Convincing Alex Read online

  “And why millions of viewers love to hate him. If we’re going to take him out, let’s do it big. They’re all there at Reed’s mansion…. Jade, who’s never forgiven him for using her sister for his own evil ends. Elana, who’s agonizing over the fact that Reed will use his secret file, distorting the information to discredit Max.”

  “Mmm…” Getting into the spirit, Lori gestured with her watered-down soft drink. “Brock, who’s furious that with one phone call Reed can upset the delicate balance of the Tryson deal and cost Brock a fortune. And Miriam, of course.”

  “Of course. We haven’t seen nearly enough of her lately. Reed’s self-destructive ex-wife, who blames him for all her problems.”

  “Justifiably,” Lori pointed out.

  “Then there’s Vicki, the woman scorned. Jeffrey, the cuckolded husband.” She grinned. “And the rest of the usual suspects.”

  “Okay. What kind of poison?”

  “Something rare,” Bess mused. “Maybe Oriental. I’ll work on it.” She scribbled a reminder on a notepad. “So they all have a motive for killing him. Even the housekeeper, because he seduced her naive, innocent daughter, then cast her aside. Sometime during the party, we see a glass of champagne. The room’s in shadows. Close-up on a small black vial. A hand pours a few drops into the glass.”

  “We’ll see if it’s a man or woman.”

  “The hand’s gloved,” Bess decided, then realized how ridiculous it would be to wear gloves at a cocktail party. “Okay, okay, we don’t see it at the party. Before. There’s this box, see? This ornately carved wooden box.”

  “And the gloved hand opens it. Candlelight flickers off the glass vial as the hand removes it from the bed of velvet.”

  “That’s the ticket. We’ll cut to that kind of thing three or four times during the week of the party. Let the audience know it’s bad business for somebody.”

  “Meanwhile, Reed’s playing everyone like puppets. Handing out his personal brand of misery, building the pressure to the boiling point, until it explodes on the night of the party.”

  “It’ll be great,” Bess assured her. “Throughout the evening, Reed’s enjoying himself stirring up old fires, poking at sores. Miriam has too much to drink and gets sloppy and shrill. This provides the perfect distraction for our killer to doctor Reed’s champagne. Because it’s slow-acting, the symptoms don’t begin to show right away. We have some fatigue, a little dizziness, some minor pain. Maybe a rash.”

  “I like a good rash,” Lori agreed.

  “By the time he kicks off, it’ll be difficult for the cops to pinpoint the time and place when the poison was administered. We just might have the perfect crime.”

  “There is no perfect crime.”

  Both Bess and Lori glanced toward the doorway. Alex stood there, his hands tucked in his pockets. There was a half smile on his face, a result of his enjoyment at listening to them plotting a murder. “Besides, if your TV cop didn’t figure it out, your viewers would be pretty disappointed.”

  “He’ll figure it out.” Bess reached for another almond as she watched him, her bare feet propped on the chair beside her. Alex discovered that the baggy slacks she wore effectively hid her legs but didn’t stop him from thinking about them. “Did somebody call a cop?” she asked Lori.

  “Not me.” Well aware that three was most definitely a crowd, Lori rose. “Listen, I’ve got to make a call, and I think I’ll run up and peek in on the taping. Nice to see you, Detective.”

  “Yeah.” He shifted so that Lori could get through the door, but he didn’t step inside. Instead, he glanced around, annoyed with himself for feeling so awkward. “Some place,” he said at length.

  Bess’s lips curved. The room was hardly bigger than a closet and windowless. The table where she and Lori worked was covered with books, folders and papers, and dominated by a word processor that was still humming. Besides the table, there was one overstuffed chair, a small couch and two televisions.

  “We call it home,” Bess said, and tilted her head. “So, what brings you down to the dungeons, Alexi?”

  The description was fairly apt. They were in the basement of the building that held the studios and production offices for ‘Secret Sins’ and its network. He shrugged off her question with one of his own. “How long are you in for?”

