Perhaps what struck her the most, though, were his piercing blue eyes. They were hard, exuding no-nonsense focus. Oh, God. He was everything she feared and loathed about police, and men in general.
“I’m Carrie Price. Thanks for coming.” She held out her hand, unsure of how to act around a police officer who wasn’t eyeing her with suspicion and wishing she wasn’t making accusations of the most powerful man in town.
This cop briefly looked surprised, but then took her hand in his. It was warm. Firm. A thick callus at the base of his thumb abraded her skin. His fingers swallowed hers up, intimidating as heck. Sometimes she really hated being as tiny as she was.
“Bastien LeBlanc.” In person, his Acadian drawl was more pronounced than over the phone.
She nodded, tongue-tied, and settled for turning and heading upstairs. She was vividly aware of him behind her, with a critical view of her rear end. Not that her behind was anything to write home about. She enjoyed running and tried to keep reasonably toned, but everything about her was small in scale. She could never compete with tall, voluptuous women with miles of curves.
Thankfully, she reached the third floor without falling on her face or otherwise humiliating herself. “Computer’s over here.” She headed for the kitchen table, which she had converted to a workspace. “Watch out for the power cords,” she murmured, stepping over an orange extension cord.
“Roger,” the scary detective replied.
That sounded more military than law enforcement. But then, he took the chair she indicated, and she reached over his shoulder to cue up the tape—and the scent of him knocked all rational thought right out of her head. He smelled like...warmth. His cologne was subtle and spicy and entirely edible. It totally didn’t mesh in her mind with the frowning, badass cop.
“I’m the camera operator for a TV show called America’s Ghosts, hosted by Gary Hubbard. I shot this footage of him earlier tonight.”
Gary’s deep voice filled the awkward silence and his image walked backward down the alley onscreen. She watched Detective LeBlanc from behind without comment, letting him form his own first impression.
The two men in black appeared, Gary turned around, and the men dragged him away. The whole incident took less than thirty seconds to play.
“Again,” the detective ordered, his eyes never leaving the screen.
She leaned forward to restart the footage, and her arm brushed against his, her face coming dangerously close to his ear. She jumped, as alarmed as if she’d poked a bear. She might not take crap from Gary, but cops turned her into a terrified teen all over again.
While the detective watched the video, she furtively watched him, noting the tiny frown of concentration, and the way muscles in his jaw rippled as his face tensed. He must be watching the abduction bit now.
He glanced up and caught her blatantly scoping him out. She looked away hastily, her heart racing as if she’d just sprinted a mile. She felt her cheeks heating up. Sheesh, this man made her uncomfortable.
“You said you can do stop-action on this machine?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to run the last part of the video, where the assailants grab Mr. Hubbard, frame by frame.”
She almost said, “Yes, sir,” but managed to mumble, “Coming up,” instead. She had to reach past him again to operate her mouse, and her left breast brushed his right arm by accident. She sucked in a sharp breath and kept her horrified gaze locked on the computer screen. Thankfully, he just leaned forward to study the screen closely as she advanced the video one frame at a time, each frame progressing by one forty-eighth of a second.
“There. Stop,” LeBlanc bit out, startling her. She stopped the video and stared at the image. The two black figures had a hold of Gary and appeared to be goose-stepping him away from her. She’d already seen it a dozen times.
LeBlanc poked at the screen. “Look at how this one is holding Mr. Hubbard’s hand. He’s twisting your boss’s hand behind his back and forcing his forearm upward with the hold.”
“And that’s significant why?” she asked.
“It’s a technique military members are taught for subduing prisoners.”
She frowned. “Would police use the same grip?”
He grinned up at her briefly, and she gasped inwardly as his smile lit up the dingy apartment. “Naw. Cops use handcuffs.”
“I’ll bet that’s what you say to all the girls,” she shot back. The smart remark was out of her mouth before she could stop it. “Oh, crap. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that—”
“No worries. And no, that’s not in my usual repertoire of pickup lines.”
“You have a repertoire?” Darn it, she’d done it again! This guy was a cop, for crying out loud. Lord, he threw her off balance.
His mouth twitched, hopefully with humor. Great. At best, he thought she was ridiculous. At worst, he thought she was an annoying twit. Not that she could blame him. She was a hot mess tonight.
Frantic to distract him, she mumbled, “What does it mean that one of his captors used some special grip on him?”
The detective’s muscular shoulder lifted in a shrug. “It’s a detail we can use to help identify the assailants.”
“You think that was a real abduction then?” she blurted.
“I do.”
Panic erupted in her belly and promptly tried to claw its way out of her throat. Suddenly she felt light-headed and faintly nauseated. “But who...?” she gasped. “Why?”
The detective surged to his feet, looming over her. He grasped her upper arms in his powerful hands and guided her over to the sofa, where he sat her down. Which was probably wise. The room spun around her and lights danced before her eyes.
“Take a deep breath, Miss Price. Hold it for one, two, three. Now exhale slowly. Three. Two. One.”
He talked her through several more breaths, and they helped her brain engage again. Still. She couldn’t seem to keep her hands from fidgeting uncontrollably. She plucked at the seam in her jeans and then wrung her hands and tugged at her T-shirt. He sat down beside her and his hands closed over hers as she stared at him in anguish.
His gaze wasn’t the least bit gentle. Thank God. She would’ve burst into tears then and there. But maybe that was a hint of sympathy lurking at the back of his deep blue eyes. Huh. The tough guy might just be human beneath that hard façade.
She wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers up over her head, and curl up in a little ball with Mr. Paddles, her stuffed turtle. Which was weird if she stopped to think about it. She didn’t revert to little girl behaviors, well, pretty much ever. Not since she’d run away from home all those years ago. She’d been barely more than a child then.
The detective spoke not exactly gently, but less harshly than before. “The New Orleans Police will do everything we can to find Mr. Hubbard as quickly as possible.”
“You’re sure it’s not a prank?” she asked in a small voice.
“I don’t think it is. Mr. Hubbard’s body language in the video is consistent with genuine surprise and fear as he’s being dragged away.”
“I followed them down the alley. I couldn’t run because the camera would jostle too much, but I walked at a good clip. It was under a minute until I reached the end of the alley. Where could they have gone in so little time? God, I’m such an idiot—” She broke off as it dawned on her she was babbling.
The detective snorted. “With a minute’s head start, they could have thrown your boss into a vehicle and driven away without you ever seeing their taillights.”
Her breathing started to speed