Hidden Agenda. Maggie Price
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“You don’t need to worry about me, Lieutenant.” Years ago she’d gotten involved with another cop. When that relationship ended in disaster, she’d made it a rule to avoid romantic entanglements with all cops. As far as Carrie was concerned, that rule was set in stone.
“Good.” Quintana plucked a key off his desk then stood. He moved around the desk, handed Carrie the key as she rose. “We had a man retire last month so you get his desk. He cleared out his paperwork, but I’m not sure what supplies he left. You need anything, get with my secretary. Evelyn’s got paperwork you need to fill out.”
“I’ll see her first thing.” Carrie accepted the key, then picked up the foam cup of coffee she had yet to sample.
“Reilly, point out the empty desk to McCall.”
“Sure.” If he had a problem being harnessed with a new partner, it didn’t show in his face as he stepped back to let her pass out of the office ahead of him.
The squad room was a long rectangle, with a row of grime-streaked windows high up on one wall that let in the gloomy November sunlight. Metal desks stuck out from the walls like boat slips; those placed in the center of the room butted up against each other, front to front. All desks had identical telephones, computers and ancient rolling chairs.
Carrie noted the room’s backwash of noise changed to a murmur when she stepped into view. She sensed eyes watching her while she followed Linc through the maze of putty-colored desks. Any cop new to a unit was a subject of curiosity. In normal circumstances, she would have had to prove herself before she could expect anything other than surface acceptance. That wouldn’t happen here. She’d be yanked from the SEU the instant she ferreted out the evidence that Internal Affairs needed to file charges against Linc Reilly.
If the evidence even existed.
Linc paused at a metal desk as run-down looking as all the others. The nearby wall held a cork bulletin board loaded with yellowed fliers, notes, cartoons and bureaucratic memos.
“This is it,” he said, then flicked his gaze to the cup in her hand. “Guess you didn’t want coffee after all.”
“You’re right, I didn’t.” She sat the foam cup aside and met his gaze. His golden-brown eyes looked a little harder than the floor beneath her feet.
“Look, Reilly, I’m sure you’ve got major concerns over taking on a new partner while you’re involved in a high-profile investigation.”
A muscle in his cheek jerked, but his eyes stayed level. “That sums it up.”
“Your concerns are understandable,” she persisted. “I don’t have delusions of grandeur. I’m not supercop, out to prove how good I am at taking down bad guys. The bottom line is, I’ve never worked undercover. I want to learn as much as you’re willing to teach me. All I ask is that you give me a chance.”
“Fair enough,” he said, his expression impassive.
“Hey, Reilly, you got a call on line three.”
The voice that had Linc glancing across his shoulder belonged to a dark-haired detective with a scraggly beard who sat at a paper-piled desk on the far side of the squad room.
“Put it on hold,” Linc said, then looked back at Carrie.
“After I take this call, I’ll introduce you around the squad. Then I’ll head to Intelligence to get those photos and tag numbers from The Hideaway. I’ll drop the list of car tags off at dispatch. The run should be ready by early afternoon. We can get together then and I’ll bring you up to speed on what we’ve got so far.”
“Thanks, Reilly.”
“Don’t thank me, McCall.” He smiled now, a quick, powerful strike. “You screw up, I’ll be right there in your face.”
“I don’t plan to screw up.”
“Then we shouldn’t have a problem.”
The usual hubbub of ringing telephones, raised voices, rattling coffee cups and clicking computer keys restarted when Carrie settled at her desk. She kept Linc in her sights as he headed across the squad room. His sure, determined walk sent the message he was a man who possessed total confidence in himself and his abilities. Since she was still puzzling over her own reaction to him, she could attest to the power of his physical presence.
Taking a deep breath, she shifted her thoughts to another aspect of the man. Other officers had told her that in a pinch, he was fearless, the type of partner they wanted next to them when there was trouble. It was rumored Reilly could be as ruthless as the dopers, robbers, gang members and killers who had it in for the cops.
Nothing wrong with that, Carrie conceded. Sometimes a cop survived solely because he was as hazardous as the scum with whom he dealt. Problems surfaced when that ferocity pushed a cop to dole out his own form of justice. Became a self-appointed death squad. An avenger.
Had the vicious murder of his wife transformed Reilly into one of those cops? Had the pain and trauma—and no doubt, the guilt—he had suffered transformed him into a rogue who had become judge, jury and executioner?
Before leaving the SEU, Carrie would know the answers to those questions.
Chapter 2
Linc had decided to bring Carrie McCall up to speed in the drab, windowless interview room that jutted off the main squad room. With various printouts, photographs, rap sheets, mug shots and the detailed plan he’d drawn up for the operation at The Hideaway, they had a mountain of paperwork to go over. The scarred table in the room’s center was big enough to spread out everything. What he hadn’t factored into the equation was that the interview room was small enough to take on an intimate edge when he enclosed himself there with a woman who wore a kick-a-man-in-the-gut perfume.
What the hell had he been thinking? he silently berated himself while watching her leaf through surveillance photos. Her gaze was intense, her demeanor serious as she examined the pictures of people and vehicles that had shown up in The Hideaway’s parking lot over the past nights. Just because she was all business didn’t change the fact she looked like a million dollars, with her perfect face and that mass of coppery hair that slid with each subtle movement past her shoulders to her breasts.
A cool, composed, sexy million dollars.
He averted his gaze to one of the bare walls, painted an institutional green. It annoyed him that just by sitting across a table from him she could deflect his attention from the case that should have his total concentration.
“From the outside, The Hideaway looks like a good-size place,” she commented while shuffling the photos.
He felt an additional twist of irritation when it took his thoughts a second to click off her and on to business. In the two years since Kim’s death, he had barely noticed any woman, much less had one seemingly take over his mind.
In a flash of intuition, he knew that no matter how his new partner handled this assignment, even if she made no mistakes, she was going to give him a great deal of trouble.
The sort of trouble he didn’t want or need.
“The Hideaway was once a farmhouse that’s been enlarged,” he said finally. “There’s a main bar room for drinking and dancing. Another for playing pool, with a handful of smaller rooms jutting off it. I’ve got a layout of the interior which we’ll go over.”
“I never heard about this place while working patrol.” She glanced up from the photos, her blue eyes intense. “I rode one of the far northwest districts and The Hideaway is way southeast, so that’s probably why. How long has it been in operation?”
“Long enough for people who live in the area to complain about the drunk and speeding drivers, loud music and everything else that goes along with a place like that.”
“Why not put a couple of traffic units out there to pull over the customers after they drive off? Cite