Читать книгу Silk Confessions - Joanne Rock - Страница 9

“HOW MUCH TIME do you have, Detective?” Tempest wrapped her arms around herself, clearly shaken by the note on her computer screen. “As the temporary CEO of Boucher Enterprises, I’m involved in overseeing many smaller companies in a wide variety of businesses. I also support my studio with my sculpting, so I consider that a line of work as well.”

Wes felt a tug of sympathy for her. He’d had enough years in law enforcement to be pretty astute about sizing up people’s stories, and Tempest was either a hell of an actress or genuinely surprised and scared to have found her home ransacked.

Of course, that didn’t clear her of wrongdoing. She could still be connected to his murder case, or have some hand in the prostitution ring his informant assured him operated under the guise of the MatingGame.com name. Her genuine fear and surprise might simply stem from dismay that someone was on to her.

Hell, for that matter, maybe his sudden eagerness to clear her name had more to do with the fact that he wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Thoughts of her dressed in some of the skimpy lingerie scattered all over the apartment invaded his brain despite his most valiant attempts to staunch them. Was she wearing an outfit like that under her pantsuit right now?

Shoving aside the thought, he forced himself to focus on the case. On her valid worries.

“Do you have reason to believe any of your assorted businesses could be involved in illegal practices?” This was the revealing question, the one that could give her away if she hid an affiliation to a high-priced call girl ring. She certainly had all the right social connections to provide the city’s wealthiest men with escorts.

And damned if he didn’t really hate that idea.

The mountains of lingerie strewn all over her apartment took on a more sinister meaning.

“Detective Shaw, I assure you if I had any reason to suspect one of my companies engaged in illegal practices, it would already be shut down.” She fixed her tawny stare, eyes as cold and remote as the chunk of smoky quartz at her neck. “If you have any grounds for suspecting one of my businesses is involved in something devious, I urge you to fill me in immediately so I can put the proper balls on the chopping block.”

The threat seemed all the more convincing in light of the disembodied clay penis he’d unearthed earlier. He hadn’t expected so much fervor from a woman he planned to keep on his suspect list.

Did it make him sadistic that Tempest Boucher and her bloodthirsty promise were turning into the most interesting case he’d had in nearly two years? As the web of intrigue around this mystery tightened, Wes experienced the first hint of enjoyment in his job that he’d had in far too long. “Is that how Boucher Enterprises deals with employees who don’t toe the company line?”

“It is while I’m at the helm. My family has been through enough over the past eight months without adding the media frenzy any illegal businesses practices would cause.”

“Do you keep work-related files on your home computer?” His gaze strayed back to the PC where the officer had just finished fingerprinting the keyboard. Wes wanted to get his hands on that computer to see what secrets he could shake loose from the circuitry.

Besides, better to think about laying his hands on the computer than think about using them on the woman in front of him who needed to be off-limits for as long as she was a suspect.

“Nothing related to Boucher Enterprises, but I do the accounting for my sculpting work here.” She snorted. “Such as it is. It’s not exactly keeping me in high style. And now that all my inventory has been destroyed—”

She broke off, surprising Wes with a hint of vulnerability he hadn’t expected. The woman lived her life in a relentless public spotlight, ran a company with a net worth that boggled the imagination, and could afford anything her heart desired. Yet she seemed genuinely distressed about the loss of her homemade statues.

“If it’s any consolation, insurance ought to cover their value.” Maybe that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but his practical side couldn’t help pointing out she wouldn’t be hurt financially.

Her curt nod and well-camouflaged sniffle assured him he hadn’t consoled her in the least.

“I’m sure you’re right. Do you think the person who broke in here was looking for business information of some sort?” She relieved the other officer of his handful of lingerie and the guy got back to work looking around the apartment. Tempest tossed the silky pile of undergarments on the arm of a red floral club chair.

Wes couldn’t say how long he stared at the stack of lace and satin, imagining the black silk hugging Tempest’s hips, the blue netting cupping generous breasts…

But he knew it took a Herculean effort to pull his thoughts back to reality. Blinking hard, he wrenched his gaze away.

“Possibly.” Deciding he was making zero progress by waiting for her to incriminate herself, Wes laid more of his cards on the table, still searching for some telltale reaction. At the very least, by sharing his suspicions he would put her on the defensive if she was guilty. Maybe she’d trip up and give him the lead he needed. “I’m investigating a small company owned by Boucher Enterprises. MatingGame.com?”

“The Internet dating service?”

“You’re familiar with the business?”

