Page 9 of Cops and Robbers

Trying to make me confess to drugging the bottles, huh? Nice try. You have me on attempted theft, and that’s all you’re getting.

She tilted forward, legs still resting on the table and pushed the bottle toward him. “No, thanks.”

He looked at the water before glancing up at her as he sat down.

“Nice trick,” he murmured. Was he genuine or playing good cop? The likelihood that her handiwork surprised him, the one that had caused him to vomit and nearly allowed her to escape, seemed slim.

“You think so?” To act oblivious, she peered at her painted nails, pink with purple marbling. “I thought the pink looked boring, so I swirled the colors with a toothpick.”

His eyes narrowed, but the twinkle of amusement told her he was invested in this game of cop and robber, which made him all the sexier. “So, who are you really?”

Her fingerprints and DNA came back clean—good. She smiled and said, “I’m a nobody. Just a girl with too much time on her hands.”

“A woman without a name?”

“Oh, you can call me Kate.”

“Kate. Do you have a last name?”

Her real name from his lips was a soft finger up her back, making her shiver. “Bandit.”

He tapped his finger on the manila folder, but his mouth quirked to the side. “I’m Special Agent Raz Malone.” He glanced at her limbs, still resting on the table. “Can you put your feet down, please?”

She bit the inside of her lip, dropped her feet to the floor, and sat up.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now, can you tell me a little about yourself? Where do you work?”

“Here and there. Contract for hire. You need a pole dancer—a stripper—I’m your girl.”

He took a deep breath, and his eyes turned molten copper, iridescent in the harsh fluorescent light. Never mind that she hoped he was picturing her at work; how the hell did he do that?

“Can you tell me what you were doing in the hours leading up to the heist?” he asked.

“The heist? You mean misjudged curiosity? The lingerie just looked so lonely sitting in that case; anyone would have wanted to try it on.”

“What were you doing before this supposed misjudged curiosity?”

“Thinking of you…” She let the sentence hang then waved her hand slowly. “You know, the feds. And if I would have gotten to this moment. I’ve always wanted to see an interrogation room.”

He was silent, whether taken aback or processing her heated stare, she wasn’t sure.

“What were you doing in those hours?“ she asked. “I picture you driving around with your lights flashing, feeling the wind in your hair.”

“Sorry to disappoint. I was working this case. You haven’t made it easy. I’m curious—what changed? Why did you resort to unfriendly tactics?”

“What do you mean?”

“We know what you did, Kate. Sleeping agents and laxatives in the vending machine food. If you talk to me now, I can help you get a lighter sentence.”

“Why” —she held her chest— “what in heaven’s name are you talking about, officer? Who would ever do such a thing?”

“Someone who met her match.”

“Are you my match, Raz Malone?” A part of her wanted to get to this man—make a lasting impression, while another part, deep down, just wanted to touch him, and she found herself slipping her foot out of her shoe and brushing her foot up his leg. His chest rose with a sharp breath, and…he didn’t move away. Interesting.

“I can help you,” he said, voice husky. “You just have to talk to me.”

His words bled a sincerity that struck her, but she knew police ploys and wasn’t convinced he’d help her…at least with this scenario. She continued rubbing her foot up his calf, letting him know it wasn’t an accident; this was a very deliberate seduction. When he didn’t pull away this time, she felt like he was calling her bluff—wanting to see how far she’d go. She climbed higher, her foot reaching his knee, and fuck—he parted his legs, his eyes flaring with challenge, daring her to continue.