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Her Sexiest Surprise
Dawn Atkins
All Chloe Baxter wants for her birthday is one kiss from hottie Riley Connelly. She gets that and more.That one kiss leads to the most amazing one-night stand of her life. Sex with Riley is beyond spectacular. But when morning comes, she's resigned to returning to real life. Except that for Chloe, real life has gotten complicated. Her big job promotion has landed her in the middle of Riley's undercover investigation.Worse, he wants her to spy on her employers. Can she betray the people she cares about for a man she can't keep her hands off? And if survival means choosing between her head and her heart, Chloe's not sure which one will hurt worse if she loses it. . . .



If she didn’t act, she’d regret it
Chloe steadied her gaze on Riley, his smile broader with each step she took toward him. She stopped inches away.
“Hello there,” he said softly.
“It’s my birthday. And when I blew out my candles, I promised myself the next time you walked in here, I would…” She trailed off.
He looked her over, slow and easy. Every place his gaze touched came alive to him. Then he kissed her.
She wanted more. She wanted this. She wanted it all. The new Chloe was going to kiss this man until she was finished with him. Kiss him and then some. When she slid against him, he groaned and his eyes lit with fire. He grabbed her backside to stop her movements.
“This could get hot fast, Chloe.”
“Exactly what I had in mind,” she said, thrilled by her boldness.
“You sure this is what you want, Chloe?” he asked.
“This is my birthday. And this is my wish,” she said. “Please take me to bed.”


Dear Reader,
Believe it or not, this book made me a better cook! To understand Chloe’s passion for cooking I had to do some research, of course. I discovered how much better freshly chopped garlic tasted than the stuff in a jar. And fresh herbs? Yum. What aromas, what flavors. So that was a cool benefit of the book, beyond bringing together a man and woman who needed each other.
It was so rewarding to match Chloe with Riley, the tough-guy cop who needed her optimism like water in the desert. Who could be better for a man who believed he didn’t have much heart than a woman who has nothing but heart? And Riley helped Chloe free herself from the family obligations that kept her from living her own life, going after what she wanted—in bed, too. Now, that was fun to write. Especially the handcuff part.
I hope you enjoy how these two work out their differences as much as I did writing their story. Now I can’t wait to get a reservation at Chloe’s restaurant when she finally opens it. Something tells me Riley will be in the kitchen doing prep work. What do you think?
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this love story. Write me at dawn@dawnatkins.com. Keep track of upcoming projects at www.dawnatkins.com.
Best,
Dawn Atkins

HER SEXIEST SURPRISE
Dawn Atkins


TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This is award-winning Harlequin Blaze author Dawn Atkins’s twenty-second published book. Known for her funny, spicy romances with a touch of mystery, she’s won a Golden Quill for Best Sexy Romance and has been a several-times Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewers’ Choice finalist. This year she was a finalist for a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Career Achievement Award for “Best Love and Laughter.” She lives in Arizona, where, inspired by this book’s heroine, Chloe Baxter, she tries out culinary experiments nightly on her hapless husband and teen son. So far, they’ve survived.

Books by Dawn Atkins
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
93—FRIENDLY PERSUASION
155—VERY TRULY SEXY
176—GOING TO EXTREMES
205—SIMPLY SEX
214—TEASE ME
253—DON’T TEMPT ME* (#litres_trial_promo)
294—WITH HIS TOUCH† (#litres_trial_promo)
306—AT HER BECK AND CALL† (#litres_trial_promo)
318—AT HIS FINGERTIPS† (#litres_trial_promo)
348—SWEPT AWAY# (#litres_trial_promo)
391—NO STOPPING NOW
To Amy and Laurie for never letting go

Contents
Acknowledgment
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

ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Heartfelt thanks to Carol Jennings for sharing her culinary-school expertise with me over that leisurely lunch.
Carol, your courage in the face of the challenges that began that very day moves me beyond words.

