“Sully,” he corrected, the tantalizing flick of his tongue coming after the hoarsely spoken name, sending delicious feelings swirling through her. “You said you’d call me Sully if I was good.”

And he was good. Judith couldn’t stop herself from wreathing her arms around his neck. Nobody had ever kissed her like this. Each thrust of his tongue was creating waves of internal pleasure. For so long she’d hoped a man would sweep into her life and arouse her in a way she couldn’t deny. “Just kiss me.”

His voice was almost a growl. “What the hell do you think I’m doing?”

“Talking.”

“Not anymore.” And with that he carried her off to bed.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the third book in my BIG APPLE BACHELORS miniseries, set in New York City. While each book can stand alone, you’ll remeet characters I hope you’ve come to love in previous stories. Now you’re about to meet the oldest, sexiest Steele brother, a man who’s known as The Protector.

Like his younger brothers, Captain Sullivan Steele is one of New York’s finest and hails from a great city with a legendary heart. Sullivan is intense and passionate, and I hope his story will deliver everything I love about Harlequin Temptation novels—great sex, lots of emotion and a terrific happy ending that leaves you feeling good.

With all my best wishes,

Jule McBride

Meet all of New York’s finest in the BIG APPLE BACHELORS miniseries

Truman is The Hotshot

Rex is The Seducer

Sullivan is The Protector

The Protector

Jule McBride

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my favorite cop, David Shifren, for serving, protecting and writing great novels—not to mention being excellent company during so many fine dinners

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

1

A month ago…

“YOUR FATHER’S GUILTY.” Framed in the doorway to the squad room with uniformed officers milling behind her, Judith Hunt stood before him, her posture perfect. She was wearing a gray silk suit with a jacket most people would have removed due to the summer heat. Farther behind her, through a window, sunlight glanced off the jagged steel Manhattan skyline in hot metallic flashes. “You know it,” she continued, surveying him through suspicious blue eyes, “and I know it, Steele.”

Steele, Sully thought. She usually used his last name, probably because she knew it grated on his nerves; on the rare occasion she used his first, it was always “Sullivan,” never “Sully.”

Standing behind his desk, he glanced down at the files littering the surface, his attention settling on a festive mug the officers had given him last Christmas. To Captain Steele: the Great Protector, it said, invoking Sully’s nickname. The mug, when presented, had been brimming over with red-and-green condoms.

At least his men knew he was dedicated to ensuring safety. And unlike Judith, they had a sense of humor. Realizing with a start that she was scrutinizing his possessions, Sully shifted his eyes to hers again. He hated that he was reassessing everything now, wondering what conclusions Judith was drawing about him from the items, but he was glad the files made him look busy, which he was, and that she’d noticed the mug, since it showed his men cared.

The only thing Sully regretted was the ship in a bottle. Too personal, he decided. He’d built the ships when he was a kid, and he’d brought some into the office from a collection he’d otherwise divided between his parents’ home and his downtown apartment. Built inside a Scotch bottle, the English galleon had five raised sails. It was from the late sixteenth century, with a sleek hull and low superstructure that rose toward a slate-and-teal-painted quarterdeck.

She arched an eyebrow. “A pirate ship?”

He shrugged with a casualness he never really felt in her presence, though why, he didn’t know, since he was no stranger to beautiful women. Many times, his job had taken him into the homes of actresses and models. “Doesn’t that figure?” he inquired mildly. “After all, my father’s a crook, right?”

“I’m not sure a pirate ship’s an appropriate ornament for the desk of a precinct captain,” she agreed calmly.

“I find flying a Jolly Roger very appropriate, Ms. Hunt.”

“The Jolly Roger?”

“Jolie Rouge,” Sully clarified, the French words feeling sensual in his mouth as he nodded toward the ship. “A red flag. They were meant to communicate that no quarter would be given. That any battle would be to the death.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” A heartbeat passed. “And thanks for the history lesson.”

“No problem,” he returned amiably. “Where better than a precinct headquarters to intimidate adversaries into surrender, to avoid costly fights?”

