Chapter 37

Hope woke up late, showered, and came downstairs a little after seven. She didn't see Aaron anywhere and didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. The sex had been stupendous. Scream-from-the-rooftops ridiculous. She wanted to walk around grinning like an idiot, but she had promised she wouldn't tell anyone, and she didn't need to verbalize her orgasm-fest to give the game away.

She put on the coffee pot she'd filled the night before. She was going to have to invest in one of those industrial-sized espresso machines sooner or later, but this ritual gave her a little thinking time in the mornings while she waited for the water to boil.

Her cell rang, and she braced herself for some new grotesque image or video, but it was Brendan. The guy must be tuned into her coffee addiction.

"Hey."

"What the hell happened with that jerk Beasley last night?"

Hope jolted at his tone. "Someone stabbed him. Why?"

"I heard you were at the scene."

"I received a call from the scene with a video of him injured. Thought I recognized the place but couldn't remember the exact location, so I went with the FBI to try to figure it out. Is he still alive?"

"Fucker croaked on the table."

She sucked in a shocked gasp.

"I thought you didn't like him?"

"That doesn't mean I'm glad he's dead!"

"Save your sympathy for someone who deserves it. The FBI have a lead yet?" Brendan's cynicism was on full display. That's what years on the job did to some people, but it didn't necessarily make for a better cop.

She heard someone talking in the background.

"Look." She didn't bother to hide her annoyance. "I just woke up. Believe it or not, the FBI don't brief me on cases in the middle of the night." She pictured Aaron in her bed last night wearing nothing more than some very sexy ink. She wouldn't mind being briefed at any time under those circumstances.

Lucifer started to cry for food, and she pulled down a Churu treat, making a mental note to resupply the groceries, especially with this stupid dinner coming up. She could order in from a restaurant, but Mary would sniff disdainfully and pick at her plate as if Hope were feeding her rat poison.

She heard someone in the background again. "Is that Janelli?"

"Yeah." Brendan "We're at a homicide."

"Did he ask you to call me?"

"No, for the love of God, will you quit it with the guy."

She jerked away, stung by his tone. "Do you tell him to quit it when he goes after me, Brendan, or would that go against the bro code?"

She looked up and saw Aaron leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching her with those inky eyes. He moved like a ghost. They all moved like ghosts, and she realized they probably deliberately made noises so she knew they were around.

Emotion welled up and caught her by surprise. Desire twisted with something else, something light and bubbly that frothed in her stomach like Champagne and made her feel lightheaded and possibly nauseous. She felt like a giddy, nervous teenager experiencing her first crush. Her mouth went dry. What was wrong with her?

This wasn't a crush. It was a fling. An affaire du jour. It wouldn't last. She wouldn't allow it to be anything more than that.

"I have to go."

Brendan had been speaking, but she hadn't caught the words. She reached up and pulled down two mugs.

"I'll see you Sunday." Brendan clearly expected a reply.

She said nothing, simply waited for him to apologize for trying to boss her around or hang up. He hung up because pride was bigger than his ability to admit when he was being an ass.

She put her phone on the counter and went to grab milk.

Aaron took a step forward as she opened the fridge door and cupped her cheek. He leaned down to kiss her in a move that made her want to absorb him on a cellular level.

He pulled away. Leaned his forehead against hers. Smiled. "Morning."

She wanted to wrap herself around him and hang on. It scared her, but then what did it matter? She'd take the little they could have. Enjoy the warmth and the sex and be sad when he left. She knew he wouldn't stay, and she had no intention of letting herself care too deeply. It wasn't worth the pain.

But a slightly dented heart?

Maybe that would do her good, prove she was still a human being rather than the brittle, isolated woman she'd let herself become these past few years. She didn't want to become even more like Brendan than she already was. She had her moments of acrimony and cynicism—it would be a lie to pretend otherwise. But she wasn't an embittered cynic. Not yet anyway.

A noise in the other room had Aaron stepping back.

"Is that coffee I smell?" Frazer.

"In here." Hope pulled down another mug. "Good thing I always make plenty." Usually, she drank a cup at home and then filled a massive travel mug for work. It was possible she drank way too much caffeine.

Frazer came inside, and Lucifer immediately ribboned through his legs then dashed across to Aaron as if to make sure he got in his man quota for the day.

She'd had her man quota for the day, she thought with a slightly hysterical inner laugh. She poured the coffees and left them on the counter for them to add their own milk and sugar.

The first sip flooded her tongue and stirred her sleep-deprived brain cells. "Brendan informed me that Jeff Beasley died on the operating table. Is that correct?"

Frazer nodded. "Around 5 a.m., but in the ICU not on the table. I would have called you sooner, but I was driving to the UPS office, and I figured some of us deserved some sleep."

She hoped she wasn't blushing but kept her gaze firmly averted from Aaron. "You were up all night?"

He nodded.

"Do you want to catch an hour's sleep here?" She thought about her room and the state of the sheets and the smell of sex she was sure would be flashing like a huge neon sign above the bed.

Just got laid.

It was great.

She could quickly change the sheets and open the window, or he could sleep in one of the other beds.

Aaron shot her a glance as if he read her thoughts.

"No, thanks. I'll muddle through."

The thought of Lincoln Frazer "muddling" anything was laughable.

"The local field office went through security footage from various businesses in the area last night and managed to find some of Jeff entering the alleyway."

"Who was with him?" Beasley certainly hadn't stabbed himself.

