Madeline left her car in the long circular driveway in front of her father’s house. As she approached the luxurious brick home she didn’t even notice the flawlessly manicured lawn and neatly trimmed shrubs. Perfection was something Geoffrey Casey demanded; he would accept nothing less. She let herself in the front door and headed to the study.
As expected, she found him seated behind his walnut desk in the darkly paneled room. She crossed the plush Oriental carpet, and he rose, looking pointedly at his watch. From long experience Madeline ignored his silent disapproval. She knew she was on time for dinner, just as she was aware that he liked to enjoy a leisurely cocktail a half hour prior to dining. It was her custom to skip that part of the evening if she could.
“Father,” she murmured, kissing his cheek perfunctorily. “How have you been?”
“Busy, as usual. You’re looking well, Madeline. It’s a shame we can’t manage to see each other more often than our monthly dinners.”
Mentally disagreeing, she said, “Well, with our schedules, I guess we’ll have to take what we can get.”
“You’re too late to join me for a drink,” he continued. “I’m sure the cook has dinner ready.”
Together they walked to the dining room. Madeline had never been able to understand why her father insisted on dining every night in the coldly elegant room, at a table that could easily seat twelve. But then the thought of him eating in the kitchen, or anywhere less formal than one of his many clubs, was equally incongruous. Geoffrey Casey was one of those people whom Madeline couldn’t imagine doing any of a number of routine things in the course of a day.
They made small talk as the cook entered the room wheeling a cart. She began removing the steaming dishes from it and setting them on the table. Geoffrey abruptly fell into silence at her arrival, but Madeline smiled warmly at the woman serving them.
“Jenny, everything smells wonderful, as usual.”
The short, dark-haired woman threw her a quick smile, never pausing in her work. “You were never a tough one to please, Miss Madeline, but thanks, anyway.”
“How’s Bob?” Madeline inquired solicitously about the woman’s husband.
“Last doctor visit he got a clean bill of health. The doctor said there’s a little permanent damage to his heart, but he’ll be back on his feet in no time.”
“Tell him I said hello, and to take care of himself.”
“I’ll do that, miss.” The cook shot a wary glance at Geoffrey, who was eyeing her coldly. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
He waved a hand, dismissing her. “That will be all, Mrs. Parks. We’ll call you if we need anything.” The cook disappeared through the kitchen door. He waited until she was out of earshot before saying disapprovingly, “Really, Madeline, I would think that by now I would no longer have to remind you about engaging in banal conversations with the hired help. You’ve been taught better and it’s most unbecoming for you to treat them as-”
“As human beings?” Madeline finished for him in a tight voice.
He frowned at her interruption. “You know perfectly well what I mean. There’s no need to be disrespectful.”
She mentally began to count to one thousand, striving to hold on to her rapidly escalating temper. She knew from experience that arguing with her father never did any good. He detested what he referred to as emotional outbursts, and she suspected that what he really hated was emotion, period. Every word he uttered was delivered in the same smooth, level tone Anger, joy, frustration-it didn’t matter. His expression rarely altered, his voice never rose.
Where had she come from? Certainly not from this frigidly proper man Nor could she see much resemblance to Lorraine Casey, her mother, who’d been killed in a car accident when Madeline was a teenager. Her mother had been blond and beautiful, as proper and devoid of feeling as her husband. Always concerned with appearances, she’d never made a move without first weighing its possible effect on her husband’s career.
They certainly had gotten more than they bargained for in Madeline. She had been a squalling baby with a shock of red hair and a temper to match. The Caseys must have doubted that they’d been given the correct infant at the hospital. Even worse, a severe case of asthma had made it impossible for her to be packed off to a boarding school, as her brother, Kevin, had been. No, they’d been forced to keep Madeline at home with them, had to deal with her childish chatter and deplorable manners. Almost every word she could remember either parent directing at her when she was growing up was in the form of a command or a reprimand. She would have grown up thinking that hers was a normal family if it hadn’t been for the people hired to run the household, such as Mrs. Parks. The occasional glimpses she’d had into their homes had shown her otherwise.
A huge genetic mistake, that’s what she was. She was no longer a child, but she knew her reactions to her father were firmly based in the roots of her childhood. She had grown accustomed to masking her emotions in his presence, or at least making the attempt. The only way her father would listen to her was if she could remain as cool and calm as he did.
