by Cindy Dees
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Read my mind like that?”
He grinned down at her. “I don’t read your mind. I read your face. You wear every thought and feeling right out in the open.”
She sighed. “Yeah, that gets me in trouble a lot.”
“I like it. I always know where I stand with you.”
“What about when I’m spitting mad at you? Will you like it then?”
He took her face in his hands, cupping her cheeks gently. “Even then.”
She shook her head. “Who knew a SEAL could be such a sappy romantic? Next thing I know you’re going to start writing love sonnets.”
He put on a thick drawl. “I dunno. Low-country Cajun like me? I kin barely read, ma’am. I don’t take to no fancy rhyming, y’all.”
She rolled her eyes and stood up. “I do believe you owe me an omelet, Detective LeBlanc. Can I help you make it?”
“You can set the table and entertain the chef.”
Which turned out to include kissing the chef any time she walked past him and throwing the chef saucy looks every time he looked up from the stove.
In a few minutes, Bass put down two plates on the table, piled high with hash browns, sausage and omelets that were two inches tall.
“I’ve never seen such a fluffy egg in my life!” she exclaimed.
He swept an arm out to the side and took a bow. He said in a cheesy French accent, “I am zee tremendous chef, mademoiselle.”
She laughed gaily. “You’re tremendous at something. I’m just not sure it’s cooking.”
Laughing, he held her chair for her. “Don’t mess with the chef or he’ll poison the porridge.”
“Note to self: don’t eat porridge,” she retorted.
They continued bantering throughout the meal. He had fully as quick a wit as she, and he kept her on her toes throughout their conversation. They cleaned up quickly after brunch and climbed into a vintage Dodge Charger to drive to the office.
“And who’s this car?” Carrie asked.
“Who else? Daisy Mae. Fastest car I own. They don’t make ’em like this any more.”
She shook her head, enjoying the rumble of the powerful engine and Bass’s smooth driving. They parked in a garage attached to the police station, and Bass came around to get her door for her. He murmured low, “We need to play it cool in the precinct. These guys are barracudas and will leap all over any hint of a personal relationship between us. I can take the heat, but I’d like to spare you the brunt of it if I can.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“They’re not that bad. But they all can sniff out secrets at twenty paces. They’re not cops for nothing.”
“Ugh. They sound like you. But not quite as bad,” she groaned.
“I’m not that bad!”
“Wanna bet, Mr. Truth, Justice and the American Way?”
He held open the door to what he called a squad room, and she registered the noticeable dip in volume as she stepped into the space. She followed him over to one of the neatest desks in the space, while Bass’s desk was still populated by several tall piles of folders and papers.
“Carrie, this is Jarred Strickland, my boss.”
She nodded pleasantly at the gray-haired cop while Bass added, “Miss Price is the closest friend we have for Gary Hubbard.”
“How’s the case going?” Strickland asked.
“Caught some new information last night. May give us a new direction to pursue.”
“Good. Because that case is going cold fast. Still no ransom demand?”
“Nope. Nothing.”
Strickland shook his head direly, and his grim expression spoke volumes about what that meant for Gary. Carrie’s heart tumbled to her toes. Here she’d been having a rollicking great old time with Bass while her uncle’s life was in mortal danger. He had to be alive. He just had to be.
“Tell me everything you can remember about Lonnie Grange,” Bass instructed her.
“I mostly remember not liking him...”
Over the next half hour, Bass teased all kinds of details out of her that she didn’t realize she knew. Coupled with what he’d found online earlier, Bass declared himself prepared to take on the gangster. He finished by stating, “The plan will be to draw out Grange and provoke or tempt him into coming down here into my jurisdiction. Then I’ll nail his sorry ass.”
“How do you plan to lure him down here?” Carrie asked nervously. “New Orleans is a long way from Apple Grove.”
“Easy,” Bass said blithely. “I have what he wants. I dangle the bait under his nose.”
“What bait?” she asked.
“You.”
Oh.
Oh dear.
“Umm, I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“I didn’t expect you would. But if all you say about him is true, he’ll come for you, aggressively.”
“Oh, I’m telling the truth about him, all right. That’s why this idea stinks!” She jumped to her feet in dismay.
Bass muttered under his breath so the other cops in the big room couldn’t hear, “I promise I’ll take good care of the bait.”
“The bait still thinks fishing is a lousy idea.” She planted her fists on her hips.
She was on the verge of launching a full-blown tirade at him when one of the other cops, a pretty young woman, called out, “Bass! Evidence guys got two hits on the fingerprints from the Hubbard home!”
Carrie whipped around and said in unison with Bass, “Who are they?”
“Guy named Tony Sicarrio, and a guy named Stevie Desilva.”
“Sounds mob,” Carrie observed.
Bass grinned. “People are innocent until proven guilty, my bloodthirsty minnow. Lots of perfectly law-abiding Italians live in New York.”
“These two broke into Gary’s place and left behind fingerprints!” she exclaimed.
“True.” To the woman cop, he asked, “Where are these guys from?”
“New York City. The Bronx.”
