She shouldered her tote handbag and straightened the front of her blue and white knit cardigan. “I was here before you parked. Checking a few emails before I went inside.”
With a nod, he fell in beside her as they headed for a set of glass and metal double doors. “You know, I always forget that you drive a BMW. Mostly because you’re not a frat boy, and I’ve never seen you cut someone off.”
Her forest green eyes flicked to his as she let out a huff of feigned indignation. “They’re nice cars, and they’re reasonably priced if you buy them at the right time of year. Plus, it gets great gas mileage.”
Leave it to Amelia to worry about such a thing in a luxury vehicle. “BMWs are also the official cars of people who cut other people off in traffic. Just so you’re aware.”
Pulling open one of the doors, Amelia waved her other hand to swat at an invisible bug. “Whatever. I don’t cut people off, so I guess I’m taking BMWs back, then.”
He flashed her a grin. “Good for you.”
Neither of them spoke on their trip into the FBI building, but Zane couldn’t tell if the silence was due to the early morning hour or some sort of bizarre, unresolved tension. Though Amelia had seemed amiable enough when he’d told her about Cassandra Halcott the day before, he couldn’t help but wonder if the casual attitude was a façade.
The idea that Amelia might be jealous flitted through his head, but he kicked the notion away as soon as it formed. She was his friend, and the thought that he was such a spectacular catch that Amelia would trip over herself for an opportunity to date him was ridiculous. He’d known plenty of men and women who placed themselves on a pedestal, and needless to say, he hadn’t maintained contact with any of them over the years.
No, he wasn’t worried that Amelia was jealous. He was more concerned that she thought less of him or that she might lump him into the same womanizing category as Joseph Larson.
When the elevator slid closed, he finally turned his full attention to Amelia. “Hey, this might be a stupid question. Okay, it probably is a stupid question, but are we good?”
A crease formed between her manicured brows as she met his curious stare. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be? I mean, trust me, I’ve run into plenty of terrible drivers in BMWs over the years, so I know where that joke comes from. I didn’t take it personally, don’t worry.”
With a scoff, he shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I stand by my assessment of BMW drivers.” He tapped an index finger against the metal thermos and sighed. “I was wondering about it because of yesterday. You know, Cassandra Halcott. That whole thing.”
She blinked a few times. “Oh. Right, that. I actually forgot about it until just now.”
“Oh. You did?” Freaking fantastic. So glad I brought it back up. He scratched the stubble at his cheek, hoping to cover his embarrassment. “Okay, well.”
As Amelia reached out to clasp his shoulder, her expression was unreadable. “Zane, honey, I work in the Organized Crime Division at the FBI. I’m not the sex police.” The corner of her mouth twitched as she struggled to hide her amusement. But her feigned expression cracked as she erupted into a fit of laughter.
Cautious relief edged its way into his thoughts as he chuckled along with her. “Thanks for clearing that up. I wasn’t quite sure.”
She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. “No, of course I’m not upset with you about that. You’re a grown-up, and so is Cassandra. If you guys had a little ‘adult fun,’” she raised her fingers to add air quotes, “then that’s honestly pretty normal. You’re not a monk or priest.”
“No, definitely not.” He winked at her.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She crossed herself and then elbowed him in the arm, cackling so hard she snorted.
Zane chewed his lip to stop himself from mirroring her. That woman was the queen of bad jokes. She never failed to find the corniest pun or phrase for every occasion. “But seriously.” Zane cleared his throat. “After what happened with Larson, you know, trying to get you to go home with him a few weeks ago. I thought I’d just make sure.”
Her gaze narrowed for a moment before she shook off the worried look. “Right, yeah, I can see that. I know you’re not an asshole like Larson, though. That didn’t even cross my mind.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh of relief with a comical swipe across his brow, hoping to play off the fact that hearing her say as much actually made him feel good. “At least I’m doing one thing right.”
The chime of the elevator drew their attention as they reached their floor, and the doors opened, revealing an empty hall. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t cross paths with anyone on their way to the repurposed closet that served as their base of operations for the Leóne task force.
On a keypad next to the heavy, windowless door, Zane typed the six-digit code known only to him, Amelia, and SAC Keaton.
As the magnetic lock latched in place behind them, Zane set his thermos on the worn tabletop, and Amelia dropped her purse on the seat of a broken office chair in the corner.
He’d received word back from the Assistant U.S. Attorney the night before, and they’d scheduled a meeting at the FBI office for late that morning. The prosecutor had assured him she’d have the paperwork in order to send to MCC, and though Zane had no reason to doubt her, he couldn’t help the prickle of dread in the back of his mind.
Pushing aside the gloomy sentiment, he returned his attention to Amelia. Her gaze had drifted to the whiteboard as she spun a piece of hair around her index finger.
Normally, she kept it pinned back in