  “The duration, I hope.” Casually she rubbed the ball of one foot over the instep of the other. “After the last Emmy, they did offer us an upstairs office with a view, but Lori and I are creatures of habit. Besides, who’s going to come down here and peek over our shoulders while we write?” She recrossed her ankles. “Are you off-duty?”

  “I took a couple hours’ personal time.”

  “Oh.” She drew the word out, thinking he looked very appealing when he was embarrassed. “Should I consider this a personal visit?”

  “Yeah.” He stepped inside, then regretted it. There wasn’t enough room to wander around. “Listen, I just wanted to apologize.”

  It was probably very small of her, Bess thought, but, oh, she was enjoying this. “Generally or specifically?”

  “Specifically.” He shook his head when she held out the bowl of almonds. “After the robbery attempt, when I took you home. I was out of line.”

  “Okay.” She set the bowl down and smiled at him. “We’re dealing with your behavior during the last half hour of the evening.”

  His brows drew together. “Everything I said before that sticks. You had no business doing what you were doing, where you were doing it.”

  “Get back to the apology. I like that better.”

  “I took what I was feeling out on you, and I’m sorry.” Figuring the worst was over, he sat on the edge of the table. “You didn’t react the way I expected.”

  “Which was?”

  “Scared, outraged, disgusted.” He shrugged again. “I don’t usually take women to armed robberies.”

  Now things were getting interesting. “Where do you take them?”

  His gaze locked on hers. He knew when he was being teased, and he knew when it was good-natured. “To dinner, to the flicks, dancing. To bed.”

  “Well, armed robbery is probably more exciting. At least than the first three.” She rose, placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “No hard feelings.” When his hands came to her hips and held her in place, she lifted a brow. “Was there something else?”

  “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “That could be good.”

  His lips twitched. “I haven’t decided that yet. Maybe we could start with dinner.”

  “Start what?”

  “Working our way to bed. That’s where I want you.”

  “Oh.” Her breath came out a little too quickly and not quite steady. It didn’t help that his eyes were calm, amused and very confident. How, she wondered, had their positions been so neatly reversed? “That’s certainly cutting to the chase.”

  “You said once that people in our professions observe people. What I’ve observed about you, McNee, is that you’d probably see through any flowers and moonbeams I might toss at you.”

  Slowly she ran her tongue over her teeth. “Depends on your pitching arm. The idea isn’t without its appeal, Alexi, but I prefer taking certain aspects of my life—sex being one of them—in a cautious, gradual manner.”

  He grinned at her. “That could be good.”

  She had to laugh. “Meanwhile—” But he didn’t let her scoot back.

  “Meanwhile,” he echoed, keeping his hands firm. “Have dinner with me. Just dinner.”

  Hadn’t she told herself she wasn’t going to get involved again, fall in love again? Oh, well. “I often enjoy just dinner.”

  “Tomorrow. I’m on tonight.”

  “Tomorrow’s fine.”

  He nudged her an inch closer. “I’m making you nervous.”

  “No, you’re not.” Yes, he was.

  “You’re wriggling.” He grinned again, surprised at how satisfying it was to k
now he’d unsettled her.

  “I’ve got work, that’s all.”

  “Me too. Why don’t I come by about seven-thirty? My brother-in-law’s got this place. I think you’ll get a kick out of it.”

  “Lady clothes or real clothes?”

  “What are you wearing now?”

  She glanced down at her sweater and slacks. “Real ones.”

  “That’ll do.” He stood, then tilted her chin with a finger until they were eye-to-eye. “You have the oddest face,” he said half to himself. “You should be ugly.”

  She laughed, unoffended. “I was. I’ve burned all pictures of me before the age of eighteen.” Her dimple winked out as she smiled at him. “I imagine you were always gorgeous.”

  He winced, though he knew he should be used to having that term applied to him. “My sisters were gorgeous,” he told her. “Are. My brother and I are ruggedly attractive.”

  “Ah, manly men.”

  “You got it.”

  “And you grew up surrounded by flocks of adoring females.”

  “We started with flocks and moved on to hordes.”

