C.J. Carmichael - Perfect Partners?

One side of his mouth curved up. The cheeky bastard. He didn’t even apologize, just dropped a clipping onto her desk.

It was her ad from the newspaper.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Maybe the guys at the precinct had put him up to this. They’d all have a good chuckle at her expense later, over lunch.

But Nathan shook his head. “I quit the force. My last day was Friday, October 9, to be precise.”

“What? Why?” This just got stranger and stranger.

“Let’s just say I needed a change.”

“I don’t believe it.”

His eyes darkened. “You’re not the only one.”

This had to be bullshit. But maybe she should play along a little. “Okay. Say it’s true. What are you doing here? You can’t expect me to believe that you want to work for me.”

“I don’t want to work for you,” he agreed.

“Then—?”

“I want to be your partner.”

A four-letter expletive exploded from her mouth.

He wasn’t fazed. “Fisher and Fox Investigations. Sounds good, right?”

“Get out of here.” She pointed at the door. Yeah, right, Fisher and Fox. He was definitely yanking her chain.

“I’m serious, Lindsay. From past experience, you know our skills are complementary.”

She remembered one dark, rainy night, when it had been more than their skills that had been complementary. Hell. Why was she thinking about that? She had to get him out of here. Fast.

“When we were partners, you drove me crazy.”

“You may not always appreciate my style, but you need someone like me around. Bending the rules now and then is one thing, but you don’t bend them. You bulldoze them.” He scooped something from the floor, surprising her when he surfaced with her red pump.

“High heels with your jeans?” He cocked his head assessingly. “Never saw you as the type.”

She snatched the shoe from his hand. She’d bought the Jimmy Choo heels full price, with the last paycheck she’d received from the police department, and she was going to wear them until the three-inch heels were worn down to the ground.

“Either you’ve changed, or I didn’t know you as well as I thought.”

“It’s not a big deal. I happen to like nice shoes.”

“Not enough to wear them, apparently.”

She slipped the shoe onto her foot, then fumbled for the mate. “Every morning when I put on a pair of heels, I’m reminded that I don’t work for a big organization anymore. There is no chain of command. The buck stops with me.” She lifted her chin. “It’s a good feeling.”

Nathan nodded. “I respect that. In fact, I respect a lot of things about you. That’s why I’m here.”

Despite herself, she felt flattered. Hearing Nathan say that he respected her…well, that was something.

Leaving the force had not been an easy decision. As a kid she’d wanted so badly to become a policewoman. After graduating from college and moving to New York City, her goal had been to work for the famous—and sometimes infamous—NYPD. But when she’d finally finished the education and training necessary to entitle her to wear the dark blue uniform, she’d been bitterly disappointed at the reality.

Rather than helping people, she pushed pencils. Investigating a crime as a member of a police force was like wading through waist-deep muck. Regulations and procedures ate away most of her available work hours. She’d wanted to serve her community, to protect society’s weakest members. Instead, criminals thumbed their noses at her and the system as they got away with the same misdemeanors and petty crimes over and over and over.

And then there were the crimes that weren’t so petty…

“You and I want the same thing, Fox. Together we’ll be a force to reckon with.” He planted his hands on her desk and leaned forward. She caught a whiff of his soap, noticed the clean-blunt lines of his fingernails.

He was serious. The realization sent a zap of adrenaline through her bloodstream. She couldn’t help but be intrigued, even though she knew it was a bad idea.

“Why not start a firm of your own? Why partner up with me?”

“Starting a business takes time. You’ve got everything in place here. Plus, you’ve already made a name for yourself. I saw the story in the Daily last month. Impressive.”

She knew the case he was talking about. The Anderson file had started out as a simple missing-persons case. She’d been asked to locate a long-lost uncle who’d been a beneficiary in a multimillion dollar family estate. She’d ended up finding Curtis Anderson, a convicted sex offender on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.

What a buzz that had been. Who knew how many children’s lives would be safer now that Anderson was no longer on the prowl. Talk about job satisfaction.

“You’ve got more cases than you can handle,” Nathan continued. “A good reputation and an ideal location with an excellent long-term lease.”

She couldn’t believe how much he knew about her operation. But then Nathan had always been the sort of investigator who did his homework. He was never tempted to cut corners, the way she sometimes did.

Her instincts were good. Very rarely wrong. Still, occasionally, she had to admit, she’d been burned by her impetuousness. In the past, Nathan had saved her butt more than a few times. He’d also driven her nuts.

“You know I prefer to work alone.”

“You’re the one who put an ad in the paper. Besides, we don’t have to handle the same cases. We could work independently.”

Much as she hated to admit it, he was wearing her down. “I’ve put a lot of time and money into this business. Why should you just walk in and reap the benefits?”

“I’m prepared to buy my way in.”

“Promissory notes?”

“Cold, hard cash.”

She thought of all the things she could buy with an infusion of capital. The extra computer programs, a new camera—maybe even a van.

Then she imagined having to vet every decision with another person. Discuss approaches, divvy up new cases. She wrinkled her nose. “I like being the boss. You want in as an employee, that’s cool. But partnership is not an option.”

She waited for him to stalk out the door, certain that he would. But he just smiled. Slow and confident. Then he placed an envelope on her desk.

“I have more to contribute than money. Read that, Fox. Then let me know if you change your mind.”

LINDSAY WAITED FOR NATHAN to leave her office. Only once the door was firmly closed between them did she touch the manila envelope he’d left on her desk. Using a letter opener, she slit the top open and peered inside.

She’d almost expected to find the cold, hard cash he’d promised her.

Instead out slid a package of case notes. She flipped through the pages. Did he really expect to sway her with this?

The client’s name was Celia Burchard. Burchard. That sounded familiar. Lindsay leaned back in her chair, propped her feet on an overturned wastepaper basket and settled in to read.

Apparently Celia Burchard was looking to retain an investigator to assist in the defense of her mother who had been charged with the attempted murder of her husband.

Lindsay realized then where she’d heard the name before. The story had been all over the news media for most of August.

The case had caught Lindsay’s attention because of the twist on the abused-wife scenario. For once it wasn’t the husband who had attacked his wife, but the other way around.

The news quotient had been upped by the Burchards’ social status. Maurice Burchard was well-known as a Manhattan property developer and his wife was active in the arts community. The couple had a reputation for hosting amazing parties. To be invited to an event at the Burchards’ town house in the city, or their hunting lodge in the Catskills was the pinnacle of social success.