“Did you know that each room comes with an armoire stocked with sex toys?”

OK, so Mia wasn’t quite as innocent as her image would suggest. An armoire stocked with sex toys? Bax would like to see those. See her. Touch – damn it. “How does that work?” he asked, hoping she hadn’t noticed his voice crack.

She unsuccessfully hid a snicker. “That would depend on the guest.”

She was killing him here. Because she could. Because she knew he was getting hard at her matter-of-fact voice, at that wicked smile. He cleared his throat. “No, I mean those kinds of amenities really couldn’t be reused, could they?”

“It depends. Anything that has the possibility of close contact is replaced for each guest. You should come down sometime and see the operation. You’d be impressed.”

“I’m sure I would,” he said, desperate to change the subject. Thankfully dinner arrived, and Bax threw himself into eating his pastrami on rye. It wasn’t quite as effective as a cold shower, but as long as Mia didn’t talk about sex toys any more, he should be OK.

He was kidding himself…

“You’re not thinking straight.”

“Straight’s done me no good so far.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Let’s not think about that.” Marissa reached up to brush her knuckles along his jaw. She rubbed, sliding her fingers to his chin, then his lips. Outlining them. “I want to know what it’s like to kiss you.” His lower lip rolled under her caress. “Haven’t you ever wondered…” He couldn’t deny that.

“Hell, yeah,” he said, and suddenly he was kissing her the way he’d dreamed of a thousand times.

JO LEIGH

has written more than thirty novels since 1994. She’s a triple RITA® Award finalist, most recently receiving a nomination from the Romance Writers of America for her Blaze® novel Relentless. She also teaches writing in workshops across the country.

Jo lives in Utah with her wonderful husband and their cute puppy, Jessie. You can come and chat with her at her website, www.joleigh.com, and don’t forget to check out her daily blog!

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Hush!

It’s been a while since we checked in to the gorgeous and sexy Hush hotel. So many of you have written asking to revisit the DO NOT DISTURB series that I couldn’t resist a comeback. Only this time, there’s a movie company in residence at the hotel, and concierge Mia Traverse not only discovers the body, but uses her smarts to find out who’s behind the murder. Bax Milligan, the homicide detective assigned to the case, isn’t crazy about Mia’s “help,” but he is crazy about her. Together they become a formidable team, both on the job and in the bedroom.

This was a particularly fun book for me. Since I used to work in the movie business and got to travel to exotic locations, I had a wonderful time remembering the sights, sounds and crazy personalities from those exciting days. Are some of the characters based on real celebrities I knew? I’ll never tell.

Come and join Mia and Bax and take a holiday where mystery and murder mix with glamour and romance at the one and only Hush hotel!

Love,

Jo Leigh

PS Look for my next DO NOT DISTURB book,

Have Mercy, in July 2009.

COMING SOON

BY

JO LEIGH

HIDDEN GEMS

BY

CARRIE ALEXANDER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

COMING SOON

BY

JO LEIGH

To my friend Debbi.

She knows why.

1

IT WAS JUST A MATTER of keeping her cool.

Mia could deal with movie stars. After all, she was a concierge at Hush, which was one of the most glamorous hotels in Manhattan, so she met major celebrities all the time. She could deal with the press. Again, thanks to Hush, especially because owner Piper Devon was so hands-on about her hotel, and the paparazzi never got tired of the beautiful heiress. And she could deal with the cranky Belgians on the fifth floor who wanted everything New York had to offer without paying for a thing.

The trick was handling all three at once.

Mia straightened her small gold name badge, her Clefs d’Or pin, then her skinny black tuxedo skirt as she adjusted her mental attitude and her smile. “Of course, Mr. Weinberg. I’ll be sure to let housekeeping know you would prefer eiderdown pillows. They’ll be ready for you by six o’clock.”

Mr. Weinberg of the infamous Weinberg Film Company looked at Mia as if she were more distasteful than his pillows and strode off, trailed by a posse of assistants, most of them talking away on their Bluetooth headgear.

Mia turned immediately to Bobbi Tamony, the star of Coming Soon. She was dressed in a spectacularly sparkly gown that had protective paper all around the bodice, slippers on her feet, and her hair, world-famous in all the tabloids, rolled in giant curlers.

“Listen, sweetie, I have to be on set in two seconds, so could you make sure there’s a limo waiting for me around ten tonight? I should be done by then and I want to get the hell out of here.”

“No problem, Ms. Tamony. It will be waiting at the back entrance when you’re ready to go.”

“Thanks, hon,” Bobbi said, waving her hand distractedly as she walked toward the front entrance.

It would have been nice to find a moment to breathe, but one of the Belgians moved from in front of the long, black lacquered reservation desk to her station at the far end. “We wish tickets for a big Broadway show, si vous ne vous occupez pas.”

“Of course, Monsieur Michaud. Would you like to see a list of the shows that are currently available?” Mia responded in French.

He nodded, then glanced around the lobby. “When will these movie people leave? So much noise,” he said. “Very annoying.”

“I’m afraid they’ll be here for the rest of your stay. They’ve reserved their rooms for the entire month of June.”

He snorted as Mia gave him a printout of the most popular shows. Not all of them, actually. Just the ones she could get tickets for.

He perused the list for several moments and Mia took advantage of the tiny break to quietly jot down notes about the pillows and the limo.

“This one.” Michaud pointed to one of the long-running shows that rarely sold out on the weeknights.

“Is this for tonight?” she asked, holding back a sigh when he nodded. It was already three-thirty. She’d started her shift at eight that morning, so he could have come at any time, but no. The only minute for certain guests was the last minute.

It took some time to get all the details taken care of, but Monsieur Michaud left on a bright note with the tickets and finally, Mia could relax.

Well, this was the job. She’d fought hard to get here. It had helped that she’d been raised all over the world in the best of the best hotels, that both her parents were concierges, and that she spoke five languages, including French. Still, getting this job at Hush when she was only twenty-eight… Unbelievable. Most concierges didn’t even aspire to this level of hotel until they’d been on the job for at least fifteen years.

Maybe it had to do with how special Hush was, and the clientele the hotel catered to. In less dignified quarters, Hush was known as the sex hotel, but those more sophisticated understood that Hush was a haven of sensuality and luxury. A celebration of the mind, the spirit and most definitely the body.

She’d yet to meet a guest who hadn’t left with a dreamy smile and a confident walk. Although these wacky movie people might be the first.

She got on the phone with the transportation department and set up Bobbi Tamony’s limo with a driver she knew personally, then with Theresa, the housekeeping manager, to secure Weinberg’s pillows, at least six from different suppliers. Neither of them had to mention that the Hush house pillows were some of the finest in the world. Everyone who stayed at Hush, at least the ones who thought they were Very Important People, had their own litmus tests for just how important they were. Sometimes it was the turndown service: the shades exactly three-quarters drawn, Godiva chocolates on the end table. Often it had to do with the liquor, particularly the champagne. Today it was pillows.

She answered a dozen successive calls, each of them sending her to her computer where she was plugged into a very exclusive and private Web site connecting concierges from every major hotel in the world. If she couldn’t get her hands on something, one of her compatriots would, and eventually, all was well.

One thing about her job—the day certainly sped by. She hadn’t been able to break away today, not even for lunch, which meant she’d missed her opportunity to sneak down to Exhibit A, the nightclub in Hush’s basement, and watch the filming. But the movie company would be here for the rest of the month. In fact tonight her friends Carlane, an assistant concierge at the Helmsley and Jenna, a concierge at the Algonquin, were coming to meet her for dinner, followed by drinks at Erotique, the Hush bar.

It wasn’t kosher to spend much time there, at least for her, but they were dying to see Danny Austen, the star of the film. In all likelihood they’d get their chance. He was something of a lush and a major flirt, but he was sweet and he hadn’t been too, too demanding.

A ruckus at the restaurant had her leaning over her desk to see, but it was only the paparazzi. Or one paparazzo. Gerry Geiger. Trying yet again to gain access to the hotel. Piper had hired extra security to deal with the photographers and for the most part it had gone well. Except for Gerry. He was the trickiest son-of-a-gun of them all. The new security guys were on the spot, and with a minimum of fuss, things were back to normal. Well, as normal as Hush hotel ever got.

Back online she grinned when she read a plea from the Vegas Hard Rock Hotel concierge, hoping someone knew how to get six bat hearts. Bat hearts had to be available somewhere, and she was going to do her best to find them. Find them first.

It was exactly the type of game she liked best. When most people thought of a concierge, they thought of service. But for Mia, it was all about the hunt. The more impossible the request, the more she was in her element.

She sighed happily as she set to the task. It was yet another day in paradise.

DETECTIVE BAX MILLIGAN was in hell.

Not just because his regular partner was in the hospital with a broken pelvis, but the mook had hurt himself washing his car, and he’d managed to do it before he’d done any of the paperwork on the Fitzgerald murder.

Bax took another sip of coffee, sighed miserably, then got back to it. Page after page of cop speak about a case that wasn’t getting solved anytime soon. Damn it to hell, too many cases weren’t getting solved and that was the only part of the damn job he liked.

He kept writing words no regular human would ever say, careful not to miss a comma because nowadays it was more about procedure and protocol than catching the bad guys.

Well, he’d had it. Three months from now, marked with bold Xs on his desk calendar, he was outta here. He was moving to Colorado—Boulder to be precise. At the ripe old age of thirty-six, he was going back to school to finish his master’s, and maybe get his Ph. D. The long-term plan was to teach and write, the emphasis on writing. He’d find himself a nice little college and talk about books, all kinds, read until he couldn’t turn another page. In Boulder, he’d have friends who didn’t give him shit about his books. Who didn’t think he was a pussy for talking about Dickens. Three more months filled with death and gangs and god-damned paperwork.

He’d even lined up a part-time job at the university library. Not a lot of money, but he’d been socking away his pennies for a hell of a long time, just waiting.

He could barely remember the impetus that had led him to join the NYPD. Probably reading too many Robert B. Parker novels. As he turned to the next page and began filling in the little boxes, he had to stop himself from reciting the old litany of his failures: Failure to recognize from the start that being a cop, let alone a homicide detective, was not for him. Failure to see that New York, which he’d loved the moment he’d arrived, had fallen from grace as he’d come to truly know the city. Failure to get the hell out at the first signs of disillusion.

He lifted his mug, but the coffee was gone. Seeking any escape he could from the forms on his desk, he headed to the coffeepot, past the rows of desks and all the chatter, past the men who loved the job, or at least tolerated the bullshit better. If Miguel had been here, at least he could have bitched to someone, but Miguel was a klutz and therefore out of commission basking in the attention of his wife and two kids.

Paula from vice was in the break room looking sharp as always. She was a tough kid, ambitious, and she’d never made any bones about the fact that she didn’t give a damn about his predilection for books. Truthfully, he doubted she would have cared if his passion had been spiders or balloon animals. All Paula was interested in was a good time with no strings attached. Unfortunately, along with his deepening malaise about the job, he’d lost his old spark with women. Not that he didn’t like them, he just wanted someone who could talk to him after. And not, for God’s sake, about the job.

As for meeting other women, civilians, he always meant to get on top of that. Go to some lectures or book signings. But he never knew when he was going to get a call, and when he did finally make it home, he’d bury himself in a book, or, as was happening a lot lately, sleep.

“Bax, baby. How’s it hangin’?”

“It’s hangin’ just fine.”

She poured herself a cup of joe, then put the pot back on the burner. “I heard about what happened to Miguel. Bad luck.”

“Clumsiness,” he said, getting the pot back out to pour himself a cup.

“So, who you gonna partner with?” She leaned against one of the lockers, making sure her impressive breasts were given their due.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“That’s right. You’re leaving soon. Shame.”

“Why a shame?”

Her red lips curled in a smile that had the subtlety of a wrecking ball. “Ah, come on, Bax. You know I’ve always thought you were a hell of a cop.”

“Of course you have,” he said, not believing her for a second. Not that he wasn’t a good cop—he’d never compromised on the job no matter what. He wouldn’t start now, either. He might be leaving the force, but he’d go out with pride.

“Not to mention you’ve got the best damn ass in the precinct.”

He sipped the coffee, surprised that it tasted pretty good. “My ass and I thank you for the kind words. But now we have to go back to our desk and get to work.”

She sighed dramatically. “It just breaks my poor heart. Such a fine-looking man. Such a waste.”

“You could have any man you wanted, and you know it.”

“Not any man.” The lips turned to a pout. “Not you.”

“You’re not missing a thing,” he said, meaning it. “Not a thing.”

IT WAS JUST PAST TWO in the morning and Danny Austen was a no-show.

Jenna, Carlane and Mia had been hiding in the far corner at the big black circular bar at Erotique for over an hour sipping watermelon martinis and checking the door every five seconds. Before Erotique, they’d had a long, lingering dinner at Amuse Bouche, then they’d gone outside and hung out by the movie trailers. No luck finding Danny Austen anywhere.

“Can’t you find out what he’s doing?” Carlane asked. “Call room service. Maybe he’s upstairs.”

“We didn’t see him go by and that’s hard to miss with all the uproar he causes. He’s probably working,” Mia said. “These movie people have such bizarre hours.”

“I don’t want to go home without meeting him.” Jenna checked the door again. “I don’t have another night off until next week.”

“The movie’s not leaving any time soon,” Mia said. “We’ll catch him later.”

“You don’t get it.” Jenna, who was in her early forties and one of the best concierges in the business, gave her a look. “I need to meet him now so he has time to fall completely in love with me before the shoot is over. Jeez.”

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry.” Mia grinned. “I have to say, he’s so much better-looking in person. So tall. And he’s got these really wide shoulders and those little tiny hips that are so incredible. It’s been very difficult to maintain my professional demeanor.”

“Your what with who?” Carlane finished off her drink with a flourish. “Honey, you drool just like the rest of us plebeians. We’re groupies, plain and simple. How pathetic that we’re so enamored of a freaking movie star. He’s probably a pig and a lout, but do we care? No.”

Mia frowned as she looked around the bar. She’d changed from her black tux and pink bow tie uniform into black jeans and a white peasant blouse. She’d even put on fresh makeup, and for what? If they did see Danny Austen she wasn’t going to talk to him. The last thing she wanted was to appear unprofessional. All she cared about was giving her friends a little treat. “There’s nothing wrong with having fantasies. In fact, it’s good for the imagination. Besides, I’ve practically forgotten what it’s like to be with a real man. I mean, who has time for dating?”

“Well, you never look,” Jenna said. “Honey you’ve got to lighten up. The world won’t come to an end if you think about something other than the job.”

“Hey, that’s not all I think about.”

Jenna raised her eyebrow. “Your mystery novel obsession doesn’t count. Nor do your puzzle collections, your trivia books, or the fact that you’d rather dig up bat hearts than go ogle Danny Austen.”

“Oh, come on. I’m not that bad. Besides, I do think about men. I just haven’t met one who’s worth the trouble.”

“Mia, sweetie.” Carlane signaled the bartender. “The right guy isn’t any trouble. Unfortunately, most of the men in this city are deviants or married or gay or all three.”

Mia sighed and they all just sat there for a moment, wallowing in the sadness of their pitiful love lives. “Okay,” she said, finally. “I’m going down to Exhibit A to see if they’re shooting. If they are, I’ll try and get you two in to meet him, okay?”

“Please,” Jenna said. “Give me something delicious to dream about tonight.”

Mia hopped down from the bar stool. “I’m on the case. You guys hold the fort, and if he walks in here while I’m gone, call me immediately.”

