"Barely."

"I've been thinking about you."

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking about you just before you called, actually," she purred.

He swallowed. "Yeah? Any particular part of me you were thinking about?" he asked, shifting to ease the pressure caused by his raging hard-on.

"Oh yeah. Your nose," she said.

He was so surprised he barked out a laugh. "You're kidding."

"It's a very s.e.xy nose. A nice, big strong nose," she said.

He shifted again. "Claudia, you're killing me here," he said.

"Tomorrow night. Let's do dinner tomorrow night," she said.

"After the drop? Done," he said.

"I have to go now. I don't want to get the phone wet," she said.

He closed his eyes and prayed for patience.

"You're a super vixen, did you know that?" he said.

"Yeah, I knew that," she said. Then she laughed and ended the call.

Leandro stared at the dead phone for a second, then dropped focus to the ridge of his erection that would not quit. Tomorrow night. Tomorrow night he would touch her and taste her and rid himself of what was fast becoming an obsessive need to know her inside and out.

But first he had to get through tonight.

Sighing, he went into the bathroom to have a cold shower.

CLAUDIA HELD STILL as a female technician taped a tiny mike into the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The lead ran along the edge of her bra around to her back, where it followed the hollow of her lower spine. A slim-lined transmitter was strapped to the small of her back, discreet and hidden beneath her jeans and the T-shirt and jacket she was wearing. Instead of her usual high-heeled boots, she wore a pair of sneakers with her jeans, her one concession to tonight's mission. If something went wrong, she wanted to be able to hustle.

"Okay, we're done," the tech said, stepping back and letting Claudia drop her T-shirt in place. "Let's just test this thing. Say something for me, Claudia."

"Hi. Does my a.s.s look fat in this concealed mike?"

The woman smirked. "Levels are great. You're good to go."

Claudia smiled her thanks and exited to the main office of the West Hollywood station where Detectives Arnold and Wilkes were waiting with Leandro. She noted that Wilkes had taken advantage of her absence to get in some one-on-one time with Leandro. She was seated opposite him, her long legs propped on the desk, her body semaphoring every go signal known to womankind.

Leandro glanced up as Claudia entered, and the expression on his face switched from polite to smoky in no seconds flat. Claudia smiled a little smugly as her jealousy turned to dust. Ms. Long Legs might have a few inches on her, but right now the only woman Leandro was interested in was her. And tonight, at long last, she was going to lay hands on his hard, hot body. They were going to tangle themselves into delicious knots, explore each other, tease and soothe and satisfy each other.

Just the thought of it sent a wave of desire pulsing through her. Ever since she'd ended the call with Leandro last night she'd been at fever pitch, nervous about the drop, excited about getting him naked, and not sure where one feeling ended and the other began.

Perhaps that was why they were so hot for each other, she speculated as she ran her eyes over his broad chest as he lazed in the chair. This weird combination of s.e.xual attraction and the novelty and stress and challenge of the blackmail threat.

He was wearing a dark gray T-shirt, the fabric outlining his muscular pecs and shoulders and skimming over his taut abdomen. Her gaze traveled to his hips and then his legs, admiring the firm musculature of his thighs and the latent power of his big body.

Grrrrr, as Grace would no doubt say. And tonight he was all hers.

She just had to survive the drop first.

"We ready to go?" Arnold asked.

"I'm officially wired for sound," Claudia said, even as the tech gave a thumbs-up.

"Let's roll," Arnold said, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his coat.

Claudia met Leandro's eye as he stood. He looked as though he was biting his tongue for all he was worth, and she smiled at him. She bet he was gagging to offer to swap places with her yet again.

"You're very quiet," she said.

"I'm saving myself," he said shortly. He ate her up with his eyes and she fought the urge to squirm. Thank G.o.d the hidden mike wasn't sensitive enough to hear her heart galloping in her chest.

In case Rat Man was smart enough to watch the bar, she and Leandro arrived together with no sign of their police escort. Claudia was seriously impressed by how invisible they were, until it occurred to her that perhaps they simply weren't there. Maybe they were sitting in a van somewhere remote, listening in on her mike. Maybe when she went in to meet Rat Man, she'd be all alone, her a.s.s flapping in the breeze...

"Nervous?" Leandro asked as they pulled up outside the bar.

They'd been mostly silent on the drive over, both of them very aware of the mike recording their conversation.

"No," she lied.

He gave her a wry look. "Sure you're not, Ace," he said. He shot a look toward the entrance of the bar, a frown forming between his eyebrows. He looked concerned when he turned back to her.

For a second she wished she'd let him do the drop, as he'd asked. He was right-if Rat Man got nasty, she didn't have a chance in h.e.l.l of standing up to him.

But she'd made her bed. It was time to lie in it.

"I'm going in," she said, unclipping her seat belt.

Leandro nodded, then reached into the back seat of his car where he'd stowed the case full of cash. She'd been a bit surprised by his red Honda when he'd picked her up from the office that afternoon. She'd been expecting something sporty and s.e.xy-a p.e.n.i.s car. She'd gotten a Honda Insight hybrid, with slightly goofy covered rear wheels and zero s.e.x appeal. He'd correctly interpreted her surprised look and responded with a shrug.

"I have nieces and nephews. I figure they should have a planet to enjoy, too."

Leandro Mandalor was environmentally sound. She still couldn't quite reconcile the idea with what she knew of him.

"Don't worry about the money," he said as he handed it to her. "It's insured, if it disappears it gets replaced. You're the important part of the equation. I'm pretty sure they broke the mold when they made you."

She forced a smile to cover the fact that her stomach was doing loop-the-loops.

"Come on, think of those rating points you'd score if I disappeared, Leandro. Where's your compet.i.tive spirit?"

