Her Sexiest Surprise

“Detective,” he corrected, dreading what came next. Maybe she just needed a speeding ticket fixed. Not that he would do it, but he wanted it to be simple and small, something that wouldn’t make his sleeping with her an even worse idea than it already was.

“That means you investigate crimes, right? That’s great.”

Uh-oh. “Let’s sit down.” He led her to his couch and sat beside her. Noticing her goose bumps and damp hair, he wrapped the throw his squad mate’s wife had made for him around her shoulders.

She didn’t seem to notice. She just looked at him, her big green eyes muddy with worry.

“Exactly what crime are we talking about?”

“Okay…” She took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “Say someone got dragged into a robbery—just driving the car, with no knowledge of any theft—how much trouble would that person be in? And could they get out of it by talking to the police?”

“You mean how would they be charged? That depends….” The familiar hum started in his brain as he got ready to sort lies from truth, meaningless details from crime-solving gold.

“On what?”

“Who’s involved, their prior arrests, the seriousness of the crime, what the D.A. wants. Just tell me what happened.”

She stiffened at his tone. Too terse. He took her hands and softened his voice. “Just talk to me, Chloe. I can’t help you if I don’t know the whole story.”

“Maybe I can go hypothetical? So it doesn’t get official?” Her lower lip quivered. He’d scared her and she didn’t trust him. Why would she? They’d been different people last night, both of them, lost in lust. This morning, he was a detective and she was either an informant, an accessory or, worse, a suspect.

“If you want,” he said. “Give me the hypothetical.”

“So, hypothetically, this person—it’s a man—he’s a driver for another man and this other man’s nephew asks the man to drive him somewhere. As a favor because he—my guy—owes the nephew. So my guy drives and the errand turns out to be a robbery—”

“Was the victim present for the crime?”

“No. It was a jewelry store after hours. Is that good?”

“It’s better. That makes it burglary, not robbery. There are several classes with varying severity. Were weapons present?”

“Weapons? I don’t know. My person didn’t have one. He just waited in the car to drive them back.”

“That makes him—minimum—an accessory.”

“Even unknowing and innocent? That sounds bad.”

“Like I said, that depends. Go on.” There was obviously more to the story.

“Okay…” Her voice was shakier now. “Now the bad nephew wants the driver to keep driving for similar jobs and my person is afraid to say no.” She stopped, her face full of fear. “Can you help me, Riley?” she said. “My person, I mean?”

He couldn’t promise much. “Who is it, Chloe?” A relative, no doubt. Riley had seen it before. He’d sat down with parents whose son stole from neighbors to fund a meth habit, a single mom with a daughter turning tricks to buy designer clothes, a wife whose husband had embezzled from his job to cover gambling debts. They’d all seemed sad and bewildered and lost. It got to him every time. What had they done to deserve this? How could loved ones hurt each other so badly?

“It’s my dad, Riley,” she said softly. “And the guy, the bad nephew, is Sal Minetti.”

Enzo Sylvestri’s nephew. Adrenaline shot through Riley. “I see.” His mind raced, but he hid his reaction, needing as much information as he could gather first.

“My dad’s a good guy. He tries. He was just doing a favor. He’s too generous. And Sal wants him to drive more and he’s afraid to say no. He can’t be arrested, can he?”

“He could, yes, but if he comes clean, if he helps the case against the rest of the crew, sometimes the D.A. will deal.”

“So if he talks to the police he’ll be okay?” Chloe lifted her big eyes to him like he was the Savior himself.

“Like I said, it depends.” What could he tell her? The law was the law and he’d been around long enough to know that what a man confessed to was usually the first load of dirt he’d shoveled under the carpet. “Do you have a lawyer?”

“Do we need one?”

“There are public defenders, but they’re run pretty ragged. Not much time per case. Some are better than others….”

“So, it’s serious? He’s in big trouble? You can’t make it go away?” Water gleamed in her eyes. She was about to cry? Shit.

“Let me talk to my lieutenant. If they’re working on a case on Minetti, there might be wiggle room.” There would be interest, he knew. Hell, he was interested.

“That would be great. I mean, I know my father will cooperate. With you on our side, helping us…”

“All I can promise is to talk to my boss.”

“That’s great,” she said.

No, it was terrible. He should get her father down to the station now, while he was scared, before he clammed up and demanded an attorney, but Riley already cared too much about Chloe.

“So, it’s settled, at least. Let me fix breakfast.”

“That’s not necessary, Chloe.”

“But it’s fun. I love to cook.” She blinked at him, startled that he’d even question the idea. She was up and in the kitchen before he could object. He followed, wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut.

You made promises you couldn’t keep and you ended up in big trouble. Or someone else did.

3

RILEY GROUND BEANS and started coffee, watching Chloe swirl through his kitchen like a fragrant fairy. She plugged in the waffle iron, banged a sauté pan onto the stove and slapped down butter with the efficiency of a TV chef.

“Looks like you know what you’re doing. Do you cook a lot?” Despite everything, he was pleased to have her in his kitchen making him breakfast.

“I’m practicing for culinary school.” She laid slices of ham into a cupcake pan, then began whipping eggs.

“So you’re looking to become a chef?”

“I love making people happy with food.” She grinned, her drying hair forming soft curls against her cheeks. “Eventually I hope to own a restaurant, though I know that’s a tough business.”

He realized he was ogling her. “Can I help with anything?” he asked to distract himself.

“Chop these mushrooms and scallions maybe? Very fine, please. Then, could you set the table?” She grabbed a knife from his rack. “These are good knives. You must cook some, too.”

“When I have time, which isn’t often.” He’d eaten far too much pizza, takeout and convenience-store burritos of late.

“You work too much?”