by Ruth Langan
“Here you are, Chris.”
A white-haired man clapped a hand on Chris’s shoulder.
“Chief. A good-looking crowd.” Chris dropped an arm around Bren’s shoulders. “I’d like you to meet Mary Brendan Lassiter. Bren, this is Chief Roger Martin.”
“Chief Martin.”
“Congresswoman.” The chief arched a brow. “I didn’t know you and Chris were friends.”
She smiled. “We met at a taping of Meet the Media.”
With a straight face Chris added, “I have you to thank for that, Chief.”
“So you do.” The chief’s lips curved with laughter. “I watched that show. The two of you did equally fine jobs. I thought at the time that you were well suited to the debate at hand. But I never dreamed you’d carry on the debate afterward. That is what you’re doing together, isn’t it?”
Chris grinned. “You might call it that.”
“Enjoy yourself, Congresswoman Lassiter.” The chief gave her a warm smile before turning away to greet another couple.
“Hey, Captain.” A handsome young man paused beside Chris. “I’ve never seen you at one of these charity events before.”
“I’ve never had the desire to attend before now. Trevor Sinclair, I’d like you to meet Bren Lassiter.”
The young man gave Bren a long, lazy appraisal before extending his hand. “Congress- woman. I believe your grandfather knew my grandfather, Travis Sinclair.”
Bren searched her mind, then shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t recall the name.”
He merely smiled. “They served on the force together years ago.” He looked beyond her to Chris. “You always had good taste, Captain.”
Before he could say more several more couples pushed between them, and Trevor Sinclair was lost in the crowd.
“Come on. I think you’ve had your ego stroked enough for now.” Chris caught Bren’s hand and began leading her through the crowd searching for their table. “First we need to find a place to sit. Then I’ll get us both a drink.”
When they located their table, Chris gave their order to a waiter, who returned within minutes with their drinks.
As Chris introduced Bren to the couples at their table, she couldn’t help noticing their various reactions as recognition dawned on them.
“You’re the congresswoman whose committee wants to bring in outside investiga tors?” Noah Swale, the burly man seated to her right, didn’t bother to hide his anger.
Bren met his narrowed look. “Our committee has made no recommendations as yet. We’re still considering a dozen or more options.”
“I love your dress,” the man’s wife said, to smooth over the awkward moment.
Bren smiled at her. “Thank you.”
“You’ll need a helmet and body armor if this crowd recognizes you,” Noah said under his breath.
Bren kept her smile in place. “I guess I’ll be safe enough here, with all these brave officers in the room.”
His head swiveled to meet her look. “I wouldn’t count on it, Congresswoman.”
Before he could say more his wife led him away from the table, while several other couples looked on with growing discomfort. But from the smug looks on a few of the faces, it was obvious that there were many who agreed with him.
When the music began playing, Chris pushed back his chair and took her hand in his. “Dance with me, Bren.”
Once on the floor they moved together slowly. Against her temple Chris muttered, “Sorry about that. Noah’s a good cop. But he’s always been a hothead.”
“There’s no need to apologize, Chris. You can’t control what others say or do.”
He looked down at her. “You handled it well.”
She shrugged. “Goes with the territory.”
“Yeah. The cool congresswoman. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you face down an attacker’s gun, Bren. I know what kind of courage burns inside you.”
“There are different degrees of courage. That night I had no choice but to stand up to the gunman. At the moment I’m feeling very much like an object of curiosity. The proverbial fish out of water.”
He glanced around and realized that heads were turning as they danced by. “I hadn’t noticed. But since they’re already watching, let’s give them something to talk about.” He drew her even closer, pressing his lips to her temple while he executed a series of smooth turns.
She held on, enjoying the way they moved as one. “You really can dance.”
“Only when I have an inspiring partner.” When the music ended, he continued holding her while he murmured, “What I’d like to do is get out of here right this minute, so we could do some dancing in private.”
She looked up and found his mouth hovering mere inches from hers. She could feel the heat pouring between them. “Are you sure dancing is all you have in mind?”
“What I have in mind…” He looked up suddenly as someone bumped him so hard he was shoved against Bren.
If he hadn’t had his arms around her, she would have gone flying into a table at the edge of the dance floor.
He turned with a frown to find Trevor Sinclair in a shoving match with Noah Swale. The two men glared at each other and lifted their fists, before being subdued by others in the crowd. Minutes later the meal service began, and the incident was forgotten.
“I see what you mean about a hothead,” Bren muttered. “Or do all cops just have hotter blood than mere mortals?”
“We’re definitely hot-blooded.” As he led Bren to their table Chris leaned close to whisper, “This meal won’t be as good as Tony’s, but I’m told the prime rib isn’t bad.”
“You seem to be always feeding me.”
He held her chair and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Yeah. It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it.”
Bren watched warily as Noah Swale started toward their table. It occurred to her that his last name could have been whale. Even a tuxedo couldn’t camouflage the protruding stomach. Before he’d taken half a dozen steps his wife caught his arm and steered him toward the bar. Everyone at the table seemed relieved.
