Free Smoke and Mirrors by Jenna Mills Page B

traffic. Mansfield 's Ferrari was two cars ahead of her; her red sports coupe sat alone in the garage.
    You'll have to make it quick, though. I've got a meeting.
    Tonight, Cass thought. With any luck, Mansfield would hang himself tonight, and this mess would be over, before a dangerous attraction brought her down, too.
    Traffic crept through the one-way downtown streets, giving her time to glance in the mirror and cheek her cover. White Sox baseball cap, hair tucked out of sight. Dark sunglasses. Wide shoulder pads. Well-worn Bears T-shirt.
    Perfect. Anyone looking at the tinted windows of the sedan would never see the woman inside the drab male clothing.
    But Mansfield wasn't looking behind him. Arrogantly he wove his car in and out of the snarled traffic. Cass kept pace with him, unable to forget the way he'd kissed her so thoroughly, the shameful fact she'd done nothing to resist.
    Because of the charade, she told herself, but recognized the lie. She'd never used sex to crack a case and had no intention of starting now. Yet without that nasty scapegoat, she was left with the grim truth.
    She'd responded to him as a woman, not as a cop. And that woman in her, the one who'd gone without for so long, had reacted to the burning hunger. Like a sinkhole, it grew larger and larger, increasingly dangerous, sucking her down into its depths.
    It was a hell of a note. After all this time, that Derek Mansfield was so easily tapping into her dormant sexuality dismayed her. Purely physical, she told herself, and therefore understandable. He was a devastatingly attractive man. A woman would have to be dead to be immune to those smoldering blue eyes, that insolent grin, that big, graceful body.
    Cass was certainly not dead.
    She swore under her breath, then flicked on the stereo and cranked up the volume. Rock and roll blasted her, instantly soothing away the restlessness, just as she knew it would.
    Off to the west, the sun dipped below a swell of angry dark clouds. In all likelihood, the ball of fire would not be seen again until tomorrow. The stunning streaks of gold and magenta were likely the last light of day.
    The car separating her from Mansfield turned into an exclusive neighborhood, forcing Cass to hang back. She'd been expecting a covert meeting, on the pier perhaps, not a jaunty drive up the
shore
of
Lake Michigan
. Wherever he was leading her, the terrain grew more remote by the minute.
    Turn around. Call Gray. Arrange a backup. The thoughts swirled, yet Cass held them at bay. Now was not the time for opting out. Now was the time to topple one more domino—once she found it.
    Darkness descended, making the narrow winding road harder to navigate. The angry clouds that swallowed the sun hovered overhead, unleashing the first fat drops of rain.
    And Cass thought of home.
    Thunderstorms always did that to her, reminded her of New Orleans , with all those humid afternoons leading to spectacular displays of Mother Nature's fury.
    The Ferrari made a sudden turn to the left. Had she not been following so diligently, Cass would have thought he'd vanished into thin air. But, flicking off her lights, she followed him into the secluded lane.
    That's what it was. A winding, country lane. Despite its quaintness, Cass knew it could lead anywhere. A deserted cabin. A crumbling bar. A trailer. An out-of-the-way meeting spot.
    A place to hide merchandise, dispose of evidence. Or witnesses. Or cops.
    Her blood quickened, yet she refused to define the source of her excitement.
    Navigating the dark road demanded all her concentration. She couldn't follow too closely, so she hung back and eased her way down the path.
    A clearing opened before her. The lights of Derek's car went out, casting the lane into darkness. Had there been stars or moon, they might have lit her way, but the clouds muted all light. Cass instinctively stopped the car to avoid smashing into one of the towering trees that lined the road.
    The fiercely cold wind whipped at her