at the picture of the amulet, something warm tugged at her solar plexus. Inexplicably, she started thinking about Detective Sam again.
“It’s the same amulet,” Morgan said, running a finger along the lines in the book. “I do recognize the words ‘white star’ in this French text.”
“Très cool.” Cass grinned impishly. “We’re involved in a jewel heist.”
“We’re not involved.”
“We’ve found a mysterious old book just at the very same time the amulet is stolen.”
“Slow down, Harriet the Spy, you’re making grand leaps of logic.”
“Still, you never know. The book might be helpful to the investigation. Maybe someone should take it to the police.”
“Someone meaning you?”
“Sure. I could pop in the police station on my way to work tomorrow morning, leave the book with them. Do my civic duty.”
“See that sexy detective who went out on the ledge for you.”
“There is that.” Cass grinned and snapped the book closed.
“ANY NEW LEADS on the Stanhope auction house robbery?” In the main corridor of the 39th Precinct, Sam caught up with his colleague, Carl Weston, one of the outgoing night shift detectives. Sam was on his way into the briefing room for Monday morning roll call, a cup of strong, black coffee clutched in his hand.
“You look like hell, bloodhound.” Weston winked. Sam had earned the nickname for his acute sense of smell that had actually helped him solve a case once. “Must have been some wild weekend. Got any details for us married guys who live vicariously through you bachelors?”
Sam had spent the weekend babysitting his youngest sister Beth’s hellions so she and her husband could have a getaway weekend at the coast, but he wasn’t about to tell Weston that. Playing uncle to three kids under the age of eight had worn him out more completely than a two-day partying binge in Atlantic City. When he’d called his mother to grumble how tough it was, she’d had little sympathy.
“You were twice as challenging as Beth’s kids. You couldn’t sit still for five minutes. Always on the go, always asking a million questions. You know all these gray hairs I have? Your fault,” Louisa Mason had said. “I can’t wait until you have four or five boys of your own, the spitting image of you.”
“Mom, that’s just evil.” He’d chuckled.
Sam smiled at Weston, remembering his wild weekend. “Sorry, I’m not the kind of guy who kisses and tells.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Get your jollies somewhere else. Whatcha got on the Stanhope case?”
Weston shook his head. “Not much. Scuttlebutt in MI-6 is sending an agent over from London.”
“MI-6? Why are they interested?”
“Apparently MI-6 believes the Stanhope break-in could be the work of an international jewel thief they’ve been tracking for years. Goes by the name of Joshua Benedict.”
“What about our case, the Blueblood Burglar, got any new leads on that?” Even though the NYPD had tried to keep the socialite party larcenies quiet, the media had gotten wind of the crimes and dubbed the thief the Blueblood Burglar. So far, there had been a total of seven robberies over the course of the past three weeks.
Sam had been asked to track down a couple of leads on the Stanhope case, so the Blueblood Burglar had had to wait.
“Hey, Mason,” one of the rookies hollered down the hallway at Sam. “There’s some uptown hottie at the front desk asking to see you.”
Uptown hottie? For no good reason at all Sam thought of Cass Richards. Even though she lived in Tribeca, she looked like an uptown hottie, with her regal air and her elegant ways. But why would Cass come here to see him at seven o’clock in the morning? He suspected she wasn’t an early riser. In his experience, pampered women rarely were.
“I knew it.” Weston broke into a grin and rubbed his palms together. “You’ve got a new woman. I havta see this.”
“Weston, don’t make me hose you off,” Sam threatened. “Do us all a favor. Go home and make love to your wife, for crying out loud.”
“That’s no fun,” Weston sulked, but thankfully did not follow him.
Even though Sam had immediately pictured Cass when the rookie had said “uptown hottie,” he hadn’t really expected her to be waiting for him at the front desk.
But there she was. Looking more beautiful than anyone had a right to look.
She was casting nervous glances around his less than glamorous work environment and carrying a book underneath her arm. Funny. He’d never have pegged her for a reader.
Several of the guys were giving her the once-over and Sam was startled by the unexpected urge to punch out their lights. Damn, what a bunch of horn dogs. Was he going to have to issue drool bibs? Then again, he could hardly blame them. Cass was serious eye candy.
She was dressed in a simple black blouse and a black and white floral skirt with a swingy hem but there was nothing simple about the way the clothes clung to her curves. She personified elegant sex appeal.
The minute she saw him, relief washed over her face. “Hi,” she chirped and wriggled her cute little fingers at him.
“Hi,” he said, feeling as loopy as he did when his niece Amanda gave him that gooey, big-eyed “you’remy- hero-Uncle-Sam” smile of hers.
“Woooo,” one of the rookies teased. “Mason’s got a girlfriend.”
He snapped his head back around and glared at the rookies gathered at the front desk, shooting them his dirtiest, deadliest look usually reserved for hardened criminals.
“Roll call. Now,” he barked.
Their smug grins evaporated, as did they, vanishing down the corridor like ghosts fleeing an exorcist.
“Wow,” Cass said. “Impressive show of authority.”
“Don’t be too impressed. They’re just rookies. Easily cowed.”
“Ah,” she said, “And here I was thinking you were the great and powerful Oz.”
“If you recall, the great Oz had his bluff in on the whole of the Emerald City.”
“So he did.” She tilted her head and shot him a flirtatious glance.
Don’t fall for it. She’s a master at getting men to do her bidding.
“I’m glad you came down,” he said.
“Oh?” She batted her eyelashes provocatively. “Why’s that?”
Sam realized the desk sergeant was about to tip over in his chair he was trying so hard to eavesdrop. “Why don’t we find a more private place to talk?”
He took her by the elbow and guided her into an empty interview room. In a totally feminine gesture, she smoothed down her hair.
“Is this where you grill criminals?” She glanced around, clearly fascinated. “Is that one of those two- way mirror thingies like you see on television cop shows?”
“Have a seat, Cass.” Sam reached over and pulled out a chair for her.
“Thank you.”
She plopped her delectable butt down in the chair and his hand tingled with the memory of how that butt had felt cupped against his palm.
He hauled up a chair beside her. The scent of her perfume took hold of him and refused to let go. Sam wasn’t a fanciful man by nature, but his heightened olfactory sense made him more sensitive to aromas than most. Her fragrance provoked