Page 26 of Whispers in the Quarter

“I’m involved in everything interesting in this city, dear friend. The real question is...” I tap his chest again, feeling his heartbeat race under my finger, “what do you want to be involved in?”

The silence stretches between us, electric with possibility. I can practically see the war behind his eyes—duty versus desire, justice versus vengeance, the law versus something darker and more satisfying.

“I should arrest you,” he says finally, but he makes no move to do so.

I laugh, wild and free. “But you won’t. Because deep down, you want to know how the story ends. Want to be part of it.” I stand, moving to my private safe. “Would you like to see what I’m working on? What we could accomplish together?”

“We?” Ethan’s voice catches as I enter my safe’s combination with flourishing digits. “You keep saying that.”

“Mmmm,” I hum, shooting him my most manic grin over my shoulder. “Did your mother never teach you patience, saint? All will be revealed in time. Like a properly executedchemical reaction—every element must be introduced in perfect sequence.”

I retrieve a small vial of iridescent liquid, holding it up to the light. The way Ethan’s eyes track my movements is positively predatory. Such potential in him, barely contained by that FBI suit.

“You’re looking particularly delicious tonight, by the way,” I observe casually, enjoying the way his cheeks color. “All righteous determination and barely suppressed violence. Makes me want to run all sorts of fascinating tests.”

“Lucas,” he warns, but he doesn’t move away when I invade his personal space.

“Tell me, Agent Blake,” I purr, perching on his armrest. “What really keeps you up at night? The criminals you can’t catch, or the ones you let walk free?” I dangle the vial before his eyes. “The solution could be so simple. So... elegant.”

His hand catches my wrist, strong and steady. “This isn’t a game.”

“Oh, but it is!” I laugh, not pulling away from his grip. “The most exquisite game. And you’re already playing, whether you admit it or not.” I lean closer, my lips nearly brushing his ear. “Why else would you be here, in my private lab, at midnight, instead of reporting your suspicions to your superiors?”

His grip tightens, but still he doesn’t push me away. “I’m here because you’re my friend.”

“Am I?” I ask softly, letting some of my genuine affection show through the madness. “And what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you become who you’re meant to be?”

“A law-abiding one,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of humor in his voice.

“Boring!” I declare, finally pulling free of his grip to spin dramatically across the lab. “Law-abiding is for people who lack imagination. Vision! The courage to reshape the world intosomething better.” I pause, fixing him with my most intense stare. “People unlike you, my dear Ethan.”

He stands abruptly, running both hands through his hair. The gesture dishevels him beautifully. “I should go.”

“Should you?” I move to block his path, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. “Or should you stay? See what other secrets my lab holds? What other truths about yourself you might discover?”

“You’re insane,” he says, but he’s smiling slightly now.

“Brilliantly so,” I agree cheerfully. “And you’re attracted to it. To the chaos, the freedom, the pure...” I trail one finger down his tie, “...possibility of it all.”

His hand catches mine, and for a moment, I think he might actually arrest me. Instead, he just holds it, thumb brushing over my chemical-stained knuckles. “What happened to you, Lucas?”

“I evolved, saint.” I squeeze his hand. “And you’re so close to your own evolution. I can see it in your eyes—that hunger for something more than paperwork and procedures.” I step even closer, tilting my head. “Would you like me to show you?”

The war in his eyes is absolutely beautiful.

“Your pulse is racing, Agent Blake,” I murmur, my fingers finding the point beneath his jaw where truth beats in steady rhythms. “Quite the physiological response for someone who claims to be repulsed by all this.”

“Lucas—” His voice has gone rough, delicious.

“Shhhh,” I press slightly harder against his carotid. “Let the scientist speak. Elevated heart rate, dilated pupils...” I lean in, noting every micro-expression with clinical fascination. “Your body betrays you, saint. Every time you say no, your pulse screams yes.”

“This is inappropriate,” he manages, but his pulse jumps wonderfully under my touch.

“Oh, absolutely,” I agree cheerfully. “Highly unethical. Professionally compromising. Morally ambiguous at best.” My other hand comes up to straighten his tie again, lingering. “And yet... you’re still here. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

He swallows hard. I track the movement with scientific interest. “I should arrest you.”

“Mm, there’s that word again. Should.” I tap his chest in time with his heartbeat. “But your pulse tells such a different story. Tell me, does it race like this when you think about her? About the perfect justice she delivers?”

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