by Joanne Rock
“I beg your pardon?” Righteous indignation fired through her.
“You know, methamphetamines, crack, ecstasy, any number of lab-created specialties—”
“He most certainly did not!” Just who did Duke Rawlins think she was? Amanda might not be wearing anything but lace and satin beneath her coat, but she was not that kind of girl.
Trying to coerce her boyfriend into an intimate relationship ranked as her biggest moral transgression to date.
“I have to ask, Amanda.” At least the detective had the decency to flash her a semi-apologetic smile. “If it makes you feel any better, you don’t seem to fit my profile of a drug user anyway.”
Before Amanda could splutter a retort, a uniformed police officer approached.
“Excuse me, Detective.” The young woman lifted a shopping bag to show Duke Rawlins. “We are finished here. I checked and rechecked all the labels and the evidence-gathering procedures. We dug up a few bills of sale for fabric, a list that might be potential drug buyers. Everything is in order.”
Amanda eyed the tall female officer labeled R. Patterson as the woman spoke with Amanda’s interrogator. Ms. Patterson didn’t look like the type to ever wind up half-naked in a police interrogation. Amanda would also lay odds that R. Patterson would kick her boyfriend’s butt if he dared to treat her the way Victor had treated Amanda.
Amanda had that kind of confidence in her professional world, but on a personal level, she couldn’t seem to get her act together. She’d let her father take advantage of her half her life, and now she’d obviously allowed Victor to do the same thing.
“Thanks, Patterson,” Duke Rawlins called over his shoulder as the woman left with the last remaining uniformed officer.
Leaving Amanda alone with a very sexy detective.
The quiet of Victor’s apartment seemed to intensify after the door shut behind the departing officers. Amanda became aware of the clock ticking on the wall, the hum of the overhead light in the kitchen.
And she became keenly aware of Duke Rawlins’s intensely blue eyes upon her.
How could she feel such tangible lust for a man she’d just met? A man who’d arrested her boyfriend, witnessed the biggest humiliation of her life and held her captive with his interrogation while an even bigger humiliation threatened in the form of a renegade merry widow.
What a disaster.
“I guess that’s it, Amanda.” Detective Rawlins tucked his notepad inside his leather jacket pocket, but made no move to stand. “Would you do me a favor?”
For a moment, she lost herself in the depths of his blue eyes. The color matched the fluorescent blue on several of his necktie stars.
She found herself saying, “I will if I can.”
His crooked grin sent a thrill through her, far more potent than the silk lining on her bare skin. “Call me if you think of anything else about your boyfriend that might help me.”
She took his card and read over it absently. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore, Detective,” she clarified.
Amanda sensed the heat of a blush start on her neck and spread to her cheeks. Why had she felt the need to tell him that?
“Can’t say I blame you after today,” he returned, slowly rising to his feet. “And please, call me Duke.”
Amanda scrambled to follow him, ready to flee the apartment and those intense eyes as fast as possible.
Too late she remembered her merry widow.
It slid about two inches south, the bra cups rolling like window shades under the curve of each breast. Amanda would give anything to untie and retie her entire ensemble before she walked out the door, but not while the tempting detective remained in the apartment with her.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Thank you, Duke.”
The words sounded throaty and breathless and very flirtatious when in fact, fear for her costume merely edged Amanda a bit closer to hyperventilating.
She inched toward the door, praying she could escape without flashing Duke. Even her shoes were coming untied, but she refused to bend over to secure them.
“Well, if that’s all then…?” she prodded, waiting only for his official nod so she could slink back home after her horrid day.
He scrubbed a hand along his square jaw and frowned. “Actually, would you mind stopping by the precinct tomorrow to answer a few more questions? Say around eleven?”
“More questions?” Not that she was in a position to argue, but what more could she tell him about Victor? Apparently she hadn’t known him at all.
Besides, she’d have to face the allure of that chiseled jaw and sinful smile all over again.
