“I have a plan,” Erin said

Brady folded his arms trying to remain in control of the situation. Only, just looking at Erin kept him aroused. “A plan?”

“I was thinking that neither of us really has time for a relationship. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have…needs.” She reached up and toyed with his collar. “I thought we both could use a release valve. One with no strings, no demands. Just a safe outlet.”

Brady knew there was nothing safe about Erin Mahoney. Not intellectually and sure as hell not sexually. And yet even as he stood there trying to convince himself he should turn her down, he knew he wouldn’t.

So he didn’t. Reaching for her, he crushed her lips with his. His hands slid over her curves, his fingers brushing the sides of her breasts as she moaned softly. He settled his hands on her hips, lifting her up. “Wrap your legs around me,” he said in a husky voice as he carried her toward the bedroom. “Because I’ve got some plans of my own….”

Dear Reader,

I’ve always been a sucker for a cop story. The suspense, the drama, the fight for justice. Probably because I’m the daughter of a cop and have been a witness to that life for most of my own. Of course, as I got older, I wanted romance to go along with the suspense and drama. The rugged, hard-nosed detective who gets his man…and then gets his woman! In my case, I got what I wanted, both in the books I read and wrote, and in real life. In fact, it was while researching a story that I met my husband. He’s not a hard-nosed detective, but I was just as captivated by him as a SWAT team commander.

I hope you’re a sucker for a good cop story, too. I think you’ll enjoy watching Erin Mahoney shake up hard-nosed homicide detective Brady O’Keefe. And I know you’ll enjoy seeing just how Brady gets his woman.

Happy reading!

Donna Kauffman

P.S. I love to hear from readers.

Check out my Web site at www.donnakauffman.com.

Books by Donna Kauffman

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

828—WALK ON THE WILD SIDE

Heat of the Night

Donna Kauffman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated to my Lawman.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

1

“THE HANDCUFFS and leather mask could be explained in any number of ways.” Bill Henley swiveled his chair around and gazed out his office window. Fog still hugged the streets of Philadelphia, but Mayor Henley probably wasn’t thinking about traffic jams or whether the mist would burn off before his nine o’clock tee off time.

Homicide detective Brady O’Keefe waited impatiently for Henley to come to terms with reality. The mayor was right about the handcuffs and leather mask. But the pink tutu and satin bustier his friend had also been wearing were another matter altogether, not to mention the feather whip. Brady wished for about the hundredth time this morning that the commissioner wasn’t in bed with the flu. He should be here holding Henley’s hand so Brady could get back to solving the city’s latest murder.

A minute passed, then another. Brady sighed, then spoke quietly but directly. “Sir, I did what I could to squash the media coverage. But Sanderson was very well known, and…” He stopped, knowing he didn’t have to tell the mayor how bad this was going to look when it hit the papers. And it would hit the papers. Morton Sanderson was a major player in the Philadelphia business community and a chief backer of Henley’s upcoming reelection campaign. He was also a self-righteous blowhard, notorious for his public drubbing of anyone who fell short of his strict code of morality.

Which made that pink tutu particularly hard to deal with.

“Well, I don’t think you or anyone else is going to be able to make this go away or keep it under wraps,” Brady finished. He hated all this political-posturing crap. He wasn’t good at pussyfooting around, much less putting positive spins on things that weren’t remotely positive. He’d gotten where he was by focusing on one thing and one thing only: getting to the truth. He stood straighter. “To be frank, sir, I need to get back to the station. I’ve got interviews lined up all morning and I can’t afford to waste time on who is going to write what in the morning papers.”

The mayor swung back around, appearing ready to blast him for his insubordination, but abruptly stopped. His expression turned weary, but it was the real grief in the depths of his eyes that made Brady rein in his impatience.

“Just find out who set him up, O’Keefe,” Henley said quietly. “I’ll take care of the media.”

“Sir, with respect, there is no indication of a setup. Not yet anyway.”

“I know Mort rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, but I know—knew—him better than most. No way did he die in a seedy hotel while taking part in some sort of kinky sex scandal. There’s something else going on here. Find the truth, Detective O’Keefe. And find it fast.”

“Yes, sir.”

Henley was already on the phone before Brady hit the door. Once in the hall, he added under his breath, “But whether or not you like the truth is not my problem.”

BRADY SLUGGED DOWN the foul dregs of a cold mug of coffee. When he didn’t even wince, he knew it was time to call it quits for the night. He slapped shut the folder he’d been writing in and shoved back his chair. “I’m out of here,” he said to no one in particular. His shift had left hours ago and the midnight shift was already busily at work, not paying him any particular mind. Which was why he worked late more often than not. No one bugged him, his phone didn’t ring and he got a lot done. Besides, when he was on a case, there was nothing else he’d rather be doing. And in this city, there was always a case.

“Detective O’Keefe still around?”

Brady swung his head toward the squad room door. “Who wants to know?”

Sergeant Ross wove through the desks toward him. “Some woman named Mahoney, out in receiving. Says the mayor sent her.”