Both women saluted, and Mia strode off toward the elevator.

Amuse Bouche, the restaurant that was connected to the hotel, had closed at midnight. At twenty-till, there’d still been a line. The big draw, aside from the incredible food, was the outdoor patio. It didn’t hurt that the film trucks were still there, although most of them were parked on side streets or in the underground garage, or that there was an even chance of seeing really famous people walk by. Just ask the paparazzi. Talk about people who never slept. They covered the hotel front and back 24/7. She often wondered when and how they went to the bathroom. They sure as heck didn’t use the hotel’s facilities.

She got to the elevator and hit the down button, feeling her martini, but not too strongly. She probably wouldn’t have another. Maybe some water, just so she wouldn’t wake up with a headache.

She fished her lip gloss out of her pocketbook. After a hasty application, she put a mint in her mouth, got her small compact out to dust her nose, then checked her hair and eye makeup. Nothing was too dreadful, but she wasn’t going to pose for Vogue anytime soon.

By the time she stepped out of the elevator, she was as good as she was gonna get.

The hall was suspiciously quiet all the way past the black Exhibit A logo and when she got to the nightclub’s door, there was nothing to see but a big sign that said HOT SET. She assumed it was not okay to go inside and move stuff around. But if she didn’t touch anything…

She hadn’t been in Exhibit A since the movie company had rented it. They’d changed things, of course. They had to make the room fit their story, right?

She turned around and went back to the door to peek inside. It wasn’t as dark as she’d assumed. Soft lights were lit all around the perimeter. The white tables that normally were in the center of the room had been pushed to the far left wall. The booths and sofas hadn’t been disturbed, but the wall art, the chandeliers, most everything that would immediately identify the club as one of the most exotic and sensual in the city had been covered over or replaced by pretty mundane stuff.

She stepped inside, wondering why they’d chosen such a boxy bandstand with such awful orange curtains, but then she had no idea what the movie was about. Maybe she could score a script—that would be interesting and fun. She’d never read one before, although she was a certified movie addict.

She went over to the bar area, trying to figure out if the small glasses on the counter were drinks to be used in the next scene or just a mess left from the crew. Just as she was about to investigate up close, she tripped, fell forward, saving herself from a serious crash at the last second by catching the edge of the bar.

Shaken, worried she’d ruined some vital piece of movie set, she turned to see what she’d fallen over. Her breath left her in a strangled scream as she saw the body.

It was a guy, a big guy, and oh, God, there was blood, a lot of it, all over the shiny floor. Some seeping around long, thick cables. But her gaze went straight to the face, because he was on his back, he was staring up, and even in the shadows she could see he was dead. Really dead.

She moved toward him, careful not to step in the blood. The guy had on jeans and a plain shirt, and oh, crap, the blood didn’t quite cover a gaping wound that stretched across his neck.

If she moved just a couple of inches to the right the light from behind her would illuminate his face. With a quick gulp of air she steeled herself then moved those few steps. The light fell right on the face. His face.

Gerry Geiger’s face.

Her hand went to her mouth as she fought another scream. As the blood rushed from her head. As the urge to run propelled her toward the door. But then she remembered her job. The hotel. Her responsibility.

With shaking hands, she pulled her personal cell from her purse and dialed 9-1-1. She could be sick later.

2

BAX HATED CELEBRITIES. He hated the paparazzi. He hated movie people in general.

Who was he kidding, he hated pretty much everyone and everything in this town, particularly in this precinct.

His pain was somewhat mitigated by the fact that he’d pulled Grunwald as his partner on this. He was a good detective, hungry, and a fiend for detail. Which meant that Grunwald would be doing the paperwork on this baby, while Bax would focus on the footwork. If only Grunwald’s breath didn’t always smell like an especially foul combination of stale cigarettes and some acid reflux.

They had already been briefed by the first officer on scene, and now it was time for Bax to interview the first witness on scene. He glanced over to where she stood in the corner near all the cameras, lights, director’s chairs and cable. Her name was Mia Traverse and she worked at the hotel. It didn’t surprise him that she was pretty. One of those tiny girls, barely five feet, who looked as if a strong wind could carry them across the street. She hugged herself as she snuck glances at the body.

Bax was anxious to talk to her before the swarm that always surrounded murder descended. As he got closer he saw she wasn’t exactly as delicate as he’d first imagined. She looked upset all right, but her back was straight, her eyes serious and focused. He nodded. “Detective Milligan. You found the body?”

She nodded back. “I came down to see if they were still filming. I hadn’t been to the club since they’d rented it.”

“You always here at two in the morning?”

“I’m a concierge for Hush. My shift ended at five, but I had dinner and drinks here with some friends. They were hoping to meet Danny Austen.”

“And?”

“There’s not much else to say. The club was empty. I was trying to be careful, not to touch anything. I tripped over—”

Her voice had cracked. So she wasn’t quite as in control as she’d like.

A big light came on behind him, and he wondered if they’d used one that was already here, or if the newly arrived CSI guys had brought their own. He kept his eyes on the woman.

Flipping a page in his notebook, he moved a little closer to her. “You’re Mia Traverse?”

“That’s right.”

“Concierge. And you got here…?”

“You mean, to Exhibit A?”

“Yes.”

“Ten after two. I remember looking at my watch as I got out of the elevator.”

“You came down here by yourself.”

She nodded.

“Did you know the deceased?”

“Only to chase him out of the hotel. He was here all the time, always trying to sneak in. Everyone was always on Geiger alert.”

“What do you mean, everyone?”

“All the staff of course, but the movie people, too. No one could stand him. He had no boundaries.”

“What boundary did he cross tonight?”

“He tried to get into the restaurant earlier today. Uh, yesterday. I saw the security guys kick him out. But that was nothing unusual. We’ve found him in guest rooms, in the supply closet. One day he wore a disguise and tried to blend in with the movie crew but they caught him right away.”

“So nothing unusual. No fights, no threats.”

“I wouldn’t swear to no threats. But I personally didn’t see anything you would call unusual.”

Bax jotted down a few things, then looked up. Her face had changed, brightened.

He said nothing. Just waited.

She cleared her throat, her eyes shifted to the right. “I think that’s everything.”

“Do you?”

“I—”

She was interrupted by the “Ride of the Valkyries.” It wasn’t a full orchestra and it was tinny as hell, but there was no mistaking the music. Mia turned sharply and grabbed her purse from the bar top behind her and a few seconds later the music stopped as she answered her phone.

He fought a smile at her choice of ring tones. His phone rang. Just rang. But this slip of a girl, uh, woman had picked Wagner. As she told her caller that she couldn’t talk and would explain things later, he perused his notes. She didn’t seem to know much about what had happened, at least not about the murder, but she knew something. He’d have to watch her, find a way to get her to talk.

He knew a couple of concierges and they were notoriously close-mouthed. He had no doubt Mia Traverse was the same. But he also knew that the concierge of a hotel could be a font of information. A central clearing house for juicy tidbits about the staff and the guests.

He’d find out what she knew. She might believe that discretion was the better part of valor, but there was no valor in a slit throat.

“Is that all, Detective?”

He looked at her once more. At her wispy haircut with the short bangs, at the artfully applied makeup that highlighted her big eyes. He wondered briefly if they’d hired her just for her looks, then dismissed the thought. This was one hell of a famous hotel, owned by the one celebrity heiress who seemed to have gotten her act together, but still, Hush was known as the sex hotel. Someone had told him each room came equipped with sex toys. Not only that, but video cameras. “Interesting.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Nothing. Just…”

The way she looked at him, her big eyes wide, her lips slightly parted… Her skin looked soft and sweet and he wondered how old she was. For her job at this kind of hotel he’d have guessed she would have to be around his age, but she didn’t have that jaded New Yorker look.

“Detective?”

“You just focus on taking care of the paying guests,” he said, his tone gruffer than he’d intended. “We’ve got this covered, you understand?”

The surprise on her face wasn’t nearly as revealing as the pink blush that covered her cheeks. He’d hit the nail on the head. She could be useful, if he played her just the right way. This was going to be a high-profile case, hitting the papers with a roar. He was the lead on this, and it was going to be one of his last. No way he was leaving without solving this one. Whatever it took.

MIA PICKED HER WAY OUT of Exhibit A, careful not to disturb anything. She even managed not to look at Geiger’s body. At the thought she shivered again, something that had been happening a lot. It surprised her that she’d been clearheaded at all as she talked to that detective.

Two things niggled at her as she headed for the employee lounge and her locker. The first was that last thing the detective had said. As if he’d known somehow that she planned on doing a bit of investigating on her own. After all, this was her hotel, and if she could use her sources to get to the bottom of things, all the better. But still, how had he…?

She nodded at a couple of graveyard-shift folks sitting at the tables in the cafeteria, sipping coffee. Casual, as if a murder on the premises didn’t faze them. Or maybe they didn’t know yet. She expected that to change within the hour. One thing about Hush—gossip was a constant, mostly to do with the employees themselves, but sometimes about the guests. She had every reason to believe that the murder would stir up all kinds of information and she intended to be smack dab in the middle of that.

She pushed through the door that led to the lockers and as she reached for her lock, she remembered the other niggle. Detective Milligan was way the heck too hot.

He probably wouldn’t appeal to Carlane or Jenna. They favored the pretty ones, like Danny Austen. Not her. She liked her men rugged. Lived in. A strategic scar never hurt anything, either.

She’d always been that way. She’d preferred Bogie to Cary Grant in the old films, and even today her celebrity tastes slid more toward Clive Owen than Brad Pitt.

She gathered her things together slowly as she recalled the detective’s dark eyes and that strong jaw. His hair was short, but not fatally so, and messy in a good way. He must have been a foot taller than her, and wow, his hands had been really large. Wouldn’t they feel just incredible on her back? Or lower?

She turned to make sure she was alone, suddenly embarrassed by her own thoughts. Not that she didn’t have erotic thoughts. She did. As many as any other healthy woman. Nothing wrong with that at all, unless maybe you had them five seconds after finding a dead body.

Okay, so not five seconds, but close enough. Sheesh.

She’d never seen a dead body before. Even though she watched all those shows that pride themselves on how gross they can get, she still hadn’t been prepared for the real deal.

Gerry Geiger had crossed someone’s line. Crossed it big-time. So he’d been killed. And his ever-present camera snatched.

So what had he captured that had been worth his death? That was the big question. The major puzzle.

She slammed her locker shut and walked toward the back entrance. No public transportation for her tonight. She was taking a cab all the way to Brooklyn Heights, cost be damned.

Even at this ungodly hour the paps were in force. Naturally they’d seen the police vehicles and they were chomping at the bit to find out what had happened. She was escorted past them by one of the extra security guys and put into a taxi. Once she settled in for the ride, she thought again about what Geiger could have seen. It would have to be something really terrible. It wasn’t that long ago that her first thought would have been adultery. But nowadays, who cared enough about that to kill? According to the tabloids, people, especially show biz people, cheated every day. Revolving beds were the norm. So, no, she didn’t think it was about cheating.

Her best guess was that it somehow involved money. Lots and lots of money. That was what those people seemed to love most. That’s what they protected at all costs. But what kind of photo could cost someone millions?

She’d have to think about that. But not until tomorrow. She didn’t feel tired, but she knew that was just adrenaline, and by the time she got home, that would have dissipated and she’d crash. Which was good. The last thing she needed was to remember any details. Unless those details were all about one particular detective.

Her head fell on the seat back. Nope, even the delectable detective wasn’t going to keep her awake tonight. Today. Whatever.

“GEIGER WAS A BASTARD. There wasn’t a person on the set who didn’t want him dead.”

Bax leaned back in the leather executive chair as he listened to yet another crock of bullshit from yet another movie big shot.

Piper Devon, the owner of the hotel, had given him an office in the lower level so he could conduct his interviews in relative peace. So far he’d spoken to the cinematographer, the script supervisor and two actors, both of whom thought Geiger’s murder would somehow benefit their careers. None of them had given him anything useful. He’d tried to get to the producer, but Oscar Weinberg had flown to Los Angeles early this morning. Of course he’d checked, and the travel plans had been made earlier in the week, but he still had Weinberg on his list. According to the associate producer, he would be back in three days. For now, Bax settled for talking to the director.

Peter Eccles was in his forties and his Hollywood life was written all over his face. Lines, wrinkles, fake perfect teeth, hair plugs and a completely immobile forehead made him appear more puppet than man. He was angry and nervous but his face looked weathered yet serene. Weird.

“Look, I had nothing to do with his death. I don’t know who killed him and I’ve got to completely rearrange my shooting schedule because your people won’t let us have the nightclub, so if you’re done—”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” Bax said. “When’s the last time you saw Gerry Geiger?”

“Yesterday. He was standing outside the hotel all afternoon.”

“Did you speak with him?”

“No.”

“When’s the last time you spoke to him?”

Eccles raised a hand to his head, but stopped just before running it through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t recall. We never actually spoke. It was more me yelling at him to get the hell away from my actors. Not what you’d call real dialogue.”

“And you have no idea who would want to slit his throat?”

“I told you. Everyone. All of them. Probably hundreds of people I don’t even know. He was a prick. A vampire. A waste of space.”

“Did he ever take pictures of you?”

“I’m sure he did.”

“Were any of them compromising?”

“You mean with my pants down? No. He never got that close.”

Bax made a point of writing in his notebook, but it was mostly a list of what he needed to pick up at the store on his way home.

Across from him, Eccles tapped his leg with his fingers, his unease and impatience telegraphed from his very pores. “Are we done?” he asked again.

Bax wrote down cereal and cream, then checked the list to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. When he was satisfied he looked into Peter Eccles’s dark, furious eyes. “For now.”

Eccles shot up and marched out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Bax thought about smiling, but it wasn’t worth it. Eccles was a jerk. They were all jerks. He doubted he’d get anything useful from even one of the players. He’d have to do some serious digging. Talk to Geiger’s paparazzi buddies. He’d put the wheels in motion to get a background check on all these movie people and on Gerry and Sheila Geiger. Grunwald was going to have his hands full.

And then he’d talk to Mia Traverse. He still wasn’t sure about his approach yet, but one thing was in her favor. She was young, eager. It was a pretty safe bet she was already digging around the hotel, trying to find out all she could about Geiger and the movie crew. Bax wanted to know it all. Every detail. But he didn’t want to come right out and ask her to be his informant. He knew her first priority was the hotel and her job, which didn’t negate the fact that she was plugged into the world of Hush. No, this was going to be about finesse, not force.

He went back to his original notes. It bothered him that the camera hadn’t been found. It bothered him that Geiger was a sleaze, that everyone despised him, that most of the people staying in the hotel were suspects. At the moment the only people he could unequivocally eliminate as suspects were Piper Devon and Mia Traverse. Devon been at a very public function last night, her alibi confirmed by photographs in the New York Post. Traverse had been with her girlfriends in and around the hotel.

He wondered what she might have seen. Who. She may well know the killer’s identity without even realizing it.

That was one interview he wasn’t dreading in the least.

“SLIT. FROM EAR TO EAR. It was beyond horrible.” Mia looked around the cafeteria, sure everyone was staring at her, wondering. Not if she’d killed Geiger, but if she knew something more than she’d told the police.

The truth was, she didn’t. Not yet. But she didn’t do a thing to dissuade people from the idea that she did. Know stuff. Any stuff.

Her lunch companion, Theresa, the head of housekeeping, had been a buddy for a long while and they often ate together, so that wasn’t going to raise any eyebrows. What most of the staff didn’t think about was Theresa’s unbelievable information-gathering resources.

The maids.

