get him a seltzer with a dash of cranberry juice and a twist of lime. For herself...she didn’t much feel like drinking as she approached the bar, but then she thought of the night ahead, with all of the handshakes and pictures that would be taken. Then she thought of her sister and how there were a hundred reasons Mia would give anything to not be where she was at the moment. When the bartender asked her what she’d have to drink, Mia said, “Vodka tonic.”
While she waited, she traced her fingernails against the gleaming surface of the bar, admiring the red-and-gold flecks of the wood. Such rich colors, especially when compared to the dull yellow oak desk that sat in her office. She smiled to herself. What was it that Lena had called the desk when Mia first showed it to her? Utilitarian.
“Beautiful bar.”
Mia jumped at the masculine voice by her ear, reflexively placing a hand over her heart. Her gaze turned to the left, where Lieutenant Gray Bartlett stood watching her with slight alarm.
“Sorry,” she said, not sure what she was apologizing for.
“No, I startled you. I didn’t mean to.” The gentleness of his tone belied the edgy look of his five-o’clock shadow and slick dark hair. “I was just making conversation.”
Gray regarded her with concern, and annoyance bubbled into her chest. Everyone was so concerned all the time.
“Don’t mention it,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I was just wondering how this bar would look chopped up and reconstructed into a desk for my office.”
“Mahogany,” he mused, rubbing long fingers smoothly against the grain. “You have good taste.”
He didn’t mean it to come across as a compliment, she was sure. He was just being polite, and yet a burning flush crept into Mia’s face and momentarily consumed her breath. “Well, taste is one thing, and ability to pay is another.” She shook her head when she realized she was talking about money with a complete stranger. How tacky. “I’m a professor,” she nearly stammered in her own defense. “Associate professor. I don’t... We don’t earn enough to be able to afford mahogany.”
He rose to his full height and regarded her with dark, stormy eyes. Gray eyes. How funny that they matched his name. “I know, Dr. Perez. I have your business card, remember? And now I know all about you.”
She was sure he noticed her entire body burning under the intensity of his gaze. The bartender placed her drink in front of her, and she reached for it gratefully, hoping Gray didn’t notice the tremor in her fingers. “A lot of women might find that kind of statement creepy, you know.”
“I would think you’d be flattered that I’d bothered to read the program,” he said. “Your picture is in it. So is your biography.”
Of course they were. Because that was what happened when a prominent nonprofit honored you with an award. “Right. Well, now you know that I haven’t bothered to read the program. Don’t tell anyone.” She gripped the tumbler in one hand and wiped the other palm down the side of her dress, again forgetting that this was expensive fabric, not made for hand wiping. “I should get back to my friend.”
He turned his head to toss a glance in Mark’s direction. “Your boyfriend?”
“What? No. More like a brother. He was Lena’s fiancé.” As if being a hot cop entitled him to an explanation.
He didn’t move to the side to allow Mia to pass. “The Nelson Seaver Award,” he murmured. “That must be for your work for the Boston P.D., correct?”
The Seaver Award was given by the Boston Victims’ Rights Coalition at their annual awards night to recognize excellence in law enforcement on behalf of victims. “Yes. Like I’ve told you before, I’ve helped with quite a few cold cases.”
“Ironic that you’ve helped so many victims’ families find their justice, and no one’s helped you find yours.”
She halted, unsure of where he was going. “I don’t believe that meets the definition of irony, no.”
His mouth tightened into a small smile. “Charming. Tell me, is this how all child prodigies are? Always the smartest person in the room? Fine, then, it’s not ironic. But it’s unfortunate that you don’t have an answer.”
“These things take time,” she began cautiously. “My sister’s body hasn’t even been recovered—”
“I’m not just talking about your sister,” he said. “I’m talking about you.”
Her eyes snapped to meet his. He knew. He’d done his research. Of course he had. Her cheeks grew hot as she realized how exposed she was. “What happened to me was a random attack, that’s all. Those cases, where the victim has no connection to the assailant, can be nearly impossible to solve.”
He allowed her words to settle before speaking. “You know what I think? I think that you don’t think it was random,” he said quietly.
The statement pressed against her body as surely as if he’d pushed her. “Of course it was random. I know it was. Why...?” The words eluded her, scurrying in her mind like lab rats through a maze. “What are you suggesting?”
“A partnership, Mia. Nothing more.”
* * *
Gray loathed these events. There were too many people in the room and not enough air to breathe, and he’d had to rent this monkey suit. But when the chief told you to go to a fundraiser, you went. “It’s for the Boston Victims’ Rights Coalition,” the chief had said. “It’s important that the Boston P.D. give a show of support.”
Newsflash: The Boston Police Department supports victims’ rights.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been slightly more interested in the event when he’d heard Mia Perez would be a guest of honor. She might be irritatingly effervescent, but she was easy on the eyes, and she’d been running through his mind ever since she’d shown up at the crime scene on the Charles. All of this was nothing more than evidence that he needed to date a little more than he had been since his divorce was finalized. A relationship was out of the question, but dating...maybe.
He wouldn’t be dating Mia, though. Not given the way she was looking at him now, her amber eyes sizing him up with a look that was one part heavy suspicion, two parts panic, as if he’d just informed her he could see through her dress. Part of him wondered what the psychologist thought of him. A larger part of him didn’t give a damn what she thought. He wasn’t at this fundraiser for psychoanalysis. He was here to do his job, and right now Mia Perez was a means to an end.
“A partnership?”
Her eyes narrowed. Gray couldn’t help but run his gaze from those eyes to her tense red-stained lips and then to the smattering of brown freckles on her olive skin. He observed the peachlike hair on her jaw and the small diamonds that sparkled in her earlobes. Dr. Perez cleaned up nicely.
The bartender pulled up against the side of the bar and pointed to Gray. “Coke with a twist of lime.” He shot Mia a glance. “I’m on duty tonight.”
“That’s too bad,” she said coolly. “All work and no play. It’s not good for the psyche.”
“You would
