her professional code of ethics and sleeping with him.
She sipped her drink, never wincing.
Though he considered his brand of imported whiskey smooth, he knew plenty of people who found it too bracing. Women mostly. But then Malina Blair was tougher than the exotic island beauty she appeared to be.
“You like whiskey?” he asked her, fascinated by the way her pillowy lips cupped the crystal.
“Not especially.” She rattled the ice in her glass. “This is nice, though. Stop me if I lose my senses and have the urge to shoot somebody.”
“I’m here to serve. Lousy day?”
“Lousy month.”
“I imagine so. But do you define yourself completely by your job?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
That path led nowhere, as Carr well knew. She’d be so much happier if she fell into bed with him. He wondered how long it would take him to manage it.
Certainly the key to this lady’s heart wouldn’t be found in candy, flowers and suggestive compliments. “So I assume you’ve spent the last thirty-six hours pursuing the case. What have you learned?”
“That boat captains on small islands like to gossip, and your friend Jack Rafton is well liked, even if he has been coming and going at odd hours lately.”
“Which you already knew by talking to me.”
She shrugged. “Corroboration was necessary.”
He was dying to watch that cool nonchalance fall away with the right touch. Because beneath the frustrated heat under her staid, navy-blue suit, the fire of a passionate woman lurked.
With effort, he managed to focus on their conversation. “If you need more details, you might talk to the harbormaster, Albert Duffy. He knows everything about everyone. Though you’d do better to charm him than flash your badge.”
She looked at him, then glanced at her watch with a sigh. “I have a meeting with Albert Duffy in twenty minutes.”
Carr tracked his gaze slowly down her body. “Not that I don’t think you look amazing—and I believe Jimmy is impressed as well—you’d do better showing Al a little leg.”
She bared her teeth. “I could always show him the wrong side of a federal interrogation room.”
He leaned toward her, lowering his voice several pitches. “Subtlety often works better than force.”
Her gaze moved to his and held. Desire lingered in the depth of her eyes, clear as the tropical water they mimicked. Her beautiful lips parted, and for a moment, her gaze dropped to his mouth, and he thought she was going to give in to the need so obviously pulsing between them.
Tedium had vanished the moment she’d appeared, and the sensation was heady.
“Who’s Jimmy?” she asked, leaning back and breaking the spell.
“The bartender.” Carr inclined his head toward the young man pouring vodka in a glass for another customer. “Wave. I think he has a crush on you.”
She never looked in Jimmy’s direction but said, “He’s too young. What are you doing here anyway?”
“Drinking, as I said earlier. But also volunteering to be your assistant, guarding your virtue, so to speak, as well as helping break the ice with Al. I’m one of the few people he actually likes.”
“I thought I told you to stay out of this case.”
“It’s my bar.”
“Literally?”
“Yes, plus I live across the street.”
Admiration sparked in her eyes. “The house on the point.”
“How did you know?”
She drained the rest of her drink. “It’s you.”
“You’re hedging. You’ve certainly run a deep search on me by now. You know my address, my background, my professional history and financial status. I bet you even know what grade I received on my contract law midterm my junior year of college and whether I prefer boxers or briefs. Before you walked through the door, you knew I owned this place. Why the subterfuge? Why pretend surprise at finding me here?”
“I live for subterfuge,” she scoffed.
“Stop,” he said quietly but firmly. The sarcasm was a defense mechanism that she obviously used to keep people from probing too deeply. A way of maintaining distance. “It wouldn’t kill you to accept my help.”
“No, but it might compromise my case. Plus…”
When she stopped, he prompted, “Plus?”
“I don’t understand your motives. Why are you going to all this trouble? Why do you want to get involved in this investigation? What’s in it for you?”
She didn’t trust him. Not surprising, since he didn’t trust himself. The bribery attempt, a remnant of his old ways, had been a huge misstep. But he’d wanted to know what kind of agent he was dealing with, despite Sam’s assurances that Malina was fiercely ethical.
“It’s my duty,” he said finally.
“As what?”
“A citizen of the United States.”
She shook her head. “Nobody’s that committed and idealistic.”
“But they should be.” And he was fighting every day to be sure he could count himself among those who were. “This is my island.” When she raised her eyebrows, he added, “Not all of it, though I do own a fair collection of properties. I mean, this is my birthplace, my home. It’s lovely and peaceful, the place where I intend to raise my children and live until I’m ancient and dotty. I care what happens here, and I won’t let smuggling or drugs or anything else ruin my community.”
Saying nothing, she held his gaze. “You’re—”
“Agent Blair?” a gruff voice interrupted.
Malina rose and held out her hand to harbormaster Albert Duffy. “Mr. Duffy, thanks for agreeing to meet me.”
Though he shook her hand briefly, his thick gray brows drew together, and the wrinkles on his darkly tanned and lined face seemed to deepen. “I don’t like working with women.”
“I don’t like working with anybody. Why don’t we take that table in the back corner?” she suggested.
Al scowled briefly, but must have been somewhat satisfied with Malina’s direct answer, because he shrugged and wandered toward the booth.
Malina turned back to Carr and spoke in a low tone only he could hear. “That was a pretty impassioned speech earlier. I can see why you were a prize to juries. I still have to ask
