Man With The Muscle. Julie MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
As the reporter turned to do a live interview in the studio with Kansas City’s D.A., Dwight Powers, Alex’s thoughts wandered. He half suspected that the main reason he’d gotten the SWAT position over several other older, more tenured candidates was because he was a Taylor. In addition to his dad’s work in conjunction with the police department, his uncle Mitch was chief of the Fourth Precinct. His uncle Mac ran the day shift at the crime lab. He had two other uncles who were cops, and one who was an FBI agent assigned to the Kansas City Bureau. His uncle Brett, the only one who wasn’t involved in law enforcement, was married to a cop.
His adopted brother, Edison Pike Taylor, worked in the K-9 unit. His two youngest brothers, Matthew and Mark, while still in college, were both already on their way to similar careers.
With a powerful, venerated family history like that, it made good press within the department to assign one of the next generation of Taylor cops to KCPD’s premiere SWAT unit. But it didn’t mean a thing to the members of his team.
Especially when a cop had to die for the position to open up in the first place.
Not only was Alex the new guy, he had the unenviable task of replacing a well-loved friend who’d been shot down in the line of duty. He had a lot to prove no matter how he looked at it.
Better content himself with fetching the beer.
The wry thought faded when another photo popped up on the TV screen beside Smith’s booking picture. The woman looked delicate, pretty in an icy-hot way. Striking light red hair. Creamy skin. Wide, slightly full, could-be-sexy-if-they-weren’t-pressed-so-tight lips. She was a stunning contrast to Smith’s mahogany skin and shaved head. She was all class, all uptown, compared to Smith’s decidedly downtown street style.
Beauty aside, noting her knowing arch of one auburn brow, Alex could tell there was some fire under that buttoned-up suit and cool facade, as well. He’d bet those lips softened like honey when she smiled. He wondered what it would take to get her to smile, what a man might do to ignite the fire beneath the surface of her skin.
Alex’s pulse shook off the last of its doldrums and beat at a healthy tempo. Nothing like a little sensual delight to take a man’s mind off his troubles. He tuned into the story—something about the attorney taking on Smith’s prosecution—trying to catch the name of the flame-haired fantasy.
Audrey Kline. Audrey. He grinned at how well the old-fashioned name fit her tailored suit and pearls. Was she another reporter covering the story? She must be new to this station since he hadn’t seen …
Wait a minute. Assistant District Attorney Audrey Kline?
Alex’s pulse tripped over a warning as recognition kicked in. He leaned in slightly, tuning out the noise of the bar around him and reading the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
Audrey Kline—daughter of Rupert Kline of Kline, Galloway & Tucker, Attorneys at Law. That name he recognized. Rupert Kline was one of the—if not the—most revered lawyers in Kansas City. His firm often represented the wealthiest of clients and, more than once, had poked holes in the tightest of KCPD’s cases and gotten various slime bags freed or released from jail time with little more than a slap on the wrists.
The enemy was arguing Smith’s case?
“No way.” Alex’s Latin blood hummed through his veins as irritation mixed with the initial attraction he’d felt.
What the hell was the D.A. thinking, putting a pampered society princess in charge of prosecuting Demetrius Smith? Did he really think some rookie wannabe was equipped to handle one of Kansas City’s most important cases? Nailing Smith for any number of charges, from drug trafficking and assault to witness intimidation and murder, would put a substantial dent in the city’s gang activities and violent crime stats.
He hadn’t risked his life to bring Smith in—Calvin Chambers hadn’t died—so that Red there could play at her daddy’s game and get her picture on TV. Audrey Kline was too young, too pretty, too … fluffy … to be taken seriously and win the case.
What was she doing working for the city when she could be handling contracts or civil suits at Daddy’s law firm, anyway? Was there some kind of political agenda going on here? If that murdering SOB Smith got off because Dwight Powers wanted to do a favor for her father …
“You okay, Taylor?” Josie was demanding his attention again.
Alex checked his temper as well as his hormones as the bartender scooted a bowl of pretzels across the bar. “Yeah. Just caught up in the news of the day, I guess.”
“I can change the channel,” she offered.
He shook his head and stood, tamping down the frissons of unexpected frustration and desire still sparking through his system. “I’m good. I’d better get back to the party.”
“If you take this to the table, I’ll bring the drinks over in just a sec.” She pointed to the waitress standing at the end of the bar. “I need to get her order filled first.”
“Sure.”
Audrey Kline’s picture disappeared and Alex cursed himself for breathing easier. Stupid move, Taylor. Twisting his shorts into a knot over some woman he’d never even met and a case that was out of his hands.
He tucked his money clip back into the pocket beneath his badge. Must be the guilt of the day combined with the pressure of the past year that left him feeling the need to connect to the right woman and get some of this pent-up frustration out of his system. He wasn’t getting anything but a friendly one-of-the-guys vibe from Josie, and he was cool with that.
But Audrey Kline? One head shot on the news and he’d been thinking of ways he could peel those pinstripes off her. So maybe he’d been a little obsessed with work lately, and hadn’t really dated since he’d accepted the SWAT gig. Needs that had been put on hold for too long, simmering too close to the surface, were the only reasons that made sense when it came to explaining his instant awareness of the red-haired attorney and his knee-jerk reaction to her assignment to the Smith case.
Logic said there could never be anything but distance between a rich daddy’s girl like her and a streetwise cop like him. She probably owned shoes that cost more than his monthly salary. Unless she went slumming for some secret kind of sex life, he could guarantee that a former gang member turned weapons and recon specialist for KCPD wasn’t the kind of guy she’d even deign to notice—much less want to connect with.
And an attorney who lacked the cojones to go after Smith and win wasn’t the kind of woman he wanted to be with anyway, right?
Carrying the oversize pretzel bowl in one hand, Alex made his way between a row of booths and two pool tables, sparing a moment to trade winks with a cool blonde. That was who he should be gettin’ the hots for. She was interested, willing—and not responsible for bringing Demetrius Smith to justice. But he moved on with a thanks-but-no-thanks smile when giggles and chatter erupted around her table. Too perky. Too easy. While Alex wasn’t averse to spending time with a beautiful woman, he just wasn’t in the mood for light and playful and meaningless tonight.
Besides, he had a feeling that if he didn’t deliver these snacks soon, he’d drop even further down that invisible hierarchy of prove-you-deserve-to-be-here attitude he got from the members of his team.
“Pretzels are up,” Alex announced, setting the bowlon the table and sliding it to the middle. “Josie’s bringing the drinks.”
“Thanks, shrimp.” Joseph Jones, Jr., nicknamed Triple J and often shortened to Trip, stuck a finger into the thick paperback book he was reading and helped himself to a handful of the salty twists.
So Alex was only five-ten. He hated the nickname Trip had stuck him with. Of course, as tall and powerfully built as the tank-size Trip was, anyone under six feet probably seemed small. “At least my mama knew more than one letter of the alphabet when she was coming up with names.”
Trip looked up