by Nikita Black
“That's right,” Bobby said with a grin. “Just another couple from the 'burbs downtown for a night of fun, frolic and S&M bondage.”
“It shouldn't be too difficult for you, considering your talent for...costume,” McGraw commented dryly, eying her red mini-skirt and spangled top.
She spun to face him, quickly regaining her composure. Oh, she knew costume, all right. She hadn't spent the past year on the streets for nothing. It was what lurked behind those costumes she didn't know too much about, given her self-imposed restraint concerning relationships.
“And exactly what kind of costume did you have in mind, Detective?”
McGraw met her gaze levelly. “The leash and collar indicate they were into a Master-slave scene, which fits with the profile of the killer we've put together. Our guy will be looking for couples who practice that lifestyle.”
She should have reacted to the fact that he meant to use her as bait for a homicidal maniac. But her mind had snagged way back at the first sentence. “Master-slave?”
“Yeah.” He pushed off the wall. “And in case there's any doubt, I'm the Master and you're the slave. If I take you on, I want it crystal clear who's giving the orders.”
Of all the arrogant... As if she had to be reminded. “I take it this wasn't your idea.”
“As a matter of fact, it was.” He took a step toward her. “But that doesn't mean I want some damned female rookie screwing up my investigation. Your job is to smile demurely and keep your ears open. You don't talk, you don't move, you don't even breathe without my say-so. Got it, Officer Palmer?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
What she got was a severe desire to smack him and his condescending demeanor back to the Stone Age. He might have the body of a god, but as a working partner he obviously left a lot to be desired. At least for her. She hadn’t escaped the emotional abuse of one rude and overbearing man just to trade him in for another. Lt. Bridger, her boss at SIS, was nothing like this. On the other hand, Lt. Bridger wasn’t the lead detective for Homicide, where she desperately wanted to be.
She took a deep, cleansing breath.
Turning down this opportunity would kill her. Somehow she had to find a way to work with this Neanderthal, without decking the man, and with him her career. Hell, she’d lived through her father. She’d live through McGraw, too.
She looked him in the eye. “Why me?”
Surprise flashed across his face before he quickly masked it. He stepped in front of her. “What's the matter? You don’t want the assignment? I’d heard you’d do anything to get into Homicide.”
She froze at his tone when he said “anything,” her face suddenly heating. No. He couldn’t possibly have meant that the way it had sounded. Not spoken so blatantly in front of his lieutenant, his partner and the Chief, for godsakes.
“I want nothing more than to work in Homicide, sir. But is it out of line to wonder about your motivation in choosing me?”
“Why? You have a problem with leather?”
“No. I have a problem being treated like an idiot, McGraw. I'm sure there must be a dozen female candidates willing to be your slave. Why me?”
He stepped closer and got right in her face, speaking in a low voice, for her ears only. “I want you for my pleasure slave, Caroline. Nobody else. I don’t need any other reason.”
Stunned, she stared up into his simmering gaze. He stared back with a look that covered her entire body in goosebumps. For a breathtaking instant she wondered again if he could be talking about something other than undercover work.
“I...”
The look of raw demand in his eyes, real or imagined, threw her as nothing else could have. There was a dark hunger lurking deep in them—a darkness she responded to on a purely primal level. A hunger she wanted nothing more than to arouse and incite, drive into the open so it would be forced to acknowledge its lust for her. If only she dared...
“I—”
The passion in Mick's eyes suddenly vanished and he dropped her wrist. “But if you don't think you can hack it, we'll find someone else.”
It was like being dashed with water. Ice water. Get real, Caro. This was the Iceman—cold and remote, anything but passionate, even about the job he was so good at.
“This has to be your decision, Officer Palmer,” the Chief said. “We'll be working with Detective Cody here, and LAPD, to have people watching you at all times. But I won't lie. It's a dangerous assignment.”
She stuck her unsteady hands under her armpits. “That doesn't worry me.” The last thing she was concerned about was her physical safety.
