Capturing Cleo. Linda Winstead Jones
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it off.
Stupid idea. Cleo was gorgeous, in an exotic, all-woman kind of way, but she was too stubborn for his taste. She liked to argue, to butt heads. And what a mouth! He liked his women soft and sweet and compliant.
Well, soft, sweet and compliant was great for an hour or two, he admitted grudgingly. After that, most women lost their luster. They wanted too much, they needed too much. Cleo Tanner was anything but compliant. She was also anything but sweet. As for soft…
He almost groaned aloud when Russell walked into the diner, smile on his face, not a single golden hair out of place. The kid didn’t even dress like a homicide detective. Tan pants, blue shirt, brown jacket, burgundy tie and those damn loafers. The kid looked like he’d just stepped out of GQ, right down to the brilliant grin he turned on them.
“I figured I’d find you here,” the kid said, and then he laid eyes on Cleo.
The kid was transparent, and he’d just fallen instantly, deeply and annoyingly in love. Well, in lust, anyway. Luther had a feeling that happened a lot to Cleo. She sucked unsuspecting men in like a swirling, dangerous, inescapable black hole. If he wasn’t careful, he could be next.
“What do you want?” Luther asked.
“We’re supposed to be partners, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hip,” Luther grumbled. God, the kid was so damn…enthusiastic.
“My mistake. I thought we were working on the Tempest case today. I didn’t know you had a…” He laid adoring eyes on Cleo again. “A breakfast date.” Russell actually blushed.
“Michael Russell, this is Cleo Tanner.”
The kid’s smile faded quickly. He knew the name well. “Oh.” Still, he offered his hand, and Cleo took it. “A pleasure, ma’am.”
“I wish I could say the same,” she said, with a frosty smile that Russell apparently found endearing. He sat beside her, and she scooted toward the window to give him room.
“Cleo Tanner,” Russell said, nodding his head knowingly.
Cleo sighed. “Yes, Jack Tempest was my ex-husband,” she said in a no-nonsense voice. “Yes, I hated his guts. No, I didn’t kill him. You’re up to speed, now.”
Russell smiled at her, that sweet smile that probably had women falling at his feet. Luther was glad to see that Cleo didn’t immediately fall. She looked as wary as ever.
“Glad to hear it,” the kid said.
“Robin,” Luther said, signaling to the waitress as he took out his wallet and threw a few bills on the table. “Get Mikey here a good breakfast.”
Russell bristled at being called Mikey, as he always did, and Robin waited for his order. The kid debated for a minute, until Luther rose to his feet and signaled for the kid to let Cleo out. Russell came quickly to his feet and offered Cleo an assisting hand that she blatantly refused. Good for her.
“No, I’m not hungry,” Russell said as he stepped back and let Cleo rise from the booth on her own. “I’ll ride with you guys, if that’s okay. I can pick up my car later.”
Luther growled and took Cleo’s arm, and she shook him off with a muttered and sardonic “The more the merrier.”
He drove Cleo to the lot where her car was parked, Russell chattering away in the backseat. Luther tuned the kid out, and apparently so did Cleo. Russell was not deterred; he talked about the weather, a movie he saw last night, the traffic. Inane, polite, irritating chatter. He was still talking when Luther pulled into the lot where Cleo’s car was parked.
She exited the car quickly, and Luther did the same. When Russell tried to open his door and join them, Luther pushed it in and glared through the window. The kid got the message and settled back with that damnable smile on his pretty face.
Cleo wasted no time. She had her keys in her hand and had inserted one into the door lock, as Luther came up behind her.
“Put a peephole in your door,” he ordered.
“Mind your own business.”
“And move that damn spare key.”
She had the door open. “Screw you, Malone.”
Oh, he could only wish… He shook the inappropriate cravings off and grabbed Cleo’s arm, preventing her from slipping into her Corvette and out of the parking lot.
“I don’t like this,” he said.
She stared at the hand on her arm. “Neither do I,” she said frostily.
For a second, a long second where nothing moved, Luther wondered if either of them was talking about Jack Tempest, murder or grapefruit.
He didn’t release her. Not yet. “I would like to believe that your ex committed suicide, but I don’t.”
Some of the toughness faded from her face, leaving her looking momentarily vulnerable. “Neither do I,” she said again.
“And like it or not, the grapefruit means you’re involved.”
“I know,” she said.
“So put a peephole in your door and move that friggin’ key.”
She almost smiled. The tension faded for a moment and she was more tempting than ever. For a second he saw the unguarded Cleo, a real warm woman who needed to be scratched behind her ears until she purred. “I’ll think about it.”
He released her, and she immediately opened her door and dropped into her seat. Before she could close the door, he leaned in, placing his face near hers. He could almost see every muscle in her body tense, and her eyes—golden eyes that had been almost laughing a moment ago—became guarded. She didn’t like it when he got too close, he had sensed that from the beginning. Tough.
“Like it or not this is my case, Ms. Tanner, and alibi or no alibi, you haven’t seen the last of me.”
She said something obscene, and he withheld a smile. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“Not if I can help it,” she said, reaching past him to grab the handle and pull the car door closed. He barely had time to jump out of the way.
She jammed the keys into the ignition, then hesitated. After a moment she rolled her window down and lifted softened eyes to him. “I didn’t mean that,” she said, almost apologetically. “About my mother.”
He could not imagine why she was telling him this, but he nodded as if he understood completely.
“True, we get along much better when she’s in Montgomery and I’m in Huntsville, but…” Her face fell. “Crap. I’m going to have to call and tell her about Jack. She hated him more than I did, but she will want to send flowers to the funeral.” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “It’s the right thing to do, you know.”
“Do you want me to make the call for you?” he asked.
She laid her strangely golden eyes on him, no longer angry. This Cleo was guarded but honest. She was a little afraid, a little shaken, and she refused to admit to either. Still, the strength that put fire in her eyes and a sassy retort on her lips was there, as much a part of her as her shape, her mouth, that amazing head of hair. And he wanted, more than anything, to kiss her.
“You would do that?” she asked.
“If you want me to.”
“No, thanks. I can handle it.” She shook her head slightly. “God, Malone, you would have to turn out to be a nice guy.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“It is,” she said as she began to roll up her window.
Oh, this was a bad idea. Cleo was a suspect in a murder, and even though he had dismissed her as a viable option,