“I didn’t get a call from Henley’s office.” Even as he completed the sentence he dug under the folders on his desk to the stack of pink message slips the secretary had stuck in his hand the last time he came in. He’d been so besieged, he’d never gotten to them. Henley’s message was the sixth one down. He swore under his breath. “Yeah, all right. Tell her I’ll be out in a minute.”

He shrugged on his suit jacket, but didn’t bother putting on his tie. It was late, he was wiped out and hungry and suddenly wishing he’d left with the rest of his squad. He scanned the message slip again. Erin Mahoney. He smiled wryly. Boy did that name bring back memories. None good. He’d known an Erin Mahoney growing up. She was two years younger than him, but she’d made his life hell right up until the last day of fourth grade when she’d blessedly moved across town.

He spent a moment wondering whatever happened to her, then chuckled. Probably torturing some poor insurance salesman husband and wreaking havoc with the PTA. The image made Brady feel better. He only had to deal with murderers and reluctant witnesses. And whatever flunky Mayor Henley had just shoved in his path.

Still smiling, he pushed through the door, then stopped in his tracks. Her back was to him…and what a back it was. Tall and shapely, with deep auburn hair, she wore a suit so beautifully tailored it almost made him wish he’d taken up Uncle Mike’s offer to work at his clothing store instead of entering the police academy eleven years ago. Never before had a tape measure held such erotic possibilities.

His appreciative smile froze when she stopped chatting up the desk clerk and swung around to face him.

“Terror Mahoney.” He’d said it under his breath, but the mischievous light that twinkled in her bright green eyes signaled that she’d heard him.

“Why if it isn’t Crybaby O’Keefe.” She laughed when he scowled. She turned back to the very attentive desk sergeant. “Thank you, Sergeant Ross,” she said, then bent gracefully and snapped up her briefcase. Despite his dumbfounded state, or maybe because of it, he followed her movement, causing him to reflect on just how much finer a pair of basic black high heels could make prizewinning legs appear.

She walked by Brady in those basic black pumps and opened the door he’d just come through. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Her bright smile and knowing look made it clear she knew exactly where he’d been looking, and that she’d absolutely planned it that way. It was as if the intervening twenty years had never happened. She’d been in his face for less than a minute and she already had him on the defensive. Her weapons had changed a bit—okay, a lot—but they were still just as effective.

Well, he told himself, he was no longer a skinny little ten-year-old. Nor did he adhere to the code of honor that said a man didn’t stand tough against a woman. The first time a woman had pulled a gun on him had ended that notion. Erin’s weapon of choice had always been her mouth.

“I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask you to postpone this little chat until tomorrow?” he said. “I was off duty about—” he glanced at his watch “—yesterday.”

“I know it’s late, but I’ve been in meetings with the mayor all day. Henley is expecting me in his office first thing in the morning. I need to talk with you before then. I know Henley left a message with you.”

Resigned, Brady sighed, and motioned her toward his desk. “Over there, second desk on your right.”

She turned around, causing him to stop short. “Is there somewhere a bit more private? This is…delicate.”

She smelled good. Damn good. No delicate little floral scent for Terror Mahoney. No, she ambushed men right up front with something spicy and cinnamon sweet. Of course, anything would smell good to him after fourteen hours of bad coffee. Or so he told himself. “You’re here about the Sanderson murder, right?”

“Yes. Can we use an interview room or something?”

“Everyone here knows the details, Ms. Mahoney.”

“First I’m Terror, now I’m a Ms.?”

He found a smile even if he did have to grit his teeth to form it. “When I saw you I remembered you as an eight-year-old pain in the ass. Now I see you’re going to be a twenty-eight-year-old pain in the ass. But I’ve matured.” He swept a hand in front of him. “Have a seat, madam?”

She didn’t scowl. In fact, she laughed and looked him over. “Yes, you have matured.” Her gaze traveled up his chest and over his face. “Quite well, I must say.” She smiled. “And it’s Miss.”

He swore he felt that look ripple over every bristle of his five o’clock shadow. Damn, he was more exhausted than he realized. Brady thought he had done an admirable job of not noticing she’d also matured quite well. Of course he’d noticed, only a dead man wouldn’t have noticed. But at least he hadn’t been obvious about it. “You didn’t turn out so bad either,” he managed to say.

She laughed again. “Boy, how much did that hurt?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she folded her long frame into the metal chair. She crossed one leg over the other, and it would have taken a far better man than him not to be aware that her legs truly did go on forever.

He’d always thought he was that better man. He didn’t thank her for proving otherwise. He tore his gaze away from the forest-green suit she was wearing, trying hard not to think about how it seemed to have been stitched directly onto her body. He usually gave less than a damn about his suits or how they fit, but she made him feel exceedingly rumpled. One more point against her.

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, ignoring that he was long overdue for a haircut, and sat behind his desk. He was hip deep in the city’s most sensational murder investigation in years. The last thing he had time for was the testosterone tango. And he had less than no time to play with someone like Erin Mahoney. She’d obviously spent the last twenty years honing her warrior skills to dangerously new, and exceedingly feminine, heights.

“So, what does the mayor want to know?” he asked. Business, this was going to be all business. Short, not-too-sweet, and over. “And since when are you working for him?”