The shrill of the phone on Mick's desk made her jump. He answered with a curt hello, and listened grimly. His eyes met Bobby's across the room and some silent communication in them made his partner come to attention. “Okay. We'll be right there.”
McGraw's steely gaze drew a bead on her and she shivered involuntarily. “Make up your mind, rookie,” he growled. “This is the last time you'll get the offer.”
She drove her fingers through her hair, warring with herself. She so badly wanted the chance to prove she could cut it in Homicide. But it would mean working with a man who was already making her crazy. Between wanting to seduce him and wanting to kill him, she was afraid of what might happen.
But she was more afraid she’d never get the chance again. Swallowing the knot of irrational fear lodged in her throat, she gathered her courage and prayed she wasn't making the biggest mistake of her career.
“All right, Detective. I'll do it.”
With the sinking, fatalistic certainty that her life would never be the same again, she heard him say, “Good. Get your gear together and come with us. They just found another couple of bodies.”
***
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If you enjoyed CAJUN HOT, you might also enjoy CATCH ME IF YOU CAN by Nina Bruhns. Keep reading for an excerpt from . . .
CATCH ME IF YOU CAN
by
Nina Bruhns
Book 1 of the New Orleans trilogy
Chapter 1
She had fourteen days to catch her man.
If she hadn't done it by then, she could kiss everything she'd worked for goodbye.
"I'll raise you a thousand."
Katherine "Kit"Colfax watched the guy sitting to her right toss ten blue chips onto the table. A thousand dollars. Now they were getting somewhere.
"I'm good for the grand," Kit said, tipping two red chips into the large mound on the table. "And I'll raise…"She lifted her two facedown cards-a pair of kings-stalling. This was the most crucial hand of the game. If she blew it here, all would be lost-the case, her job, the life she treasured. "I'll raise another grand," she said confidently, adding two more red chips to the sizable heap.
Directly across the table, her quarry raised one perfect black brow. Taking a drag on his thin, sweet-smelling cheroot, he exhaled a line of smoke from between full, expressive lips.
Lord, he was a handsome devil, all broad shoulders and brooding dark looks. If Remi Beaulieux wasn't a career criminal, she might be seriously attracted to him.
"I think I need a drink," the redheaded bimbo sitting to his left commented wryly, plucking her two facedown cards from the table. A rank amateur. Nobody picked up their down cards. Giving them a grimace, the woman slithered around in her latex outfit so her arm touched the sleeve of Beaulieux's elegantly tailored jacket. If he bothered to look up, he'd have a grand view of both the cards and her ample cleavage. He didn't.
Interesting. Kit hoped she hadn't made a mistake borrowing the exorbitantly expensive, and very revealing, designer dress she was wearing. Success depended on her being able to attract the Southern aristocrat's attention.
Well, who knew, maybe he'd developed a conscience and didn't want to cheat. After all, he wasn't a cardsharp, but a jewel thief.
Unconsciously, Kit's hand went to her throat and touched the impressive string of sapphires draped there. Beauli
eux caught the movement. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly and he watched her fingers for a few seconds before lifting his gaze to hers. She gave him a little smile and caressed the necklace.
The very corner of his lip curled. She couldn't figure out if it was a smile or a snarl, but decided that either way it looked good on him. Real good. She was still looking when she realized the guy to her left had scooped his cards aside and quit the game. Damn, she really had to concentrate.
She glanced around the nearly empty table. The only remaining players were her, the guy to her right, the bimbo and Beaulieux.
There was a knock on the door. A waiter rushed in with a tray of refills of their drinks. One thing about these Vegas hotels, they kept you happy while you went broke. Especially in a no-dealer, invitation-only, backroom game. Kit waited patiently as the waiter exchanged a new daiquiri for the one she'd barely touched, then lifted the drink to her lips. Her nerves could definitely use the boost. It wasn't every day she played for her whole future.
