Risking It All. Beverly Bird

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      “You gave me another name.”

      “Rafe Montiel is a P.P.D. detective.”

      “Oh.” She stopped typing.

      “Rafe Montiel is the department’s mob expert. He investigated Phil McGaffney’s death—O’Bannon’s heir-apparent before Eagan.”

      “He wouldn’t be doing this to you?”

      Then he understood. “You think I’m throwing in every name I can latch on to in order to save my skin?” In that moment, he couldn’t remember why he’d thought he’d liked her. Give the woman credit, Aidan thought, for raising more emotion in him than anyone since…well, Katharine.

      Aidan went back to the table. He laid his palms carefully on the wood and leaned closer to her. Intimidating her…or trying to. But this time she didn’t recoil. She just held her breath again.

      He was damned if he was going to admire her backbone. And double damned if he’d wonder about that no-breathing thing again.

      “All I was going to say is that while Rafe has done a hell of a job dismantling a portion of the Irish mob, he hasn’t taken it down all the way. It’s alive. It’s thriving. And now I have reason to believe that it’s involving the Philadelphia Police Department.”

      He watched her eyes flare. There’d been rumors of that sort of thing for a while now, he thought, so she’d be wondering if he was using those rumors toward his own ends or if he was substantiating them. Aidan grabbed the last of the pint of Jameson’s from the table. He decided it was better at the moment to put some space between them so he paced back into the center of the room to swig from the bottle.

      “Start typing…lady.”

      “Fine,” she said finally. “Since you didn’t call me honey or dear.”

      “I’m saving those for when I want to get the most rise out of you.”

      Did she snort? Women with hair like that and legs like that didn’t snort, he thought, looking back quickly. He watched her pause in her typing to run a delicate finger over her upper lip.

      She’d snorted. Damned if he didn’t almost grin.

      “You were saying?” she murmured.

      “Through my investigation of Kat, I’m pretty convinced that the rumors of corruption are true. I think Eagan and his guys are laundering money through various Philadelphia pubs. They use them as locations for after-hours meetings and as a cover for other illegal enterprises.”

      “Such as?”

      He shrugged. “Prostitution. Drugs. Probably more highbrow crimes, too.”

      “Like a hotel charging a woman for liquor she hasn’t consumed yet?”

      She caught him off guard with that one. His bark of laughter startled even him. “That really has you bugged, doesn’t it?”

      “Is there any left?”

      “Jameson’s? No.” He looked at the empty bottle in his hand, then he thought maybe the little she’d drunk so far had loosened her up some. “Want more? We could order up from the bar.”

      “They’d probably charge as much for it as my law school tuition. No, I’m almost done here.”

      “Lady, we haven’t even gotten started yet.”

      She cast him a surprised look. “There’s more?”

      “Oh, yeah. What Katherine was doing for Eagan.”

      She went still. “What?”

      “She—and other officers, I imagine—have been taking a nice stipend from the mob to look the other way and leave those pubs alone. They’re protecting them from good cops.”

      He watched her face change. He knew what she was thinking. If he was right and if he was on the up-and-up, what he had just handed her would make her name gold in the city of Philadelphia if she could prove it. And if he was lying to her and she ran with it anyway, it would make her a fool.

      She needed to talk to Katherine Cross, Grace decided. Not that she didn’t believe her client but…well, he was her client. If he were scrupulously honest, he wouldn’t have needed to hire her in the first place. “Where is Katherine?” she asked.

      “I have no idea.”

      That was convenient, Grace thought. She choked on another ah. “So she’s not in the penitentiary?”

      “She struck a deal with the D.A. and got probation.”

      “What kind of a deal?”

      “I don’t know the details. I never wanted to know.”

      Grace chose her next words carefully. “It could be that she rolled over on other people who are involved.”

      He was silent. When she finally looked at him again, there was something stark in his eyes. Grace shook her head a little, confused. He’d joked his way right out of that jail and now he was stricken by the possibility that his partner had coughed up his name in exchange for leniency?

      “Or her cronies pulled some strings for her,” he said finally.

      “You’re saying that this corruption reaches past the police department and all the way into our court system?”

      “I have no idea. I’m just throwing it out there.”

      “Why is it so hard for you to swallow that she might have ratted you out?”

      He crossed the room again, coming back at her fast. This time Grace flinched in spite of herself. He put a hand on each arm of her chair and leaned into her.

      “Back off,” she whispered. She wondered if he heard the quaver in her voice.

      “We’ve got one little bit of unfinished business here.”

      “Finish it on the other side of the room.”

      “Give me one answer here, lady. Am I innocent or guilty?”

      “That’s not germane—” She broke off suddenly when he moved one of his hands to cup her chin. He held her face still when she tried to look away. Touching her again.

      Grace felt her pulse begin ratcheting. The man was out of control. “You don’t need an assault charge right now on top of everything else,” she whispered.

      “Who am I assaulting?”

      Oh, God help her, his voice was like smoke again. “Me.”

      “You think this is assault?”

      “Yes. You’re touching me.”

      “Am I hurting you?”

      Yes. He was scaring the hell out of her. СКАЧАТЬ