Immortal Distraction (2 page)

When she snapped at the officer for no reason whatsoever, the poor man’s mouth practically hit the pavement. He didn’t deserve it, she didn’t care, and she almost laughed at how effective her voice was. Inappropriate of course, but she was in no mood for the bullshit male ego she had to deal with all the time. Brit didn’t let things slide. She didn’t let herself get sidetracked by life. She didn’t give any one of the many male uniforms an excuse to try to push her out of her job as homicide detective.

When her cell phone rang while she was interviewing people in the area, she saw it was the precinct. She ignored it, knowing they’d call Humphreys if they couldn’t reach her. She didn’t care if Humphreys had to field the call. He was likely hiding out somewhere chain-smoking instead of doing his job, and it served him right in her opinion. But when she finally got around to listening to the message, her heart started to flutter, and she was damn glad they’d left her a message rather than calling Humphreys. A lead.

She was tired. She was more than tired. But this was Brit’s life. She didn’t know how to stop moving forward, to stop striving, to stop fighting to be the best at what she did. She caught the bad people, specifically the ones who took it upon themselves to determine the end of another person’s life. And she now had a lead. Exhaustion be damned; she’d sleep when she was dead.

Chapter 3

She waved the valet off when she pulled up behind an Infiniti SUV idling at the curb in front of the impressive old building in the heart of Boston’s Beacon Hill neighborhood. Her Crown Vic was no Infiniti, but she had no intention of letting the man move her car, and if he didn’t like it parked right in front of the building, she really didn’t give a shit. As she made her way through the rotating door to the interior, she was met with warmth. It was cold out and starting to snow again. Her exhaustion was only made worse by the chill in the air, and the moment she was inside, her body breathed a relaxing sigh. Cold made her muscles tense, and when she couldn’t seem to get caught up on sleep, the tension made her feel all the more worn down.

At the very moment she approached the two elevators, one opened, and a man and women exited. They walked hand in hand and eyed her curiously as they passed. The woman, younger than the man and beautiful in a completely authentic sort of way, smiled warmly at her. They were both pale, but then, so was she. Brit always had been, especially in winter when the sun seemed to disappear for weeks on end. They looked oddly perfect together, and their regard for one another was quite intense and gave Brit an unusual moment of jealousy … but only a moment. The man seemed to care little for anything but the woman at his side, and as his glance moved quickly past Brit to peer down at the woman, he smirked gently and winked at her. She smiled in return. It was intimate and damn unfair.

As they approached the desk where the valet was now sitting, he smiled warmly at the woman and nodded to the gentleman. “Mr. and Mrs. Solomon, it’s good to see you. I wasn’t aware you were in town until just shortly ago. Congratulations on the recent marriage. Your car is at the curb.

“Thanks so much, Jonathan. It’s good to see you as well, and thank you for the well wishes.” The woman spoke while the man remained silent at her side, never removing his touch from her, and as they turned to exit the building, the woman looked back at Brit over her shoulder. “Good evening, Detective.” And then they were gone. Brit stepped in the elevator, shaking her head as she walked. Her badge was concealed at her waist under the bottom of her shirt, and while her revolver was at her back hip, she hadn’t shown the couple her back.

As the elevator ascended, her nerves started fluttering about in her stomach, leaving her nauseous and her hands clammy. Brit always felt this way when she was on the verge. It was the verge she sought constantly. The verge that led slowly to the unraveling of the story. Sometimes she knew well and without question why she was on the verge. Other times she had no idea where the instinctual understanding that she was close to something important came from. This was one such time.

The man’s assistant had called her, after all, offering the man’s help. He was “close” to her suspect, or so she’d been told, and while she had no real reason to believe he might actually have useful information to give her, she was still certain she was on the verge, and it left her stomach knotting, churning, burning, and bile rising in her throat as she inhaled through her nose to stifle the nerves. It would pass.

The elevator lurched to a gentle stop and the doors parted. A man stood before her. Her instinct, the very one that told her she was close to something important, told her this was not her destination; this was not … Angus.

