Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (12 page)

But for the first time, she was okay with it. There was no going back, but she could move forward.

Matt steered her to his couch and sat her down, then sat next to her and took her hands into his. She stared at their joined hands. Maybe because she didn’t want to look him in the eye. Embarrassment flooded through her. Because of her meltdown.

Or maybe because she still got that jolt of attraction—of lust—every time she looked at him.

“Dean Hooper and I had a long conversation last night,” Matt said, “and based on that, I don’t think the Russians want to kill Hart. That the shooter, who’s connected to your former partner, is dead makes this whole thing more than a little interesting. It draws attention to the Russians, and it lulls Hart into a sense of security. The shooter is dead, no one can get to him. A rival? Rykov is the biggest criminal in that community, but there are others clamoring for a position. Maybe it was a threat for Rykov, and Hart wasn’t supposed to be killed. Or maybe a threat to Hart to keep him in line. Or maybe you were right, and Eric Huang was the intended target. Hooper was very interested in your theory.”

“Jim and Steve don’t think there’s any merit to it. It’s not logical.”

“But?”

She look at Matt and wished she hadn’t. They were sitting too close together, reminding her of when she kissed him and he rejected her.

“It may not be logical when you think about motive, but based on the evidence at the scene – which is minimal—I don’t see how the shooter could have possibly thought he could hit Hart. So either it was a threat and killing Hart wasn’t the goal, or Huang was the target and my intervention distracted the shooter or caused Huang to get out of the way in time. Is there any video? There were at least three television cameras there. They must have been rolling when Hart came in.”

“Sac PD would have grabbed copies,” Matt said. “I can get them.”

“Without tipping your hand.”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “You forget—I am the D.A.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” She tried to pull her hand away, but Matt tightened his grip. “Matt.”

“Be careful tonight with Hart. I know, I know, you’ll be careful, you know what you’re doing. I trust you, Alex, but that doesn’t mean I’m not at least a little worried. I used to work with him. I’ve been suspicious for years about some of his plea agreements, some of his cutting corners, but there was nothing overtly illegal. More ... borderline unethical. Never forget that Travis Hart cares about only one person: Travis Hart.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” she said with a half-smile, trying to keep the conversation light. Because her stomach was twisting and her heart was pounding and her hands—the hands that Matt held—were sweating. Shit. She was actually
sweating
from sitting too close to this man.

“I’m serious, Alex.”

“Can you please let go of my hands?”

He did, as if he’d forgotten he was holding them.

Alex jumped up. She needed to get away from him before she did something stupid. Like kiss him again. Damn—that was nine months ago and she hadn’t forgotten how that hot make-out session had made her feel.

Matt got up as well. She stepped back. He took a bigger step forward and at the same moment she realized his intent, but before she could stop him, he kissed her.

It wasn’t a simple kiss. It was an assault. The good kind, the kind of physical devouring she hadn’t had in months. Maybe years. Maybe never.

Her mind went blank and she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t
think
. Her body betrayed her. Her own lust, her own need, took over. She didn’t want this ... yes, oh yes, she mostly certainly did.

Her lips parted and Matt’s tongue slid smoothly between them and she would have melted to the floor in pure pleasure if he hadn’t grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him. Her hands gripped his shoulders. His shirt was expensive, smooth, crisp, and smelled wonderfully spicy, like Matt. She wanted to take it off him, feel his bare chest against her palms.

She pulled away, heart racing, almost unable to catch her breath.

She had no words. A year of pent-up sexual frustration over this man had nearly exploded; seeing him last night had completely messed her up. What was she thinking?

She wasn’t. Attraction did that. Hot, physical lust caused smart women to lose their brain cells.

The way Matt was staring at her, like he wanted to strip her naked, made her stomach flip. She flushed. Her skin burned. If they were anyplace else, he wouldn’t have to strip her because she’d already be naked.

“I’ve been dreaming about taking you to bed the moment you walked out of my house last year,” Matt said.

“This can’t be a good idea.”

What had she said? Of course it was a good idea! She hadn’t had sex in over a year. She was attracted to Matt. He was attracted to her.

