by Kylie Brant
“You mean none of the other investigations have come up with anything on the other detectives, either?” she asked slowly.
He shook his head morosely. “And if all five detectives do check out, it could mean the snitch was wrong about a cop being involved in the gun supply. Hell, maybe the snitch was high and dreamed the whole thing up. But you can bet I’m going to have a bloody time convincing the brass of that. They’re worried about the department’s image, and they want to see someone’s head on the block.”
From Brewer’s aggrieved tone it was plain that he was more worried about having to answer to his superiors than he was about making sure a cop wasn’t falsely accused. Madeline swallowed her sense of disgust. It was an emotion she was used to feeling around him. She rose, reaching for her suit jacket and purse.
“So how’s the rest of the investigation coming?” he inquired as she slipped into her coat. “How close are you to nailing the supplier?”
“It’s coming together,” she answered shortly. “I really don’t think it will be much longer.”
“You don’t think so, huh?” When he said nothing else, Madeline stifled a sigh and started to walk away.
“Casey.”
His voice stopped her, and she took a breath before turning to face him inquiringly.
He tapped the file folder with one finger. “Good work on this. Factual, as always.”
The compliment took her by surprise, and made her a little wary. “Thank you, sir.”
“Tell me something. Forget the hard evidence we’re looking for. What’s your gut feeling on Martinez? If you had to guess, I mean. Is he dirty?”
She stared at him for what seemed an eternity. “I don’t know” was on her tongue, waiting to be uttered. She was a meticulous investigator; she didn’t draw conclusions without proof. But she knew the captain well enough to know that he wouldn’t let her get away with that. He was asking her, in a rare moment off the record, to reveal what her instincts told her about the man she was investigating.
Instincts. She shied away from the word. She hadn’t relied on instincts since the one time they’d led her astray, by allowing her to trust Dennis Belding. She considered them now. For the first time she pushed aside all the logic, all the facts she’d found in this convoluted case, and concentrated purely on what she felt. What her innermost feelings told her. It was surprising how clearly the answer came to her.
“No,” she said evenly. “I don’t think so.”
Brewer merely grunted again, and flipped open the file she’d given him. But she couldn’t dismiss her own words so easily. It was the first time she’d allowed herself to think them, much less say them out loud. She turned away from the captain, shaken. Something inside her wanted to call the words back; another part stood by them. Swiftly she walked from the building to her car.
Once she got into her vehicle, she sat motionless. She hadn’t come up with the kind of positive proof that would clear Cruz conclusively of any wrongdoing in the gun supply. But now with evidence of an extra source of income, the IA could get a warrant to delve deeper into his financials, tracing every deposit made in his accounts. She hadn’t proved his innocence, but neither had she come up with any evidence of his guilt.
She began to drive, thoughts still distracted. Her father had never forgiven her for her error in judgment in trusting her ex-fiancé. He had certainly never forgotten it. She hadn’t allowed herself to forget it, either. Instead of learning from her mistake and moving past it, she’d allowed it to dictate her behavior and responses for the next several years. She’d drawn no conclusions, made no inferences that couldn’t be backed up with piece after piece of solid evidence. She’d thought it made for the best police work, but certainly there was room for her own intuition. Perhaps completely ducking emotional responses wasn’t as clear-cut as she’d thought. In fact, it smacked a bit of cowardice.
It appeared as though she’d come to a point in her life where she had to make some choices. She could continue as she had for the past few years, worshiping at the altar of empirical evidence. Or she could temper good police work with her own insight. As a police officer, she’d forgiven herself for any mistakes she’d made, and learned from them. She hadn’t been as merciful to herself in her personal life.
Without completely remembering the trip there, she found herself parked in front of Cruz’s place. She stared at the building for a time. She should call his cell. There was no reason to have this conversation in person.
But because that choice smacked of cowardice, she got out of the car and walked up to the door.
Unsurprisingly, it was locked. She rang the button beneath his name. It was several moments before she heard his voice answer with a brusque, “Yeah?”
The sound of his voice kept her speechless for a minute, and he repeated his greeting with even less patience. Finally she found her tongue and said, “Cruz, it’s Madeline. Can I come up for a minute?”
The pause after her question seemed interminable, as though he were weighing his answer. Finally he buzzed her in.
He was waiting for her when she got off the elevator, the front door to his apartment open. She followed him inside, swallowing hard at the sight of the bare expanse of his broad back. Closing the door behind them, he leaned against it, sticking his hands into his pockets, perusing her.
She stared back hypnotically, entranced by the wide shoulders and chest delineated by his pose. Gaze drifting downward, she felt her stomach tighten when she saw that all he wore was a pair of obscenely well-fitted jeans, worn almost white, which sheathed his muscles erotically.
“What are you doing here, Maddy?”
Her eyes jerked to his. His expression looked no more welcoming than his words sounded, and again she questioned her wisdom in coming here. Her power of speech seemed to have momentarily deserted her. Then the pungent aroma in the apartment seeped through her consciousness and she whirled around to look at the living room. “Oh, you’ve been varnishing,” she exclaimed artlessly, taking a few steps to the entrance of the room.
“Just finished,” he replied. “Had to leave a path so that I could get to the stairs tonight. I’ll get up early tomorrow and finish it before I go to work.” She looked toward the kitchen, where he had brushes soaking in a container in the sink.
“That’s what I came to talk to you about.” She seized the topic with relief.
“Varnishing?”
She ignored the skeptical note in his tone. “No, work. Something the Wynn manager said has really been bothering me. Did you hear me ask him about the pen?”
He nodded slowly. “He said there weren’t any around with advertising for Andersen on them.”
“Well?” she demanded. “Do you think it means anything? Andersen was positive when he told us they could be found there.”
Cruz was slow to answer. “It wouldn’t mean much by itself. But there was something else that was said today that bugged me, so when you left this afternoon, I did a little digging.”
“And?”
He almost smiled at her eagerness. She looked different somehow, as if the tiredness and worry of the past few days had been erased. Her face was aglow and her gorgeous green eyes were alight with interest. He felt a pang of jealousy that it was work that put that look on her face. “The foreman mentioned today that Andersen has a warehouse on the docks. And Ramsey said Cantoney had bought the gun on the docks.” He pulled one hand out of his pocket, holding it up to stem what he was sure would be her protest. “I know it’s a stretch. There are miles of docks, and it could have been anywhere.”
“I wasn’t going to say that. Because I think you might be on to something. Remember, Valdez is connected, however remotely, to Andersen Steel. He could have easily found out where their warehouse is. Who knows? He might have decided that it was a perfect place to do business.”
Cruz nodded bemusedly. He was relieved that she agreed with him on this, because he would have been hard-pressed to convince her. He’d been a
detective long enough to trust his instincts, and something about the connection between Valdez and the warehouse nagged at him. He couldn’t put it into words, but when he had a feeling this strong, he had to follow it, or it would drive him crazy until he did.
“Well, I’m glad you agree. Because I was going to suggest that we stake out that warehouse and see if Valdez shows up to do any more business.” His tone was dour, which perfectly matched his mood Thinking about spending the next God-knows-how-many nights in the car with Maddy, sitting next to her shrouded in darkness, was enough to make him want to chew nails. Somehow he didn’t think the experience was going to do his system, already tight with frustration, any good.
He raised a bare foot to push himself away from the door and strode to the refrigerator. Pulling it open, he extracted two bottles of water and silently offered one to her.
She took it, wondering at the care he took to make sure their hands didn’t touch.
Twisting off the top with barely concealed violence, he drank a long swallow before lowering his bottle to survey her. If she didn’t leave soon, he wasn’t going to be responsible for his actions, but she didn’t seem in any discernible hurry. That realization, coupled with the fact that his partially clad presence didn’t seem to be bothering her in the least, made his tone uncustomarily caustic. “You’d better run along home and catch some sleep. When we start that stakeout, it’ll be a while before you’ll get a full eight hours again.”