“I brought them aboard myself shortly before my father’s death.” She whistled to her dog and absently pet the animal while she spoke. “They had a talented web mistress who keeps the site fresh and provides great visibility all over the Web, but they were being inundated by crank dating résumés and starting to flounder under client dissatisfaction. Boucher brought the financial help they needed to screen all their clients by collecting more information. I believe they’re turning a very healthy profit now.”

“I believe they are a front for a prostitution ring.” He kept his gaze direct. Detached. That was a crucial part of interrogation unless you had a damn good reason for wanting your suspect to think you were on their side.

Wes didn’t know whether he’d struck pay dirt or if he’d merely scared the hell out of her, but she swayed on her feet at the news.

Damn.

“Are you okay?” He reached for her on instinct, pushing aside his need to dig for the truth long enough to steady her.

His hand went automatically to her waist, securing her at the base of her spine. Right away he knew touching her had been a mistake, but what the hell else could he have done? She looked as though she’d seen a damn ghost.

Too bad all he could think of was how tiny her waist felt under her jacket. The tailored cut wasn’t nearly tailored enough, the fabric not doing justice to the cinch of her midsection between gently flared hips and incredible cleavage.

Her scent—something rich and warm that made him think of the hot chestnuts sold by street vendors all winter—made him feel damn light-headed too. Good thing he would let her go any second now.

Yup. Any minute.

“I’m fine.” Tempest cleared her throat, the soft vibration of her voice reverberating gently against his palm where he still touched her. She stepped away before he remembered he was supposed to be letting go.

Cursing himself and his stupid sex-starved senses, Wes regretted the loss of mental control. He hadn’t done anything outwardly inappropriate, but his thoughts were another story. Worst of all, he’d lost track of his instincts since they’d gotten mixed with lust.

Where the hell was the cop buzz when he needed it? It seemed to have been soundly thrashed by a much louder hum of desire.

“I don’t know anything about MatingGame being involved in illegal activity, but you caught me off guard since—” She peered over her shoulder toward the other officers in the apartment. “Can we possibly speak in private?”

Surprised at her apparent need to confess, Wes couldn’t deny a rush of disappointment. The sexual hunger simmering in his veins had been really rooting for this woman’s innocence.

“Sure.” He shouted to the cops finishing up their routine search for evidence and quickly cleared the room of everyone but the two of them and Eloise, who curled up in front of the door for a snooze.

Wes hoped Vanessa wouldn’t show up on the scene too soon now that Tempest appeared so close to telling him what she knew. His partner had planned to investigate a few other leads on their murder case, but he expected she’d arrive at the precinct soon.

Now he settled in the club chair, a safe distance from the temptation presented by the first woman to send sparks his way in too long.

And didn’t it just figure she was going to turn out to be part of a prostitution ring?

Tempest eyed the muscular cop sprawled in a chair two sizes too small for him and prayed she was making the right decision by trusting him. But if he was investigating MatingGame, he might as well know everything she knew.

She sank down into the couch across from him and dug out the old memories that had caused her family so much pain.

“You’re probably familiar with the scandal surrounding my father’s death last year while he was in Mexico?” It had been the subject of speculation in the papers for weeks, making it nearly impossible to grieve privately.

“Heart attack during sex with a much younger lover, right?” Detective Shaw didn’t look scandalized in the least. Somehow, that made it easier to continue.

“Most people assumed it was a heart attack, allowing us to keep quiet the fact that the Mexican officials said he actually died of asphyxiation. You know how some people think cutting off their oxygen supply will increase the power of their release?” She waited for his nod, her cheeks heating at the nature of the discussion. She’d never been a shy woman, but the frank sex talk unnerved her.

Especially in light of her inconvenient attraction to the cop.

“He died during kinky sex?” One eyebrow lifted.

“Yes. And the woman involved might have come under more scrutiny if my mother hadn’t assured police my father had been perfecting ways to achieve the ultimate release throughout their marriage. It was one of the core reasons my parents fought.” Her mother had been horrified by her husband’s increasing obsession with pushing sex to the limit, finally walking out when he’d nearly strangled himself, although they’d never actually divorced. Apparently Ray Boucher demanded as much from his sexual encounters as he had from every other facet of his glittering, over-the-top lifestyle. “And as it happened, the woman my father had been with that last night wasn’t really a girlfriend. She was a one-night stand he’d met through MatingGame.”

Wes sat straighter in his chair, his long, lean body suddenly charged with alertness. “She never said anything to the press?”