It was the same in all hotels in Mia’s experience. Guests, especially the upper echelon, didn’t see the maids. They didn’t speak to them, they didn’t interact with them. Therefore, maids were not real. They were robots that cleaned and vacuumed. Mia had always felt badly that so few patrons tipped the maids, considering the crap the poor things had to put up with.

In this instance, it wasn’t the crap they had to clean that had her hunkering down with Theresa, it was the stuff they saw.

“I saw dead bodies two times,” Theresa said.

She was eating an empanada that smelled so good Mia was cursing her yogurt. But then Theresa was five-ten at least, statuesque and curvy. Not her five-two with barely a curve to be seen.

“One was just an old guy who had a heart attack. That was okay, but the second one, oh, baby.”

“What?”

Theresa leaned closer. “Autoerotic asphyxiation.”

“No.”

“Yes. And you know what was the worst part?”

“What?”

“He was alone. I found him on the bathroom floor, his hand still on his wing wang. He’d strangled himself with his own belt, and let me tell you, it took some doing. He was blue. His tongue stuck out.” She shivered, making her long, dark hair shimmer. “It put me off my soup, you know what I mean?”

Mia nodded as she took another spoon of key lime yogurt. “I do.”

“I’m not surprised,” Theresa said, just before taking another bite. Releasing another dose of that delectable scent into the air. Cumin. Cilantro.

Swallowing her urge to grab the empanada out of her friend’s hand, Mia focused. “Not surprised about Geiger?”

“That’s right, chica. I knew that man was going to get himself into hot water.”

“Why, what do you know?”

“He was inside the director’s suite the night he was killed.”

“Eccles’s suite?”

Theresa nodded.

Mia was almost going to ask her if she was sure, but of course she was. “How did you find out?”

“Room service. Andy served them late last night. He saw Geiger in the mirror. This morning Yolanda found a piece from his camera. It was in a bag with his initials on it. They’d done some serious drinking. Most of the bottle of scotch was gone.”

“Whoa. What did she do with the camera thingy?”

“Nothing. Yolanda knows better than to take something from a guest’s room.”

Mia sat back, stunned. Peter Eccles was a really famous director, although she’d heard somewhere that he’d lost his deal with Paramount, which had cost him a pretty penny. This shoot was supposed to give him that boost he needed to get back on the A list.

She wondered what Eccles had to hide. Had Gerry caught him stealing from the film budget? Sleeping with someone he shouldn’t? She seemed to remember something about Eccles in the tabloids, but it had been too long ago and she hadn’t paid much attention. She wasn’t exactly a tabloid kind of gal.

But she knew someone who was. Dear sweet Carlane. She read the tabloids—all of them, not just Page Six— every single day. Bless her little heart.

“Mia?”

Theresa was looking at her with one of her patented eyebrow raises. That alone kept her housekeeping staff on the ball.

“Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“Don’t think too hard, chica. Just because two men had a drink together doesn’t make one of them a killer.”

“I know. But still, it’s curious, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. In fact…” She looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Meet me in an hour in housekeeping. I’m going to talk to the girls who work the suites. And I’m going to see if I can get that camera bag.”

“Deal. But don’t do anything foolish, okay?”

“Yolanda told me the bag was half hidden under the couch. If it’s still there, I’m going to grab it. Oh, and Mia?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t get yourself too worked up. I know how you love your mysteries and puzzles but this was asesinato, not a game.

Mia nodded, but she was already thinking about that camera bag, and what Gerry Geiger would be doing with Peter Eccles.

3

IT WAS ALMOST FIVE in the afternoon and Bax had had it with actors. There wasn’t a single one who hadn’t tried to manipulate the hell out of him, and he hadn’t even gotten to the big stars.

The worst had been a woman named Nan Collins who acted like an A-lister when, according to the assistant director, she was no more than a glorified extra. She’d said she was insulted that she was being questioned, but it was pathetically clear that the idea of being associated with the real players was her dream come true. She hadn’t given him anything but a headache. Finally, though, he could take a break. There were still so many people to talk to, particularly those with the most to lose, like Weinberg and the two big stars. The thought made his head throb.

He left his temporary office and took his time as he made his way to the lobby, debating whether to go home and get some sleep or continue the interviews. He let his gaze wander as he stepped off the elevator. The hotel’s décor was art deco, the pictures were all nudes of the period and the air felt rarified, as if a bad smell wouldn’t dare.

There were people here, most of them on the young side, the men in expensive suits, the women dressed in designer clothes with impossible heels.

He looked down at his brown jacket, his brown pants, his brown shoes. The only thing not brown about him was his shirt, which was beige. He hadn’t been home to change since yesterday and it showed.

Screw it. It had been one hell of a frustrating day, full of sound and fury, signifying squat. There were so many fingerprints on the scene as to render them useless. Motives had clearly been on sale for a nickel, because everyone he talked to seemed to have more than one. At least he’d managed to keep the basement nightclub a crime scene despite some extraordinary pressure from the producer.

Bax thought about his interview with Geiger’s wife. He’d seen her at five this morning and it had been a real slice. Sheila Geiger had fallen apart when she heard about her husband’s death. The two of them had been married eight years, and according to her, he was a model husband. Sure, he spent about twelve hours a day chasing down any scandal he could find, but she was adamant that he was a good man, and that the stars were all backstabbing liars who needed him more than he needed them.

She wanted action. She wanted arrests. She wanted his camera back.

“Detective Milligan?”

Bax jumped at the voice behind him. Her voice. Mia Traverse’s voice.

He turned to find her in her uniform, a black tuxedo jacket and skirt, white blouse, pink silk tie, and yep, she was just as pretty as he remembered. She came over, reminding him again how small she was. And that she smelled damn good.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked.

“Maybe. I understand the rooms all come with a video recorder.”

She nodded. “Walk with me?”

He did as she headed for the reception area where the concierge services were conducted behind a curved, black lacquered desk. He waited as she went to her station. She checked to make sure there had been no calls, then put on one of those Bluetooth ear deals which always made him think of Uhuru from Star Trek.

“Each room has a small video recorder,” she said, her attention squarely on him, “and each guest is given several blank tape cartridges. It’s all part of the Hush amenities package.”

“It’s actually the tapes I’m interested in.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Those are of a private nature. Meant for couples.”

“I figured. On the other hand, someone might have taped something of a murderous nature.”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, it’s possible. But I’m not sure how you’d ever find out.”

“I was thinking that maybe together we could come up with a solution to that little problem.”

“I’d love to help in any way I can, Detective, but those tapes are private. They become the property of the guest the moment they check in.”

“What would a maid do if she found a tape that was open in a room where the guests have checked out?”

“Turn it in to lost and found.”

“Okay. Would you check that out please? If there were any tapes left, I’ll need to see them.”

“I’ll be happy to, but wouldn’t the killer, if he taped himself murdering Geiger, have made a point to take the evidence with him?”

“I doubt very much the killer would have filmed that session. That’s not what I’m after. I think it’s possible that one of the guests might have taped something that could give us a direction.”

“Oh, I see.”

He knew it was a long shot, but he had to try. “What about security cameras?”

“We do have cameras, although not in Exhibit A, or even that hallway.”

“Where are they?”

“I can put you in touch with security. They know a lot more about it than I—” A chirping sound had come from a cell phone on her desk. She flipped it open and brought it to her ear.

“Concierge, Mia speaking. How may I help you?”

Bax watched and listened as Mia talked to her guest. She was calm, pleasant, and as she talked, she also typed, looking something up on the computer. The conversation was evidently about a pharmacy that delivered.

He checked out her work space, which was as tidy as she was. A large Rolodex, telephone books, three-ring binders. Just what he’d expect to see. He paused, however, when he saw what looked like a camera case. Taking a couple of steps to his right to get a better look, he was surprised to see the initials GG in gold script on the top.

When he looked back at Mia, it was clear from her blush she knew what he’d found. Bax sighed. He’d been right about her. Eager, enthusiastic. Nosy. A perfect informant. Ideal. Only, as an informant, he had to be damn careful with her. Not just so he wouldn’t scare her off, either. He had to make sure that she remained a credible witness. Which meant she was completely hands-off. Which should have been no issue at all.

She finished with her phone call. “I was going to tell you about that.”

“When?”

“Don’t be mad. There’s a story with it and—” The phone chirped again. She flicked her earpiece this time instead of picking up the cell and immediately put the caller on hold. “Tell you what,” she said. “I get off work in fifteen minutes. It’ll take me ten to change out of my uniform. Why don’t you go to the bar and relax. I’ll come get you and we can go to dinner. My treat.”

“Twenty-five minutes?”

“And I’ll be all yours.”

He knew exactly what she meant but that didn’t stop a momentary flash of a completely unprofessional nature.

She returned her attention to the guest as he walked toward the bar, wondering if his attraction to her was about hormones or homicide?

SHE HAD THE CAMERA CASE in her purse as they went to Maxwell’s, a coffee shop she and most of the Hush crew frequented. It was no Amuse Bouche, but they had decent food and for Madison Avenue, they were reasonable.

Mia could tell he wanted answers, but he waited patiently as they were seated and placed their orders.

She brought out the bag as soon as the waitress left. “It’s just a lens,” she said. “No film, no camera.”

“But it did belong to Geiger?”

“It did, yes. But that’s not the interesting part.”

The waitress came back with coffee for him, an iced tea for her. When they were alone again, Mia leaned in. “It was found in Peter Eccles’s suite and it was left there the night Geiger was killed.”

The detective’s expression changed. It wasn’t dramatic. In fact, if she hadn’t been watching closely, she’d have missed it. His eyes, a deep dark brown, widened a hair and his nice broad shoulders straightened.

He really was an attractive man. Even in his dull suit there was something about him that appealed to her. Not just his rugged good looks, either. Obviously, she barely knew the man but still she saw an intelligence about him. He might come off all stoic and unflappable, but there was a brain in there. How she knew, she wasn’t sure, but she knew. She’d known from the first.

Over the years her ability to quickly gauge strangers had been developed and nurtured. Part of being a good concierge was to make and trust first impressions.

Even in the stressful situation of finding a body her radar had been active. Other parts of her had been active, too, which surprised her more.

Honestly, his looks weren’t all that remarkable. Not compared to the movie stars and models who frequented the hotel. But he was sexy in his rumpled suit and his mussed hair. She kept finding herself wanting to touch him.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll pay for dinner if you don’t make me beg.”

She realized she’d been staring instead of talking. “The maid found it in Eccles’s room. Along with the remains of his scotch, which room service had delivered the night before.”

“How did you get it?”

“I told you. I know people.”

“Right.”

“Listen, Detective. I shouldn’t have the lens. It was a questionable move meant to help. If it came to light how I got it, good people could get hurt. I won’t let that happen.”

“I could compel you to tell me—”

“You could,” she said, stopping him, “but you’d be cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

“You want to be the go-between, I get it. While that might seem appealing or even exciting, it can also mean you’ll be caught in the middle. We’re talking murder here, Ms. Traverse. Not a game of telephone.”

She’d thought about this since the moment Theresa had told her about the lens. The last thing she wanted to do was to impede the investigation. Hush didn’t need the kind of publicity it was getting and the longer the killer was on the loose, the more it damaged the reputation of the hotel. Mia’s first responsibility, as long as she didn’t actually break the law, was to protect her employer. Second was to protect the staff. She could do both while still helping the detective, but only if he agreed to her terms. “I understand what’s at risk. We all want this murder solved.”

“What if it turns out to be someone from the hotel. Someone not involved with the movie?”

She sat back in the booth. “You think I want a killer working at Hush?”

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes told her he wasn’t completely convinced.

“Look, we have a lot of our staff assigned directly to the VIP guests. They’re all very discreet though. If you try to talk to them, you’ll get a whole lot of nothing. They trust me. They’ll open up to me.”

“There’s a big difference between being discreet and obstructing justice.”

“It’s up to you. Your way, there’s a lot of disruptions and rancor. My way, you catch the killer and everybody wins.”

He laughed. “Confident, are we?”

She sat up straighter and willed herself not to blush. “Yes, I am.”

He drank some more coffee, looked at her as if he was trying to see inside her head, but finally he nodded. “We’ll try it your way. But you don’t tell anyone you’re talking to me, got it? And you don’t hold anything back, even if it’s not good for the hotel.”

She stuck out her hand. “To the best of my ability, you have my word.”

He shook, although the doubt was still in his eyes.

She didn’t really want him to think too much more about their agreement, though. Time to change tactics. “You haven’t been home since last night.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“How come?”

“Part of the job.”

“It must be interesting. What you do.”

The look on his face said it was anything but. “Yeah. It is.”

She sipped her tea, debating for a moment letting it go, but the heck with that. “How long have you hated being a detective?”

Now that got a reaction. Alarm, then what, anger? No, not quite.

“I don’t hate my job.”

“Really,” she said.

“Okay. It’s lost some of its allure.”

“How come?”

His lips pressed together as if to keep his words from slipping out. Mia just waited. Like a good cop, she’d learned a lot over the years about the value of silence.

“The politics,” he said, finally.

She had the feeling he knew exactly what she’d done. That he was throwing her a bone. “What do you mean?”

“Too much paperwork, too much political correctness. It makes it hard to do the real work.”

“I can see that. You must be under terrible scrutiny. Everyone out there with cameras on their cell phones. Everyone ready to sue at the drop of a hat.”

With her commiseration, his defensiveness seemed to mellow. “It was my own fault. I had a romanticized view of what I’d be facing. I was naive to think things would get better when I became a detective.”

“But you solve crimes. You put bad guys away.”

“Not as often as I should.”

“Somehow I doubt it’s your work that’s at fault.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I watched you last night. You were thorough, com manding. You didn’t let anything slide. And here you are. Still at it even though you must be exhausted. Am I right?”

“You make it sound noble. It’s not.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. I’m sure it’s discouraging to jump though all those hoops but I don’t think you hate the heart of the job. It takes a unique individual to face the worst of people day after day, and still want to do the right thing.”

Bax shook his head, almost but not quite dismissing what she’d said. “How did you end up at Hush?”

“Changing the subject, are we?”

“Turnabout’s fair play.”

She grinned. “I wanted the job very badly. Hush is a unique hotel, with unique demands. I was lucky to be chosen.”

“Okay, I have to ask,” he said. “What’s the business about the sex?”

She grinned shyly. “Hush is simply an adult hotel that caters to consenting, discriminating couples.”

“Yeah, I saw that in the brochure. But I still don’t get it.”

“It’s about pleasure, Detective. Unapologetic and sophisticated. Visual, tactile, in fact all the senses are catered to. There’s something for everyone from the massages at the spa to the unbelievable room service—”

“Yeah, about that. I’ve heard that a guest can order more than dinner.”

“They can have massage or beauty services. Even their pets can have room service.”

He wondered if she was being coy or naive. It was hard to tell with her. Damn, though, he wished she hadn’t changed from the black tux. Not that she didn’t look good in her red T-shirt and jeans, but the T was snug and Maxwell’s was chilly.

Of course he was a moron for bringing up this topic. Just hearing her talk about catering to all the senses had made him uncomfortable. Bringing it back to business would help. “Those massage services wouldn’t include special bonuses, would they?”

“Oh, you’re talking about prostitution. No, that’s not at all what Hush is about. Did you know that each room comes with an armoire stocked with sex toys?”

Okay, so Mia wasn’t quite as innocent as her image would suggest. Shit. An armoire stocked with sex toys? He’d like to see those. See her. Touch— Damn it. “How does that work?” he asked, hoping she hadn’t noticed his voice crack.

