9. Ever Created

NINE

Ever Created

“How was your reuben?”

“It was a damned fine reuben. But I’d drive all the way up here for just five of those chips.”

Lucinda smiled.

It was after the staff interviews, which she’d scheduled thirty minutes apart, but they’d only needed fifteen, and in some instances ten.

The intel they got ran the spectrum of what they’d already learned, depending on if Brittanie flirted with your man.

She was either loved or put up with.

Not hated. Unless someone was a really good actor.

They’d done the top six on Lucinda’s list, and one who Lucinda threw in to shake things up because she wasn’t Brittanie’s biggest fan: three dancers, a bouncer, the doorman to the theater, a waitress, and one of the sous chefs (Bon Amie had a full menu they served on the upper floor, and a tapas menu they served in the theater).

The six who were close to her were devastated she was gone. The one who wasn’t hip on her was shaken up, and being human, openly upset about what happened to a woman she knew.

Lucinda had invited Rus and Moran to come back and speak to other staff during breaks or lulls whenever they wished.

He didn’t yet know Moran’s plans, but Rus was returning that night.

Now, Moran was on the landing taking a report from Dickerson about possible leads.

And Rus was alone with Lucinda.

“I’m sensing things aren’t going well,” she prodded gently.

“I started my day with Melanie Iverson talking to me through a screen, then Moran and I rescued her son’s dog that she was slowly starving.”

Angry pink dots hit her cheeks, her eyes widened for a second, but she clamped down on her reaction before she asked, “How’s the dog?”

“He’ll be at the vet a few days.”

She nodded.

“Though, she has no interest in laying her daughter to rest, so you’re clear to go on that.”

Her face got soft.

Amazing.

Her voice was soft too when she said, “Thank you.”

Also amazing.

His turn to prod.

“I saw a picture of Madden at Brittanie’s. She had a missing tooth.”

Her lips curved. “That would be two years ago.”

“She’s cute.”

“She’s the most beautiful being ever created.”

For the first time in a very long time, Rus let loose a full smile.

Her eyes widened again when she saw it, though this time she didn’t get a quick lock on it, or the different kind of pink that hit her cheeks.

Terrific.

He wasn’t reading it wrong.

She was into him too.

It was him who should lock it down.

Of course, he didn’t.

Instead, he teased, “Shame she’s got a mother who’s not proud of her.”

“She has a tough life.”

He didn’t believe that for a second.

“I have to push back, seeing as my daughter is the most beautiful being ever created,” he told her.

“Isn’t it a miracle?” she asked quietly. “How so many of them are roaming this earth.”

It was.

They were both very lucky.

“How old is yours?” he asked.

“Nine. Yours?”

“Eighteen. My boy is twenty.”

“You’re not wearing a ring,” she noted.

Definitely into him.

“Divorced. You aren’t either.”

And he wasn’t hiding he was into her too.

“Madden’s father had definite ideas about which gender in a relationship should make the most money. Seeing as what he thought should be the way wasn’t the way between us, he’s down in Oregon with his new partner. He sees Madden two weekends a month, six weeks in the summer and alternating holidays.”

“Rough,” he muttered.

“Not for me, and not for Madden either,” she stated firmly. “She doesn’t need to be around a man who will inhibit in any way, either openly or subconsciously, who she might wish to become. She loves her visits with her dad. Since he doesn’t have a lot of time with her, he goes out of his way to make them special. She comes back feeling important and adored. Which is what she should feel. Not limited and burdened by expectations.”

“My ex made more than me when we were married, and she still does,” he shared.

The cat’s-got-her-cream look that hit her face, he felt in his cock.

Fabulous.

What he asked next took them both out of that zone. He did it for that, and he did it because he was worried.

Therefore, he went gently.

“How’d she take the news?”

Her lips turned down, she took in a quiet breath, and she answered, “Not great.”

He sensed that was an understatement.

It was her turn to change the subject.

He knew it was coming when she leaned into both of her forearms on her desk and said, “You’re good at this.”

“Pardon?”

“Your job. It’s frustrating you that you aren’t further with this case.”

“It’s early.”

“You’re still frustrated.”

“Yes.”

“So you’re good.”

“I’ve worked with the Criminal Investigative Unit for fifteen years, and in that time, I’ve had some wins.”