“He wants to know exactly what you know about who killed Morton Sanderson and why. And since about nine-fifteen this morning when he hired my firm to help him out with his little…media concern.”

“Firm? You have a firm?”

“You’re not the only one who grew up and got a responsible job, O’Keefe. I’m in public relations. Mahoney and Briggs. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”

Public relations? Terror Mahoney? He’d have laughed, except one look at her expression told him she was waiting for exactly that. So he shrugged. “Sorry, no, I haven’t.”

She shrugged as well, not remotely offended. “We’re small, but we have a solid reputation.”

“What is it, exactly, that you do?”

“I’m a consultant. People hire me for all kinds of reasons. Self-promotion, business promotion, media liaison—”

“Ah. A spin doctor.”

Her smooth expression didn’t falter. “In this case, it’s my job to make sure said media doesn’t turn this thing with Sanderson into some kind of salacious, kinky-sex droolathon.” At his look of disbelief, she amended, “Okay, more than they already have.” She lifted a hand. “I’m not here to make your life difficult.”

Now he had to laugh. “At no time in our mutual past history have you done anything but make my life as difficult as possible. The only change I see now is that you’re getting paid to do it.” He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Nice work if you can get it.”

“It is nice work,” she retorted with a smile. “And I get paid quite well, thank you.” She shifted in her seat and he worked damn hard to keep his gaze squarely on her face. “And because I get paid quite well, I take that job very seriously,” she went on. “I won’t be a disruption as long as you keep an open line of communication with me. All you have to do is report to me everything you discover, as you discover it, so I can prepare all public statements that come from both this precinct and the mayor’s office. No one is to talk to any member of the press unless they clear it with me first.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. With the mayor’s blessing, of course.”

“Well, you’ll have to talk with the commissioner.”

“I believe the mayor has already done that.”

Brady swore under his breath. Commissioner Douglas had been appointed by Henley, and with the mayor up for reelection, that meant Douglas had become his number-one patsy. To hell with what was right or wrong, it was all about job security now.

“Consider me your liaison.” She recrossed her legs. “If you think about it, O’Keefe, I’m actually here to make your life easier. You won’t have to deal with the press at all. You’ll only have to deal with me.”

Brady simply stared at her. She was truly amazing. And insane if she thought he was going to go along with this plan like a good little boy. “I never thought I could be given a set of choices that would make me think dealing directly with the press was the preferable option.”

Nothing seemed to faze her. Her smile was honest and direct. “Don’t make it sound so bad, Detective. I’m sure we’ll make this work with a minimum of fuss.”

“You are truly an optimist then.” He shoved back his chair and stood.

For the first time, she looked a bit off balance. Good. He’d have to remember how he did that. He had a feeling he’d need to use it. Repeatedly.

“Wait a minute, I need to go over your reports so far.” There was a touch of nervousness in her voice now as she watched him clear his desk.

“I need to go home and get some sleep.” He scooped up the case files and piled them into a side drawer, then locked it. He dropped the keys in his shirt pocket, pausing by her chair as he rounded the desk. “And if you plan to accompany me to bed in hopes I talk in my sleep, I’ll save you the effort.”

“But—”

“Good night, Ms. Mahoney. Tell Mayor Henley that I’ll file my report with my captain as soon as I’m ready. Until then, he can contact Commissioner Douglas if he has any questions about the investigation.” Brady decided he’d rather deal with them directly than go through her anyway. And he was certain that confrontation would come sooner rather than later. But it wasn’t right now, and that was all he cared about at the moment.

He lifted a finger when she opened her mouth to speak. “As for the press, don’t worry. As a rule, I don’t talk to anyone about any of my cases. Ever.” His pointed look at her was clearly understood.

He was halfway across the room when he realized she wasn’t dogging his heels as he’d expected. At no time had Terror Mahoney ever given up easily. So he stopped and turned back. His grin widened. She didn’t disappoint. She was looking at the tag board where the officers hung keys to the squad cars when not in use, only she wouldn’t know what those keys were for.

“Mahoney,” he called out, causing her to swing around. He had to give it to her, she managed to look totally innocent. About as innocent as a barracuda in a school of guppies, he thought, but there was no resentment in it. Quite the opposite actually. But then, he was no guppy. He patted his pocket. “I’ve got the only set.” He saluted her. “Good night.”

With a rueful smile, she saluted him back.

He left the squad room feeling her eyes on his back. All up and down his back for that matter. His neck grew red, but he found himself smiling as he walked out to his car.

2

ERIN MAHONEY WATCHED with more than a little appreciation as Brady O’Keefe strolled across the street toward city hall. He looked good. Better than good, she amended as he drew closer, noticing he’d shaved.

Until he’d walked through that door last night, she’d had no idea Brady worked for the police department. In fact, she hadn’t even thought of him in years. But the surprise had been a pleasant one. She was fairly certain Brady did not share that sentiment.