Not that he made a habit of listening to her. Geoffrey Casey had never lost his aptitude for engineering everything and everybody around him to suit himself, his daughter included. She’d made it her life’s work to not be manipulated by him, but it was grueling going sometimes.
“I understand you’ve been assigned to a new case.” Her father interrupted her thoughts.
Madeline could feel herself bracing for what was to come. One reason she avoided him was that he insisted on making her business his own. He wouldn’t ask what she was working on like other fathers. He would use his contacts through the city to make it his business to know. And since he’d spent nearly twenty years on the city council, his contacts were numerous. Then he would proceed to instruct her on the best way to handle her case, and herself, until she was ready to scream.
I will not do this, she promised herself. No matter what he says, I will not be sarcastic. She answered cautiously, “Yes, I’m investigating an arms supplier.”
Her father nodded, as if he already knew. “So I hear. Brewer assigned this case to you?”
“Yes.”
He nodded again, chewing reflectively. “You’ve been paired with a Cruz Martinez for the duration of the case?”
She gritted her teeth. His information was accurate, as always. “Yes.”
“What’s he like?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Why, do you know him?”
“It’s impolite to answer a question with another question,” he admonished her. “But, no, of course I don’t know him. That’s why I asked you.”
She shrugged, knowing the casual gesture would annoy him. “He’s all right, I guess.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to link him to the gun sales?”
Madeline froze in the act of raising her fork to her lips. Then slowly she replaced it on her plate. “Where,” she asked in carefully measured words, “did you get that information?”
He waved her question away nonchalantly. “I have my sources, Madeline, you know that. Now, please answer my question.”
But she had no intention of doing so. When she spoke again it was difficult to keep her voice from shaking with anger. “I’ve told you before, I do not care to have your snoops spying on every aspect of my career and then reporting back to you. You have no business asking for, or receiving, such privileged information about an Internal Affairs investigation. It’s a complete abuse of your position to even request it.”
But her father, as usual, was unmoved by her words. “For heaven’s sake, Madeline, I certainly don’t have hired men ‘spying’ on you, as you so inelegantly put it. I happened to run into a friend at my club and we had a drink together. You know how it is.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “He shared the information with me because he thought I’d be interested.”
Oh, yes, Madeline thought, her stomach churning with fury. She knew exactly how it was. How it had always been. He’d never trusted her to live her own life, and he never would. He was constantly looking over her shoulder, warning her about which decisions to make, second-guessing her all the way. She knew blowing up at him would solve nothing, but she could no more stop herself than she could quit breathing. “We’ve had this discussion before,” she said furiously. “When are you going to keep your nose out of my professional life?”
When he answered, Geoffrey’s voice was crisp. “When I can trust your professional judgment. From what I’ve heard of Martinez, he’s quite a ladies’ man. I don’t want you to make another mistake.”
The color leeched from her face. “What exactly are you implying?”
“You know very well, Madeline, but if you insist on having it spelled out… As soon as I heard about this job you’ve been assigned-to see if Martinez is clean-I had a feeling of déjà vu. I just think you need to be very careful that you don’t succumb to this man’s surface charm and overlook any evidence to suggest that he’s a criminal.”
“Like I did before?” she said woodenly.
“With Dennis Belding, yes. Good Lord, you were planning to marry the man before he was caught going through my personal papers in my office. The damage he was intending to do me was only barely averted. You don’t exactly have the best track record in your judgment of men, my dear.”
“May I remind you,” she retorted, “that you were totally in favor of our engagement? Dennis had your wholehearted approval.”
“Hmm, yes, that was unfortunate. But it’s neither here nor there. You understand now what I’m talking about. Perhaps it would be best for you to ask Brewer to assign someone else to Martinez.”
“That is out of the question,” she snapped.
Predictably, her show of temper had little visible effect on her father. His voice, when he spoke, was tinged with censure. “Well, then, be very careful, Madeline. You act as if you despise the power that comes with my position, but it was the only thing that saved you from being implicated in Dennis’s little schemes.”
Her chair clattered as she stood abruptly. “That’s not true!”
He surveyed her impassively. “Isn’t it?”
She closed her eyes briefly, but trying to rein in her temper at this point was impossible. “I prefer to believe that I was cleared in the investigation because I was innocent. And you would do well to remember that Cruz Martinez might be, too.”
