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Frankie's Back in Town
Jeanie London
Doesn't take much to start the talk in this town. And no one knows that better than Francesca Raffa.Once the town's rebel and favorite topic of conversation, she's returned home a responsible single mom and respectable executive. Nothing to whisper about here. That is until police chief Jack Sloan pays her a visit–or three. Suddenly the rumor mill is spinning with speculation about exactly what is going on between Francesca and Jack. Some think she's the prime suspect in a criminal investigation. And others…well, they think there's something a little more intimate happening. If the heated looks Jack sends Francesca's way are any indicator, that second group might be closer to the truth!



Francesca’s heart stopped beating
It simply plain stopped right in her chest. Jack was ignoring everything she’d told him, all the boundaries she’d set. She had no reply, nothing but that swelling feeling in her chest, a feeling of such excitement that she had to consciously remember to breathe.
“Francesca, Francesca,” Jack said in a voice that told her he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, told her he had no intention of playing by her rules. “Just because I’m under your spell doesn’t mean I’ll throw the investigation.”
Then he laughed softly, a sound that filtered through her like the warmth from the fire, and Francesca knew right then and there that she was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

Dear Reader,
Where is Bluestone Mountain? In my imagination it’s a picturesque town sandwiched between Woodstock and Bearville in the Catskill Mountains. In my heart it’s the place where I explored my imagination and learned to dream.
I was born and reared in New York City and spent my youth running back and forth between Brooklyn and the Mid-Hudson Valley. When the time came to create a whole new world…I returned to my roots.
Frankie’s Back in Town is my first title for Harlequin Superromance, and I’m thrilled to be writing stories that reflect situations and struggles most women know intimately. For Francesca, returning home means not only facing the past, but taking a few chances on the future. She rises to unexpected challenges, learns a few things about herself along the way, and finds love where she never expected. Not so different from real life, is it? Hence my new catchphrase: Ordinary women. Extraordinary romance. Sigh. Life is good.
I hope you enjoy Francesca and Jack’s love story. I love hearing from readers. Visit me at www.jeanielondon.com.
Peace and blessings,
Jeanie London

Frankie’s Back in Town
Jeanie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jeanie London writes romance because she believes in happily-ever-afters. Not the “love conquers all” kind, but the “we love each other so we can conquer anything” kind. Which is why she loves Harlequin Superromance—stories about real women tackling real life to fall in love. She makes her home in sunny Florida with her romance-hero husband, their two beautiful and talented daughters and a menagerie of strays.
A very special thanks to Wanda ;-)

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE
JACK SLOAN, CHIEF OF POLICE, set the phone back in the cradle then reached for the intercom that connected him directly to his assistant.
“The mayor’s on his way over,” he said. “Just tell him to come in when he gets here and hold my calls.”
“You got it, Chief,” the upbeat voice shot back.
Jack got up from the desk and went to stretch before the window. He had a view of a street lined by shop fronts whose colorful awnings were now indistinct beneath a leaden gray sky. Mounds of dingy snow covered the curbs and spilled over onto sidewalks of the main street that wound through town center and bisected with Route 45, the primary highway into the valley.
Once a quarry town, Bluestone Mountain was now a fair-sized community, popular with writers, artists, musicians and sports enthusiasts because it lacked the commerciality of the nearby, and more widely known, hamlets of Woodstock and Bearsville.
Even now, in the dead of winter, folks came to town to enjoy some of the best skiing around. When the ice finally melted, Bluestone would attract people from all over who wanted to enjoy a renowned Catskill summer.
A good portion of his town’s population consisted of part-timers from Manhattan—business people eager to escape the city for densely wooded hillsides and mountain-tops, sports and outdoor activities, all only a convenient few hours north.
Another portion of his town’s demographic was made up of deeply rooted locals. Well over a century ago, people had surged to the area when miners had discovered feldspathic greywacke, the rare, dark blue sandstone that made Bluestone Mountain unique, and wealthy.