Of course, thinking back, he had every reason to be wary. She’d been a real handful as a child. She’d come from a large family, middle child of seven, so her parents hadn’t paid strict attention to her. Heck, they’d hardly paid any attention to her. Which had suited her fine at the time. She’d gotten plenty of attention—both wanted and unwanted—from her six brothers. And she’d managed to grow up and be a responsible adult despite it all.

She supposed she should have known Brady would end up a detective. He came from a long line of cops. She knew his dad and granddad had been on the Philly force, as had an uncle. She thought again about the meeting she’d just left with the mayor and commissioner—the latter, still in bed with the flu, attending by phone conference. They’d sung Brady’s praises to the moon, regaling her with stories of the amazing feats of detective work that had led him to be one of the top-ranked detectives on the force. Pretty impressive for someone who’d just hit thirty.

They’d also made it clear, though she’d already come to the same conclusion, that he wouldn’t take lightly to their plan. However, they hadn’t backed down on it either. A lot was riding on making this situation go away quickly and quietly. They told her they expected her to live up to her own not-so-humble reputation and get the job done. Whatever it took.

And she’d decided what it took was for her and Brady to have a meeting when both of them were rested and thinking clearly. Hence her planned ambush on the steps today.

She watched as he dodged a turning car and rounded the back of a double-parked taxi. Good reflexes. For a scrawny kid, he’d sure…filled out. So much for thinking clearly, she thought with a laugh. But the man did make her hormones jump, there was no denying that. Of course, she was pretty sure that wasn’t one-sided. Not that she’d ever condoned using sex as a means to get the job done. Well, not directly anyway. Sex and sexuality were two distinctly different things. She never used the former, but she was acutely aware how to effectively use the latter.

Women had few enough weapons in the high-stakes world of career-building. She was a firm believer in using every one she had to its fullest potential.

The mayor had said “whatever it takes,” she mused, still watching him approach…and found the hard line she drew between sexuality and sex blurring just a teensy bit.

“Good morning.”

He looked more resigned than surprised to see her. “Morning,” he said. “I’m withholding judgment on the good part.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Judgment withheld permanently.”

She couldn’t help noticing that his voice was as rough this morning as it had been last night. Was it always that way? She shook that thought loose immediately. She’d really have to make a serious effort not to get so distracted here. This was business, not pleasure. Damn shame, that.

“Come on, I’m not so bad, am I?” she asked, unable to resist teasing him. Just a little.

He looked at her briefcase, then back up at her. There was the tiniest glint of teasing in his own incredible blue eyes. “Depends on what you have in there.”

She laughed now. “I assure you, I outgrew playing silly pranks a long time ago.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve always been one to believe things when I have concrete proof. Never go on hearsay. Gets you into trouble every time.”

“Not a bad motto, Detective.” Work, Erin, no more flirting. But that tiny glint was just too damn tempting. And this wasn’t really flirting. More like baiting. Twenty years later and she still couldn’t resist yanking his chain a little.

She grinned and held her arms wide. “Wanna frisk me?”

His eyes registered surprise, but only for a brief second, noticeable only because she’d been looking for it. So he wasn’t easy to knock off balance, she admitted. Not at age ten…and most certainly not now. Probably why it had always been so irresistible to try.

“I don’t frisk. I get search warrants,” he responded evenly. But again, there was that trace, that tiny little trace of appreciation in his expression that egged her on.

She dropped her arms to her side. “Killjoy.”

“I guess you’ll just have to hunt for other game today, Ms. Mahoney.” He nodded, then went to move past her. She reached out and held his arm, stopping him. He looked down at her from the step above.

Bad tactical error, she acknowledged immediately. She made a mental note of it, but had no idea where it got filed because he chose that moment to smile at her. A real smile.

“I’m not going to discuss the case, Erin. Not now. Not later. Not until after I’ve finished my investigation.”

She released his arm, but stepped up so they were on even ground. It didn’t give her much of an edge, she realized. Barely a sliver, in fact. His smile was gone, but only from his mouth. It was still there, all smug and male, in his eyes.

“You on your way in to see the mayor?” she asked, a touch of smugness in her own voice.

“I am.” The twinkle died. “Why?”

A hollow victory, she discovered. She liked the twinkle better, as it turned out. Eye on the prize, Erin, not his— “I’ll escort you in, then,” she said quickly.

“That’s not necessary,” he said.

She slid her arm though his and propelled him up the stairs before he knew what she was up to. Keep the opposition off balance she reminded herself, before they could do the same to you. “Well, I might as well walk you up, since I’ll be joining you.” She gave him a megawatt smile, then slid her arm free and pushed open the lobby door. “After you?”

He looked at her, then simply nodded and walked through. “Thank you.” Being the gentleman, he opened the inner door for her. “After you.” His seemingly benign smile, on closer inspection as she passed by, was actually a shade on the insolent side.

Rather than feel deflated, she felt…energized. She was also incredibly turned on, but that was a very unprofessional reaction, so she tried hard to ignore it. Crybaby O’Keefe? Making her hot?

