The pale eyes narrowed. “Was there or was there not a shooting?”
A.J. answered before Winthrop could discount his daughter’s story again. “That’s yet to be confirmed. But if you really are the top dog in security around here, then I’d start with your man at the desk downstairs. At least three unknown parties made it to the top floor without him being aware of their presence in the building. And when Miss Winthrop asked him to assist her earlier tonight, he refused to leave his post.”
Tucker swung his gaze to Winthrop. “Is that true?”
“That’s what Claire said.”
That seemed to blow a hole in the chief’s malign-the-cops-and-save-the-day routine. “Warren’s new. He’s still green about how we run things here and who we answer to. I’ll take care of him. Miss Winthrop’s okay, right?”
Cain nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced.
After what passed for an apology to his boss, Tucker huffed up his chest and pointed another finger at the two cops. “I want to be copied on your report. Anything you find out about crimes on this property or against anyone associated with Winthrop, Inc. comes through me. Understood?”
Idly, A.J. wondered if Tucker would miss that annoying finger if he twisted it off the end of his hand. He’d taken down bigger blowhards before.
Josh grinned and vented the sarcasm that A.J. held in check. “I’ll run your request past Captain Taylor. If he gives the okey-dokey, I’ll trot that report right over to your office myself.”
“Just do your job, Detective. And let me do mine.”
Tucker pulled out his cell phone and stormed back down the hall the way he’d come. No one said goodbye. No one seemed to miss him.
“He’s a charmer,” Josh joked.
“He might be short on personality,” Winthrop apologized, “but he’s well-qualified to safeguard an empire the size of Winthrop Enterprises. I do business on six continents, and he oversees security for all of it.”
Maybe Chief Tucker could handle men across six continents, but he’d done a lousy job making one young, frightened woman feel secure in her father’s own office.
And maybe his father’s death wasn’t the only reason A.J. was still here an hour after finding out there was no crime at the alleged crime scene. Claire Winthrop had reminded him of his youngest sister, Teresa, the night she’d been mugged on her way home from work. That same shock was in her eyes; the fear was in every darting glance over her shoulder. Something had spooked the young lady. No matter what the evidence said, Claire was afraid.
Of what or whom didn’t matter. He supposed it was the big brother instincts in him. Or maybe some sort of continual atonement for not being able to prevent or solve his father’s so-called accident. But A.J. wasn’t going to walk away until he was sure that Valerie Justice wasn’t really dead and Claire Winthrop wasn’t in any real danger.
“Do you need anything else from me, Mr. Winthrop?” Pulling on her lightweight trench coat, Valerie Justice’s replacement waltzed out of the office and joined them. She’d introduced herself as Amelia Ward, and Winthrop said she’d come highly recommended from the temp agency from which he’d hired her for two weeks. “I can’t find anything that’s missing in either your office or Ms. Justice’s. The files and the phone logs all seem to be in the same order she showed me this morning. I’ve contacted the airline and the hotel in the Bahamas, as well, asking Ms. Justice to call us as soon as she gets the message.”
The new boss offered her a reassuring smile. “Good thinking, Amelia. I’m sure everything will be fine. I appreciate you coming in so late. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“No problem, sir. I’m going to head back home and finish watching that movie I rented.” She tucked her auburn hair behind her ear and offered Josh a smile that was more than friendly. “Unless the police need me for something else?”
Subtle.
Josh made a point of adjusting the front of his jacket and showing off his wedding ring. “I don’t think so, Miss Ward.”
Rebuffed by the big, blond cop, she turned her hopeful smile on A.J. “Officer Rodriguez?”
Not his type.
“It’s Detective.” He tapped his pocket where he’d stuffed his notepad. “But we’re good. We have your name and number on file, and if we need anything more we’ll give you a call.”
She didn’t quite take the hint. “Please do. Good night, gentlemen.”
With a nod, Amelia sashayed down the hallway. A.J. watched her leave, but he wasn’t noticing the purposeful strut of her hips. Instead, he was marking off the distance in his head because, for several steps before she turned the corner to the elevators, she’d completely disappeared from his line of sight.
I hid behind the trees and aquarium. I could see him, but he couldn’t see me.
Claire Winthrop’s words replayed in his head, fueling his curiosity. Marcus Tucker had been tall enough to remain in view as he walked the length of the hallway. But the top of Claire Winthrop’s head barely cleared A.J.’s shoulder. Was she tiny enough to pull off what she claimed?
Leaving Josh and Winthrop to wrap up their conversation, A.J. drifted back to the doorway of Winthrop’s office. He rose up on tiptoe, trying to make himself as tall as the man in the black suit Claire had described. Nada.
Even looking straight at the circle of pots and furniture, she could have hidden and watched the office without being seen. Why give that sort of accurate detail if she wasn’t telling the truth? Unless she was in the habit of hiding behind potted plants and spying on her father?
Though her handicap and slender, petite build added a delicacy to her appearance, Claire Winthrop didn’t strike A.J. as a woman prone to childish pranks. Maybe it was the designer suit or the careful way she chose and articulated her words that made her seem more grown up.
Or not.
“Miss Winthrop?” His voice fell on empty air as he turned into the interior of Winthrop’s office. Maybe the boss’s daughter did make a habit of playing hide and seek. She was nowhere to be seen inside here, either.
But he could hear her—rummaging around, mumbling to herself—on the other side of Winthrop’s sized-to-intimidate mahogany desk.
Hooking his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans, A.J. circled the desk and was greeted by the elegant sway of a pink silk bottom. Bello. His initial amusement at finding the proper, ladylike heiress crawling beneath her father’s desk heated with something decidedly male as he watched the graceful shape bob up and down.
He made no apologies for enjoying the view, but heeded the voice inside his head that reminded him he was here on business. Unlike Amelia Ward’s obvious flirting, this was no practiced seduction meant to entice. It was just a nice butt. Okay, a very nice one. One that moved with an innate sense of rhythm that seemed to match the pulse beating in his veins.
Ignore it, Rodriguez. He blinked and politely looked away. Whatever pleasures he might enjoy with the opposite sex, he knew they wouldn’t be with the daughter of the man his father had once cleaned toilets for.
“Miss?” Despite her assertion that she could hear some sound, thanks to surgery and cochlear implants, A.J. raised his voice. “Miss Winthrop?”
She seemed inordinately engrossed with running her fingers around every inch of the plastic chair mat beneath the desk. Needing her attention, A.J. leaned down and tapped her on the shoulder. “Miss Winthrop?”
As soon as he touched her, she let out a yelp, smacked her head on the desk and muttered something a little less classy than he might have expected from the dainty heiress. She spun around and landed on her bottom in a graceful