“My mother and I made a trip south of the border to appeal to her sense of common decency and asked her to keep the sordid details to herself since the local officials didn’t leak the information to the media.” The woman had been nice enough and she’d been as eager as they were to put the ordeal behind her. “We helped her to relocate overseas so she wouldn’t be faced with the situation day in and day out over the turbulent months that followed.”

“You paid her off?”

“Hardly. She was down on her luck after a divorce left her broke, which was why my mother and I thought it would be just as well to help her start over again. Last I heard, she’d learned to speak Italian and settled just outside of Florence.”

“But you felt guilty enough about the whole situation to confess all this to me,” he pointed out with a bluntness Tempest began to recognize as part of his investigative style.

Or maybe it was just his personality. She had found it rather cold at first, but after a lifetime surrounded by people who were often pleasant to her face only for personal gain, she was beginning to find his direct manner more appealing.

Or maybe it was simply all those hard male muscles she found interesting. She hadn’t been enticed to get close to a man in a very long time.

“I don’t feel guilty about it in the least since no one outside his family needs to know what happened to my father. I was just taken aback when you mentioned MatingGame could be a cover for a prostitution ring.” She had thought the scandal of having her father die in bed while having adulterous sex with a woman half his age had been bad. Imagine the repercussions if the adulterous sex turned out to be part of an encounter with a prostitute?

The tabloids would have a field day, her mother would be humiliated and Boucher Enterprises would suffer. And while Tempest and her family were well-insulated from the rises and falls of the business, she couldn’t help but think of the people who worked for the company in one capacity or another. Those were the people who would suffer the most.

“You’re worried about the negative press that will ensue if people learn your father cavorted with a prostitute.” Shaw nodded knowingly, as if that statement summed up the situation.

“It’s a lot more complicated than that.” Tension built in her forehead, the sure sign of another stress headache coming on. She could have handled all this better if she’d at least had her weekly dose of Days of Our Lives. Damn it, melodrama like this belonged on her television screen, not in her living room. “You know how many people depend on our company for their livelihood? Those are the people who get hurt when my family comes under attack.

“My mother will console herself with shopping. My late father’s board of directors will unload their stock options and jump on early retirement. But what about the thousands of people we employ around the globe? They don’t deserve to lose their jobs because my father suffered a midlife crisis from the time he turned thirty until the day he died.”

Levering herself off the couch, Tempest stepped over the piles of rubble from the break-in, slowly making her way toward the kitchen where a bottle of Tylenol waited.

“What about you?” The cool-as-you-please detective merely followed her with his eyes, though his long limbs retained their alert stance, as if ready to pounce at any moment. “What would you do if Boucher Enterprises takes a financial nosedive?”

The question made her head throb all the more. Fishing through a maze of cooking spices and boxes of Milk-Bones in every conceivable flavor, she found the pain reliever and popped two in her mouth. Downing them with a cold glass of water, she took deep breaths and reminded herself nothing catastrophic had happened to the company yet. She could still fix this.

“I’ll admit it makes things harder for me. As temporary CEO, I’m eager to unload my job and it will make the position less attractive if the company is struggling.”

All the more reason to address the matter of MatingGame before the problem exploded underneath her. “In fact,” she continued, a plan slowly taking shape, “if MatingGame is a front for something sordid, I can have it shut down in a matter of minutes.”

Infused with new energy now that she had a strategy, she moved to find the phone, which no longer rested in its usual place on the kitchen counter.

“No.” Detective Shaw rose from his seat and was in her face in no time. He moved with a swiftness that surprised her.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Her breath caught at their sudden proximity, his tall, lanky frame close enough to touch.

Not that she would allow herself the pleasure. She’d been far too aware of him ever since he’d touched her earlier, as if her body had captured that quick impression of his hand on her back and had been seeking to recreate the moment ever since. Ridiculous, maybe. But sort of intriguing considering she hadn’t been even remotely interested in any man over the last months of nose-to-the-grindstone work.

What was it about the plainspoken police detective that turned her head and made her—she fidgeted to admit it, even to herself—horny? She’d never been the type to get all keyed up over a guy. Why him? Why now?

The timing for her sudden bout of lust surely sucked.

“I don’t have the evidence I need to prove MatingGame is a shady business.” He had oddly precise articulation for a man who’d probably seen the seamiest underbelly of the city. Glaring down at her from his height, which would have dwarfed her even if she hadn’t been wearing her running shoes, Wesley Shaw was warning her in no uncertain terms.