Okay, she told herself as they headed to the mayor’s office. Playtime was most definitely over. She switched mental gears and worked on coming up with a quick game plan on how to handle the meeting. A meeting she hadn’t been invited to. But she was sure the mayor wasn’t going to throw her out. She merely had to engineer the thing from the start to go the way she wanted it to. She had no compunction in working the mayor to suit her own needs, even though he was her client. After all, as long as the outcome was what he’d hired her to accomplish, that was what was most important, right?

She caught a glimpse of Brady’s face as the receptionist led them back to Henley’s office. He looked as if he was going to war. And perhaps he wasn’t far off.

Going through the mayor to get Brady to do what she wanted—needed—him to do was really the only way. And it would tick him off. Big time. But maybe that was for the best, too. All this hormonal stuff sparking between them could only be a bad thing.

Really bad. Because it felt too damn good.

She used the moment Brady turned to close the door behind them to make her first defensive strike. His loss for always being a gentleman she told herself as she charged into battle.

BRADY CLOSED the door and turned to find Erin striding confidently across the expanse of carpet to intercept Henley before he could take charge of the meeting. Very effective, he thought, silently applauding the maneuver. He’d used the same one many times. Only he usually didn’t enter smiling. Or moving his hips like that.

She blocked his view of Henley, but he got the distinct impression the mayor wasn’t expecting them both. Hmm. So, the question was, had she been waiting for him to show up and use him as her entrée? Or had she just come out of the building and spied him on his way in? He bet on the latter.

He smiled. She’d probably gotten her battle plan in place with the mayor and thought it was her lucky day when she’d snagged him on his way in. Only he hadn’t succumbed to the sex-charged fog she’d effortlessly swirled around the two of them and answered all her questions without a fight. But she hadn’t pouted and given up, she’d merely switched tactics.

He liked that in an opponent.

The fact that there were still some remnants of that fog swirling around inside him was probably the reason he was being so damn reasonable about the whole thing. Well, that and the fact that pretty much nothing was going to make him change his mind about dealing with her on this investigation. Nothing short of the commissioner himself, ordering him to—

“Detective O’Keefe? Please have a seat. I have a phone conference ready to go with Commissioner Douglas.”

Brady kept his gaze averted from Erin and made certain the litany of curses running through his mind were not reflected in his expression. It wasn’t easy.

He sat in a purposefully relaxed manner. “Good morning, Mayor. Commissioner Douglas.”

“O’Keefe?” The commissioner’s scratchy voice rasped through the speakerphone.

“Yes, sir?”

“I want an update on my desk by noon. It will be couriered to me. In the meantime, I want you to stop giving Ms. Mahoney such a hard time here and work with her. I don’t expect you to compromise the investigation, but we have a press conference this afternoon and we need a concrete plan on how we’re going to handle this with the media. I don’t have to spell out for you the sensitive nature of this matter. Mayor Henley is grieving the loss of one of his dearest friends and—”

And the loss of almost five percent on the overnight polls, Brady added mentally, striving to hold on to his temper.

“The community is shaken up over the whole sordid ordeal. I know how involved this case is, which is why I brought Erin in in the first place. She will free all of us up to do our jobs and from having to deal with the press.”

“With all due respect,” Brady began, still not looking at Erin, “you’ve always allowed me to handle my investigations the way I see fit. And I don’t think allowing a civilian to be privy to the innermost details of a homicide investigation, especially this one, is a positive move.” He held up his hand when Erin tried to interrupt. “Furthermore, I’ve never had a problem handling the press and I don’t expect this case will be any different.”

The mayor cleared his throat. “Detective O’Keefe, no one is challenging the way you handle your investigation, but I think you’ll agree that, in the past, the relationship between you and the media has been somewhat…strained.”

“What he’s trying to say, O’Keefe,” the commissioner broke in, “is that you’re a stubborn pain in the ass and you don’t give a good goddamn what the media thinks of how you run things.”

Erin choked on a chuckle and Brady couldn’t ignore it. So he did the last thing she’d expect, he winked at her. The resulting flash of shock on her face was very satisfying. He turned back to the speakerphone and the mayor, who had missed the little exchange. “Very true, Commissioner,” he said. “So I don’t see why we should change what has always been an effective policy to date. I tell them nothing, they stew and dig harder, I tell them nothing, they fill their columns with wild speculation and false leads, then I solve the crime, it all comes out in the wash and we go on to the next public debacle.”

Erin crossed her legs the other way, costing him a split second in timing, but a crucial one as it gave her the opening she’d been waiting for. “Gentlemen, if I might intrude.” She turned that polished PR smile on him. He hated it, which for some strange reason, made him smile in return. That made her blink, even if only for a second.

Damn, but this was kind of fun. Fun in a very this-can’t-be-good-for-me way.

“Detective O’Keefe,” she said, the smile toned down now. Point for Brady. “I understand how pointless this may seem to you, but even you must admit that in an election year, something like this case can have far reaching consequences. This is no longer simply about solving a murder. It’s about protecting innocent people’s reputations and possibly their livelihoods.” She relaxed and exuded that “everything will be fine if you simply trust me” vibe. “I don’t have to know every gritty detail. I merely need a brief conference with you on how I want to handle this with the press. All I need from you are enough details to support my angle.”

“Your angle?”

