An Irresistible Man

by Kylie Brant

  That should have been the tip-off, she thought caustically. The only person he’d helped was himself. Once they had caught him, it hadn’t been too difficult to find that Dennis had used the information he’d gleaned to sell to businesses and corporations interested in making bids on city projects. When he was found out, he’d tried to explain it all away. When it became obvious that neither his talking nor his engagement to the councilman’s daughter was going to be enough to keep him from standing trial, he’d turned vicious. That was when he’d begun asserting that Madeline had helped him every step of the way. His lies had been public enough, believable enough, that she, too, had been forced to undergo an investigation. That had been the worst time of her life. She had longed for the opportunity to clear her name. And she’d eventually been cleared of any wrongdoing.

  But even without her father’s innuendos, she was very much aware that she’d been cleared more because of a lack of evidence of her criminal involvement than because they’d found proof of her innocence. The difference was subtle but devastating. To some people, the doubt about her culpability would always remain. All she could do was live her life and do her job in as exemplary a fashion as possible, and ignore those who couldn’t-or wouldn’t-let go of their doubts about her.

  “You’re thinking of that creep you almost married, aren’t you?” Ariel waved her hand dismissively at Madeline’s look of surprise. “It isn’t hard to tell. You get that same expression on your face every time you start thinking of him. When are you going to forgive yourself for being human?”

  “It’s being gullible, not being human, that I need to forgive myself for,” Madeline corrected grimly. “Every time I think of the way I stood up for him… I refused to believe he could be guilty, do you know that? I wouldn’t let myself examine the evidence that was stacked against him. I ignored all my police training, and focused solely on what I wanted to see.” She snorted. “And he rewarded my loyalty by trying to make it look as if I’d known what he was up to all along. So much for true love.”

  “He was a real pig, all right,” Ariel agreed. She’d met Madeline shortly after the whole thing had happened, but it had been years before Madeline had discussed it with her, even briefly. “Lots of men are, but not all of them. There are some good guys out there, and you’ll find one, if you just let yourself look. You should adopt the cowgirl philosophy.”

  “And what, pray tell, might that be?”

  Ariel’s face was solemn, as if imparting a divine wisdom. “When a man bucks you off, you’ve just got to get up and get back on.”

  Madeline wadded up the empty doughnut bag in front of her and threw it at her friend. “You’re incorrigible,” she declared, an unwilling smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve got a degenerate for a friend.”

  “Believe me, honey,” Ariel said with an arch look, “a few nights in bed with a certified man dime, and you’d have a whole new perspective on life.”

  “I’ll have to take your word on that,” Madeline drawled. She sought, and found, another channel of conversation. “Pardon me for asking, but what have you done to your hair now?” Ariel was a hairdresser, and quite a successful one. But her efforts on her own hair did nothing to inspire confidence in her abilities. She changed colors and styles regularly.

  “Like it?” Ariel brushed back the long straight mass, recently dyed to an improbable shade of black. “I felt like a change. Are you ready to break down and give me a chance with yours?” The look of horror on Madeline’s face was answer enough. “I haven’t steered you wrong yet, have I?”

  “You were right about cutting it shorter,” Madeline admitted. “I like the new shoulder length you talked me into.” Actually, bulldozed her into would be a more accurate description, but why quibble with success?

  “And?” Ariel fluttered her eyelashes, waiting.

  “And the straightener was a good idea, too,” her friend said grudgingly. “The curliness is easier to manage now.”

  Ariel got up and swept her a bow. “Thank you, thank you. And now, with your sweet compliments ringing in my ears, I’d better go. I’ve got a date with a new man tonight, and it’s going to take me all day to get ready. What do you have planned for the rest of the day, as if I couldn’t guess?”

  “I’m going to work.”

  “What a surprise,” Ariel muttered as she went to the door. When she reached it, she turned and pleaded, “Do me a favor? Do something, anything out of the ordinary this weekend, okay? You are in a rut so deep you may as well be in a coffin.”

  “Thank you, Ariel. Goodbye, Ariel,” Madeline said, and closed the door before her life elicited any more comments from her friend. She leaned against it and closed her eyes for a moment. Sometimes dealing with her neighbor’s high-energy voltage drained her. Then her eyes popped open and she strode over to the desk in the corner of her small living room. She unlocked it and pulled down the drop front. Little did her friend know she was going to follow her advice. Well, kind of. It was time to start digging up what personal information she could on Cruz Martinez.

  She pulled out the file that Brewer had had prepared on him, picked up a pen and tapped it reflectively against her teeth. This investigation was going to have to be approached a little differently from most, since she couldn’t talk to people who knew Martinez, at least not openly; she didn’t want to do anything else that would tip him off that someone was interested in his actions. That would make her job a bit more difficult, but not impossible. She listed everything she knew about him so far. Then she took another sheet of paper and marked off three columns. Under one she listed every bit of information she had that could be construed to look suspicious. Under the middle one she listed personal things she’d learned about his life. The final column was for the things that pointed to his innocence. When she was finished she put the information she had just written in the proper columns. There wasn’t much written on the sheet when she concluded.

