“No!” She whirled around. “I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Someone in the Russian mob wants Travis Hart dead. Which makes no sense if Sergei Rykov is one of his big supporters. Unless Hart did something to piss him off, which is certainly plausible. Steve told me they ran Eric Huang, the legislative aide, and he’s clean as a whistle. Yet ... I still think that Huang was the target. Even a mediocre shooter would know to get a clear shot. But why would the Russians want a staffer dead?”
Matt got up and put his hands on her shoulders. She tried to shrug him off, but he held tight. “Alex,” he said softly, “I would do anything to change what happened last year. Anything. I hate what you had to go through, what you’re still going through. But I need you to focus.”
She took a deep breath. “I know. I am focused. I can do this, Matt. I need to. I think having to stop the investigation last summer when I was this close ... I want to finish what I started.”
For so long, she’d just wanted her life back. But she realized over the last two days that her old life was irrevocably gone. Any illusion she had that when the feds finished their investigation she could go back to her old life was shattered. There was no going back. There would be no more badge. Her life, her career, as she knew it, as she loved it, was over.
But for the first time, she was okay with it. There was no going back, but she could move forward.
Matt steered her to his couch and sat her down, then sat next to her and took her hands into his. She stared at their joined hands. Maybe because she didn’t want to look him in the eye. Embarrassment flooded through her. Because of her meltdown.
Or maybe because she still got that jolt of attraction—of lust—every time she looked at him.
“Dean Hooper and I had a long conversation last night,” Matt said, “and based on that, I don’t think the Russians want to kill Hart. That the shooter, who’s connected to your former partner, is dead makes this whole thing more than a little interesting. It draws attention to the Russians, and it lulls Hart into a sense of security. The shooter is dead, no one can get to him. A rival? Rykov is the biggest criminal in that community, but there are others clamoring for a position. Maybe it was a threat for Rykov, and Hart wasn’t supposed to be killed. Or maybe a threat to Hart to keep him in line. Or maybe you were right, and Eric Huang was the intended target. Hooper was very interested in your theory.”
“Jim and Steve don’t think there’s any merit to it. It’s not logical.”
“But?”
She look at Matt and wished she hadn’t. They were sitting too close together, reminding her of when she kissed him and he rejected her.
“It may not be logical when you think about motive, but based on the evidence at the scene – which is minimal—I don’t see how the shooter could have possibly thought he could hit Hart. So either it was a threat and killing Hart wasn’t the goal, or Huang was the target and my intervention distracted the shooter or caused Huang to get out of the way in time. Is there any video? There were at least three television cameras there. They must have been rolling when Hart came in.”
“Sac PD would have grabbed copies,” Matt said. “I can get them.”
“Without tipping your hand.”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “You forget—I am the D.A.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” She tried to pull her hand away, but Matt tightened his grip. “Matt.”
“Be careful tonight with Hart. I know, I know, you’ll be careful, you know what you’re doing. I trust you, Alex, but that doesn’t mean I’m not at least a little worried. I used to work with him. I’ve been suspicious for years about some of his plea agreements, some of his cutting corners, but there was nothing overtly illegal. More ... borderline unethical. Never forget that Travis Hart cares about only one person: Travis Hart.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” she said with a half-smile, trying to keep the conversation light. Because her stomach was twisting and her heart was pounding and her hands—the hands that Matt held—were sweating. Shit. She was actually sweating from sitting too close to this man.
“I’m serious, Alex.”
“Can you please let go of my hands?”
He did, as if he’d forgotten he was holding them.
Alex jumped up. She needed to get away from him before she did something stupid. Like kiss him again. Damn—that was nine months ago and she hadn’t forgotten how that hot make-out session had made her feel.
Matt got up as well. She stepped back. He took a bigger step forward and at the same moment she realized his intent, but before she could stop him, he kissed her.
It wasn’t a simple kiss. It was an assault. The good kind, the kind of physical devouring she hadn’t had in months. Maybe years. Maybe never.
Her mind went blank and she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t think. Her body betrayed her. Her own lust, her own need, took over. She didn’t want this ... yes, oh yes, she mostly certainly did.
Her lips parted and Matt’s tongue slid smoothly between them and she would have melted to the floor in pure pleasure if he hadn’t grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him. Her hands gripped his shoulders. His shirt was expensive, smooth, crisp, and smelled wonderfully spicy, like Matt. She wanted to take it off him, feel his bare chest against her palms.