by Joanne Rock
Definitely the sort of shoulders a woman wouldn’t mind molding. In clay, of course.
He peered around her apartment as if to test the truth of her assertion that she only came here to work. Curse the man and his unwanted sex appeal. Wasn’t she the victim here? Shouldn’t he make a passing effort to ask her if she was okay? She’d never been a paranoid woman, but it seemed as if even the toughest of chicks would be shaken by the sight of their personal lives churned through a giant blender and spit out like an aftertaste all over the floor.
“As soon as we’ve finished collecting evidence, we need to do a thorough walk-through to see if anything’s missing. In the meantime, I’ve got some other questions I’d like to ask you about Boucher Enterprises.” His gray eyes slid back to her, fixing her with unsettling direct ness. And something more? She could almost imagine a hint of male interest there. Then again, she could be dabbling in big-time escapist thinking to drool over Wesley Shaw instead of focusing on the criminal act some scumbag had committed against her.
“You recognized the name?” She had rather hoped he wouldn’t want to discuss her connection to the famous family, but no doubt reporters would have jumped on the police report the moment it was filed anyhow.
Her misfortune would be all over the papers and would certainly prompt more irritated phone calls from her mother about the need to move back to the safety of the family’s Park Avenue building on a full-time basis. The media would discover the location of her weekend hideaway and make life in Chelsea impossible. And then there would be the outcry from the Boucher board of directors who never understood her desire to have a life separate and distinct from her commitment to the company.
“There aren’t many people in New York who wouldn’t. The Post ran a feature on you just a couple of weeks ago—”
“I remember.” How could she forget the story that implied she had a fixation with younger men? As if her last-minute decision to go to the cinema with the barely-legal performance artist who ran a coffee shop around the corner counted as a date. “Can we move on to your questions, please?”
Adopting her best all-business demeanor, she dismissed the topic, unwilling to think about what kind of man she would have rather been dating than the coffee guy. Tempest might not enjoy her role in Boucher Enterprises as a corporate bigwig, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t play the part when necessary. After coming home to a trashed apartment, finding her last year’s worth of work destroyed and missing Days to boot, she wasn’t really in the mood to put up with a lot of innuendo. And she definitely didn’t want to find herself day dreaming about the detective’s shoulders again.
Before he could say anything, however, one of the officers called Wes from the other side of the room.
“Looks like we’ve got a message from our perpetrator, Shaw.” Standing next to the computer armoire, the cop held a pile of clothes that had been draped over the monitor. Now that the mountain of lace and satin had been moved aside to reveal the screen, the neatly typed words in extra large font were visible from clear across the room.
You’re in the wrong business, bitch. Rising, Tempest read the message aloud as she stepped closer to the computer, her frustrations with Wesley Shaw forgotten in the sudden onslaught of cold, clammy fear.
The warning written on her computer screen—the cursor still blinking at the end of the last word—had been left by someone who knew her. The break-in was no random act of city crime, but a calculated plan carried out against her specifically.
The thought made her a little woozy. She’d fought so hard for a small slice of independence in a life filled with commitments to her family’s business. The unassuming downtown address and her sculpting gave her a taste of normal life where she wasn’t under the constant surveillance of security cameras or family bodyguards. But if her weekend apartment haven wasn’t safe, did that mean she’d have to return to the Boucher clan com pound that was as secure as Fort Knox and just about as homey?
“Tempest?” Detective Shaw stood beside her now, his voice quieter. Softer, even. But the gaze he directed on her remained detached and—could she be reading him right?—suspicious. “I think it’s time we talked more specifically about your line of work.”
Tempest chewed her lip, trying to figure out what this man was driving at and why she’d roused his suspicions. Unfortunately, he’d roused a different sort of feeling altogether within her. But no matter what she thought of Detective Wesley Shaw, his brusque manners and un deniable sex appeal, she recognized him as her best hope of keeping her studio a safe retreat.
Somehow she would ignore this unwelcome hum of attraction and do whatever it took to help Wes with his case.
CHAPTER TWO
“HOW MUCH TIME do you have, Detective?” Tempest wrapped her arms around herself, clearly shaken by the note on her computer screen. “As the temporary CEO of Boucher Enterprises, I’m involved in overseeing many smaller companies in a wide variety of businesses. I also support my studio with my sculpting, so I consider that a line of work as well.”
Wes felt a tug of sympathy for her. He’d had enough years in law enforcement to be pretty astute about sizing up people’s stories, and Tempest was either a hell of an actress or genuinely surprised and scared to have found her home ransacked.
Of course, that didn’t clear her of wrongdoing. She could still be connected to his murder case, or have some hand in the prostitution ring his informant assured him operated under the guise of the MatingGame.com name. Her genuine fear and surprise might simply stem from dismay that someone was on to her.