1
HOLDING HER BIRTHDAY CAKE high, Chloe Baxter backed through the restaurant pass door, grinning in advance at how delighted her friends would be when they tasted what she’d made.
She whirled, then froze, startled by the sight of Riley Connelly in a nearby booth. She’d missed his arrival and so had Sadie, her fellow hostess, who’d threatened to drag him to the birthday celebration if he showed at Enzo’s tonight.
He’d showed all right, and he’d stopped Chloe dead. The pass door whapped her on the butt and she jolted forward, looking ridiculous, no doubt.
Riley flashed a grin, knowing and sexy and so kissable that Chloe melted like the candles she would soon blow out.
Jeez, Louise, the man merely smiled and she dissolved? She should get out more. She should get out, period. And she should certainly get laid.
She smiled back, hoping her face didn’t look as hotly red as it felt. She had such a crush on the man.
Walking toward her party table, Chloe felt light-headed. Part of that was the champagne Enzo insisted they tap from the bar’s stock. She rarely drank, but in honor of her birthday, she’d downed an entire flute of the bubbly gold.
At the table, everyone exclaimed over her cake, which she set at her place, midtable, right across from the booth where Riley, who mouthed happy birthday to her, sat.
She nodded her thanks, wishing she were bold enough to do something—anything—more than smile and nod at the man.
At least Sadie had been too busy lighting Chloe’s candles to notice Riley and mortify Chloe by inviting him over. Sadie said he was hot for her, too, but Sadie exaggerated everything about sex, including how much Chloe needed it.
Chloe dropped her gaze to her cake, where twenty-five candles sent up hopeful little flames.
Twenty-five. A quarter of a century and what did she have to show for it?
Not much. Her hostess job and her own car. But she still lived at home to look after her father. She rarely dated, even more rarely had sex, and she’d saved only seven thousand dollars toward her dream of culinary school.
At least now that her sister Clarissa was finally settled with her husband in California, Chloe could sock away more cash. All she needed was time and no disasters. She lowered her face to wish for that, the candles warming her cheeks.
“Not yet! Don’t wish yet!” Enzo’s wife, Natalie, waved at Chloe from down the table. “Enzo! Give it to her.” She tugged her husband’s sleeve.
Enzo pulled an envelope from the dinner jacket he always wore when he appeared at his beloved restaurant, and passed it down the row with a somber nod.
“We know your dream is cooking school,” Natalie said as the envelope reached Chloe. “So practice on us!” Natalie was ten years younger and far livelier than her husband.
Puzzled, Chloe tore the envelope flap.
“We want you to be our cook!” Natalie burst out.
The card inside offered a too-generous salary for cooking for the Sylvestri family. “This is too much just to cook,” Chloe said.
“So we add some light housekeeping.” Natalie beamed at her. “I finally talked Delores into retiring. It was frozen foods and takeout every night. Come save us, Chloe. Will you? Please?”
“But…my job here…” she said, stunned by the offer.
“We’ll fix the schedule,” Enzo said. “No trouble.”
“Save your money and you’ll be in cooking school before you know it,” Natalie added. “That was your wish, right?”
Exactly. “I don’t know what to say…”
“Say yes and blow out your candles.”
How could she turn them down? The Sylvestris had treated the Baxters like family since the Chicago days. “Yes,” she said softly. “Thank you so much.”
Everyone applauded.
“Now make a new wish,” Natalie commanded.
“Okay,” she said, leaning down to the glowing cake.
“Wish for Riley,” Sadie murmured. “Quick, before he escapes. Last chance for a b-day lay.”
Chloe glanced up to see Riley putting his wallet away, ready to leave. He caught her gaze and saluted her before he turned to go.
“He’s getting away,” Sadie said. “Go get him.”
“Forget it,” she said. She couldn’t chase after the man. Not even for a date, let alone sex.
But that would sure be…exciting. Different. Kind of crazy. When was she ever crazy? Never. She did the practical, responsible thing at every turn. She looked down at her candles, melted to stubs in hot puddles, the flames flickering fiercely, fighting going out with all their waxy might.
Maybe it was time to try something different. Something wild and fun and just for her. Why not, now that she had a quarter century under her belt?
Yeah. So, instead of a wish, she made herself a promise: The next time Riley Connelly walks through that door, I’ll ask him out.
She blew out all twenty-five candles to cheers from her friends. Now came the best part—serving her cake. “This is called the Surprise Cake,” she announced to the group. “It’s ten cakes in one. Every piece is different so we can pass them around and share.”
Chloe cut through the butter-rich frosting, passed out the pieces to oohs and aahs and waited for her friends to taste.
“Ooh, cinnamon-nut?”…“Yummy, cherry cobbler!”…“Taste this. Is it raspberry cheesecake?”…“Mine’s peanut butter and…toffee? Yeah, toffee, yum.”
So it went as everyone nibbled and exclaimed and passed their plates to nibble and exclaim again. Chloe was thrilled. This was why she cooked—to give this delight, made even more special when it was for people she loved.
After her guests declared themselves stuffed, she opened her gift—a set of top-of-the-line knives they’d all pitched in for. “Thank you so much,” she said, tears welling. “This means so much. And, Natalie and Enzo, the job will be amazing.”
Just as she sat down, the door opened and a man entered. Riley? Could it be? She blinked away the happy tears to be sure. Yep. It was Riley striding to the hostess stand, where Glenda handed him a cell phone. He must have left it in his booth.
The next time Riley Connelly walks in the door…
Was fate testing her resolve? How could she act with her party still going on? Next time. That was what she’d meant.
Dammit, no. She’d made a promise and the smoke had barely cleared from her candles before she was negotiating it away. She stood so fast her chair scraped the floor.
Everyone stopped talking and looked at her.
“Thank you, everyone. This has been great, but I need to…I have to…get my wish,” she said, her face flaming, knowing everyone would watch her now. But if she didn’t act, she’d regret it. It was past time to get on with her life.
She steadied her gaze on Riley, who looked puzzled, but waited to see what she wanted, his smile broader with each step she took toward him. She stopped inches away.
“Hello there,” he said softly.
“It’s my birthday…”
“I gathered that.”
“And when I blew out my candles, I promised myself the next time you walked in here, I would…”
What? Ask you out? Not dramatic enough for her birthday high, for Riley’s magical reappearance, for the hopeful crowd behind her. She’d already leaped off the cliff. Now it was time to fly. “Just…this.” She rose on her tiptoes and planted her lips on his.
For a second, she feared he’d break it off, but after the briefest hesitation, he tilted his head, deepened the kiss and pulled her into his arms.
His mouth was warm and firm, and he tasted of rich, dark coffee, and she was so glad she’d taken the leap.
Her friends roared and whistled, which finally made her laugh and she broke away. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“No, thank you,” he said, his smile wicked. He still held her at the waist.
Unsure of her next move, she was relieved when Sadie bustled over with her purse. “Go on. Have fun. We’ll pack up your gift and whatever’s left of that incredible cake.”
“Are you sure?” she said.
“Yes!” the entire group said in unison. Their laughter trailed her and Riley out the door, as though they were newlyweds off on their honeymoon.
Once outside in the sudden quiet of the spring night, Chloe became painfully aware she’d just kissed a man to whom she’d never said more than “Booth or table?” and “Your server will be with you in a moment.”
“Thanks for going along with me,” she said, stepping off the sidewalk between two cars. “It was out of the blue and a crazy sort of dare and I’ve had champagne and—”
Riley cut her off with a kiss, pulling her into his arms and taking his time, exploring her mouth as comfortably as if they’d been lovers for years.
She relaxed into the moment, not wanting it to end. If this were a movie, the director would cut to a bed and their naked bodies in golden lamplight. There would be no tense seconds, no awkward fussing with zippers and clasps and discussions of prophylactics and blood tests.
She leaned back.
Honk…honk…honk…honk…honk. The car alarm she’d set off brought her back to reality. She was no screen star embracing the man of her dreams. She was Chloe Baxter, talented cook with a problem father, a flaky sister and a cranky cat. Her goofy birthday promise had her making out in a parking lot like a hormone-crazed teenager.
Riley laughed good-naturedly, not a bit thrown by the honking. “My house is close and I promise no alarms will go off.” When she hesitated, he added, “It’s reasonably clean, I swear. For a guy.”
“It’s not that. It’s just…”
“Your mama told you not to go home with strange men. I get that. But you know me, Chloe. I’m at Enzo’s all the time. I’m harmless, I swear.” He crossed his heart. “If I misbehave, my dog will pin me to the ground and gnaw my nuts off.” He looked so sturdy and sweet and trustworthy, she could only laugh.
“You in?” he asked, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight.
“Let me see…” She rose on tiptoe to kiss him again. His lips were strong, yet soft, his kiss slow and urgent, and she went boneless with desire. “I’m in,” she breathed, hoping the kiss would prolong her courage.
Riley seemed to sense her doubts. “You call the shots, you know. You’re the birthday girl. We can have a beer, watch TV, play cards or, hell, do you like Guitar Hero?”
She laughed, feeling surprisingly comfortable with the man.
“Or we could hit a bar if you’d rather.”
“No. Let’s go to your place.” Something about this man and this moment made it right. She felt different. New. Ready for anything. Well, not anything. And not entirely different. Just enough for tonight. She shivered in anticipation.
“You cold?” Riley asked, running his hands up and down her arms as if to warm her.
“Just excited, I think.”
“Good, then. Let’s go.” He gave her his address and she followed his vintage red Mustang the few blocks to his house, her heart pounding, her toes and fingers tingling, her stomach fluttering with a million butterflies. The champagne buzz was gone, so it had to be nervous excitement she felt.
Riley held her door for her, then led her up the walk, a gentlemanly arm around her shoulders.
At his front door, she stopped. “This isn’t like me, you know. I’m usually cautious and careful and, I don’t know…”
He waited for her to figure it out.
“Boring,” she said, realizing it was true. “Utterly dull.”
“You’re sure not boring me,” he said, kissing her again, soft and coaxing and warm and sure.
When he opened the door, they were greeted by a barrel-chested dog with wispy black-and-white fur—an oversize Chihuahua on stilt legs who galloped around them, barking.
“This is the guy who’s supposed to knock you to the ground if you get fresh with me?” she teased.
“Oh, you don’t want to get on his bad side,” he said, bending to the dog’s level. “He’s ferocious, aren’t you, boy?”
She bent down, too, glad of the distraction. The sudden intimacy of being in Riley’s home made her feel awkward.
“This is Idle,” he told her.
“Nice to meet you.” She patted the dog, who was remarkably ugly but had the warmest eyes. “He’s sweet.”
“He’s usually shy with strangers, but he’s taken with you. So am I.” He leaned over the dog to kiss her.
Her lust surged again, telling her she wanted more from this man, this night, though she wasn’t sure how much.
He helped her to her feet, holding both her hands, then led her to the sofa. “Would you like coffee to clear your head?”
“My head is clear. Or reasonably clear.” She laughed, still a little uncertain how she’d gotten here. “I only had a little champagne really.”
“A beer then?”
She stayed away from alcohol as a rule. She’d tested herself in high school to be certain she didn’t have her father’s disease, deliberately getting drunk to see if a craving commenced. She’d thrown up lemon Schnapps until she could hardly crawl. Even now, the smell of lemonade gave her a twinge.
“How about juice?”
“I’ve got orange.” He headed to the kitchen to get their drinks. His dog followed him with his eyes, then stayed put. She patted him, trying to slow her thrumming pulse. What would happen? Would they just make out? Or do more? Have sex? Could she see herself going that far?
She shivered and looked around. This was a guy’s place. No real decorating, generic furniture, though the brown leather sofa was remarkably comfortable. The cream walls held art posters—a race car, a beach scene, a sepia print of a black jazz band. Shelves had books, DVDs, CDs and video games for the consoles that shared space with a fancy stereo and a plasma TV in the entertainment center. The cocktail table had car magazines and Popular Mechanics. But it was neat, as he’d said.
Riley brought the drinks in plastic tumblers and sat close beside her, handing her hers.
She sipped, then smiled, nervous again. “Your dog is so friendly. Nothing like my cat. She’s feral. I named her Pepper Spray because if you get near she hisses and spits. Mostly she hides. I only know she’s around by the shredded curtains and the empty food bowl.”
“How did you end up with her?”
“She’s a rescued cat. My friend has a shelter and couldn’t find a home for her.”
“So you took her?”
“Yeah. Every few nights, she tears around the house like she wants to escape. I don’t know what it takes to convince her she’s safe.”
“Maybe find a farm that needs a mouser and get yourself a friendlier one.”
“She’s family.” She shrugged. “I love her.”
He studied her, as if puzzled by that admission. “So, I didn’t count. How many candles were there?”
“Twenty-five. I can’t believe I’m that old.”
“That’s not old. Try thirty-two.”
“Wow, old.” She laughed. “Just kidding. I guess I feel like I’ve been waiting for my life to start.”
“Why is that?” He leaned back, ready to listen. He was easy to talk to. Maybe it was the kissing or her long-held crush, but she felt as if they’d sped through the usual getting-to-know-you steps and landed in more intimate territory.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Family obligations. I have a younger sister who’s struggled, and my father has had problems.”
“So you helped them out?”
“Yes. I was happy to do it, but the years slipped by and I’m twenty-five and it’s time for something new. Something less cautious, careful…”
“And boring?” He grinned.
“Exactly. That’s why I kissed you. The old Chloe wouldn’t have had the nerve. The new Chloe goes for what she wants.”
“Nice to meet you, New Chloe.” He tapped his glass against hers. “You can call me Lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“Lucky I left my cell phone at Enzo’s.”
“Okay. Nice to meet you, Mr. Lucky.”
He looked her over, slow and easy. Every place his gaze touched came alive to him. He set down his glass and kissed her—softly, not pushy, asking her if she wanted more. Her heart raced and everything in her rose to meet him. She felt freer than she’d ever felt in her life. The Sylvestris had made her dream of cooking school possible, so why couldn’t she have more?
She wanted more. She wanted this. She wanted it all. The new Chloe was going to kiss this man until she was done with him. Kiss him and then some.
Her mouth on his, she leaned against him until he was lying on the sofa and she was on top of him, the hard length of him beneath her. When she slid against him, he groaned and his eyes lit with fire. He grabbed her backside to stop her movements. “This could get hot fast, Chloe.”
“Exactly what I had in mind,” she said, thrilled by her boldness.
“You sure this is what you want?” he asked.
“This is my birthday. And this is my wish,” she said. It was the real wish, the one beneath her desire to talk to the man. She wanted to feel her own power in her own life, she wanted passion, she wanted fire. “Please take me to bed.” The words surprised her, but rang with truth. The new Chloe was ready to fly.

