Her Sexiest Surprise. Dawn Atkins

pot roast some Sunday. And help with my cases if the Sylvestri thing pans out.”

      “You know I’ve got your back,” he said. “Pot roast it is.”

      Riley took a stack from Max’s in-box. “Go do some yard work. Get on Susan’s good side.”

      “I’d better if I ever hope to get laid again.” Max shook his head, but there was a trace of a smile on his face.

      Riley saw the appeal of a family, but knew it meant sacrifice and a burden. Max’s kids hardly saw him. He’d missed soccer matches and dance recitals, and Susan’s family reunion, which had pissed her off big-time.

      At least as a detective, Max wasn’t in much danger. Not like a vice or street cop. How could those officers put their families through the dread of that call, the officers on the doorstep with the bad news? And, with that on your mind, how could you do the job right?

      Riley was glad he was accountable only to himself. Except now he was worried about Chloe and her father. Not good. Emotions snarled good sense, complicated things, muddied life.

      On the other hand, the idea of nailing Enzo Sylvestri got Riley’s blood moving. Maybe he’d been bored. He’d considered trying for a reassignment as undercover or working narcotics again. He’d wanted to shake things up.

      If the lieutenant and the D.A. worked a deal with Mickey Baxter, coordinated with the FBI’s Organized Crime Task Force, Riley might get assigned to the case. A lot of dominoes had to fall right first, so he wouldn’t get ahead of himself.

      He hoped he could help Chloe’s father, too. It meant so much to Chloe, which, he realized with a twinge, mattered more to him than it should.

      

      “YOU TOLD A COP!” Chloe’s father’s eyes went wide with alarm. “What have you done to me, Chloe Marlene?”

      “Riley’s a good guy, Dad. He’ll help us.”

      “Cops live to clear cases. To them, we’re all liars and thieves, believe me. They’ve got no mercy.”

      “I trust Riley,” she said, though his voice on the phone had been stern. We need you and your father to come to the station this afternoon to discuss his situation. One this afternoon.

      No would that be all right? or when’s a good time? More like get your asses down here. Maybe people were listening, so he’d had to sound terse. When she’d asked if everything would be all right, he’d only said, We’ll talk once you’re here.

      She hoped he’d be warmer in person, but when he met them in the lobby, he looked stern, almost angry, and his kind eyes were hard as stone. “Ms. Baxter,” he said, nodding at her as if she were a casual acquaintance, not someone he’d held naked in his arms. She felt queasy and disoriented, as if she didn’t even know the man, as if her trust had been misplaced.

      “Mickey Baxter,” her father said, lunging forward to shake Riley’s hand.

      “My father,” she added, emphasizing the personal connection. “We’re very nervous about all this.”

      She tried to catch Riley’s eye, draw out a smile, but he opened the security door and said, “If you’ll come this way,” completely neutral.

      He led them to an interview room that looked more like an office meeting room than the grim, prison-green space with a two-way mirror she’d expected. The walls were a soft white. There was a whiteboard and a small laminate table surrounded by three office chairs on rollers. No mirror anywhere.

      Two men in suits rose from the table, where a tape recorder rested. “Special Agent Emile London from the FBI and Assistant District Attorney Paul Adams,” Riley said, then introduced Chloe and her dad.

      Her father sank into a chair, his face pale.

      “I had no idea this would involve the FBI,” Chloe said, shooting Riley a look. “We were to discuss this with local authorities, weren’t we?”

      “There are federal statutes involved,” Agent London said. “The FBI has an ongoing interest in Mr. Minetti and the Sylvestri family.”

      “You mean Enzo?” she asked.

      “Among others,” the agent said.