Mister X

34

Renz had finally relented and agreed to talk to the woman. Now he wasn't sorry.

Her name was Adelaide Price, and she was from Detroit. In several letters to Renz she'd explained how she'd been attacked six years ago by a masked assailant. She'd fought her way free and crawled from her apartment into the hall. Her attacker had followed and dragged her back. Then, for some unexplained reason-possibly fearing she'd been seen in the hall-he broke off the assault and ran.

She'd turned the attack into an opportunity. After a locally bestselling book, degrees in psychology and criminal justice, and a series of media appearances, she'd become a frequent guest on Detroit TV as an expert on crime and criminals. Her fame had lasted more than fifteen minutes. She was good for ratings and someone to be taken seriously.

Now she was badgering Renz for an assignment as profiler in the reopened Carver investigation. Not only was she personally politicking for the job, she'd enlisted the help of several prominent people in Detroit who might know several prominent people in New York. That got Renz's attention.

Finally he'd agreed to see her for a number of reasons, not the least of which were her references. Her freelance work as a crime psychologist and profiler had led to several arrests and convictions in Detroit, and a Captain Mark Drucker had given Adelaide Price the highest of recommendations. So high that Renz suspected that Drucker, an old friend of Renz's who was a notorious womanizer, had an intensely personal reason for helping Adelaide Price. That was okay with Renz. He owed Drucker a favor, and in the world of Renz and Drucker, favors owed and paid were the currency of the realm.

And here she was.

Adelaide Price was surprisingly attractive, in her thirties, tall, with honey blond hair, brown eyes somehow made to appear blue with violet eye shadow, and full red lips. Her build was slender but athletic, and she had long, shapely legs that showed well in the short brown skirt she wore.

Renz smiled at her, and she smiled back. If Drucker had gotten into her pants, Renz could understand his motivation.

"We need to be honest with each other," he said.

She nodded and gave him a glance with her brown-blue eyes. She knew how to use those eyes so she seemed to be gazing up at Renz even though they were seated on the same level.

"Honesty above all," she said.

Renz thought that was just what someone dishonest would say. He decided to give her a taste of honesty to see how she'd react.

"Okay," Renz said. "My understanding from people I've talked to in Detroit is that you are an ambitious, hard-driving bitch."

"That's pretty much true," Adelaide Price said. "And my friends call me Addie."

Her sexy, throaty voice reminded him of someone he couldn't quite place.

"We're not friends yet," he said, "but I'll make it Addie. You can call me Commissioner Renz."

Adelaide-Addie-appeared unmoved by his snub. "My reason for wanting this assignment is due to my ambition," she said. "It does run strong in me. I never saw wanting to get ahead as a crime. Or a liability."

"It's an asset," Renz said, recognizing her as one of his own. "So in terms less general than mere ambition, tell me why you want this assignment."

"I don't consider ambition mere, but I get your point. Vengeance figures into it, too."

"You think it was the Carver who attacked you in Detroit?"

"It might have been, the way he displayed a knife, waved it around. There had been another woman attacked that way in Detroit, maybe by the same man. He was scared away that time, too. But in all honesty, it's mostly ambition that prompted me to politick for this assignment. I think there could be a book in this. I've already talked to an agent who'd be interested in handling it."

A book…Renz had never considered that. A book about his exploits, his rapid climb from patrolman to the top of the NYPD. Maybe he should consider trying to get an agent, a book contract. He could always find some schmuck to write the thing.

"This sicko who attacked you and this other woman," he said, "if it was the same guy. He was never apprehended?"

"'Fraid not."

She uncrossed, then recrossed her long legs. The swishing sound of nylon on nylon was almost enough to give Renz an erection.

"I think you could use me," she said.

My God, yes!

Renz's reaction didn't show on his saggy features, but he was sure Addie Price was aware of her effect on men.

"Now that you understand me," she said, "why don't you give me a better idea of what to expect if I am assigned to the case?"

Now they were down to it. Trading this for that. The quid pro quo. Renz's favorite part. Renz's world.

"You could expect to report to me and only me," he said. "And secretly."

"I would be your unofficial undercover operative."

"Unofficial is what you need to remember. But let's not forget confidential. This part of our conversation never took place."

The way she smiled and nodded, he could tell she was used to this kind of conniving and in fact enjoyed it. The way he did. He wondered if they might have even more in common than he'd first thought. Who could predict where their relationship might lead? Perhaps it was possible to have a soul mate even without a soul.

"I already have two NYPD detectives working with Quinn and his team," he said to her legs. "They're supposed to report to me the way I'd want you to report."

"And do they?"

"I can't be sure."

"You don't trust them?"

"Can't."

"Why not?"

Renz raised his gaze to meet her eyes. "Frank Quinn can be a very persuasive guy. People tend to fall in behind him. Also, he's not the kind of man you cross. Even hardened cops like my detectives might be afraid to get sideways of him. He locks on to his target like a radar-guided missile fueled by obsession, and he doesn't always operate strictly within the law."

"Is that why you hired Quinn?"

"Yeah. He and I understand each other, go way back."

"Boys' club."

"Sure."

Renz suddenly realized who her voice reminded him of-the young Lauren Bacall, vamping it up with Bogie. She was making Renz feel as if he were in a movie. Nice feeling.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Renz's heartbeat quickened.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Addie Price said.

Soul mates. "Yeah, there is. There's another reason I can trust my two guys on the case-Vitali and Mishkin-only so far. It's because I've moved up in the NYPD and become police commissioner. I'm seen mostly as a politician now, and not so much as a cop. My blood doesn't run completely blue, so I'm no longer a member of the club. Not to guys like Vitali and Mishkin, anyway."

"They good cops?"

"The best. Same way with Quinn and his team. They can be a pain in the ass, even to each other, but they get the job done."

"Any of them bendable?"

"No. They're all dead honest."

"Good. That makes them predictable."

"I wouldn't say that," Renz said. "Honest isn't always legal."

"I'm looking forward to meeting Quinn, if I'm hired."

"You're hired," Renz said. "Same terms as Quinn and his team. They're working out of Quinn's agency over on West Seventy-ninth Street."

"I know where it is."

Renz gave her his hound-dog smile. "I'll bet you do. I'll call Quinn today and tell him you're part of the team. Don't be surprised if they don't welcome you like a long-lost family member."

"I'll win them over," Addie said.

"I don't doubt that for a moment. You'll be the crime psychologist and profiler on the case."

"And your reliable spy," Addie said. "Not being a member of the club."

"You and I have our own club," Renz said, standing up while he didn't have an erection.

Addie unwound herself and stood up from her chair, smoothed down her skirt over those long thighs.

"Okay," she said in her Lauren Bacall voice. "Our own private club. Maybe with a secret handshake. Or something."

Renz sat back down fast and watched her see her own way out.