by Nancy Warren
“A million bucks? That’s a lot of money.” John glanced from her to Blake.
Barker didn’t say a word. He kept staring at her, forcing her to continue. “He said he knew what this person was up to and he wanted the money to keep quiet.”
“What exactly did he say?”
She closed her eyes and did her best to recall every word of the one-sided conversation. As she repeated Phil’s words, she was surprised at how she could hear them echoing in her mind, still feel the confusion and growing dread as though she were once again crouched in an empty office unwillingly eavesdropping.
“What’s the name of the employee you overheard?” Barker searched the coffee table and John rose and retrieved a notebook from the top drawer of the desk and handed it to him along with a pen.
She hesitated, but what was the point of coming to the police if she wouldn’t tell them who the blackmailer was?
“His name is Phil Britten. He’s an assistant account manager in our Private Banking Division. I… In cases such as this, I’m supposed to go to the bank’s auditors, but Phil was there when I got to their department, with the bank chairman. Since I don’t know who he was talking to, it occurred to me it could be one of the auditors or even the chairman himself. That’s why I had to come here. If Phil’s expecting the money by tomorrow night, we don’t have much time. Maybe you could talk to him, find out the name of the person he’s blackmailing and why.”
They glanced at each other and she felt the unspoken communication that passed between them.
John tapped his fingers absently against his coffee mug. “We’ll need a list of all bank personnel and their positions, a list of bank clients—with the Private Banking clients highlighted—”
“I can’t do that. You’re asking for proprietary information. Look. All I want you to do is talk to Phil. He’s young, smart, ambitious. I’m sure he’ll see that he’s better off cooperating with the police to root out whatever’s happening at the bank than going to jail for blackmail. Can’t you offer him a deal?”
Barker shifted his injured leg so the cast bumped noisily against the floor. “Why does every yahoo who watches Law & Order suddenly think they know more about policing than the real cops?”
She rose, feeling as though her day had been about forty-seven hours long, and it wasn’t even one o’clock. “I’ve obviously wasted your time. Goodbye, detectives.” She almost ran from the room and paused at the front door, fumbling to get it open.
She felt a strong hand close about her arm and glanced back, with no surprise, to find Detective Barker man-handling her.
“Would you please let go of my arm?” She gave him a level look, designed to remind him what harm she was capable of inflicting, trying to ignore the heat and strength coming from him.
He removed his hand but said, “I’ll walk you out.”
By this time John had appeared with crutches. “Take yourself on home,” he told Blake. “I’ll handle this.” He opened the front door, checked the hallway, nodded, then motioned them out. “We’ll be in touch, Ms. Morton.”
Barker grabbed the crutches with a nod, then hobbled alongside her, making her feel, once again, guilty. “How’s your head?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“And the leg?”
“Fine.”
Mentally, she rolled her eyes. Why did she even bother trying to be pleasant? She abandoned small talk for the same taciturn silence as her companion.
Even the crutches were silent on the carpeted hallway.
Her nerves ratcheted up a notch or two. He wasn’t glued to her side to be polite.
“You did the right thing, coming to us,” he told her. “If you give us the information we need, we can put a stop to whatever’s going on at your bank.”
But how much confidential information could she pass on to the police without compromising her own ethical responsibilities to her employer?
As they neared the exit, she turned to him, certain she’d be more clearheaded without him around. “You need to rest. Why don’t you leave the Investment Bank investigation to your partner. Just forget I was here.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners and she was reminded again how disconcertingly attractive he could be when he wasn’t scowling at her. “You are completely unforgettable.”
Her eyes narrowed. From any other man that would be a compliment, but, coming from Barker, she wasn’t so sure.
“Where are you parked?” he asked.
“I’m not. I came by cab.” And thank goodness for that. At least now she wouldn’t have to face the prospect of him walking her to her car.
“I’ll drive you home.”
She stopped dead and her mouth dropped open. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine with a cab.”
He faced her, once again with that disconcerting gleam in his eye. “It wasn’t an offer. Consider it an order.”
Huffily, she crossed her arms. “One. I’m not getting into a car driven by a man with a broken leg. Two. I don’t take orders from you.”
He sighed noisily. “Are you ever, for one second of the day, not difficult?”
“Don’t make me break your other leg.”
He looked almost relaxed, slouched over his crutches. “One. My left leg is the broken one. I can drive fine. Two. I can take you home or arrest you. Your call.”
“Arrest me?” Her voice rose and she felt her mouth drop open. “What for?”
“You just threatened a police officer with violence. And yesterday you assaulted one.”
“But…but you said you wouldn’t tell anyone about that.”
“And I won’t. I only want to drive you home.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “There must be some law against what you’re doing.”
He shrugged, his wavy hair shifting with the movement. “I’m the one with the badge.”
“I don’t—” It was pointless to keep talking; he was back in motion. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should simply return to the main entrance and call a cab, or, even better, grab his crutches and make a run for it. Some instinct told her it would be easier in the long run to let the detective drive her home.
BLAKE GLANCED AT HIS passenger. He imagined victims being dragged through the streets of Paris to the guillotine had looked happier.