She unsuccessfully hid a snicker. “That would depend on the guest.”

She was killing him here. On purpose. Because she could. Because she knew he was getting hard at her matter-of-fact voice, at that wicked smile. He cleared his throat. “No, I mean those kinds of amenities really couldn’t be reused, could they?”

“It depends. Anything that has the possibility of contact with bodily fluids is replaced for each guest. But some of the toys are cleaned and reused. It’s a very strict process with no room for error. You should come down sometime and see the operation. You’d be impressed.”

“I’m sure I would,” he said, desperate to change the subject. Thankfully, dinner arrived and Bax threw himself into eating his pastrami on rye. It wasn’t quite as effective as a cold shower, but as long as Mia didn’t talk about sex toys any more, he should be okay.

“A lot of people come to Hush expecting something lurid or tacky, but no one has ever left with that impression. It’s hard, though, because the press is so myopic. Sex sells. The sleazier the better. And when you combine that with Piper Devon’s reputation, which, I must say is totally distorted, then you get tabloid accounts full of insinuation and exaggeration. It’s a shame.”

Think of the sandwich. Not the sex. “But you keep getting the clientele you’re really after.”

“Mostly due to Piper and word of mouth.”

“It doesn’t hurt that the place is incredibly expensive.”

“Our guests are of the belief that you get what you pay for. The higher the price, the more valued the service.”

“Damn, you’re good at this stuff.”

“What stuff?”

He ignored the question as he finished the first half of his sandwich. He was finally settling down, getting some control. But he had to steer the conversation away from the goddamn sex. “Let me ask you something. You’ve clearly had to deal with the paparazzi since you started working there. Do you make deals with them? Give them exclusives in return for favors?”

“Sometimes. Always to the benefit of the hotel, though, and there are lots of paps who aren’t ever considered for special favors.”

“Like Gerry Geiger?”

She shook her head. “Geiger wasn’t always this bad. We used to use him on occasion, but only because he played by the rules.”

“Why do you think he changed?”

“I don’t know. I figured it was about money. It always seems to be about that, though.”

Bax made a mental note to dig deeper into Geiger’s financial situation, although he knew Grunwald was already on top of it. What Bax wondered was if there were some hidden accounts, maybe under Sheila’s name.

“Let me talk to Kit, our public relations manager,” Mia said. “She’ll let me know what the situation was with Geiger.”

Bax nodded. Relaxed. Finally, he felt steady again, at least for the time being. “You went to school to become a concierge?”

“I studied hotel management. But I’ve been around hotels my whole life. Both my parents are concierges. That’s what gave me the edge with Hush.”

“Doesn’t it bother you to have to coddle a bunch of overprivileged snobs?”

“I don’t coddle. I perform a service. I do my best to see that the guests of the hotel have an exceptional experience.”

“But aren’t most of the requests things your guests could do for themselves if they’d only lift a finger or two?”

“Sometimes. But honestly, I don’t see it that way. A lot of them are simply too busy to start checking the phone book or to find out where the closest luggage shop is. I know the city. I can make their stay more pleasant, easier. I have extraordinary connections, so I’m able to help the guests get the things they really need.”

“I’m leaving,” he said, apropos of nothing.

She put her fork down. “Now?”

He shook his head, surprised that he’d brought this up. He hadn’t planned on telling her anything about himself. “In three months. I’m leaving the force.”

She didn’t seem too shocked, which made sense considering their earlier conversation. “Where are you going?”

“Boulder. I’m going back to school.”

“That’s wonderful. Studying law, or—”

“Literature.”

Mia sat back in the booth. Now she seemed shocked. “Literature. Wow.”

Oddly, he felt proud and embarrassed both when he should have felt neither. “I want to write. To teach.”

“I’d very much like to hear that story,” she said.

He tried to hold back a yawn and failed. “Maybe another time.” When he looked at her again it was with a sleepy smile. “I have the feeling you’re a very good concierge.”

“That I am,” she said.

He sat back in the booth as she took her tiny bites of blintzes, thinking that he should leave her to finish dinner alone. He needed to go home and get some sleep. Not that he hadn’t done this a hundred times over the last ten years. Stayed up for twenty-four, thirty-six or more hours. It was part of the gig. What made him wonder about his mental state wasn’t that he was sleepy. It was that all he wanted to do was sit in Maxwell’s diner across from Mia Traverse and watch her eat. Sip her iced tea.

Nope, it didn’t make a damn bit of sense. But there it was.

4

“I PREFER JANE AUSTEN, personally,” Mia said as they returned to Hush later that night. “Pride and Prejudice. Emma.” She gave herself a little hug. “So wonderful.”

“Would my manliness come into question if I admitted I like her books, too?”

Mia looked up at him with a broad smile. “I think you’re safe in that respect, Detective.”

He slowed his pace, wondering if he was about to make a big mistake. Screw it. He only had three more months to get through, and they were going to be working together. “It’s Bax.”

The back of her hand brushed the back of his. The briefest of touches, probably an accident. And yet it made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a hell of a long time.

“I know,” she said. “Baxter Milligan. What I can’t figure out is if the name is Irish or Scottish.”

“Both is my guess. The Milligans were on the border between England and Scotland, from Wigtown, in fact. From what little my grandfather told me, the young lads had issues with geography.”

“Have you been there?”

He shook his head. “But if the writing works out, I mean really works out, I might like to settle in Ireland.”

“Won’t you miss living here?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, his pace so slow they were almost standing still. Thing is, he didn’t want the conversation to be over. “I don’t have real close ties. A brother in California, a sister in Boston. We hardly see each other.”

“Why not?”

He had to think a minute but before he could even suppose at an answer they were in front of the hotel.

Suddenly there was a crowd of people surrounding Mia. Someone shouldered him back a step, then a camera hit him in the ribs.

“Who killed Gerry Geiger?”

“Why are Bobbi and Danny only taking half their regular salaries?”

A dozen more questions shot like gunfire over the flashing camera lights. He ignored it all in his need to get to Mia, to get her out of the center of the storm. Taking no precautions, he barreled through, not caring one damn that there were cries of protest and pain. Especially when, to his horror, Mia yelped as she fell over some moron’s camera case.

Bax was there in a heartbeat, kneeling down, scared shitless and mad enough to put the whole lot of them behind bars or worse.

“Mia?”

She blinked up at him. “Whoa. That wasn’t very pleasant.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He took her arm and helped her sit up as flashes went off all around them. He wanted to shove the cameras down some throats. For Christ’s sake, they weren’t celebrities. None of those pictures would mean a damn thing.

The moment he could see she hadn’t been seriously hurt, he turned on the paparazzi. “Get the hell away from her.”

Instant quiet. No more camera flashes.

“You found the body. Any clues there who killed Geiger?” some guy shouted from the edge of the crowd.

“Are Danny and Bobbi having an affair?”

“Why was Geiger on Weinberg’s payroll since the Mexico shoot?”

“Come on, you must know something, huh!”

Bax checked Mia once more. “You okay? Should I get an ambulance?”

“No, no. I’m fine. Just a little bump on my butt is all.”

“You sure?”

She squeezed his arm with her small hand. “Positive.”

“Good,” he said, then stood up, pulling her along with him. She seemed steady on her feet.

He swung around, lifting his badge as he faced the bulk of the crowd. “Two seconds and I’m taking you all in for a hard forty-two. Is that clear enough for you bastards, or do you want to get a tour of Rikers?”

The photographers flew apart as if blown by a tornado, and that’s what Bax felt like. This whole event had been unacceptable and it was all he could do not to bust some heads.

Of course, most everything was unacceptable these days.

“I should have been more careful,” Mia said as she brushed off the back of her jeans. “They never leave. I’m surprised they didn’t catch us when we left for dinner.”

“They were busy. Swarming in front of some other victims.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Are you really okay? I can get you to the hospital in a couple of minutes.”

“I’m fine. But it’s late. I should go, get home. So should you.”

He took her elbow and led her into the hotel. It was calm and cool inside, with some good jazz coming from the bar. As they got closer to the reception desk, he saw that the restaurant was still busy, the bar packed. He wondered how many of the night crawlers were part of the film company. How many were there because they wanted to meet the celebrities.

“Thank you, Bax,” Mia said as she stopped in front of the elevator. “I had a good time.”

Her smile hit him again in that long-dormant center of his brain where women had once had free rein.

“You owe me the rest of your story.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he said.

She pressed the down button. “I’ve got to scoot to get my train. Be careful out there, Detective.”

“I always am.”

She left him standing in the lobby, under a picture of a very exotic naked lady who was sitting perilously close to a jaguar. He needed to go home. Get some sleep. Start tomorrow fresh and on his game. But hell, who was he kidding? There was no way he was letting Mia get home on her own.

MIA WENT TO THE LADIES room mirror to make sure she didn’t have a big old bruise on her behind.

She wasn’t about to freak in front of Bax, but wow, that had been really scary. For a minute there, she’d thought those whack jobs were going to trample her to death.

Bax. He’d asked her to call him by his first name. That meant something. And he’d been all over those paparazzi when she’d tripped. Just remembering his voice gave her the shivers. So forceful and commanding. She’d practically swooned into his arms, which, now that she thought about it, was pretty bizarre. She wasn’t the swooning type. She was the one her friends called when swooning occurred.

So why was she feeling like such a girl?

And what had that one pap asked about Geiger and the Mexico shoot? Was she remembering right? Probably not. She’d been pretty distracted, what with falling on her behind.

Back in the locker room to fetch her backpack, she met up with Lorraine, one of Piper Devon’s assistants. They talked a bit about the murder. Lorraine hadn’t worked yesterday, but she’d heard all kinds of things today.

“Geiger’s wife is planning to sue the hotel and the movie company for millions.”

“Really?” Mia sat down on the bench, her backpack forgotten on her lap. “Did she call Piper?”

Lorraine sat down, too. She was about Mia’s age, but they didn’t know each other well. Lorraine was in grad school, so her schedule was hell, but she was nice. And observant.

“She called Piper all right. Of course, Piper knows how to handle this kind of thing. She invited the wife to lunch. Tomorrow.”

“At Amuse?”

Lorraine nodded, then wiped a stray blond hair from her cheek. She, like many of the women here at Hush, tried to emulate Piper Devon’s look. They all wanted to appear as sophisticated and as together as Piper. Only a few came close.

“Of course, Trace is going to be there, too. She’ll just introduce him as her husband. Geiger’s wife won’t even know he’s the hotel’s attorney until it’s too late.”

“Odd though, don’t you think, that Geiger isn’t even buried yet and his wife is all about the lawsuit?”

“Look what her husband did for a living.”

Mia nodded. “That’s true. Greedy doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Lorraine looked into the bathroom, making sure they weren’t being overheard. “Did you know that Danny Austen had something going on with Geiger?”

“No he did not.”

“I swear.”

“Something sexual?” Mia asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“So I’ve been told.”

“I thought he was trying to get tight with that actress. You know, the redhead?”

“Yeah, Nan. I met her. She seemed sweet and all, but she wasn’t shy about Danny Austen. Paul saw her in Austen’s trailer wearing his bathrobe.”

“So if Danny is with Nan—”

Lorraine shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose if you’re famous enough, you can have everybody. Maybe for them it doesn’t matter what the sex is as long as it’s sex.”

“Still, Danny Austen with Geiger? I find that difficult to believe. Geiger was a parasite. Danny could get anyone he wanted.”

“You’re probably right. Although…”

“What?”

“Jeff Crown, the guy from accounting? He said there were some pretty suspicious charges coming from Danny’s room.”

“How would he know?”

“Yeah. You’re right. I think everybody wants to be on the inside, you know? He’s probably full of crap.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

“I gotta go,” Lorraine said. She closed her locker. “See ya.”

Mia hugged her backpack as she stared at her locker. That business about Danny Austen made no sense. But then, she didn’t really know a lot of famous people. She wouldn’t have believed Geiger having drinks with the director, and that turned out to be true.

Or was it?

No, it was true. Andy, Theresa’s room-service source, wouldn’t lie about that. Mia had no idea if Jeff Crown would. She’d best take it all with a big grain of salt. She’d keep her ear to the ground. That’s all. She’d just listen.

A few minutes later, she was going out the back door to make a beeline to the subway, hoping to get past the paps without tripping or being trampled. Only she didn’t have to worry because there was Bax, sitting on the pony wall in the garage, looking rumpled and tired and wonderful. Not a paparazzi in sight.

“What are you doing here?”

“Driving you home.”

“You don’t know where I live.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m in Connecticut.”

He looked a little startled, but then his unflappable face came back. “Then we’d better get going.”

“I’m kidding,” she said. “You don’t have to take me home. The subway’s right over there,” she said, pointing to her right.

“My car’s right over there,” he said, pointing to his left.

“I live in Brooklyn Heights.”

“Great,” he said, standing with a distinctive knee pop. “It’s right on my way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do I doubt that?”

“Because you’re a suspicious woman. Come on. Let’s do this.”

She followed him to a somewhat new Ford Taurus that she would have immediately pegged as an unmarked police car. He held the door for her, and she wasn’t surprised to find the inside was impeccably clean.

Watching him as he came around, she wondered if he was just being nice, or if he had more on his mind than simply seeing her home.

He didn’t seem the kind of guy that would want more. Especially now that they’d established their working relationship. But then, maybe he didn’t see a problem with that. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit the idea had its merits.

How long had it been since she’d been this interested in a guy? It felt like forever, but it was actually about eight months. Jean-Jacques had been nice enough. Certainly his European charm had seduced her and his accent had made her giddy. But in the end, they were both too caught up in their work worlds to have anything meaningful.

“Brooklyn Heights,” Bax said as he settled in the car. He started it up and they drove slowly through the pack of photographers lying in wait. He said something low that she didn’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

“A subliminal message.”

She laughed. “You think it worked?”

“Nope. They’re still there.”

For a while, she just sat back and watched him drive. It was still rush hour, so traffic slogged. She didn’t mind. She liked the way he maneuvered the car, not shy, but not in a death match, either. It would take them a while to get to the Brooklyn Bridge and across. For once, she was glad she didn’t live closer to Midtown.

“Where do you live?” she asked, as they made the last turn before the bridge.

“Park Slope.”

“Oh.”

“I told you.”

“I’m not right on your way.”

“Close enough.”

“You live alone?”

He looked at her as if the question surprised him. “Yeah.”

“Not me. I have two roommates. Luckily, I don’t see them too often. One has a boyfriend and the other works nights. It’s not bad.”

“Roommates. I don’t think I could do that again.”

“You had a bad experience?”

“I’m not easy to live with.”

“Good to know.”

He looked at her again.

She could hardly believe she’d said that out loud. My word, wasn’t she the brave one. Which reminded her. “I heard something.”

“When?”

“In the locker room.”

“Okay. I assume it was about the murder.”

She told him everything she could about her conversation with Lorraine. He seemed quite dubious about the Geiger-Danny Austen connection. Not at all about Geiger’s wife.

“How reliable is this source of yours?”

“She’s not one to make stuff up, but she did say it was all second hand info. I think the rumor mill at Hush is on overdrive, but you might want to check into those room charges.”

He nodded as they inched their way across the bridge. “I’m not shocked about Sheila Geiger. I got the impression she wasn’t all that upset that her husband was dead, although damn, she put on a good show.”

“I wonder…”

“What?”

“What her rationalization is.”

“For what?”

“Her life. Her husband. No one does something they know is wrong. People rationalize the most horrible things. The paparazzi, they all believe they’re not doing anything wrong. They say the celebrities want their pictures taken. The public wants to buy those pictures. I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“Only?”

