Debra Webb - Dying To Play

She sprang from her chair and parked her fists on her hips. “You said yes without asking me first?”

That deadpan expression never wavered. “I did.”

She bit back the scorching four-letter word that raced to the tip of her tongue. “I hate this,” she murmured fiercely. “I want that on the record up-front. I already have a partner, a real cop. What’s Henshaw supposed to do while I’m playing lackey to some buttoned-down hotshot who thinks he’s some kind of Top Gun character?”

“Don’t worry about Henshaw,” John assured her. “We’ve got plenty to keep him busy. I thought I’d put him on the Fishnet murders.”

“Oh, he’ll love that,” Elaine mused, some of the fight draining out of her. What was the point, anyway? Damn, she needed more Maalox. Her stomach burned like hell.

The Fishnet case was a string of prostitute murders where the victims had been strangled with fishnet stockings while in a compromising position. Henshaw wouldn’t mind. He’d probably enjoy the scenery. Elaine wanted to kick something. But what was the use? She’d still be stuck working with the Feds. Up close and personally.

“This won’t be the first time you’ve worked a joint task force. What’s the big deal?” John wanted to know.

What’d he expect? Enthusiasm?

She looked directly at him and said exactly what was on her mind. “I have a partner. I don’t need another partner.” She glared at her boss for emphasis. “And I damn sure don’t want one who no doubt suffers with the same ailment all Feds do—the God complex.” One of the chief’s comments abruptly pushed its way through her irritation. Especially under the circumstances. What the hell did that mean?

“Well if it makes you feel any better, Detective,” a husky masculine voice drawled from the doorway some ten feet behind her, “I don’t want a partner, either.”

“Dammit,” she hissed, her eyes closing briefly in self-deprecation. Elaine turned slowly toward the man who’d spoken. Though she’d never met him, she recognized him instantly. That ruggedly handsome face as well as the stance, both weary and wary, contrasted sharply with his starched shirt and khakis, silk tie and polished brown leather loafers. There was something raw about him—besides the weapon nestled in its holster against that mile-wide chest. It radiated off him in waves. A distracting mix of confidence, masculinity and sexuality.

Elaine disliked him on sight.

“Elaine Jentzen,” John announced unnecessarily, then cleared his throat, “this is Special Agent Trace Callahan. Your new partner.”

Callahan strolled slowly toward her, each step a deliberate act of intimidation. But Elaine wasn’t intimidated. Surprised at her body’s foolish reaction to him, yes, but not at all intimidated. Ignoring the swirl of awareness in her gut, she thrust out her hand when he got within shaking distance.

“I wish I could say it’s a pleasure, Agent Callahan,” she said bluntly. So he was the circumstances the chief spoke of.

Callahan closed a hand over hers, unexpectedly sending a surge of pure heat spiraling through her. Those analyzing blue eyes never left hers for a second. “The pleasure’s surely mine, Detective Jentzen,” he said smoothly, so damned smoothly that she almost shivered. “And not to worry,” he added, holding on to her hand when she would have pulled away. “I left my God complex at home this morning. I’ll be sure to do that for the duration of our partnership.”

Fury burst inside her, and a different kind of heat scalded Elaine’s cheeks. “See that you do, Callahan,” she shot back. “And we’ll get along just fine.”

Something on the order of a smile played about the corners of his mouth as he released her hand. “No problem. We Top Guns are always on our best behavior when working with real cops.”

Her day had just gotten worse.

“Have a seat, Agent Callahan,” John offered before shooting Elaine a look that meant two things—sit down and shut up.

Too pissed off to be submissive, she ignored her boss and looked directly at Callahan, daring him to make the first move. This close, his gaze startled her. It was more than simply analyzing…it was penetrating. Pure blue, like today’s sky, only ice-cold. Those eyes bore the experienced lines of someone who had witnessed too much…given too much. A chill shivered through her.

“After you,” he said with a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. It was more like a practiced offering. A compromise he’d trained himself to make during situations like this.

Elaine blinked and looked away from those disturbing eyes. “So, who’s in charge?” she asked John, determined to nail down that point right off the bat.

“You’ll lead,” Callahan interjected. “So long as,” he qualified, “we understand each other.”

Oh, he was smooth. She knew precisely what he meant. So long as he got his way, she was in charge. She sent him another evaluating look. “I think we understand each other perfectly.” With that said, Elaine sat down. She didn’t miss the relief on John’s face. This was awkward for him she knew, but at the moment she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to play nice under present circumstances.

Callahan settled into the other chair, his gaze lingering on her. She could feel him watching her…weighing the challenge she represented.

“We don’t want any conflicting obligations,” John told her, getting back down to business. “I don’t want your focus scattered by anything. We’ll let Flatt fill in as deputy chief while you’re on this case.”

Elaine stiffened as insult was added to injury. No way was she taking this without a fight. “I don’t see the necessity. I’ll still report in as usual. I can handle both.”

John shook his head. “I’m in agreement with the Bureau on this one. The case needs yours and Agent Callahan’s full attention. Anything less is unacceptable.”

Fury flamed inside her. It didn’t have to be this way. “Why not Henshaw? He’s senior, let him fill in.”

“My decision is final.” The look John gave her was more telling than his words.

Elaine recognized the futility of arguing the issue further. Once John Dugan made up his mind there was no changing it. Whatever his reasons for choosing Flatt over Henshaw, she had no choice but to accept the situation. But she didn’t have to like it.

“Fine,” she agreed tightly. This whole day had sucked. What was one more injustice? She almost laughed. And here she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse.

“I’ll need a status report every twenty-four hours,” John went on. “To keep the mayor abreast of the situation. I’ll also keep Senior Supervisory Agent Douglas informed,” he advised Callahan. “It’s my understanding that you’ll report directly to me throughout the investigation just like Jentzen.”

Callahan nodded. “That’s right.”

Surprise, surprise, Elaine thought. The Feds were staying out of the main loop. She wondered what hidden significance that goodwill gesture carried. Someone was pulling out all the stops on this one. No doubt to appease the mayor.

“So we understand each other here?” John asked looking at her again.

“Absolutely,” she said succinctly despite the fact that she didn’t understand any of it. And she damn sure didn’t like it. She hated this kind of politically motivated crap.

John stood, an act of dismissal. “Then I’ll let the two of you get started.”

Elaine snagged her purse and pushed to her feet. “Thank you, sir.” Disappointment flared briefly in John’s eyes at her curt tone. She refused to feel guilty for that, too. Though she felt sure he really didn’t like this any more than she did, she resented the feeling of helplessness it gave her. He’d been in on the decision making; she’d had no say at all. But he had a job to do. And so did she.