“I talked to Bohannan about you this morning. He knows people. He asked. You’ve had more than ‘some wins.’”

She was right.

Rus shrugged.

“Why’s the FBI involved in a small-town murder?”

Shit. Fuck.

Ambush.

“Lucinda,” he warned.

“It would have been nice if Brittanie had someone who thought she was the most beautiful thing ever created.”

“You don’t need to guilt me into working hard for her,” he bit out. “I’ve got that covered.”

A small sliver of regret, followed by another of alarm, flashed though her eyes before she said, “You’re right. That was uncalled for. Forget I said it. Instead, tell me what I can do to help.”

“Secretarial services, meeting rooms and a flashy suite work great.”

“Agent Lazarus.”

Fuck him.

“Rus,” he corrected.

One side of her mouth depressed in surprise.

That happened around his name often, though sometimes it was his full name, which he was never surprised people found it interesting and sometimes even thought it was fake.

Most of the time, though, it was about people thinking they should call him Zach.

“Rus,” she said.

Yeah.

As he expected.

His name sounded really fucking good in her mouth.

And yeah.

He should lock this down.

“It’s the least I can do,” she said.

“I’m going to be in that room to sleep and pore over reports and pictures that hopefully will tell me something. I don’t need a suite with a view, a bar and a living room.”

“You need quiet when you need it. You need rest when you can have it. When that time of day comes, you need somewhere you look forward to being so you can relax. And I need to feel like I’m doing something for Brittanie.”

It was the last part that had him giving in.

“You play dirty,” he muttered.

She rested back, murmuring in return, “You’ve no idea.”

The door opened and Moran walked in, talking.

“Right, most of the men have solid alibis, but they won’t be voting for me in the next election because two are married, one is separated but wants a reconciliation, and none of them were fans of my deputies showing at their places of work to ask about their connection with a dead woman who was a burlesque dancer.”

“Comes with the territory, buddy,” Rus replied sympathetically as Moran sat down.

Then, right in front of Lucinda, who gave them the list but didn’t need to know the results of them working it, he continued sharing those results. “Three possibilities. One married. Two single. One of the singles was an ex-boyfriend we can’t locate, not Jace. The other two were Bon Amie.”

“The married one doesn’t have an alibi?” Lucinda asked his question.

“She’s out of town. Gets back tomorrow.”

Lucinda lifted her fingers in front of her and clicked the tips of her nails on one hand against the tops of the nails on the other, a small smile flirting with her full lips. She looked like the magnificently beautiful Disney villainess, the one you silently rooted for, who just sent the cloying, innocent heroine spiraling down the white-water rapids at the bottom of her palace.

“The coven is going to eat this up with a spoon.”

Her glee was unhidden.

But fuck.

Rus forgot about the coven.

“First, I’ll make it clear that talking about an investigation in front of a civilian is not my favorite thing,” Rus began.

Moran showed zero guilt at this.

“Second,” he turned to Lucinda. “Do I need to point out this could be rough on your business?”

“Agent, please,” she drawled. “I could tell every wife and girlfriend her man comes to watch our show, flirts with the girls, and takes that further if given the opportunity, and men will still come to our show. They can’t help themselves. You must know that a great many of your number think with a certain part of their anatomy.”

He did know this.

He was one of that number when he was around Lucinda.

He decided to pay attention to what he should be paying attention to.

“We can’t worry about the coven now. If we have any hope of him opening up to us, we need to get to the married guy before his wife gets home. When she’s home, he’s lost to us, and we have nothing. Between the glut of fingerprints they’ll be sifting through from that motel room, and the excess of DNA, no witnesses, no motive, we need a man who will talk. And he’ll know nothing about anything that has a thing to do with Brittanie the minute his wife comes home.”

Moran stood. “Then we better go.”

Rus stood too and looked down at Lucinda. “I’ll be back tonight.”

She held his gaze two beats too long, and damn, but he was willing to stand there if she held it a thousand beats more.

Then she purred, “I can’t wait.”

Christ, now she was openly flirting.

Before they left, Moran said some words of thanks that included ones that were more heartfelt around the reuben.

They were in the cruiser on their way back to town when Moran said, “You two are cute.”

Jesus.

Suddenly, he was annoyed he’d been saddled with a good cop, meaning an observant one.

“Fuck off,” he grunted.

Moran chuckled.

Rus sighed.