Page 81 of What About Love

Originally wanting a career in forensic psychology, Angie had changed her mind when she saw how many child custody and abuse cases mired that field. And treating the offenders in the criminal justice system wasn’t something she wanted to do. She decided her nerves and scruples couldn’t take it and she had switched her major to criminology, still earning a minor in psychology. She had thought of becoming a profiler after a few years on the force, but the corruption had disillusioned her. That didn’t mean she didn’t have some of those skills and a bit of a knack for it.

Attributing it to her insightfulness or possibly to her strong analytical skills, or maybe it was simply her unique female perspective, she was called on often by other members of the team to weigh in on other cases. She’d already helped Jonas on a social media stalker case. Angie had quickly keyed in on the culprit, who turned out to be the woman’s creepy ex-boyfriend.

With her success, Rick pulled her in on a kidnapping case which had an odd familial twist. From the interviews and evidence provided, Angie narrowed the suspects to include the boy’s deadbeat father. Thought to have been living out of state, he’d been absent from his life for years and had been a long shot. A little digging revealed he’d returned to Texas, living under an assumed name. Further, he needed cash and his ex-wife remarrying a wealthy man provided the perfect opportunity.

Most of her own cases ended up being domestic issues. Who was cheating on whom and where, but she didn’t mind those so much after a serial rapist and murder.

She was still training with Dan several days a week and driving him nuts in the simulator. Using T’s advice, she now scored consistently in the low eighties, which was better than the 40 percent she started out at. It still came out to be one miss for every five shots. That miss could be potentially deadly and was not good enough for Dan, Rossi, or to meet her own personal standards. So, after hours, she could often be found in the simulator, practicing the urban street fight scenario or at home on her new Xbox playing the game Jonas had recommended to improve her hand-eye coordination and targeting skills.

One Wednesday evening at about seven, she was leaving the firing range, hurrying to her office to store her gear and change. For the first time since LA, she was heading back to the club, of all places. Not to play but to share a pitcher of margaritas, or several, with the girls while Elena performed.

LBD night was something she’d always enjoyed in the past, but she had regularly declined their invitations, not wanting to step foot inside T’s social stomping grounds. She’d finally given in, partially because of the twins’ unrelenting nagging, but primarily because T was out of town on a case.

She showered and changed in the bathroom in holding, allocated for her use as the only female in the office. That morning, she’d carted in a garment bag with her dress and her big weekender bag that was chock full of enough supplies to do her hair and makeup for a week.

At ten before eight, dressed in a chic but not overtly sexy black dress, she was all set to enjoy girls’ night out. Not interested in meeting any perspective men, not that she’d choose another dom anyway, T had spoiled that for her, she was doing this for herself and the rejuvenation of her social life.

Pushing all thoughts of the heartbreaker out of her mind, she stepped back and took a last look. She’d lost weight, not necessarily a bad thing. The missing ten pounds had flattened her belly farther—though she’d never rock a six-pack—as well as defining her cheekbones. The workouts with Dan had also toned and sculpted her upper arms. She was proud of all her hard work, so much that she’d selected her dress specifically because it showed off her new guns. A derringer beside any of the guys’ cannons; she was still pleased with the definition when she flexed.

Scooped in front with spaghetti straps baring her shoulders and arms, the dress dipped halfway down her back. That was the extent of its sexiness, however. The skirt, although fitted, came an inch below mid-thigh, which was conservative by Decadence’s standards. It had a sheer mesh overlay that was shot through with silver threads, which caught the light as she moved.

It was eye-catching, but not like a walking advertisement for sex. She didn’t want that. What she wanted was to feel good about herself again. She’d accessorized with a turquoise and topaz silver necklace and matching bracelet. Compared to the other women, she’d look like a nun.

At the thought of a nun at a kink club, which would be enough to make the sister’s head spin and her habit catch fire, she laughed softly. Then she left the bathroom to stow everything in her office for the night. Head down, she was juggling her bag, purse, and keys as she rounded the corner. It all went flying as she slammed into a hard muscled chest. Teetering on her four-inch heels, she grabbed onto the man’s forearm to keep herself from flying as well.

“Excuse me! I didn’t think anyone was here and wasn’t watching where I was going.” As she apologized, she stared up into the most strikingly handsome face she’d ever seen, also the last one she expected or wanted to see.

“You plowed into me hard, darlin’. Are you all right?”

T’s voice, velvet-edged and strong, haunted her dreams. To hear its warm, deep tone for real stirred the longing she foolishly thought she’d conquered.

“I’m fine,” she muttered as she pulled away, stooping to gather her things. He went down, too, and had her bag and purse scooped up in one hand before she knew it. His free hand cupped her elbow to help her stand.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she retrieved it all from his grasp and started past him.

“We can’t go on with you avoiding me this way.”

“I don’t see why not,” she replied, instantly regretting her snappish tone. “I’m sorry, but if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”

He didn’t let her go, instead pulling her around to face him. His eyes swept over her carefully applied makeup and sleek straightened hair, dipping down her body and back up. Lips that could be soft and sensuous or hard and demanding formed a straight line.

“You’ve got a date?”

“That’s not—”

“With Dano?” he demanded.

That sparked her anger. “Not that it’s any of your business. Dan and I are strictly friends.”

“Not if he has a say in it.”

She ignored that remark. “If you must know, I’m going to the club to see Elena perform.”

“No. It’s open sub night. It’ll be a meat market.”

“That is also none of your concern and not your decision.”

He gripped her arms and pulled her into his chest; the blazing heat of his skin nearly scorched her as he challenged, “What if I make it my concern, little bit?”

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