Cavanaugh Undercover. Marie Ferrarella
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continued to lie exactly where he was, not flinching, not moving.
Nothing.
That was when the dirty bedspread lying beneath him finally registered with her brain. The bedspread was soaked with his blood. Tiana realized that he wasn’t just staring into oblivion; his wide-open eyes no longer saw anything at all.
A wave of panic-fueled anger seized her.
“Oh, God, no, no, no. You can’t be dead, you worthless piece of trash, do you hear me? You can’t be dead!” she cried. “You have to tell me where Janie is!”
Wayne was her only connection, her only way of finding Janie. Biting off a curse, she pressed her fingers against his neck, searching for some sign of his pulse, faint or otherwise.
There was none.
Only blood that smeared against the plastic of the gloves she’d thought to put on before she’d entered—a habit from her day job where she’d learned to be very, very cautious about leaving crime scenes undisturbed.
This was surreal. It couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t!
Dazed, unable to process any thoughts, Tiana stared at the dead man for a full moment, trying to pull herself together.
Now what do I do? her mind demanded. This waste of human skin was her only lead and he was dead.
Not only that, but he now represented a serious complication. What was she supposed to do with him?
She needed to call this in, but she couldn’t very well stand around, waiting for them to arrive. She was going to have to make it an anonymous call to get them over here. Otherwise, there’d be too much to explain to them, and she didn’t have time for that. All along, as she drove here, she’d been fighting an ever-increasing feeling of urgency. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that she had to find Janie before it was too late.
There was this very real fear eating away at her that if she didn’t find her sister soon, she never would. Victims caught up in the stranglehold of sex traffickers could vanish in an instant.
Yet she couldn’t just leave this body here like this. It went against everything she was ever trained to do.
A compromise was in order. Since Wayne was already dead, Tiana decided that she’d call the police once she was well clear of here. From a pay phone—if she could locate one—so the call couldn’t be traced back to her. She didn’t have time for lengthy explanations or interrogations.
Returning her weapon to its holster beneath her jacket, she looked one last time at the person who had caused her so much grief. There was no pity, no sympathy for a life cut short. She felt nothing other than frustration. It occurred to her that she would have felt worse about any roadkill she encountered.
Crossing to the door, she threw it open, intending to run.
Only to find herself smack up against what would have been a solid brick wall had it not moved back even as it grabbed her by the shoulders.
Heart pounding as she tried to get herself together, Tiana simultaneously shook off the hold on her shoulders and pulled out her weapon for a second time in five minutes.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, anger usurping the fear she felt.
“Someone with a gun pointed at him,” Brennan remarked, his hands partially raised out of respect for the weapon aimed at his chest.
He found himself looking even more intently at the petite redhead with wide blue eyes. But, despite her stature—was she even five two without those sexy-looking black stilts she was passing off as shoes?—she gave the impression of strength. Not the kind of outer strength that could easily lift heavy objects but the kind of inner strength that was able to move mountains.
Brennan had the impression that this redheaded powerhouse was a force to be reckoned with. And he found himself rather looking forward to that encounter.
Trained to make quick judgments, he swiftly took in the room, assessing what he saw. Sent only with the instruction to “tie up any loose ends” as a way of proving himself, he realized that he’d apparently walked into the middle of something unsavory.
“Mind pointing that somewhere else? You can point it at him,” he suggested, nodding at the body on the bed, “since you seem to have already killed him.”
The suggestion as well as his assumption took Tiana by surprise. “You think I shot him?” Pausing to review the scene, she knew how it appeared. She needed to do some quick explaining—if this man actually believed what he’d just said.
“Why not?” he asked rhetorically. “You’re the one with the gun.” As he spoke, he slowly lowered his hands, watching her intently as he did so for some sign that she’d shoot if he dropped them completely. “A woman can pull a trigger just as easily as a man—and then there’re those neat gloves you’re wearing—” he nodded at her hands “—so you don’t leave any fingerprints. Looks like you’ve got all the bases covered.” He cocked his head, as if daring her to prove his theory wrong.
“I’m cautious,” Tiana countered, referring to the plastic gloves. “But he was already dead when I came in. I found him this way,” she emphasized pointedly.
“And just how did you come to ‘find’ him in the first place?”
Tiana couldn’t tell if the man she was talking to was a cop or part of the organization she suddenly realized she needed to track down. What she did know was that he was a lot bigger than she was and she had a feeling that he was pretty quick, as well. She might have a shot at outrunning him, but then what?
If he was part of the organization that dealt in sex trafficking, he might be her best shot at finding Janie. That meant making nice with him.
How nice?
Not that, she couldn’t help thinking, being “nice” to this man would exactly be a miserable hardship, strictly speaking.
There was no doubt about the fact that the man was good-looking. Not the kind of good-looking that might be noticed peripherally in passing, but the kind of tall, dark and handsome good-looking that brought you to a jarring halt no matter what you were doing and had you staring, absolutely mesmerized by deep blue eyes that seemed to look into the most private corners of your soul.
Her mind scrambled for a plausible story. A kernel of an idea came to her. Utilizing it, she made up the rest of it as she went along.
“I have a phobia about catching something I shouldn’t. These are just a precaution.” She held up one hand as an illustration of her point. “I also like staying under the police’s radar.”
“Why’s that?”
Her eyes on his, she carefully holstered her gun. It was a gesture of good faith—one she hoped she wouldn’t regret.
“You a cop?” she asked.
Brennan laughed.
“Do I look like a cop?” he challenged, amusement highlighting a rather rugged face.
Tiana studied the stranger for a moment. He was tall, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, not to mention rather impressively dressed in a gray suit that undoubtedly set him back a bit. They were making bad guys better looking these days.
“You’ve got the jaw for it,” she quipped.
“But not the taste,” he pointed out. “Mine’s expensive,” he explained. “A cop’s salary wouldn’t begin to pay for one of my suits.” The corners of his mouth curved. “Okay, I showed you mine. You show me yours.”
She realized he was alluding to being part of the organization. Here went nothing. “I’m new in town and looking for fresh talent.”
“Him?” Brennan asked, a skeptical frown taking over his face.
Tiana laughed harshly. “Hardly. I came to talk to him because