“It’s a damn good idea, just not in my office.”

She glanced around. “Maybe if we just get it out of our system. One night, we’ll get over this, whatever it is.”

“Is that what you want? One night of sex? Do you think that’s what I want?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think right now.” She licked her lips.

He smiled, a slow, seductive curve of his mouth. “After I take you to bed, Alexandra, neither of us will be satisfied with just one night.”

“Maybe we won’t be compatible.”

Matt laughed and walked over to his desk. “I’ll ask Zoey to run a copy of everything we gave Detective Jefferson. It’ll be ready in an hour, I’ll have her set you up in a conference room so you have privacy.”

“Thanks,” Alex said and walked to the door. This whole conversation had gotten out of hand. She didn’t know what to think.

“And Alex?”

She turned and looked at him over her shoulder.

“We’re very compatible.”

Chapter Ten

Alex spent the rest of the afternoon at the D.A.’s office going through all the cases that Travis Hart prosecuted during his tenure. She wasn’t done, but there was one case that caught her eye and she left Matt a note to look at it.

The case itself wasn’t all that suspicious, but what caught her eye was the address on River Road. It seemed familiar, but she didn’t know why. She wrote it down to look at later. If she had the case file here, it might trigger her memory, so she also added to the note that she wanted to see a copy.

Before she knew it, Zoey knocked on the door and told her it was 5:30 and she was leaving. Alex thanked her, then practically ran to the hotel parking garage six blocks away. She had to pay a small fortune to get her car out and worse, because it was rush hour and she had to navigate the one-way streets and traffic lights, it took her nearly ten minutes to drive the point eight miles to her apartment.

She ran up the stairs to her fourth floor flat because the elevator was taking too long. Already, it was after six. Quick shower, but she didn’t wash her thick, straight dark hair because it would take too long to dry. Standing naked in the bathroom, she put on some make-up while her curling iron was heating up.

What the hell was she supposed to wear? This wasn’t a date ... it was a professional meeting. But a suit didn’t seem appropriate. What would get Hart to talk to her? To be comfortable? Without thinking that she wanted to date him? That would be ... awkward, to say the least. She didn’t picture herself as the next Mata Hari.

She shivered. Mata Hari had been executed as a spy. Bad comparison.

She snapped her fingers. Alex knew exactly what to do. Sexy, but professional. She slipped on her lone push-up bra, an white lacy camisole, then a long black skirt and a short-waisted black jacket with white piping.

She didn’t own a lot of dress-up clothes because she never had a need to dress-up. But she’d bought this for a Christmas party a couple years ago and had only worn it to a few functions her dad insisted she attend.

Alex ran back to the bathroom and put a few loose curls in her hair, fluffed it with hair spray, and figured she looked presentable. Even her father, who’d once lamented that he’d had three boys instead of the girl the doctor promised him, would be impressed.

The buzzer downstairs rang. She pressed the intercom and responded, “I’ll be right down.” She didn’t really want Hart coming up here, so she slipped on black flats—no way was she wearing heels—sprayed a bit of perfume around her, and took the elevator down, her heart racing.

Calm down. There’s no reason to be nervous. It’s not like you have to sleep with the guy to get information.

By the time the elevator hit the lobby, Alex was calm.

Travis Hart wore a different suit than he’d been in earlier. “You changed,” she said.

“So have you,” he responded with a grin. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” She glanced out to the street. “Where’s the CHP?”

“I hired a driver for the evening.”

“Is the driver a licensed bodyguard?”

He hesitated. “No, but this dinner isn’t on my schedule.”

Be yourself.
If she were serious about taking the job with Hart, she would be furious that he was so reckless. As it was, she
was
angry because his disregard for his own safety meant she truly was on duty, so-to-speak. Someone had to watch his ass—and her own. “Mr. Hart, you want to discuss security with me tonight yet you aren’t taking your security seriously. Someone tried to kill you yesterday.”

He bristled at her tone. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Truthfully, with the suspect dead, I don’t feel like there’s a threat anymore.”

“Do you know why he wanted you dead?”

