Ash Rising (DEAd Series) (19 page)

“Kicked my ass,” he gasped, throwing his arms and legs wide. “You, my friend, are something else.”

“Thanks, I think.” She tossed the towel over his head, and he made no move to push the material off his face. “But I’m the one who ended up on my ass.”

“Yes, but it took everything I had not to cry like a baby for mercy. Another ten seconds and I would have. I’m not joking,” he added when she laughed.

“I’m going to cool down with a short jog. Care to join me?”

“Guess I have to if I want to keep my manly image.” He didn’t move. “In just a second.”

“I’ll grab my sweatshirt.”

He groaned dramatically but got to his feet. Emma shook her head with a snort as she moved toward where she had left her bag.

“I’m going to put on some sweatpants. I’ll meet you outside,” Jim told her as he searched through his bag on the floor next to hers. He pulled a dark knit cap over his head before ducking into the locker room.

“Be right there.”

Another inspector approached her to talk about kickboxing as she pulled the sweatshirt over her tank and re-secured her long hair, and she did a couple of stretches before heading outside to find Jim.

A number of people filled the courtyard, either finishing a workout or getting ready to train. Jim stood a short distance away, stretching against the wall of the building with his head—topped with the dark cap—bent between his arms. Ah, the perfect opportunity to get payback for the takedown he’d laid on her. She crept up behind him and moved to the side to get a good angle. He looked bigger in sweats, taller and much more buff. What she’d thought was a little paunch in his loose shorts proved to be broad, hard muscle in the clinging sweatpants and T-shirt. Who knew he had such great shoulders? Or such a spectacular ass? She jerked her eyes away, mortified she’d ogled his behind and even more shocked at the tingle of awareness—sexual awareness—over Jim, for crying out loud.

Embarrassment put more force behind the sneaky kick than she intended. She checked her swing, but the blow never even got close. Somehow, he spun and blocked as she let her foot fly toward his side, knocking her leg away with his wrist. In the next second, he shoved her against the block wall and held her in place with his forearm across her throat. Emma stared, shocked, into Inspector Asher Beaulieu’s angry blue eyes.

Her first thought was
thank God I was turned on by him and not Jim. What a great ass.
The second was
oh, shit.

He leaned into her, breathing more heavily than the situation should warrant. Digging her nails into the bare arm pressing into her windpipe, she forced her body to go lax and repressed the instinct to fight. He held the advantage of position and strength. Struggling would only make her predicament worse

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he growled, and damn it, she was turned on again. Still. Whatever.

She struggled briefly, but she’d been right. Fighting him did no good. “Could you maybe let me go?”

“Are you going to kick me again?”

“I’m not making any promises.” She sank her nails deeper into his skin. A brow arched, and she clenched her teeth against the urge to bite it off.

“Really? Because—”

“Hey. What’s going on?” Jim appeared behind Beaulieu.

“She attacked me from behind. Tried to kick me.” Beaulieu’s gaze drifted down to her mouth.

“I thought he was you,” Emma said to Jim, but she didn’t glance away from the inspector’s mesmerizing face.

“Yeah, because we look so much alike.” Ash’s tone held a suspicious dryness. Emma would have thought he was being funny, but she didn’t think he had a sense of humor.

“It’s the damn hat. And the stupid Force-issued sweats.”
She made another effort to free herself but gave up with a frustrated huff when he tightened his hold.

The inspector glanced at the knit cap Jim wore, identical to the one on his head. He swept the incriminating fabric off with his free hand, exposing his dark, rumpled hair, and deliberately deepened his accent. “We call it a toque, eh?”

Jim grinned but wiped the expression from his face when Emma glared. “Don’t tell me she tried to roundhouse you. She’s lethal with those legs.”

Inspector Beaulieu jerked, and his gaze dropped. His eyes got stuck on her chest heaving under his arm, and he stiffened before stepping back. Emma was mortified when she fell forward at the release of pressure on her throat and crashed into him. He caught her but immediately set her away as if she smelled bad.

“You need to work on your approach.” Standing ramrod straight, he looked every inch the cool, detached man she’d seen at the Salvatore crime scene. She must have mistaken the flare of heat in his eyes. “I heard you coming from the time you left the building.”

“I could have taken you. I just held back,” she muttered, full of chagrined bravado.

That damned brow arched again as he pointedly eyed where she rubbed her throat. “Care to try again and see if the outcome is any different?”

She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to wipe the smug, superior look off his damn pretty face. But, unfortunately, that pretty face was attached to a killer bod with lightning reflexes. He’d filled out a bit—quite a bit—since the last time she’d seen him. He’d been much too thin when they’d first been introduced in the clearing standing over Rico Salvatore’s body a couple months earlier. Thin, yes, but his masculine appeal had been blatant and compelling even then.

“Um, Ash, you remember DEA Special Agent Emma Justice.” Jim looked back and forth between them.

“I remember.”

“You do?” she asked doubtfully, giving him the eyebrow arch right back.

He’d barely acknowledged her presence when they’d met, and she… She’d been much too intrigued. Her subsequent reading of his file had only whetted that interest.

“Yeah,” he affirmed gruffly. His gaze slid down her body before he forced it back to meet hers.

