Alex’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Used to be,” Judd explained. “One of the teachers at Holly’s school’s a real gossip-gatherer. Reads all the tabloids and stuff. She was telling Holly how Strater and Bess were a thing a few months ago.”
“Is that so?” Alex remembered how they’d danced together at her party. Kissed. His mouth flattened into a grim line as he lifted the cup.
“A real whirlwind sort of thing—according to my sources. Before that, she was engaged to Charles Stutman.”
“Who the hell is that?”
“You know, the writer. He’s got that hot play on Broadway now.Dust to Dust.Holly really wants to see it. I thought maybe Bess could wangle some tickets.”
The sound Alex made was neither agreement nor denial. It was more of a growl.
“Then there was George Collaway—you know, the son of that big publisher? That was about three years ago, but he married someone else.”
“The lady gets around,” Alex said softly.
“Yeah, and in top circles. And, hey, Holly was really blown away when she found out that Bess was Roger K. McNee’s daughter. You know, the camera guy.”
“Camera guy?” Alex repeated, feeling a hole spreading in the pit of his stomach. “As in McNee-Holden?”
“Yeah. First camera I ever bought was a Holden 500. Use their film all the time, too. Hell, so does the department. Well.” He straightened. “If you get a chance, maybe you could ask Bess about those tickets. It sure would mean a lot to Holly.”
McNee-Holden. Alex ran the names over in his head while the noise of the squad room buzzed around him. For God’s sake, he had one of their cameras himself. He’d bought their little red packs of film hundreds of times over the years. The department used their developing paper. He was pretty sure NASA did too.
Wasn’t Bess just full of secrets!
So she was rich. Filthy rich. He picked up his messages again, telling himself it wasn’t such a big deal. Wouldn’t have been, he corrected silently, if she’d told him about it herself.
Engaged, he thought with a frown. Three times engaged. Shrugging, he picked up the phone. None of his business, he reminded himself as he punched in numbers. If she’d been married three times, it would be none of his business. He was taking her dancing, not on a honeymoon.
But it was a long time before he was able to shuffle her into a back corner of his mind and get on with his job.
Sexy, the man had said, Bess remembered, turning in front of her cheval glass. It looked as though she were going to oblige him.
Snug teal silk hugged every curve and ended abruptly at midthigh. Over the strapless, unadorned bodice, she wore a short, body jacket of fuchsia. Long, wand-shaped crystals dangled at her ears. After stepping into her heels, she gave her hair a last fluff.
She felt like dancing.
When her buzzer sounded, she grinned at her reflection. Leave it to a cop to be right on time. Grabbing her purse—a small one that bulged with what she considered the essentials—she hurried to the intercom.
“I’ll come down. Hold on.”
She found him on the sidewalk, looking perfect in gray slacks and a navy shirt. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his bomber jacket.
“Hi.” She kissed him lightly, then tucked an arm through his. “Where are we going?”
It gave him a jolt, the way their eyes and mouths lined up. As they would if they were in bed. “Downtown,” he said shortly, and steered her left toward the corner to catch a cab.
He couldn’t have pleased her more with his choice of the noisy, crowded club. The moment she stepped inside, Bess’s blood started to hum. The music was loud, the dancing in full swing. They squeezed up to the bar to wait for a table.
“Vodka, rocks,” Alex ordered, raising his voice over the din.
“Two,” Bess decided, and smiled at him. “I think I was here before, a few months ago.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Not his business, Alex reminded himself. Her background, the men in her life. None of it.
The hell it wasn’t.
