“This is ridiculous!”
She moved to snatch her hand away; he stopped her by grasping it more tightly. “And I don’t suggest you use that get-out-of-jail-free card.” He lowered his voice. “It wouldn’t work out so well for you. These guys don’t play.”
He released her hand. For a heartbeat, she felt weak. As if the contact had sucked up all her energy.
The room went silent. She felt all eyes on her. If they thought she was going to go all giddy or effusive, they had the wrong girl. She squared her shoulders. “Seriously? That’s what you’ve got?”
Harris laughed. “I like you, Mick. We’ll get along just fine.”
Chief Howard stood. “Detective Dare, you head to the Eighth. You and Detective Angelo will have a chance to say your goodbyes and you and Detective Harris will officially ‘meet.’”
“And if I’m asked, what do I know about him?”
“Almost nothing. He was transferred in from outside. He has a familial connection within the force. Follow his lead. Are we good?”
Follow his lead? No frickin’ way. But she couldn’t say that. She nodded. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
They filed out of the war room. Harris caught up with her in the hall.
“For future reference, Mick, yes, I am.”
She drew her eyebrows together, annoyed. “You are what?”
“Good in bed.”
He turned to walk away; she stopped him. “If that was another attempt at your bullshit mind-reading, you’re way off base. The way you perform in bed hasn’t even crossed my mind.”
“I know.” He smiled, slow and sexy. “But it will.”
Chapter Five
Monday, July 8
9:30 A.M.
Zach had known the minute he caught Dare’s hand why Parker and company had chosen her to partner him—at least part of the why. Simply, she wouldn’t let him in. Not easily, anyway. With some people, he could slip in, take a quick tour, and really know them—hopes and hurts, dreams and disappointments. Not Michaela Dare. She had erected fortress-like walls around herself, especially her soft spots.
And she wouldn’t buy into his bullshit. Which would help keep him alive.
He was his own worst enemy. Had been from the moment he’d discovered he was different from other people and had learned how to use his special abilities. Step one: uncover people’s secrets. Step two: exploit them. Not to hurt or destroy, but to manipulate and leverage—to advance his own agenda.
He just couldn’t help himself. Why fight traffic if you knew a short cut? It just didn’t make sense to him.
Zach reached the 8th District Station. He tipped his head back and gazed up at the iconic French Quarter building. Black wrought iron fence, tall French doors, white columns, salmon colored stucco.
Home, sweet home. For now.
He climbed the steps; entered the building. The desk officer looked his way. Skin the color of coffee, dark eyes steely. He held her gaze, smiling slightly as he approached.
“Good morning, Officer.”
No smile. Nothing. “Detective Zach Harris. Reporting for duty.”
“Identification.”
He handed it over. She inspected it, then handed it back. His fingers closed over it. She’d dealt with it all and wouldn’t take any crap off anyone. Taser first, ask questions later.
And she’d had a horrendous morning already.
“Major Nichols is expecting you. Investigative Unit Office. Through the doorway to your right, take the stairs. You’ll see it.”
“Thanks.” He held her gaze, smiled again. “Have a beautiful day.”
“You, too,” she said, then frowned slightly, as if she’d surprised herself.
Zach headed the way she had directed, found the doorway, stepped through. Like Alice down the rabbit hole, a bizarre scene greeted him. Where the entry and main floor public areas had been faded but charming, this was derelict. Peeling paint; years of it. Lead based, no doubt. Mold on the crumbling stucco walls. Dirty.
He’d thought being a superhero would mean nicer digs than these.
So much for glamour.
Zach reached the second floor. No security. None. Nothing. After Quantico, this blew his mind. White door with the NOPD logo and a sign that read: Eighth District, Investigative Unit Office. And below that: Authorized Personnel Only.
Wow, that’d make the bad guys think twice.
He stepped inside. Activity. Noise. And energy—light and dark, a chaotic, swirling mess.
New environment.
Own it.
His gaze landed on the receptionist. No badge or gun. Civil service. Thirty-something, he’d guess. Attractive in an overblown, teased-up sort of way.
He sauntered over. “Detective Zach Harris. I’m looking for Major Nichols.”
She eyeballed him. “You’re the new guy.”
“That’s me.”
“You’re pretty, I’ll give you that.”
“Thanks.”
“Bunch of folks are pretty pissed about this.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “This?”
“You. Being here.”