Sonny’s eyes flicked over Grant. The sound of her voice last night must have tipped him off to her wanton behavior, but she’d never have guessed he would fly in on the next plane, or try to take Ben into custody by force.
“Call off your dog, Grant,” she said wearily.
“Let her up,” he said, gesturing to Ben. “Get him instead.”
As Mitchell released her, Ben’s eyes narrowed. “You know these guys?”
Her stomach churning with dread, she stared down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. “Just do what they say, Ben.”
“Can I put my pants on first?” His tone was surly and bewildered, an understandable reaction from a super-rich judge’s son who had never expected to be manhandled by the police. Or betrayed by a woman.
Grant motioned his assent. “Please do. Let’s all holster our weapons, so to speak, and proceed in a rational manner.”
Ben took it all in and came to the natural conclusion. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?” He jerked his pants up, shooting her an angry glare. “You lying fucking bitch. You’re a cop.”
Mitchell forced a laugh. “Look how bent out of shape he is. You must be dynamite in the sack, Vasquez.”
“Fuck you, Mitchell,” she bit out, mad at herself for letting him get the best of her, although her pride was stinging more than her face.
“Anytime, baby.”
Sonny dragged on her own clothes, aware that Mitchell was ogling her nude form and furious with Grant for allowing it.
She’d just been demoted, and this was part of her punishment.
“By the way, I like what you’ve got going on downstairs,” Mitchell added, elbowing Ben in the ribs. “Don’t see that every day, do you? Usually it’s the other way around. Light on top, dark down below.”
Ben wasn’t much of a fighter, but there was only so much insult a man could take in his own home. With a low growl, he drew back his arm and sent his fist into Mitchell’s stomach. Mitchell didn’t even flinch. Ben shook out his hand, wincing, and Mitchell had him facedown on the carpet, hands cuffed behind his back, before he could say Ouch.
“You want to resist some more, motherfucker?” Mitchell panted.
Ben’s response was muffled, but it sounded affirmative. Not amused by his attitude, Mitchell jerked Ben to his feet, handling him with deliberate roughness.
Grant turned his dispassionate gaze to Sonny. “Speaking of body hair, thanks for the sample, Special Agent Vasquez. We’ve got a positive match on Lisette Bruebaker, from above and below stairs.” He gave her a pitying look. “I regret that you had to take such extreme measures to collect it from this bed.”
Sonny began to pull on her socks and shoes in silence, clenching her jaw until her teeth ached. By implying that sleeping with Ben had been part of her official duty, Grant was protecting her, but she was too devastated to feel relieved.
Grant inclined his head at Ben. “You’re a popular man, Mr. Fortune. Getting your money’s worth out of that Egyptian cotton.”
Sonny glanced at Ben, gauging his reaction. The expression on his face, when he realized she’d been deceiving him from the beginning, tore her apart. She watched every tender emotion he’d felt for her wither up and die.
“I want my lawyer,” he said, eyes cold.
“Take him downstairs,” Grant ordered, dismissing Mitchell and Ben with a wave of his hand. When they were out of earshot, he turned to Sonny, his steely gray eyes speculative. Her boss was a hard-ass, but he’d never been deliberately cruel. He was aware of her history with men and had always treated her with respect. The look he gave her now was more paternal than professional, but it still cut her to the quick.
Knowing he cared enough about her to be disappointed, she felt twice as ashamed of herself for letting him down.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
She couldn’t help but flush. “A few hours.”
He squinted down at her, taking in her messy hair and casual attire. “Go make yourself presentable,” he said. “I need you to work a crime scene.”
Her stomach tightened. “Another victim? Who is it?”
“A local fisherman. Some guy named Arlen Matthews.”
Carly wanted to pay for the movie, but James wouldn’t let her. She had also suggested they skip the movie and go somewhere they could be alone together.
Honor demanded he refuse.
James took his promises very seriously, and he didn’t want to screw up the unspoken truce he and her dad had called over turkey-and-avocado sandwiches the night before. Ben had given James permission to take Carly to the theater, not anywhere else.
She sulked, but in a denim mini-skirt and black sheepskin boots, she looked damned good doing it. Her stretchy plum-colored knit sweater covered up what the top underneath didn’t. This morning, she’d been taunting him with flashes of silky midriff.
James didn’t argue with her choice of movie, even though it was an artsy flick, because he figured that on a date, ladies picked and gentlemen paid. He didn’t get a chance to go to the theater very often, and when he did, he preferred mindless action over thought-provoking drama.
So did everyone else, from the looks of it. Due to either the early-bird show time or the heavy subject matter, the theater was empty.
It dawned on him that she’d chosen wisely. “You have great taste in movies,” he said with a grin.
“Thanks,” she replied glibly, finding a secluded corner in the back row.
The multiplex was the new kind, with comfortable bucket seats and adjustable armrests. He pushed the one between them all the way up.
“Wait,” she said as he reached for her.
He looked around the empty theater. “Why?”
“The lights are still on. Someone might come in.”
James settled back in his seat, watching concession advertisements float across the screen. “Want some popcorn?”
She shook her head.
“Coke?”
“No thanks.”
The lights began to dim. Thank God.
“What do you want?” he whispered, putting his lips against the sweet curve of her neck.
“You,” she said in his ear, making him shiver. Then she pushed him away. “But let’s wait until the movie starts. Lots of people come in during the trailers.”
He groaned and sat back in his seat, counting the moments until he could kiss her. There would be four or five previews, at four or five minutes each. A freaking eternity.
Long before that time was up, he noticed her fidgeting in her seat beside him. In the dark, he couldn’t see what she was doing, but when she pressed a wadded-up ball of fabric in the palm of his hand and said, “Hold these for me,” he figured it out.
His heart started pounding in his chest, blood rushed from his head to his groin, and he swallowed convulsively. Getting rid of the evidence, he shoved her panties into his pocket, afraid someone would shine a spotlight on him and arrest them both for lewd conduct. He’d been painfully eager to kiss her, to make out with her, maybe even feel her up a little bit, but she’d just taken his innocent fantasy right into porno territory. What was a man to do?
Without turning toward her, he placed his palm on her bare thigh, picturing in intense detail what she was wearing. And not wearing.
She took his hand away and put it on his knee, giving him a reassuring pat. “Wait until the movie starts,” she repeated, and continued watching the previews with an incomprehensible serenity.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he imagined pushing her back against the seat and climbing between her long, slender thighs. “I can’t fuck you in the theater,” he blurted out, loud enough for the first row to hear, if anyone had been sitting there.
Laughing, she covered his mouth with her hand. “Shh! Who asked you to?”
Her panties were burning a hole in his front pocket, and she was wondering where he got the idea?