the nagging tug in her chest or the pulsating ache in her clit. That was just what she needed, something else to cloud her judgment and keep her from devoting her time to the real problem. This case.
Chapter 6
“So, what do you think?” Jordan fiddled with her radio trying to find something that wasn’t Justin Bieber pop.
“Guy’s fucking crazy. He’s definitely got an ax to grind. I’m not sure where the hate is coming from though. It’s probably a good idea to bring Detective Foxx in to speak with our profiler.”
“Already suggested it.” Jordan laughed softly. “She wasn’t happy about it.”
“She can’t argue with that. The FBI has resources they will never have.” Matt’s tone was adamant, but there was a hint of something softer buried between the words.
Jordan studied Matt’s profile in the dim lights of her console. Her 370Z hummed along the quiet night streets, and she preferred to keep the peace between them, but a thought nagged at her until she opened her mouth and it spilled out. “You like the Detective, huh?”
For a moment, she thought he would not answer, and she had almost given up when he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. “Yeah, I do.”
Jordan glanced over and saw the telltale puppy-dog look in his eyes, a look she knew well. “Shit, Matty. You really like her. Is that going to be a problem?”
He shook his head. “I have it under control, okay?”
“Good.” Jordan slowed down and stopped in front of his building. “I don’t think she’s the type to mix business and pleasure. Don’t get yourself hurt.”
She could see his jaw tighten, his only sign her words affected him. He ran a hand through his hair. “I said I got this.”
He opened the door and stepped out without another word. She watched him let himself into his building, a slight slump in his shoulders belying the fact that the bravado he showed her was just a facade.
“Whatever.” Jordan gunned the engine and pulled away on screeching tires. She felt reckless tonight. A few hours ago, she had been knee-deep in a frenzied bout of sex with a woman she found attractive and uncomplicated. That should be enough. Instead, she was worried about Matty and Detective Foxx. What she should have worried about was following Matt’s lead and starting to care too much for the Detective herself.
Jordan pulled into the parking garage that connected with the tower she lived in. She parked and was just about to go in, when she realized she was so wound up, there was no way she could settle down tonight. She punched the elevator and when the doors opened, she hit the ground floor instead of going up.
She wasn’t sure where she wanted to go, she only knew it was anywhere except her home. She wandered up the dark street, her senses on high alert. Downtown Chicago was safe most times, but the events of the past few days made her leery. Subconsciously, she patted her side. She felt the hard casing of her holster. She fingered the grip of her Glock and let out a breath.
She wasn’t sure why she needed to feel it attached to her side to feel safe. Maybe it was more to reassure herself that it was actually there. Her hand strayed to her left shoulder. The scar was still there. The one time she had been unarmed was the one time she had been shot. It was stupid really. She was getting her weapon serviced, and she had stumbled into a robbery unarmed. She was actually lucky the bullet had only hit her shoulder and not six inches lower.
She shook her head, realizing she was doing it again, reliving the past. She tried not to do that.
It wasn’t until she heard the bartender ask what she wanted that she realized she had ended up in her favorite dive, Franks. She ordered a whiskey on the rocks and made it a double. She eyed the pool table and figured she could challenge herself to a round or two. Between that and Jack Daniels, she may be able to stop her mind from replaying everything she had seen in the past week.
The cool wood sliding between her fingers and the resounding crack and subsequent drop and roll of the seven ball calmed her frazzled nerves, or maybe her second double in as many minutes. She lined up the two ball and sent it into the corner pocket with a satisfying thud.
“So, you’re a night owl too?”
Jordan looked up and saw Rebecca leaning against the doorframe. If she was surprised to see her there, her face didn’t show it. Instead, an almost friendly smile had replaced the ever-present glare that Jordan was getting used to. She had changed into faded blue jeans and a worn out button-down shirt. Jordan had to admit she looked incredibly sexy away from work.
“Yeah, I don’t sleep much anyway, and this case has me all riled up.”
Jordan watched her push off the doorframe and walk towards her. She set her beer bottle down and grabbed a stick. “Up for a game?”
Jordan quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. “Sure. Although, I didn’t think you liked me enough to suffer my company.”
Rebecca laughed, and Jordan felt herself shiver. Her laugh was definitely sexy, just like the rest of her. “Forgive me, Agent, but you will learn pretty quickly that I take my job very seriously, and I don’t like it when I’m stuck in a pissing contest over whose jurisdiction it is, when all I want to do is make the streets a little safer. Besides, beating you will be much more enjoyable than beating myself.”
“Please call me Jordan.” Jordan studied Rebecca’s face as she re-racked the balls. She stood with her hands rested on the top of her stick. “If that’s not overstepping my bounds.”
Jordan winked as she said the words and Rebecca couldn’t help but smile. Outside of work, Jordan was even more of a distraction, and she welcomed the warm feeling that was starting to spread through her body. She wasn’t sure if it was the beer or Jordan, but she didn’t care. “Alright, Jordan it is…outside work.”
Jordan covered a smile. Even off-duty Rebecca couldn’t let go of her control. “Are you always this competitive?”
Rebecca met her gaze and had to force herself to pull away. She realized that looking into Jordan’s eyes was a bad idea. She could see getting lost in them, and that wasn’t something she would allow herself to do. “With four brothers, I had to be.”
Jordan nodded toward the table. She studied Rebecca’s movements, imprinting them in her brain. Her movements were fluid, almost feline, with a calculated fluidity that made Jordan wonder if she hadn’t been a ballerina at some time. She watched her lean over the table, the stick held gently between her thumb and forefinger. She pulled back and sent the cue ball flying with deadly accuracy. By the time the break had come to a stop, she had dropped the six and thirteen balls respectively. Rebecca stood up and sent a devilish grin towards Jordan. “You’re in trouble.” She circled the table. “I’ll take solids. Two ball, corner pocket.”
“You didn’t tell me you were a hustler.” Jordan teased and watched her deftly sink the two ball. “So, you have four brothers, huh? Where did you fall?”
“Middle.” Rebecca lined up another shot and sunk her third solid. “We were all born pretty close together, and growing up, I just kind of thought of myself as one of the guys. If they played football, I thought I had to play as well.”
“And win of course.” Jordan’s eyes twinkled playfully. She liked this version of Detective Foxx. The sexy redhead was quickly making her blood boil. She stole a glance to see if maybe the feeling was mutual, but Rebecca was already lining up her next shot. After a particularly difficult bank attempt into the side pocket, she gave up the table.
“Guess I can’t win ‘em all.” Rebecca's face broke into a smile. She felt free for the first time in days. Jordan had a way of putting her at ease and making her forget, for a second, she was a cop. “So what about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
A cloud passed over Jordan’s face then disappeared just as quickly. “Nope. Just me and my mom, when she