“No, but—“

“Which means you don’t know if he was acting alone and killed himself when he failed, or if someone else was behind it and killed him because he failed. Until the police know the motive for the shooting, you need to be extra cautious.”

“I stand corrected, Ms. Morgan. I will talk to the CHP in the morning and accept their offer for assistance.” He smiled. “Unless, of course, you start working for me tomorrow.”

He was about to open the door for her, and she stopped him. “For tonight, do as I say. If you can’t, then we’ll have a problem working together.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m getting the door.” She waited until Hart was safe in the back before sliding in next to him.

Hart took her to Mulvaney’s, an upscale restaurant in a converted 19
th
century firehouse, only a few blocks from her apartment. It was one of her father’s favorite places. The food was delicious, but Alex always felt out of place—she preferred pizza and beer.

Hart was about to order a bottle of wine, but Alex declined a glass. “You’re the one who didn’t bring security,” she reminded him. “I’ll have water,” she said to the waiter.

“I can see you will be a stickler for details,” Hart said with a half smile.

“I take my job seriously.”

“Do you really think there is a continuing threat?”

“I honestly don’t know—what did Detective Perry say?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since this morning.” Hart sipped his wine. “I was hoping you might have heard?”

She shook her head and nibbled on warm, fresh baked bread. One taste and she remembered that she’d skipped lunch. She forced herself to eat slowly.

“Full disclosure,” she said. “Jim and I used to go out. We split up about a year ago, so he’s not really inclined to share anything with me.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“That’s beyond the scope of this job interview.”

He laughed. “Is that what you think this is?”

“It’s not a date.” She wasn’t going to lead him on. Hart was attractive and smart—two big pluses in her book—but he could be corrupt. Plus ... she wasn’t attracted to his slick style.

Not to mention just
thinking
about Matt Elliott’s kiss that afternoon had her squirming in her seat.

“No, but I told you I want to hire you.”

“I assume you know why I left the force.” Might as well get the conversation over with. Hart must have some clue as to why she walked off the job long before retirement age.

He dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “Alex—I can call you Alex, right?”

“Of course.”

“I was prosecutor for more than a decade. I know how difficult it is for a cop to turn in another cop. I’ve run up against some less than ethical cops when I was in the D.A.’s office. I lost a case once because of an illegal search. Nothing I could do about it, but believe me—I do not like to lose, especially because of the incompetence of others. Or, in this situation, an over-zealous cop. All I really know about your case is that your partner shot you because you were going to turn him in for doing something illegal. The newspapers weren’t kind, as I recall, but it seems to me—because I do understand how the system works—that you were the victim.”

“I appreciate the understanding.”

“And? I’ll admit, I am curious about what happened. I could find out on my own—I still have friends in law enforcement and in the D.A.’s office. But I’d rather hear it from you.”

She gave him the party line. “My partner was a good cop for the most part, but he had a thing for young girls. When I found out—when he was with an underage prostitute—I lost my temper. Told him I was going to report him. He shot me. I truly believe he just snapped, saw his career gone, realized he would lose the custody battle he was having with his wife over their daughter, and shot me without thinking.” A phantom pain burned in her lower right back as she remembered being shot. She’d been extremely lucky she hadn’t lost a kidney, or been paralyzed. Lucky, as well as having brilliant surgeon Gabriel Storm on call when she arrived at the hospital.

“You are quite forgiving.”

She shrugged. “Being a cop is stressful. People don’t generally like you. My younger brother’s a firefighter. Everyone loves firemen.” She smiled. “When the fire truck shows up, people are relieved. When a police car shows up, people are worried. Even law-abiding citizens get stressed when they see a squad car in their rearview mirror. We’re spit on, yelled at, accused of any number of things, most of which aren’t true. And we can’t do anything about it, just take it. I’m not justifying Tommy’s behavior. Or the behavior of any other cop who crosses the line. We have to be better than everyone else. We have to control our temper, not react to the threats and anger. Why do you think so many cops have drinking problems? A high divorce rate? Anger management issues? It’s not easy doing what we do and taking shit from the people we’re most trying to help.” She paused. “Sorry, I get on my soap box and sometimes forget myself.”