“I always think of a few more things after the case settles in my mind for a day.” He shrugged as if in apology. “I could send a car over to your father’s studio if it would help.”
“That’s not necessary.” Now there was an image—New York’s Finest descending on Clyde Matthews’s showroom. What if some bigwig crime boss had scheduled a fitting with her father or something? Social awkwardness at its height. Besides, Amanda wasn’t sure how she would explain her run-in with the police to her father in the first place. “I’ll drop by at eleven.”
Once she put some clothes on, conversing with Duke wouldn’t be nearly as…provocative.
She hoped.
“Great.” He strode toward the door and opened it for her. “I’ll see you then.”
Freedom beckoned. Escape loomed so near.
Yet Duke halted her before she could take step into the hallway. “You’ll twist an ankle in that shoe unless you tie it.” He allowed the door to swing closed as his gaze lingered on her foot.
The pink ribbons meant to tie her foot into the shoe had completely unraveled. As with her merry widow, Amanda hadn’t double knotted any portion of her outfit. Now if she bent over to adjust her shoe, her merry widow was history.
If she left her pink high heel untied, she’d hobble right out of it before she reached the elevator.
An untied shoe seemed like a little thing in comparison to finding out her boyfriend had been cheating on her, that her judgment in men led her into a relationship with a criminal.
But it threatened to be more than she could bear in light of everything else. She bit one “Passion Flower Pink” nail and tried to decide what to do next.
She suspected the moment had turned awkward when Duke’s brows lifted in unison.
He jabbed a thumb in the general direction of her foot. “Want me to tie it for you?”
A flood of gratitude had her head bobbing agreement and her mind making mental notes to buy a whole table full of tickets for the Policemen’s Ball this year. “Would you mind?”
He didn’t move for a long moment. Perhaps he was surprised she’d taken him up on his offer.
She wanted to offer an excuse for her odd behavior—perhaps that she’d been afflicted with a debilitating spine condition that inhibited her mobility. Or that she’d sprained her index finger last week and she found it difficult to manage the ties.
But she’d never been any good at lying.
Finally, he reached for her arms. Amanda might have stepped back, but she would have stepped out of her shoe. Or out of her merry widow.
“Why don’t you have a seat for just a minute?” he prompted, guiding her to the arm of the wingback.
She nodded like a complacent five-year-old, having her shoe tied before running out to the bus. Only Duke’s touch didn’t make her feel a bit like a five-year-old.
He kneeled at her feet, anchoring her shoe with his thigh and gently steering her foot into position on the sole. For a moment, his thumb and forefinger ringed her ankle, imprisoning her leg and putting her senses on alert. Then his broad hands glided over the silky finish of her stockings, the rough pads of his thumbs catching the material ever so slightly to send shocks of pleasure up her calf, to her thigh, and beyond….
Her eyes fluttered closed at the unaccustomed sensation. What a shock he would get if he followed that trail with hi
s hands.
In an instant, his hands turned brusque and professional again, tying her shoe with a firm tug on both ends of the knot.
She opened her eyes to find him staring up at her, his gaze broadcasting even more heat than his hands. She made a small sound—a little hiss of breath like a kettle releasing excess steam.
He practically jumped up from the floor. “Are you going to be okay?” His voice scratched along her nerves, low and gruff.
She nodded, remembering her haste to make an exit. “Yes. I am…um…sorry.”
“You’ve had a hell of a day.” He extended his hand as if to shake hers.
Amanda accepted it, regretting those few seconds where she would only have one hand to secure the trench coat. “Thank you, Duke.”
Their palms clasped briefly, though Duke snatched his hand back almost as quickly as she did. With her father’s reputation as a friend of the mob, she’d grown used to men running from her. Still, she couldn’t help but think Duke’s retreat didn’t have anything to do with fear of being a mob target.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he reminded her.
If Amanda hadn’t just been unceremoniously dumped by her boyfriend today, she might have actually looked forward to seeing Duke again. God knew she was attracted. Too attracted. Maybe that was part of the problem.