“They’re mob, I tell you,” Carrie insisted.
“They staying in the local area?” Bass asked.
“Got a credit card hit a few days back on a motel in Lakeview for Sicarrio.”
“Text me the address,” Bass called over his shoulder, already heading for the exit.
Carrie trailed along, alarmed. Bass wasn’t going to drag her into the middle of a shoot-out, was he?
His last words before they left the squad room chilled her to her toes. “Call for a couple of black-and-whites to meet me there. Tell ’em to move in within a couple of blocks with no sirens, and then await my call. Don’t want to spook our guys before I take them down.”
* * *
Bass slouched behind the wheel of his vintage pickup truck, while Carrie fidgeted in the seat beside him. He’d gone home to switch out flashy Daisy Mae for this much more anonymous truck before heading for Lakeview.
He’d never been on a stakeout with a woman he was sleeping with, and it felt weird in the extreme. This wasn’t supposed to be an intimate, sexually charged event. But damned if he could keep his mind from drifting to thoughts of pulling Carrie on top of him, unzipping his fly, and sliding into her tight heat—
Stop that.
“How long do you suppose it’ll be before they get back?” she asked.
“Could be a few minutes, could be hours.”
“Why aren’t we busting into their room now to make sure Gary isn’t there?”
“Because they’ve been having the motel’s maid clean the room every day. They would hang up a Do Not Disturb sign and keep everyone out if your uncle was tied up in there.”
“What if he’s drugged or hurt?”
“All the more reason to keep strangers out of the room. T
he maids cleaned the room as recently as this morning. I guarantee you he’s not there.”
She deflated, disappointed.
“We’ll find him, darlin’.”
“You can’t be sure about that. You’ve said yourself that the more time passes, the less chance we have of finding him.”
“We’ve got solid leads now. Have a little faith.”
She chewed on the end of her finger nervously. Taking pity on her manicure, he reached over and snagged her hand, pulling it to his lap and twining their fingers together.
Just holding hands like this was nice. The physical contact did something strangely soothing to his heart. She gave him hope that everything would work out in his life, and that he wouldn’t end up alone.
Since when was he worrying about being alone? He’d been fine for all these years. He had his buddies and his cars, and a steady stream of women. And yet, having met Carrie, all of that wasn’t enough any more. He apparently craved an emotional connection, a real relationship, more than he’d realized. Although how he was going to make time for a relationship on top of his day job and his weekend job, he had no idea.
Of course, he was assuming that Carrie would want to stay with him, to put down roots in New Orleans, if he asked her to. She’d been a nomad for a long time. She might have lost interest in any permanence in her life.
His gut tightened in alarm at the notion, and he realized he was crushing her hand. He loosened his grip apologetically.
A car turned into the parking lot of the motel, and he went onto high alert. Were these his guys? They parked in front of room 114, where the manager said Sicarrio was staying. Bass picked up a pair of small binoculars and peered at the man getting out of the car.
He grabbed the microphone from the radio unit mounted under the dashboard and broadcast tersely, “I’ve got visual on our suspects. Get ready to move.”
He watched Sicarrio and a second man who matched the description of Desilva open the trunk, carry grocery bags to the door of room 114, and disappear inside.
Bass transmitted, “Suspects are in their room. Unit 51, move in behind the motel and radio when you’re in place.”
Carrie asked, “Why are you putting cops behind the motel?”
“In case our guys jump out the bathroom window and try to make a run for it. We could give chase on foot or get a helicopter to give us air support, but it’s a lot less hassle to just cut off all escape routes before we make the collar.”
“Collar?”
“Arrest,” he clarified.
“Unit 51 in place,” a voice announced over the radio.
“Stay here,” he ordered Carrie. “If you hear gunshots, lie down as best you can and cover your head with your arms.”
“Where are you going?” she asked as he reached for the door handle.
“To arrest these bastards and find out what they know.”
He climbed out of the car and tugged his bullet-resistant vest down into place as he jogged across the street. He headed for the other end of the motel from the room in case one of the suspects was looking out the window and saw him coming. No sense warning the dudes they were about to get busted. He reached the covered walkway in front of the rooms, out of sight of room 114. He raced down the breezeway until he stood beside the door. He drew his pistol.
The second cop car pulled around the corner and started to turn into the parking lot, and Bass knocked on the door.
A voice called from inside, “Who’s there?”
“Hey man, you driving the blue Taurus out here? You left your trunk open.”
Bass heard from inside, “What the hell?” Bass moved off to one side slightly so he couldn’t be seen from the room’s window. He heard fumbling at the lock and exhaled slowly, dropping into the combat calm that made SEALs so deadly.
The door opened about a foot before the guy inside spied him standing there in body armor with his weapon drawn. The suspect tried to slam the door shut, but Bass was faster. He jammed his steel-toed boot in the door, blocking it open, and then slammed his shoulder against the door. Hard.
