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The Protector
Jule McBride


A MATCHMAKING MOM WILL SECRETLY TURN HER THREE BIG APPLE BACHELORS INTO MILLIONAIRES–BUT ONLY IF THEY MARRY!Bachelor #3, Captain Sullivan Steele, is called the Great Protector around his precinct. The job and his men come first– love is a distant third. Until gorgeous Judith Hunt from Internal Affairs coolly steps into his office–and suddenly Sully needs to protect his turf and his heart. Judith is investigating Sullivan's connection to a police funding scam. She's not about to be swayed by a body like steel…or his bedroom eyes. She's convinced Sully's hiding something that could break the case wide open. Except the more she discovers about the sexy streetwise captain, the more she'd like to conduct her own heated affair in bed…with him.









“What do you want from me, Steele?”


Urgently he drew Judith flush against his chest. “You know what I want—” He groaned at the feel of her lower body pressuring his. “You. In bed.”

She could barely breathe. “Me and the Great Protector, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t need a man to protect me, Steele.”

“Sully,” he corrected, the tantalizing flick of his tongue coming after the hoarsely spoken name, sending delicious feelings swirling through her. “You said you’d call me Sully if I was good.”

And he was good. Judith couldn’t stop herself from wreathing her arms around his neck. Nobody had ever kissed her like this. Each thrust of his tongue was creating waves of internal pleasure. For so long she’d hoped a man would sweep into her life and arouse her in a way she couldn’t deny. “Just kiss me.”

His voice was almost a growl. “What the hell do you think I’m doing?”

“Talking.”

“Not anymore.” And with that he carried her off to bed.


Dear Reader,

Welcome to the third book in my BIG APPLE BACHELORS miniseries, set in New York City. While each book can stand alone, you’ll remeet characters I hope you’ve come to love in previous stories. Now you’re about to meet the oldest, sexiest Steele brother, a man who’s known as The Protector.

Like his younger brothers, Captain Sullivan Steele is one of New York’s finest and hails from a great city with a legendary heart. Sullivan is intense and passionate, and I hope his story will deliver everything I love about Harlequin Temptation novels—great sex, lots of emotion and a terrific happy ending that leaves you feeling good.

With all my best wishes,

Jule McBride

Meet all of New York’s finest in the BIG APPLE BACHELORS miniseries

Truman is The Hotshot

Rex is The Seducer

Sullivan is The Protector


The Protector

Jule McBride






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my favorite cop, David Shifren, for serving, protecting and writing great novels—not to mention being excellent company during so many fine dinners




Contents


Chapter 1 (#u633a61a4-ad72-5845-9657-a2e01e11bcec)

Chapter 2 (#uc7170187-f24b-54d4-8a1f-e7bc40fb45e3)

Chapter 3 (#uc9808ab0-4872-52bb-bb7e-b127bcb488e1)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




1


A month ago…

“YOUR FATHER’S GUILTY.” Framed in the doorway to the squad room with uniformed officers milling behind her, Judith Hunt stood before him, her posture perfect. She was wearing a gray silk suit with a jacket most people would have removed due to the summer heat. Farther behind her, through a window, sunlight glanced off the jagged steel Manhattan skyline in hot metallic flashes. “You know it,” she continued, surveying him through suspicious blue eyes, “and I know it, Steele.”

Steele, Sully thought. She usually used his last name, probably because she knew it grated on his nerves; on the rare occasion she used his first, it was always “Sullivan,” never “Sully.”

Standing behind his desk, he glanced down at the files littering the surface, his attention settling on a festive mug the officers had given him last Christmas. To Captain Steele: the Great Protector, it said, invoking Sully’s nickname. The mug, when presented, had been brimming over with red-and-green condoms.

At least his men knew he was dedicated to ensuring safety. And unlike Judith, they had a sense of humor. Realizing with a start that she was scrutinizing his possessions, Sully shifted his eyes to hers again. He hated that he was reassessing everything now, wondering what conclusions Judith was drawing about him from the items, but he was glad the files made him look busy, which he was, and that she’d noticed the mug, since it showed his men cared.

The only thing Sully regretted was the ship in a bottle. Too personal, he decided. He’d built the ships when he was a kid, and he’d brought some into the office from a collection he’d otherwise divided between his parents’ home and his downtown apartment. Built inside a Scotch bottle, the English galleon had five raised sails. It was from the late sixteenth century, with a sleek hull and low superstructure that rose toward a slate-and-teal-painted quarterdeck.

She arched an eyebrow. “A pirate ship?”

He shrugged with a casualness he never really felt in her presence, though why, he didn’t know, since he was no stranger to beautiful women. Many times, his job had taken him into the homes of actresses and models. “Doesn’t that figure?” he inquired mildly. “After all, my father’s a crook, right?”

“I’m not sure a pirate ship’s an appropriate ornament for the desk of a precinct captain,” she agreed calmly.

“I find flying a Jolly Roger very appropriate, Ms. Hunt.”

“The Jolly Roger?”

“Jolie Rouge,” Sully clarified, the French words feeling sensual in his mouth as he nodded toward the ship. “A red flag. They were meant to communicate that no quarter would be given. That any battle would be to the death.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” A heartbeat passed. “And thanks for the history lesson.”

“No problem,” he returned amiably. “Where better than a precinct headquarters to intimidate adversaries into surrender, to avoid costly fights?”

Judith knew very well he was referring to the near eruption of emotions that occurred whenever they met, which lately had been far more often than Sully would have preferred. “Is that what you’re trying to do?” she countered, her lips twisting in a challenging smile. “Intimidate me?”

He fought not to roll his eyes. If Sully didn’t know better, he’d think the edginess of these encounters was due to Judith’s attraction to him. She wouldn’t be the first woman to be drawn to him. “Would that be possible?”

“No. So if you’re trying, it’s not working, Steele.”

There it was again. Steele. He’d worked with Judith ever since her transfer from the city’s legal department to the investigative unit in Internal Affairs a few years ago, and now, for the umpteenth time, Sully wondered what made such a beautiful woman distrustful enough to spend her time prosecuting cops.

And she was beautiful—if a man could tolerate her attitude long enough to notice. She was nearly six feet tall. The hair hanging just past her shoulders was such a rich chocolate-brown that it appeared black. Her eyes were blue or violet, depending on the light, and framed by dark arching wisps of eyebrows. Her mouth, always highlighted by crimson lipstick, was so remarkable that it had earned her the nickname Lips. No officer said it to her face, of course, but the name was well-deserved. Sully wasn’t the first to wonder how that mouth would taste.

She was clearly fighting exasperation. “Aren’t you going to say anything more?”

“Why bother?” Sully asked dryly, pushing aside the tails of his brown suit jacket so his hands could delve into his trouser pockets. He’d rolled down his shirtsleeves, donned the jacket and reknotted his tie as soon as he’d heard Judith was on her way up to his office. This morning hadn’t been bad, but the afternoon was heating up, and he’d just gotten a memo saying that the city, fearing brownouts as the heat worsened, was requiring that air-conditioning run low in public buildings. So far this summer they’d been lucky, but Sully’s instincts told him this might be the last comfortable day. Right now, in the jacket, he felt as though he were being baked in a slow oven. It didn’t help that Judith looked as cool as a cucumber.

“What do you mean, why bother?” Judith was saying, her voice a soft echo.

“I mean, when it comes to Pop, you’ve already played judge, jury and executioner. What’s to discuss?”

Her crimson lips parted slightly, just enough that he caught a flash of her perfect teeth, a sliver of velvet tongue. The flattened palms of slender, manicured hands smoothed down the sides of her gray silk skirt. She was probably trying not to prop those hands on her hips, but the movement only served to accentuate the long-boned grace of her thighs. “The facts,” she continued, oblivious of the effect she had on him. “Discussing those could keep us busy for quite some time.”

