Burnout (NYPD Blue & Gold) (4 page)

Dom sounded annoyed. “Your only job should be to keep yourself alive.”

“Look, I don’t know how long I’ll have to hide out, so I might as well make the best of things, and cooking is something I love.”

She heard a loud, frustrated breath over the phone before Dom continued. “I don’t like it, but if you have to do this, keep your head low.”

“Of course I will. No one knows I’m in this part of the state, and I’m not using my real name.”

“Pretty soon, Rod Manici will find out who you are.”

“I know that.” She tucked a fluffy pillow behind her head and leaned back. “When you turn over copies of the body-wire recordings for discovery, my real name will be all over them.”

“Yeah, well…” Dom snorted. “Whatever they think your name is, there’s still a hit on you, and naturally Manici’s attorney is denying his client is behind it.”

“Does he think we’re that stupid? Nobody’s going to buy that story.”

“’Course not.” Dom paused. “But Manici won’t submit to a polygraph, and you know we can’t force him to take one.”

Cassie rubbed her forehead, trying to massage away the ache growing behind her skull. “It has to be Manici. He owns the place. Who else connected with La Femme would have a vested interest in seeing me dead?”

“That’s another thing,” Dom said. “Even if you were dead, the hearsay exception for unavailable witnesses allows any recordings and reports you made to be admitted in court as evidence. So why would Manici risk putting a hit on you?” Squeaking from Dom’s desk chair came to Cassie’s ear. “It wouldn’t change a thing and would only focus the spotlight more on him than it is already. Those tapes alone are enough to put him away. Something’s not right here.”

“I agree,” Cassie said, visualizing Dom rocking in his chair and shaking his head. “Manici may be a scumbag, but he never struck me as having enough balls to hire a hit man.”

The squeaking abruptly stopped.

“You hear that?” Dom’s voice was sharp.

“Hear what?”

“Clicking.”

Cassie closed her eyes and covered her other ear with her hand, straining to pick up on whatever Dom was hearing.

“Cass, hang up!” Dom shouted. “Do it now!”

Without asking questions, Cassie punched the button on her cell phone to disconnect the call. Her heart pounded as understanding slammed home.

The precinct phones were bugged.

And she’d given up her exact location. Or had she?

For the next hour she paced the living room floor, waiting for Dom to call back, all the while reviewing their conversation. Aside from acknowledging she was upstate and working as a cook, she hadn’t disclosed any specifics. She was sure of it.

At least, she thought so.

Her phone rang. It was Dom, calling from his cell phone. Her partner didn’t mince words.

“My desk phone’s bugged. So’s Gray’s. I just had our cell phones checked and they’re both clean. You need to go into protective custody. Now.”

Cassie took a deep breath. “No.”

“Whatdya mean,
no
?” Dom roared.

Cassie winced and jerked the phone from her ear. “All I said when we talked was that I was upstate. I’m positive I didn’t say where. New York is a huge state. There’s no way anyone could actually find me.”

Again, she held the phone away from her ear as her partner let loose with a litany of colorful expletives. She waited patiently for him to unload and calm down.

“I don’t like it,” Dom growled, “and neither does Gray. He’s throwing a conniption over how someone managed this in our own house. It was an old-fashioned job by an amateur, not the modern undetectable digital wiretap. Bugging precinct phones is beyond ballsy and a helluva risk. Lt. Frye wants IA in on this. We’ve got a dirty cop, and we need to clean house. Bottom line, you must have seen or heard something pretty damn important at La Femme that isn’t on the recordings. Think, Cass, what the hell is it?”

She frowned. “Everything I know, you know. This was a standard undercover job with all the hot evidence on the body wires. The only thing I can suggest is looking at those blackmail videotapes Manici made to keep his wealthy clients in line. Maybe there’s something there.”

“We’ve got someone going over them now, but there must be ten years worth of tapes. If you think of anything else, call me ASAP, day or night. I mean…shit.” Dom’s voice softened. “You’re the best-looking partner I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to have to train a new one. I like making the other guys jealous when they stare across their desks at their ugly, unshaven, belching partners.”

“I miss you, too, Dom.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. If you’ve got to do this, at least tell me where you are. For safety reasons, the lieutenant will insist on knowing.”

Cassie blew out a breath. “Fine, but promise me you and Gray won’t drag me back to the city.” Dead silence on the end of the phone. “Promise me!”

