Sinclair Justice Read Online Free PDF

and in his bed. A familiar tingling began in his groin, and he was so discomfited at who’d aroused it that he took a deeper puff, blowing the smoke out forcefully until he couldn’t smell her anymore. Pheromones, he told himself, and he was only susceptible because it had been months since he’d visited his local friend with benefits.
    Then the woman moved away and lit her own cigar. He didn’t miss her slight cough, or the fact that she didn’t inhale, but he let it slide. He had a good memory, too, and he recalled her saying speeding was her only vice, so she was going through this ritual to smooth his ruffled feathers and was obviously not a smoker.
    The question was—why?
    His cigar was half gone when she finally ventured a tentative, “Is there anything else I can do to make amends?”
    He bit down on the cigar and the remark he wanted to make— yeah, follow me upstairs . Instead, he put the cigar in the ashtray and gently rotated the gleaming bud out so he didn’t crinkle the rest of the tobacco. His physical reaction to her was neither welcome nor acceptable, so he decided to fight it the only way he knew. Besides, she owed him an explanation after invading his private space. “Yes. Tell me the reason for this elaborate ruse.”
    She stiffened slightly. “No ruse. I really am sorry.”
    “No doubt, especially when you wrote the check for the fine.” He slicked back his sleeve to peek at his watch. “Look, it’s after midnight and I have to work tomorrow—” A card appeared in front of his nose. He was too embarrassed to put on his specs, so he held it as far away as he could, as if he needed the firelight to read the plain but elegant embossed card. Her name, followed by PhD, above National Preservation Trust Officer and, below that, the address for the National Parks Service in D.C.
    Ah, so that was it. He looked from the card to her very still face. Lovely, oval shaped, with a sensual mouth. Waiting, not exactly serene, but as if to say the next move was up to him. She was lovely in the firelight. She had that fair smooth skin, clear cornflower blue eyes, perfect white teeth, and the long, thick, healthy hair of the privileged. Good nutrition, good vitamins, excellent breeding. What else could one expect of a Rothschild?
    The top button of her silk blouse had come undone, exposing the slight edge of a lace bra, and he couldn’t help it; he fixated on it. She was shaped exactly as he liked, curvaceous instead of the model thinness so the rage in Hollywood.
    She looked down. Even in the dim firelight he saw her blush as she quickly buttoned the blouse closed. Well, at least she didn’t use her sex appeal like the dangerous weapon so many beautiful women wielded. In fact, she’d tried to downplay her assets, no doubt because of the nature of her job. The fact that she was so sexy and appealing while trying not to be perplexed him, and, strangely, drew him more.
    He rose. “I should have realized who you were. The way you were dressed, the East Coast plates. You knew me before you came here, didn’t you?”
    “I only had to look at your name on the ticket. I knew your name, but you didn’t know mine. Shall we start over again?” She rose to face him and offered her hand. “Mercy Magdalena Rothschild. But please, call me Emm. As in Auntie Emm, except my nickname is because of the double Ms in my name.”
    Reluctantly, he shook her hand. Immediately he released it because he’d felt that unwelcome warmth travel up his arm again, to his gut and below. Great. Just wonderful. He already had enough distractions just now, with the missing girls task force that was proving to be an interjurisdictional challenge and police departments nationwide were sending him new cases. Just today, the press was about to blow their cover. To say nothing of his entire family due to arrive momentarily for the annual gathering he’d barely had time to start planning. And now this.
    When he didn’t speak, staring over