Superior Collision Read online

  “Oh?” Carrigan appeared to be genuinely interested. Her hazel eyes became keen, and she leaned forward in her chair, hovering over her dinner, chopsticks in hand.

  Shannon sighed. He’d put his foot in his mouth, and now he was going to have to see it through. He dropped his gaze and shifted on the padded seat. “I like Zumba.”

  Dead silence greeted his ears, and when he got the balls to look at her, the FBI agent’s expression was implacable.

  “Go ahead. Ridicule away,” he muttered, and gestured with a hand. Shannon shoveled chicken past his lips and savored the smooth flavor, despite the unwanted spotlight on him.

  She shook her head, but her mouth twitched. Carrigan looked down at the Chinese takeout container, then reached for the other one, opening her white rice. Without a word.

  He found himself craving her laugh, even though it’d be at his expense.

  “Zumba can certainly make one break a sweat,” she said finally. Amusement wrapped her words, despite her unchanged demeanor.

  “There it is.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened.

  Shannon’s stomach jumped. She looked even more beautiful. He hadn’t figured her for a person who could—or would—play innocent.

  “I’m a big boy, I’ll survive a tease or two.”

  Carrigan grinned and his breath caught. The small flash of white teeth and the wide curve of her full mouth lit up her face. She looked young, gorgeous, and could definitely pull off the innocence she’d been going for moments before.

  Damn, he couldn’t breathe.

  Shannon wanted her. More than he’d wanted any other woman…ever.

  “So, I suppose…” The smile was still firmly in place, even as she put a spoon into the rice container. Like she was pretending she hadn’t trailed off.

  “You suppose what?” His words came out fragmented, so he cleared his throat.

  “Two things, actually.” She held up two fingers.

  “What’s that?”

  “You don’t work out anywhere near the police department, and you have the rhythm required for Zumba.”

  Shannon laughed. “True on both accounts. I used to competitive dance when I was a kid. Ballroom, salsa and some swing.”

  “Dance?” Carrigan arched a fair eyebrow.

  “Yeah, with my mom, actually.”

  “Hmmm, you’re quite different, Sergeant.”

  “Shannon.”

  Carrigan stilled, and her smile fell off a bit. “Sergeant is fine for me, if you don’t mind.”

  I do. He couldn’t tell her that. Didn’t want to shut her down any more. Needed her smile. “I don’t. But I’m more than my rank at work. And…if by different, you mean gay, I’m not.”

  The FBI agent laughed. It sounded startled, like it was rusty, unused.

  He grinned, he couldn’t help it.

  “I certainly didn’t mean to imply I thought you were gay.” Her eyes trailed his upper body, and his heart sped into overdrive.

  Could she be as interested in him as he was in her?

  Carrigan averted her gaze much too soon, as if she realized what she’d been doing. She cleared her throat and tucked a nonexistent strand of her hair behind her ear.

  Shannon’s words had packed bags and taken a hike. His mouth was dry. He wanted to assure her she could look at him all she desired. Could kiss him too, if she felt the same yearning he did. Do a hell of a lot more than kiss him, actually.

  He cleared his throat for the hundredth time, because it distracted him, kept him in his seat. He resisted the urge to grab her across the table and kiss her senseless. Shannon shook himself, and ended up dropping his chopsticks.

  “You okay, Sergeant?” Carrigan’s eyes were back in his direction.

  “Yup. Just a bit clumsy, I guess.” He made himself smile, and ordered himself to relax. Reached for the bamboo utensils and took his last bite of chicken.

  “Didn’t think dancers were clumsy.”

  Shannon froze. Is she teasing me?

  He could say so many things to that. Hit on her. Give her a one-liner about how he’d love to show her his moves.

  Just act natural.

  In other words, not like he wanted her so badly he could come out of his skin. Or in his jeans.

  He widened his smile. “Oh, once in a while I struggle with my natural grace.”

  “What a pity.” She grinned again.

