Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) Read Online Free PDF Page A

she didn’t fall on her ass and tried to ignore the fact her soft breasts were pressed up against the hard wall of his chest. The dilation of her pupils and flaring of her nostrils told their own tales, even as her jaw flexed and eyes narrowed. They stood glaring at one another like angry lovers—or a couple of wary dogs going head-to-head over territory.

Chapter Three

    D arsh was amused. Was the detective really going to try to stop him from doing his job? Considering the top of her blonde head came to his chin, and he outweighed her by seventy pounds, it wasn’t the smartest move. Although she did have a gun.
    Evidence techs and other cops were watching with keen interest, and Darsh wasn’t about to give them a show. He let her go and took a step away from her. Touching her made his blood heat, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted.
    “You have a problem with me being here, Detective?”
    Something faltered in her gaze. She papered the cracks in her composure with a smile that said not only did she not trust him, she didn’t like him very much either. But she’d liked him well enough in Virginia.
    “I need to talk to my chief before I’ll allow anyone near those bodies. I need to check you’re not some reporter or whacko off the street with really good forged credentials. I owe it to the victims and their families not to take things at face value.”
    He regarded her quizzically. Technically he didn’t need her permission, but he appreciated the thoroughness in checking with her boss, and he appreciated the fact she seemed to care about the victims—although that could cloud judgment when an investigator got too close.
    “I’ll wait,” he said patiently.
    She stepped away, already pulling out her cell. He wandered into the kitchen and looked around. A stack of washed dishes drained next to the sink. The place was clean if a little tatty and worn. Typical female student accommodation, except for the picture of Erin Donovan stuck to a dartboard, riddled with holes, and two darts carefully piercing each eyeball, the third sticking out of her mouth.
    The woman in question followed him into the small room with its rickety table piled high with bills. She spotted his raised brows as he looked at the dartboard, and grunted. She put her hand over the microphone. “Cassie Bressinger wasn’t exactly a fan of mine. I assume you know she was Drew Hawke’s girlfriend?”
    He hadn’t. That put a whole new perspective on the case.
    Conflict of interest, anyone?
    The problem was the police department here was so small they probably didn’t have anyone who hadn’t been involved in the serial rape case last year.
    He walked to the back door and surveyed the yard. A concrete path led to a gate in the back fence. The lawn consisted of a couple of strips of brown grass and some empty plant pots stacked to one side. It looked like someone might actually make an effort to cultivate a garden in summertime. Empty wine bottles sat in plastic recycling containers. A five-foot tall wooden fence enclosed the property.
    A dog started barking next door.
    Donovan came up beside him. “Okay. Chief Strassen vouched for you. Come on.”
    “Any sign of forced entry?” He bent down to examine the lock closely but saw no scuff marks, no jimmying of the wood, no scratches on the metal. He straightened.
    She shook her head, and a lock of pale blonde hair caught on his sleeve. The sight of it paralyzed him for a moment as the sensation of it drifting over his bare skin came back like an erotic tease.
    Impatiently she caught her errant hair and tugged it into a ponytail away from her face. “Not that we’ve been able to tell.” He had no clue what she was talking about. “Front and back doors were both locked when we arrived.”
    How the killer had gained entry. Locks. Right .
    Not silky hair, or soft skin, or hot mouths. Not walls and floors and tables.
    Darsh kept his expression stern and nodded. Fucking hell.
    “Let’s go.”