Jamie Hill Triple Threat (36 page)

Gina cast a glance down his body before looking into his eyes. "Yeah, you probably should. Good night, Detective, and thank
you
."

He loved the hungry-feline expression on her face, and it boosted his ego to see her checking out his crotch. He smiled to himself as he strolled back to his Explorer.
I'm such a man
. The date ended just as he'd predicted, but the idea that she might have wanted more made him happy as hell.

He thought about her on the fifteen-minute drive to his house. They'd talked for several hours, but he didn't feel as if he knew her, yet. She was gorgeous with a sparkling personality, but it seemed like there was so much more, just beneath the surface.

A twinge of guilt struck him.
Is Gina really more complicated than the other women I've met?
Perhaps he hadn't bothered to get to know the others. He'd honestly never given it much thought.

The idea of taking time to explore Gina, slowly peel away the layers to her personality, excited him tremendously. His erection twitched, and Brady sighed.
Learn to live with it, man.

Chapter Two

"Where are we on this thing?" Lieutenant Dan Forrest studied the wall map of the Riverfront district, counting red push pins which marked locations. "Six burglaries so far?"

"Six we know about." Brady sipped a cup of lukewarm coffee and grimaced.

"If things were stolen from other warehouses, why wouldn't they report the thefts?" Brady's partner, Joey Costa, flipped open a pad and prepared to jot down notes.

Brady exchanged glances with his lieutenant and tried not to chuckle. Costa was a brand-spanking new detective, freshly promoted and eager to get to work. Brady's last partner moved out of state, leaving him to take on the newbie as his sidekick. Costa wasn't bad, just green. He actually seemed like a bright kid. His curly dark hair and dimples emphasized the
'kid'
part. His penchant for crullers, the oblong, twisted fried pastries, reaffirmed it.

"Sometimes, the stolen goods were already stolen." Brady picked up a green push pin and stuck it on the map. "As in the case of the Kilmer Warehouse, here. You see, we know they were robbed one night, but they refuse to admit it."

Costa nodded in understanding. "Because the items taken were stolen goods."

"Bingo," Brady agreed. "It's hard to complain to the cops that you were robbed…of stuff stolen from someone else."

"Unless you want to wind up on one of those 'dumbest criminals' shows." Lt. Forrest picked up his coffee and took a drink. "Damn, this is bad stuff. Did you make this,
Marshall
?"

Brady shook his head. "Junior's turn to make coffee."

Forrest gave Costa a scorching look. Their lieutenant was a full head taller than the younger detective and twice as broad. His dark hair was silver at the temples and his eyes were steely gray. A friendly look from him was intimidating.

Costa squirmed.

"This is bad, Junior, really bad." Forrest set his cup on the counter. "Have
Marshall
show you how to make it right, and bring a fresh cup to my office." He headed out of the bullpen.

"We need to go over these locations again," Brady called after him.

Forrest waved him off. "I need coffee!" he growled.

Brady chuckled and turned to his partner. "Okay, Junior, we're going to go through this one more time. Dump the old grinds out. Use a new filter." He strolled to the counter where the ancient coffee pot steamed.

"I might do a better job if you'd stop calling me
'Junior'
," Costa answered curtly.

"Be thankful that's the nickname you're stuck with. One guy was christened 'Stinky'. Believe me, that's not a name you want." He inserted a new filter and held the basket as Costa measured scoops of coffee. "Four," Brady reminded.

"I know!" Costa snapped, and shoved the filter basket back into the machine.

"Then why was that last batch so gawd-awful?"

Costa sloshed some water into the coffee maker and pushed the
'on'
button, scowling. "Maybe I didn't empty the grounds before I added more coffee."

Brady reached for a paper towel and wiped the counter off neatly. "It pays to do things right the first time, Junior. That's one of the most immediate things you need to learn."

Costa faced him in the aisle. "Look,
Marshall
, I'm not a rookie. I was on patrol six years before making detective. I've been around the block."

"I spent that long on patrol, after three years as a fireman. I've put in another six in Special Investigations. Forrest has ten more years than me. There's always going to be someone who can teach you something, Junior. You need to remember that."

Kicking the edge of a cabinet, the younger man exhaled. "I know it. I just get frustrated, sometimes."

"Think how poor Stinky felt." Brady looked at Costa and they both laughed.

"You got me, there. So what nickname did you get when you moved up here?"

"Wally." Brady moved across the bullpen and dropped into his desk chair.

Costa's eyes clouded. "Wally?"

"Yeah. You know, the clean-cut kid from the old
Leave it to Beaver
TV show?"

Costa's face was blank.

"Everybody's favorite big brother?"

Another blank stare.

Brady sighed. "Damn, you are young, Junior. Never mind. Start cross-checking those warehouse addresses in the computer, will you? After you take the lieutenant his coffee, that is."

"Yep." Costa rolled his eyes and walked away.

Brady leaned back in his chair, half thinking about the list of warehouses, and what his next move should be. It hadn't seemed like much of a case when he'd been assigned to it. Last week, he'd been involved in a sting operation that netted a huge amount of cocaine and a significant number of arrests. Those types of cases got his blood pumping. This stolen goods thing seemed tedious, but there was a missing element that piqued his interest. There was more to the case than met the eye, he could feel it, and was determined to figure out what it was.

