or any part of her identity, maybe, but Donata recognized the desperation. The determination to take charge of life even though you had so few options at that age.
Donata remembered the overwhelming desire to please a lover after being raised with little love to speak of. She understood the innocent willingness to do anything for a guy who showed you a few scraps of affection.
And worse, she knew what it felt like to be betrayed by that same person you once worshipped.
Because the girl on the screen had been Donata once. And not for all the world would Donata let this anonymous young woman face the private hell that she had.
SEAN BERINGER didn’t like being in a police station on a good day. But pacing the corridors of the 10th precinct when he knew damn well the cops inside the media room were about to invade his private investigation of a so-called reality adult filmmaker had his blood simmering, his skin crawling and his head about ten minutes from exploding.
“Who’s on this case anyway?” he asked a passing detective who’d grudgingly admitted the pending investigation since they used to walk a Harlem beat together back in the day.
Back when Sean was still naive enough to believe wearing a badge could actually accomplish something.
“Look, man, don’t bust my balls about this. I only told you we were on the case because I thought you’d be satisfied someone was working it.” The detective, ballistics expert Warren Vitalis, looked as though he wanted to say more as he rapped his pencil against a stack of papers at the desk sergeant’s cubicle.
Sensing possible information, Sean forced himself to quit pacing and focus. He had made good friends on the force for nearly ten years. But he’d walked away from the NYPD after his sister was molested. Family trumped friends every time.
“Please say it’s somebody good on this case and not some tight-ass yes-man.” At thirty-two years old, Sean had battled a tendency to speak his thoughts most of his life, but he didn’t even try to curb his mouth for the sake of a cop he’d probably walked a thousand miles with during their year of shared foot patrol.
“More of a yes-woman,” Warren noted before pointing his pencil toward the media room as the door finally opened. “And I’m making no comment on the ass.”
Sean followed his gesture toward the woman emerging with a determined strut, her curves cloaked under a conservative suit jacket and knee-length skirt but still obvious to any discerning male eye. Her hair was darker blond than the last time Sean had seen her—more natural-looking than the platinum Marilyn Monroe locks she’d once sported—but she still outlined her lips with bold red lipstick in a flagrant in-your-face to the stereotypes about women cops. Her audacious figure and heart-shaped face made her look more like an old-time gangster moll than a detective, but then, Sean had the benefit of seeing her at home in her old life before the decision to switch sides.
“No need for comment,” Sean finally managed to say when he found his voice. Donata Casale was the very last person he’d expected to see walk out of that media room, although a few years ago he remembered hearing that she’d been trying to see what life looked like on the other side of the law. “An ass like that speaks for itself.”
Warren smothered a laugh, but not soon enough to stop Donata from looking his way. Sean’s way.
“Damn you, Vitalis.” Straightening, Sean ignored the sexual zing a woman like Donata brought to any room. “The one time I manage to keep my commentary to a whisper you sell me out anyway.”
The station quieted for a moment as petite Donata changed direction and came straight toward him. Sean was intrigued to note the way the whole precinct paid attention to her, and not necessarily in a good way.
You could tell the women who hadn’t acclimated to the predominantly male world of a police station. They either ignored the men around them in a continual effort to distinguish themselves with kick-ass work and be accepted, or they tweaked the male egos around them at every turn in an effort to show their lack of concern for male approval.
Sean didn’t have to ask which type of woman detective Donata Casale made. Her lipstick told the tale at ten paces.
“A P.I. in our midst?” Donata observed lightly, tugging her white shirt cuffs down as she approached. “Perhaps Mr. Beringer finds himself in need of professional assistance.”
It had been four years since he’d faced off with this woman, but from the glint in her eyes, Sean guessed she hadn’t forgiven him for their last encounter. He also noted that the blouse under her conservative jacket appeared to be pure silk—a glitzy holdover from her old life, perhaps.
“Actually, I came here to offer assistance.” He looked over her shoulder, hoping for an ally who didn’t already hate his guts. “Is your partner around? I wouldn’t want to get slapped with sexual harassment charges because we shared the same air space.”
Apparently he hadn’t completely forgiven her either. He hadn’t realized he held a grudge until the pissy accusation left his lips. Then again he wasn’t some navel-gazing sensitive guy to sit around and weigh his state of mind when there was work to do.
If his words found any leverage in this woman’s conscience, she didn’t show it. If anything, her deceptively innocent baby blues only narrowed in preparation for battle.
“Still finding it tough to keep your hands to yourself?” Her tight smile let him know that she’d entered this skirmish for show and not because she had any interest in a discussion with him. “It must be hell to discover you’re so victimized by your libido, but I’ll let my partner know about your offer.”
Pivoting on her heel, she presented him with her back and walked away.
Definitely a tight ass.
And damn, but he’d let that conversation go to hell in a hurry.
Sean cursed himself for being a prick when he could have used a bit of goodwill from the investigating officer on this one. He definitely needed to work on the amount of free rein he gave his mouth, but not once in his life had he ever given his hands too much freedom when it came to a woman. Especially not a woman he held in custody, the way he’d once held Donata.
Swallowing his pride and praying for a little more reserve, Sean stalked after her, not giving a crap about the field day the rumor mill would surely have with this incident. He needed Donata’s assurance she was going to back off this case and he wasn’t leaving the building without it. Ignoring the whistles and the comments pelted his way as he dodged metal desks and dilapidated rolling chairs spilling into the aisles, Sean told himself he needed to mentally regroup.
Donata wasn’t the same woman she’d been four years ago, and even then he hadn’t understood her. He’d made a costly error in judgment with an old case when she’d been working in conjunction with the feds, but that was the price of taking risks in police work. You might make more headway in some cases, but following hunches could sometimes give you just enough rope to hang yourself.
Cornering Donata in the vacant break room, he helped himself to a powdered doughnut while she poured herself a cup of coffee nearby. He had no idea how to get back in her good graces, but this case was important enough that he’d try.
Clearing his throat, he lowered his voice and came straight to the point.
“I take it you’re still pissed off about that