Pulling his eyes from her legs, Sully said, “Given all the dirty cops you suspect live in this city, I figured you’d be busy enough without coming downtown to keep me company.”

“Your lack of concern about my investigation into your father’s affairs brings you under suspicion, Steele. And if you’ll protect your father, Internal Affairs has to assume you’ll also protect your men—”

“I am concerned,” he countered flatly. He’d just come from a family powwow at his parents’ home, not that he’d tell her that. Both his brothers, Rex and Truman, were cops, and they were just as intent as he on solving the riddle of their father’s disappearance. “And nobody in my precinct’s on the take, Judith,” he added. He’d used her Christian name this time, and he was glad to see it grated every bit as much as when she called him Steele. Good. He’d keep using it.

She nodded curtly. “If anyone is, we’ll find out.”

Was she really going to use his father’s disappearance as an excuse to crack down on his department? “Are you threatening me?”

Her eyes locked with his. “Should I be?”

“Are you?”

“I’m doing my job.”

“And you’re good at it,” he admitted with grudging respect.

“If you think flattery will make me back off,” she replied, as if he’d just confirmed every low-down, dirty suspicion she’d ever had about him, “you’ve seriously underestimated me.”

He’d done no such thing. He knew Judith Hunt’s résumé like the back of his hand—just as she undoubtedly knew his. “We should be working together on this.”

She stared at him as if he were the most thoroughly dense man she’d ever encountered. “Which is exactly why I’m here,” she said, not about to let him sidetrack her. “Joe wants—”

“Your boss is my father’s ex-partner,” Sully interjected, speaking of Joe Gregory. “They went through the academy together, then partnered up in Hell’s Kitchen.” After that, they’d begun busting gangs and mobsters in Chinatown. Years later, when Joe wound up working in administration at Police Plaza, he’d brought Augustus Steele on board. “Joe knows he’s innocent.”

If she had been privy to the previous connection between the men, she kept it to herself. “That may well be,” she said, her tone dubious, “but Joe’s the one who sent me to question you. He wants your father found—”

“I want Pop found, too,” Sully interrupted, years of experience as a police officer enabling him to keep the indignation from his voice. “Because when he’s found, he’ll offer the explanation that’ll clear his name.”

“I want him found—” Judith’s blue eyes turned steely in a way that indicated she knew more than she was telling “—so that I can prosecute him.”

“In this case, you care more about making a collar,” Sully accused softly, “than about discovering the truth.” He paused, taking a calming breath. “What information do you have that you’re not sharing?”

“None,” she assured him.

He came right out with it. “You’re lying.”

“Steele, your father was caught on videotape, withdrawing seven million dollars in public funds. He transferred the money from Citicorp, then picked it up at People’s National in two suitcases. The money belongs to the Citizens Action Committee—”

“I know that.” Did she really believe he hadn’t acquainted himself with the case? “It’s a fund set up so citizens can donate to the police without raising questions of impropriety. Pop endorses and deposits the checks. It’s a routine part of his job.”

“Right. And the money’s usually invested—”

“With the Dispersion Committee deciding where to spend it.” Sully’s own precinct had benefited from the fund the previous year, getting allocations for new squad cars. “Why wasn’t the money invested?” Judith might offer him that much, at least. “Why was it available for a cash transfer?”

“Because someone was planning to steal it?” she said dryly.

Cute. “Not my father,” he stated once more. “My brothers and I are convinced he stumbled onto an embezzlement scheme at Police Plaza.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment. “You think somebody other than your father was going to steal the money?”

Sully nodded, choosing to ignore her sarcasm. “We think Pop withdrew the money, then hid it, so whoever was planning to steal it couldn’t do so.”

“Then why didn’t your father contact Internal Affairs?”

“Because somebody at I.A. is involved?” he suggested.

Her soft grunt of protest did odd things to Sully’s blood, both warming it and making it race. For a second, she sounded like a woman being pleasured in bed, an impression that was undercut by her words. “Steele, that’s stretching. Your father’s guilty. He took seven million in cash. It’s a fortune in public money. No one would have let him take it from a bank, but years ago, he worked a mob-related bank heist at People’s National, so the banker felt he knew him.”

“The banker did know him.”

“The banker thought he was honest,” Judith clarified.

“Pop is honest,” Sully shot back.

Again she uttered that soft grunt that made Sully wonder if she’d sound like that while making love. If making love was the right terminology. After all, she was brilliant. She’d been at the top of her class in law school, and like many overachievers, she was tightly controlled, her manner challenging. Possibly, that control would extend to the bedroom.

Yeah, she was the kind of woman who’d let her mind get in the way of what her body wanted in bed, Sully figured. But then again, he could be wrong. Judith was also beautiful and inaccessible—a dangerous package. Maybe she was the type who was all-control until she suddenly let loose like an animal. Sometimes when he thought about it—which, of course, he tried not to—he imagined having hard, urgent sex with her. Hands roughly pushing up the hemline of her conservative skirts, buttons popping off blouses that covered small, firm breasts, panties trapped around thighs…

“About an hour ago, I met some eyewitnesses who placed your father at the Manhattan Yacht Club,” she was saying. “They saw him there late last night, boarding a boat named the Destiny.”

Realizing his mind had strayed, and that his mouth had gone dry, Sully pulled his attention back to the case. He nodded. “Right. That’s the boat that exploded off Seduction Island early this morning. Did your informants say he was alone when he boarded?”

She hesitated. “Witnesses didn’t mention seeing anyone else on deck.”

“Could he have handled the craft by himself?”

“Is he good with boats?”

“Yeah. As far as I know. He likes to fish.” It was the only outdoor activity his father enjoyed. Sully’s middle brother, Rex, was a fisher, too, so it was a shame the two had never gotten along well enough to share the experience.

Judith was nodding thoughtfully. “If your father’s used to fishing, he could handle the boat. It was sizable, but not a problem if he knew what he was doing. I’m leaving from here to take a team to the island. A Realtor, Pansy Hanley, says the explosion woke her. Maybe she’ll remember something. The local PD’s been diving into the wreck since it happened.”

Rifling a hand through his short hair, Sully bit back a sigh as he thought of Seduction Island, a small key off the coast of New York, it lay to the south of better known harbors such as Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket. “My brother Rex is heading down there, also.”

Judith stiffened. “Pardon my saying so, Steele,” she said, “but it’s awfully nice of me to come down and tell you what’s going on—”

“Not really,” he swiftly countered. “You said Joe sent you. You came here to get information, not give it, Judith.”

“However, I am apprising you of the investigation.”

Her tone was meant to remind him that she didn’t have to. “Then please continue,” he stated.

She didn’t speak for a minute, and Sully suspected she was holding her breath and counting to ten. “I can’t have you, Rex, Truman or anybody else interfering with my investigation,” she warned succinctly.

Sully’s temper was growing shorter by the minute. “Our father vanished,” he reminded her. “He was aboard a boat that exploded. The Steeles need to know if there was foul play.”

“You don’t trust me to do my job?”

He set his lips in a grim line. If there was anyone he’d trust to get to the bottom of his father’s disappearance, it was her. She was rumored to be the best, not that he’d tell her that. “That’s not the issue, Judith.”

She merely stared at him, her gaze cool. “If you Steeles withhold information, I’ll arrest each and every one of you for aiding and abetting a suspect.”

“He’s our father, not a suspect.”

Their gazes locked, and Sully couldn’t believe the ease with which Judith maintained eye contact. Most people withered under the stare he’d perfected for years. Calculated to unnerve the hardest of criminals, his unflinching, penetrating gaze usually made people fidget immediately.

Keeping his voice low, still overcorrecting for a temper he was on the verge of losing, Sully said, “My father could be dead. You realize that, don’t you? The Destiny exploded.”

