recover.”
“Naw, I lead a very quiet life.”
Somehow she doubted that. Everything about Cruz Martinez pointed to just the opposite. The attitude of the waitress was probably identical to the way most women behaved around him. Throwing themselves at his feet, willing to take a number for their turn with him. Madeline had no illusions about how far some women would go to catch the eye of a man who looked like him. Luckily she had never been partial to tall, dark and perfect types herself.
“What has had you so busy the last couple of weeks that you missed the family dinners?” What the heck. She might as well do some digging as long as they seemed to be stuck here for a while.
“This and that,” he said vaguely.
Her interest immediately sharpened. This was the first sign of reticence he’d ever exhibited. She slanted a glance at him. He didn’t appear to be trying to avoid the question. He seemed preoccupied, as he had when they’d first come in. His eyes were once again searching the room.
“Is your mother likely to accept ‘this and that’ as a good enough reason to miss going home?”
He finally looked at her, amusement apparent on his face. “Afraid for my safety? I can assure you it’s been a while since she’s taken the wooden spoon to me.”
She subsided. He obviously wasn’t going to tell her what he’d been busy with, and if she pressed he might get the wrong idea about her curiosity, might think she wanted to know out of a more personal interest. The glint in his eye told her he was already thinking exactly that, and it was time to put that misconception to rest. “Just making conversation. Looks like we’re in for a long, boring afternoon waiting for Cantoney.”
Cruz silently disagreed.
“How about you? What do you do on the weekends?”
She shrugged. “Work out at the gym. Go to the shooting range. Do the laundry. Clean my apartment.”
“And?” His eyes were lit with lazy interest. She couldn’t fool him. A woman who looked like her had to have an active social life. He didn’t know why he found the thought of that so intriguing, but he did. As long as he didn’t dwell too long on what she and her dates did once they got back to her place. That thought brought an unfamiliar knot to his gut.
“And what? I’m not Catholic, so I don’t have to spend my Saturdays at confession. Not that I’d need to, anyway,” she informed him smugly.
“Is that right? What are you telling me, that your life-style is as perfect as your memory?”
“No, I’m saying that my life-style is dull. Boring compared to yours, I’m sure. It doesn’t take a whole lot to keep me happy.” When he chuckled at this, she lifted her eyebrow. “You don’t agree?”
“That’s not the way I’ve got you pegged, no,” he answered, still chuckling. “You definitely strike me as high maintenance.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. She was going to regret this. She absolutely did not want to hear his explanation of his words. “And just what, may I ask, is that supposed to mean?”
At her uncomprehending look, he explained cheerfully. “It’s simple. You’re the kind of woman who has certain standards. Fairly high standards. They apply to your home, what you drive, who you date and what you do in your free time. ‘Regimented’ might describe you, but definitely not ‘boring.’”
“Regimented?” Her eyes spit green sparks at him and he leaned back to enjoy the fireworks. He’d suspected all along that Madeline Casey had a temper to match that flaming hair and he didn’t want to miss a moment of it. “What the heck would you know about being regimented?”
“It’s not an insult,” he assured her. “Just an observation. Don’t worry I’m sure some men find that quality attractive. My grandma used to say that every pot will find its lid.”
“What a quaint saying. I should needlepoint that,” she said sarcastically, still smarting from his words. Regimented, she fumed. Her life might be orderly, she might value organization, but the word he’d used was distinctly unflattering. It implied that she was rigidly controlled, and though that was the aura she tried to project professionally, it didn’t sound very attractive.
“At the risk of sounding like a cliche, you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” His eyes were crinkled with amusement.
“And you’re annoying when you’re stupid,” she returned, irritated. What did he know about her? Or about anything? So she prized order in her life. After it had been turned into such shambles a few years ago, was that so wrong? So she was organized. That certainly didn’t used to be considered a fault. And yes, maybe she was cautious. She’d bet he knew nothing about that, not in his personal life, anyway. She was quite sure that when it came to the opposite sex, he jumped in with both feet, not to mention other body parts. She glared at him again, and the amused look on his face made her want to smack him, for she was suddenly certain that he’d done this on purpose. He’d baited her into flaring up. The big jerk.
“I’ll bet you were the kind of brother who delighted in starting fights among your siblings and then left the room when you heard your mother coming.”
He had to smile at how close her remark came to the observation Michele McLain had made the last time he’d visited there. “Are you implying that I’m a tease?” he asked with mock affront.
“That’s exactly what I’m implying.”
“Then I’d have to disagree. That’s not being a tease. A tease is-” he turned to look more fully at her, and stopped when he took in the picture she made. Temper had flared color to her face and brightened the hue of her eyes. “To tease is to taunt. Tantalize. To hold something irresistible just out of reach.” His voice deepened. He was no longer responding to her comment. “Teasing is prolonging anticipation, sometimes to an almost unbearable point.”
She swallowed hard, his tone as much as his words affecting her. He could have been referring to her remark, but he wasn’t. The timbre of his voice was too suggestive, the words too rife with innuendo. She knew what he was doing but she was helpless to control her response to it. They looked at each other for a long moment, and what she saw in his face made her stomach clutch reflexively.
Cruz, too, fell silent. Finally he rose. “It’s after five. Let’s get out of here.”
The sun was still shining brightly when they left the bar, and Madeline squinted in its glare. They strode quickly toward the car, each in a hurry to get back to headquarters, to put the tension of the afternoon behind them. They slowed simultaneously, noticing the figure leaning against their car at the same time.
“Cantoney,” Cruz noted under his breath, and Madeline nodded. There hadn’t been a picture of the man in the files she’d read, but she could easily believe that this was the man described in one report. Studying him, she had no difficulty believing that he’d assaulted another with a tire iron for the indiscretion of talking to Cantoney’s girlfriend. He was about her own height, lean, with skin so fair it looked as if the sun had forgotten him. He would have appeared almost harmless if it hadn’t been for his eyes. They were a pale blue, and absolutely devoid of emotion. When they flicked over her, Madeline could feel a physical chill. He appeared older than the members of the gang he led. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he had orchestrated the numerous criminal activities that the Lords were suspected of.
“I heard you were looking for me.”
They finished their approach toward him. “I’ve been looking for you since Ramsey got shot,” Cruz said. “Where have you been?”
The man shrugged. “Been around. You just didn’t look in the right places.”
“What can you tell us about Ramsey’s shooting?” Madeline asked.
“I saw the gun and I yelled at everyone to get down. Ramsey was too slow. Bullets were spraying, and he took a couple of them.”
“You don’t seem too concerned about his getting hit,” Cruz noted.
