The Departed

reminded herself she needed to focus. In a very bad way. The job. Think about the job . She stared at Taylor, tried to do it in a dispassionate manner, and saw that he had a humorless smile on his face.
    “That’s easy,” he said, shrugging. “He’s the mayor. I go up, knock on his door. He’ll let me in.”
    Dez lifted a brow, confused. She was missing something but…Shaking her head, she sighed. “Okay, you’ve got to spell this out for me, slick, because I’m clueless. Is this a small-town Indiana thing? You go knock on a mayor’s door in small-town Indiana and they just let any old FBI agent in?”
    “No.” Taylor laughed a little. “It’s got nothing to do with small-town Indiana, with me being an FBI agent, or any of that.”
    “O-o-okay…”
    Taylor stood up, grabbing her coffee.
    “Hey! I’m still drinking that!”
    “Then get up and get it before I toss it out.” He also grabbed the empty juice bottle.
    She managed to save the coffee, glaring at him. “You’re so fricking evil sometimes,” she muttered. “What’s the deal with the mayor, Jones?”
    “That’s easy.” He shot her a sidelong glance before he turned and headed for the door.
    She had to trot to catch up with him. Once she did, he reached down and caught her hand, absently stroking his thumb along her wrist. Her irritation abruptly fizzled and even managed to stay that way, although she was able to pretend it hadn’t as she sarcastically said, “If it’s so easy, why can’t I figure it out?”
    “Because you look at me and see me. You don’t look at me and see a rich son of a bitch.” He glanced down at her, then paused, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “I don’t know why you don’t see the son of a bitch. I am one. I know that. It never bothered me up until you came along. But that’s all anybody else sees—the s.o.b. Here, though, they see the s.o.b. and dollar signs.”
    “Taylor.” Reaching up, she closed her hand around his wrist. Then she leaned against him and pressed her lips to his mouth. “Don’t delude yourself. I see the son of a bitch—he’s part of you. But I also see the guy who paces the floor when one of his people gets hurt. I see the guy who went into a career that guts him and now I even know why. I see a man who looks at me in a way nobody else ever has, who makes me feel like nobody else ever has.”
    She settled back on her feet, turning her face into his hand and kissing his palm. She squeezed his wrist gently and then looked back at him. “I see the s.o.b., all right, because he’s part of you. And I’ve always seen you.”
    “If you see me, then why are you still around me?” He pushed his hand into her hair.
    She glanced around. Did they really need to discuss this here? Hell. They were here…She reached up and fisted a hand in the front of his shirt, tugged him close. “Because I see you . All of you. The s.o.b., the guy who cares too much and doesn’t let it show, the man who turns my bones to mush with just a look. That’s who you are and if you don’t see it, then maybe I just see you better.” She pressed a quick, hard kiss to his lips and then let him go, pushing him away. “Now, come on. We can’t do this here.”
    She started down the hall at a quick pace. No, they couldn’t do this here, and they couldn’t do it now , period.
    “Turns your bones to mush?” he murmured, falling into place at her side.
    “Yes. I’ll demonstrate later. Now enough…”
    * * *
     
    IT was a nice house. Nice with a capital N , Dez mused as Taylor parked in front of it. Although not completely NICE the way Taylor’s was. Man, she didn’t think she’d ever seen a house quite as NICE as Taylor’s was. It wasn’t even a house. He’d called it the manor and that seemed to describe it better than house . Manor. Mansion. Did they mean the same thing?
    “He’s not as loaded as you are, I take it,” she said, squeezing Taylor’s thigh and shooting him a quick look.
    Taylor gave her a narrow look.
    “What?” She smiled at him innocently.
    “Are you going to make comments like that in there?” He put the car into park, but didn’t immediately climb out.
    “Nah. That would be kind of tacky, wouldn’t it?” She turned toward him and continued to stroke his thigh, edging her hand higher, watching as the ice in his eyes melted, turned to blue fire.
    “Tacky?” He snorted. Then he reached down and covered her hand with his. “If it’s tacky to do it in there,