His gray eyes slid back to her, fixing her with unsettling directness. And something more? She could almost imagine a hint of male interest there. Then again, she could be dabbling in big-time escapist thinking to drool over Wesley Shaw instead of focusing on the criminal act some scumbag had committed against her.
“You recognized the name?” She had rather hoped he wouldn’t want to discuss her connection to the famous family, but no doubt reporters would have jumped on the police report the moment it was filed anyhow.
Her misfortune would be all over the papers and would certainly prompt more irritated phone calls from her mother about the need to move back to the safety of the family’s Park Avenue building on a full-time basis. The media would discover the location of her weekend hideaway and make life in Chelsea impossible. And then there would be the outcry from the Boucher board of directors who never understood her desire to have a life separate and distinct from her commitment to the company.
“There aren’t many people in New York who wouldn’t. The Post ran a feature on you just a couple of weeks ago—”
“I remember.” How could she forget the story that implied she had a fixation with younger men? As if her last-minute decision to go to the cinema with the barely-legal performance artist who ran a coffee shop around the corner counted as a date. “Can we move on to your questions, please?”
Adopting her best all-business demeanor, she dismissed the topic, unwilling to think about what kind of man she would have rather been dating than the coffee guy. Tempest might not enjoy her role in Boucher Enterprises as a corporate bigwig, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t play the part when necessary. After coming home to a trashed apartment, finding her last year’s worth of work destroyed and missing Days to boot, she wasn’t really in the mood to put up with a lot of innuendo. And she definitely didn’t want to find herself daydreaming about the detective’s shoulders again.
Before he could say anything, however, one of the officers called Wes from the other side of the room.
“Looks like we’ve got a message from our perpetrator, Shaw.” Standing next to the computer armoire, the cop held a pile of clothes that had been draped over the monitor. Now that the mountain of lace and satin had been moved aside to reveal the screen, the neatly typed words in extra large font were visible from clear across the room.
You’re in the wrong business, bitch. Rising, Tempest read the message aloud as she stepped closer to the computer, her frustrations with Wesley Shaw forgotten in the sudden onslaught of cold, clammy fear.
The warning written on her computer screen—the cursor still blinking at the end of the last word—had been left by someone who knew her. The break-in was no random act of city crime, but a calculated plan carried out against her specifically.
The thought made her a little woozy. She’d fought so hard for a small slice of independence in a life filled with commitments to her family’s business. The unassuming downtown address and her sculpting gave her a taste of normal life where she wasn’t under the constant surveillance of security cameras or family bodyguards. But if her weekend apartment haven wasn’t safe, did that mean she’d have to return to the Boucher clan compound that was as secure as Fort Knox and just about as homey?
“Tempest?” Detective Shaw stood beside her now, his voice quieter. Softer, even. But the gaze he directed on her remained detached and—could she be reading him right?—suspicious. “I think it’s time we talked more specifically about your line of work.”
Tempest chewed her lip, trying to figure out what this man was driving at and why she’d roused his suspicions. Unfortunately, he’d roused a different sort of feeling altogether within her. But no matter what she thought of Detective Wesley Shaw, his brusque manners and undeniable sex appeal, she recognized him as her best hope of keeping her studio a safe retreat.
Somehow she would ignore this unwelcome hum of attraction and do whatever it took to help Wes with his case.
2
“HOW MUCH TIME do you have, Detective?” Tempest wrapped her arms around herself, clearly shaken by the note on her computer screen. “As the temporary CEO of Boucher Enterprises, I’m involved in overseeing many smaller companies in a wide variety of businesses. I also support my studio with my sculpting, so I consider that a line of work as well.”
Wes felt a tug of sympathy for her. He’d had enough years in law enforcement to be pretty astute about sizing up people’s stories, and Tempest was either a hell of an actress or genuinely surprised and scared to have found her home ransacked.
Of course, that didn’t clear her of wrongdoing. She could still be connected to his murder case, or have some hand in the prostitution ring his informant assured him operated under the guise of the MatingGame.com name. Her genuine fear and surprise might simply stem from dismay that someone was on to her.
Hell, for that matter, maybe his sudden eagerness to clear her name had more to do with the fact that he wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Thoughts of her dressed in some of the skimpy lingerie scattered all over the apartment invaded his brain despite his most valiant attempts to staunch them. Was she wearing an outfit like that under her pantsuit right now?
Shoving aside the thought, he forced himself to focus on the case. On her valid worries.
“Do you have reason to believe any of your assorted businesses could be involved in illegal practices?” This was the revealing question, the one that could give her away if she hid an affiliation to a high-priced call girl ring. She certainly had all the right social connections to provide the city’s wealthiest men with escorts.
And damned if he didn’t really hate that idea.
The mountains of lingerie strewn all over her apartment took on a more sinister meaning.
“Detective Shaw, I assure you if I had any reason to suspect one of my companies engaged in illegal practices, it would already be shut down.” She fixed her tawny stare, eyes as cold and remote as the chunk of smoky quartz at her neck. “If you have any grounds for suspecting one of my businesses is involved in something devious, I urge you to fill me in immediately so I can put the proper balls on the chopping block.”
The threat seemed all the more convincing in light of the disembodied clay penis he’d unearthed earlier. He hadn’t expected so much fervor from a woman he planned to keep on his suspect list.
Did it make him sadistic that Tempest Boucher and her bloodthirsty promise were turning into the most interesting case he’d had in nearly two years? As the web of intrigue around this mystery tightened, Wes experienced the first hint of enjoyment in his job that he’d had in far too long. “Is that how Boucher Enterprises deals with employees who don’t toe the company line?”
“It is while I’m at the helm. My family has been through enough over the past eight months without adding the media frenzy any illegal businesses practices would cause.”
“Do you keep work-related files on your home computer?” His gaze strayed back to the PC where the officer had just finished fingerprinting the keyboard. Wes wanted to get his hands on that computer to see what secrets he could shake loose from the circuitry.
Besides, better to think about laying his hands on the computer than think about using them on the woman in front of him who needed to be off-limits for as long as she was a suspect.
“Nothing related to Boucher Enterprises, but I do the accounting for my
