Convincing Alex (8 page)

She felt something, a small, vague ache centered in her heart. Confused by it, she slipped her hand away. “All right. Soon. Good night.”

“Hold it.” Before she could turn away, he took her face in his hands, held it there for a moment before lowering his mouth to hers.

The pressure was whisper-light, persuasive, invasive. Even as she responded, the kiss had that odd ache spreading. Helpless, she brought her hands to his wrists, clinging to them for balance. Though his mouth remained beautifully gentle, the pulse she felt beneath her fingers raced in time with her own.

Then he let her go, stepped back. His eyes stared into hers. “Good night,” he said.

She managed a nod before hurrying inside.

There was something about Bess, Alex thought as he waited patiently for the light in her apartment to come on. Something. He'd just have to find out what it was.

T
he last person Bess expected to see when she left her office a few days later was Rosalie. Even in the bustling crowds of midtown, the woman stood out. After a moment of blank surprise, Bess smiled and crossed the sidewalk.

“Hi. Were you waiting for me?”

“Yeah.”

“You should have come in.” Bess adjusted the weight of her bag and briefcase.

“I figured it would be better for you if I waited out here.”

“Don't be silly…” Her words trailed off as she tried to see through and around Rosalie's huge tinted glasses. Those sunburst colors around the left eye weren't all cosmetics. Bess's friendly smile faded. “What happened to you?”

Rosalie shrugged. “Bobby. He was a little ticked off about the other night.”

“That's despicable.”

“I've had worse.”

“Bastard.” She said it between her teeth, but overlying her fury was a terrible sense of guilt. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was my fault.”

“Ain't nobody's fault, girlfriend. Just the way things are.”

“It's not the way they should be. And if I hadn't…” She let that go, knowing you could only go back and change things in scripts. “Do you want to go to the police? I'll go with you. We could—”

“Hell, no.” Rosalie let out what passed for a laugh. “I'd get a lot worse than a sore eye if I tried that. And if you think there's a cop alive who gives a damn about a hooker with a black eye, you
are
as dumb as you look.”

Alex would care, Bess thought. She refused to believe otherwise. “We'll do whatever you want.”

Rosalie pulled out a cigarette, cocking her hip as she lit it. “Listen, you said you'd pay me to talk. I figure I can use the extra money. And I'm on my own time.”

“All right.” Ideas were beginning to stir. “How much do you average a night?”

As a matter of course, Rosalie started to inflate it, but found the lie stuck in her throat. “After Bobby takes his cut, about seventy-five. Maybe a hundred. Business isn't as good as it used to be.”

“We'll talk.” Distracted, Bess searched for a cab. “We'll never get a taxi at this hour,” she mumbled. “I live uptown about twenty blocks. Do you mind walking?”

This time Rosalie laughed full and long. “Girl, walking the streets comes natural to me.”

Once they reached Bess's apartment, Rosalie tipped down her shaded glasses and whistled. Unable to resist, she walked to one of the wide windows. She could see a swatch of the East River through other buildings. The sound of traffic was so muted, it was almost musical. A far cry from the clatter and roar she lived with every day.

“My, oh, my, you do live high.”

“How about dinner?” Automatically Bess stepped out of her shoes. “We'll order in.” Red meat, Bess thought. At the moment, she could have eaten it raw. “Sit down, I'll get us some wine.”

Wine, Rosalie thought as she stretched out on the plump cushions of the pit. She figured that sounded just dandy. “You pay for all this just writing stuff?”

“Mostly.” On impulse, Bess chose one of the best bottles in her wine rack. “You're not a vegetarian, are you?”

Rosalie snorted. “Get real.”

“Good. I want a steak.” After handing Rosalie a glass, she picked up the phone to order dinner.

“I can't pay for that.”

“I'm buying,” Bess assured her, and curled up on the couch. “I need a consultant, Rosalie.” It was a risk, but so was breathing, she decided. “I'll give you five hundred a week.”

Rosalie choked on the wine. “Five hundred, just to tell you about turning tricks?”

“No. I want more. I want why. I want you to tell me about the other women. What draws them in. What you're afraid of, what you're not. When I ask you a question, I'll want an answer.” Her voice was brisk now, all business. “I'll know if you lie.”

Rosalie's eyes were shrewd and steady. “You need all that for a TV show?”

