No Regrets (27 page)

His formerly deep voice cracked like an adolescent's at puberty. The fact that he was obviously nervous about this entire thing endeared him to Tessa. It did not, however, cool her ardor.

“Elaine should have already discussed this and charged your credit card,” she said.

“Well, she did, but I thought, perhaps, if I wanted something extra…”

“There aren't any extras. Unlike so many of the other
escort services in town, Elaine runs a top-class, all-services-provided establishment. Tonight is listed on the charge slip as artwork—so you won't have to explain anything to your accountant or your wife. And I'll do anything you want.”

His eyes flicked over her, from her tumble of mussed, red-gold hair, down her body to her feet, still clad in those spindly sandals, then back up to her face again. “Anything?”

Her eyes met his with sensual promise. “Anything.”

“And the price is still the same?”

She wondered momentarily if Elaine had gotten her mixed up with some crazed serial killer. Then dismissed that idea. Jason ran a computer check on all new johns, which kept his mother's clientele the safest in the business.

Obviously, this was just his first time paying for a fuck. “It's five thousand for the night. Whatever we do.” She didn't mention that her take was sixty percent.

He sighed and dragged his long dark fingers through his hair. “Well, then.” He stood up, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small black leather folder.

Oh, hell,
Tessa thought miserably as she guessed what was coming.

“You're under arrest,” Dan said flatly, flashing his badge. “For prostitution.”

As he read Tessa her rights, it crossed her mind that the gorgeous vice cop didn't sound any more enthusiastic about this bust than she felt.

D
an kicked himself all the way back to the cop shop for his unprofessional behavior. What the hell had gotten into him? How could he have let himself get caught up in the role-playing that was second nature in vice?

He'd busted countless hookers, but never before had he experienced the force and heat of sexual desire that had hit like an earthquake, shaking his usual iron self-control to its foundations. Another moment and it would have crumbled completely, and he would have been in deep shit.

Not that he would have been the first cop to have sex with one of the prostitutes he was supposed to bust. But most cops who started sleeping with hookers more often than not managed to get themselves washed right out of the cop business once Internal Affairs started sniffing around. And although not all the girls on the street looked like death warmed over, and offering sex in re
turn for forgetting an arrest was commonplace, Dan had never been tempted. Until now.

Frustrated, and still horny, as he stopped at a red light on Sunset, he glanced up into the rearview mirror to check out his prisoner. She hadn't said a word since he'd cuffed her. Even now, she seemed to be in a state of shock. Or whatever dope she was on had kicked in. Not wanting her to go catatonic on him at the station, he decided to drop by the ER for a drug test to see what, exactly, the lady was on.

“We're stopping by the hospital.” He felt a need to reassure her. “Just for a drug test.”

She didn't respond. But her cat green eyes, already too wide in her pale face, turned panicky. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she wasn't all that experienced at this. There was a strange aura of innocence about her that belied her seductive performance back at the hotel. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change.

“You're not new at this.”

“No.” Her shoulders slumped and he watched a defeated bleakness displace the panic in those remarkable eyes.

He wasn't surprised. But for some reason he was pissed. “Then you should know the drill.” The light turned green and he returned his attention to his driving. “Getting busted comes with the territory.”

She didn't answer. But the next time he glanced up into the rearview mirror, Dan viewed the silent tears streaming down her face.

After Mercy Sam's ER resident had declared that she was in no danger of dying on him, Dan took her into
the station, where she was booked, fingerprinted and photographed. Through the entire process, she seemed numb, only answering the basics—name, address, date of birth. He was not surprised when, for occupation, she put actress. Every hooker he'd ever met was either an actress or a model. However, the desk sergeant confirmed her allegation.

“She was a regular in
Roommates,
” the cop said. “Not one of the stars, but the camera loved her. Whenever she was in a scene, she was all you looked at.”

That only pissed Dan off more. Having grown up in L.A., he was familiar enough with the hometown business to understand that she'd beaten incredible odds to win a spot on a network series. To throw it all away to make her living on her back was beyond his comprehension.

“So you really are an actress,” he said, glaring at her across his desk.

“I told you I was.” Other than the tears, the spark in her slanted catlike eyes was the first real emotion he'd witnessed.