Hell, for that matter, maybe his sudden eagerness to clear her name had more to do with the fact that he wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Thoughts of her dressed in some of the skimpy lingerie scattered all over the apartment invaded his brain despite his most valiant attempts to staunch them. Was she wearing an outfit like that under her pantsuit right now?
Shoving aside the thought, he forced himself to focus on the case. On her valid worries.
“Do you have reason to believe any of your assorted businesses could be involved in illegal practices?” This was the revealing question, the one that could give her away if she hid an affiliation to a high-priced call girl ring. She certainly had all the right social connections to provide the city’s wealthiest men with escorts.
And damned if he didn’t really hate that idea.
The mountains of lingerie strewn all over her apartment took on a more sinister meaning.
“Detective Shaw, I assure you if I had any reason to suspect one of my companies engaged in illegal practices, it would already be shut down.” She fixed her tawny stare, eyes as cold and remote as the chunk of smoky quartz at her neck. “If you have any grounds for suspecting one of my businesses is involved in something devious, I urge you to fill me in immediately so I can put the proper balls on the chopping block.”
The threat seemed all the more convincing in light of the disembodied clay penis he’d unearthed earlier. He hadn’t expected so much fervor from a woman he planned to keep on his suspect list.
Did it make him sadistic that Tempest Boucher and her bloodthirsty promise were turning into the most interesting case he’d had in nearly two years? As the web of intrigue around this mystery tightened, Wes experienced the first hint of enjoyment in his job that he’d had in far too long. “Is that how Boucher Enterprises deals with employees who don’t toe the company line?”
“It is while I’m at the helm. My family has been through enough over the past eight months without adding the media frenzy any illegal business practices would cause.”
“Do you keep work-related files on your home computer?” His gaze strayed back to the PC where the officer had just finished fingerprinting the keyboard. Wes wanted to get his hands on that computer to see what secrets he could shake loose from the circuitry.
Besides, better to think about laying his hands on the computer than think about using them on the woman in front of him who needed to
be off-limits for as long as she was a suspect.
“Nothing related to Boucher Enterprises, but I do the accounting for my sculpting work here.” She snorted. “Such as it is. It’s not exactly keeping me in high style. And now that all my inventory has been destroyed—”
She broke off, surprising Wes with a hint of vulnerability he hadn’t expected. The woman lived her life in a relentless public spotlight, ran a company with a net worth that boggled the imagination, and could afford anything her heart desired. Yet she seemed genuinely distressed about the loss of her homemade statues.
“If it’s any consolation, insurance ought to cover their value.” Maybe that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but his practical side couldn’t help pointing out she wouldn’t be hurt financially.
Her curt nod and well-camouflaged sniffle assured him he hadn’t consoled her in the least.
“I’m sure you’re right. Do you think the person who broke in here was looking for business information of some sort?” She relieved the other officer of his handful of lingerie and the guy got back to work looking around the apartment. Tempest tossed the silky pile of undergarments on the arm of a red floral club chair.
Wes couldn’t say how long he stared at the stack of lace and satin, imagining the black silk hugging Tem pest’s hips, the blue netting cupping generous breasts…
But he knew it took a Herculean effort to pull his thoughts back to reality. Blinking hard, he wrenched his gaze away.
“Possibly.” Deciding he was making zero progress by waiting for her to incriminate herself, Wes laid more of his cards on the table, still searching for some telltale reaction. At the very least, by sharing his suspicions he would put her on the defensive if she was guilty. Maybe she’d trip up and give him the lead he needed. “I’m investigating a small company owned by Boucher Enterprises. MatingGame.com?”
“The Internet dating service?”
“You’re familiar with the business?”
“I brought them aboard myself shortly before my father’s death.” She whistled to her dog and absently petted the animal while she spoke. “They had a talented Web mistress who keeps the site fresh and provides great visibility all over the Web, but they were being inundated by crank dating résumés and starting to flounder under client dissatisfaction. Boucher brought the financial help they needed to screen all their clients by collecting more in formation. I believe they’re turning a very healthy profit now.”
“I believe they are a front for a prostitution ring.” He kept his gaze direct. Detached. That was a crucial part of interrogation unless you had a damn good reason for wanting your suspect to think you were on their side.
Wes didn’t know whether he’d struck pay dirt or if he’d merely scared the hell out of her, but she swayed on her feet at the news.
Damn.
“Are you okay?” He reached for her on instinct, pushing aside his need to dig for the truth long enough to steady her.
His hand went automatically to her waist, securing her at the base of her spine. Right away he knew touching her had been a mistake, but what the hell else could he have done? She looked as though she’d seen a damn ghost.
Too bad all he could think of was how tiny her waist felt under her jacket. The tailored cut wasn’t nearly tailored enough, the fabric not doing justice to the cinch of her midsection between gently flared hips and incredible cleavage.
Her scent—something rich and warm that made him think of the hot chestnuts sold by street vendors all winter—made him feel damn light-headed too. Good thing he would let her go any second now.