“Good evening. You must be Brit Sutton. Please…”

She cut him off quickly. “Detective.”

“Of course. My apologies, Detective. Please follow me. Angus is waiting.” Damn formal type. Just as well. Brit had no real understanding of the upper crust. Had never had much experience with these type of people, but they seemed to have the odd effect of raising her guard just enough that her composure snapped to attention, and what was normally shown as a cold, determined demeanor became all the more confident. A defense mechanism to protect herself from people she didn’t understand but an effective one in her line of work.

Her heels clicked on the dark marble floor as she followed the man. He appeared fairly young with a full head of sandy-blond hair. He was handsome, but he was certainly not in charge in this place. The sconces that lined the walls emitted a warm light, not the least bit bright, but their reflection could be easily seen in the sheen of the well-polished stone floor. When he stopped outside a door at the end of the hallway, he nodded curtly before moving away from her and returning from the direction they’d come.

What the hell? Brit had no idea what type of building this actually was. Were they apartments, businesses? It looked more like very expensive condos, but not a one of the doors had a number or letter on it, so it was indiscernible and left Brit only guessing as to whether she ought to knock or simply enter. Well if she could leave her unwelcome Crown Vic at the curb, she could sure as hell turn the doorknob with her unwelcome hand. She didn’t give a fuck what reception lay beyond the door, so long as she passed beyond the verge.

When the door opened as she was just reaching for the knob with only a fraction of an inch to go, she nearly stumbled forward. The man suddenly standing in front of her watched her carefully. His focus shifted to her hand, which still hung poised for the knob that was no longer within reach, and his gaze moved back up to her eyes, refusing to look away and without so much as a hint of intimidation. But then, why should he be? She was standing like a moron in front of him, her cool, controlled demeanor anything but at the moment. When his lips pulled up in a rather seductive smirk, she faltered even further as she sucked in a quick and loud breath. Well this wasn’t at all how she’d intended to start the meeting. Or was he starting the meeting?

“And here I thought you’d be some stuffy old bull dyke of a pseudo man. Can’t say I expected you to be so stunning. I’m Angus Scott. Please come in.” He backed away from the door, inviting her in as she stared into his face. She was trying to glare, but the feel of her facial muscles said it was more a look of shock on her face.

He
was stunning. His eyes were the most crystal-blue color she’d ever seen. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, and his skin as pale as the beautiful couple in the lobby. Talk about a cool and calm demeanor. Frankly, he was kicking her demeanor’s ass with his composure.

Brit cleared her throat, tightened her jaw, straightened her back, and took the first step forward as he watched. “I’m Detective Brit Sutton, and I can’t see how my appearance has anything at all to do with why I’m here.” He chuckled, said nothing, but extended his arm in invitation to enter. She brushed past him, trying her hardest to rein in her nerves. It would pass. The nerves always passed. But as she stepped past him and waited for him to lead her farther, she felt his hand at the small of her back as he gently pushed her forward. The fluttering in her stomach turned to an all-out crashing wave of warmth that rushed through her body, and she had to admit, perhaps these nerves were here to stay … and perhaps she might actually enjoy them, inappropriate as they were.

After a long, exhausting day that woke her far sooner than her body was ready to rise and left her to stare at yet another mutilated body, she wasn’t at all sure she didn’t want to hang onto the pleasant pulse working its way through her body. It was about as familiar to Brit as arousal of any sort was.

His home was amazing. The marble floors continued into his residence, and as she passed within, she couldn’t help but take in the high ceilings above her—at least two stories. The interior was open, and a kitchen sat along one wall with a large island and bar, the living room was situated in the center of the room, and then a large desk sat in front of tall French doors that led to a balcony beyond. While the building had been renovated to a cold, contemporary state, his furnishings were nothing like it. It was a beautiful blend of contemporary surroundings with furniture that nearly looked antique—simple straight lines, but still very old and comfortable.

