Blood Relations by Michelle McGriff Page A

on the door, but she only opened and closed her mouth, too weak to answer, which was fine by Ovan as he was in no position to receive guests. He was concentrating on her pleasure. Her smile grew broad with her lips flinching every now and then as he would hit new spots—possibly ones she never knew she had.
    Just watching her ecstasy was exciting to him, and, accepting that she was satisfied, he thrust deep into her core, finally coming.
    He pulled from her, then carefully removed the soggy condom and tossed it into the trash. He slid back into his pants and, without her noticing, eased the file inside his coat, which he threw over his arm while she lingered prostrate in front of her desk, hanging on to the edge of it. If anyone were to see her now, they would surely think she was drunk. “Pull yourself together, love. You’ve got work to do,” he said into her ear as he bent over. She nodded slowly with her eyes closed, licking her lips as if having just enjoyed something delicious.
    He tiptoed out, making sure the coast was clear before relocking her door and making his way to his car. He was whipped, but he knew he still had plenty of work to do today. Reaching his car, he realized he’d not had a moment to wash his hands. Taking a sniff, he smiled at the memory.
    His mind left the pleasant memory and came back to the smelly precinct. “Juanita. Why does that name sound so familiar?” He flipped through more pages in the file. He’d have to drop by and pay her a visit later, since his visit to Ms. Ams-Davis’s home was stymied by that crazy woman running into the back of his car that morning. That woman who hit his car ... She was crazy, true, but cute enough to eat, or at least lick on a bit. Ovan allowed a wicked smile to curve his lips, as was his unconscious mannerism when thinking about sex—which was all the time! He’d had breakfast with the DA, and thinking of the woman who hit his car had him ready for an afternoon snack.
    Lawrence noticed his expression. “I have no idea,” he mumbled. He was showing continued annoyance at Ovan Dominguez’s presence at his desk again today. He’d made it clear yesterday that even though his partner, Jim Beem, was on vacation, his seat was not “empty.”
    â€œNo problem. I’ll stand—again,” Ovan had responded this morning, and even now he had been doing just that for at least an hour.
    â€œWell, I need to get to her office and speak with her.”
    â€œWhat about? Rashawn Ams?” Lawrence asked. Ovan was surprised that Lawrence had been curious enough to actually give glance through the file and remember any part of it.
    â€œYes. Your file, as I mentioned, was disappointingly limited. The DA’s file, needless to say, filled in many gaps. I knew there was a stronger connection between her and Allen Roman. Sure, she’s connected to Blain Tollome—which was not my ambition here. I’m on the trail of Allen Roman. Did you know he’s ill? Kidney problems. He’s not on dialysis—too easy to trace I suppose.”
    â€œBut he’d have to be treating himself somehow,” Lawrence added.
    â€œMy thoughts exactly. He is a doctor of sorts . . .”
    â€œMad scientist from what I’ve heard.”
    â€œAhhh, you’ve been listening.” Ovan smiled. Lawrence reluctantly returned the nicety, but shook his head as if to say “But that still doesn’t make us friends.”
    â€œMy partner has led me to believe that Mr. Roman is in need of a transplant. That leads me to think he’s looking for a donor on his own—willing or not—and a doctor to perform the surgery ... legally or not.”
    â€œExactly, why would a man like that want to wait in line like everybody else?”
    Ovan looked sincerely at Lawrence. “I’m trying not to alarm Ms. Ams, although after reading the report I stole—I mean, borrowed from the