Convincing Alex

“I know. It’s fabulous.” With a laugh, she tucked an arm around Lori’s waist. “I got ideas for the next three years. If we decide to have Elana arrested for Reed’s murder…”

“I don’t know about having Reed murdered.”

With a sigh, Bess looked around for a cab. “Lori, we both know Jim isn’t going to sign another contract. He wants to try the big leagues. Having his character offed is the perfect way to beef up Elana’s story line.”

“Maybe.”

Bess slyly pulled out her ace. “‘Our Lives, Our Loves’ picked up two points in the ratings last month.”

Lori only grunted.

“Word is Dr. Amanda Jamison is going to have twins.”

“Twins?” Lori shut her eyes. Soap diva Ariel Kirkwood, who played the long-suffering psychiatrist on the competing soap, was daytime’s most popular star. “It had to be twins,” Lori muttered. “Okay, Reed dies.”

Bess allowed herself one quick victory smile, then hurried on.

“Anyway, while I was in there, I was picturing the elegant, cool Dr. Elana Warfield Stafford Carstairs in prison. Fabulous, Lori. It’d be fabulous. I wish you’d seen the cop.”

They’d walked to the corner, and there wasn’t a cab in sight. “What cop?”

“The one who arrested me. He was incredibly sexy.”

Lori only had the energy to sigh. “Leave it to you to get busted by a sexy cop.”

“Really. All this thick black hair. His eyes were nearly black, too. Very intense. He had all those hollows and planes in his face, and this beautiful mouth. Nice build, too. Sort of rough-and-ready. Like a boxer, maybe.”

“Don’t start, Bess.”

“I’m not. I can find a man sexy and attractive without falling in love.”

Lori shot her a look. “Since when?”

“Since the last time. I’ve sworn off, remember?” Her smile perked up when she spotted a cab heading their way. “I’m interested in this Stanislaski for strictly professional reasons.”

“Right.” Resigned, Lori climbed in when the cab swung to the curb.

“I swear.” She lifted her right hand to add impact to the oath. “We want to get into Storm’s head more, into his background and stuff. So I pick this cop’s brain a little.” She gave a cabbie both her address and Lori’s. “After Jade gets attacked by the Millbrook Maniac, Storm isn’t going to be able to hold back his feelings for her. More has to come out about who and what he is. If we do have Elana arrested for Reed’s murder, that’s going to complicate his life—you know, family loyalty versus professional ethics. And once he confronts Brock—”

“Hey.” At a red light, the cabbie turned, peering at them from under his fading Mets cap. “You talking about ‘Secret Sins’?”

“Yeah.” Bess brightened. “Do you watch it?”

“The wife tapes it every day. You don’t look familiar.”

“We’re not on it,” Bess explained. “We write it.”

“Gotcha.” Satisfied, he punched the accelerator when the light changed. “Let me tell you what I think about that two-timing Vicki.”

As he proceeded to do just that, Bess leaned forward, debating with him. Lori closed her eyes and tried to catch up on lost sleep.

CHAPTER TWO

“My wife went nuts.” Judd Malloy munched on his cherry Danish while Alex swung in and out of downtown traffic. “She’s a big fan of that soap, you know? Tapes it every day when she’s in school.”

“Terrific.” Alex had been doing his best to forget his little encounter with the soap queen, but his partner wasn’t cooperating.

“Holly figures it was just like meeting a celebrity.”

“You don’t find many celebrities turning tricks.”

“Come on, Alex.” Judd washed down the Danish with heavily sugared coffee. “She wasn’t, really. You said so yourself, or the charges wouldn’t have been dropped.”

“She was stupid,” Alex said between his teeth. “Carrying a damn water pistol in that suitcase of hers. I guess she figured if a john got rough, she’d blat him between the eyes and that would be that.”

Judd started to comment on how it might feel to get a blat of ammonia in the eyes, but didn’t think his partner wanted to hear it. “Well, Holly was impressed, and we got some fresh juice out of Rosalie, so we didn’t waste our time.”

“Malloy, you’d better get used to wasting time. Stanislaski’s rule number four.” Alex spotted the building he was looking for and double-parked. He was already out of the car and across the sidewalk before Judd found the NYPD sign and stuck it in the window. “We sure as hell could be wasting it here with this Domingo.”