SWEEPING A TREMBLING Chloe into his arms, Riley bent for another taste of her sweet mouth before starting to his room. Talk about lucky. As usual, he’d gone to Enzo’s to track the action. Two hours and a birthday wish later, he was carrying the hot hostess he’d fantasized about to his bed.
Even luckier, because of the clump of Idle fur on the pillowcase, Riley had changed his sheets yesterday. Did he still have condoms in his nightstand? Was he that lucky?
Idle whined from behind them. The warning made Riley stop. “You’re sure you’re sure?” he asked her.
“Absolutely,” she said, her eyes clear and smart. She wasn’t drunk, just high on her decision. She’d cast him as the star in her birthday play, so he couldn’t disappoint her.
Bullshit. He’d watched her for months, imagining her naked, her soft mouth on his, her husky voice saying his name.
Now that he’d kissed her, seen the need in those hot green eyes of hers, well, how could he pass that up?
It was lust and something more. She was so sweet and eager and new. She tugged at him, reminding him of a softer time in his life.
“Did you forget where your bed is?” she asked, wagging her legs to get him moving. “Or did you change your mind?”
“No way.” It had been a long time since he’d wanted anything this much. He’d forgotten this whirlpool of wet heat and need. Or maybe he was different with her, too.
Was it immoral? Unethical? Against regs? At the moment, with her clinging to him, kissing him while he stumbled down the hall, he didn’t give a damn. Blind with lust, he ripped down his spread, aimed them at the mattress and landed them on their sides.
Chloe’s lips never left his, even as she kicked off her shoes and he ditched his own. Her tongue moved restlessly inside his mouth and she caught quick breaths, as though if she stopped, she’d lose her nerve. She smelled like sugar and oranges and something else—a season…spring—and warm rain.
Her hand worked at his zipper and he went at her buttons, sliding her blouse off her shoulders to kiss the tops of her breasts above the white lace of her bra.
“That feels…so…good,” she said, reaching to unclasp her bra in the front, watching his face as she did, offering herself to him, brave and vulnerable at the same time.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, cupping her breasts, which trembled in his hands, the nipples tightly aroused. He took one into his mouth, tonguing the tight bud while Chloe squirmed and moaned, fighting her way into his pants, intent on his cock.
She shoved at his jeans, her nails scraping his skin. He smiled against her mouth. No one had gone at him this way in a long time and he liked it.
“Allow me,” he said, tearing off his clothes, then tackling her skirt. She lifted her hips to help him and soon she was down to white panties, through which he could see her soft hair. When he tugged off the thin fabric, she gasped, then smiled, wiggling against him.
What next? He wanted to kiss and lick and stroke her everywhere at once. First, he had to make sure they were protected, so he reached beyond her to the nightstand, praying what condoms remained hadn’t passed their use-by date.
Grasping a loose foil square, he checked. Score. He waved it at her.
“I’m on the Pill,” she said. “And healthy. If you are, too, maybe we don’t need that.”
“Sounds good.” He tossed the condom onto the nightstand and smiled down at her. They’d slipped into an easy familiarity that made sex seem the natural next step.
She ran her hands down his arms, and he slid his hands across her ribs, along the curve of her hip to her thigh, enjoying her warmth, the shakiness of her breath, her smooth skin. Then he reached his target. Watching her face, he gently brushed the unbelievably swollen softness of her folds.
She gasped and cried out, lunging at him, lifting her hips, asking for more. Blood pounded in his cock. “You’re so wet,” he breathed, letting his fingers slide in and out with silky ease.
“I know. I can hardly believe this is happening,” she said, her eyes shining with a trust he wanted to be worthy of. She took little gasping sips of air, swept away on sensation.
“Me, either,” he said. He prided himself on being rational, self-sufficient and in control, but all that was out the window at the moment.
She stroked his cock with diabolical fingers, arousing him nearly blind. Everything he did made her moan and writhe, as though she hadn’t been touched in a long time. As though she didn’t expect to be touched again for even longer. They were like hungry animals together.
“We’ve got all the time we need,” he breathed in her ear, thinking they should slow down before something snapped, but Chloe was having none of that.
“Did you forget who the birthday girl is?” She shot him a look full of fire and determination and gripped his cock with both hands like she expected to steer him somewhere.
Anywhere you want, babe, he thought, while she straddled him on her knees, then lowered herself, sending him deep into her tight, wet heat. Damn, that felt good.
“Oh. My.” She blinked, startled, it seemed, to find herself in this position.
“You feel good,” he said to reassure her, squeezing her butt cheeks with both hands, lifting and lowering her slowly.
“Mmm, I do. I do feel good.”
He brushed her clit with a thumb and she shivered and began to wriggle in a slow circle. “Slow is nice, too,” she said, smiling in soft surprise.
“Slow is great.” Slow gave him time to memorize how she looked above him, her breasts swaying, lips swollen and parted, eyes dazed with arousal, time to enjoy being buried to the hilt in her warmth.
She swiveled her hips, making him want to pump into her, catch the wave of release, but he resisted, forced himself to stay slow and easy, to let it build.
He stroked her clit, enjoying her cries and moans, the way she threw her head back in pleasure, the way her body responded to him. She sped up and so did he. She was close…closer.
She made a little sound and her eyes flew open as she stiffened, then shuddered into a climax. He held her hips, steadying her, then released himself, flying free of everything but her body. They shook for long seconds, moving, making sounds, shivering and bucking. When she was finished, she fell onto his chest. “That was great,” she panted. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” he said as he had when she first kissed him, chuckling as he wrapped his arms around her. He was Mr. Lucky, all right. Lucky he’d gone to Enzo’s for dinner. Lucky he’d left his phone. Lucky Chloe had her eye on him.
It was no doubt a bad idea to sleep with a hostess at the Chicago mobster’s restaurant. Supposedly, Enzo had retired from his vending-machine business when he moved to sunny Arizona with his second wife and kids, but wiseguys always kept their beak in, Riley knew.
He himself had been part of busts with other Sylvestris—fraud with a charitable trust, drug smuggling at a strip joint and a knitting shop, of all places.
Surely the sweet woman in his arms knew nothing of her boss’s evil deeds, despite the fact that the man had been smack-dab in the middle of her birthday dinner. Just this once, Riley would hope for the best.