If she didn't get what she came for tonight, she could say farewell to the job she loved. Moorefield Insurance was downsizing, and all but one of their small pool of insurance investigators had to go. She had a perfect record, but her boss thought she was reckless and her methods risky. And she'd already gone way past the line on this one.
Usually, she investigated specific claims by Moorefield clients, but there had been a string of robberies involving jewelry insured by the company, such that she was able to talk her boss into going after the man the police and FBI believed to be responsible.
Beaulieux was the classic gentleman thief, using his own social graces and charisma-and lots of money-to set up his jewel heists. Moorefield clients had made hundreds of thousands of dollars in claims, thanks to his handiwork. But to catch him, Kit had to follow his trail in person rather than by computer, and move in circles which demanded flaunting an extravagant wardrobe and similar accommodations. She was way over budget, and her boss, Mr. Potter, was not a happy camper. She'd finally managed to get a hot lead and had tracked Beaulieux to Vegas.
This was her last shot. If the sting on Remi Beaulieux didn't work, her boss would wash his hands of her when the grit hit the fan at the end of the month-just fourteen short days away.
"I'll see your, um, how much is it?" The redhead batted her fake eyelashes at Beaulieux and leaned close, oblivious of the two cards in her hand waving around for all to see.
Oh, brother. Out of habit, Kit checked her own cards to make sure the woman's bunch of nothing wouldn't mess with her game. Not that it possibly could. A hidden pair of kings was one hell of a hand.
"It's two thousand dollars to you, ma'am," Beaulieux answered in his lazy Louisiana accent.
Man, oh, man, his voice conjured erotic images of smooth satin sheets on hot, sultry afternoons, the scent of honeysuckle and the taste of icy mint juleps sliding down kiss-parched throats.
The sound of chips clickety-clicking onto the table roused her from her reverie.
"Easy come, easy go," the bimbo declared with a giggle as she surveyed the one red chip remaining in front of her.
Beaulieux lifted his cheroot to his lips and glanced at his dwindling pile. His gaze moved to Kit's even smaller stack for a moment, then rose to her neck-and it wasn't the plunging neckline of her borrowed Karl Lagerfeld he was fascinated by. As he casually studied her sapphires, she tipped her head and wound a finger languorously through the strand-a subtle challenge.
Come on, baby. Come to mama.
Gripping the cheroot in his teeth, he drawled, "I'll see that two thousand." He added four chips to the heap. "And I'll raise you… "
He paused, his hand hovering above his stash, and looked at Kit again. A long, thorough look. His eyes glittered with calculation and unmistakable interest. Whether it was for her or the necklace, she couldn't say, but her mouth suddenly went as dry as the Mojave Desert in August.
She licked her lips in what she hoped was a distracting manner and took a sip of daiquiri, wishing to high heaven she could pick up her cards and fan her face with them.
"I'll raise you two thousand."
The bimbo groaned and slapped the two cards in her hand to the table. "I'm done for." She rose, her dress shimmying down over her hips so close to Beaulieux that if he'd turned his head, he would have been in danger of arrest for indecent acts in public. Plucking up her last chip from the table, the woman leaned over and slid it into his breast pocket, whispering something in his ear. Something that sounded a lot like a room number.
Fighting back an uncharacteristic urge to scratch the woman's eyes out, Kit pretended to count her own remaining chips and frown over the bet while the redhead and her tacky dress wiggled their way past the guard and out into the casino proper.
Good grief, what was with her tonight? Her job was at stake! Moorefield Insurance was not paying her to make a fool of herself over the handsome thief sitting across the table from her. They were paying her to put Remi Beaulieux in jail and recover their client's jewels. She had to get a grip. She was not about to lose her job over a set of shoulders with a drawl. She would succeed with her mission. She had to.
The man between her and Beaulieux tallied his chips, shook his head disgustedly and rose to leave. "Looks like it's down to you two."
Suddenly, the room grew very still. The whisper of the big hotel casino on the other side of the door-the muted ringing and whirring of the slots, the muffled laughter and music-all faded away. She looked at Beaulieux and he looked back at her.