“Rosalie said—”

“Rosalie said what we wanted to hear so we’d spring her,” Alex told him. His cop’s eyes were already studying the building, noting windows, fire escapes, roof. “Maybe she gave us the straight shot on Domingo, and maybe she pulled it out of a hat. We’ll see.”

The place was in good repair. No graffiti, no broken glass or debris. Lower-middle-income, Alex surmised. Established families, mostly blue-collar. He pulled open the heavy entrance door, then scanned the names above the line of mailboxes.

“J. Domingo. 212.” Alex pushed the buzzer for 110, waited, then hit 305. The answering buzz released the inner door. “People are so careless,” he commented. He could feel Judd’s nerves shimmering as they climbed the stairs, but he could tell he was holding it together. He’d damn well better hold it together, Alex thought as he gestured Judd into position, then knocked on the door of 212. He knocked a second time before he heard the cursing answer.

When the door opened a crack, Alex braced his body against it to keep it that way. “How’s it going, Jesús?”

“What the hell do you want?”

He fit Rosalie’s description, Alex noted. Right down to the natty Clark Gable moustache and the gold incisor. “Conversation, Jesús. Just a little conversation.”

“I don’t talk to nobody at this hour.”

When he tried to shove the door to, Alex merely leaned on it and flipped open his badge. “You don’t want to be rude, do you? Why don’t you ask us in?”

Swearing in Spanish, Jesús Domingo cracked the door a little wider. “You got a warrant?”

“I can get one, if you want more than conversation. I can take you down for questioning, get the paperwork and do the job before your shyster lawyer can tap-dance you out. Want a team of badges in here, Jesús?”

“I haven’t done nothing.” He stepped back from the door, a small man with wiry muscles who was wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts.

“Nobody said you did. Did I say he did, Malloy?”

Enjoying himself, Judd stepped in behind Alex. “Nope.”

The building might be lower-middle-class, but Domingo’s apartment was a small high-tech palace. State-of-the-art stereo equipment, Alex noted. A big-screen TV with some very classy video toys. The wall of tapes ran mostly to the X-rated.

“Nice place,” Alex commented. “You sure know how to make your unemployment check stretch.”

“I got a good head for figures.” Domingo plucked up a pack of cigarettes from a table, lighted one. “So?”

“So, let’s talk about Angie Horowitz.”

Domingo blew out smoke and scratched at the hair on his chest. “Never heard of her.”

“Funny, we got word you were one of her regulars, and her main supplier.”

“You got the wrong word.”

“Maybe you don’t recognize the name.” Alex reached into his inside jacket pocket, and his fingers brushed over his leather shoulder harness as he pulled out a manila envelope. “Why don’t you take a look?” He stuck the police shot under Domingo’s nose and watched his olive complexion go a sickly gray. “Look familiar?”

“Man.” Domingo’s fingers shook as he brought his cigarette to his lips.

“Problem?” Alex glanced down at the photo himself. There hadn’t been much left of Angie for the camera. “Oh, hey, sorry about that, Jesús. Malloy, didn’t I tell you not to put the dead shot in?”

Judd shrugged, feigning casualness. He was thinking he was glad he didn’t have to look at it again himself. “Guess I made a mistake.”

“Yeah.” All the while he spoke, Alex held the photo where Domingo could see it. “Guy’s a rookie,” he explained. “Always screwing up. You know. Poor little Angie sure got sliced, didn’t she? Coroner said the guy put about forty holes in her. You can see most of them. Poor Malloy here took one look and lost his breakfast. I keep telling him not to eat those damned greasy Danishes before we go check out a stiff, but like I said…” Alex grinned to himself as Domingo made a dash for the bathroom.

“That was cold, Stanislaski,” Judd said, grinning.

“Yeah, I’m that kind of guy.”

“And I didn’t throw up my breakfast.”

“You wanted to.” The sounds coming from the bathroom were as unpleasant as they get. Alex tapped on the door. “Hey, Jesús, you okay, man? I’m really sorry about that.” He passed the photo and envelope to Judd. “Tell you what, let me get you some nice cold water, okay?”

The answer was a muffled retch that Alex figured anyone could take for assent. He moved into the kitchen and opened the freezer. The two kilos were exactly where Rosalie had said he’d find them. He took one out just as Domingo rushed in.

“You got no warrant. You got no right.”

“I was getting you some ice.” Alex turned the frozen cocaine over in his hands. “This doesn’t look like a TV dinner to me. What do you think, Malloy?”