Judith knew very well he was referring to the near eruption of emotions that occurred whenever they met, which lately had been far more often than Sully would have preferred. “Is that what you’re trying to do?” she countered, her lips twisting in a challenging smile. “Intimidate me?”

He fought not to roll his eyes. If Sully didn’t know better, he’d think the edginess of these encounters was due to Judith’s attraction to him. She wouldn’t be the first woman to be drawn to him. “Would that be possible?”

“No. So if you’re trying, it’s not working, Steele.”

There it was again. Steele. He’d worked with Judith ever since her transfer from the city’s legal department to the investigative unit in Internal Affairs a few years ago, and now, for the umpteenth time, Sully wondered what made such a beautiful woman distrustful enough to spend her time prosecuting cops.

And she was beautiful—if a man could tolerate her attitude long enough to notice. She was nearly six feet tall. The hair hanging just past her shoulders was such a rich chocolate-brown that it appeared black. Her eyes were blue or violet, depending on the light, and framed by dark arching wisps of eyebrows. Her mouth, always highlighted by crimson lipstick, was so remarkable that it had earned her the nickname Lips. No officer said it to her face, of course, but the name was well-deserved. Sully wasn’t the first to wonder how that mouth would taste.

She was clearly fighting exasperation. “Aren’t you going to say anything more?”

“Why bother?” Sully asked dryly, pushing aside the tails of his brown suit jacket so his hands could delve into his trouser pockets. He’d rolled down his shirtsleeves, donned the jacket and reknotted his tie as soon as he’d heard Judith was on her way up to his office. This morning hadn’t been bad, but the afternoon was heating up, and he’d just gotten a memo saying that the city, fearing brownouts as the heat worsened, was requiring that air-conditioning run low in public buildings. So far this summer they’d been lucky, but Sully’s instincts told him this might be the last comfortable day. Right now, in the jacket, he felt as though he were being baked in a slow oven. It didn’t help that Judith looked as cool as a cucumber.

“What do you mean, why bother?” Judith was saying, her voice a soft echo.

“I mean, when it comes to Pop, you’ve already played judge, jury and executioner. What’s to discuss?”

Her crimson lips parted slightly, just enough that he caught a flash of her perfect teeth, a sliver of velvet tongue. The flattened palms of slender, manicured hands smoothed down the sides of her gray silk skirt. She was probably trying not to prop those hands on her hips, but the movement only served to accentuate the long-boned grace of her thighs. “The facts,” she continued, oblivious of the effect she had on him. “Discussing those could keep us busy for quite some time.”

Pulling his eyes from her legs, Sully said, “Given all the dirty cops you suspect live in this city, I figured you’d be busy enough without coming downtown to keep me company.”

“Your lack of concern about my investigation into your father’s affairs brings you under suspicion, Steele. And if you’ll protect your father, Internal Affairs has to assume you’ll also protect your men—”

“I am concerned,” he countered flatly. He’d just come from a family powwow at his parents’ home, not that he’d tell her that. Both his brothers, Rex and Truman, were cops, and they were just as intent as he on solving the riddle of their father’s disappearance. “And nobody in my precinct’s on the take, Judith,” he added. He’d used her Christian name this time, and he was glad to see it grated every bit as much as when she called him Steele. Good. He’d keep using it.

She nodded curtly. “If anyone is, we’ll find out.”

Was she really going to use his father’s disappearance as an excuse to crack down on his department? “Are you threatening me?”

Her eyes locked with his. “Should I be?”

“Are you?”

“I’m doing my job.”

“And you’re good at it,” he admitted with grudging respect.

“If you think flattery will make me back off,” she replied, as if he’d just confirmed every low-down, dirty suspicion she’d ever had about him, “you’ve seriously underestimated me.”

He’d done no such thing. He knew Judith Hunt’s résumé like the back of his hand—just as she undoubtedly knew his. “We should be working together on this.”

She stared at him as if he were the most thoroughly dense man she’d ever encountered. “Which is exactly why I’m here,” she said, not about to let him sidetrack her. “Joe wants—”

“Your boss is my father’s ex-partner,” Sully interjected, speaking of Joe Gregory. “They went through the academy together, then partnered up in Hell’s Kitchen.” After that, they’d begun busting gangs and mobsters in Chinatown. Years later, when Joe wound up working in administration at Police Plaza, he’d brought Augustus Steele on board. “Joe knows he’s innocent.”

