His Private Pleasure. Donna Kauffman

was saying. “He’s been way too busy covering his tracks from the rest of us to worry about what your sorry ass has been up to. He also has no idea that we finally got Pearl to turn.”

      “How did you get her to turn?” Dylan swore under his breath when Quin said nothing. “It’s a simple question. I worked on her for months. Never met a tougher broad than Dugan’s ex-flame.”

      “Let’s just say a woman scorned is a woman to watch the hell out for.”

      “He scorned her years ago and she accepted his sorry behavior as her due. So why turn on him now?”

      “You asking because you’re interested in helping out?”

      “I’m asking because you’re wasting my time with all this, so you might as well tell me the details.”

      There was another pause while Quin weighed what little leverage he thought he had. Dylan wished there were none at all, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least interested in what had transpired on this particular case since he’d left Vegas. It wasn’t the only one still open when he’d left, far from it, but it was one he’d poured a considerable amount of personal time and energy into. It was only human to be curious about how it was going, right?

      He wasn’t going back. But he might be able to help them out. “If I know why she turned, I might be able to tell you how to get a confession out of her without dragging me into this.”

      Quin sighed. “I’ll take whatever help I can get.”

      “And owe me for it.”

      He laughed, but there wasn’t as much humor in it. “Yeah, add it to my tab. Okay, here’s the deal—”

      “You sure you want to discuss this on the cell?”

      “You aren’t exactly giving me many other options here.”

      Dylan looked up at his house. His haven. A haven where a gorgeous and hopefully willing woman was waiting for him. He was not taking this into his house, for a lot of reasons. “If you think we’re clear, go ahead.”

      “I’m as reasonably certain of it as I can be, or I wouldn’t have said as much as I already have.”

      “Yeah, yeah, okay. Sorry. I have an appointment here, so give already.”

      “What, with the Rotary Club or something? What could possibly be going on in that one-horse town of yours at this hour?”

      “We don’t have horses. We actually drive cars now. And I didn’t say it was a business meeting.”

      Quin hooted. “Some things never change, do they?”

      “You’d be surprised,” Dylan muttered. “So, why did Pearl decide to turn on her one and only true love?” Out of several Vegas casinos, Dugan ran an underground operation they’d been trying to break open and shut down for years. Despite his mob connections, Dugan played the role of family man. His extended family of aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews all benefited generously from not only his money—the part he kept clean—but also from his time and affection.

      Five years earlier, word had leaked out that Dugan, who was forty-five at the time, had begun to despair of ever starting a family of his own. Family was sacrosanct to him, but he’d yet to meet the right woman who would help him continue his little dynasty. In the meantime, he’d run into Pearl Halliday, showgirl-turned-stripper. Definitely not the woman to bear his children, but Dugan hadn’t minded getting her to bear his attentions for a while. What he hadn’t counted on was falling in love with her.

      Hopelessly in love. So much so that he’d tried to turn her into the proper woman his family would respect. He set her up with her own dance studio, as a proprietor and instructor. He lavished her with nice things, hired tutors to put some polish on her brass, basically did his best to turn his pearl into a diamond.

      Only Pearl was simply Pearl. She wanted Dugan’s love, not his things, not his Pygmalion-Svengali attempts to turn her into something she was not. She just wanted her Duggie, the man she’d made breathless with the sheer magnetic force of her attentions. So she made the fatal mistake of giving Armand Dugan an ultimatum: love me for me, or find someone else.

      It had taken Dugan less than a week to find that someone else. A quiet young woman of good breeding—and obvious bad taste, if you asked Dylan, for falling for a slimeball like Dugan. It wasn’t a love match, but Dugan had come to realize that passion distorted things, took away his ability to control. Elaine Bartoloni would be the perfect, malleable kind of wife he should have been looking for all along. He occasionally wished he could have had it all, but he wasn’t stupid. So he took what was best. He graciously left Pearl the title to the dance school and the apartment that sat over it—what had once been their little love nest—and walked away.

      Pearl should have hated him for that. Instead she was grateful for the chance to live quietly, out of the spotlight. She was pushing fifty now, but life had aged her beyond her years. Makeup, no matter how pricey, covered only so much. She was too old—in more than calendar years—to dance in the casino shows, and too aware of what real love felt like to take her clothes off again for leering, jeering drunks.

      So she’d kept her school, made a life for herself and kept her mouth shut when it came to Armand Dugan. She wouldn’t be used as the instrument for the downfall of the only man she’d ever loved. He wasn’t to be blamed for the pressure his family had put on him. He was an important man. She was lucky to have had him for the time she did. She’d supposed she’d known all along she’d never be good enough for him. Giving him an ultimatum had just brought to an end what would have ended anyway.

      “So why, after years of living quietly, has she finally decided to turn on him?” Dylan asked.

      “That’s just it, she won’t say. She came to us three days ago, asking after you.”

      “You didn’t tell her—”

      “Please, no matter how much we hated you walking on us, we’d never do that to you.”

      “Don’t expect an apology. There was never going to be a good time. So I did it on my timetable.”

      “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Who knows, someday I might retire down there myself, if for no other reason than to drive you to an early retirement.”

      “I’m real amused here.”

      “Let us bring her down to you, you get the information we need to bring him in and get a conviction, then we’ll disappear back into the night and leave you to your sweet little six-thirty appointments.”

      “Until the next time you need my help.”

      Quin laughed. “You weren’t that hot a shot, D.J. Just this one favor, then we won’t come knocking again.”

      The problem was, he had been that hot a shot. And they both knew it. They also both knew that one turn as a “consultant” would put him on their list. They’d come knocking whenever they needed to, with whatever excuse they saw fit to use to get what they wanted. “Liar.”

      Quin said nothing. “You going to help us or what?”

      Dylan already knew it wasn’t as simple as saying no. If so, it would have worked when he’d done just that to Hannigan this morning. “I say no and you’ll just show up in my office with Pearl in tow. So why didn’t you just do that in the first place?”

      “Professional courtesy?”

      “That’s an oxymoron if ever I heard one, especially out of our department.”

      Quin didn’t rise to the bait. Probably because he knew it was true. Dylan was thankful enough that he had called first not to push it any further.

      “Are you sure she knows anything? I mean, it’s been years since she’s been in the loop with Dugan. If she really knew anything important, he’s had plenty of time now to cover it up. Otherwise he’d have never left her to her own devices in the