By leaning a shoulder against the door jamb, Judd blocked the doorway. “Not the kind my mother used to make.”

“You son of a bitch.” Domingo wiped his mouth with a clenched fist. “You violated my civil rights. I’ll be out before you can blink.”

“Could be.” Taking an evidence bag out of his pocket, Alex slipped both kilos inside. “Malloy, why don’t you read our friend his rights while he’s getting dressed? And, Jesús, try some mouthwash.”

“Stanislaski,” the desk sergeant called out when Alex came up from seeing Domingo into a cell. “You got company.”

Alex glanced over toward his desk, seeing that several cops were huddled around it. There was quite a bit of laughter overriding the usual squad room noise. Curiosity had him moving forward even before he saw the legs. Legs he recognized. They were crossed at the knee and covered almost modestly in a canary-yellow skirt.

He recognized the rest of her, too, though the tough little body was clad in a multihued striped blazer and a scoop-necked blouse the same color as the skirt. Half a dozen slim columns of gold danced at her ears as she laughed. She looked better, sexier, he was forced to admit, with her mouth unpainted, her freckles showing, and those big green eyes subtly smudged with color. Her hair was artfully tousled, a rich, deep red that made him think of a mahogany statue his brother had carved for him.

“So I told the mayor we’d try to work it in, and we’d love for him to come on the show and do a cameo.” She shifted on the desk and spotted Alex. He was frowning at her, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of a leather bomber jacket. “Officer Stanislaski.”

“McNee.” He inclined his head, then swept his gaze over his fellow officers. “The boss comes in and finds you here, I might have to tell him how you didn’t have enough work and volunteered to take some of mine.”

“Just entertaining your guest, Stanislaski.” But the use of the squad room’s nickname for their captain had the men drifting reluctantly away.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I—”

“You’re sitting on a homicide,” he told her.

“Oh.” She scooted off the desk. Without the stilettos, she was half a head shorter than he. Alex discovered he preferred it that way. “Sorry. I came by to thank you for straightening things out for me.”

“That’s what they pay me for. Straightening things out.” He’d been certain she would rave a bit about being tossed into a cell, but she was smiling, friendly as a kindergarten teacher. Though he couldn’t recall ever having a teacher who looked like her. Or smelled like her.

“Regardless, I appreciate it. My producer’s very tolerant, but if it had gone much further, she would have been annoyed.”

“Annoyed?” Alex repeated. He stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto his chair. “She’d have been annoyed to find out that one of her writers was out soliciting johns down at Twenty-third and Eleventh Avenue.”

“Researching,” Bess corrected, unoffended. “Darla—that’s my producer—she gets these headaches. I gave her a whopper when I went on a job with a cat burglar.”

“With a…” He let his words trail off and eased down on the spot on the desk she’d just vacated. “I don’t think you want to tell me about that.”

“Actually, he was a former cat burglar. Fascinating guy. I just had him show me how he’d break into my apartment.” She frowned a little, remembering. “I guess he was a little rusty. The alarm—”

“Don’t.” Alex held up a hand. He was beginning to feel a headache coming on himself.

“That’s old news, anyway.” She waved it away with a cheerful gesture of her hands. “Do you have a first name, or do I just call you Officer?”

“It’s Detective.”

“Your first name is Detective?”

“No, my rank.” He let out a sigh. “Alex.”

“Alex. That’s nice.” She ran a fingertip over the strap of his harness. She wasn’t being provocative; she wanted to know what it felt like. Once she knew him better, she was sure, she’d talk him into letting her try it on. “Well, Alex, I was wondering if you’d let me use you.”

He’d been a cop for more than five years, and until this moment he hadn’t thought anything could surprise him. But it took him three seconds to close his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s just that you’re so perfect.” She stepped closer. She really wanted to get a better look at his weapon—without being obvious about it.

She smelled like sunshine and sex. As he drew it in, Alex thought that combination would baffle any man. “I’m perfect?”

“Absolutely.” She looked straight into his eyes and smiled. Her gaze was frank and assessing. She was studying him, the way a woman might study a dress in a showroom window. “You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

Her eyes were pure green. No hint of gray or blue, no flecks of gold. There was a small dimple near her mouth. Only one. Nothing about that odd, sexy face was balanced. “What you’re looking for?”

“I know you’re busy, but I’d try not to take up too much of your time. An hour now and then.”

