Shadowdance
tilted into a lopsided sneer. “Are you bamming me, Chase? You cannot go with me.” He leaned forward, managing to loom even though he was a few feet away. “You go into that house, and you’ll have every human there in a snit. Women are not fit to handle death, much less view a murder site. You know that as well as I.”
    “Not fit to handle death?” she ground out, her arms twitching to do him violence.
    But he waved an annoyed hand. “Do not start quoting Wollstonecraft on me. I’m repeating pure social fact. That is what they believe. And that is what they will do, should you”—he pointed at her for emphasis—“waltz in there and expect to be treated like a man.”
    Mary barely refrained from huffing. He was right. Moreover, it was something every female regulator had to face in the field, always losing out on more interesting cases because of society’s ridiculous notions. Confined to playing the spy, the watcher, pushed to the fringes, her female brethren did what they could. It was not enough. Worse, if she waited out here now, not only would she be unsure as to his culpability in this, Talent would assume the role of lead. And he would use it to his advantage at every turn.
    Mary steeled her spine and gazed back at him coolly, calmly. “I am going in.”
    With a curse he dragged a hand over his face. “You are being illogical.”
    She was. She didn’t care. On the other hand, Talent had apparently forgotten about one of her more potent abilities. She gave him a level look. “I’ll play the part of your assistant.” It hurt to say that, but if he was going to assume she was useless, then she wasn’t about to let him in on her plans.
    “Investigators do not have female assistants, Chase.”
    “Fine. I’ll be your blind sister who cannot be left on her own.” She merely needed to get in the door.
    He blinked back at her for a good five seconds. Then a shocked, harsh laugh burst from him. “You object to being my lackey, but you’ll be my sister? You, madam, are barmy.”
    “Lovely to know we’ve rolled around to the name-calling stage of the conversation,” she said sedately.
    A string of blue curses filled the air, and then Talent took a deep breath. “Fine. Do not blame me if your stubbornness gets us nowhere in a hurry. And you shall follow my lead. Do not speak until I give you leave.”
    An unladylike snort left her lips. “Tell me, Talent, do you honestly expect me to listen to the drivel that comes from your mouth? Or do you suffer bouts of delusion?”
    His answering grin was serpentine, a viper about to strike. “Hark! She lives.” He ambled forward, his head cocked to the side as he studied her. “That’s probably the most impassioned tone I’ve heard from you yet, Chase.” Before she could give him another, his expression hardened. “I have seniority, thus I am the lead on this team. You do as I say.”
    She gave him a false smile guaranteed to annoy him. “I believe I was accepted into the SOS before you were, thus I am the one with seniority.”
    He stepped closer, surrounding her with the vibrant energy of his body and the appealing scent of him. By rights he ought to have an irritating scent, like lye soap. But no, Jack Talent’s scent was instantly recognizable, yet drifting off before she could properly dissect it. Which made her want to lean closer and inhale deeply. Most annoying. And quite dangerous.
    Mary tilted her head back and met his gaze. They glared at each other for a long moment before Talent’s clipped response broke their standoff. “You joined as Poppy Lane’s assistant. Should we be in need of secretarial work, Mistress Chase, I’ll be happy to let you lead.”
    The dirty rotter.
    He nodded as if she’d finally come to her senses. “Know your place, Chase, and we will not have a problem.”
    Mary set her fists on her hips. “I am not doing as you say.”
    “Yes, you are.”
    “No, I am
not
.”
    “Oh, yes, you are—” Talent broke off

Similar Books

Hold on Tight

Deborah Smith

Framed in Cornwall

Janie Bolitho

Walking the Sleep

Mark McGhee

Jilting the Duke

Rachael Miles

The Fourth Wall

Barbara Paul