Even now, when the whole Catskill region had been earmarked as part of New York’s Forest Preserve, not all the land around here was publicly owned, which made Jack’s jurisdiction an interesting mix of big- and small-town politics. A mix that had its share of plusses and minuses. A plus was the freedom to run his department the way he saw fit. A minus was being at the beck and call of the good old boy network. Some folks considered themselves the local monarchy.
Like the mayor.
Gary Trant was Bluestone homegrown—Ashokan High class of ’92, a year Jack’s senior and, also like Jack, an alumnus of the football team. Those were the kinds of ties that bound tight. Since the mayor had appointed Jack, he could pick up his phone any time and inform his police chief he’d be dropping by to discuss whatever was on his mind.
That was how things worked in Bluestone.
Fortunately, the timing was good. Jack had just returned from observing a SWAT class at the police training academy and wasn’t due to meet with the assistant chiefs of the Professional Standards Bureau for another forty-five minutes. Plenty of time if Gary didn’t get waylaid by folks who recognized the mayor’s smiling face. No question whether he’d stop and chat.
Jack didn’t have to wait long, though. He’d barely sat back at his desk to review some proposed changes to the departmental budget when the door opened and Gary strode into the room, hand extended.
“Good to see you, Jack.”
Gary Trant radiated the kind of energy and personality that played well to the media. On the football field, too. Jack knew exactly how well because he’d followed in Gary’s wake and had found the helmet a challenge to fill.
“Have a seat,” Jack said. “What’s on your mind?”
Gary didn’t sit. He only cocked a hip against the desk, folded his arms across his chest and leveled a serious gaze Jack’s way. “Heard about the trouble at Greywacke Lodge. Credit card fraud, is it?”
“We’re not sure what we’re dealing with yet.”
“I pushed hard for that senior-living community to be built. Folks get old. Made sense to bring in developers to provide facilities instead of forcing people out of Bluestone to retire. Don’t want anything to reflect poorly on that decision.”
Not with reelection around the corner and Kevin Pierce looking to step up from the town council. Pierce was already generating buzz about the town needing a change. Since the Bluestone Mountain Gazetteer was giving him ad space, Jack knew which way that wind would blow.
“I’ve got people on it,” he said. “No need to worry. You know as well as I do in this electronic climate, credit cards get stolen all the time.”
“Agreed,” Gary said. “But that’s what I wanted to talk about. Who you’ve got on the case.”
“Randy Tanner. Assigned him when Chuck Willis realized there was a problem with a routine stolen wallet report.”
“You think Randy’s the best man to put on this?”
“Randy’s the best I’ve got.”
Gary nodded. “I know. I know. No question there.”
“Then what’s your concern?”
“Randy isn’t a local, Jack. You have half a force made up of people born and bred here. Couldn’t you assign one of them?”
“How does being homegrown factor?”
Surprisingly, the answer didn’t come fast. In fact, Gary hesitated so long Jack guessed he couldn’t find any diplomatic way to say what was on his mind. Not a good sign.
“You heard that Frankie Cesarini’s back in town.”
Jack had heard all right. Frankie hadn’t been in town for twenty minutes before he’d gotten his first phone call reporting the news—from his long-ago ex-girlfriend. And Karan Kowalski Steinberg-Reece didn’t pick up the phone to call him without a reason. Not since their second year of college when he’d disappointed her by realizing his calling wasn’t law, but law enforcement. A huge difference in Karan’s book.
“I heard,” he said.
“Then you know she’s running Greywacke Lodge?”
“I also know that the man who reported the missing wallet lives there. Are you saying Frankie has something to do with my investigation?”
Gary pushed away from the desk with a sharp sigh, and Jack stared at him, waiting. Call him stupid, but he just wasn’t making the connection here.
“There’s speculation Frankie is involved with the crime.”
Now it was Jack’s turn to sigh. “Do you mind telling me how you heard there was a crime? To my knowledge Randy and Chuck haven’t even determined that yet.”
“How can you not know?”
