Kylie Brant - An Irresistible Man

She looked at the man next to her. He was frowning slightly at the report in his hand. Was it possible that he was mixed up in these arms deals? And if he was, how would he handle having a totally unwanted partner assigned to him? Would he try to lead the investigation astray, destroy evidence or file false reports? Any of these means would be a way to deflect guilt from himself, but all would be harder to do with another detective at his side. Madeline hated the thought of having to examine his every word, every action, looking for possible signs of incrimination. But that was exactly what she would have to do if she was to complete the job Brewer had assigned her.

She wondered, for what seemed like the hundredth time, why she had been picked for this case. She detested duplicity in any form. After the fiasco that had brought scrutiny to her own private life, she’d vowed to remain painfully honest in her dealings with others. Madeline wished she could believe that it was only her capabilities as a police detective that had affected Brewer’s decision in pairing her with Martinez. But she knew the captain too well not to doubt his motives. If he’d thought that her role in the investigation would make her uncomfortable, that alone would have accounted for his decision.

She sighed silently. She should have known. Life had been going along a little too smoothly lately. Others might disagree, arguing that “boring” was a more accurate description of her life. But Madeline had had enough excitement while she’d known Dennis Belding to last her a lifetime. She would take uneventful any day.

She surveyed the file in front of her with a slight frown. She had a feeling that her partnership with Cruz Martinez was not, by any stretch of the imagination, going to be uneventful.

“So, you’ve already questioned the victim’s family in each of the drive-bys,” Madeline said, nodding at the files. “And you found that all the victims belonged to some kind of gang.”

Cruz nodded. “Each of them was wearing gang colors when they were shot. But when the families gave me the names of their sons’ friends to talk to, I hit a brick wall. All of those friends are fellow gang members, and they don’t like talking to cops. I haven’t gotten anywhere interviewing them.”

“Counting the one earlier this week, that’s seven incidents involving three different gangs,” she noted. “Sounds like we should be expecting another shooting any day.”

He eased lower in his chair and smiled a little. The lady was sharp, he’d give her that. Of course, it was just a guess, but he’d already arrived at a similar conclusion. The gangs had kept busy trading bullets with each other, but this was the first time that a member of the Lords had been shot. It didn’t require a major leap of logic to guess that it was only a matter of time before the Lords retaliated.

Cruz tossed a picture across the top of the file folder in front of her. “Have you seen one of these before?”

“It’s an AK-47 automatic assault weapon,” she murmured, picking up the picture and examining it cursorily.

“Right. And until recently, these babies would have been hard to get.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “So, Detective Casey, let me pick your brain. What angle do you think we should pursue first?”

Madeline ignored the way the casual pose accentuated his well- defined torso. She answered his question surely. “I’d like to talk to the perp they collared trying to hold up the bank with one of these. What’s his name? Which district is he being held in?”

“Randy Stover, and he’s in the South,” Cruz answered. “But we’re not likely to get anything out of him. I heard he isn’t talking.”

“That’s a little unusual. He was caught in the act, right?” At his nod, she continued, “They’ve got witnesses, the weapon and fingerprints. By now he should be copping a plea.”

Cruz shrugged. “Maybe he will. But the one thing he isn’t doing is telling anyone where he got the gun.”

“I’d still like to talk to him,” she answered. At Cruz’s silence, she raised an eyebrow. “Well, wouldn’t you?”

He was silent so long that she almost repeated her question. Finally he responded. “Okay. I’ll set it up.”

He turned to the phone on his desk and began dialing. Madeline studied him silently as he spoke into the receiver. She wondered at his unwillingness to follow through on her suggestion. Was he afraid the perp might identify him as being involved in the supply? Or was it simpler than that? Perhaps he just didn’t believe it would lead anywhere.

When he hung up the phone and looked at her, his face was expressionless. “It’s all set. Let’s go.” Madeline followed him out of the squad room, wondering if she’d imagined his reluctance.

She slid into the front seat of the navy Crown Vic, and Cruz got behind the wheel. He turned on the ignition and glanced at her. “We’ll trade off driving, if that’s all right with you. Tomorrow will be your turn.”

His offer took her by surprise, but since she really preferred to do her own driving, she readily agreed. “All right.”

He expertly turned the car into the traffic. “How long have you been with the department?”

So he was a talker. That shouldn’t have surprised her. He had a free and easy manner guaranteed to put the most anxious person at ease. However, Madeline would have preferred to skip the small talk. She was normally very reserved; even as a child she’d difficulty making friends. But the best way to find out things about Cruz Martinez, things that would aid in the investigation she was assigned to do on him, was to divulge some information about herself. Then he would have to reciprocate.

“Over ten years.”

That would make her about thirty, Cruz estimated. Four years younger than himself.

“How about you, Detective?”

He took his eyes off the traffic long enough to shoot her a half smile. “Detective’ sounds kind of formal. Won’t we get each other mixed up? Call me Cruz.” When she didn’t respond, he added coaxingly, “And I’ll call you Madeline. Or do you prefer Maddy?”

She turned her heard slowly to throw him a lethal look. “Don’t… you… dare.”

“Madeline it is, then.” He made sure his amusement didn’t show. With her hair pulled back, and dressed in those neatly tailored clothes, she did look like a Madeline. But in something softer, more alluring, with her hair loosened to spill down her neck, then he thought she would resemble a Maddy. But now wasn’t the time for such imaginings, and he pushed the mental picture away.

“I’ve been on the force fourteen years,” he answered her belatedly. “My grandfather was a cop. So were two of my uncles. I grew up thinking it was the greatest thing in the world to be.” He shrugged. “Once on the force, I got hooked by the glamour of the job.” His humor drew a smile from her. Sometimes tedious, other times gritty and horrifying, police work bore little resemblance to the way it was often depicted by Hollywood.

“How about you?” he inquired.

“What?”

“Why did you become a cop?”

Madeline thought for a few moments, wondering if she could answer the question truthfully, without sounding like an idealistic fool. Only her father had ever asked her that question before, and he hadn’t been interested in a truthful answer. He’d always regarded her choice of career as an attempt to spite him. No matter how often she’d tried to explain it to him, he’d never really heard her, so after a while she’d stopped trying. “I wanted to make a difference,” she responded finally, looking out the window at her side.

“And have you?”

She turned back to stare at him.