“An hour?” He caught himself echoing her, and shook himself loose. “Listen, I appreciate—”

“You’re not married, are you?”

“Married? No, but—”

“That makes it simpler. It just came to me last night when I was getting into bed.”

God. He’d learned to appreciate women early. And he’d learned to juggle them skillfully—if he said so himself. He knew how to dodge, when to evade and when to sit back and enjoy. But with this one, all bets were off.

“Is this heavy?” she asked, fiddling with his harness.

“You get used to it. It’s just there.”

Her smile warmed, making him think of sunlight again. “Perfect,” she murmured. “I’d be willing to compensate you for your time, and your expertise.”

“You’d be—” He wasn’t certain if he was insulted or embarrassed. “Hold on, babe.”

“Just think about it,” Bess said quickly. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I have this problem with Matthew.”

A brand-new emotion snuck in under his guard, and it was as green as her eyes. “Matthew? Who the hell is Matthew?”

“We call him Storm, actually. Lieutenant Storm Warfield, Millbrook PD.”

Now he definitely had a headache. Alex rubbed his fingers against his temple. “Millbrook?”

“The fictional town of Millbrook, where the show’s set. It’s supposed to be somewhere in the Midwest. Storm’s a cop. Personally, his life’s a mess, but professionally, he’s focused and intense and occasionally ruthless. In this new story line I’m working on, I want to concentrate on his police work, the routine, the frustrations.”

“Wait.” He’d always been quick, but it was taking him a minute to change gears. “You want me to help you with a story line?”

“Exactly. If you could just tell me how you think, how you go about solving a case, working with the system or around it. TV cops have to work around the system quite a bit, you know. It plays better than by-the-book.”

He swore under his breath and rubbed his hands over his face. Damn it, his palms were sweaty. “You’re a real case, McNee.”

“You don’t have to decide right now.” She was also persistent. And she wondered if he had a spare gun strapped to his calf. One of those sexy-looking little chrome jobs. She’d seen that ploy in several movies. Still, she thought if she asked him that, she’d lose her edge. “I’m having a thing tonight.” As she spoke, she dug into her huge bag for her notebook. “Eight o’clock until whenever. Bring a friend, if you like. Your partner, too. He seemed very sweet.”

“He’s adorable.”

“Yeah.” She ripped off the page and handed it to him. “I’d really like you to stop by.”

He took the sheet, not bothering to remind her he already had her address. “Why?”

“Why not?” She beamed at him again.

Before he could list the reasons, he heard his name called.

“Alexi.”

Alexi. Bess was already enchanted with the sound as she rolled the name over in her head. Different, exotic. Sexy. She was certain it suited him much more than the casual Alex.

Bess studied the woman bearing down on them. This wasn’t one who’d be lost in a crowd, she mused. She was stunning, totally self-assured and very pregnant. Beside Bess, Alex pushed off the desk and sighed.

“Rachel.”

“A moment of your time, Detective,” Rachel said, flipping a glance over Bess before pinning Alex with a tawny stare. “To reacquaint you with civil rights.”

“Your sister?” Bess surmised, beaming at both of them.

Alex sent her a considering frown. “How did you know that?”

“I’m really good with faces. Same bone structure, same coloring, same mouth. You have to be brother and sister, or first cousins.”

“Guilty,” Rachel admitted. Though she would have liked to know what Alex was doing with the sharp-eyed redhead, she wasn’t about to be swayed from her duties as a public defender. “Jesús Domingo, Alexi. Illegal search and seizure.”

“Bull.” Alex crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk.

“You had a search warrant?”

“Didn’t need one. He invited us in.”

“And invited you to poke through his belongings, I suppose.”

“Nope.” Alex grinned while Bess watched them bounce the verbal ball as though they were champion tennis players. “Jesús got sick. I offered to get him some water. He didn’t object. I opened the freezer to get the poor guy some ice, and there it was. Two kilos. It’ll all be in my report.”

“That’s lame, Alexi. You’ll never get a conviction.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Talk to the DA.”

“I intend to.” Rachel shifted her briefcase and began to rub her belly in circular motions to soothe the baby, who seemed to be doing aerobics in her womb. “You had no probable cause.”

“Sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down.”

“The baby does.” He yanked over a chair and all but shoved her into it. “When are you going to knock this off?”

