Page 4 of Missing Justice

My God, I’m having fun.

Fun wasn’t in her vocabulary. Not sincethatnight.

Damn. She needed a good weekend fling. To burn off the stress of her day job. To refocus her energies on her caseload.Might not be a bad idea to make sure all the parts down there still work after this latest dry spell.

But mostly, she needed to forget for a few minutes about the ice in her chest.

Because tonight was the anniversary of her little sister’s kidnapping.

She’d hoped the conference could make her forget, but that was stupid. She’d known better, and yet had hoped she could drown herself in work. Now…

The song ended, and out of breath, Taylor clung to Matt. Another song started—this one slow and sexy—and he raised a single brow.

An invitation to stay on the dance floor.

In the middle of the other couples now gluing their bodies to each other, Taylor held his gaze. “Who are you working for, Matt?”

“Schock Investigations,” he said, and then pulled her close and started rocking her body to the slow tune.

“Private investigations, huh?” She liked the way he felt against her. Solid, strong. Competent. “I’ve heard of them. They work a lot of cold cases, don’t they?”

“It’s our specialty.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

His eyes danced with humor. “You were worried I was only here to stalk you?”

He wanted information on some missing persons case, no doubt, but she gave him credit for trying to seduce her first. “Anyone who stalks me is going to get more than he bargained for.”

She believed in giving fair warning.

“Sounds like fun.” One of his hands went to her lower back and rubbed a thumb through her silk blouse over the sensitive flesh there. Leaning forward, he sang softly in her ear, “I wanna be your stalker,” to the Prince tune.

And damn, if he didn’t hit the notes perfectly.

A man who could sing and dance.

My lucky night.

Three dances later, Leo and the other experts in the room were a distant memory as Matt pressed her up against the door of her hotel room while she tried to get the keycard into the lock. His lips nibbled at her earlobe as his hands cupped her ass.

“Will you stop for a second and let me unlock the door?” Taylor chided, but she was laughing. She didn’t really want him to stop, but letting him molest her in the very public hallway wasn’t professional.

“Here, let me do it.” He snatched the card from her hand.

In. Out. Boom. The stupid button went green, Matt hit the door handle, and they practically fell into the room.

“I’m not used to sleeping with the enemy,” she told him, flipping on a light as he went to work stripping off her white, button-down shirt.

“I returned Riley Miller to her mother but I’m a bad guy in your book?” He unzipped her pencil skirt, not looking the least bit chastised. “Something about that seems wrong, Agent Sinclair.”

The image of the eleven-year-old girl reuniting with her mom after six years of being held captive by her estranged, drug-dealing father filled Taylor’s memory. It had been her first case with the FBI’s missing persons unit and they’d never been able to solve it. Six years later, Taylor had had the file in her desk drawer, one of the cases she’d still been trying to close when Matt Stephens had come along and done it for her.

He was a hero and the press loved his boy-next-door looks and cavalier attitude. She could only imagine the number of women who had thrown themselves at him after that.

But those women weren’t here and she was.Good for me!

Having a weekend fling with him wasn’t the best idea, but it wasn’t the worst either. He was a playboy and playboys didn’t want commitment—that worked for her. Her job was everything.