If she had been privy to the previous connection between the men, she kept it to herself. “That may well be,” she said, her tone dubious, “but Joe’s the one who sent me to question you. He wants your father found—”

“I want Pop found, too,” Sully interrupted, years of experience as a police officer enabling him to keep the indignation from his voice. “Because when he’s found, he’ll offer the explanation that’ll clear his name.”

“I want him found—” Judith’s blue eyes turned steely in a way that indicated she knew more than she was telling “—so that I can prosecute him.”

“In this case, you care more about making a collar,” Sully accused softly, “than about discovering the truth.” He paused, taking a calming breath. “What information do you have that you’re not sharing?”

“None,” she assured him.

He came right out with it. “You’re lying.”

“Steele, your father was caught on videotape, withdrawing seven million dollars in public funds. He transferred the money from Citicorp, then picked it up at People’s National in two suitcases. The money belongs to the Citizens Action Committee—”

“I know that.” Did she really believe he hadn’t acquainted himself with the case? “It’s a fund set up so citizens can donate to the police without raising questions of impropriety. Pop endorses and deposits the checks. It’s a routine part of his job.”

“Right. And the money’s usually invested—”

“With the Dispersion Committee deciding where to spend it.” Sully’s own precinct had benefited from the fund the previous year, getting allocations for new squad cars. “Why wasn’t the money invested?” Judith might offer him that much, at least. “Why was it available for a cash transfer?”

“Because someone was planning to steal it?” she said dryly.

Cute. “Not my father,” he stated once more. “My brothers and I are convinced he stumbled onto an embezzlement scheme at Police Plaza.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment. “You think somebody other than your father was going to steal the money?”

Sully nodded, choosing to ignore her sarcasm. “We think Pop withdrew the money, then hid it, so whoever was planning to steal it couldn’t do so.”

“Then why didn’t your father contact Internal Affairs?”

“Because somebody at I.A. is involved?” he suggested.

Her soft grunt of protest did odd things to Sully’s blood, both warming it and making it race. For a second, she sounded like a woman being pleasured in bed, an impression that was undercut by her words. “Steele, that’s stretching. Your father’s guilty. He took seven million in cash. It’s a fortune in public money. No one would have let him take it from a bank, but years ago, he worked a mob-related bank heist at People’s National, so the banker felt he knew him.”

“The banker did know him.”

“The banker thought he was honest,” Judith clarified.

“Pop is honest,” Sully shot back.

Again she uttered that soft grunt that made Sully wonder if she’d sound like that while making love. If making love was the right terminology. After all, she was brilliant. She’d been at the top of her class in law school, and like many overachievers, she was tightly controlled, her manner challenging. Possibly, that control would extend to the bedroom.

Yeah, she was the kind of woman who’d let her mind get in the way of what her body wanted in bed, Sully figured. But then again, he could be wrong. Judith was also beautiful and inaccessible—a dangerous package. Maybe she was the type who was all-control until she suddenly let loose like an animal. Sometimes when he thought about it—which, of course, he tried not to—he imagined having hard, urgent sex with her. Hands roughly pushing up the hemline of her conservative skirts, buttons popping off blouses that covered small, firm breasts, panties trapped around thighs…

“About an hour ago, I met some eyewitnesses who placed your father at the Manhattan Yacht Club,” she was saying. “They saw him there late last night, boarding a boat named the Destiny.”

Realizing his mind had strayed, and that his mouth had gone dry, Sully pulled his attention back to the case. He nodded. “Right. That’s the boat that exploded off Seduction Island early this morning. Did your informants say he was alone when he boarded?”

She hesitated. “Witnesses didn’t mention seeing anyone else on deck.”

“Could he have handled the craft by himself?”

“Is he good with boats?”

“Yeah. As far as I know. He likes to fish.” It was the only outdoor activity his father enjoyed. Sully’s middle brother, Rex, was a fisher, too, so it was a shame the two had never gotten along well enough to share the experience.