“It feels so wrong to me. I’ve seen them at their worst, like a pack of wolves. There’s no mercy, no quarter given. Everyone and everything is fair game.”

“What do you think is behind her suing the hotel?” he asked.

“She’s thinking about her bank account. With hubby gone and unable to take those money-making pictures, a gal has to do what a gal has to do.”

“And a job is out of the question.”

“I think in her mind, yes,” she said. “It is.”

He sighed. “Boulder sounds better every day.”

“I’ve never been to Colorado. I hear it’s just gorgeous.”

“Yep. Green everywhere you look. Great skiing. The English department is top notch. It’s quiet. A man can think. See the stars.”

“Big change.”

“Welcome change.”

“I would imagine so. All that death. All those rationalizations.”

He reached over with his right hand and touched her left. He didn’t hold it or squeeze it. He just touched her. Then he was gone.

“Where to?”

She realized they were approaching the Brooklyn side of the bridge. They hadn’t talked all that much, but there had been pauses. Long ones. Now she was almost home.

“It’s a right on Henry Street, a left on Remsen.”

The traffic didn’t ease up until they were almost at her building. Should she ask him up? Would he assume?

Of course there was no parking space for miles around her old brick building. There never was. It didn’t seem to faze Bax. At her address he simply double parked, reached under the seat and got the bubble light that transformed the car from unmarked to quite distinct. And legal.

“I’ll walk you up.”

She didn’t wait for him to open her door. There was a tiny thrill, however, in walking away from the car, Bax’s hand on the small of her back. By the time they got inside, she was squarely fifty-fifty on the question of asking him to stay. Well, maybe sixty-forty.

They rode up to the fourth floor along with one of her many, many neighbors. Not one she knew by name. Just a woman who kept giving Bax sidelong glances.

Finally, they were at her front door. He didn’t seem to be anxious to leave as she dug out her keys. Once the door was unlocked, she didn’t know what to do.

He made it simple.

“What time do you get to the hotel in the morning?”

“A quarter to eight, if the trains are on time.”

“I’ll meet you at the subway,” he said. “You lock up as soon as you’re inside.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He bowed just a little, just with his head. When he looked at her again, Mia’s throat tightened as she held her breath. His eyes had darkened and even though she could tell he had meant to walk away, he just looked at her.

It was as if the rest of the universe darkened and slipped away, leaving the two of them, straddling a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed. Bax swallowed and her gaze moved to his Adam’s apple, then back up to the stubble on his jaw, the slight parting of his lips. There was something unreal about him like this. A man that rugged shouldn’t look so hungry. Or maybe it was the other way around.

He leaned closer to her. Not by much. Not enough.

Her own lips parted, willing him to cross the threshold and kiss her, darn it.

But he stopped. Suddenly. As if he’d been slapped into his role as cop, as protector. He swallowed once more as he stepped back. “Lock up now,” he said, although with a much gruffer voice.

Mia watched him turn away, then she closed the door and locked it. But she didn’t move for a long while.

What to make of Baxter Milligan? She hadn’t a clue.

5

WHAT THE MOVIE PEOPLE called a trailer and he called a motor home was in the underground garage at Hush. It was a Winnebago-type deal times ten. Plush carpets, flat-panel TV, leather couches, marble counters. It was a hell of a lot nicer than Bax’s apartment and it made him wonder yet again about the public’s take on heroes. All Danny Austen did was dress up and pretend, and for that he got millions, adoration, trailers, women. It didn’t help that Bax had a headache and that he’d had to come to Austen instead of Austen coming to him.

He leaned back in the incredibly comfortable captain’s chair, waiting while Austen changed. Anxious to get the interview over with, Bax fiddled with his notebook, his pen, and kept thinking not about Danny Austen or Gerry Geiger but Mia Traverse.

As promised, he’d met her at the subway exit and made sure she got into the hotel safely. She’d had to go to her locker and change. He’d stood there like a damn fool long after the elevator had taken her away.

If she’d only known how virtuous he’d been last night. Okay, virtuous and tired. But man, he’d thought about her all the way home. And first thing this morning.

The universe had a wicked sense of humor.

He had to stop. This was the job. She was his informant. There was no way he could mix that with anything personal. Not just because it might taint her as a witness but because it would be completely inappropriate.

Not that such things hadn’t happened. He knew one cop, a good detective by the name of Wilson, who’d been assigned to protect a witness. She’d been married at the time, and so had he, but three months after the trial they both filed for divorce. He’d gone to the wedding.

No one ever asked Wilson if they’d started screwing around while he was on the clock. No one had to ask. Wilson was still in the department, only now he was a desk jockey. Probably because his new wife didn’t want him protecting anyone else.

It didn’t matter that Bax was leaving. He wanted his career to end as it had begun. With self-respect. With a sense of pride. He just wished he didn’t find her so damned attractive.

With a shake of his head he banished thoughts of Mia and focused once again on Danny Austen’s world. On the table next to him there was a script for this movie, a couple of other scripts and a boatload of tabloid magazines, most of them with Austen on the cover.

Bax wondered if any of the cover shots had been taken by Gerry Geiger. Danny Austen was connected to Bobbi Tamony on two covers, but several other stars on other magazines. Was any of it true? Or were these just convenient lies to hide another side of the famous heartthrob? The last thing Bax wanted to do was give those rags a moment of attention, but they might play a key role in this investigation. That horrible fact made his head hurt worse.

“You want a drink?”

Bax looked up to find Danny standing in front of the refrigerator. Danny got himself one of those high-energy drinks with loads of sugar and caffeine.

“You have any coffee?”

Danny offered a smile so brilliant it made Bax wince. He had to give it to the guy—he looked every inch the movie star. He was tall and it appeared that he was religious about his workouts. Still, there was something slightly off about him. The hair, the eyes, the teeth, they were all perfect. Had the perfection come first, or was it a natural progression of becoming a star? Not that it mattered. Perfection at any time wasn’t natural. People were flawed. If Austen’s blemishes weren’t on the outside, they were surely on the inside.

“Hold on.” Danny picked up a walkie-talkie and pressed the button. “Riva?”

A voice came back, a woman, very clear. “I’m here.”

“Can you bring me some coffee?” Danny turned to Bax. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Yes,” he said.

“A whole service,’ kay?”

“Right there,” she said.

Danny put the walkie-talkie down, then sat across from Bax in a matching chair. “So, hell of a thing, Gerry getting killed, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bax said. “A hell of a thing.”

Austen widened his eyes. “You have any suspects?”

“Lots. Let’s try and make you not one of them, shall we?”

The guy winked at him. “I like your attitude. How can I help?”

Bax wondered whether the wink was a facial tic, or just something movie stars thought made them seem more accessible. Personally, he preferred to think it was a tic. “Want to tell me what you were doing the night of the murder?”

“Nothing special. I was released at ten, then I went to my suite and took a shower.”

“Released?”

“Yeah, I was finished shooting for the day. They try to release me before we go into overtime.”

“You get overtime?”

“Sure. I’m SAG.”

“Screen Actors Guild.”

“And our hours are monitored. Not only do they have to watch our daily work times, but weekly as well. It’s pretty expensive to go over with some of us. Well, me and Bobbi. The last thing Oscar wants is for us to go even a penny over budget.”

“You’ve worked with him several times over the last six years, haven’t you?”

Danny nodded. “He’s done a lot for my career. I owe him. Which doesn’t change the fact that he’s notorious when it comes to the budget. Especially now.”

“Why now?”

“Check the grosses over the last three years. The Reformer? Black Sunset? They both hemorrhaged money. He’s got a lot riding on this picture.”

“So after you showered…”

“I stayed—”

His recitation was interrupted by a knock on the trailer door. A second later, a young woman entered, carrying a tray with a carafe of coffee and all the accoutrements, including some donuts and muffins.

She was pretty, but then most of the people working on the movie were. Even those who would never be in front of the camera.

She set the tray on the table, then turned with a big smile to Austen. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He touched her in a way that made it perfectly clear her offer extended way beyond coffee. “No, thanks, Darlin’. We’re all set.”

With a coy glance and a slight blush, Riva left the building.

Bax wondered what it would be like to have any woman, any time. Exhausting would be his best guess. He poured himself a cup of coffee, the smell alone making his head feel better. Before he drank, however, he pulled Austen back on track. “You stayed…?”

“In. My room.”

Bax settled back in his chair. “You stayed in your room all night?”

“All night.”

“Alone?”

Austen laughed. “No, not alone. I was with Riva.”

“The woman who was just here.”

“Yep.”

Bax sipped his coffee. He had no doubt Austen had been with Riva, but on that particular night? Something told him no. “Did you order room service?”

“As a matter of fact, we did.”

“Great. What did you have?”

The actor smiled brightly again. “Nothing special. Dinner.”

“What time?”

“I didn’t look at the clock, Detective.”

“But you didn’t leave the room until morning.”

“My call was at seven. But then we had the force, so—”

“Force?”

“Majeure. Because of the murder. We were shut down through no fault of the production company. They call it that, you know, for insurance purposes.”

“I see. So you didn’t know about Gerry Geiger’s death until seven that morning.”

“That’s right.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Geiger?”

Again, the smile. “That day. He tried to get some pictures. Just like he always did.”

“What kind of pictures?”

“Nothing special. Coming out of the hotel. That kind of thing.”

“You didn’t know him, aside from him trying to take your picture?”

“That’s right. He was just a pap. Just like all the others.” Bax put his cup down. He really wanted more coffee, but he needed to get to Riva before Austen had a chance to talk to her. “All right then. I think we’re done. For now.”

“Sure you don’t want a donut?”

“I’m sure.”

Austen leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. The smile came back, only this one wasn’t meant to dazzle, at least not in the same way. “You know, I can help you with that headache.”

“Pardon me?”

“Your headache. I studied some massage back in the day. Honest. I can help.”

Maybe it was what Mia had told him about Austen and Geiger being involved, but Bax had the distinct impression that Danny’s offer was for more than headache relief. He stood up, made sure his notebook was tucked safely in his pocket. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

Danny leaned back slowly, keeping his eye contact steady. “Anything I can do to be of assistance, Detective. I’m in suite 1510.”

“I’ll let you know.” Bax got to the door and out into the garage, ninety-percent certain he’d been hit on. And ninety-percent certain Danny Austen had lied to him about the night of Geiger’s murder.

MIA SMILED AT THE WOMAN standing at her station. She hadn’t seen her before, but something told her that this woman wasn’t a guest. There was an air of agitation about her, as if she’d just come from an accident or bad news.

It was in the way her long blondish hair rested on her shoulders, unkempt and slightly greasy. In the smudges of old makeup around her eyes, the paleness of her cheeks. Her blouse was silk, expensive, but her pants had seen better days.

“How can I help you?” Mia asked.

“I’m here for lunch with Piper Devon,” she said. “But I’m early.”

It was Sheila Geiger. No wonder she looked so distraught. “Would you like some tea to pass the time while I notify Ms. Devon?”

Mrs. Geiger looked at her sharply, as if she’d expected an argument. “If it comes with a shot of bourbon.”

Mia turned to Allan at the front desk. “Could you take my calls for a bit, please?”

Allan nodded, and Mia came around her desk, slipping her earpiece into her pocket. “Let’s get you comfortable,” she said, leading Mrs. Geiger toward the bar. They weren’t open yet, but she knew Dahlia, the day bartender, was inside. While Mia looked for her, she made a quick call to Piper’s office, letting her assistant know the situation.

A few minutes later, tea was being brewed and Mia sat across from the widow. “I’m so very sorry for your loss,” she said.

“You know who I am?”

Mia smiled. “I was aware of the lunch engagement.”

“So you know that someone from this hotel killed my husband.”

“It must be devastating. How long were you married?”

“Eight years.”

“That’s a long time. Do you have children?”

Sheila shook her head. Some of the fire was gone from her eyes, but Mia knew she was treading close to the edge. “We meant to.”

“It’s so very sad. I hope you have someone to be with you. To help.”

“My sister lives in Queens.”

“That’s good. Ah, here comes your tea.”

Dahlia brought a pot of hot water and a box with an assortment of herbal teas along with two cups.

“Where’s the bourbon?”

“Coming right up,” Mia said, giving a nod to the bartender.

It was early yet, just past eleven in the morning. Mia was quite sure the bourbon was a bad idea, but she didn’t want to agitate Mrs. Geiger further.

“They all thought he was such a bastard. Well he wasn’t. He had a right to earn a living, just like anyone else. Those people, always complaining about the paparazzi, but they’d be pretty goddamn pissed if there was nobody wanting their pictures.

“I was the one who got the calls. Gerry was out working, so they’d call me. You know how all the photographers find out where the movie stars are gonna be? They call ahead, that’s how. They call my house and leave messages. They’re gonna be at Grand Union, at Hush, at all those bars all over the city. Then they spit on my husband for doing their dirty work.”

“I had no idea,” Mia said, sipping her Earl Grey.

Mrs. Geiger poured a very generous shot of bourbon into her cup. She didn’t even look at the tea. “Those bastards. You ask that goddamn Danny Austen. He called my Gerry. Don’t let him tell you different. He’s got some secrets, that one. Just ask him about Mexico. Then he gets upset when Gerry finds out he goes both ways, you know? Damn bastard.”

Danny Austen was bi. Mia had doubted it when Lorraine had suggested…but this confirmed the rumor, didn’t it? Or was the tail wagging the dog? Maybe Danny wasn’t bi at all. Maybe Gerry Geiger wanted to start something. Maybe that’s what had gotten him killed. And there was that Mexico thing. Interesting.

She looked sharply at Mrs. Geiger, afraid she’d given something away. The woman was upset, distraught. And drunk. The bourbon Dahlia had brought wasn’t her first. Probably wouldn’t be her last. “Did Danny and your husband have an argument? I mean, just before…”

“Argument is putting it lightly. I told that cop that it was Danny who killed him. He didn’t believe me, but that’s because Danny Austen is a movie star.’ Cause he has all that money. But money won’t get him off of a murder charge. Not if I have anything to say about it.” Sheila leaned in, and Mia had to stop herself from turning away from the alcohol on the woman’s breath. “He’s a killer. He thinks I don’t know. But I’ve got pictures.”

“From that night?”

Sheila took a drink, then leaned in once more. Only she stopped as the bar door opened. One of Piper’s assistants, not Lorraine this time, but Viv, was there as an escort to the meeting.

Mrs. Geiger didn’t give Mia a second thought. Grabbing her teacup of bourbon, she left the bar, cursing up a storm.

Mia went back to her station, wishing like crazy she could just go find Bax. Sheila Geiger had the camera! That must mean she was tied to the murder somehow, right? How else would she have gotten the pictures? No, Sheila hadn’t said they were from that night, so she’d better be careful what she told Bax. It was tempting to believe all she’d heard. Easy. Kind of how tempting it was to believe the tabloids.

She knew better. She would report what she’d heard but in a calm, clear way that didn’t reflect her own opinions. It’s what Piper would do.

Privately, however, she could think about what she’d heard. If Mrs. Geiger had the pictures from that night, what would that mean? That she’d killed him? Why would she want her husband dead, though? Sheila didn’t work. Geiger was her meal ticket.

No, it made a lot more sense that this was about Austen’s sex life. There were so many women madly in love with him, with his image, there’s no way his career would stay intact if it was known he slept with men.

And what the heck was up with Mexico? A secret tryst? An affair gone bad?

She got her personal cell and hit Carlane’s speed dial number. Her friend answered on the first ring.