“You'd be surprised.” It had gone well beyond the show. The bruise on Rosalie's face grated on her. She had caused it, Bess reflected. She would find a way to fix it. “I'm buying a lot of your time for five hundred a week, Rosalie. You might want to take a little vacation from Bobby.”

“What I do after I talk to you is for me to say.”

“Absolutely. But if you decided you wanted to take a break from the streets, and if you needed a place to stay while you did, I could help you.”

“Why?”

Bess smiled. “Why not? It wouldn't cost me any more.”

Intrigued, Rosalie considered. “I'll think about it.”

“Fine. We can get started right away.” She rose to gather up pads, pencils, her tape recorder. “Remember, this is daytime TV, and we can only do so much. I'll have to filter down a great deal of what you tell me. Why don't I fill you in on the story line?”

Rosalie merely shrugged. “It's your nickel.”

“Yes, it is.” She settled down again, and was weaving the complex and overlapping relationships of Millbrook—to Rosalie's confusion and fascination—when she heard the buzzer for her private elevator. Still talking, she walked over to release the security lock. “So, anyway, the Josie personality is dynamically opposed to Jade. The stronger she gets, the more confused and frightened Jade becomes. She doesn't remember where she's been when Josie comes out. And the lapses are getting longer.”

“Sounds like the lady needs a shrink.”

“Actually, she'll go to Elana—she's a psychiatrist—but that's down the road a bit. And under hypnosis— Ah, here's the food.” At the elevator's ding, Bess opened the door. The smile froze on her face.

“Alexi.”

“Don't you bother to ask who it is before you let someone come up?” He shook his head before he caught her chin in his hand and kissed her.

“Yes—that is, not when I'm expecting someone. What are you doing here?”

“Kissing you?” And, at that moment, she wasn't as responsive as he'd come to expect. Then it occurred to him that she'd said she was expecting someone. A man? A date? A lover? His eyes cooled as he stepped back. “I guess I should have called first.”

“No. I mean, yes. That is…are you off tonight?”

“I go back on in a couple hours.”

“Oh. Well.” The buzzer sounded again.

“You could always tell him I'm the plumber.”

Baffled, she stepped back inside to release the elevator. “Tell who what?”

“The guy on his way up.”

“Why should I tell the delivery boy you're a plumber?”

“Delivery boy?” A sound inside the apartment had him edging closer. He wasn't jealous, damn it, he was just curious. “I guess you've already got company,” he began, and pushed the door wider.

“Actually, I do.” Giving up, Bess gestured him inside. “We were just about to have some dinner.”

He looked over at the couch just as Rosalie stood. Caught between them, Bess felt herself battered by double waves of hostility.

“What the hell is she doing here?”

“You called the cops,” Rosalie said accusingly before Bess could answer. “You called the damn cops.”

“No. No, I didn't.”

Rosalie was already striding across the room. Bess knew that if the woman made it to the door she would have lost her chance. “Rosalie.” She grabbed her arm. “I didn't call him.”

“And why the hell
didn't
you?” Alex tossed back.

“Because it's none of your business.” Still gripping Rosalie, Bess swirled on him. “This is my home, and she's my guest.”

“And you're a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Sizing up the situation, Rosalie relaxed fractionally. “You two got a thing?”

“Yes,” Alex shot back.

“No,” Bess snapped, then sighed. “Something in between the two,” she mumbled. She snatched her wallet out of her bag as she heard the elevator ding. “Excuse me. That's dinner.”

While she herded the delivery boy inside to set up the meal, Alex and Rosalie stood eyeing each other with mutual dislike and suspicion.

“What's the game, Rosalie?”

“No game.” She flashed a smile that was as feral as a shark's. “I'm a paid consultant. Your lady hired me.”

“The hell with that.” He paused a moment, studying her bruised eye. “Bobby do that?”

Rosalie angled her chin. “I walked into a door.”

“Sure you did.” He did care. Bess might have been surprised at how much he cared. Rosalie certainly would have been stunned. But he also knew there were things that couldn't be fixed. “You'll want to watch your step.”

“I don't make the same mistake twice.”

He turned away from her, his hands balled into fists in his pockets. “McNee, I want to talk to you.”

“Oh, just shut up.” She didn't bother to look up as she counted out bills. “Can't you see I'm trying to figure the tip? There you go.”

