“Oh.” Isabella’s shoulders unwound by the tiniest margin. “I…um, I like red. Dark, like a nice merlot.”
“Hmm. I’m pretty much a beer guy,” Kellan said with just enough challenge to make her rise to greet it.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she answered, her trademark feistiness on full display. “A good bottle of red isn’t just a handful of drinks. It’s an experience.”
Damn, he’d never be off his toes with her, that was for sure. “You’ll have to show me,” he said, adding on, “I have a thing for political thrillers.”
“There’s a stash of romance novels on my bedside table.”
Unable to help himself, Kellan let his surprise ride out on a laugh. “Ah. You’ll definitely have to show me. What’s your favorite season?”
“Spring, right when the leaves start growing,” Isabella replied. Shifting beneath the blanket, she turned to her back, dipping her chin to look at him expectantly.
“Mine, too. Favorite pizza topping? If you say anchovies, I might have to kick you off my couch.”
“Black olives.” She laughed, a deep, throaty sound that came up from deep in her chest, and man, she was seriously beautiful.
Kellan propped his elbow against the couch cushion, holding his head up with one hand while nudging her with the other. “See, you are good at this.”
“You haven’t asked me any hard questions yet.”
“Why don’t we cross that bridge when we get to it?”
“Walker,” she started, but didn’t back the protest up, and hell. He was already in for a penny. No way was he going down without fighting for the whole damned pound.
“Look Moreno, I’m not going to lie. I like you, and I’d like to see you again. But for now, none of the questions have to be hard. Okay?”
“Okay,” Isabella whispered, blinking as if the answer had surprised her. Another minute passed before the shock on her face turned into a smile. “So, I gave you five minutes. Does that mean I get five back?”
His cock stirred beneath the blanket. “What’d you have in mind?”
Turning to her side to face him, her smile became a grin as she leaned in to kiss him, slow and sexy. “Something that’ll wake you up better than coffee.”
Hell yes. Impulsive or not, Kellan rolled her beneath him in less than a blink. “Oh, sweetheart. Your wakeup call is going to take more than five minutes. But I wouldn’t be a good host if I let you leave without a proper sendoff.”
* * *
Julian sat in the leather wingback chair behind his desk, his tie still straight and his suit jacket still buttoned despite the last of his guests having departed about an hour ago. Under normal circumstances, he’d have retired to his bedroom with the choicest video selections of the evening, letting the primal grunts and pained cries on the feeds from the private party rooms lull him to sleep. But this pre-dawn was far from normal, because what he was looking at instead were the photographs of two people he was going to murder.
Julian stared at the pair of printouts Vaughn had placed on the antique mahogany in front of him, forcing his hands to impeccable steadiness despite the utter rage tearing through his veins. “Are you certain this information is accurate?”
If Vaughn took offense at the question, he was wise enough not to let it show. “The RPD database might be a bitch to crack, even for me,” he said, shrugging even deeper into the hooded sweatshirt he wore like a sloppy second skin. “But it doesn’t lie. Isabella Moreno is a detective in the intelligence unit at the Thirty-Third.”
“A detective,” Julian repeated, looking again at the printout showing a black and white photo of Isabella in what looked to be her headshot for the department.
Vaughn nodded. “I’m as shocked as you, boss. But I triple-checked our security measures, and there’s no active investigation into you or anyone on your payroll, with the Remington police or the FBI. These parties are still completely under the radar.” After a pause, he said, “I pulled all the footage of her for a closer look. She obviously knows Danny Boy, and she seemed pretty into the guy she was with—something tells me he didn’t go into that bathroom with her to help powder her nose. There are plenty of cops with dirty secrets. You think she might just want to party?”
Julian considered the idea for a moment, but dismissed it just as quickly. If Isabella had come here to partake in sex or drugs or both, she’d have done so more openly. His reputation for secrecy was flawless, and besides, Julian had a condensed history of her case records right here in front of him. Detective Moreno seemed to have a penchant for pursuing crimes against women. Clearly, her interest in him was professional.