Nora Roberts - Convincing Alex - the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

The Stanislaskis

Book Four

www.millsandboon.co.uk

When Alex Stanislaski mistakenly arrested daringly bold soap-opera writer Bess McKnee for soliciting, she decided the sexy detective was absolutely perfect—for her research and for herself. Now all she had to do was convince him she was right….

For Pat Gaffney,

to even things out

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

The curvy blonde in hot-pink spandex tottered on stiletto heels as she worked her corner. Her eyes, heavily painted with a sunburst of colors, kept a sharp watch on her associates, those spangled shadows of the night. There was a great deal of laughter on the street. After all, it was springtime in New York. But beneath the laughter there was a flat sheen of boredom that no amount of glitter or sex could disguise.

For these ladies, business was business.

After popping in some fresh gum, she adjusted the large canvas bag on her bare shoulder. Thank God it was warm, she thought. It would be hell to strut around half-dressed if the weather was ugly.

A gorgeous black woman in red leather that barely covered the essentials languidly lit a cigarette and cocked her hip. “Come on, baby,” she said to no one in particular, in a voice husky from the smoke she exhaled. “Wanna have some fun?”

Some did, Bess noted, her eyes skimming the block. Some didn’t. All in all, she thought, business was pretty brisk on this spring night. She’d observed several transactions, and the varied ways they were contracted. It was too bad boredom was the byword here. Boredom, and a defiant kind of hopelessness.

“You talking to yourself, honey?”

“Huh?” Bess blinked up into the shrewd eyes of the black goddess in red leather who had strolled over. “Was I?”

“You’re new?” Studying Bess, she blew out smoke. “Who’s your man?”

“My… I don’t have one.”

“Don’t have one?” The woman arched her ruthlessly plucked brows and sneered. “Girl, you can’t work this street without a man.”

“That’s what I’m doing.” Since she didn’t have a cigarette, Bess blew a bubble with her gum. Then snapped it.

“Bobby or Big Ed find out, they’re going to mess you up.” She shrugged. After all, it wasn’t her problem.

“Free country.”

“Girl, ain’t nothing free.” With a laugh, she ran a hand down her slick, leather-covered hip. “Nothing at all.” She flicked her cigarette into the street, where it bounced off the rear fender of a cab.

There were dozens of questions on Bess’s lips. It was in her nature to ask them, but she remembered that she had to go slow. “So who’s your man?”

“Bobby.” With her lips pursed, the woman skimmed her gaze up and down Bess. “He’d take you on. A little skinny through the butt, but you’d do. You need protection when you work the streets.” And she could use the extra money Bobby would pass her way if she brought him a new girl.

“Nobody protected the two girls who got murdered last month.”

The black woman’s eyes flickered. Bess considered herself an excellent judge of emotion, and she saw grief, regret and sorrow before the eyes hardened again. “You a cop?”

Bess’s mouth fell open before she laughed. That was a good one, she thought. Sort of flattering. “No, I’m not a cop. I’m just trying to make a living. Did you know either of them? The women who were killed?”

“We don’t like questions around here.” The woman tilted her head. “If you’re trying to make a living, let’s see you do it.”

Bess felt a quick ripple of unease. Not only was the woman gorgeous, she was big. Big and suspicious. Both qualities were going to make it difficult for Bess to hang back on the fringes and observe. But she considered herself an agile thinker and a quick study. After all, she reminded herself, she’d come here tonight to do business.

“Sure.” Turning, she strutted slowly along the sidewalk. Her hips—and she didn’t for a minute believe that her butt was skinny—swayed seductively.

Maybe her throat was a little dry. Maybe her heart was pounding a bit too quickly. But Bess McNee took a great deal of pride in her work.

She spotted the two men half a block away and licked her lips. The one on the left, the dark one, looked very promising.

“Look, rookie, the idea’s to take one, maybe two.” Alex scanned the sidewalk ahead. Hookers, drunks, junkies and those unfortunate enough to have to pass through them to get home. “My snitch says that the tall black one—Rosalie—knew both the victims.”

“So why don’t we just pick her up and take her in for questioning?” Judd Malloy was anxious for action. His detective’s shield was only forty-eight hours old. And he was working with Alexi Stanislaski, a cop who had a reputation for moving quickly and getting the job done. “Better yet, why don’t we go roust her pimp?”

Rookies, Alex thought. Why were they always teaming him up with rookies? “Because we want her cooperation. We’re going to pick her up, book her for solicitation. Then we’re going to talk to her, real nice, before Bobby can come along and tell her to clam up.”

“If my wife finds out I spent the night picking up hookers—”

“A smart cop doesn’t tell his family anything they’d don’t need to know. And they don’t need to know much.” Alex’s dark brown eyes were cool, very cool, as they flicked over his new partner’s face. “Stanislaski’s rule number one.”

He spotted the blonde. She was staring at him. Alex stared back. Odd face, he thought. Sharp, sexy, despite the makeup she’d troweled on. Beneath all the gunk, her eyes were a vivid green. The face itself was all angles, some of them wrong. Her nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken. Some john or pimp, he figured, then skimmed his eyes down to her mouth.

Full, overfull, and a glossy red. It didn’t please him at all that he felt a reaction to it. Not knowing what she was, what she did. Her chin came to a slight point, and with her prominent cheekbones it gave her face a triangular, foxlike look.

The clinging tube top and spandex capri pants showed every inch of her curvy, athletic little body. He’d always been a sucker for the athletic type—but he reminded himself just where this particular number got her exercise.

In any case, she wasn’t the one he was looking for.

Now or never, Bess told herself, feeling her new acquaintance’s eyes on her.

“Hey, baby…” Though she hadn’t smoked since she’d been fifteen, her voice was husky. Saying a prayer to whatever gods were listening, she veered in on Alex. “Want to party?”

“Maybe.” He hooked a finger in the top of her tube, and was surprised when she flinched. “You’re not quite what I had it mind, sweetie.”

“Oh?” What next? Combining instinct with her observations, she tossed her head and leaned into him. She had the quick impression of pressing against steel—hard, unyielding and very cool. “Just what did you have in mind?”

Then, for a moment, she had nothing at all on hers. Not with the way those dark eyes cut into her, through her. His knuckles were brushing her skin, just above the breasts. She felt the heat from them, from him. As she continued to stare, she was struck by a vivid image of the two of them, rolling on a narrow bed in some dark room.