Force of Attraction (4 page)

His brother Gabe called it her Kate Winslet look. Nikki had gone all girly blushes at the comparison to the actress. He, Scott, had noticed the resemblance first. His fault that he'd not told her first. Gabe had always come out the winner with women.

Shit. Not now.
A muscle tic appeared in Scott's jaw as he pushed the thought of his older brother aside.

“Seen enough?” Her voice was cold and clipped.

Not hardly. But he wasn't about to start out that way. He stepped away from the door. “How'd you get the black eye?”

“The normal way. Connected with something harder. Your arm?”

He glanced down at the bandage covering the stitches in his right arm from wrist to elbow. He'd forgotten about it. “Dark alley. Concertina wire.”

She winced and he was embarrassed by how grateful her simple sign of empathy made him feel. He wanted very badly to make her feel something, anything for him. Then he'd have some emotional connection to work with. So far, all she was giving him was attitude.

He moved toward the center of the room as he slipped free the manila envelope he had tucked into the back of his jeans. “Here. Lattimore sent these for you to look at. He doesn't like being turned down before he's made his case.”

“Put it on the table.” She pointed to her dining area table.

Scott checked the impulse to respond as he would have when challenged by anyone else. He was lucky to be in the same room with her. “Have it your way.”

He dumped the folder on the table and took a few steps back. “If you can say no to this task force after you've viewed what's inside, I'll leave.”

She hesitated only a moment before moving toward the table. She rounded the far end, putting its width between then. Even then, she kept her gaze on him as she pulled the folder toward her. He didn't blame her for her caution. Police officers worked in close quarters with felons on a daily basis. One wrong move could put her on the defensive with some very unsavory characters. Maintaining control was about narrowing the options for your suspect while keeping your own options open.

She slowly opened the folder, gaze flicking back and forth between it and him. He saw the exact moment the contents registered with her. Her face went slack and then she flipped the folder closed.

The look she leveled at him said that she held him personally responsible for the contents. “That's disgusting.”

“Damn straight.” He grabbed the folder and shook out the contents, then spread out between them a series of eight-by-ten color glossies. “Take a good look, Officer Jamieson.”

She took an involuntary step back. “I've seen enough.”

He rounded the table and pulled out the chair nearest her. “Sit down.”

She stiffened but moved the few steps it took to reach the chair. He immediately retreated to the other side of the table, offering a little respect for her pride.

Scott saw her gaze move toward the pictures then dance away, so he shoved them closer to her. “What? You can't handle a little blood and gore?”

He was being a manipulative bastard but he also knew that what he had placed before her was real hard evidence of a crime. He needed her help to find and arrest the perpetrators.

He stabbed a particularly gory shot with his forefinger. “This is what these scumbags are doing to move their product.”

Cole gave him a long hostile glare and then lowered her gaze very reluctantly until she was staring at the series of pictures of dead puppies in a Dumpster. It looked like a slaughterhouse. Their once sleek fat bellies had been slit open and disemboweled.

She swallowed carefully. She had seen bodies of people who had died violently, had even attended an autopsy once. No way was she going to show vulnerability over dead puppies to the one man in the world she once thought she could always count on, but no longer trusted with her emotions. Was. Not. Going. To. Happen.

Scott was suddenly there beside her, a hand on her shoulder meant to steady her in her chair.

Cole squeezed her eyes shut, willing tears not to fall. “I'm okay.” Her voice sounded strong in her own ears but when she tried to stand she realized she had no strength to accomplish the task.

He knelt down next to her as his other hand settled heavily on her opposite shoulder. “Deep breath.” His voice hadn't risen above a whisper but it made her suck in a long ribbon of air.

The growl from the kitchen doorway surprised both of them. Hugo stood with paws on top of the gate. That's when Scott realized that the gate was a polite fiction. It was a barrier as long as the big guy played nice. If he changed his mind?