She nodded curtly. “We haven’t found any bodies.”

He knew that, too. According to one source, a sandbar off the coast was positioned so that Augustus’s body might have washed up there, if he was dead. But Judith was right. There’d been no sign of any bodies. Nevertheless, Sully’s gut tightened. No one in the Steele family would rest easy until Augustus was found. Rex and Truman were pulling out all the stops—Rex by heading to the island, Truman by calling his contacts around town.

Abruptly, Sully broke eye contact with Judith and circled the desk. For a barely perceptible second, she looked as if she wanted to back across the threshold, and when he stopped before her, her body became almost unnaturally still, as if she were determined not to react. The only thing Sully saw moving was the pulse in her throat, which he could swear was now ticking more rapidly. His attention lingered a second too long on a smooth hollow beneath her ear, then drifted down her slender neck to where pale gray silk draped creamy skin, looking like expensive ribbon on a velvet-wrapped present.

She might be one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, but her personality, quite simply, sucked. “I’d like to know one thing,” Sully couldn’t help but murmur, coming an inch closer, just near enough that she’d feel his breath and the coiled power in his body.

She was tall, but not as tall as he, and because she was looking up, her wary stare came through a fringe of black eyelashes. He inhaled sharply, pulling in her scent. No woman had a right to be so beautiful, he thought vaguely, or to smell so good. Especially not a cop from Internal Affairs. And even less, a woman who intended to prosecute his father, something that made her the enemy.

“What do you want to know, Steele?” she finally asked.

“What happened that turned you to ice?” His voice had inexplicably hushed to a whisper. Suddenly, he was fighting the urge to lift a finger and touch her face—maybe because the gesture would send her packing. Or maybe just because he simply wanted to touch her.

Had Judith Hunt had many men? he wondered, his gaze arrested by her astonishing mouth. Had many hungrily captured those lips? Tasted their honey? Despite all the speculation, Sully had never heard of her dating. She always came alone to city events. She’d never married. But surely a woman this beautiful got a lot of offers. He imagined she dated higher-ups—the big brass from downtown, men with expense accounts and car services.

For a second, Sully almost believed he’d unsettled her. Her gaze faltered, but when she spoke, her voice was level. “Steele,” she said, “I’m not made of ice.”

“I said my father might be dead.”

“I know that. And I have compassion for your situation,” she added, her voice catching huskily. “I really do.”

“Compassion?” he echoed. What did this by-the-book woman know about how Sully’s mother was feeling right now? Did Judith know Sheila was just five blocks away, pacing around the courtyard garden behind the brownstone where Sully and his brothers had grown up? Or that Rex was giving up his vacation to join in the desperate search to find their father? Or that Truman was glued to a phone, questioning contacts, while Judith was planning her little jaunt over to Seduction Island? He’d never been there, but he’d visited vacation spots close to the New York shore such as Plum and Fire Islands. Even at that distance from the bustle of New York City, the waters of the Atlantic became crystal clear and cerulean.

“Compassion,” Sully repeated dryly. “Oh, Ms. Hunt, I’m sure you’ve got it just the way they’ve got everything else downtown.”

Her eyes turned watchful. “How’s that?”

“In quadruplicates.”

Her chin lifted a notch. What she said next seemed to cost her. “You’re wrong about me, Steele.”

He didn’t think so, but he let it pass. They stared at each other a moment, and were still doing so long after other people would have looked away.

“If you think of anything…” Her voice trailed off, and before he could answer, she turned to go, a whiff of soft female scent cutting through the sweat of the squad room. She was across the threshold when she looked back. There was something odd about how she did it, too, Sully thought, because she glanced back the way a lover might, not an adversary. It was as if she had to make sure he was still standing there, watching her walk away. Her gorgeous crimson lips parted, as if she really wanted to say more.

He arched an eyebrow. “Something else I can do for you, Ms. Hunt?”

She looked at him another long moment, then shook her head. “Uh…no. But…” Her face was unreadable. “Look, Steele, I’ll let you know whatever I can about the matter.”

The matter. Hearing his father referenced that way was almost as unsettling as hearing him called a suspect. Especially since Augustus Steele was as straight as an arrow. He’d made the grade at Police Plaza, joining the crème de la crème of the NYPD, because that’s where he belonged.

“Really,” Judith added. “I’ll let you know.”

Sully doubted it, but he nodded, anyway. “I’ll call you if he contacts me.” That, too, was probably a lie.

She nodded back, curt and businesslike. It shouldn’t have made fluorescent lights play in her dark hair, or intriguing shadows dance across her pale cheeks like whimsical phantoms. The things Sully was noticing about her at the moment had no place in a police precinct, but for a second—the space of a breath—he was sure he and this woman were going to wind up in bed. Like how the sun rose and set, there were just some things a man could take for granted.

And then the second passed.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you then,” she murmured.

“It’s always interesting,” he agreed, then added, “Happy sailing.”

She quirked a brow.

“On Seduction Island,” he reminded her.

“It’s work,” she said, looking as if she was starting to have difficulty keeping her cool. “Not a vacation.”

He wasn’t sure, but as she turned to leave, he could swear Judith Hunt added a softly whispered, “Dammit, Steele.”

That brought a smile to his lips. He watched her go then—his jaw setting, his groin tightening, his eyes sliding down the length of her. She was almost too thin, he decided. As willowy as a tall, thin reed, with small, high, firm breasts and slender, flat, boyish hips.

She was economical in her movements, yet possessed a curious lanky grace that would make her look good in things she’d never wear—feather boas draping across her bare back, floor-length black sheaths slit to her thigh, necklines cut down to her naval, tempting a man to glide a hand inside and push away fabric. Something timeless in her features made it impossible to guess her age. Twenty-five? Thirty? Suddenly, Sully had to know, not that he figured he ever would.

Realizing she was long gone, he mustered a long-suffering sigh, then shrugged out of the oppressive jacket he’d put on for her benefit. Loosening his tie, he muttered, “Can this day get any worse?”

“Probably, Cap.” His right-hand man, Nat McFee, stopped in front of him. “While Lips was here, we got a homicide on Bank Street, a three-car pile-up on Seventh Avenue, and Tim Nudel hauled in a suspect from that news kiosk holdup last week. You want to talk to him?”

Sully shook his head as he backed inside his office. “Nudel can question him. I need a minute.” Maybe longer. He needed time to get Judith out of his system, and to mull over the string of bad luck hitting his family lately. “I haven’t had a chance to breathe since I heard Pop disappeared.”

“Why not take a walk?” McFee suggested. Before shutting the door behind him, he added, “Why don’t you duck in someplace where the air-conditioning works?”

Maybe he would. Sully draped his jacket around the chair back, sat down at the desk and thoughtfully unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves. Pop’s disappeared. Sully could barely believe it. And he meant what he’d told Judith: he was sure his father had stumbled onto wrongdoing. Wherever he was, he’d return with the money as soon as he could.

Lately, Sully reminded himself, the Steeles had had some good luck, too. As if to reassure himself, he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a letter he’d written about a month ago.

“Only a month ago?” he murmured.

An eternity had passed since the day Sheila Steele had announced she’d won fifteen million dollars in the New York Lottery. That day, she’d made the even more astonishing announcement that she wasn’t telling her husband, Augustus, about the winnings. Unless their sons married within the next three months, she’d sworn, she was going to donate the money to preserve natural habitats for wildlife in the Galapagos Islands. Furthermore, she’d stipulated that Sully, Rex and Truman couldn’t tell their prospective mates about the money while wooing them.

“The Galapagos Islands?” Sully had muttered in disbelief when he and his brothers had retired to his childhood bedroom to discuss the matter.

“Don’t get me wrong,” his youngest brother, Truman, had said. “I’ve got nothing against sea turtles.”

