Hard To Handle
Hard To Handle
Kylie Brant
She had secrets in her eyes and lies on her lips, and Detective Gabe Connally knew that Meghan Patterson would give him more than a few sleepless nights. Still, with her young nephew a valuable witness, Gabe had to pursue Meghan. And even without the case, it would be impossible to forget the vulnerable woman trying to protect her family….While Meghan admired Gabe's persistence, she dared not let him get close enough to realize her nephew–her only remaining family–was psychic. Yet her own burning desire made it impossible to resist Gabe's persuasive ways….
“You want something. So do I. Let me help you.”
Meghan looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. He’d never been considered one of those white knights charging to rescue ladies in distress. He found jackets and ties confining enough; armor would be murder.
“I’ll take another look into your sister’s accident for you. In return, you’ll cooperate by allowing your nephew to assist us in any way we need him. You get what you want, I get what I want. It’ll be strictly business.”
Sensing the protest she was about to utter, he went on. “Of course, maybe you’d rather work with Officer Wadrell instead.…”
“Believe me, I find cops eminently resistible. For that matter, how can I be sure that I wouldn’t have to fight off your advances, Detective?”
“’Cause I make it a point to steer wide of your type.”
Don’t miss Born in Secret (IM 1112)
Kylie Brant’s emotional, sensual contribution to the FIRSTBORN SONS series.
Hard to Handle
Kylie Brant
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KYLIE BRANT
lives with her husband and five children in Iowa. She works full-time as a teacher of learning-disabled students. Much of her free time is spent in her role as professional spectator at her kids’ sporting events.
An avid reader, Kylie enjoys stories of love, mystery and suspense—and she insists on happy endings! When her youngest children, a set of twins, turned four, she decided to try her hand at writing. Now most weekends and all summer she can be found at the computer, spinning her own tales of romance and happily-ever-afters.
Kylie invites readers to write to her at P.O. Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616.
To Aunt Red, with love and fond memories.
Acknowledgments:
Special thanks to Sergeant Charles Holz of the Chicago Police Department, 8th District, for answering endless questions about CPD procedures. Your infinite patience and generosity of time were greatly appreciated! Any mistakes that occur in accuracy are the responsibility of the author.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Prologue
His mom was dead.
Danny huddled in the corner of the blue-patterned couch clutching his Pokémon backpack to his chest. The lady, his aunt Meghan, he reminded himself, had gone to get him a glass of milk. He hadn’t really wanted one, but she’d had to leave the room to get it. That was good ’cuz he didn’t want to hear her say the words out loud. He already knew what she was thinking. It made his stomach hurt and he felt like he might throw up.
His mom had been killed in a car accident and she wasn’t coming back for him this time. Not ever.
He reached up a hand to swipe at his eyes furtively. Only babies cried. That’s what his mom always said, but she wouldn’t be saying that again. No, not anymore. He knew then, deep down in his stomach where he felt sickest, that not saying the words out loud didn’t make them not true. He was all alone.
His aunt came back into the room and handed him the glass. He took it, but didn’t drink. He couldn’t. There was a hard ball in his throat and he didn’t think he could swallow anything. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the glass and scooched down farther in the couch. He wanted to run away before his aunt could tell him, but he couldn’t do that, either. There was nowhere to run. No one to run to.
“You know, don’t you?”
He didn’t look up at the words, just nodded. He’d had a real bad feeling when his mom didn’t come home last night. She’d left him alone before, and so that hadn’t scared him. Not really. He was almost six. He’d stayed home at night lots of times. Once his mom hadn’t come home for two days, and maybe that had scared him, just a little. But last night had been different. The bad thoughts, the knowing, wouldn’t go away. And so he’d waited for someone to come, wanting it to be his mom, already sure that it wouldn’t be.
“What’s gonna happen to me?” His aunt didn’t answer right away, so he did look up then and stared hard at her, concentrating on her thoughts. That’s where the truth was, his mom said. People would lie and lie out loud, but they kept the truth in their heads, where people couldn’t see. At least, most people couldn’t.
Danny didn’t really understand words like telepathic and clairvoyant, but he understood that he was different, just like his mom had been. Sometimes she would tell him that they had this superspecial gift, one that made everyone else jealous. He liked that. He liked to pretend that they were a team, like Superwoman and Spiderkid, with cool powers no one else had. But deep in his heart he’d known the real truth was what his mom had said all those other times; after two empty bottles, when her words would start running together. They were freaks, him and her.
He knew what freaks were. They were bad and ugly and made people afraid. Meghan had been afraid the only other time he’d met her, and that had made him feel bad. He’d never had an aunt before, and Meghan was pretty, with long, curly blond hair and big blue eyes. He looked into her eyes now and beyond, searching for a comfort he wouldn’t find.
“I don’t want you to worry.” Meghan sank down onto the couch beside him. She pushed her hair back from her face and tried to smile. “I know that sounds pretty dumb. Of course you’re worried. And sad. Me, too. But I’m not about to let anything happen to my only nephew.”
With a child’s single-minded logic, he asked, “Where will I live?”
Meghan didn’t answer, and for just an instant he could see a flash of white, as if her mind had been wiped clear. Then it was like she drew a big curtain over her thoughts. He couldn’t see them anymore, no matter how hard he tried to peek.
“Well…you’ll stay here, of course. At least for now.”
He thought about that, and he wondered what thoughts she was hiding behind that curtain. She put her hand on his shoulder then, and the hated tears filled his eyes again.
“How about if you stay with me until we sort this out? Then later…you and I will talk about our options. Is it a deal?”
Her hand left his shoulder, and she held it in front of him. He looked at it, then at her. He tried poking under that curtain one more time, but it was closed tight. He couldn’t tell what the truth was. And although he didn’t have the words for it, he knew he was out of choices.
Slowly, tentatively, he loosened his grasp on the glass and placed his hand in hers.
Chapter 1
Three Months Later
Gabe Connally had been alive and he’d been dead. It’d taken a few years, but he’d developed a preference for being alive.
His gaze met his partner’s in a silent exchange before he lifted his fist to pound on the door. “Police, D’Brusco. We have a few questions for you.”
There was a tiny noise in the apartment, and the detectives had an instant to act before bullets splintered the wood in a miserable parody of a greeting.
With his cheek resting against the smooth, cool tile of the hallway floor, Gabe recalled being told that it had taken a miracle to return him from the ninety seconds he’d spent suspended above his bullet-ridden body in St. Lucien’s emergency room. In the tension-filled moments that followed the barrage of gunfire, he fleetingly wondered how many miracles a man was allowed in one lifetime.
Scrambling into position, he glanced at Cal Madison as the other man mouthed the signal. On “three” he kicked the shredded door in and entered the room low. He heard Cal mutter a curse behind him. Weapons drawn, they stalked through the well-furnished apartment.
“Empty,” Cal pronounced disgustedly a few moments later.
“Only one other way out.” Without wasting a motion Gabe went through the open terrace door, following D’Brusco’s escape route.
“When are you going to learn that we move after three. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Madison craned his neck, scanned the wide cobblestone alley. In a neighborhood as trendy as this one, even the alleys had ambiance.
Gabe ran across the terrace to the fire escape. “After? Since when? We’ve always moved on three.” Deftly he swung over the wall of the terrace and began his descent.
“We’ve never gone on three. It’s always been after.” Even with the exertion of following him, Madison’s voice wasn’t winded. The man could nag without taking a breath.
“The problem is, you’re always changing the rules.” Gabe kept his weapon steady as he observed the alley for signs of life. “On three, after three, who could keep it straight? Leave things uncomplicated. They go smoother that way.”
“Only you could complicate a simple count to three,” Madison muttered. He dropped lightly down beside his partner, and without a word they fanned out, covering the alley.
Minutes later, they rejoined, holstering their weapons. “Damn. If he was on foot he’s either a champion sprinter or else he ducked into one of the shops’ back doors.” Gabe hunched his leather-clad shoulders against the biting wind. Chicago in the spring was a malicious tease, coupling promising bouts of bright sunshine with frigid blasts of air. The sunlight had already begun to fade over the fashionable skyline, but the winds blowing off the lake showed no sign of abating.
Cal didn’t react to the weather since he was sensibly outfitted in his winter parka and muffler and would be until the flowers started blooming. He believed going out in varying temperatures was a leading cause of pneumonia. “Think he had a car stashed back here?”
“It’s a tow area. But he could have had one waiting.”
“Meaning he was expecting company,” concluded Cal.
“Judging from his greeting, he wasn’t expecting friends.”
“Not exactly the reaction I’d expect from a penny-ante ex-con like Lenny D’Brusco.”
Gabe grunted his agreement, already tallying the doors lining the alley. “Front or back?”
An eternal optimist, Cal replied, “Back. We’ll work our way to the front, maybe catch a lead, grab a sandwich and be home in time for tip-off.”
Gabe was more realistic. With a wave of resignation, he mentally kissed off his plan for a quiet evening in the recliner with pizza, beer and a lively Bulls game on television. He hadn’t set the VCR. Something told him the only parts of the game he’d see tonight were the highlights reshown on ESPN.
“I don’t know,” Meghan told her nephew with mock seriousness. “I’m still considering buying something educational for your birthday present. Maybe a set of encyclopedias.”
Danny clutched his throat and made gagging noises. His antics forced a smile from his aunt. They’d come to the quaint toy store in search of ideas for Danny’s upcoming birthday. After spending almost an hour there, it appeared that the boy wouldn’t be dissuaded from the items that had seized his attention almost immediately.
“But, Aunt Meggie, I can’t even read that good yet. And I could learn from these electronic dinosaurs, too. My teacher says we should study animals that are extincted.”
“Extinct.”
“Yeah. And if I got two of them, Alex could play with one with me, and he’d be learning, too.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”
Danny’s eyes were alight with an excitement she’d rarely seen there, and the sight sent an odd pang to Meghan’s chest. “I could take them outside again and you could watch what they can do. They can have fights and make noises and everything.”
She glanced at her watch. She’d arranged for the cab driver to return for them, and the allotted time was almost up. “Tell you what. You put the dinosaurs back in the display case, and I’ll keep them in mind. Your birthday isn’t for three more weeks.”
“Nineteen and a half days,” he corrected. On this subject he was very exact.
“Nineteen and a half days,” Meghan repeated. “So we still have plenty of time.” She followed Danny as he went over to replace the toys, taking his time positioning them. The toy store was as unique as her friend Callie had promised, with inviting displays of unpackaged items that allowed children to manipulate the toys. As a marketing ploy it was amazingly effective, Meghan thought, as her gaze wandered to the front of the store, watching for the taxi through the plateglass window. Fifteen minutes spent playing with the dinosaurs on the patio in the alley had certainly hooked Danny.
The door opened then and a tall dark-haired man entered. His gaze swept the interior of the store. When it landed on her for a moment, she felt it like a physical touch. An inexplicable shiver skated down her spine, and she turned to hurry her nephew along.
“You know what I saw when I was playing with the dinosaurs outside?”
“Hmm?” Her nephew had only a fraction of her attention. Her concentration was diverted by the man who was now approaching the counter.
“It was way cool. There were funny noises and a guy dropped out of the sky. Then…”
The boy’s words seemed to fuse with the scene at the counter, where the stranger was flashing a shield at the clerk. A sense of déja` vu hit Meghan in a nauseating wave, and for a moment she was deaf to Danny’s words. Flight was the most primitive instinct known to man, and the urge to flee nearly overwhelmed her.
“…and then the first guy ran to the car…”
“We’ll talk about it when we get home.” Meghan’s voice held an unusual edge, and the boy sent her a startled glance before falling silent. She didn’t notice. Her focus was on the man, the cop, who’d just engaged another customer in a conversation she was too far away to overhear.
Placing one arm on Danny’s shoulder, she guided him toward the door, disguising her haste behind a barrage of words. “We’d better check on our cab. We told the driver to come back in an hour, and I doubt he’ll wait for long. Rush hour is the worst time to find another taxi.”
She inched the boy closer to the door as she spoke. With every additional measure of distance placed between them and the policeman, the vise on her lungs eased slightly. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, she reached for the doorknob. Her fingers turned nerveless when a gravelly voice sounded behind her.
“Could I ask you a few questions before you leave, ma’am?”
Forcing herself to turn around she looked up, farther than she’d expected, to meet the enigmatic gaze of the man who’d stopped her. “I’m sorry.” She managed, somehow, to keep her voice dispassionate. “We’re in a hurry.”
“This will only take a moment. Detective Connally, ma’am. CPD.” The silver badge imprinted with the telling star was held out for her perusal. She didn’t need the badge or his words to accurately guess the man’s profession. There was cop in his eyes, in his voice.
The man’s low bass somehow matched his brooding features. His short-cropped haircut accentuated the brutal lines and hard angles of his face. But it was his eyes that compelled attention. A pale color reminiscent of fine whiskey, they were trained on her now with the unblinking gaze of a hawk focused on prey. The utter lack of expression in them sent a chill chasing over her skin.
“A man wanted for questioning disappeared near here after some shots were fired. I want to talk to anyone who might have seen him.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Meghan saw the cab pull up to the curb out front. Turning to her nephew she said, “Go tell the driver I’ll be out shortly, will you?”
The boy opened the door and sped toward the vehicle. Gabe focused on the woman before him. It was no hardship. The bulky down coat she was wearing couldn’t disguise the femininity of the form it enveloped. If he’d been a sucker for big blue eyes and delicate bones his professional objectivity might have suffered. As it was, he allowed himself only one brief mental lament over the capricious weather that still caused sensible people to bundle up, and kept his gaze trained firmly on her face.
“I don’t think I can help you, Officer. I didn’t notice anything.”
“Detective.”
“Pardon?”
There was confusion in her wide blue eyes. He noted that her nose was a trifle upturned, her lips perhaps a fraction too full, as if nature had been compelled to stop just short of sheer perfection. A wise move on Mother Nature’s part, Gabe approved. Perfection was boring. Something told him that this woman was anything but.
“It’s Detective Connally.”
“Of course.” The woman’s smile appeared strained.
“But as I said, I didn’t see anyone. I was too involved looking at the merchandise.”
Gabe nodded and raised his notebook, flipped a page. “And your name, ma’am?”
“My name?”
Pen suspended above the paper, he explained, “In case we should have additional questions to ask you at a later date.”
Those full lips curved in a smile that tried to look casual. “Of course. It’s Tina Wilder.” He jotted down the name, as well as the phone number and address she gave him when pressed. And he wondered what possible reason this woman would have to lie to him.
A cop’s experiences, hell, a lifetime of experiences had trained Gabe to recognize the subtle signals people gave off when they were straying from the truth. A tremor in the hands for some, eyes too fixed and bright for others. There were thousands of tell-tale signs, as individual as the people themselves. He wasn’t even sure what tipped him off that Tina Wilder wasn’t being completely forthcoming. Maybe it was her tone, just a trifle too polite, or her expression, just a little too impassive.
But then he looked into those big blue eyes of hers, eyes that could scramble the senses of a less wary man, and there he found his answer. Because behind her deliberately blank expression flickered an emotion much stronger. Even more intriguing.
Desperation.
Recognizing that emotion, he took his time drawing a card from his pocket. He handed it to her, watched carefully as she visibly tucked back her reluctance and reached for it. “In case you remember something later, ma’am. You can reach me at that number or leave a message if I’m not in. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
When she nodded, he added, “I’d like to speak to the boy before you leave.”
Her back stiffened, one vertebrae at a time. “He can’t help you, either. He was much too interested in the toys to observe anything else.”
He tried for a rueful tone, tough for his low timbre, to soothe the nerves he suspected she was hiding. “You’re probably right, but I have to be thorough.”
Her lips curved, and he mentally revised his earlier estimation. They weren’t too full. They weren’t too anything. They appeared to be…just right.
“I’ll get him.”
“Detective.” The clerk’s voice distracted him from her retreating form for a moment. “This gentleman thought he heard something earlier.”
Gabe looked in the direction of the man the clerk indicated and said, “I’ll be right with you, sir.” Sending another glance outside, he gave a silent curse and yanked the door open, ran to the curb.
The cab was already pulling away.
“You gotta give me an address sometime, lady. This is costing you a fortune.” The driver adjusted the mirror, his eyes meeting Meghan’s. She hesitated, then recited her address. Her real address, of course. Not that of the fictitious Tina Wilder, which she’d manufactured for the detective.
She took a deep breath to calm her jangled nerves. Was there some sort of law against giving a false identity to a police detective? She was certain there must be. But like it or not, she was the only one Danny had left to protect him. And although the idea of her newfound guardianship could still lace her with mind-numbing fear, she’d do whatever it took to give the boy the stability that her own childhood had lacked. The stability his mother had failed to provide for him.
“Aunt Meggie?” She looked at her nephew, forced a reassuring smile, one that faded as he continued. “You ’member that guy I told you about? The one in the alley?”
“Hey, I thought we were going to discuss your birthday.” It was a topic guaranteed to shift Danny’s attention.
“I’m going to have a real party, right? You promised.”
His reminder was unnecessary, since he forced her to repeat the assurance several times a day. “I promised.”
Once he was on this particular subject, Danny was extremely tenacious. “That means candles and cake. And friends. How many friends can I invite?”
Not for the first time since Danny had come to live with her, Meghan felt hopelessly out of her depth. “I’m not sure.”
“How about six? That’s fair, ’cuz I’m gonna be six.”
Sheer terror seized her for a moment at the thought of dealing with seven six-year-olds. She drew a deep breath and released it. “I guess.” His reasoning sounded logical enough. What did she know, after all, about what was “fair” when planning a birthday party for a child? What did she know about any child, and Danny in particular? The answers were depressingly obvious.
“Sweet!” He bounced up and down in his seat, testing the restraint of his seat belt. She’d successfully sidetracked his thoughts from the man he’d seen in the alley. And from the compelling detective who had questioned Meghan. She wished futilely that her own attention could be diverted as easily.
The sight of her apartment building had never been so welcome. Meghan punched her code into the security system, anxious to reach the privacy of her home. Her relief might be unfounded, but she would feel safe there from the shrewd gaze of the detective and from questions that she’d be better off avoiding.
“Aunt Meggie?”
“Hmm?” The door swung open, and she guided Danny into the foyer of the building.
“Why’d that taxi guy want your pants?”
Her gaze jerked to meet the boy’s puzzled one. “What?”
“The whole time in the taxi, he kept thinking he’d like to get in your pants. I don’t see why. They wouldn’t fit him, would they?”
A sheerly feminine response had her sending a fuming glance after the taxi, which was already driving away. Then reaction set in and closed like a fist around her throat. It took more effort than it should have to to keep her voice calm. “Remember what you’re learning about not walking around in other people’s heads?”
He looked down and scuffed one foot along the floor. “Yeah. But I didn’t walk right in. It was more like he left the door open. I couldn’t help seeing his thoughts when they were spilling out all over the place, could I?”
She studied the boy, little more than a baby really. The feeling of helplessness threatening to swamp her was all too familiar. Her sister, Sandra, had never mentioned Danny’s father, but the boy was blond like his mother, like Meghan herself. Perhaps he’d gotten his coloring from her sister. Certainly he’d inherited Sandra’s psychic ability. The same ability she’d alternately ignored or exploited all her life.
She pushed away the accompanying flash of guilt and kept her voice firm. “You have to try. No mind games, all right?”
He nodded, his head still bent. Telepathic would be the best description of the infant ability he’d inherited from his mother, but Sandra had always called it mind games, as if the mental raids she’d made into other people’s heads had been playful entertainment for all involved. As if her gift hadn’t turned their childhood into a war zone.
As if it hadn’t ended up getting Sandra killed.
When her doorbell sounded the next afternoon, Meghan glanced at the clock, faintly surprised by the hour. Her schedule had undergone major adjustments since Danny had come to live with her. The only time she had in her home studio were the hours he was at school. Every minute was precious, especially with a deadline looming for her next project. But it was almost time for Callie, who lived down the hall, to drop Danny off. She must be running a little early.
The bell rang again before Meghan reached the door and pulled it open. “Boy, you’re eager to get rid of him today. Don’t tell me he…” The rest of the words died in her throat as she found herself face-to-face with two men; one a stranger and the other all too familiar.
“This is Detective Madison, Miss Patterson.” Her gaze flying to Connally’s, Meghan knew she hadn’t imagined the slight inflection he’d given her name. The smile he gave her was humorless. “And I’m going to assume you remember my name, even though you had a little difficulty with your own yesterday.”
