Jule McBride - The Protector

“Oh really? I wouldn’t have expected something so fanciful from an old cynic like you.”

An old cynic? Was that what Judith thought of him? “You don’t know anything about me,” Sully found himself saying. His family was worried sick, and this woman was withholding information, playing games. “You see a suit and tie. What I look like behind a desk. Or when I give orders.”

Her dark blue eyes were suddenly boring into his, vivid against the unbelievably creamy, pale skin of her oval face. “I see,” she said dryly. “You’re saying that Sullivan Steele—the man, not the cop—is different?”

It was exactly what he was saying. But how had they wound up in this conversation? Before he could ask, she said, “Your father’s guilty, Steele. If you know that, but aren’t telling me, then you’ll wind up prosecuted. And if you don’t know it, and can’t accept it, I understand.” He could swear her hard, crimson mouth actually softened, and for the briefest second, it looked kissable. “It’s…difficult when people you love do something wrong.”

The last thing he wanted was sympathy. “I want proof, Judith,” he said, thinking she definitely wouldn’t be this confident unless she’d found something. “Tell me,” he demanded. “Why are you so sure he’s guilty?”

“The videos that show your father taking the money aside?” she asked. “My sixth sense.”

“Well, your sixth sense about the Steeles is wrong.”

Challenge sparked in her eyes. “On that matter,” she retorted, echoing his words, “I want proof.”

There was only one way. “Fine.”

She looked stunned. “You have proof your father’s innocent?”

“Come over for dinner.”

It was the last thing she expected. “To your house?” Laughter bubbled between her lips, and she gaped at him incredulously. “Dinner? Are you serious, Steele?”

It was the only way to convince her of his family’s integrity. “Aren’t you curious?” Unable to stop himself, he stalked closer, his voice lowering seductively as he edged in front of her. “Don’t you want to observe the criminals at home?” he prodded, an almost playful smile tilting his lips. “See what we eat? How we interact?”

The interest in her eyes shouldn’t have intrigued him, and when it did, Sully admitted that he sometimes wished Judith Hunt would express the sort of interest his mystery lady had. But with Judith, it was always the case. She’d phoned him from Seduction Island, and yet she’d never ventured anything personal—not even once. Didn’t she have any human curiosity?

“You’re inviting me into the den of iniquity, huh?” Her eyes locked with his. Maybe he shouldn’t have felt quite so breathless when she said, “You’re on, Steele. Name your time.”

“Sunday dinner. We always have it at my folks’ place.” Everybody loved Sheila. This particular weekend Pansy Hanley was coming in from Seduction Island to see Rex, her fiancé, and meet and support Sheila. Truman and his fiancée, Trudy, would be there also. Sully gave the address. “Should I write it down?”

Judith shook her head. “I have excellent recall.”

“Funny,” he said. “Because you don’t seem to be recalling whatever new information you’ve found out about my father.”

The guilt crossing her features further convinced him she was withholding something. Given how he felt about that, Sully had no idea what compelled him to say, “Maybe I should just pick you up?”

“We’ll see.”

“You’ll let me know?”

“Sure. One way or another, I’ll see you Sunday, Steele.”

As usual, he watched her go, this time mulling over how little they’d accomplished during this particular visit. Shrugging out of the oppressive jacket he’d felt compelled to don, he replayed everything that had just occurred. Judith definitely knew something, which meant he needed bargaining power. Sully hated to fight dirty, especially with such a beautiful woman, but this time it was necessary. He called to Nat, his desk sergeant.

“I want you to do some research on Ms. Hunt,” Sully said when he appeared in the doorway.

Nat’s lips parted in surprise, and he thrust a hand worriedly through the shock of wavy black hair that matched his sparkling eyes. “What are you looking for?”

“Anything I can use if I have to,” Sully said simply. “She knows something about Pop, and I need to know what it is.”

“But we’re so busy around here—”

“No rush. Whenever you’ve got a minute.”

“I’ll see what I can turn up.”

Good. Maybe by the time Judith came for dinner, Sully would know more about her. A vision of her blouse came back to him—open at the throat, fluttering against creamy skin. At one point, just beneath it, he’d glimpsed the cup of her bra, and like some horny teenager, he’d actually felt himself starting to get hard. He wasn’t proud of it, but the moment had made him think of seduction. After all, Sully was extremely good at seduction…and seduction was another way of getting information from a woman.

“DINNER WITH Sullivan Steele,” Judith murmured that night as she stepped from a cool bath. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the aromatic mist of her scented bath oil, as well as the fresh flowers she’d placed on the edge of the tub, using the amber genie bottle as a vase. “Have I lost my mind?”

Slipping into a white silk robe, she knotted it around her waist and headed for the living room, stepping on what had to be the greatest sin in Manhattan—a white carpet. Quite the luxury in a city where everything became dirty so easily. Vaguely, Judith wondered what Sullivan Steele would think if he ever saw it. It was tempting to bring him here, if only to shock him, since he obviously thought she was such a prude.

Trouble was, he was right, she thought, heat flooding her cheeks. Besides, because she didn’t socialize much outside work, her nerves would be frazzled if he ever came here. Her correspondent, by contrast, wouldn’t be nearly as unsettling a houseguest. The man who’d sent the message in a bottle seemed so kind and accepting, so willing to slowly build trust.

But now she’d been invited into the Steeles’ world. Because Sullivan had invited her, it was a good guess that he didn’t know his mother’s bank balance had recently swollen to the unbelievable sum of fifteen million dollars. But then, this could be a ploy to make Judith think he didn’t know his mother was probably involved in the Citizens Action Committee theft. Why else would she have so much money in the bank?

What if he really had no knowledge, though?

Guilt gnawing at her, Judith tried to imagine how Sullivan would feel if he discovered those closest to him were criminals. He’d be crushed. Fortunately, spending an evening with the Steeles would clarify things.

Passing a brocade sofa strewn with pillows, Judith sat at a desk and withdrew the letter from her handbag once more. Her eyes trailed over the words.

Lady, can we meet? When I tossed the bottle into the Hudson, I imagined it being found years from now, by a woman in another country.

The man sounded so heartfelt, so emotional. She sighed. So unlike Sullivan Steele. She got out a sheet of stationery, then merely sat there, pen poised over the paper, wondering how to reply. Searching for inspiration, she stared through a window at the busy street below and felt a sudden rush of gratitude for the milling crowds and honking horns.

Judith couldn’t stand the quiet. Only Manhattan, with its noisy throngs, made her feel safe. There were always people here. A barely conscious voice played beneath her thoughts. Always people to turn to for help.

She’d come so far. She was thousands of miles from the farm in the Midwest where she’d grown up. Even now she felt a slight jolt of panic when she recalled the long road leading to the farmhouse, the isolation, how dark it looked at night with no other visible house lights.