Meant to Be Immortal (Argeneau #32) - Lynsay Sands Page 0,10

she was abandoning him, CJ thought, but merely nodded, and said, “Simpson is in charge here. He’ll drive you back to the station where I’m sure Captain Dupree will arrange some protection for you, Mr. Argeneau.”

“I want you.”

Two

I want you. The words echoed in CJ’s head, sounding really suggestive to her. It also sent a strange shiver through her body that she had absolutely no desire to analyze. She had no interest in men, and the chaos and mess having relationships with them caused. CJ had learned her lesson well during her marriage. Men were bad news. Really bad news. She’d learned that lesson so well she’d resigned herself to living her life alone. Not a big deal. Get a dog for companionship, and buy a vibrator to deal with sexual tension, and you were pretty much covered if you knew how to change tires and fix leaky taps yourself. Fortunately, CJ knew how to do both.

“He’s right. We should keep him close for his own protection,” Simpson said suddenly, and CJ turned to him with surprise. The man hadn’t said a word while she’d asked questions, and now decided to join the conversation? Apparently, he was finished taking the photos she’d requested. Although he couldn’t have got each of the license plates on the vehicles in the driveway, but probably planned to get that on his way out, CJ decided. But she merely smiled grimly at his comment as she closed his notepad and slid it back into his front chest pocket along with his pen. Patting the outside of the pocket then, she said easily, “Yes, you should. You’d better take him back to the station and see what Dupree wants to do about that, then.”

CJ had already started to turn away when Simpson said, “I don’t have a vehicle.”

Pausing, abruptly, she swung back around. “What?”

“I was riding with Jefferson,” Simpson explained, his face still oddly devoid of expression. “He left me and the evidence-gathering kit here, but took the patrol car to go on another call. I was hoping to catch a ride back to the station with you.”

Which meant letting Mac Argeneau into her car too, CJ thought, and found herself really reluctant to agree to that. She had no idea why. It was just a car. She’d ridden in lots of cars with lots of victims over the years. Although usually it was criminals she’d ridden with, and they had been handcuffed and behind the steel mesh cage or bulletproof glass that was installed between the front and back seats of police cars. She didn’t have either in her own car, because she wasn’t meant to be transporting criminals . . . or victims. But she couldn’t see a way to get out of it, so muttered, “Let’s go, then,” and realizing how ungracious that sounded, she added, “I’m ready to call it a night and go back to the bed-and-breakfast where I’m staying. I’ll take you two to the police station first.”

CJ didn’t look around to be sure Simpson and Mac were following her as she headed for her car. She just hurried down the driveway, eager to get out of there. It wasn’t until she’d reached her vehicle and peered back that she saw she was alone.

Huffing out an exasperated breath, CJ propped her hands on her hips and scanned the distance. The fire was out, but even without it adding to the illumination, the scene was somewhat lit by the headlights of the many vehicles scattered around the property. While a long line of pickups bordered the driveway, there were also several on the front yard itself, along with the two fire trucks and the ambulance. There were still dark spots, and strange shadows here and there, but she had no problem making out the group of emergency workers still moving around. Or standing around, really, she thought, noting that the only ones actually moving now were two men working the hose to continue wetting down the interior and exterior of the house.

Her gaze slid over the people gathered by the ambulance, but they were in one of those shadows and she couldn’t tell who made up the group, so she let her eyes shift over the rest of the yard until she spotted Simpson with what looked like a large fishing tackle box but she knew was actually his evidence-gathering kit. She’d forgotten all about that, CJ realized, and relaxed a bit, some of her annoyance sliding away. He might have