Her palms went damp, and she barely resisted an urge to wipe them on her loose-fitting shirt. The force of his presence struck her anew. His eyes were hard and inscrutable. They seemed to drill through her, effortlessly shredding all pretense, all subterfuge. Somehow she’d never imagined that Connally would bother to go to the trouble of finding her. Of finding Danny.
It was that thought that had tension gripping her muscles. Her chin angled up and she met his gaze. “Being a detective, you should have concluded that I gave you a false name yesterday because I wanted to avoid just this kind of harassment.”
“Being a detective,” Connally countered, “I get kinda suspicious when people go to such lengths to avoid talking to me. We had to trace you through the cab company you used.”
Meghan set her lips, but remained silent. She wasn’t sure what kind of tack to take with the detective. Defiance didn’t seem to work. Nor had her phony compliance yesterday. He didn’t appear to be a man who gave up easily. In contrast to his partner’s lived-in face, with its homely charm, this man’s features could have been carved from granite. She was beginning to believe that he had a will to match.
Surreptitiously, she glanced at her watch. Danny would be home in minutes. It was imperative that she get rid of the detectives before then.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much time.” Even as she spoke, Connally seemed to loom closer, and she retreated in immediate, involuntary response. Then somehow the men were standing inside her doorway, although she’d had no intention of letting them in. She thought she caught a flash of satisfaction in Connally’s pale eyes before he closed the door behind him, and the sight of it stiffened her spine.
Her gaze swung to Detective Madison, who was speaking for the first time. “Sorry for the interruption. You didn’t answer your buzzer, but the super told us that he hadn’t seen you go out today. He let us in.”
With a firmer grip on her composure now, Meghan pasted a polite smile on her face. “I’m afraid Detective Connally has wasted your time. I already told him yesterday that I hadn’t seen anything while I was at the toy store.”
“It’s real important that we find the man we’re tracing, ma’am.” Madison’s voice had a placating quality that his partner’s lacked. “You left Favorite Things kind of suddenly last night. We just wanted to follow up to see if maybe you’d remembered something since then.”
“Mind telling us why you were in such a hurry to get away?” Connally’s gaze was directed above her head as he surveyed her apartment, before focusing once more on her.
She forced a casual shrug. “I’d arranged for the driver to come back for us. You know what it’s like to find a cab at that time of day.”
“That’s sure a fact, isn’t it?” Detective Madison’s tone was understanding. “Last week I tried to take my wife out for a nice dinner and we had a devil of a time getting a taxi back home. She said it would have been more relaxing to stay in and cook.”
His easy manner should have disarmed her. There was something comfortable about the man, like a rumpled set of clothes kept long after they’d gone out of style. His thinning sandy-colored hair was brushed back from a broad forehead, and his slightly rounded shoulders made him seem smaller than his partner, although they were probably both over six feet. But the friendliness in his voice, in his pale-gray eyes, didn’t eliminate her wariness. In her experience all cops wanted something. And some would go to deadly lengths to get it.
“Did you buy anything last night?” At the question she shifted her attention to observe Connally strolling around her living room. “It looked like an unusual place. I guess kids go nuts for that kind of thing.”
“No, I didn’t. And as I told you yesterday, I didn’t notice the man you were looking for while I was in the store, either. Sorry I can’t be of more help to you.” Although her words were meant to bring a close to the conversation, neither of the men made a move to leave.
“What about the boy?”
The words hung in the air like leaden crystals suspended from a chandelier. She didn’t answer; couldn’t. Protecting Danny was her job now. And the threat these two men posed was nauseating in its familiarity. She wouldn’t allow him to be used as his mother had been. She wouldn’t risk his life the way Sandra had so carelessly risked her own.
When silence stretched, Madison said, “Detective Connally said you had a small boy with you, Miss Patterson. Maybe he saw something.”
“My nephew was with me, yes. But he’s only five. He isn’t going to be of any help, either, I’m afraid.”
The two men exchanged a glance. “We’d still like to talk to him. Could you arrange that?” Connally’s words may have been couched as a request, but they were delivered in a voice accustomed to giving orders. And having them obeyed.
“No.” Her voice was flat. The detective wasn’t the only one who could be indomitable. “That won’t be—”
The doorbell rang then, interrupting her. Frustration surged. Just five more minutes. That’s all it would have taken to get rid of the men. The detectives were watching her expectantly. Mentally cursing the cosmic timing, she went to the door.
“Trying to pretend you aren’t home won’t save you.” Callie’s laughing words sounded above Danny’s exuberant greeting. “Remember, I have a…” Her sentence trailed off when she saw the two men with Meghan.
“Hi, Aunt Meggie. I gotta go!” With a five-year-old’s sense of urgency, Danny made a beeline for the bathroom.
“Ah…I’ll catch you later. We’re still on for tonight, right?” At Meghan’s nod, Callie placed a hand on her son Alex’s back to guide him toward their apartment. “Tell Danny I’ll see him later.” Meghan closed the door after them.
A compelling need to speak to Danny warred with an equally strong reluctance to leave the detectives alone in her living room, even for a few minutes. She didn’t trust them. The last few months had destroyed any unquestioning faith she might have once had in the police. And Connally, especially, saw too much.
She didn’t know which made her more uncomfortable—when his gaze raked over her home, her belongings, or when it fixed on her. Something about him caused a disconcerting awareness that was as unusual as it was unwelcome. Meghan flicked a glance at the two detectives. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to check on my nephew.”
Gabe watched her hurry down a hallway with a gait guaranteed to snag a man’s attention and hold it. It sure held his.
“You’re a card-carrying pervert, you know that?”
The words were pitched low. Gabe turned to his partner and lifted a brow. “What are you talking about?”
Cal made a sound of disgust. “You stared hard enough. Trying to get a complete description of her lingerie?”
“She’s not wearing any, at least not on top. And noticing that doesn’t make me a pervert.” He crossed a few steps to the coffee table, which had some books stacked neatly on it. He picked them up one at a time, reading the titles.
“What’s it make you then?”
“A typical red-blooded male.” He gestured toward the books. “Look at these.” Together the two men silently read the titles.
Your Extra Senses. Growing up Telepathic. Extra-Sensory Perception: Myth and Magic.
Cal lifted his gaze to Gabe’s and shrugged. “So she’s got an interest. You know, you should try reading more yourself. I’ve got a great book I’d like you to look at on homeopathic remedies for common ailments.”
Giving a snort, he set the books down again. “Fat chance.”
But Cal was nothing if not dogged. That quality of his was an advantage while working an investigation, but often a pain in the ass otherwise. “There’s a great chapter on ways to quit smoking that you might find helpful.”
Gabe threw him a dark look. “Thanks, buddy, but you’ve helped me in that area too much already.” It had been Cal who’d suggested that he wear a rubber band around his wrist, and snap himself anytime he thought about taking a smoke. Called it aversion therapy or some damn thing. Gabe had given it an enthusiastic try once and discovered that the resulting sting hadn’t appreciably lessened his desire for a cigarette. It had, however, given him a bone to pick with his partner. He was just waiting for the right time to pay the man back for his lousy advice.
Cal stiffened slightly, alerting Gabe that Meghan Patterson had reentered the room behind him. Not that he needed the warning. His instincts were excellent, and in her case they seemed to be unusually heightened. Turning, he found her standing with her nephew before her. Her hands were resting lightly on his shoulders, her stance protective. He wondered what it was she thought she was protecting the boy from.
Cal smiled at the boy, going down on one knee before him. Gabe made no move to follow suit. His partner was the natural one to put the kid at ease. Children and dogs liked him. And although Gabe didn’t have anything against dogs, he’d be the first to admit that he didn’t know squat about kids.
“Hi, I’m Detective Madison.” He jerked a thumb in Gabe’s direction. “That’s Detective Connally. We want to ask you a couple of questions. Is that okay?”
The boy looked up at his aunt before giving an almost imperceptible nod.
Cal’s voice was reassuring. “This won’t take long. We just want you to tell us about your trip to the toy store last night.”
Danny’s words were hesitant. “I saw some dinosaurs. Electronic ones.”
Cal gave a long whistle. “Dinosaurs, huh? That sounds exciting. The clerk said you took them to the patio in the alley to try them out. How’d they work?”
In his enthusiasm the boy was more forthcoming. “They were cool. They can roar and fight and everything. Aunt Meggie said maybe I can get two for my birthday.”
Gabe entered the conversation. “While you were outside, did you hear anything, Danny? See anything?” The boy exchanged another look with his aunt. His answer was slow in coming.
“I…heard something. And then a man jumped out of the sky and ran to get in a car.”
A car. Gabe thought quickly. Having a car waiting suggested that Lenny had been planning a quick exit from his apartment. What could have had him running so scared? Scared enough to shoot at them first?
He waited with barely restrained impatience while Cal smoothly extracted bits of information from the boy. D’Brusco must have jumped over the railing of the fire escape at the landing. The car he’d run to was black, according to the kid. Yes, the boy agreed, with Cal’s coaching, the same color as the detective’s belt.
“And he was real scared, too.” Gabe noted the way Meghan’s fingers tightened on the boy’s shoulders, and Danny turned to look up at her. “He was, Aunt Meggie. Maybe ’cuz that other man was chasing him. Then they both got in the car and drove away.”
Gabe squatted before the boy. “There was another man? Did they say anything? Could you hear them talking to each other?”
Danny seemed to get tongue-tied then. Or perhaps he was reacting to the death grip his aunt had on his shoulders. It took minutes of prying to elicit that the boy hadn’t heard either man speak. Gabe visualized the dimensions of the alley and calculated that the boy wouldn’t have heard anything below a shout, at any rate. The way the kid described the scene, he doubted whether there had been a chase in progress. More likely both of them had been in D’Brusco’s apartment when he and Cal had knocked. He doubted the men had noticed the boy. If he’d been seated on the concrete patio, the wrought iron fence around it would have likely hidden him from view. With a bit more coaxing Cal was able to elicit a description that matched D’Brusco. He’d give a month’s pay to know who the other one was.
“That’s all the information my nephew can give you, Detectives.” Meghan’s voice was firm. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s dinnertime, and we’re on a schedule tonight.”
Cal looked at Gabe, who nodded slightly. As they rose, he said, “We’d sure like to get an idea about the identity of the second man, ma’am. Could you bring your nephew in to look at some pictures?”
There was no mistaking the woman’s reaction. Her spine went rigid. Voice tight, she said to the boy, “Danny, go in and get washed up for supper.”
“But I just washed my hands a minute ago.”
“Now, Danny.”
Apparently the boy recognized the steel in his aunt’s words, because he turned without another word and trudged down the hallway. Meghan faced the detectives again and her tone went low and fierce. “Any further involvement of my nephew in your investigation is out of the question.”
Gabe tried to make his voice sound soothing, a difficult feat for his rumbling tones. “I don’t think you understand, ma’am. All we’re asking is…”
The look she shot him was as scathing as her words. “No, you don’t understand. Whatever it is that you do, you’ll do without Danny. The CPD has already cost my family more than enough already. Thanks to your department, my sister is dead.”
Chapter 2
“Uh-uh, buddy. It’s my day, remember?”
Gabe scowled, his fingers poised on the handle of the driver’s door. Heaving a matyred sigh he went around to the other side of the unmarked car and got in. Cal took cautious driving to new heights. Gabe had often thought if his partner entered a Daytona 500 held for females over ninety, every one of the little old ladies would be lapping him in seconds.
Once he’d eased the car into traffic, Cal spoke again. “What do you suppose Patterson’s story is? She’s sure carrying a whale of a grudge against the department.”
Gabe loosened his tie and unfastened his top shirt button. The confining clothes he was forced to wear was one of the biggest disadvantages of having switched assignments three years ago from undercover work to his current position of detective in the Organized Crime division. In his opinion, neckwear should be outlawed as a particularly cruel and inhumane form of torture. He’d like to get hold of the guy who’d invented ties and beat an apology from him.
“Hard telling. Maybe her sister swore out a restraining order that went south.” It happened, he knew, more often than they liked to consider. Domestic disputes especially could turn deadly. At any rate, after dropping her bomb-shell, Meghan Patterson hadn’t wasted any time ushering them out of the apartment. Gabe decided he’d dig around a little and see what he could discover about the sister. Despite Meghan’s hostility, the fact remained that they’d probably need to talk to her nephew again. Discovering the identity of the unknown man with D’Brusco just might be the key to blowing this case wide open. And the instant he had an inkling of who the guy could be, Gabe would be back on the woman’s doorstep. He said as much to Cal.
His partner never took his eyes off the traffic. “We’ll have to hope she changes her mind about letting her nephew cooperate.”
“She’ll change her mind.”
Cal’s brows rose at the certainty in Gabe’s voice. “I don’t know. She seemed pretty sure.”
Reaching into his pocket, Gabe withdrew a package of gum and unwrapped a piece. He placed it in his mouth and chewed. It was a damn poor substitute for the smoke he craved, but it annoyed the hell out of Cal. That was powerful incentive. “I can be very persuasive.”
Giving a hoot at that, Madison risked a glance at his partner. “You? Somehow I don’t think the intimidation tactics you find so effective on street scum are going to be appropriate in her case. To handle a classy lady like that requires a certain finesse.”
Just for the irritation value, Gabe cracked his gum loudly. “I’ve got finesse.”
Cal was chortling now. “Boy, do you. I don’t know what I was worried about. If the time comes, we’ll just count on you to change her mind with your usual suave personality.”
Gabe was undisturbed by his partner’s gibes. “Don’t discount my hidden charms.”
“Yeah, your charms are well hidden, all right.”
“Keep being mean to me and I’ll tell Becky. She loves me. She’d kick your butt if she could hear you now.” Becky and Cal had married the previous year, and Gabe returned the woman’s fondness tenfold. She was upfront and plain-spoken, traits damn uncommon in the females of his experience.
A sudden thought occurred. “Speaking of your better half, why don’t you give her a call when we get back to our desks. I was thinking of going out for a steak tonight. We could go together. My treat. I owe you for the last time you had me over. Or maybe for the last dozen times,” he mused. “I lose count.”
“Uh…” Cal cleared his throat. “I don’t think so. Not tonight.” He turned the car into the district parking lot and started cruising for a space.
Gabe looked out the window and spotted an empty slot. “There’s a place. Up on your left.” He shifted seamlessly back to the original conversation. “C’mon, think about it. How long has it been since Becky let you eat red meat? I could persuade her to let you order a steak. She’s putty in my hands.”
A dull flush had risen in his partner’s face. He took even greater care than usual to park the car and switch off the ignition. “Actually, we have special plans tonight.”
Gabe was perceptive enough to realize the plans weren’t the sort his partner would want him included in. “Yeah, okay. Why don’t you go on home and let me finish up the paperwork for today?”
“No, that’s all right. Becky isn’t expecting me until later, anyway.”
The two men got out of the car and walked toward the building. Gabe threw a companionable arm around Cal’s shoulders. “The trick to romancing a woman is to do the unexpected once in a while. Now you go on home and surprise Becky. Better yet, stop for some flowers and wine first.”
“Well…” Cal’s hesitation was minuscule. “Okay. I’ll owe you one.”
Gabe clapped him on the back. “Damn right you will. Oh, and give Becky a big kiss for me when you see her, would you? On the mouth.”
Cal shrugged off Gabe’s arm and headed for his car. “You’re depraved, Connally.”
“Yeah, I am. Forget it. I’ll give it to her myself the next time I see her.” He chuckled at the obscene gesture Cal made and entered the building.
Since it was time for a shift change, the halls of the Area One Detectives’ Division were more chaotic than normal. Winding through the maze of desks and cubicles, Gabe exchanged greetings and one-liners with his co-workers and then dropped into the chair in front of his battered metal desk. Before getting to work, he shrugged out of his coat, pulled the loosened tie from around his neck, wadded it up and jammed it in the pocket of his sports jacket. Then he slung the jacket over the back of his chair, undid another shirt button and unfastened the cuffs, rolling the sleeves to his elbows.
“Connally, you savage. You’re a little late to be the featured matinee,” Detective Lydia Fredericks observed from her desk across the aisle. She raised her voice. “Hey, Connally’s doing a striptease over here. Could we have a show of appreciation?” There was a smattering of applause, and a wolf whistle from Lydia’s partner, Marcy Rogers. Coins rained on Gabe’s desk, courtesy of the detectives in the vicinity.
“Thank you, thank you. You’ve been a wonderful audience.” He stood and did a quick shimmy, eliciting a heart-felt moan from Lydia and some more loose change. He scooped up the coins, frowning over the lone penny in the group. “Hey, who’s the cheapskate? Fiskes?”
Detective Mark Fiskes grinned. “What can I say? You’re a cheap thrill, Connally.”
“Cheap, hell.” Gabe slipped the money in his pants pocket. “I just made enough to drink all night. I’m thinking about taking a second j—” The rest of the sentence went unuttered, as the sudden studiousness of the other detectives tipped him off. He turned around, and his tone went abruptly professional.
“Afternoon, Lieutenant.”
“Connally.” The man nodded at a coin beside the desk that had been missed. “Taking up a collection?”
It wasn’t uncommon for officers faced with Lieutenant Robert Burney’s stern ebony mask to feel sudden, urgent needs to be elsewhere. Fast. But Gabe couldn’t pass up the chance for a little retribution.
“You caught me, sir. I was just collecting my daily protection money from the others.”
“Protection money.”
Gabe propped his hips on his desk, crossed his arms over his chest and strove to make his tone earnest. “Yessir. The rest of the guys pay me to defend them from Detective Fredericks’s compulsive stalking.” Several of the men in the vicinity snickered, and Lydia invited Gabe to take a road trip to hell. He shook his head sadly. “She’s getting bolder and bolder, sir. She follows us everywhere, making all kinds of lewd proposals. The truth is, the other guys are getting scared. I’m the only one brave enough to stand up to her.” He turned to Lydia. “This is the last time I’m going to say it, Fredericks. Get help, for godsakes. You’re getting pathetic.” He dodged the pencil she threw at him, amidst guffaws from the surrounding detectives.
Burney’s expression didn’t change by as much as a flicker. “I’d like to see you in my office, Connally.”
Gabe pushed away from his desk and followed in his superior’s wake. When they reached the small office, he closed the door behind him and settled into a chair in front of the lieutenant’s desk. Burney lost no time getting down to business.
“You and Madison make any progress today on D’Brusco?”
“Some.” Gabe stretched his legs out before him and crossed one battered shoe over the other. “Best lead we got was from a five-year-old kid who was in the alley when Lenny took off.” He filled the man in on their visit to Meghan Patterson’s apartment.
The lieutenant leaned forward, interested. “Any chance you got a decent description of the second guy?”
“Well, the kid described Lenny pretty well, so he might be useful if we get a lead on the other’s identity. Said the guy was thin, taller than me, and his face looked like a skull.”
Burney’s weight shifted back in his chair, his disappointment obvious. “Great. The kid’s memory is probably influenced by a recent horror flick he watched.”
Gabe lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. But the presence of a second guy in the apartment would explain the shots fired. That never did seem like Lenny’s style.”
“D’Brusco might have changed his style after his last stint at Hill.”
That was entirely possible, Gabe silently conceded. It had been courtesy of Gabe that Lenny had been the state’s guest for a second time after Gabe had busted him for fencing. D’Brusco had only been out for two years, and apparently had changed his favorite con. He’d come to Gabe and Cal’s attention recently when they caught a money-laundering assignment he figured in. Gabe still had trouble believing that Lenny had risen to such a level. Working with that kind of money meant D’Brusco was playing in the big leagues. Apparently, he’d not only changed his habits, he’d also learned some new skills in prison.
The lieutenant was speaking again. “Just be aware that this case is attracting some attention from above. I fielded a call regarding it today from the deputy chief.”
Gabe’s low, tuneless whistle conveyed his appreciation of the fact. Given the chain of command in the CPD, the deputy chief’s inquiry meant that the interest was being generated several authority rungs higher, maybe even from the superintendent of police himself.
“Any clue what their interest is?”
“That wasn’t shared with me. However, a private source informed me that Justice has been sniffing around the investigation.”
Gabe went still. “Justice? Which agency?”
Burney shook his head. “That I don’t know. Just thought you should be aware that the case might be getting some profile.” He stood, indicating that the meeting was at an end. Gabe’s hand was on the doorknob before the lieutenant’s wry tone sounded again.
