Hot in the City Read online

  Now all Brian and his partner had to do was find the girlfriend before the O’Donnell or Castle Hill gangs did. But he’d never imagined that, in looking for a mobster’s girlfriend, he’d run into his hot ER doctor. His gut said she’d make contact with his witness and his gut was never wrong.

  Sara Murphy had a mile-long record full of piddly-ass shit. A DUI there, drug possession here, even a ticket for solicitation. She was a real screw-up. And behind a screw-up often lay an enabling family member bailing them out, usually a parent or sibling. This time it was an over-achieving cousin, a woman who’d obviously been waiting for someone at that bar.

  He’d sat in his car and watched her leave the bar not minutes after his own exit. She’d marched out nearly running over anyone attempting to share the sidewalk with her. Definitely a woman on a mission. So, instead of going home to a Friday night frozen pizza followed by a beer in the shower, he was going to follow his doctor.

  It’d been about twenty minutes since Priya had entered her apartment building. He put down his gelato to pull his Red Sox cap over the hair that made him crap at undercover work—everyone remembered the red-haired guy. He fished his phone from his back pocket.

  His partner, Detective Daniel Cruz, picked up on the first ring. “Bad news, Mac,” Danny said, forgoing the pleasantries, per usual. “Sullivan lawyered up and we were forced to cut him loose. Did you find the girlfriend?”

  “Tried her apartment and her work, but no joy.”

  “Want me to get a warrant?”

  “The minute that warrant goes out she’d be dead. The only thing saving this girl is that we’re the only ones who know she was there. Let’s keep this between us for now.”

  “You coming back to the station?”

  Priya Shah stepped from her apartment building. Her hair was still pulled off her face, but instead of lashed down in a knot, it swung in a high ponytail. She’d changed from her previous outfit of a shapeless top and tan pants–they’d looked like something TV commercial moms wore when rhapsodizing over laundry detergent—into a summer dress. It was a red, floaty thing that showcased a pair of million-dollar legs. And, after he hauled her cousin in for questioning, there was no way those legs would be wrapped around him anytime soon.

  “No, man. I’m going to follow a hunch.”

  “Does the hunch have a name?”

  “Yeah, it’s ‘she’s on the move, so I’m hanging up,’” he said. “Why don’t you keep going through Sara Murphy’s social media accounts? Maybe something will turn up.”

  Danny groaned. “I don’t know how many more duck-faced selfies I can look at.”

  “No one said being a cop wasn’t dangerous. Gotta go.”

  Chapter Two

  Priya halted in front of a parked silver Honda. Her gold bracelets flashed in the sunlight as she snatched a bright orange parking ticket off the windshield. He didn’t need to read lips to know she was uttering an expletive about street cleaning, the bane of every shift worker in this city’s existence, including his. Hard to remember to move your car every second Tuesday, third Thursday, or fourth Friday of the month when you couldn’t remember what day it was, never mind week. The fact that he was a cop didn’t impress parking enforcement in the slightest.

  He tossed his uneaten gelato in the trash and beat feet.

  He’d double-parked his sedan, so nondescript it became instantly recognizable as a cop car, down the street. He climbed into the driver’s seat and reached over to pull his binoculars from the glove box. But the car behind Priya’s was right on her bumper and he couldn’t get a look at her license plate. Parking was tight in this neighborhood and the cars were wedged in on top of each other.

  He started his engine as he watched her attempt to maneuver out of her parking spot. She rocked her car back and forth a few times, tapping the bumpers of the cars around her, before edging out into the street. He put his car in gear and followed.

  Her first stop was exactly where he expected—Sara Murphy’s apartment. He could have told her not to bother because he’d already been there without any luck.

  Sara lived on the first floor of a crumbling Victorian just across the river in Cambridge. He watched Priya double-park in front of the building from a spot down the street, keeping his distance. She jabbed the buzzer, waited a second, and jabbed it again. Then she leaned on it, but still no answer.

  She got back into her car and started it up. When she pulled away from the curb, he followed, careful to leave at least two cars between them, not a difficult task with Boston traffic. She exited Mass Ave. onto Rt. 95, heading north. Where the hell was she going?

  The driver of a black SUV honked his horn and gave him the finger when Brian cut him off changing lanes trying to keep up with Priya’s erratic driving. If he didn’t have the rapidly healing scar to prove her doctoring skills, he’d seriously worry about her patients. The woman was a menace.

  Twenty minutes later, her tiny Honda pulled into the parking lot of the Vixen Club, home of the dollar Legs and Eggs Special. He didn’t possess that tidbit of knowledge through personal preference. Before officially making detective, he’d been loaned out to a drug task force staking the place out. Supposedly the Vixen Club was clean now, but that was as likely as Brian becoming the new first baseman for the Sox just because he’d won his Little League MVP trophy three years running.

  The parking lot was only half full, but he parked in between two trucks to shield his sedan from view. Priya was talking to the doorman, who shook his head. But instead of heading back to her car, she went inside.

