Линси Сэндс - Meant to Be Immortal [calibre]

Stopping in the middle of the second email, she saved it to Drafts and put her phone away. She then paused just long enough to take a deep breath, before leaving the ladies’ room and heading back up the hall to the bullpen.

CJ had expected Simpson and Mrs. Dupree to be back from their tasks when she entered the bullpen, but neither of them were, although Mrs. Dupree had obviously returned at some point. Mac was still seated in the desk chair the older woman had insisted he settle in, but now had a heavy woolen cardigan draped over his shoulders and a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. CJ could smell the whiskey in it from ten paces away. It didn’t look like he’d had any of it yet. He was just holding it in front of his face, allowing the whiskey-infused steam to fill his nostrils, a miserable look on his face as he peered down into the liquid. He cheered, though, when he saw her walking toward him.

“I thought you’d slipped out the back door to avoid Mrs. Dupree,” he teased in a low voice when she stopped in front of him.

“Everyone in the business is a Mrs. Dupree when it comes to SIU agents. I’m used to it,” CJ assured him, and then glanced around before asking, “Where are Mrs. Dupree and Simpson?”

“Mrs. Dupree is in there,” Mac said, nodding toward the office she’d guessed was the captain’s. “As for Simpson, I think he left.”

“Left?” CJ asked with alarm.

“I think so,” Mac answered with a shrug. “He came back, went into the office, and then left with Mrs. Dupree shooing him off like he was a kid who’d stayed up past his bedtime. She told him to . . . ‘skedaddle,’ I believe was the word.”

CJ was trying to absorb that when he added, “He only left a minute ago. I am surprised you did not pass him in the hallway on the way back from the bathroom.”

CJ was moving before he finished speaking, heading back the way she’d come. Simpson was the only officer here. He was the only protection Mac had from whoever had set his house on fire. The man couldn’t leave. Well, she supposed he could, but it would leave her as Mac’s only protection, and while she didn’t mind helping out in a pinch, she’d be damned if she was going to be roped into playing bodyguard to a man like Macon Argeneau. He was just too damned handsome and charming for her own good. Besides, she wouldn’t be much protection. She didn’t even have a gun, for heaven’s sake!

The hallway leading to the back of the building was as empty now as it had been when she’d returned from the bathroom moments earlier. CJ peeked into each room as she rushed past, even opening the doors to both the men’s room and the evidence room for a quick look around, but there was no sign of Simpson, so she continued on.

The door to the cells was the very last door in the back wall, but as she reached it, she noticed a small narrow hallway leading to the left to what was obviously an exterior door. CJ immediately turned down it and jogged to the exit. The exterior door opened easily, and she stepped out to peer over what was obviously the parking area for police cars and any vehicles they impounded. She was just in time to see a white pickup roll toward the parking lot exit.

CJ let go of the door and took several steps forward, shouting and waving her arms in an effort to get Simpson’s attention. She could’ve sworn the man peered toward her as he stopped at the road to look both ways, but if he did, he ignored her and simply pulled out onto the street and drove away.

“I don’t think he heard you.”

CJ turned to find Mac standing in the open back door of the police station. The sweater that had been draped over his shoulders was gone, but he was still carrying the cup of whiskey-laced coffee. He was holding it under his nose like it was smelling salts and he was a Victorian miss feeling faint. Never one to let something go to waste, CJ snatched the cup out of his hand as she walked past him back into the building.

“Thirsty?” Mac asked dryly, letting the door clang shut behind him as he followed her.

“You didn’t look interested in drinking it,” CJ said, slowing to glance back at him in question.

“I’m not.”

Nodding, CJ immediately raised the cup to take a drink herself, but stopped when he added, “Because, I thought, since someone appears to be trying to kill me, it might be good to keep my wits about me.”

CJ lowered the cup, irritation rushing through her even before he added, “And since you are supposed to be guarding me, it might be good if you avoided drinking as well.”

She spun on him abruptly at that, her eyes wide. “What?” she asked with amazement, and then started shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Argeneau, but as I told you, I am not guarding you. That’s why I was trying to stop Officer Simpson. As the officer in control of your investigation, he should have seen to your safety before leaving.”

“But he didn’t,” Mac pointed out with a shrug. “I guess that leaves you.”

“The hell it does,” she exclaimed with dismay. “I’m not a police officer anymore.”

“But you used to be, and you did agree to help out tonight,” he pointed out. “Besides, there is no one else.” Arching an eyebrow, he added, “Surely you wouldn’t just leave a poor defenseless citizen to be killed? I mean, how would that look?”

CJ opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then narrowed her eyes briefly on the man. She recognized manipulation when she saw it, and Mac wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. She got the feeling he wasn’t really worried about an attack, or at all sorry Simpson was gone. She was getting the distinct impression that, for some reason, he just wanted to keep her close, and making her responsible for his well-being would definitely do that. She could hardly leave him here alone with Mrs. Dupree as his only protection. Someone had set his house on fire. If they’d stuck around the scene as arsonists tended to do, they’d know he still lived and might try to finish the job when he left here. On the other hand, if he didn’t leave the police station, he’d probably be safe enough, she thought. The trick was keeping him from leaving.

“You’re absolutely right,” she said suddenly. “You are the victim of a violent crime, and despite the fact that I’m not a police officer, I used to be, and your safety should be my main priority. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Well, it is late and no doubt you have had a long day,” he said sympathetically. “I am sure you simply were not thinking clearly.”

CJ’s jaw clenched at the words, her annoyance ratcheting up another notch even as she agreed. “Yes. Still, that’s no excuse for losing track of my priorities.” Spinning on her heel, she led the way out of the narrow hall. With Mac following, she turned left, and pushed her way through the large metal door with the little window in it as she added, “I mean, what if I abandoned you here unprotected and went off to go over the notes of the case I’m actually on? And what if something happened after I’d left you alone? Dear God, the guilt I’d feel at leaving a poor defenseless citizen to be reattacked by his attacker.”

“Well . . .” She could hear the frown in his voice even before he assured her, “I am not completely defenseless.”

“Of course you are,” she argued, leading him along the row of cells in this room. There were eight altogether. Four on each side. The first four actually had occupants in them. By her guess, the inhabitants of the first cells on either side of the aisle were both sleeping off an overindulgence in alcohol. One looked like a homeless man, the other was dressed in a slightly rumpled suit, but they were both snoring up a storm on their cots, and smelled like a dive bar’s floor.