“Oh, and Connally—” he waited until the detective looked over his shoulder before finishing “—you might want to rethink that second job. You know how the department feels about detectives moonlighting.”
Grinning, Gabe opened the door. “If you say so, sir, but it seems a shame to waste a god-given talent. I figure I’m a natural.”
Too bad, he thought, an hour and a half later as he eyed the computer console before him balefully, that he wasn’t a natural at technology. The damn thing had already eaten his report once, and he’d had to painstakingly retype it. Cal would have made some wiseass comment about garbage in, garbage out, but then Cal understood things like computers and DVDs, the new technology rage that he’d once tried to explain to Gabe. His efforts had been in vain. Gabe had considered it a major feat when he’d learned to program his VCR. His talents, he’d explained to his partner, time and again, lay in other areas.
Once he’d collected his hard copy, his attention shifted to the woman who’d lingered in the back of his mind since she’d thrown them out of her apartment. Meghan Patterson. He typed her last name into the crime data base and waited for the computer to finish processing.
Despite his partner’s assessment of his intentions, his interest in the woman was purely professional. Well, okay, he admitted, drumming his fingers lightly on the keyboard, maybe he’d admired her in a purely detached sort of way. He could only figure one good reason for a woman to scrape her hair up on top of her head the way she’d worn hers. He doubted very much, however, that she’d worn it that way with the intention of allowing a man to take it down, a pin at a time. He gave a purely masculine grin at the mental picture.
A good cop got to be an expert at sizing people up. It certainly didn’t mean he was attracted to her, which was a good thing, because he had a long-standing distaste for dishonesty. Regardless of her reasons, Meghan had lied to him yesterday, and that alone was enough to keep him wary of her. There were, he’d found, simple facts in life that had to be accepted because they couldn’t be changed. Trees had their leaves, oceans had their tides, and women had their secrets. He knew that. And knowing was reason enough to keep the females in his life at a comfortable distance.
The search yielded forty-seven Pattersons for whom arrest warrants had been issued or by whom complaints had been filed. He was unsurprised when he failed to find Meghan’s name. He scanned each report, but could find nothing to match the little information she’d given them about her sister. He switched to the Internet and accessed the Tribune’s archives. He found several references to news articles in which Meghan was mentioned, and he went through them in reverse order, starting with the oldest.
The first he read had his eyebrows climbing. He hadn’t realized the woman he’d spoken with this afternoon was part of the Tremayne dynasty. The connection implied old money, historic homes and very public divorces. Meghan’s mother was the sole heiress to one of Chicago’s wealthiest families and, from what Gabe could remember, had done her part to keep the family name in the news with the frequent breakups of her marriages.
It occurred to him then to wonder if Meghan had been married. He scrolled down the articles, but found no details to support the idea. Patterson had probably been her father’s name.
He skimmed through several more clippings, most having appeared in the social registry featuring Meghan being escorted to lavish fund-raisers. It was interesting to note that none of the pictures showed her with the same guy twice, although they all shared a polished, worthless look that made them interchangeable.
He paused to read a couple that mentioned her career in the art world and clicked impatiently on the most recent selection.
The picture unfolded in slow-motion, which, given the age of the district’s computers, was the way the Internet seemed to work most of the time. It was an invasive close-up shot, the kind the media was noted for, focused on Meghan, Danny and an older woman. The trio were dressed in black, and the photo had been snapped as they filed out of a church. Behind a casket.
The headline screamed at him, and he read the article quickly, his stomach dropping a little lower with each paragraph. He stared at the screen after he’d finished, absently rubbing a hand over his jaw.
Damn his luck. His earlier certainty about persuading Meghan to allow Danny to cooperate slipped several notches. He remembered the gist of the case involving Sandra Barton; who didn’t? It had been splashed all over the news for weeks, and the only place news traveled faster than in the media was within the department itself. He now understood why Meghan might hold the police responsible for her sister’s death.
On some level, he really couldn’t blame her.
He’d lost his appetite for the steak he’d been promising himself all day, so Gabe got a couple of fast-food sandwiches before heading to Brewsters. The bar was a local hangout, its customers mostly cops, and a favorite of his and Cal’s. Of course, Cal hadn’t made regular appearances there since his marriage. Becky kept him on a pretty short leash, which was another reason Gabe steered clear of serious relationships. He had a long-held aversion to being confined.
He felt at home as soon as he pushed open the door and inhaled the secondhand smoke that all the ordinances in the world couldn’t successfully ban. Returning the greetings of some of the regulars, he found a seat at the bar and signaled the bartender to bring him his usual.
When the bottle of beer was set before him, he took a comfortable swallow, before a man slipped onto the stool beside him. Casting a sideways look, he groaned aloud. “I’m here to relax, McKay. I don’t want any hassle.”
The blond man beside him raised his brows. “Hassle? Me? I was just hoping for some friendly conversation with one of CPD’s finest.”
Gabe took a long pull from his beer. “I heard a joke the other day that made me think of you. You know what you call ten thousand reporters at the bottom of the ocean? A good start.” He chuckled at the other man’s expression. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course.” Dare McKay raised a finger, and the bartender slid an iced mug of beer toward him. “Besides, that joke is probably referring to the paparazzi, not to eminent investigative journalists such as myself. And speaking of investigating…I hear you caught the D’Brusco case.”
Gabe shoved down his annoyance. The man’s sources were uncannily accurate. “I’m not giving out information, so don’t bother pumping me.”
“Could be that I might be in a position to throw some information your direction as the case progresses.”
Tipping the bottle to his lips, Gabe drank. “Don’t do me any favors.”
“Well, since you asked so nice…I’ll be talking to you, Connally. Right now there’s a blonde who craves my attention.”
He slid off the stool and sauntered in the direction of a woman sitting at a table nearby, who looked distinctly happier to see him than Gabe had been.
Ordering another beer, Gabe listened with only half an ear to the guy on the other side of him bemoan the Bulls’ chances of rebuilding another championship team. With one elbow resting on the bar, he let his attention drift as he studied the rest of the customers in the establishment.
Mostly regulars, he observed, people he knew by sight, if not by name. There were a few neighborhood faces, a few like McKay, who frequented the place trying to pick up information, but most of the customers were cops who enjoyed relaxing after the job with their buddies. He took another long swallow of beer, then froze in the act of returning the bottle to the bar. His gaze ricocheted to a table toward the back of the place, and he stared incredulously.
What the hell was Meghan Patterson doing in Brewsters?
What she was doing, he quickly concluded, was a damn fine job of distracting just about every man in the bar. His weren’t the only pair of eyes trained in her direction. With that mass of golden curls spilling down her back, and her curves shown to advantage in the black sweater and skirt she was wearing, she looked as out of place in the slightly shabby tavern as a debutante at a cock fight.
His attention shifted to her companion and his brows drew together. Wattrel…Wadrell, that was it. His frown turned to a scowl. Fresh out of the academy, they’d been rookies in the same division years ago. The man hadn’t made many friends then with his methods for cutting corners and currying favor with the brass. Based on what Gabe had learned recently, Wadrell hadn’t changed much. Only the stakes had grown higher.
He brought the bottle to his lips and sipped, watching the couple unabashedly. Meghan’s back was to Gabe; he’d recognized her only when she’d turned in profile for a moment. She slipped from her chair and headed in the direction of the rest rooms. He shot a glance to Wadrell. The detective watched her go, then reached for his drink with a self-satisfied smile.
Without further thought, Gabe grabbed his bottle of beer and slipped off his bar stool to wind his way to the back of the place. The rest rooms were located beside two pool tables, and from the looks of things the pool players’ concentration had just been shot to hell by Meghan’s appearance.
Loitering in the vicinity really wasn’t difficult. The rear area was packed with players and spectators. A few made token attempts to hide their cigarettes, as if the smoke hovering below the hanging lights had appeared from nowhere. Gabe filled his lungs in vicarious appreciation.
When the rest room door opened, he shifted position so that Meghan could move only a few feet before finding her way blocked by him.
“Miss Patterson.” Stunned recognition was in his voice.
“I’m surprised to see you here.”
She wasn’t a good enough actress to hide her dismay at his appearance. Like this afternoon, she retreated a bit. Her response drew a different response from him this time, though. Earlier he’d been pleased that the distance had allowed him entrance to her apartment. Now he was fighting a compulsion to slide his fingers beneath her hair, around her nape, and haul her back to him, even closer this time. He clutched his bottle tighter in one hand and jammed the other in his pants pocket.
“Detective Connally.” She’d recovered quickly, but was still visibly eager to get away from him. Remaining planted solidly in front of her, he brought the bottle to his lips, took a drink.
“Given the high esteem you have for the CPD, this is a funny place for you and your date to show up. Of course—” a corner of his mouth curled “—guess it’s also kind of funny that you’d be seeing a cop.”
“I’m not ‘seeing’ him. At least, not in the way you mean. Could I get by, please?”
He obliged by moving a few inches. There was enough space for her to pass, if she didn’t mind pressing against him, curves to angles, heat to heat. Her gaze measured the space and she remained still. Apparently she minded.
Her eyes closed for a moment in a gesture of pure frustration. “Look, I have business with him, okay? Business I’d like to finish so I can go home to my nephew.”
“Your nephew lives with you?” The interest in his voice was genuine.
“I’ve been named his guardian.” A less observant man might have missed the flicker in her eyes as she delivered the words. A less observant man also might not have focused on the way her blond waves framed her face or the interesting rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her blue eyes narrowed at him then, and he cleared his throat self-consciously. It was considered poor form for a trained observer to be caught staring.
“Yeah, I read about what happened to your sister. Sorry for your loss.”
It was as though his words had pierced her with ice. Voice frigid, she replied, “Yes, everyone’s sorry, Detective. But that doesn’t make Sandra any less dead, does it?” She used her elbow to wedge her way past him and walked away, anger steeling her spine. Gabe watched her go, draining his beer musingly. His hope of gaining her cooperation in his current investigation seemed to be fading by the moment.
A few games of pool later, Gabe’s mood was no better, and his pockets were considerably lighter. He handed his cue to a nearby man and shrugged into his coat, amidst some goodnatured jeering.
“Hey, Connally, you’re a little off your game tonight. Must be worn-out from that second job you’ve taken on.” Fiskes grinned at him from across the table.
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t believe the benefits.”
The other man laughed. The jeers were actually preferable to the truth, Gabe thought, as he wended his way to the front of the bar—that his concentration had been shredded time and again while he’d tried to keep an eye on Wadrell’s table. He’d missed a crucial shot when he’d seen the man move his chair closer to Meghan’s, put an arm around her shoulders. And it hadn’t improved his game any to wonder whether she’d shifted away from the man purposefully, or if she’d really been reaching for her drink. At any rate his concentration hadn’t improved in the twenty minutes since she’d left the bar, alone. Not while Wadrell was still sitting at the table, looking so damned pleased with himself.
Instead of passing the seat Meghan had vacated, Gabe pulled out the chair and sat down. “Wadrell, how’s it going?”
“Connally.” The other man’s voice held an edge of wariness. “Oh…you know. Still chasing bad guys.”
“Yeah, I heard about your big case.” Gabe looked around, signaled the waitress to their table and ordered a couple of beers. “Got a lot of press on that one, didn’t you?”
The man shrugged. “You know how the media is. Warring gangs are good for headlines, especially when drug dealing is thrown into the mix.”
“Not to mention the sensationalism of using a psychic to help round up the leaders.” The waitress delivered the beers, and Gabe nudged one of them toward the other man, then handed the woman some bills.
Wadrell eyed him for a moment, then lifted the bottle to his lips. “That didn’t hurt any, of course.”
“Yeah, that was a different angle.” Gabe scratched his jaw. “Can’t say I’ve ever worked with one. Was she really any help?”
There was still a note of caution in the other man’s voice. “Yeah, Barton gave us some good leads. She called in and said she’d run into two of our guys in a dive they frequent. She was referred to me and came up with a couple leads about their activities that checked out. We started using her.” He shook his head and reached for a cigarette. “I don’t care if you believe in that kind of thing or not, the broad knew things, okay? We’d run a suspect in, place Barton behind the one-way glass. She’d observe for a while, give us some tips, and then we’d interrogate them. We put away most of the members of the gang that way. Slick operation. With her help we nailed them in the questioning. They never knew what hit them.”
Gabe tried not to covet the cigarette the other man was smoking. He failed miserably. “You’re telling me she read their minds or something?” He didn’t bother to keep the disbelief out of his voice. He’d never put much stock in that kind of hocus-pocus. He still wasn’t convinced that Wadrell believed in it, either; he was just as likely to have grabbed the opportunity to make headlines. “How do you suppose the press caught wind that you were using a psychic? And her identity?”
Setting the bottle down in front of him, Wadrell said, “You know how the media is. Can’t even call them leaks when the department itself is like a sieve.”
“Yeah, I know how it is. Just plain bad luck that the lady up and died before you made cases on all the guys involved.”
“Who, Barton?” Wadrell leaned back in his chair, visibly more relaxed now. “Yeah, too bad she bought it, but she really wasn’t much help there at the end, anyway. The last few things she gave us didn’t pan out. We’ll round up the others. It’s just a matter of time.”
“That was her sister in here earlier, wasn’t it? Meghan Patterson.”
Wadrell’s hand froze in the act of reaching for his bottle. “Yeah, so?”
Gabe lifted a shoulder. “Recognized her. She claim to be psychic, too?”
With a leer, the man said, “If she is, I hope she didn’t read my mind tonight. You know what I mean?”
“Way I hear it, this Patterson’s got a major beef with the department.”
Wadrell nodded. “She’s got some crazy notion her sister’s car accident was no accident at all—that the gang we were busting set it up to get her out of the way. Nothing to that, of course, but she won’t let it go.”
Comprehension dawned, and with it, a shimmer of anger. “Oh, so that’s the angle.” At the man’s silence, Gabe lowered his voice conspiratorially, buddy to buddy. “C’mon, Wadrell, you gonna pretend you’re cherry on this? You’re stringing the sister along like you might be able to get more information on the accident for her, all the while hoping she’ll throw a little action your way.”
The smirk that settled on the man’s lips was an open invitation to a clenched fist. “Well if there’s any action to be thrown, I’m gonna be the one to catch it. That is one fine piece of woman.”
Gabe leaned back in disgust. “Yeah, and why wouldn’t she be interested in a prince like you? Did you have something going with this Barton, too?”
The other man drained his beer, and set the bottle back on the table. “Naw. Not that she wasn’t a looker. But there was a hard edge to that one, you know? Compared to her, this Patterson is a babe in the woods. The sister was downright spooky.” Catching the scowl the bartender was aiming at him, he ground his cigarette out in the ashtray.
A few more minutes convinced Gabe that Wadrell had no more information that was of interest, which was good, because his tolerance level had lowered alarmingly. Gabe threw a couple bucks on the table and rose. Self-serving jerks like Wadrell gave him the heaves. There was no doubt in his mind that the other detective had been the one to alert the media, anonymously, of course, that a psychic was helping with his case. Wadrell would hand over his grandmother to get some exposure. It had been unprofessional and, once the media had dug up Barton’s identity, downright dangerous for the woman. With guys like Wadrell in the department, it was no wonder Meghan was down on the CPD.
He pushed open the door, the cold slap of wind in his face a wicked contrast to the heat in the bar. Given the circumstances, he could understand why Meghan was convinced Wadrell’s suspects had arranged to get rid of her sister. It could have happened just that way. But according to the detective, it hadn’t.
There was a movement to his left, alerting him to the figure huddled against the building. He took his time reaching into his pocket and unwrapped a piece of gum.
“Buses stopped running a couple hours ago.”
Meghan pulled the collar of her coat up closer around her throat and refused to look his way. “I’ve got a cab coming.”
“It must be taking its sweet time. How long have you been waiting?” He figured it had been at least a half hour since she’d left the bar.
Determinedly she kept her gaze fixed on the street. “I’ve called twice. It won’t be much longer.”
Resting his shoulders against the brick building, he studied her. “Be a lot warmer to wait inside.”
Finally she turned to him. Even the darkness couldn’t prevent him from noting that her gaze wasn’t friendly. “I’m fine out here. I don’t need company. You’re free to be on your way.”
Those words were delivered with just the right amount of haughtiness—duchess to serf. He supposed with her background she’d grown up giving orders. Too bad he’d never learned to take them.
“I’ve got my car. I could give you a lift home if you want.”
She’d returned to face the street. “That won’t be necessary.”
He nodded. “Your choice. Hope for your sake that cab arrives soon, though. Some men might be forgiven for thinking that your hanging around out here means you’ve changed your mind about ending the date so soon.” He heard a slight sound in the darkness that he fancied was her teeth clenching together.
“It was not a—”
“Date. Right. You said that.” Giving a shrug, he pushed away from the wall. “Well, if the cab doesn’t show, I’m sure Wadrell would enjoy escorting you home.”
He started in the direction of the parking lot. He’d gotten only a dozen steps when he heard her voice again.
“Wait. Maybe…maybe you’re right.”
He looked over his shoulder. The frigid breeze was combing reckless fingers through her hair, and she pushed it back over her shoulder with an impatient hand. “Those are words every man likes to hear, ma’am. Exactly what was I right about?”
Her chin lifted to an imperious angle, and it took little imagination to guess the effort it took to keep her tone civil. “I guess I will take that ride, after all. That is, if you’re sure it won’t take you out of your way.”
He masked his surprise at her sudden change of heart and dug in his pocket for his keys. Risk management, he figured, silently leading her to his car. She’d considered her options and decided that at the moment he presented less of a threat than Wadrell. He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or offended. But he’d seize the opportunity to spend some time with her. He didn’t mind driving a few extra miles, especially if it got him closer to gaining her trust.
He was truthful enough to admit, at least privately, to a fascination for the woman; an interest in more than her cooperation. But that was as far as it would be allowed to go. Work came first with him, it always would. And if the unlikely day ever came that he actually got serious about a female, it wouldn’t be one with shadows in her eyes and secrets on her lips.
He didn’t have to be psychic to realize that a woman like Meghan spelled the kind of trouble he’d spent a lifetime avoiding.
Chapter 3
It was a mistake. Nerves scrambled in Meghan’s stomach. In her eagerness to avoid Wadrell, with his increasingly slick lines and smooth advances, she’d considered Connally the lesser of two evils. Too late she’d remembered all the reasons she would be wise to shun his presence, as well. In the shadowy interior of his car, on the near-silent ride to her apartment, he exuded a danger all his own.
His voice rumbled out in the darkness, startling her. “Who’s taking care of your nephew tonight?”
With effort she kept the anxiety from her words. “My neighbor, Callie.”
“The woman who came to the door this afternoon?” He glanced her way, caught her nod. “Is she your baby-sitter?”
“Her son, Alex, and Danny are friends. We trade off duties. That way each of us can get away when we need to.”
“Sounds handy.”
That deep bass of his sounded even more gravelly in the shadowy interior of the car. His natural timbre was low, always sounding as though he’d just awakened. That thought elicited an accompanying mental image of him just rousing from sleep, his hard jaws shadowed and those whiskey-colored eyes still drowsy. She could feel her cheeks warm at the intimate thought of him, and turned her face to the window, glad that the darkness would hide her reaction.
She could blame the odd path her thoughts were taking on the upset she’d had earlier today, and then again tonight. She didn’t normally spend much time thinking about men’s voices. And especially not a man who was intent on pulling her nephew into the middle of a criminal investigation.
The memory firmed her earlier resolve. At all costs Connally and his partner had to be kept away from Danny. The boy was too young to be well schooled in keeping secrets. And Meghan was determined Connally would never learn about his ability.
The rest of the ride passed in silence. When he pulled up in front of her apartment, she lost no time exiting the car. “Thank you for…what are you doing?”
Gabe put the car into park and turned off the ignition. He didn’t answer her until he’d rounded the vehicle and cupped her elbow in his hand. “Walking you up to your apartment.”
She tried, in vain, to pull away from him. “That isn’t necessary. Besides, you left your car in a no-parking zone.”
His teeth flashed in the darkness. “Don’t worry. I know someone who can fix tickets for me.”
“An admission of corruption,” she muttered as he steered her toward the door of the building, “from one of CPD’s finest. My, my, how surprising.”
“I can also spring that security code for you if you’re not going to punch it in. Lose your key? The inside lock will take ten seconds, tops.” He gave a shrug. “Some talents never leave you.”
She gave him a sidelong glance as she tapped in her code on the security panel. “Rather odd ‘talents’ for a detective to admit to. Did you pick them up from your days in the academy?”
