Hooked

as…accommodating.”
    She studied him a long minute, then stood up. So did he. She was almost his height and still flaunted that teasing half-smile. Moving in chest to chest, she said, “Give me a hint. What’s this all about?”
    He breathed in a flowery scent he couldn’t name. Jasmine, maybe. He wanted to move back, but he liked the feel of her against him. She was trying to fluster him and damn if she wasn’t succeeding. You’re a cop, Walsh. And she’s a pro. Be cool. “Four hundred thousand you earned from Fortune 500 acquaintances and a member of New York ’s Five Families, all in an offshore account you forgot to pay taxes on.” He watched her. “Oh, and a dead hooker named Sarah. Ready?”
    All the points he ticked off got her attention, but the last item stopped her cold. Her breath hitched, and every muscle froze. She regained her composure in the same length of time it took to bat those baby blues. She draped her beach cover-up over her shoulders, and hidden from view beneath the voluminous fabric, lowered her right arm between their bodies into the warmth of his crotch and took hold of his balls.
    “I am. Are you?”

Chapter Two
    Four Hundred Thousand Reasons

    T awny felt her hand lifted away without a visible reaction from Walsh, even though he was hard as a rock. Most men would have soared into orbit at her practiced touch, but not this one. He returned her insolence with a steady glare.
    She harbored no illusions about what was going down. Damn. Double damn. She’d finally put her life in order, and now this. What lousy timing. Somehow the IRS found out about one of her offshore accounts, the first and biggest. There were two more―money she’d stashed without giving Uncle Sam his share. That’s what offshore accounts were for, weren’t they? Damn, if hu ge corporations avoided paying one red cent of taxes on billions of dollars of profit, why were they after her? Besides, she paid taxes, thanks to one of her clients who set up accounts for her. Just not on all her illegally-earned money.
    But how did Treasury connect with the NYPD? Then the sneaky mention of the New York mob. Five Families, put more delicately, which meant her secret tryst had been exposed. Was that what connected her to the feds? And what was that about a dead hooker? Her head reeled from the implications. So far, this was not turning out to be a very good morning.
    “Which room?” Walsh asked.
    “You know everything. You tell me.”
    “Look, lady, you’re in enough trouble. Don’t make it worse. Which room?”
    She challenged him with a scowl, but it was strictly bravado. His gunfighter-steady stare never wavered. She caved. “733.”
    While Tawny gathered her things, Walsh hustled back to his car for his suit jacket. The man might have been a New York cop, but his taste in suits was European and expensive. The side bulge indicated a shoulder holster, complete with whatever weapon cops carried these days. Ha, like she was going to run. He had her cold. Now what in hell did he want from her in return?
    As they walked through the hotel lobby, a slanted glance revealed Walsh was having a hard time keeping his eyes off her, and not like a watchful parent. To make matters worse, or maybe better, he was damn good looking. Big, brown eyes, with a face resembling those on old Roman coins. His name, Walsh, spoke of Ireland , but she’d bet there was a Mediterranean gene hidden somewhere in his DNA. No matter how interested this guy appeared to be, she never mixed business with pleasure. And Special Investigator Lincoln Walsh was definitely business.
    He kept his eyes front in the elevator, and when they entered her suite, he scanned the luxurious rooms with raised brows. Yeah, Walsh, it was expensive . “Mind if I put on some clothes?”
    “Go ahead.”
    She stripped off her bikini―hell, he’d seen most of her anyway―and stepped into a halter-style white sundress. Walsh watched with detached curiosity, a commuter rubbernecking a fender bender. Damn, she thought with a frown she couldn’t hide. What did she h ave to do to rattle this guy? She usually had more of an effect on men. Even the gay patrons who hired her as arm candy while hiding in the closet were more attentive.
    Feds and cops she’d known casually over the years bordered on non-descript, ordinary, unlike the actors who played them in film and TV. Not this one. With his rugged good looks and pearly whites, Lincoln Walsh could get pretty much