“Thanks, lady.” The delivery boy tucked the bills away. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“There's enough for three,” Bess stated, turning toward Alex. “But you're not going to stay if you're rude.”

“Rude?” The single word bounced off her ceiling. He was beside her in two strides. “You think it's rude for me to ask you if you've lost your mind when I walk in and find you've invited a hooker to dinner?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Out.”

“Damn it, Bess…”

“I said out.” She gave him a hefty shove toward the door. “We went on one date,” she reminded him. “
One.
Maybe I entertained the idea of something more, but that gives you no right to come into my house and tell me what to do and who to talk with.”

He grabbed her hand before she could push him again. “One has nothing to do with the other.”

“You're right. Absolutely right. What I should have said is that I run my life, Detective.” She snatched her hand away so that she could poke a finger at his chest. “Me. Alone. Get the picture?”

“Yeah.” He wondered how she'd like a nice clip on that pointy little chin of hers. “I've got a picture for you.” He hauled her up and kissed her hard. No gentle touch, no finesse. All steam heat. It lasted only seconds, but he succeeded in shocking her speechless. “Things change, McNee.” Dark, furious eyes pinned her to the spot. “Get used to it.”

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

“Well.” Bess took one breath, then another. Her throat felt scalded. “Of all the incredible nerve. Who the hell does he think he is, marching in here that way?” Hands on her hips, she spun to face Rosalie. “Did you see that?”

“Hard to miss it.” Grinning, Rosalie snatched a french fry from a plate.

“If he thinks he's getting away with that—that
attitude
—he's very much mistaken.”

“Man's nuts about you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Girl, that was one lovesick puppy.”

Bess snatched up her wine and gulped. “Don't be ridiculous. He was just showing off.”

“Uh-huh. If I had me a man who looked at me like that, I'd do one of two things.”

“Which are?”

“I'd either sit back and enjoy, or I'd run for my life.”

Frowning, Bess sat down and picked up her fork. “I don't like to be pushed.”

“Seems to me it depends on who's doing the pushing.” She sat, as well, and dug right into her steak. “He sure is one fine-looking man—for a cop.”

Bess stabbed at her salad. “I don't want to talk about him.”

“You're paying the tab,” Rosalie said agreeably.

With a grunt of assent, Bess tried to eat. Damn cop, she thought. He'd ruined her appetite.

 

There was something to be said for beating the hell out of inanimate objects. Alex had always found the therapy of a pair of boxing gloves and a punching bag immeasurably rewarding. With those so easily accessible, he could never figure out why so many people felt the need for a psychiatrist's couch.

Until recently.

Twenty minutes of sweating and pounding hadn't relieved his basic frustration. He often used the gym—in the middle of a difficult case, when one went wrong, when a good arrest turned sour in court. The same ingredients had worked equally well for him
whenever he'd fought with family, or friends, or had female problems.

Not this time.

Whatever hold Bess McNee had on him, Alex couldn't seem to punch himself out of it.

“So much energy, so early.”

The familiar voice had Alex blinking away the sweat that had dripped through his headband into his eyes. His brother Mikhail, and Alex's ten-month-old nephew, Griff, were standing hand in hand, grinning identical grins.

“Got your papa out early, did you, tough guy?” Alex swung Griff up for a smacking kiss.

Griff babbled out happily. The only word Alex could decipher in the odd foreign language of a toddler was
Mama.

“Sydney's tired,” Mikhail explained. “She has some wheeling and dealing keeping her up at night. This one's an early riser.” He ruffled his son's hair. “So I thought we'd come down and lift weights. Right?”

Griff grinned and cocked his elbows. “Papa.”

“Your muscle's bigger,” Alex assured him.

“Hey, it's the Griff-man!” Rocky, the former lightweight who ran the gym, gave a whistle and held out his wiry arms. “Come see me, champ.”

With a squeal of pleasure, Griff wiggled out of Alex's arms to toddle off on his almost steady legs. “Better watch out, Rock,” Mikhail called out. “He's slippery.”

“I can handle him.” With the confidence of a four-time grandfather, he hefted Griff. “We got things to do,” he told Mikhail. “Why don't you talk to your brother there and find out why this is the third time this week he's come in to pound on my equipment?”