Brody & Hannigan 02 - Grand Theft Lotto by Paula Graves

home. Get some rest."
    Brody's dark eyes slanted to meet Hannigan's. "Yes, sir."
    They left the office together, trying not to look as if they were hurrying to get out from under the lieutenant's thumb. He was pretty flexible about letting them run their investigations without interference, as a rule, but he didn't like insubordination. It was a fine line to tread.
    Only one other detective was in the communal office when they entered—Jase Berry, who worked the night shift mostly alone and liked it that way. His wife was a nurse who also worked the night shift, and they didn't have any kids, so the hours suited them.
    "I heard the motorcycle killer struck again," Berry said, leaning back in his chair to watch them settle behind their own desks.
    "Could be," Hannigan said noncommittally.
    "What I can't figure out is why half the upper brass is here so late?"
    Hannigan glanced at Brody. He wore a neutral mask, not giving anything away. She hoped she was as successful at keeping her thoughts to herself.
    Because it was pretty damned hard not to think about the photos they'd seen that night. Beyond the intensely intimate nature of the snapshots, there was the fact that, given the small size of Weatherly, Alabama, odds had been good that they would see people they knew in that box of photographs.
    And they had. The mayor, of course, and a deputy chief in the police department. Hannigan had spotted a shot of a guy she'd dated for a couple of weeks dressed in women's underwear, which, come to think of it, explained a lot about most of their dates.
    She drove those images out of her head by concentrating on the report. She was a better typist than Brody, so she usually handled the reports. Not because he thought typing was woman's work or anything stupid like that; he'd tried, for a while, to share the duties equally, but Hannigan quickly lost patience with his slow, two-fingered typing and had made him a deal: she'd handle typing up the reports if he'd handle dealing with the brass.
    Brody sat at his desk, tapping a pencil on the blotter as he waited for her to finish the report. After several minutes of silence, he spoke in a deceptively nonchalant tone. "Hey, Hannigan. You know that thing we were going to do tonight before we got the call?"
    She looked up from the typewriter and spoke in a half-whisper, aware of Jase Berry sitting idly only a few feet away. "You're really bringing that up now?"
    He shrugged, as if it had been an offhand question. "Just wondering."
    She bit back a smile. "I don't want to make any promises. The evening has not exactly gone as planned."
    "It never does," he grumbled.
    She typed in the last line on her report and sent it to print. While she closed out the file report program, Brody went to the printer to retrieve the pages and took them to the lieutenant's office. He caught up with her at the front exit.
    "About what I said before—we don't have to do anything tonight. But I think I'd still like to spend it with you." The look he gave her was remarkably needy for a man who looked like a movie star and came from enough money and social standing to make him a prized catch among debutantes and their matchmaking mamas alike.
    What he wanted with a freckle-faced hillbilly like her, she wasn't sure she'd ever understand, and maybe that had been a big part of her hesitation. It felt as if she was in the middle of some cosmic practical joke that would leave her standing under a metaphorical bucket of fake blood in the middle of the prom.
    Which was stupid, if she looked at things logically. She trusted Brody to have her back when bullets were flying. If she could trust him in that sort of life-and-death situation, why not trust him with her heart?
    "Okay," she said as they came to a stop in the parking lot where they'd parked side by side. "I'll meet you at your place. I need to run home first. Gotta pick up my jammies and my Teddy bear."
    He grinned at her over the top of his car. "Our first sleepover. Are