“We have suspicion of a crime.” Jack tried not to sound impatient when Gary had sidestepped his question. “Hence the investigation. Until we determine whether or not an actual crime has been committed, we can’t determine jurisdiction. Credit card fraud goes to the Secret Service. Identity theft stays with us.”
Gary closed his eyes and groaned. “Secret Service? Jeez, Jack. That’s the last thing we need. Can’t you keep the outsiders away from this?”
Not unless he wanted to commit a crime of his own. “Don’t you think you’re putting the cart before the horse? All we have right now is an elderly man who misplaced his wallet and a string of hits on his credit report.”
“Credit card fraud, then.” Gary looked sick.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Like I said, I got my best man on it. We should know something soon.”
Gary seemed to reconsider. “Okay, the sooner the better. This is a delicate situation. I think it’ll be best handled that way. The rumor mill is already grinding.”
“About Frankie Cesarini?”
“She goes by Francesca Raffa now.”
“Married?”
Gary shook his head. “Divorced. Has a teenage daughter.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Just buzz. But don’t you think it’s awfully coincidental the town bad girl comes home and now we have a crime?”
“We don’t know that we have a crime yet, remember?” Jack sank back into his chair and rubbed his temples. “And the town bad girl, Gary? Since when do you deal in melodrama? I don’t remember Frankie ever doing anything all that bad.”
“What do you call tear-assing down Main Street on a stolen tractor?” Gary snorted.
“The tractor wasn’t stolen. Not exactly. She worked for Ray Hazzard at the farm for a summer.”
Gary’s eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. “What does that mean? She borrowed it for a joyride? She was like the Harriet Tubman of Ashokan, Jack. Every slacker in high school used to pay her to get them off property when they wanted to skip class. She knew every crack and crevice in the place and exactly who’d be monitoring the halls and when. She ran that racket for the better part of my junior year before Happy Harry finally shut her down.”
“One could call it enterprising.” Jack knew his fair share of students who’d paid big bucks for the service. “Frankie Cesarini never touched the juveniles this precinct deals with now. Curfew infractions. Skipping class. Leaving campus to smoke. I should be so lucky.” He’d take Frankie’s sort of rebellion any day compared to the middle school kids Randy Tanner brought in when they busted a meth cookhouse last week.
“You’re defending her?” Gary looked genuinely surprised.
“I’m not defending her. I didn’t know her. Hell, Gary, I wouldn’t have even known she existed if not for Karan and her cheerleading posse. They obsessed over everything Frankie did.”
Gary rolled his eyes. “You know what I’m talking about, Jack. She ran off to some third-world country with a guy two days before graduation, never to be seen or heard from again…until a few months ago. It’s no wonder people are talking.”
Folks did too much talking around Bluestone, as far as Jack was concerned. “Even if Frankie had been on the wrong road in high school, she must have cleaned up her act. Unless your developer hires felons for upper management. They must run background checks. If she’d been in any trouble—”
“My developer doesn’t hire anyone for anything. They partner with a management company who does that.”
“So Frankie works for the management company?”
“Same company Susanna has been with for years.”
Bingo. Mystery of the rumors solved. And Jack glanced at the clock, wondering if he had time to kill one henpecked patrol cop before his appointment with the assistant chiefs. He knew exactly where the rumors had started.
The cheerleader connection. Susanna Adams had been close friends with Karan since high school. If she’d mentioned to Karan that the police had come to Greywacke Lodge asking questions about the missing wallet report, then Karan would have been all over the news because of Frankie. Karan had probably called her buddies from the cheerleading squad—most were still friends—and started up the gossiping. The only way they could have known of any potential crime meant that Becca had grilled her husband, and that henpecked patrol cop had dished out enough details to satisfy his wife.
Damned small town.
“Listen, Jack.” Gary spread his hands in entreaty. “I’m not saying Frankie has done anything wrong, then or now. But I don’t like the way people are talking.”
“You’ve got that right. First and foremost, no one should know about this investigation. And I don’t like that people are placing blame. I can’t even say a crime’s been committed yet.”
