Page 29 of Marked

The conversation drew me away from my work again. A spark? Had I ever had that with Rick? Not that I could recall. I’d been too shocked that a guy in a tux, one who was obviously well off and handsome, was hitting on me. I’d been excited when that happened, hadn’t I?

Wracking my brain, I tried to recall that night all those months ago. If I was being honest with myself, I’d never felt a spark with Rick. I’d been too intrigued by the transactional nature the relationship might have. God, was I that shallow? That desperate for a better life? I liked Rick. He was charming and kind, but there really wasn’t a lot more than that. He’d been so aggressive in his attempts to woo me that I’d had a hard time saying no. Not to mention how intimidating he was.

I supposed I’d simply looked at the good things I could see. A life with him would have been secure and pleasant, but would we ever have had those fireworks these women were talking about? Have I ever had that feeling? Not with Rick, that was for sure, and it made my decision seem even more right.

But couldanyonemake me feel that way?

Nate’s cocky grin filled my mind, and a flush of heat spread through my chest. Despite my best wishes, and maybe fueled by whatever sickness I had, I remembered that moment when I’d been pressed to his chest. Then, like a damn psychopath, I imagined what it would have been like if we’d both been naked. My nipples hardened, and a pleasant warmth surged between my legs.

“Well, well, well. Looks like we meet again,” a voice said.

I jerked as though slapped, almost falling from my chair as I whirled to find Nate staring at me. Dressed in jeans, boots, a leather jacket, and sunglasses perched on his head, he leaned on the wall of my cubicle, looking down at me with that same cocky grin I’d just been fantasizing about.

Had my fever spiked? Was I hallucinating? What thefuckwas going on?

“Good afternoon, Ms. Torres,” another familiar voice said.

“Detective Vickers?” I asked dumbly.

The detective stood in the doorway of my cubicle, a much less flirtatious smile on his face.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Nice to see you again. Do you have a minute to talk?”

My shock and confusion quickly evaporated, and distrust and worry seeped in. “What’s this about? Who let you into the building?” I demanded.

Vickers—Ollie—stuck a thumb in his belt and pushed his badge forward. “This tends to open a lot of doors.”

The newsroom had gone eerily quiet. It looked as though every woman in the room had come over to check out the two men. Ollie was attractive in a traditional sense, while Nate had a wildness to him that made him even sexier. I couldn’t blame the ladies—and even a couple of the guys—for wanting a look. Then I mentally chastised myself for even thinking that.

As if to rub that thought in even deeper, Tabitha walked by behind Nate and caught my eye. She glanced down at his ass, then back at me, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“You still haven’t said if you have time to talk. Do you?” Ollie asked me again.

“I don’t know that it’s smart to refuse a police officer,” I said.

“Is there somewhere more private we can talk?” Ollie asked, glancing around and almost catching Brent’s secretary checking him out.

“Sure, follow me,” I said. Standing, I led the two men to a small conference room.

Ollie followed me, and Nate trailed behind. He’d slid his sunglasses back down, hiding his eyes. In the conference room,Ollie took a chair at the table opposite me. Nate flopped into one by the door, kicked his feet up onto the back of another, and leaned back, the very picture of some grungy biker fashion model.

“Can I ask you what this is about, Detective?” I asked. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, and I’d like to get back to it.”

As annoyed and uncomfortable as I was with the strange and unexpected interruption to my day, I kept my tone respectable. I’d never forget how the police were back in Zamora. The gangs and cartels owned that place. The police were in the pocket of one or the other. Corruption ran rampant, and at times, you were inmoredanger around cops than gang members. Their badges and power made them think they were untouchable—pauper kings lording over their slums.

In Canada and the US, things were different. I had witnessed the differences myself, yet the old, ingrained habits still clung tight.

Ollie nodded and pulled a notepad and a folded piece of paper from the inside of his jacket. “We wanted to discuss your attack again, if that’s all right.”

I threw a glance toward Nate, who, if I hadn’t known better, looked like he was napping. His sunglasses covered his eyes, and his head was tilted back to rest on the wall.

“Why ishehere?” I asked. “Do you guys know each other through work or something?”

“Something like that,” Nate said with a chuckle.

“Ms. Torres,” Ollie said, opening his notebook. “Can we go over the details of the attack once more? I had a chance to read the statement you provided, and I wanted a bit of clarity on some things.”

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