2
WHEN CHLOE OPENED HER EYES, she found herself looking between Riley’s fingers like they were the bars of a cell where she’d been locked away by the slut police.
She’d just slept with a man she knew nothing about except that he preferred booths to tables and was great in bed.
She’d been wild, too, carrying on like a porn star, except none of her moans had been fake. Remembering, she got a queasy stomach and a pounding head she couldn’t blame on champagne.
She’d made that birthday promise, right? Except it was to ask him out, not to screw his brains out. She’d gone too far. Having more fun and being free did not equal mindless sex with a near stranger.
How mortifying. She gently lifted Riley’s hand from her face to check the old-fashioned alarm clock ticking noisily on his nightstand—3:00 a.m. She had to get home.
She hoped her father hadn’t waited up for her. He’d only made a cameo at her party, since she’d insisted he go to his favorite AA meeting. He went to bed early, so hopefully he hadn’t noticed she hadn’t returned. She should have called. It had been the champagne, the birthday candles. And the man.
Oh, the man.
There he lay beside her, naked, tan and muscular, half-covered by white sheets that smelled of laundry soap and the spicy cologne he wore. She sighed. If she had to go wild and throw herself at a guy, at least she’d snagged a good one.
He’d made her slow down and enjoy what they were doing. Are you sure? he’d asked her more than once. He’d even offered her coffee to clear her head. Surely he hadn’t thought she was drunk. There had been no stopping her. The new Chloe had broken free, seized her sexual power, gone for it.
The old Chloe woke up mortified by her actions, worrying about her father, wondering what Riley thought of her. Did he think she was a slut? He wouldn’t say so, but she might read it in his eyes and she couldn’t bear that. How could she face him at Enzo’s again? She had to escape before he awoke.
The new Chloe would have teased him awake with a blow job. The old Chloe had to get out fast.
She slid out of bed with great care. The still-sleeping Riley reached for her, so she pushed a pillow over and he settled into a cuddle. For a sec, she wanted to crawl back into bed with him, but what was the point? She’d had her new Chloe moment. Enough for now. She grabbed her scattered clothes, then got on her knees to hunt a missing shoe.
She’d kicked it across the room, under the bureau. When she stood, her fingers brushed a small, framed photo. Leaning in, she recognized Riley wearing a police uniform. Riley was a cop?
Wow. She looked over at his sleeping form. He hadn’t mentioned what he did for a living. Actually, she hadn’t asked.
She’d never dated anyone in law enforcement. Sadie considered herself an expert. Drawn by the sexy uniform, she’d gone through what she called her law-and-order phase, but gave up when the guys turned out to be “macho, uptight, emotionally stunted commitment-phobes.”
It was wrong to generalize, despite her father’s bad experiences with the law, and she knew cops came in all flavors, but Riley didn’t seem to fit the mold. He’d been so easygoing, gentle and warm. And such a good listener.
She tiptoed to the door, clutching her clothes to her bare chest. Idle jumped from the bed and followed, tags rattling. “Shh!” she said, and the dog tilted his head at her, curious.
“Where you going?” Riley’s voice was scratchy with sleep.
“Home,” she said, embarrassed to be sneaking out naked.
“Come back here.” He patted the sheet beside him. “We’re still celebrating your birthday.”
Desire shivered through her. More would be nice. They could try new things, more positions, go slower….
No. She’d had a great time. She should be content. She backed up and banged her shoulder against the doorjamb.
“Careful there.”
“I’m fine,” she said, pulling the door closed.
“Chloe?”
She peeked in again. “Yes?”
“Happy birthday.”
She smiled. “You made it that way. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Anytime? He wanted more, too? How could it be that good again? It had been the right mood, the right man, the right moment. She’d made a memory. That was plenty enough for her.
She wiggled her fingers goodbye.
For just a second, in the warm spring night, she missed new Chloe, who might dance down the street singing. New Chloe wouldn’t have turned down more sex with Riley.
But reality now weighed on her shoulders. She checked her cell phone. No missed calls. No messages. Whew. Her father didn’t know she’d stayed out this late. She didn’t want him to worry about her. She worried enough about him.
He’d been quiet lately, which was odd in such an affable man, and he seemed troubled. What was up? He never complained, feeling guilty for all the trouble he’d been over the years.
It had been unusual last night and yet freeing to not be the person who watched out for her father and Clarissa, the one who thought two steps ahead, anticipated problems, pushed for solutions.
Not that Chloe minded taking care of her family. She’d been proud to take on the role when their mother left. Unable to cope with Mickey Baxter’s drinking and fresh-start promises, she’d taken off when Chloe was ten, Clarissa six.
Their mom visited a couple of times, but after a while they had to settle for weekly postcards—thoughtful and loving messages, but not the same as seeing her in person. Chloe longed for her tight hugs, reassuring smile and loving encouragement.
As an adult, Chloe realized her mother had been wracked with guilt, making the visits pure torture. At the time, Chloe had felt like a burden, a weight and a worry. Taking charge of the house gave her a way to be useful, to feel valuable.
Lately, though, she’d become impatient with her sister, whose financial struggles had drained Chloe’s savings and delayed her dream, and her father, whose good sense could be snuffed out like her tiny birthday flames with the merest puff of temptation. She tried to support, not enable, both of them, but sometimes it was tough to tell the difference.
Having wild sex with a man she hardly knew had been a way to rebel, she guessed. Here on out, she’d choose more productive actions. Though she might not need to rebel.
Her sister, married last year, seemed settled in Ventura and her husband finally had a solid job. Chloe’s father, sober for the ten years they’d been in Phoenix, seemed to have his gambling under control and spent less time with questionable friends.
As long as her family remained stable, her new job with the Sylvestris meant she was all-systems-go for a bright future.
When she opened the door, the roar of sports from the TV startled her. Had her father fallen asleep in the lounger? Rounding the corner, she was hit by the smoky aroma of whiskey and the gulping snores her father only emitted when he’d been drinking.
Sure enough, beside the lounger, an empty quart of Wild Turkey gleamed evilly in the gray flicker of World Wide Wrestling on TV.
Not again. Not after all these years. Chloe’s heart sank. She had miserable memories of him like this. She’d hated when he drank, hated helping him to bed, seeing him so weak and sad and helpless. Something was wrong, just as she’d suspected.
Going closer, she noticed how much older and frailer he seemed, his hair a wispy gray, his face drawn and wind-burned. He was only forty-five. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest.
Whatever it is, we’ll fix it, she promised the sleeping man. She touched his thin shoulder. “Dad?”
“What? Huh?” He jerked upright, eyes wide. “Oh, Chloe. It’s you. So late.” He groaned, rubbed his face and dropped back to the headrest, staring up at the ceiling.
“What is it, Dad? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, his eyes telling a different story. “Everything’s…fine.”
“Not exactly.” She held the liquor bottle before him.
“It was a mistake. I slipped.” His mouth went grim.
“You had a reason. Tell me what happened.”
“I can handle it. Don’t you worry about me.”
“Tell me what it is and we’ll fix it together.”
He stared at her, swallowing hard, his fingers picking at the fabric of the armrest. “It’s just something with Sal, that’s all. I will handle it.”
“Sal Minetti?” Sal was Enzo’s nephew. He was bad news and his friends were even worse. Enzo complained about him a lot.
“I’ll work it out. Don’t give it a thought.” Her dad reached for her hand, but his was trembling.
“Tell me what happened, Dad,” she said levelly.
Tears slid from his eyes and he shook his head slowly back and forth, the way he used to when he’d lost too much at the track or had to be picked up from a bar, too drunk to drive. He was ashamed, tortured by his failure.
He’d never been drunk at work or spent grocery or rent money, but they’d also never had spare cash and Chloe had become expert at creating arty looks with thrift-store buys.
He’d assuage his guilt with ridiculous extravagances—a fancy boom box, a giant stuffed giraffe, a top-of-the-line mountain bike. He tried. He loved them. He just had…limits.
“Talk to me.”
“Sal asked me to drive for him,” he said shakily. “He and his buddies, Carlo and Leo, wanted to go to this strip mall in Glendale. So, no problem, I drive ’em. They’re quiet, which should tip me off…” He swallowed again and eyed the ceiling.
“So they tell me to pull around back, they need to talk to a guy, and they get out with backpacks. Next thing I know they’re running to the car, backpacks jammed. They robbed a jewelry store. They had some guy fox the security system and I dunno what all, but it’s not on the up-and-up. That I know.”
“You didn’t get caught, right? So you’re okay?”
He shook his head, miserable. “No, but they want me to keep driving. ‘Special assignments,’ Sal calls it.”
“You have to tell him you can’t do it.”
“You don’t say no to these guys.”
“They can get somebody else, Dad.”
“But, see, that’s it….” He swallowed hard, as if gathering courage. “See, Sal helped me out with a shortfall. If I do this, I’m covered.”
“More gambling?”
“An investment idea went south.”
Anger stabbed at her. Why was her father so vulnerable to something-for-nothing schemes? At least it hadn’t been illegal gambling. She fought to focus on the problem at hand.
“We have to talk to Enzo, Dad. He’ll stop Sal.”
“Absolutely not.” He lunged forward, his eyes wide. “If Enzo finds out, I don’t want to know what Sal might do, who he might hurt.”
Sal had threatened them? She couldn’t imagine. He didn’t seem violent, but she only saw him flirting at the bar. Her father looked petrified. Maybe someone above Sal was the danger.
“Then the police,” she said. “If Sal’s doing crime, he should be arrested.” What about Riley? Her heart leaped with hope. Riley would help her. He’d been so kind and generous.
“Not with my record.”
“It was a few days in county for drunk and disorderly. And in Chicago, they conned you as much as they did, those business owners, who were crooks, too.”
“It’s enough, trust me. Cops only care about the rules.”
“We’ll get an attorney to protect you.”
“With what money? No. Just let it ride for now. I told you I’ll handle it. I will.”
“This won’t just go away.” She lifted the bottle again. “And this makes things worse.”
“I know. I lost my strength. I had so much hope, see, and I wanted you to be proud. It was for your school. I wanted to surprise you on your birthday. Instead I screwed up again.” His eyes were red and desperate.
“Just don’t drink, Dad. That’s the gift I want from you. And use good sense. No quick deals, no easy money. Think before you jump. If it looks too good to be true, it is too good to be true.” She was babbling the same advice she always gave and he somehow failed to heed, but she had to do something with her frustration. “It’ll be all right, Dad. I know it will.”
First, she’d talk to Riley. Thank God she’d met him. He wasn’t a hard-ass like the highway patrolman who gave her a speeding ticket outside Blythe. That guy hadn’t cracked a smile when she’d asked if his day was going better than hers. He just lectured her like she was an idiot and slapped the ticket into her palm. Riley would be sympathetic.
Maybe all he had to do was put out the word and this could go away. It felt strange to ask for a favor from a man she’d only known naked, but when it came to family, you did what you had to do. That was something the old Chloe knew cold.

