Free Sinclair Justice by Colleen Shannon Page B

and messy, half-open suitcase. His smile had disappeared as he reached for something in his pocket. “I had this brought up from evidence today. Is this your sister’s custom pipe?”
    Emm’s stomach fell in disappointment. She’d wanted to see more of the evidence than just the pipe, and he knew that, damn him. Still, she carefully turned the plastic bag over. It had a series of numbers written on it, along with Yancy’s last name, but even through the bag she recognized it instantly.
    “Yes, that’s it. I’ve seen her smoke it often enough . . . but I thought you said you wanted me to view more of the evidence, clothes and the like?”
    “This is enough authentication because the lab already confirmed it was custom, one of a kind.” When she still stared at him, his gaze fell. “I decided this was quicker and easier than taking you to the warehouse.”
    For me or for you? The words almost escaped before she swallowed them. She knew he was trying to keep distance between them, and she knew why, because she felt the same electrical current every time he was near. It was raising the hairs on the nape of her neck now.
    Her voice was cooler than she intended, but she had to know. . . . “What happens now? Now that you have confirmation from a family member that Yancy and probably Jennifer are in this group of women taken by the Los Lobos cartel, what else can I do to help?”
    He shrugged. “It’s not your job, it’s mine, but this was helpful. These men are extremely dangerous, as should be evident given the way your sister was snatched when she was looking for her daughter. I promise to keep you apprised of any progress . . . an easier task, of course, when you’re here. . . . You heard from the structural engineer?”
    “Yes, he’s working up a proposal. If it’s okay, I asked him to copy me on it as well.”
    “Of course.”
    “He’s swamped, so he said it might be a week or so before he can get here to do the survey.”
    “As long as we get it done before my family comes to Amarillo, that’s fine. They’re going to start arriving toward the end of the month.”
    “We should be able to make that.” She sat down on the bed, waving him into the one chair, crossing her legs and bouncing the fluffy slipper on her heel. She could tell herself she was just fidgety, but in reality she knew she was transferring sexual energy to kinetic energy. The motion also caused the bottom of her robe to gap open, but she was feminine enough to want him to look, to provoke at least some of the same vulnerability she felt in his presence. His gaze raked her legs compulsively, but he quickly looked back at her face.
    “I never figured you for chenille.”
    The words took a moment to click. “Why don’t you say what you really mean?” At his guarded look, she added softly, “You’d rather not have to figure me at all.” Her foot perversely bounced faster and her slipper flew off, brushing him in the shin.
    She expected him to kick it aside, but instead he picked up the slipper and knelt at her feet. When she stayed frozen in shock, he calmly lifted her foot onto his bent leg and put the slipper back on. Then he held her foot on top of his knee, appraising her legs closely and thoroughly, so thoroughly that she blushed. She snatched her foot away, the fleeting contact making all her feminine parts excruciatingly sensitive.
    His lips curving as if he saw right through her downcast eyes, he stood. When she was brave enough to lift her gaze, she noted his blue eyes had softened somewhat. Instead of the corny Cinderella reference she expected, he said, “You have lovely feet and legs. Why do you hide them in sensible footwear and those frumpy suits you wear?”
    “I want people to pay attention to my acumen, not my looks.” Her flush fading, she looked down, mortified to see that her favorite robe was not only frayed, it was ripped at the last two button closures, so that her legs were bare almost to her hips. She