The man trying to jam the door shut staggered back, but the second man jumped at Bass, trying to shove him aside, presumably to flee. Bass lowered his shoulder and took the charge, bracing himself against the impact. The runner grunted, and Bass whipped up his elbow, cracking the guy hard across the bridge of the nose. The suspect fell back, crying out and clutching his broken, bloody nose.
Bass spun away from the first guy and brought his pistol to bear on the second, who was just pulling a gun from a holster at his hip.
“Don’t do it, man,” Bass said coldly.
The second suspect’s hand froze, his weapon half-drawn. Undoubtedly the guy heard Bass’s promise of a lethal double-tap of lead to the center of his forehead. To reinforce the perp’s decision, Bass said calmly, “I’m a cop. If you finish drawing that weapon, I’ll kill you. Put the gun back in the holster and clasp your hands behind your head.”
The suspect did as ordered.
Bass said, “On your knees, my friend. Let’s keep this all nice and calm and everyone walks out of here alive. Okay?”
The first guy was not so sensible, however, and charged forward, taking a wild swing with his fist at Bass. For his part, Bass sidestepped neatly, leaning back out of the path of the fist and swinging fast with his pistol, clocking the guy on the side of the head. Suspect number one dropped like a rock.
“You’ve killed him!” the second suspect shouted.
“Nah,” Bass replied casually, kneeling and planting a knee in the middle of the downed man’s shoulders. “He’s just taking a little nap. He’ll wake up with a killer headache in about sixty seconds.”
To the conscious guy, he asked, “So where’s Gary Hubbard?”
“Gary who?”
Dammit. Either the guy didn’t know where Carrie’s uncle was, or he wasn’t going to give up the information easily.
Just then, a voice called from outside, “Clear?”
“Clear,” Bass called back. “Come on in.”
A pair of uniformed cops stepped into the room, crowding it. Any sense of hope the second suspect had left whooshed out of him, and he slumped, sitting on his heels, hands still behind his head.
“Restrain the suspects, if you would,” Bass directed the uniforms.
One cop quickly handcuffed the guy on the ground’s wrists behind his back, while the other cop relieved the kneeling suspect of his weapon and handcuffed him.
Suspect number one started groaning on cue about sixty seconds after Bass struck him. Which made Bass smile. He still hadn’t lost his touch. The blow had been delivered perfectly. Hard enough to take out a hostile, but not so hard as to cause the guy any serious damage.
“Where do you want ’em?” one of the uniformed cops asked.
“Downtown. I’ll meet you there. Me and my guys are looking forward to having some conversation with these two.”
“You got it, Detective.”
Bass stuck around while the uniforms searched the room. They confiscated another handgun and some ammo, and Bass took both men’s cell phones. There was nothing else in the room to point at where Gary Hubbard might be hidden.
As the uniforms stuffed each of the suspects into a different squad car, he strode across the parking lot and crossed the street. He opened the truck’s door and slid into the driver’s seat...and was assaulted by Carrie, launching herself across the truck’s bench seat to nearly strangle him.
“Easy, darlin’. I’m right as rain. Nothing to cry over.”
For crying she was, tears wet against his neck.
“That was a routine arrest. Couldn’t have gone much more smoothly,” he tried. But Carrie’s tears didn’t stop.
He finally pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her until she mumbled, “I w
as so scared for you.”
“Honey, trust me. That was not a scary arrest.” He refrained from telling her he was routinely in situations a hell of a lot more dangerous than that one. No need to give her a full-blown panic attack.
He relished her weight in his lap, her sweet curves in his arms, the gentle smell of her hair. Everything about her was feminine, and he couldn’t get enough of her. It would be so easy to push back the seat, to help her straddle his hips. To lean back and let her ride him to oblivion—
The suspects, dammit. He needed to follow the squad cars downtown and interrogate Tony and Stevie, ASAP. With a last, lingering kiss for her, he reluctantly set Carrie in the passenger’s seat. But he couldn’t resist. He leaned across the interior to kiss her again.
“I want you all the time,” she muttered against his lips. “It’s like I’m addicted to you.”
He knew the feeling. “Hold that thought until we get home tonight,” he murmured against her mouth.
“I’ll hold you to it,” she declared.
He laughed, “Honey, you’ll be holding all sorts of things, tonight.”
The drive to the station took nearly half an hour in traffic, which barely gave Bass enough time to stop thinking about all the ways he wanted to make love to Carrie and to get his head back in the game.
He quickly planned out the questions he wanted to ask the two men. He would separate them, of course. And then he would lie about what each one had confessed, to see if the second man would corroborate Bass’s guesses as truth.
These guys didn’t strike him as rocket scientists. One of them would crack. His money was on the guy who’d knelt out right away. He’d shown a stronger survival instinct than Broken Nose had. It was never smart to take a swing at a cop. Especially a cop with his gun already pulled.
Bass parked and took Carrie inside, putting her in a darkened observation space sandwiched between two interrogation rooms. One-way glass windows on each side of the observation room overlooked both interrogation setups. Speakers from each room piped sound into the dim space.
He told her, “Stay in here. I’ll check in with you from time to time, and you let me know if you can think of anything I ought to ask one or both suspects.”