Short, Sweet And Sexy

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A.J. waited until the driver of the limo had settled Pierre into his seat and closed the door before turning on her heel and marching up the precinct steps. A meeting with her client wasn’t the only thing A.J. intended to settle with Mr. Salvatore Sam Romano.

“EARTH TO SAM. Come in, Sam.”

“Sorry.” Sam turned back from the window to face his brother. “What were you saying?”

“I found the license plate number. It belongs to a pickup owned by a construction company. They reported it stolen this morning.”

“So it wasn’t an accident,” Sam said as he took the scrap of paper and tucked it in a pocket.

“Probably not,” Andrew said as he studied his brother. “Hit-and-run drivers don’t like to use their own vehicles. You got any other evidence that Pierre might have copped the necklace—other than that he often left copies when he pulled a heist?”

“That and the fact that I saw him break and enter the museum. He’s good enough to have jammed the security cameras and he obviously turned off the alarms.”

“Damn,” Andrew said.

“I think it’s safe to say that he didn’t do all that to have a private viewing of the exhibits. He may have the real necklace on him right now.”

Leaning back, Andrew propped his feet on the desk. “Why? For the past forty years, Pierre Rabaut has lived in this city and been a model citizen. He operates a highly successful and lucrative jazz club and serves on a couple of the mayor’s committees. Why go back to a life of crime now?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I was thinking about that while he was in the museum. He was really good at stealing, you know. One of the best. Maybe he just wanted to see if he could still do it.”

“It’s a hell of a solution to a mid-life crisis. And what about the man with the knife and the guy in the pickup? How do they fit in?”

“Pierre knew there was extra security. It was on the news. I figure the bearded mugger was an accomplice. He was supposed to take the necklace and run. That way Pierre couldn’t be caught with the necklace on him. The guy in the pickup is another matter. He was out to get Pierre. And he must have known Pierre would be there. All I know for sure is that as long as Pierre has the necklace, he’s in danger.”

Andrew thought for a minute. “We only have your word. That’s not probable cause to search him.”

“That’s the last thing I want. What I want is to convince him to return the necklace before he gets caught, and Ms. A. J. Potter won’t let me near him.”

Andrew’s eyes widened. “Ms. A. J. Potter? Pierre has a woman attorney, and you’re having trouble getting around her?”

“She’s—” Rising, Sam began to pace again. “You should have seen her when she saw that truck barreling toward Pierre and the bearded man. She’s this tiny little bit of a thing, and she didn’t even stop to think. She moved like lightning and launched herself at them.” Even now when he thought about it, fear knotted in his stomach. “I thought they were all goners. I couldn’t believe it when the truck swerved at the last minute. It was a miracle.”

“A. J. Potter, hmm?” Andrew’s face split into a wide grin. “Nice name. Same initials as me. I suppose she’s a looker too?”

“Yeah. She’s…” Sam paused. It occurred to him that he’d never before had trouble talking about a woman to his brother. But he didn’t feel comfortable talking about A.J.’s legs—or any other part of her. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell his brother that her eyes reminded him of violets. “She’s…I…she’s hard to describe.”

“I can see that. She’s got you stuttering.”

“No…I mean…”

“Is she single?”

Sam frowned. “Yeah. Pierre got that out of her in less than two minutes. For a guy in his seventies, he’s got a way with women. He told her he’d fallen in love with her. What kind of a thing is that to tell a girl first time you meet her?”

“You better introduce us, bro. Maybe she and I will have more in common than the initials.”

Sam pinned his brother with a long, steady look. “Forget it.”

“This just keeps getting better and better. First you’re jealous of an old man. Now you’re warning me off. I’ve got to meet her.”

“No.” Just as Sam’s fingers began to tingle, Andrew gave a long, low whistle.

“Too late. We’ve got company.”