Judith was nodding thoughtfully. “If your father’s used to fishing, he could handle the boat. It was sizable, but not a problem if he knew what he was doing. I’m leaving from here to take a team to the island. A Realtor, Pansy Hanley, says the explosion woke her. Maybe she’ll remember something. The local PD’s been diving into the wreck since it happened.”

Rifling a hand through his short hair, Sully bit back a sigh as he thought of Seduction Island, a small key off the coast of New York, it lay to the south of better known harbors such as Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket. “My brother Rex is heading down there, also.”

Judith stiffened. “Pardon my saying so, Steele,” she said, “but it’s awfully nice of me to come down and tell you what’s going on—”

“Not really,” he swiftly countered. “You said Joe sent you. You came here to get information, not give it, Judith.”

“However, I am apprising you of the investigation.”

Her tone was meant to remind him that she didn’t have to. “Then please continue,” he stated.

She didn’t speak for a minute, and Sully suspected she was holding her breath and counting to ten. “I can’t have you, Rex, Truman or anybody else interfering with my investigation,” she warned succinctly.

Sully’s temper was growing shorter by the minute. “Our father vanished,” he reminded her. “He was aboard a boat that exploded. The Steeles need to know if there was foul play.”

“You don’t trust me to do my job?”

He set his lips in a grim line. If there was anyone he’d trust to get to the bottom of his father’s disappearance, it was her. She was rumored to be the best, not that he’d tell her that. “That’s not the issue, Judith.”

She merely stared at him, her gaze cool. “If you Steeles withhold information, I’ll arrest each and every one of you for aiding and abetting a suspect.”

“He’s our father, not a suspect.”

Their gazes locked, and Sully couldn’t believe the ease with which Judith maintained eye contact. Most people withered under the stare he’d perfected for years. Calculated to unnerve the hardest of criminals, his unflinching, penetrating gaze usually made people fidget immediately.

Keeping his voice low, still overcorrecting for a temper he was on the verge of losing, Sully said, “My father could be dead. You realize that, don’t you? The Destiny exploded.”

She nodded curtly. “We haven’t found any bodies.”

He knew that, too. According to one source, a sandbar off the coast was positioned so that Augustus’s body might have washed up there, if he was dead. But Judith was right. There’d been no sign of any bodies. Nevertheless, Sully’s gut tightened. No one in the Steele family would rest easy until Augustus was found. Rex and Truman were pulling out all the stops—Rex by heading to the island, Truman by calling his contacts around town.

Abruptly, Sully broke eye contact with Judith and circled the desk. For a barely perceptible second, she looked as if she wanted to back across the threshold, and when he stopped before her, her body became almost unnaturally still, as if she were determined not to react. The only thing Sully saw moving was the pulse in her throat, which he could swear was now ticking more rapidly. His attention lingered a second too long on a smooth hollow beneath her ear, then drifted down her slender neck to where pale gray silk draped creamy skin, looking like expensive ribbon on a velvet-wrapped present.

She might be one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, but her personality, quite simply, sucked. “I’d like to know one thing,” Sully couldn’t help but murmur, coming an inch closer, just near enough that she’d feel his breath and the coiled power in his body.

She was tall, but not as tall as he, and because she was looking up, her wary stare came through a fringe of black eyelashes. He inhaled sharply, pulling in her scent. No woman had a right to be so beautiful, he thought vaguely, or to smell so good. Especially not a cop from Internal Affairs. And even less, a woman who intended to prosecute his father, something that made her the enemy.

“What do you want to know, Steele?” she finally asked.

“What happened that turned you to ice?” His voice had inexplicably hushed to a whisper. Suddenly, he was fighting the urge to lift a finger and touch her face—maybe because the gesture would send her packing. Or maybe just because he simply wanted to touch her.

Had Judith Hunt had many men? he wondered, his gaze arrested by her astonishing mouth. Had many hungrily captured those lips? Tasted their honey? Despite all the speculation, Sully had never heard of her dating. She always came alone to city events. She’d never married. But surely a woman this beautiful got a lot of offers. He imagined she dated higher-ups—the big brass from downtown, men with expense accounts and car services.