If life didn’t dish up enough drama, then some folks weren’t happy unless they manufactured their own.
Frankie’s return was news to warm up a cold winter.
“High school was a long time ago, Gary. What do you know about Frankie now?”
With a frown Gary settled back against the desk. “She’s been running Greywacke Lodge since the doors opened and must be doing a decent job. I worked closely with the developer when they were putting together the deal for the property. The management company is top-notch. The investment bankers, too. I had no idea senior living was such big business.”
“Makes sense,” Jack said. “Baby boomers grow up.”
“As far as I know they’re running a first-rate community up there. Really, Jack, Frankie is the director of operations. The whole property answers to her. Including Susanna. Frankie must know what she’s doing or we’d have heard something.”
“You’d think.”
Jack tried to remember back to the “good old days,” when he, Karan, Susanna and her then-boyfriend Skip had been a frequent foursome. Susanna hadn’t seemed much for instigating gossip, but as a member of Karan’s cheerleading squad, she’d been part of a group that obsessed about Frankie.
Jack had never understood why. In fact, he really didn’t remember much more about Frankie than she’d been orphaned young and reared by her grandmother. With the obtuseness of a teen who’d been more interested in football than girl drama, he’d only listened hard enough to figure out how to shut them up.
Especially Karan. When she started to rant, she could go on for hours, working herself up so much that nothing he did could bring her down again. That much he remembered.
The good old days. A chill ran down his spine.
“All right,” Jack conceded. “I know why you don’t want to add any more fuel to the fire, but I still don’t understand your concern about Randy running the investigation.”
“I don’t want to add any more fuel. That’s the whole point. Randy’s the best you’ve got, no question, but that doesn’t change the fact he isn’t local. If people are on fire already, I don’t want to give them anything else to speculate about. If you put another detective on the case with Chuck, say Rick or Brett Tehaney, then no one can say your people didn’t cover all the bases. Rick or Brett knows the history around here. They’re not likely to miss anything.”
“Neither is Randy.” To hell with anyone who even thought his department wouldn’t run a tight investigation.
“I’m not telling you what to do, Jack. Just consider what I’m saying. Greywacke Lodge is a draw to Bluestone. Half the movers and shakers in this county have sent their old folks to live there. Kevin Pierce called my office an hour ago asking if he should be worried about his grandfather. He didn’t come out and question my integrity, but he made it loud and clear that he knew something was going on up there.”
Bull’s-eye. The real reason for this visit.
Pressure from the competition.
“I hear what you’re saying,” Jack said. “And I’ll take another look at the situation, but I can’t jeopardize an investigation—”
“I don’t want a few malcontents who can’t get their heads out of the last millennium starting up bad press about Greywacke Lodge.” Gary checked his watch. “I’ve got to go. So as long as you know you’re sitting on a powder keg here, I trust you’ll deal with it. Do me a favor, though. Keep me up on what you learn. I don’t want to be sideswiped by anyone else.”
“No problem.”
“Good luck then.”
The door had barely shut behind Gary before Jack followed.
“I’m heading over to Professional Standards,” he told his assistant, without adding that he’d be making a pit stop on the way. If he managed to restrain himself from throttling a patrol cop who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, he would at least insist on some answers from his best detective.
Chuck was off duty, but Jack found Randy working at his desk. “Where are you on the Hickman case?”
“You got ESP?” Randy leaned back in his chair and tilted the computer monitor toward Jack, who glanced at the display.
“The Federal Trade Commission. You got something.” It wasn’t a question. The FTC’s Identity Theft Data Clearinghouse ran a complaint database that catalogued identity theft victim and suspect information nationwide.
“Not yet, and let’s hope I don’t. Just got a call from one of your council members who heard we were up at Greywacke Lodge. Says his grandfather is there, and he’d appreciate it if we’d keep him up on how the investigation is going.”
Jack winced against the dull ache starting in the recesses of his head, the foreshadowing of what promised to be a headache unlikely to go away any time soon. “Kevin Pierce.”
That also wasn’t a question.
