Convincing Alex (6 page)

She didn't have the heart to argue, so she crossed over and complied. “What about Judd?”

“He's heading to the cop shop to file the report.”

“Oh.”

He let the silence hang for three blocks. It hadn't been his first, but he hadn't told Judd that the bright, shaky sickness didn't fade. It only turned inward, becoming anger, disgust, frustration. And you never stopped asking yourself why.

“Aren't you going to ask how it felt? What went through my mind? What happens next?”

“No.” She said it quietly. “I don't have to ask when I can see. And it's easy enough to find out what happens next.”

It wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want her to be understanding, or quietly agreeable, or to turn those damned sympathetic eyes on him. “Passing up a chance for grist for your mill? McNee, you surprise me. Or can't your TV cop blow away a couple of stoned perps?”

He was trying to hurt her. Well, she understood that, Bess thought. It often helped to lash out when you were in pain. “I'm not sure I can fit it into any of our scheduled story lines, but who knows?”

His hands clenched on the wheel. “I don't want to see you down
there again, understand? If I do, I swear I'll find a way to lock you up for a while.”

“Don't threaten me, Detective. You had a rough night, and I'm willing to make allowances, but don't threaten me.” Leaning back, she shut her eyes. “In fact, do us both a favor and don't talk to me at all.”

He didn't, but when he pulled up at her building, the smoke from his anger was still hanging in the air. Satisfied, she slammed out of the car. She'd taken two steps when he caught up with her.

“Come here,” he demanded, and hauled her against him. She tasted it, all the violence and pain and fury of what he'd done that night. What he'd had to do. There was no way for her to comfort. She wouldn't have dared. There was no way for her to protest. She couldn't have tried. Instead, she let the sizzling passion of the kiss sweep over her.

Just as abruptly, he let her go. He'd be trembling in a minute, and he knew it. God, he needed…something from her. Needed, but didn't want.

“Stay off my turf, McNee.” He turned on his heel and left her standing on the sidewalk.

“W
hen it comes to murder,” Bess mused, “I like a nice, quick-acting poison. Something exotic, I think.”

Lori pursed her lips. “If we're going to do it, I really think he should be shot. Through the heart.”

Shifting in her seat at the cluttered table, Bess scooped up a handful of sugared almonds. “Too ordinary. Reed's a sophisticated, sensuous cad. I think he should go out with more than just a bang.” She munched and considered. “In fact, we could make it a slow, insidious poison—milk a few weeks of him wasting away.”

“Nagging headaches, dizzy spells, loss of appetite,” Lori put in.

“And chills. He really should have chills.” Bess steepled her hands and imagined. “He gives this big cocktail party, see. You know how he likes to flaunt his power and money in the faces of all the people he's dumped on over the years.”

Lori sighed. “That's why I love him.”

“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 know 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.”