“Okay, okay,” Dom said.

Reluctantly, Cassie rattled off the address of the Nest and the house where she was staying.

“And before I forget,” Dom added, “Frye says you should consider this a paid vacation until you have to come back to testify against Manici in grand jury.”

“Tell him I said thanks. For the vacation, that is.” With a bitter laugh and a shake of her head, she ended the call. “Some vacation,” she said to Raven, who had come to sit by the sofa. “A vacation from getting killed.”

No matter how much fun she might have pretending to be a chef for a while, someone out there still wanted her dead.

Chapter Three

“Good to have you back, Mike,” Rose said from behind the cash register as he walked into the Nest. “How was Albany?”

He flashed her a quick smile. “Not bad.” It
was
good to be back. A week sitting on his ass in an auditorium, forced to listen to other police chiefs boast about how many felons they’d locked up, sucked. If those morons had been doing more proactive enforcement, maybe they wouldn’t have such a high crime rate in the first place.

He leaned his hip against the register desk and looked around at the tables brimming with customers eating lunch. Busier than usual for a Monday. Order bells rang and people chattered away, enjoying themselves. After all these years, this town finally felt like home.

Things in Hopewell Springs were quiet—the way he liked it. And very much unlike his last duty station in the South Bronx. At times he missed the action and excitement of his old job with the NYPD, but no way would he go back. He’d take the serenity of this town over any big city, especially New York. Too much politics there. Too much noise. Too much damn everything.

He picked up a newspaper lying on the counter and noted the headline:
Governor Hosts U.S. Senatorial Candidates
.
He snorted in disgust. Another high-priced political tea party at the taxpayers’ expense. Nope, he much preferred the simplicity of life in Hopewell Springs. Not a day went by that he didn’t pat himself on the back for making the move up here.

Rose cocked her head toward the newspaper in his hand. “While he’s not saying so directly, all the news shows are hinting the governor’s looking to do whatever he can to oust crooked incumbents in New York’s neighboring states, especially New Jersey.” When he didn’t answer, she prodded, “Well, what do you think, Chief?”

“I’m a public official.” He gave her a cynical smile. “No comment.”

“And as a public official,” she said, pointing a finger at him, “it was about time you got a haircut.” Mike chuckled and put down the paper to run a hand through his now close-cropped hair. “But I think the women in this town will love you no matter how long or short your hair is. Better get your order in fast. Business has picked up over the last few days and we might be out of chili already.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He inhaled something meaty and spicy and his stomach rumbled. “What smells so great?”

“Probably the chili. Got a brand-new menu and a brand-new chef.” Rose glanced to the kitchen and for some odd reason winked at him. “Looks like Jimmy didn’t tell you, things weren’t all that quiet while you were gone. I fired Mon Sewer Pierre.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No kidding.” And no great loss. The man couldn’t make good chili if his life depended on it, and chili was Mike’s favorite thing for lunch. Maybe even his favorite food period.

“Sure did. Grab a seat and let me know how the new chef measures up.” The corners of Rose’s mouth lifted in a wicked smile.

“Will do.” Mike pushed from the register desk and narrowed his eyes.
Something’s fishy here.

He headed to the one empty stool at the end of the service counter, acknowledging greetings from Sue, Ginny, and several customers. He was about to sit down when the sound of metal whacking on metal stopped him. He moved around to the back of the counter to identify the source. From where he stood at the entrance to the aisle running between the kitchen and the counter, he had a clear view.

Beneath one of the ledges where various pots, pans, and plates were stacked, a shapely blue jean-clad ass wiggled into view. Mike’s lips twitched upward. It was one ass he didn’t recognize, and it was his job to know everyone in town. He cocked his head to
ass-
ess the situation from another angle.

Definitely don’t know her. I’d remember an ass that great.

The body attached to the spectacular backside puttered beneath the counter, clearly searching for something and not finding it. Metal smacked against metal again, making Mike grimace. The woman made more noise with stainless steel than a brass band. She rose and bumped her head on the ledge. A stream of muted curses spewed out of her mouth as she clapped her palm on top of her head and angled toward him.

The woman from last week.

The first woman who’d got his blood pumping in a very long time, and it had been far too long since he’d been with a woman who could actually do that. Particularly since he’d made himself a personal vow years ago not to get too involved. He sure as hell didn’t need to go through that again. It had just about killed him. Literally.

