by Mandy Baxter
“I was with Tyson Kennedy that night,” she replied. “From about . . .” She pulled her bottom lip in between her straight, white teeth, as her eyes gazed high and to the left—an indication that her story might be fabricated. “Eight in the evening until two or three the next morning. We visited several clubs downtown. I’m sure if you asked around you could find two or three people who saw us out that night.”
“We’ll check it out,” Morgan replied from his right side. “We’ll need the names of those clubs, Emma.”
“Oh, sure,” she all but purred. “The War Room, Sixty-Nine . . .” Emma paused, and this time her gaze was focused squarely on Morgan. Her time frame might be fabricated, but the clubs she’d been to weren’t. “Oh, and a hot little dive bar in Belltown called The Pit. I remember because the bartender there, Levi, is hot.”
Morgan scribbled the names on a notepad and reclined back in his chair as Landon asked, “And what about the week since your father’s escape? Has he called, dropped by, sent you any e-mails? Had any contact whatsoever with you?”
Emma rolled her eyes and let out a derisive snort. “You know what your problem is, McCabe?” No, but he was pretty sure she was about to tell him. “You always jump to conclusions. You’ve got that self-righteous cop attitude down pat, and because you have the so-called law on your side, you fail to look past the obvious answer to any question.”
“Spoken like someone who’s breaking the law,” Landon remarked. Truth be told, he had no idea what she was talking about. There were no obvious answers where Javier’s escape was concerned. If there had been, he’d be in custody right now. “But since you’re so keen to enlighten me on my shortcomings, tell me, Emma, what is the obvious answer I’m missing?”
Emma let out a slow sigh as her gaze shifted low and to the right. Now she was hiding something. “No, he hasn’t called, e-mailed, or stopped by for a visit. I haven’t seen or heard from him since the day I drove to Sheridan to visit him.”
Not a lie, but not the truth, either. “Would you tell me if he had contacted you?”
Emma leveled her gaze on Landon, and those big brown eyes of hers all but swallowed him whole. “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t.”
Landon leaned back in his chair and studied Emma for a quiet moment. He was getting nowhere with her, which was exactly what he’d expected. His only choice at this point was to treat her as hostile, which, knowing Emma, would only make her more antagonistic. This was a lose/lose situation no matter how Landon approached it so he’d give her one last chance to play nice.
“Emma.” Her name rolled off his tongue, and though it was a technique used to make her feel a sense of familiarity, Landon couldn’t ignore how the sound of it punched into his gut with a pleasant ripple. Sort of like diving off of a high cliff into the ocean below. His breath caught as though he were under water, and it took a conscious effort to breach the surface and convince his lungs to work again. “We’re on the same side here. We both want to find your dad. I know he’s not well and he’s not going to get the medical attention he needs on the run. Help us help him.”
“Don’t talk to me about my dad’s health,” she snapped. Well, that tactic crashed and burned. “He wouldn’t even be in this situation if you’d done your job right the first time. We are not on the same side, McCabe. We never will be. You don’t care about my father’s health, so do me a favor and don’t use it in your attempt to psychologically manage me, okay?”
Damn. For a minute, Landon wished he had the flirty, vapid representation of Emma Ruiz, Spoiled Socialite that she’d thrown at him upon exiting the elevator. He could deal with that aspect of her personality because he knew it was a front, a wall she put up to keep others out. This fiery, intelligent, assertive, no-holds-barred woman sitting in front of him was the real Emma. And, damn, did she ever turn him on.
“Oh, you’ll know when I’m managing you.” Morgan gave him a look, but Landon couldn’t be bothered to feel repentant over his own flirtatious tone. Where Emma was concerned, caution and good sense didn’t exist. “Do you know what conspiracy is, Emma?”
“Do I look like a child to you, McCabe? Or an idiot?”
No, she certainly didn’t look like either. He dragged his gaze from the tantalizing swell of her breasts as a tight smile tugged at his lips. “You’ve got a good life, a career, friends . . .” Was there a boyfriend in that mix? “I don’t want to see you throw it all away. I know your dad wouldn’t want you to, either.”