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Don't be a d.i.c.k," he said.

She stared at him, her mouth drying as she imagined having this s.e.xy, smart man all to herself in the privacy of a bedroom.

"Okay, here I go," she said for everyone's benefit.

Shooting Leandro a small nervous smile, she exited the car and strode toward the entrance to the bar. The moment she pushed through the scarred wooden door, she felt very, very alone. She'd forgotten how dim it was inside, and she blinked her eyes a few times before moving toward the booth she'd occupied on her previous visit. To her consternation, it was full, as were the next two booths.

The only empty booth was the one against the farthest wall-about as far from the front entrance as possible.

Great.

Her knees feeling distinctly wobbly, she slid into the booth, her back to the wall, her eyes glued to the front door. Intellectually she knew the place was under intense observation, that the mike taped to her breast offered her additional protection, even that there might be undercover police in the bar with her. None of it stopped her from bitterly regretting her bravado.

Idiot, she chastised herself. Why did she always have to bite off more than she could chew? She'd always fought above her weight. As a kid, she'd insisted on playing ball with her brothers, even though they were taller and faster than her. She'd practiced her pitching until her arm ached so she could give them a run for their money. At university, she'd taken double subjects to fast-track her degree. And she'd produced three student films while working a full-time job as an a.s.sistant in her first year out, she'd been so determined to move up the ladder.

It had all paid off. She had a house in West Hollywood, a great career. She just couldn't quite work out where insisting on handling this drop alone would get her. Maybe she needed to learn to back off every now and then. Work smarter, not harder. Choose her battles.

She was still anxiously dissecting her need to achieve when Rat Man slid into the booth opposite her. He hadn't come in the front door, and she figured there must be a back entrance. For a second she wondered if the police knew about it, then mentally rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. Of course they did. It was probably in the police training manual on page one-check for rear exits.

"You got my money?" Rat Man asked.

"You got my tape?" Claudia responded.

Rat Man tipped his baseball cap back a little, revealing pale blue eyes and a thin, blade-like nose. His teeth were still yellow, and he was sporting a scraggly three-day growth that did nothing for his sallow skin.

"You're pretty mouthy for a little chick, aren't you?"

"Yep. Let me see the tape," Claudia said.

"I call the shots, remember? This is my deal. Show me the money," he said. His gaze darted nervously over his shoulder.

"Fine."

Her heart hammering against her ribs, Claudia lay the briefcase on the table. Angling it toward the wall, she cracked it to give him a glimpse of the money stacked inside.

"Jesus," Rat Man said, his eyes lighting up. He pulled the case toward himself, preparing to flip the lid wide open.

"You might want to be careful who gets an eyeful of that in here," Claudia warned him before he had a chance to flash the money to the whole bar. The guy was seriously running on minimum brain cells. She could only imagine what the bruisers at the bar would do to get their hands on five hundred grand of easy cash.

Rat Man blinked nervously, then nodded his agreement.

"Yeah, I knew that," he said. Angling the case some more, he allowed himself a quick glimpse of the neat rows of notes before snapping the case shut.

"Okay. Now I want the tape," she said.

Euphoria had kicked in, she could see. Rat Man was mentally spending his five hundred thousand, no doubt decking himself out in a bad suit and putting himself behind the wheel of a pimped-up sports car.

"Sure." He laid a videotape on the table and slid it across to her.

She picked it up and noted the brand name on the label. Wes had told Leandro the original recording was on a Sony tape; this was also a Sony. It didn't mean anything, of course, since they'd already digitized the footage, but it was something.

"What about what we saw the other night-has it been erased?" she asked.

"Done," he a.s.sured her, sliding his way out of his seat.

"We hear from you again, we're going straight to the cops, understand?" she said. "Five hundred thousand buys us silence. But we're not spending another cent. You got that?"

Rat Man grinned widely.

"I hear you. Chill, lady. We did a deal. We did a good deal. Let it ride," he said.

Then, still grinning like the fool he was, he disappeared into the darkened doorway leading to the pool tables and the washrooms.

"He's gone out the back," she said as soon as he was gone.

It was over. She could barely process the fact as she beat a retreat toward the front entrance. The smoggy night air of the Strip had never smelled so good as she emerged from the bar. Leandro was still in his car on the next block, and she repressed the need to run to him, keeping her pace measured just in case Rat Man was watching her.

Leandro exited the car to greet her, wrapping his hands around her forearms and peering down into her face.

"You okay? Nothing happened?" he asked.

"All good," she said.

He smiled, and she could feel his relief. It was stupid, but she was touched. It didn't mean anything, but still.

"We should head back to the station," she said.

He nodded his agreement, and they climbed into his car.

Now that the adventure was over, she felt free to register a whole host of sensations that had been crowded from her consciousness by anxiety and fear.

The tape from the mike was pinching her skin, and the transmitter was digging into her back. The armpits of her T-shirt were damp with sweat, and her stomach rumbled with hunger.

"G.o.d, I'm starving," she said.

"Me, too."

She caught the flash of his dark eyes as he glanced at her, and she knew he was talking about more than food. A hot bolt of need surged through her, strong and undeniable, unadulterated by anything else now that the nasty business of the exchange was done.

Now, tonight was just about her and Leandro.

Back at the police station, the tech removed the mike and informed them that detectives Arnold and Wilkes and the team had followed the blackmailer to a house in the valley. She and Leandro waited to hear news of the raid, sharing pizza with the other on-duty officers. Finally, an hour after they'd arrived, a call came through and the techie handed it to Claudia.

"We got him," Detective Arnold said. He sounded pleased with himself. "Him and his little buddy were sitting on a stash of DVDs, churning out a hundred an hour. Guess he wasn't planning on sticking to his deal with you guys."