  Her eyes lit with amusement and curiosity. “What was it like to—”

  He cut her off the most sensible way. He liked the quick little jolt her body gave before she settled into him. And the way her mouth softened, accepted. No pretenses here, he thought as she gave a quiet sigh and melted into the kiss. It was simple and easy, as basic as breathing.

  If his system threatened to overcharge, he knew how to control it. Perhaps he drew the kiss out longer than he’d intended to, deepened it more than he had planned. But he was still in control. Maybe, for just a moment, he imagined what it would be like to lock the door, to sweep all those papers off the table and take her, fast and hot, on top of it.

  But he wasn’t a maniac. He reminded himself of that, even as his blood began to swim. A slow and gentle touch brought pleasure to both, and let a woman see that she was appreciated for everything she was.

  “Dangerous,” he murmured in Ukrainian as he slid his mouth from her. “Very dangerous woman.”

  “What?” She blinked at him with eyes that were arousingly unfocused and heavy. “What does that mean?”

  He had to make a conscious effort to keep his hands gentle at her shoulders. “I said I have to go. Keep off the streets, McNee.”

  She called to him as he reached the doorway. “Detective.” Her heart was thumping, her head was reeling, but she really hated not having the last word. For lack of anything better, she dredged up an old line from “Hill Street Blues.” “Let’s be careful out there.”

  Alone, she lowered herself into a chair, as carefully as an elderly aunt. Five minutes later, Lori found her in exactly the same spot, still staring into space.

  “Uh-oh.” One look had Lori dropping down beside her. With a shake of her head, she handed Bess a fresh soft drink. “I knew it. I knew this was going to happen the minute I saw that gorgeous cop at your party.”

  “It hasn’t happened yet.” Bess took a long drink. Funny, she hadn’t realized how dry her throat had become. “I’m afraid it’s going to, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

  “You had that same look on your face when you fell for Charlie. And for Sean. And Miguel. Not to mention—”

  “Then don’t.” Frowning, she focused on Lori. “Miguel? Are you certain? I was sure I had better taste.”

  “Miguel,” Lori said ruthlessly. “Granted, you came to your senses within forty-eight hours, but the day after he took you to the opera you had the same stupid look on your face.”

  “We saw Carmen,” Bess pointed out. “I don’t think the look had anything to do with him. Besides, I’m not in love with Alexi, I’m just having dinner with him tomorrow.”

  “That’s what you always say. Like with George.”

  Bess’s shoulders straightened. “George was the sweetest man I’ve ever known. Being engaged to him taught me a lot about understanding and compassion.”

  “I know. You were understanding enough to be godmother to his firstborn.”

  “Well, after all, I did introduce him to Nancy.”

  “And he promptly dumped you and ran off with her.”

  “He didn’t dump me. I wish you wouldn’t hold that against him, Lori. Breaking our engagement was a mutual decision.”

  “And the best thing to happen to you. George was a wimp. A whiny wimp.”

  Because it was precisely true, Bess sighed. “He just needed a lot of emotional support.”

  “At least you never slept with him.”

  “He was saving himself.”

  They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Once she caught her breath, Bess shook her head. “I should never have told you that. It was indiscreet.”

  “Observation,” Lori announced, and Bess gestured a go-ahead. “The cop isn’t going to save himself.”

  “I know.” Bess felt the warning flutter in her stomach. Thoughtfully she drew her finger down through the moisture on the bottle. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  “Bess, you don’t cross bridges, you burn them.” Lori gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Don’t get hurt.”

  There was a touch of regret in Bess’s smile. “Do I ever?”

  Alex liked the way she looked. It took a certain panache, he supposed, to be able to wear the jade-toned blouse with bright blue slacks, particularly if you were going to add hot-pink high-tops. But Bess pulled it off. Everything about her was vivid. He supposed that was why he’d gone into her office to apologize and ended up asking her out.

  It was probably why he hadn’t been able to get her, or the idea of taking her to bed, out of his mind since he’d met her.

  For herself, Bess took one look at Zackary Muldoon’s bar, Lower the Boom, and knew she had a relaxed, enjoyable evening in store. There was music from the juke box, a babble of voices, a medley of good, rich scents. The tangle of pear-shaped gemstones at her ears swung as she turned to Alex. “This is great. Is the food as good as it smells?”

