don’t have to tell me how good you are, Vanessa. Your record speaks for itself.”
For reasons she didn’t fully understand, Vanessa wanted him to understand. “Palmer was in the delivery room when I was born.”
“Why?”
“Because my father was in Chicago and Uncle Terence—Palmer—wasn’t.”
“So your parents were already having problems.”
“You could say. They divorced before my second birthday. No big deal. They shared custody. Palmer taught me how to play baseball at a police picnic when I was seven.” She wasn’t sure why she’d added that, but since she had, she shrugged and went the distance. “I think he was in love with my mother.”
At a red light, Rick ran a contemplative finger under his lower lip and studied her in profile. “Were you okay with that?”
“It didn’t bother me. I knew my parents would never get back together. They were totally into their work. A bullet killed my father. Stress killed my mom. Given a choice, I prefer the bullet.”
“Makes two of us.”
His easy understanding surprised her. The path he was weaving through the city, now that just baffled. “Rick, where are we going?”
“Mission District.”
“And we’re doing that because…?”
“I thought you might like to meet a friend of mine.”
The laugh that rose felt good. “A friend?”
He glanced over, his expression vaguely humorous. “Are you surprised I have friends or that I’m taking you to meet one?”
The laughter settled into a smile. “Maybe it’s that I’m not sure what kind of friends you’ll have. Is this particular pal the famous Billy Joe Ruby?”
“You know him?”
“No, but I can do background checks, too. Social workers praise his efforts. They say he’s kept a number of kids out of juvie.”
“He kept me out.”
The last of Vanessa’s irritation faded. “You’re underselling yourself, Maguire. Miracles can’t be worked on the unwilling.” She watched as a pair of young men exchanged goods for cash on the corner. “Is Billy helping you with this case?”
“Not officially.”
“So our visit tonight isn’t really happening.”
He cast her a quick grin. “I thought after that note and two hours of being yelled at by Palmer, you could use a break.”
“And a good meal?”
“If you’re up to cooking one, sure. Billy does soup, toast and really bad coffee.”
Vanessa set her head on the leather rest, hooked a leg underneath her. Rick’s hair was long enough to fall over his cheek. Although she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t resist reaching over to finger the dark strands. “Has anyone ever told you you smell really good?”
The grin reappeared. “Gotta say no to that one.”
“You have nice hair, too.”
“That’s been mentioned. Just last week in fact. By Emily.”
“Ah, right, okay then.”
He caught her fingers before she could withdraw. “Em’s my partner’s daughter, Vanessa. She’s eight.”
“And I’ll bet she has a great big crush on Uncle Rick…Hey, wait, stop that. What are you doing?”
He ran his thumb over her knuckles before lifting them to his mouth. “Kissing your hand.”
She gave her fingers a tug. “That’s a really bad idea, Maguire.” A delicious sensation, she had to admit as a powerful zing arrowed straight to her elbow, but a worse than bad idea.
He rolled to a halt in front of a wooden row house with a solid set of redbrick stairs and a sturdy handrail. His lips moved from her knuckles to the tips of her fingers.
Okay, now this was just plain wrong. But far too tantalizing to protest. Much.
“Rick, I really don’t think…” His eyes caught hers, and even by feeble streetlight turned her brain to mush. She forced herself to breathe. “Totally lost the thought.”
Fortunately for her, he hadn’t. When she gave her hand another small tug, he kissed her palm, then released her.
Wiggling her still tingling fingers, Vanessa marveled at the effect. “I’ve never reacted like this before. I’m usually spectacular with self-control. You’re doing things to me, Maguire, and I’m sure they can’t be healthy.”
“Same thought’s been on my mind.”
“So what do we do about it?”
“Turn spectacular into superhuman.” Before she could form a reply, he gestured at the glove box. “There’s a bottle of pills inside.”
“You need medication to control your hormones?”
“Painkillers.” He captured her chin so she was forced to meet his dark eyes. “Feds get headaches, too.”
Vanessa decided she needed a cold shower, almost as badly as the pills.
She pushed the release button once, then again. Nothing happened. “Your Porsche has a few bugs.”
“Idiosyncrasies.” Leaning over, he coaxed the latch.
“Still nothing,” she remarked. Except that she was practically plastered against her seat trying to avoid contact with Rick’s arm.
It didn’t work. Even though she pressed herself deeper into the leather, his shoulder brushed across her breast.
Something inside her gave. It practically exploded—which didn’t say a lot for her recent sex life, or her willpower.
Rick moved, he must have, because the next thing Vanessa knew that incredibly tempting mouth was crushed onto hers, open and hot and hungry.
He was good, very good at kissing, she managed to think. He tasted like sex, the kind she’d wished for but had never had. She wanted to abandon logic and simply react. There was greed inside her. Greed and need and a hunger so fierce it frightened her.
Almost.
She wrapped her arms around his neck while his tongue explored every inch of her mouth. It wasn’t enough.
Alarm bells clanged in some foggy corner of her brain. Ignoring them, Vanessa slid her fingers through his hair. She inhaled him, longed to get closer, considered straddling him right there in the car.
Oh, yeah, great