“Have you heard any gossip about Danny Austen being bi?”

Carlane didn’t miss a beat. “What? Who did you see?”

“No one. It might be completely untrue. Have you heard anything?”

“God, no. He’s supposed to be the playboy of the western world.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“That’s it? You’re not even gonna tell me what you know?”

“I don’t know anything. It was a rumor, nothing more. And the person saying it was drunk, so it’s probably nothing.”

“Damn, girl. My heart’s racing. He can’t be gay. It would just break my heart. I told you. All the good ones are married or gay. There’s nothing left for us hetero gals.”

“Don’t panic. Seriously. Oh, wait, one more thing. Did Weinberg ever make a film in Mexico? With Bobbi or Danny or both?”

“Something about that rings a bell. Let me get back to you.”

“I appreciate it, sweetie.”

“Got a call. Talk to you later.”

Mia hung up her phone and slipped it into her pocket. Sheila Geiger had been drunk and devastated. No reason to believe her, not even about the pictures. Although Mia would still tell Bax about their conversation.

She got a little shiver thinking about him. Was it not the most courtly gesture ever to meet her at the subway? He’d looked really good this morning, too. He’d worn dark jeans, an incredible soft, dark-green shirt and a leather jacket to die for.

Oh, man, she was in trouble. She’d worked herself into quite the orgasm last night and all from thinking about the possibilities. It had been so long since she’d had a crush, and this one was major. They had only three months before he was off to Colorado. But three months would be enough, if…

The problem was, did he want there to be something between them? It was hard to tell. She’d thought for sure he’d wanted to stay last night, but he’d walked away without a backward glance.

Maybe he wanted to get together, but since they were working together…

Oh, crap. That was it. He didn’t want to risk the information. She’d basically become his informant. Maybe he thought things would get too messy if they pursued this…thing.

As far as she was concerned there was no cause for concern. They were both sensible and aware, and they both realized that the investigation had to come first. As long as they didn’t get all crazy about things, they could still work together and have a little sex on the side. No harm, no foul.

Or not.

Why, out of all the men she’d met in months, did she find the detective so yummy? It was all wrong, and she’d do herself a big darn favor by forgetting about it. She had enough on her plate with her job, and now helping with the case. It was stupid to think of hooking up with Bax.

Stupid and addictive.

No, no. Mustn’t linger in the land of make-believe. Focus on the work. On the great puzzle to be solved. Yes. The sooner they had the killer in custody, the sooner Detective Milligan would be…well, he’d be something. To find out what, she had to solve the crime. Fast.

“WHAT’S THE GOOD WORD?” Bax asked, fully prepared to hear nothing but bad words from Grunwald, who’d been dutifully following the chain of evidence as Bax was busy being jerked around by celebrities.

“We found some fibers, but nothing that’s going to point to a killer. I’m still waiting on the official autopsy results but we know there wasn’t a fight. Whoever did it came from behind. No defensive wounds.”

“So we still don’t know if it was a man or woman who killed him?”

“We’ll know more once we get more results. I hear from the captain this one’s going to hit the lab fast. What about you? Anyone looking good?”

“Everyone looks good. Too many fish in this barrel. I need to find out about the finances of the picture. How much the actors are getting paid. What kind of arrangements they have with Weinberg. I’m hearing noises that the film company is in trouble, too. So dig up what you can.”

“Yeah, well, Miguel came back and he’s assigned to the desk, so guess what he’s gonna be doing?”

Bax laughed, knowing Miguel hated desk duty worse than anybody. “That’ll teach him to wash his car.”

“Good luck with those movie stars,” Grunwald said.

“Yeah. I’ll check in with you later.” Bax disconnected and put his cell on his belt, wishing he could go back down to that nice little office in the basement of the hotel. He’d lock the door, turn off his phone and sleep until it was time to leave New York.

There was only one thing he’d miss, and it wasn’t finding Geiger’s killer.

An air horn went off down the street, signaling that the director had yelled cut. Most of today’s scenes were being shot in the Hush garage, but they were also blocking part of East 41st Street, which was causing havoc with traffic.

He knew that the city made a fortune from these movie shoots, and that’s why they were so willing to inconvenience the denizens of midtown, but man, what a mess.

Bobbi Tamony had blown him off twice, and that was going to stop right now. He didn’t give a shit about her schedule or her temperament. He’d had it with these prima donnas.

With a curse, he pushed himself off the side of the building. It was just past noon, and if the first assistant director was to be believed, the filming would stop for lunch any minute.

“Bax!”

He turned at the sound of Mia’s voice. All of a sudden he wasn’t so tired. There she was, coming out of the big glass door, rushing toward him in her black tux. The smile on her face put one on his.

“Are you swamped?” she asked.

“No.”

“Really? You have some time?” She looked past him, to the big barricades holding back the pedestrians, the off-duty beat cops making an extra dime. Past them were trailers and equipment and a bunch of crew people scurrying to and fro as if they were doing something important.

“I’m all yours,” he said.

She flushed enough for him to catch it on her cheeks. “Great. Where can we go that’s private?”

He thought about taking her down to the office he’d been given, but he wanted her away from Hush. If he could have, he’d take her far away, say, the Cloisters or at least Central Park. Then it hit him. “Come with me.”

She walked along beside him, and the urge to take her hand was strong. Really strong. But he was on the clock and so was she. Hadn’t he just lectured himself about this very thing?

“Where are we going?”

“I think I have somewhere nice and quiet and private,” he said. “I have to check, though.”

They walked past the barricade into the heart of the location. It wasn’t difficult to find the AD. She was standing in the middle of the street, papers in one hand, a walkie-talkie in the other.

He touched Mia’s arm. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded as she stared at all the equipment and chairs and the thrum of activity.

The business w to work out, at least for the next hour. He didn’t want anyoneith the AD took only a few minutes. Then he was back at Mia’s side. “Come on,” he said, pleased that things were going from the film company or Hush knowing he was using Mia as his go-between.

He led her to the garage, to the row of trailers and motor homes. When he got to the fourth huge motor home, the only one without a name plate, he opened the door and waited for Mia to climb the four steps.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s what movie stars use instead of port-a-potties.”

She whistled as she got a load of the five-star accommodations. It wasn’t exactly like Danny Austen’s, but it was close.

“This is like a suite at the hotel,” she said, running her hand over the top of the white leather armchair. “Are you sure it’s okay that we’re here?”

“No one’s using this one, at least for today. I checked.”

She looked at him with a hint of wicked in her big dark eyes. “So no one’s gonna come knocking?”

He shook his head.

Mia approached him slowly, her fingertips trailing over the table. “I’ve got a whole hour until I have to get back to work.”

She was tiny next to him. His hands could fit around her waist. The top of her head didn’t even come up to his chin and she smelled like a soft, sweet flower. But the look in her eyes was bold as brass.

Wanting her swamped him, made him lift his hand to pull her close. To kiss her would ease the ache that had been there since they’d met. It would let him sleep again. But in his dreams, he hadn’t stopped at a kiss.

Bax forced himself to take a step back. To make it really clear that this was business and nothing more. It didn’t matter that she wanted it. That he wanted it.

Man, his job sucked.

6

OKAY, SO SHE’D MISJUDGED the situation. It happened. No big deal, right?

Turning away from Bax, who’d done everything but send up a flare to let her know that he wasn’t interested in anything beyond a work relationship, she gathered her pride and her wits about her as she sat in the chair next to the table. No chance of him getting close from this position. “Sheila Geiger came to the hotel this morning. She had some interesting things to say.”

Bax nodded as his gaze moved from her to the couch back to her then to the other single chair across from the table. That’s where he chose to sit. “You talked to her yourself?”

“Yes. In the bar. She was early and I took her to get some tea.”

“She didn’t seem like the tea type to me.”

“Yes, well, sometimes our initial impressions aren’t all that accurate, are they.”

“Point taken.”

She hadn’t meant to get snarky with him. Using her most practiced smile, she leaned in, making sure her body language was friendly, open. Not in the least sexual. “Anyway, she’s pretty sure that Danny Austen killed her husband.”

Bax blinked at her as if something didn’t compute. He’d already said he thought Sheila wasn’t unhappy that her husband was dead, and Sheila had admitted she’d told him about her suspicions, so why was this revelation troubling him? Then it occurred to her. She was grinning at him as if she’d just told him he’d won a stuffed bunny. She ditched the big smile and eased back about ten degrees. “She also said that she thinks it’s because Gerry knew that Danny bats for both teams.”

“Shit,” Bax said.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just that I think it’s true.”

“That Danny killed Geiger?”

“No. That Danny is bisexual.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly take Sheila Geiger’s word as gospel.”

He shook his head. “Actually, I’m pretty sure that Austen hit on me this morning.”

“What?”

“I was thinking maybe I got it wrong, but now that two sources have confirmed it—”

“He hit on you? How?”

“It’s not important. What else did—”

“Oh, no. Come on. I’m not going to tell anyone. What did he say?”

Bax looked flustered. He scratched his head, making little tufts of dark hair stand up, and he didn’t meet her eyes. “I had a headache. He offered to help me with it.”

“Holy crap.”

“I said no.”

She laughed. “I wasn’t suggesting that you didn’t. I’ve just always thought, you know, Danny Austen. He’s legendary.”

“But is he a killer?”

“I haven’t finished about Sheila.”

He leaned forward, looking pleased that they were talking once more about murder.

“She said she had pictures.”

“From that night?”

“Don’t know. I asked, but then someone came in. She never answered me.”

“Did she give you any specifics about the pictures?”

“She implied they were of Danny and someone else. A man. She said they would prove that he was the killer.”

“Unless they show him with the murder weapon, or actually killing Geiger, I doubt that. But they sure could point to motive.”

“If she’s telling the truth.”

“You didn’t believe her?”

She hadn’t wanted to tell him this, not after being such a snot with that comment, but she had to. “She was drunk.”

“When?”

“This morning. When she got to the hotel. It’s crazy, too, because she was going to lunch with Piper and Trace.”

“Trace is the attorney, right?”

“Yes. Piper’s husband.”

“Sheila knew that. Knew she was meeting with counsel.”

“Maybe not. I don’t know. Even so, it seems like awfully poor judgment.”

He leaned back again. “The alcohol must be a considerable problem, then. She has a lot on the line. A lot to lose.”

“Or she’s really devastated by the loss of her husband.”

Bax shook his head even as he said, “I suppose so.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“I’d have to see the evidence for myself.”

“Can’t you get a search warrant? Get all the cameras from their house?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to see if a judge will get on board. But there’s no guarantee, even if we swept the house, that the pictures would be there.”

Mia stood up, anxious now to leave this very private and inviting motor home. But she couldn’t go just yet. Not until she knew for sure.

She remembered a lesson her mother had taught her long ago—don’t ask a question if you’re not prepared to hear the answer. But she was prepared. Better to get things out on the table. Deal with what was, not what she wished could be. “Bax?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, but I got some pretty strong vibes before. About us.”

He met her gaze. “You did, huh?”

“Was I crazy?”

Bax closed his eyes for a second, then shook his head slowly. “No, you weren’t.”

“Ah.”

He stood up. Came close. “But here’s the thing—”

“You don’t have to explain,” she said. “I just—”

“I do. There are some propriety issues as well as some legal issues.”

“I’m twenty-eight, for heaven’s sake.”

“Not that kind of legal,” he said, smiling at her. “We made an agreement last night. You’re an informant. You may have to testify, and if that came to pass, and then it came out that we—that I—”

“Oh.”

“So, it’s not that I don’t want to.”

She stepped back, not sure if she needed to discuss this any further. “It’s for the best. You’re leaving. I have so much to do with the hotel and everything—”

“Right, right. Those are all really good reasons.”

She backed up some more, almost to the door. “I’d better—”

“Sure. Yes. And thanks for that information. Helpful. Good.”

“No problem. All part of the service. As informant, I mean.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again. His gaze went down to the notebook in his hand, and she slipped out the door.

BOBBI TAMONY WAS in her motor home, and by this time, Bax was no longer impressed. It all felt foolish to him, a giant game that half the world had bought into, but that really meant nothing. All pretense, no substance.

He’d seen a lot of Bobbi’s movies in his time and had enjoyed them for the most part, but she was just a suspect. A suspect with two very small, very yappy dogs that had the run of the trailer.

“Can I get you something? A drink? A snack?”

“No, thank you,” he said, sitting in the big chair by the door, just as he had with Danny. Bax eyed the couch, wishing for the hundredth time that he hadn’t been such a fool with Mia. It wasn’t that he’d changed his mind about what he could and couldn’t do, but he was damn sure a smarter man would have handled things more adroitly. He’d embarrassed her. Embarrassed himself. And damn it, he still wanted her.

He’d known her what, a couple of days? How was it possible he liked her so intensely? That he couldn’t shake the feel of her, the scent of her?

This was new for him. The last woman he’d been serious about, Carol, hadn’t bamboozled him like this. They’d started as friends in the academy and the relationship had progressed. They’d decided that it would be good to live together, and that had been pretty good for five whole years.

Then she’d met someone. A fellow cop Bax knew casually, someone he’d never have imagined with Carol. He was one of those manly men. Hunted, fished, worked out with great big dumbbells. To the best of Bax’s knowledge, it had never occurred to him to pick up a book. Carol seemed happy with him, though, so there it was. He used to miss her. Now, he only thought about her when they ran into each other through the job.

This thing with Mia, though, there was none of the distance he’d had with Carol. It was as if she’d bypassed his logic circuits, hitting him straight in the emotions. Not smart. Not when they were both involved with a big case like this one.

“Did you want to ask me some questions, Detective?”

Shit. “Yes, I do.” He pulled out his notebook and pen. “First, why don’t you tell me about your relationship with Gerry Geiger.”

“Relationship? We didn’t have one, other than him being a pain in my ass.”

“In what way?”

She smiled, and he thought of how different it was to see that famous grin life-sized instead of on a movie screen. “He was no different from all the other stalkerazzis. Always looking to get the most unflattering pictures, the most compromising positions. The uglier the better.”

“Did he catch you in any compromising positions?”

“Lots of times. I’d like to tell you my life has been so pure there was nothing for him to catch, but that would be a crock. I’ve partied with the best of them, or perhaps I should say the worst. In fact, it was Gerry who managed to get a copy of my mug shot when I was busted for that DUI in L.A.”

“Did you and he have any discussions about that?”

“No, Detective, we didn’t. We had no discussions whatsoever. Come here, baby. Come on.”

Bax bit back a sigh as the women segued from the interview to getting her tiny dog on her lap. Then he waited for a couple of minutes as the dog, nestled under her considerable cleavage, barked at him. Bobbi didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed a little calmer after the dog finally shut up.

“As for the night he was murdered, I left the nightclub set at a quarter to eleven. You can check with the AD who signed me out. I then went to my room, took a very long bath and went to bed.”

“Anyone who can confirm that?”

“The pet concierge, Mercy I believe her name is, brought the babies to my room.”

“Do you remember what time?”

“No. Sometime after eleven. After that, no one can vouch for me. Sorry.”

“Do you think someone from the film killed him?”

She didn’t seem the least shaken by his question. “Very possibly. He wasn’t a nice man, Detective. He was rude, pushy, obnoxious. His lifeblood was our misery.”

“And yet, according to Mrs. Geiger, you called on him to take pictures when it suited you.”

“Look, sweetie, I didn’t make the calls myself,” she said with a slight roll of her eyes. “Oscar has people who do that kind of thing, not me.”

“So you never actually spoke to Mrs. Geiger.”

