Page 14 of Pulse

Whoever she was, she nodded to him once, and for some reason, he trusted her, so he sat his ass back down on the hard-as-hell metal chair. God forbid someone be remotely comfortable while being grilled by the cops.

Dixon stood. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” she said with a wink that let him know this wasn’t over.

“Well…” The newcomer grinned as Dixon slipped out of the room. She strode around the table and came to stand next to him. “Seems I’m late to the party. Detectives, put away your weapons. I want a few moments alone with my client.”

Pulse’s lips twitched. So, she was the club’s new attorney. She sure had spunk. He liked a woman who knew how to command a room. The club had recently changed law firms, and anyone who worked with them would need a spine of steel.

She cleared her throat, her eyes on Detective Wallace. “I wasn’t asking. Clear out. I need five minutes.”

Damn, that was hot as hell. This time, Pulse didn’t try to stop his grin.

“Keep your ass in that seat, Vargas,” Wallace said before gesturing for McGee to leave with her.

“Turn the cameras off,” his lawyer announced. She didn’t miss a trick.

They both stared at the camera in the corner of the room until the light changed, indicating they were no longer being recorded. Then she turned a pair of intelligent green eyes on him.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Pulse snorted.

She sighed. “Sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself. I just hate it when they pull shady shit, and I have a feeling whatever was going on before I walked in was shady as fuck.” She held out a hand. “Talia Davenport. I’m an attorney with Miller and Carmichael. I specialize in criminal defense and will be the main attorney for the Hell’s Handlers moving forward. I will also counsel the women staying at the shelter who might need a legal representative.”

“Pulse,” he said as he slid his hand against hers. Her palm was smooth as damn silk, but there wasn’t anything limp or weak about the way she clasped his hand. She gripped him confidently and shook, staring him straight in his eye.

Sexy.

“Have a seat,” he said, nudging the chair next to him with his foot. “Sorry you got called out in the middle of the night.”

She waved away his concern as she pulled the extra chair out and sat sideways, facing him. “Part of the job.” Smiling, she crossed her legs, a movement he had no choice but to zero in on.

He nearly swallowed his tongue.

Her legs were gorgeous.

Smooth, tanned, shapely. They’d feel amazing against his tongue as he dragged it up her thigh. Would she get wet? Wouldshe cream herself, then let him bury his nose against her pussy and inhale the scent as it soaked her panties?

Fuck, this was not the time, and she was not the woman.

Of course, she pulled a pair of black framed glasses from her bag. Was she trying to fuck with him? He bit off a groan as she slid the frames on her face before picking up the file the cops left for her.

“Okay, from what I gather, a woman working as a prostitute in Tampa was severely physically assaulted, and the detectives claim she mentioned your name and description before losing consciousness.”

Her words squashed his inappropriate lust. He shook his head. “Such fucking bullshit.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you deny the charges?”

His spine snapped straight. “Excuse me? Of course, I fucking deny it. Do you know a damn thing about our club? I don’t give a shit how much evidence the cops say they have, it’s bullshit. I’d be kicked out on my ass if I beat a woman.”

Her smirk had his eyes narrowing. “Oh, I know,” she said. “I did do my research on your club, and I wouldn’t be working with you if I thought you were the types of lowlifes who’d beat on women. So that leaves us with a few questions.”

“Who hurt the woman?”

“No, well yes, that is a question but one for the cops. My concern is for you and why the hell she named you if she really did.”

After speaking with Dixon, he wondered if there was an injured woman or if the entire situation was a ruse to get him to rat on his club.

God, he’d rather fucking die.

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