at the Bureau, he’d be a lost cause.
Evelyn Davis wasn’t just beautiful—she was a knockout of epic proportions.
The rumors of her past life as a supermodel paled in comparison to the goddess staring back at him. He locked eyes with her sapphire gaze and his stomach tightened. He swallowed hard.
Focus, Moretti.
He saw Kessler motion them forward. Evelyn tossed her coat over the back of her chair and said something to her partner that Marcus couldn’t make out. Her partner smiled a tight, wary smile and followed her to Kessler’s office. Shit. Nothing like starting out on the defensive.
Marcus pulled his gaze away from Evelyn’s lips and studied the two detectives as they approached. He’d requested both their files before accepting this case. Ryan O’Neil’s jacket had all the typical information. Evelyn Davis’s, on the other hand was surprisingly thin, especially for someone with her reputation. She was the reason he’d said yes to this assignment. With her experience and skill set, he definitely wanted her on his team. But he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, something was off, and he had to get to the bottom of it first. He needed to find out what, exactly, was missing from her file.
Evelyn walked into the office, her expression cautious yet questioning, reminding him of a black panther coiled to spring. He tried to read whatever he saw swirling just behind her guarded gaze, but he got nothing. He’d hate to play against her in poker. He got the feeling she would wipe the floor with his ass.
He smiled at her. She didn’t return the gesture. Well, okay, then.
“Captain?”
Kessler motioned toward him. “Detectives, this is Special Agent Marcus Moretti. The mayor called in a personal favor to have him consult on this case. Special Agent Moretti, these are my lead detectives on the cases in question, Ryan O’Neil and Evelyn Davis.”
Marcus moved from his spot and extended his hand. Ryan leaned forward first, shook Marcus’s hand, then moved aside for his partner. Marcus looked between Ryan and Evelyn as he stepped closer to her. There’s always an alpha in a partnership, so which of you is it? She reached for his hand and nodded. He locked eyes with her again. Her soft but firm grasp surprised him. He let go and crossed his arms over his chest, resuming his seat on the edge of Kessler’s desk.
The captain cleared his throat. “The mayor requested the chief bring the FBI in to consult on this case. Last night’s murder was the second in just as many weeks. We need all the help we can get to shut this down, and fast.”
“Great. We’ll get set up down the hall.” With that, she turned and walked out, followed by her partner.
Marcus’s eyebrows arched in surprise. He’d expected her to push back, not usher him into the middle of their investigation.
Kessler stood. He motioned to the door. “After you, Agent Moretti.”
Marcus followed behind the two detectives and couldn’t help but notice the way Detective Davis’s titanium-colored suit hugged her in all the right spots. Not boxy, like so many of his counterparts, but sharp, professional and feminine. The Bureau office gossip hadn’t been wrong. The woman walking into the conference room was smoking hot.
Factoring in his time as a Navy SEAL—when his life, and the lives of his team, depended on reading people—and his stint with the Behavioral Science Unit at the Bureau before being tapped for the black-site task team, Marcus could read her body language like a well-used playbook.
The guarded glances his way and the tiny muscle in her jaw tweaking. Oh, yeah. She was more than slightly pissed at his presence. He got that. Most Feds and local law enforcement had a standing feud. Each thought the others were incompetent, and unable to work a case as efficiently as they could.
He, however, didn’t subscribe to that line of thinking. Did she?
Marcus pulled out a chair, settled back and addressed the officers. “You know, contrary to popular belief, Detective Davis, agents at the FBI aren’t idiots.”
Her eyebrows shot up. A smiled played on her lips, and her eyes sparkled with silent laughter. She sat. “I don’t think FBI agents are idiots, Special Agent Moretti.”
“No?”
“Nope. As a matter of fact, one of my closest friends is FBI.” She picked up a file and tapped its edges against the long conference table. “However, I do know that some federal agents don’t like to play nice with the local police. They tend to hold their cards close to their chest while citing the oh-so-familiar, yet still completely infuriating, need-to-know line. And if we want to catch this guy before he kills again, we can’t have that. We’re on the same team, in here and out in the field. End of story.”
Marcus smiled. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Tilting his chair back, he laced his fingers together and hooked them behind his head. He watched her for a moment, intrigued. Then he leaned forward again. A sharp thud bounced off the walls as the front two legs of his chair reconnected with the floor. “Your close friend is FBI? How’d you two meet?”
There was that guarded look again.
“It’s a long story, and a personal one at that.” She stared at him, expressionless. “My apologies if this comes off as rude, but I have no intention of sharing it with you.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.”
She motioned to the case file in front of him, changing the subject. “So what do you have so far?”
This one’s all business. He normally liked that. It was his own mode of operation. But he was trying to build rapport with her. So much for that idea. He sighed, then picked up the files. “This is what my teams have pulled.”
He slid the matching files across the table. Evelyn and Ryan reached for theirs simultaneously. Marcus took note of how in sync the pair was. Was there something going on outside of the station? He made a mental note to check.
“We have info on the two families—the Garlands and the Middletons. They both lived on Mercer Island on waterfront properties. Both are families of four. Both have two daughters—”
“What are their names?” Evelyn interrupted.
“Pardon?”
“Their names? The children. What are their names?” Marcus could have sworn the piercing blue of her eyes deepened as she stared at him. “These are not just victims, Agent Moretti. Just a few days ago, they were full of life, hope, dreams.”
“I understand—”
“I don’t think you do. It’s easier to distance yourself. But it’s tragic when a person whose story just got cut short is objectified to nothing more than the title of ‘victim.’”
“Ev...” Ryan murmured in a soft warning.
She ignored him.
“Their names, Agent. You know, Cynthia Garland, age fourteen. Christina Garland, age twelve. Cynthia was caught up in the latest wave of team whoever.” Evelyn waved her hands in the air. “Christina loved all things Disney.”
She stared straight into Marcus’s face and locked eyes with him. Marcus knew she meant it as a challenge, but strangely, he didn’t feel it. He only felt drawn to her. His pulse quickened. Definitely not what he was expecting.
“Ashley Middleton, age six. Samantha Middleton, age four. Ashley loved horses and recently won her first blue ribbon at a show. Samantha wanted to be an astronaut and, according to the neighbors, liked to walk around with a flight helmet on.”
“Ev.” Ryan coughed into his fist.
She stopped short, blinked at Ryan, then glanced down, seeming flustered.
Marcus waited. Watched her closely to see how long it would take her to collect herself. She raised her