“You know nothing about my dad,” Emma bit out. “You know, for the record, McCabe, putting cuffs on a man doesn’t make you BFFs.”
Landon shrugged a shoulder. “You’re probably right, but I do know that he loves you and that he wouldn’t want to see you throw your life away to protect him. If you tell us what you know, his punishment might be less severe. If not, there’s a pretty good possibility he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison.”
Emma regarded Landon, again tilting her head to the side and giving him an unhindered view of her lovely throat. “Well, in that case, I guess I’d better spill my guts.”
Seriously, did McCabe’s I’m on your side, help me to help you routine ever gain him any ground with suspects?
Either the criminal set he was used to dealing with was way dumber than Emma expected or McCabe was so full of himself that he couldn’t smell his own ripe bullshit. Well, he was about to have a rude awakening. He could threaten her all he wanted, spew concern and tell her he was on her side until the cows came home, she still wasn’t going to play ball. Not now or ever. And as far as arresting her? Let him try. He had nothing on her. She’d be out by dinner.
All three deputies sat up straighter in their seats at her words, their eyes round as they waited for her big reveal. It didn’t take much bait to hook these eager fish. It was almost too easy. Emma leaned forward in her chair as though about to share a coveted secret. “Here’s what I know. The male seahorse carries the babies, not the female. The top speed of a cheetah clocks in at about sixty miles per hour. More men than women are color-blind. The first computer programmer was a woman—which, in my opinion is pretty damned awesome. And, the first programming language was called Fortran—sounds super sci-fi, right? There are more than three hundred and fifty of those little dimples in a golf ball, and tug-of-war was an actual Olympic event in the early nineteen hundreds.” Emma took a deep breath and watched as Landon’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of scarlet. A couple more random facts might cause steam to billow out of his ears. “Babe Ruth used to wear a cabbage leaf under his hat, and—”
“I can arrest you right now, Emma. Is that what you want?”
McCabe’s tone was no longer playful or even friendly. Instead, it carried a dark edge that caused a pleasant shudder to fan from the center of Emma’s stomach as it rippled outward through her limbs. She couldn’t resist pushing him a bit further and held out her hands, wrists upturned. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have you cuff me, McCabe.”
Without a word, he shoved his chair back, the feet scraping on the floor tiles as he stood. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle at his cheek twitching as he headed for the door and yanked it open. He slammed it behind him and Emma jumped in her seat, startled despite feeling just a tad smug over the way she’d managed to rattle his chain. She turned her attention to the remaining two deputies and said, “Want me to keep going? I know so much more than what I’ve already told you.”
Truth be told, now that McCabe was out of the room, Emma finally felt like she could take a decent breath. If he had any clue that his very presence was more disarming than any hard-lined questioning, Emma would have sung like a canary the moment she sat in her chair. He wanted to talk to her about crimes? It was downright criminal for him to look so damned good in his designer jeans, crisp dress shirt that hugged every tight muscle of his body, and gray suit vest with matching white and gray striped tie. His outfit must have cost more than a couple days’ pay, but one little factoid Emma hadn�
��t spilled in her long confession: she happened to know that Landon McCabe was loaded. Like, my-other-car-is-a-Bentley loaded. It had always piqued her interest, why a guy who could live comfortably off of a generous trust fund would choose to work in law enforcement. She wondered how many of his colleagues knew that little tidbit about him. A simple Google search would tell them all they needed to know.
“While I’m sure you find yourself very entertaining, Miss Ruiz,” Deputy Morgan began, interrupting her train of thought, “this is serious business and I think we’d better get back on track. Don’t you?”
Sure. Why not. Now that McCabe was out of the room, there was nothing here to interest her. She’d answer their questions, though she doubted she’d say anything they wanted to hear. “All right, Deputy. Step up to the plate. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Landon raked his fingers through his hair as he let out a frustrated gust of breath. Emma needed someone to take her across his knee and give her a good spanking. Unfortunately, the thought of having Emma’s tight, round ass within touching distance didn’t evoke images of punishment. Rather, Landon took it to an erotic extreme and it only caused the blood to pump harder in his veins. Damn.