“God, no. But from what I hear, she’s quite the lush. Even Gerry Geiger had had enough of that one. I heard he was getting ready to leave her.”

“How did you hear that?”

“Was it Nan? Maybe not. You have to understand, Detective—do you have a first name? That detective bit is getting old.”

“We’re almost done. Was it Nan Collins who told you that Geiger was leaving his wife?”

“I don’t recall, honestly. It was just one of those rumors on the set. You know how those are.”

“No. How are they?”

She smiled, clearly not appreciating his humor.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“That’s it.”

“You’ll let me know if you think of anything else, yes?”

Her smile became even less charming. Perhaps he should have let her call him Bax.

“I’ll rush to find you if I think of another thing.”

He stood, causing the dogs to get hysterical yet again, and then he was outside in the warm June afternoon. He needed to type up his notes, call Grunwald, although he was no closer to a suspect. But attention had to be paid to the protocols.

Besides, once he was inside, he could check room service records and find out about the pet concierge. Jeez, hotels had certainly changed a lot. Or maybe he was just a hopeless hick, destined for backwoods motels.

As he entered the hotel lobby, his gaze went straight to the front desk, to Mia. She didn’t see him, engrossed as she was on the computer and her phone. He watched her for a long while, probably too long. She typed and talked with a smile that he knew now was genuine. Not like Bobbi Tamony, or any of those movie people. None of those actors could hold a candle to Mia. She was beautiful, wickedly bright— Bax closed his eyes. This was not good.

In fact, it was humiliating. Thirty-six years old, and he was moony over a slip of a girl. Jesus. Pretty soon he’d be writing her name on the back of his notebook.

He turned around and walked outside, stretching his legs for the first time that day. Thinking about this situation.

First of all, he was leaving. He’d already been accepted at Boulder and there was nothing for him in New York, so it wasn’t optional. Second, she wasn’t leaving. Mia had scored herself an incredible job, and she wasn’t about to give that up for the likes of him. Third, he was really, really tired. That was probably what all this insanity was about. He’d get a good night’s sleep and things would go back to normal.

This was not the way he did things.

He was on a case, for God’s sake. A high-profile murder. What, did he think he could skate just because he’d turned in his resignation? As long as he was on the damn clock, he would put his entire energy on the job, not on his dick.

Only, it wasn’t just his dick.

Shit.

“YOU HAVE A MINUTE, Mia?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

It was Mercy, the pet concierge at Hush and one of Mia’s favorite people here at the hotel. She was shy and sweet, and they’d had great talks about crazy guests and their pets, not to mention all the hotel gossip. They met for drinks or dinner whenever they could.

She seemed distracted, which was understandable. They’d had an extraordinary number of pets recently, all of them wanting the kind of specialized services Hush was famous for. Home-baked treats, massages, walks of course, and playtime in the PetQuarters. Mercy had even hired special help to get through the month as most of her personal time was spent caring for Bobbi Tamony’s two Chihuahuas.

“You were with that policeman this morning, right?”

“Detective Milligan? Yeah, I was helping him with some details about the case.”

“Uh-huh, anyway, I don’t know if I should bother him— No, it’s nothing. Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Wait. Don’t go. What was it you wanted to tell him?”

Mercy also wore the Hush uniform, but her pink bow tie had little black puppies on it. She had bigger pockets on her jacket, too, to hold all the biscuits. What made her look completely adorable though was that she wore her long blond hair up in a ponytail, held there with a big pink bow that matched her tie. So cute. But Mia could tell she wasn’t her usual perky self.

“I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.” Mercy stepped closer to the desk. “It just that when I went up last night to deliver the pups, I could tell Bobbi had been crying.”

“Was anyone with her?”

“No, but she was acting really odd. She shoved a bunch of stuff under her blanket when I walked into the room.”

“It could have just been, you know, Hush stuff.”

Mercy waved her hand. “Oh, heck no. She leaves her vibrators out on display on top of her night tables. She was really bothered by something. I asked if I could do anything and she said no, but…”

“What?”

“I saw the guy that was murdered coming out of her room that night.”

“The night he was killed?”

Mercy nodded. “I have no idea what he was doing there, or if it means anything. You think I should tell him? The detective?”

“Yeah. I think so. It could mean something.”

“All right. I’ll find him before he goes home. Thanks.”

“No problem. Let me know if there’s anything else you think of. I mean, it’s probably easier for me to catch the detective.”

“Uh-huh,” Mercy gave her a look that said she wasn’t fooled in the least. “As soon as this madness is over, you and I will have ourselves a talk.” She leaned over the edge of the desk. “He is pretty damn hot.”

Mia felt a blush heat her cheeks. Lucky for her, the phone rang. “Concierge, this is Mia, how may I help you?”

Mercy shook her head as she left and Mia was quite certain that if Mercy, who was far more intuitive about puppies than people, knew about her thing for Bax, then the entire staff at Hush knew as well. Great.

7

“YOU’RE HERE.”

Bax nodded then got up from the pony wall in the Hush garage. “I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

Mia approached him, a little bit thrilled that he was here and a little bit leery as to why. “You didn’t have to. The paps don’t seem to care that much about me today.”

“Fools.”

“Oh,” she said, but she didn’t think he heard her. This was so odd. It was like some elaborate dance but she didn’t know the steps. He comes close, he backs away, he tells her it’s all about the job, then says, “Fools.” Not fair. And still, she was drawn to him. Terribly so.

She touched the sleeve of his leather jacket. As June was coming into its own the days and nights were becoming warmer. Soon that leather would be too much for the season and he’d put the jacket away. She bet he looked great in a T-shirt. “It’s nice of you.”

“I would have preferred driving you home, but all I can do tonight is see you to the subway. I’ve got to go to the precinct.”

“Did Mercy find you?”

“Neither mercy nor grace, unfortunately. I’ve been stuck with sloth and greed all day.”

Mia grinned. “I meant Mercy, the pet concierge.”

“Right. Uh, no. No, she didn’t.”

“She told me a couple of things you should know. Come on, walk me to the subway and I’ll fill you in.”

He didn’t take her hand, but she thought he wanted to. She sure did. Instead, she did what she knew was safe. Told him all she could remember about her conversation with Mercy. She was terribly professional and when they were standing at the subway steps and he looked at her with his deep brown eyes, she melted like an ice cream cone in summer. At least on the inside.

She thought about him all the way to Brooklyn Heights. Even the murder didn’t stand a chance of chasing Bax away. As she climbed into bed at ten-thirty, she had to admit it. He wasn’t just a crush. No crush had ever made her feel like this. She was a goner.

DESPITE THE FACT that it was almost lunchtime, Mia didn’t do the sensible thing and relax in the break room. Oh, no. She decided to steal away to the trailers and deliver a rather large fruit and muffin basket that had been left for Danny Austen. Maybe she could get him talking. He might open up to her more than he would to a police detective, right?

She made a quick restroom stop just to make sure she looked her best, then hauled the basket from behind the desk and headed out.

The security guard at the exit was sweet, holding the door for her and asking if he could be of help, but this was something she needed to do alone.

The garage was pretty empty, which meant this trip was probably a waste of time. Usually, when there was no one by the trailers it meant they were all on the set. Oh, well. She would still deliver the basket.

She had to switch hands twice before she found his particular motor home because the basket was so heavy. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to carry it much further. Resting on the step in front of the door, she knocked. “Mr. Austen? I have a delivery.”

She waited. Thought about breaking down and buying something from the vending machines in the break room. Something naughty.

Another knock. “Mr. Austen? Delivery.”

She waited for half a mo, then tried the door. It was open. She’d seen the way the movie people were with these so-called trailers. They were like offices, and people seemed to go in and out without much concern. Still, she poked her head in. Nothing.

With a push and a heave, she went inside, amazed again at the opulence. She could have easily lived there. Heck, they could have taken off the wheels and she’d have been happy.

Mia put the basket on the table. Walking toward the back of the motor home, she touched the marble countertops. They didn’t seem like a veneer. One thing she hadn’t seen in the empty trailer was the bathroom.

She went back and opened the first door, but that was just a closet. Then she opened the second door.

And screamed.

Danny Austen, naked as the day he was born, was in a very tiny shower with another very naked man. They were both all soapy and foamy, which made sense because there was no water running to wash them off.

She jumped back and slammed the door shut.

The stupid thing bounced and flew open again, giving her an even more unfortunate view.

One more time, she shut the door, catching it this time with both hands.

She was out of that trailer almost as quickly as Piper was going to fire her.

THERE WAS NO GOOD time to read a tabloid. Bax realized that profound truth immediately, but there was also no turning back.

The cover in his hand had all the bold printed scandals that would fit, but he was only interested in the central picture. Bobbi Tamony, dressed in something gold and slinky, was sitting at a banquette, her head bent over a large mirror. There was a rolled-up bill at her nose through which she was snorting what looked like several hundred dollars’ worth of cocaine.

The photograph wasn’t credited and the date given was the unhelpful sometime last week. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if this picture was worthy of murder. How had the paper gotten the photo? From which paparazzo?

The last thing he wanted to do was talk to those cretins. One was worst than the next, yanking out their First Amendment rights at the drop of a hat, despite the fact it was clear they had no idea what the First Amendment said.

But what choice did he have? The paparazzi were Geiger’s people. This afternoon Bax had three of them lined up, the most interesting of whom was Henry Toth. According to his compatriots, Toth and Geiger were rivals, not just with work, but on a personal level.

That wasn’t for another half hour, though, so Bax went back to the magazines. He really hated that he’d spent perfectly good money on this crap. That, in fact, he had a whole stack of tabloids staring at him. He cared nothing about which stars’ diets were now disasters. Which plastic surgeries had gone horribly wrong. Or what starlet was the latest to be dumped.

He also hated that he’d been read the riot act last night by the captain. Not that he was doing anything wrong, just that he wasn’t doing the right things faster. Much faster.

Seemed Oscar Weinberg had friends. Lots of them. In very high places. Who didn’t seem terribly concerned that a paparazzo had been killed. In fact, the subtext had been that the killer had done a public service.

On the other side of the coin were the tabloids themselves, rallied to a cause that had more to do with sensational headlines than actual concern, but a cause nonetheless that made the NYPD look bad.

Why, then, was it taking him so long to find the murderer?

He hadn’t bothered to answer the captain’s questions. The captain hadn’t become the captain because he was a stupid man. He understood exactly why things were moving at a snail’s pace. He also understood that by giving Bax grief, he was absolving himself of any guilt associated with the case. He could happily move on to the next crisis, leaving Bax to take whatever blame might come. Would come.

Bax sighed as he picked up the next tabloid on the pile. It too had a picture of interest on the cover. Not of Bobby Tamony, but of Danny Austen. Nothing about his sexual preferences unless you counted partying with a barely eighteen-year-old starlet.

Something about the picture… He went back to the front page featuring Bobbi Tamony, then put the two magazines side by side. There, in the background in both pictures, was the same woman. Nan Collins, the glorified extra. There was no mistaking her, despite the blurriness of the photos.

She wore a cut-down-to-there blouse, the same blouse in both shots. In one picture, she looked directly at the camera. In the other, she looked to the right. A man might surmise the picture had been taken on the same night.

Perhaps Bobbi and Danny had been at the same club? It didn’t look like the Hush hotel bar. The décor was all wrong. Mia would know. She might just know something about the woman, too. He’d better go—

He put the brakes on. He needed to be careful about her. Yes, she was an excellent resource, but to depend on her and her gossip too much could lead him to unwarranted conclusions. It was so easy to believe everything she said, even after her own admissions that she was repeating rumors. He liked her. He wanted her to be right. It was a recipe for mistakes the case couldn’t afford.

So was this an instance when going to Mia was justified? Or was he making excuses to be near her?

The answer was both. She was an excellent source, and so far the information she’d given him was all worthy of being checked out. He also wanted to see her.

He wasn’t the type to feel lonely. Not when there was a book to be read. But last night? His apartment had felt empty, and he’d picked up three different books, none of which had held his attention.

He closed the office door behind him and went to the lobby.

SHE KNEW BAX WAS THERE even before she looked up. Something in the air had shifted, or maybe it was a new kind of personal radar attuned to his scent, his molecules.

His smile made her blush and she finished up her call as quickly as she could.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” he said.

“What for?”

“I wanted to meet you out there, but—”

“It’s okay. I appreciate the thought.”

He touched the edge of her cuff briefly, then pulled back. “I’ve got some pictures, some tabloid shots I’d like you to look at when you have a break.”

“I can come now.”

“No, you’re working. And I have some paps to talk to as soon as I finish with Bobbi Tamony. Has Weinberg come back?”

She shook her head. “He should be back sometime this evening. We’re getting his suite ready for him.”

“Okay. I just…”

“What?”

“Nothing. If I’m not in the office, give me a call. You have my cell number, right?”

“Yep. And you have mine.”

“That I do. I should call you just to hear that ring of yours.”

“It’s distinctive.”

“It’s Wagner.”

“And what’s wrong with Wagner?”

“Not a thing.” He slapped the top of the desk lightly. “See you later, huh?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

As she watched him walk away she tried to get her heartbeat to slow. He looked good. Jeans again, which she liked much, much better than the brown pants. A white button-down shirt. A black jacket, nothing heavy, maybe linen or cotton. It was a good combination. Especially with his rebellious hair and his dark eyes.

Man, she had it bad.

He’d mentioned tabloids. She should run to the gift shop, but no, the front desk was busy. As long as she had a minute, though, she could call her expert. Carlane would have all the latest rags already, and if there was anything about the murder, her friend would know.

She wondered if she should tell Carlane about what she’d seen in Danny’s trailer. No, that was private information. Very private.

Mia was still amazed she hadn’t gotten fired. But then, Piper wasn’t in-house, so maybe Danny was waiting to express his outrage personally. It was quite possible this would be her very last day at Hush. That would break her heart. But she’d deal. She’d have to.

In the meantime, maybe there was one more thing she could do to help Bax before she was kicked out on her keister.

“YOU SAW THE PICTURE, I assume?”

Bax walked over to Bobbi, who was sitting in a chair that had her name on it. They were on the Madison Avenue sidewalk and the camera was set up in the little coffee shop where he and Mia had first had dinner.

There were several occupied chairs around them, but Danny Austen’s was empty. As was Peter Eccles’s. Bax pulled Austen’s chair closer to Bobbi and sat down. “Want to tell me about it?”

“If I tell you it was cold medicine, will you believe me?”

“No.”

“Will it matter?”

“Only if that picture is what got Geiger killed.”

She shifted on her chair, crossing one famously long, slender leg over the other. Her outfit today seemed pretty casual. A denim skirt, sandals, a little sleeveless T. He wondered if the clothes were hers or if she was in costume.

“I don’t know who took that picture, Detective.”

“They let a bunch of paps into those nightclubs, do they?”

“For all I know, the bartender had a camera in his cell phone.”

“Right.”

“You think I want the world to see me like that?”

“You’re on the cover.”

“You’re a cynical man, Milligan.”

“I’m a peach. It’s the job that makes me cynical.”

Bobbi smiled. “You know what? I believe you. I wish I could be of more help. I don’t remember much from that night.”

“What night would that be?”

“Four nights ago? Five? It’s hard to recall.”

“I’ll bet. You remember a woman standing behind you? Tall redhead? Name of Nan Collins?”

She shook her head. “If she was there, I didn’t notice.”

“Was Danny partying with you that night?”

“Danny? We don’t tend to hang out after work. You know how that is.”