  Shannon’s heart took off. If she didn’t stop looking at him like that, how much she appealed to him wouldn’t be a secret much longer. He’d do something stupid, like give in to the desire to taste her mouth.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, well, I guess a guy can’t have it all.”

  Carrigan echoed his headshake. “Guess not.”

  Not that he knew her well, but this was the most relaxed he’d ever seen the FBI agent. Shannon was thoroughly enjoying their time together and dreading when she’d walk away from him.

  “How’d your trial go for the rest of the day?” she asked, tugging him from his thoughts.

  “Frustrating. The prosecutor and defense attorney acted like squabbling children. I’ve never seen Judge Newton’s face so red or seen him slam the gavel down so many times, and I’ve been in his court for a dozen cases.”

  “I hate trials that drag. Same for cases, too. Hate wasting time.” She scrunched her nose and stabbed a piece of chicken as if it’d offended her.

  She wouldn’t appreciate if Shannon told her she was adorable, but he wanted to. “Speaking of your case?”

  Carrigan sighed, her frustration was palpable. “Yes and no. I know who, just not where they are right now.”

  “Ah. Anything I can do to help?”

  She stared for a good fifteen seconds before she opened her mouth to speak. “You’re so genuine all the damn time.” Her voice dropped, and she touched her cheek. Looked away.

  The touch of vulnerability was so opposite of what he knew about the FBI agent. Shannon wanted more of that. “Should I apologize?” He kept his voice light and tried not to let the curiosity about what she’d been getting at leak into his tone.

  Her cheeks flamed for the second time—or was it the third?—since she’d taken a seat at his table.

  He was pleased. Probably more than he should be.

  Carrigan shook her head but avoided his gaze. “Oh, no. Just not something I’m used to in my—our—line of work.”

  Shannon smirked. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Sad, but I guess it’s how it is these days.”

  She finally spared him a glance, but her expression was far away. Then she sighed again. “This case is killing me, but I don’t think there’s anything you can do to help, unfortunately. Unless you happen to know the whereabouts of one Carter Bennett or Eric ‘Rowdy’ Vargas.”

  “I remember the names. Isn’t Bennett the guy who shot up the old trailer park in Antioch and left two warm ones?”

  “Yeah. The other guy used to run with his car theft crew.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I remember from briefing.”

  One corner of Carrigan’s mouth shot up. “That was a long time ago.”

  Shannon tapped his forehead. “Great memory.”

  Her mouth relaxed into a smile. He found himself craving more.

  Down, boy.

  “Never a bad thing in a cop, Sergeant.”

  “Nope. So I’m told.”

  “Anyway, when Bennett fled Texas, he was spotted once in Oklahoma, maybe Nevada, and then not again. We have suspicions he headed to Los Angeles, but there’s been no sign of him in months.”

  “He was injured in Antioch at the shooting, right?”

  “We suspect, yes. Blood was found in the car he ditched.”

  “What if he died?”

  Carrigan shook her head and her denial was whiplash fast. “No way. He’s lying low. We got his cash stash, so he’s gonna have to make a move sooner or later.” Her voice was hard, so sure. “Besides, no one reported finding his body.”

  Shann
on didn’t doubt her words—or her instincts. He’d seen her in action. Despite her non-procedural demands on scene that night, Carrigan was a damn good investigator. “You’ll find him. You’ll get him.”

  Her lips softened again, and eased into a slight up-curve. “Thanks. Appreciate that.”

  “I mean it. And if I can do anything to help, I’m all yours.” He wanted to reach out, squeeze her hand, but didn’t.

  Carrigan stared silently again until Shannon’s heart stuttered.

  Finally, she nodded and took a bite of rice.

  Chapter Five

  Taylor groaned and cursed. She fisted her sheets and threw her head back into her pillow in lieu of giving in to the urge to glance at the blue glow of the numbers on her alarm clock. She should probably turn it away, like she had to when bouts of insomnia hit her from time to time. Otherwise, she’d watch the clock, stare as the hours passed and obsess about lack of sleep.

  Like now.

  Tonight didn’t need to turn into that kind of night, despite…everything.

  Amber eyes were haunting her.