He scanned the street quickly, then opened the door and ushered her inside. “No, from my days as a delinquent.”
His answer succeeded in keeping her silent all the way up to the fourth floor. Knowing it would be fruitless to try and leave him at the elevator, she suffered through having him accompany her to her door, take the key from her and open it.
“Thank you. Again.” She snatched the key away from him and dropped it back in her purse. There was no gratitude in her tone, and she was certain he realized it.
His lips quirked slightly. “No problem. Again. Where’s Callie live?”
“Why?”
His smile grew wider at the thread of caution in the word. “That’s where Danny is, right? I figure she wouldn’t leave her son and maybe her husband to come over here and sit, so Danny must be over there.”
She heaved a sigh. It had been an impossibly long day, and this man was partly responsible for that. The sooner he was on his way, the sooner she could get her life back to normal. Or what passed for normal these days.
“She just lives a few doors that way. Now if you…” Her words tapered off as he began to stride in the direction she’d indicated.
She trailed in his wake like an obedient puppy and didn’t care for the feeling. “Detective, I’ve thanked you for the ride, but it’s time for you to leave.”
“The kid’s probably asleep. You shouldn’t be carrying him. Which door?”
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying him—no, God not that one.” Meghan managed to catch his arm before he could pound on Edna Hathaway’s door. “All you’re liable to find in that apartment is a seventy-eight-year-old lady with an eye for expensive vodka and anything in pants.” The warning wasn’t exaggerated in the slightest. “I heard that it took three days to resuscitate the last man who went in there.”
He grinned at her over his shoulder. “Sounds interesting.” He’d managed to surprise her. He could see it in her eyes and the way her mouth tilted in response. He watched closely, wanting, more than he should have, to see her smile break free. And then he stared, staggered when it did, lightening her expression and softening her eyes. His stomach jittered oddly, and he couldn’t take his gaze off her, not even when her smile faded to be replaced by her earlier coolness.
She moved past him to a door on the opposite side of the hall and tapped lightly. A few moments later it opened and a woman Gabe recognized from that afternoon appeared in the doorway. “Hi. I thought you’d be later. I went ahead and put Danny down on the couch. They begged to stay in Alex’s room but I knew my chances of getting them to sleep there were nonexistent.”
“It didn’t take as long as I thought.” Meghan moved through the doorway, with Gabe right behind her. Spotting the boy curled up on the couch, he crossed the room, bent down and lifted him easily in his arms.
“He gave me a ride home…it’s a long story,” he heard Meghan murmur to her friend.
“Well,” Callie replied, turning to follow the three to the door, “you can tell me about it tomorrow. All about it.” As the door closed behind her and Meghan hurried to catch up with Connally’s long strides, she tried not to imagine the conversation she was going to be in for the next morning.
She caught up with the detective in her living room, where he was waiting patiently for her. “Which is his room?”
“Really, you’ve done enough. If you’d just put him down…” When the man continued to stand there, clearly with no intention of complying, she gave in with ill grace and led him down the hallway. She picked up his treasured Pokémon backpack and tossed it to the end of the bed, before pulling the covers down. Connally moved past her without a sound and gently laid the boy down on the lower of the two bunk beds.
Pulling the covers up and tucking them around her nephew, Megan paused an instant. His breathing was even and deep, and there was a slight flush on his face, which still held some baby fullness. There was an unexpected catch deep in her chest, and in an unconscious gesture, her hand reached out, hovered.
“He’s a good-looking kid.”
The deep voice rumbling in her ear made her start, and she snatched her hand away. Putting a finger to her lips, she walked to the door and waited for Connally to follow. Then she flipped on the hallway light, being careful to leave Danny’s door open. By the time she’d led him back to the living room she’d run out of both patience and composure.
“It’s been a long day. I’m going to follow Danny’s lead and retire soon myself.”
Her attempt at a dismissal failed sadly. Connally’s mouth quirked. “Could I get a glass of water before you throw me out?”
“I’m not—” Pressing her lips together midprotest, Meghan turned and marched to the kitchen. There was something about that man, she fumed, snatching a glass from the cupboard and waiting for the water to run cold, that had her stuttering and stammering like an adolescent. She seemed to have difficulty finishing a sentence around him, and she suspected that he deliberately tried to keep her off balance.
When she returned with the glass, Connally wasn’t where she’d left him. Instead, he’d poked into her study, and seemed quite at home surveying the works in progress she had tacked up on the walls.
The sight stoked her temper further. She’d never enjoyed having people look at her work before it was finished. Even her agent didn’t see her sketches until she’d painstakingly redone them to her satisfaction. Privacy was something that had been hard fought for, hard won. She didn’t relinquish it easily.
“Your water, Detective.” Her voice was several degrees cooler than the liquid in the glass. He didn’t turn at her voice. He was shaking his head slowly.
“Wow. These are yours, right?”
The admiration in his tone slightly soothed nerves that were scraped and raw. “Yes. I’m currently working on illustrations for another Milton Cramer book. It’s about a lonely monster who’s looking for friends, but I’m going to have to scale some of these drawings back. I’m afraid they might give the children nightmares.”
Gabe walked from one large sketch to another, studying each carefully. “You’re probably right. They kinda give a chill.” He sent her a measuring glance. “I read you had something to do with art, but I figured maybe one of those high-priced galleries or something. The ones where they hang pictures that don’t look like anything.”
Her earlier calm shattered as she grasped the meaning behind his words. “You ‘read’?” He’d used those same words earlier, she remembered, when he’d spoken about Sandra. Her eyes narrowed. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve been checking up on me?”
He seemed unfazed by the fury on her face, in her voice. “Hazard of the job.” He approached her and took the glass from her hands and drank. “You didn’t seem to want to explain any further about your sister, so I did a little checking.”
The ease with which he explained away prying into her life, her family, with all its twisted, dysfunctional fragments, made her shake with anger.
“Well, I have to hand it to you, Detective. You move fast.” She went toward the door, her movements jerky, and yanked it open. “I’m sure they have quite a file on Sandra at CPD. The cops always liked to do a background check before they decided to use her in any way they could.”
He sipped from the glass and watched her, his pale eyes giving nothing away. “If there’s a file, I haven’t seen it. I pulled up the Tribune’s archives. You’ve gotten a fair amount of press yourself over the years.”
His words were like a blade, tearing through the fragile shroud of privacy she’d sought for so many years. Seclusion had always proved elusive for her family. The huge gates around the family estate had seemed more effective at keeping them in, than in keeping the rest of the world out. Her hand clenched on the knob, longing to slam the door shut with a resounding bang, preferably on him.
“You’re mad.”
“It must be your excellent deductive skills that earned you the rank of detective.” He didn’t appear about to leave. When a neighboring tenant walked by the open door and glanced in curiously, Meghan swung it shut, wishing the detective’s big foot were caught in it.
“I can understand why you might blame the department for what happened to your sister.”
She regarded him warily from her position by the door. For some reason she was loath to get any closer. “Thanks. You can’t know what your validation of my opinion means to me.”
He thought it wise to ignore her sarcasm. “I’ve pieced together enough to figure out how it went down. Your sister offered to help Wadrell with his investigation. Word somehow got to the press that a psychic was being consulted. The media dug up her name and that was made public, too. Your sister wound up dead and you think the gang Wadrell was investigating is responsible.” He watched her soberly. “And you blame the police.”
The brief dispassionate narrative made Meghan’s mouth go dry. The words, honed with truth, arrowed with painful accuracy. “They didn’t protect her. She put herself at risk to help them and then ended up with her name in headlines. It was an open invitation for those thugs to go after her.”
Interest flickered in his eyes. “Do you know for certain that she was threatened?” Wadrell, when pressed, had claimed otherwise.
Meghan looked away. “Sandra didn’t mention anything, no.” In masterful understatement she continued, “But then, we weren’t particularly close.”
He was silent for a moment. “In any case, I think you had a legitimate fear. One that deserved to be looked into.”
“According to your department, it was looked into. Are you going to spew the party line, too, and tell me that her car accident was just a coincidence?”
Her words were delivered like a dare. Because he recognized the pain underlying them, he kept his tone even. “Is that what you were told?”
Voice brittle, she said, “I was assured that a thorough investigation of the accident was conducted. Sandra supposedly went over that embankment because she misjudged the curve, not because the car had been tampered with. It was just plain old bad luck, but gee, the department sure regrets our loss.” She stopped then, and pressed her lips firmly together.
“But you don’t believe that.”
“Would you?”
He set the glass down on a nearby table and then straightened again. “If I were in your shoes? Probably not.”
Her gaze swung back to him. She’d expected him to ridicule her beliefs, or to hotly defend his department’s ethics. His failure to do either took her off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He unzipped his battered leather jacket and slipped his hands in the pockets. His stance drew her eyes to the width of the shoulders, the narrow waist and lean hips. The body was as impressive as the face. He radiated strength, determination and heat. She had no doubt that countless women had been attracted to that combination, had sought to warm themselves with his fire. She was equally certain that each of them had ended up badly burned.
He shrugged, snagging her attention again. “Since you’re blaming the department for your sister’s name being made public, you’d be apt to question the investigation of the accident.” Taking a step backward, he leaned one shoulder against the wall. “I’m still having trouble trying to figure out why you’d go to Wadrell for help with this. I’d think with the grudge you’re carrying, he’d be the last one you’d trust, seeing that he was primary detective on the case your sister was involved with.”
Because he owes us!
The hot words blazed across her mind, but remained unuttered. She had no intention of explaining herself to this man. “Yes,” she replied flatly. “He was.”
She crossed to the couch and sank down on it. She didn’t like the way Connally watched her, as if he could read her emotions, the jumbled pain, anger and regret, all too clearly. His scrutiny made her uncomfortable, although it shouldn’t have. She was a master at shielding her thoughts. She had her childhood with Sandra to thank for that.
“Detective Wadrell naturally feels badly about my sister’s death.” Only the slightest hint of irony tinged her words. “He’s offered to look into the accident report himself, double-check the conclusions by running them by another investigator he knows.”
Connally said nothing, only continued to watch her. A sense of unease slid down her spine. There was a stillness about the man that had her nerves prickling. All his concentration, all his considerable energy was focused on her, and the intensity was unsettling. She wondered if he used this brooding contemplation to effect, when staring down a suspect. There was something about the simmering silence that made her want to fill the void with words, though she’d never been one to babble.
With effort, she glanced away, crossed one leg over the other and smoothed her skirt. She’d expected the detective to chide her for her lack of faith in the CPD, rather than express understanding. But it didn’t matter. Nothing he could say would sway her from her goal, at any rate. She’d use Wadrell just as he’d used her sister. There was no question of feeling guilty about it. The cost of Sandra’s cooperation with the department had been high. Danny had lost a mother. Meghan had lost a sister. She’d never believe that a simple accident was the cause. Nothing about Sandra had ever been simple. Certainly not her death.
“Is Wadrell hoping you’ll take your sister’s place in his investigation?”
Her head jerked up. Gabe’s expression was inscrutable. “No. Sandra’s ability isn’t exactly something that runs in the family, like blond hair.” She held her breath, wondering if he’d accept the blatant untruth.
He nodded, and she breathed a little easier. She doubted whether he was convinced of the authenticity of Sandra’s talent, at any rate. He struck her as a very pragmatic man. He’d believe only what he could see, could prove.
“Wadrell’s a decent cop, but there’s not a considerate bone in his body. I can only think of one other reason he’d offer to help. And that’s to get close to you.”
“Do you think I don’t know that, Detective?” It was her turn to surprise him. She took a grim satisfaction in his reaction. “I’m not naive. I know exactly what motivated your buddy’s offer of assistance. And I don’t care what his intentions are, as long as I get what I want.”
With slow, deliberate movements he pushed away from the wall and approached her, one methodical step at a time. He set the glass down and braced his hands on the coffee table. Face close to hers, he murmured, sotto voce, “He’s not my buddy.”
His proximity leeched the air from her lungs. She’d underestimated the man. His presence was even more compelling up close, close enough for her to see the flecks of gold in his pale eyes, near enough for her to reach up a hand and trace every hard angle of his face.
Her fingers curled into her palms. She refused to let him see the effect he had on her, the cost of her careless shrug. “Sorry. From what you said it sounded like you knew him well.”
He gazed at her a moment longer, then slowly straightened. Her strangled lungs drew in much-needed oxygen. “I know him well enough to realize he’s not the type to do a favor without expecting something in return.”
He wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t already figured out for herself, but the words, spoken out loud, made her hesitate. She’d taken grim satisfaction in the idea of using Wadrell to answer the questions she still had about the accident. It was, she’d thought, no more than was due them. And if he expected more than she was willing to give in return, rejection was exactly what he deserved. Although, she remembered, with a faint shudder, having to dodge his interest tonight had filled her with nothing short of revulsion.
“I can handle Wadrell,” she said with more assurance than she felt. Her words clearly failed to convince Connally. He was regarding her with something like derision in his eyes.
“I guess it depends on your definition of the word. From where I sat tonight it looked like you were the one being handled.”
Meghan flushed. She looked good with temper flaring in her eyes and coloring her cheeks, Gabe decided. She wasn’t as emotionless as she would have him believe. Why that should matter to him he didn’t know, except that it would have been a shame if a woman who looked like her was really as cold and as closed off as she pretended to be.
He folded his arms over his chest. “Let’s look at your options here. As far as the department goes, your sister’s accident is a closed case. You said yourself Wadrell’s motives are suspect. Why would you trust him to follow through on his promise?”
“Are you worried about me, Detective?” Her voice was mocking. “Don’t be. I learned a long time ago that the only person I can trust is myself.”
Her statement hit him with the force of a punch. He could have echoed the words himself; certainly he believed the same. But he knew the kind of knocks it had taken to shape his cynical point of view. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t like to consider the kind of experiences that might have shaped hers.
He perched on her coffee table, retaining a position close to her. “There’s no use taking stupid chances if you don’t have to. Wadrell’s a slime. You know he’s more interested in your body than in your sister’s death.”
Her chin angled and she met him stare for stare. “Why do you care?”
Their gazes battled for long moments before Gabe finally answered. “Let’s just say that I don’t like to see people taken advantage of. And I’ve never been a fan of Wadrell’s.”
Meghan looked beyond his shoulder to the clock on the wall. It was after ten. Early, really. But all of a sudden she was weary, clear to the bone. The time she’d spent with Wadrell had put her on edge. She still didn’t doubt her ability to keep him at arm’s length, but she was beginning to question the wisdom of her plan. She would have only the detective’s word, after all, that he’d actually conducted another investigation into the accident. She’d have no reason to believe him. And no choice not to. When Danny was old enough to be given the details, the very least he deserved were the facts involved in his mother’s death. All of them.
She glanced at Connally again. Sitting atop her table, he was much too close. Much too…physical. He was big enough to project a subtle threat sheerly through his stature. The breadth of his heavy shoulders blocked her view of the room behind him, and the broad chest beneath his crossed arms depicted a certain power. In a studiedly casual move, she settled more deeply into the couch cushions. It was ridiculous to feel that the slight movement had put some much-needed distance between them. Ridiculous, because there was nothing about his actions or his expression to suggest she had anything to fear from him.
Except that he was a cop. He was in her apartment, and he was intent on dragging Danny into the middle of a police investigation.
“I have another option for you to consider.” His voice, coming after a minute of silence, seemed raspier than usual.
“Forget Wadrell. Let me help you instead.”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. He’d never be considered one of those white knights charging to rescue ladies in distress. He found jackets and ties confining enough; armor would be murder.
He shook off the fanciful thought. “You want something. So do I. I’ll take another look into the accident for you. In return, you’ll cooperate by allowing Danny to assist us in any way we need him.” As if sensing the protest she was about to utter, he went on quickly, “You get what you want, I get what I want. It’ll be strictly business.” Her cooperation would make his job easier. He didn’t want to chance her sabotaging him at every turn, maybe even coaching the boy to tell them nothing. He needed every lead he could get on this case.
Everything inside Meghan recoiled from accepting his offer. For different reasons, she was even more loath to spend time in his presence than she was in Wadrell’s. And there was no way, absolutely none, that she would let Danny get embroiled with the police. She knew nothing about raising children. But the one thing she did know was that her psychic ability had ruined Sandra’s life. If she could spare Danny only one thing, it would be that.
Connally was speaking again. “Of course, maybe you have other reasons to want to stick with Wadrell. Maybe you really wouldn’t mind if you and he…” He made a gesture with his hand which, along with his tone, made his message clear.
Meghan’s indignation overcame her caution. “Believe me, I find cops eminently resistible. For that matter, how can I be sure that I wouldn’t have to fight off your advances?”
He didn’t appear to take offense. “’Cause I make it a point to steer wide of your type. So if we partner up for a while, you won’t have to worry about me coming on to you.”
He watched her intently, but when she failed to respond, he said, “If you need convincing…” Before she could guess his intention, he leaned forward in one smooth movement and covered her mouth with his own.
Shock held Meghan motionless. The man was completely outrageous! She managed to raise her hand to his chest before her bones began to take on the consistency of warm wax. It was like kissing a flash of lightning, she thought fuzzily—all sizzling heat and banked strength. There was an unexpected measure of wildness to his taste, layered beneath a hint of tightly harnessed control.
He wasn’t a man to ask permission, and there was no entreaty in his touch. Her hand lingered, forgotten, on his chest as he angled his head and pressed her lips open. His tongue boldly swept in, exchanging her flavor for his own.
Her heart spun once, then kicked a faster beat. He tasted foreign, and primally male. His hand cupped her jaw, his fingers caressing her throat, and the dual assault made her shiver and want, with a suddenness that was all the more frightening for its being completely unfamiliar.
His mouth lifted from hers a fraction, lingered a moment, then eased away.
She stared at him, stunned. “Just what was that supposed to convince me of?” Her voice was threadier than she would have wished, but at least it was steady.
Gabe reached for the glass he’d set down, and brought it to his lips for a long swallow. His eyes avoided hers. “Just proving my point. Neither of us is attracted to the other. That kiss left you cold, right? Me, too.”
Cold? Numb, maybe. Achy, certainly. But cold? A sheerly feminine ire fueled her next words. “The next time you try conducting a little experiment like that you’d better be wearing protection.” She left no doubt that she wasn’t referring to his gun. “The only point you convinced me of is that I’m no better off with you than with Wadrell.”
He looked impatient at her words. “Use your head.” Holding up his fingers, he enumerated, “One, I’m not the detective you hold indirectly responsible for your sister’s death. Two, I outrank Wadrell and I’m better liked. I’ve got guys who’ll be willing to do me favors when I poke into the accident investigation. I doubt Wadrell can get his own mother to invite him to Sunday dinner. And three, we’ve just shown that physically we don’t do a thing for each other.”
She crossed her arms over her chest to keep from strangling him.
“You won’t have to worry about me making moves on you, because I like women with more obvious…uh…charms.” He cocked his head, pretending not to see the simmer of latent temper in her eyes. “Unless…you can’t do that little tassel trick I’ve seen, can you? You know—” his index fingers circled in the air in front of his chest “—the one where you get them going in opposite directions?” When she didn’t respond, couldn’t, he shook his head. “I didn’t think so. So as near as I can tell, us matching up would be perfect. There’ll be no personal interest on my side, and if you can promise the same there won’t be any complications at all.”
The deep-breathing exercises learned at Miss Devain’s School of Deportment had never been more necessary. The actual physical effort of filling her lungs with oxygen almost took Meghan’s mind off the shockingly primal urge to knock that complacent expression off Connally’s face. The strength of the temptation was shocking. Civility was a quality not only valued by her family, but demanded. Tremaynes didn’t indulge in spectacles. There had been no public displays of temper or of affection. Every conversation, every cutting remark, was made in the same chillingly dispassionate tone. The genuine lack of emotion displayed by her mother and grandparents had confused and saddened Meghan by turns.
However, it wasn’t a lack of emotion that was bothering Meghan right now, but the imminent volcanic eruption that this man was close to eliciting. Her gaze narrowed at his bland expression. He was goading her; he had to be. Surely no one could be that irritating, unless by design. What he was suggesting was out of the question. There was no way she was going to shackle herself to Connally willingly, no matter what he promised to do for her.
