Trusting the Enemy, page 13
“We didn’t get that far.”
“What happened?”
“I drew down on them, got rid of them, told them I’d be in touch.”
“I don’t like this,” Monroe said.
“I’m a big girl, Monroe. I can take care of myself.”
He studied her. “I know. I still don’t like it.”
“Hey, you taught me self-defense. Remember?”
Finally a hint of a smile cracked Monroe’s serious face. “This guy is a lot bigger than you, Trice. And I seem to recall you failing some of those exercises.”
“Because you refused to pass me.” She jabbed a finger at him. “I had to take the class again with another instructor.”
“You lost focus.”
No kidding. She swallowed. Because I couldn’t stop staring at your biceps. And then you’d flip me onto the mats, and all I could think about was rolling around with you without any clothing.
“Want to try me again, go a few rounds?” she asked. “See how much I’ve improved?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Why not? I want to tempt you. “Yeah, I bet you’d like to toss me on my ass.”
His mouth twitched, and she’d give anything to know what he was thinking.
“I’d rather you agree to work with me,” he said.
“I’m considering it. So why did you fail me?” she asked. “I wasn’t that bad. Lana was much worse.”
He held her gaze. “I think you know why.”
“Maybe. But if we’re going to work together, we should clear the air.”
“Are we going to work together?”
“If you tell me why you flunked me, I might say yes.”
His smile faded. “This is a line we shouldn’t cross, Trice.”
“Why not? You aren’t my instructor anymore.”
She held her breath, waiting for his answer, suddenly having to know. Had she been nuts to think he was as attracted to her as she was to him?
He reached out and grabbed her hand, causing her heartbeat to accelerate.
“I liked you, Trice. I liked you way too damn much and didn’t want to show favoritism.”
She nodded, a sense of relief mixed with a lot of anticipation sweeping through her. So she hadn’t been crazy.
She looked down at where their fingers were joined. He kept his nails clean, manicured. She liked that in a man.
“Did you know I felt the same way about you?” She raised her gaze to his and caught her breath at the heat in his eyes.
“Yes. I was flattered.”
“But too professional to let anything happen between us.”
“Nothing could happen between us. I was your instructor.”
But not anymore.
“I knew I wouldn’t make the first move,” he said. “But I wasn’t certain about you.”
She pulled her hand back. “I was that obvious?”
“It was little undercurrents between us, teasing, flirting, sideways looks. You know what I mean.”
She nodded. “I used to love coming to your class.”
“I’m glad.”
“Apparently not.”
“I wasn’t certain I could resist you if you made an advance, which I worried was coming. So I had to put up barriers. I tried to transfer you out, but brass wouldn’t let me.”
“Did you know I almost didn’t graduate with my class?”
“Did you know I put in a good word for you so that you would?”
Surprise jerked her chin up. “You did?”
“I recommended advancement, that in my opinion you reacted well to criticism and were a better officer for it.”
“Thanks. I think.” She shook her head. “I wish things could have been different.”
“Why?”
Because I wouldn’t have taken up with Rudy. But she didn’t verbalize that thought.
Besides, there was more to it than that. Her attraction to Monroe had been based on his looks, sure. What woman wouldn’t have the hots for Monroe DiSilva’s piercing blue eyes and athletic bod? But he’d also been an excellent instructor, generous with his knowledge and patient with explanations. She’d learned a lot about policing from him.
And she had to admit he’d been totally fair...until she started flirting with him. That was when everything had shifted ever so slightly. And then she couldn’t get things back on an even keel.
What had she ever seen in Rudy McFadden, who’d been impatient and selfish? The only similarity between him and Monroe had been they were both off-limits to a rookie cop.
Did the fact that Monroe was now with Internal Affairs make him unavailable? She was no longer a rookie, that was for damn sure.
And this veteran needed to know where she stood.
“You said you liked me eight years ago.”
“I said I liked you too much.”
“But you used the past tense.” She met his gaze. “Do you still like me?”
“Of course I like you,” he responded stiffly.
“Gee, thanks. But do you like me, you know, in that undercurrent, sideways glance kind of way?”
* * *
MONROE STARED INTO Trice’s questioning face, and his resolve slipped away. He was spending too much time with her. He’d fought the pull of this woman for years, had put up a damn good fight, but each moment in Trice’s presence made it harder to resist her.
He’d even told her about his father.
And now resisting had become impossible.
He’d wanted to touch her, to explore her mouth since the day he met her, and right now nothing on earth could stop him from kissing her.
I should have known it would come to this.
When his lips touched hers, she responded like quicksilver, making the sexiest sound he’d ever heard any woman make. She shifted toward him, opening her mouth for him, exploring his with a clever tongue.
He loved the feel of her, the fragrance of her neck, the strength of her shoulder muscles, the languid, smooth way she reacted to the pressure of his hand on her back.