Sam knew before he turned who it was moving toward him. He would have recognized the click of those heels and that quick, ground-eating stride anywhere. The moment he turned, he got a quick vision of a woman and poodle before his eyes homed in and fastened like a tractor beam to her legs. The skirt seemed to inch a little higher with each step she took. He felt the blood drain from his head.

A.J. VERY NEARLY STOPPED mid-stride. If Cleo hadn’t been pulling at her leash she might have. This time the rush of adrenaline surged through her and he wasn’t even touching her. It was his eyes. He looked at her in a way that no one else did—as if he could really see her.

“Two things,” A.J. said when she reached him. In a minute, she would remember what they were. She drew in a deep breath and opened her mouth, hoping that something intelligent would come out.

He spoke first. “I want to see my godfather.”

“Right. That’s number one on my list. He wants to meet with you at a French café, Emile’s, near the courthouse at five this afternoon.”

The smile came then, quick and charming. She wanted to smile right back, but she bit down on the side of her cheek instead. Ruthlessly, she gathered the evidence against him. This was a man who wanted to put a defenseless old man in jail. A man who had with that same charming smile taken money from her on the street!

“Number two,” lifting her hand, she turned it palm up, “I also want my money back.”

“Your money…?”

“The hundred dollars I’ve slipped into your cup during the past five days.”

“Whoa,” Sam said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I gave all of it to a homeless man who hangs around my family’s hotel. He might be interested in that job you were lining up for me.”

She studied him for a moment. “If you’re making fun—”

In a movement that she didn’t even see coming, he took the hand she was still extending and began to draw her toward the door. “Me, make fun? Never. Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk about the money and Pierre?”

“I’ve got some coffee right here,” Andrew said, snagging her other hand and putting a mug of coffee in it. “And I have some information on that pickup that tried to run down your client.”

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE TIMES when Sam wished he’d been an only child. Or that murdering your brother was legal. One minute, he’d nearly had A.J. out the door for a private chat and, the next, Andrew had drawn her back to his desk. He’d even cleaned off a chair for her.

“This is a really nice dog you’ve got there,” Andrew said. “Do you show him…or is it a her?”

Andrew was actually petting the dog. Even more amazing was that his desk was also looking more orderly. File folders were stacked in a pile, and Sam could even make out the edge of a pristine-looking blotter. He was sure it had never seen the light of day before. But what really stunned him was that he hadn’t been aware that any of that was going on. All he’d been aware of was A. J. Potter from the moment she’d walked into the room.

“Cleo is a her. And she loves men. My neighbor shows her. Right now she’s looking for the perfect male to breed her with.”

“My brother has absolutely no manners.” Andrew managed to get Cleo settled on his lap. “Otherwise, he’d introduce us. I’m Andrew Jackson Romano, but you can call me Andrew.” He took A.J.’s hand in his. “We have the same initials.”

Murder was out of the question. But he’d warned Andrew off. In a minute, he was going to punch him. He hadn’t felt that way since junior high school. Hell, it couldn’t be jealousy he was feeling. Could it? But as two other detectives rose from their desks and gravitated toward A.J., Sam had the sinking realization that it was. And that was ridiculous.

A. J. Potter shook her head. “No coffee, thanks. I’m very late for a meeting at my office. My client asked me to give Mr. Romano a message. And I just wanted to clear up the money thing.” She glanced at Sam, then back at his brother. “Is he telling the truth? Did he give my hundred dollars to a homeless person?”

“I’ll be happy to check into it for you.”

“Andrew…” The warning note in Sam’s voice was clear.

Andrew sighed. “You can always take Sam at his word, Ms. Potter.”

A.J. nodded. Then she plucked the poodle off Andrew’s lap, turned to Sam and gave him the same brief nod. “Two more things. First, I won’t press charges for the money. And two, I don’t want you harassing my client anymore. He said you’d have questions. We’ll settle them this afternoon, and then you’ll leave him alone. Understood?”

The two brothers watched her until the door swung shut and blocked her from their view.

“Very nice. If that skirt had inched up just a little bit—” Sam whirled on his brother.

