Most Wanted by Michele Martinez Read Free Book Online Page A

conversation.
    “I didn’t catch that. Say again?” he said into the telephone, making a visible effort to break off eye contact with her.
    He must be Dan O’Reilly, the agent Bernadette had told her about. Melanie walked in and leaned back against her filing cabinet, checking him out. He was big and handsome, with a masculine face and thick dark hair, and he looked strangely familiar to her. Maybe she’d seen him around, or maybe he just had that all-American jock look a lot of cops and agents have. But it was more like she’d been waiting to meet someone who looked like him. Even the sound of his voice—the deep, comforting timbre, the slight New York accent—seemed right on the money, like something she’d been expecting to hear for a while without quite realizing it. He kept sneaking glances at her as he talked. Finally he hung up.
    “Melanie Vargas?” he asked.
    “One and the same.”
    “I should have known it was you. You look like your name.”
    “Yeah? Someone told me once my name sounded like a stripper’s.” She blushed bright red the second that popped out of her mouth.
    “No comment,” he said, laughing gently. He had a boy-next-door quality, clean-cut, sweet. “I’m Dan O’Reilly.”
    “I figured. Bernadette told you she’s assigning me to this case?”
    “She said probably. She had to work out the details.”
    “It’s done. You’re looking at your prosecutor.” She sat down across from him and reached for some folders he’d spread on her desk. “What do you have for me?”
    “Not so fast,” he said, grabbing at the folder she’d picked up. They had a tug-of-war over it, their eyes locked together. She lost her nerve for a second and let go.
    “What, you don’t let the prosecutor see your files?” she said breathlessly. Her voice sounded young and foolish to her own ears. Stop that, she scolded herself. Act like a professional.
    “I like to train my prosecutors early. I handle my files, you handle yours,” Dan said. “That way we don’t end up accusing each other of losing stuff or giving the defense things we shouldn’t. Keeps things friendly.”
    “Yeah, well, if those are your files, then that’s my chair, pal. Out,” she said, feeling a need to take charge of the situation.
    “Okay, okay.” He laughed. “I guess it remains to be seen who’s training who.”
    “Damn straight.”
    They switched seats. He was still smiling as he opened the folder and picked out a couple of rap sheets printed on rough yellow computer paper. She watched his hands move. They were solid and strong. He wore no wedding band.
    She nodded toward the rap sheets. “You have suspects already? Quick work. I’m impressed.”
    “Can’t say for sure they’re the right guys. Ramirez has this idea Benson was hit as payback for locking up Delvis Diaz almost ten years ago.”
    “Oh, right. Bernadette said Diaz founded some major gang?”
    “Yeah, a unit of it anyway. Heard of the Gangsta Blades?”
    “Sure. They’re everywhere. Puerto Rican, mostly retail heroin, right?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “I’m Puerto Rican, you know. Half,” she said, studying him.
    “Really? I thought so from the name, but then you talk just like one of those anchors from the TV news.”
    “This is work. I speak the King’s English. Besides, I’m second generation. I barely even speak Spanish at home.”
    “Yeah? Where’s home?”
    “Manhattan now, but I’m from Queens originally.”
    “Whereabouts? I’m from Queens, too.”
    “It’s really the Brooklyn-Queens border. Technically, it’s Bushwick.” She blushed.
    “Bushwick? You’re kidding,” he said, clearly surprised. “That’s a tough neighborhood.”
    “Well, right near the border with Ridgewood.” She was acting like her mother, she thought, annoyed with herself. Her mother hated Bushwick and used to say they were from Ridgewood when they really weren’t. Bushwick
was
rough, though, which was the main reason Melanie had worked her butt off to