Ann Aguirre - Blue Diablo

“Here’s the thing,” he began, and I felt Chance tense beside me. “The lab has it right now, testing for forensic evidence, and afterward, my lieutenant will kick my ass if I let you compromise whatever they find.” He hadn’t cleared it, I guess, when they talked on the phone. No surprise there; nobody in authority ever wants me to handle.

I forestalled Chance’s eruption. “Where did you find it?”

Saldana smiled at me, probably relieved one of us was going to be reasonable. Man, he was cute. “Behind some crates in a warehouse. A security guard saw it and called it in.” Over a lost purse? I don’t think so. He hesitated, eyes on Chance. “There was some blood, signs of a scuffle. We’re waiting to see what the lab turns up.”

The silence hurt me because I knew how Chance must feel, and I didn’t want to be here with him. Not now.

Finally he said, “She’s A-positive. St. Joseph’s in Tampa ran some tests for her, maybe five years ago. They should have her file.” It was just something to say, of course. Something to fill the silence while we all thought about a delicate Korean woman beaten until her blood stained a cement floor.

Saldana nodded, standing to pour himself a cup of coffee. I think he just wanted something to do with his hands. So he doctored it with powdered creamer and Splenda. He drank it light like me, I noted. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

The guy had to be ready to evict us from his office, but he radiated unruffled patience. I was willing to bet he was the good cop, every time. Probably his partner was some burly Russian-looking dude with a buzz cut and a bad attitude.

“How long will the purse be at the lab?” Chance’s fingers curled around the metal arms of his chair, and I half expected to see it melt between his fingers, but his knuckles just turned white.

“A couple of days, maybe. I’ll stay on them,” the investigator answered in a neutral tone.

I’m sure Saldana knew we didn’t mean to take no for an answer; he just wanted his ass covered when we went behind his back.

Chance stood. “We’ll be in touch then.”

Great. We had time to kill in Laredo.

Investigating officer Jesse Saldana walked us out.

As Chance headed for the parking lot, the cop caught me by the shoulder, and I felt that soft little static shock again where we connected. I gazed at his hand pointedly and he lifted it with an apologetic look.

“I wanted to speak to you alone a minute.”

Gay , I decided with a touch of disappointment, not that I’d ever had a shot with Saldana except in my own fantasies. He probably wanted to know whether Chance swung that way, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’d been queried. It was a little unprofessional, but I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he intended to wait until the case was resolved before making a move.

“What’s this about?” My shriveled ego gave a halfhearted thump. Maybe he had a thing for faux redheads.

His half smile reflected a patient amusement I couldn’t interpret. “You don’t know?”

Concluding his interest wasn’t sexual and delightfully inappropriate, I lifted a brow. “What I don’t know would fill a set of encyclopedias. Care to be more specific?”

He touched me then, just a brush of his fingertips against mine, and for the third time, static sparked between us. Because I was looking down, I saw the soft blue discharge. “What the hell, are you wearing special shoes or something?”

Saldana shook his head, seeming incredulous. “You really don’t know.”

“Know what?”

I felt myself becoming impatient, and waiting for me outside, his fingers drumming on the Camry’s roof, Chance had no doubt passed that point. Maybe it was small of me, but I enjoyed provoking him. I’d spent years waiting for some kind of emotional display, proof Chance wasn’t as icy as he seemed. The consummate businessman, the ultimate broker—nothing rattled him. At least, it hadn’t. His emotions skated a lot closer to the surface these days.

Saldana spared a glance for the desk officer who pretended he wasn’t listening. “Perhaps we’d better return to my office.” At my hesitation, he added, “I’ll be brief. Promise.”

“What the hell.” It wouldn’t hurt Chance to stew a bit, and being annoyed with me would distract him from worrying about his mother.

“Usually your parents would advise you,” he explained once we reached his office and he closed the door behind us. “I guess it falls to me. That little flare of static is how we recognize each other, although sometimes it comes from someone with a latent ability.”

I didn’t sit down because he had. My intention was to preserve the height advantage in the encounter, but standing before his desk left me feeling as though I’d been summoned to the principal’s office, so I sank into the chair opposite.

For a moment I considered feigning ignorance. Ability? What ability? But I was sure he knew I was different somehow and that I’d lose points for pretending. Why his opinion mattered, I don’t know, but I didn’t want him to consider me an idiot.

“You’re saying every static shock I’ve received came from someone else who has some ability, whether they’re aware of it or not?” My tone sounded skeptical.

He shook his head. “No, there’s regular static and then there’s what we do. You’ll only see the blue spark when two talents react on each other. It’s quite different, but I guess you wouldn’t know that if you haven’t been educated. To the uninitiated, it’s rather like tasting the difference between types of honey.”

“There are different types of honey?” I settled back to listen.

Christ, Chance is going to kill me.

“Yeah. For now I just wanted to find out whether you have an excellent poker face or if you didn’t know I’m like you.”

That sounded like a line. He was like me only in that we were both bipedal in nature. “Uh-huh.”

“You’re doubtful, a little sad. Conflicted about being here. Worried about Chance.”

I sat forward then, gripping the edge of his desk. “How did you—” Shit, did he know I’d been picturing him naked earlier? Was he going to start bending spoons?

“And now,” he continued with a grin, “you’re feverishly embarrassed. I’m curious to know why, actually.”

“Emotions,” I realized aloud. “You’re an empath.”

“Yeah. It helps in my line of work. Cops work hunches all the time, and what I do doesn’t deviate too far from that.” His dark eyes flickered to my hands, and I knew he must have registered the scars when we shook. “You’re a handler? You can’t come by it naturally, or it wouldn’t come with such a steep price.”

A reasonable assumption under the circumstances—psychometry is the most tactile gift—but I still felt mild astonishment that a cop, a bastion of law and order, could accept what I did. Could make the mental leap without scorn or fear of the unholy. In that moment, Jesse Saldana became something more than hot.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re right.”

He acknowledged that with a nod and a knowing look that said he probably understood more than I did about certain things. “For now, I’ll be brief. There’s an underground,” he said softly. “When you ID someone this way, proceed with caution. They may think they’re alone, as you did, and you never know how they’re going to react.”

I thought about that. “You took a risk in speaking to me.”

“Somewhat. I won’t go into everything now. Your boyfriend feels like a nuclear warhead in the parking lot.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I corrected.

Great, that sounded like I wanted him to know I was available when all I wanted from Jesse Saldana was some answers.