  “Better.” He gave a wave in the general direction of the bar as he found them a table.

  As usual, the bar was cluttered with people and thick with noise. Since his sister had married Zack, Alex had made a habit of dropping in once a week or so, and he knew most of the regulars by name. He grinned at the waitress who stopped at their table. “Hey, Lola. How’s it going?”

  “It’ll do, cutie.” Resting her tray on her hip, Lola gave Bess the once-over. Though less than ten years Alex’s senior, Lola had taken a maternal interest in him. It wasn’t often Alex brought a date into the bar, and Lola made it her business to check out his current lady. “So, what can I get you?”

  “Tequila.” Bess dropped her bag in the empty chair beside her with a thunk. “Straight up.”

  Alex only lifted a brow at Bess’s choice. “Give me a beer, Lola. Rachel around?”

  “Upstairs. And she better have her feet up.” She gave the ceiling a scowl. “She’ll probably sneak down here before the night’s over. Can’t keep her away from the boss.”

  “What’s Rio’s special tonight?”

  “Paella.” Her eyes lit with appreciation. She’d sampled some herself. “He’s been driving Nick crazy, making him shell shrimp.”

  “You game for that?” Alex asked Bess.

  “You bet.” As Lola wandered off, Bess propped her chin on her hands. “So, who’s the boss, who’s Rio, and who’s Nick?”

  “Zack’s the boss.” He gestured toward the tall, broad-shouldered man working the bar. “Rio’s the cook, this Jamaican giant who’ll fix you the best meal this side of heaven. Nick’s Zack’s brother.”

  Bess nodded. She liked to know the players. “And Rachel’s married to Zack.” After a long study of the man behind the bar, she smiled. “Impressive. How’d she meet him?”

  “She was Nick’s PD after I busted him for attempted burglary.”

  Bess didn’t blink or look shocked, she simply leaned a little closer.
“What was he stealing?”

  Alex was vaguely disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a reaction. “Electronics—and doing a poor job of it. He was tangled up with a gang at the time. This was about a year and a half ago.” Absently he toyed with the square-cut aquamarine on her finger, watching it catch the light. “Nick had some problems. Actually, he’s Zack’s step-brother. Nick was still a kid when Zack went off and joined the navy and his mother died. Anyhow, when Zack came back a few years ago, his father was dying, and the kid was chin-deep in trouble.”

  “This is great.” Bess beamed up at Lola as their drinks were served. “Thanks.”

  The smile did it. Lola sent Alex a look of approval before she swung by the bar to report to Zack.

  “Don’t stop now.”

  Alex lifted his mug of beer. He knew very well that Lola was giving Zack a sotto voce rundown of her impressions and opinions of his choice of companion. “You want to hear the whole thing?”

  “Of course I do.” Bess sprinkled salt on her wrist, licked it, then tossed back the tequila with all the flair of a Mexican bandit. While she sucked on the lime wedge Lola had brought with the drink, she grinned at Zack. “I like the zing.”

  “How many times can you do that and live?”

  “I haven’t tested it that far.” The liquor left a nice trail of heat down her throat and into her stomach. “I did ten once, but I was younger then, and stupid. So keep going.” She leaned forward again. “Zack came back after sailing the seven seas and found his brother in trouble.”

  “Well, Nick was tangled up with the Cobras…” Alex began. By the time their paella was served, he was enjoying himself. It always polished a man’s ego to have a woman’s complete and fascinated attention. “So that’s how I ended up on the point of having an Irish-Ukrainian niece or nephew.”

  “Terrific. You’ve got a flair for storytelling, Alexi. Must be some Gypsy blood in there.”

  “Naturally.”

  She smiled at him. All he needed was a hoop of gold in one ear and a violin, she thought—but she was sure he wouldn’t want to hear it. “It doesn’t hurt that you have this wisp of an accent that peeks out now and then. Of course, your material’s first-rate, too. I’m a sucker for happy endings. I can’t have many of them in my field. Once we tie things up, we have to unravel them again, or we lose the audience.”