Carter
Carter entered the back of Hot Haven to find Boyd Martin against the wall in handcuffs, with a bloody face and a ballet dancer wedged in his eye. She’d expected some of that after what Scott had said, but the rest was definitely a first in her work as a law enforcement agent.
He was alive, but in bad shape. The paramedics pulled in the back and were putting him on a gurney. He’d probably need surgery, but he was somewhat conscious, and she planned to question him on the way to the hospital. What was that saying? Strike when the iron is hot.
By all accounts, Boyd was the mastermind behind this, and Viktor Antonovich his right hand man. But if Hutch was correct, Boyd had other friends who had known what was going on. She’d love to bring them in, too. The only thing better than arresting one man who targeted women was arresting two, and the only thing better than arresting two was arresting five.
Half a dozen officers were combing the property, looking for clues in the case against Hot Haven’s manager. She’d take all she could get, though from what she was hearing over the radio, the suspect had kidnapped, threatened, and tried to blackmail an officer on top of his other crimes. He was probably going to be put away for a while.
As the paramedics strapped him to the stretcher, she mused on how quickly her day had turned. She wanted to say it had all shifted when Hutch had uttered Boyd’s name, but if she were an honest woman, it was when she’d answered the phone at her desk and heard his low, gravelly voice in her ear.
“Hello, Detective. Remember me?”
Oh, yes, she did—though she wasn’t about to admit it to his face.
She had no problem fantasizing about those rough, muscled men in the movies who talked dirty and smoked things they shouldn’t, but fantasizing about one who was a notorious criminal in her city? Whom she’d let kiss her while undercover? And accepted a date from?
Jay Hutcherson may not have called their little meeting a date, but she sure as hell knew it was a close cousin. He’d invited her to a restaurant. He’d bought her pie. He’d asked her to sit on his face. Going to her brother’s wedding with her last boyfriend hadn’t been half as exciting.
As much as she’d tried to rebuff him, he’d made it known that he had her number. He was giving off vibes that he could tell just how much she wanted his dirty mouth back on her lips, that strong heat against her body. The man had such nice, big hands.
Though it was hard to imagine that being with any man could be as satisfying as this work she did.
As they wheeled Boyd’s stretcher onto the ambulance, she leaned over him and said, “Boyd Martin, you have the right to remain silent.”