it three weeks ago.”
“That was before you got hurt.”
She nodded, understanding the intense emotions that surfaced when a fellow officer was injured in the line of duty. Their captain was now committed to solving this case, no matter how much manpower or how many resources it took.
So was Mitch. He’d even temporarily sworn off women—his penance for letting himself be distracted by a pretty face. Although his resolve had certainly been tested yesterday with that hot little number coming onto him in the back alley of The Jungle. He could still see that snug white tank top she wore, damp with perspiration, clinging to her chest in a way that left little to the imagination. But he’d passed the test and was determined to pay more attention to his job and less attention to his hormones until they closed this case.
“Earth to Mitch.”
He blinked, then saw Elaine watching him. “Sorry.”
“What’s her name?”
He puffed a few more times into the beach ball. “Who?”
“The current dish on the Malone buffet.”
“I’m not seeing anyone.” He clamped his mouth on the rubber tube and blew until the ball was fully inflated. Then he pushed the cap in to seal it.
“How is that possible?” she teased. “Women have been falling at your feet since you took your first baby step. I’m married to a wonderful guy, so I’m immune to it, but I’ve seen the effect you have on the female population.”
And she’d paid for it, thanks to that damn alarm clock. He tossed the beach ball to her. “I thought we were talking about the Vandalay case.”
She caught the ball with both hands. “A case that’s been going nowhere. But that might change now that you’re working at The Jungle.”
Mitch nodded. “All we need to do is identify Vandalay’s supplier. Then we can nail the guy and bring the entire operation down.”
He made it sound easy, but Mitch knew all too well how complex a drug ring could be. Growing up on the streets of New York, he’d met his first drug dealer when he was six, and been recruited as a courier a year later. His parents were two of the dealer’s best customers. When they’d been arrested, he’d gone to live with his maternal grandmother. An arrangement that became permanent when his parents jumped bail.
They’d never come back.
Mitch assumed they were dead and he truly believed he might have been too if his grandmother hadn’t stepped in and helped set his life straight.
“I’ll keep working from it on this end,” Elaine promised, breaking into his reverie. “It’s that or go stir crazy in this place. I can’t wait to get back out in the field.”
He couldn’t look at her. Not when he knew her career might never be the same again. It made him more determined than ever to bring Vandalay to justice. To do something, anything, to assuage this guilt roiling around inside of him.
“Hey.” She bounced the beach ball off his forehead. “You keep drifting off on me.”
He stood up. “Sorry. It’s been a long week. One of the bartenders at The Jungle quit, so I’ve been pulling double shifts until Vandalay hires a replacement.”
“The joys of undercover work.” She reached for a file folder on the table beside her. “The other employees at the nightclub check out, by the way. No felony records. No connections with any criminal activity.”
He nodded, then glanced at his watch. “I’d better take off. The Jungle opens in less than an hour.”
She shifted on the chair, a spasm of pain crossing her face. “Okay. Keep me posted.”
“Absolutely,” he said, then waved to her before he walked out the door. Out in the hallway, he sucked in a deep breath of air. So far, this investigation was going nowhere. But Mitch refused to let his partner down again. He’d find a break in this case even if it killed him.
And if he had to resist the charms of another woman like the one in the tank top this afternoon, it just might.
TWO WEEKS AFTER HER arrival in New York City, Claire walked awkwardly into the living room of her apartment, teetering on the three-inch strapless black heels A.J. had lent her for the biggest night of her life. This was to be her first foray into The Jungle, on the hunt for volunteers for her research project.
“Wow,” Sam observed from the sofa, “Franco was right. Rose really is your color.”
Franco had done the girls’ colors a few days ago, announcing that Claire was a soft autumn and must wear rose, turquoise and jade from now on.
Claire glanced down at the rose silk camisole she’d bought on a shopping spree with A.J. this afternoon. They’d also found black skirts at Bloomingdale’s by a designer named Daryl that were identical to the one Sam owned. But Claire needed the real thing tonight, so she’d left her skirt in the closet and borrowed Sam’s, along with a pair of gold hoop earrings.
“Am I missing anything?” Claire asked.
“Birth control?” A.J. quipped. “After all, you are conducting a study of human mating behavior.”
“I will simply be an observer,” Claire replied, “not an active participant.”
“Speaking of mating behavior,” Sam chimed, “Mrs. Higgenbotham brought over Cleo’s appointment calendar so we can coordinate the walking schedule. Her poodle sees a therapist twice a week for canine intimacy dysfunction.”
“She also has to appear in small claims court,” A.J. added. “I’m representing her.”
“Mrs. Higgenbotham?” Claire asked, adjusting the waistband of the skirt. The fabric was oddly warm to the touch.
“No, Cleo. Mrs. H has been trying to breed her, but it seems the poodle isn’t interested in romance. When one of Cleo’s suitors got too amorous, she bit him in a…sensitive place.” A.J. grinned. “You might want to keep that strategy in mind, Claire, in case any of those men get too frisky with you tonight.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Claire said, grabbing her purse off the sofa. “Once I explain the reason I’m there.”
Sam looked thoughtful. “Wouldn’t your research be more effective if no one at the nightclub knew you were watching them?”
“It’s not that kind of study,” Claire explained. “I’ll be recording general observations about The Jungle, as well as studying the dating habits of some of its regular patrons. I’ll need to schedule in-depth interviews and ask questions about the average duration of relationships, the elements of physical, sociological and spiritual attraction, verbal and nonverbal interaction…things like that.”
She saw Sam and A.J.’s eyes glaze over and a prickle of apprehension skittered down her spine. Even Claire was bored by the subject. So how could she possibly succeed?
Then Sam blinked. “Oh, I almost forgot! I finally located Kate Gannon’s e-mail address. It’s on a sticky note
