8. Henry

8

HENRY

T his is a bad idea. Every instinct screams at me not to let Lana D'Amato drive me home. Letting her know where I live could lead to a tanker full of trouble. Yet, as she leans closer, her amber eyes sparkling with mischief, my resolve wavers.

"This was your idea." Her eyes are challenging. "Having second thoughts?"

The scent of her perfume fills my nostrils, and it's intoxicating. I fight the urge to lean in closer. I know what she's doing. She's not the first woman to use her feminine mystique, but she's the first to really tempt me.

With that said, I'm also aware that it's not just fake manipulation. She feels the supercharged energy crackling between us as much as I do. She knows I feel it too and is using it to her advantage. If I were a different sort of man, I'd do the same.

I clear my throat to keep from getting lured in too deep. "We need to maintain professional boundaries."

Her eyes narrow in confusion. "Professional boundaries? You said you had info about Lazaro but you can't say anything in public, and now you can't say anything in private. I thought we were supposed to work together. How can that happen if there is no place we can talk?"

I grimace, knowing I've backed myself into a corner. The growing attraction I feel toward her is dangerous, unprofessional, and could compromise everything I've worked for. But the promise of information about her brother Lazaro, and perhaps about Peter's father's murder, is too tempting to ignore.

"We could meet at the station."

She immediately straightens and looks at me with disappointment. "You know that's not happening." I'm realizing that Lana wears her heart on her sleeve. There's no guessing when she's angry or offended. Of all her moods, the disappointment is the one that bothers me. She's right in that I've instigated all this. She's agreed to help. I need to meet her halfway.

I take a deep breath, knowing I'm about to make a decision I might regret. "Alright. Let's go to my place."

Her triumphant smile sends a mix of excitement and dread coursing through me. We leave the restaurant and slide into the back of her sleek black car. I can't shake the feeling that I'm sealing my own death warrant.

The city lights blur past the tinted windows as Lana's driver navigates the late-night streets. I'm hyperaware of her presence beside me, the subtle shift of her body as we take each turn.

"Nervous, Detective?" Lana's voice breaks the silence, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Worried I'm taking you to a warehouse on the river to meet your maker?"

I force a chuckle. "Just wondering if I should've updated my will before getting in this car with you."

She laughs, the sound both musical and dangerous. "Oh, Henry. If I wanted you dead, there are far more efficient ways than this little joyride."

"That's not as comforting as you might think," I reply dryly.

Lana leans closer, her breath warm on my ear. "Come on, I thought we were building trust here. After all, I'm putting a lot of faith in you and your supposed lead about Lazaro."

I turn to face her, our noses almost touching. "Trust is a two-way street, Lana. I'm trusting that you're not leading me into an ambush."

"Please," she scoffs. "You watch too many movies."

The tension in the car is palpable, danger and something else I don't want to name mingling together. As we near my neighborhood, I'm certain I've made a terrible mistake, but I can't be sure that it's my life or my integrity that is at risk.

I unlock the door to my apartment, flicking on the lights as we step inside. The place is neat and sparse. It doesn't impress, but neither is it a pigsty.

"Make yourself comfortable," I tell Lana, gesturing to the worn leather couch.

She glides past me, her eyes taking in every detail. I can practically see her mind working, cataloging information about me based on my living space.

"Drink?" I offer, heading to my small kitchen.

"Please. Whiskey, if you have it." She sits on the couch.

I pour two glasses of bourbon, neat. As I hand one to Lana, our fingers brush. The contact sends a jolt through me that I force myself to ignore.

Lana swirls the amber liquid in her glass. "What made you choose this glamorous life of late nights and dangerous dinners?"

I sit on the couch but give us enough space to keep things professional. "Believe it or not, it wasn't the allure of cold coffee and mountains of paperwork."

Her eyes gleam with interest. "Oh? Do tell."

I take a sip of bourbon, considering how much to reveal. "I became a cop because I wanted to help people. Make a difference, you know?"

"And has it lived up to your expectations?" There's a hint of challenge in her voice.

"Not always," I admit. "The job… it's not black and white like I thought it would be when I was younger. There's a lot of gray area."

Lana nods, her expression softening slightly. "And yet you stick with it."

I shrug. "Even when it's messy, even when it doesn't seem like it… we do help people." I meet her gaze steadily. "That's what keeps me going."

Lana's eyes flicker with something dangerous as she processes my words. She takes a slow sip of bourbon, her lips curving into a smirk.

"Does that mean you're here to help little old me? A woman you and your brothers see as a bad girl from a family of criminals?"

"Everyone deserves justice."

She laughs. "Why do I feel like you're suggesting the justice I deserve is jail time?"

"I meant Lazaro."

The challenge in her eyes softens, and I feel like I see more of the true Lana in that moment. It tells me just how much she loves her brother.

She looks down, and I wonder if she knows how much of herself she gives away.