THE DOORBELL WOKE RILEY. Seven o’clock, according to his clock. Who could it be? He’d told Max and the squad he intended to sleep all weekend as a reward for solving the Sanchez case.
Climbing out of bed, he noticed gray light through the window and the drip of water. More spring rain. A good thing, since it had to hold them through the broiling Arizona summer. But hearing it made him want to curl under the covers for a morning snooze. With Chloe.
Too bad she hadn’t stayed. Not his typical response. He liked waking up alone and peaceful. But the sex hadn’t been typical and neither had the woman.
He’d have made her breakfast. Oatmeal anyway, but he’d have made it special. Didn’t he have a banana? Then some leisurely sack time, after which they could read the paper from the terrace, watch the quail boss their newborn chicks around, smell that great wet-desert smell. Someone had explained it was only creosote and dust, but to him it smelled healthy and pure and made him glad to be alive.
Idle clattered to the door as Riley stepped into jersey shorts and fished out a T-shirt.
The doorbell rang again and Idle barked. “Hang on,” Riley shouted. Where’s the fire? He wanted to sink back into bed and conjure up Chloe’s moves and cries. She’d intrigued him, charged him up, made him feel new.
Leave it alone. He couldn’t see her again, not with what he was doing at Enzo’s—gathering leads, watching who ate with whom and what they said to each other, then passing it on to the Phoenix FBI’s Task Force on Organized Crime. They considered him a resource and often picked his brain.
Besides, he liked things simple and Chloe was not a simple girl—taking care of her family the way she’d described told him that. Last night was a one-time deal. She clearly wanted it that way. Much better. No complications. No disappointment. One hot memory to call up when needed.
At the door, Idle whined and quivered, waiting for him to open it. He never acted this way, not even for Max.
“Settle down,” he said, leaning to the peephole.
He was startled to see Chloe standing there, chewing her lip, wet hair plastered to her cheeks, holding a rain-peppered sack with purple flowers sticking out. What the hell? She’d brought him groceries? And flowers?
Idle whined again. “You smelled her, huh? Like spring.” He grinned as he threw open the door.
“I’m back,” she said with a shy smile. The wet-desert smell billowed in with her own scent, filling his head. They stood staring at each other, her eyes flitting here and there, his doing the same. Damn, she was pretty.
And nervous, he noticed. Hmm.
Idle squealed with delight.
“Hello, buddy.” She leaned down to pat him with her free hand. “I brought breakfast,” she said, looking up at him.
“You didn’t need to—”
“I wanted to,” she said, then ducked her gaze. “The kitchen is this way?” She set off, not waiting for a reply.
He followed and watched her put down the sack and take out the flowerpot. “Just for color,” she said, blushing pink, then hurried to empty the sack of eggs, glass containers with herbs and oil, a bottle of maple syrup, sliced ham, mushrooms and a waffle iron. “I figured you like a hearty breakfast, so I thought Belgian waffles with ham crisps. The batter’s ready. I just need twenty minutes to bake the crisps. That okay?”
She was babbling to cover her tension.
“I can wait.” He moved closer. Was she embarrassed about returning?
“Good.” From the bottom of the sack, she lifted a white chef’s apron. When she looped it over her neck, her hands shook. Something was wrong.
He tied her strings, then turned her to face him. “How come you’re all of a sudden my personal chef?”
“I wanted to make up for leaving so fast.” But her face went pink and her eyes flicked up and left, signifying a fib. She reminded him of a suspect with something to hide or confess.
“What’s wrong, Chloe?”
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.” She blinked, flushed full red, and stepped away from his hands.
“You’re red and trembling and you won’t look me in the eye. What’s up?”
“Okay.” She sagged, sheepish. “I do need your advice.”
“My advice? About what?”
She studied him. “Maybe we should talk after breakfast.”
Uh-oh. “Breakfast can wait. What advice do you need? And why me?”
“I, um, noticed your photo. You’re a police officer, right?”
“Detective,” he corrected, dreading what came next. Maybe she just needed a speeding ticket fixed. Not that he would do it, but he wanted it to be simple and small, something that wouldn’t make his sleeping with her an even worse idea than it already was.
“That means you investigate crimes, right? That’s great.”
Uh-oh. “Let’s sit down.” He led her to his couch and sat beside her. Noticing her goose bumps and damp hair, he wrapped the throw his squad mate’s wife had made for him around her shoulders.
She didn’t seem to notice. She just looked at him, her big green eyes muddy with worry.
“Exactly what crime are we talking about?”
“Okay…” She took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “Say someone got dragged into a robbery—just driving the car, with no knowledge of any theft—how much trouble would that person be in? And could they get out of it by talking to the police?”
“You mean how would they be charged? That depends….” The familiar hum started in his brain as he got ready to sort lies from truth, meaningless details from crime-solving gold.
“On what?”
“Who’s involved, their prior arrests, the seriousness of the crime, what the D.A. wants. Just tell me what happened.”
She stiffened at his tone. Too terse. He took her hands and softened his voice. “Just talk to me, Chloe. I can’t help you if I don’t know the whole story.”
“Maybe I can go hypothetical? So it doesn’t get official?” Her lower lip quivered. He’d scared her and she didn’t trust him. Why would she? They’d been different people last night, both of them, lost in lust. This morning, he was a detective and she was either an informant, an accessory or, worse, a suspect.
“If you want,” he said. “Give me the hypothetical.”
“So, hypothetically, this person—it’s a man—he’s a driver for another man and this other man’s nephew asks the man to drive him somewhere. As a favor because he—my guy—owes the nephew. So my guy drives and the errand turns out to be a robbery—”
“Was the victim present for the crime?”
“No. It was a jewelry store after hours. Is that good?”
“It’s better. That makes it burglary, not robbery. There are several classes with varying severity. Were weapons present?”
“Weapons? I don’t know. My person didn’t have one. He just waited in the car to drive them back.”
“That makes him—minimum—an accessory.”
“Even unknowing and innocent? That sounds bad.”
“Like I said, that depends. Go on.” There was obviously more to the story.
“Okay…” Her voice was shakier now. “Now the bad nephew wants the driver to keep driving for similar jobs and my person is afraid to say no.” She stopped, her face full of fear. “Can you help me, Riley?” she said. “My person, I mean?”
He couldn’t promise much. “Who is it, Chloe?” A relative, no doubt. Riley had seen it before. He’d sat down with parents whose son stole from neighbors to fund a meth habit, a single mom with a daughter turning tricks to buy designer clothes, a wife whose husband had embezzled from his job to cover gambling debts. They’d all seemed sad and bewildered and lost. It got to him every time. What had they done to deserve this? How could loved ones hurt each other so badly?
“It’s my dad, Riley,” she said softly. “And the guy, the bad nephew, is Sal Minetti.”
Enzo Sylvestri’s nephew. Adrenaline shot through Riley. “I see.” His mind raced, but he hid his reaction, needing as much information as he could gather first.
“My dad’s a good guy. He tries. He was just doing a favor. He’s too generous. And Sal wants him to drive more and he’s afraid to say no. He can’t be arrested, can he?”
“He could, yes, but if he comes clean, if he helps the case against the rest of the crew, sometimes the D.A. will deal.”
“So if he talks to the police he’ll be okay?” Chloe lifted her big eyes to him like he was the Savior himself.
“Like I said, it depends.” What could he tell her? The law was the law and he’d been around long enough to know that what a man confessed to was usually the first load of dirt he’d shoveled under the carpet. “Do you have a lawyer?”
“Do we need one?”
“There are public defenders, but they’re run pretty ragged. Not much time per case. Some are better than others….”
“So, it’s serious? He’s in big trouble? You can’t make it go away?” Water gleamed in her eyes. She was about to cry? Shit.
“Let me talk to my lieutenant. If they’re working on a case on Minetti, there might be wiggle room.” There would be interest, he knew. Hell, he was interested.
“That would be great. I mean, I know my father will cooperate. With you on our side, helping us…”
“All I can promise is to talk to my boss.”
“That’s great,” she said.
No, it was terrible. He should get her father down to the station now, while he was scared, before he clammed up and demanded an attorney, but Riley already cared too much about Chloe.
“So, it’s settled, at least. Let me fix breakfast.”
“That’s not necessary, Chloe.”
“But it’s fun. I love to cook.” She blinked at him, startled that he’d even question the idea. She was up and in the kitchen before he could object. He followed, wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut.
You made promises you couldn’t keep and you ended up in big trouble. Or someone else did.

