Privilege (Special Tactical Units Division 2)

Alessandra had looked at her in a way that said she didn’t believe a word of the story, but she’d said that of course she and Tanner were disappointed and maybe another time…

To visit the Akecheta ranch? Definitely. To see Chay Olivieri? Not even if the end of the world was imminent.

No woman in her right mind would want to see the lieutenant again.

She was willing to admit he was probably a superb warrior. All that toned muscle. All that attitude. The sense of command. What was it he’d said about being part Lakota Sioux? Back in the Old West, women would probably have gone crazy for him.

Some probably still did.

Maybe most probably still did.

But an independent I-am-in-charge-of-myself female? No way.

Bianca glared at the elevator door, reached forward and pounded the call button. What was taking so long?

The lieutenant had the attitude that came of male privilege. Yes. Warrior privilege. Insisting she dance with him. Insisting she ride the Harley. Insisting they have sex…

Except, he hadn’t insisted. All he’d done was kiss her.

And she’d responded by wrapping herself around him.

She’d loved everything he’d done. The possessive way he’d kissed her. The urgency of his need. The way he’d taken her, hard and deep and fast.

And then, afterward, the overwhelming sense of guilt. Of self-loathing.

Why?

Because, the scientist in her said crisply, he’s everything you dislike in a man. That’s the reason you’ve spent six weeks lying to yourself, the reason you accused him of forcing himself on you when you knew it was a lie.

What the scientist in her couldn’t explain was why she’d wanted sex with him in the first place. It was a little late in life to develop a thing for bad boys.

Ding.

At last! The elevator had arrived.

“Finally,” Bianca said on a long, grateful breath.

The doors slid open. She took a step forward.

And stopped.

The car was dark. Not unlighted. The overhead chandelier, part of the building’s original nineteenth-century décor, was fully lit.

It was the car itself that was dark. How come she’d never noticed it before? It was because of the mahogany-paneled walls, another holdover from the past. The wood was so old, so highly polished, that it was almost black.

And why was the car empty? It had stopped at other floors.

Idiot. It’s empty because whomever had pushed those call buttons had left the building.

And why was the car swaying?

It always sways. Remember? Lacey joked about it. She said standing in this car was kind of like standing on the deck of a ship. Stop procrastinating and get mov—

Flicker. Bzzz. Flicker.

Wait.

A bad storm. Lights that were all but typing out an SOS, and she was about to get into an elevator? Laughter burst from her lips. Okay. Shaky laughter, but laughter nevertheless. Only the heroine in a Grade B horror movie would do such a foolish thing.