Sully had laughed. “Me, neither. It’s the marine iguanas that get on my nerves.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” their middle brother, Rex, had joked, “penguins are such a pain.”

Marriage had seemed so unlikely for all of them, and it really did seem as though wild animals might benefit from the win. But now their little brother had proposed to Trudy Busey, a reporter from the New York News. Even more amazing, Truman, the brother most anxious to get the money, had vowed to give his share to the Galapagos Islands, anyway, so Trudy wouldn’t think he was marrying her for anything other than love.

Sully sighed. Of course, all the brothers had to marry in three months or the deal was off, which meant the Galapagos animals would be the recipients. With Augustus’s disappearance, everything had changed. Rex, who had no girlfriend, was heading to Seduction Island, and Sully…

He glanced at the letter in his hand. He’d written it the day he’d heard his mother had won, and while he was usually more cynical, the letter was like the ships he used to build in bottles—uncharacteristically romantic. It began: “Dear Lady of my Dreams…”

Sully’s eyes dropped to the text.

Who are you? Where do you live? Why haven’t I met you yet? If only I knew where to find you, sweet lady—which city blocks to wander, which cafés to visit. If only I knew what your face looks like…a face I’ll hold between my palms and see resting on a pillow if you really turn out to be the lady of my dreams.

Are you out there? Maybe I’m too confused about what I want. Maybe I’ve passed you a thousand times without recognizing you. If I saw you, would I even know you? My last relationship lasted a long time, and she was in a helping profession, as I am. We had so much in common; we wanted stability and a reasonable lifestyle, to share our tight-knit families and have kids of our own.

But it wasn’t enough. There was no passion. I don’t mean sex, if that’s what you’re thinking. I mean…passion. There’s no other word. I want my heart to race, my palms to sweat, my knees to weaken. Being able to remember love like that gets you through the hard times, and life being what it is, there are always hard times.

I’m a man who needs sparks and fire. Desire that compels. A person complicated enough to hold my attention. Are you out there, lady?

It was signed simply, “Yours.”

The letter had been in the drawer for a while, but now, on closer inspection, Sully realized what he should do with it. At the bottom, he wrote, “I can be reached here,” and left the address of an untraceable post office box, one he used in police work and for confidential personal correspondence. It was the address he’d given the lottery board, and just yesterday, they’d sent a questionnaire for him to fill out, apprising him of tax matters. Apparently, they were assuming Sheila Steele was going to turn her winnings over to her sons. The lottery board had no idea what Sheila Steele was up to—or had been before her husband disappeared.

Well, he was right to use the P.O. box, Sully decided. He was a realist and too suspicious to offer his home address. If he really sent this, it was hard to predict who might get hold of it and respond.

But he was going to send it. With a faint curl of a smile, he stood, circled the desk, went to a bookshelf and lifted an intriguing bottle he’d found in a junk shop during one of his lunchtime strolls through Greenwich Village.

“A genie bottle,” Sully had pronounced, taking in the pale amber glass, round design and squat neck. He’d been thinking, as he often did, that he should start building ships again, and that this bottle would be perfect.

“Old,” the shopkeeper had said, stopping to talk. “But not as uncommon as you might be guessing. I usually have one or two around the shop.”

When he blew off a layer of dust, Sully imagined a trail of smoke rising from the bottle, as it might from a genie’s lamp. Chuckling softly, he imagined the dust materializing into a woman. “Maybe it will,” he murmured.

Rolling the letter, he inserted it and tightly stoppered the bottle with its cork. Returning to the desk, he lifted his jacket from the chair back, then headed for the door.

“McFee,” he said to Nat as he passed the desk right outside his door, “I’m going for that walk you suggested.”

“Anyplace special?”

Sully shrugged. He was the central player in this busy, West Village precinct, and it was rare he took time for himself when he was on the job. Still, no one needed to know he was strolling toward the banks of the Hudson. Already, he saw himself jogging toward the end of the Perry Street pier, drawing back his arm and swinging it in a wide arc. He saw the bottle fly from his hand, sail through the air and splash down into the choppy, brackish water. It would float a moment, then slowly sink, and once swallowed by the dark water, it would be caught in strong tidal currents and swept out to sea. Maybe a foreign woman would find it, someone as far away as Australia or China. Someone destiny would choose….

Before returning his mind to more pressing matters, namely his father, Sully tilted his head and considered. Wouldn’t it be strange, he thought, if a woman really did find his message in a bottle and write him back?




2


The Present…

SITTING IN the underground parking garage, not wanting to leave her city-issue car for the sweltering August heat, Judith glanced at the blue suit jacket she’d folded beside her on the passenger seat, then stared murderously toward a glassed-in attendant’s booth and a fire door leading from the garage into Sullivan Steele’s workplace.

“The Great Protector,” she muttered, turning off the ignition. “Yeah, right.”

If Sullivan Steele had any urges to protect his fellow man, it was probably because he anticipated having those people cover for him if he ever got into trouble himself. Not that the Steeles didn’t have stellar reputations. Around New York precincts, the men were legendary. The father had been in law enforcement for years, and all the sons were cops. Nevertheless, Judith had noted that good reputations often put a glossy finish on far less savory realities.

It was amazing what people got away with. Stable-looking homes with white picket fences often hid a world of trouble. That was the case, Judith supposed, with the Steeles. Sullivan had risen up through the ranks—with suspicious ease, in her opinion—to become the youngest precinct captain in Manhattan, so swiftly that it was rumored he was going to wind up in city government, maybe even mayor.

Oh, he was good at his job, but it was Judith’s responsibility to make sure he hadn’t greased any palms on his relentless climb. And while she had to admit he’d earned his position on merit, the family connections had to have helped. Somebody probably owed somebody a favor….

It was how these things worked. Still, she grudgingly had to admit that his men seemed to trust him. Why? she wondered, when it was so obvious he was protecting his father. She shook her head angrily. It took so little to make New York cops turn and look the other way. In fact, most people could be coerced to overlook wrongdoing.

No one wanted to snitch. The public moral code was to mind your own business. She sighed. At least the media wasn’t making much of Augustus’s theft—yet.

Vaguely, she wondered if Sullivan was right about her being too cold. But if she was suspicious, she had good reasons.

And she had called Sullivan practically every day during her stay on Seduction Island, as well as visited him during her overnights in Manhattan, hadn’t she? Despite her show of goodwill, he hadn’t been the least appreciative. As far as she could tell, it never had occurred to Sullivan that she’d phone him instead of using her scant free time to explore the peaceful idyllic island. But she shook her head. Given how close a clan the Steeles were, Judith wouldn’t be surprised if he never talked. Whatever had happened, she was fairly sure he believed in his father’s innocence. That, or Sullivan Steele was an accomplished liar, which, of course, some men were.

She cursed softly under her breath. Every time she thought of Sullivan, she felt tied up in knots. She wanted to believe he knew nothing about his father’s disappearance, but she also knew she was on a case and couldn’t trust him….

The middle brother, Rex, hadn’t been any help, either. Her first day on Seduction Island, she’d threatened to prosecute if he continued interfering with the investigation. Then she hadn’t seen him again until yesterday, when she was preparing to come back to Manhattan. Even though he’d pretended otherwise, she was sure Rex had remained on the island, searching for his father. Had Augustus been there? Had Rex found him? At some point, had the missing money been hidden on the island, as Judith now suspected?

She shot a rueful smile through the windshield, as if it were a crystal ball. Well, even if the money had been on the island, it no longer was. She hadn’t told anyone, not even her boss, Joe Gregory, but she’d finally found it.

