Convincing Alex (11 page)

“Don't get smart.”

“I'm just warming up.” She hooked an arm over the back of her chair. “My father heads the company, and my mother entertains and does good works. I'm an only child, who was born rather late in life to them. My father's name is Roger, and he enjoys a racketing good game of polo. My mother's name is Susan—never Sue or Susie—and
she prefers a challenging rubber of bridge. What else would you like to know?”

Despite his temper, he wanted to take her hand and soothe her. “Damn it, Bess, it isn't an interrogation.”

“Isn't it? Let me make it easy for you, Alexi. I was born in New York, spent the early part of my childhood on our estate on Long Island, in the care of a very British nanny I was extremely fond of, before going off to boarding school. Which I detested. This, however, left my mother free to pursue her many charitable causes, and my father free to pursue his business. We are not close. From time to time we did travel together, but I was not a pretty child, nor a tractable one, and my parents usually left my care up to the servants.”

“Bess—”

“I'm not finished.” Her eyes were hard and bright. “This isn't a poor-little-rich-girl story, Alexi. I wasn't neglected or unhappy. Since I had no more in common with my parents than they had with me, I was content to go my own way. They don't interfere, and we get along very well. Because I prefer making my own way, I don't trumpet the fact that I'm Roger K. McNee's little girl. I don't hide it, either—otherwise, I would have changed my name. It's simply a fact. Satisfied?”

He took her hand before she could rise. His voice was calm again, and too gentle to resist. “I wanted to know who you are. I have feelings for you, so it matters.”

Slowly her hand relaxed under his. The hard gleam faded from her eyes. “I understand that someone with your background would feel that their family, who and what they came from, are part of what they are. I don't feel that way about myself.”

“Where you come from means something, Bess.”

“Where you are means more. What does your father do?”

“He's a carpenter.”

“Why aren't you a carpenter?”

“Because it wasn't what I wanted.” He drummed his fingers on the table as he studied her. “Your point,” he acknowledged. “Look, I'm sorry I pushed. It was just weird hearing all this from Judd.”

“From Judd?”

“He got it from Holly, who got it from some other teacher who reads the tabloids.” Even as he said it, it struck him as ridiculous. He grinned.

“See?” Relaxed again, she leaned forward. “Life really is a soap opera.”

“Yours is.
Three
ex-fiancés?”

“That depends on how you count.” She took Alex's hand, because she liked the feel of it in hers. “I wasn't engaged to L.D. He did give me a ring, and I didn't have the heart to tell him it was ostentatious. But marriage wasn't discussed.”

“One of the ten richest men in the country gave you an ostentatious ring, but marriage wasn't discussed?”

“That's right. He's a very nice man—a little pompous, sometimes, but who wouldn't be, with so many people ready to grovel? Can we get some chips or something?”

“Sure.” He signaled to a waitress. “So you didn't want to marry him.”

“I never thought about it.” Since he asked, she did so now. “No, I don't think I would have liked it very much. He wouldn't have either. L.D. finds me amusing and a little unconventional. Being a tycoon isn't all fun and games, you know.”

“If you say so.”

She chuckled. “But he'd prefer a different type for his next wife.” She dived in immediately when the waitress set baskets of chips and pretzels on the table. “I enjoyed being in love with him for a few weeks, but it wasn't the romance of the century.”

“What about the other one, the writer?”

“Charlie.” There was a trace of wistfulness now. “I was really stuck on Charlie. He has this kind of glow about him. He's so interested in people, in emotions, in motivations.” She gestured with half a pretzel. “The thing about Charlie is, he's good. Deep-down good. Entirely too good for me.” She finished off the pretzel. “See, I do things like join Greenpeace. Charlie flies to Alaska to help clean up oil spills. He's committed. That's why Gabrielle is perfect for him.”

“Gabrielle?”

“His wife. They met at a whale rally. They've been married almost two years now.”

Alex was determined to get it right. “You were engaged to a married man?”

