’d seen. A woman who danced with it, as well.