  Fantastic. He pulled his ball cap farther down before exiting his car.

  The doorman with the snake tattoo winding up his neck greeted him by name—just not Brian’s real one. “Hey, Riley. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

  Brian automatically dropped his voice into the thick Boston accent he’d spent years training himself out of. “Got caught up in some trouble, had to leave town, but I’m back.” He dug a twenty out of his wallet. This was definitely going on his expense report.

  “I know how that goes.” The doorman—Billy, Teddy, Mickey?—clapped him on the shoulder before adding Brian’s money to his stack.

  Brian pushed the door open. For all the dollar-dollar bills flowing through this craphole, they could have at least updated the dirty linoleum floors. They must be saving the money for the smoke machine. Whoever was running it was really into their job. He could barely make out the blonde on stage sliding down the pole. At least the air conditioner was working—too well, judging by the blonde’s nipples.

  Through the haze, he spotted his prey chatting up the bartender. And he wasn’t the only one watching Priya. A beefy guy with a goatee and a Harley bandana, no doubt disguising his bald spot, broke off from his wolf pack and elbowed his way to the bar. He shoved the skinny guy standing next to Priya aside and claimed his real estate.

  Brian’s muscles tensed when the biker put his paw on Priya’s shoulder.

  She shrugged it off. He couldn’t hear what she said to the biker over the sound of the music, but the biker’s buddies hooted.

  This was not going to end well.

  He booked it through the crowd, pushing past guys in tank tops and guys in suits. Strip clubs: the great equalizer. He was still heading her way when Priya turned from the bar. She took her drink with her to a nearby table and sat down. She toyed with the stirrer before looking up. Her dark eyes widened. She’d noticed his approach.

  He dropped into the seat across from her. “Don’t say anything.”

  “What?” Her lush mouth turned into a frown.

  He leaned forward. “About what I do for a living.” He crooked a finger at her.

  She raised her eyebrows in a clear “I don’t think so.”

  He waited.

  She gave an exaggerated sigh
and leaned forward. He whispered into one delicate ear, “If anyone finds out I’m a cop, it could get me killed.”

  She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon like those foofy coffee drinks Danny drank. And he was overselling the danger. His cover being blown would probably just mean having to burn that identity. But he’d worked hard on his backstory and motivation. He’d really nailed it. And the other guys in the precinct had laughed at him for taking that improv class at Bunker Hill Community College. Plus, having to discard an identity didn’t sound as badass as being targeted for death.

  She nodded and he pulled back before he started sniffing her hair like a serial killer.

  “Are you following me?” she asked.

  “Are you meeting your cousin?” he countered.

  “It’s not polite to answer a question with a question.”

  “What made you think I was polite?” he asked. “And, by the way, great parking job. You’re not afraid to get right up on another car, are you?”

  “Bumpers are for bumping,” she said. “And you were following me.”

  “You think I go to strip clubs on a Friday night for fun?”

  “They seem to know you here.”

  “They know Patrick Riley, the scumbag.”

  She opened her mouth but whatever she’d been about to say was upstaged by the return of the biker. And this time he brought his friends who clustered about their leader, arms crossed, giving their best prison-yard stares.

  “This guy bothering you?” the biker asked Priya. “I’m a lot friendlier.” He showed off his nicotine-stained teeth in a grotesque approximation of a smile.

  “She’s fine,” Brian said.

  “You don’t get to speak for me,” Priya said.

  “You got pretty skin,” the biker said. “Ditch the Ronald McDonald motherfucker and come take a ride on my bike.”

  Brian knew this dude’s type. The biker didn’t think his pickup lines would work and he didn’t care. He wanted to put Priya in her place for her earlier rejection and maybe work out some of his frustration over his dead-end life on Brian’s face while he was at it. Brian would be totally up for it—he hated those dudes—except that these days he was supposed to break up bar brawls, not start them. Besides, Priya would get caught in the crossfire.

  He ground his molars before summoning up his best “hey, we’re all friends here” tone. “The lady’s not interested. Why don’t you let me buy you a beer?” he asked with a fake smile.

  * * *

  If Sara was in enough trouble that the police were looking for her, she’d probably need money, and the quickest way to pick that up was taking a shift dancing. Which is why Priya was currently hanging out in a strip club on Friday night sitting across a table from the very police officer she was trying to save Sara from. And things were about to get uglier than the bearded biker leering at her.

  Brian gave the biker a conciliatory smile, but his lean body tensed for a fight. Although he was smaller than the biker, the short sleeves of his T-shirt revealed a nice set of biceps. When she’d stitched him up, he’d still had a six-pack, even sitting down on an examining table. Apparently her subconscious had taken note and saved that image. And he was a cop, which meant he could probably hold his own in a fight. But there were four guys. Most of them had beer guts, but they also looked like Friday Night at the Fights wasn’t a lifestyle but a calling.

  That made what she was about to do so very wrong.

  But she needed to get backstage to talk to the dancers. The bartender didn’t know whether Sara was coming in, but the other dancers would. And she didn’t need Brian following her.