As he ushered her to the nearby sofa, never removing his hand from her back, she turned toward him to step out of his reach. His hand brushed over the revolver that sat on the back of her hip as it went, and she stepped farther from his reach. His brow arched as he regarded her curiously, and he watched her with his incredible blue eyes.

Her heart was racing, and she was panicking to find a way to stay in control of this meeting with a man who most definitely was very used to being in control of his world. “Please have a seat, Brit.”

“Detective.” She was trying for strength and confidence, but it was more a struggle than it ought to be. His only response was a subtle smile, and a quiet hum emitted from his lips as though he was amused by her.

She sat as if on command, regretting that she’d not stayed on her feet for longer or refused the gesture, but the moment her butt hit the soft leather of the sofa, her tired muscles thanked her brain for not being too stubborn. He sat kitty-corner from her on a chair. When Brit pulled her small digital recorder from her pocket, he stilled her with a cool hand on her own. She should have pulled away, but instead, she watched him. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you had pertinent information on a case I’m working on. It is why I took this meeting after all.” He smiled at her words but gave her no other reaction.

It was only after many long, uncomfortable moments of silence that he finally responded. “You’re here because I offered my services.” She started to scoff before he cut her off. “I’ve been told you’re looking for Driscoll DeMarco to question him about possible information regarding an unsolved murder in Four Corners…”

It was her turn to cut him off and proverbially pound her chest like Tarzan. “Try four murders. Two in Four Corners, one in Codman Square, and one just this morning in Mattapan.” And as he regarded her impassively, processing her sudden surge of confidence, she continued, “And I don’t want to question him about possible
information
; I want to question him about possible
involvement
. Frankly, I don’t need your permission to do either. I’m here as a courtesy. Your assistant contacted us, might I remind you. I’m simply following up.”

“Ah, yes. I see. So, tell me, do you actually know where Mr. DeMarco is?” His brow arched as he held her gaze firmly with his own. She didn’t have a fucking clue where the man was, and he damn well knew it. And yes, that was why she was truly there. “That’s what I thought.” And then, leaning toward her with a harsh glint in his eyes, he spoke again, losing every last shred of his calm seductive demeanor. “I’m well aware you can’t find DeMarco. If you could, you wouldn’t be here. So, if you want my help, I suggest you drop the attitude, sweetness. You’ve told me nothing I don’t already know, so it would seem you need my help far more than I have any interest or need for you. You’d do well to remember that.”

“I don’t need…”

“The fuck you don’t.” He had righted his posture and was regarding her coolly, harshly. “Would you prefer to scamper around the seedier parts of Boston for the next two months as you have for the last?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Do you know where he is?” She was trying desperately to regain control of this conversation.

Brit was always in control. She ran the interview, but even as she told herself that, trying to convince herself, her confidence wavered. How had this man managed with but a few sentences and a cool blue gaze to take the reins so easily? She was skilled at directing the show, always had been. It was half the reason she’d risen through the ranks where other women had failed. She could hold her own. It was contrived of course. She was always trembling like a leaf on the inside, but she was damn good at maintaining control on the outside. Brit didn’t relinquish control of a conversation, no matter how big or small, important or nonessential, to a man. It was the only way to stay in front of the pack, and that was the only place for a woman in her position to be.

“I don’t. But I know his family well, and I thought, perhaps, I could help get him in touch with you. His family will be no help to you; of this, I can assure you. They guard their privacy jealously, but I don’t relish the idea of having bad blood between the family and the police.”

“You make them sound like the mafia. I have no information that DeMarco is involved in organized crime. Do I need to be concerned of this?” Would she actually believe the answer he gave her? Why had she even asked for that matter? This man wasn’t her ally. She had no reason to trust his actions in any way. But … he’d nailed the nail on the head—she didn’t have a fucking clue where DeMarco was, and absent a big neon sign pointing at his head, she needed the help. Her verge was disappearing under her feet with every passing minute, but she wasn’t willing to accept that it might be out of her grasp.