“I gave him your cell number,” Randy said with a chuckle. “But I’m guessing I better not drag my heels on this.”
Randy didn’t know the half of it.
“Don’t worry, Jack,” Randy said. “Natural for folks to worry after that grocery chain got hacked. Two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand debit card numbers. Friggin’ nightmare. I’m heading back up to the lodge. I’ve got more questions for Hickman. If this does turn out to be identity theft, I’ll walk him through the process. He’ll have to file a fraud alert because I’ll need his help to have a shot at nailing the perp.”
When Jack didn’t reply, Randy kept going.
“If he’ll give me authorization, I can get his theft-related transaction records from creditors without a subpoena, which will save me some time. We need a list of the places where he’s used his cards recently. But I’m putting a Clearinghouse Alert out first since we’re dealing with national transactions. Maybe another agency can help me fill in the blanks.”
“Sounds good,” Jack finally said. “Any clue what we’re looking at yet—credit card fraud or identity theft?”
“No. But I should know after looking at Hickman’s records. A lot will depend on who had access to his credit card.”
Precisely the problem. Jack already knew of one person who had access—the Greywacke Lodge employee who had found the missing wallet. That employee would be seen as an obvious connection to Frankie Cesarini. Throw Kevin Pierce into the mix, and this situation could become a train wreck fast.
But neither Rick nor Brett Tehaney would be effective—either at getting answers or as damage control. They were good cops without question, but neither had Randy’s experience at producing the sort of results that routinely blew open cases.
Still, Gary was right about one thing. A trusted local would go a long way to reassure folks the BMPD had the situation well in hand. A trusted, high-profile local, who could appease folks both in the cab and the caboose.
With a sigh, Jack lay across the tracks. “Randy, looks like I’ll be working this case with you.”

CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS ONLY TUESDAY, and already the piles on Francesca Raffa’s desk were so high she would need the rest of the week to dig her way to the bottom. If she took work home.
Six months had passed since she’d become director of operations at Greywacke Lodge. She oversaw the three-hundred-plus-employees who made retirement living in Hilton style grandeur a daily reality. She liked the position. But, quite honestly, her years of experience in healthcare had helped her juggle the demands of upper management so she’d had some quality of life. This move was proving a real challenge. What had she been thinking?
That, at least, was no mystery. She’d been thinking about doing what was necessary. As usual.
One of the job perks had resolved her grandmother’s living situation. After Nonna had spent her eightieth birthday rehabilitating a broken hip, it had been obvious that she couldn’t live alone anymore. Not when she’d grown so forgetful that Francesca feared her grandmother might forget to turn off the stove. Now Nonna was safely ensconced in her own apartment on-site.
Another job perk was leaving behind the big city of Phoenix for the smaller town of Bluestone Mountain, where Francesca had grown up. And a dose of small town would—hopefully—be good for her daughter, who’d taken an interesting turn after starting high school.
By the end of Gabrielle’s freshman year, the circle of friends who once competed for ranking in the National Junior Honor Society had morphed into a group of teens who competed to see who could pierce the most body parts. Gabrielle had passed her AP Algebra class by .8%.
Francesca suspected the problem had a lot to do with her ex-husband, Nicky, who’d barely made time for his daughter after the divorce. Not because he didn’t love Gabrielle, but because he was too busy sneaking around town with his girlie-girl so he wouldn’t have to answer his daughter’s questions about why their family had broken up.
Francesca hadn’t seen fit to share the grisly details. Their fifteen-year-old hadn’t needed to know that her father had thought it morally acceptable to cheat on his wife with their daughter’s teacher in the very school he worked at and their daughter attended. To Francesca’s knowledge, Gabrielle had never suspected, which she was eternally grateful for.
Thank God for small favors.
The move was both necessary and good, Francesca reminded herself. If she could survive the first year, she’d get her feet under her again. Just the way she had as a single parent. It was only a matter of time.
Time that obviously wasn’t on her side this morning because she didn’t get a chance to dive into that pile of work when her administrative assistant’s voice sounded over the intercom.
