Evening Hours - Mary Baxter Lynn

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that as an insult, Snelling. Not this time, anyway.”

      Snelling flushed, but didn’t make a comeback. Good call, Cutler thought.

      Following a terse silence, Snelling asked, “Give me something tangible to work with.”

      “What I have is suspicion. It’s your job to get the evidence.”

      This time it was Snelling who looked as if he’d bitten into a worm. “I’m listening.”

      “Angel and I have noticed a pattern in Jenkins’s dismissals. Not just mine, either, though mine were slam dunks for sure.”

      “You’re saying he’s taking bribes.”

      “That’s my guess.”

      “How?”

      “Several of the dismissals were good-looking women….” Cutler purposely let his voice fade.

      Snelling looked shocked. “Are you saying he’s trading dismissals for sex?”

      “Maybe, maybe not. What I am saying is that the bastard has something going, and I aim to find out what it is.”

      

      “He’s a powerful man, Cutler, one who has the power to knock your dick in the dirt with one hand tied behind him.”

      “That thought ought to make your day.”

      “I don’t know why I try to reason with you.” Snelling’s tone was testy.

      “Look, I’m going to get the judge, one way or the other.” Cutler’s features were grim. “Your job is to help me.”

      “As head of Major Crimes, I think you’re making a big mistake.”

      “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

      “He’s going to sink you, cost you the election,” Snelling stressed.

      “Then so be it.” Cutler clenched his jaw. “A man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

      “Maybe I should come back later.”

      Talk about timing. Cutler could cheerfully have gotten up and hugged Angel Martinez’s neck for opening the door enough to get his head through it. “Come on in. Mike was just leaving.”

      “You haven’t heard the last of this, McFarland,” Snelling said, stomping to the door, then slamming it behind him.

      “Why don’t you two put on gloves, climb in a ring and get at it?”

      Cutler grinned for a second. “Not a bad idea.”

      Angel just shook his head as he made his way farther into the room. He was dark haired and white skinned. His name was the only thing that labeled him Mexican-American. Still, he was proud of his heritage even though he’d never set foot in Mexico, having been born and reared in Houston.

      He was good-looking, a truly decent guy and a competent investigator. Cutler didn’t know what he would do without him. Angel’s calm demeanor and sound advice had saved his ass on many occasions.

      “So what’s got Snelling up in arms this time?”

      “The judge.”

      “He thinks we can’t nail him.”

      Cutler noticed that Angel made a plain statement of fact. “You agree?”

      “Does it matter?”

      “Yep.”

      A short silence.

      “Let me put it this way,” Angel said. “When you make up your mind to get someone, judge or not, my money’s on you.”

      “I was hoping you’d say that.”

      Angel snorted. “As if you ever doubted.”

      “I never take anything or anyone for granted. You should know that.”

      “If Major Crimes can get the evidence on Jenkins, then I can prosecute.” Angel paused, then changed the subject. “From the looks of your desk, we’re drowning.”

      “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

      “So let’s get started.”

      Cutler opened the first file and groaned. When he would’ve chucked it aside, Angel shook his head. “No choosing favorites. We have to take them as they come. Let’s hear it.”

      Cutler blew out his breath. “It’s the Sessions case.”

      Angel visibly winced. “It’s cases like this one that make me want to take this job and shove it. How any woman can drown her three kids in the bathtub is more than my mind can comprehend.”

      

      “Me, too. In fact, I could vomit right about now.”

      “To make matters worse, she’ll probably get off on an insanity plea.” Angel paused. “You know her husband’s hired Arthur Beaumont.”

      “No, dammit, I didn’t.”

      “If anyone can get her off, it’s that double-dealin’ son of a bitch.”

      “That’s not going to happen,” Cutler said, a violent edge to his voice. “Not as long as I’m upright and breathing, that is.”

      “Then we’d best put our heads together and plan our strategy.”

      For the next hour they made significant progress depleting the stack. Once Angel left, Cutler helped himself to another cup of coffee, went over some files with his secretary and then buried himself in more files.

      The growl of his stomach told him the day was more than half gone. Pushing away from his desk, Cutler rubbed the back of his shoulders, trying to get rid of the burning sensation in his muscles.

      He needed a break, but he needed to continue to work, as well. He was surprised that Julia hadn’t called him, asking him over for dinner. He wouldn’t go anyway. Dinner with her didn’t appeal to him.

      Without weighing the consequences of his actions, he reached for the phone and called his favorite florist. Then he dialed Information. “Benton Modeling Agency, please.”

      Four

      “Yes, Christy.”

      “Uh, there’s a man on the line—”

      “If it’s not important, I don’t want to talk,” Kaylee said in a more abrupt tone than she’d intended. But her mind was on the twenty or so beauty shots scattered across her desk, and she wasn’t in the mood to be interrupted. It was her fault, however, for not informing Christy Deason of that. She was the assistant who manned the lobby desk.

      “I’m not sure.” Christy’s tone was hesitant.

      Kaylee sighed, curbing her building irritation. “What does that mean?”

      “He said it was personal.”

      Kaylee’s hand froze around the receiver while her heart raced.

      “He has a great voice, that’s for sure.”

      “What?”

      “Uh, sorry, Kaylee, I didn’t mean—”

      “It’s okay, Christy. Put him through.” Why not? Her circuits were already frazzled. Besides, her caller could be any number of business associates she dealt with on a daily basis.

      “This is Kaylee.”

      “Good morning.”

      At the sound of his vibrant, sexy voice, her hand once again turned rigid around the receiver. “How are you?” Somehow she managed to get that normal-sounding question out without sounding like an idiot. At least, she hoped so.

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