Her best guess was that Sullivan’s father had withdrawn the money, then hidden it on Seduction Island. After a few weeks, Augustus had gotten paranoid, as criminals always did. Fearing the money would be discovered, he’d retrieved it and returned it to Manhattan. Judith had found it tucked away in a Manhattan savings and loan—in Augustus’s wife’s name, no less. Possibly, Augustus had blown up the Destiny himself, so people would think he was dead. That way, no one would look for him.

Complicated, yes. But like any knotted thing, the trail could be untangled. Over the past few weeks, Judith had slowly, painstakingly been working at the slippery strands. Now she was beginning to think Augustus Steele really was dead—not that she’d tell Sullivan that. But Augustus had been aboard a boat that exploded, after all, and then he’d simply vanished. What if he’d meant to fake his death, but had actually died in the process?

“Unbelievable,” she whispered now. Her head was starting to ache from thinking too much. Apparently Augustus had stolen far more than seven million, since the account in Sheila Steele’s name had recently swollen to more than double the sum missing from the Citizens Action Committee fund.

“Fifteen million dollars,” Judith whispered.

Who knew how long Augustus had been skimming public money off the top? “A hundred grand here, a hundred grand there,” she murmured. All nicely invested over the years—until Augustus’s retirement neared and he decided to make a final heist and grab seven big ones—and more.

All this time, Judith’s boss, Joe Gregory, had been suggesting she explore more intricate ways Augustus might have hidden the money. The idea that he’d simply rebanked it in his wife’s name had never been considered. No law enforcement officer would do something so stupid.

Which was why it had worked.

It had taken Judith a month to figure it out. “The Steeles sure live dangerously,” she whispered. Especially Sullivan. At least he looked like the type. Her gut tightened as she thought of his imposing frame. Square-jawed, tall and broad-shouldered, he looked like a rich frat boy, except for his eyes. Too probing and intelligent, they set him apart from the macho cops who’d taken the job for their ego, because they liked carrying guns.

Sullivan was another breed. He reeked tenacity and competency, and yet Judith knew she’d be a fool to trust him. He aroused her curiosity, though, and even she could admit that the interest wasn’t entirely case-related. Sometimes, in his office, she’d catch her eyes drifting over him, taking in the tapering V of his upper body, the flat belly beneath his shirt, and how the drape of his trousers accentuated long, well-muscled legs. A sudden shudder would ripple through her.

Well, today, no matter how his imposing physicality and challenging attitude tempted her, she wasn’t going to tell him she’d found fifteen million dollars in his mother’s account. No, Judith would patiently await the court order she’d filed, since it might allow her to delve more deeply, connecting the money in Sheila’s account to that stolen from the Citizens Action Committee fund.

And presto, she thought. Her case would be solved.

Unfortunately, as her hand curled over the door handle, she felt a stab of unwanted guilt as she thought of the amber fire burning in Sullivan Steele’s eyes. At times, she was utterly convinced he thought his father was innocent. If so, she was going to have to shatter his trust in a man he loved. She swallowed hard, since she knew better than anyone what shattered trust could do.

“Let’s do it,” she said grimly. The sooner she started, the sooner this would be over. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her jacket, groaning as she shrugged into it. Leave it to Sullivan to force her to wear a jacket in this heat. But she simply couldn’t go into his office without it. After all, he always wore one, even in public buildings, which were kept at temperatures approaching the boiling point.

As she lifted her shoulder bag, she realized it was unclasped, and a soft smile curled her lips as she impulsively plucked out an envelope. Suddenly, her heart missed a beat, skipping with excitement as she thought back to the day she’d found the bottle.

She’d been on the Perry Street pier, where she’d taken a walk after a predictably rocky encounter with Sullivan, when she’d first noticed the pale amber bottle caught in an eddy against the Hudson shore, kept in place by rocks and driftwood. Seeing paper rolled inside, Judith had gingerly made her way down the hilly embankment, despite the high heels she’d been wearing, and had lifted the bottle from the water.

She would never forget the magical rush of elation she’d felt when she read the letter inside. “Dear Lady of my Dreams,” were the opening words, and the sender was like no man she’d ever known. He sounded sensitive, kind and passionate. Before writing him, Judith had put a trace on his P.O. box, of course, but she’d come up empty-handed, something she’d decided was good. Of course, if she really had to, she could flash her badge at the post office and get the information. She was just glad that, like her, the sender was cautious and self-protective, which meant he was a realist. She, too, had an untraceable box, though she didn’t usually use it for love letters, but so that officers could report confidential information about their precincts.

This letter had been in her box today. Her eyes trailed over the words.

Lady, can we meet? When I tossed the bottle into the Hudson, I imagined it being found years from now, by a woman in another country. I never guessed it might simply wash up on shore, and be answered by someone in New York, or that we’d start corresponding. Of course, we haven’t gotten specific about the details of our lives—what we do professionally, or where we live….

Judith had intentionally withheld those details, and she suspected her pen pal had done so also, since details would make it easy to figure out their identities. Neither of them, it seemed, were very inclined to take risks.

Was she ready to do so now?

Her heart ached. After all these years, was a man about to come into her life? She’d never have sought that out; she’d been running too long from a background she wanted to keep buried in the past. But now…

No. Judith shook her head. She didn’t dare agree to meet him. Pushing the envelope into her bag, she fastened the clasp, slung the strap over her shoulder, then stepped into the stifling heat. “I’m here to see Captain Steele,” she announced when she reached the attendant’s booth and pressed her badge against the glass window.

As he picked up a telephone, the attendant said, “I’ll let him know you’re here, Ms. Hunt.” And then he buzzed her inside.

SULLY BARELY MANAGED to shrug into his jacket before Judith swept into his office, and having to put it on solely for her benefit was seriously worsening his already dark mood, if that was possible.

“You look cheerful,” Judith remarked without preliminaries, her eyes traveling over the blue jacket he’d put on, as if noting it was the exact color as hers. Difference was, Sully thought, that the blue, while doing little for him, brought out the intense color of her eyes.

Telling himself not to notice, he said dryly, “Do I?”

“Just like one of those smiley faces,” Judith assured him. “In fact, if they ever do a smiley face movie, Steele, you could be a body double.”

“I’ll have McFee issue a filming permit immediately.”

“Really,” she continued, “you don’t look so hot.”

“Quite the opposite.”

The heat wave had turned his precinct into a madhouse, tempers all over the city were burning out of control, and he’d been putting out fires all day—quite literally, due to an arson case. It had been the wrong moment to hear that Judith was about to float through the squad room on those endless legs. Since he’d received a heads-up call from the parking lot, Sully had at least been somewhat prepared—as prepared as he ever could be for Judith Hunt—so had taken his time in studying her easy, unencumbered stroll across the squad room. By the time she breezed into his office, he felt like a member of the angry mob outside, not an officer trained to subdue them.

He shot her a sweet smile. “Well, Ms. Hunt, we can’t all be blessed with your chipper demeanor, you know.”

“Ah,” she replied, her smile just as saccharine, the awareness sparking in her eyes making him wonder if she wasn’t secretly enjoying the repartee, “wouldn’t the world be a better place if everyone had my sunny disposition?”

That would be the day. At least she knew she was a control freak. What other kind of person would wear a jacket when the mercury shot over a hundred? “Have a nice time on your desert island?” He hadn’t bothered to rise from his seat behind his desk—secretly, Sully was thinking he might faint from heatstroke if he did—and now he nodded toward a chair. “Care for a seat?”

“Thanks,” she said, but didn’t take it. “It wasn’t exactly a vacation, Steele.”

No, she’d been down there looking for his father. “Well,” Sully conceded, “it didn’t exactly turn out to be the most productive month for you, either.” His brother Rex had fared better on Seduction Island, finding out their father was definitely alive. But Sully figured he’d keep that to himself.

Her chin reset defensively. “Excuse me?”

