Kylie Brant - An Irresistible Man

Once she’d been ushered into his office he had her report on every detail of her meeting with Martinez and Ritter that day. Twice.

“So you found him playing basketball, eh?” Brewer repeated. “How’d he look to you?”

Madeline’s face was blank. “Look?” Her powers of observation and her memory were legendary in the department, but she had a feeling that this man’s appearance wouldn’t have escaped even the dullest-witted woman. There was definitely something about Cruz Martinez that left a lasting impression.

“You know,” Brewer said impatiently. “How did he seem?”

She was quiet for a moment, wondering what the man was getting at. Finally she said, “He seemed… sweaty, sir.”

Brewer glanced sharply at her, but Madeline’s face was expressionless. “Very funny, Detective Casey. But what’s he like? How did you read him?”

Madeline knew it would do no good to point out how difficult it was to form an accurate assessment of somebody after being in his presence twenty minutes. And she would rather have her tongue cut out than share some of the impressions she had formed of the man. She took her time answering. “He seemed confident. Self-assured. I didn’t detect any nervousness about being asked to come in and speak to Ritter.” She shrugged. “If you’re asking me what kind of cop he is, I don’t have the answer to that yet. Although his captain seems to hold him in high regard.”

Brewer merely grunted at this. “And you’re sure he doesn’t have any contacts in the Northeast District who he can call to check up on you?”

Her tone was bored. “It appears the information in his file was correct on that score. And he said he didn’t.”

“Good, then, good.”

If Cruz talked to someone in the Northeast District, the investigation would be in jeopardy. He’d find out that Madeline had been placed there at one time, but had transferred out five years ago. And then he would wonder what she’d been doing in the time since.

“You say you’ve never met him before today?”

Madeline gritted her teeth. The man could get a job as a human echo. He seemed compelled to repeat everything she said. “No, sir, I haven’t.

“Neither have I,” mused the captain, “but I’ve certainly heard of him.” He eyed her shrewdly. “Surely you’ve heard of him, Casey.”

Madeline shook her head.

“Supposed to be a great detective,” the man informed her. “One of the best. His captain’s not the only one who thinks so. But I would have figured that you would have at least heard the rumors about him.”

Her lips thinned. “I’m not much for listening to rumors, Captain.” Actually, that was a huge understatement. Having been the subject of ugly speculation herself, she detested anything that resembled gossip. But she knew that wouldn’t stop Brewer from repeating his, and he did so, with obvious relish.

“He’s earned himself some interesting nicknames. Latin Lover. Casanova.” The captain smirked. “I understand he’s quite a player. His reputed success with women is famous throughout the department.”

Madeline schooled her features into an impassive mask. “What does that have to do with this case?”

“Nothing,” the man said with deceptive mildness. “Just thought you’d be interested. It wasn’t included in that file you read on him, was it?”

Although her spine remained straight, her gaze unswerving, Madeline could feel her control slip a notch or two. The man was really incredibly irritating. “No, sir.”

“I assume you’ve already memorized the file’s contents?”

She nodded shortly, bored with his little games.

Brewer picked up a flat piece of granite that he used as a paperweight from his desk top. Leaning back in his chair, he began tossing it from hand to hand. “And?”

Feeling somewhat like a trained circus seal, she quickly recited what she’d learned. “A couple of weeks ago an informant told one of our men that a cop was involved in these arms sales. A cop who was also involved in one of the investigations having to do with their use. By finding out what was being investigated, and who was assigned, you came up with a list of five detectives, any one of whom might be the cop the snitch was talking about. Each of the five is being paired with an undercover detective from Internal Affairs. I’m to find out how Martinez lives, if he seems to have an extra source of income and who his associates are.” She stopped here, her face showing none of the distaste she felt for the case. Hers was an inherently private nature, and everything in her shrank from the obvious prying that would have to be done here, especially to another cop. She had a question of her own to ask. “How reliable is the snitch?”

“He’s proven reliable in the past, but we won’t be using him again. Three days after he gave us that information he was found in a Dumpster, full of bullet holes.”

“Then how do you know he wasn’t wrong, or feeding you a line?”

This time it was the captain’s turn to shrug. “We don’t. Which is why we can’t get warrants to look at the detectives’ bank accounts without more info. But this could be potentially damaging enough to the department that we have to check them all out. The brass will be breathing down my neck if we don’t find something soon.”

“If Martinez is as great a detective as we hear,” she observed, “he would surely be smart enough to hide any money he had gotten illegally.”

Brewer looked impatient. “Maybe, maybe not. You just do your job. If you uncover something in the course of the case that points to Martinez’s involvement, turn it over to us and we’ll have him removed from the assignment, pending a thorough investigation. You of all people should know how it works, Casey.”

Her lips tightened at the gibe. Yes, she knew how it worked. He could have been referring to her five years’ experience working for Internal Affairs, but she doubted it. The captain had a knack for returning to unpleasant memories, like touching a bruise over and over. She would have liked to make a scathing retort, but she swallowed it. Her voice was even when she asked, “Is there any other information you have on Martinez that I should know about?”

The granite piece made a slap against the man’s palm as he tossed it back and forth. “Not much. I have heard that he grew up in the barrio, on the northeast side of the city. That’s part of his local-boy-makes-good mystique.”

“He wouldn’t be the first person to grow up motivated to succeed.”

The captain stopped his game of catch and stared hard at her. “He wouldn’t be the first to grow up to want more, either. A lot more. I’m not making judgments about whether he’s a dirty cop. That’s your job. You find out and report to me. If he’s clean, fine. If not, we’ll nail him. At the same time you’ll find the dirt bag arming every two-bit punk in the city. Just watch yourself, Casey. From what I’ve heard, Martinez is one smooth operator, on and off the streets.” The rock flew in an arc again, and he caught it with his other hand.

She ignored his smirk, as well as his suggestive words. Not trusting herself to say anything more, she rose and turned toward the door.

“Oh, and Casey, I’ll expect complete written reports from you weekly.”

She gritted her teeth. Paperwork was the bane of any detective’s job, and she hated it with passionate intensity. She left the room, wishing darkly that the piece of granite would slip and knock Brewer on the head.

Hard.

Cruz stretched his long legs out in the recliner, sipping the beer Michele Easton McLain had just handed him. Michele sat on the couch next to her husband, Connor.

“To what do we owe the honor?” inquired Connor lazily, referring to his best friend’s unexpected appearance.