The Protector. Jule Mcbride
in a challenging smile. “Intimidate me?”
He fought not to roll his eyes. If Sully didn’t know better, he’d think the edginess of these encounters was due to Judith’s attraction to him. She wouldn’t be the first woman to be drawn to him. “Would that be possible?”
“No. So if you’re trying, it’s not working, Steele.”
There it was again. Steele. He’d worked with Judith ever since her transfer from the city’s legal department to the investigative unit in Internal Affairs a few years ago, and now, for the umpteenth time, Sully wondered what made such a beautiful woman distrustful enough to spend her time prosecuting cops.
And she was beautiful—if a man could tolerate her attitude long enough to notice. She was nearly six feet tall. The hair hanging just past her shoulders was such a rich chocolate-brown that it appeared black. Her eyes were blue or violet, depending on the light, and framed by dark arching wisps of eyebrows. Her mouth, always highlighted by crimson lipstick, was so remarkable that it had earned her the nickname Lips. No officer said it to her face, of course, but the name was well-deserved. Sully wasn’t the first to wonder how that mouth would taste.
She was clearly fighting exasperation. “Aren’t you going to say anything more?”
“Why bother?” Sully asked dryly, pushing aside the tails of his brown suit jacket so his hands could delve into his trouser pockets. He’d rolled down his shirtsleeves, donned the jacket and reknotted his tie as soon as he’d heard Judith was on her way up to his office. This morning hadn’t been bad, but the afternoon was heating up, and he’d just gotten a memo saying that the city, fearing brownouts as the heat worsened, was requiring that air-conditioning run low in public buildings. So far this summer they’d been lucky, but Sully’s instincts told him this might be the last comfortable day. Right now, in the jacket, he felt as though he were being baked in a slow oven. It didn’t help that Judith looked as cool as a cucumber.
“What do you mean, why bother?” Judith was saying, her voice a soft echo.
“I mean, when it comes to Pop, you’ve already played judge, jury and executioner. What’s to discuss?”
Her crimson lips parted slightly, just enough that he caught a flash of her perfect teeth, a sliver of velvet tongue. The flattened palms of slender, manicured hands smoothed down the sides of her gray silk skirt. She was probably trying not to prop those hands on her hips, but the movement only served to accentuate the long-boned grace of her thighs. “The facts,” she continued, oblivious of the effect she had on him. “Discussing those could keep us busy for quite some time.”
Pulling his eyes from her legs, Sully said, “Given all the dirty cops you suspect live in this city, I figured you’d be busy enough without coming downtown to keep me company.”
“Your lack of concern about my investigation into your father’s affairs brings you under suspicion, Steele. And if you’ll protect your father, Internal Affairs has to assume you’ll also protect your men—”
“I am concerned,” he countered flatly. He’d just come from a family powwow at his parents’ home, not that he’d tell her that. Both his brothers, Rex and Truman, were cops, and they were just as intent as he on solving the riddle of their father’s disappearance. “And nobody in my precinct’s on the take, Judith,” he added. He’d used her Christian name this time, and he was glad to see it grated every bit as much as when she called him Steele. Good. He’d keep using it.
She nodded curtly. “If anyone is, we’ll find out.”
Was she really going to use his father’s disappearance as an excuse to crack down on his department? “Are you threatening me?”
Her eyes locked with his. “Should I be?”
“Are you?”
“I’m doing my job.”
“And you’re good at it,” he admitted with grudging respect.
“If you think flattery will make me back off,” she replied, as if he’d just confirmed every low-down, dirty suspicion she’d ever had about him, “you’ve seriously underestimated me.”
He’d done no such thing. He knew Judith Hunt’s résumé like the back of his hand—just as she undoubtedly knew his. “We should be working together on this.”
She stared at him as if he were the most thoroughly dense man she’d ever encountered. “Which is exactly why I’m here,” she said, not about to let him sidetrack her. “Joe wants—”
“Your boss is my father’s ex-partner,” Sully interjected, speaking of Joe Gregory. “They went through the academy together, then partnered up in Hell’s Kitchen.” After that, they’d begun busting gangs and mobsters in Chinatown. Years later, when Joe wound up working in administration at Police Plaza, he’d brought Augustus Steele on board. “Joe knows he’s innocent.”
If she had been privy to the previous connection between the men, she kept it to herself. “That may well be,” she said, her tone dubious, “but Joe’s the one who sent me to question you. He wants your father found—”
“I want Pop found, too,” Sully interrupted, years of experience as a police officer enabling him to keep the indignation from his voice. “Because when he’s found, he’ll offer the explanation that’ll clear his name.”
“I want him found—” Judith’s blue eyes turned steely in a way that indicated she knew more than she was telling “—so that I can prosecute him.”
“In this case, you care more about making a collar,” Sully accused softly, “than about discovering the truth.” He paused, taking a calming breath. “What information do you have that you’re not sharing?”
“None,” she assured him.
He came right out with it. “You’re lying.”
“Steele, your father was caught on videotape, withdrawing seven million dollars in public funds. He transferred the money from Citicorp, then picked it up at People’s National in two suitcases. The money belongs to the Citizens Action Committee—”
“I know that.” Did she really believe he hadn’t acquainted himself with the case? “It’s a fund set up so citizens can donate to the police without raising questions of impropriety. Pop endorses and deposits the checks. It’s a routine part of his job.”
“Right. And the money’s usually invested—”
“With the Dispersion Committee deciding where to spend it.” Sully’s own precinct had benefited from the fund the previous year, getting allocations for new squad cars. “Why wasn’t the money invested?” Judith might offer him that much, at least. “Why was it available for a cash transfer?”
“Because someone was planning to steal it?” she said dryly.
Cute. “Not my father,” he stated once more. “My brothers and I are convinced he stumbled onto an embezzlement scheme at Police Plaza.”
Her eyes widened in astonishment. “You think somebody other than your father was going to steal the money?”
Sully nodded, choosing to ignore her sarcasm. “We think Pop withdrew the money, then hid it, so whoever was planning to steal it couldn’t do so.”
“Then why didn’t your father contact Internal Affairs?”
“Because somebody at I.A. is involved?” he suggested.
Her soft grunt of protest did odd things to Sully’s blood, both warming it and making it race. For a second, she sounded like a woman being pleasured in bed, an impression that was undercut by her words. “Steele, that’s stretching. Your father’s guilty. He took seven million in cash. It’s a fortune in public money. No one would have let him take it from a bank, but years ago, he worked a mob-related bank heist at People’s National, so the banker felt he knew him.”
“The