  Oh, and the dimple in his right cheek.

  She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Sergeant Shannon Crowley since she’d gotten home from her late dinner with him.

  They’d stayed at Hakka Wu, her favorite Chinese place, until the kitchen had closed. They’d exchanged cell phone numbers, and he’d told her he hoped to see her again before leaving Dallas.

  She regretted that he hadn’t asked her out, like he had that afternoon when they’d run into each other near the court house.

  Taylor had found herself wanting more than the parting wave and smile the sergeant had offered.

  Wait. No.

  Wanting was too strong a word.

  She’d had a nice evening with a man she barely knew, and had enjoyed herself. Had felt like a normal human being for the first time in a long time.

  End of story.

  Right?

  “It’s not like it was a date.” Nor would she want a date with the Antioch PD sergeant.

  Taylor didn’t date.

  She and John hadn’t really dated. They’d worked together. Made a great team. The rest had…fallen into place. Partners. Friends. Lovers. More.

  It hadn’t been planned.

  Taylor remembered the first time John had told her he loved her. It’d slipped out. They’d been on a stakeout, actually. Before he’d gone under with Joe Pompa’s crew.

  He’d apologized. Then he’d taken it back, and kissed her like she’d wished he would’ve done so many times in the months before. They’d slept together for the first time that night.

  John had asked her to marry him only about two weeks later.

  She hadn’t even realized she’d loved him until then. But she had loved him. Pain inched up from her stomach. Taylor crushed her eyes shut as John’s brown eyes replaced the sergeant’s unusual whiskey-colored ones in her mind.

  I can’t take thinking of…John.

  She’d moved past the crippling devastation. She’d blocked the memories—good and bad—especially of his normally olive complexion being so pallid when she’d ID’d his body at the morgue.

  Taylor couldn’t let hurt and loss debilitate her like it had when Baker had called her in to tell her John had been murdered.

  She couldn’t handle it again. Feeling like that, and letting the emotion take her over. Lead her.

  It’d spiraled out of control. What’d resulted was revenge, pure and simple. She’d shot the wrong man.

  Emotion is weak.

  “Emotion is weak.” She said the words when thinking them wasn’t enough. Taylor cleared her throat when her voice cracked, even though she was alone in her apartment’s big bedroom.

  Maybe she should call her dad in the morning. He’d put her in check even if she didn’t tell him a thing—which she wouldn’t. Just hearing his stern voice, his sterile questions about how her life was going, would remind her of what she’d always known.

  Getting close to people gets you burned.

  Hurt crushed in the worst way possible.

  She wouldn’t do it again. Ever.

  Taylor turned over for the fifth time. She needed to get some sleep. Needed to be clear-headed when she went in to the office the next day. Had to get somewhere on the case. She’d call Eddie. First thing.

  She’d avoid her boss at all costs, since he was determined to continue the new partner discussion. Irritation over the argument that morning with Baker flared and she made a fist. She sat up and knocked her head into her headboard a few times.

  She gave in to the urge to glance at the clock. It glared 3:23 in bright blue.

  Taylor closed her eyes again. She was going to hunker down into her covers, but it wasn’t worth it. Sleep wasn’t happening. Throwing her plain gray comforter back, she slid her legs off the bed, avoiding the other side.

  Where John used to sleep.

  “Oh, God. Just stop. Now.” Her voice jarred her. Bounced off high ceilings.

  She shook her head and stood, reaching for her lamp.

  Taylor needed to run. She’d hit the treadmill until she tired, then maybe she could catch a few hours before she had to face Baker and another argument her boss wouldn’t win.

  And she wouldn’t think of a certain Antioch Police Department sergeant.

  * * * *

  Carter tugged the hood of his jacket over his head and scrunched his shoulders as he limped his way into the convenience store. His spine tingled, as it always did when he was on his feet too much, and the old bullet wound in his right biceps screamed a protest as he adjusted his gait.

  No one really knew him here, but he never could tell where the eyes might be, and he couldn’t afford to get recognized.