Geoffrey rose also. “Believe what you wish. But if you insist on going ahead with this investigation, you had better be sure of your motives regarding Martinez. If you conclude he’s innocent of any wrongdoing, be very certain this time that you’ve reached your conclusion based upon the evidence, and not upon your emotions.”
Madeline picked up her purse with hands that were not quite steady. “Congratulations, Father. You’ve managed to ruin another meal.”
Realizing her intention, he frowned. “Madeline, you aren’t leaving? You haven’t finished your dinner.”
“I’ve lost my appetite,” she said clearly, and stalked from the room and out of the house.
Back in her own apartment she tried to curb the anger that renewed every time she played back their conversation. Her blood pressure couldn’t stand more than an hour a month in her father’s presence. She’d known that he didn’t have an especially high opinion of her. But to imply that she would succumb to any man who came her way… How could he not know her at all, after thirty years?
The answer was simple, she thought glumly as she methodically put her purse away and hung up her jacket. Geoffrey Casey had never taken the time to get to know either of his children. They existed solely as extensions of himself, extensions he felt compelled to control. He didn’t want to get to know them. To do so would mean he would have to admit they were individuals in their own right.
She flipped on some soothing music and plopped down on the couch, sitting cross-legged. She bent her head back and concentrated on allowing the tension from the evening to slip away. Really, what difference did it make what her father thought? He’d long since lost the power to really hurt her with his lack of faith.
She refused to admit, even to herself, that he’d never quite lost the power to make her doubt herself.
Madeline knocked on Captain Brewer’s door the next morning and entered at his brusque command. His eyebrows rose when he saw her, and he motioned her to a chair.
“Well, Sergeant, do you have something for me already?”
“Just an update.” She told him of the interrogation of Stover the day before, “Martinez is going to ask Ritter to try to convince Jacobs to reduce the charges in return for Stover telling us where he got the weapon.”
“What else do you have?”
“His weapon is the only one that’s been recovered in the act of a crime. And it’s the same kind that was used in each of the drive- by shootings.”
Brewer waited for a few moments, but when she added nothing further, he said, “That’s all? Casey, you’ve got nothing. If Jacobs had been interested, he would have acted by now.”
“Maybe no one has suggested it yet,” she maintained stubbornly. “We figured it was worth a shot.”
The captain didn’t look convinced. “Don’t get your hopes up. Stover robbed a bank, for God’s sake, and got caught red-handed doing it. Jacobs isn’t going to want to give up a sure conviction.” He looked at her for a long moment. “What have you gotten on Martinez so far?”
She sighed. “It’s only been one day. Did you think I was going to walk in after twenty-four hours and hand him over to you?” She hesitated. Damn her father for his words last night. Now she would be examining each move she made for signs of favoritism to Martinez. Brewer, too, was eyeing her speculatively.
“So you’re saying you haven’t found anything so far.”
After a momentary pause she related the scene between Martinez and Baker. “He mentioned the Internal Affairs investigation.”
“And?” the man demanded. “Did you get the feeling he was harboring a grudge against the department?”
“He certainly didn’t agree with the investigation’s findings,” she said dryly, “but that’s hardly grounds to convict him of illegal gun sales.”
“Don’t downplay it, Detective,” the captain admonished her. “If he thinks the department let him down, it could be a possible motive for wanting to get even.”
Madeline closed her mouth against further argument. Defending Cruz Martinez wasn’t in her job description. She was, after all, carrying out her assignment.
She refused to listen to the mocking voice inside questioning just who she was trying to convince. Brewer, her father, or herself?
As Madeline walked toward Martinez’s desk, he jumped up. “You’re here, great.” He rounded his desk and headed toward, then past her. She turned and followed him outside.
“I take it we’re in a hurry,” she surmised as they went toward the car.
“That we are, Detective Casey. I just called Philadelphia Memorial Hospital and Ramsey Elliot is able to have visitors. He’s also making noises about leaving the hospital soon, so we need to get over there before he does.” Reaching the car, he tossed her the keys, which she caught reflexively. “Your turn to drive, remember?”
Madeline slid into the driver’s seat and Cruz sat on the passenger side. “Buckle up, Madeline,” he chided her playfully. “You’ve heard the commercials. Click it or ticket.” Bending forward, he reached for the car radio, batting her hand out of the way as she would have selected the station. “Uh-uh, it’s my turn. Passenger gets to choose the music.” Soon a plaintive country song was filling the air.
