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Brady shrugged. “Not really my problem. My problem is to determine if Morty died getting his satin-covered rocks off, or if someone helped him along a bit. But I’m here to tell you, your job isn’t going to be easy either way. Morty was not well liked. There are people who will come out of the woodwork to crucify him when they get wind of this.”
“Exactly,” Erin retorted. “Chaos. And with the mayor being a close friend of Morton’s, this could blow up in everyone’s face. It would destroy his campaign. The mudslinging will make everyone look bad.”
“So basically you don’t care what really happened. You just want the mayor to come out looking good for reelection. That is what he’s paying you the big bucks for, right?”
She didn’t take offense. This was part of the job, too. Though not her favorite part. “What I care about is successfully getting my client through a rough personal spot with the least amount of personal and professional damage I can manage. That is why he hired me. And honestly, I didn’t think taking on a job for the mayor was exactly something to be ashamed of.”
“You don’t care about the truth then? Just the most positive spin you can put on it.”
Erin blew out a breath and tried to clamp down on her rapidly growing frustration. Why she cared what Brady thought of her was beyond her. He was supposed to be a means to an end. But his words had stung, there was no denying that. “Look at it this way. I’m like an attorney who has to occasionally represent a guilty person and still do her utmost to get him the best deal within the bounds of the law. I occasionally work for someone who is caught in a less than ideal position and do my darnedest to lessen the negative impact.”
“For the record, I think most attorneys are slimeballs, no matter who they are representing.”
Now she smiled. It was that or throw something at him. “So I’m a slimeball?”
“No, you’re a professional spin doctor who just might have jumped in over her head into shark-infested political waters where people play for keeps. This isn’t about prettying up some businessman’s brush with a drug bust.”
She smacked the table. “Okay, now you’re really ticking me off. I don’t really give a flying hot damn what you think of me, the mayor, or even Mort Sanderson. Finding out how Sanderson died and who might have killed him is not my job. Someone else has to worry about that, namely you. My only interest is seeing that this whole thing doesn’t drag my client through the sewage Ol’ Morty might have been wallowing in. How I present things to the media is strictly meant to help him, not hinder you. So there is absolutely no reason why you can’t continue your fight for truth and justice, while I protect the people who are getting caught in the crossfire.”
“So, if what I discover ends up painting the mayor in a less than positive light, you’ll just spin that the right way too, whether or not he might be a slimeball as well?”
Righteous indignation fled as a frown instantly creased her forehead. “Do you have any indication Henley is in any way involved in this? Personally?”
Brady laughed. “You’re a piece of work, you know that? But I can see why you’re doing so well. You do keep your eye on the end goal, no matter what blows across your path.” He pushed back his chair. “Your thirty minutes are up.”
“I want you to let me know the instant you get the report back. I’m going to push the press conference back to four-thirty.”
“Wouldn’t want to miss that five o’clock newscast.”
“No,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “We wouldn’t. But if this isn’t a murder, I need to know. Otherwise I’m going with what I told you earlier. We need to steer this thing away from how he was found and toward catching the psycho that killed him. I would think you’d want that, too.”
“If there is a psycho killer.”
She stood and blocked his path. “Last I heard, the press only knew that he’d been found in the Dew Lily Inn and that there was supposition that his reason for being there was sexual.”
“No one is at the Dew Lily Inn unless it’s sexual.”
“Point taken. But the rest has been kept under wraps, right?”
“There are strict orders on those who were at the scene. Until I finish my interviews, it’s in the best interest of the investigation—not to mention your job—to keep the rest sealed. Now, how long that will last, I can’t say. You know how this town is.”
“You’ve talked to people, conducted some interviews already. What do you think happened?”
“I think I don’t make guesses. Now excuse me. I have to get back to work.”
That he felt his work was more important than hers came through loud and clear. “I’ll expect a call from you,” she said, “or I’ll be camped out at the precinct until I get an answer.”
