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guess with some accuracy what his reaction was likely to be to her declaration. Cops, to a man, were reasonably predictable when it came to having outsiders play amateur sleuth. Mix that with Michael’s instinctive Latin machismo and mile-wide streak of protectiveness and she had a pretty good idea of what was on his mind.
    “You heard?” she said, trying not to notice that he looked every bit as gorgeous as the last time she’d seen him. She’d had this wild hope that his appeal would fade with time. It hadn’t.
    When he nodded, she said, “How much?”
    “Enough to know that you’re up to your pretty neck in another murder investigation. Molly, take alittle advice. Do what the detective suggested. Go home. I will be happy to take you, in fact.”
    She sighed. “Believe me, I wish I could, but I can’t. The film office is going to have to do everything in its power to counteract the bad publicity from Greg’s murder. Vince insists that I stick around for every little detail.”
    Michael grinned. “Exactly how many details are you expecting to get from Miami Beach’s finest law enforcement officers?”
    Molly glanced at the stiff, retreating back of Sergeant Jenkins. “Not many,” she admitted. “What are you doing here anyway?”
    He shrugged in a lousy attempt at innocence. “Hey, it’s Saturday night. South Beach is hot. Even cops get a night off once in a while.”
    Molly glanced around for some sign of his live-in lover, the sexy and volatile Bianca. As far as she knew, they were still together, despite his vague promises to end the relationship. He seemed to be alone. He was wearing faded jeans that hugged narrow hips and a knit shirt, not the kind of classy attire a man with Michael’s elegant taste would choose for a night on the town. It didn’t add up, especially since no more than an hour or two ago he’d been coaching a gang of eight- to ten-year-old soccer players way down in Kendall. Judging from the grass stains on the knees of his jeans, he hadn’t gone home to change. She probed for a more truthful explanation.
    “So as long as you were in the neighborhood, you thought you’d check out the latest hot murder scene?” she said, her skepticism showing.
    “You know how cops are,” he said blandly. “We can’t resist the lure of a dead body.”
    She shook her head. “Try again.”
    His grin was unrepentant. “Okay, you got me. I stopped by your apartment when I brought Brian home after the soccer game. Liza told me what had happened. She guessed you’d be in the thick of things. The three of us agreed that I’d come check things out and get you out of here.”
    “How democratic! Don’t I get a vote?”
    “It’d still be three to one. We win.”
    If she was prepared to be totally honest with herself, Molly had to admit that it had crossed her mind that Liza might tell Michael if the opportunity arose. She hadn’t been at all certain what he would do with that information. As he was a Metro-Dade homicide detective, Miami Beach was not his jurisdiction. Nor was she his responsibility, for that matter.
    Though she had seen Michael occasionally at Brian’s soccer matches, more often than not Bianca was in the stands keeping a watchful eye on him. He’d been careful to maintain a polite distance from Molly in the months since he’d rescued her from that awful shed and solved the condo murder.
    That hadn’t stopped Molly from occasionally wanting to wrestle him to the floor and have her way with him. The man was sexy and elusive, a dangerous combination. Despite his past disclaimers, it was also clear to her that he was spoken for, which made him more dangerous yet. The fact that he was a memorable kisser added to the potential for fireworks. From her perspective the man representednothing but trouble. Naturally, she was intrigued anyway.
    Tonight, however, she was at least marginally more interested in his brain than in his body. He was a hotshot detective with an