“Hey! I’m just admiring the view. She’s—”

“Yes…?”

Andrew cleared his throat. “In the interest of brotherly love and support, it’s only fair to tell you that if you decide you don’t want her, I’m calling second dibs.”

Sam frowned. “I don’t want…” He stopped short, stunned, when he found he couldn’t complete the sentence.

Andrew grinned at him. “See? You’d have known it sooner if you were as good a detective as I am.”

Sam didn’t comment. He had too much to think about as he headed toward the door.

GLANCING AT HER WATCH, A.J. raced down the steps of the precinct building with Cleo in tow. Ten o’clock. She’d lost another five minutes delivering her client’s message to Sam Romano. But Pierre had insisted. And he was her client. Her very first. She might have danced a little jig on the sidewalk if it weren’t for the fact that landing her first client had caused her to miss the monthly meeting at the firm.

Unless…Fishing out her cell phone, she punched in her uncle’s number, then kept her voice as patient as she could as she waited for the receptionist to route the call. A quick scan of the street told her there were no taxis in waving range, so she drew Cleo with her toward the corner.

There was a chance, a slim one, that she hadn’t missed the meeting entirely. But that hope was dashed when her uncle’s secretary Mrs. Scranton immediately put the call through.

“Ari—oh, sorry, I forgot. No one is allowed to call you that anymore.”

A.J. drew in a deep breath the moment she recognized her cousin’s voice. Rodney was the only one in the family who needled her about the fact that she’d changed her name legally to A.J. She’d done it before she went to college. To her, the name Arianna conjured up images of all the pink dresses and formal afternoon tea parties she’d endured to please her Aunt Margery. In college and law school she’d wanted to project an entirely different image. A.J. was a much better name for the tough lawyer she’d intended to become.

“Rodney, don’t tell me. Let me guess. Uncle Jamison announced his retirement and the board appointed you the new head of the firm. That’s why you’ve moved into your dad’s office.”

“I’ll be running this place sooner than you think. I’m going to be working with Father on the Parker Ellis Chase file. In a few months, it will be mine.”

“Congratulations.” A.J. tamped down the feelings running through her. Jealousy was a waste of time, and disappointment…well, she could eventually do something to change that. Parker Ellis Chase ran a fifty-million-a-year company that was constantly running into problems with the EPA. The file was an up-and-coming litigator’s dream.

“You were on TV. We caught it at the end of the news. Dad wants to see you as soon as you get here. A hit-and-run?” He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “It’s bad enough that you’re dragging in those ragtag pro bono clients from the overflow at the Public Defender’s office, but a hit-and-run? Father is not pleased.”

“Thanks for the update, Rodney. Did anything get thrown my way at the meeting?”

“You got quite a few research requests. I put the files on your desk myself.”

Careful to keep the disappointment out of her voice, A.J. said, “Thanks. I’ll be in shortly.”

The one disadvantage cell phones had over the wired kind was that you couldn’t slam them in someone’s ear. As she tucked the phone in her pocket and once more searched the street for a taxi, Cleo made a low sound in her throat.

“I know, sweetie. You’re very late for your appointment, but I called Dr. Fielding, and he’s going to squeeze you in.”

Out of habit, she glanced around. A few pedestrians milled past them, hurrying to cross the street before the light changed. But there was no sign of another dog. She did catch a glimpse of Sam Romano coming out of the front door of the precinct, and she quickly strode away from him toward the corner.

Just as they reached it, Cleo growled deep in her throat and then barked.

The shove from behind took A.J. by surprise and sent her sprawling to her knees. Then the man grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet. With her free hand, she grabbed the strap of her purse, swung it off her shoulder and into the man’s face. The moment he dropped her arm, she aimed and landed a quick kick to his stomach.

With a string of curses, he sank to his knees, but he caught the strap of her purse and held on. In the second that their eyes met and held, A.J. sized him up. He was thin, with a beard, but there were muscles under that frayed gray T-shirt and a grim determination in his eyes.