“Hey. Thanks for watching my beer.” She pushed herself back over the bar stool she’d abandoned fifteen minutes earlier, bracing for impact in three, two…
“Don’t even think about taking the no-big-deal road, you shameless hussy!” Addison Hale, the newest and only other female member of intelligence, shot a look of total disbelief across the table. “Did you just kiss Kellan freaking Walker?”
“You saw that, huh?” Of course, Moreno had known full well that the woman had. Even the academy’s freshest recruit would’ve caught the glances her partners had leveled at her and Walker on the dance floor.
Hale made a sound dangerously close to a snort. “Um, yeah. Along with everyone else in the bar. Including all of Seventeen’s A-shift from all the way in the cheap seats.”
“Then I guess I did kiss him,” Isabella said, and score the other half of the reason for her lip service. Distraction was a fucking beautiful thing.
Hale’s disbelief went another round. “You just kissed the same Kellan Walker who’s been trading death glares with you for the last three months over the Fagan case?”
“That would be the one.”
“Jesus, Moreno, please.” Maxwell laughed and ran a hand over his shaved head, tipping his glass of club soda in Hale’s direction. “I know you keep your shit close to the vest, and I’m not really one for gossiping like a tabloid rag. But if you don’t throw my partner a bone, she’s going to stroke out over here.”
Isabella bought herself a no-big-deal pause with a sip of beer. Nice and easy, girl. “Walker’s sister wanted me to give him the update on what went down in Chicago last month. Once he heard the Feds have Burton in custody, he came around a little. The whole thing was your basic kiss and make up, no hard feelings type deal. That’s all.”
“Really?” Clearly, Hale had been looking for way more scandal. God, intelligence rookies were so hungry for the angle with the most bang, it wasn’t even funny.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Isabella said. “But really.”
Hollister leaned his shoulders against the ladder-back on his bar stool, aiming a not-so-subtle frown in the direction of Kellan’s table across the bar. “The work you did on the Fagan case was solid. It’s about time he got the fuck over it.”
Ah, hell. Hollister was one of the most straight-up guys in the RPD. He and Isabella might not live by the share-fest code like most partners, and yeah, no one had ever accused him of being calm, cool, or collected—especially when it came to his loyalty to the intelligence unit. But he was a decent guy and an even better cop.
And she needed to divert his attention from Kellan Walker. Right now.
Guilt pricked at Isabella’s chest, but she forced herself to shake her head, literally shrugging off the topic. “It’s all good, Liam. The screw up with his sister wasn’t a garden variety oops. He was just doing what big brothers do.”
The use of Hollister’s first name got him, just as she’d known it would, and he turned back toward their table with a lift of one shoulder. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
The conversation turned toward college football matchups and whether or not Hale’s amber lager was better than Hollister’s IPA, and Isabella bided her time with a few well-placed nods, staying a half-step outside of the conversation just as she always did. Finally, distractions done, she slid her fingers over her temple, letting them linger just long enough before pushing back from the table.
“I hate to say it, but my head’s still killing me. I think I’m going to call it a night,” she said, placing the beer she’d been nursing over the soggy and slightly crushed cocktail napkin at her elbow and finding her feet.
“You sure?” Hollister asked, his forehead creasing in concern. Before Isabella could give up her standard-issue nod and smile and get-the-hell-out-of-here combo, though, a very wry, very familiar male voice interrupted her getaway.
“Come on, you guys. This is Moreno we’re talking about. She’s always sure. Even when she’s snoring.”
Isabella turned, arching a brow at the tall, wiry blond behind her. “Damn, Capelli. You really need to stop using that overly large brain of yours to find ways to sneak into this place through the back door. And for the record, I don’t snore.”