The Drinking Game

Answers?

Sean wrenched the wheel of his police-issue sedan and had to slam on the brakes when the car in front of him stopped short. “Wouldn't want to ram that Porsche." His insurance rates would double.

The car moved and Sean followed it up another floor. It pulled into the spot reserved for the Prosecutor's Office.. Stunned he stared at the taillights from a moment.

“What the...?"

He jammed the stick into 'park' and flew out of the car. A redhead with legs up to her neck disembarked, and when she saw him, her hand went to her purse. Planting a hand on his hip he made sure she could see his gun under his arm. “That's reserved parking."

Closing the door, she turned to face him fully, obviously not impressed by his sidearm. “I know. I have business with that office." Her gaze never wavered and he wondered briefly if she was a cop. Her flat shoes that only a nun would wear, combined with the crisp peach suit didn't convince him. Probably a shrink.

“You still can't park there."

She made an obvious look past him and pointed. “There's a spot opening up behind you."

A car started and he looked where she indicated. Sure enough, someone was pulling out. Maybe on a normal day, he'd let it pass. Unfortunately for the redhead that he'd consider taking to bed, this was not a normal day. He'd found his partner dead last night. Only caffeine kept him upright at the moment.

To top it off, his boss didn't want him on a crime scene he should work, because he was the best.

His gaze swung back to her. She locked her car and dropped her keys into a black leather briefcase. “Problem solved," she said and flashed him a practiced smile.

“No, it's not." She had torqued him now.

The smile fell off of her face and she visibly stiffened.

“You still parked where you shouldn't have," Sean said and took a step toward her. His height of just over six feet tall usually intimidated people. Standing only inches shorter then he was, she remained nonplussed.

But he wasn't ready to let it go. “What do you want at the Prosecutor's Office?"

Her lips formed a straight line before she said, “That's none of your business."

Sean hitched up his pants, then wondered why men thought that macho. Instead he fixed his gaze even more securely on her dazzling green eyes. He bet she charmed her way out of lots of speeding tickets with those eyes. She didn't blink. She didn't even try to flirt with him as if she knew she was in the right. Arrogant b***h.

“If you're done with your macho posturing, I have someone to see."

Shoulders squared, she brushed past him to the elevator. He stared at her back in disbelief. Had she just dismissed him?

Screeching into the parking place, Sean locked the car and hurried to catch up with her. He stepped onto the elevator with her.

Her gaze took him in, but she showed no reaction. He probably was a sight with hollow eyes and a caffeine buzz going. He straightened his tie.

“Since you obviously work for the Prosecutor, maybe you could help me."

“Help?" He leaned belligerently against the wall. This chick has balls. “Why should I help you?"

“The words 'To serve and protect' come to mind."

He whistled. “Next you're going to give me the speech about how you pay my salary."

She brushed a hair out of her face with one creamy, white hand. “Hardly, since I don't live here. I don't pay taxes here, therefore not your salary." She waved a hand. “Never mind. I'll find him on my own," she said and turned to the front of the elevator.

There's that dismissal again, as if people followed her orders without question.

A long, thin nose complemented her profile. Reddish, blond hair seemed to go in all directions out of her hair band. She stood with her pink lips pressed together maybe afraid of what words would escape from them.

“Who?" Sean asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. What business could a looker like this have at his office? And could he get her phone number? Might be an interesting challenge to see this woman lose it while underneath him. A delicious chill went through him.

Not his usual type, mind you. This lady was a tall glass of water. Sean preferred shots, easily consumed and just as easily forgotten. He'd be too curious as to what she looked like the next morning to slink out in the middle of the night.

Her head turned back to him. “Who?"

“Who are you looking for?"

She looked him up and down as if deciding if he really wanted to help. Taking a piece of paper that had been folded in exact fourths out of her pocket, she opened it and scanned the words. “His name is Detective Sean Gaudette."

He stared at her as the doors opened onto the ground floor of the parking deck. She put a long-fingered hand out to keep the door open. “Do you know him?"

He brushed past her then turned to look at her. “Lady, you're looking at him."

Her mouth fell open. Recovering, she stepped out of the car and held out her hand. Sean eyed it like a snake about to strike. “You are?"

“Special Agent Jennifer O'Grady. FBI Profiler."

Sean felt as if the air in his lungs raced to leave him. He could only move his mouth. No words came out. He cleared his throat and took a step backward. “Ken's fiancée."

***

So the uncouth Neanderthal worried about his parking space is Ken's partner. Was, she corrected. She pulled back her hand which he hadn't bothered to shake. Instead his gaze bore into her and she wanted to ask if he could see the wall behind her.

“Yes. Ken's fiancée. Ex if you want to be accurate." She looked around the garage and even though she saw no one, she still felt vulnerable. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?"

Her words pulled him out of stupor." Let's get a cup of coffee. Maybe something stronger," he said. With a gentle hand on her back, he guided her at to the sidewalk. So he did have manners. “This way."

He led her to a small luncheonette a block away. Sliding into the maroon vinyl seats, she hoped they'd been cleaned recently. Sean ordered them both the coffee. He didn't ask how she liked it.

Waiting for him to speak, she folded her hands in her lap, ankles crossed. Sean lit a cigarette and a large puff of smoke the briefly obscured his face. When the cloud dissipated, his gaze once again drilled into her. Despite having stared down some of the most twisted criminals, his intense gaze unnerved her. Maybe because he was so hauntingly good-looking. She brushed a hair from her face.

“You're not what I expected," he said in a gravelly voice.

She nibbled the inside of her cheek, not sure what he meant. Other police departments had been surprised by woman profiler, but quickly accepted her when she demonstrated her expertise. Was that what he meant? “As a profiler?"

He shook his head, the cigarette once again went to his mouth. The smoke came out with his words. “Wasn't expecting a profiler. “

Fear coursed through her. Was she caught? “You didn't ask for one?"

“No. Cam did. Lieutenant Bentley."

She nodded. “His name was on the request. I just assumed that was an administrative task and that the detectives wanted one."

He looked out the window and she could see at least a day's growth of dark stubble. The color of his whiskers made his gray eyes seem fierce. He must have slept in his clothes or kept them in his glove compartment. Did he even own an iron? She imagined his place covered in clothes all wrinkled the same way.