Mike continued to watch her fume behind the counter. This woman had something about her, and it wasn’t just her looks. He’d been with lots of beautiful women, but he’d never had to reel his tongue back into his mouth before.

A bright red, sleeveless V-neck shirt hugged her sizeable breasts. His gaze slid to the white apron tied at her slim waist. About five-six and with the thickest, shiniest red hair he’d ever seen. Today, unlike last week, she had it tied back in a ponytail. Sunlight pouring in through the café’s windows glinted off her hair like flames. She turned fully toward him and began to smile. Then she froze, the smile vanishing. Her bright green eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

Did she remember him?

Their meeting had been brief, but he damn sure hadn’t forgotten those striking emerald eyes, that cleavage he’d gotten a good look at, and—hell—he hadn’t forgotten a single part of that hot, athletic body. He’d thought about her during his entire drive down to Albany but never expected to come back and find her working at the Nest.

Ah, shit. Don’t even think it. You don’t need the complication.

She lowered her gaze to his boots, then began a slow perusal up his legs to his chest. The expression on her face changed from one of shock to disappointment. By the time her eyes locked with his, her luscious lips frowned.

What, did I arrest her and forget? No way. Not possible I’d forget a woman that looked like her.

The bell over the Nest’s front door jangled. After a furtive glance at the door, she grabbed what looked like a brand-new menu, stomped toward him, and thrust it at his chest. “What can I get you?” Her face was now a mask of cool indifference.

Mike furrowed his brows. “Great to see you again, too.” He accepted the menu and sat on the stool at the end of the counter. “We met last week. Or don’t you remember?”

Green eyes held his, and he took the moment to admire her clear, sun-kissed complexion. He got a strong whiff of the same scent she’d worn last week. Some kind of flower.

“I remember.” She picked up an order pad and a pen. Her tone was laced with a touch of irritation. “I didn’t expect to see you again. In uniform.”

Ah. There it is. A cop-hater.

Last week, he’d pegged her as a lot of things, but not that. Then again, last week he hadn’t been in uniform and his hair had been a lot longer. Hopefully, she wouldn’t spit in his food. Or worse.

“It pays the bills.” Mike began to scan the menu. The door jangled again, and he looked up, catching her as she cast another quick glance at the front door. When her gaze swung back to him, she watched him with obvious annoyance. And those pink lips were still frowning. “By the way, I’m Mike Flannery.” He held out his hand to her across the counter.

Better to know your enemy.

She hesitated, then reached for his hand. “Cassie Younger.” As Mike’s fingers slid over her slender ones, his hand engulfed hers. Her skin was warm and smooth beneath his rough fingers. Damned if his heart rate didn’t kick up.

Shit. Not good.

He wanted to groan at his stupid, adolescent response. Their gazes locked again for several seconds. Cassie jerked her hand from his as if she’d been burned. She grabbed a cloth and started to wipe the counter. “I’ll give you some time to look at the menu.” More wiping. “It’s new.”

As he watched her drag the cloth over the already sparkling clean counter, he wondered if she’d felt the same heat he had. Mike cleared his throat and glanced again at the menu. “You’ve got a nice ass—”

“You aren’t going to start in with the ass jokes, are you?” Cassie propped her hands at her waist, tightening her shirt over her breasts. “Because if you are, I might have to kick yours, uniform and all.”

He jerked up his head, speechless. The last thing he’d expected when he’d come in for lunch today was to be threatened by a flame-haired bombshell. The customer next to him, clearly having heard Cassie’s threat, paused mid-bite to see how Mike would react.

He raked his gaze over her figure. The idea of her kicking his ass was ludicrous. She was in great shape but couldn’t weigh more than one-twenty-five. When he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he laughed so loudly every patron at the counter and some of the nearby tables turned his way. From the corner of his eye, he caught Rose sending him a quizzical look. When he glanced back to Cassie, she’d twisted her mouth into the cutest little pout.

“Relax.” He let out another laugh. “I was only going to say you had a nice
ass-
ortment of new items on the menu.”

“Oh.” Cassie bit her lower lip. “Sorry. I’m just sick and tired of people making cracks about my ass.”

“Fair enough.” He did his best to put on a serious face. “I’ll have the town board pass a law against making ass jokes. But it’s doubtful it will ever be a crime punishable by death.”