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Kylie Brant
She had secrets in her eyes and lies on her lips, and Detective Gabe Connally knew that Meghan Patterson would give him more than a few sleepless nights. Still, with her young nephew a valuable witness, Gabe had to pursue Meghan. And even without the case, it would be impossible to forget the vulnerable woman trying to protect her family….While Meghan admired Gabe's persistence, she dared not let him get close enough to realize her nephew–her only remaining family–was psychic. Yet her own burning desire made it impossible to resist Gabe's persuasive ways….
“You want something. So do I. Let me help you.”
Meghan looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. He’d never been considered one of those white knights charging to rescue ladies in distress. He found jackets and ties confining enough; armor would be murder.
“I’ll take another look into your sister’s accident for you. In return, you’ll cooperate by allowing your nephew to assist us in any way we need him. You get what you want, I get what I want. It’ll be strictly business.”
Sensing the protest she was about to utter, he went on. “Of course, maybe you’d rather work with Officer Wadrell instead.…”
“Believe me, I find cops eminently resistible. For that matter, how can I be sure that I wouldn’t have to fight off your advances, Detective?”
“’Cause I make it a point to steer wide of your type.”
Don’t miss Born in Secret (IM 1112)
Kylie Brant’s emotional, sensual contribution to the FIRSTBORN SONS series.
Hard to Handle
Kylie Brant
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KYLIE BRANT
lives with her husband and five children in Iowa. She works full-time as a teacher of learning-disabled students. Much of her free time is spent in her role as professional spectator at her kids’ sporting events.
An avid reader, Kylie enjoys stories of love, mystery and suspense—and she insists on happy endings! When her youngest children, a set of twins, turned four, she decided to try her hand at writing. Now most weekends and all summer she can be found at the computer, spinning her own tales of romance and happily-ever-afters.
Kylie invites readers to write to her at P.O. Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616.
To Aunt Red, with love and fond memories.
Acknowledgments:
Special thanks to Sergeant Charles Holz of the Chicago Police Department, 8th District, for answering endless questions about CPD procedures. Your infinite patience and generosity of time were greatly appreciated! Any mistakes that occur in accuracy are the responsibility of the author.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Prologue
His mom was dead.
Danny huddled in the corner of the blue-patterned couch clutching his Pokémon backpack to his chest. The lady, his aunt Meghan, he reminded himself, had gone to get him a glass of milk. He hadn’t really wanted one, but she’d had to leave the room to get it. That was good ’cuz he didn’t want to hear her say the words out loud. He already knew what she was thinking. It made his stomach hurt and he felt like he might throw up.
His mom had been killed in a car accident and she wasn’t coming back for him this time. Not ever.
He reached up a hand to swipe at his eyes furtively. Only babies cried. That’s what his mom always said, but she wouldn’t be saying that again. No, not anymore. He knew then, deep down in his stomach where he felt sickest, that not saying the words out loud didn’t make them not true. He was all alone.
His aunt came back into the room and handed him the glass. He took it, but didn’t drink. He couldn’t. There was a hard ball in his throat and he didn’t think he could swallow anything. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the glass and scooched down farther in the couch. He wanted to run away before his aunt could tell him, but he couldn’t do that, either. There was nowhere to run. No one to run to.
“You know, don’t you?”
He didn’t look up at the words, just nodded. He’d had a real bad feeling when his mom didn’t come home last night. She’d left him alone before, and so that hadn’t scared him. Not really. He was almost six. He’d stayed home at night lots of times. Once his mom hadn’t come home for two days, and maybe that had scared him, just a little. But last night had been different. The bad thoughts, the knowing, wouldn’t go away. And so he’d waited for someone to come, wanting it to be his mom, already sure that it wouldn’t be.
“What’s gonna happen to me?” His aunt didn’t answer right away, so he did look up then and stared hard at her, concentrating on her thoughts. That’s where the truth was, his mom said. People would lie and lie out loud, but they kept the truth in their heads, where people couldn’t see. At least, most people couldn’t.
Danny didn’t really understand words like telepathic and clairvoyant, but he understood that he was different, just like his mom had been. Sometimes she would tell him that they had this superspecial gift, one that made everyone else jealous. He liked that. He liked to pretend that they were a team, like Superwoman and Spiderkid, with cool powers no one else had. But deep in his heart he’d known the real truth was what his mom had said all those other times; after two empty bottles, when her words would start running together. They were freaks, him and her.
He knew what freaks were. They were bad and ugly and made people afraid. Meghan had been afraid the only other time he’d met her, and that had made him feel bad. He’d never had an aunt before, and Meghan was pretty, with long, curly blond hair and big blue eyes. He looked into her eyes now and beyond, searching for a comfort he wouldn’t find.
“I don’t want you to worry.” Meghan sank down onto the couch beside him. She pushed her hair back from her face and tried to smile. “I know that sounds pretty dumb. Of course you’re worried. And sad. Me, too. But I’m not about to let anything happen to my only nephew.”
With a child’s single-minded logic, he asked, “Where will I live?”
Meghan didn’t answer, and for just an instant he could see a flash of white, as if her mind had been wiped clear. Then it was like she drew a big curtain over her thoughts. He couldn’t see them anymore, no matter how hard he tried to peek.
“Well…you’ll stay here, of course. At least for now.”
He thought about that, and he wondered what thoughts she was hiding behind that curtain. She put her hand on his shoulder then, and the hated tears filled his eyes again.
“How about if you stay with me until we sort this out? Then later…you and I will talk about our options. Is it a deal?”
Her hand left his shoulder, and she held it in front of him. He looked at it, then at her. He tried poking under that curtain one more time, but it was closed tight. He couldn’t tell what the truth was. And although he didn’t have the words for it, he knew he was out of choices.
Slowly, tentatively, he loosened his grasp on the glass and placed his hand in hers.
Chapter 1
Three Months Later
Gabe Connally had been alive and he’d been dead. It’d taken a few years, but he’d developed a preference for being alive.
His gaze met his partner’s in a silent exchange before he lifted his fist to pound on the door. “Police, D’Brusco. We have a few questions for you.”
There was a tiny noise in the apartment, and the detectives had an instant to act before bullets splintered the wood in a miserable parody of a greeting.
With his cheek resting against the smooth, cool tile of the hallway floor, Gabe recalled being told that it had taken a miracle to return him from the ninety seconds he’d spent suspended above his bullet-ridden body in St. Lucien’s emergency room. In the tension-filled moments that followed the barrage of gunfire, he fleetingly wondered how many miracles a man was allowed in one lifetime.
Scrambling into position, he glanced at Cal Madison as the other man mouthed the signal. On “three” he kicked the shredded door in and entered the room low. He heard Cal mutter a curse behind him. Weapons drawn, they stalked through the well-furnished apartment.
“Empty,” Cal pronounced disgustedly a few moments later.
“Only one other way out.” Without wasting a motion Gabe went through the open terrace door, following D’Brusco’s escape route.
“When are you going to learn that we move after three. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Madison craned his neck, scanned the wide cobblestone alley. In a neighborhood as trendy as this one, even the alleys had ambiance.
Gabe ran across the terrace to the fire escape. “After? Since when? We’ve always moved on three.” Deftly he swung over the wall of the terrace and began his descent.
“We’ve never gone on three. It’s always been after.” Even with the exertion of following him, Madison’s voice wasn’t winded. The man could nag without taking a breath.
“The problem is, you’re always changing the rules.” Gabe kept his weapon steady as he observed the alley for signs of life. “On three, after three, who could keep it straight? Leave things uncomplicated. They go smoother that way.”
“Only you could complicate a simple count to three,” Madison muttered. He dropped lightly down beside his partner, and without a word they fanned out, covering the alley.
Minutes later, they rejoined, holstering their weapons. “Damn. If he was on foot he’s either a champion sprinter or else he ducked into one of the shops’ back doors.” Gabe hunched his leather-clad shoulders against the biting wind. Chicago in the spring was a malicious tease, coupling promising bouts of bright sunshine with frigid blasts of air. The sunlight had already begun to fade over the fashionable skyline, but the winds blowing off the lake showed no sign of abating.
Cal didn’t react to the weather since he was sensibly outfitted in his winter parka and muffler and would be until the flowers started blooming. He believed going out in varying temperatures was a leading cause of pneumonia. “Think he had a car stashed back here?”
“It’s a tow area. But he could have had one waiting.”
“Meaning he was expecting company,” concluded Cal.
“Judging from his greeting, he wasn’t expecting friends.”
“Not exactly the reaction I’d expect from a penny-ante ex-con like Lenny D’Brusco.”
Gabe grunted his agreement, already tallying the doors lining the alley. “Front or back?”
An eternal optimist, Cal replied, “Back. We’ll work our way to the front, maybe catch a lead, grab a sandwich and be home in time for tip-off.”
Gabe was more realistic. With a wave of resignation, he mentally kissed off his plan for a quiet evening in the recliner with pizza, beer and a lively Bulls game on television. He hadn’t set the VCR. Something told him the only parts of the game he’d see tonight were the highlights reshown on ESPN.
“I don’t know,” Meghan told her nephew with mock seriousness. “I’m still considering buying something educational for your birthday present. Maybe a set of encyclopedias.”
Danny clutched his throat and made gagging noises. His antics forced a smile from his aunt. They’d come to the quaint toy store in search of ideas for Danny’s upcoming birthday. After spending almost an hour there, it appeared that the boy wouldn’t be dissuaded from the items that had seized his attention almost immediately.
“But, Aunt Meggie, I can’t even read that good yet. And I could learn from these electronic dinosaurs, too. My teacher says we should study animals that are extincted.”
“Extinct.”
“Yeah. And if I got two of them, Alex could play with one with me, and he’d be learning, too.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”
Danny’s eyes were alight with an excitement she’d rarely seen there, and the sight sent an odd pang to Meghan’s chest. “I could take them outside again and you could watch what they can do. They can have fights and make noises and everything.”
She glanced at her watch. She’d arranged for the cab driver to return for them, and the allotted time was almost up. “Tell you what. You put the dinosaurs back in the display case, and I’ll keep them in mind. Your birthday isn’t for three more weeks.”
“Nineteen and a half days,” he corrected. On this subject he was very exact.
“Nineteen and a half days,” Meghan repeated. “So we still have plenty of time.” She followed Danny as he went over to replace the toys, taking his time positioning them. The toy store was as unique as her friend Callie had promised, with inviting displays of unpackaged items that allowed children to manipulate the toys. As a marketing ploy it was amazingly effective, Meghan thought, as her gaze wandered to the front of the store, watching for the taxi through the plateglass window. Fifteen minutes spent playing with the dinosaurs on the patio in the alley had certainly hooked Danny.
The door opened then and a tall dark-haired man entered. His gaze swept the interior of the store. When it landed on her for a moment, she felt it like a physical touch. An inexplicable shiver skated down her spine, and she turned to hurry her nephew along.
“You know what I saw when I was playing with the dinosaurs outside?”
“Hmm?” Her nephew had only a fraction of her attention. Her concentration was diverted by the man who was now approaching the counter.
“It was way cool. There were funny noises and a guy dropped out of the sky. Then…”
The boy’s words seemed to fuse with the scene at the counter, where the stranger was flashing a shield at the clerk. A sense of déja` vu hit Meghan in a nauseating wave, and for a moment she was deaf to Danny’s words. Flight was the most primitive instinct known to man, and the urge to flee nearly overwhelmed her.
“…and then the first guy ran to the car…”
“We’ll talk about it when we get home.” Meghan’s voice held an unusual edge, and the boy sent her a startled glance before falling silent. She didn’t notice. Her focus was on the man, the cop, who’d just engaged another customer in a conversation she was too far away to overhear.
Placing one arm on Danny’s shoulder, she guided him toward the door, disguising her haste behind a barrage of words. “We’d better check on our cab. We told the driver to come back in an hour, and I doubt he’ll wait for long. Rush hour is the worst time to find another taxi.”
She inched the boy closer to the door as she spoke. With every additional measure of distance placed between them and the policeman, the vise on her lungs eased slightly. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, she reached for the doorknob. Her fingers turned nerveless when a gravelly voice sounded behind her.
“Could I ask you a few questions before you leave, ma’am?”
Forcing herself to turn around she looked up, farther than she’d expected, to meet the enigmatic gaze of the man who’d stopped her. “I’m sorry.” She managed, somehow, to keep her voice dispassionate. “We’re in a hurry.”
“This will only take a moment. Detective Connally, ma’am. CPD.” The silver badge imprinted with the telling star was held out for her perusal. She didn’t need the badge or his words to accurately guess the man’s profession. There was cop in his eyes, in his voice.
The man’s low bass somehow matched his brooding features. His short-cropped haircut accentuated the brutal lines and hard angles of his face. But it was his eyes that compelled attention. A pale color reminiscent of fine whiskey, they were trained on her now with the unblinking gaze of a hawk focused on prey. The utter lack of expression in them sent a chill chasing over her skin.
“A man wanted for questioning disappeared near here after some shots were fired. I want to talk to anyone who might have seen him.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Meghan saw the cab pull up to the curb out front. Turning to her nephew she said, “Go tell the driver I’ll be out shortly, will you?”
The boy opened the door and sped toward the vehicle. Gabe focused on the woman before him. It was no hardship. The bulky down coat she was wearing couldn’t disguise the femininity of the form it enveloped. If he’d been a sucker for big blue eyes and delicate bones his professional objectivity might have suffered. As it was, he allowed himself only one brief mental lament over the capricious weather that still caused sensible people to bundle up, and kept his gaze trained firmly on her face.
“I don’t think I can help you, Officer. I didn’t notice anything.”
“Detective.”
“Pardon?”
There was confusion in her wide blue eyes. He noted that her nose was a trifle upturned, her lips perhaps a fraction too full, as if nature had been compelled to stop just short of sheer perfection. A wise move on Mother Nature’s part, Gabe approved. Perfection was boring. Something told him that this woman was anything but.
“It’s Detective Connally.”
“Of course.” The woman’s smile appeared strained.
“But as I said, I didn’t see anyone. I was too involved looking at the merchandise.”
Gabe nodded and raised his notebook, flipped a page. “And your name, ma’am?”
“My name?”
Pen suspended above the paper, he explained, “In case we should have additional questions to ask you at a later date.”
Those full lips curved in a smile that tried to look casual. “Of course. It’s Tina Wilder.” He jotted down the name, as well as the phone number and address she gave him when pressed. And he wondered what possible reason this woman would have to lie to him.
A cop’s experiences, hell, a lifetime of experiences had trained Gabe to recognize the subtle signals people gave off when they were straying from the truth. A tremor in the hands for some, eyes too fixed and bright for others. There were thousands of tell-tale signs, as individual as the people themselves. He wasn’t even sure what tipped him off that Tina Wilder wasn’t being completely forthcoming. Maybe it was her tone, just a trifle too polite, or her expression, just a little too impassive.
But then he looked into those big blue eyes of hers, eyes that could scramble the senses of a less wary man, and there he found his answer. Because behind her deliberately blank expression flickered an emotion much stronger. Even more intriguing.
Desperation.
Recognizing that emotion, he took his time drawing a card from his pocket. He handed it to her, watched carefully as she visibly tucked back her reluctance and reached for it. “In case you remember something later, ma’am. You can reach me at that number or leave a message if I’m not in. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
When she nodded, he added, “I’d like to speak to the boy before you leave.”
Her back stiffened, one vertebrae at a time. “He can’t help you, either. He was much too interested in the toys to observe anything else.”
He tried for a rueful tone, tough for his low timbre, to soothe the nerves he suspected she was hiding. “You’re probably right, but I have to be thorough.”
Her lips curved, and he mentally revised his earlier estimation. They weren’t too full. They weren’t too anything. They appeared to be…just right.
“I’ll get him.”
“Detective.” The clerk’s voice distracted him from her retreating form for a moment. “This gentleman thought he heard something earlier.”
Gabe looked in the direction of the man the clerk indicated and said, “I’ll be right with you, sir.” Sending another glance outside, he gave a silent curse and yanked the door open, ran to the curb.
The cab was already pulling away.
“You gotta give me an address sometime, lady. This is costing you a fortune.” The driver adjusted the mirror, his eyes meeting Meghan’s. She hesitated, then recited her address. Her real address, of course. Not that of the fictitious Tina Wilder, which she’d manufactured for the detective.
She took a deep breath to calm her jangled nerves. Was there some sort of law against giving a false identity to a police detective? She was certain there must be. But like it or not, she was the only one Danny had left to protect him. And although the idea of her newfound guardianship could still lace her with mind-numbing fear, she’d do whatever it took to give the boy the stability that her own childhood had lacked. The stability his mother had failed to provide for him.
“Aunt Meggie?” She looked at her nephew, forced a reassuring smile, one that faded as he continued. “You ’member that guy I told you about? The one in the alley?”
“Hey, I thought we were going to discuss your birthday.” It was a topic guaranteed to shift Danny’s attention.
“I’m going to have a real party, right? You promised.”
His reminder was unnecessary, since he forced her to repeat the assurance several times a day. “I promised.”
Once he was on this particular subject, Danny was extremely tenacious. “That means candles and cake. And friends. How many friends can I invite?”
Not for the first time since Danny had come to live with her, Meghan felt hopelessly out of her depth. “I’m not sure.”
“How about six? That’s fair, ’cuz I’m gonna be six.”
Sheer terror seized her for a moment at the thought of dealing with seven six-year-olds. She drew a deep breath and released it. “I guess.” His reasoning sounded logical enough. What did she know, after all, about what was “fair” when planning a birthday party for a child? What did she know about any child, and Danny in particular? The answers were depressingly obvious.
“Sweet!” He bounced up and down in his seat, testing the restraint of his seat belt. She’d successfully sidetracked his thoughts from the man he’d seen in the alley. And from the compelling detective who had questioned Meghan. She wished futilely that her own attention could be diverted as easily.
The sight of her apartment building had never been so welcome. Meghan punched her code into the security system, anxious to reach the privacy of her home. Her relief might be unfounded, but she would feel safe there from the shrewd gaze of the detective and from questions that she’d be better off avoiding.
“Aunt Meggie?”
“Hmm?” The door swung open, and she guided Danny into the foyer of the building.
“Why’d that taxi guy want your pants?”
Her gaze jerked to meet the boy’s puzzled one. “What?”
“The whole time in the taxi, he kept thinking he’d like to get in your pants. I don’t see why. They wouldn’t fit him, would they?”
A sheerly feminine response had her sending a fuming glance after the taxi, which was already driving away. Then reaction set in and closed like a fist around her throat. It took more effort than it should have to to keep her voice calm. “Remember what you’re learning about not walking around in other people’s heads?”
He looked down and scuffed one foot along the floor. “Yeah. But I didn’t walk right in. It was more like he left the door open. I couldn’t help seeing his thoughts when they were spilling out all over the place, could I?”
She studied the boy, little more than a baby really. The feeling of helplessness threatening to swamp her was all too familiar. Her sister, Sandra, had never mentioned Danny’s father, but the boy was blond like his mother, like Meghan herself. Perhaps he’d gotten his coloring from her sister. Certainly he’d inherited Sandra’s psychic ability. The same ability she’d alternately ignored or exploited all her life.
She pushed away the accompanying flash of guilt and kept her voice firm. “You have to try. No mind games, all right?”
He nodded, his head still bent. Telepathic would be the best description of the infant ability he’d inherited from his mother, but Sandra had always called it mind games, as if the mental raids she’d made into other people’s heads had been playful entertainment for all involved. As if her gift hadn’t turned their childhood into a war zone.
As if it hadn’t ended up getting Sandra killed.
When her doorbell sounded the next afternoon, Meghan glanced at the clock, faintly surprised by the hour. Her schedule had undergone major adjustments since Danny had come to live with her. The only time she had in her home studio were the hours he was at school. Every minute was precious, especially with a deadline looming for her next project. But it was almost time for Callie, who lived down the hall, to drop Danny off. She must be running a little early.
The bell rang again before Meghan reached the door and pulled it open. “Boy, you’re eager to get rid of him today. Don’t tell me he…” The rest of the words died in her throat as she found herself face-to-face with two men; one a stranger and the other all too familiar.
“This is Detective Madison, Miss Patterson.” Her gaze flying to Connally’s, Meghan knew she hadn’t imagined the slight inflection he’d given her name. The smile he gave her was humorless. “And I’m going to assume you remember my name, even though you had a little difficulty with your own yesterday.”
Her palms went damp, and she barely resisted an urge to wipe them on her loose-fitting shirt. The force of his presence struck her anew. His eyes were hard and inscrutable. They seemed to drill through her, effortlessly shredding all pretense, all subterfuge. Somehow she’d never imagined that Connally would bother to go to the trouble of finding her. Of finding Danny.