The rest of his thoughts involved the beautiful Gina Morris, and how difficult it had been to leave her on the doorstep Saturday night. He'd called Sunday to thank her again for the wonderful evening, and after just a few minutes, they agreed to have dinner again on Monday. She sounded just as luscious as she'd tasted the night before, and he'd wondered if he could survive another twenty-four hours without seeing her. They made small talk because neither seemed particularly in a hurry to end the call. He promised to phone the next day so they could firm up the details.

Not the only thing firming up
. Brady shifted in his seat and shoved paperwork around on his desk. He needed to put her from his mind and get back to work. When his partner brought him a list of warehouse addresses retrieved from the computer, Brady realized he'd been sitting, staring at his phone, for over an hour. "Christ!" he muttered under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" Costa spoke up from the desk next to his. "That not what you wanted?"

Brady studied at the list and shook his head quickly. "No, it's fine. There's something I need to take care of real quick. I'm going to take a break, have a cigarette and I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Sure," Costa agreed. "When you get back, I might run out for some crullers."

He chuckled. "Whatever you say, Junior." A quick pat on his jacket pocket reassured Brady that his cigarettes were there. He rode the elevator down to the ground floor of the WPD detective's station, wondering which vice was more hazardous to the health, nicotine or sugar. Still chuckling, he strolled around to the patio in back where people were permitted to smoke. A woman was just coming inside, and he nodded at her. "Hey, Mary."

"
Marshall
," she acknowledged. "How's it going?"

"Great," he replied, without much thought. That was his pat answer, unless he was in the middle of a gut-wrenching case when the word seemed too flip. It'd been a while since one of those, and for the last several months, he'd promoted himself as 'great' to anyone who asked.

But is life really that great?
He hated to admit how bored he'd become dating different women all the time. His buddy Jack, a former detective, liked to tease him about how rough he had it. Jack had been a ladies' man in his day, and even married a couple of them before finding the perfect woman and settling down. He and his wife,
Crystal
, had the three children he'd told Gina about. After a particularly harrowing case, Jack opted out of police work for something less dangerous, and now sold security systems for homes and businesses.

Brady smiled, thinking about their family as he smoked a quick cigarette. While grinding out the butt he flinched, knowing he really should stop smoking. It was a filthy, expensive habit.

He took his cell phone out and punched Gina's number up on the screen. A wave of nausea hit him, and he remembered why he still smoked. After lighting another cigarette, he inhaled in an attempt to calm his nerves. It was incredible how simply
thinking
about the woman had his body in turmoil.

The second butt extinguished and his break nearly over, Brady hit the 'call' button on his phone and held his breath.

She answered on the second ring. "Hello, Detective." Her voice was smooth as fine whiskey, and he couldn't help but smile.
Thank God for caller identification.
After only two phone conversations, he wondered if he needed to tell her who was calling, but hated to sound foolish.

"Hello." His greeting came out more like a squeak.
So much for not sounding foolish.

"I'm glad you called."

"I told you I would. Oh, shit."
What an idiot.

Gina chuckled. "Why do you sound so nervous,
donnaiolo
?"

"What did you call me?"

Still laughing, she replied, "
Donnaiolo
. It means womanizer, or flirt."

"I guess I deserved that. But I certainly don't feel that way when I'm talking to you. Not sure what you do to me, Miss Morris. Some kind of a topsy-turvy thing. All of a sudden, with you, I'm a nervous, inexperienced kid. I'm not used to this."

Her chuckle was low and sultry. "
Che peparuolo.
  What a pepper."

Brady bit back a groan. His stomach knotted, his erection threatening to make a return appearance.
What else is new?
He'd maintained a semi-erect hard-on since the first time he met her.

"So, about tonight. I could make you dinner."

He recalled her sparse kitchen. Cooking didn't seem like a regular occurrence for her. "I'd hate to put you to any trouble. I could bring pizza."

Her chuckle deepened. "You looked in my fridge, didn't you? I can cook. I usually choose not to. But pizza sounds lovely. Anything from Mama Rosa's works for me."

Her light tone eased his nervous tension. "Mama
Rosa
's it is. What do you like on your pizza?"

"I'm Italian. If the pie is good. I'll eat anything."

"I'll remember that. Looking forward to it, Gina."

"Me too. See you around seven?"

"Yes, you will. Seven sharp." He looked at his phone for a moment before disconnecting the call. He'd been so uncertain about calling, but Gina sounded as sweet and sexy as the last time they spoke. Brady felt happier than he had in ages.

When he walked inside the building, he brushed shoulders with a detective from the homicide division. "Hey Stone," he remarked.

"
Marshall
. How you doing?"

"Great," Brady replied, and headed for the elevator. Pressing the button to the fifth floor, he smiled. It wasn't an absent response. For the first time in a long time, he
felt
great.

* * * *

"Pineapple…on pizza?" Gina looked at him in amazement.

"You said 'anything'. I got it from Mama Rosa's, like you requested. But I distinctly remember your saying 'anything' when I asked about toppings."

"Oh for Christ's sake. Get in here." She opened her front door wider and took the pizza box. "I guess I can pick the disgusting stuff off."

"Next time, don't say 'anything' if you don't mean it." He grinned and followed her in.

She shrugged. "Next time, you'll know." Gina set the box on the coffee table, and went to the kitchen for plates. "Bring you a beer?"

"Sounds good."

She pulled two bottles from the fridge and returned to the front room. Brady had tossed his jacket on the back of a chair and settled on the sofa. She nudged the cat off her perch beside him so she could sit there. "Move, Pussy." The animal stood, stretched, and with an exasperated snort, sauntered to the chair. She climbed on it and lay down, eyeing them with irritation.