3
RILEY GROUND BEANS and started coffee, watching Chloe swirl through his kitchen like a fragrant fairy. She plugged in the waffle iron, banged a sauté pan onto the stove and slapped down butter with the efficiency of a TV chef.
“Looks like you know what you’re doing. Do you cook a lot?” Despite everything, he was pleased to have her in his kitchen making him breakfast.
“I’m practicing for culinary school.” She laid slices of ham into a cupcake pan, then began whipping eggs.
“So you’re looking to become a chef?”
“I love making people happy with food.” She grinned, her drying hair forming soft curls against her cheeks. “Eventually I hope to own a restaurant, though I know that’s a tough business.”
He realized he was ogling her. “Can I help with anything?” he asked to distract himself.
“Chop these mushrooms and scallions maybe? Very fine, please. Then, could you set the table?” She grabbed a knife from his rack. “These are good knives. You must cook some, too.”
“When I have time, which isn’t often.” He’d eaten far too much pizza, takeout and convenience-store burritos of late.
“You work too much?”
“Probably. More overtime than my lieutenant wants, that’s for sure.” He shrugged. “Leads dry up fast if you don’t push when you have them.”
“So you’re dedicated.” Her stirring slowed as she studied him. She was thinking that meant he’d move heaven and earth to save her father, he’d bet. “That doesn’t surprise me about you.”
“Why not?”
“Because of how you were…with me.” She blushed again. “You paid attention. You had a lot of…focus.” Her spoon slowed, as if she were remembering them in bed. Her eyes glowed like they had their own burners.
“I had you naked. Who wouldn’t focus?”
A shiver moved through her. “Riley…” she said softly.
“Yeah,” he said, backing away. Sex was out now. His body registered disappointment with a low-grade ache.
She turned to pour the batter into the waffle iron. The promising sizzle and the smell of sweet dough had him salivating like Idle, who sat at attention, hoping for spillage.
“God, that smells good,” he said.
“I hope it tastes as good.” She busied herself mixing what he’d chopped into the egg mixture, dashing in herbs and oil, then layering the ham into each cupcake space. He couldn’t take his eyes from her flying fingers. Or her tight backside and softly swaying breasts. The scene was like a dream—breakfast aromas and a warm, enticing woman in his kitchen.
Idle whined desperately.
Chloe laughed. “Maybe you can have a bite, Idle,” she said. “Did he get that name because he idolizes you?”
He laughed. “It’s Idle. Like an engine. He was in a cage in a suspect’s house, so skinny and weak I thought he was dead, but when I got close he vibrated with this low buzz like a car in Neutral. It was all he could manage.”
“How sad.” Idle stared up at her as if she was some kind of doggie saint.
“The way he’s looking at you at the moment, maybe I should spell it the other way. I know how you feel, boy,” Riley added.
She lifted her gaze to his.
He was leaning in, going for a kiss, kicking himself the whole way, when the timer dinged. They both pulled apart like boxers at the end of a round.
Chloe turned back to her cooking and he busied himself setting the table with the white plates and cheap silverware he’d bought when he got into the Academy. He dressed up the table with Chloe’s purple flowers in their pot. Not bad…
“If this meal turns out as good as I think it will, I’ll use it at my new job,” she said.
“You’re quitting Enzo’s?”
“No. I’ll still be there. My birthday gift from the Sylvestris was an offer to be their cook and housekeeper. They’re paying me too much, but it’s really to help me with culinary school. How could I say no?”
“That’s generous of them.” What was she doing getting so hooked up with a mob family? Not safe and not wise.
“It’s the kind of people they are. Our families go back a long way. My father worked for Enzo’s dad back in Chicago.”
“Really? How’d you all end up in Phoenix?” He needed to learn what she knew before he said more.
“Ten years ago, Enzo had a heart scare and retired so he could spend more time with his family—Natalie’s his second wife and the kids were little. We came out two years later. My dad drives him around and does odd jobs. Enzo mostly golfs, fishes, does the restaurant. He…putters, really.”
Putters? Not exactly how Riley would describe profiting from drugs, vice and extortion, but he kept that to himself. Instead, he said, “The guy hardly needs a driver. Can’t he drive himself?”
“It’s more of a favor, I think. See, my dad saved Enzo’s father’s life back in Chicago. He drove a taxi and was waiting for a fare when someone shot at Arturo as he came out of a restaurant. My dad threw him into the cab and drove him to safety, catching a bullet in his thigh for his trouble. That leg still bothers him.”
“So, the Sylvestris owe your father.”
She stopped working and turned to him. “They’re grateful, sure, but it’s more about how close our families are.”
This was worse than he thought. Chloe couldn’t be so naive she didn’t realize the Sylvestris were a crime family, could she? Or had she closed her eyes to it? Either way, he was disappointed in her.
Chloe flipped the waffle expertly onto a plate, then swung over to the oven to pull out the egg dish. “Let’s eat,” she said, smiling at him.
They sat at the table across from each other. The plant blocked his view of her, so he shifted it to the floor.
“This looks great,” he said, looking down at his plate.
“Dig in.” Chloe waited for him to cut into the waffle and put it in his mouth.
The bite melted on his tongue like cinnamon-flavored butter. “God,” was all he could say, going for more.
She grinned. “Now the eggs.” She leaned in, waiting.
He sampled the dish. “Incredible. See for yourself.”
As she tasted, she analyzed improvements—more oil, less cream, fewer scallions, homemade preserves and a dab of crème fraîche for the waffles.
As she talked, he watched the gleam of butter on her lips, caught glimpses of her tongue until he wanted to take her mouth. He pictured her last night, her hair wild, her body perfect, moving in complete sync with him. Control yourself.
Idle’s snuffle thankfully distracted him. The dog was nosing into the plant, so he carried it to the living room.
Back at the table, he kept eating. Every time he got the urge to kiss Chloe, he took another bite. Before long he was working on thirds.
“You really like it, huh?” Chloe asked, resting her chin in her palm, watching him as if this were her greatest pleasure.
“Mmm-hmm,” he said, swallowing.
“Did you always want to be a cop?”
“I guess,” he said, caught off guard by the new topic. “My dad was one.” He pushed away from the table, way too full. He’d be in the gym all night working this off.
“Did he retire?”
“Killed in the line of duty when I was twelve.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” She grabbed her heart, like the tragedy had struck someone she loved.
“That was twenty years ago,” he said, shrugging.
“What was he like, your father?”
“Strict. Serious. No bullshit. If I even thought about doing anything wrong, he was on me.”
“What wrong things did you do?”
“The usual kid nonsense. Fistfights, staying out late, setting off fireworks.”
“He must have inspired you, though.”
“He didn’t talk much about the job, but I knew he was proud.” He remembered the crisp uniform and the smell his pop brought in of metal and smoke and upholstery and clean sweat. He’d set down his gun hard, like it was the weight of his job on the shelf, waiting to be picked up the next day.
“Was your mom scared of the danger?”
“She got pissed over his hours. I remember that. When she bitched about a ruined dinner, he’d say, ‘What should I tell the folks that got broke into? Cold air coming through the smashed window, their belongings tossed to the floor, scared the guy’ll come back on ’em? Sorry, the wife’s got pot roast waiting?’”
“She probably felt guilty.”
“I guess. I was a kid, so I don’t know the whole story. After my dad died, she couldn’t handle me, so I went to live with my dad’s brother, Frank.” Who had been distant like his dad, but angrier. Seething and sulky. It took Riley a while to figure out it was because Riley’s parents considered his father a hero, while Frank was a mere truck driver.
“Did you get along? You and your uncle?”
Jeez, the woman didn’t leave anything alone. “We did okay.” The resentment played out with Frank beating the crap out of him over stupid shit—a broken plate, an unmade bed, coming in at eleven instead of ten-thirty. Finally ashamed, Frank started taking long hauls and staying on for a return job to avoid Riley. “He was a truck driver. I was on my own a lot.”
“No aunt on the scene? Or a girlfriend?” She spoke tentatively, as if she’d read something into his silence.
“Frank wasn’t much with the ladies. Not that I saw, anyway. He died when I was at the Academy. Heart attack…asleep in his truck. Just how he’d have wanted to go—on the road.”
“Sounds like he wasn’t much of a parent to you.”
“He called once a trip. You can’t expect more of people than they have to give. Same with my mother. She did her best.”
She was silent for a moment, as if she disagreed, but didn’t want to argue with him. “I’m sorry, Riley.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. Everybody has troubles, Chloe.” You took the blows, got up, dusted off and moved on. That was life.
“You lost both your parents, really. My mom left us when I was ten and my sister was six.”
“That’s a shame.” He didn’t know what to say to that. She looked sad. “You see her much now?”
“Mostly she writes. We talk at Christmas and birthdays. She feels guilty about having left us, I know now.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Same with my mom.”
“So we have a sad thing in common, huh? Moms missing in action.” Her blue eyes held his, full of sympathy and sorrow and he got the old ache in his gut. He didn’t think about it much, but losing his parents so fast, then trying to live with his belligerent uncle, had been tough. He’d fought to please Frank—cooked him dinner, polished his dress shoes, built bookshelves. The kiss-up bullshit only made the man harder.
As a kid, he couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t yet know the way people could twist up emotions—turn guilt to fury, jealousy to hatred. “We learned from it, too,” he said firmly. He’d learned to watch out for himself, to respect others’ privacy. Not difficult for him, really. He was like his dad—not big on emotion. His squad mates were all the family he needed.
“That’s true,” she said, but he had the feeling her lessons had been different. He rolled his shoulder, uneasy that he’d said so much about himself. “So you have a sister?”
“Yeah. Clarissa.” She sighed.
“What’s the big sigh about?”
“Oh, just that it’s taken her forever to grow up. She dropped in and out of college, kept running out of money. She’s married now, finishing school, I hope. Her husband finally gave up being a rock-band roadie and took a job as a sound engineer. I don’t know why Clarissa’s so…I guess the only word is flaky. Maybe I babied her to make up for Mom. Maybe I did too much for her all the time.”
“You did your best.” And spoiled the hell out of her, he’d bet. The woman had a big, soft heart. Hell, she’d adopted a feral cat. He’d never have the patience for an uphill battle like that. “So, where would I get a waffle iron like that?” he asked to change the subject.
She named a gourmet kitchen store and added, “Are you looking to impress the women you bring home?”
“Who says I bring home women?”
“You brought me, remember? You were very smooth.”
“That was a special occasion, Chloe.” A rare one. When the urge got strong, he hooked up, but only short-term. He didn’t want emotional blowback. Couldn’t stand hurting anyone. After his encounter last month with Marie Sendrow, a fellow officer, he’d decided to stay clear for a while.
As down-to-earth as Marie was, she’d acted funny after that night—holding his gaze, letting their bodies brush, talking low. He’d decided to keep his head down and focus on work.
Chloe had caught him off guard. She was different from the women he usually chose. Fresh and new and so awake.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked him now.
“You,” he answered honestly. “And last night.”
“Oh.” Her eyes warmed with arousal, startled by his admission, he could tell. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. It’s almost all I can think about right now.” She leaned in.
So did he. When he got close to her, the world went as blurry as a dream, and he couldn’t think at all. They breathed the same air, inches apart. His cock fought the confines of his jeans. She tilted her mouth. So did he.
Right before it was too late, Chloe pulled back. “We probably shouldn’t do this.”
“No. Probably not.” Last night was last night. This morning was different. Chloe’s father was in trouble with the Sylvestris, who appeared to be Chloe’s second family, and Riley had questions to ask. Lots of them.
“I should go,” she said, carrying their plates to the sink.
He helped her clean up, then walked her to the door, chewing on the last square of waffle to keep from kissing her.
“Thanks for helping us, Riley,” she said. “It means a lot.”
“No promises.”
“I know,” she said, but she didn’t. She thought he could work miracles. He watched her walk to her car, her sack of cooking stuff braced on her gracefully swaying hip.
When she drove off, Idle whined as if in pain.
“You’re too easy,” he said to the dog, who’d fallen in love with Chloe on sight. Idle looked up at him. Save her, man.
Great. Now he was putting words in his dog’s mouth. Maybe he wasn’t so lucky after all.