Brady looked to the mayor, who had been watching them like someone at a tennis match. Henley seemed more than happy to allow Erin to handle things and didn’t use the moment to jump to Brady’s defense. Coward, Brady thought.

“There is a way to present the situation to the public,” she continued insistently, “even to feed their need for titillation, without compromising the innocent.”

Brady had to hide his smile when her last comment got a visible reaction from the mayor.

“Now, Ms. Mahoney,” he blustered, finally looking a little concerned, “I really don’t think—”

The confident smile returned. “Mayor Henley, we’ve been over this.” She leaned forward, oozing sincerity. “I know exactly what line to walk and how not to cross it.”

And Henley totally bought it. Brady swore under his breath, knowing he’d just lost this hand.

To her credit, she didn’t gloat. She turned to him and flipped open her Palm Pilot. With total businesslike mien, she looked at the small screen. “I can give you thirty minutes right now,” she said. As if he were the one demanding her time. Very clever.

Brady knew when to hold and when to fold. He also knew a new hand got dealt each round. So she’d won this one…it wasn’t as if she’d made a run on the house. Not yet, anyway.

He turned smoothly toward the mayor. “Can we use your conference room?”

The mayor didn’t bother to hide his relief. His mood was now as expansive as his smile. “By all means.” He waved them inside the long room that connected with his office. “I’ll have Teri come in with some coffee.”

“Thank you,” they said in unison.

Brady waited until the mayor’s secretary had come and gone, then took his time pouring his coffee. He even fixed Erin a mug. “Sugar?”

She eyed him warily now. “Black is fine.”

He slid the mug toward her and took a seat catty-corner to her at one end of the immense black table. With a relaxed smile that gave away none of what he was really feeling, he asked, “So, what is your angle?”

She leaned forward and pushed her mug aside. Folding her arms on the table, she looked him right in the eye. “Why don’t you tell me yours first?”

3

ERIN STUDIED Brady closely, but couldn’t tell what was going on behind those enigmatic eyes of his.

He shrugged, looking for all the world as if he couldn’t care less that the commissioner and mayor had basically just sold him down the river. “I don’t have an angle.”

“So just like that you’re going to give me everything I want?” Careful, Erin. Those eyes had flared, even if only a tiny fraction. At any other time she’d have jumped on that zap of electrical energy that had just shot between them. She would have worked it right up to the edge of professional acceptability. Meaning just enough to reduce her opponent to a quivering mass of hormones, but far shy of allowing him to believe it would ever lead to anything. Much less anything serious.

Now, fun and casual? That she might be up for. Just not with Brady. There was nothing fun or casual about Brady O’Keefe. Dangerous and unpredictable, that was Brady. She’d never encountered electricity of the type that seemed to flare up every time she came within ten feet of him.

But she didn’t lean back now. Because her job demanded she didn’t. And as long as she remembered she was here on a job, one that could push her small firm into the spotlight, she’d be fine.

When Brady didn’t respond to her challenge, she opted to take control of the meeting. Something she should have done last night. She cleared her throat and got to work. “I want to present this as a homicide. The brutal slaying of a well-known member of Philadelphia’s upper crust. We will focus on Sanderson’s numerous philanthropic contributions and what a loss his death will be to the underprivileged. We want to stir up outrage that such a worthy member of society has been taken from us. We want people demanding this obviously deranged killer be caught.”

“Erin—”

She talked over him. “I’m well aware that the media’s focus is going to be on the kinky sexual elements present at the scene of the murder.” She stopped and looked at him. “You have ruled this a homicide, am I correct?”

Brady stared at her for such a prolonged moment, she was certain he was going to balk, or get up and walk out. In the end, he did neither. But there was no electricity now. She wasn’t exactly relieved. Not a good sign.

“We’ll have the full report from the medical examiner later today,” he said finally. “But preliminary findings are edging toward heart attack.” He leaned back, but didn’t go so far as to smile smugly. Though she sensed he wanted to. “Not exactly the brutal slaying you are so anxious to depict.”

“So, he what then? Died of an overdose of sex? I mean, this is a murder investigation, isn’t it?”

“Right now we’re waiting to hear the final postmortem from Theo. Until then we treat it as a homicide. Once the results are in, we’ll rule whether there was foul play.” He looked her in the eye. “Or whether ol’ Morty preached hard-line morality to the people, while privately practicing something fairly…well, amoral, certainly by his own standards anyway.” He folded his arms. “You have an angle on how to play that possibility to the media?”

She swallowed a curse word and didn’t much like the taste. “Brady, if Sanderson is portrayed as some kind of sex pervert, there will be total chaos in the mayor’s political party while everyone tries to run and distance themselves from the guy. I’ve already got Henley’s campaign manager breathing down my neck over this.”

Brady shrugged. “Not really my problem. My problem is to determine if Morty died getting his satin-covered rocks off, or if someone helped him along a bit. But I’m here to tell you, your job isn’t going to be easy either way. Morty was not well liked. There are people who will come out of the woodwork to crucify him when they get wind of this.”

“Exactly,” Erin retorted. “Chaos. And with the mayor being a close friend of Morton’s, this could blow up in everyone’s face. It would destroy his campaign. The mudslinging will make everyone look bad.”

