Kylie Brant - An Irresistible Man

“Made a difference?” he clarified.

In the dark of night, after a particularly brutal case, that was a question that always hammered away inside her mind with an insidious pounding. Had she? “I don’t know,” she answered. “Sometimes I wonder.” Her hand went to the car radio. “Mind if I change the station?”

He quirked a brow. “You’re not a fan of country western music?”

“It all sounds the same. Lo-o-ove hurts,” she mimicked with a twang.

That surprised a gust of laughter from him. “Well, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not supposed to,” she muttered, flipping channels until she finally settled on one playing soft rock.

She probably didn’t realize how much she’d just revealed with that last comment, Cruz mused silently. And she most certainly hadn’t meant her tone to sound so wistful just then. He was becoming intrigued. There was a great deal more to her than met the eye, certainly more than the aura she attempted to exude, that of the cool, capable detective. Not that the image was false, but he was sure she was a damned sight more. Still, he recognized her retreat for what it was, so he obliged her by going silent.

After several minutes Madeline glanced at him warily. He seemed to have dropped the conversational ball and was now whistling tunelessly to the music on the radio. He must have found trying to converse with her tough going, and she sighed inwardly. As much as she hated to, she needed to get on a friendly footing with the man. He seemed so open; it might prove easy to find out much of the preliminary information about his life directly from him. And the things he didn’t want to share… well, it was her job to find those things out on her own.

Her gaze dropped to the steering wheel where his hands rested, one doing most of the driving and the fingers of the other tapping to the beat coming from the radio. His plain, light blue shirt accented his bronzed good looks, although she doubted a color existed that wouldn’t suit him. The long sleeves were rolled up partway to reveal strong wrists, the forearms above them lightly dusted with black hair. She noticed for the first time the thick silver bracelet he wore on his right wrist. It was an intricately woven chain, about three-quarters of an inch wide. Strangely enough, it didn’t detract from his masculine looks, nor did the cross he was wearing in his ear. She didn’t know much about jewelry but if the bracelet was expensive maybe it could be considered evidence that he was living above his means. Then, just as quickly, she wondered if it was a gift from a lover, and was strangely discomfited by the thought.

Her gaze slid downward. Today he was wearing a different pair of cowboy boots, and she made a mental note to find out what such a pair cost. As much as she disliked delving into his personal life, Brewer would be expecting at least a preliminary report on Martinez by next week, and she’d better have something for the captain by that time.

He was dressed only slightly more formally than he had been yesterday; at least the jeans he was wearing today looked fairly new. She had trouble tearing her gaze away from his hard thighs faithfully outlined by the denim.

“Like them?”

Madeline’s eyes bounced to Cruz’s at the question. “Pardon me?”

“The boots.” He pointed. “You were staring. I asked if you liked the boots.”

Her breathing became normal again. Of course, the boots. “They look expensive,” she said casually.

He shrugged and gave her a wink. “My one vice.”

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She had no doubt that the man beside her could give lessons on vice. And with that face and physique, he probably had plenty of eager pupils.

At the South District headquarters they were kept waiting almost an hour before they were motioned to by Stover’s arresting officer, Ronald Lee. They followed him to a small interrogation room. Waiting there was a man wearing the county jail uniform. Seated next to him at a table was a man in a double-breasted suit.

“This is Detective Casey and Detective Martinez.” The officer indicated each as he spoke. Motioning to the man in prison garb, he continued, “Randy Stover and his lawyer, Sam Powell, from the Public Defender’s Office.” Madeline and Cruz sat across from the men and the officer remained standing.

Madeline surveyed the alleged criminal before her. Narrow faced, with a receding hairline and thin body, his eyes were shifting between her and Cruz. “Already told him,” he jerked his head at the officer. “I got nothing to say.”

“Neither of you detectives were involved in the arrest.” Powell spoke up. “What do you want with my client?”

“We have permission to interview him about a case we’re working on.” Cruz took a picture out of his shirt pocket and tossed it on the table in front of Stover. “I’m told they’ve got an AK-47 just like that one with your fingerprints all over it.”

The man didn’t answer. Cruz went on easily. “It’s not like you’re admitting to anything we don’t already know. The gun’s in the evidence room right now.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“So,” Madeline interjected, “we’d like to know where you got it.”

Stover snorted derisively.

Cruz turned to ask the officer, “Did he have papers for it?”

The man shook his head. “We didn’t find any.”

“So if you don’t have papers-” Cruz addressed Stover again “-you got it from someone on the street. We want to know who.”

The prisoner looked at his lawyer. “They offering me a deal, or what?”

Powell looked at Cruz and Madeline. “Detectives?”

Cruz shook his head. “That would be up to the D.A. But if you cooperated with us, I’d make sure it got on the record, so things could go easier for you at sentencing.”

Stover crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “If you ain’t got nothing to deal with, don’t waste my time.”

“Do you know Victor Ramirez?” Madeline inquired. The man shook his head and she continued. “How about Tyson Greene?” Another shake. She named off each of the victims of the drive-by shootings, and each time the man responded negatively.

Cruz stared at her in surprise. She wasn’t consulting any notes, and he couldn’t help but be impressed. As far as he knew, she hadn’t heard any of those names before she’d read them in the file today. The lady must have one hell of a memory.

“What you have in common with those boys, Mr. Stover,” Madeline continued in a hard voice, “is that you were caught using a weapon like this-” she indicated the picture “-and each of them was shot by the same kind of gun. We’re interested in that coincidence.”

The man’s eyes widened. “What! You can’t pin them shootings on me, too.” His head swiveled to his lawyer’s. “They can’t, can they?”

“Do you have any evidence to suggest a link between my client and any of these other shootings, Detective?” Powell asked.

Madeline replied smoothly, “Not yet, but we’re just getting started. The point we’re making is that your client has information we can use to nail the supplier of these weapons. If he doesn’t want to cooperate with us, fine. But then we’d have some free time to fill. And we might use that time to check up on his alibis for each of these shootings. That’s assuming, of course, that he has alibis.”

“Go ahead,” Stover invited in an insolent tone. “You guys are just fishing. Think I don’t know that?”

“Detectives, I’d like a couple of minutes to confer with my client in private,” Powell said finally.

Madeline, Cruz and Officer Lee stepped out of the room. “Do you really think there’s a link between Stover and those shootings?” Lee asked them.