WHEN CHLOE GOT HOME, her father had left a note, saying he’d gone to an AA meeting. Good. He’d taken the right step. Pepper Spray’s tail stuck from beneath the couch, where she must have darted when she heard Chloe come in.
Her message light winked, so she hit Play. “We need you A-S-A-P.” Natalie. “Save us from ourselves, Chloe. P.S., you can get oriented to your new job!” Natalie had so much energy. Chloe wasn’t surprised the dour Enzo had fallen for her.
Chloe headed over, grateful for something to distract her from her father’s troubles and Riley, who crept into her thoughts anyway as she drove. She pictured his dark eyes, square jaw and his smile—slow to arrive and worth it when it came.
She’d felt close to him. They shared tough childhoods, but hers had made her hold more tightly to the people she loved, while his seemed to have made him keep his distance.
She’d enjoyed cooking for him. Next time, she’d do eggs Benedict…maybe crepes, since he’d wolfed the waffles.
What next time? New Chloe had had a wild night of freedom and old Chloe had awakened to find her father in deep weeds. There was a lesson there. Never let down your guard.
She was no martyr, of course. You helped loved ones, but you didn’t take over their lives or protect them from the consequences of their screwups. But if you could save them unnecessary pain, you had to try.
She reached the Sylvestris’ small mansion in an exclusive neighborhood and pressed the buzzer, awed by the lush landscaping, the Doric columns, the statues, the huge fountain. Natalie was enthusiastic about everything she did.
Chloe couldn’t wait to hit that cook’s dream of a kitchen, with deep sinks, the latest appliances, giant preparation island and every cooking implement there was. Delores, their previous cook, hadn’t cracked much more than the microwave, according to Natalie. She’d been hired as a favor to a friend, which was so like the Sylvestris, who were generous to a fault.
In Chicago, Enzo’s family was “connected,” she knew. Maybe he’d had shady relatives and business associates in the past. Chloe judged people by her experiences with them. People could change, couldn’t they? If they couldn’t, life would be pretty pointless.
What Chloe knew about Enzo was that he loved his family and treated his employees like relatives. Many were. Any niece or nephew who needed college money knew they had a job at Enzo’s. In the summer, there was practically a busboy or girl for every table. If Enzo had any faults, it was being too kind to people like Sal and his unsavory friends and some nephews’ and cousins’ kids Chloe found creepy or scary.
“So glad you’re here!” came Natalie’s cheery voice through the speaker. She gave Chloe the code to let herself in from then on. A few seconds later, Natalie opened the huge front door, wearing a smear of batter across her stylish workout clothes, and releasing a gray mist and the smell of burnt food. “Thank God you’re here. My cooking went wrong. Come save us!”
Chloe followed Natalie into the kitchen, where she saw a plate of burnt, doughy-looking pancakes.
“Look what I did!” Natalie said, sounding triumphant. “I was upstairs getting the kids down and this happened. I’m hopeless.”
“You had the heat too high, and probably not enough oil. Any cook can burn something if they leave it unattended.”
“I used to love my mother’s pancakes. I wish I’d paid attention when she showed me. Teen girls are sooo much smarter than their parents, you know.” She sighed.
“God, it stinks in here.” Charity, Natalie’s sixteen-year-old daughter, loped in for an energy drink from the fridge.
“Not for breakfast,” Natalie said.
Charity sipped, then curled her nose. “Get some freshener.” She looked over at Chloe. “So you’re our cook? I’m doing low-carb. South Beach, but no cheese and I’m going for gluten-free.”
“Okay,” Chloe said, not impressed by her attitude.
“Like I said, teens know it all,” Natalie said. “Low-carb this, South Beach that, gluten-free, mucous-free. What a pain.”
“Ma, do some nachos, ’kay?” That was Ronnie, seventeen, hollering from the next room, from which Chloe could hear cars racing and the shouts and groans of guys playing Xbox.
“Say please!” Natalie hollered back.
“Pul-eez. And use good cheese, not that American crap.”
“See how much we need you?” she said to Chloe with a sigh. “Not even my nachos are up to par. Let’s see if we have good chips.” Natalie led her into a pantry as big as a bedroom jammed with pricey gourmet items and piles of junk food. Chloe picked up a jar of truffle oil and a can of caviar, her mind racing with possibilities.
Natalie grabbed a bag of tortilla chips and Chloe followed her to the equally packed refrigerator. “So, he says good cheese…” Natalie lifted a wedge of Havarti. “What do you think?”
“Too sharp,” Chloe said. “Perhaps Muenster?” She reached for the container. “It’s creamy and melts well. We can add garlic and chili for zing.”
“Perfect! I’m thinking you can really shape up the kids’ nutrition. Get Charity to eat more—she’s a stick and she hates veggies. Maybe add liquid vitamins? I don’t know. Ronnie’s a disaster. We bought him a weight bench and he uses it to stack gamer mags. Maybe girls will motivate him to get in shape.”
She tapped her chin, then looked at Chloe. “Speaking of sex, how did your birthday date go?”
“Oh, that. Uh, okay. It was…nice.”
“Look at you. You’re all red. You did it. You got laid on your birthday! That’s fabulous!”
“Not so loud, okay?” She hoped no one had overheard that.
“Sure, sure.” Natalie lowered her voice. “I think it’s great. And not a word to Enzo, I swear. In the vault.” She brought her hands together like a closing door.
“What’s in the vault?” Sal, the man who had ruined her father’s life and sobriety, gave Chloe a once-over from the archway. He’d bathed himself in a cloying cologne that made her nose tickle. She sneezed.
“Bless you,” Sal said, grinning at her.
“What are you after, Sal?” Natalie asked impatiently.
“A Bud, but I can get it.” He leaned between them to get a beer from the fridge, then turned to Chloe. “What brings you to our kitchen, pretty lady?” Another once-over. Ish.
“This is Chloe Baxter, Sal. She’s our new cook.”
“Baxter? You related to…?”
“Mickey? Yes, he’s my father.” Just leave him alone. She fought to be pleasant.
“And, hey, you work at Enzo’s, right? You’re a hostess.” He pointed a finger at her, then clicked it like a trigger.
“Yes.” Sal was a harmless flirt. If a woman actually took him up on his advances, he’d no doubt wilt like celery left out overnight.
“So, you’ll be cooking…. I can’t wait.” He rubbed his stomach and licked his lips, just this side of lascivious.
Chloe managed a curdled smile.
“We have work to do, Sal,” Natalie said, making a shooing gesture. “And get Ronnie away from those hellish video games, would you? Every day it’s World War III in my house. Boom, crash, rat-tat-tat. Enough. Maybe show him how to fix cars.”
“Possible, Aunt Natalie. I’ll see what I can do.” He looked Chloe over again. “Now if you’d like your oil changed, I’m ready anytime.” He winked. Gross.
“I think I’ll be fine,” she said dryly.
“Oh, you’re definitely fine.” Sal saluted her and Natalie with his beer, then backed away.
“Don’t give that guy a thought,” Natalie murmured. “Sal is bad news. I don’t like Ronnie spending so much time with him, but if I tell Sal not to come over and it gets back to my sister-in-law, major crisis. If I tell Ronnie to stay clear, he’ll rebel. Being a mother is so lose-lose.”
“I can imagine.”
“No one tells you that before, so consider yourself warned.” She wagged a finger at Chloe.
“I’ll remember,” she said, not envying Natalie her kids.
“So, how about we go over your duties, huh? Over cappuccinos? Yes?” She turned to a gleaming metal appliance on the counter. “Can you work this monster? Enzo got it at a closeout from a restaurant supplier. Him and his deals.” She rolled her eyes in affectionate annoyance.
“I’ll try.” The thing looked like it could make bread, create a nuclear bomb and steam shirts all at once.
“The instructions.” Natalie presented her with a thick booklet. Luckily, there was a quick-start page and before long Chloe had cappuccinos steaming, nachos bubbling and was mixing V8 with seltzer and Tabasco for a zingy drink with lots of the vitamins Ronnie needed.
When she carried the tray of refreshments into the playroom, she found Ronnie and Sal madly working controllers from the sofa. Slouched on a love seat and recliner were two malevolent-looking guys in black silk shirts. One was clicking out a text message on his phone, the other studied a folded newspaper. Probably figuring the spread on upcoming games, since he didn’t look like the crossword type. Maybe that wasn’t fair—she tried to give people the benefit of the doubt—but she got a bad vibe from Sal’s friends.
Sal noticed Chloe. “Hit Pause, my friend,” he said to Ronnie. “Let’s see what the pretty lady has for our repast.”
“Repast? What the f’s that?” the guy with the paper said.
“Chloe, Mr. Ignorant is Carlo and that’s Leo over there. Chloe’s Mickey Baxter’s kid.”
“Ah,” both men said, then exchanged looks.
Chloe nodded at the two men, then noticed that the game Ronnie was playing was a car race, at least, not death and destruction, except then she watched a character climb out of a car with a machine gun and blast a Hummer to smithereens before Ronnie froze the action.
“What have we here?” Sal said, pretending to look at the food she’d bent to show them while staring at her breasts.
She described the snacks, then waved her hand before his eyes. He grinned, caught, then grabbed nachos.
Ronnie did, too. He chewed and swallowed, then tossed off a “Good,” before resuming his game.
“I’d love you to cook up something special for me,” Sal said to her.
“I’m the Sylvestris’ cook.”
“Perfect. I’m a Sylvestri.”
She just looked at him.
“Give it up, Sal,” Carlo said. “She’s not interested.”
“Never say never, right, babe?”
Please don’t wink, she thought, her eyes watering from his cologne.
Sal winked.
“Let Natalie know if there’s something you’d like,” she said wearily. Being genial with the guy might help her father.
“She’s warming up,” he said to Carlo, triumphant as a kid. “I can’t wait for the next family dinner.”
“Me, either,” she said, gritting her teeth. As she left, she heard them mutter, then laugh. Something lascivious, no doubt.
Back in the kitchen, she and Natalie sipped cappuccino and Natalie talked through the schedule. “Breakfast is at eight. You can count on me and Enzo. The kids should eat, too, but the crucial thing is them getting to the bus at eight-thirty.”
“They have trouble making the bus?”
“Are you kidding? They have trouble waking up, let alone making it to the bus or breakfast. Delores just shouted up the stairs like that would do it.” Natalie rolled her eyes.
“So you want me to…?” Drag them downstairs?
“Take any measures necessary,” she said. “Whatever it takes. Completely your call.”
They talked next about menus. The family mostly ate Italian, but Natalie urged her to be creative. Chloe couldn’t wait to try her own riffs on Italian dishes, working in the family’s nutritional needs and preferences at the same time.
There was to be a big family dinner on her second day of work. And Enzo’s birthday was next week. She would prepare a traditional family meal, followed by a party. She couldn’t wait to work up the menus. Soon, she had pages of notes and a partial shopping list.
“Now the housework,” Natalie said. “Just the light stuff—laundry, dust and vacuum, clean the bathrooms. We have people for the heavy stuff—the marble floors, the windows and whatever you don’t want to do. The kids should pick up their own rooms. Delores despaired and did it herself, but you’re so good with people, maybe you can motivate them?”
“I’ll talk to them, Natalie, but—”
“I know, I know. We’re the parents. Your job is to cook our socks off. The rest is gravy. Get it? Gravy?” She glanced at her watch. “I should walk you through the house, but I’ve got a tennis game.” She smiled, then hugged Chloe hard. “I have such a good feeling about you being here.”
“Me, too.” Chloe’s heart felt like it would burst with happiness. She would do all she could for these dear people, who were paving the way to her dream. All she needed was Riley to come through for her father. One last flare-up to fix, and she’d finally be able to live the life she wanted.

