One Kiss More Read Online Free

field day with her, and they’d crucify her if they saw her looking anything less than perfect. So, she pushed herself off the bed and headed for the bathroom. “Almost ready,” she called. “Give me ten minutes.”
    “I’ll give you five,” Morgan replied. “And not a minute more.”

    The media circus camped outside of her building was no less than Emma expected. And though they’d avoided the bulk of reporters by leaving via the underground parking garage, another crowd of gawkers was waiting for her at the federal building. Which piqued her interest, since no one should have known where she was headed. A leak in the Marshals office, maybe? It was something to consider. When she was younger, she’d reveled in the attention, posing for the cameras as she hopped from one nightclub to another. With her father in prison, she’d used the party scene and crowds of people to banish the bone-deep loneliness and depression that had threatened to lay her low.
    “Emma, Emma!” Several reporters shouted her name, and questions that ranged from, “Do you know where your father is?” and “Are you under arrest?” to “Who are you wearing?” assaulted her ears. In the confusion, she could do nothing but allow Deputy Morgan to help her out of the car and escort her into the building. For once, Emma wished for quiet anonymity. Couldn’t these guys find someone more exciting to follow around? Wasn’t Lady Gaga in town this weekend for a concert or something? Emma wasn’t even that interesting, for shit’s sake. And seriously, Who are you wearing? What was wrong with people?
    Conversation was nonexistent as Emma checked in as a visitor at the front desk and was issued a temporary ID badge while her purse went through a scanner. She walked through the metal detector, glad she wasn’t wearing anything that would set off an alarm. The last thing she needed was a full-body search. Especially with the paparazzi outside doing their best to get a glimpse of her.
    “This way, Miss Ruiz.”
    The sound of Deputy Morgan’s voice woke her from her stupor, and she followed him to a set of elevators. For the most part, the ride to the seventh floor was just a notch below excruciatingly uncomfortable. Right now they were treating her with a modicum of respect and professionalism. But once they stepped into that interview room, she knew without a doubt that the gloves would come off.
    When the elevator doors finally slid open, Emma released the breath she’d been holding—and then choked on the intake as she came face-to-face with McCabe. “No cuffs?” he teased as she stepped out into the hallway.
    “I’m cooperative, Deputy McCabe,” she replied as though offended. She followed Deputies Morgan and Courtney out of the elevator and McCabe fell in step beside her as they made their way down the hall. “I even got all dressed up for you.”
    Since she was sixteen, Emma had used flirting as a shield. Worn sweet smiles like a suit of armor, and perfected the art of steamy stares to black-belt level. She never felt as if she could truly be herself, and so she’d developed her femme fatale persona, an alter ego to hide behind when it was too hard to be the real Emma, the girl who liked to lounge around in sweats and watch football on Sundays. The woman who preferred peace and quiet, and would rather spend the evening writing code or working on developing a high-functioning website than tossing back drinks and shaking her ass on the dance floor. The duality of it all wore her down. But she guarded that secret part of her with the fierceness of a pit bull. She trusted very few people—less than a handful—and not even Landon McCabe was worthy of anything more than the façade.
    His gaze swept the length of her body, from her knee-high stiletto boots, up her thighs clad in clingy denim, and the short leather jacket covering her black silk tank top. A momentary flare of heat sparked in the depths of his blue eyes, but he quickly