“You haven’t found my father,” he returned, wishing she’d sit. Every second she remained standing, insisting on towering over him, he was tempted to rise, and since he was sweltering, he’d much prefer to stay seated. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a seat?” he prompted again. “Believe me, I suggest it solely for my own benefit. If I have to keep staring up at you, Judith, I might get whiplash.”

She almost smiled at that. Even worse, he almost instinctively smiled back. “So sue me.”

“Maybe I will. Can I retire on a whiplash settlement?”

“How would I know?”

“You’re a lawyer. I thought you all took that class in school—Whiplash 101.” She still looked as though she was fighting a smile, and he was surprised to discover he liked the idea of that—Judith Hunt smiling. Had it ever happened?

“Bad hair day?” she finally guessed.

“Something like that,” he said, rifling his fingers through the sweat-dampened strands.

She clucked her tongue, and for a second, his eyes were mesmerized by the crimson mouth. Even in this heat, her lip liner hadn’t melted. “Poor baby,” she commiserated, her mouth quirking. “Now that you mention it, Steele, I can actually see the gray.”

“Better than a receding hairline,” he retorted a bit defensively.

“You’ve got a point there.”

He sighed, getting down to business. “I hear you gave Rex a hard time on the island.”

Now that they were back on topic, she gaped at him, her bottom lip edging over the top, where sweat was starting to bead. It was Sully’s only consolation. Apparently, in her ridiculously dressy jacket, she was as miserable as he. “Your brother was interfering in my investigation. I warned you before I left that if he—”

“He was looking for our father,” Sully interjected. “Somebody had to do it.”

“I was doing it,” she shot back. “And if your brother found out anything, he didn’t share the information.”

“Information moves on a two-way street.” It wasn’t the first time Sully had said it.

“I called you. And I’m standing in your office right now. How much more goodwill do you want?” She blew out a short breath. “What have you found out since we last spoke?”

“Not a thing,” he replied lightly, though he knew his father was alive. Sully wanted a chance to speak with him before he was found by Internal Affairs. “You?”

Looking as if the heat wasn’t doing wonders for her disposition, either, she crossed her arms over her chest. “So, that’s the way you’re going to play today?”

“I’m not playing.” Suddenly rising to his feet, he circled the desk, moving lithely for a man of his size, and then leaned against it. “You want the truth, Judith?”

Her eyes turned hungry. “Yes.”

She thought he was going to divulge information about his father. Instead, Sully said, “The truth is, it’s been a helluva week. I’m hot and tired, and while it wouldn’t be apparent to anyone on Seduction Island, the wheels of justice in Manhattan have ground to a halt because everybody’s on summer vacation. I can’t get warrants, and I’m battling a heat wave that’s doubling the number of complaint calls.”

“The whole city’s having a heat wave, not just you, Steele. I’m trying to get courts orders, too. And if it bothers you so much—” she nodded toward his chest “—why don’t you take off the jacket?”

Because she was wearing one. No doubt, this was Judith’s way of finagling how to take off hers without losing face. “As a precinct captain,” he said, shooting her a quick smile, “I have a certain image to project.” Image? he thought. Of what? A sweating pig? Every man in the squad room knew Sully never wore a jacket unless the parking attendant called to say Judith was on her way up.

“Isn’t it substance we need to concern ourselves with?”

“I guess, if you feel a lack of it.”

“Which brings me to your father.”

“Nice segue.”

“Thanks.” With a sudden sharp inhalation, Judith took him by surprise and did the unthinkable: she shrugged out of her jacket. When Sully saw the airy white, short-sleeved blouse beneath, he suddenly felt much more amiable. It was nearly transparent, and the white lace of a bra was visible beneath. The temperature in the room, already boiling, seemed to crank up another few notches, not that Sully minded now.

“That’s why I came up to see you, Steele,” she reminded him. “Your father.”

He wished she had some news. Rex had found a man on the island who’d talked to their pop after the Destiny exploded, but nevertheless, Sheila was beside herself. Trying to keep emotion from his voice, Sully said, “Honestly, have you found something out, Judith?”

“Not really. After withdrawing the money from People’s National, your father went to Seduction Island.”

Sully’s gaze drifted over her, as if seeking to pinpoint a chink in her armor, while she continued, “I traced the boat to the mob. The Destiny was owned by Tommy the Jaw. He was part of the Genovese crime family before he went legit.” After a heartbeat, she added, “Supposedly.”

“You don’t believe he did?”

She shook her head. “Once dirty, always dirty,” she pronounced.

His jaw clenched. “Just like Pop, huh?”

Her steady gaze seemed to confirm that that was her point of view. “Your father would have known Tommy from the old days,” she continued. “Apparently, Tommy the Jaw loaned your father the boat.”

“Or maybe my father’s working with the mob,” Sully suggested, his tone dripping irony.

Unfortunately, she actually considered that. “It’s not far-fetched.”

“Oh, please,” Sully said, groaning.

She shrugged. “I found an abandoned estate on the island. The locals call it Castle O’Lannaise, after a pirate named Jacques O’Lannaise, who supposedly haunts it. I’ve got requests in for court orders also…” She shot him a brief look of sympathy. “I’m having trouble getting paperwork through, too. So it’ll take me a couple more days to find out who holds the title. For some unknown reason, the information’s protected.”

Sully knew exactly how her mind worked: deviously. He never knew whether to be angry or impressed. Especially since his brain worked in the exact same way, putting them on the same wavelength. “You’re thinking that, in addition to the boat, the property belongs to Tommy the Jaw and that Pop went to the island to hide out?”

“You’re quick.”

“If I’m ever worried about my IQ,” Sully assured her dryly, “I’ll know where to turn for an ego boost.”

“Oh, not to worry,” she replied. “If in doubt, just start with mine and count down a few notches.”

“That’s what I like, Judith. Your mature, seasoned wit.”

She merely shrugged. “Castle O’Lannaise has been owned by a number of famous people in the past.” The expression in her eyes turned serious. “The property’s handled by a law firm, and even the Realtor, Pansy Hanley, doesn’t know who owns it. It’s been up for sale for a while, and now Ms. Hanley’s got a buyer. The place is expensive, worth millions.”

Somewhere in the neighborhood of four-point-five, according to Rex. Sully wasn’t about to share the information with Judith, but it was Sully’s brother who was doing the nibbling. While looking for Augustus on Seduction Island, Rex had fallen in love with Pansy Hanley and proposed. Once they were married, Rex intended to leave Manhattan, move to the island and use his part of the lottery money to restore Castle O’Lannaise.

Which meant, in addition to everything else plaguing Sully’s life, the pressure was on for him to find a bride. How had his little brothers—two men with absolutely no prospects—gone from committed bachelors to being engaged in just a matter of months?

His mind straying even further afield, Sully thought of the letters he’d been exchanging with his mystery woman. Who would have imagined a local woman would find the bottle he’d tossed into the Hudson? Maybe this really was destiny. Maybe she’d be the one. The woman who was writing to him sounded so alive and passionate, and in his last letter, Sully had asked her to consider meeting him.

“Steele?”

He realized Judith was peering at him with uncharacteristic concern. “Hmm?”

“Are you paying attention?”

He refocused his attention on her. “Absolutely. I figure the money’s hidden somewhere on Seduction Island,” he speculated. “I figure that’s why Pop went there, but your idea that he’s in cahoots with the mob is ridiculous.”

She hesitated. “I don’t think the money’s on the island.”

She definitely knew something. “Why not?”

She hesitated so long that he felt sure she’d found some hard evidence against his father. Or at least something that appeared to be evidence. Judith wouldn’t be this confident unless she’d found something she could use against the Steeles in a court of law. “What do you know, Judith?”

She shrugged, a lift of one delicate shoulder that shifted the sexy lace beneath her blouse. “Nothing.”