Her judgment in men was more faulty than San Andreas if today’s fiasco was any indication. She wasn’t about to get burned by a flashy police detective who seemed to know where her on switch was located.
“Bye.” Amanda tossed the word over her shoulder as she left the apartment. She trotted to the elevator as fast as her pink heels would allow her. In less than sixty seconds, she was out the door and in a cab headed back uptown, safe from Duke’s knowing eyes and tempting grin.
Only then did Amanda allow herself to relax. The cabdriver was too busy swearing at traffic and the participants on his talk radio program to notice her furtive attempts to retie her merry widow, shielding her chest with her lapels.
She could hardly believe she’d escaped Victor’s apartment without anyone noticing she wore next to nothing beneath her coat. Relief slowly drifted over her, easing the aching muscles in a body that had been rigid for too many hours.
She’d made it out with her dignity and her secret weapon in tact. Amanda patted her coat pocket to reassure herself it still rested there.
She found nothing.
Ohmigod. Horrified, she patted her other pocket.
Nothing.
The cabdriver’s swearing faded to the background as panic seized her. The traffic lights and midday pedestrians blurred outside the windows, her whole attention focused on searching the taxicab seats in the hope her tape had fallen out of her pocket since she’d hopped into the car.
No luck.
She’d lost her secret weapon.
3
DUKE LINGERED IN the doorframe after Amanda left Gallagher’s apartment. He’d watched her click her way to the elevator in those hot pink Barbie doll heels, her walk as confident as if she’d been in running shoes. Behind him, the room already seemed too quiet, less animated.
Damn.
He’d let her breathy voice and glimpses of stocking distract him from his questioning—something that hadn’t happened in nearly ten years on the job with the NYPD. He’d covered his butt by asking her to stop by the precinct tomorrow, knowing the surroundings would keep his mind focused on his case and not Amanda’s legs.
Still, he hoped like hell she wore pants.
The ringing of his cell phone provided a welcome interruption.
He flipped open the speaker as he stalked Gallagher’s apartment one last time. “Rawlins.”
The male voice on the other end didn’t bother with salutations. “The word at the station is that Amanda Matthews looks even better in person than in her file photo.”
Duke’s laid-up partner, Josh Winger, had obviously heard the scoop on the day’s arrest already. “Hey, Winger. If you weren’t such a wuss you could have seen her for yourself.”
“A few more hours and the doc swears I’m non-contagious. Want me to come in and go over the evidence with you?”
Josh had three more years on the force than Duke, but the two of them had been teamed up more often than not since Duke joined the NYPD. They did a solid rendition of good cop/bad cop, and their investigative styles complemented each other.
But Duke hadn’t minded going solo today. Josh would have given him hell if he had seen how Amanda had rattled him.
“I’ve got it covered.” Duke glanced through Gallagher’s CD collection, looking for any stone left unturned in the earlier search. Maybe he’d find that final piece of damning evidence—some irrefutable link between Victor and his drug buddies. “Why don’t you watch a few more Starsky and Hutch reruns and see if you can pick up a couple of pointers.”
“The only thing I’m learning from Starsky and Hutch is that we’re getting rooked on our standard-issue vehicle. I’m thinking we need to talk to the deputy inspector about issuing us something cooler, something packing a little more horsepower.”
Finding nothing in the CDs, Duke moved to the bookshelf, another area that sometimes went overlooked in a search. He found it odd that the small collection lacked a single title on fashion or fabric. “You get the shakes driving over fifty-five anyway. My granddaddy always used to say ‘don’t bite off more than you can chew.’”
“To hear you tell it, Duke, your granddaddy spoke in pithy wisdom from the moment you were born. Did you just make up this ancestor so you could spout clichés and old wives’ tales?”
