Page 39 of Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

“I should go.” Amanda jacked a thumb over her shoulder. “Leave you guys alone.”

“Just get in here.” Becky rolled her arm in a big, welcoming wave.

Amanda felt her heart lift, and she locked her car doors with her fob and jogged up the front walk.

Becky hugged her. “Everything all right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Amanda drew out of the embrace.

“Ah, let’s see. You’re at my door at almost eleven at night, unannounced.”

“I thought we were close enough that a heads-up call wasn’t necessary, no matter the time of day.”

“Never is. Doesn’t mean it isn’t suspicious.” Becky smiled at her. “Come in.”

Brandon shuffled back to allow them more room. He pressed his lips and dipped his head as a greeting.

“Hi, Brandon,” Amanda said. She sometimes forgot that he had red hair too. It still didn’t mean she had to like him.

“I’ll just go turn off the TV.” He headed for the living room, which was visible from the front door.

He sounded pleasant enough and not irritated by the interruption to his evening with Becky. Maybe he wasn’t that bad. Her friend seemed to love him, so he had to possess good qualities. Also in the “pro” column was his career in law enforcement. Although, if she bought into her father’s criticism of feds, that would add a mark in Brandon’s “con” column. According to her father, feds were a bunch of conceited jackasses.

“As long as you’re sure I’m not messing up your night.”

“Nonsense,” Becky shot out. “Something’s obviously bothering you, and Brandon doesn’t mind.”

He was fiddling with remotes and didn’t say anything.

“Want something to drink?” Becky asked. “We’re drinking wine, but I know I won’t be talking you into that.”

Tonight, it did sound tempting, but she hadn’t had a sip of booze since the drunk driver had wiped out her family. She’d patronized several bars in the last few years, but only to pick up her one-night stands. “I’ll have some water.”

“You got it. Just sit where you’d like.” Becky headed for the kitchen, and Amanda slipped out of her shoes and sat in an overstuffed chair, which was her favorite piece of furniture in the home. A person could lose themselves in the hug of foam and suede.

Brandon dropped onto the couch and took a sip of h

is wine. As he lowered the glass, he met Amanda’s gaze and smiled.

They’d never exactly bonded, but in fairness, they hadn’t spent a lot of time around each other.

“How’s everything going in your world? FBI, right?” She put it out there like she was clueless.

“Yep. Profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” Short and blunt.

She’d guess he didn’t really like her a lot either, but they didn’t need to be friends. They just needed to tolerate each other for Becky’s sake. Still, there was something in the way his eyes darkened when he mentioned his job that sparked a thought. That’s if she bought into things happening for a reason. As an FBI profiler, he might be able to lend some ideas on her current investigations. She’d opened her mouth, about to ask him a question, when Becky stepped in front of her with her drink.

“Thank you.” Amanda took the glass from her friend and guzzled back some water.

Becky sat on the opposite end of the couch from Brandon, moving a throw blanket aside.

“Is this one of those times you just want to watch TV with me, or do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Becky asked.

Amanda glanced at Brandon, back at Becky. “I had just wanted to hang out, but now that I see Brandon’s here, maybe I could run the cases I’m working past him.” She realized how she was talking to Becky, as if seeking her permission and implying Brandon didn’t have a say. “I mean if you’re okay with it?” she said to him.

It was Becky who groaned softly, then did her best to cover her dissatisfaction.

Amanda met her friend’s gaze. “We don’t have to. It is Friday night, and no one’s on the clock. You—” she gestured toward Brandon “—especially would probably prefer to talk about anything else but murder. You track serial killers all day, and now here I am wanting to talk about the killer I’m after.”