“I know.” He linked his fingers together behind his head and rocked back on the hind legs of the chair, eyeing her with renewed interest. “And I'll admit that I didn't really believe that. Because it's difficult to imagine why, when you obviously had so much going for you, you'd prefer giving blow jobs to guys with more bucks than brains.”

“It's a long story.”

“I've got all the time in the world. And so do you, unless there's someone you can call to post bail.”

She thought about Jason and realized he'd probably
kill her if she called him down to his own police station to bail her out of jail. Miles wouldn't hit her, but he had his own little ways of retaliation that she feared would be even worse than Jason's. As for their mother, Elaine had made it all too clear that her name was never to be mentioned in the unlikely event of an arrest.

At the time, Tessa hadn't considered that a possibility. Jason had assured her that the cops had known all about his mother's little enterprise for years and had always looked the other way. There was, of course, the lawyer all the girls were instructed to call in the event they might have any trouble with the authorities. But Tessa couldn't remember his name.

“No,” she said quietly. “There's nobody.”

Although Dan was surprised by that, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. They'd been trying to bust the ring for months, ever since the body of a young woman had washed up in Malibu. At first it looked as if the body had been battered by the pounding it had taken against the rocks; however the autopsy had revealed that most of the damage had been done pre-mortem. The coroner also hadn't found any water in the lungs, contributing to the theory that the girl had been dead when she'd entered the water.

When her friends in Westwood had told the investigating sheriff's deputies that the model and sometimes extra had recently begun working for a prostitution ring catering to the Hollywood elite, the sheriff's department had contacted the LAPD, which was when Dan had been brought into the case.

There had been rumors about the ring's existence for years, but the police hadn't actively pursued an inves
tigation. Dan felt the reason for the lack of interest was that none of the brass—from the division commander all the way up to the commissioner—wanted to know whose names were on the alleged client list.

He sat there, looking at Tessa for a long time. Then decided that this was not a case for kid gloves. She'd already demonstrated an eerie ability to retreat deep inside herself. If he wanted to shake loose any information, he'd have to go for the gut.

“You know,” he said, his easy, conversational tone designed to put her at ease and set her up, “you're not the first girl working this ring we've picked up.”

As he'd expected, she displayed not an iota of interest.

“You wouldn't happen to know Brittany Thomas, would you?”

Although she shook her head, the faint flicker of recognition that flashed in her eyes, told him otherwise.

“Maybe if you saw a picture of her, it might refresh your memory,” he suggested. He reached into a drawer for the file. Then laid the gruesome police photographs of what had once been a vibrant, beautiful young woman in front of her.

The blood drained from her already pale face as if someone had pulled a plug. She put a trembling hand over her mouth. “Bathroom,” she managed.

Not wanting her to hurl all over his desk, not to mention the outrageously expensive cashmere sweater he'd bought to live up to the image of a Hollywood high roller, he took hold of her shoulders, lifted her from the chair and dragged her across the room, enlisting a fe
male cop along the way to accompany her into the ladies' room. He'd already risked an unprofessional conduct investigation; there was no way he was going to put himself in another possibly compromising situation.

When she came out again, she'd obviously washed her face. Without makeup she looked a great deal younger than she had back at the hotel. And far more vulnerable.

“Why don't we go somewhere more private,” he suggested gently. “And we can talk about Brittany.”

She bit her bottom lip, but nodded her acquiescence. Not that it would have made a difference if she'd refused, but Dan had always found investigations went a lot easier if the suspects were cooperative.

He took her into the box, a small room that was one of the few things about police work television programs tended to get right. “Have a chair,” he said, pulling the one that faced the mirror out for her. “Can I get you something? Some coffee? Soda? Tea?”

“A cup of tea would be wonderful,” she said in a soft, sad little voice. Reminding himself that this woman had been prepared to screw his brains out all night for five thousand bucks, Dan reined in his sympathy and reminded himself that she was, after all, an actress.

“No problem. Would you like sugar in that?”

Her look of gratitude reminded him uncomfortably of Trudy, the cocker spaniel he'd had when he was a kid. “Two lumps, please.”

“You got it.” Before he left, he casually tossed the photos onto the table. Facedown this time.

Outside the room, he watched as she stared at the
photographs. She reminded him of a woman watching a snake charmer; her expression revealed distaste, fear and an unwilling attraction, all at the same time.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You know you want to look. You're dying of curiosity…. Just turn one of them over…and see what the future holds in store for you.”