His own face was doubtless no picture of radiance, either. How much could he tell her? That was the problem. How much did he even know for certain?
No. Figuring out how far he could trust her wasn’t his biggest problem. His biggest problem was figuring out if his innocent-looking attacker was part of the money laundering operation running out of her firm.
For all her sweet-as-honey appearance, he couldn’t be certain she wasn’t involved. She’d neatly botched Li’s girlfriend’s arrest yesterday. She could be throwing suspicion away from herself by coming in like Suzie Q. Citizen to tell them about some bogus blackmailer.
Except why would she want to draw police attention to the bank? Unless the perps knew they were under suspicion and she was merely trying to find out what, if anything, the authorities knew.
He rubbed his temple absently, wishing he could see inside her thoughts. John would be checking her out right now, he knew. His gut, which he usually trusted, told him she was on the level.
“Headache?” she asked softly.
“Yeah.”
“You should spend a few days in bed.”
If she was in it with him, he could probably be persuaded. “Where do you live?” he asked. They were motoring along in his dusty SUV. She’d spent the first few minutes with her unwavering attention fixed on his driving. Since she’d stopped staring, he had to assume he’d proven he could drive an automatic without the use of his left leg. What a genius.
She gave him her address, then lapsed into silence. He let it lengthen, pegging her for the kind of woman who’d fill it sooner or later, whether with cheerful chitchat about the weather or more information on what was going on inside her bank. H
e was hoping for the latter.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her fidget. Yep, he’d guessed right. Chatter was building up inside her. She reached forward to his stack of CDs and started flipping. He saw her eyes widen as she went rapidly through them all then once again, more slowly this time, stopping to study one or two closely. He waited for the usual smartass comment about his choice in music.
“Is this your music?” She sounded half stunned.
“Yep.”
“But these are opera recordings.”
“That’s right. Play something if you like.” He stashed a grin and waited.
She sighed with all the enthusiasm of a woman approaching orgasm. “Could I play Verdi’s Don Carlo? I can’t believe you have the live recording with Carlo Bergonzi and Renata Tebaldi. It’s almost impossible to find.”
Now it was his turn to stare. Sure, she fit the operaphile profile better than he did, but not by much. He gulped. “You putting me on?”
She shook her head and blinked as though her eyes had deceived her and the CDs were really all heavy metal bands. She slipped a disc out of its case and slid it into the machine, and soon Verdi filled the car.
“Detective,” she said, the stunned expression receding only slightly, “you may have some redeeming characteristics after all.” She sighed and settled back, in apparent bliss, to listen.
He discovered that her love of opera turned him on. Oh, hell, she turned him on, this babe with the linebacker’s tackle. He’d dreamed of her last night—when he’d been allowed to sleep. Whatever drugs they’d given him had conjured lurid fantasies of Sophie Morton and him in every exotic and erotic pose his concussed brain could create.
Turned out he was more creative when concussed and drugged than he’d ever been in his life. For instance, he’d never thought about the sexual possibilities inherent in a hospital bed before. In his dreams he’d draped Sophie all over the damn thing and raised and lowered it to the perfect height for a variety of activities.
Maybe that was why he’d wanted to be alone with her for a few minutes today. He needed to dispel the urge he had every time he saw her to take her mouth with his and then climb on top of her.
He smiled to himself. Must be some kind of death wish.
“Is something funny?” she asked tartly.
He glanced over and there was her mouth, all glossy and pink. “I dreamed about you last night.”
He left it at that, wondering how she’d reply, or if she would.
Only a second or two passed before she asked softly, “What did you dream?”
“After the way you left me, what do you think?” She must have seen his almost painful state of arousal in that flimsy hospital gown.
She bit her pretty pink lip and shot him a glance of half mischief and half guilt. “Strangling me?”
He chuckled. “I only think those thoughts when I’m awake. In my dream you didn’t go home and leave me…frustrated.”
“I didn’t?” she replied in a soft, turned-on kind of voice.
He shook his head, letting the images come back to him. “You and I did things in that hospital bed that have never been done before.”
She gave a gurgle of amusement. “What about your leg?”
“Everything was in working order.” In his dream, he was Viagra on legs.
“Were we…” she petered out on a blush, but he knew exactly what she was wondering.
“We were spectacular.” He answered her unspoken question not without a certain amount of pride. Dreams could be good for the ego.
“You should still be in bed dreaming, and I should have caught a cab,” she said tartly, but he wasn’t fooled. He heard the wanting. It echoed his own.
He changed to the left lane, preparing to drive her to False Creek where she lived. “I want to talk to you about this blackmail plot.”
“I’m not sure I can—”
“Unofficially. I haven’t known you a long time, but in my short acquaintance I’ve noticed you have a…well, I think it’s fair to say you have an impulsive personality.”
She nodded, her big blue eyes guilty, as though he’d discovered a terrible secret. How could she appear so innocent and give him such erotic dreams? Amazing.
“Be careful. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s something, but for now don’t tell anyone what you overheard.”