She pulled him or he pressed her—he was so involved with the pleasure of his first taste of her he wasn’t sure how it happened—but Trice ended up beneath him on the sofa. He hardened, and fought a sudden, terrible need to make her his.
Why was he fighting? He wanted her. She’d never hidden the fact that she wanted him, and he knew he could take her right here, right now on this sofa.
No, he wouldn’t be taking. She was offering herself to him.
He groaned, the noise rumbling in his throat. And damn, it would be so good. Make that effing awesome.
But also very wrong. He didn’t want sex with Trice to be a frantic coupling on a sofa in her living room.
Make that Rudy’s living room. He was in the home of a dirty cop.
He lifted his head and studied her swollen lips...which made him want to smother her mouth with his again. He raised his gaze to her eyes, waiting for them to open. She sighed and lifted her lids to pierce him with an unfocused yet somehow accusing look.
How many times had he fantasized about having Trice in this position? How the hell could he walk away?
He should sit up, bring her with him, and end this now.
She raised a hand and trailed a gentle finger down his cheek. His erection jerked in response to her touch.
She smiled. “I guess that answered my question.”
He laughed, and lowered his forehead to hers. Her sense of humor was one of the things he’d always appreciated.
“But we’re not going to do this, are we?” she asked.
“No.” He shifted to one side, taking his weight off her, allowing them to nestle side by side on the couch. She rested her head on his chest, an intimate position that he liked very much. Even if she remained dangerously close.
“Why not?” she asked.
“It’s too soon.”
“What?” She raised her head to meet his gaze. “We’ve known each other for eight years.”
“We don’t know each other at all.”
Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Trice fiddled with a button on his shirt.
He placed his hand over hers. “Will you work with me?”
“Do you think I had anything to do Rudy’s shakedown at the airport?”
He closed his eyes. Did he? She deserved an answer. He’d looked deep into Trice’s life—probably more intrusively than necessary—and had discovered zero evidence that she was dirty. Right here, right now lying next to her, so warm, so soft and yet iron willed, he couldn’t hold on to any suspicion.
“I think you’re clean.”
“Because you couldn’t find any proof?”
“It’s a combination of a lot of things.”
“So you trust me?”
“Damn, Trice. Trust has to be earned.”
She pushed herself to her knees at the end of the sofa and jabbed a finger at him again. He resisted the urge to grab it.
“Trust is required if we’re going to work together,” she said.
“I know.” He sat up, sorry to lose the physical connection with her, as tentative as it had been, and shot her a look.
“Do you trust me?” he demanded.
She opened her mouth to reply, changed her mind and sat beside him on the cushion.
“Well, we’re a fine pair,” she muttered, staring at the floor. “Can’t keep our hands off each other yet afraid to trust.”
“Why did you make a copy of the flash drive?” he asked.
“I thought you might be out to destroy my career.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re with IA.”
“Come on, Trice. Do you believe Internal Affairs is out to nail cops who are clean just for the fun of it?”
She shrugged. “Maybe some are.”
“Okay. Let’s say you’re right about that. Do you believe I’m one of them?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You gave me a hard time in training.”
“Get over it. You know why.”
She smiled and shot him another look. “I did have the hots for you back then.”
Monroe squelched his own smile. Likewise, babe. “You turned into a fine officer until you hooked up with Rudy. Now I need your help to nail the bastards that are stinking up our department. I know this will be hard for you, that you might feel like a traitor, but I believe you’re the right person for the job.”
“What can I do?”
“Keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Always.” She nodded and added, “I’ve already been thinking hard about this case. I’ve got some ideas.”
“What have you got?”
“Todd Ewing drove a Porsche registered to a Joseph Callahan on Collins Island the night I stopped him for speeding. The thing is Ewing claimed Callahan was his boss.”
“Right,” Monroe said, nodding. “Which was surprising since Lomonosoff was his boss. I’ve got that in my notes.”
“So who the hell is Callahan?” Trice asked. “Maybe the registration was false.”
“I’ll check that out. Anything else?”
“The receptionist at Donna Sirgani’s photography studio gave up the name Chuck Sanders.”
“Who is Sanders?”
“Supposedly Ewing’s best friend. I want to interview him, see what he knows. Maybe he can give us a line on Callahan, some insight into Ewing’s last hours.”
“Did Ewing have a girl we could talk to?”
“He told me he left a girl behind in Tennessee. Ewing had a lot of regrets. My gut tells me he was a good-looking kid trying to hit the big time who got in way over his head.”
“Familiar story.”
“No kidding.” She heaved a disgusted sigh. “Thanks to Rudy, I’m now snared in the same web.”
Monroe grabbed her hand and squeezed, even though he knew that touching her was a mistake. “So let’s work together and get you out of this mess.”
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”
“We’re a team?” He held up their joined hands.
She nodded, staring at their hands. “Yeah, go team.”
“That didn’t sound enthusiastic.”
“Hard to be a cheerleader for a team without trust.”