Either the heat was getting to him or the lies were. “I think Pop hid the money on the island,” he persisted, “to keep it safe.”

“Oh really? I wouldn’t have expected something so fanciful from an old cynic like you.”

An old cynic? Was that what Judith thought of him? “You don’t know anything about me,” Sully found himself saying. His family was worried sick, and this woman was withholding information, playing games. “You see a suit and tie. What I look like behind a desk. Or when I give orders.”

Her dark blue eyes were suddenly boring into his, vivid against the unbelievably creamy, pale skin of her oval face. “I see,” she said dryly. “You’re saying that Sullivan Steele—the man, not the cop—is different?”

It was exactly what he was saying. But how had they wound up in this conversation? Before he could ask, she said, “Your father’s guilty, Steele. If you know that, but aren’t telling me, then you’ll wind up prosecuted. And if you don’t know it, and can’t accept it, I understand.” He could swear her hard, crimson mouth actually softened, and for the briefest second, it looked kissable. “It’s…difficult when people you love do something wrong.”

The last thing he wanted was sympathy. “I want proof, Judith,” he said, thinking she definitely wouldn’t be this confident unless she’d found something. “Tell me,” he demanded. “Why are you so sure he’s guilty?”

“The videos that show your father taking the money aside?” she asked. “My sixth sense.”

“Well, your sixth sense about the Steeles is wrong.”

Challenge sparked in her eyes. “On that matter,” she retorted, echoing his words, “I want proof.”

There was only one way. “Fine.”

She looked stunned. “You have proof your father’s innocent?”

“Come over for dinner.”

It was the last thing she expected. “To your house?” Laughter bubbled between her lips, and she gaped at him incredulously. “Dinner? Are you serious, Steele?”

It was the only way to convince her of his family’s integrity. “Aren’t you curious?” Unable to stop himself, he stalked closer, his voice lowering seductively as he edged in front of her. “Don’t you want to observe the criminals at home?” he prodded, an almost playful smile tilting his lips. “See what we eat? How we interact?”

The interest in her eyes shouldn’t have intrigued him, and when it did, Sully admitted that he sometimes wished Judith Hunt would express the sort of interest his mystery lady had. But with Judith, it was always the case. She’d phoned him from Seduction Island, and yet she’d never ventured anything personal—not even once. Didn’t she have any human curiosity?

“You’re inviting me into the den of iniquity, huh?” Her eyes locked with his. Maybe he shouldn’t have felt quite so breathless when she said, “You’re on, Steele. Name your time.”

“Sunday dinner. We always have it at my folks’ place.” Everybody loved Sheila. This particular weekend Pansy Hanley was coming in from Seduction Island to see Rex, her fiancé, and meet and support Sheila. Truman and his fiancée, Trudy, would be there also. Sully gave the address. “Should I write it down?”

Judith shook her head. “I have excellent recall.”

“Funny,” he said. “Because you don’t seem to be recalling whatever new information you’ve found out about my father.”

The guilt crossing her features further convinced him she was withholding something. Given how he felt about that, Sully had no idea what compelled him to say, “Maybe I should just pick you up?”

“We’ll see.”

“You’ll let me know?”

“Sure. One way or another, I’ll see you Sunday, Steele.”

As usual, he watched her go, this time mulling over how little they’d accomplished during this particular visit. Shrugging out of the oppressive jacket he’d felt compelled to don, he replayed everything that had just occurred. Judith definitely knew something, which meant he needed bargaining power. Sully hated to fight dirty, especially with such a beautiful woman, but this time it was necessary. He called to Nat, his desk sergeant.

“I want you to do some research on Ms. Hunt,” Sully said when he appeared in the doorway.

Nat’s lips parted in surprise, and he thrust a hand worriedly through the shock of wavy black hair that matched his sparkling eyes. “What are you looking for?”

“Anything I can use if I have to,” Sully said simply. “She knows something about Pop, and I need to know what it is.”

“But we’re so busy around here—”

“No rush. Whenever you’ve got a minute.”

“I’ll see what I can turn up.”

Good. Maybe by the time Judith came for dinner, Sully would know more about her. A vision of her blouse came back to him—open at the throat, fluttering against creamy skin. At one point, just beneath it, he’d glimpsed the cup of her bra, and like some horny teenager, he’d actually felt himself starting to get hard. He wasn’t proud of it, but the moment had made him think of seduction. After all, Sully was extremely good at seduction…and seduction was another way of getting information from a woman.

“DINNER WITH Sullivan Steele,” Judith murmured that night as she stepped from a cool bath. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the aromatic mist of her scented bath oil, as well as the fresh flowers she’d placed on the edge of the tub, using the amber genie bottle as a vase. “Have I lost my mind?”

Slipping into a white silk robe, she knotted it around her waist and headed for the living room, stepping on what had to be the greatest sin in Manhattan—a white carpet. Quite the luxury in a city where everything became dirty so easily. Vaguely, Judith wondered what Sullivan Steele would think if he ever saw it. It was tempting to bring him here, if only to shock him, since he obviously thought she was such a prude.

Trouble was, he was right, she thought, heat flooding her cheeks. Besides, because she didn’t socialize much outside work, her nerves would be frazzled if he ever came here. Her correspondent, by contrast, wouldn’t be nearly as unsettling a houseguest. The man who’d sent the message in a bottle seemed so kind and accepting, so willing to slowly build trust.

But now she’d been invited into the Steeles’ world. Because Sullivan had invited her, it was a good guess that he didn’t know his mother’s bank balance had recently swollen to the unbelievable sum of fifteen million dollars. But then, this could be a ploy to make Judith think he didn’t know his mother was probably involved in the Citizens Action Committee theft. Why else would she have so much money in the bank?

What if he really had no knowledge, though?

Guilt gnawing at her, Judith tried to imagine how Sullivan would feel if he discovered those closest to him were criminals. He’d be crushed. Fortunately, spending an evening with the Steeles would clarify things.

Passing a brocade sofa strewn with pillows, Judith sat at a desk and withdrew the letter from her handbag once more. Her eyes trailed over the words.

Lady, can we meet? When I tossed the bottle into the Hudson, I imagined it being found years from now, by a woman in another country.

The man sounded so heartfelt, so emotional. She sighed. So unlike Sullivan Steele. She got out a sheet of stationery, then merely sat there, pen poised over the paper, wondering how to reply. Searching for inspiration, she stared through a window at the busy street below and felt a sudden rush of gratitude for the milling crowds and honking horns.

Judith couldn’t stand the quiet. Only Manhattan, with its noisy throngs, made her feel safe. There were always people here. A barely conscious voice played beneath her thoughts. Always people to turn to for help.

She’d come so far. She was thousands of miles from the farm in the Midwest where she’d grown up. Even now she felt a slight jolt of panic when she recalled the long road leading to the farmhouse, the isolation, how dark it looked at night with no other visible house lights.

She shuddered. For a second, the years between her and that house seemed to vanish, and she quickly reminded herself that she’d lost her accent, put herself through college and a law degree, and started over in this city of strangers. Outside, the countless lights—white headlights, red taillights and the cozy yellow glow from inside apartments—came together in a wash of warm color. Only then did Judith register that her vision was blurry because tears had filled her eyes. She blinked them back. She hadn’t seen her mother or stepfather for years. Was she ready to risk betrayal and bring love into her life?

Pushing aside the question, she focused on two lovers below the window, happily holding hands as they walked along the crowded sidewalk. Her next thought was that Sheila Steele lived just around the corner. No doubt Sullivan lived nearby, too, since most officers, especially captains, lived in or near their precincts. In this city, he could have lived in the same building with Judith for years and she might never have realized it.

