Heat Of The Night. Donna Kauffman

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      “So, what do you want from me?”

      “I’ve got an investigation to complete and until I’m convinced it’s not a homicide, I’d appreciate you keeping the bloodhounds off my back.”

      “That may not be my concern in about, oh—” she glanced at her watch “—an hour from now.”

      A gleam entered his eyes. The gleam a predator got when he thought about his prey. She ignored the little shiver it sent over her. And there was no pleasure in this one. She realized right then that she’d hate to be the one Brady was hunting when he was on the job.

      Off the job…?

      It surprised her that her mind even went there. Right now their little hormonal two-step should be the last thing on either of their minds. And yet, she realized it was never more than a beat away from surging to the surface. Something she’d do well to remember.

      “I know you,” he said bluntly. “You’re not going to let the mayor walk all over you. No way are you walking away from a high-profile job without one hell of a fight.”

      “True,” she said, glad he understood that. A lot of men were put off, intimidated, by a woman who knew what she wanted and set out to get it. Brady wasn’t. If anything, she thought he actually respected that aspect of her. But then, that was one thing they shared, their drive. He was only annoyed by it when it got in his way.

      “So why are you here? For the pep talk?” She knew better. “I don’t think so. You have something for me. What is it?”

      Brady sighed. “I hate it when you do that.”

      “What? Figure things out before you can make a point?” She felt herself relax. Well, not relax exactly, but focus. The adrenaline was pumping again, and oddly enough, that calmed her. “I can’t help it if I’m faster than you.”

      He walked around the side of her desk and perched on the edge of it, much in the same place Gina had moments earlier. Only this felt nothing like when Gina invaded her personal space. She allowed her chair to lean back about one click, just enough so she could hold his gaze, not enough to be perceived as a retreat.

      “I’m not slow,” he said evenly. “I’m methodical. And thorough.” He leaned closer, spoke more deliberately. “Less mistakes are made that way.”

      She tried not to swallow too hard, certain he’d notice. “Are you saying I’m rash?” She felt rash. All of a sudden she felt very rash. And hot.

      There was only business in his voice, but she swore there was something else going on just behind those eyes. That something that made her want to squirm in her seat…amongst other things.

      He ignored her question, but nothing else. “When you replay those questions, listen to the guy from the Examiner. He kept pounding at you on one of Sanderson’s recent business openings. The Soap and Suds. I’ve looked into it. It’s a Laundromat that serves beer and has a jukebox.”

      “You’re kidding.”

      He shook his head. “Not kidding. But I can find no obvious link from that to where and how Sanderson was found. Someone else manages it and runs it. Mort’s press release back when he opened it touted the place as a way to help establish small, independent businesses downtown.”

      “Sounds like him,” she said. “He liked to take credit for single-handedly rejuvenating the entire urban-renewal project.”

      “Right. He owns a number of small businesses and has also sold a number of them to the people managing them. I just can’t find where anything else was going on in this particular one. But obviously the Examiner guy does, or he wouldn’t have quizzed you on it to see what we knew.”

      “I don’t remember anyone quizzing me about a Laundromat beer joint.”

      “Just listen back over the tape. You never responded to him, but it didn’t keep him from asking about it, several times. He got lost in the roar.”

      She looked at him. “But you heard it.”

      His eyes twinkled. “I am a detective.”

      “So you want me to what? Shake him down for you?”

      Her television cop-show lingo drew a smile from him, one that did nothing to help her stabilize her heart rate.

      “I want you to use your public relations skills to see what you can dig out of the guy. I figure you’re close enough to his line of work that maybe he’d grant you a favor.”

      She batted her eyelashes at him. “You mean, if I ask real nice and say pretty please? I think I can handle it.” She flipped open her folder for the notes she’d taken down after the press conference was over. Somewhere in there she’d listed the names of—

      Brady shoved a business card under her nose. “Guy’s name is Bradford Pitts.”

      “Brad Pitts?” Erin laughed. “Poor guy.”

      Brady just looked at her. “Anyway, that’s his office number.” He flipped the card over. “That one is my private number. Call me when you get something.”

      She took the card. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it. She also liked his faith in her, but she kept that to herself. “I’ll call him right after I get done groveling to Henley.”

      “I would pay to see you grovel.”

      One lethal grin and her nipples went rock hard. How did he do that anyway?

      He strode to the door. “You might want to call Bradford, there, first. It might give you something to pass on to the mayor, even if he won’t like hearing the information. At least he’ll know you’re working on it.”

      Erin frowned now, forgetting about hard nipples. For the moment anyway. She had a feeling she’d be remembering them about as often as she remembered that grin. “You really think this guy is onto something dirty that Sanderson might have been involved in?”

      “Define dirty.”

      That made her pause, then smile. “Well, I was referring to dirty business practices, but I can see your mind was on leather masks and feather whips.”

      She swore his gaze shifted down right to the front of her blazer. It was such a brief flicker, she couldn’t be sure. No way he could have known about her nipples.

      His eyes steady on hers, he said, “My mind is on whatever connection Sanderson might have had to his possible killer. He was found handcuffed wearing satin and leather. Just because there was no sexual intercourse doesn’t mean Morty didn’t naturally get his kicks from dressing up like a slutty ballerina.”

      Erin choked on a laugh. “Yeah. Okay.” Then she couldn’t help herself. “Maybe he’d have been better off opening a dry cleaner. Must have been hell keeping those tutus clean.”

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

СКАЧАТЬ