Hot Schemes by Sherryl Woods

his head. Amusement flared in his eyes. “This is not a recent decision,
amiga.”
    “Okay, to act on it, then.”
    “Does that mean you’re not interested in crawling back into this nice, warm bed with me?” he inquired doubtfully. “Tell the truth.”
    Molly couldn’t have lied if her life depended on it. It was just as well. Michael was used to detecting when people were lying through their teeth. It would have been no contest. “Yes. As a matter of fact, the idea holds a great deal of appeal,” she admitted.
    As he reached for her, his expression reeking of smug satisfaction, she added, “But I’m not sure I can fight these nagging images of Tía Pilar weeping for her missing husband.”
    Michael put his head in his hands and groaned. “You really know how to spoil a moment, don’t you?”
    “Better to spoil this one than deal with your regrets the rest of the day.”
    He shot her a rueful grin. “You have a point.”
    “I always do. You just rarely listen. Hand me the phone.”
    “What for?”
    She scowled at him. “Just hand it over, please.”
    When she had it, she dialed Ted Ryan’s number. Michael stood up, found a pair of tan slacks and a soft-beige designer shirt and pulled them on while she waited for the reporter to pick up. She studied his polished designer look enviously, then glanced down at her own wrinkled walking shorts and short-sleeved blouse, which she’d been wearing since the day before. She wondered if she’d ever get home long enough to change. She also wondered about a man who saw past the rumpled clothes and still found an attractive, desirable woman. He definitely had to be some sort of national treasure.
    Ted picked up while she was still mentally enumerating more of Michael’s endearing attributes. “Were you able to get that information I asked for?” she asked.
    “Sure did. I’ve got a huge stack of printouts for you. You can pick them up anytime. I’ll leave them at the information desk downstairs in case I’m not here when you stop by. As for Paredes, he lives in Westchester in some nondescript little house on a quiet street.” He hesitated. “Molly, are you sure you want to get to him yourself? He maintains a pretty low profile. He won’t be pleased to have you drop by, if that’s what you have in mind. He’s liable to greet you with an assault rifle.”
    “I can hardly wait,” Molly muttered as she jotted down the address on the pad Michael had on the nightstand by the bed. “Thanks.”
    “Tell me you’re not going out there alone,” he insisted.
    “I’m not.”
    “That’s a relief. One last thing.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Forget where you got this information, okay?”
    “It just appeared to me in a vision,” she agreed.
    Michael watched her intently as she hung up. “What was all that about visions? Don’t tell me it was a call to the Psychic Friends Network.”
    Scowling at him, she held out the piece of paper. “Here you go,” she said, then added with a certain pointed emphasis, “partner.”
    Michael looked at the address. “What’s this?”
    “The closely guarded home address of Orestes León Paredes.”
    Michael didn’t waste time on astonishment or applause. His expression grim, he put on his shoulder holster, added a neatly-pressed jacket that made Molly feel more rumpled than ever, and gestured toward the bedroom door. “Let’s go,
partner.”
    •   •   •
    Molly was able to persuade her new investigative partner to detour past the paper by promising him more information than he could possibly gather on his own in days of interrogations, even if he could find people who’d talk to him.
    When she emerged from the paper’s lobby with an armload of computer printouts, he looked downright impressed and maybe just a little worried.
    “Exactly what did you have to promise Ryan to get all this?”
    “First crack at any major break in the case.”
    “Given the way he feels about you, I’m surprised he didn’t