As if she'd heard him, she glanced up at the one-way mirror. And although he knew she couldn't see him, Dan looked back at her. “Do it.”

He watched as she reached out, then drew her hand back. “Dammit, this could be you, baby. You ought to at least take a long hard look at what you've gotten into.”

She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she took a deep breath and quickly turned over the top photograph. Dan watched her gasp, saw her hand go to her stomach, and wondered if she was going to be sick again.

She looked away. Then seemed to force her gaze back to the unpalatable scene, and stared at it for a long, silent time. She surprised him by turning over every one of the twenty photographs, each more gruesome than the previous one. Her expression had taken on that eerie disconnected look, making Dan think she'd mentally removed herself again. But when she finished looking at the last photo, the one of the autopsy, then buried her face in her hands, he knew the ploy had worked.

“Gotcha,” he murmured. But as he stood there on the other side of the glass, watching her slender shoulders shake from her silent weeping, he realized that the rush of satisfaction he was accustomed to feeling under such circumstances was strangely missing.

 

Two days after the Emmy Award broadcast, Molly was having dinner out on the terrace of the Pacific Palisades home with Reece and Grace.

“I'm impressed,” she said, watching him cook the meal on the oversize gas grill. “I didn't realize Emmy-winning writers still cooked their own dinners.”

“It's only hamburgers.” He spritzed some water on the flames that shot up when he turned the beef patties. “Not nearly as fancy as whatever you must have had at the Del.”

Molly wasn't surprised he knew about her excursion to San Diego. After all, she had told Theo and Grace. But she was puzzled by the edge to his tone. “Actually, I had a roast beef sandwich from the hotel deli,” she responded mildly. “But the view was spectacular. Almost as nice as this.”

“I'm glad we come up to your high standards.”

Again, his words were tinged with an unmistakable sarcasm. Molly wanted to ask what his problem was, but didn't want to get into an argument with Grace present.

“Are you going to marry Dr. Salvatore, Aunt Molly?” Grace asked.

The question caught Molly totally by surprise. She glanced over at Reece, even more surprised to discover that he was suddenly looking at her with an uncharacteristic intensity.

“Why on earth would you ask that?”

“Because Aunt Theo told Uncle Alex that you should be married so you could have some kids of your own. And since Dr. Salvatore took you flying in his airplane, they thought maybe you might marry him.”

Molly smiled at the simplistic reasoning. She also realized that Alex and Theo had obviously picked up on Joe's feelings for her. “Gracious, I get the feeling that I'm living with a junior spy,” she hedged with a laugh.

“Molly's not going to marry Dr. Salvatore,” Reece ground out as he spritzed the fire again and turned down the flame on the barbecue.

Annoyed by his tone, Molly was tempted to ask him why he was so sure of that, but once again managed, just barely, to hold her tongue.

“I already have you,” she told Grace. “Who I love every bit as much as if you were my own little girl.”

“I love you, too. But it's not the same,” Grace said. “Since you don't live here with Daddy and me like a real mommy.”

“Well, you've got a point there.” Molly forced a smile and reminded herself how lucky she was to have as much access to Grace as she did. “And, although Dr. Salvatore and I are very good friends, I don't think getting taken for an airplane ride is any reason to marry a man. Besides, he's getting married to someone else.”

“He is?” Reece could have kicked himself for allowing his interest to show.

He tried telling himself that the only reason he gave a damn was that if Molly married the guy and moved back to Arizona, Grace would lose the closest thing she'd had these past years to a mother. And, although that was a valid excuse, Reece also admitted that the truth was that if she left Los Angeles, he'd miss Molly. A lot. More than he would have expected. More than he should.

Hell, he realized, he was jealous of Salvatore. And
worse yet, any other guy Molly might be tempted to get seriously involved with.

Molly's direct gaze narrowed as she looked straight at him. “He's marrying a BIA nurse. She's a wonderful woman. I think they'll have a wonderful life.”

“Lucky them,” he muttered as he took the burgers off the grill.

A tenseness that had been building between them the past few months lingered as they ate their supper in relative silence, listening to Grace's convoluted story about something that had happened between Mary Beth Williams and some little boy at school. Mary Beth, Grace informed them, was the most boy-crazy girl in school.

“And she kissed him right on the lips.” Grace wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, as if imagining a boy's lips touching hers.