Hugo cleared the gate seemingly without effort and came forward, rear end wagging. A suspect might be deceived by that shaggy-dog tail wag but Cole knew it meant Hugo was ready for action.

She straightened immediately. “Hugo.
Platz! Blieb!
”

Hugo plopped his body on the tile floor but his gaze remained on the stranger as he wriggled and whined in place. He barked twice, the sounds guttural and loud.

Cole looked up at Scott. “Take your hands off me. Slowly.”

He did just as she asked and then sat back on his heels to put space between them.

She rose and, without even a backward look, headed for the kitchen. As she passed Hugo she said,
“Hier.”
He turned instantly and fell into step beside her.

Once in the kitchen Cole paused. Hugo stood gazing up at her, ready for any directive.
“Lass es.”

Hugo turned his big head back toward the dining room and growled deep in his throat, a sound that left no doubt about his opinion of her guest.

Cole couldn't help but smile. “Yes. He's a pain in the ass. But we don't attack DEA officers.” She reached for a treat. “Here you go.
Gute Hund
.”

Hugo swallowed then looked back toward the dining room a second time. She knew how things must seem to him. Trained to protect, Hugo wanted nothing so much as to get rid of the stranger who had put his hands on his partner while she was spilling pheromones of anxiety. But he couldn't be permitted to fixate on Scott.

“Lass das sein.”

His handler's command tone snapped Hugo out of whatever doggy thought process he was having. He turned with surprising agility and trotted over to scoot headfirst into his kennel.

Cole shut the gate behind him and went to the sink to splash water on her face, hoping to gain a moment to compose herself before she dealt with Scott again.

She was gone so long, Scott decided to check on her. He found her leaning over the kitchen sink.

A slow warmth spread through him at the sight of her bending over the sink in a way that pushed her hips back in his direction. One of the first things he'd learned about her was that she liked to wear very feminine panties under her uniform. Lacy near-nothings. She said she did it to remind herself that she was, at the end of the day, a woman. Once upon a time, he had enjoyed the privilege of peeling off her uniform and showing her just how very happy all parts of him were that she was female.

His body responded instantly to thoughts he probably shouldn't be having. Confirmation of that thought came as he clocked the exact moment she became aware of him. She spun around and stood upright, eyes wide with wariness.

Maybe she had a right to be nervous. He was now swinging serious pipe.

Hoping to distract her from that realization, he gestured back toward the other room. “Look, about before.”

“I'm good.” She lifted her hand and pushed it palm flat into the air between them, as if it was a solid thing against which she could pit her will. Officer Jamieson was back on duty.

Scott nodded. He had seen her in action at the scene of more than one murder when she was D.C. police. But this was different. Nikki had a soft spot for innocent creatures, especially dogs, and he had deliberately played into that. Looking back into her hard eyes and too pale lips, he felt like a bully. He knew how to intimidate and how to apply pressure. But maybe he'd gone too far. Nikki wasn't a suspect. He needed to give her back her pride. But he knew enough about her not to come at it directly.

He slanted a look at her kenneled partner. “Enjoy your patrol last night, rattling doorknobs and checking locks?”

“We do more than that.” A flash of temper. Temper was good.

“Yeah. Saw a recent background photo of you on guard duty at an event where Miss Maryland put in an appearance. Tough job. Must have required all your skills.”

Definitely the Kate Winslet stare. “A week ago we were called in to track and arrest an abusive husband after he got away from the responding officer.”

“Fun, huh?” He smiled and nodded. “A chance to really show what you could do?”

He watched her gaze go inward as she reached up and touched her wounded eye. Then a tiny smile tugged her mouth.

He leaned back against the wall and crossed his legs at the ankles. He saw her gaze slip for an instant and realized his action had practically served up his hard-on for her inspection. She didn't seem impressed or intimidated. Either she didn't care, or she'd mastered nonresponsive behavior to provocative situations. For pride's sake he chose possibility number two.

“You and Hugo are wasted as glorified security guards. You can do more.”

