The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

“A beautiful face like yours should never wear a frown,” Slava said. He sized up the problem instantly. “Let me buy you another cup.”

Her smile returned, reaching her eyes. “Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure.” He rose. “How do you like it?”

A teasing spark flickered in her eyes. “Many ways. I’m adventurous. Surprise me.”

He caught his breath. “I’d enjoy doing that very much.” He nearly knocked over the businesspeople arriving for their workday, and was in and out of the coffee shop in record time, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

“With cream and sugar,” he said, handing her the cup. “Just like you.”

Their fingers brushed, and Slava literally caught his breath.

“Thank you,” she said. “You’re a gentleman. Such a rarity these days.”

“Not always such a gentleman.” He chuckled. “Did you just start work here? I would have noticed you.” He shifted in his chair so that his trouser leg brushed up against her bare calf.

“I’m just in town on business,” she answered ruefully. “I have to fly back to LA tonight.”

Slava felt his erection deflate. “Can’t you take the…” He searched his mind for the right phrase. “Late night to morning…”

“The red-eye,” she supplied. She bit her lip thoughtfully. “I can try.” She looked as eager as he did, which raised his spirits and his appropriate body part. He watched as she put down her coffee and pulled out her phone. “What’s your cell number?” she asked.

“I text it to you. You give me yours.” He, too, took out his cell.

She rattled off a number that he very much wanted in his contact information. He punched it in, sent her a text message from his unrestricted phone, and then waited to hear her message chime.

“I’ll call you,” she said when it arrived, rising and retrieving her coffee cup. “I have a lot of juggling to do—meeting and flight time changes—and arrangements with my hotel.” Another seductive smile. “I’ll make this happen, Slava. I want it as much as you do.”

“That I doubt.” He came to his feet, as well, lifting her fingers to his lips. “My evening is open to you, Isabella.”

“Until then.” With one last bone-melting smile, she turned and walked out the door.

Once out of view, Emma shuddered, wiping the fingers he’d kissed on her dress before she gingerly gulped down the rest of her coffee—being careful to only touch the rim—and slipped the empty cup into a Ziploc, which she then deposited in her purse. “I’ve got it,” she said into the tiny microphone clipped to her bra. “And I think I’m going to puke.”

“You missed your calling, Isabella,” Ryan teased into her earbud. “Bruiser was about to come in his pants.”

“Not funny. I’m pretty sure his eyes drilled a hole in my dress on the way out. And FYI, he’s repulsive.” She was already walking toward the curb, arm raised. “I’m taking a cab to the hotel. No way I’m walking on these shoes for another minute.”

Cruising through the streets of Chicago was a bittersweet experience for Emma. She stared out the window of the taxi, flashes of memories popping into her mind like nostalgic photos. The just-like-in-the-movies suburban house with a white picket fence and rows of tulips that came up every year. Doing cartwheels on the lawn. Learning to ride a bike with training wheels and pedals she could barely reach. Her dad tinkering in the garage. Her mom cooking Sunday dinner. Her first day of kindergarten. Her sixth birthday party and the red velvet cupcakes with the heaps of white frosting her mom had baked for her and her twenty school friends. She and her parents going to the movies. Buying a deep-dish pizza and having her dad dangle a piece of mozzarella over her mouth, teasing her until she jumped up and chomped it between her teeth.

Emma blinked back tears. All of that was in the past, treasured memories that she’d stored away and that were only now resurfacing because of her first return trip home. The dark memories followed close behind. Her family moving to New York. Her parents dying in that horrible crash. Foster care. Life on the streets.

She’d become a different person since then—harder, street-smart, a seasoned pickpocket who had only now turned her life around.

She swallowed hard. She had to concentrate on business or she’d lose it entirely. But, despite her best efforts, long-suppressed tears slid down her cheeks.

Fifteen minutes later, under control with her emotions back in check, Emma knocked on the hotel room door. Marc swung it open, and Emma walked past him and directly over to a chair. She dropped down into it, groaning as she yanked off her shoes.

“Thank God.” She massaged one aching foot. “I’m glad I’m too short to be a model.” With that, she dug into her purse and handed the Ziploc to Marc. “Here’s your evidence. I got Bruiser sweating like a pig in heat. He’s as good as caught.”

“You did a great job, Emma.” Marc, with his keen sense of observation, noted the tears on her lashes and the strained look on her face. “I realize this must have been difficult for you. But you pushed past it and got even more than we hoped for. A name, a phone number, and the touch DNA we needed. You’ve moved up the FI team ladder.”

That brought a small smile to her lips. “Thanks. I aim to please.”

“Okay,” Ryan announced from his spot at the computer. “I took care of the cell phone problem. All calls to Isabella will be routed to voice mail on an untraceable number. And since Emma gave Bruiser—aka Slava—nothing else to go on, we’re in the clear. Slava, on the other hand, won’t be too happy. He’ll go to bed with a hard-on and never find his mystery woman. Tough break for him.”

“My heart bleeds.” Marc was shrugging on his jacket and snapping shut his suitcase. “Ready to hit the road?”