Veiled Intentions. Delores Fossen

that.”

      She shoved him into the small vacant room that she’d already checked out. Katelyn didn’t waste any time, figuring she would rather be embarrassed from a case of mistaken identity than to have a dead bride and groom.

      Blocking the doorway so he couldn’t leave, she drew her weapon from her holster, hidden beneath her silky jacket. “Here’s how we’re going to do this,” she instructed. “Keep your hands where I can see them and explain to me why you brought a .357 Magnum to a wedding.”

      He lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “I carry my gun everywhere. I guess you do the same?”

      If he was scared, or even remotely concerned, he certainly wasn’t showing it. Too bad Katelyn couldn’t say the same. Her throat was suddenly dry as dust, and she kept a firm grip on her gun to keep her hand from shaking.

      “Yes, but for me, it’s part of the job. I’m Detective Katelyn O’Malley, S.A.P.D., and this is what we call a stop and frisk.”

      He paused. Said one word of profanity under his breath. One rather crude four-letter word. He tipped his eyes to the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention.

      Or something.

      “Know what I think?” he asked.

      “Not particularly. But I want you to remove your weapon slowly and carefully from its holster and place it on the floor. Notice those operative words. Slowly. Carefully. Floor. Those are major conditions here, and you’re going to do that while using only two fingers. Make any sudden moves, and I’ll take you down the hard way.”

      He looked her straight in the eye. “That wasn’t what I was thinking.” He disarmed himself, just as she’d instructed. Slowly, carefully, and he placed his gun on the floor directly between them.

      “Oh, yeah?” Katelyn caught his shoulder and turned him around. She positioned his hands, palms flat, against the wall, and kneed his legs apart. “What exactly were you thinking?” she asked, patting him down.

      The man was certainly solid. And built. Her fingers skimmed over lots of hard, sinewy muscles. Odd. She’d never noticed anything like that before when frisking a suspect. Maybe it had something to do with his memorable aftershave.

      “I’m thinking you’ll regret doing this,” he let her know.

      “I doubt it, especially since it might just save a few people from dying.”

      She located his wallet in his jacket pocket. Except when she got a good look at it, she realized it wasn’t a wallet. And that caused her stomach to tighten into a hard knot. It also caused Katelyn to use a little profanity of her own. She flipped open the too-familiar leather case and read the name aloud.

      “Joseph Rico.”

      “Sergeant Joe Rico,” he clarified. And with that announcement, he turned back around to face her. “Homicide. S.A.P.D.”

      Her breath landed somewhere around that knot in her stomach.

      Katelyn shook her head. The badge had to be a fake. Except it wasn’t. She scratched it with her thumbnail, or rather tried to. It was as real as the one in her purse. Still, there was something off here. “Impossible. I work Homicide, and I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

      “Because I was just assigned there.” He enunciated each word as if she were mentally deficient. “By the chief of police.”

      Judas Priest. That bit of information cleared the buzz in her head. Katelyn wasn’t sure exactly where this was leading, but she knew for a fact that she wouldn’t like its final destination.

      Joe Rico calmly picked up his gun from the floor and reholstered it. Somehow, he managed to look cocky even while doing that little chore. No hurried moves. No overt display of emotion.

      “Well, Detective Katelyn O’Malley, I’d say we have a problem. A problem with you being here because this isn’t your case. Why am I so certain of that?” He aimed his thumb at his chest. “Because it’s mine.”

      Katelyn hadn’t thought this moment could possibly get more frustrating—or embarrassing—but she was obviously wrong.

      “Yours?” she demanded.

      “Mine.” Sergeant Rico muscled her out of the doorway and turned to leave, delivering the rest of his news from over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the way, I’m your new boss.”

      Chapter Two

      Well, it wasn’t exactly the smooth start Joe wanted for this particular investigation. While undercover, he’d been made quite easily—by his subordinate, no less. And then that subordinate had frisked him.

      He was sorry to say the frisking had been more enjoyable than it should have been.

      Far more.

      “The chief assigned you this case?” Katelyn O’Malley asked, following him.

      Since he’d already made that perfectly clear, and since he detected some resentment in her voice, he surmised that she’d heard him correctly but wasn’t in agreement with the chief’s decision.

      Joe stopped at the edge of the narthex and pressed the transmitter of the communication device hidden in his jacket. “Did anyone come in the church in the past three minutes?” he asked the backup officer who was positioned in an office building directly across the street.

      “No.”

      So they’d been lucky. Katelyn O’Malley’s stunt hadn’t allowed the sniper to walk in unchallenged. Of course, if the killer followed the method of operation of the last shooting, he or she wouldn’t burst into the church until the I do’s had been said. There’d be a frenzied battery of gunfire from a ski-mask-wearing shooter who wouldn’t actually enter the sanctuary but would stay in the narthex and then make an easy getaway. Just the way it’d happened to the victims, Gail Prescott and Raul Hernandez.

      Joe clicked off the transmitter and glanced back at Detective O’Malley.

      She was staring at him as if he were a member of the fungus family.

      Too bad he couldn’t say the same for her.

      She was attractive. Damn attractive. Not like a beauty queen either, but in a strong, athletic, kick-butt sort of way. The girl-next-door meets Buffy type.

      The type he found attractive.

      And no amount of denial would make his body think otherwise. Fortunately, the parts of his body that noticed her attractive looks didn’t have any say in the decisions he made.

      “There’s been some kind of mistake.” She jammed her gun back into her holster. “After the initial investigator dropped out because of family illness, I requested this case, and I was told my request was under consideration.”

      “It was,” Joe calmly assured her. “But the considering part is finished now, and I’m the lead investigator. End of discussion.”

      There was nothing calm about her response. He saw some fire dance through ultraclear, cool green eyes. He’d obviously stepped on her toes, toes encased very nicely in a pair of sex-against-the-wall stilettos.

      Something else about her that he truly wished he hadn’t noticed.

      Joe quickly pushed that, her physical attributes and the remnants of the frisking aside. What the devil was wrong with him anyway? Even if he’d been looking to spice up his love life, he darn sure wouldn’t have been looking in Katelyn O’Malley’s direction.

      “I knew the woman who was killed last week,” she added.

      As if that would help her cause.

      “Gail Prescott,” Joe supplied. “You went to high school with her and you’ve maintained occasional contact with her and her family. You probably would have attended her wedding even if you hadn’t been on a stakeout. Your relationship with the