Pete nodded and took a seat. "Fire away."

Now that the moment was upon him, Will wasn't sure what to say. The truth was, he wanted to ask Pete about Savannah. Ever since he'd left her at the hotel, he hadn't been able to get her off his mind. It was so unlike him. He'd been happily playing the field for years. Not once had he met a woman he'd wanted to spend more than a night or two with.

But with Savannah it was different. He wanted to know everything about her and at the top of the list was why she worked as a prost.i.tute.

He didn't believe her claim she was a journalist, but there was something not quite right about the picture of her as a call girl, either. Not that she hadn't been sensational in bed, but there were times when she'd seemed a little shy and uncertain-almost surprised-by her responses. Not to mention her predilection for a number of very intriguing blushes. They weren't the kind of things he expected from a woman who made a living taking money for s.e.x.

"Come on, Will. Spit it out." Pete's brusque order jarred him out of his reverie. Swallowing hard against sudden nerves, he chose his words with care.

"The-the other night, when I was at the Black Opal, I saw a girl there."

"Surely that's not unusual."

Heat stole up his neck. He briefly closed his eyes to avoid the other man's sardonic gaze.

"What I mean is...um... I-I saw Savannah there."

Pete frowned. "Savannah? You can't mean Savannah O'Neill?"

Will glanced away. This was going to be more difficult than he'd imagined. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue. "Yeah, Savannah O'Neill. Of course, I didn't know it was her at the time, but when you introduced us at the ball last night, I recognized her straight away. After I left with her, we got to ah-" He stopped abruptly, his face burning.

"Talking," Pete supplied, deadpan.

"Talking, yeah... That's right." He cleared his throat noisily. "We got to talking about...things and she told me she was a journalist. Of course, I know that's a load of s.h.i.t."

"Really?" A smile played around Pete's lips. "What makes you say that?"

Will's entire face was now on fire. He squirmed under Pete's steady regard. If only the man hadn't told him he regarded Savannah like a kid sister. Knowing he had to get it over with, he took a deep breath and met the other man's amused gaze head-on. "How well do you know Savannah?"

Pete picked up the Styrofoam coffee cup he'd brought in with him and took a sip. "Better than you, I'd say. She's been a friend of Lucy's since high school. I've known her almost as long as I've known my wife. I think we clocked over five years last anniversary. Of course, Savannah's only been back in Sydney six months, but the girls have always kept in touch."

"So, you know she's a prost.i.tute?" Will blurted.

Pete almost choked on his laughter. "A prost.i.tute? You're kidding, right? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

Will's anger stirred. "Have you forgotten what I told you? This girl, the one who's been your wife's best friend for like, forever, was in the Black Opal on Sat.u.r.day night."

Pete waved his hand dismissively. "You must be mistaken, Will. Savannah wouldn't even know how to find her way to the door of one of those establishments. It must have been someone else who looked a little like her."

Will clenched his jaw. "I know what I saw. I was there doing surveillance, remember? I noticed everything. Believe me or not, but she was there."

Pete sobered. His eyes drilled into Will's. "Do you mean to tell me Savannah O'Neill, my wife's best friend, was working in a city brothel? You can't be serious!"

Refusing to mince words any longer, Will stepped closer. "She was working there, all right. She even performed in the live stage act."

"What?" Pete exclaimed. "She was performing on stage? In a brothel?"

"Yeah. The Black Opal's the only brothel in town that offers nightly live entertainment-kind of like a cabaret thing, but there's no singing and a h.e.l.l of a lot less clothing. I guess it's supposed to draw the crowds in-which it does, by the way.

"Anyway, like I said, Savannah danced half naked on the stage with a group of other girls who were equally scantily clad, in front of an almost capacity crowd of blokes in Sydney's most exclusive brothel." He glared. "Any part of that you didn't get?"

Pete appeared momentarily lost for words. Seconds later, he exploded. "Christ! I'm going to kill her! What the h.e.l.l was she doing?"

"Earning a living, I guess."

"Would you stop saying that? You don't honestly think she's a prost.i.tute?" Pete's face reflected his incredulity.

Will shrugged. Pete laughed in disbelief.

"She's a journalist, you idiot! Just like she told you. If you'd been thinking with your head instead of your c.o.c.k, you might have actually believed her."

Comprehension slowly dawned, leaving Will speechless. He suddenly recalled the words he'd thrown at her, offensive, nasty words that he'd used with the intention of drawing blood, hurled in retaliation for the hurt and disappointment he'd felt at what he thought was her deception. She'd kneed him in the b.a.l.l.s, after all... f.u.c.k.