“That’s right. You were both there when they found Salvatore.” Jim cleared his throat and shifted as they held each other’s stare, neither willing to look away
first. “So, uh, Emma—”

“Is that how people introduce themselves in the States?” Beaulieu asked. “Got to tell you, I’ve been there before, and no one ever kicked me just to make an impression.”

Emma refused to blink. Even the slightest show of weakness would be a sign of defeat. Sure he was used to having women turn into blathering idiots around him, her pride wouldn’t allow her to be bunched with simpering groupies.

“We only kick the special ones,” she sneered. Jim coughed, and the harsh sound gave her the excuse she needed to stop staring at Beaulieu.

“So I’m special, huh?” He grinned, crossing his arms over his wide chest and bracing his legs slightly apart. He looked ready to take on the world, and she wanted to let him start with her.

“Yeah.” A derisive snort escaped her. “You’re special, all right.”

Emma refused to give an inch as she glared, refused to let his looks distract her. An American among Canadians, a DEA agent among Mounties, and one of the few women among men, she had to be careful—more careful than most. Taking a deliberate step back, she came up hard against the wall and stifled the urge to punch him for the brief flash of amusement that crossed his face when she banged her head. She called on every ounce of her willpower not to rub the stinging spot.

“And to think, we barely know each other. You have no idea how special I can be.” His voice was a low rumble.

“Oh, yeah?” Her eloquence was stunning. “Well, let me tell you something, Inspector—”

“Oh, Emma,” Jim interrupted in a singsong voice. “Jogging, remember? Working out? With me?”

He pantomimed running, pumping his arms at his sides with an open-mouthed smile and raised brows.

“Yes, of course.” Damn it, she blushed. She could tell by the amusement flashing across Beaulieu’s handsome features. “Inspector. It’s been a pleasure.”

His smirk grew, and as he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. “Don’t even. If you say anything about pleasure—mine or yours—I will kick you again.”

His mouth opened once more, and she pointed a finger at him.

“I’d expect better from you. Let me know when you can come up with something other than a tired old cliché. Eh?” She mocked his accent and turned to Jim. “Ready?”

His wide eyes went from her to Beaulieu and then back. He nodded, and she fell into step beside him as they jogged down the well-marked trail, leaving the inspector behind. Silence reigned, but Emma caught Jim casting her sidelong looks.

“What?” she finally asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

He shrugged and kept a steady pace. “What the hell was that back there?”

“I thought he was you.” She cast a dark look at the cap on his head. “You guys have the same taste in hats.”

“I’m flattered you’d mistake me for Beaulieu.” He chuckled and gave her another sly glance. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“What does that mean?”

Jim shrugged, then slowed to a stop and wiped his face with the hem of his sweatshirt. “I mean, he attracts women like flies.”

“Thanks, pal.” She grimaced at the unflattering comparison.

“It’s true.”

She could believe it. The image of Beaulieu’s beautifully crafted face and stunning eyes remained vivid in her mind. “He is a good-looking jackass.”

“Well, to be fair, he’s a good guy, smarter than hell, and a lot of fun. At least, he used to be,” Jim commented as they continued on their way.

“Used to be?” Hopefully, the rampant curiosity stayed out of her voice.

“I knew him, you know…before. Before the thing with Salvatore.” Jim frowned and slowed his pace. “He’s changed a lot. Losing your family, friends, and everyone you care about can do that to a person.”

Emma settled into her zone physically, but her mind raced. She’d read the reports about how his parents had been killed a couple days before the bombing—most likely set up by Rico, although Salvatore’s guilt had never been proven for either incident. With Rico dead, finding justice would be much more difficult. That had to eat at a man. He hadn’t just lost his parents, he’d lost his best friend and fellow officer as well as his girlfriend. Emma wasn’t sure exactly what Elizabeth Ladd had meant to him, but so much loss in so short a time—not to mention the physical damage… She couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d gone through, and that made his cool, standoffish behavior easier to understand.

Emma and Jim approached the building that housed the gym as they finished their run, but she didn’t spot Inspector Beaulieu’s tall, imposing figure. He must have been finishing his workout when she’d…well, when she’d attacked him.

She imagined taking him down, jumping on top of him, and having her wicked way. The memory of his intense blue eyes flashed through her mind. If anyone were wicked, it would be him. She bet he had the market cornered.

“What?” Jim asked as they slowed to a walk and stopped to stretch.

“Huh?”

“You’re smiling. It’s making me nervous.”

She wiped the grin from her face. She had no business entertaining any sort of sexual or intimate thoughts about Inspector Beaulieu, no matter how compelling he was.

“Just looking forward to my shower. I’ll see you at the office.” With a wave, she jogged back to the gym. She’d just finished changing her clothes when she heard her name barked from the across the room.

“Justice!”

“Yes?” She grabbed her bag and headed for the man standing in the doorway of the women’s locker room.

“Delivery for you.”

“What is it?”

He handed over a large manila envelope. “Commander Davenport said to give you this and tell you and Blankenship to report to his office ASAP.”

“Thank you.”

She pulled the papers out and sucked in a breath. She’d been expecting a report, dry black and white words, but what she held was a crime scene photograph in gruesome, washed-out-from-the-flash color.

Someone had slit Gina Salvatore’s throat.

“Hey, Ash.”