“No.” Insulted, she poked out her lip. “Of course not. He got married after we were engaged—that is, after we weren't engaged anymore. Charlie would never cheat on Gabrielle. He's too decent.”

“Sorry. My mistake.” He considered changing the subject, but this one was just too fascinating. “How about George? Was he between Charlie and Strater?”

“No, George was before Charlie and after Troy. Practically in another life.”

“Troy? There was another one?”

“Oh, you didn't know about him.” She propped her chin on her hand. “I guess your source didn't dig back far enough. Troy was
while I was in college, and we weren't engaged for very long. Only a couple of weeks. Hardly counts.”

Alex picked up his drink again. “Hardly.”

“Anyway, George was a mistake—though I'd never admit it to Lori. She gloats.”

“George was a mistake? The others weren't?”

She shook her head. “Learning experiences. But George, well… I was a little rash with him. I felt sorry for him, because he was always sure he was coming down with some terminal illness, and he'd been in therapy since kindergarten. We should never have gotten involved romantically. I was really relieved when he decided to marry Nancy instead.”

“Is this like a hobby?” Alex asked after a moment.

“No, people plan hobbies. I never plan to fall in love. It just happens.” Her smile was amused and tolerant. “It feels good, and when it's over, no one's hurt. It isn't a sexual thing, like with Vicki. She goes from man to man because of the sense of sexual power it gives her. I know most people think if you have a relationship with a man—particularly if you're engaged to him—you must be sleeping with him. But it's not always true.”

“And if you're not engaged to him?”

Because the question demanded it, she met his eyes levelly. “Every situation has its own rules. I don't know what they are for this one yet.”

“Things may get serious.”

There was a slight pressure around her heart. “That's always a possibility.”

“They're serious enough right now for me to ask if you're seeing anyone else.”

She knew it was happening. Bess had never been able to prevent
that slow, painless slide into love. “Are you asking me if I am, or are you asking me not to?”

It wasn't painless for him. It was terrifying. With what strength of will he had left, Alex held himself on that thin, shaky edge. “I'm asking you not to. And I'm telling you that I don't want anyone else. I can't even think of anyone else.”

Her eyes were warm as she leaned over to touch her lips to his. “There is no one else.”

He laid a hand on her cheek to keep her mouth on his for another moment. Even as he kissed her, he wondered how many other men had heard her say those same words.

He told himself he was a jealous idiot. With an effort, he managed to smother the feeling. Rising, he took her hands and pulled her to her feet.

“We're supposed to be dancing.”

“So I was told. Alexi.” Snuggling into love as she would have into a cozy robe, she cupped his face in her hands.

“What?”

“I'm just looking. I want to make sure you're not mad at me anymore.”

“I'm not mad at you.” To prove it, he kissed the tip of her crooked nose.

No, not angry, she thought, searching his eyes. But there was something else shadowed there. She couldn't quite identify it. “My middle name's Louisa.”

With a half smile on his lips, he tilted his head. “Okay.”

“I'm trying to think if there's something else you might want to know that I haven't told you.” Needing to be close, she rested her cheek against his. “I really don't have any secrets.”

He turned his face into her hair. God, what was she doing to him to tie him up in knots like this? He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms tight around her. “I know all I need to know,” he said quietly. “We're going to have to figure out those rules, Bess. We're going to have to figure them out fast.”

“Okay.” She wasn't sure what was holding her back. It would have been so easy to hurry out of the club with him, to go home and be with him. Her body was straining for him. And yet…

The first tremor of panic shocked her enough to have her pull back and smile, too brightly. She wasn't afraid, she assured herself. And she didn't need to overanalyze. When the time was right to move forward, she'd know it. That was all.

“Come on, Detective.” Still smiling, she pulled him away from the table. “Let's see if you can keep up with me on the dance floor.”