“My granddad would kick your city slicker ass if he knew you implied he was an old wife.” Duke smiled to think about it. Granddad had a deep suspicion of New York City, but he’d applauded Duke’s decision to police the Big Apple, assuring him there wasn’t a city in the world that needed a Rawlins so badly. “Besides, aren’t you grateful he made sure I always have something to say?”
Josh groaned. “Now I know who to blame. Call me if you find anything more over there, you hear me? I don’t want you blowing your promotion because you didn’t have me to help you out.”
“Go pop your pills, old man. I’ve got it covered.” Duke flipped the receiver closed before Josh could quibble.
He would make Detective, First Grade, without any help from his partner. Josh had made the upward move last year, and Duke’s review approached at the end of May. Once Duke cleaned up the Garment District with a round of solid felony arrests this spring, his record would be prime for an upgrade.
So shall you scale the stars…another bit of Granddad’s wisdom. Maybe a promotion in the police department wasn’t quite so poetic, but Duke worked with what he had. He loved this job.
He headed to the couch cushions, often a goldmine for scraps of notepaper or maybe an incriminating bill of some sort. Gallagher’s couch looked like it benefited from frequent maid service, however.
He moved to the wingback next. The chair still held a trace of Amanda Matthews’s scent—something clean and rain-washed and simple. Like one flower instead of ten.
She was a mix of contradictions. The conservative trench coat and straightforward fragrance seemed at odds with her starlet hairstyle and pink stockings. Any way Duke added it up, Amanda still emerged from the equation appealing as hell.
Too bad she was a society fixture and mixed up with a criminal to boot. No matter how good she smelled, Amanda Matthews earned a place on Duke’s personal “off-limits” list.
Heaven knew, he could spend hours debating Ms. Matthews’s charms, but he had a job to finish. Duke ordered his nose to ignore the flowery temptations as he lifted the gray leather cushion.
A black rectangular case slid to the floor.
“What the…” How had the search team missed this earlier today? Duke rolled on a pair of latex gloves and bent to retrieve the item.
He opened the case, confirming his suspicion that a videotape rested inside. A white sticker l
abeled it “Private” in pencil.
Storing the evidence in a plastic bag, Duke pondered the handwriting on the sticker. He might not have a graphology degree, but he sensed a deliberateness in the dark stroke of the lines as if the writer had really meant the “Private” warning.
The thrill of crime busting snaked through him—the same thirst for justice that had pushed him through four years of college and almost a decade on the force. He couldn’t wait to go review the tape tonight at the precinct.
It took him less than an hour to make a final sweep of the place and talk to the building superintendent about Gallagher’s comings and goings. Duke made a few last notes and then headed for the lobby, hoping to get back to the station before commuter traffic kicked in.
He was ducking under the potted palms near the elevators when a snappy click of high heels grabbed his attention.
Amanda Matthews had returned.
So did Duke’s response to her. He’d been hoping his earlier lust had been a fluke, but his current physical affliction assured him he wanted her.
Duke took advantage of her distracted state to study her. She’d obviously gone home and changed. Her trench coat flung wide open now, revealing a black turtleneck sweater he’d be willing to bet was cashmere. Gray wool trousers covered every inch of her luscious legs and black leather boots encased her feet, their heels as high as the Barbie doll shoes had been. Her light brown hair remained in the high-class twist at the back of her head, although more strands fell forward now to frame her face. A small leather satchel swung on her arm in time with her fast steps.
She looked like a confident fashion executive now, whereas earlier, she’d seemed nervous and shy. All of which had Duke wondering what the hell she was up to.
Struggling to put his duty as a law enforcement official ahead of his hunger for a small taste of Amanda’s smooth skin, Duke strode closer. “Amanda?”
The word halted her, dragging her attention from the elevator doors toward him. The satchel she carried swayed like a pendulum for a moment, then slowed to a stop along with her.
Now that he had a better view of her face, he could tell she wasn’t as confident as her posture suggested. Little lines of worry creased her brow and set her full lips in a straight slash.
