Florida Knight Read Free Page A

noticed her boss’s rapid retreat. When a woman towers ten inches over five feet, it takes a lot of man to look down on her. Lieutenant . . . Whatsit almost made her feel delicate. Tall, dark and lean, his was not a face one wanted to meet on a dark night. A prankster’s caricature of hardline features snatched from Willem Dafoe or Jack Palance. All angles and planes, with deep-set black eyes surrounded by a maze of frown lines, lips that looked like they never smiled, topped by a cap of short straight black hair. The scowl he turned on Kate could only be described as ferocious. Clearly, the lieutenant was not pleased to be here.
    “Kate Knight. That your real name?” he challenged.
    Kate’s tongue seemed to swell until it filled her mouth. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know. She had to say something. She would not let him do this to her. She was stronger, far stronger than the woman she used to be. “Of course,” she snapped, green eyes challenging black.
    A curt nod, he waved her to a seat. Her own. Instead of sitting on the rose leather sofa designed for client comfort, he perched himself on Kate’s desk, even though she’d been certain his ramrod stiff back would never bend. He was close enough she could smell his aftershave. Something sharp, tangy, and oh-so-macho. He’d dressed for the occasion, Kate noticed. Blue jacket over light gray pleated pants. Sparkling white shirt, discreet navy tie. The overall effect was intimidating. Kate’s pulse pounded its way up another few notches toward massive stroke.
    He slapped a wallet-style badge down in front of her. “Michael Turco, Lieutenant, FHP.”
    Obviously, he expected her to be impressed. And she was. City cops, county cops were a dime a dozen. A state cop—a state investigator —was something else again.
    “Did they tell you why I’m here?” Michael Turco asked.
    “Just that I might be able to help in some way.”
    As he tucked his badge back inside his jacket, Kate thought she caught the bulge of a shoulder holster. It was the closest she’d ever been to a gun. Which was, of course, why a shiver was scooting up her spine. Couldn’t be any other reason, right?
    He shot her a look, and Kate felt photographed, X-rayed, cataloged, and tucked into storage for instant recall at any moment in the next fifty years. How far beneath her tall skinny figure did he see? Beneath the silver blond hair ruthlessly confined in a French braid above a narrow face almost as strong and angular as his own? Except that her worry lines, her badges of age and experience, weren’t nearly as deep. And, with an inward sigh, Kate had to admit her chest bulged only slightly more than his.
    If he was disturbed that so little had been done to prepare his way, Lieutenant Turco didn’t show it. “Okay, here’s the story,” he declared. “You’re a member of this LALOC group, right?”
    From the tone of his voice he might as well have been asking if she was a member of Al Qaeda. Ridiculous! In the history of the world there had been few less harmless groups than the Lords and Ladies of Chivalry. Kate gritted her teeth and nodded.
    Suddenly, he was on his feet, pacing the short distance between the outer door and Barbara’s office. Lieutenant Turco ran a hand through his buzz cut, betraying the first sign of uncertainty Kate had seen in his hard-as-nails façade. “I have a case—somewhat personal,” he admitted. “It’s high priority only to me, but I’ve been given permission to pursue it in my spare time.” He took a deep breath which sounded perilously like a groan. “To do that, I need your help.”
    And it was killing him, Kate realized. This was a man who hated to ask for assistance of any kind. “So this isn’t official?” she ventured, fighting to stay calm, think rationally, even as she felt bolts of tension shooting from his taut panther-like body like a shower of sparks from a welding torch. Lieutenant Michael Turco was more than the confined