Navy Seal Cop. Cindy Dees
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He never spent the whole night out. He always crawled home, his back teeth awash in beer, and slept it off, snoring like a chainsaw. If she’d had any doubt last night about the authenticity of his kidnapping, that doubt was fully erased this morning.
She stepped into a loud, messy squad room with a dozen desks in it, all of them piled high with papers and manila folders. Men and women talked on phones or talked to each other, and zydeco music twanged from a low-quality radio somewhere.
A few men spotted her and eyed her up and down while she scanned the room nervously for Detective LeBlanc. She didn’t see him, however.
But then a big hand cupped her elbow from behind and she jumped about a foot in the air.
“Easy, darlin’. It’s just me,” a familiar voice drawled behind her. Detective LeBlanc. “Let’s go find ourselves a nice, quiet spot where we can talk without these guys ogling you like a bunch of Neanderthals.”
The tone in his voice was fond. Affectionate, even. He liked his coworkers. Huh. So ice didn’t run in his veins, after all. It was one of the first signs of genuine humanity she’d seen in him, other than his reluctant flashes of compassion last night.
Shouts and insults came back at LeBlanc in response to his remark, and he responded in kind. Then he shook his head, grinning, and guided her out of the squad room.
She liked this more relaxed version of the good detective, although she didn’t know whether to be complimented or embarrassed that he’d pulled her away from the other officers.
He escorted her down the hall and opened an unmarked door, poked his head in, then stood back to open it fully for her. He slid a plastic sign that said In Use into a slot on the door, and ushered her inside.
It smelled like a urinal that had been cleaned with scented bleach in a failed effort to mask the underlying stench. The detective pulled out a metal chair for her and held it while she sat down. A metal bar stretched across the table in front of her. LeBlanc sat opposite her, and she set the computer on the table.
“What’s that for?” she asked, gesturing at the bar.
“We handcuff violent suspects to it.”
Oh, crap. Was she a suspect? Is that why he’d brought her into what was clearly some sort of interrogation room? It even had the big glass mirror on the wall that everyone knew was a one-way window. She glanced up, and sure enough, there was a camera in the corner near the ceiling.
“Why don’t you show me the computer?” LeBlanc suggested.
Right. Gary’s laptop. She opened the screen and quickly typed in the password. Then she handed the device over to him. He took it without comment and spent the next few minutes browsing through it. She thought she was going to explode with impatience before he finally looked up at her again. Surely there was some sort of clue on it that a detective could spot right away. They had to find Gary before something bad happened to him.
“You hungry?” he asked.
Food? He could think of food at a time like this? Heck, she could hardly remember to breathe. “Excuse me?” she mumbled.
“Are you hungry? You know. Desirous of partaking in food to break one’s fast or to satiate hunger pains?”
She rolled her eyes at him, and then took personal inventory. “I guess I could eat.” She’d forgotten to do so last night after she’d gotten home, and a half slice of dry toast this morning hadn’t done much to satiate her hunger pains. Gary’s kidnapping had been a wee bit distracting.
“Lemme pass this laptop to the tech boys and then you and me, we’re gonna go get some breakfast.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t use police resources to track down Gary for two days.”
“I think we can make an exception given that we have actual film of the abduction. Which reminds me, I’ll need a copy of that to pass to the forensics guys.”
“I thought you might.” She dug in her purse and came up with a thumb drive. “I copied the video footage onto that.” She dug again. “And here’s the list of people who work on the show in New York. I tried to call the producer a while ago, but he didn’t pick up his phone. When I hear back from him, I’ll check to make sure I didn’t miss anyone.”
“Perfect.” He took everything from her and swung by the squad room to drop off the list. He handed it to an attractive female officer who made Carrie feel completely inadequate. The woman detective was tall, confident-looking, and curvy. All the things Carrie was not. The woman even joked around casually with Detective LeBlanc. If there was a nice big rock anywhere around here, Carrie would just go ahead and crawl under it now.
Unlike the female detective, she completely sucked at being around other people. Some people even accused her of being antisocial. She preferred to think of herself as a loner. Not that she’d always been that way, of course. She’d had lots of friends in high school. And she and Shelly had been inseparable—
LeBlanc touched her elbow again, and again, she jumped. Lord, that man made her nervous. He ushered her upstairs to a lab of some kind. A harassed-looking guy jotted down Gary’s password and took the laptop and thumb drive off the detective’s hands with a promise to get to them as soon as possible.
LeBlanc placed a hand on the small of her back as he guided her into a crowded elevator, but she was prepared for the contact this time. It was nothing personal, of course. Surely a man like him would see nothing of interest in a shy, antisocial girl like her.
She did notice that he was using his big body to block her from the other riders in the elevator car. Was he protecting her, or was he subtly taking custody of her? It was hard to tell.
Darned if she could think of anything else but that big, warm palm resting lightly on the small of her back as they rode the elevator down to the first floor. Normally, she disliked men touching her. But this one’s hand was sending all kinds of crazy responses through her body. And they weren’t all bad. Which was a little shocking. Since when had she decided men—cops—were okay?
She breathed a sigh of relief when he guided her out of the crowded elevator and into the morning hustle and bustle of the French Quarter. His hand fell away from her, but the memory of it was still sending bolts of lightning zinging through her and still confusing her completely as to what it meant.
“I know a little joint around the corner that makes the best beignets in the Big Easy.”
She normally didn’t do dessert for breakfast, but this morning, she was all over the idea of a huge greasy donut doused in powdered sugar. “Lead on,” she declared.
The “joint” turned out to be long and narrow, barely wider than its double front doors, as if it had once been a bar. The detective spotted two open, high swivel stools near the back and pushed through the crowd toward the seats. He took her hand and curled his arm behind his back, not releasing her hand as he towed her along behind him in his wake. Which was just as well. People never moved out of the way for her. She was about as intimidating as a baby bunny rabbit.
She perched on her stool beside him and jumped as the man behind the bar bellowed, “’Ey, Bass! Where ya been, man?”
“Here and there,” LeBlanc said. “Saving the world. You know how it goes.”
“That I do,” the older man said shrewdly.
A portly tourist sat down on the stool beside hers, crowding her over toward LeBlanc. Her left thigh was forced into contact with his right leg, which felt like freshly forged steel pressed against hers. Their shoulders overlapped a little, although his were a hand span taller than hers.
His presence surrounded her, enveloped her. And, for the first time since the attack last night, she felt safe. Which was totally weird. Cops usually made her feel exactly the opposite. But this morning, in his presence, she could finally breathe normally again. She relished the easy slide of air in and out of her lungs.
She