between her dark arched eyebrows.
Jason moved to stand beside her so he could see the script written in bold strokes across the page.
An invitation for brunch the next day at the Corrinda estate.
Alarm slithered down his spine. “Uh, no,” Jason stated before she even spoke. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know she’d want to go. “Don’t even think about it. You are not accepting that invitation.”
She lifted her determined gaze to meet his. “This could be your break in the case.”
“I don’t want it at your expense. It’s too dangerous.” The thought of sending her to a situation he couldn’t control or at least predict the outcome of sent chills of apprehension sliding over his skin.
“I can handle the danger.”
“You don’t know what you could be walking into.”
The electricity came back on with little fanfare. A table lamp glowed. He recognized the hum of the refrigerator and the beep of the microwave resetting itself.
Angie didn’t miss a beat. “I can take care of myself. I am a cop, remember?”
“I remember. And you’re tenacious and controlling and way out of your depth here.”
Anger flitted across her pretty face. “Then fill me in. Do you know what the Corrindas are up to?”
He didn’t. And wasn’t sure how this family fit with Picard. His gut told him there was a connection, and until he figured it out, he wasn’t going to allow Angie to forge ahead and put her life in jeopardy. For all he knew, this could be a trap to draw him out, in which case his cover was blown.
But why bait him with Angie? Why not just come after him directly? Unless—they weren’t sure there was a federal involvement and his cover was still intact. Their invitation might not be about him at all.
But that didn’t mean Angie wasn’t in danger. As she’d pointed out, she was a cop. And a cop asking questions made people nervous. Especially if they had something to hide.
He’d have to get clearance from his SAC before he released any details to Angie. Protective instincts surged. If he revealed the situation to her, then she’d be in even more danger. He didn’t want that. “Look, this isn’t your fight. Go back to your life in Boston.”
She rolled her eyes. “When are you going to realize that’s not happening? I’m not leaving until I see this through. Either work with me, arrest me or stay out of my way.”
She moved past him toward the kitchen, her shapely frame vibrating with excitement and strength, carrying the sheet of paper by the corner. She pulled out a sandwich-size plastic bag from a drawer, slipped the invitation inside and sealed the bag closed.
Frustration pounded at Jason’s temple. He rubbed his tight jaw and immediately regretted doing so as the grease paint he’d used for camouflage coated his palm. Could this get any more complicated? “Look, you can’t stay here. You need to at least move to a hotel.”
“Not happening. The Corrindas don’t know it was you or me at their place tonight. I’m sure news of my presence and my questions have reached their ears. It’s a small island, remember. They sent the invitation to breakfast as a way to get me off their case. Nothing more.” She put the bagged evidence in a drawer. “Speaking of food, I’m starved. Would you like some leftover lasagna? I had some delivered and they brought enough for six people.”
Across the divide of the kitchen counter, he mether direct gaze. “You really aren’t going to listen to me, are you?”
She smiled sweetly. “I’ll listen if you tell me something worth listening to.”
She was so cute, and smart and sassy standing there with those big, beautiful brown eyes staring at him with challenge, dripping ponytail and soaked clothes. She had to feel as clammy as he did. “I should go change,” he said gruffly.
What he wanted to do was close the space between them and kiss her. Not a good idea. Not at all. A romantic relationship with her was not on his agenda.
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley