by Nora Roberts
“Regardless, I appreciate it. My producer’s very tolerant, but if it had gone much further, she would have been annoyed.”
“Annoyed?” Alex repeated. He stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto his chair. “She’d have been annoyed to find out that one of her writers was out soliciting johns down at Twenty-third and Eleventh Avenue.”
“Researching,” Bess corrected, unoffended. “Darla—that’s my producer—she gets these headaches. I gave her a whopper when I went on a job with a cat burglar.”
“With a…” He let his words trail off and eased down on the spot on the desk she’d just vacated. “I don’t think you want to tell me about that.”
“Actually, he was a former cat burglar. Fascinating guy. I just had him show me how he’d break into my apartment.” She frowned a little, remembering. “I guess he was a little rusty. The alarm—”
“Don’t.” Alex held up a hand. He was beginning to feel a headache coming on himself.
“That’s old news, anyway.” She waved it away with a cheerful gesture of her hands. “Do you have a first name, or do I just call you Officer?”
“It’s Detective.”
“Your first name is Detective?”
“No, my rank.” He let out a sigh. “Alex.”
“Alex. That’s nice.” She ran a fingertip over the strap of his harness. She wasn’t being provocative; she wanted to know what it felt like. Once she knew him better, she was sure, she’d talk him into letting her try it on. “Well, Alex, I was wondering if you’d let me use you.”
He’d been a cop for more than five years, and until this moment he hadn’t thought anything could surprise him. But it took him three seconds to close his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s just that you’re so perfect.” She stepped closer. She really wanted to get a better look at his weapon—without being obvious about it.
She smelled like sunshine and sex. As he drew it in, Alex thought that combination would baffle any man. “I’m perfect?”
“Absolutely.” She looked straight into his eyes and smiled. Her gaze was frank and assessing. She was studying him, the way a woman might study a dress in a showroom window. “You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
Her eyes were pure green. No hint of gray or blue, no flecks of gold. There was a small dimple near her mouth. Only one. Nothing about that odd, sexy face was balanced. “What you’re looking for?”
“I know you’re busy, but I’d try not to take up too much of your time. An hour now and then.”
“An hour?” He caught himself echoing her, and shook himself loose. “Listen, I appreciate—”
“You’re not married, are you?”
“Married? No, but—”
“That makes it simpler. It just came to me last night when I was getting into bed.”
God. He’d learned to appreciate women early. And he’d learned to juggle them skillfully—if he said so himself. He knew how to dodge, when to evade and when to sit back and enjoy. But with this one, all bets were off.
“Is this heavy?” she asked, fiddling with his harness.
“You get used to it. It’s just there.”
Her smile warmed, making him think of sunlight again. “Perfect,” she murmured. “I’d be willing to compensate you for your time, and your expertise.”
“You’d be—” He wasn’t certain if he was insulted or embarrassed. “Hold on, babe.”
“Just think about it,” Bess said quickly. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I have this problem with Matthew.”
A brand-new emotion snuck in under his guard, and it was as green as her eyes. “Matthew? Who the hell is Matthew?”
“We call him Storm, actually. Lieutenant Storm Warfield, Millbrook PD.”
Now he definitely had a headache. Alex rubbed his fingers against his temple. “Millbrook?”
“The fictional town of Millbrook, where the show’s set. It’s supposed to be somewhere in the Midwest. Storm’s a cop. Personally, his life’s a mess, but professionally, he’s focused and intense and occasionally ruthless. In this new story line I’m working on, I want to concentrate on his police work, the routine, the frustrations.”
“Wait.” He’d always been quick, but it was taking him a minute to change gears. “You want me to help you with a story line?”
“Exactly. If you could just tell me how you think, how you go about solving a case, working with the system or around it. TV cops have to work around the system quite a bit, you know. It plays better than by-the-book.”
He swore under his breath and rubbed his hands over his face. Damn it, his palms were sweaty. “You’re a real case, McNee.”
“You don’t have to decide right now.” She was also persistent. And she wondered if he had a spare gun strapped to his calf. One of those sexy-looking little chrome jobs. She’d seen that ploy in several movies. Still, she thought if she asked him that, she’d lose her edge. “I’m having a thing tonight.” As she spoke, she dug into her huge bag for her notebook. “Eight o’clock until whenever. Bring a friend, if you like. Your partner, too. He seemed very sweet.”
“He’s adorable.”
“Yeah.” She ripped off the page and handed it to him. “I’d really like you to stop by.”
He took the sheet, not bothering to remind her he already had her address. “Why?”
“Why not?” She beamed at him again.
Before he could list the reasons, he heard his name called.
“Alexi.”
Alexi. Bess was already enchanted with the sound as she rolled the name over in her head. Different, exotic. Sexy. She was certain it suited him much more than the casual Alex.
Bess studied the woman bearing down on them. This wasn’t one who’d be lost in a crowd, she mused. She was stunning, totally self-assured and very pregnant. Beside Bess, Alex pushed off the desk and sighed.
“Rachel.”
“A moment of your time, Detective,” Rachel said, flipping a glance over Bess before pinning Alex with a tawny stare. “To reacquaint you with civil rights.”
“Your sister?” Bess surmised, beaming at both of them.
Alex sent her a considering frown. “How did you know that?”
“I’m really good with faces. Same bone structure, same coloring, same mouth. You have to be brother and sister, or first cousins.”
“Guilty,” Rachel admitted. Though she would have liked to know what Alex was doing with the sharp-eyed redhead, she wasn’t about to be swayed from her duties as a public defender. “Jesús Domingo, Alexi. Illegal search and seizure.”
“Bull.” Alex crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk.
“You had a search warrant?”
“Didn’t need one. He invited us in.”
“And invited you to poke through his belongings, I suppose.”
“Nope.” Alex grinned while Bess watched them bounce the verbal ball as though they were champion tennis players. “Jesús got sick. I offered to get him some water. He didn’t object. I opened the freezer to get the poor guy some ice, and there it was. Two kilos. It’ll all be in my report.”
“That’s lame, Alexi. You’ll never get a conviction.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Talk to the DA.”
“I intend to.” Rachel shifted her briefcase and began to rub her belly in circular motions to soothe the baby, who seemed to be doing aerobics in her womb. “You had no probable cause.”
“Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“The baby does.” He yanked over a chair and all but shoved her into it. “When are you going to knock this off?”
It did feel better to sit. Indescribably better. But she wasn’t about to admit it. “The baby’s not due for two months. I have plenty of time. We were discussing…”
“Rach.” He laid a hand on her cheek, very gently. A shouted curse wouldn’t have stopped her, but the small gesture did. “Don’t make me worry about you.”
“I
’m perfectly fine.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m having a baby. It’s not contagious. Now, about Domingo.”
Alex gave a brief, pithy opinion on what could be done with Domingo. “Talk to the DA,” he repeated. “Sitting down.”
“She looks pretty strong to me,” Bess commented. Two pair of eyes turned to her, one furious, the other thoughtful.
“Thank you. The men in my life are coddlers,” Rachel explained. “Sweet, but annoying.”
“Muldoon should take better care of you,” Alex insisted.
“I don’t need Zack to take care of me. And the fact is, between him and Nick, I’m barely allowed to brush my own teeth.” She held out a hand to Bess. “Since my brother is too rude to introduce me, I’m Rachel Muldoon.”
“Bess McNee. You’re a lawyer?”
“That’s right. I work for the public defender’s office.”
“Really?” Bess’s thoughts began to perk. “What’s it like to—”
Alex held up a hand. “Don’t get her started. She’ll pick your brain clean before you know she’s had her fingers in it. Look, McNee—” he turned to Bess, determined not to be charmed by her easy smile “—we’re a little busy here.”
“Of course you are. I’m sorry.” Obligingly she swung her huge purse on to her shoulder. “We’ll talk tonight. Nice to meet you, Rachel.”
“Same here.” Rachel ran her tongue over her teeth, and both she and Alex watched Bess weave her way out of the squad room. “Well, that was rude.”
“It’s the only way to handle her. Believe me.”
“Hmm… She seems like an interesting woman. How did you meet her?”
“Don’t ask.” He sat back down on his desk, irked that the scent of sunshine and sex still lingered in the air.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Holly, Judd’s pretty wife of eight months, was all but hopping out of her party shoes. “Wait until I tell everyone in the teachers’ lounge where I spent the evening.”
“Take it easy, honey.” Judd tugged at the tie she’d insisted he wear. “It’s just a party.”
“Just a party?” As the elevator rode up, she fussed with her honey-brown hair. “I don’t know about you two, but it isn’t every day I get to eat canapés with celebrities.”
Ominously silent, Alex stayed hunched in his leather jacket. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. His first mistake had been mentioning the invitation to Judd. No matter how insouciant Judd pretended to be, he’d been bursting at the seams when he called his wife. Alex had been swept along in their enthusiasm.
But he wasn’t going to stay. Holly’s sense of decorum might have insisted that she and Judd couldn’t attend without him, but he’d already decided just how he’d play it. He’d go in, maybe have a beer and a couple of crackers. Then he’d slip out again. He’d be damned if he’d spend this rare free evening playing soap-opera groupie.
“Oh, my” was all Holly could say when the elevator doors opened.
The walls of the private foyer were splashed with a mural of the city. Times Square, Rockefeller Center, Harlem, Little Italy, Broadway. People seemed to be rushing along the walls, just as they did the streets below. It was as if the woman who lived here didn’t want to miss one moment of the action.
The wide door to the main apartment was open, and music, laughter and conversation were pouring out, along with the scents of hot food and burning candles.
“Oh, my,” Holly said again, dragging her husband along as she stepped inside.
From behind them, Alex scanned the room. It was huge, and it was packed with people. Draped in silk or cotton, clad in business suits and lush gowns, they stood elbow to elbow on the hardwood floor, lounged hip to hip on the sapphire cushions of the enormous circular conversation pit, sat knee to knee on the steps of a bronze circular staircase that led to an open loft where still more people leaned against a railing decked with naked cherubs.
Two huge windows let the lights of the city in. More partygoers sat on the pillow-plumped window seats, balancing plates and glasses on their laps.
Paintings were scattered over the ivory-toned walls. Vivid, frenetic modern art, mind-bending surrealism. There was enough color to make his head swim. Yet, through the crowd and the clashing tones, he saw her. Dancing seductively with a distinguished-looking man in a gray pin-striped suit.
She wore an excuse for a dress, the color of crushed purple grapes. He wondered, irritated, if she owned anything that covered those legs. This number certainly didn’t. Nor did it cover much territory at all, the way it dipped to the waist in the back, skimmed above mid-thigh and left her shoulders bare, but for skinny, glittery straps. Multihued gemstones fell in a rope from her earlobes to those nicely sloped shoulders. Her feet were bare.
She looked, Alex thought as his stomach muscles twisted themselves into nasty knots, outrageously alluring.
“Oh, Lord, there’s Jade. Oh, and Storm and Vicki. Dr. Carstairs, too.” Holly’s fingers dug into her husband’s arm. “It’s Amelia.”
“Who?”
“‘Secret Sins,’ dummy.” She gave Judd a playful punch. “The whole cast’s here.”
“That’s not all.” Because he remembered in time he was supposed to be jaded, Judd stopped himself from pointing and inclined his head. “That’s Lawrence D. Strater dancing with our hostess. The L.D. Strater, of Strater Industries. The Fortune 500’s darling. The mayor’s over in that corner, talking with Hannah Loy, the grand old lady of Broadway.” His excitement began to hum in his voice as he continued to scan the room. “Man, there are enough luminaries in this room to light every borough in New York.”
But Alex hadn’t noticed. Furthermore, he didn’t give a damn. His attention was focused on Bess. She’d stopped dancing, and had leaned up to whisper something in her partner’s ear that made him laugh before he kissed her. Smack on the lips.
She kissed him back, too, her hands lightly intimate at his waist, before she turned and spotted the new arrivals. She waved, made her excuses, then scooted and dodged her way through the crowd toward them.
“You made it.” She gave both Alex and Judd a friendly peck on the cheek before holding out both hands to Holly. “Nice to meet you.”
“My wife, Holly, this is Bess McNee.”
“Thanks for as king us.” Holly caught herself starting to stutter, as she had the first time she faced a classroom of ten-year-olds. She flushed.
“My pleasure.” Bess gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s get you something to eat and drink.” She gestured toward a long table by the wall. Instead of the useless finger food and fancy, unrecognizable dishes Alex had expected, it was laden with big pots of spaghetti, mountains of garlic bread, and generous trays of antipasti.
“It’s Italian night,” she explained, grabbing a plate and heaping it high. “There’s plenty of wine and beer, and a full bar.” She handed the plate to Holly and began to dish up another. “The desserts are on the other side of the room. They’re unbelievable.” As she passed Judd a plate, she noted the gleam in Holly’s eyes. “Would you like to meet some of the cast?”
“Oh, I…” The hell with sophistication. “Yes. I’d love it.”
“Great. Excuse us. Help yourself, Alexi.”
“This is really something,” Judd said over a mouthful of spaghetti.
“Something,” Alex agreed. Deciding to make the best of it, he fixed himself a plate.
He wasn’t going to stay. But the food was great. In any case, he didn’t have anything else to do. It didn’t hurt to hang around and rub elbows with the fast and famous while he was helping himself to a good hot meal. It certainly made a change from his daily routine of wading through misery and bitterness.
After washing down spaghetti with some good red wine, he found himself a spot on a window seat where he could sit back and watch the show.
Bess dropped down beside him, clinked her glass against his. “Best seat in the house.”
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“Some house.”
“Yeah, I like it. I’ll show you the rest later, if you want.” She broke off a tiny piece of the pastry on his plate and sampled it. “Great stuff.”
“Yeah. You got a little…here.” Before his good sense could take over, he rubbed a bit of the rich cream from her lip. Watching her, he licked it from the pad of his thumb. And tasted her. “It’s not bad.”
For a moment she wondered if the circuits in her brain had crossed. Something certainly had sent out a spark. She managed a small sound of agreement as she flicked her tongue to the corner of her mouth. And tasted him.
“Your, ah, partner’s wife. Holly.” Small talk, any talk, had always come easily to her. She wasn’t sure why she was laboring now.
“What about her?”
“Who? Oh, right. Holly. She’s nice. I can’t imagine what it would be like to teach fifth-graders.”
“I’m sure you’ll ask her.”
“I already did.” At ease again, she smiled at him. Something about that sarcastic edge to his voice made her relax and enjoy. “Come on, Alexi. We may be in different professions, but both of them require a certain amount of curiosity about human nature. Aren’t you sitting here right now wondering about all of these people, and what they’re doing at my party?”
“Not as much as I’m wondering what I’m doing at your party.” He swirled the wine in his glass before sipping. When he drank, his eyes stayed on hers. Watchful.
She liked that. She liked that very much, the way he could sit so still, energy humming from every pore, while he watched. While he waited. Bess was willing to admit that one of her biggest failings was being unable to wait for anything.
“You were curious,” she told him.
“Some.”
Her skirt hitched up another inch when she curled her legs up on the seat. “I’d be happy to tell you whatever you want to know, in exchange for your help. You see that guy over there, the gorgeous one with the blonde hanging on his biceps?”
Alex scanned, homed in. “Yeah. I wouldn’t say he was gorgeous.”
“You’re not a woman. That’s my detective, Storm Warfield, the black sheep of the snooty, disgustingly rich Warfield clan, the rebel, the volatile brother of the long-suffering Elana Warfield Stafford Car-stairs. He’s recently pulled himself out of the destructive affair with the wicked, wily Vicki. The blonde crawling up his chest. They’re an item off-camera, but on, Storm is madly in love with the tragedy-prone and ethereal Jade, who is, of course, torn between her feelings for him and her misplaced loyalty to the maniacally clever and dastardly Brock Carstairs—half brother to Elana’s stalwart husband Dr. Maxwell Carstairs. Max was once married to Jade’s formerly conniving but now repentant sister, Flame, who was killed in a Peruvian earthquake soon after the birth of her son—who may or may not be her husband’s child. Naturally, the body was never recovered.”