“Oh, good heavens,” Madeline said, throwing him a look of disgust. “You weren’t kidding yesterday. You really do listen to this stuff.”
“I never kid about good music,” he informed her solemnly. “Just give it a chance. It will grow on you.”
Like a fungus, she thought, but kept the remark to herself. She checked out his feet. Today they were garbed in yet another pair of cowboy boots. She’d made a few phone calls before she had met him this morning, and she was still stunned at the amount she was quoted over the phone for such a pair. Her head still swam with the different kinds the clerks had reeled off. Ostrich skin, rattlesnake, kangaroo… She was too untutored to discern the type he wore, but as she’d expected, they were expensive. Her eyes swept his figure, slouched in the seat next to her, and she smirked. Maybe he spent all his money on boots-the rest of his wardrobe seemed limited to jeans and casual shirts. She ignored the way they enhanced his body and returned her gaze to traffic.
“What do you have on Ramsey Elliot so far?”
“Not much. I was able to question him a little bit after he was brought in, while he was waiting for surgery. Then the doctor kicked me out and I haven’t spoken with him since. I did talk to his mother, though. She’s the one who told me he was a member of the Lords. He’s fifteen, and according to her, he’s only been running with them for a couple of months. Since he’s hooked up with his new friends she’s had all kinds of trouble with him-skipping school, fights, vandalism. He’s currently on probation for a charge of assault. He jumped another kid in the hallway at school.”
Madeline didn’t comment. The story he was telling had all too familiar a ring. On the streets of Philadelphia kids like Ramsey grew up fast, and an alarming number of them didn’t have the chance to grow up at all. “Have you talked to any other members of the Lords?”
“A few, but they didn’t have much to say. We need to concentrate on them next. Unless you have another idea?”
She shook her head. Their best bet would be to lean heavily on the gang, and try to anticipate their next move.
At the hospital a nurse showed them the way to Ramsey’s room. As they approached it, they heard raised voices.
“I told you to stay out of it!”
“Why should I, huh? You didn’t. You didn’t stay out of it, and look where it got you! Lying in a hospital bed with your stomach full of lead!”
“Forget about it. It’s too late, anyway. I can’t-”
The voice broke off as the nurse pushed open the door, announcing their arrival. “You have more visitors, Ramsey.” She looked at Cruz and Madeline. “Don’t stay too long, Detectives. He still tires easily.” They nodded and approached the bed.
“I’m Detective Martinez, Ramsey, and this is Detective Casey. I spoke to you for a few minutes after you were brought in, do you remember that?”
The youth was silent, his gaze distrustful. Finally he muttered, “Yeah, I remember you.”
Cruz looked at the other visitor in the room. “Who’s this?”
“My brother, Ricky.”
“Hi, Ricky.” The boy nodded and ducked his head, not looking at either detective. Cruz’s attention shifted back to Ramsey. “I’d like to go over the statement you gave me regarding your shooting.”
“Why? I told you everything.”
Cruz leaned against the wall next to the bed. “Let’s see, shall we? Sometimes people remember things without even realizing it.” He consulted the notebook he’d brought with him. “You said you didn’t see the face of the person who shot you, but you saw the car?”
“Yeah, I told you, it was a dark green car. I don’t know what kind, but it was old. There was lots of rust on it.”
“Did you hear it coming?”
“What do you mean?”
Madeline bit her lip. Cruz would have tough going with this one. The young man was determined not to give them any more information than he had to. She studied the youth in the bed. He looked older than fifteen. He was a handsome boy, despite the strain the shooting and the surgery must have had on him. His eyes held a worn weariness she’d seen too often on the streets, sometimes in children younger than this one. It was a look carried by someone who’d seen too much, and eaten too little. One that said he didn’t even expect to live to adulthood.
Her attention was snared by the brother, Ricky. He hadn’t stopped moving since they’d entered the room. He picked up various objects-the water pitcher, the box of tissues-and then set them down again. He’d moved away from the bed now, and was leaning against the wall. One knee was bouncing nervously. She smiled at him. “Hospitals make you uncomfortable, huh? Me, too. I can never get used to the smell.”
He looked surprised to have her speak to him, but he smiled shyly. “Yeah, man, and is it ever clean! I thought my mom was bad, but there’s this nurse here, she’s a real beast about germs.”
Madeline laughed softly. “You must have been spending a lot of time here with Ramsey.”