He turned back at the door. “You know where my desk is.” Then he left.
She turned to the table, hands clenched, working hard not to toss her mug across the room. She was normally not a violent woman, but Brady… The man was impossible! Couldn’t he see she was just trying to do her job, here? She wasn’t deliberately doing anything to get in his way, nor was she hurting anyone. If anything, she was keeping the press off his back and putting them squarely onto hers. “He should be thanking me, dammit.”
She downed the rest of her coffee, knowing it would likely be all she had until dinner, then snapped her briefcase shut and headed out the door. She had a lot of work to get done before the press conference. Not the least of which was figuring out how in the hell she was going to spin this if Sanderson had in fact just died of a heart attack while playing kinky sex games.
BRADY WAS surprised when he returned from the morgue and did not spy a certain long-legged redhead perched at his desk. He spun a wary glance around the squad room. Nope, he was in the clear. He walked to his desk, totally ignoring the sense of disappointment he’d felt. And it was not smug disappointment either. Theo hadn’t been able to rule out foul play. It had been a heart attack, but there didn’t seem to be anything to back up why it had happened to an otherwise healthy forty-nine-year-old man. There had also been no sexual activity. They were running toxicology tests to see if anything had been introduced to his system to induce heart failure.
Until then, Brady had to keep working the case as a homicide. And Erin got to continue with her spin doctoring.
He wasn’t exactly sure what ticked him off so badly about it all. He’d had plenty of time to think it over while waiting for the overworked medical examiner. She was right about getting the press off his back. She was even right about playing down the sexual nature of the scene where Mort had been found. And he wasn’t so naive as to believe that any politician worth his constituents’ votes was going to let something of this caliber careen wildly down the media tracks without doing his or her damnedest to steer the train. Or hire someone who could steer the train. That someone being Erin Mahoney.
He had to grudgingly admit that she also seemed pretty damn good at her job.
He just wished like hell her job hadn’t crossed paths with his. He might admire her professional acumen, but that didn’t mean he trusted her. She’d made no bones about the fact that her loyalty was vested solely in saving Henley’s political ass. If she had to climb all over Brady and his investigation to do it, he had no doubt she would. He did not like anyone breathing down his neck.
The scent of her perfume wafted through his mind. Along with images of her climbing all over him and breathing down his neck…literally. He groaned and once again shoved the thought away. Erin was dangerous enough without giving her that sort of leverage. Even in the privacy of his own, suddenly feverish, mind.
The sound of a throat clearing just behind him brought him around. So the perfume had been real. He should have known. He could only thank God she had no way of knowing what thoughts—and images—had just been playing though his head.
“You’re late,” he said, taking the offensive. He’d already learned it didn’t pay to let her have the upper hand. Not even for a second.
“I do have other things to do besides dog your every move. Besides, I knew where to find you when I was ready.” She smiled. “You look a little let down, though. Who’d have guessed?”
She was just razzing him. No way did his expression reveal anything. And he hadn’t been let down, dammit.
When he didn’t respond, her smile faded and she was all business again.
“You got the report from the medical examiner? I’ve got—” she glanced at the slim gold watch circling her wrist “—twenty minutes to show time.” She looked him right in the eye. “So what angle am I playing?”
Brady really hated being party to her part in all this. He was tempted to just shove the file at her and let her come to her own damn conclusions and spin the press conference any way she saw fit. But technically anything said or done that dealt in any way with this case fell under his jurisdiction and it would be sloppy of him not to watch every move she made like a hawk.
“No conclusive evidence,” he said, not bothering to deflect the matter either. If he was going to have to deal with her—and it was apparent after this morning that he had zero choice there—he wasn’t going to waste more time than absolutely necessary on it. He raised a hand when she would have interrupted. He would be in charge, however. Whether she liked it or not. “There are enough unusual elements that we can’t rule out foul play. He did die of a heart attack.”
Her mouth dropped open in dismay.