"I take it she's a girl who goes to extreme measures for a front page," Will muttered. "Very convincing measures. I certainly fell for it."

Pete shook his head. "Are you telling me when I introduced you to her last night, you thought she was a prost.i.tute?"

Will nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

"I don't believe it! You thought I would introduce you to Lucy's best friend, who, by the way, happens to be a prost.i.tute?"

He flushed under Pete's sarcasm. "I thought perhaps she was an escort or something and that maybe the Sat.u.r.day night gig was a one-off."

"h.e.l.l, this gets better and better." Pete growled, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "I guess that explains why you disappeared with her less than an hour after you met? You thought, what the h.e.l.l, she takes money for s.e.x, why not avail myself of her serv-"

"No." Will's cold retort stopped Pete short. "That's not the reason I slept with her less than an hour after we met."

"So you're not denying you slept with her." Pete glared at him, breathing heavily.

Will fought to bring his temper back under control. He understood why Pete was upset, but he refused to wear the tag his boss was trying to pin on him. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet but brooked no argument.

"The reason I went upstairs with her was because she had me so hard, I couldn't think of anything else. Yes, at the time, I thought she was a prost.i.tute, but that's not why I slept with her." His eyes drilled into Pete's, almost defiantly. "I slept with her because I wanted to. And she wanted it, too."

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!" Pete ran both of his hands through the short bristles of his hair. "How did it come to this? I send you in there to get information about the drug ring we're trying to close down and you come out with this! What am I supposed to tell Lucy? Who, by the way, did not fail to notice your very conspicuous absence at our table. Couldn't you have at least kept it in your pants until after the ball was over?"

Will grinned, shrugging unapologetically. "Apparently not. Besides, why do you need to tell Lucy anything?"

"Spoken like a man who's never been married."

"Tell her you couldn't get a thing out of me." Will grinned again. "Let her go and ask her best friend all about it. Isn't that what girls do?"

"Yeah, you're right. I'm going to stay well away from this one." Pete glanced at him over the rim of his coffee cup. "By the way, what was that bulls.h.i.t you fed me last night all about?"

"What do you mean?"

"At the bar, when you told me Savannah didn't like coppers."

Will shrugged, embarra.s.sed now to reveal how off-base his a.s.sumptions had been.

Pete's eyes narrowed. "She does know you're a cop, doesn't she?"

He shrugged again. "I'm not sure. I haven't said anything to her."

"What's the big secret?"

Another flush warmed Will's cheeks. "No big secret. It's just... I just..." He stared at the certificates on Pete's wall and scrounged around for the courage to tell his boss exactly what he'd thought.

"Come on, Will. Spit it out." Pete's voice held a tinge of impatience as he began sorting through the mess of papers on his desk.

Will took a deep breath and eyed his commander. "You have to remember I first met her at the brothel. At the time and even last night, I thought she might be involved in Maranoa's operation."

Pete's head snapped up in surprise. "How the h.e.l.l would you come up with an idea like that?" He shook his head slowly. "Will, I know you're a good investigator. I read your file from top to bottom when you applied for the transfer out of homicide. I saw all the citations, your success rate, the letters of appreciation. I read it all." He paused.

"But you're starting to worry me. You've been putting in a lot of hours on this Maranoa thing and it hasn't even been six months since your brother died. Something's got to give, mate." Pete's gaze was steady on Will's face. "You refused to take leave after Cole's funeral, but I think you should reconsider. As much as I hate to suggest it, given how short staffed we are, you could do with a bit of time off."

Will bit off an instinctive protest and forced himself to remain calm. "I'm fine, boss; I'm fine. You're right, I have been working hard. I want to nail this b.a.s.t.a.r.d so badly I can taste it. And you're right about Cole. I'm still struggling to come to terms with his suicide."

He drew in a deep breath and appealed to Pete for understanding. "But I don't need any time off. I need to be here, boss. I need to stay on the job. I need to stay on this investigation. We're getting close; I'm sure of it."

Pete's nodded, but he continued to look troubled. "Okay, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, for now, but as soon as we've nailed this case, you're taking leave. At least a month. No arguments."

Will's shoulders slumped in relief. "Absolutely. You have my word on it. As soon as we have Maranoa behind bars, I'll hang up my boots-for a week or so."

Pete offered a grudging smile and nodded his acceptance. Will smiled back.