Sighing, she thought about Sullivan. He was thirty-seven. She knew because she’d checked his records, and judging by the hard glint in his knowing eyes, he was cynical and not getting any younger. Gray wisps painted the tips of the honey strands of his hair, and crow’s-feet were visible at the corners of his eyes, giving his face a rugged, weathered look. He was sexy, too—sexy as sin.

But she wondered if she looked as cynical as he. Her eyes drifted to the letter again. There was a seemingly nice man out there who liked how her personality sounded in the letters she’d written to him. Was she ready to meet him?

At the thought, abrupt, unexpected pain seared through her. For an instant, all the trauma of her past came racing back, and she felt alone, betrayed and broken. So alone, she thought. As if the whole world had been hollowed out and she’d been left in the emptiness. Every time she started to hope someone might love her, she was filled with pain—because with the hope of that came the fear of loss. It was so hard to admit how much she needed love….

She hadn’t mentioned her past to her correspondent, of course. She never would. But maybe she could open up to him just a little. If she didn’t start making an effort, she was going to wind up like Sullivan Steele, unmarried and hardened by a cop’s life. Guilt niggled at her again. Was her investigation going to shatter his trust in his parents? The way her own trust had been shattered?

She stared down at the letter again. If she agreed to meet her mystery man, at least she knew she’d be physically safe. She was well-trained in tai kwon doe, not to mention good old-fashioned street fighting. She also carried a gun.

Picking up a pen, she began to write.

Dear Mr. X,

I hope you don’t mind the name, but I never know what to call you. Maybe you’ll share your real name with me soon when we meet? Yes, I’ve given it some thought and think we should.

Pausing, Judith mulled over a date and place.

She wanted her next encounter with Sullivan Steele out of the way first, and because she was consumed with searching for his father, she’d be preoccupied the following week.

If I don’t hear from you, I’ll meet you on the Saturday after this coming one. At five-thirty in the evening, I’ll be in Central Park, on the bridge in front of Bethesda Fountain, overlooking the boathouse. I’m tall, with dark hair, and I’ll be wearing a red silk scarf, so you’ll know who I am.

And then, her heart pounding, Judith quickly sealed and stamped the letter before she could change her mind. It was time to move on from her past. She’d learned how to survive. How to make a good living. She was at the top of her profession.

Now she had to acknowledge that love was out there in the world, just waiting for her. The magical experience of finding a message in a bottle had started to convince her of that. What an unlikely thing to have happen!

Judith could only hope she’d be able to meet her mystery man with an open heart.




3


“HAVE YOU CHANGED your mind about us Steeles yet?” Sullivan asked as he and Judith strolled along the stone pathway that wound through the lush, thriving courtyard garden his mother tended behind the family’s three-story brownstone. By design, they’d dined late, after the sun went down, and they’d eaten dinner at a round glass table, where Sullivan’s brothers and their fiancées were still talking with Sheila, sipping ice-cold margaritas until they felt ready for dessert.

“I came to observe,” Judith said, “not draw conclusions—”

“How clinical. I feel like a lab specimen.”

“You may not like it, but that’s not far from the truth, Steele.” The cold fried chicken and Waldorf salad Sheila Steele served for dinner had calmed Judith’s nerves and mitigated her caustic tone, though not the words that came under her breath, so only Sullivan could hear. “And if anything, your lifestyle’s made me even more suspicious,” she admitted.

“Lifestyle?” He had the audacity to chuckle, and when the genuine merriment was undercut by the intensity of his gaze, Judith was reminded of their situation. Sullivan might be the perfect host, but he’d invited her here with an agenda—to get closer to her, so he could monitor the case. “Does that mean you find more than our humble home suspicious, Judith?”

“Humble home,” she muttered, slipping a finger beneath her hair to lift it off her neck for relief from the heat. “This is a mansion, Steele.” She made a point of eyeing him. “And look at your suit.” During dinner, he’d removed the jacket, but even wearing only a well-tailored shirt and tan, finely woven linen trousers that matched his hair and eyes, Sullivan looked every inch the king of the manor.

“My ex-girlfriend helped pick it out,” he explained defensively.

“Good taste.”

“Thanks.”

She was more curious than she wanted to admit. “Ex-girlfriend?”

“Most men have them.”

“Did she break your heart?”

“Since when did you decide I have a heart, Judith?”

“Be serious.”

He considered. “We dated a long time, but…” Barely perceptibly, he raised his shoulders in a shrug, as if to say the relationship wasn’t one he’d thought about in some time.

“Bottom line,” she said.

“Not enough sparks.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You? Boyfriend?”

“Never,” she deadpanned, telling herself she hardly wanted to contemplate what enough sparks might mean for Sullivan Steele. Seeing his doubtful glance, she felt something unexpected and sharp pierce her insides. For the next second, it hurt just to breathe. She was beautiful; Judith knew that. She had thick dark hair, an arresting face and china-white, unblemished skin. Men had always chased her, many hadn’t wanted to take no for an answer, and most had assumed she had a lot of experience, which she didn’t.

For the duration of a heartbeat, she found herself wishing Sullivan was just a tad sharper, enough to see through her carefully erected facade. Deep down, that was her wish, wasn’t it? she admitted, her heart aching. Didn’t she want someone to break through her defenses and teach her to love again? Pipe dreams, she thought. In her experience men only got close enough to find out she was skittish around them, then they dropped her.

Sully was squinting at her. “Never?

When she brought her attention back to his face, she tried not to notice the soft, teasing light shining from eyes that were usually harder and more suspicious, and the playful lift of a mouth that was usually compressed into a serious line—at the precinct, anyway. “You’re the one who’s under suspicion, Steele, not me.”

“And what have you found out tonight?”

She was still surveying those eyes, that mouth. “That you soften at home,” she said honestly.

“Is that right?”

She nodded. “Like a teddy bear. But then,” she added, “looks can lie. Besides, a cop’s salary didn’t buy all this.”

He shot her a look of mock disappointment, shifting the subject. “So, your interest in my ex-girlfriend is strictly business?”

“What else could it be?” Judith rolled her eyes as they continued walking, surprised to find herself growing more comfortable in the summer heat and with the equally hot sensual undercurrents flowing between her and Sullivan. “Have you forgotten I’m trying to put your father where the sun doesn’t shine?”

“You’ll never get the chance. I won’t bother again to say he’s innocent. I’m starting to sound like a broken record.”

“You’re awfully sure of your point of view,” she noted. “Haven’t you heard—pride goeth before a fall?”

“I’m confident, not prideful. And I don’t fall, Judith.”

“Never?” she asked, echoing his words.

“Never.”

He definitely looked confident. He always looked confident. “If you ask me, you’re a little too smug tonight. Too self-satisfied. What are you keeping from me?”

He looked surprised, then shrugged. “I just found out I’m going to meet someone…” those amber eyes glanced away “…a woman with whom I’ve had some contact, but never a face-to-face.”

“A work contact?”

He paused. “Personal.”

Not about to give the impression that she was interested in Sullivan’s love life, Judith decided not to probe, but she was caught off-guard by the sudden warmth flooding her. After all, she was in a similar situation. She’d just received a letter from the man with whom she’d been corresponding, and now his words played in her mind. I can’t believe you picked the bridge by Bethesda Fountain as our meeting place. When I was a kid, I learned to roller-skate there, and we—by we, I mean my parents and brothers—always stopped on that bridge for hot pretzels when we visited the Central Park Zoo. Believe it or not, when I’m stumped, I still go there, just to think. The bridge has been special to me for years….

She felt the same way, but for different reasons. Years ago, when she’d first come to Manhattan, she’d stood there, staring down at the pond, fountain and boathouse, and she’d made hard decisions about her future. Then she’d walked down to the fountain and tossed in pennies—nearly all the money she’d had at the time—and she’d made the wish that had guided her ever since, to follow in the footsteps of people who fought for justice.




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