I curse to myself as I examine the tight grey jeans and even tighter black polo neck. With a sigh, I pull them on, brush my hair and put a little make up on.
“Are you okay?” Shayne asks, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because there’s a dead guy at your desk,” he reminds me.
“I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” I shrug.
“No. We can handle it. Back to the office, boss?” He smiles reassuringly and takes my hand as I lead the way back to the crime scene that was my desk just yesterday. “By the way, you look extremely gorgeous this morning,” he murmurs in my ear.
“So the tight clothes were your brilliant idea?” He doesn’t reply, but smirks at me instead. Yep. His idea. I laugh as we approach the office to find the rest of the team lounging around by the door.
“Why did you lock us out?” Luca asks.
“It’s a crime scene and I’m in charge of it,” I remind him.
“So?”
“So, I don’t want anyone screwing with my evidence while I’m not there.”
“Then you should have been here.”
“You’d rather I work in hot pants and a tank top?”
“I wouldn’t mind…”
“Shut up,” Shayne warns, his arm tightening around my waist slightly.
“Both of you cut it out. I’m not a doll,” I say, unlocking the door and stomping into the office.
“Sorry,” they say in unison.
“What do you want us to do, boss?” Leevens asks.
“Take the body down to the lab and start looking for evidence.” I smile to myself as the team rush forward to do what I tell them to. “I think I’ve got the murder weapon,” I say, picking up a very large, very heavy and very scary looking gun.
“Lila, put the damn gun down before you kill yourself,” Shayne tells me.
“Nu uh, I like this gun,” I say, dangerously swinging the gun in front of me.
“Just bag it.” He grins as I shove the gun in a clear bag and hand it to him, eager to get it away from me.
“There’s a fingerprint on my mouse,” I muse.
“It’s probably yours,” Leevens says, doing something to it anyway. “Are your prints already on a system somewhere?”
“Yes. There was one of those van thingies here a year ago.”
“To volunteer fingerprints?”
“That’s it.”
“Good, we can see if it’s yours.” He waltzes out of the office, presumably to the lab downstairs.
“There is one question remaining,” Luca says, appearing beside me.
“I have another one too,” Shayne chips in.
“Why your desk?” Luca asks, gazing at me with scrutiny.
“Because I’m very special?” I suggest, knowing that it’s not the right answer.
“Sure, but there’s no classified information on your computer,” he reminds me.
“And why is the guy that was on your computer dead?” Shayne asks. “Suicide?”