“But we’re running toxicology tests to see if he wasn’t helped along there a bit.” She snapped her mouth shut, not entirely happy with the circumstances, but apparently knowing better than to badger him about it. Because she didn’t, he found himself opening his mouth and giving her another small bit. “There was no evidence of any semen.”
Now her eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
He had to smile. “What, you really didn’t believe your own angle? This is good news for your side, you know.”
“Since when are you concerned about my side?” She smiled, but waved a hand before he could reply. “Forget that. I should be thanking you for giving me the information without making me wheedle it out of you.”
“For the record, I don’t respond well to wheedling.”
“So I’ve noticed.” They stood there, staring at each other several moments longer than necessary. Just as the tension between them turned…questionable, she turned and nodded to the file on his desk. “Is that the report?”
“Don’t push it, Mahoney. I’ve already given you more than I have to. Just make sure you don’t hurt the investigation with it.”
“I don’t know whether to be offended or complimented. But don’t worry, your trust hasn’t been misplaced.”
“Who said anything about trust?” He moved behind his desk. For some reason, simply standing near her made his body hum. The width of the desk wasn’t much of a barrier, but he’d take what he could get. “For the time being, our goals are falling on a somewhat mutual plane. I have to do more digging now, and keeping the press off the sexual angle works for me.”
“So you’re saying you think this was a murder? And Sanderson was set up to be found like that?”
He looked directly at her. “I’m not saying anything.”
She sighed. “Will you be at the press conference?”
“You seem to have that covered. I don’t need to be answering questions that are better left unasked until I have more information.” He pulled his chair out, signaling that their meeting was over.
Erin jotted a few notes on a notepad, then slid it back in the satchel she had slung over her shoulder. “Thanks, Brady.”
“Don’t thank me. You’re the one that has to deal with the wolves this afternoon.”
“Why is it I think you’re starting to like this division of labor?”
“Did I say that?” How did she do that? He’d been all business, then she pulled a smile out of him with seemingly little effort.
“I’m beginning to realize it’s what you don’t say that a woman should pay attention to.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She laughed. “That’s one thing that hasn’t changed about you, Brady. I could never make you beg for anything.” She turned and he knew he’d been sucked in too deep, because he watched her move and angle that shapely body of hers past each and every desk on her way to the door.
She turned at the door, catching him watching her. “I’ll call you when the conference is over and give you an update.”
He could only nod. When she was gone, he sat down heavily in his chair. He closed his eyes, but he could still see her face, the sharp intelligence fairly glowing in those green eyes of hers, the delighted little twinkle that surfaced when she teased him. She might be a knockout, but it was the self-assurance she wore, as perfectly tailored as those hot little suits she shrugged into each morning, that was the more potent aphrodisiac.
Make him beg? Oh yes. She’d been back in his life less than twenty-four hours and he already wanted to beg her for mercy. But mercy in what form?
4
ERIN STRODE into her office and dropped her briefcase onto her desk with a thump. She dropped into her chair with similar enthusiasm.
Her business partner and best friend, Gina Briggs, walked in a second later. She was as short as Erin was tall, but no less bold. She had thick, dark hair worn short and spiky around her face, her eyes were a vivid blue and her mouth was wide and expressive. Mainly because it was usually moving. Today was no different.
“I’m sorry, I missed the news. I was tied up trying to get Tony out of a fix with the news director.” Tony Hallman was a popular local anchorman who had recently hired Mahoney and Briggs to beef up his public profile in hopes of getting a bump to a bigger market. Women loved him and his ratings were good. Unfortunately, women loved him because he was gorgeous and had a sexy deep voice, not because he was a particularly good journalist.
Erin groaned, glad to have something to think about besides the disastrous press conference she’d just hosted. “Don’t tell me. He ad-libbed his own questions again?”
Gina nodded. “He thinks he’s showing his ability to be flexible and hard-hitting,” she said with a sigh. “But he comes off looking like a moron. Ever since he heard he was up for the possible pickup in New York he’s been an egotistical nightmare.”