She wound him so tight he felt as if he might spring a hundred feet in the air at any moment. Her smart-ass responses revved him up for a challenge he was more than ready to accept. Landon prided himself on being one step ahead of the criminals he hunted, and this interrogation had only managed to prove that, when it came to Emma, he was going to have to step up his game. She taunted him with her very presence, that tight outfit leaving nothing to the imagination. And those boots! He couldn’t help but picture her naked wearing nothing but the knee-high leather with the four-inch heels. And what’s worse, he knew that she’d deliberately dressed that way to throw his focus. Hell, she’d all but confessed it to him the second she’d stepped out of the elevator.
And what the fuck was wrong with him that he fell for it?
The unflappable Landon McCabe, tilted off his axis by five feet four inches of fiery female. Stellar.
Landon continued to pace, allowing the tap, tap, tap of his shoes on the industrial carpeting to calm his roiling temper. He counted each step, one to ten and then ten to one, until his mind was no longer clouded with visions of Emma’s face and he no longer smelled her lingering floral-vanilla scent. His head snapped up on his tenth pass down the hallway as the door to the interview room swung open and Emma emerged with Morgan and his partner a mere step behind her. Emma paused and glanced down one end of the hallway and then the other, her full mouth curving into a sweet smile when her eyes landed on him.
Morgan’s gaze followed and his brow furrowed. “This way, Miss Ruiz. Deputy Courtney will take you back to your apartment.” He held up a palm indicating the way they’d come and she fell into step beside Morgan’s colleague. Landon stopped dead in his tracks, nothing more than a hunk of metal drawn to the magnetic sway of her hips. She walked down the hallway to the elevator and stepped inside. Turning to face him, her dark eyes smoldered as she stared a hole straight through his chest. As the doors slid shut, she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers in a silent good-bye.
He was so, so fucked.
Morgan made a beeline for him, his own steps precisely placed and his face an impassive mask. Way to make an impression on the Seattle boys, you dumb ass. No doubt his behavior instilled them with all sorts of confidence in his ability to locate Javier Ruiz and wrap this case up in a pretty bow. “You okay, McCabe? You look pretty wound.”
Tight as a motherfucking spring.
“Yeah, well, you’d think after six years, she wouldn’t be able to push my buttons. Guess I was wrong.”
Morgan laughed. “She’s something, no doubt about that.”
“Did you get anything out of her after I left?” He figured that in a huff went without saying.
“Nothing. She knows how to evade questioning. In fact, she deflects better than anyone I’ve ever seen. But I do think she knows something. If she doesn’t know exactly where he father is hiding, she’s at least been in contact with him.”
“Agreed.” She wouldn’t have been such a smart-ass if she weren’t trying to lead them off the scent. “I’ll keep an eye on her tonight. Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll do something other than club hop for a change.”
“Could be,” Morgan said, thoughtful. “Has it occurred to you that she might be using the clubs as cover? Maybe she’s meeting someone inside who’s using the crowds to hide out.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Landon admitted. “If she goes out tonight, I’ll follow her inside, keep a close eye on her. Are you up for a stake-out?”
Morgan smiled. “Sure. I’ve got nothing going on tonight. Might as well.”
“Great. Get set up and I’ll meet you outside of her apartment at around seven.”
“Sounds good,” Morgan replied. “See you then.”
Another night spent watching Emma Ruiz. As Landon followed Morgan back toward his office, he had to wonder, how long could he look and not touch?