Instead of answering, Cole reached to unbuckle her rig. The fact that she sometimes thought that herself didn't make it any easier to accept coming from him. She wasn't going to share her new hopes and dreams with the man who'd once wrecked her life. But he had roused her curiosity about the DEA project.

“How long has that been going on?”

Scott glanced back in the direction of her nod. She was thinking about the photos. Good.

“Using dogs as drug mules? There've been reports since the nineties in Belgium, the Netherlands, even France and Italy. Most of those dogs were imports from Mexico and South America. It's tougher to import dogs into the U.S. but we've caught a few cases in the last decade. Even cattle moved up from Mexico have been found to be stuffed with drugs after gelding. However, the pictures I showed you are an entirely different matter. These dogs weren't imported. They were used to move product around the U.S.”

“Why would anyone go to all that trouble? The surgery required to implant the drugs would seem to make the practice problematic.”

Scott waited to see where her thought process would take her. Besides, she had drawn her weapon and was in the middle of unloading it. No need to distract her.

When she finished, she leaned her hips back against the sink and crossed her legs at the ankles in imitation of his pose. “Must be cocaine. Nothing else on the street is worth the effort.”

Scott smiled and straightened away from the wall. “Forensics found traces of cocaine in the incision sites. The stuff was very pure. The potency alone should leave a near permanent trail, if you know where to look. We didn't, until this happened.”

Her frown deepened into two exclamation points between her brows. He longed to smooth them away with his thumb. Wanted, really, any excuse to touch her again.

Cole stared off into the distance. “Who goes to all that trouble and then leaves a slaughter as evidence?”

“Could be a case of careless traffickers.” He moved a little closer to her, in spite of good sense telling him to keep his distance. “Maybe whoever they sold them to didn't care that they left behind evidence. Either way, it was a break for us. Now you know what we're up against.”

Her gaze shifted back to him. “We? There's no
we.
”

Hugo's crate creaked as he stood up. A rumble like distant thunder issued from within as he pushed his big black nose against the bars.

Scott saw her gaze shift sideways toward her partner, an action that irritated him. She was trying to block him out.

He moved deliberately into her line of sight, forcing her to refocus on him. “You're going to turn down the DEA? Why, Nikki? Because you're afraid you can't handle yourself in the field with me?”

Those hazel eyes widened. “This isn't about you and me.”

“Damn straight. It's about the scumbags who use animals to transport drugs. And who will continue to do it until someone puts a stop to it.”

He reached past her and braced a hand on the counter, angling his body toward hers. He knew he was amping up the provocation. But if he didn't break through soon, she'd put him out. “Tell me you don't want to be part of the task force that takes these bastards down, Nikki.”

Cole placed a hand flat on his chest to halt his encroachment. The contact alarmed her more than it should have. Maybe because she knew what lay behind his shirt. Once she had claimed all that hard muscle and warm skin as hers. Now here he was, two years too late, and the solid reality of him was still doing things to her heart rate. This was not fair. She did want the assignment. But at what cost?

She lifted her head to search his sea-glass gaze between a tangle of thick black lashes. He was so close she could see the faint throb of his pulse under his jaw stubble. The heat of his body had seeped through his shirt to warm her palm. The register of the slight uptick of his heartbeat under her little finger meant that he wasn't as detached as he seemed. His impact on her was still visceral, physically and mentally, overwhelming in minutes two solid years of careful repair of her emotions.

She closed her eyes briefly. That was long enough for memories she had had on lockdown for two years to stage a jail break.

Legs tangled in sweaty bedsheets. Warm wet licks in all the right places. Harsh breaths punctuating the action of pumping bodies. Laughter. Always laughter at the back end of bliss. And then a refreshing shower that more often than not ended in another round.

Cole opened her eyes. Those extracted memories made her body flush with desire and intimidated her more than a little. They felt real and fresh, like a morning rerun of a previous night's sexual highlights. And her ex, standing right here before her, was at the center of every delicious aching moment of recall.