"You seem to be short," he said.
She swallowed. "Yes." The word came out a bit breathy. At last, she was completely alone with her prey. So why was she suddenly feeling as if she was the one being hunted?" I guess I win," he said, making no move to rake in the sizable pot.
"I was-"She moistened her lips.
He quirked a brow, watching her tongue.
"I have this necklace. I was hoping…"
His gaze meandered to the sapphires, then up again. "Well now, I do believe that would be against house rules." His expression made it clear he didn't give a damn about rules, house or otherwise.
"I won't tell if you don't."
Again his lip curled in that roguish smile and her temperature kicked up about ten degrees. Man, oh, man, it should be illegal to look that sexy.
"And how much would you say that little trifle is worth?"
"Five thousand, nine hundred and eighty-seven dollars."
He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. "Is that so?"
She lifted a shoulder. "I had it appraised recently. So, what do you think?"
He picked up what was left of his cheroot and slowly took one last, long pull at it. As she watched his lips, her imagination went into overdrive.
Lord, who was she kidding? The man was a thief, suspected of stealing a million dollars' worth of jewelry from Massachusetts to California -a good portion of which had been insured by Moorefield. Influential family or no, he was going to spend years behind bars, and she had every intention of being the one to put him there. She had no business wondering what his lips would taste like, pressed against hers.
"Okay, it's a deal."
She snapped out of her fantasy, wondering for a second if he'd been reading her thoughts.
"Let's say it's worth an even six thousand," he added.
Giving herself a mental shake, she smiled. "Most generous of you, Mr. Beaulieux."
"Please, call me Beau. It's a bit silly that we've been playing half the night and I don't even know your name."
"Beau, then."It was the first time he'd said his name, and although both she and her assistant, Ricky, had thoroughly checked his identity before setting up the sting, it was nice to hear it from his own mouth. "Katherine Colfax. I go by Kit."
His eyebrows shot up. "Kit Colfax?"
"Is there a problem?"
His gaze held hers assessingly for a moment. "Not at all." This time, both corners of his mouth curled up. He stubbed out the c
heroot. "I believe the bet stands at four thousand. Shall we continue?"
"By all means." Forcing her eyes from his wicked smile, she reached up to unclasp the necklace. She didn't know which was making her more nervous, the thought of losing her job over this outrageous plan, or losing her cool over this outrageous man.
"Uh-uh," he admonished, wagging a finger at her.
The necklace glided into her palm in a glittery pool of blue. "You've changed your mind?"
"Oh, no. But to be strictly fair, you must first use up all your chips."
She blinked. Now, why would he want her to do that? She recounted the chips in front of them. "But then you'd have to ante up to match it. It would take everything you've got."
He grinned. "Worried about me?"
"Of course not. I just thought-"
His grin turned positively diabolical. "Or maybe you're afraid to risk everything you've got."
"Certainly not." She glanced over at his up cards. Eight, three and a queen of hearts. One of his down cards had to be another queen. She'd been watching him carefully all evening and he played like a pro. His eyes said he was sure he'd win, but the cards said otherwise. Her kings beat his queens no problem. Unless he had three. She prayed he did. Everything depended on him winning the necklace, so she could lay her trap to arrest him.
She gifted him with a smile. "There's no way I'll lose."
She pushed her little pile of chips into the pot and dropped the necklace on top. "That's a raise of thirty-five to you."
He pursed his lips. "So it is." One by one, he tossed his remaining chips to the center of the table, counting them off as he went, until the last one was gone. "There's your thirty-five."
Kit reached out to turn over her kings, but his hand shot up in a gesture to halt. "I'm not quite finished yet."
Frowning, she opened her mouth to protest. Her jaw nearly dropped off when he oh-so-casually reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the red chip the bimbo had placed there.
"And I'll raise you five."
Outraged, she leaped to her feet. "That's not fair!"