  Besides, the bouncer would break things up before anyone got hurt.

  No overthinking it. She hurled her soda in the lead biker’s face and jumped from her seat to scramble away, only to be trapped when he grabbed her arm in a crushing grip. She thrashed, but he held tight.

  “Don’t touch her,” Brian said in an even voice. He stood up, knocking over his chair.

  “I’ll do whatever the fuck I like to the little bitch and she’ll love it.” The biker punctuated his words by giving her a little jerk.

  She slammed her foot down on his instep, but her flimsy sandals were no match for his boots.

  In a flash of movement, Brian rushed the biker. His punch connected with the biker’s jaw. The biker’s head snapped back and he loosened his grip on her arm. She jerked her arm free and turned to flee.

  One of the biker’s friends aimed a punch at Brian. He dodged it and drilled the friend in his sizeable gut. It was a thing of beauty. He was a thing of beauty. He should be wrapped in a tartan with a broadsword strapped to his back with his red-gold hair long and flowing instead of clipped short. For a split second she considered fainting so he’d scoop her up and drape her across his broad chest.

  She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She was a doctor committed to healing people, and here she was swooning over violence.

  The bouncer was clearing a path toward them. She forced herself to move even though one of the bikers landed a punch on Brian. This was her big plan.

  In the confusion, she made it all the way backstage without being stopped. Everyone was too busy gawking, even the dancers.

  She flew into the dressing room where two dancers jostled each in front of a cracked mirror. When she entered, the blonde with the tattoo of a rose on her shoulder asked, “What’s going on out there?”

  “Brawl,” she said.

  “Johnny better not be mixed up in it. He’s on probation,” the brunette said. She fluffed her bangs.

  “Is Sara working tonight?”

  “Who wants to know?” the brunette asked.

  “Who’s Sara?” the blonde asked.

  The brunette said, “She does the bit with the scarves.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s an awesome routine.”

  “I’m her cousin,” Priya said before she could hear more about her cousin’s stripper routine. “Family emergency. I need to find her right away.”

  The blonde turned away from the mirror to face Priya. “Haven’t seen her,” she said.

  “I haven’t worked with her in months,” the brunette added.

  Her fists balled up with frustration. Where the hell was Sara? “Is anyone else scheduled to come in tonight?”

  “There better not be. I got one more payment on my kid’s braces. I need to make some money tonight,” the blonde said.

  She couldn’t stick around to find out. There was about to be a very pissed-off cop on her ass. “If Sara shows up, can you tell her to call Priya? It’s vital.”

  “Sure thing, hon,” the blonde said.

  “Thanks. Is there a back door out of here?” She scanned the cramped room.

  “Next to the row of lockers,” the brunette said.

  “Ignore the sign,” the blonde added. “The fire alarm isn’t even hooked up. We go out there to smoke all the time.”

  Priya shoved the metal door open and dashed outside. While she’d been inside, the sun had set. The rear of the building was cloaked in shadows. A lone light illuminated the area around the door. She hurried past the Dumpsters and turned the corner of the building, only to run smack into a hard, male chest.

  She gave a little screech and jumped back. He was an indistinct shape looming in the dark.

  “Not so fast, doc,” Brian said.

  Chapter Three

  Priya breathed an involuntary sigh of relief that she wasn’t about to be raped and murdered behind a strip club before attempting to dart around him.

  But Brian moved with her, managing to corner her so her back landed against the side of the building. He leaned into her personal space and anchored an arm against the building right next to her face. “What the fuck were you doing back there?” His voice held
a low, dangerous edge.

  Shivers raced down her spine. She told herself they were from fear, but she was a liar.

  She attempted to dodge him, but he brought the other arm up to form a cage around her. Trapping her. “Let me go.” Her heart was pounding furiously now.

  He leaned into her, not touching her. Not yet. “Why did you come here? You almost got me killed. You owe me.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.” Her voice came out annoyingly breathless. But his body was all around her, surrounding her with his heat.

  “I’m the good guy here,” he said with a bad man’s voice.

  She shimmied against the wall to duck under his arms. But he was ready for that. He closed the inches between them so that the pressure of his body held her immobile.

  Despite the summer heat, her nipples hardened to points where they smashed up against his chest.

  He dropped his head. Their mouths were only inches away. He drew a ragged breath. “This is so fucking wrong,” he said, just before he kissed her.

  His lips were hard, his kiss anything but gentle, and it freed something within her. Something wicked that returned his kiss with force.

  When his tongue parted her lips, she met it with her own. Pure liquid fire raced through her veins to coil low in her belly. Her hands reached up of their own accord to wrap around his shoulders. Her bangles dug into her wrists, but the pain barely registered.

  He gave a low moan and ground himself against her. He was hard and thick. She opened her quivering legs, desperate to have him between them. She wanted to yank down his jeans and impale herself on him, right here against the side of the building. She didn’t care. She was going to die if she didn’t get him inside her right now.