He nodded. “My mom comes, too, when she can, but she works two jobs, so she don’t get much time off. I come whenever I can find someone else to watch Rhonda-that’s my little sister. I don’t like to bring her much. A hospital is no place for kids, ya know?”
She nodded in agreement, silently noting that Ricky wasn’t much more than a kid himself. He looked only about twelve or thirteen, and lacked the world-weary air of his brother. “Who watches your sister when you come to the hospital?”
Ricky’s shoulders went back defensively. “I always make sure she’s taken care of. Mom would kill me if I left her alone. There’s a lady in our building, she don’t mind looking out for her. Today I took her to the library. Rhonda loves it there. She reads real good, for only being eight.”
“It sounds like Rhonda is lucky to have you for a big brother,” Madeline said sincerely, and the boy smiled in genuine pleasure at the compliment.
“Ricky!”
All heads swiveled at Ramsey’s voice. When he had his brother’s attention, he ordered tersely, “Pour me some water, will ya?” Ricky obediently tended to his brother, and Ramsey settled back in the bed. He exchanged a long glance with Madeline and she knew he’d issued the command to put a stop to her conversation with the boy. Just what is it you’re afraid of? she questioned silently as they stared at each other. Is it your distrust of the police that makes you keep Ricky close to your side? Or are you afraid he’ll tell me something you don’t want us to know?
There were no answers forthcoming in his carefully blank gaze, nor did Cruz fain much better with the questions he asked him. Ramsey’s answers were noncommittal, and short to the point of belligerence. He was careful to keep Ricky near him, ordering him about, making sure the boy was too busy to talk to Madeline again.
Finally Cruz snapped the notebook shut in exasperation. “Well, I guess that’s all I have for right now, Ramsey. Okay if I get back to you, if I have more questions?” They all were aware that the request was mere politeness; Cruz could and would be contacting Ramsey again. The look on the boy’s face said that he knew it, too.
“Won’t do no good,” he responded with a shrug. “Told ya all I know.” Ricky, for once, was still, watching their faces carefully, as though trying to discern what wasn’t being said. Madeline reached into her purse and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, tearing off a piece of it. “Here, Ricky,” she said, scribbling on the back of it. “I’ll bet Rhonda likes to read about animals, doesn’t she?”
The boy exchanged a puzzled look with his brother and responded, “Yeah. She’s nuts about horse stories, especially.”
She finished writing and held the piece of paper out to him. “So was I, at that age. I wrote down the name of a couple of authors who were my favorites when I was a kid. Maybe Rhonda would like to check out some of their books the next time you take her to the library.”
Ricky took the paper from her slowly, looking uncertainly at his brother. Ramsey shrugged a little, and settled back in the hospital bed. Ricky smiled at Madeline. “Thanks. I’ll help her look them up.” He slipped the paper into his pocket.
Cruz and Madeline said goodbye to the boys and went out the door. Walking down the hallway, she remarked, “Nice kid.”
He slanted a glance at her. “Let me guess. You wrote it on the back of your card. Smooth, Casey, very smooth. But what makes you think he’ll use it? Or that he has anything to tell us?”
“Whatever Ramsey is involved in, Ricky doesn’t agree with, I’d stake my life on that. I’m just not sure how much he knows about his brother’s involvement with the Lords.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the source of the argument we overheard.”
“I didn’t hear everything Ramsey told you while I was talking to Ricky. Did he give you any leads?”
“Maybe,” Cruz responded as they crossed the parking lot in the bright sunlight. The sun caught her hair and gilded it, turning it into a fiery halo threaded with gold. He was reminded of the first time he’d seen her at the playground. It had been a day just like this one, and her hair had shimmered in the afternoon sun. He experienced an overwhelming desire to unfasten the barrette that seemed to be holding the heavy mass pinned above her neck, and shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets to squelch the urge.
“Go ahead,” she invited.
His eyes bounced to hers disbelievingly. She was giving him permission? “What?”
“You said maybe Ramsey had given you a lead. What was it?”
He shook his head a little to clear it as they reached the car and he waited for her to unlock it. He would do well to keep those mental meanderings under control. He doubted very much that Detective Sergeant Madeline Casey would appreciate being the object of his overactive imagination.
They were both seated in the car when she prompted him again. “Well?”
