Dominance by V.C. Kincade

Author:V.C. Kincade [V.C. Kincade]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Northshore Noir
Published: 2025-09-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Blackburn considered her call with Kendria, allowing irritation cool into aim. But where? She shifted in her chair. Leather creaked. Heat left her face in a slow drain. Now was the perfect time to deal with her tracker.

Her office sat in flat LED light. Shadows held their edges. The air was stale. The desk was ordered. Case files on the left. Laptop on the right, humming. The screen showed the last email from Dr. Petrović. The subject line pulled the warmth from the room. Homicide Confirmed: Jenna Langston. The matter was settled. No ambiguity remained. The case was officially hers.

She leaned back slowly, a pen loose between her fingers. It tapped against the desk in a deliberate rhythm. Sharp clicks punctuated the HVAC hush.

The door to the bullpen creaked open. Dawson returned and shuffled to his desk. The place carried the low thrum of printers and murmured calls. Blackburn had mapped out assignments to keep the case tight and her operation clean. Dawson and the others would follow without deviation. Except one.

Her gaze moved to Sinclair’s desk. The GPS tracker from her car. Arrogance or stupidity. She hadn’t decided. Either way, he would learn what it cost.

The pen stilled. The room tightened. She swept the bullpen. Everyone was present, heads bent to their tasks, paper whispering under their hands. A small smile cut across her mouth. She rose and moved toward Sinclair, heels marking the linoleum in clean beats.

“Gentlemen,” Blackburn said smoothly, her voice cutting through the quiet with effortless authority. Conversations halted mid-sentence, every pair of eyes tilting toward her. “I’ve updated the task list for Jenna Langston’s case. The details are live on the network. Review them immediately. She is officially a homicide.”

Her tone was crisp, the undercurrent was steel. She moved through the bullpen with contained authority. The room adjusted around her.

At Sinclair’s desk she paused, back to the others. He lifted his gaze, hesitating. Desire flashed and failed to hide. Blackburn tilted her head and slipped open the top button of her shirt with easy indifference. Every motion was calculated.

“Sinclair,” she murmured, leaning closer until only he could hear. Her voice dipped lower, not soft but pointedly intimate, and carried a sharp edge of power disguised as familiarity. “I want you.” She let the instruction hang for a beat. “My office.”

Sinclair swallowed. His breath hitched at a closeness he had not earned. He reached without thinking. She let the reach die, then set something small and unmistakable on his desk with a flick of her wrist.

The tracker caught the light. Blackburn tapped it once with a manicured nail. The point landed.

“You have five minutes to get your act together.”

She didn’t wait for his reaction. She straightened and walked back to her office. Behind her, his silence and heat followed through the steady hum of the room. A prelude to what awaited him next.

Fun times were coming.

The tracker sat where she left it. Sinclair’s infatuation tilted into unease. His pulse picked up as he replayed the edge in Blackburn’s gaze.

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