A
lex read over a particularly grisly autopsy report on half of a suspected murder-suicide, and tried to ignore the fact that Bess was sitting in a chair to his right, scribbling in her notebook. She was as good as her word, he was forced to admit. Though she did tend to mumble to herself now and again, she was quiet, unobtrusive, and once she'd realized he wouldn't answer her questions—much less acknowledge her presence—she'd directed them to Judd.

He couldn't say she was a problem. But, of course, she
was
a problem. She was there. And because she was there, he thought about her.

She'd even dressed quietly, in bone-colored slacks and a navy blazer. As if, he thought, the conservative clothes would help her fade into the background and make him forget she was bothering him. Fat chance, when he was aware of her in every cell.

He could smell her, couldn't he? he thought, seething with resentment. That fresh and seductive scent had been floating at the edges of his senses all morning. Sneaking into his brain the way a good second-story man sneaks through a window.

And he could sense her, too. He didn't need a cop's instincts to know she was behind him, to picture those big green eyes drawing
a bead on his every move. To imagine those never-still hands making notes, or that soft, agile mouth curving when a fresh idea came to her.

She could have dressed in cardboard and made him needy.

He was so damn cute, Bess was thinking, smiling at the back of his head. She enjoyed watching him work—the way he scooped his hand through all that gorgeous black hair when he was trying to think. Or shifted the phone from one ear to the other so that he could take notes. The sound of his voice, clipped and no-nonsense or sly and persuasive, depending on what he wanted from the listener.

And she particularly enjoyed the way he moved his shoulders, restlessly, annoyance in every muscle, when he became too aware of her presence.

She had a terrific urge to press a kiss to the back of his neck—and to see what he was reading.

After a couple of scowls from him, she scooted her chair back and stopped peeking over his shoulder.

She was cooperating fully, Alex was forced to admit. Which only made it worse. He wanted her to go away. How could he explain that it was impossible for him to concentrate on his job when the woman he was falling in love with was watching him read an autopsy report?

“Here you go.” Bess gave him a cup of coffee and a friendly smile. “You look like you could use it.”

“Thanks.” Cream, no sugar, he noted as he sipped. She'd remembered. Was that part of her appeal? he wondered. The fact that she absorbed those little details about people? “You must be getting bored.”

Taking a chance, she sat on the edge of his desk. “Why?”

“Nothing much going on.” He gestured to indicate the pile of paperwork. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her she was wasting
her time. “If you have your TV cop doing this, it isn't going to up your ratings.”

“We'll want to show different aspects of his work.” She broke a candy bar in half and offered Alex a share. “Like the fact that he'd have to concentrate and handle this sort of paperwork and detail in the middle of all this chaos.”

He took a bite. “What chaos?”

She smiled again, jotting down notes. He didn't even see it any longer, she realized. Or hear it. All the noise, the movement, the rush. Dozens of little dramas had taken place that morning, fascinating her, unnoted by him.

“They brought a drug dealer in over there.” She gestured with a nod as she continued to write. “Skinny guy in a white fedora and striped jacket, wearing a heavy dose of designer cologne.”

“Pasquale,” Alex said, noting the description. “So?”

“You saw him?”

“I smelled him.” He shrugged. “Wasn't my collar.”

Chuckling to herself, Bess crossed her legs and got comfortable. “A Korean shopkeeper came rushing in shouting about vandalism at his store. He was so excited he lost most of his English. They sent out for an interpreter.”

“Yeah, it happens.” What was her point? he wondered.

She only smiled and finished her chocolate. “Right after that, they brought in a woman who'd been knocked around by her boyfriend. She was sitting over there—defending him, even while her face was swelling. The detective at the far end had a fight with his wife over the phone. He forgot their anniversary.”

“Must have been Rogers. He's always fighting with his wife.” Impatience rippled back. “What's that got to do with anything?”

“Atmosphere,” she told him. “You've stopped noticing it and become a part of it. It's interesting to see. And you're very organized,” she added, licking chocolate from her thumb. “Not like Judd over there, with all his neat little piles, but in the way you spread things out and know just where to find the right piece of paper at the right time.”