Bren bit into her prime rib and sighed with pure pleasure. “Now this is worth a dozen long-winded speeches.”
Chris chuckled. “You say that now, but once they start, you’ll be as bored as the rest of us.”
Half an hour later a gavel was pounded and the speeches began, honoring several members of the force who had gone through the community raising money for the charity in question.
Bren saw the pride on the faces of those officers who were singled out by their friends and colleagues. Each name brought thunderous applause. Their acceptance speeches were brief and humble.
She leaned close to Chris. “You were wrong. These aren’t at all boring.”
He merely grinned. “I wasn’t talking about these. Wait until we get to the real speech-makers. They could even out-talk your committee members.”
“That would take some doing.”
He winked. “Trust me.”
An hour later the awards portion of the ceremony was over, and the speeches began in earnest. Speeches on behalf of the police department. On behalf of the charity that was to benefit from the evening’s event.
When the last speech ended and the crowd began mingling, Chris caught Bren’s hand, and the two of them slipped away.
At the door she paused. “Are you sure you should leave? Won’t your chief expect you to stay and mingle?”
“He’ll never even miss me.” He handed his receipt to the valet.
While they waited for his car, they stood together under the canopy. When Bren shivered, Chris took the shawl from her hands and draped it around her shoulders, allowing his hands to linger a moment. Just then his car came to a screeching halt. He helped Bren into the passenger seat, then hurried around to the other side.
As he drove away he lifted his hand in a salute.
Bren turned to see Trevor Sinclair standing at the curb. She made a mental note to mention him to her gra
ndfather.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as the car sped along the darkened street.
Chris looked over. “Tired?”
“A little.” She turned toward him, admiring his handsome profile. “You?”
He shook his head. “I could have danced all night.”
“Funny. You didn’t seem all that eager to go on dancing while we were at the party.”
“I prefer to do my dancing in private.”
“I see.”
“Of course,” he deadpanned as he pulled into her parking garage. “some people might not call what I do dancing.” He walked around and held her door, then linked fingers as he led her to the elevator.
“Really?” She looked over at him as the numbers flashed by over the door. “What do they call it?”
“It’s known by many names. But the moves are pretty much the same.” He walked beside her until they paused outside her door.
She fished out her key, and he opened the door. Bren deactivated the alarm, then turned to him in the doorway.
The look in his eyes had her heart racing.
He lifted a hand to her shoulder. “Would you like me to show you?”
“Show me what?”
“Some of my moves.”
“I think I’ve had enough dancing for tonight.”
“That’s a shame.” He ran a finger around the dip in her neckline and watched the way her eyes seemed to glow with fire as his fingertip brushed the soft swell of her breast.
Her heart was doing more than race now. It was actually vibrating loudly enough in her ears that she was certain he could hear.
She took a step back, breaking contact. “Thanks for feeding me, Chris.”
“And the dancing?”
“Very nice. Maybe we’ll do it again some time.”
“Oh, we will, Bren. Count on it.” He seemed to consider for a moment, then turned and stepped out of her apartment.
“Wait.” She took a step toward him and touched a hand to his arm. Just a touch, but she felt the way he seemed to stiffen. “Would you like to come in? I could make coffee.”
“No coffee.” His tone sounded unusually gruff. “No joking now. If I come back in, I won’t make it out until morning.” He paused. “Your call.”
“I see.” She swallowed, then lowered her hand to her side. “Good night then, Chris.”
“Good night, Bren.” He turned away. Over his shoulder he called, “Sweet dreams.”
She listened to his retreating footsteps before bolting the door and activating the alarm.
Sweet dreams? She doubted she’d even be able to sleep tonight, let alone dream. But she would, she knew, be replaying every word, every touch, for the rest of this night.
Chapter 7
“Congresswoman Lassiter.”
Bren looked around in surprise at the number of reporters and photographers charging toward her. Because there was no way of escaping with her dignity intact, she put on a smile and faced them.
“About the results of the autopsy,” one reporter shouted. “Are you surprised?”
“I’m disappointed to learn that the bullet came from a gun that was stolen from the police property room. But I’m sure the department will take the necessary steps to find the one who committed this terrible crime against an innocent citizen.”
“This wasn’t just another innocent victim,” a television reporter shouted above the din. “This was a whistle blower. Someone who had publicly criticized the police force for its lax security within the police department. Do you agree with the Washington Dispatch that this latest murder appears to be part of a conspiracy?”
Conspiracy. The very word sent ice along Bren’s spine.
She held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I must confess that I haven’t read the Dispatch’s report. When I’ve had time to go over it, I’d be more than happy to get back with you.”
“Congresswoman Lassiter.” A reporter from the Dispatch barred her way, while his photographer snapped a dozen or more shots in quick succession. “Are you saying that you and the other members of your committee aren’t aware of the depth of corruption within the police department?” He held up a copy of the morning edition of his newspaper, which had begun its own investigation. “And that you haven’t read about the latest scandal?”