He could see he wasn’t going to get anything useful from her. He’d do better waiting to talk to Mia. Maybe that pet concierge was available. Or maybe he should get on the horn with the tabloids, not that they’d tell him anything without being compelled by the courts.

“Detective?”

He got up, looked around for Austen or the director. Neither one was on the street. But shit, were there ever crowds. Tons of people held back by the barricades. Lots of off-duty cops getting some sweet moonlighting money. “Yeah?”

“I do remember someone who was partying with me that night.”

“Oh?”

“Our dear director. And I don’t think he was having a very good time.”

Bax nodded. It was probably a misdirection, probably nothing. But because she’d said it, he’d do his damnedest to get to the truth. Which was funny, considering. “Have a good day, Ms. Tamony.”

“You, too, Bax.”

YOLANDA WAS GETTING Oscar Weinberg’s suite ready, which wasn’t a simple thing to do. Mia had no business interrupting. No business being there at all. But did that stop her?

“Yolanda?”

“Hello Miss Mia.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Just getting this room ready.”

“I came to check on a few things, if you don’t mind.”

Yolanda, who was an excellent maid and a very nice person, stepped away from the door. “No problem, Miss Mia. You do what you need to. Let me know if I can help.”

Mia nodded as she walked inside. Oh, man, she was stepping close to the line here. Okay, over the line. Yes, she was going to check to make sure Mr. Weinberg’s pillows were perfect, but mostly she was going to snoop.

Yolanda had disappeared into the master bedroom, so Mia had the living room to herself. First thing she did was go to the to the big closet. There were clothes in there, and two suitcases. With her heart racing, Mia checked both cases. Empty. She felt for pockets on the jackets and came up with nothing there, either.

Okay, second bedroom. As she hurried, the theme music from Mission Impossible played in her head even as she told herself this was not a game. If she was caught here, she could lose her job. On the other hand, she was probably already on the cut list, so what the hell.

The second bedroom looked pristine and had already been turned down. Mia had no idea if Weinberg ever used the second bed, but it was ready if he wanted to.

The closet in there was empty and Mia was just about to shut the door when she realized that there was a mirror on the side wall. She’d been in every suite in the hotel, but she couldn’t remember seeing a mirror like this one.

She stepped inside the closet. The mirror had a wooden frame, very polished. It was maybe two feet long and four feet wide. The more she thought about it, the more sure she became that this mirror wasn’t standard.

She looked out to make sure she was alone, then peered at the side of the mirror. It was at least two inches in depth, which made her think that perhaps it wasn’t for looking in so much as it was for hiding things.

With held breath, she pulled on the left side, then the right. Nothing budged. She let her fingers trail around the entire frame. She felt a break in the upper right corner. Tugging did nothing, so instead, she pushed. Something gave, although it didn’t open.

The push gave her hope, though. She had a friend in Toronto who built secret-compartment boxes, and with her love of puzzles, Mia had found them endlessly fascinating. The important part of puzzle boxes was that at least two mechanisms had to be manipulated concurrently to release a catch.

Mia stood on tiptoe to study the break in the frame. She tugged, pushed and lifted in every way she could think of when the frame popped open.

Her sigh was loud in the little closet and she’d already stayed too long, so she swung the mirror out, expecting jewelry or drugs or both.

What she got were memory cards. The kind that went inside digital cameras. Lots and lots of memory cards.

She picked one up and saw that it was 256K. She turned the little electronic gizmo over and whoa, there it was. Initials written in a very small hand. BT.

She put that card back and picked up another, this one from a different stack. The initials on this one, PE.

In the next few minutes, she found many initials she couldn’t decipher. And many she could.

DA for Danny Austen.

GG for Gerry Geiger.

SG as in Sheila Geiger?

PD which might or might not be Piper Devon.

Mia’s already racing pulse went zooming out of control. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d found, but she knew, just knew, it was something important. She couldn’t even conceive of how many pictures were stored here. Thousands upon thousands.

Did one of these cards hold the key to Geiger’s murder? Was the killer none other than Oscar Weinberg?

She thought about taking the card with GG on the back, but she just couldn’t. There was no way she could justify stealing so blatantly. God forbid Weinberg kept an inventory and discovered the theft. Where would his finger point? Right at Yolanda, that’s where.

No, she and Bax would have to come up with another way to get these memory cards into evidence.

“Miss Mia?”

Mia jumped what felt like ten feet, then slammed the mirror closed. Thankfully, Yolanda was still in the other room. “Yes, Yolanda?”

“I finished the bedroom. You want to come check?”

“Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

THE PET FACILITIES WERE on the 20th floor, adjacent to the elaborate and expansive spa. Bax had to admit he was curious about the pet concierge. Dog walking? Puppy sitting? He’d never been to a hotel that had pet facilities, unless you count lawns. Of course, it had been years since he’d had a dog. That was one of his first priorities when he got to Boulder. He’d grown up with pets and he missed that. The companionship, the exercise. He’d be able to hike to his heart’s content in Boulder, a trusty mutt beside him.

He pushed the door open and walked into a world that was as outside his own reality as a movie set.

PetQuarters had a front desk, just like downstairs, barring his view to the pets, and a very attractive young woman wearing a modified Hush uniform holding one of Bobbi Tamony’s yappy dogs. He knew it was Bobbi’s because of the way his hackles rose hearing that bark.

“May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Mercy.”

The young woman sighed. “Aren’t we all.”

Bax laughed, but cut it short as the woman’s expression told him she meant that quite literally. He coughed, hoping to let the moment slide.

“Mercy should have been back ten minutes ago. And Eddy had to leave for class, and then Ms. Tamony came to deliver her dogs, and well, I’m kind of on my own, but if I can be of any assistance?”

“No, it’s fine. You have your hands full. I’ll come back later.”

“Would you like Mercy to give you a call? I can take your number.”

“No, but thanks.” He was curious about the parts of the puppy hotel he couldn’t see, but he’d explore it later. For now, he’d go see if Mia had some time for him. She’d been too busy a few minutes ago. He’d been tempted to just watch her as she did her thing, but he’d nixed that plan.

He waited around in the reception area, hoping Mercy would show up. Thinking about his interview with Henry Toth.

According to Toth, who he’d have mistaken for a panhandler if it hadn’t been for his very expensive cameras, Geiger had some very tight connections with both Bobbi and Danny Austen. That he knew for a fact that Geiger was tipped off by someone working for Weinberg. And that Gerry Geiger had just bought himself a hell of a nice duplex in Little Italy.

Toth also suggested that Geiger was more than a little fed up with his wife’s drinking.

The sad thing? That bunch of schoolyard gossip was the most he’d gotten from any of the paparazzi so far. They were a tight-lipped bunch of bottom-feeders.

It didn’t appear that Mercy the pet concierge was coming back anytime soon. As Bax rounded the corner toward the elevator he spotted a man in the spa window. He was hefty, balding, wearing a robe.

Bax went into the spa’s reception area, but the man was gone. There were two ladies looking at some cosmetics, one man who Bax had seen on some TV show, and the women behind the desk.

The woman closest to him, a little older than her compatriot, smiled at him. “May I help you?”

He pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge. “I need to know if Oscar Weinberg is inside the facility.”

“Yes, sir, he is.”

“Great. Which room?”

“He’s in the middle of a procedure at the moment.”

“I don’t mind.”

She looked at her coworker, then back at him. “Can you give me a minute, please? I honestly don’t know how to handle this situation and I’d like to ask someone.”

“Is this the only exit?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take your time.”

While she called whoever she called, Bax picked up one of the brochures from the counter. The services were vast and expensive, and some were downright odd. Hot stones? Oxygen facials? What he knew about spas could fit on the end of his pen, but he was once again, as he was so often lately, impressed by what the rich would buy. He was sure they would defend the spa services as crucial to their health and happiness. Hell, maybe they were right.

“Officer?”

He put the brochure down. “That’s Detective.”

“Sorry. Detective. I can take you to see Mr. Weinberg now.”

“Great.”

She led him inside the spa proper, down a long hallway. It smelled good, like trees, and the lighting was low. Music played softly in the background. New-age stuff, of course, but it hit all the right marks for a spa.

After a few turns, she stopped in front of a closed door. A gentle knock was followed almost immediately by the door opening a crack.

“I’ve got a client.”

The woman nodded. “The detective needs to speak to Mr. Weinberg.”

“He’s still got half an hour to go.”

Bax moved closer to the door. “I’ll be busy in a half an hour.”

“I checked with Piper’s office,” the woman whispered. “We have to let him in.”

The massage therapist was tall and wiry, not bulging with muscles as Bax would have thought. He looked strong though, strong and pissed. The one thing that did match Bax’s preconceived notions was the uniform. All-white T-shirt, slacks and shoes. Clean. Antiseptic.

After a meaningful shrug, the therapist stepped back.

Bax thanked the nice woman and went inside the even darker room.

Turns out it wasn’t dark enough.

Oscar Weinberg lay naked on the massage table. Face up. With no sheet covering any part of his large body.

Bax almost turned around and walked out, but his personal discomfort couldn’t possibly be worse than Weinberg’s, so why not go for it?

“What the hell is going on, Larry?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Weinberg. I was told to let him in.”

Weinberg looked Bax over. “Who the fuck are you?”

Bax took out his badge, making sure Oscar saw his holster as he did so. “Detective Milligan.”

“This can’t wait?”

“I figured I better catch you when I could. With that private jet and all.”

“Did I say I wanted you to stop the massage?”

That was to Larry, of course, who hopped to it.

Bax had no idea what Larry was in fact massaging as he was focusing one hundred percent on Weinberg’s face. “When did you get back to the hotel?”

“About an hour ago.”

“And the first thing you wanted was a massage?”

“Is that what you came here to talk about?”

Score one for the naked guy. “Tell me about your relationship with Geiger.”

“There was no relationship. We used Geiger on occasion to take pictures. We paid him. All above board, nothing special.”

“Was he on the clock the night of his death?”

“No. He was not.”

“You’re sure about that?” Bax didn’t wait for a response. “When was the last time you did hire him?”

“I’ll have to find out, Detective. It’s not something I keep at the forefront. Especially with Geiger. The man was an ass. Rude, greedy. He was one of the worst.”

“Then why use him?”

“He got the job done. He was useful.”

“What was Geiger doing in Peter Eccles’s suite?”

Weinberg rolled his eyes as if the question was too difficult to bear. “You’d have to ask Peter.”

“According to some reliable sources you’ve got a lot riding on this picture. The last four movies you produced haven’t done very well.”

“Reliable sources? Please, Detective. You should know by now that you can’t always believe what you read in the papers.”

“I imagine it’s costing a lot. Austen and Tamony don’t come cheap.”

“We won’t be selling off our company jet anytime soon.”

“Why do you think someone wanted Geiger dead?”

“He probably took a picture he shouldn’t have. Honestly, Detective, I wouldn’t know. The lives of the paparazzi are of little consequence to me.”

Bax was about to pepper him with yet another question, despite the fact that the naked guy was turning out to be pretty imperturbable, but then Oscar took hold of Larry’s left arm and Bax couldn’t watch as the man turned over.

Once the guy was facedown, Bax moved in a little, not willing to accidentally see anything that would burn his retinas. He looked at Larry, who had already gone to work on Weinberg’s back. The therapist had a look of such disgust on his face that Bax got a chill.

He’d seen that look before, and it was usually immediately followed by someone getting shot. Larry was not happy.

Why in hell didn’t Weinberg have a sheet on him? For that matter, why wasn’t this massage being done in his suite? According to the brochure, most everything could be done in the guest rooms.

After an unfortunate glimpse of Weinberg’s large white ass, Bax turned, ready to end this now. On a credenza, along with bottles and towels, there were three items of interest. A water bottle, a locker key on a bungee cord and a small tape recorder. No, wait. It was a camera. Bax recognized the small device as one he’d seen in the Vice department’s bag of tricks. Even from halfway across the room, Bax could see that the recorder was on. The red button glowed in the dark.

He turned back. “I’ll let you finish your business here, Mr. Weinberg. We’ll speak again.”

“I look forward to it, Detective.”

As Bax walked toward the door, he looked one last time at Larry. The disgust was gone. In its place, raw fear.

8

IT WAS ALMOST FIVE, and Mia, despite expecting every phone call to be Piper telling her she was fired, kept checking the elevator, waiting for Bax. It was possible, of course, that he’d left the hotel, but he wouldn’t do that, would he? Leave without saying anything?

Of course he would. She wasn’t his priority. She wasn’t even in the top ten. The man was investigating a murder, not obsessing about her. At least not the way she was obsessing about him.

Her private phone rang. “Mia.”

“It’s me. I found out about Mexico.”

“Carlane, that’s great.”

“One of the first films Weinberg produced was shot in Mexico. It was Bobbi Tamony’s first picture, too. Danny Austen was in it, and it was directed by Peter Eccles.”

“The whole gang, huh?”

“And, guess what?”

“What?”

“Gerry Geiger was the photographer. He wasn’t a pap back then. He worked for Weinberg Films taking publicity stills.”

“No.”

“Yep. Something happened to shut down shooting for awhile, but I couldn’t find out what.”

“Really.”

“It could have been anything. Weather, permits. It was shot on a shoestring, so who knows. Anyway, the movie did well for the company, and Weinberg was off and running. He used the same team in three other pictures. Eccles, Bobbi and Danny.”

“How cozy.”

“I’ll say. And for what it’s worth, the Mexico shoot was the last one Geiger did as an employee. He went freelance after that.”

“Okay. Great. I appreciate it so much.”

“You can repay me by taking me to lunch with Danny Austen.”

Mia winced. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as she hung up, she printed out her daily log. It was the last thing she had to do before Ellen, the second-shift concierge, took over.

The afternoon had been brutal, one call after another, and while most everything had been taken care of, there were still two items for follow-up. One was a pair of tickets to a sold-out show, the other the limo service for Ms. Tamony, who was going out again tonight, but she hadn’t known what time.

Mia waited the few seconds for the printout, then put the page in the book. That was it, she was done. She could go now, get changed, make it to the subway in plenty of time to catch the train. But she didn’t leave, not even when Ellen took her place behind the desk.

Mia thought about what Carlane had told her, wondering how Mexico fit into the picture, if it did at all. Then she thought about Weinberg’s digital picture collection, and she felt sick to her stomach all over again.

Of course, that made her think about Bax. She knew she had to tell him that she’d been snooping, and she also knew he wasn’t going to be thrilled about that, but she hoped the data she’d gathered would make up for it.

Mia lingered for a few more minutes, looking from the front entrance to the elevator, and then it hit her. She was behaving like a child. A lovesick child. How often had she been scornful of other women for their foolishness around men. She’d been completely intolerant of their constant preoccupation. No man, she’d been certain, would ever turn her into one of those desperate, pathetic creatures.

And here she was.

Breaking and entering. Snooping. Prying. All because she wanted to impress him.

She couldn’t kid herself about it any longer. She wanted to solve this murder so that they could be together, yes, but also because she thought he’d like her more if she cracked the case.

Brilliant.

The awful thing was, she barely knew this man. It didn’t feel that way. In fact, she could hardly believe they hadn’t been close for years, but the truth was they were practically strangers. Even if there was a possibility of something happening between them, her behavior was completely ridiculous.

She’d read enough to know that the human body will go to great lengths to compel the species to replicate. It was biological and therefore unavoidable. And she’d heard of love at first sight, which she’d always enjoyed as a fictional premise, but never thought would happen to her. Even so, the degree of idiocy one exhibits in this particular situation was entirely dependent on character. On willpower, damn it.

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