“Ms. Raffa, June just called. The BMPD is on their way up to see the Hickmans.”
Bluestone Mountain Police Department.
So they were back to the Mystery of the Reappearing Wallet. “Thanks, Yvette. I’m on my way.”
Casting a bleak glance at her desk, Francesca headed out the door. She bypassed the corridor leading from the administrative offices to the main lobby and made for a service elevator and a ride to the sixth floor, where she immediately spotted two men. They stood at the far end of the spacious hallway, where each recessed doorway was embellished with decorations that reflected both the season and the occupant.
For Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Humble of G-611 had a Victorian theme, complete with a designer topiary and a wreath of bright red hearts and sparkling angels.
Mr. and Mrs. Butterfield of G-610 had gone Western. Cutouts of cowboys with lassos had been artfully arranged with hearts and roses on a large bulletin board. The centerpiece was a glossy eight-by-ten photo of themselves in younger years astride horses.
All in all the effect made for a festive, if quirky, stroll. Francesca usually admired the creativity that went into the doorway displays. Today’s stroll was a little different.
The men in front of the Hickmans’ door seemed to swallow up the hallway. She assumed they were from the BMPD although neither wore a uniform. One wore a fashionable, and obviously expensive suit, while the other was more casually dressed in blue pants and a sport coat.
As she approached, she heard a door creak open and an elderly voice say, “Hello.”
The man in the sport coat flipped open a badge to reveal his credentials, a flash of gold that Francesca caught even from several feet away. “Are you Mrs. Bonnie Hickman?”
“Yes.”
“Detective Tanner, ma’am. And this is Chief Sloan. Is your husband at home?”
“Is this about his wallet?” Mrs. Hickman’s voice faltered. “We cancelled the report.”
“What’s that, Bonnie?” a gruff voice boomed from inside the apartment. “Are you going on about my wallet again?”
The detective peered into the doorway purposefully. “Sir, we need to ask you some questions.”
“What’s that?”
“Questions,” the detective repeated louder this time. “Chief Sloan and I need to ask you some questions about the wallet you reported missing. But first, sir, I need to see your identification.”
The door of apartment G-606 opened, and Mrs. Mason popped out her coiffed blond head and glanced curiously around. Both detective and chief gave her casual glances before turning back to the Hickmans.
Francesca strode toward the men, extending her hand.
“Hello, gentlemen. I’m Ms. Raffa, the facility director.”
The men turned to greet her, but Francesca only had eyes for the one in the expensive suit. For a protracted instant, she could only stare. Deep russet hair, an unusual color that made dark eyes seem almost black. The hard lines of a face she remembered from high school, an older version of a face no less striking today than it had been all those years ago.
Jack Sloan.
He swept a gaze over her, one of those classic law-enforcement looks that summed her up in a glance. He didn’t register any recognition, but that didn’t surprise her. She hadn’t exactly been part of his crowd back then.
When her brain finally kick-started into gear again, she connected the man in front of her with the introductions she’d overheard. Chief Sloan was a blast from a long ago past, a memory she hadn’t even realized had still been inside her brain until coming face-to-face with the grown-up version of a boy who’d been legendary in Ashokan High School.
Jack Sloan—valedictorian, quarterback, prom king and voted most likely to succeed.
And here he was, wearing an expensive suit that showcased shoulders even broader than they’d been in high school, padded as they’d usually been by football gear. He’d been gorgeous all those years ago and was no less gorgeous now. More so, if that was even possible.
It was, she decided. Definitely. He towered over her, extending his hand…. She mentally shook herself and slipped her fingers against his. “Is there anything I can help with?”
His grip was warm and strong. “We’re here to ask the Hickmans some questions.”
Jack raked his dark gaze over her again, taking in everything from the top of her head to the hand she had to remind herself to release.
She greeted the detective, relieved for the distraction, and glanced at his credentials before smiling through the open doorway. “How are you today, Mrs. Hickman? Captain?”
