Silent Confessions - Julie Kenner

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her robbery even though it wasn’t his case. And she didn’t really have any reason to doubt him. After all, the police clerk had told her that neither Parker nor Donovan had anything to do with investigating the robbery. Which left some big questions—who had he mistaken her for, and why was he here?

      “Okay, Officer.” She took a deep breath. “Keep talking.”

      “Detective,” he said as he laid the postcard faceup on the table between them, like a gambler playing his card. “I need help. With this,” he said, glancing down at the card. He looked up again, his eyes burning into her. “I’m assigned to the sex crimes division.”

      She frowned. “Sex crimes?”

      He nodded. “I’m investigating a stalker.”

      “That stuff you showed me...”

      “That’s what he’s been leaving. His calling cards, you could say.”

      “I’m not sure I’m following you. How can I help?”

      “You’re an expert on this stuff, right? Well, I need an education.” He smiled, and her heart picked up its tempo. “An erotic education.”

      Lord have mercy.

      The thought that this man, this six-foot-something hunk of pure maleness needed help in anything erotic was almost beyond comprehension. The entire situation was surreal. They were sitting in a break room, of all places, surrounded by plastic and Formica, lit with fluorescent lighting. Nothing could be less sensual, and yet every nerve ending in her body was hyperaware. Her pulse beat in her throat, and she was sure her palms were sweating.

      “I realize it’s not an ordinary request, but I can probably scrounge up some sort of hourly rate. A consulting fee.” He shrugged. “Maybe.”

      She nodded vaguely. He made it all sound so professional, so academic. But academic or not, lessons in erotica with this man would be dangerous...in an absolutely delicious way.

      “Miss Archer?”

      Nibbling on her lower lip, she glanced down at the card on the table. He was waiting for her answer, waiting for her to put her cards on the table

      She picked up the postcard, taking another look at the flapper whose erotic adventures she’d been so envious of only moments before. Then she lifted her eyes to look once again at the man. The shadow of his beard. Those enigmatic eyes. The sturdy angle of his jaw. All of it put together in a face that somehow pushed her senses into overdrive.

      If she were thinking rationally, she’d ask more questions, would try to figure out exactly what he needed. After all, she had a business to run and a dissertation to write.

      But on the other hand, in a lot of ways he was the answer to her prayers. If she could honestly tell Nat that she had an in with the cops—a source for information about the investigation—surely that would be enough to get him on that plane.

      And the work did sound right up her alley....

      But all that was just an excuse, a blatant justification for the real truth—that instinct, primal, pure and dangerous, had taken over. Here was a man who’d made her blood burn since the first moment she saw him, who in five minutes had left her with damp panties and a yearning for more. And that was only after talking business. Just imagine if they’d actually been discussing erotica....

      Perhaps she was behaving foolishly, but she wanted to keep him around, even if only for a few more hours.

      Slowly, she laid the card back on the table. “It looks like you win, Detective. Class begins promptly at eight.”

       chapter four

      Jack looked up from the pile of papers on his desk to glance at the clock on the wall.

      “It’s five minutes later than the last time you looked,” Donovan said, hanging up his phone.

      “What?”

      “The time. Every time I look up you’re checking out the damn clock. What? You got a hot date tonight?”

      “Unfortunately, it’s not a date,” Jack said, immediately regretting opening his mouth.

      “Unfortunately?” Donovan repeated, inflection rising. “What exactly do you have planned for this evening? And does she have a sister?”

      Jack laughed. “Mindy cast aside already?”

      “Cindy,” Donovan corrected him, “and no. Actually things are pretty smooth in Cindy-land.”

      “I’m shocked. Almost an entire week with the same woman.”

      Donovan shrugged. “So maybe hell’s got a few icicles these days.”

      “No shit?” Jack knew he sounded incredulous, but his partner had always said he’d settle down with a woman when hell freezes over. If the devil was wearing snow pants, Donovan must have it bad.

      Donovan twisted a paper clip as he shuffled a little on his feet. “She’s a good gal, you know? And last night, she called me after her shift. Said she felt like hell and could we reschedule. I ended up taking a movie over there and making her some chicken soup and we just sat on the couch. You know, watching the flick.” Another shrug. “It was nice.”

      Jack looked his buddy in the eye. “I’m happy for you,” he said.

      “Yeah, well, it’s always nice to know where your next lay is coming from,” Donovan said, but Jack wasn’t buying. His partner looked too happy. Too content. Hell, the man was in love. And damned if Jack didn’t envy him just a little bit.

      Shit.

      “So what’s this nondate you’ve got tonight?” Donovan asked.

      Jack reached into his desk and pulled out the old catalog Veronica had given him. Homework, she’d called it.

      “Archer’s Rare Books and Manuscripts.” Donovan read the cover. “Winter catalog.” He flipped to a random page and his eyebrows shot up before he looked at Jack over the top of the slick pages. “Our nudie postcards.”

      Jack took the catalog back. “Not ours. But some. According to Miss Archer, the postcards aren’t hard to come by. And the one left in Mrs. Crawley’s mailbox isn’t valuable.”

      Even though “class” didn’t start until that evening, Jack had pressed Veronica for a few answers before he’d left. And he had to admit, the woman knew her stuff.

      “So this gal’s willing to help us out?”

      Jack nodded. “Yup. I’m meeting with her tonight.”

      “Is she a babe?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Just wondering if I should hope your nondate takes on a few twists.”

      Jack aimed a stern look his partner’s way. “If you’re looking for something to do...”

      “Got plenty,” Donovan rushed to say, but he didn’t walk away. Jack glared, and Donovan laughed.

      “What?” Jack snapped.

      “I was right, man. She is a babe. I can see it in your eyes.”

      Jack scowled but didn’t answer. Hell, what could he say? Because the truth was, Veronica Archer was a babe. And Jack was counting the hours until his private lesson commenced.

      * * *

      Marina gently lifted the book, tracing her finger over the green-and-white wrapper protected by clear Mylar. After a moment, she sighed. “I wish I could afford it,” she said. “But I don’t think my bank account could stand the extra strain.”

      Ronnie sighed, too. At more than five thousand dollars, the first edition of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer was one

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