Yup. Any minute.
“I’m fine.” Tempest cleared her throat, the soft vibration of her voice reverberating gently against his palm where he still touched her. She stepped away before he remembered he was supposed to be letting go.
Cursing himself and his stupid sex-starved senses, Wes regretted the loss of mental control. He hadn’t done anything outwardly inappropriate, but his thoughts were another story. Worst of all, he’d lost track of his instincts since they’d gotten mixed with lust.
Where the hell was the cop buzz when he needed it? It seemed to have been soundly thrashed by a much louder hum of desire.
“I don’t know anything about MatingGame being involved in illegal activity, but you caught me off guard since—” She peered over her shoulder toward the other officers in the apartment. “Can we possibly speak in private?”
Surprised at her apparent need to confess, Wes couldn’t deny a rush of disappointment. The sexual hunger simmering in his veins had been really rooting for this woman’s innocence.
“Sure.” He shouted to the cops finishing up their routine search for evidence and quickly cleared the room of everyone but the two of them and Eloise, who curled up in front of the door for a snooze.
Wes hoped Vanessa wouldn’t show up on the scene too soon now that Tempest appeared so close to telling him what she knew. His partner had planned to investigate a few other leads on their murder case, but he expected she’d arrive at the precinct soon.
Now he settled in the club chair, a safe distance from the temptation presented by the first woman to send sparks his way in too long.
And didn’t it just figure she was going to turn out to be part of a prostitution ring?
Tempest eyed the muscular cop sprawled in a chair two sizes too small for him and prayed she was making the right decision by trusting him. But if he was investigating MatingGame, he might as well know everything she knew.
She sank down into the couch across from him and dug out the old memories that had caused her family so much pain.
“You’re probably familiar with the scandal surrounding my father’s death last year while he was in Mexico?” It had been the subject of speculation in the papers for weeks, making it nearly impossible to grieve privately.
“Heart attack during sex with a much younger lover, right?” Detective Shaw didn’t look scandalized in the least. Somehow, that made it easier to continue.
“Most people assumed it was a heart attack, allowing us to keep quiet the fact that the Mexican officials said he actually died of asphyxiation. You know how some people think cutting off their oxygen supply will increase the power of their release?” She waited for his nod, her cheeks heating at the nature of the discussion. She’d never been a shy woman, but the frank sex talk unnerved her.
Especially in light of her inconvenient attraction to the cop.
“He died during kinky sex?” One eyebrow lifted.
“Yes. And the woman involved might have come under more scrutiny if my mother hadn’t assured police my father had been perfecting ways to achieve the ultimate release throughout their marriage. It was one of the core reasons my parents fought.” Her mother had been horrified by her husband’s increasing obsession with pushing sex to the limit, finally walking out when he’d nearly strangled himself, although they’d never actually divorced. Apparently Ray Boucher demanded as much from his sexual encounters as he had from every other facet of his glittering, over-the-top lifestyle. “And as it happened, the woman my father had been with that last night wasn’t really a girlfriend. She was a one-night stand he’d met through MatingGame.”
Wes sat straighter in his chair, his long, lean body suddenly charged with alertness. “She never said any thing to the press?”
“My mother and I made a trip south of the border to appeal to her sense of common decency and asked her to keep the sordid details to herself since the local officials didn’t leak the information to the media.” The woman had been nice enough and she’d been as eager as they were to put the ordeal behind her. “We helped her to relocate overseas so she wouldn’t be faced with the situation day in and day out over the turbulent months that followed.”
“You paid her off?”
“Hardly. She was down on her luck after a divorce left her broke, which was why my mother and I thought it would be just as well to help her start over again. Last I heard, she’d learned to speak I
talian and settled just outside of Florence.”
“But you felt guilty enough about the whole situation to confess all this to me,” he pointed out with a bluntness Tempest began to recognize as part of his investigative style.
Or maybe it was just his personality. She had found it rather cold at first, but after a lifetime surrounded by people who were often pleasant to her face only for personal gain, she was beginning to find his direct manner more appealing.
Or maybe it was simply all those hard male muscles she found interesting. She hadn’t been enticed to get close to a man in a very long time.
“I don’t feel guilty about it in the least since no one outside his family needs to know what happened to my father. I was just taken aback when you mentioned MatingGame could be a cover for a prostitution ring.” She had thought the scandal of having her father die in bed while having adulterous sex with a woman half his age had been bad. Imagine the repercussions if the adulterous sex turned out to be part of an encounter with a prostitute?
The tabloids would have a field day, her mother would be humiliated and Boucher Enterprises would suffer. And while Tempest and her family were well-insulated from the rises and falls of the business, she couldn’t help but think of the people who worked for the company in one capacity or another. Those were the people who would suffer the most.
“You’re worried about the negative press that will ensue if people learn your father cavorted with a prostitute.” Shaw nodded knowingly, as if that statement summed up the situation.
