The District. Carol Ericson

      Once in the parking garage, he stopped at the bumper of the little rental. “Do you want me to drive?”

      “That’s okay. The car’s in my name.” She clicked the remote. “We don’t want to break any laws, especially with your brother, the SFPD detective, out on vacation.”

      He had no choice but to be a passenger in her car while she sat in the driver’s seat. But he didn’t have to be a passenger on this journey. He didn’t have to be swept along a current of old feelings and desires. He’d been willing to give this woman everything, and she’d betrayed him...for a good story.

      She swung the car into the line of traffic and sped up to avoid the cable car trundling to their right.

      “It’s a little tricky driving these streets.”

      “You’re a native—you should be used to it by now.”

      “I didn’t drive much when I lived here—walking and public transportation have always been the best ways to get around.” She hunched over the steering wheel and peered at the road in front of her. “Do you think you’ll ever move back to the city?”

      “You know I’m in D.C. now? I like it but if opportunity knocked, I could make my home here again.” He just might have to if he wanted to slay his demons.

      “Do you plan to see your brothers while you’re here?”

      “As you already know, Sean’s on an extended vacation, and I don’t think Judd’s in town either. I may take a trip up the coast to see Ryan.”

      “Yeah, Sean had an interesting case a few months ago.”

      “And Lopez was trying to get that story, too.”

      Christina bit her lower lip.

      The silence in the car lasted just a few awkward minutes.

      With her hand balanced on the top of the steering wheel, she pointed out the window. “I think we can park on this street for the restaurant and the bookshop.”

      She did an admirable parallel parking job, and he hopped out of the car. The confines of the car ended up being a lot worse than the hotel. Dinner had to be better.

      He opened the restaurant door for her and she brushed past him. Was she trying to drive him crazy?

      The Friday night crowd was crammed into every table in the room and perched on every stool at the large circular bar in the middle of the restaurant.

      “Ugh, I didn’t even think about making a reservation.”

      Eric hunched toward the hostess stand. “How long is the wait?”

      She ran the eraser end of her pencil down the columns of a book. “Just two?”

      “Yes, and we promise we won’t stay long.”

      “We just had a cancellation, so I can squeeze you in.”

      “Perfect.” Eric slipped her a twenty as she turned to lead them to a table.

      Christina pressed in next to him and whispered in his ear. “Must be that Brody charm.”

      As she pulled away, the strands of her hair tickled his neck.

      Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He needed a good, stiff drink, and probably should stop thinking about a good, stiff anything.

      The hostess led them to a decent table along the wall and tucked behind a plant.

      “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

      Christina made a face. “I’m driving, so I’ll abstain. Did you hear about Zollars?”

      “DUI?”

      “In a company car, on company business.”

      “Did he get his hand slapped?”

      The waiter approached and Eric ordered a scotch, neat while Christina asked for ice water.

      When the waiter left, Christina shook out her napkin and draped it across her lap. “He got reprimanded and suspended for six weeks.”

      “Idiot.”

      “How was South America?”

      “Hot and humid.”

      “I heard your team brought down a pretty high roller down there.”

      “We did all right. I heard you’re making your mark on the serial killer unit. Dream come true, huh?”

      She stopped fussing with her napkin and planted her elbows on the white tablecloth. “Can we just get this out of the way so you’ll stop taking jabs at me?”

      “Am I jabbing?” He knew damn well he was. It was the only thing keeping him from pulling her into his arms and kissing the smart aleck from her.

      “You’re too manly to play coy, Eric. I told you then, and I’m telling you now, I did not get into a relationship with you to get your father’s story.”

      “But you wanted the Brody story.”

      “Joseph Brody’s story has always fascinated me. I’m not gonna lie. But I had no intention of writing a book about your father.”

      “The notes?”

      “Were notes. Something about your father’s case always bothered me. I don’t believe for one minute that he was the Phone Book Killer.”

      He pinched the bridge of his nose and when the waiter returned with his drink, he tossed back half of it. The smooth heat rolled down his throat and radiated throughout his chest.

      “I’ve heard this before, Christina, but Ray Lopez told a different story.”

      She snorted. “If you had been in your right mind back then, you wouldn’t have given Ray’s story—any of Ray’s story—a second thought.”

      She grabbed his hand, upsetting her waterglass. “I was your woman, Brody. I never would’ve betrayed you like that. The only reason you believed Ray over me was because of Noah Beckett. You were wrong about Noah, too.”

      The pain that sliced through his temples had him reaching for his glass. This time he downed the rest of the scotch and his eyes watered.

      “I should’ve saved Noah.”

      “You followed the protocol for kidnappings. Noah would’ve met the same fate with anyone else at the helm.”

      “I was at the helm.” He jabbed his chest with his thumb. “I should’ve known better. I was a kidnap victim myself. I should’ve done better by Noah. I should’ve done better by his parents.”

      “Just because you were a kidnap victim, didn’t mean you had some magical power to save all other kidnap victims.” Her nails dug into his forearm. “You did your job to the best of your ability, and the Becketts knew that.”

      “It wasn’t good enough.” He waved the waiter over. “Another scotch, please, and another napkin for the spilled water.”

      “Would you like to order now?” The waiter’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Christina.

      “I’ll have a Caesar salad and the steak, medium rare.”

      Christina ordered the salmon, and the waiter backed away from the table as if afraid to turn his back on them.

      She pleated the napkin on the table. “If Noah’s case hadn’t come to its tragic end at the same time you found my notes, I know you would’ve given me a chance to explain, Eric.”

      He slumped against the banquette and rolled his glass between his palms. “Maybe you’re right. The book never did come out, and you never married Lopez.”

      Her eyes popped open. “Marry Lopez? What gave you that crazy idea?”

      “Lopez.”