Face to Face by CJ Lyons Read Free Book Online Page B

narrow hips and tight abdomen—trimmed by work, not from starvation.
    He focused his eyes on Burns' face, kept his gaze expressionless as she slowly lowered her arm and stepped back inside, motioning for him to follow. Instead, he squatted, examined the locks on her door. No dead bolt. Only a simple snap lock anyone with a credit card could spring and the chain she'd already admitted to not using.
    "Might want to think about investing in a dead bolt." He straightened. She'd moved to stand where the light from the window backlit her, effortlessly cutting through the thin fabric of her skirt. What the hell? He remembered the way she'd brushed against him at the station house. Was she coming on to him?
    "Yes, sir," she replied. Then stood there, silently, expectantly.
    Drake felt his forehead knot into a frown and cursed himself. Burns was pissing him off with her demur glances and silent invitations. She just wasn't his type. 
    A stirring in his pelvis begged to differ. He couldn't pull his eyes away as she inhaled deeply, her breasts swelling, straining the fabric of her top. Burns was exactly his type, a cookie-cutter image of so many women he'd been with. Before Hart. 
    The tall, Barbie-doll blonde before him was Hart's opposite in so many ways, he couldn't even begin to list them. Just as Hart was Pamela's opposite—
    Shit. Back to Pamela. Focus, damn it, he was on the job here.
    "Where were the items taken from?" He swallowed to clear the gravel that clogged his voice.
    "The bathroom." The bathroom was through the apartment's sole bedroom. She led the way, stopping short so he bumped against her. From her expression, he had the feeling that was her intention. 
    "I'm sorry, I guess I shouldn't have touched anything," she said, standing in the open doorway. "But it's the only bathroom."
    Drake entered the tiny space. Teal green and black tile on the walls, black and white tiles on the floor, claw foot tub, commode and pedestal sink. The single small window above the toilet was open, but no air moved in the cramped room. Burns joined him, her body adding to the heat. The scent of almonds and apricots swirled around him, thick like an exotic liqueur. Sweat glued his shirt to his chest and back as he turned around to survey the area.
    Actor would have had to come through the bedroom to reach the bath. No way anyone could have gotten in through the window. "Are you a heavy sleeper?" 
    "Yes, why?" Then her eyes went wide as if she'd just now realized the implications. "You mean he was in my bedroom." She shuddered dramatically. "Anything could have happened."
    Drake wasn't surprised when she grabbed his arm. Like some kind of knight in shining armor. Jeezit, did she have the wrong cop. He looked at the empty porcelain cup that sat on the back of the toilet. "That's where the rings were?"
    "Yes. And my bracelets were beside them in the saucer." She jangled her wrists and raised one golden chain clad ankle to demonstrate. "Usually these are all I sleep in, so he didn't get these. But I had some others—sterling silver and turquoise, one carved coral—a whole bunch."
    "You touch anything—" he started. Of course she had. He amended his question. "The cup or saucer?" 
    A pretty frown creased her brow as she concentrated. "No. Just the flusher, the sink, the door handle," she spun around in the cramped quarters, brushing against him once more, releasing another wave of the fruity fragrance, "and the bath tub. That's all."
    That was enough. Something about this didn't feel right. Escaping the confines of the bath, he exited into her bedroom. The bed was rumpled with brightly colored mismatched sheets, and silk pillows of every size and shape. Instead of curtains, mosquito netting was draped over a rod at the window. Candles festooned every available surface. Drake moved to the open window, searching for a morsel of fresh air. Burns followed as if worried he'd miss a vital clue.
    No fire escape, the actor would've come from