It did feel better to sit. Indescribably better. But she wasn’t about to admit it. “The baby’s not due for two months. I have plenty of time. We were discussing…”

“Rach.” He laid a hand on her cheek, very gently. A shouted curse wouldn’t have stopped her, but the small gesture did. “Don’t make me worry about you.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m having a baby. It’s not contagious. Now, about Domingo.”

Alex gave a brief, pithy opinion on what could be done with Domingo. “Talk to the DA,” he repeated. “Sitting down.”

“She looks pretty strong to me,” Bess commented. Two pair of eyes turned to her, one furious, the other thoughtful.

“Thank you. The men in my life are coddlers,” Rachel explained. “Sweet, but annoying.”

“Muldoon should take better care of you,” Alex insisted.

“I don’t need Zack to take care of me. And the fact is, between him and Nick, I’m barely allowed to brush my own teeth.” She held out a hand to Bess. “Since my brother is too rude to introduce me, I’m Rachel Muldoon.”

“Bess McNee. You’re a lawyer?”

“That’s right. I work for the public defender’s office.”

“Really?” Bess’s thoughts began to perk. “What’s it like to—”

Alex held up a hand. “Don’t get her started. She’ll pick your brain clean before you know she’s had her fingers in it. Look, McNee—” he turned to Bess, determined not to be charmed by her easy smile “—we’re a little busy here.”

“Of course you are. I’m sorry.” Obligingly she swung her huge purse on to her shoulder. “We’ll talk tonight. Nice to meet you, Rachel.”

“Same here.” Rachel ran her tongue over her teeth, and both she and Alex watched Bess weave her way out of the squad room. “Well, that was rude.”

“It’s the only way to handle her. Believe me.”

“Hmm… She seems like an interesting woman. How did you meet her?”

“Don’t ask.” He sat back down on his desk, irked that the scent of sunshine and sex still lingered in the air.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Holly, Judd’s pretty wife of eight months, was all but hopping out of her party shoes. “Wait until I tell everyone in the teachers’ lounge where I spent the evening.”

“Take it easy, honey.” Judd tugged at the tie she’d insisted he wear. “It’s just a party.”

“Just a party?” As the elevator rode up, she fussed with her honey-brown hair. “I don’t know about you two, but it isn’t every day I get to eat canapés with celebrities.”

Ominously silent, Alex stayed hunched in his leather jacket. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. His first mistake had been mentioning the invitation to Judd. No matter how insouciant Judd pretended to be, he’d been bursting at the seams when he called his wife. Alex had been swept along in their enthusiasm.

But he wasn’t going to stay. Holly’s sense of decorum might have insisted that she and Judd couldn’t attend without him, but he’d already decided just how he’d play it. He’d go in, maybe have a beer and a couple of crackers. Then he’d slip out again. He’d be damned if he’d spend this rare free evening playing soap-opera groupie.

“Oh, my” was all Holly could say when the elevator doors opened.

The walls of the private foyer were splashed with a mural of the city. Times Square, Rockefeller Center, Harlem, Little Italy, Broadway. People seemed to be rushing along the walls, just as they did the streets below. It was as if the woman who lived here didn’t want to miss one moment of the action.

The wide door to the main apartment was open, and music, laughter and conversation were pouring out, along with the scents of hot food and burning candles.

“Oh, my,” Holly said again, dragging her husband along as she stepped inside.

From behind them, Alex scanned the room. It was huge, and it was packed with people. Draped in silk or cotton, clad in business suits and lush gowns, they stood elbow to elbow on the hardwood floor, lounged hip to hip on the sapphire cushions of the enormous circular conversation pit, sat knee to knee on the steps of a bronze circular staircase that led to an open loft where still more people leaned against a railing decked with naked cherubs.

Two huge windows let the lights of the city in. More partygoers sat on the pillow-plumped window seats, balancing plates and glasses on their laps.

Paintings were scattered over the ivory-toned walls. Vivid, frenetic modern art, mind-bending surrealism. There was enough color to make his head swim. Yet, through the crowd and the clashing tones, he saw her. Dancing seductively with a distinguished-looking man in a gray pin-striped suit.

She wore an excuse for a dress, the color of crushed purple grapes. He wondered, irritated, if she owned anything that covered those legs. This number certainly didn’t. Nor did it cover much territory at all, the way it dipped to the waist in the back, skimmed above mid-thigh and left her shoulders bare, but for skinny, glittery straps. Multihued gemstones fell in a rope from her earlobes to those nicely sloped shoulders. Her feet were bare.