Frazer pulled a face and showed them both a grainy still on his cell. "About five minutes after Beasley arrived someone else followed him into the alley. Looks like a male. Medium height and build. Hood pulled so low over his features and the quality so poor we can't make a positive ID. I'll send it to you when the techs have finished cleaning it up, but it's next to useless."

Aaron cursed.

She took another sip of coffee. "Do you think I saw him last night?" She framed the question casually while staring into her mug.

"Yes," Aaron stated immediately.

Fierce relief swept through her. Maybe that's why she'd jumped his bones.

"Probably." Frazer shrugged, unrepentant in his need for proof. "Unlike the marshals who haven't spotted a goddamned thing. Apparently," he went on, "they've somehow managed to lose Somack and Roberts again."

"Where's Tommy Lee Jones when you need him?" Aaron took a deep slug of coffee and the sight of him leaning against her counter in black pants and a tight T-shirt, a lethal-looking handgun strapped to his side, struck her forcefully. The man was absolutely gorgeous. Built. Handsome. Smart. And, for a short time, hers. She looked away because Frazer didn't miss much, and she didn't want to jeopardize Aaron's career or the chance of a repeat performance that she was hoping for tonight by giving their secret away.

"I think the marshals stacked the odds by going after those two in the hopes of an easy win—two out of three ain't bad and all that, but they have failed miserably. As far as Leech is concerned, presumably, they are relying on hearing from the public to find their starting point, but instead they're finding the bodies left in his wake. They have alerted all airports including the private ones and all the ports and border crossings, north and south." Frazer rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I think they're reluctant to remind people of the hunt for the Boston Marathon bombers."

Hope shuddered. That had been another truly horrific few days for the people of this city. "Any actual evidence that might point to where he is?"

"Not a damned thing except your possible sighting. Delaware and his wife booked a hotel room last night."

"Do you have eyes on the guy?" Hope asked.

"No. Boston Field Office have a team on the house but not the man. Apparently, they can't afford to watch everyone." Frazer sipped his drink and made an effort to sound understanding. The creases around his eyes suggested he really was exhausted.

"An odd time for a vacation especially when you own one of the nicest places in town," she said thoughtfully.

"Minus the serial killer aspect. His wife did seem pretty spooked when we spoke yesterday," said Aaron.

Hope snorted. "She must be more intelligent than I imagined." She finished her drink and put the cup in the dishwasher.

"Our consultant is tracking Delaware's phone. Not as good as eyes on the man himself but better than nothing. He's still downtown—or rather the phone is still downtown."

Aaron took Frazer's empty mug and added it to the dishwasher along with his own.

She loved the way he cleaned up after himself and tried to take care of her, even if it was only because of his job.

"What are today's plans?" She tried to infuse positivity into the general doom and gloom.

"Looking further into Jeff Beasley's last few hours and days. Waiting on evidence. Waiting on a warrant to search Eloisa Fairchild's home. We know she lied to us about being alone in the house. I'm ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that she lied to us about having kept her letters from Leech which I want to read because they might contain clues. If he's with Eloisa, we'll catch him—but I sincerely doubt it unless she has a high-tech panic room we don't know about—a possibility given that she's rich and paranoid. If he's not there but staying with another friend, hopefully the FBI raid will make them nervous, and Leech will be forced to move."

"So we have a better chance of spotting him." Which hadn't happened so far. "Did my weekly missive from Maximum Security arrive yet?" she asked.

"I haven't seen it."

"I'll remind Colin. We've been pretty busy with the trial, plus he's cramming for the bar." She checked her watch. "I better go. I want to head into the office before court."

Aaron frowned. "You think the trial will continue as scheduled?"

Hope nodded. "The judge wants to get the jury sworn in so people can get on with their lives. As sad as it is"—and it was sad for his family—"Jeff Beasley was only the mouthpiece of that crew, and now that he's dead, I suspect the firm will give less weight to Jason Swann's case. Jeff took the case either for spite or at least to get the same airtime as I did while his more famous client was unaccounted for."

"Would Beasley have knowingly met with Leech, do you think?"

"Oh, yeah." Hope nodded. "He wasn't scared of Julius. He was contemptuous of the man." He was contemptuous of everyone. And now he was dead.

"He could easily have underestimated the danger." Aaron crossed his arms.

She began to unconsciously mimic Aaron's stance and forced herself to stop.

"You saw him. He was a braggart and a bully." Hope did not like to speak ill of someone who'd died less than three hours ago. "I need to send a card to the family and see if there is anything I can do."

"That's more than Beasley would have ever done for you."

"Oh." She stretched her neck to the side. "I'm sure his assistant sent a card."

"Did you read them? The cards?" Frazer raised a brow.

Hope blinked and looked away. "I honestly don't remember."

Frazer's expression seemed to say "exactly," but it wasn't the point.

"I'll send one of the team to pick up a card." Aaron yawned.

She suspected he'd been up all night, too, probably to counteract the guilt he'd feel for breaking FBI rules.

"Are you coming with us to the DA's office?" Aaron addressed Frazer.

"Yes, but I'll drive myself." The senior agent shot a glance between her and Aaron. "You two are getting along a lot better than you were a few days ago. I haven't heard a single argument this morning."

Hope narrowed her eyes at the man. "It's early yet."

"Hmm." His expression turned thoughtful.

Hope ignored him and the heat that started to climb her cheeks. She was a grown woman and didn't need anyone judging her—but since when had that stopped people? She strode out of the kitchen and grabbed her coat, hat, and boots, feeling a little like a gladiator preparing for battle.