To her surprise, he laughed. “Cheek god, huh? You’re the only person I know who could say that and make it sound so little like a compliment.”
She flushed. It hadn’t been a compliment, exactly, but she hadn’t intended to offend him, either. “I didn’t mean…”
He waved her words away. “It doesn’t matter. And you’re partially right. I can have a lot of dates, if I want them. But going out with women attracted to me based solely on my looks long ago ceased to thrill me. I’m thirty- four years old, Madeline. It’s dehumanizing to be seen as some kind of trophy. I don’t want to be wanted that way, any more than you’d wish to date a man who was interested only in your beauty.”
Now she really was embarrassed, but her interest was caught in spite of it. “Does that happen often?” she asked.
“Much more often than being pursued by women interested in my mind,” he said wryly. “And although you probably don’t believe this, men find that as annoying as women do.”
“I guess I never considered it that way before.” And she hadn’t. She had been as guilty of generalizing about him, based on his looks, as anybody, she realized in a flash. Brewer had laid the groundwork by revealing to her, in that half-snide, half-envious tone, just how popular Cruz was with women. And she’d drawn her own conclusions the first time she’d laid eyes on him.
He shrugged, as if the matter was not of great consequence, and looked at his menu again. Madeline returned to hers also, but her mind wasn’t on food. Not for the first time since she’d started this case, she felt a flicker of remorse for deceiving him. She couldn’t permit that feeling; it meant she was getting too emotionally involved in the case, and that wouldn’t do. She needed to back up, maintain a little distance. But that was difficult when she was working this closely with Cruz. Each day she worked with him taught her a little more about him, and while that was necessary for her investigation, it was playing havoc with her judgment. Darn it, she
“Madeline?” Her gaze flew to his, then to the waitress standing patiently next to her, pen poised. She quickly made a selection and gave it to the waitress.
“You were a million miles away,” he observed as the woman took their menus and left. “Is your headache still bothering you?”
She shook her head. “Not much. I was just… thinking.”
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself,” he invited. At her look of refusal, he cajoled, “C’mon. I really know very little about you. I talk all the time. My life’s an open book to you.”
If only he knew, she thought. While it was true that he revealed much by his easy banter, he hadn’t yet given her the kind of information she was seeking about him. She was growing weary of the subterfuge, yet she had no choice but to continue. After all, if she could tie up the source of his second income, she would be just as likely to clear him as to incriminate him, wouldn’t she? She might end up doing him a favor.
Right, she derided herself. As if he would thank her for digging up every single thing she could about him, and filing it in a report to Internal Affairs. He wasn’t likely to feel grateful to find she’d been weighing the evidence against him, to see if it pointed to his guilt in a crime that would offend any decent person to be suspected of. He’d hate her if he ever found out what other task she’d been busy with during their partnership.
Not that it would matter. This case, as well as this partnership, was merely temporary. When it ended, Cruz Martinez would cease to have any effect on her at all. Whether she proved him guilty or innocent, her life would resume as before. She need never see him again. She forced down the strange sense of desolation her thoughts brought.
She became belatedly aware that he was looking at her expectantly. “There’s nothing important to tell,” she said finally.
“Family?”
That was one of the last things she wanted to discuss with him, or with anyone else, for that matter. “A father, one brother,” she said shortly. “My mother died when I was a teenager. Other than that, I had the usual childhood.”
He waited, but she had clearly finished.
“C’mon,” he wheedled. “There must be some juicy morsel from your past you’d like to share with me.”
“What are you hoping for, Martinez?” she gibed. “That I can relate some incidents that will rival those from your misspent youth?” She shook her bead. “Sorry to disappoint you. Most of my indiscretions were purely imaginary.” Although there were still some who remained convinced that she’d been guilty of much more than an indiscretion when Dennis Belding’s crimes had come to light. She had no doubt that her father’s publicity team and advisers had worked frantically to reduce the impact the fiasco would have on his career. But she steadfastly refused to believe her father responsible for her being cleared in the department’s internal investigation. It was important for her to think there was one major portion of her life that her father would never have any direct control over.
“How often do you see your family?” he quizzed.
“Not often. My brother lives on the West Coast. I have dinner with my father once a month, when I can’t get out of it.” She gave a wry smile and added, “We don’t have a lot in common.”
Cruz was silent, absorbing her words. He couldn’t imagine a father not having more of a relationship with his daughter, whatever their differences. Certainly he didn’t always agree with his father. But the bond between them was strong, as was the sense of family loyalty.
Madeline seemed unwilling to continue and he studied her, wondering if he dared push her any farther. She seemed to have an innate sense of caution, a protective guardedness about her that prevented others from getting too close too quickly. That added to her intrigue. But when she wasn’t guarding her words carefully, when her defenses lowered a bit, she went far beyond intriguing. She had a sparkle, a depth to her that was compelling. And he was finding himself very much compelled.
His attention was snared by a man approaching their table, a broad smile on his face.
“Cruz, how are you? I’ve left several messages on your answering machine. It’s lucky I’ve run into you like this.”
Cruz rose to his feet, mentally cursing the man’s timing. “Good to see you,” he said insincerely, shaking his hand. “Madeline, will you excuse us for a minute?” Without waiting for her answer, he was leaving the table, guiding the man across the room.
She watched in confusion as they stopped in a corner and fell into a discussion. Now what was that all about? Cruz had seemed ill at ease at the man’s appearance and had wasted no time getting him away from the table. She watched the two carefully, but could discern little from where she was sitting. The other man seemed to be doing much of the talking, gesturing periodically. Cruz shook his head a few times, but mostly listened. Her attention drifted when the waitress returned to their table with their meals. Madeline waited several minutes, but Cruz showed no signs of returning. It gave her an excuse to go fetch him. There was no sense in either of them eating a cold meal.
As she approached, she heard the other man say, “Great! I knew this was too good for you to pass up.”
“I’m serious, though, Dan,” Cruz answered. “If you’re going to insist on taking chances like this, you’re going to have to count me out. I’ve got too much to lose if we-” He broke off as his companion’s eyes looked past him. Cruz turned to see Madeline standing there.
“Sorry to interrupt you, but our food arrived a few minutes ago,” Madeline said, her gaze going curiously from one man to the other. “I didn’t want to let it get any colder.”
The man he’d called Dan slapped Cruz on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll let you go. I’ve held you up longer than I should have. I hope your gorgeous date will forgive our talking business.” Cruz didn’t correct his misconception, nor did he introduce them, two omissions noted by Madeline. He walked back to the table with her and they resumed their seats.
She watched him from beneath her lashes. He began eating, and he didn’t offer an explanation about his business with the other man. He was obviously preoccupied, and said little throughout the meal. She chewed mechanically, mentally going over the snippet of conversation she’d overheard. They could have been talking about the stock market, she thought, or about a business venture. A throbbing in her temples signaled the return of her headache. They could just as easily have been discussing an illicit business proposition. One that had to do with supplying crooks with state-of-the-art weaponry?
