Something was definitely happening in Bedroom Eyes, they knew. Just before Sawyer had opened shop, the task force had triangulated a juicy call between Sylvestri and an associate. The photo studio’s prime, he’d said. We’re all set with the tenant…. God bless Bianca. The caller had said something garbled about a shop and some deliveries, then they’d lapsed into small talk. That was enough to move on the building.
Whatever was going on, Rick’s job was to expose it from the inside as an employee. Which meant he had to get the damn job. Say whatever he had to say to get Sawyer to hire him.
He’d have to work the attraction angle. Just enough to get the connection going. Keep a tight rein on his reactions, of course. Go by the book, but he could be friendly, couldn’t he?
She’d caught him off guard with that offer. Very direct. She almost seemed to have surprised herself.
She was hotter close up than she’d seemed from the surveillance. Smarter, too. And more intense.
Interesting.
He followed her down the hall, scanning every detail of the place in case this was his only chance to check it out.
Sawyer stuck her head into the first room. “Go ahead and pick out a CD to play, Misty, and I’ll be right back.”
Misty Simone, Rick knew. He and his partner Mark had watched her enter the studio earlier. Her husband Tony was small potatoes compared to Sylvestri. So was Joey Balistero, Sylvestri’s son-in-law, whose shoot Rick was about to help with, but the more they knew about everyone who frequented the center, the tighter the case would be.
He wondered how deep in Sawyer was with Sylvestri, who’d relocated from Chicago a year ago, supposedly to retire, making a few quiet property purchases—a big house in Paradise Valley, a small commercial lot in Scottsdale, some horse acres outside Cave Creek and this two-story office building in a faded Phoenix strip mall.
Sawyer’s help-wanted sign had been the first solid way onto the scene. Infiltrating the cleaning crew had failed—Sylvestri’s people handled that—and trying for a lease or posing as shop customers was too short-term. Once he got hired, he could freely search the building, get to know the players, locate the action.
In a few minutes, he was about to see Balistero stripped to Skivvies. Not a pleasant prospect, but if it helped with the case, he’d hold the guy’s, uh, belt for him.
Glancing into the first studio as he passed, Rick caught sight of a medium-format camera on a tripod pointed at a castle backdrop, a couple of lights on stands, a three-panel reflector, and Misty, who gave him a shaky smile.
Dressed in a pink nightie and a party hat, the woman was obviously not there for a porn shot. Probably didn’t even know her husband was dirty. The wives were always the last to know.
Farther down the hall, Rick noted another studio to the right, followed by a service door to the parking lot, then a tiny office, which he was staring into when Sawyer stopped short.
He bumped into her full on, enjoying her firm backside, and got a blast of flowers. Her thick red-brown hair snagged in his chin stubble.
She turned and looked up at him, her burned-in blue eyes wide with surprise. “Well, hello there,” she breathed, trying to act cool, but flustered. Very flustered.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be.” Her eyes gave him a once-over, her pink tongue peeking out. “It was nice.” She dragged a medallion on a chain, which drew his gaze to her spectacular set of nature’s own.
He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Yeah. Very nice.”
For just a second, case or no case, he wished he’d met her before he’d decided to settle down, start a family, back when he was content with an occasional night with a warm and willing female.
“Here’s Bianca,” she said, waving him into the next studio, where Sylvestri’s wife was rummaging around in the fake fur, pillows and vases on shelves. The room looked like backstage at a strip club, with elaborate furniture in animal prints and a black metal arch, along with photo equipment and three rolled backdrops.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Samantha asked him, her eyes twinkling. “It’s nothing like snapping a sunlit vista, you know.”
“I’m up for anything,” he said, letting the sexual undertow tug at the sand beneath their feet. He would have to tactfully backpedal if she went for what he was hinting at, but for now he had to keep her interested.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Set up two reflectors and the tungsten. I’ll bring in the Hasselblad when I’m finished with Misty.”
“You got it, boss.”
She held his gaze for a second, turned away, then glanced back at him, biting her lip, as if she was in over her head. Pretty charming and he found himself smiling at her back as she walked away.