Chapter Four
Landon took the ticket from the valet and slid it into his pocket. He’d dressed to blend in, so nothing about his outfit screamed, I could totally arrest your ass. Rather, he’d opted for a pair of True Religion jeans, a Bogosse button-up, and a pair of Corvari high-top biker boots. The only accessories on his body were the Bulgari watch his parents had given him on his twenty-first birthday and a nearly invisible earpiece and remote mic. He’d left his sidearm and cuffs locked in the glove box of his SUV along with his badge. For all intents and purposes, he was nothing more than some random guy, hanging out and seeing the sights. Morgan and his partner were staking out the downtown club they’d followed Emma to tonight, and Landon’s job was to be their eyes on the inside.
Landon had to agree with Morgan that her recent outings were suspicious to say the least. Despite her party-girl rep, there was no way Emma would be clubbing while her terminally ill father was on the run. She liked to pretend that she didn’t have a care in the world, but in his previous dealings with her, Landon had seen another side to the wild child. Emma truly cared about her dad. The only explanation for her going out tonight was that she was planning to meet with someone and needed the club as cover—or she was drawing the marshals’ focus in order to sneak something past them. Both were viable possibilities, which was why Morgan had filed a request for a wiretap in Emma’s condo. All they were waiting for was a federal judge to sign off and a team would be in place, ready to roll and perform the installation.
So really, Emma’s leaving her apartment was a win for them either way.
The trick to gaining admittance to these “hot spots” was knowing someone at the door, having the cash to buy your way in, or looking like you belonged. Luckily, Landon had the cash and the look. If Galen could see him now, his friend would be laughing his ass off, right after he ridiculed him mercilessly for his taste in clothes. Galen hadn’t grown up with money. Fuck, the guy hadn’t even had parents who could get it together enough to take care of him and his sister. But they’d done well enough on their own. Though Galen didn’t have a lot of money or status, he was one of the most level people Landon knew, and there was no one he’d rather have at his back.
While Galen had spent most of his adolescence scraping by, Landon’s experience swung toward the opposite end of the spectrum. His family had wealth, privilege, and high-society clout. Landon’s own trust fund was large enough to set him up for the rest of his life. All he had to do to get his hands on the bulk of it as opposed to receiving a monthly stipend was to ditch the U.S. Marshals Service.
Well, fuck that shit.
His old man could go to hell. No way was Landon turning his back on the only thing he gave a shit about for a few bucks. Okay, so maybe it was closer to several million, not that it mattered. Though he’d grown up surrounded by old money, tight-assed corporate CEOs, and big shots without compassion or morals, apparent
ly the worst thing his father’s only son could do was choose law enforcement as a career. There were days when Landon thought his dad would’ve been more proud had he become a drug czar or inside trader. For his dad, it was all about having weight to throw around, people to intimidate, and wealth to lord over those who would never be your better. Apparently the badge, honor, dedication to justice, and the clout that carrying a .40-caliber sidearm brought weren’t good enough.
Hugh McCabe was exactly like the assholes at Mendelson Corp. He was the sort of rich, entitled asshole who didn’t think twice about paying someone off to keep his company out of the news—or out of court. Maybe that’s why the Ruiz case had stuck with Landon after so many years. Because Javier and that dick Mike Shanahan at Mendelson reminded him of the family he tried like hell to distance himself from. Yeah, that was it. It had absolutely nothing to do with a certain fiery, dark-eyed beauty.
At any rate, Landon didn’t need his uptight family or anyone else to feel validated. Galen and the Marshals Service were his family now. At least they didn’t turn their noses up at him when he was jonesing for fast food—
“McCabe ? You copy?”
Morgan’s voice came through his earpiece and Landon snapped to attention. He was on the job and needed to get his shit straight and focus. “Yeah, I copy.”
“Do you have eyes on Ruiz?”
Landon scanned the club as he walked, weeding through the throngs of people in search of Emma. Near the VIP area, he spotted a large group of people surrounding some point of interest. It didn’t take an investigative genius to discern who was at the center of all the attention. He edged his way closer, careful to keep his profile turned to the group. Through the press of bodies, he caught sight of her dark, curling hair and his chest constricted. Okay, so maybe his obsession with the case had to do with more than just her dad. . . .