“I hate having you stare at me when I work.” He slapped her hand away from the autopsy report.

“I know.” Unoffended, she grinned. She leaned a little closer. There was something in her eyes besides humor, he noted. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen desire and amusement merged in the same expression before. And he certainly hadn't realized how the combination could make a man's blood hum. “You look very sexy plowing your way through all this, gun strapped to your side, your hair all messed up from raking your fingers through it. That keen, dangerous look in your eyes.”

Mortified, he shifted in his chair. “Cut it out, McNee.”

“I like the way your eyes get all dark and intense when you're taking down some important tidbit of information over the phone.”

“For all you know, that was my dry cleaner.”

“Uh-uh.” She took his coffee to wash down the last bite of candy bar. “Tell me something, Alexi. Are you annoyed that I'm here, or are you nervous that I'm here?”

“Both.” He rose. There must be something he had to do someplace else.

“That's what I thought.” She hooked a finger around the strap of his holster. She wasn't afraid of the gun he wore. In fact, she was counting on talking him into letting her hold it one day. So that she could see how it felt. How he felt when he was forced to draw it. “You know, you haven't even kissed me.”

“I'm not going to kiss you. Here.”

She lifted her eyes, slowly. There was a definite dare in them. “Why not?”

“Because the next time I kiss you—” watching her, he slid a hand around her throat, his thumb caressing her collarbone, until her cocky smile faded away “—really kiss you, it's just going to be you and me. Alone. And I'm going to keep right on kissing you, and all sorts of other things, until there aren't any more rules. Any more reasons.”

Was that what she wanted? She thought it was. Right now, when her skin was humming where his fingers lay, she thought it was exactly what she wanted. But there was something else, some complex mixture of yearning and fear, so unfamiliar it caused her to step back.

“What's wrong, McNee?” Delighted by her reaction, he let his hand slide down her shoulder and away. “Who's making who nervous now?”

“We're supposed to be working,” she reminded him. “Not making each other nervous.”

“Today, when I go off the clock, so do you.”

“Stanislaski.”

Alex's eyes stayed on hers another moment before flicking behind her. “Captain.”

“Sorry to interrupt your social hour,” he said sourly. “I need that report.”

“Right here.” Even as Alex was turning to reach for it, Bess was offering her hand to Trilwalter.

“Captain, it's so nice to meet you. I'm Bess McNee. I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate the department's cooperation today.”

Trilwalter scowled at her a moment, then, remembering, stifled a sigh. “Right. You're the writer.” A sneer twisted his mouth. “Soap operas.”

“Yes, I am.” Her smile made the fluorescents overhead dim. “I wonder…if I can have just a moment of your time? I know you're very busy, so I won't keep you.”

He didn't want any part of her. He knew it, she knew it, and so did any of the cops hovering close enough to hear. But riding a desk had taught him that diplomacy was often his only weapon. Besides, once he made his feelings known, she'd be out of his hair and off finding another precinct to haunt.

“Why don't you come into my office, Ms. McNee?”

“Thank you.” She shot a grin over her shoulder at Alex as she followed Trilwalter.

“You going to let her go in there alone?” Judd murmured.

“Yeah.” Alex bit back a chuckle as he heard the glass of Trilwalter's door rattle. “Oh, yeah. And I'm going to enjoy it.”

Ten minutes later, Alex was surprised by a burst of laughter. Swiveling in his chair, he spotted Trilwalter leading Bess out of his office. The two of them were chuckling together like two old friends over a private joke.

“I'm going to remember that one, Bess.”

“Just don't tell the mayor where you heard it.”

“I know how to respect a source.” Still smiling, he glanced over at a slack-jawed Alex. “Detective, you take care of Ms. McNee. Make sure she gets what she needs.”

“Sir.” He cut his eyes over to Bess. She merely batted her lashes, managing to look about as innocent as a smoking gun. “I have every intention of making certain Ms. McNee gets exactly what she needs.”

