LITMIR.BIZ

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key ring is silver, in the shape of my initials. J. J. It’s got several keys on it. House, office, garage, file cabinet, my car, my daughter’s Jeep.”

      As she kept talking, the other cop got back on the floor, looking underneath the chairs, shaking his head in disgust when he found nothing.

      The other one said, “Look, if we find your keys, we’ll get ‘em to you, okay? That’s the best we can do for you, lady, and lemme tell you right now, if you breathe a word to anyone about this, I’ll see to it you never get any kind of cooperation from our department again. No tips, no exclusives, no press releases, and we’ll keep you so far away from crime scenes from now on that you’ll have watch someone else’s news show to get the details.” He glanced at Sean. “That goes for both of you. Understand?”

      “Yes. Yes, of course I do,” Julie said quickly. “Thank you, Officer. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so sorry.” She yanked the card case from her purse again, took out a card and handed it to him. “When you find the keys, just call me, all right?”

      He muttered something unintelligible.

      The other cop came forward. “Look, go wait in the lobby. Homicide and Forensics are on the way. I want you two out of here.”

      “Can’t we at least get a statement?” Sean asked. And he couldn’t figure out why she hadn’t asked it first. Was she that rusty when it came to actual reporting? The elevator pinged and opened, and several plainclothes cops got out, including the one Sean thought of as the sexiest cop on the force—and maybe also the scariest—blond-haired, blue-eyed Lieutenant Cassandra Jackson.

      “You want a statement?” she asked, honing in on the conversation as she strode toward the room. “Here’s your statement. ‘An unidentified man was found dead in the Armory Hotel. Police suspect foul play and an investigation is underway.’”

      Sean had started to write, then lifted his head. “That’s it?”

      “That’s it.”

      “Oh, come on, Jax. It’s Senator Blackwood’s lowlife brother, and his throat’s been cut!”

      “That’s Lieutenant Jackson to you.” She took his camera bag from his hand, took out the camera and easily popped open the back. A second later his film was hanging from her hands like crepe paper. She stuffed it into the deep pockets of her olive drab trench coat. “Cause of death will be determined at the autopsy. The identity is unofficial until next of kin are notified and come in to verify it.”

      “We won’t release his name until we get the okay,” Julie Jones offered. “Just so long as you give us the okay before you tell anyone else.”

      “Uh—both of us, that is. Not just her,” Sean put in, sensing that Jones was trying to scoop him, as usual. He had to admit, though, he was a little relieved that she was finally acting like the professional he reluctantly knew her to be. He tugged a card from a pocket. “My beeper number is on that.”

      Jax took it and nodded. “As if I don’t have ten of these?”

      “Yeah, but you never call.” He gave her his most charming smile.

      She returned a wink. “I’m way more than you could handle, MacKenzie.” Then she rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine, you two get the scoop. But only if you get out of here right now and let my people do their job.”

      “Deal.” Sean turned to head to the elevator, surprised when the normally aggressive Julie Jones turned around and followed him. Something was up with her. He wanted to know what.

      He got into the elevator; she got in beside him. The doors slid closed. She sighed audibly, and he swore her body sagged.

      “Do you have another set of keys?” he asked.

      “Not on me.”

      “So then…you need a ride home?”

      “I can get a cab.”

      He shrugged. “I could drive you.”

      She narrowed her eyes on him. “Why?”

      “Why not?”

      Frowning as if she trusted him about as far as she could throw him—a sentiment he understood well, since he felt the same way about her—she finally shrugged. “What the hell. Okay, fine. Drive me home.”

      Chapter Two

      Sean walked Julie Jones out of the hotel to his Porsche Carerra GT, which he figured would have impressed the socks off most women. With her, though, he wasn’t expecting a hell of a lot.

      She looked at the shiny black car, then at him. “Midlife crisis?”

      Ignoring her, he depressed the button on his electronic key ring. The door locks popped open, the headlights came on, and the engine started. He opened her door for her.

      “Am I supposed to take off my shoes or just sprinkle myself with holy water first?”

      “Just get in, would you?”

      She did. He closed the door and went around to his side. She was making with the sarcasm, yes, but not in her usual way. It was almost automatic. Almost as if she were speaking with her mouth while her mind was somewhere else. The zings were hardly worthy of her and nowhere near up to her usual standards. She’d been zinging him for so long, she could probably do it in a coma.

      He shifted into gear and pulled the car away from the curb. “So what was with the little crime-scene-trampling demonstration back there?” he asked.

      She blinked at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “What, do you think I’m as gullible as those cops are? I know you, Jones. You’re a pro. You knew better than to walk in there like that.”

      Her eyes were huge and dark, and she blinked them now, using them to their full potential as proof of innocence. “I was just so stunned at seeing a New York State Senator’s brother like that.”

      “Bullshit.” He shifted, told himself to keep his eyes on the road. It wasn’t easy, because she was wearing a skirt, and her legs were a longtime weakness of his. She had this skin…It was the first thing he’d noticed about her. Her skin. Smooth, almost luminous, bronze satin. The color didn’t fade, even in the winter months. He had often wondered about her ethnic background, but how did you ask someone a question like that in the age of political correctness?

      “Turn here,” she said. “Take 92.”

      “Huh? Oh!” He got his mind back on his driving and took the turn she indicated. “I forgot you live all the way out in Cazenovia.”

      “Caz is only twenty minutes away from downtown.”

      “Yeah, by air.” She sent him a look. He ignored it. “We got off the subject. Why were you so determined to get into that room?”

      “I just wanted a closer look at Blackwood. I wasn’t sure it was him.”

      “Uh-huh.” She was lying through her teeth. “And what was up with emptying your purse onto the floor?”

      She looked at him fast, almond-shaped brown eyes beaming purity, almost willing him to buy into it. “It was an accident.”

      “The hell it was.”

      Once she realized innocence had struck out, arrogance arrived to take its turn at bat. She folded her arms across her chest, straightened in her seat and faced him squarely, chin pulled in and slightly downward to give the illusion she was looking down her nose at him. She reminded him of royalty when she copped that attitude. Like some kind of queen who would have your head if you pissed her off much more than you already had. “If I say it was an accident,” she assured him, “then it was an accident.”

      It was really too bad he hated her guts. He lifted his brows and tipped his head to one side. “If you say it was an accident, then you’re lying

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