Carrie understood that—it had always been vitally important she earn the respect of her fellow officers. But if Quintana knew the real reason she’d been placed in his unit, his esteem would not be among the things she earned.
Although her shoulders were as stiff as wire, she kept her expression relaxed as she smiled at Quintana. “I’m looking forward to working in your unit, Lieutenant. After more than five years in patrol, I’m ready for a different type of police work.”
“You’ll get that here.” Quintana glanced up, then gestured at chair beside hers. “Reilly, have a seat. Linc Reilly, this is Carrie McCall.”
Turning her head, Carrie watched the man stride toward her. Six foot four, powerfully built, yet rangy and lean. His hair was pitch-black, edging toward renegade length. He had a sharp-cheeked face with a street-smart look about it and the exotic golden eyes of a tiger that no woman drawing breath would overlook. Including her. That lean, rangy body was clad in snug, worn jeans, and a red fisherman-style sweater, its sleeves shoved up to reveal muscular forearms.
The man made an impressive package. A dangerous one, too, if he was the cop who’d coolly executed six people.
“Your coffee,” Linc said. “Black. No additives.”
“Thanks.” Because of his earlier refusal to shake her hand, she set the cup on the lieutenant’s desk and offered hers again. “Pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Reilly.”
He kept his eyes on her face as his fingers engulfed hers. “Likewise, Sergeant McCall.”
She might as well have touched a lightning bolt, Carrie thought, as an electric shock flashed through her system. It took every bit of her willpower not to jerk from his hold.
Telling herself she would deal later with her overall brainless reaction to the man she was here to investigate, she forced a cool smile. “That errand you mentioned you needed to run must not have taken you long.”
His fingers tightened, as did his smile. “Not long enough.”
Since he made no move to loosen his grip, she had to tug her hand from his.
Quintana frowned. “You two know each other?”
“Met at the coffeemaker,” Linc replied, and turned. “Did you need me for something other than beverage delivery, Lieu?”
Quintana stabbed a finger toward the chair angled beside Carrie’s. “Have a seat.” He waited until Linc complied, then asked, “What’s the status of the crackdown on The Hideaway?”
Carrie sensed Linc’s hesitation. She didn’t have to wonder why—when she received her assignment, she had done her research. Selective Enforcement was an undercover unit that worked closely with Intelligence and primarily targeted career criminals. Their work was sensitive and could adversely impact numerous investigations—even get people killed—if information leaked. By necessity, SEU operated as a highly compartmentalized unit. The cops assigned there were even closemouthed with each other. Officers who were friends might not know the specifics of what each other was working on. And certain questions that fell outside the need-to-know area automatically generated suspicion. Good detectives were habitual, generic snoops, but this unit called for cops who were very localized snoops. Which meant Carrie was going to have to be careful in how she ferreted out the evidence she’d been sent there to obtain.
Seconds ticked by before Linc said, “Annie and I will make our first visit to The Hideaway tomorrow night. I’ll write you a status report on everything that’s been done so far.”
Quintana shook his head. “Give me an oral report. Now.”
Linc slid Carrie a look, then remet his boss’s gaze. “Like we planned, guys from Intelligence have been watching The Hideaway’s parking lot. They’ve photographed employees and customers, compiled a list of tag numbers off their vehicles. When I get the list, I’ll have dispatch run twenty-eight checks off those tags. Once they give me the name of each vehicle’s registered owner, I’ll have background checks on each name run through the CCH and NCIC,” Linc continued, referring to the department’s Computerized Criminal History and the National Crime Information Center computers. “That’ll give Annie and me an idea of the people we’ll be dealing with at The Hideaway. From that, we’ll firm up our final plan on how to play the assignment.”
Quintana nodded. “How many visits you figure it’ll take to pile up enough citations to raid the place?”
“Five or six, depends on what we find once we’re inside. We need enough violations to shut the place down permanently. Hopefully, Annie and I will have everything we need so the raid can go down before Thanksgiving. I can’t promise that, though.”
“Sounds good, Reilly. Except one thing.”
“What?”
“Annie’s no longer working with you on this. McCall is.”
Linc shifted his weight. “Look, Lieu, we know from my informant there’s lots of illegal activity at The Hideaway. Some we’re only guessing about at this point. My partner and I have to observe the violations, identify who’s doing what, then write up nightly reports. Anything inaccurate listed in the arrest warrants, any screw-ups during the bust could mean the entire case gets tossed. We also have to be careful how we interact with The Hideaway’s customers and employees—most who probably don’t know the definition of ‘upstanding citizen.’ Annie’s good, she’s got experience at all aspects of this kind of operation.”
“I agree with you, Reilly.” A frown drew Quintana’s dark brows together. “Thing is, Annie’s snagged an assignment to the new Homeland Security task force. Captain Vincent called me at home this weekend to let me know.”
Linc ran a hand through his hair. “How long will she be gone?”
“As long as the task force wants her. You’re teamed with McCall, starting with The Hideaway operation. Bring her up to speed so she’ll be ready by tomorrow night.”
“You’re the boss.” Linc’s expression might have remained impassive, but his tone rang in Carrie’s ears like cold steel.
Quintana nodded, then locked his gaze with hers. “McCall, I had a talk with Captain Vincent. He’s studied your file, says he has confidence in your abilities. Which means he doesn’t put much stock in what that patrol cop’s wife accused you of.”
Heat surged into Carrie’s cheeks while her internal defenses snapped up like a drawbridge. Although the department leaked like a sieve, she had hoped her former lieutenant—who knew she’d been an innocent victim of circumstance—had managed to keep the damn incident under wraps. Apparently not. Great.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Linc angled his head toward her. Carrie didn’t have to look at him to feel his intense scrutiny. Which made her cheeks burn even hotter.
“I assure you, Lieutenant, that woman’s accusation was unfounded. I did nothing inappropriate.”
For Carrie, the knowledge that the wife of one of her fellow patrol officers had stormed the chief’s office to make her unfounded accusations was a continuing cause of mortification. And because her pride was still raw, she added, “I take my work seriously, Lieutenant. The last thing I would do is engage in on-duty lip-lock sessions in the back seat of some patrol car.”
Despite telling herself not to, she glanced at Linc. He stared back at her. Noncommittal. Cop face. Unyielding.
Quintana tapped a pencil against his desk in a sharp staccato rhythm. “McCall, the bottom line here is that the mayor’s office has gotten calls from a citizen wanting this crackdown on The Hideaway. That makes it high profile. Lots of media and political attention at the end. Anything gets screwed up, some—maybe all—of the people we collar walk. That happens, there’ll be hell to pay. It won’t go over well if inappropriate action on some cop’s part screws up this operation.”
Carrie’s nerves tensed. Working an