  But there was nothing at all written in the third column.

  Monday morning when Madeline reached Cruz’s desk he was already working. At least, she assumed that was what he was doing. He was slouched in his chair in front of his desk, shoulders propped against the backrest. She shook her head, wondering by what marvel of nature he managed not to slide onto the floor. She was tempted to give the chair a nudge, to see if he’d do just that.

  He raised his head from his cup of coffee when he saw her, and pointed to another steaming cup on his desk.

  “Thanks,” she said gratefully, reaching for it and pulling up another chair. Sipping from it cautiously, she asked, “Did you talk to Ritter yet this morning?”

  He grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”

  Instant understanding dawned on her face. “That bad, huh?”

  “Not only did he strike out with Jacobs, he was not too pleased with me for talking him into it in the first place. Jacobs must have given him a real earful for even suggesting that he offer Stover a plea bargain.”

  So Brewer had been right about that, Madeline thought with a sigh. “Well, we half expected this.”

  “We did,” he agreed. “And who knows? If we could show proof that all these weapons came from the same supplier, and were assured that Stover could lead us to him, maybe Jacobs would reconsider. In the meantime, Stover isn’t going anywhere for a while. I’ve heard he’s having trouble coming up with bail.”

  “Well, that’s the only bit of good news to come out of this so far. We’ll just have to get to work and come up with the proof it will take to convince him. Meanwhile, why don’t we use our laptops to access the listings of any people who bought AK-47s legitimately.”

  “We already know that Stover didn’t buy that gun legally-he doesn’t have any papers for it,” Cruz replied.

  “It’s possible that the gun could have been stolen from someone who did buy it legally.”

  “I still think we’re going to find that one supplier is responsible for arming all these punks. Are you claiming the gangs have all
coincidentally stolen the same kind of gun from different people in about the same time period?”

  “No,” she admitted. “And I agree with your hunch. But let’s face it-we’ve only recovered one of the actual guns themselves. We need to cover all the bases.”

  He gave a mental sigh, not looking forward to the tedious task of poring over lists of gun serial numbers, yet knowing the job had to be done. An idea struck him then, and he looked at her speculatively. Perhaps there would be an advantage to working with a partner on this. If he could convince her to take care of this aspect, he could follow a lead of his own.

  “More coffee, Madeline?” he asked solicitously.

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

  “I could warm yours up for you.” The polite denial died on her lips when she looked up and correctly interpreted the look on his face.

  “Oh, no, you don’t, Martinez,” she said flatly.

  His eyebrows climbed. “What?”

  “You’re not going to con me into doing the records check by myself. You’ll be right by my side the whole time.”

  “Now, Madeline.” His tone was reasonable. “Why should both of us suffer through a boring job like that? If you took care of it, then I could be pursuing other possibilities. We could accomplish two things at once. I’d offer to do it myself,” he added, “but sitting inside here staring at a computer screen all day gets me hyper.”

  That was a laugh. She flicked a studied glance over his casual pose. “Yeah, you strike me as the restless type, all right. What’s this hot lead you want to follow, anyway?”

  “I know some people who aren’t above making money in, shall we say, unconventional ways. Some of them have been known to deal in guns, although nothing on this scale. But if pressed, one might be persuaded to give us a tip about what he’s heard on the streets.”

  Madeline nodded. “Sounds like a good place to start, and I think you’re right. We should follow both leads.”

  “All right!” A delighted grin broke over his face. She let him get halfway out of his chair before she added, “We can do the firearms checks in the mornings, and hit the streets in the afternoons.”

  He poised in midair for a split second before dropping back into his seat.

  “Can’t change your mind, huh?” His tone held resignation.

  “No way.” Not only was she not about to let him shove the most tedious work off on her, she had another motive for insisting they stay together. In order to keep track of him, she had to stick close to him. Otherwise she would have no way of knowing if he actually had done what he reported, saw the people he claimed. No, she wouldn’t be able to let Cruz Martinez out of her sight during their working hours. Not if she was going to complete her own investigation on him. “We’re partners. We’ll investigate as partners.”

  He sighed, already dreading the task ahead. “Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  They spent the rest of the morning bringing up files on their computers, printing them off and examining the results. Gun merchants were required to take down a great deal of information about their customers, so that record checks could be done. Soon they had a list of names of people in the state who had purchased an AK-47 legitimately.

  After a couple hours Madeline said, “Now why don’t we compare the serial number of Stover’s gun to the numbers on this page and-”

  “Uh-uh,” Cruz said. “Look at the clock. It’s almost lunchtime. There’s no use starting on that. Time to quit, go to lunch and then onto the streets.”

  Madeline felt a moment’s frustration. She hated leaving a job before seeing it through to the end. If she’d been working alone she would have chosen to complete this task before tackling a different lead. But she wasn’t working alone. Cruz had already risen, and she slowly got to her feet, too. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “But since we’re taking lunch on my time, I’m picking where we eat.”

  His look was pained. “You drive a hard bargain, Casey.”

  Following him back to his desk, she was retrieving her purse when she heard a voice speak behind her.

  “Hey, buddy, surprised to see you here. Haven’t seen you around in almost a week.”

