True Blue & Carrera's Bride: True Blue / Carrera's Bride. Diana Palmer
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She grinned. “Thanks, sir.”
“I wish we could get ironclad evidence that he killed the victim.” He grimaced. “Not that ironclad evidence ever got a conviction when some silver-tongued gung-ho public defender got the bit between his teeth.”
“Impressive mixing of metaphors, sir,” she murmured dryly.
He actually made a face at her. “Correct my grammar, get stakeout duty for the next two months.”
“I would never do that!” she protested with wicked, twinkling eyes.
He smiled back. She was very pretty when she smiled. Her mouth was full and lush and sensuous…
He sat back in his chair and forced himself not to notice that. “Get busy.”
“I’ll get on it right now.”
“Just out of curiosity, who was the officer who could place the convicted murderer at a party when the other murder was committed?”
“Officer Dan Travis,” she said. “He’s at the Jacobsville Police Department. I’m going to drive down and talk to him tomorrow.” She checked the notes on her phone. “Dunagan was arrested for assault by a patrolman in South Division named Dave Harris. I’m going to talk to him afterward. He might remember something that would be helpful.”
“Good. Keep me in the loop.”
“I will.” She got up and started for the door.
“Cassaway.”
She turned at the door. “Sir?”
His dark eyes narrowed. He seemed deep in thought. He was. He had a strange sense that she knew something important that she was hiding from him. He read body language very well after his long years in law enforcement. He’d once tripped a bank robber up when he noticed the man’s behavior and deliberately engaged him in conversation. During the conversation, he’d gotten close enough to see the gun the man was holding under his long coat. Rick had quickly subdued him, cuffed him, and taken him in for questioning. The impromptu encounter had solved a whole string of unsolved bank robberies for the cold case unit, and their sergeant, Dave Murphy, had taken Rick out to lunch in appreciation for the help.
“Sir?” Gwen prompted when he didn’t reply.
He sat up straight. His eyes narrowed further as he stared at her. She was almost twitching. “What do you know,” he said softly, “that you aren’t telling me?”
Her face flushed. “No…nothing. I mean, there’s…nothing,” she faltered, and could have bitten her tongue for making things worse.
“You need to think about your priorities,” he said curtly.
She drew in a long breath. “Believe me, I am.”
He grimaced and waved his hand in her direction. “Get to work.”
“Yes, sir.”
She almost ran out of the office. She was flushed and unsettled. Lieutenant Hollister met her in the hall, and frowned.
“What’s up?” he asked gently.
She bit her lip. “Nothing, sir,” she said. She drew in a long breath. She wanted, so badly, to tell somebody what was going on.
Hollister’s black eyes narrowed. “Come into my office for a minute.”
He led her back the way she’d come, past a startled Marquez, who watched the couple go into the lieutenant’s office with an expression that was hard to classify.
“Sit down,” Hollister said. He went behind his desk and swung up his long, powerful legs, propping immaculate black boots on the desk. He crossed his arms and leaned back precariously in his chair. “Talk.”
She shifted restlessly. “I know something about Sergeant Marquez that I’m not supposed to discuss with anybody.”
He lifted a thick blond eyebrow. He even smiled. “I know what it is.”
Her green eyes widened.
“The suits who came to see me earlier in the week were feds,” he said. “I know who you really are, and what’s going on.” He sighed. “I want to tell Marquez, too, but my hands are tied.”
“I went to see Cash Grier,” she said. “He’s out of the loop. He can’t do anything directly, but he might be able to let something slip at Barbara’s Café in Jacobsville. That would at least prepare Sergeant Marquez for what’s about to go down.”
“Nothing can prepare a man for that sort of revelation, believe me.” His eyes narrowed even more. “They want Marquez as a liaison, don’t they?”
She nodded. “He’d be the best man for the job. But he’s going to be very upset at first and he may refuse to do anything.”
“That’s a risk they’re willing to take. They don’t dare interfere directly, not in the current political climate,” he added. “Frankly, I’d just go tell him.”
“Would you?” she asked, and smiled.
He laughed deeply and then he shook his head. “Actually, no, I wouldn’t. I’m too handsome to spend time in prison. There would be riots. I’d be so much in demand as somebody’s significant other.”
She laughed, too. She hadn’t realized he had a sense of humor. Her face flushed. She looked very pretty.
He cocked his head. “You could just ask Marquez to the ballet and tell him yourself.”
“My boss would have me hung in Hogan’s Alley up at the FBI Academy with a placard around my neck as a warning to other loose-lipped agents,” she told him.
He grinned. “I’d come cut you down, Cassaway. I get along well with the feds. But I’m not prejudiced. I also get along with mercenaries.”
“There’s a rumor that you used to be one,” she fished.
His face closed up, although he was still smiling. “How about that?”
She didn’t comment.
He swung his long legs off the desk and stood up. “Let me know how it goes,” he said. He walked her to the door. “It’s not a bad idea, about asking him to the ballet. He loves ballet. He usually goes alone. He can’t get girlfriends.”
“Why not?” she asked. She cleared her throat. “I mean, he’s rather attractive.”
“He wears a gun.”
“So do you,” she pointed out, indicating the holster. “In fact, we all wear them.”
“True, but he likes women who don’t,” he replied. “And they don’t like men who wear guns. He doesn’t date colleagues, he says. But you might be able to change his mind.”
“Fat chance.” She sighed. “He doesn’t like me.”
“Go solve that murder for the cold case unit, and they’ll lobby him for you,” he teased.
“How do you know about that?” she asked, surprised.
“I’m the lieutenant,” he pointed out. “I know everything,” he added smugly.
She laughed. She was still laughing when she walked down the corridor.
Rick heard her from inside his office. He threw a scratch pad across the room and knocked the trash can across the floor with it. Then he grimaced, in case anybody heard and asked what was going on. He couldn’t have told them. He didn’t know himself why he was behaving so out of character.
The man Gwen was tracking in her semiofficial disguise was an unpleasant, slinky individual who had a rap sheet that read like a short story. She’d gone down to Jacobsville and interviewed Officer