“That’s a shame.” Her tone was contrite. “But thank you. Maybe you’re a gentleman after all.”

“Maybe.” He shot her a pointed look and lowered his voice. “Maybe not.” Before she could get hostile again, he returned his attention to the menu. “So what’s good today?”

“Everything.” She watched him with a sour expression.

For some reason, she’d thrown down the gauntlet. Baiting him. Fine. If that’s the way Rose’s new chef wanted it.

Right back atcha, babe.

“Forgive me if I sound skeptical,” Mike intentionally added a dubious note to his voice, “but you seem pretty sure of yourself.”
That oughta piss her off
.

It did.

“I am and I should be.” Another nasty glare. “I’m the new chef.”

Curious about what broomstick she’d flown in on, he asked, “You live around here?”

“I do now.”

Cryptic answer.

“Where are you from?”

Cassie pursed her lips, glancing at the front door as the bell jangled and someone walked in. “Here and there.”

Evasive. That, combined with the way she kept vigilant tabs on who came into the Nest, told him she was hiding something. Witholding information was one thing, but lying outright was something he didn’t tolerate. He’d been taken for a ride once before by the best, and he sure wasn’t about to hop on that train again.

Mike met her level gaze, but she didn’t flinch. Aside from her ramrod straight posture, the only sign of agitation was the dull thud of her pencil as she tapped it on her order pad. “Not very forthcoming, are you?”

“A girl’s entitled to have some secrets, isn’t she?” Her lips twitched.

“Depends on the secrets,” he shot back.

She leaned in close. “Didn’t your mamma tell you secrets are a woman’s prerogative?”

With her upper body angling toward him less than a foot away, Mike again caught the subtle fragrance of flowers—lilacs?—mingled with the aroma of all the food in the restaurant. He also got a nice look down her shirt. Unprofessional of him.

Unavoidable.

When he looked up, he saw a smirk on Cassie’s face that made him want to kiss it right off her sassy mouth. “My mamma must have forgotten that lesson,” he said, his tone meant to warn her he didn’t appreciate the snide comments. “For now, if you don’t mind, I’ll order lunch. What do you recommend, Chef Cassie?”

She rested one palm on her hip. “Oh, that’s cute.”

Enough sarcasm for one day.

“Sweetheart.” Mike smacked down the menu and leaned forward on the counter. “I give as good as I get. Something you’d do well to remember if you plan on staying in this town.”

Cassie glared at him for a moment. “Noted.”

Finally. A retreat.

Christ, all I want to do is eat and get the hell back to work.

“So what’s good today?” he asked again.

“If you like chili, the chili.”

Then again, maybe a woman after his own heart. “Chili it is. Make it a large. Extra cheese.”

“Excellent choice.”

Cassie jotted down his order, took his menu, and headed into the kitchen, giving Mike another chance to admire her exquisite ass. No wonder she was tired of all the comments about it. Damn near impossible for a man not to have something to say on the subject.

He strummed his fingers on the counter. No need for coffee to wake him up. The Nest’s new chef had already done that. As thorny as Cassie Younger was, she’d definitely gotten his attention. Besides being one hot tomato, she was a puzzle. A mystery he wanted—no, needed—to solve. For professional reasons. If she was going to be a permanent fixture in town, he had an obligation to dig into her story…because something didn’t fit. There were questions he wanted answered.

Where had she come from?

A woman as sophisticated and citified as she was didn’t materialize in Hicktown, U.S.A. out of the blue without a good reason.

How long would she stay in Hopewell Springs?

Last week, she’d said she was passing through, yet here she was working at the Nest.

He watched through the kitchen opening while she expertly ladled up a heaping bowl of chili without losing a drop. His gaze was drawn to her graceful fingers as she sprinkled two handfuls of thickly grated cheese on top. No skimping on the cheese with this woman, something he greatly appreciated. That, and no inedible frou-frou green stuff to make the bowl look fancy.

Chef Cassie sashayed back to the dining room, toting the large, steaming bowl in one hand. She slid it onto the paper placemat in front of him. “Let me know what you think.” She pressed her slim hip against the counter.

Leaning over the bowl, Mike inhaled the rich spices. He scooped up a spoonful of chili and shoved it into his mouth. The melting cheese was better than whatever Chef Pierre used. The meat was tender, and there was some other smoky flavor he couldn’t identify. Cassie wasn’t kidding. It
was
excellent.