4
ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, when Riley went to the station to check Michael Baxter’s criminal record, he was dismayed to hear his squad mate Max’s whistle moving down the row of detective cubicles. Damn. Not wanting to have to explain what he was up to, he’d hoped for the usual weekend quiet.
“What are you doing here?” Max asked. “I thought you were sleeping all weekend.”
“Woke up. Got bored.” Riley had almost not come, since Idle had seemed under the weather. The dog had a hot nose, no appetite and remained in bed instead of trotting after Riley around the house. It had crossed his mind the dog just missed Chloe. Riley kind of did, too.
“What about you?” he said, to shift focus. “You worked as hard as I did.” They paired up on a lot of cases, both feeling the drive to push for the last clue, make one last canvas, one more attempt to reach a missing witness, even when the lieutenant blasted them for too much overtime.
“Just finishing up some DRs and supplementals.”
“You’re doing reports? On a Saturday? Without the lieutenant ragging on you? Come on.”
“Okay, okay. Susan bitched me out for not doing anything around the house. So I told her I had paperwork and left.”
“You are purely whipped, man,” he said.
“You’ll see. Wait’ll you get married.”
“Like I’ll ever do that.”
“Sure you will. What about Marie? She’s into you.”
“That was just sex.” He shrugged.
“Sex…yeah, I remember sex. Back when I got some.”
“Come on. Susan’s good to you.” He wanted Max to stay happy—he was one of the few cops Riley knew with a good marriage. Lots were divorced, a few were on shaky ground on the home front, and the single ones were like him: no plans to change status.
“So, who’s Michael Baxter?” Max looked over his shoulder at the terminal where Riley was checking records.
“This guy’s involved with the Sylvestris and got into some trouble. He wants to come clean, but looks like he’s got some beefs back in Chicago. Minor stuff, but stuff.” He normally liked the feel of finding somebody had a record. But this was Chloe’s father. With his record, jail time was almost a guarantee with this felony burglary. Especially in the law-and-order atmosphere of the state these days. Gloom filled Riley.
“How did you connect with this guy?”
“Through his daughter. Long story.”
“Long story, huh? I got time.” Max leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head.
But Riley wasn’t about to get into it. “I’m going to talk with the lieutenant about pursuing a deal. There’s a possible in with the Sylvestris, since the guy works for them.” Baxter might make a decent informant. Chloe was their new cook, but Riley didn’t want to involve her if he could help it. Already, he was pulling punches on the case. Not a good sign.
Forcing out the thought, he said, “Want some help with those DRs?”
“What’ll I owe you?” Max said, suspicious.
“Susan’s pot roast some Sunday. And help with my cases if the Sylvestri thing pans out.”
“You know I’ve got your back,” he said. “Pot roast it is.”
Riley took a stack from Max’s in-box. “Go do some yard work. Get on Susan’s good side.”
“I’d better if I ever hope to get laid again.” Max shook his head, but there was a trace of a smile on his face.
Riley saw the appeal of a family, but knew it meant sacrifice and a burden. Max’s kids hardly saw him. He’d missed soccer matches and dance recitals, and Susan’s family reunion, which had pissed her off big-time.
At least as a detective, Max wasn’t in much danger. Not like a vice or street cop. How could those officers put their families through the dread of that call, the officers on the doorstep with the bad news? And, with that on your mind, how could you do the job right?
Riley was glad he was accountable only to himself. Except now he was worried about Chloe and her father. Not good. Emotions snarled good sense, complicated things, muddied life.
On the other hand, the idea of nailing Enzo Sylvestri got Riley’s blood moving. Maybe he’d been bored. He’d considered trying for a reassignment as undercover or working narcotics again. He’d wanted to shake things up.
If the lieutenant and the D.A. worked a deal with Mickey Baxter, coordinated with the FBI’s Organized Crime Task Force, Riley might get assigned to the case. A lot of dominoes had to fall right first, so he wouldn’t get ahead of himself.
He hoped he could help Chloe’s father, too. It meant so much to Chloe, which, he realized with a twinge, mattered more to him than it should.

“YOU TOLD A COP!” Chloe’s father’s eyes went wide with alarm. “What have you done to me, Chloe Marlene?”
“Riley’s a good guy, Dad. He’ll help us.”
“Cops live to clear cases. To them, we’re all liars and thieves, believe me. They’ve got no mercy.”
“I trust Riley,” she said, though his voice on the phone had been stern. We need you and your father to come to the station this afternoon to discuss his situation. One this afternoon.
No would that be all right? or when’s a good time? More like get your asses down here. Maybe people were listening, so he’d had to sound terse. When she’d asked if everything would be all right, he’d only said, We’ll talk once you’re here.
She hoped he’d be warmer in person, but when he met them in the lobby, he looked stern, almost angry, and his kind eyes were hard as stone. “Ms. Baxter,” he said, nodding at her as if she were a casual acquaintance, not someone he’d held naked in his arms. She felt queasy and disoriented, as if she didn’t even know the man, as if her trust had been misplaced.
“Mickey Baxter,” her father said, lunging forward to shake Riley’s hand.
“My father,” she added, emphasizing the personal connection. “We’re very nervous about all this.”
She tried to catch Riley’s eye, draw out a smile, but he opened the security door and said, “If you’ll come this way,” completely neutral.
He led them to an interview room that looked more like an office meeting room than the grim, prison-green space with a two-way mirror she’d expected. The walls were a soft white. There was a whiteboard and a small laminate table surrounded by three office chairs on rollers. No mirror anywhere.
Two men in suits rose from the table, where a tape recorder rested. “Special Agent Emile London from the FBI and Assistant District Attorney Paul Adams,” Riley said, then introduced Chloe and her dad.
Her father sank into a chair, his face pale.
“I had no idea this would involve the FBI,” Chloe said, shooting Riley a look. “We were to discuss this with local authorities, weren’t we?”
“There are federal statutes involved,” Agent London said. “The FBI has an ongoing interest in Mr. Minetti and the Sylvestri family.”
“You mean Enzo?” she asked.
“Among others,” the agent said.
“Enzo knows nothing about this,” Chloe said. “In fact, Sal threatened my father if he said a word to Enzo.”

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