Police Business. Julie MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
Standing outside in the rain with Claire last night, A.J. hadn’t been thinking like a cop…
He hadn’t been thinking of her as a witness who could break a case wide open for him, hadn’t been thinking of her as an heiress who was way out of his league. He hadn’t been thinking of her as a kid who was more than a decade younger than him and twice as innocent about the world.
He’d been thinking of Claire as a woman. A damn sexy, irresistible woman.
And she’d touched him. Those fingers had cupped his face and demanded he notice her.
Maybe not in the way she’d intended, but he noticed plenty. Clingy, wet silk, slender curves beneath his hands, dewy lips begging to be kissed. She’d asked him in every way without actually saying the words.
And he’d almost done it.
But common sense had prevailed. His training had prevailed.
So, no kiss. But he hadn’t been right since.
MILLS & BOON
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For Maxie Fireball Miller, my faithful writing companion. You make me get up and walk, you always tell me when the UPS man is here, you let me know when it’s time to go get the boy after school and you keep life interesting.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Julie Miller attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Ms. Miller believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.
Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
A. J. Rodriguez—A legend in undercover work at KCPD. This son of a custodian used to be the one causing trouble out on the streets. Now he’s the one taking the trouble right to the criminals’ doorsteps. No matter what side of the tracks they live on.
Claire Winthrop—A sheltered society princess who’d like nothing more than to break free of her wealthy father’s overprotective shadow to get a real job and have a real life. But witnessing a murder wasn’t the type of reality she was looking for.
Cain Winthrop—Self-made multimillionaire. His love for his hearing-impaired daughter might get her killed.
Deirdre Gunn-Winthrop—Cain’s second wife. She didn’t marry for love.
Gabriel Gunn—He’s ready to take over his stepfather’s business empire.
Gina Gunn—Claire’s stepsister. Is she on the fast track to earn her own cool million? Or is she after something else?
Marcus Tucker—Chief of Security for Winthrop Enterprises.
Amelia Ward—The office temp.
Peter Landers—An old friend on Winthrop’s board of directors.
Rob Hastings—Executive hotshot with an eye on the boss’s daughter.
Dominic Galvan—He always gets his man—or woman.
Antonio Rodriguez, Sr.—Former custodian at Winthrop Enterprises, whose murder is the only one his son, A.J., has never been able to solve.
Detective A. J. Rodriguez sank low behind the steering wheel of his sleek, black Trans Am and peered over the restored leather dashboard into the neon glare and masking shadows of the drizzly Kansas City night.
He hated stakeouts. His coffee was cold, his bladder was full and his left shoulder ached from sitting still for so long in the damp, chilly air.
But he didn’t complain. He’d given up the luxury of whining about the challenges and discomforts of life almost two decades ago.
Instead, with his endless patience and chameleonlike ability to blend in with his surroundings, he knew he was well-suited to such a job. That patience was a testament to his father’s spirit and sacrifice, while his undercover expertise was a by-product of the years he’d wasted before coming to understand that Antonio Joseph Rodriguez, Sr. was a better man than any of the cool cats or hotshots on the street could ever hope to be.
A.J.’s father had been a better man than he could ever hope to be.
Static buzzed in the tiny earphone he wore beneath the black knit cap that masked his equally dark hair. His slow smile was the only movement giving any indication that his partner, Josh Taylor, was about to speak. “Hey, A.J. You got anything down at your end? This has got to be the slowest damn nightclub I’ve ever seen. I’ve only counted one couple going in during the past hour, and no one’s come out. You think it’s the band or the booze that sucks?”
“I’d say it’s the two hours we’ve been watching the door.”
“I’m supposed to be the comic relief, remember?” Since Josh was hiding out, too, his laugh was barely a whisper in A.J.’s ear. “Our informant said the meeting was at midnight. It’s nearly that now.”
“Give it time, amigo.”
For eight months, they’d had nothing but time, it seemed. Somebody was running drugs out of the Jazz Note, the umpteenth incarnation of a nightclub to occupy the same building in the tony arts and entertainment district of KC known as Westport. And while the club’s current owner seemed legit, KCPD hadn’t been able to pinpoint anyone who frequented the place often enough to make it a profitable distribution hub. The investigation had grown cold.