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“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.