“So basically you don’t care what really happened. You just want the mayor to come out looking good for reelection. That is what he’s paying you the big bucks for, right?”

She didn’t take offense. This was part of the job, too. Though not her favorite part. “What I care about is successfully getting my client through a rough personal spot with the least amount of personal and professional damage I can manage. That is why he hired me. And honestly, I didn’t think taking on a job for the mayor was exactly something to be ashamed of.”

“You don’t care about the truth then? Just the most positive spin you can put on it.”

Erin blew out a breath and tried to clamp down on her rapidly growing frustration. Why she cared what Brady thought of her was beyond her. He was supposed to be a means to an end. But his words had stung, there was no denying that. “Look at it this way. I’m like an attorney who has to occasionally represent a guilty person and still do her utmost to get him the best deal within the bounds of the law. I occasionally work for someone who is caught in a less than ideal position and do my darnedest to lessen the negative impact.”

“For the record, I think most attorneys are slimeballs, no matter who they are representing.”

Now she smiled. It was that or throw something at him. “So I’m a slimeball?”

“No, you’re a professional spin doctor who just might have jumped in over her head into shark-infested political waters where people play for keeps. This isn’t about prettying up some businessman’s brush with a drug bust.”

She smacked the table. “Okay, now you’re really ticking me off. I don’t really give a flying hot damn what you think of me, the mayor, or even Mort Sanderson. Finding out how Sanderson died and who might have killed him is not my job. Someone else has to worry about that, namely you. My only interest is seeing that this whole thing doesn’t drag my client through the sewage Ol’ Morty might have been wallowing in. How I present things to the media is strictly meant to help him, not hinder you. So there is absolutely no reason why you can’t continue your fight for truth and justice, while I protect the people who are getting caught in the crossfire.”

“So, if what I discover ends up painting the mayor in a less than positive light, you’ll just spin that the right way too, whether or not he might be a slimeball as well?”

Righteous indignation fled as a frown instantly creased her forehead. “Do you have any indication Henley is in any way involved in this? Personally?”

Brady laughed. “You’re a piece of work, you know that? But I can see why you’re doing so well. You do keep your eye on the end goal, no matter what blows across your path.” He pushed back his chair. “Your thirty minutes are up.”

“I want you to let me know the instant you get the report back. I’m going to push the press conference back to four-thirty.”

“Wouldn’t want to miss that five o’clock newscast.”

“No,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “We wouldn’t. But if this isn’t a murder, I need to know. Otherwise I’m going with what I told you earlier. We need to steer this thing away from how he was found and toward catching the psycho that killed him. I would think you’d want that, too.”

“If there is a psycho killer.”

She stood and blocked his path. “Last I heard, the press only knew that he’d been found in the Dew Lily Inn and that there was supposition that his reason for being there was sexual.”

“No one is at the Dew Lily Inn unless it’s sexual.”

“Point taken. But the rest has been kept under wraps, right?”

“There are strict orders on those who were at the scene. Until I finish my interviews, it’s in the best interest of the investigation—not to mention your job—to keep the rest sealed. Now, how long that will last, I can’t say. You know how this town is.”

“You’ve talked to people, conducted some interviews already. What do you think happened?”

“I think I don’t make guesses. Now excuse me. I have to get back to work.”

That he felt his work was more important than hers came through loud and clear. “I’ll expect a call from you,” she said, “or I’ll be camped out at the precinct until I get an answer.”

He turned back at the door. “You know where my desk is.” Then he left.

She turned to the table, hands clenched, working hard not to toss her mug across the room. She was normally not a violent woman, but Brady… The man was impossible! Couldn’t he see she was just trying to do her job, here? She wasn’t deliberately doing anything to get in his way, nor was she hurting anyone. If anything, she was keeping the press off his back and putting them squarely onto hers. “He should be thanking me, dammit.”

She downed the rest of her coffee, knowing it would likely be all she had until dinner, then snapped her briefcase shut and headed out the door. She had a lot of work to get done before the press conference. Not the least of which was figuring out how in the hell she was going to spin this if Sanderson had in fact just died of a heart attack while playing kinky sex games.

BRADY WAS surprised when he returned from the morgue and did not spy a certain long-legged redhead perched at his desk. He spun a wary glance around the squad room. Nope, he was in the clear. He walked to his desk, totally ignoring the sense of disappointment he’d felt. And it was not smug disappointment either. Theo hadn’t been able to rule out foul play. It had been a heart attack, but there didn’t seem to be anything to back up why it had happened to an otherwise healthy forty-nine-year-old man. There had also been no sexual activity. They were running toxicology tests to see if anything had been introduced to his system to induce heart failure.

Until then, Brady had to keep working the case as a homicide. And Erin got to continue with her spin doctoring.

He wasn’t exactly sure what ticked him off so badly about it all. He’d had plenty of time to think it over while waiting for the overworked medical examiner. She was right about getting the press off his back. She was even right about playing down the sexual nature of the scene where Mort had been found. And he wasn’t so naive as to believe that any politician worth his constituents’ votes was going to let something of this caliber careen wildly down the media tracks without doing his or her damnedest to steer the train. Or hire someone who could steer the train. That someone being Erin Mahoney.

