Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,28
the cup holder. “Damn, I’d kill for one of these things. You know how many tickets I rack up?”
He drove the short distance to her building, and an SUV was leaving just as he pulled up.
“Well, that never happens,” she said.
Jacob pulled into the space and parked, then turned to look at her. She held his gaze, and the air between them felt charged suddenly. Every time she looked at him with those cool gray eyes, Jacob’s pulse kicked up a notch.
She turned and glanced out the window. The door to one of the third-floor apartments stood open, and someone’s party had spilled onto the breezeway.
She sighed. “My lovely neighbors.”
“Want me to walk you up?”
“No.”
It was a firm no, as if he’d been angling for an invitation inside.
Maybe he had.
Her eyes locked with his, and the silence stretched out. “I’m glad you called,” she said.
“Me too.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and he felt a surge of lust. Who was he kidding? He wanted her to invite him in. He wanted to kiss her right now and find out how she tasted. He’d been thinking about it for days.
She leaned in and kissed him, shocking the hell out of him. Her mouth was warm and soft, and she rested her fingers on the side of his neck. Jacob slid his arms around her and pulled her closer.
He coaxed her mouth open, and she tangled her tongue with his as he leaned over the console and slid his hands over her hips. He wanted her in his lap. She seemed to want that, too, and she eased closer, hitching herself onto the console as she combed her fingers into his hair, and her nails bit into his scalp. She tasted amazing. Her mouth was hot and eager, and he wanted more. He slid his hand up to cup her breast through her shirt, and she arched against his palm. Her soft moan sent another shot of lust through him, and he pulled her even closer.
Jacob’s phone buzzed, and she jerked back. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked as surprised as he felt. She slid back into her seat.
The phone buzzed again, and he bit back a curse as he took it from his pocket. “Sorry.”
“Better get that.” She reached for the door handle.
“Wait.”
“No, it’s fine. I should go.” She smiled and pushed open the door. “Good night, Jacob.”
CHAPTER
TEN
I KNEW IT.”
Jacob glanced up from his work to see Kendra standing in the doorway.
“What?”
“You’re hiding out down here.” She stepped into the windowless room known as Cold Storage. Metal filing cabinets packed with cold case files lined the walls, leaving barely enough room for a desk and chair.
Kendra pulled the door shut behind her. She had a roll of evidence tape in her hand and a folder tucked under her arm.
“You’re still working the Dana Smith case, aren’t you?” she demanded.
Jacob looked up from his computer. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I haven’t seen you all morning.”
“Yes, I’m still working it.”
“Good. Me too.” She dropped the folder on the desk, along with the tape roll.
“What’s in the file?” he asked.
“Copies of the police reports. I made them yesterday before Mullins carted everything off. And my notes from the Camden interview.” She glanced behind her, probably for a chair.
“Behind the cabinet by the door,” he said.
She pulled a metal folding chair from behind the cabinet and sat down across the desk from him.
“Anything from Luis on the cell phone?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Okay, so where are we? Show me what you’re working on.”
He just looked at her.
“Come on, Jacob. I want in.”
“Don’t come crying to me when Schneider busts your ass down to patrol.”
“What about your ass?”
“I’ve been a detective longer than you.”
“Whatever. Tell me what you’ve got.”
“I’m working on who wanted Dana Smith dead.”
Kendra scooted closer. “Whoever she flipped on when she turned state’s evidence.”
“That’s assuming it was a hit.”
“You’re not assuming that?”
“I’m strongly leaning that way, but it could have been random. Except . . .” He shook his head.
“Except what?”
“The knife thing,” Jacob said. “I keep thinking about what Nielsen said, that he hadn’t seen a wound like that since Afghanistan.”
“Stabbed from behind, straight through the heart?”
“Right. So, say it’s a professional hit. Maybe the perp has some kind of military training. Maybe black ops.”
“How do you jump to that?”
“Those guys are trained to locate bad guys and take them out,” he said. “Some of them come home, have problems with reentry. Maybe sell their skills on the black market. They’re trained