“Trice—”
She squeezed his fingers. “I’ll find Chuck Sanders. You run down Joseph Callahan and look into Rudy’s MVA.”
“I will,” Monroe said. “Definitely. But first I want to bring in Alexi Lomonosoff for questioning.”
“The Russian? Won’t that tip your hand?”
“He knows he’s on the police radar or he wouldn’t have sent his goons to confront you.”
“Or maybe he thinks I’m as dirty as Rudy and wants to make a deal for the evidence Rudy had on him.”
“Maybe.” Again impressed by what a good officer she’d become, Monroe nodded. “But I want to size the man up, and I want it to be on my turf.”
“Why would he agree to come in?”
“Because he’s arrogant and thinks he’s smarter than us.”
* * *
TRICE FELT A CHILL as she stared at the man seated in the interview box. And it wasn’t because of the air temperature.
Sandy-haired Alexi Lomonosoff had a square chin, high cheekbones and perfect skin. No question he was good-looking, and he no doubt photographed well. Women and men would definitely notice this man. Although too smooth for her taste. She liked men with a few rough edges. His clothing was high-end and tailored.
He appeared bored as he raised a hand—a huge diamond glittered on his ring finger—examined an expertly manicured nail, made a face and brushed nonexistent lint off his trousers.
How could a man who looked as good as Lomonosoff seem to ooze pure evil? She shivered. She’d never felt this level of malevolence from a perp in her entire career. This must be what a sociopath looked and felt like.
She’d been surprised that Monroe wanted to interview him. Even more surprised that Lomonosoff had agreed to come in. But Monroe had been right. The Russian was arrogant, and in her opinion stupid to come in without counsel.
Maybe he was playing a game, wasting everyone’s time. Perhaps he wanted to get a look at his adversaries and intended to keep his mouth zipped tight. She glanced at his full lips, had to admit they would hold appeal for some women even as they curled into a contemptuous smile.
She’d done her homework on the man after Monroe had left last night. No record, but Lomonosoff had once been a model, and, yeah, he had a look.
Trice tossed her coffee cup in the trash and glanced at the time. She had another hour before her appointment with Chuck Sanders on South Beach—a good twenty-minute drive—and she hoped this show would start soon.
Monroe had decided to conduct Lomo’s interview at IA’s offices, which she agreed was a good idea. If someone at her station was in on the currency-exchange shakedown, they shouldn’t know IA was onto Lomonosoff. Not yet anyway.
And her colleagues would wonder about her interest in the interview, which she of course would have to watch.
Feeling like a turncoat, Trice ran a list of coworkers through her head, trying to figure out which of them could be dirty. No one jumped out. None of her fellow officers had purchased expensive sports cars or moved into luxury homes. For sure none of them spent much time with Rudy—that she knew of anyway. IA would have found proof of any telephone contacts, and Rudy was too smart for that. Unless he’d used a burner phone.
It would be hard not to confide in Rosa. Since her assignment to the Intracoastal Station, she’d shared most everything with her fellow female officer. And Rosa was strangely intuitive. That chica will know I’m holding something back.
Best to avoid Rosa whenever possible.
Trice shook her head uneasily. What would her father say if he knew she was working with IA?
Was she assisting IA because the detective on the case was Monroe DiSilva and she couldn’t say no? Or was she helping him because she wanted to clear her name?
Or because she wanted to nail Rudy? The man had used her, planned to take his filthy cash, leave her humiliated and looking guilty. She was convinced he’d cheated on her. He’d just been too clever to leave behind any evidence.
But none of that made any difference now. She didn’t need to seek revenge on a dead man. She’d never truly loved him anyway.
She wanted to prove to Monroe she was a good cop, a moral cop, but she also needed to cleanse the department from any other rotten apples like Rudy. Nothing worse than a dirty police officer.
Monroe put on the brakes last night because they didn’t know each other, but she knew him. While she’d resented his treatment of her in the academy, he’d been totally straight arrow, refusing to take advantage of her wide-eyed rookie hero worship.
Rudy, however, had had no problems basking in her foolish fixation on him. Her face burned with the memory of how she’d venerated Rudy, treated him like a police icon. Who the hell could love an icon? Her friends from the academy had tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen.
Thank God her rookie days were long over. She’d take it slow with Monroe, figure out if her raging attraction to him was more stupid hero worship or something real. Something that would grow. Something she could count on.
The door to the interview box opened. Trice placed her hands on her hips. Finally. Showtime.
Monroe entered and all she could think was, damn, now here was her type. A man’s man with tucked-in blue shirt that showed off his shoulders, pressed pants that fit just right and a spiffy tie.
She glanced at the Russian to gauge his reaction. Lomonosoff’s eyes narrowed and the snarky smile on his handsome face deepened. He didn’t appear to be the least bit worried.
In fact, to Trice’s trained police eye he appeared to be looking forward to the interrogation.
