Antonio turned to leave but stopped short as a woman stepped into his path.

Brandon’s heart gave a kick. How had he missed her? He looked over Leigh’s shoulder and spotted her blue Mustang at a meter down the street. They’d driven right past it.

He shifted his attention back to Leigh. She wore another silky white blouse today, along with tight black pants and black ankle boots with skinny heels. Her hair was in a ponytail instead of the usual bun. Mirrored sunglasses covered her eyes, making him wonder if she’d had a restless night.

She stopped in front of Antonio. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Antonio darted a look at Brandon. “I heard about what happened. How’s the arm?”

Leigh’s smile wavered. “Fine, thanks.”

“Good to hear.”

He glanced back at Brandon, probably wondering what Leigh was doing here and guessing it had something to do with him. “So . . . I’m going to grab breakfast. Catch you later, Leigh.”

“Bye.”

She watched him walk toward the taco truck on the corner, where a line of hungry cops had already formed.

She turned to Brandon.

“We had a shooting this morning,” Brandon told her. “I don’t have an update on your case yet, sorry. I haven’t even been in.”

“I figured it was too soon.” She stepped closer, but he still couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses. “You have a minute? I wanted to talk.”

He checked his watch.

“This won’t take long.” She nodded at the place across the street. “How about coffee?”

“Sure.”

They waited for a break in traffic, then cut across the street. Brandon reached around her and opened the door to the coffee shop. It was empty of customers, which would speed things along. Leigh peeled off her sunglasses and strode up to the counter, and Brandon tried not to stare at her ass in those tight pants.

Leigh ordered a fancy blender drink and Brandon got plain coffee. She insisted on paying and then picked a table in the corner with impossibly small chairs.

He sat down and stretched out his legs.

Leigh drummed her glossy fingernails on the table and glanced around, looking impatient as the barista whipped up her drink.

She smelled good this morning. She looked good, too. He’d never seen her in anything besides a skirt before now, and he wondered if she’d picked her outfit today to hide the bruises he’d noticed on her knees last night.

Anger festered inside him. He sipped his piping-hot coffee, which did nothing to settle him down.

“So.” She smiled. “Guess you’ve been working pretty much round the clock the last few days, huh? Does that ever get old?”

An interesting question coming from someone who practically lived at her office. And she took work home with her, too. He’d noticed the stack of files and legal pads on her coffee table.

“I’m used to it,” he said.