  He needed a fucking beer, and he was tired of Bubba’s too-jovial personality. Didn’t anything get under the big guy’s skin?

  It was killer waiting to see if Bubba’s contact in Arizona would help him out or not. And he’d already made the guy reach out two times. It was waiting-game time, and Carter couldn’t be a demanding little bitch—any more than he already had been, anyway.

  He hadn’t heard anything about the FBI, or even the local cops in a while, which was good, but that was only because he was smart and they couldn’t find his ass.

  God knew where his old crew leader, Joe, was now. It pained him to admit it, but Carter didn’t know if he’d hit him the night they’d unloaded big weapons at each other in Texas.

  Dead or in custody—he hadn’t heard, or been able to dig up. If the feds had got Joe, they were keeping things quiet. Or he’d yet to run across the right source.

  The store’s doorbell chimed a welcome and Carter ignored the clerk’s friendly greeting. He hobbled to the bank of refrigerators and scanned the alcoholic beverages.

  His lower back was killing him. White-hot pain radiated up into his hip from his bum leg—it’d been a mess from birth. No amount of braces or surgery had been able to relieve him of a perma-limp. He could run if forced, but his body never liked it. Always got revenge the next day.

  He selected the cheapest forty that only half-tasted like shit and made his way to the counter with it. Slammed it down.

  The pretty little thing working the register couldn’t be more than eighteen. A redhead like he liked them, too. Her hair was up in a ponytail. Just the thing for a guy to grab onto. Tight shirt, big boobs, nice ass in tight jeans.

  Carter gave her an obvious onceover.

  Her eyes widened—at his aggression, he guessed, but he didn’t feel like mustering a smile to make her feel better. Wasn’t trying to get laid.

  “Will that be all?” she asked.

  He took a bit of satisfaction from the way her voice shook. Didn’t feel much like speaking, so he nodded. Grabbed a twenty from his pocket, cursing the fact he’d had to borrow it from Bubba.

  The no-money thing got him all riled up again and he scowled.

  The girl paused in reaching for the bill. “S
omething wrong?”

  “No.” He shoved the money at her, sans an apology.

  She hammered the buttons on the register and yanked his receipt free before it was done printing.

  Carter admired her rush to get rid of him. Scaring the little girl was probably going to be the highlight of his evening.

  But he didn’t like the way she was eyeing him. Like she was trying to memorize what he was wearing.

  She put his change on the counter, as if she couldn’t bear that their hands might brush.

  He flashed a half-smile and fisted his beer. Carter tipped the fat bottle to her and made a quick exit, limp and all. “How rude,” he whispered when he made it to the parking lot. “She didn’t even tell me to have a good night.” He grinned, cracked open his forty and gulped from it.

  Getting drunk was tempting, but he still had work to do.

  Carter slipped into the jalopy Bubba had given him to drive and cranked the key. The old engine roared to life with only one chug.

  He put the cap on the beer and slid it under the passenger seat. Last thing he needed was to get pulled over by LAPD and get into trouble over an open container. Not to mention the illegal weapon or three he had on his person, and in the car.

  If Bubba’s man in Arizona didn’t work out, he had a few contacts in New Mexico—thanks to his old boss Joe—he could reach out to on his own. Maybe he could put a crew together to hit a train there, but their loyalty to his old boss was going to be an issue, which was why he hadn’t called them in the first place.

  One or two rides wouldn’t cut it. He needed a large number of high dollar rollers so he could get gone.

  As long as word of his little bumble hadn’t spread there, he might have a shot. For some reason, no one wanted to trust him after he’d whacked Mac and Rick.

  He’d just been cleaning up after traitors, what was the big deal?

  No one would cross him, and he’d proved it. They were all a bunch of pussies, including Grady fucking O’Malley.

  It was a shame Rowdy—the fucker—was so sharp, too. He’d disappeared a few times over the years, whenever the law was on to them, and he was good at it.

  Carter had never discovered where he went, but he would. Vargas’ days were numbered. Joe probably knew, but it wasn’t like Carter could interrogate his old boss.