She noted his tone and wondered at it. In fact, his whole manner tonight seemed out of character for him. He hadn’t made one wisecrack, had not uttered one teasing remark. His lopsided grin was very much absent, and for one heart-stopping moment she wondered guiltily if he could have somehow learned of her investigation of him. Even as she mentally discounted that possibility, her pulse raced at the thought. Cruz was a man of strong emotions, and she knew without being told that he would value loyalty above all things. What would he say if he ever discovered it?
She thought she knew the answer to that question. And she would make sure he didn’t ever find out. She’d played it safe all her life, never taking a risk, always weighing the odds. Until the night they’d made love. Now she was tempted to take another risk, one she hadn’t considered having to make. She’d made it very clear to him that there could be nothing between them. Could she summon the courage to tell him of her change of heart? It would require more bravery than she was sure she bad. There was nothing in his manner to suggest that he cared one way or the other.
“Actually, I lied to you,” she stated baldly, and watched wariness flicker into his eyes.
“About what?”
“I didn’t come here to talk about work. I wanted to tell you that-” here her voice hesitated “-that I was wrong the other day when I insisted that we didn’t have a relationship.”
He stared at her, saying nothing.
His silence wasn’t the most promising answer she could have dreamed of, and she bit her lip. Those dark eyes were trained on her, and she allowed herself to be hypnotized by their intense depths. “You were right,” she continued, her voice husky, “when you said I was scared.”
“You denied it.” The words sounded rusty to Cruz’s ears.
“You scared me. The way you made me feel. I couldn’t trust it. I didn’t want to trust it,” she corrected herself.
Still he didn’t move, and his brow furrowed, as if he were having difficulty comprehending her words. At his inactivity, she felt her resolve for honesty vanish. Even the hardiest egos needed a little feedback. She’d almost decided to turn tail and run when his voice stopped her.
“Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?”
“Yes.” It was little more than a whisper.
“What if you change your mind again?” He still hadn’t moved from where he leaned against the refrigerator. He couldn’t. Every muscle, every nerve had frozen as soon as he’d understood what she was saying.
“That’s what I came to tell you.” She moved slowly to stand in front of him. “I’m not running scared anymore.” It didn’t begin to explain what had sent her running in the first place, but it was all she could give him. When he still stood motionless, she might have lost her resolve if she hadn’t seen and correctly interpreted the look in his eyes. The intensity she saw there told her that he was far from unmoved. She was beckoned closer, tempted to reckless abandon by the glittering promise she read in his gaze.
Madeline stepped nearer, until they were standing toe-to-toe. Slowly she reached out with her cold bottle and pressed its coolness against the bare skin of one of his shoulders. Then she moved it slowly down his chest, the bottle gliding easily with the cool condensation that had formed on the outside. She traced an imaginary line around one of his nipples and then rubbed the tip of the bottle against the taut nub. A muscle jumped in his chest, rewarding her efforts and tempting her to further indulgences. “The question is,” she murmured huskily, her eyes entranced by the sight of the cool drops leaving temptingly moist paths across his stomach, “whether you feel the same way.” Her voice almost disappeared. “Whether you still want me.”
“If you’re having any doubts about that, I’d suggest you hug me real tight,” he muttered. “I just want you to be sure this time. I don’t want to find out later that you, ah, Maddy…” His breath hissed in as her mouth followed the trail the bottle had left, across his chest, and lower.
When her tongue scooped up the drop of moisture the bottle had left in his navel, his urge to speak left him. Lightning quick, one hand set his own bottle on the counter next to him and the other arm snaked around her waist and pulled her closer. Close enough for her to tell for herself just what effect she had on him.
She wasn’t given much opportunity to enjoy his reaction. His mouth came down on hers with all the frustrated passion he’d been forced to keep hidden.