It was that thought that had tension gripping her muscles. Her chin angled up and she met his gaze. “Being a detective, you should have concluded that I gave you a false name yesterday because I wanted to avoid just this kind of harassment.”
“Being a detective,” Connally countered, “I get kinda suspicious when people go to such lengths to avoid talking to me. We had to trace you through the cab company you used.”
Meghan set her lips, but remained silent. She wasn’t sure what kind of tack to take with the detective. Defiance didn’t seem to work. Nor had her phony compliance yesterday. He didn’t appear to be a man who gave up easily. In contrast to his partner’s lived-in face, with its homely charm, this man’s features could have been carved from granite. She was beginning to believe that he had a will to match.
Surreptitiously, she glanced at her watch. Danny would be home in minutes. It was imperative that she get rid of the detectives before then.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much time.” Even as she spoke, Connally seemed to loom closer, and she retreated in immediate, involuntary response. Then somehow the men were standing inside her doorway, although she’d had no intention of letting them in. She thought she caught a flash of satisfaction in Connally’s pale eyes before he closed the door behind him, and the sight of it stiffened her spine.
Her gaze swung to Detective Madison, who was speaking for the first time. “Sorry for the interruption. You didn’t answer your buzzer, but the super told us that he hadn’t seen you go out today. He let us in.”
With a firmer grip on her composure now, Meghan pasted a polite smile on her face. “I’m afraid Detective Connally has wasted your time. I already told him yesterday that I hadn’t seen anything while I was at the toy store.”
“It’s real important that we find the man we’re tracing, ma’am.” Madison’s voice had a placating quality that his partner’s lacked. “You left Favorite Things kind of suddenly last night. We just wanted to follow up to see if maybe you’d remembered something since then.”
“Mind telling us why you were in such a hurry to get away?” Connally’s gaze was directed above her head as he surveyed her apartment, before focusing once more on her.
She forced a casual shrug. “I’d arranged for the driver to come back for us. You know what it’s like to find a cab at that time of day.”
“That’s sure a fact, isn’t it?” Detective Madison’s tone was understanding. “Last week I tried to take my wife out for a nice dinner and we had a devil of a time getting a taxi back home. She said it would have been more relaxing to stay in and cook.”
His easy manner should have disarmed her. There was something comfortable about the man, like a rumpled set of clothes kept long after they’d gone out of style. His thinning sandy-colored hair was brushed back from a broad forehead, and his slightly rounded shoulders made him seem smaller than his partner, although they were probably both over six feet. But the friendliness in his voice, in his pale-gray eyes, didn’t eliminate her wariness. In her experience all cops wanted something. And some would go to deadly lengths to get it.
“Did you buy anything last night?” At the question she shifted her attention to observe Connally strolling around her living room. “It looked like an unusual place. I guess kids go nuts for that kind of thing.”
“No, I didn’t. And as I told you yesterday, I didn’t notice the man you were looking for while I was in the store, either. Sorry I can’t be of more help to you.” Although her words were meant to bring a close to the conversation, neither of the men made a move to leave.
“What about the boy?”
The words hung in the air like leaden crystals suspended from a chandelier. She didn’t answer; couldn’t. Protecting Danny was her job now. And the threat these two men posed was nauseating in its familiarity. She wouldn’t allow him to be used as his mother had been. She wouldn’t risk his life the way Sandra had so carelessly risked her own.
When silence stretched, Madison said, “Detective Connally said you had a small boy with you, Miss Patterson. Maybe he saw something.”
“My nephew was with me, yes. But he’s only five. He isn’t going to be of any help, either, I’m afraid.”
The two men exchanged a glance. “We’d still like to talk to him. Could you arrange that?” Connally’s words may have been couched as a request, but they were delivered in a voice accustomed to giving orders. And having them obeyed.
“No.” Her voice was flat. The detective wasn’t the only one who could be indomitable. “That won’t be—”
The doorbell rang then, interrupting her. Frustration surged. Just five more minutes. That’s all it would have taken to get rid of the men. The detectives were watching her expectantly. Mentally cursing the cosmic timing, she went to the door.
“Trying to pretend you aren’t home won’t save you.” Callie’s laughing words sounded above Danny’s exuberant greeting. “Remember, I have a…” Her sentence trailed off when she saw the two men with Meghan.
“Hi, Aunt Meggie. I gotta go!” With a five-year-old’s sense of urgency, Danny made a beeline for the bathroom.
“Ah…I’ll catch you later. We’re still on for tonight, right?” At Meghan’s nod, Callie placed a hand on her son Alex’s back to guide him toward their apartment. “Tell Danny I’ll see him later.” Meghan closed the door after them.
A compelling need to speak to Danny warred with an equally strong reluctance to leave the detectives alone in her living room, even for a few minutes. She didn’t trust them. The last few months had destroyed any unquestioning faith she might have once had in the police. And Connally, especially, saw too much.
She didn’t know which made her more uncomfortable—when his gaze raked over her home, her belongings, or when it fixed on her. Something about him caused a disconcerting awareness that was as unusual as it was unwelcome. Meghan flicked a glance at the two detectives. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to check on my nephew.”
Gabe watched her hurry down a hallway with a gait guaranteed to snag a man’s attention and hold it. It sure held his.
“You’re a card-carrying pervert, you know that?”
The words were pitched low. Gabe turned to his partner and lifted a brow. “What are you talking about?”
Cal made a sound of disgust. “You stared hard enough. Trying to get a complete description of her lingerie?”
“She’s not wearing any, at least not on top. And noticing that doesn’t make me a pervert.” He crossed a few steps to the coffee table, which had some books stacked neatly on it. He picked them up one at a time, reading the titles.
“What’s it make you then?”
“A typical red-blooded male.” He gestured toward the books. “Look at these.” Together the two men silently read the titles.
Your Extra Senses. Growing up Telepathic. Extra-Sensory Perception: Myth and Magic.
Cal lifted his gaze to Gabe’s and shrugged. “So she’s got an interest. You know, you should try reading more yourself. I’ve got a great book I’d like you to look at on homeopathic remedies for common ailments.”
Giving a snort, he set the books down again. “Fat chance.”
But Cal was nothing if not dogged. That quality of his was an advantage while working an investigation, but often a pain in the ass otherwise. “There’s a great chapter on ways to quit smoking that you might find helpful.”
Gabe threw him a dark look. “Thanks, buddy, but you’ve helped me in that area too much already.” It had been Cal who’d suggested that he wear a rubber band around his wrist, and snap himself anytime he thought about taking a smoke. Called it aversion therapy or some damn thing. Gabe had given it an enthusiastic try once and discovered that the resulting sting hadn’t appreciably lessened his desire for a cigarette. It had, however, given him a bone to pick with his partner. He was just waiting for the right time to pay the man back for his lousy advice.
Cal stiffened slightly, alerting Gabe that Meghan Patterson had reentered the room behind him. Not that he needed the warning. His instincts were excellent, and in her case they seemed to be unusually heightened. Turning, he found her standing with her nephew before her. Her hands were resting lightly on his shoulders, her stance protective. He wondered what it was she thought she was protecting the boy from.
Cal smiled at the boy, going down on one knee before him. Gabe made no move to follow suit. His partner was the natural one to put the kid at ease. Children and dogs liked him. And although Gabe didn’t have anything against dogs, he’d be the first to admit that he didn’t know squat about kids.
“Hi, I’m Detective Madison.” He jerked a thumb in Gabe’s direction. “That’s Detective Connally. We want to ask you a couple of questions. Is that okay?”
The boy looked up at his aunt before giving an almost imperceptible nod.
Cal’s voice was reassuring. “This won’t take long. We just want you to tell us about your trip to the toy store last night.”
Danny’s words were hesitant. “I saw some dinosaurs. Electronic ones.”
Cal gave a long whistle. “Dinosaurs, huh? That sounds exciting. The clerk said you took them to the patio in the alley to try them out. How’d they work?”
In his enthusiasm the boy was more forthcoming. “They were cool. They can roar and fight and everything. Aunt Meggie said maybe I can get two for my birthday.”
Gabe entered the conversation. “While you were outside, did you hear anything, Danny? See anything?” The boy exchanged another look with his aunt. His answer was slow in coming.
“I…heard something. And then a man jumped out of the sky and ran to get in a car.”
A car. Gabe thought quickly. Having a car waiting suggested that Lenny had been planning a quick exit from his apartment. What could have had him running so scared? Scared enough to shoot at them first?
He waited with barely restrained impatience while Cal smoothly extracted bits of information from the boy. D’Brusco must have jumped over the railing of the fire escape at the landing. The car he’d run to was black, according to the kid. Yes, the boy agreed, with Cal’s coaching, the same color as the detective’s belt.
“And he was real scared, too.” Gabe noted the way Meghan’s fingers tightened on the boy’s shoulders, and Danny turned to look up at her. “He was, Aunt Meggie. Maybe ’cuz that other man was chasing him. Then they both got in the car and drove away.”
Gabe squatted before the boy. “There was another man? Did they say anything? Could you hear them talking to each other?”
Danny seemed to get tongue-tied then. Or perhaps he was reacting to the death grip his aunt had on his shoulders. It took minutes of prying to elicit that the boy hadn’t heard either man speak. Gabe visualized the dimensions of the alley and calculated that the boy wouldn’t have heard anything below a shout, at any rate. The way the kid described the scene, he doubted whether there had been a chase in progress. More likely both of them had been in D’Brusco’s apartment when he and Cal had knocked. He doubted the men had noticed the boy. If he’d been seated on the concrete patio, the wrought iron fence around it would have likely hidden him from view. With a bit more coaxing Cal was able to elicit a description that matched D’Brusco. He’d give a month’s pay to know who the other one was.
“That’s all the information my nephew can give you, Detectives.” Meghan’s voice was firm. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s dinnertime, and we’re on a schedule tonight.”
Cal looked at Gabe, who nodded slightly. As they rose, he said, “We’d sure like to get an idea about the identity of the second man, ma’am. Could you bring your nephew in to look at some pictures?”
There was no mistaking the woman’s reaction. Her spine went rigid. Voice tight, she said to the boy, “Danny, go in and get washed up for supper.”
“But I just washed my hands a minute ago.”
“Now, Danny.”
Apparently the boy recognized the steel in his aunt’s words, because he turned without another word and trudged down the hallway. Meghan faced the detectives again and her tone went low and fierce. “Any further involvement of my nephew in your investigation is out of the question.”
Gabe tried to make his voice sound soothing, a difficult feat for his rumbling tones. “I don’t think you understand, ma’am. All we’re asking is…”
The look she shot him was as scathing as her words. “No, you don’t understand. Whatever it is that you do, you’ll do without Danny. The CPD has already cost my family more than enough already. Thanks to your department, my sister is dead.”
Chapter 2
“Uh-uh, buddy. It’s my day, remember?”
Gabe scowled, his fingers poised on the handle of the driver’s door. Heaving a matyred sigh he went around to the other side of the unmarked car and got in. Cal took cautious driving to new heights. Gabe had often thought if his partner entered a Daytona 500 held for females over ninety, every one of the little old ladies would be lapping him in seconds.
Once he’d eased the car into traffic, Cal spoke again. “What do you suppose Patterson’s story is? She’s sure carrying a whale of a grudge against the department.”
Gabe loosened his tie and unfastened his top shirt button. The confining clothes he was forced to wear was one of the biggest disadvantages of having switched assignments three years ago from undercover work to his current position of detective in the Organized Crime division. In his opinion, neckwear should be outlawed as a particularly cruel and inhumane form of torture. He’d like to get hold of the guy who’d invented ties and beat an apology from him.
“Hard telling. Maybe her sister swore out a restraining order that went south.” It happened, he knew, more often than they liked to consider. Domestic disputes especially could turn deadly. At any rate, after dropping her bomb-shell, Meghan Patterson hadn’t wasted any time ushering them out of the apartment. Gabe decided he’d dig around a little and see what he could discover about the sister. Despite Meghan’s hostility, the fact remained that they’d probably need to talk to her nephew again. Discovering the identity of the unknown man with D’Brusco just might be the key to blowing this case wide open. And the instant he had an inkling of who the guy could be, Gabe would be back on the woman’s doorstep. He said as much to Cal.
His partner never took his eyes off the traffic. “We’ll have to hope she changes her mind about letting her nephew cooperate.”
“She’ll change her mind.”
Cal’s brows rose at the certainty in Gabe’s voice. “I don’t know. She seemed pretty sure.”
Reaching into his pocket, Gabe withdrew a package of gum and unwrapped a piece. He placed it in his mouth and chewed. It was a damn poor substitute for the smoke he craved, but it annoyed the hell out of Cal. That was powerful incentive. “I can be very persuasive.”
Giving a hoot at that, Madison risked a glance at his partner. “You? Somehow I don’t think the intimidation tactics you find so effective on street scum are going to be appropriate in her case. To handle a classy lady like that requires a certain finesse.”
Just for the irritation value, Gabe cracked his gum loudly. “I’ve got finesse.”
Cal was chortling now. “Boy, do you. I don’t know what I was worried about. If the time comes, we’ll just count on you to change her mind with your usual suave personality.”
Gabe was undisturbed by his partner’s gibes. “Don’t discount my hidden charms.”
“Yeah, your charms are well hidden, all right.”
“Keep being mean to me and I’ll tell Becky. She loves me. She’d kick your butt if she could hear you now.” Becky and Cal had married the previous year, and Gabe returned the woman’s fondness tenfold. She was upfront and plain-spoken, traits damn uncommon in the females of his experience.
A sudden thought occurred. “Speaking of your better half, why don’t you give her a call when we get back to our desks. I was thinking of going out for a steak tonight. We could go together. My treat. I owe you for the last time you had me over. Or maybe for the last dozen times,” he mused. “I lose count.”
“Uh…” Cal cleared his throat. “I don’t think so. Not tonight.” He turned the car into the district parking lot and started cruising for a space.
Gabe looked out the window and spotted an empty slot. “There’s a place. Up on your left.” He shifted seamlessly back to the original conversation. “C’mon, think about it. How long has it been since Becky let you eat red meat? I could persuade her to let you order a steak. She’s putty in my hands.”
A dull flush had risen in his partner’s face. He took even greater care than usual to park the car and switch off the ignition. “Actually, we have special plans tonight.”
Gabe was perceptive enough to realize the plans weren’t the sort his partner would want him included in. “Yeah, okay. Why don’t you go on home and let me finish up the paperwork for today?”
“No, that’s all right. Becky isn’t expecting me until later, anyway.”
The two men got out of the car and walked toward the building. Gabe threw a companionable arm around Cal’s shoulders. “The trick to romancing a woman is to do the unexpected once in a while. Now you go on home and surprise Becky. Better yet, stop for some flowers and wine first.”
“Well…” Cal’s hesitation was minuscule. “Okay. I’ll owe you one.”
Gabe clapped him on the back. “Damn right you will. Oh, and give Becky a big kiss for me when you see her, would you? On the mouth.”
Cal shrugged off Gabe’s arm and headed for his car. “You’re depraved, Connally.”
“Yeah, I am. Forget it. I’ll give it to her myself the next time I see her.” He chuckled at the obscene gesture Cal made and entered the building.
Since it was time for a shift change, the halls of the Area One Detectives’ Division were more chaotic than normal. Winding through the maze of desks and cubicles, Gabe exchanged greetings and one-liners with his co-workers and then dropped into the chair in front of his battered metal desk. Before getting to work, he shrugged out of his coat, pulled the loosened tie from around his neck, wadded it up and jammed it in the pocket of his sports jacket. Then he slung the jacket over the back of his chair, undid another shirt button and unfastened the cuffs, rolling the sleeves to his elbows.
“Connally, you savage. You’re a little late to be the featured matinee,” Detective Lydia Fredericks observed from her desk across the aisle. She raised her voice. “Hey, Connally’s doing a striptease over here. Could we have a show of appreciation?” There was a smattering of applause, and a wolf whistle from Lydia’s partner, Marcy Rogers. Coins rained on Gabe’s desk, courtesy of the detectives in the vicinity.
“Thank you, thank you. You’ve been a wonderful audience.” He stood and did a quick shimmy, eliciting a heart-felt moan from Lydia and some more loose change. He scooped up the coins, frowning over the lone penny in the group. “Hey, who’s the cheapskate? Fiskes?”
Detective Mark Fiskes grinned. “What can I say? You’re a cheap thrill, Connally.”
“Cheap, hell.” Gabe slipped the money in his pants pocket. “I just made enough to drink all night. I’m thinking about taking a second j—” The rest of the sentence went unuttered, as the sudden studiousness of the other detectives tipped him off. He turned around, and his tone went abruptly professional.
“Afternoon, Lieutenant.”
“Connally.” The man nodded at a coin beside the desk that had been missed. “Taking up a collection?”
It wasn’t uncommon for officers faced with Lieutenant Robert Burney’s stern ebony mask to feel sudden, urgent needs to be elsewhere. Fast. But Gabe couldn’t pass up the chance for a little retribution.
“You caught me, sir. I was just collecting my daily protection money from the others.”
“Protection money.”
Gabe propped his hips on his desk, crossed his arms over his chest and strove to make his tone earnest. “Yessir. The rest of the guys pay me to defend them from Detective Fredericks’s compulsive stalking.” Several of the men in the vicinity snickered, and Lydia invited Gabe to take a road trip to hell. He shook his head sadly. “She’s getting bolder and bolder, sir. She follows us everywhere, making all kinds of lewd proposals. The truth is, the other guys are getting scared. I’m the only one brave enough to stand up to her.” He turned to Lydia. “This is the last time I’m going to say it, Fredericks. Get help, for godsakes. You’re getting pathetic.” He dodged the pencil she threw at him, amidst guffaws from the surrounding detectives.
Burney’s expression didn’t change by as much as a flicker. “I’d like to see you in my office, Connally.”
Gabe pushed away from his desk and followed in his superior’s wake. When they reached the small office, he closed the door behind him and settled into a chair in front of the lieutenant’s desk. Burney lost no time getting down to business.
“You and Madison make any progress today on D’Brusco?”
“Some.” Gabe stretched his legs out before him and crossed one battered shoe over the other. “Best lead we got was from a five-year-old kid who was in the alley when Lenny took off.” He filled the man in on their visit to Meghan Patterson’s apartment.
The lieutenant leaned forward, interested. “Any chance you got a decent description of the second guy?”
“Well, the kid described Lenny pretty well, so he might be useful if we get a lead on the other’s identity. Said the guy was thin, taller than me, and his face looked like a skull.”
Burney’s weight shifted back in his chair, his disappointment obvious. “Great. The kid’s memory is probably influenced by a recent horror flick he watched.”
Gabe lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. But the presence of a second guy in the apartment would explain the shots fired. That never did seem like Lenny’s style.”
“D’Brusco might have changed his style after his last stint at Hill.”
That was entirely possible, Gabe silently conceded. It had been courtesy of Gabe that Lenny had been the state’s guest for a second time after Gabe had busted him for fencing. D’Brusco had only been out for two years, and apparently had changed his favorite con. He’d come to Gabe and Cal’s attention recently when they caught a money-laundering assignment he figured in. Gabe still had trouble believing that Lenny had risen to such a level. Working with that kind of money meant D’Brusco was playing in the big leagues. Apparently, he’d not only changed his habits, he’d also learned some new skills in prison.
The lieutenant was speaking again. “Just be aware that this case is attracting some attention from above. I fielded a call regarding it today from the deputy chief.”
Gabe’s low, tuneless whistle conveyed his appreciation of the fact. Given the chain of command in the CPD, the deputy chief’s inquiry meant that the interest was being generated several authority rungs higher, maybe even from the superintendent of police himself.
“Any clue what their interest is?”
“That wasn’t shared with me. However, a private source informed me that Justice has been sniffing around the investigation.”
Gabe went still. “Justice? Which agency?”
Burney shook his head. “That I don’t know. Just thought you should be aware that the case might be getting some profile.” He stood, indicating that the meeting was at an end. Gabe’s hand was on the doorknob before the lieutenant’s wry tone sounded again.
“Oh, and Connally—” he waited until the detective looked over his shoulder before finishing “—you might want to rethink that second job. You know how the department feels about detectives moonlighting.”
Grinning, Gabe opened the door. “If you say so, sir, but it seems a shame to waste a god-given talent. I figure I’m a natural.”