"I'm here to follow a lead and hopefully find your brother."

She looks up at me, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "And what if helping me goes against everything you stand for? What then, Henry?"

A fierce protective feeling fills me. Like I'd burn the world down to help her, the rest be damned. I clear my throat, trying to maintain my composure. "Justice isn't always as clear-cut as we'd like it to be."

She studies me, leaning a bit closer. Or maybe I'm the one who is leaning in.

"Mmm, how very diplomatic of you. But I wonder… how far would you go to get the information you need?" Her gaze drops to my lips, and fucking hell, my dick twitches. The tension in the room is palpable. It crackles between us with enough electricity to light my entire apartment building. Hell, maybe Chicago.

"That depends." I glance at her lips, my voice low. "How far are you willing to go to find your brother?"

Lana's smile is predatory. "I think you'd be surprised at what I'm willing to do."

My heart hammers in my chest. My dick strains against the zipper of my slacks. Of course, for all I know, she's saying she'd kill to get what she wants. But it doesn't feel like that. This feels sensual.

I know I should put a stop to this, maintain some semblance of professionalism. But with Lana this close, her warmth radiating against me, my resolve weakens. I might be a cop, but I'm a man as well. A man who hasn't wanted a woman like I want Lana in a long time.

"Lana," I warn, my voice rough. "We're treading on dangerous ground here."

She leans in, her lips brushing my ear. "Isn't your world full of danger? Are you saying you can't handle it?"

I swallow hard, fighting against the surge of desire coursing through my veins. Lana's proximity is intoxicating, her warmth seeping into my skin. I can't deny the attraction, but I have to resist. There's too much at stake.

"We need to focus on why we're here."

She smirks, telling me she knows what she's doing to me. But it's not one-sided. I saw the quick pulse in her neck.

"You're no fun, Detective. But I admire your self-control." She pulls back a few inches. "So, what do you know about Lazaro's case?"

I hoped to avoid sharing anything, but I did arrange this meeting by telling her I had information. I have to give her something.

I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "I've been looking into the van you mentioned in your report. The one the shop owner saw."

Her eyes narrow. "And? Did you find anything?"

I can see the desperation in her eyes, the pain of not knowing her brother's fate. For a moment, I'm tempted to tell her everything, consequences be damned. But I hold firm. "I'm still working on tracing it."

She waits like I'm going to say more. I sip my bourbon instead.

"That's not good enough," Lana snaps. "You promised me information, Henry."

I don't like her anger, but it's better than the flirty seductress. The anger gets my libido under control.

"I know it's not what you want to hear. But this is how investigations work. We follow leads, piece things together. I'm not holding out on you, Lana. I'm trying to find the truth."

"I was right. You're just trying to use me. You're probably not even looking for Lazaro. This is just a ploy to learn about my family."

"No."

"You haven't told me anything I don't know. That lead on the van came from me, Henry. Me!" She shakes her head. "Maybe you're not such a Boy Scout after all if you'd use the love I have for my brother to try and ruin my family."

Her words hit the mark, making me feel like shit. "I'm sorry, Lana, but I can't give details on an open investigation."

She leans closer, her scent enveloping me. It's intoxicating, and I have to fight to keep my thoughts clear. "Then why am I here, Henry?"

I swallow hard, trying to maintain my composure. I can feel the heat radiating from her body, see the flecks of gold in her amber eyes. Lana's proximity is maddening, challenging every ounce of my resolve. She's inches away, and I feel like she's daring me, but I'm not sure to do what? Reveal details of the case? Fuck her?

We're playing a dangerous game of chicken, and I'm precariously close to crashing into her.

I swallow hard, using all my strength to keep from kissing her, to keep from stripping her clothes off and sinking into her luscious body. "Why are you here?"

Her gaze slides to my lips and then back to my eyes. "Because I thought I could trust you." She starts to pull away. "Turns out I can't."

She turns away, her body language screaming disappointment and betrayal. I feel a pang of guilt at the pain in her eyes. I realize I'm losing whatever tenuous connection we've built, and that can't happen. I tell myself it's for the case, but deep down, it's for me.

I reach out and take her hand, gently tugging her back to the couch. "You can trust me. You have to trust that even if I can't give you all the information, I'm going to look for your brother." A desperation to make her understand this, to make her stay, claws in my gut. I press my hand to her cheek. "I will find him, Lana. I'll find him for you. I promise." It's not a promise I should make. For all I know, Lazaro is dismembered and at the bottom of the river, impossible to find. But the need for her to trust me burns in my gut. It burns so hot that the only next move I can think to make is to lean in and capture her lips in mine to make her understand that I mean what I say.

The moment my lips touch hers, something detonates inside me. It's fierce and hot and out of control. For an instant, I see my career going up in smoke. But then her lips part, inviting me in, and the only thing that matters in this world is this moment. This woman.