  She turned curiously to see who was addressing Cruz.

  “Yeah, we’ve been working on that case I told you about. I wouldn’t be here this morning, either, but Madeline had a hunch, and we compromised.” His tone was pained.

  The man addressing her partner was about her own height, and he projected a commanding presence. Wavy hair the color of antiqued brass was cut around his ears and left long enough in back to brush his collar. His face lacked the movie-star good looks of Cruz’s, but this man was attractive in his own right. The angles of his face were compelling, the chin uncompromising, the chiseled mouth undeniably sensual. When she looked at his eyes she caught her breath. His pale green gaze was pinned on her, despite the fact that he was talking to Cruz. And its shrewd, assessing look seemed to sum her up in the space of a second, and find her wanting.

  “Madeline, this is Connor McLain. We were partners long before he became Lieutenant Detective McLain. Connor, Detective Sergeant Madeline Casey.”

  “How long were you and Cruz partners?” she asked Connor.

  “Long enough to discover what he thinks of compromising.”

  “He wasn’t too bad,” Madeline said judiciously, throwing Cruz a sidelong glance. “He only sulked half the morning.”

  Connor cocked a brow at this information. “Is that right? He’s matured, then.”

  “Gee, thanks, amigo,” Cruz interrupted, slapping him on the shoulder. “Remind me to tell Michele about the time we went down to the wharf and found that bar, where you-”

  “On second thought, he was the best damn partner I ever had and you’re lucky to have him,” Connor said quickly. With a warning look at Cruz, he added, “Michele ordered me to invite you to dinner this week, but you’re only coming if you can keep your mouth shut.”

  Cruz’s mouth quirked. “I’ll give her a call. We were just on our way out for lunch, and it’s Madeline’s turn to pick where we go, so catch you later. I’ll need to take a little extra time to deal with the heartburn.” They walked away.

  “Very funny.” She remembered how he’d almost kissed her the last time she’d chosen where to dine, and she wiped away the moisture the memory brought to her palms. She realized suddenly that it had been much easier to keep Cruz at a distance this morning. They had spoken strictly about work. But it was not as easy to maintain that distance when they were on the street and she pondered that. She’d never been a particularly easy person to get to know. Ariel had been the only other person who’d managed to get close to her, despite the obstacles in the way, and that was only because Ariel had crashed right through them. Cruz, however, was managing a similar feat with much more grace and charm, and the realization frightened her. She had to be on a friendly basis with him in order to get close enough to prove or disprove his criminal involvement. But she was uncomfortable with opening herself up in return. “How long have you known Lieutenant McLain?” she asked as they left the building and walked toward the car.

  “Since he was rookie McLain,” he answered. “We’re good friends. He’s a great guy.”

  She was a little surprised at the revelation, although she’d picked up on the camaraderie between the two. They didn’t seem to have much in common, at least at first glance. Displaying the direct opposite of Cruz’s easy manner and lighthearted banter, McLain had seemed very tough and unyielding. On second thought, she’d had occasion to see Cruz turn into someone very tough indeed when he’d been confronted by Baker last week, so maybe he and McLain had more in common than she’d first believed.

  She drove them to Louie’s, a place noted for its hamburgers. It was crowded, and they sat on stools at the tiny counter.

  After they’d placed their orders, Cruz looked around with a jaundiced eye. “I’ll bet you know the whereabouts of every greasy spoon in the city.”


  “This isn’t a greasy spoon,” she objected. “And out of deference to your lack of table manners, I brought you to a place that serves the food on plates. What more do you want?”

  “How about an antidote for ptomaine poisoning?”

  She ignored that. He obviously lacked an adventurous spirit when it came to dining, but by the time this case was over, she would have broadened his culinary habits extensively.

  By the time this case was over. The words came back to echo in her mind with nagging insistence. What else would she have changed for him by that time? A change of address, perhaps, if he landed in jail? She studied the napkin on the table in front of her. She’d spent most of her free time over the weekend looking up information on him. She’d gone to 1.A. headquarters to use the computers there. She now knew his address and what kind of car he drove, and the fact that he’d received two speeding tickets in the past three years. It was the information on his car that returned the slightly sick feeling to her stomach now. Checking through the records for licenses on motor vehicles, she had found that he was the owner of a new model sports car, one that listed for more than his entire year’s salary.

  When she’d checked his credit history she’d had another unpleasant surprise. He had only one outstanding loan, for some property listed at his address. He was obviously buying his home. So how, she wondered for the hundredth time, did someone who made the kind of money she did afford to buy an expensive toy for a car and pay cash for it?

  The question had plagued her for the rest of the weekend. From what he’d told her about his family, she could discount the possibility that he’d received an inheritance. It sounded as though he and his siblings had been raised solely on the hard work of their parents.

  She surreptitiously studied the man seated across from her. She was having a hard time imagining this man as a criminal. Right now he was trying to get comfortable on his stool. Finally he turned to the side to face her, resting his torso against the counter and leaning his head on his folded elbow Thinking of bow she’d spent her weekend made it difficult to meet his eyes, but she forced herself to do so.