Too bad, he thought, an hour and a half later as he eyed the computer console before him balefully, that he wasn’t a natural at technology. The damn thing had already eaten his report once, and he’d had to painstakingly retype it. Cal would have made some wiseass comment about garbage in, garbage out, but then Cal understood things like computers and DVDs, the new technology rage that he’d once tried to explain to Gabe. His efforts had been in vain. Gabe had considered it a major feat when he’d learned to program his VCR. His talents, he’d explained to his partner, time and again, lay in other areas.
Once he’d collected his hard copy, his attention shifted to the woman who’d lingered in the back of his mind since she’d thrown them out of her apartment. Meghan Patterson. He typed her last name into the crime data base and waited for the computer to finish processing.
Despite his partner’s assessment of his intentions, his interest in the woman was purely professional. Well, okay, he admitted, drumming his fingers lightly on the keyboard, maybe he’d admired her in a purely detached sort of way. He could only figure one good reason for a woman to scrape her hair up on top of her head the way she’d worn hers. He doubted very much, however, that she’d worn it that way with the intention of allowing a man to take it down, a pin at a time. He gave a purely masculine grin at the mental picture.
A good cop got to be an expert at sizing people up. It certainly didn’t mean he was attracted to her, which was a good thing, because he had a long-standing distaste for dishonesty. Regardless of her reasons, Meghan had lied to him yesterday, and that alone was enough to keep him wary of her. There were, he’d found, simple facts in life that had to be accepted because they couldn’t be changed. Trees had their leaves, oceans had their tides, and women had their secrets. He knew that. And knowing was reason enough to keep the females in his life at a comfortable distance.
The search yielded forty-seven Pattersons for whom arrest warrants had been issued or by whom complaints had been filed. He was unsurprised when he failed to find Meghan’s name. He scanned each report, but could find nothing to match the little information she’d given them about her sister. He switched to the Internet and accessed the Tribune’s archives. He found several references to news articles in which Meghan was mentioned, and he went through them in reverse order, starting with the oldest.
The first he read had his eyebrows climbing. He hadn’t realized the woman he’d spoken with this afternoon was part of the Tremayne dynasty. The connection implied old money, historic homes and very public divorces. Meghan’s mother was the sole heiress to one of Chicago’s wealthiest families and, from what Gabe could remember, had done her part to keep the family name in the news with the frequent breakups of her marriages.
It occurred to him then to wonder if Meghan had been married. He scrolled down the articles, but found no details to support the idea. Patterson had probably been her father’s name.
He skimmed through several more clippings, most having appeared in the social registry featuring Meghan being escorted to lavish fund-raisers. It was interesting to note that none of the pictures showed her with the same guy twice, although they all shared a polished, worthless look that made them interchangeable.
He paused to read a couple that mentioned her career in the art world and clicked impatiently on the most recent selection.
The picture unfolded in slow-motion, which, given the age of the district’s computers, was the way the Internet seemed to work most of the time. It was an invasive close-up shot, the kind the media was noted for, focused on Meghan, Danny and an older woman. The trio were dressed in black, and the photo had been snapped as they filed out of a church. Behind a casket.
The headline screamed at him, and he read the article quickly, his stomach dropping a little lower with each paragraph. He stared at the screen after he’d finished, absently rubbing a hand over his jaw.
Damn his luck. His earlier certainty about persuading Meghan to allow Danny to cooperate slipped several notches. He remembered the gist of the case involving Sandra Barton; who didn’t? It had been splashed all over the news for weeks, and the only place news traveled faster than in the media was within the department itself. He now understood why Meghan might hold the police responsible for her sister’s death.
On some level, he really couldn’t blame her.
He’d lost his appetite for the steak he’d been promising himself all day, so Gabe got a couple of fast-food sandwiches before heading to Brewsters. The bar was a local hangout, its customers mostly cops, and a favorite of his and Cal’s. Of course, Cal hadn’t made regular appearances there since his marriage. Becky kept him on a pretty short leash, which was another reason Gabe steered clear of serious relationships. He had a long-held aversion to being confined.
He felt at home as soon as he pushed open the door and inhaled the secondhand smoke that all the ordinances in the world couldn’t successfully ban. Returning the greetings of some of the regulars, he found a seat at the bar and signaled the bartender to bring him his usual.
When the bottle of beer was set before him, he took a comfortable swallow, before a man slipped onto the stool beside him. Casting a sideways look, he groaned aloud. “I’m here to relax, McKay. I don’t want any hassle.”
The blond man beside him raised his brows. “Hassle? Me? I was just hoping for some friendly conversation with one of CPD’s finest.”
Gabe took a long pull from his beer. “I heard a joke the other day that made me think of you. You know what you call ten thousand reporters at the bottom of the ocean? A good start.” He chuckled at the other man’s expression. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course.” Dare McKay raised a finger, and the bartender slid an iced mug of beer toward him. “Besides, that joke is probably referring to the paparazzi, not to eminent investigative journalists such as myself. And speaking of investigating…I hear you caught the D’Brusco case.”
Gabe shoved down his annoyance. The man’s sources were uncannily accurate. “I’m not giving out information, so don’t bother pumping me.”
“Could be that I might be in a position to throw some information your direction as the case progresses.”
Tipping the bottle to his lips, Gabe drank. “Don’t do me any favors.”
“Well, since you asked so nice…I’ll be talking to you, Connally. Right now there’s a blonde who craves my attention.”
He slid off the stool and sauntered in the direction of a woman sitting at a table nearby, who looked distinctly happier to see him than Gabe had been.
Ordering another beer, Gabe listened with only half an ear to the guy on the other side of him bemoan the Bulls’ chances of rebuilding another championship team. With one elbow resting on the bar, he let his attention drift as he studied the rest of the customers in the establishment.
Mostly regulars, he observed, people he knew by sight, if not by name. There were a few neighborhood faces, a few like McKay, who frequented the place trying to pick up information, but most of the customers were cops who enjoyed relaxing after the job with their buddies. He took another long swallow of beer, then froze in the act of returning the bottle to the bar. His gaze ricocheted to a table toward the back of the place, and he stared incredulously.
What the hell was Meghan Patterson doing in Brewsters?
What she was doing, he quickly concluded, was a damn fine job of distracting just about every man in the bar. His weren’t the only pair of eyes trained in her direction. With that mass of golden curls spilling down her back, and her curves shown to advantage in the black sweater and skirt she was wearing, she looked as out of place in the slightly shabby tavern as a debutante at a cock fight.
His attention shifted to her companion and his brows drew together. Wattrel…Wadrell, that was it. His frown turned to a scowl. Fresh out of the academy, they’d been rookies in the same division years ago. The man hadn’t made many friends then with his methods for cutting corners and currying favor with the brass. Based on what Gabe had learned recently, Wadrell hadn’t changed much. Only the stakes had grown higher.
He brought the bottle to his lips and sipped, watching the couple unabashedly. Meghan’s back was to Gabe; he’d recognized her only when she’d turned in profile for a moment. She slipped from her chair and headed in the direction of the rest rooms. He shot a glance to Wadrell. The detective watched her go, then reached for his drink with a self-satisfied smile.
Without further thought, Gabe grabbed his bottle of beer and slipped off his bar stool to wind his way to the back of the place. The rest rooms were located beside two pool tables, and from the looks of things the pool players’ concentration had just been shot to hell by Meghan’s appearance.
Loitering in the vicinity really wasn’t difficult. The rear area was packed with players and spectators. A few made token attempts to hide their cigarettes, as if the smoke hovering below the hanging lights had appeared from nowhere. Gabe filled his lungs in vicarious appreciation.
When the rest room door opened, he shifted position so that Meghan could move only a few feet before finding her way blocked by him.
“Miss Patterson.” Stunned recognition was in his voice.
“I’m surprised to see you here.”
She wasn’t a good enough actress to hide her dismay at his appearance. Like this afternoon, she retreated a bit. Her response drew a different response from him this time, though. Earlier he’d been pleased that the distance had allowed him entrance to her apartment. Now he was fighting a compulsion to slide his fingers beneath her hair, around her nape, and haul her back to him, even closer this time. He clutched his bottle tighter in one hand and jammed the other in his pants pocket.
“Detective Connally.” She’d recovered quickly, but was still visibly eager to get away from him. Remaining planted solidly in front of her, he brought the bottle to his lips, took a drink.
“Given the high esteem you have for the CPD, this is a funny place for you and your date to show up. Of course—” a corner of his mouth curled “—guess it’s also kind of funny that you’d be seeing a cop.”
“I’m not ‘seeing’ him. At least, not in the way you mean. Could I get by, please?”
He obliged by moving a few inches. There was enough space for her to pass, if she didn’t mind pressing against him, curves to angles, heat to heat. Her gaze measured the space and she remained still. Apparently she minded.
Her eyes closed for a moment in a gesture of pure frustration. “Look, I have business with him, okay? Business I’d like to finish so I can go home to my nephew.”
“Your nephew lives with you?” The interest in his voice was genuine.
“I’ve been named his guardian.” A less observant man might have missed the flicker in her eyes as she delivered the words. A less observant man also might not have focused on the way her blond waves framed her face or the interesting rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her blue eyes narrowed at him then, and he cleared his throat self-consciously. It was considered poor form for a trained observer to be caught staring.
“Yeah, I read about what happened to your sister. Sorry for your loss.”
It was as though his words had pierced her with ice. Voice frigid, she replied, “Yes, everyone’s sorry, Detective. But that doesn’t make Sandra any less dead, does it?” She used her elbow to wedge her way past him and walked away, anger steeling her spine. Gabe watched her go, draining his beer musingly. His hope of gaining her cooperation in his current investigation seemed to be fading by the moment.
A few games of pool later, Gabe’s mood was no better, and his pockets were considerably lighter. He handed his cue to a nearby man and shrugged into his coat, amidst some goodnatured jeering.
“Hey, Connally, you’re a little off your game tonight. Must be worn-out from that second job you’ve taken on.” Fiskes grinned at him from across the table.
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t believe the benefits.”
The other man laughed. The jeers were actually preferable to the truth, Gabe thought, as he wended his way to the front of the bar—that his concentration had been shredded time and again while he’d tried to keep an eye on Wadrell’s table. He’d missed a crucial shot when he’d seen the man move his chair closer to Meghan’s, put an arm around her shoulders. And it hadn’t improved his game any to wonder whether she’d shifted away from the man purposefully, or if she’d really been reaching for her drink. At any rate his concentration hadn’t improved in the twenty minutes since she’d left the bar, alone. Not while Wadrell was still sitting at the table, looking so damned pleased with himself.
Instead of passing the seat Meghan had vacated, Gabe pulled out the chair and sat down. “Wadrell, how’s it going?”
“Connally.” The other man’s voice held an edge of wariness. “Oh…you know. Still chasing bad guys.”
“Yeah, I heard about your big case.” Gabe looked around, signaled the waitress to their table and ordered a couple of beers. “Got a lot of press on that one, didn’t you?”
The man shrugged. “You know how the media is. Warring gangs are good for headlines, especially when drug dealing is thrown into the mix.”
“Not to mention the sensationalism of using a psychic to help round up the leaders.” The waitress delivered the beers, and Gabe nudged one of them toward the other man, then handed the woman some bills.
Wadrell eyed him for a moment, then lifted the bottle to his lips. “That didn’t hurt any, of course.”
“Yeah, that was a different angle.” Gabe scratched his jaw. “Can’t say I’ve ever worked with one. Was she really any help?”
There was still a note of caution in the other man’s voice. “Yeah, Barton gave us some good leads. She called in and said she’d run into two of our guys in a dive they frequent. She was referred to me and came up with a couple leads about their activities that checked out. We started using her.” He shook his head and reached for a cigarette. “I don’t care if you believe in that kind of thing or not, the broad knew things, okay? We’d run a suspect in, place Barton behind the one-way glass. She’d observe for a while, give us some tips, and then we’d interrogate them. We put away most of the members of the gang that way. Slick operation. With her help we nailed them in the questioning. They never knew what hit them.”
Gabe tried not to covet the cigarette the other man was smoking. He failed miserably. “You’re telling me she read their minds or something?” He didn’t bother to keep the disbelief out of his voice. He’d never put much stock in that kind of hocus-pocus. He still wasn’t convinced that Wadrell believed in it, either; he was just as likely to have grabbed the opportunity to make headlines. “How do you suppose the press caught wind that you were using a psychic? And her identity?”
Setting the bottle down in front of him, Wadrell said, “You know how the media is. Can’t even call them leaks when the department itself is like a sieve.”
“Yeah, I know how it is. Just plain bad luck that the lady up and died before you made cases on all the guys involved.”
“Who, Barton?” Wadrell leaned back in his chair, visibly more relaxed now. “Yeah, too bad she bought it, but she really wasn’t much help there at the end, anyway. The last few things she gave us didn’t pan out. We’ll round up the others. It’s just a matter of time.”
“That was her sister in here earlier, wasn’t it? Meghan Patterson.”
Wadrell’s hand froze in the act of reaching for his bottle. “Yeah, so?”
Gabe lifted a shoulder. “Recognized her. She claim to be psychic, too?”
With a leer, the man said, “If she is, I hope she didn’t read my mind tonight. You know what I mean?”
“Way I hear it, this Patterson’s got a major beef with the department.”
Wadrell nodded. “She’s got some crazy notion her sister’s car accident was no accident at all—that the gang we were busting set it up to get her out of the way. Nothing to that, of course, but she won’t let it go.”
Comprehension dawned, and with it, a shimmer of anger. “Oh, so that’s the angle.” At the man’s silence, Gabe lowered his voice conspiratorially, buddy to buddy. “C’mon, Wadrell, you gonna pretend you’re cherry on this? You’re stringing the sister along like you might be able to get more information on the accident for her, all the while hoping she’ll throw a little action your way.”
The smirk that settled on the man’s lips was an open invitation to a clenched fist. “Well if there’s any action to be thrown, I’m gonna be the one to catch it. That is one fine piece of woman.”
Gabe leaned back in disgust. “Yeah, and why wouldn’t she be interested in a prince like you? Did you have something going with this Barton, too?”
The other man drained his beer, and set the bottle back on the table. “Naw. Not that she wasn’t a looker. But there was a hard edge to that one, you know? Compared to her, this Patterson is a babe in the woods. The sister was downright spooky.” Catching the scowl the bartender was aiming at him, he ground his cigarette out in the ashtray.
A few more minutes convinced Gabe that Wadrell had no more information that was of interest, which was good, because his tolerance level had lowered alarmingly. Gabe threw a couple bucks on the table and rose. Self-serving jerks like Wadrell gave him the heaves. There was no doubt in his mind that the other detective had been the one to alert the media, anonymously, of course, that a psychic was helping with his case. Wadrell would hand over his grandmother to get some exposure. It had been unprofessional and, once the media had dug up Barton’s identity, downright dangerous for the woman. With guys like Wadrell in the department, it was no wonder Meghan was down on the CPD.
He pushed open the door, the cold slap of wind in his face a wicked contrast to the heat in the bar. Given the circumstances, he could understand why Meghan was convinced Wadrell’s suspects had arranged to get rid of her sister. It could have happened just that way. But according to the detective, it hadn’t.
There was a movement to his left, alerting him to the figure huddled against the building. He took his time reaching into his pocket and unwrapped a piece of gum.
“Buses stopped running a couple hours ago.”
Meghan pulled the collar of her coat up closer around her throat and refused to look his way. “I’ve got a cab coming.”
“It must be taking its sweet time. How long have you been waiting?” He figured it had been at least a half hour since she’d left the bar.
Determinedly she kept her gaze fixed on the street. “I’ve called twice. It won’t be much longer.”
Resting his shoulders against the brick building, he studied her. “Be a lot warmer to wait inside.”
Finally she turned to him. Even the darkness couldn’t prevent him from noting that her gaze wasn’t friendly. “I’m fine out here. I don’t need company. You’re free to be on your way.”
Those words were delivered with just the right amount of haughtiness—duchess to serf. He supposed with her background she’d grown up giving orders. Too bad he’d never learned to take them.
“I’ve got my car. I could give you a lift home if you want.”
She’d returned to face the street. “That won’t be necessary.”
He nodded. “Your choice. Hope for your sake that cab arrives soon, though. Some men might be forgiven for thinking that your hanging around out here means you’ve changed your mind about ending the date so soon.” He heard a slight sound in the darkness that he fancied was her teeth clenching together.
“It was not a—”
“Date. Right. You said that.” Giving a shrug, he pushed away from the wall. “Well, if the cab doesn’t show, I’m sure Wadrell would enjoy escorting you home.”
He started in the direction of the parking lot. He’d gotten only a dozen steps when he heard her voice again.
“Wait. Maybe…maybe you’re right.”
He looked over his shoulder. The frigid breeze was combing reckless fingers through her hair, and she pushed it back over her shoulder with an impatient hand. “Those are words every man likes to hear, ma’am. Exactly what was I right about?”
Her chin lifted to an imperious angle, and it took little imagination to guess the effort it took to keep her tone civil. “I guess I will take that ride, after all. That is, if you’re sure it won’t take you out of your way.”
He masked his surprise at her sudden change of heart and dug in his pocket for his keys. Risk management, he figured, silently leading her to his car. She’d considered her options and decided that at the moment he presented less of a threat than Wadrell. He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or offended. But he’d seize the opportunity to spend some time with her. He didn’t mind driving a few extra miles, especially if it got him closer to gaining her trust.
He was truthful enough to admit, at least privately, to a fascination for the woman; an interest in more than her cooperation. But that was as far as it would be allowed to go. Work came first with him, it always would. And if the unlikely day ever came that he actually got serious about a female, it wouldn’t be one with shadows in her eyes and secrets on her lips.
He didn’t have to be psychic to realize that a woman like Meghan spelled the kind of trouble he’d spent a lifetime avoiding.
Chapter 3
It was a mistake. Nerves scrambled in Meghan’s stomach. In her eagerness to avoid Wadrell, with his increasingly slick lines and smooth advances, she’d considered Connally the lesser of two evils. Too late she’d remembered all the reasons she would be wise to shun his presence, as well. In the shadowy interior of his car, on the near-silent ride to her apartment, he exuded a danger all his own.
His voice rumbled out in the darkness, startling her. “Who’s taking care of your nephew tonight?”
With effort she kept the anxiety from her words. “My neighbor, Callie.”
“The woman who came to the door this afternoon?” He glanced her way, caught her nod. “Is she your baby-sitter?”
“Her son, Alex, and Danny are friends. We trade off duties. That way each of us can get away when we need to.”
“Sounds handy.”
That deep bass of his sounded even more gravelly in the shadowy interior of the car. His natural timbre was low, always sounding as though he’d just awakened. That thought elicited an accompanying mental image of him just rousing from sleep, his hard jaws shadowed and those whiskey-colored eyes still drowsy. She could feel her cheeks warm at the intimate thought of him, and turned her face to the window, glad that the darkness would hide her reaction.
She could blame the odd path her thoughts were taking on the upset she’d had earlier today, and then again tonight. She didn’t normally spend much time thinking about men’s voices. And especially not a man who was intent on pulling her nephew into the middle of a criminal investigation.
The memory firmed her earlier resolve. At all costs Connally and his partner had to be kept away from Danny. The boy was too young to be well schooled in keeping secrets. And Meghan was determined Connally would never learn about his ability.
The rest of the ride passed in silence. When he pulled up in front of her apartment, she lost no time exiting the car. “Thank you for…what are you doing?”
Gabe put the car into park and turned off the ignition. He didn’t answer her until he’d rounded the vehicle and cupped her elbow in his hand. “Walking you up to your apartment.”
She tried, in vain, to pull away from him. “That isn’t necessary. Besides, you left your car in a no-parking zone.”
His teeth flashed in the darkness. “Don’t worry. I know someone who can fix tickets for me.”
“An admission of corruption,” she muttered as he steered her toward the door of the building, “from one of CPD’s finest. My, my, how surprising.”
“I can also spring that security code for you if you’re not going to punch it in. Lose your key? The inside lock will take ten seconds, tops.” He gave a shrug. “Some talents never leave you.”
She gave him a sidelong glance as she tapped in her code on the security panel. “Rather odd ‘talents’ for a detective to admit to. Did you pick them up from your days in the academy?”
He scanned the street quickly, then opened the door and ushered her inside. “No, from my days as a delinquent.”
His answer succeeded in keeping her silent all the way up to the fourth floor. Knowing it would be fruitless to try and leave him at the elevator, she suffered through having him accompany her to her door, take the key from her and open it.