His kiss was hard and deep, but she relished the demand it made. There was a reassurance in the fierceness of his need for her, a fierceness that was fully reciprocated. He pressed her lips apart and entered her mouth with a smooth, sure sweep of his tongue, and she welcomed the intimate invasion. Her lips twisted under his, making her own demands. She could feel her usual caution slip, and the unfamiliar freedom was frighteningly beady. She would have liked more time to explore it, to test the boundaries of the dizzying experience. But then his mouth went to the spot below her ear that he had found on their other night together, and she shivered helplessly. Tantalizing, openmouthed kisses were pressed up and down the delicate cord of her neck, and at the same time she could feel him take the bottle from her hand. She wasn’t even aware when he took the barrette from her hair. She dimly recognized the absence of her jacket and the cooler air touching her bare skin as her blouse was unbuttoned and tossed on the center island.
His hands dropped to her waist, smoothing over the pale pink teddy she’d worn beneath her clothes. How a woman could be so full of contrasts, so prim and tailored on the outside and all satin and lace beneath, Cruz didn’t know, but he gave a fervent prayer of thanks for it. Maddy had a penchant for filmy underthings, and damned if he wasn’t developing a yen for them himself.
He rubbed his lips over hers, waiting until they opened for him before sealing her mouth with his own. At the same time he dispensed with her slacks and shoes. An inner voice was reminding him to go slowly, to take it easy, but apparently that voice had no direct impact on his hands. They slipped up the back of the teddy and cupped the firm bottom beneath, bringing her fully against him.
Madeline gasped at the feel of the solid ridge behind his zipper, held in check by the worn denim. His hard chest was pressed against hers, separated only by the silky barrier of her lingerie, and she rubbed her breasts against him, exciting both of them.
Cruz knew he was rushing this, knew he should be questioning her change of heart. But slowing down was beyond him. He was a man of hot-blooded desires, kept firmly in check most of the time. He had to wield an iron control over h
is own appetites; in his profession, one impulsive move could get him killed. But he had no defenses erected against the way she wanted him, didn’t wish for any. His need for this woman was immediate and violent. Her touch was no more gentle. Her hands were clenched on his shoulders, the nails stabbing slightly, and he welcomed the slight twinge of pain they brought.
He reached out to push a strap down her satiny shoulder, and stayed to cup the firm warm breast his action freed. His thumb passed over the velvety nipple once, twice, before his mouth replaced his hand.
Madeline’s back arched at his sudden move, unconsciously pressing closer to his mouth. He suckled strongly from her, and her senses swam. Without lifting his head, he backed her to the counter, then boosted her up on its edge.
By the time her eyes fluttered open, dazed by the sudden movement, she was stretched out on the surface, and Cruz was lying next to her. She met his fervent kiss, and the strangeness of their surroundings whirled from her consciousness, to be filled instead with him. The pleasure wasn’t slow and insidious this time, it was hot and all consuming. His actions reflected her own agony of need, and sharpened it. His mouth drew her nipples into taut beads of sensual torment, then lashed them gently with his tongue.
Her hands rushed over his bare torso, delighting in the smooth warm skin covering tight muscles. They went to his zipper, and he obligingly lifted away to allow her access. Her hands freed his sex, heavy and throbbing, and cupped it. Cruz pushed into them, muttering something in Spanish. He endured her teasing, curious fingers for only short moments before he moved away.
Madeline wanted to protest the move, but before she was able to, his wicked mouth was back, and it was doing delightful things to her breasts and stomach. Her arms urged him upward, unable to tolerate more teasing. Her passion was honed to razor sharpness, the desire so strong that the anticipation was almost painful.
And then the anticipation was over. Cruz plunged into her with one long, deep thrust that drove the breath from her body, even as her legs climbed his waist to hold him in the most intimate caress of all. The solidness of his possession was enough to bring a tiny spark of vivid satisfaction, but not for long. In the next second she craved even more, and her hips arched beneath his.