He had to grudgingly admit that she also seemed pretty damn good at her job.

He just wished like hell her job hadn’t crossed paths with his. He might admire her professional acumen, but that didn’t mean he trusted her. She’d made no bones about the fact that her loyalty was vested solely in saving Henley’s political ass. If she had to climb all over Brady and his investigation to do it, he had no doubt she would. He did not like anyone breathing down his neck.

The scent of her perfume wafted through his mind. Along with images of her climbing all over him and breathing down his neck…literally. He groaned and once again shoved the thought away. Erin was dangerous enough without giving her that sort of leverage. Even in the privacy of his own, suddenly feverish, mind.

The sound of a throat clearing just behind him brought him around. So the perfume had been real. He should have known. He could only thank God she had no way of knowing what thoughts—and images—had just been playing though his head.

“You’re late,” he said, taking the offensive. He’d already learned it didn’t pay to let her have the upper hand. Not even for a second.

“I do have other things to do besides dog your every move. Besides, I knew where to find you when I was ready.” She smiled. “You look a little let down, though. Who’d have guessed?”

She was just razzing him. No way did his expression reveal anything. And he hadn’t been let down, dammit.

When he didn’t respond, her smile faded and she was all business again.

“You got the report from the medical examiner? I’ve got—” she glanced at the slim gold watch circling her wrist “—twenty minutes to show time.” She looked him right in the eye. “So what angle am I playing?”

Brady really hated being party to her part in all this. He was tempted to just shove the file at her and let her come to her own damn conclusions and spin the press conference any way she saw fit. But technically anything said or done that dealt in any way with this case fell under his jurisdiction and it would be sloppy of him not to watch every move she made like a hawk.

“No conclusive evidence,” he said, not bothering to deflect the matter either. If he was going to have to deal with her—and it was apparent after this morning that he had zero choice there—he wasn’t going to waste more time than absolutely necessary on it. He raised a hand when she would have interrupted. He would be in charge, however. Whether she liked it or not. “There are enough unusual elements that we can’t rule out foul play. He did die of a heart attack.”

Her mouth dropped open in dismay.

“But we’re running toxicology tests to see if he wasn’t helped along there a bit.” She snapped her mouth shut, not entirely happy with the circumstances, but apparently knowing better than to badger him about it. Because she didn’t, he found himself opening his mouth and giving her another small bit. “There was no evidence of any semen.”

Now her eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

He had to smile. “What, you really didn’t believe your own angle? This is good news for your side, you know.”

“Since when are you concerned about my side?” She smiled, but waved a hand before he could reply. “Forget that. I should be thanking you for giving me the information without making me wheedle it out of you.”

“For the record, I don’t respond well to wheedling.”

“So I’ve noticed.” They stood there, staring at each other several moments longer than necessary. Just as the tension between them turned…questionable, she turned and nodded to the file on his desk. “Is that the report?”

“Don’t push it, Mahoney. I’ve already given you more than I have to. Just make sure you don’t hurt the investigation with it.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or complimented. But don’t worry, your trust hasn’t been misplaced.”

“Who said anything about trust?” He moved behind his desk. For some reason, simply standing near her made his body hum. The width of the desk wasn’t much of a barrier, but he’d take what he could get. “For the time being, our goals are falling on a somewhat mutual plane. I have to do more digging now, and keeping the press off the sexual angle works for me.”

“So you’re saying you think this was a murder? And Sanderson was set up to be found like that?”

He looked directly at her. “I’m not saying anything.”

She sighed. “Will you be at the press conference?”

“You seem to have that covered. I don’t need to be answering questions that are better left unasked until I have more information.” He pulled his chair out, signaling that their meeting was over.

Erin jotted a few notes on a notepad, then slid it back in the satchel she had slung over her shoulder. “Thanks, Brady.”

“Don’t thank me. You’re the one that has to deal with the wolves this afternoon.”

“Why is it I think you’re starting to like this division of labor?”

“Did I say that?” How did she do that? He’d been all business, then she pulled a smile out of him with seemingly little effort.

“I’m beginning to realize it’s what you don’t say that a woman should pay attention to.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She laughed. “That’s one thing that hasn’t changed about you, Brady. I could never make you beg for anything.” She turned and he knew he’d been sucked in too deep, because he watched her move and angle that shapely body of hers past each and every desk on her way to the door.

She turned at the door, catching him watching her. “I’ll call you when the conference is over and give you an update.”

He could only nod. When she was gone, he sat down heavily in his chair. He closed his eyes, but he could still see her face, the sharp intelligence fairly glowing in those green eyes of hers, the delighted little twinkle that surfaced when she teased him. She might be a knockout, but it was the self-assurance she wore, as perfectly tailored as those hot little suits she shrugged into each morning, that was the more potent aphrodisiac.

Make him beg? Oh yes. She’d been back in his life less than twenty-four hours and he already wanted to beg her for mercy. But mercy in what form?

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