She turned to stare out the passenger window, but he didn’t think she was checking out the silver BMW in the next lane. The next instant she turned back. “You suspect something. At the bank.”
Was she teasing him? Baiting him? Or just smart? “What makes you say that?”
“You looked funny when I mentioned Investment Bank of Vancouver, and you glanced at your partner. Also,” her brow furrowed and he had a feeling she was working this out as she went, “you didn’t ask the obvious questions, the general stuff about our firm. I got the feeling you already knew the answers.”
Oh, man. He really didn’t need this. “I think you should keep your suspicions to yourself and keep a low profile at work.”
“I’m right, aren’t I? You do suspect something.”
Did they suspect something? Oh, yeah. For two years he’d been working on different files, always on the Black Dragons, gathering information, cultivating informants. The last three months he’d been undercover on the streets, working his way into position as a dealer to trust. And yesterday three months of careful work had gone to hell.
He was the only cop who’d seen Li in person. At least he had that.
But even if his part of the investigation had suffered a terminal setback, there were other cops, other files. One of which was the money-laundering investigation. The guys in commercial crime and fraud had dug up a whole lot of links between the Black Dragons and the Investment Bank of Vancouver.
He pulled up in front of her building and cut the engine. His head would be only too happy to ache if he gave it half a chance and his eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and the aftereffect of painkillers. He rubbed them with the palms of his hands to buy him some time, as well as to try and clear his foggy thoughts.
“Did you get any sleep in the hospital?” Her soft, sexy voice was full of concern.
“Not really.” He’d been poked and checked and mauled when awake and when he was asleep he’d been having acrobatic sex with Sophie. Her nearness tantalized him with wanting to turn those fantasies into pulse-pounding reality.
“Did the noise keep you awake? Hospitals are very un-relaxing.”
Oh, the hell with it. What more could she do to him? “Something was bothering me all night. A question.” He turned to her slowly, unsnapping his seat belt as he did so. “Only you can answer it.”
Her eyes widened slightly as he unsnapped her seat belt and turned his body to face her.
“All night I kept wondering how you’d taste.” He didn’t stop to ask for permission, or even gauge her reaction, beyond the widened eyes and parted lips of shocked disbelief.
He intended to take full advantage of those lips.
He leaned forward and cupped her chin, refusing to even think about how stupid this was. Her nearness, her scent, the sight of that damn mouth was driving him crazy. He’d probably guarantee himself another sleepless night kissing her like this, but at the moment he really didn’t care.
He took her mouth. Just took. No asking, no excuses, no apology. He slipped his lips over hers for a long, thorough taste.
As he’d suspected—as he’d feared—she tasted like heaven.
Her lips were warm and resilient, pulling him into madness.
What he’d imagined she’d do when he kissed her he had no idea, but still she surprised him. She stiffened and he waited for her to shove him away and then slap his face. But she didn’t do either of those things.
She sighed, right into his mouth, and everything went soft. Her lips relaxed and parted beneath his, inviting him deeper, the tension in her muscles eased and she melted into his arms.
He wasn�
�t a man to turn down an invitation like that. Deepening the kiss, he teased her with his tongue, trailing it along her bottom lip before venturing inside where she was warm and sweet. She tasted of cool mint toothpaste. That was the first taste his desire-sharpened senses noted, but like a wine connoisseur, he concentrated, letting his mouth experience all the complexity of flavors. Under the mint was the deeper, richer taste of bitter coffee, and under that, the most complex and desired flavor of all: woman, hot and wanting.
All his animal impulses roared to the forefront of his mind. He pushed a hand into her hair, letting the soft silk bunch and play between his fingers. He let the hand that still cupped her chin travel. As lazy as his tongue in her mouth it trailed down her throat where a pulse beat frantically, skimmed her sweater and found buttons.
He liked buttons. Much better than feeling up a woman under a T-shirt—that always reminded him of high school. Not that necking in cars in broad daylight was exactly adult. Still, he considered briefly, he could always blame his behavior on the concussion.
He skimmed over the buttons, toying with them, with her and with himself as her breathing thickened. Softly, he let his hand drift to the fullness of her centerfold breasts, where her hardened nipples were nearly as prominent as the buttons. As he touched her, he felt the tug on his scalp as her hands pulled at his hair, and she moaned, her voice blending with the opera.
Dimly, he wondered why he’d ever lost the habit of necking with girls in cars. It was outside but nicely enclosed to keep out bugs and rain. Intimate and yet the possibility of discovery was always present. Anyone could be watching them. Even though they were only kissing, the exhibitionist in him responded—as well as the atavistic male desire to show off his hunting trophy.
And he’d bagged himself a hot one. King of the hunters, top of the jungle hierarchy, that’s how he felt with Sophie in his arms.
Somewhere, a horn honked, loud enough to penetrate the lust-filled atmosphere and to bring cold reason to one of them at least.
Sophie pulled away from his mouth slowly, her lips wet and swollen from his kisses, her eyes heavy and passion-drunk. She’d gone from innocent angel to sensual earth goddess in just a few minutes and, though he instinctively covered his cojones, she didn’t seem angry.