His mouth quirked. She really wasn’t long on patience. He could read that in her rigid posture. He’d be willing to bet she had a temper to match that head of hair, although he hadn’t had occasion to experience it yet. He wondered how much longer he had before she reached over and throttled him for keeping her in suspense. Not long, he surmised, gauging her short, jerky movements as she switched on the car and put it into gear. He deliberately waited another moment before answering her question. “It was after you’d been talking to Ricky for a while. Ramsey was getting a little distracted, trying to hear what you two were saying and at the same time answer my questions. He slipped up once. I’d asked him if he had insurance to take care of the hospital bill and he answered that Dirk would take care of it. Then he caught himself, and said he could take care of it.”
“Dirk,” Madeline murmured, her mind swiftly flipping through her memory banks.
“Dirk Cantoney,” be supplied.
She nodded, knowing where she’d seen that name. “Leader of the Lords.”
“Exactly. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, just why Cantoney would be willing to come up with that much money for a kid who just joined the gang a few months ago?”
“Maybe Ramsey is something of a hero now that he’s been shot,” she suggested.
“I haven’t had any luck finding Cantoney yet, but I’ve told the Lords members I’ve talked to that I want to meet with him.”
“He’d be the one who would deal on the gun if they’re planning to retaliate,” Madeline agreed.
Cruz nodded. “We’ll go looking for him right after lunch.”
“I have just the spot,” she answered, driving surely. “Driver gets to pick where we eat dinner.”
“I didn’t get to pick yesterday.”
“Thanks to your driving, we didn’t get to eat yesterday.”
He quibbled good-naturedly with her until she pulled the car over to the side of a street. He looked at the corner and then back at her, dismay written all over his face.
“A hot dog stand?”
“Best hot dogs in Philadelphia,” she informed him as she got out of the car. “If you haven’t eaten one outside, you don’t know what you’re missing. It’s all in the presentation and ambience.” He followed her reluctantly. She was obviously not the only fan. There were several other people waiting in line to be served.
“Do you know what they make these things from?” he asked in a loud whisper.
“Yep.”
“They make them from animals’ intestines.” He didn’t know that for sure, but he thought he’d heard that once, and it sounded suitably disgusting.
“I like intestines,” she responded imperturbably. She bought two hot dogs and handed him one. He took it resignedly and moved aside to heap it with various condiments. He eyed her askance as she munched contentedly.
“Aren’t you at least going to put relish on it?” he asked, holding up a spoonful.
“I don’t eat green things.”
He shook his head in mock regret. “You really need to be taken in hand. Your dining habits are deplorable.” He eyed the hot dog suspiciously before giving an inward sigh. Hunger won out over the desire for nutrition. He devoured the meal hastily, but not before a large drop of mustard landed on his shirt.
Madeline bit her lip to keep from laughing at his aggrieved look. “It’s your own fault. You had your hot dog piled too high. There’s an art to eating without a plate.”
“Obviously,” he mumbled, dabbing at the stain with a napkin. “This was my favorite shirt, too.”
“Considering what I’ve seen of your wardrobe so far, you probably have a dozen more just like it,” she answered without sympathy.
He looked affronted. “Are you implying that my wardrobe lacks imagination?”
“No,” she responded, “just taste.”
He grinned at her then. “Speaking of tasteless, you have ketchup on your face.”
Madeline scrubbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Where?”
“You missed it, it’s right…” His finger went to the corner of her mouth just as her tongue swept her lips, searching for the errant drop. The tip of her tongue barely grazed his finger, and his breath hissed in at the scorching wake of sensation.
The entire scope of his focus narrowed to her lips. “Here,” he said huskily, wiping away the minuscule trace. His eyes followed the movement of his finger.
Madeline looked up, a little embarrassed, but forgot what she was going to say when her gaze caught his.
Hot. Her stomach jumped crazily. How could eyes that dark look so heated? She was unable to tear her gaze away. His face came closer, and still she couldn’t move. Instead she watched, entranced by those hypnotic eyes. They weren’t really black, she thought a little dizzily. But they were so dark a brown that the pupil showed only at a close range. This close. Kissing close. Unconsciously her lips parted, and her eyelids grew heavy.
“Cruz!”
Madeline looked up, a little dazed, but came back down to earth with a crash when a pretty young woman came running up and launched herself into Cruz’s arms, kissing him soundly. “Where have you been?” the woman scolded. “I’ve missed you.”