Hooked

Sarah Marshall, who you haven’t connected to Benny’s establishment, and Dirk Hansen, who isn’t talking. Even if you find out Sarah worked there, it doesn’t prove anyone at Upper Eighties killed her. The best you’ll do is get a few people on lesser charges.”
    “You’re beginning to sound like a cop.”
    “No, I’m being logical. The doorman knows something, I’m sure.”
    “You think he’ll break?”
    “Probably, but I doubt he knows enough. If murder’s involved, don’t you want to get whoever’s responsible? Charles is just a worker drone. Come on, Walsh. Give me until Thursday to come up with some answers. If I fail, you can do your thing. I’ll be careful, promise. I’ll go early. Maybe the one suspicious gal won’t be there, and I can talk to the others. Find out more.”
    “Someone was suspicious?”
    “A woman thing, I think. Nothing more.” Linc frowned. She knew he was weighing his options. “One more night. It’s what you and your boss wanted me to do.”
    “It’s too risky.”
    “So now it’s risky, and it wasn’t before? What’s changed?”
    “Hansen, for one. My guess is he went there to shake them down, and they got rid of him.” Linc rolled his eyes. “I think the captain is ready to pull the plug, and…”
    “And what?”
    He didn’t respond.
    She waited, drank her coffee. “Let me ask you. You said no one’s made a complaint about blackmail, so you have no proof of that, right?”
    Walsh turned away, unable or unwilling to look her in the eyes. “Right.”
    “We live in a very litigious society. Maybe Benny’s taping to protect himself. It works both ways.” But she’d bet someone blackmailed one of Mario’s people. “If women are being murdered,” Tawny said, “I want to find out who’s doing it more than you. Murders of prostitutes piss me off.” She took in a deep breath, released it in a slow steady stream. “It could have been me.”
    He turned toward her. “That’s what I don’t want to happen.”
    His words were so sincere her breath caught in her throat.
    Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his. “I couldn’t deal with that. I sent you in there. I’m responsible for you.” His big, dark, gorgeous eyes steadied on her. “I care, Tawny. More than as just a cop.”
    The heat of his hand warmed every molecule of her body. It was a reaction she’d never experienced. She rested her other hand over his and spoke in such a soft voice she almost didn’t hear her own words. “You have to know this can’t go anywhere, even if we wanted it to.”
    “Does that mean you’d want it to? Even the possibility?”
    She swallowed whatever was swelling in her throat. “No.” He didn’t say anything, but the quirk in his expression said he knew with his whole heart she was right.
    He remained silent until they were outside, standing on the street. “Come on. My car’s over there. I’ll drive you home.”
    “Thanks, but I have errands to do.” She didn’t, but if he brought her home, she wouldn’t have the willpower to resist him, the attraction was that strong. Besides, she did have things to do, but she’d rather Walsh knew nothing about them. Not yet.
    “Let me go to Upper Eighties one more night. If I don’t come up with anything, you can get an Army brigade to storm the place.”
    He hesitated, th en raised his hand to her cheek, brushing it with a feather touch. “One night. I’ll be close if anything goes wrong.”
    “Deal.” She started to leave, and he latched on to her arm and pulled her back. The scent of his aftershave―no, the scent of him, kept her close too long. Her mind won out over her emotions, and she stepped away. “Gotta go, Walsh. We’ll keep in touch.”
    “Tawny,” he called, but she hurried toward the subway, resisting with every fiber of her being to turn around and wrap herself in his comforting arms. Forget him . But in spite of her efforts, the absurdity of her with Lincoln Walsh filled her thoughts on the way home.
    He’s a cop. A sex crime investigator. Deep down, he’d never forget or forgive what you are―what you’ve been for fifteen years. This is a job, and when it’s over, you’ll never see him again.
    She arrived home on autopilot, changed clothes, and put on a pot o f coffee. Then she booted up the computer and went to work, willing Walsh from her mind.
    Years ago, when she met Mario Russo through another client, she didn’t know who or what he was, other than a