He saw her eyes widen at the headline, while his photographer snapped off yet another shot.
“Our reporters have uncovered the fact that more than one hundred kilos of cocaine have disappeared from the police property room over the past year.”
“They may have been misplaced…”
He shook his head. “It was only after the Dispatch began our investigation that police discovered the cocaine in the bags had been replaced by flour. This was no accident. This was a deliberate act, carefully planned and executed by someone within the department who knew about the lax security and felt confident it would never be discovered.”
Bren managed to maintain her composure, though it was an effort. “As I said, I haven’t had a chance to read the report. When my committee has all the facts, a statement will be forthcoming.”
“What do you say to those rogue cops out there who are committing these crimes?”
She struggled to control her sense of outrage. “The brave men and women who put their lives on the line each day shouldn’t have to see their department sullied by such lowlifes.” She stared directly into the camera. “To those of you committing these despicable crimes, be warned. Your days are numbered.”
She pushed through the crowd, aware that the cameras continued to record her every movement. Though she wanted to run, she forced herself to walk slowly up the steps until she was able to slip through the doors. With a nod to the morning guard, she hurried along the halls, eager to hide inside her own office.
Once there, Juana Sanchez was waiting, with a stack of newspapers already on her desk.
Her assistant looked up as she passed. “You read the latest?”
Bren shook her head. “Not yet. But I got a preview from the hordes of reporters waiting out there on the Capitol steps.”
“You usually catch the news before you get to the office.”
Bren nodded wearily as she let herself into her inner office. She slumped down at her desk and opened the first newspaper, reading quickly before moving on to another and then another. All carried basically the same information, although the report in the Dispatch was the most detailed.
If the rumors were to be believed, a rogue cop, or perhaps a group of them, had decided to take the law into their own hands. Not only were they targeting anyone who criticized the department, but they had now moved on to stealing from their own. Drugs. Money. Guns. All taken from the police property room. If it hadn’t been for the investigation by the Dispatch, the thefts might have gone on indefinitely.
Bren sat back, sipping the coffee Juana had placed on her desk and berating herself for having been caught off guard by the press. She couldn’t recall a morning when she hadn’t taken the time to read half a dozen newspapers while monitoring several news shows, and all before she was even showered and dressed. But today had been different. She’d spent half the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep. This morning she’d been only half-awake while she pulled herself together for work. And all because of Chris Banning and the way he’d taken over her emotions.
She couldn’t recall a man ever affecting her this way before.
There had been plenty of men in her life. But she’d never known anyone like Chris. He was a maze of contradictions. So smooth and polished, as though he’d spent a lifetime with tutors and prep schools. All cool and controlled, whether facing an armed attacker or the slings and arrows of the media. But she was beginning to see another side to him. A side that excited her even while it frightened her.
What did she really know about Chris Banning? Could he be using her for his own purposes? Could he have decided to cozy up to her in order to keep her committee at bay until his own de
partment could clean up their act?
She was feeling suddenly very unsure of herself. And completely vulnerable. And she knew why. She was losing her heart to this man. And she wasn’t at all sure whether or not he returned those feelings.
This could all be just a game to Chris. The thrill of the chase. The lure of another conquest. But once he caught her, he could be the type of man to simply walk away and search for the next challenge.
“Bren.” Juana hurried into her office, closing the door behind her and leaning on it as though guarding it with her life. “Congressman Roland Paxton is here. With blood in his eyes.”
Bren took in a breath, then slowly exhaled and pretended to draw a sword. “Okay, Juana. Turn the lion loose.”
“Bren.” Juana poked her head in the door. “Your grandfather’s on line two.”
Bren snatched up the receiver. “Hi, Pop.”
“The whole gang’s coming tonight for dinner, lass. Can you make it?”
Just hearing that brogue had the tension easing from her shoulders. “I’d love to. I may be a little late, but keep a spot for me at the table.”
“That’s my girl.” The old man’s pleasure could be heard in his voice as he rang off.
Bren tackled her paperwork with a vengeance, determined to work her way through as much as possible before heading to her mother’s house. She wasn’t, she told herself firmly, taking refuge here in her office to avoid the reporters. But after having her hide almost ripped off by Roland Paxton, she’d nursed her wounds by closeting herself at her desk for the remainder of the day.
She’d read all she could on the Dispatch’s in-depth investigation of police corruption. It appeared, at least in the view of the newspa per’s reporters, to be much more deeply entrenched than first suspected. Though none of the force had been willing to go on the record, several had suggested that the damage had been limited to one or two highly placed officers. All who had been interviewed had expressed outrage over the damage being done to the reputation of the entire police force.
Was it possible for all of this to go on without the knowledge of the men at the top? What about Chris? He was the youngest officer ever to attain the rank of captain. It was said that he was one of the most popular officers on the force. Would he compromise his integrity for popularity?