Erin raised an eyebrow. “Like he wasn’t before?”
Gina laughed easily. “Oh, his ego has always been healthy. But he controlled it, understood his strengths.”
“Yeah, big white teeth and a voice that would melt chocolate.”
“Exactly. Now he thinks he’s Tom freaking Brokaw. If he doesn’t watch out, not only will he lose his New York slot, but he’ll be looking for a new market outside Philly as well. Today his news director hit the roof, and chewed out Tony big time.” She shook her head. “What is it with men?”
Erin must have given away her own current view on the opposite sex because Gina instantly forgot all about Tony and perched attentively on the edge of the desk. “So, was Detective Hunk at the press conference?”
Erin glared at Gina, who was entirely unrepentant.
“Hey, I’ve checked him out.” Gina shook a hand in front of her. “Talk about melting chocolate. I say we should work with Philly’s finest more often. And I do mean finest.”
“Enough already.” But there was little heat in Erin’s rebuke. She’d known Gina since their first day of college, and because they’d shared everything ever since, she’d already let it slip that Brady O’Keefe was flying in under her hormone radar way too often for her peace of mind. Let alone her peace of body.
Gina tapped a pen on Erin’s desk. “I don’t see any reason, when this isn’t all over, why you two shouldn’t just burn each other out of your respective systems.”
“What I need is help getting through right now. I can’t worry about after.” She let her head sink to her desk. “Of course, that might not be a problem after the mayor fires me.”
Gina tugged at Erin’s arm. “What?” She hopped off the desk. “Now Tony really owes me. I can’t believe I missed this. What happened? You had this totally under control. Did the hunk ruin it? I know you said he wasn’t thrilled you were his media mouthpiece, but he wouldn’t intentionally jeopardize—”
Erin held up a hand to halt the onslaught. “I don’t know that Brady was even there.”
Gina’s eyes twinkled. “Brady, huh.” She motioned with her hands. “Go on, just commenting here. Continue.”
Erin leaned back in her chair. “I need coffee. And aspirin. And a shot of something really strong. Not necessarily in that order.”
Gina gave her a wicked look. “Or a few hours in bed with the mighty fine detective. That’ll perk you right up. Or make you not give a damn. Either way.” She fluttered her lashes and sighed.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Her rueful smile faded. “Not that I have anything to worry about at this point. I imagine he isn’t wasting any time recommending my dismissal to his commissioner, who will run right to the mayor.” She shook her head.
“For God’s sake, what happened? What went wrong?”
“I underestimated the power of sex.”
“I never underestimate the power of sex.” Gina was as well versed in how to get things done as Erin, perhaps even more so. “And neither do you. So what gives?”
“I thought I had it under control today, Gina. But it was awful. Like an ambush. I should have been prepared for the chance that the information would leak.”
“Uh-oh. They found out about the pink tutu, huh?”
Erin groaned and nodded. “And the leather mask, the bustier, even the handcuffs. The only thing that didn’t leak was the feather whip.”
“I thought they’d kept that info locked tight.”
Erin rubbed her temples. “Well, something that sensational, someone just couldn’t keep his or her mouth shut. I should have been prepared. I was ready to handle the inevitable questions on the location. But the clothes… I knew it was going to come out eventually, but I’d hoped to have already pumped up Sanderson’s importance to the community and how devastating his loss will be to so many charitable organizations. That way, when the inevitable cavalcade of demands for all the sordid details hit, we’d already have a solid foundation in place. I honestly didn’t think it would come out this fast.”
Gina swore under her breath. “Well, that sucks.”
“It was madness out there, Gina. They were rabid. Worse than a pack of wolves.” She rubbed her arms. “I feel unclean.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse then when we handled that shock jock, Harold Seaman’s, account.”
Gina winced and whistled. “Wow, that’s pretty bad.”