“Thank you. Again.” She snatched the key away from him and dropped it back in her purse. There was no gratitude in her tone, and she was certain he realized it.
His lips quirked slightly. “No problem. Again. Where’s Callie live?”
“Why?”
His smile grew wider at the thread of caution in the word. “That’s where Danny is, right? I figure she wouldn’t leave her son and maybe her husband to come over here and sit, so Danny must be over there.”
She heaved a sigh. It had been an impossibly long day, and this man was partly responsible for that. The sooner he was on his way, the sooner she could get her life back to normal. Or what passed for normal these days.
“She just lives a few doors that way. Now if you…” Her words tapered off as he began to stride in the direction she’d indicated.
She trailed in his wake like an obedient puppy and didn’t care for the feeling. “Detective, I’ve thanked you for the ride, but it’s time for you to leave.”
“The kid’s probably asleep. You shouldn’t be carrying him. Which door?”
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying him—no, God not that one.” Meghan managed to catch his arm before he could pound on Edna Hathaway’s door. “All you’re liable to find in that apartment is a seventy-eight-year-old lady with an eye for expensive vodka and anything in pants.” The warning wasn’t exaggerated in the slightest. “I heard that it took three days to resuscitate the last man who went in there.”
He grinned at her over his shoulder. “Sounds interesting.” He’d managed to surprise her. He could see it in her eyes and the way her mouth tilted in response. He watched closely, wanting, more than he should have, to see her smile break free. And then he stared, staggered when it did, lightening her expression and softening her eyes. His stomach jittered oddly, and he couldn’t take his gaze off her, not even when her smile faded to be replaced by her earlier coolness.
She moved past him to a door on the opposite side of the hall and tapped lightly. A few moments later it opened and a woman Gabe recognized from that afternoon appeared in the doorway. “Hi. I thought you’d be later. I went ahead and put Danny down on the couch. They begged to stay in Alex’s room but I knew my chances of getting them to sleep there were nonexistent.”
“It didn’t take as long as I thought.” Meghan moved through the doorway, with Gabe right behind her. Spotting the boy curled up on the couch, he crossed the room, bent down and lifted him easily in his arms.
“He gave me a ride home…it’s a long story,” he heard Meghan murmur to her friend.
“Well,” Callie replied, turning to follow the three to the door, “you can tell me about it tomorrow. All about it.” As the door closed behind her and Meghan hurried to catch up with Connally’s long strides, she tried not to imagine the conversation she was going to be in for the next morning.
She caught up with the detective in her living room, where he was waiting patiently for her. “Which is his room?”
“Really, you’ve done enough. If you’d just put him down…” When the man continued to stand there, clearly with no intention of complying, she gave in with ill grace and led him down the hallway. She picked up his treasured Pokémon backpack and tossed it to the end of the bed, before pulling the covers down. Connally moved past her without a sound and gently laid the boy down on the lower of the two bunk beds.
Pulling the covers up and tucking them around her nephew, Megan paused an instant. His breathing was even and deep, and there was a slight flush on his face, which still held some baby fullness. There was an unexpected catch deep in her chest, and in an unconscious gesture, her hand reached out, hovered.
“He’s a good-looking kid.”
The deep voice rumbling in her ear made her start, and she snatched her hand away. Putting a finger to her lips, she walked to the door and waited for Connally to follow. Then she flipped on the hallway light, being careful to leave Danny’s door open. By the time she’d led him back to the living room she’d run out of both patience and composure.
“It’s been a long day. I’m going to follow Danny’s lead and retire soon myself.”
Her attempt at a dismissal failed sadly. Connally’s mouth quirked. “Could I get a glass of water before you throw me out?”
“I’m not—” Pressing her lips together midprotest, Meghan turned and marched to the kitchen. There was something about that man, she fumed, snatching a glass from the cupboard and waiting for the water to run cold, that had her stuttering and stammering like an adolescent. She seemed to have difficulty finishing a sentence around him, and she suspected that he deliberately tried to keep her off balance.
When she returned with the glass, Connally wasn’t where she’d left him. Instead, he’d poked into her study, and seemed quite at home surveying the works in progress she had tacked up on the walls.
The sight stoked her temper further. She’d never enjoyed having people look at her work before it was finished. Even her agent didn’t see her sketches until she’d painstakingly redone them to her satisfaction. Privacy was something that had been hard fought for, hard won. She didn’t relinquish it easily.
“Your water, Detective.” Her voice was several degrees cooler than the liquid in the glass. He didn’t turn at her voice. He was shaking his head slowly.
“Wow. These are yours, right?”
The admiration in his tone slightly soothed nerves that were scraped and raw. “Yes. I’m currently working on illustrations for another Milton Cramer book. It’s about a lonely monster who’s looking for friends, but I’m going to have to scale some of these drawings back. I’m afraid they might give the children nightmares.”
Gabe walked from one large sketch to another, studying each carefully. “You’re probably right. They kinda give a chill.” He sent her a measuring glance. “I read you had something to do with art, but I figured maybe one of those high-priced galleries or something. The ones where they hang pictures that don’t look like anything.”
Her earlier calm shattered as she grasped the meaning behind his words. “You ‘read’?” He’d used those same words earlier, she remembered, when he’d spoken about Sandra. Her eyes narrowed. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve been checking up on me?”
He seemed unfazed by the fury on her face, in her voice. “Hazard of the job.” He approached her and took the glass from her hands and drank. “You didn’t seem to want to explain any further about your sister, so I did a little checking.”
The ease with which he explained away prying into her life, her family, with all its twisted, dysfunctional fragments, made her shake with anger.
“Well, I have to hand it to you, Detective. You move fast.” She went toward the door, her movements jerky, and yanked it open. “I’m sure they have quite a file on Sandra at CPD. The cops always liked to do a background check before they decided to use her in any way they could.”
He sipped from the glass and watched her, his pale eyes giving nothing away. “If there’s a file, I haven’t seen it. I pulled up the Tribune’s archives. You’ve gotten a fair amount of press yourself over the years.”
His words were like a blade, tearing through the fragile shroud of privacy she’d sought for so many years. Seclusion had always proved elusive for her family. The huge gates around the family estate had seemed more effective at keeping them in, than in keeping the rest of the world out. Her hand clenched on the knob, longing to slam the door shut with a resounding bang, preferably on him.
“You’re mad.”
“It must be your excellent deductive skills that earned you the rank of detective.” He didn’t appear about to leave. When a neighboring tenant walked by the open door and glanced in curiously, Meghan swung it shut, wishing the detective’s big foot were caught in it.
“I can understand why you might blame the department for what happened to your sister.”
She regarded him warily from her position by the door. For some reason she was loath to get any closer. “Thanks. You can’t know what your validation of my opinion means to me.”
He thought it wise to ignore her sarcasm. “I’ve pieced together enough to figure out how it went down. Your sister offered to help Wadrell with his investigation. Word somehow got to the press that a psychic was being consulted. The media dug up her name and that was made public, too. Your sister wound up dead and you think the gang Wadrell was investigating is responsible.” He watched her soberly. “And you blame the police.”
The brief dispassionate narrative made Meghan’s mouth go dry. The words, honed with truth, arrowed with painful accuracy. “They didn’t protect her. She put herself at risk to help them and then ended up with her name in headlines. It was an open invitation for those thugs to go after her.”
Interest flickered in his eyes. “Do you know for certain that she was threatened?” Wadrell, when pressed, had claimed otherwise.
Meghan looked away. “Sandra didn’t mention anything, no.” In masterful understatement she continued, “But then, we weren’t particularly close.”
He was silent for a moment. “In any case, I think you had a legitimate fear. One that deserved to be looked into.”
“According to your department, it was looked into. Are you going to spew the party line, too, and tell me that her car accident was just a coincidence?”
Her words were delivered like a dare. Because he recognized the pain underlying them, he kept his tone even. “Is that what you were told?”
Voice brittle, she said, “I was assured that a thorough investigation of the accident was conducted. Sandra supposedly went over that embankment because she misjudged the curve, not because the car had been tampered with. It was just plain old bad luck, but gee, the department sure regrets our loss.” She stopped then, and pressed her lips firmly together.
“But you don’t believe that.”
“Would you?”
He set the glass down on a nearby table and then straightened again. “If I were in your shoes? Probably not.”
Her gaze swung back to him. She’d expected him to ridicule her beliefs, or to hotly defend his department’s ethics. His failure to do either took her off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He unzipped his battered leather jacket and slipped his hands in the pockets. His stance drew her eyes to the width of the shoulders, the narrow waist and lean hips. The body was as impressive as the face. He radiated strength, determination and heat. She had no doubt that countless women had been attracted to that combination, had sought to warm themselves with his fire. She was equally certain that each of them had ended up badly burned.
He shrugged, snagging her attention again. “Since you’re blaming the department for your sister’s name being made public, you’d be apt to question the investigation of the accident.” Taking a step backward, he leaned one shoulder against the wall. “I’m still having trouble trying to figure out why you’d go to Wadrell for help with this. I’d think with the grudge you’re carrying, he’d be the last one you’d trust, seeing that he was primary detective on the case your sister was involved with.”
Because he owes us!
The hot words blazed across her mind, but remained unuttered. She had no intention of explaining herself to this man. “Yes,” she replied flatly. “He was.”
She crossed to the couch and sank down on it. She didn’t like the way Connally watched her, as if he could read her emotions, the jumbled pain, anger and regret, all too clearly. His scrutiny made her uncomfortable, although it shouldn’t have. She was a master at shielding her thoughts. She had her childhood with Sandra to thank for that.
“Detective Wadrell naturally feels badly about my sister’s death.” Only the slightest hint of irony tinged her words. “He’s offered to look into the accident report himself, double-check the conclusions by running them by another investigator he knows.”
Connally said nothing, only continued to watch her. A sense of unease slid down her spine. There was a stillness about the man that had her nerves prickling. All his concentration, all his considerable energy was focused on her, and the intensity was unsettling. She wondered if he used this brooding contemplation to effect, when staring down a suspect. There was something about the simmering silence that made her want to fill the void with words, though she’d never been one to babble.
With effort, she glanced away, crossed one leg over the other and smoothed her skirt. She’d expected the detective to chide her for her lack of faith in the CPD, rather than express understanding. But it didn’t matter. Nothing he could say would sway her from her goal, at any rate. She’d use Wadrell just as he’d used her sister. There was no question of feeling guilty about it. The cost of Sandra’s cooperation with the department had been high. Danny had lost a mother. Meghan had lost a sister. She’d never believe that a simple accident was the cause. Nothing about Sandra had ever been simple. Certainly not her death.
“Is Wadrell hoping you’ll take your sister’s place in his investigation?”
Her head jerked up. Gabe’s expression was inscrutable. “No. Sandra’s ability isn’t exactly something that runs in the family, like blond hair.” She held her breath, wondering if he’d accept the blatant untruth.
He nodded, and she breathed a little easier. She doubted whether he was convinced of the authenticity of Sandra’s talent, at any rate. He struck her as a very pragmatic man. He’d believe only what he could see, could prove.
“Wadrell’s a decent cop, but there’s not a considerate bone in his body. I can only think of one other reason he’d offer to help. And that’s to get close to you.”
“Do you think I don’t know that, Detective?” It was her turn to surprise him. She took a grim satisfaction in his reaction. “I’m not naive. I know exactly what motivated your buddy’s offer of assistance. And I don’t care what his intentions are, as long as I get what I want.”
With slow, deliberate movements he pushed away from the wall and approached her, one methodical step at a time. He set the glass down and braced his hands on the coffee table. Face close to hers, he murmured, sotto voce, “He’s not my buddy.”
His proximity leeched the air from her lungs. She’d underestimated the man. His presence was even more compelling up close, close enough for her to see the flecks of gold in his pale eyes, near enough for her to reach up a hand and trace every hard angle of his face.
Her fingers curled into her palms. She refused to let him see the effect he had on her, the cost of her careless shrug. “Sorry. From what you said it sounded like you knew him well.”
He gazed at her a moment longer, then slowly straightened. Her strangled lungs drew in much-needed oxygen. “I know him well enough to realize he’s not the type to do a favor without expecting something in return.”
He wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t already figured out for herself, but the words, spoken out loud, made her hesitate. She’d taken grim satisfaction in the idea of using Wadrell to answer the questions she still had about the accident. It was, she’d thought, no more than was due them. And if he expected more than she was willing to give in return, rejection was exactly what he deserved. Although, she remembered, with a faint shudder, having to dodge his interest tonight had filled her with nothing short of revulsion.
“I can handle Wadrell,” she said with more assurance than she felt. Her words clearly failed to convince Connally. He was regarding her with something like derision in his eyes.
“I guess it depends on your definition of the word. From where I sat tonight it looked like you were the one being handled.”
Meghan flushed. She looked good with temper flaring in her eyes and coloring her cheeks, Gabe decided. She wasn’t as emotionless as she would have him believe. Why that should matter to him he didn’t know, except that it would have been a shame if a woman who looked like her was really as cold and as closed off as she pretended to be.
He folded his arms over his chest. “Let’s look at your options here. As far as the department goes, your sister’s accident is a closed case. You said yourself Wadrell’s motives are suspect. Why would you trust him to follow through on his promise?”
“Are you worried about me, Detective?” Her voice was mocking. “Don’t be. I learned a long time ago that the only person I can trust is myself.”
Her statement hit him with the force of a punch. He could have echoed the words himself; certainly he believed the same. But he knew the kind of knocks it had taken to shape his cynical point of view. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t like to consider the kind of experiences that might have shaped hers.
He perched on her coffee table, retaining a position close to her. “There’s no use taking stupid chances if you don’t have to. Wadrell’s a slime. You know he’s more interested in your body than in your sister’s death.”
Her chin angled and she met him stare for stare. “Why do you care?”
Their gazes battled for long moments before Gabe finally answered. “Let’s just say that I don’t like to see people taken advantage of. And I’ve never been a fan of Wadrell’s.”
Meghan looked beyond his shoulder to the clock on the wall. It was after ten. Early, really. But all of a sudden she was weary, clear to the bone. The time she’d spent with Wadrell had put her on edge. She still didn’t doubt her ability to keep him at arm’s length, but she was beginning to question the wisdom of her plan. She would have only the detective’s word, after all, that he’d actually conducted another investigation into the accident. She’d have no reason to believe him. And no choice not to. When Danny was old enough to be given the details, the very least he deserved were the facts involved in his mother’s death. All of them.
She glanced at Connally again. Sitting atop her table, he was much too close. Much too…physical. He was big enough to project a subtle threat sheerly through his stature. The breadth of his heavy shoulders blocked her view of the room behind him, and the broad chest beneath his crossed arms depicted a certain power. In a studiedly casual move, she settled more deeply into the couch cushions. It was ridiculous to feel that the slight movement had put some much-needed distance between them. Ridiculous, because there was nothing about his actions or his expression to suggest she had anything to fear from him.
Except that he was a cop. He was in her apartment, and he was intent on dragging Danny into the middle of a police investigation.
“I have another option for you to consider.” His voice, coming after a minute of silence, seemed raspier than usual.
“Forget Wadrell. Let me help you instead.”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. He’d never be considered one of those white knights charging to rescue ladies in distress. He found jackets and ties confining enough; armor would be murder.
He shook off the fanciful thought. “You want something. So do I. I’ll take another look into the accident for you. In return, you’ll cooperate by allowing Danny to assist us in any way we need him.” As if sensing the protest she was about to utter, he went on quickly, “You get what you want, I get what I want. It’ll be strictly business.” Her cooperation would make his job easier. He didn’t want to chance her sabotaging him at every turn, maybe even coaching the boy to tell them nothing. He needed every lead he could get on this case.
Everything inside Meghan recoiled from accepting his offer. For different reasons, she was even more loath to spend time in his presence than she was in Wadrell’s. And there was no way, absolutely none, that she would let Danny get embroiled with the police. She knew nothing about raising children. But the one thing she did know was that her psychic ability had ruined Sandra’s life. If she could spare Danny only one thing, it would be that.
Connally was speaking again. “Of course, maybe you have other reasons to want to stick with Wadrell. Maybe you really wouldn’t mind if you and he…” He made a gesture with his hand which, along with his tone, made his message clear.
Meghan’s indignation overcame her caution. “Believe me, I find cops eminently resistible. For that matter, how can I be sure that I wouldn’t have to fight off your advances?”
He didn’t appear to take offense. “’Cause I make it a point to steer wide of your type. So if we partner up for a while, you won’t have to worry about me coming on to you.”
He watched her intently, but when she failed to respond, he said, “If you need convincing…” Before she could guess his intention, he leaned forward in one smooth movement and covered her mouth with his own.
Shock held Meghan motionless. The man was completely outrageous! She managed to raise her hand to his chest before her bones began to take on the consistency of warm wax. It was like kissing a flash of lightning, she thought fuzzily—all sizzling heat and banked strength. There was an unexpected measure of wildness to his taste, layered beneath a hint of tightly harnessed control.
He wasn’t a man to ask permission, and there was no entreaty in his touch. Her hand lingered, forgotten, on his chest as he angled his head and pressed her lips open. His tongue boldly swept in, exchanging her flavor for his own.
Her heart spun once, then kicked a faster beat. He tasted foreign, and primally male. His hand cupped her jaw, his fingers caressing her throat, and the dual assault made her shiver and want, with a suddenness that was all the more frightening for its being completely unfamiliar.
His mouth lifted from hers a fraction, lingered a moment, then eased away.
She stared at him, stunned. “Just what was that supposed to convince me of?” Her voice was threadier than she would have wished, but at least it was steady.
Gabe reached for the glass he’d set down, and brought it to his lips for a long swallow. His eyes avoided hers. “Just proving my point. Neither of us is attracted to the other. That kiss left you cold, right? Me, too.”
Cold? Numb, maybe. Achy, certainly. But cold? A sheerly feminine ire fueled her next words. “The next time you try conducting a little experiment like that you’d better be wearing protection.” She left no doubt that she wasn’t referring to his gun. “The only point you convinced me of is that I’m no better off with you than with Wadrell.”
He looked impatient at her words. “Use your head.” Holding up his fingers, he enumerated, “One, I’m not the detective you hold indirectly responsible for your sister’s death. Two, I outrank Wadrell and I’m better liked. I’ve got guys who’ll be willing to do me favors when I poke into the accident investigation. I doubt Wadrell can get his own mother to invite him to Sunday dinner. And three, we’ve just shown that physically we don’t do a thing for each other.”
She crossed her arms over her chest to keep from strangling him.
“You won’t have to worry about me making moves on you, because I like women with more obvious…uh…charms.” He cocked his head, pretending not to see the simmer of latent temper in her eyes. “Unless…you can’t do that little tassel trick I’ve seen, can you? You know—” his index fingers circled in the air in front of his chest “—the one where you get them going in opposite directions?” When she didn’t respond, couldn’t, he shook his head. “I didn’t think so. So as near as I can tell, us matching up would be perfect. There’ll be no personal interest on my side, and if you can promise the same there won’t be any complications at all.”
The deep-breathing exercises learned at Miss Devain’s School of Deportment had never been more necessary. The actual physical effort of filling her lungs with oxygen almost took Meghan’s mind off the shockingly primal urge to knock that complacent expression off Connally’s face. The strength of the temptation was shocking. Civility was a quality not only valued by her family, but demanded. Tremaynes didn’t indulge in spectacles. There had been no public displays of temper or of affection. Every conversation, every cutting remark, was made in the same chillingly dispassionate tone. The genuine lack of emotion displayed by her mother and grandparents had confused and saddened Meghan by turns.
However, it wasn’t a lack of emotion that was bothering Meghan right now, but the imminent volcanic eruption that this man was close to eliciting. Her gaze narrowed at his bland expression. He was goading her; he had to be. Surely no one could be that irritating, unless by design. What he was suggesting was out of the question. There was no way she was going to shackle herself to Connally willingly, no matter what he promised to do for her.
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Kylie Brant
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: She had secrets in her eyes and lies on her lips, and Detective Gabe Connally knew that Meghan Patterson would give him more than a few sleepless nights. Still, with her young nephew a valuable witness, Gabe had to pursue Meghan. And even without the case, it would be impossible to forget the vulnerable woman trying to protect her family….While Meghan admired Gabe′s persistence, she dared not let him get close enough to realize her nephew–her only remaining family–was psychic. Yet her own burning desire made it impossible to resist Gabe′s persuasive ways….