"You know, whoever wrote that story might have done us a favor," Will mused.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, to begin with, I was p.i.s.sed that it might jeopardize the investigation. But now, I think it's probably just what we need. Maranoa must be hopping mad to know someone's infiltrated his domain. He's bound to react in some way. He might get sloppy. This could be our chance."

"Do we know who wrote it, yet?"

"No, but I'm meeting with the editor this afternoon."

"Could the story have been written by Savannah?"

Will frowned and for the first time gave genuine consideration to the possibility. "I guess so. That would explain why she was there and the article contained far too much detail to have been written by someone without intimate knowledge of the place."

"I guess I could phone her and ask?"

"I'd rather you didn't." Will fidgeted under Pete's scrutiny. "I probably need to apologize to her before she finds out we've been talking. I wasn't exactly flattering when I told her I didn't believe she had journalistic qualifications. Besides, I'm sure her editor will clarify it for us. As far as he knows, I'm merely a curious advertising executive. Whatever his initial reasons for withholding the byline, my casual enquiry as to the journalist's ident.i.ty will hardly rouse his suspicions."

Pete frowned back at him. "Just you be careful with her-you understand? I'm sure you're a love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy." He shrugged. "That's your choice. But Savannah's not like that. She's a nice girl, a really nice girl. I don't want you breaking her heart. She's been down that road before."

Will nodded, but remained silent. He couldn't deny the relief he'd felt when Pete told him she wasn't a prost.i.tute, but he wasn't ready to think of her as a "nice" girl or a.n.a.lyze his feelings for her yet.

"I won't hurt her. I promise."

Pete stared at him for a moment or two and then looked away. "Let me know how you go with the editor. If it is Savannah who wrote that story, she has some explaining to do." Pete's face darkened and he shook his head. "What am I saying? Story or no story, she already has some explaining to do and I'm just in the mood to get some answers."

CHAPTER 9.

Tuesday afternoon "Savannah? Got a minute?" Max's head appeared over the top of the part.i.tion that divided Savannah's desk from her colleagues.

"Sure." Savannah glanced up at the editor and then continued to type on her keyboard. "If it's about the story, I haven't-"

"In my office." He heaved his bulk around and lumbered away.

She frowned. Usually, Max was only too happy to broadcast any conversation, personal or not, to anyone who happened to be listening. To be summoned to his private domain, and in such a brusque manner, left her feeling nervous, especially after their earlier confrontation.

What could he possibly want to say to her that required the privacy of his office? Her mind raced over various possibilities. Maybe he was giving her news of a promotion? Hardly. Hadn't he mentioned cutbacks?

Maybe he'd found out how she'd pretended to be a prost.i.tute? He hadn't actually asked her how she'd come by her information. He'd already pointed out how the newspaper was responsible for her safety while she was on a job. Maybe he was going to fire her?

Knowing there was only one way to find out, Savannah pushed away from her desk. A moment later she stood outside Max's office.

"Close the door." Max was reclined in his enormous leather chair, his hands stacked behind his head. His tie was askew and his shirt had pulled away from his suit pants. His beady eyes glittered with something she couldn't define. Her nervousness ratcheted up another notch.

"A little while ago, I had a very interesting conversation with Will Rutledge. I'm sure you've heard of Rutledge Advertising?"

Her mouth fell open in surprise. He was the last reason she'd expected. She hurriedly cleared her throat. "Yes, I've...I've heard of them."

"It appears he's interested in yesterday's story."

She frowned in confusion, but remained silent.

"See," Max continued, "the thing is, I met with him about a substantial advertising feature his father's company is running in the paper. Curiously, he asked who wrote the brothel story. In fact, he seemed more interested in that than he was with the ad campaign."

Savannah's heart skipped a beat. Was Will reconsidering his abrupt dismissal of her claim she was a journalist?

Trying her best to look disinterested, she shrugged. "Did you tell him it was me?"

Max smiled with glee. "Oh, I sure did."

With a sheer act of will, and despite the sudden tightness in her chest, Savannah remained unmoved. Will now knew she'd been telling the truth. He hadn't bothered to call her and apologize. Perhaps he didn't think an apology was warranted? Anger simmered just below the surface.

Max eyeballed her. "Why would a man like that be interested in your story?"

She scrambled for something to say. "Um, I'm not sure. Unless, of course-" Savannah stopped abruptly, unsure she wanted to share her suspicions with her editor.

"Unless what?" he pounced.