Page 41 of Ace of Spades

In the gym’s shower, she scrubbed herself raw, ridding herself of all traces on her skin that Nate had left behind. And when the last scent of him was gone, she leaned her forehead against the tiles and cried. Her tears were for her mother, for the women left with no choice but to sell their bodies, and for something she couldn’t name, only that it had to do with Nate.

When her tears ran dry, she turned off the faucet, then grabbed the towel she’d draped over the hook right outside the door. After drying off, she slipped on her clothes. And lo and behold, a very moody-looking FBI agent was waiting for her when she walked to the lockers. Ignoring him, she retrieved her badge and gun.

“We need to talk.”

“If you say so.” She was tempted to walk away, but Nate would just follow her. And yes, she was acting bitchy, could hear the petulance in her voice. That was so unlike her, but she couldn’t seem to care. Dressed in his usual black jeans and black T-shirt, he stood in front of her with his fingers stuffed into his front pockets. She loved men’s arms, his in particular, and against her will, her eyes lingered on his forearms, the ones that had held her with such tenderness last night.

“Not here.”

She jerked her gaze up to his. “Fine. Text me when and where.”

“Taylor.” He put his hand on her shoulder.

Any other time, she’d love his hand on her, but right now it felt condescending, as if she were someone he was trying to calm down. She stepped out of his reach. “Yes?”

He sighed, regret, maybe even sadness, in his eyes. “Nothing. When you’re ready to listen, we’ll talk.” He walked a few feet away, then paused. “You missed the team meeting this morning. That’s your one pass.”

“I thought I was off the case.”

“If you’d been at the meeting, you might have learned different.”

When he turned to leave, she grabbed his arm. “I’m still a team member?” He stared down at her hand, then lifted his gaze to hers. It was at that exact moment—when those same eyes that had darkened with desire for her last night turned cold—that she felt like she’d lost her best friend.

“Like I said, let me know when you’re ready to listen.”

“What? You want me to crawl back, begging forgiveness?” Her mouth needed to shut up.

“No.” He tapped her forehead. “I want you to use that brain I know you have and look at the situation objectively. I get that you’re mad. I probably would be, too, in your place, but with that Polaroid, the game changed.”

“I know that, but—”

“This isn’t the place for this conversation,” he said when two men walked up to the lockers. “Come with me.”

Back at the office, she followed him into the conference room. “Look, I’m sorry I missed the meeting, but I really did think I was off the team. That’s what you said last night.”

He closed the door, then gestured for her to sit. She felt like a kid who had been called to the principal’s office, and maybe she had a lecture coming, but it still rankled. There was no hint of warmth in his eyes as he sat across from her. It was as if last night had never happened, that they hadn’t laughed together, shared passionate kisses, hadn’t made love, hadn’t explored each other’s bodies for hours.

If she hadn’t gotten her crying done in the shower, she’d probably burst into tears right now because his indifference hurt. But she refused to let him see her wounds. He wouldn’t see one damn tear leak from her eyes.