Bess laid her hand in Trilwalter's. “Thank you again, Donald.”

“My pleasure. Don't be a stranger.”

“Donald?” Alex said, the moment the captain was out of earshot.

“Yes.” Bess made a production out of brushing dust from her sleeve. “That is his name.”

“We use several other names for him around here. What the hell did you do in there?”

“Why, we chatted. What else?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Alex noticed money changing hands. The odds had been even that Trilwalter would chew her up, then spit her out, within ten minutes. Since he'd lost twenty on the deal himself, Alex wasn't particularly pleased.

“Sit down and be quiet,” he told her. “I've got work.”

“Of course.”

Before she could take her seat, his phone rang. “Stanislaski. Yeah.” He listened a moment, then pulled out his notepad to scribble. “I hear you. You know how it works, Boomer. It depends on what it's worth.” Nodding to himself, he replaced the pad. “Yeah, we'll talk. I'll be there. In ten.”

When Alex hung up the phone and grabbed for his jacket, Bess was right behind him. “What is it?”

“I've got someplace to go. Judd, let's hit it.”

“I'm going with you.”

Alex didn't even glance back as he started out. He was already working on tucking her in some far corner of his mind. “Forget it.”

“I'm going with you,” she repeated, and snagged his arm. “That's the deal.”

It surprised him when he tried to shake her off and she wouldn't shake. The lady had a good grip, he noted. “I didn't make any deal.”

She could be just as tough and cold-blooded as he, she thought. She planted her feet, angled her chin. “Your captain did. I ride with you, Detective, wherever you may be going. A day in the life, remember?”

“Fine.” Frustration vibrated through him as he stared her down. “You ride—and you stay in the car. No way you're scaring off my snitch.”

“Want me to drive?” Judd offered as they headed down the steps to the garage.

“No.” Alex's answer was flat and left no room for argument. Judd sent Bess a good-natured shrug. Then, because Alex made no move to do so, he opened the back door of their nondescript unmarked car for her.

“Where are we going?” Bess asked, determined to be pleasant.

“To talk to the scum of the earth,” Alex shot back as he pulled out of the garage.

“Sounds fascinating,” Bess said, and meant it.

 

She didn't think she'd ever been in this part of town before. Many of the shop windows were boarded up. Those still in business were grubbier than usual. People still walked as though they were in a hurry, but it didn't look as if they had anyplace to go.

Funny, she thought, how Alex seemed to blend with the surroundings. It wasn't simply the jeans and battered jacket he wore, or the hair he'd deliberately mussed. It was a look in the eyes, a set of the body, a twist of the mouth. No one would look twice at him, she thought. Or if they bothered, they wouldn't see a cop, they'd see another street tough obviously on the edge of his luck.

Taking her cue from him, she pulled out her bag of cosmetics, darkening her mouth, adding just a little too much eyeliner and
shadow. She tried a couple of bored looks in the mirror of her compact and decided to tease up her hair.

Alex glanced back at her and scowled. “What the hell are you doing to your face?”

“Getting into character,” she said blithely. “Just like you. Are we going to bust somebody?”

He only turned away and muttered.

Just his luck, he thought. He wanted to slip into Boomer's joint unobtrusively, and he was stuck with a redhead who thought they were playing cops and robbers.

Unoffended, Bess put away her mirror and scanned the area. Parking wasn't a problem here. Bess decided that if anyone left his car unattended in this neighborhood for above ten minutes, he'd come back and be lucky to find a hubcap.

Alex swung over the curb and swore. He couldn't leave her in the car here, damn it. Any of the hustlers or junkies on the streets would take one look, then eat her alive.

“You listen to me.” He turned, leaning over the seat to make his point. “Stay close to me, and keep your mouth shut. No questions, no comments.”

“All right, but where—”

“No questions.” He slammed out of his door, then waited for her. With his hand firm on her arm, he hauled her to the sidewalk. “If you step out of line, I swear, I'll slap the cuffs on you.”