"Roberts, Nora - A Matter of Choice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

"Smuggling's federal," Dodson repeated, a bit too amiably for Slade's
taste. He placed the tips of his neat fingers together, watching the
younger man over them. "I have a few connections in the Bureau. Because
of this case's... delicate nature, I've been consulted." He paused a
beat, long enough for Slade to comment if he chose to, then went on.
"Some substantial leads in the investigation point to a small,
well-respected antique shop. The Bureau knows there's an operator. From
the information I have, they've narrowed down the possibilities for dump
sites, and this shop is one of the... chosen few," he decided dryly.
"It's believed someone on the inside is on the take." Pausing, he
adjusted the picture frame on his desk. "They want to put an operative
on it, inside, so that the head of the organization won't slip away from
them this time. He's clever," Dodson mused, half to himself.

Again Dodson gave Slade a moment to question or comment, and again he
went on as the other man remained silent. "Allegedly, the goods are
hidden--cleverly hidden--in an antique, then exported to this shop,
retrieved, and ultimately disposed of."

"It seems the Feds have things under control." Barely masking his
impatience, Slade reached for a cigarette.

"There's one or two complications." Dodson waited for the hiss and flare
of the match. "There's no concrete evidence, nor is the identity of the
head of the organization known. A handful of accomplices, yes, but we
want him... or her," he added softly.

The tone had Slade's eyes sharpening. Don't get interested, he warned
himself. It has nothing to do with you. Swallowing the questions that
had popped into his head, he drew on his cigarette and waited.

"There's also a more delicate problem." For the first time since Slade
had walked into the room, he noticed Dodson's nerves. The commissioner
picked up his gold pen, ran it through his fingers, then stuck it back
in its slot. "The antique shop alleged to be involved is owned and
operated by my goddaughter."

Dark brows lifted, but the eyes beneath them betrayed nothing. "Justice
Winslow's daughter."

"It's generally believed that Jessica knows nothing of the illegal use
of her shop--if indeed there is illegal use." Dodson reached for the pen
again, this time holding it lengthwise between both hands. "I know she's
completely innocent. Not only because she's my goddaughter," he went on,
anticipating Slade's thoughts, "but because I know her. She's every bit
as honest as her father was. Jessica cherishes Larry's memory. And," he
added, carefully setting down the pen, "she hardly needs the money."

"Hardly," Slade muttered, picturing a spoiled heiress with too much time