Too bad he was also turning her on—big-time. Her breath hitched in her throat as she envisioned having her way with such a big, powerful man. She’d overcome a lot of personal insecurities in the past year, but she’d never had the chance to test her sexual confidence.

This was so the wrong time.

“It would better suit my company to pull the rug out from under them, Detective.” Folding her arms across her chest, she glared right back, hoping like hell she wasn’t giving out any “do-me” vibe to mirror her sexually charged thoughts. “I don’t need any evidence to withdraw my support immediately. I won’t allow Boucher Enterprises to be dragged through the mud just so you can make your case.”

They stood too close together but Tempest wasn’t about to back down now. She hadn’t gleaned many of her father’s killer instincts when it came to business, but she knew enough about body language to comprehend she didn’t dare give this man any ground now.

Of course, there was a whole other dynamic to their body language that didn’t have a damn thing to do with prostitution, MatingGame, Boucher Enterprises or even her ransacked apartment.

“I don’t care about busting prostitutes.” He lowered his voice to a pitch that seemed just right for how close their bodies loomed and all wrong for a detached, intelligent conversation between strangers.

“You don’t?” Tempest cringed inwardly to hear her own voice hit a soft note. What was she thinking to engage in guy-girl games with the cop investigating a break-in?

Bad, bad idea.

“No. I’m trying to catch the murderer masquerading as a prostitute.”

His words reverberated in her ears, his point resonating until the meaning loomed large and ugly just outside the kitchenette area of her apartment. She blinked hard to gather her bearings, but when she opened her eyes her world still seemed slightly off-kilter and her stress headache now pounded to the forefront of her brain.

Body language be damned, she needed breathing room.

“I think I’d better sit down.” Tempest sidled past him, attempting to get her bearings away from the confusing heat that flared between them. She stepped on a piece of statuary, the broken clay crushing into dust on the hardwood floor beneath her sneaker.

“I need your help, Tempest.” He was right behind her, following her toward the sofa.

Her apartment seemed to shrink with him in it, his presence big and male and dominating her scrambled thoughts.

“I don’t know how I can help you, Detective, and I sure don’t understand how having my apartment broken into relates to murder.” She paused beside the sofa, unwilling to take a seat if it meant this man would insinuate himself beside her. She couldn’t think with him so close.

“You can help me.” His gray eyes seemed so confident. So certain. “And you can start by calling me Wes.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” She needed barriers to ward off the train wreck certain to ensue if she ever acted on her newfound lust for one of New York’s finest.

She dated artists. Men who weren’t afraid to explore their creative side, or at very least, their sensitive side. Wesley—Wes—didn’t look like the type to get in touch with his emotions anytime soon.

“It’s an excellent idea because you and I are going to get to know each other a hell of a lot better for the next few days—weeks—however long it takes for me to catch my bad guy.” He frowned. “Or bad girl in this case.”

“That’s impossible.” No way, no how, would she allow herself to get any closer to this man. She’d already experienced the sizzle of his briefest touch. How could she ward off that kind of sexual firepower for days—possibly weeks—on end? “I’ve got a multimillion dollar company to run. A CEO to hire. Do you have any idea how much my father’s death has compromised his business and all the people who count on Boucher to make their living?”

“No. But I have a fair idea that your earnings will continue to go down once it’s made public that the Boucher heiress can’t make time in her busy schedule to help police catch a killer.”

His words delivered a resounding slap to her conscience, a plea she couldn’t very well deny. No matter that her life had been turned upside down, or that her bid for independence from her powerful family would be put on hold until she could recreate her inventory of artworks. She needed to pull her head out of her own problems and remind her body that Wes Shaw was off-limits long enough to help him find his criminal.

She was so caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t realize Wes reached for her until his hands were on her upper arms, the fabric of her crimson jacket practically incinerating beneath that simple touch.

“Please, Tempest.” His gray gaze jump-started an erratic and totally juvenile beating of her heart. “Help me.”

She was in over her head with this man after knowing him for less than two hours. But he needed her help and she planned to give it to him, consequences be damned. And not just because she found herself thinking about what it might be like to kiss that blunt mouth of his.

No, Tempest planned to help him because she wouldn’t allow her personal space, her private creative haven, to be invaded by street thieves, or prostitutes, or—she took a steeling breath—murderers.

Yet, even as she gave him an affirmative nod, she kept hearing a familiar swell of music somewhere in the back of her mind.

Like sand through the hourglass…

In the course of a couple of hours, Tempest’s life had definitely become a soap opera.