For a second, Sully almost believed he’d unsettled her. Her gaze faltered, but when she spoke, her voice was level. “Steele,” she said, “I’m not made of ice.”

“I said my father might be dead.”

“I know that. And I have compassion for your situation,” she added, her voice catching huskily. “I really do.”

“Compassion?” he echoed. What did this by-the-book woman know about how Sully’s mother was feeling right now? Did Judith know Sheila was just five blocks away, pacing around the courtyard garden behind the brownstone where Sully and his brothers had grown up? Or that Rex was giving up his vacation to join in the desperate search to find their father? Or that Truman was glued to a phone, questioning contacts, while Judith was planning her little jaunt over to Seduction Island? He’d never been there, but he’d visited vacation spots close to the New York shore such as Plum and Fire Islands. Even at that distance from the bustle of New York City, the waters of the Atlantic became crystal clear and cerulean.

“Compassion,” Sully repeated dryly. “Oh, Ms. Hunt, I’m sure you’ve got it just the way they’ve got everything else downtown.”

Her eyes turned watchful. “How’s that?”

“In quadruplicates.”

Her chin lifted a notch. What she said next seemed to cost her. “You’re wrong about me, Steele.”

He didn’t think so, but he let it pass. They stared at each other a moment, and were still doing so long after other people would have looked away.

“If you think of anything…” Her voice trailed off, and before he could answer, she turned to go, a whiff of soft female scent cutting through the sweat of the squad room. She was across the threshold when she looked back. There was something odd about how she did it, too, Sully thought, because she glanced back the way a lover might, not an adversary. It was as if she had to make sure he was still standing there, watching her walk away. Her gorgeous crimson lips parted, as if she really wanted to say more.

He arched an eyebrow. “Something else I can do for you, Ms. Hunt?”

She looked at him another long moment, then shook her head. “Uh…no. But…” Her face was unreadable. “Look, Steele, I’ll let you know whatever I can about the matter.”

The matter. Hearing his father referenced that way was almost as unsettling as hearing him called a suspect. Especially since Augustus Steele was as straight as an arrow. He’d made the grade at Police Plaza, joining the crème de la crème of the NYPD, because that’s where he belonged.

“Really,” Judith added. “I’ll let you know.”

Sully doubted it, but he nodded, anyway. “I’ll call you if he contacts me.” That, too, was probably a lie.

She nodded back, curt and businesslike. It shouldn’t have made fluorescent lights play in her dark hair, or intriguing shadows dance across her pale cheeks like whimsical phantoms. The things Sully was noticing about her at the moment had no place in a police precinct, but for a second—the space of a breath—he was sure he and this woman were going to wind up in bed. Like how the sun rose and set, there were just some things a man could take for granted.

And then the second passed.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you then,” she murmured.

“It’s always interesting,” he agreed, then added, “Happy sailing.”

She quirked a brow.

“On Seduction Island,” he reminded her.

“It’s work,” she said, looking as if she was starting to have difficulty keeping her cool. “Not a vacation.”

He wasn’t sure, but as she turned to leave, he could swear Judith Hunt added a softly whispered, “Dammit, Steele.”

That brought a smile to his lips. He watched her go then—his jaw setting, his groin tightening, his eyes sliding down the length of her. She was almost too thin, he decided. As willowy as a tall, thin reed, with small, high, firm breasts and slender, flat, boyish hips.

She was economical in her movements, yet possessed a curious lanky grace that would make her look good in things she’d never wear—feather boas draping across her bare back, floor-length black sheaths slit to her thigh, necklines cut down to her naval, tempting a man to glide a hand inside and push away fabric. Something timeless in her features made it impossible to guess her age. Twenty-five? Thirty? Suddenly, Sully had to know, not that he figured he ever would.

Realizing she was long gone, he mustered a long-suffering sigh, then shrugged out of the oppressive jacket he’d put on for her benefit. Loosening his tie, he muttered, “Can this day get any worse?”

“Probably, Cap.” His right-hand man, Nat McFee, stopped in front of him. “While Lips was here, we got a homicide on Bank Street, a three-car pile-up on Seventh Avenue, and Tim Nudel hauled in a suspect from that news kiosk holdup last week. You want to talk to him?”

