had to walk away. It was that or stare into those dark eyes some more...and probably forget she had work to get on with. Attraction was one thing—she just had to get done what she needed to in spite of it—but a relationship was a whole different animal. One she wasn’t ever going to go near again, considering the last one had been a disaster.
Her dad had never gotten over her mom leaving the way she had. One day there, the next, stuff gone. Suitcase gone. Car gone. They’d never seen her again.
Probably Portia hadn’t ever gotten over it either. She figured that was true even if she had no intention of ever discussing it with a professional. Too much work to do to see the shrink. And as excuses went, it was the best she’d ever come up with. Get up, go to work. What free time she had, Portia tested her limits rock climbing, bouldering. Strength was more than just physical, it was also mental. And she could see it in Declan Stringer.
Too bad there was intentionally no room left in her life for a relationship—even if she was looking for one. Which she was not. It was just easier that way.
Portia turned up the talk radio station loud enough for it to drown out her whirling thoughts and gripped the steering wheel as she drove. Watching for that tan truck all the way back to Seattle.
Declan was wrong. The gunfight had affected her. It was just that it took longer than a couple of minutes. She shifted in the seat. Process the fear, set it aside. Not something she was about to do in front of anyone. She wasn’t without weaknesses; she just didn’t acknowledge them. Just like her father had taught her.
It was almost six in the evening by the time she got back to the office, but everyone was there. Portia set her weapon in the top drawer of her desk and said “Who wants to go first?”
Lenny, Anna and Chris just looked at each other. No one spoke.
“One of you must have something to explain how our dead man has his picture on a marine’s ID.”
Anna winced, then motioned to the director’s office with a nod of her head. Portia glanced over and saw her boss, Director Elenor Golden, shake Declan’s hand.
* * *
Portia was mad. Declan could tell as much as he trailed after the director. Portia glanced between her boss and Declan, shooting him a look he couldn’t confuse. Yes, he’d gone straight over her head to speak with her boss. But he had a good reason.
He really wanted to know how the dead guy had been found with his brother’s ID—and why the man had been killed.
He needed to know if there was a threat to his family.
After all these years?
The idea had niggled at him for the first hour of drive time before he’d made a few phone calls. Now he wanted to know badly enough to have used his not inconsiderable pull to get on this case. Not working it. Just close enough that he could observe.
What else was he going to do with his vacation?
“Special Agent Finch.”
Portia stood, and her boss explained exactly what they’d just discussed in her office. The director had a strong presence, but the person in the room who arrested him...made him want to stutter...was Portia.
Her gaze came to him, a frown on her face.
“Run down the case.” The director stepped to the side, and turned toward her office. “And figure this out.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Portia’s voice was cold. There was no other way to describe it. She looked at him with a What did you do? face.
“Guess I’m sticking around for a while.” If it took longer than four days, he’d have to call his own director and work something out.
Portia spun on her heel and strode back to her desk. The woman was a consummate professional, but there was no way she was going to simply roll over and invite him into her fold. And judging by the looks on the other agent’s faces, the rest of them weren’t going to give him anything either.
“Okay, run down what we—” Her phone rang. She snapped up the receiver. “Finch.” She listened for a second. Her gaze darted to him and he thought he saw a gleam of something flash there, but it disappeared just as fast. “Great. We’ll be right there.” She hung up.
“Alejandro wants us in the morgue.” She strode past the desks of her colleagues and didn’t even look at him. “You’re with me, Stringer.”
Declan followed her to the elevator, where Portia jabbed at the button for the basement a little harder than was probably necessary. He sighed. “Look—”
She cut him off. “Don’t. You made your play and now we have to live with it. So let me get on with this case, and then you can be on your way.”
Yep, she didn’t feel the attraction. If she did, there was no way she’d dismiss him like this. Not that he wanted warm and fuzzy between them. Declan was interested in one thing—finding out what this murder had to do with his brother. Anything that could’ve been between him and Portia, he didn’t want it clogging up getting to the bottom of this mystery anyway. The fact she felt nothing for him was a bonus.
“If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s liars.”
Declan bristled. “When did I—”
“You said you were going to check into your hotel. Not that you were going to come straight here. I’m surprised you didn’t get a speeding ticket for how fast you had to be driving to get here ahead of me and get in a meeting with the director. All just so you could weasel your way into my case.”
“I checked in online.”
“While you were driving?”
“Quick rest-stop break,” he said. “You didn’t need to stop?”
“It’s a two-hour drive. I’m not five years old.”
Ouch. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“No, you’re not. And don’t patronize me by pretending to be. You wanted in, so you got yourself in.” The elevator doors slid open.
“I was going to say sorry about going behind your back, but my way was faster.” He was results oriented. It was the way he was trained. After all, if he misstepped by taking too long to make a decision, it could cost the president his life.
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
She knocked twice on the door. A buzzer sounded, and Portia let herself into the morgue. Alejandro looked up, saw Declan behind her. His perfect eyebrows rose. Even with some kind of goopy mess on his gloves, the man didn’t have a hair out of place. He switched the gloves out for clean ones, and Declan got his first look at the beginning of an autopsy.
“Company?”
Portia said, “He’s shadowing the case.”
Alejandro eyed Declan, then said, “Two gunshot wounds, one through and through and one in the sternum.”
She
