Chapter Three
Luke waited for her to climb off the bike, then joined her on the sidewalk.
“I’ll walk you up.”
He’d had to park nearly a block away, it was dark and there was no way he could let her walk on her own. Another man might be tempted to, but not a cop. Never. Besides, he was hoping to be invited in. For the obvious reasons, of course, but also because he welcomed the chance to check out the place from the inside.
“Thank you.” She sounded relieved.
On her own she would most likely come and go via the secure underground parking garage, especially at night. Not that anything was ever completely secure, especially given what he knew about the activities of some of the lowlifes who lived here. Tonight he would see her to the front door, maybe farther if he was lucky.
They’d covered about half the distance when prickles of unease shivered up his neck. He knew better than to be obvious, but a couple of casual over-the-shoulder glances revealed nothing. Someone was watching them, most likely just him, and he saw no advantage to tipping off whomever that might be. Had the operation been compromised? His gut told him no. This was about something else.
He sought out the pistol tucked in an inside jacket pocket, curled his fingers reassuringly around the grip as his other arm went out instinctively to draw Claire closer. She glanced up, the obvious question in her eyes.
“Thought you might be cold.” It sounded lame, even to him, but she didn’t pull away.
“Would you like to come up for coffee?” she asked as she unlocked the front door of her building.
“Sure.” Hell, yes. He was glad she’d asked. It saved him the trouble of trying to invite himself in.
Earlier she’d been on edge, possibly due to her ex showing up and giving her a hard time, and he’d thought the evening was headed for disaster. Eventually she had relaxed, and after they got their current relationship status out of the way, they had talked about work, recent movies they’d seen, what some of their old college friends were doing now and even pets. He’d adopted a German shepherd named Rex after the dog failed to meet the K-9 unit’s requirements. Claire had a Siamese cat named Cleo. Cleo didn’t like dogs, and Rex was afraid of cats. As they left the restaurant and walked to where he’d parked the bike, he’d been hoping that wasn’t a metaphor for him and Claire. And then he’d realized that he hadn’t used a word like metaphor since she’d been his study partner.
Not until they were stepping into the elevator did the hair on the back of his neck fall back into place. Who the hell was out there?
Claire pushed the button for the top floor. Huh. That would put her in one of the penthouses. If hers looked across to the other tower, to the penthouse his team had under surveillance, this evening might hold even more possibilities than he’d hoped it would.
They didn’t speak as the numbers ticked by, and then the elevator glided to a stop and the door opened with hardly a whisper. He followed Claire into a spacious and elegantly appointed foyer with a door at either end. His luck held. Keys in hand, she walked foward and opened the door he was hoping was hers.
Inside, his gaze went immediately to the wide, wraparound sweep of windows, taking in the view of Puget Sound to the west and the complex’s twin tower to the north.
Claire set her handbag and keys on the glossy black surface of a long, sleek console table, shrugged out of her jacket and hung it in the closet.
“Can I take your jacket?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Make yourself at home.”
He took a good look around and thought, Holy shit. So this is how the other half lives. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a home that was less homey. The space was huge and sprawling, with magazine-worthy living and dining areas, and an open kitchen that would hold half the basement suite he’d rented after he and Sherri split. Aside from the bare essentials, he had yet to furnish the place.
Claire had said the ex’s investments had done well. Either the guy had been filthy rich to start with, or she was the queen of understatement. Or the reality lay someplace in between.
“Impressive,” he said, crossing the polished wood floor, ostensibly to take in the view but instead zeroing in on his target in the neighboring tower. Bingo.
“That’s what everyone says. The view is what I’ll miss most after I...we sell the place.”
“I can see why,” he said, keeping the conversation moving while he scanned the neighboring penthouse his team had under surveillance.
Blinds obscured the bedroom windows where clients were “entertained,” but the main area was wide open. With proper surveillance equipment, he’d be able to see everyone who came and went from the place, including those who “worked” there. Tomorrow, first thing, he would talk to his sergeant. They didn’t like to involve civilians if it could be avoided, but this was too fine an opportunity to pass up.
“What kind of coffee would you like?”
He backed away from the window, turned and found himself caught in the green slitty-eyed gaze of a regal-looking Siamese cat. This would be Chloe. She sat on one end of the long, sleek black leather sofa, all four paws tucked out of sight beneath her, tail wrapped snugly around half her body. Suspecting the haughty feline would produce one of those hidden paws and shred his hand if he tried to pet her, he gave her a wide berth as he circled around the island to join Claire in the kitchen.
“What are my choices?”
“You can have anything you like.”
“Can I?”
Even the tip of her nose turned pink. “Cappuccino? Latte?”
He studied the elaborate-looking stainless-steel espresso machine on the counter. “Looks complicated. Does it make just plain coffee?”
“Of course.” She opened cupboards, reached for cups, took the lid off a canister and scooped out some coffee grounds.
He leaned against the island, while she turned her attention to the machine, and watched her work, admiring the way her blue sweater curved to the contours of her waist and hips. To his surprise, he liked that her invitation to come up for coffee really meant coffee. That hardly ever happened. There was a time he would have nailed a woman the second they stumbled into the apartment, and a time before that when he’d have jumped her in the elevator. Now he was making do with coffee with the one woman he’d always wanted to make out with, because Claire DeAngelo was way too good for a dry hump in a corner of an elevator.
“Here you go.” She held out a tall, steaming mug of coffee, smiled up at him and trailed her fingertips across the back of his hand when he took the cup from her.
Was she flirting? Huh. Maybe coffee wasn’t just coffee, after all. Before he could figure that out, she picked up her latte cup and saucer, took a sip and smiled as she swiped the foam off her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. Okay, that was no accident. He set his coffee on the counter, took hers and placed it next to his and locked gazes with her.
Aw, hell. He’d recognize that smolder anywhere. And yeah, he wanted this, really wanted it, but this had to be her call. Completely. She might not want to make the first move, but she needed to give him another sign if she wanted him to make it.
Her tongue played an encore across her bottom lip.
Did she have any idea how this affected him?
Her smile suggested she did.
He groaned and pulled her into his arms. “You’re sure about this?”
She leaned into him, smile gone, eyes even darker.
Please