Sully shook his head as he backed inside his office. “Nudel can question him. I need a minute.” Maybe longer. He needed time to get Judith out of his system, and to mull over the string of bad luck hitting his family lately. “I haven’t had a chance to breathe since I heard Pop disappeared.”

“Why not take a walk?” McFee suggested. Before shutting the door behind him, he added, “Why don’t you duck in someplace where the air-conditioning works?”

Maybe he would. Sully draped his jacket around the chair back, sat down at the desk and thoughtfully unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves. Pop’s disappeared. Sully could barely believe it. And he meant what he’d told Judith: he was sure his father had stumbled onto wrongdoing. Wherever he was, he’d return with the money as soon as he could.

Lately, Sully reminded himself, the Steeles had had some good luck, too. As if to reassure himself, he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a letter he’d written about a month ago.

“Only a month ago?” he murmured.

An eternity had passed since the day Sheila Steele had announced she’d won fifteen million dollars in the New York Lottery. That day, she’d made the even more astonishing announcement that she wasn’t telling her husband, Augustus, about the winnings. Unless their sons married within the next three months, she’d sworn, she was going to donate the money to preserve natural habitats for wildlife in the Galapagos Islands. Furthermore, she’d stipulated that Sully, Rex and Truman couldn’t tell their prospective mates about the money while wooing them.

“The Galapagos Islands?” Sully had muttered in disbelief when he and his brothers had retired to his childhood bedroom to discuss the matter.

“Don’t get me wrong,” his youngest brother, Truman, had said. “I’ve got nothing against sea turtles.”

Sully had laughed. “Me, neither. It’s the marine iguanas that get on my nerves.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” their middle brother, Rex, had joked, “penguins are such a pain.”

Marriage had seemed so unlikely for all of them, and it really did seem as though wild animals might benefit from the win. But now their little brother had proposed to Trudy Busey, a reporter from the New York News. Even more amazing, Truman, the brother most anxious to get the money, had vowed to give his share to the Galapagos Islands, anyway, so Trudy wouldn’t think he was marrying her for anything other than love.

Sully sighed. Of course, all the brothers had to marry in three months or the deal was off, which meant the Galapagos animals would be the recipients. With Augustus’s disappearance, everything had changed. Rex, who had no girlfriend, was heading to Seduction Island, and Sully…

He glanced at the letter in his hand. He’d written it the day he’d heard his mother had won, and while he was usually more cynical, the letter was like the ships he used to build in bottles—uncharacteristically romantic. It began: “Dear Lady of my Dreams…”

Sully’s eyes dropped to the text.

Who are you? Where do you live? Why haven’t I met you yet? If only I knew where to find you, sweet lady—which city blocks to wander, which cafés to visit. If only I knew what your face looks like…a face I’ll hold between my palms and see resting on a pillow if you really turn out to be the lady of my dreams.

Are you out there? Maybe I’m too confused about what I want. Maybe I’ve passed you a thousand times without recognizing you. If I saw you, would I even know you? My last relationship lasted a long time, and she was in a helping profession, as I am. We had so much in common; we wanted stability and a reasonable lifestyle, to share our tight-knit families and have kids of our own.

But it wasn’t enough. There was no passion. I don’t mean sex, if that’s what you’re thinking. I mean…passion. There’s no other word. I want my heart to race, my palms to sweat, my knees to weaken. Being able to remember love like that gets you through the hard times, and life being what it is, there are always hard times.

I’m a man who needs sparks and fire. Desire that compels. A person complicated enough to hold my attention. Are you out there, lady?

It was signed simply, “Yours.”

The letter had been in the drawer for a while, but now, on closer inspection, Sully realized what he should do with it. At the bottom, he wrote, “I can be reached here,” and left the address of an untraceable post office box, one he used in police work and for confidential personal correspondence. It was the address he’d given the lottery board, and just yesterday, they’d sent a questionnaire for him to fill out, apprising him of tax matters. Apparently, they were assuming Sheila Steele was going to turn her winnings over to her sons. The lottery board had no idea what Sheila Steele was up to—or had been before her husband disappeared.

12 След.

The Protector

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“What do you want from me, Steele?”

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