“Just fine, dear. I’m so glad you’re here.” Maturity had honed Mrs. Hickman’s femininity to a soft patina, and when she met Francesca’s gaze with faded blue eyes, the worry eased. “You can explain to these police what happened to Joel’s wallet.”
“We already did,” the captain said in nothing less than a dull roar as he offered the offending wallet to the detective.
“Why don’t you invite us all in?” Francesca suggested. “We can find out exactly what these gentlemen need?”
Captain Joel Hickman had once been a man who’d stood taller than six feet, evidenced by his photo in full military regalia that hung beside the door’s nameplate.
Now extreme age had bowed him until he wasn’t much taller than his wife. He gave a nod, stepped back from the doorway with a shuffling gait and held the door for his guests.
Mrs. Hickman led them into an apartment with windows that overlooked the mountain and a living room filled with family photos and mementos from love-filled lives.
Francesca stepped inside and found herself so close to Jack that she could smell his aftershave. Just the barest hint of something fresh and masculine. She eased back on her heels a bit to put some space between them, but there was barely room to move in the small foyer.
She wasn’t the only one who’d noticed their proximity. A quick glance brought her face-to-face with Jack’s dark gaze and the amusement softening the edges of his chiseled expression.
Oh, he’d noticed their proximity, all right.
And it looked as though Jack Sloan was the same charming rogue he’d always been. Not that he’d ever turned his charm her way. She hadn’t been worthy of his notice back in high school, but a girl would have had to be dead not to notice him. And everyone in Ashokan High, whether on top or bottom of the food chain, had known about Bluestone’s golden boy.
“Please make yourselves comfortable.” Mrs. Hickman finally cleared the foyer and motioned toward the sofa.
“No, thanks, ma’am.” Detective Tanner stood his ground on the edge of the living room. “Our questions won’t take long.”
“What questions?” The captain’s raised voice rebounded off the walls in the apartment’s confines. “I already told your desk sergeant the report was a mistake. I only called the police because that television program…What’s the name of that program, Bonnie?”
“Dateline, dear.”
“Dateline. Those folks had a program on identity theft. They said the only protection a person has is to file a police report. My driver’s license was inside my wallet. My Social Security card, too. So I filed a report.”
“Then your wallet turned up?” Jack asked.
The captain nodded.
Detective Tanner pulled a notepad from inside his jacket and jotted down a note. “How long was your wallet gone?”
“Less than a day. I already told the desk sergeant.”
Detective Tanner nodded. “Humor me, if you don’t mind, sir. You noticed your wallet missing right away then?”
“Of course I did. Well…” The captain narrowed his eyes, clearly reconsidering. “I didn’t actually need it until we were at the mall in Kingston. But I’m sure it was in my pocket before then.” He raised a hand that trembled slightly and motioned to the coatrack behind the detective. “I keep it in my jacket pocket right there.”
Mrs. Hickman didn’t look so sure, and both Jack and Detective Tanner appeared to notice.
“Had you used anything in your wallet during the week prior to the mall trip?” Jack asked. “Your driver’s license or a credit card maybe? Is it possible your wallet had been missing before you noticed?”
“No.” The captain shook his head emphatically.
Mrs. Hickman backed him up. “I bought peach preserves at church on Sunday. He used his check card to pay.”
Francesca knew what Jack was looking for—a time discrepancy. She’d reviewed the reports herself, but before she could think of a diplomatic way to mention that there had been one, Jack asked, “So you didn’t actually look for your wallet after you used your check card at church on Sunday until you were at the mall on Thursday?”
“That’s right.”
“The report stated you found your wallet here at the lodge on Friday, is that correct, sir?”
Another nod.
Detective Tanner scribbled a note on his pad. “Have you ever misplaced your wallet before, sir?”
That was a loaded question. Sure enough, the captain sputtered his response, bristling, and Mrs. Hickman cast a worried gaze Francesca’s way.
That was her cue. She needed to cut off this questioning before the captain got upset. He’d just completed a stint at the lodge’s nursing center, weeks of physical and occupational therapy to declare him fit enough to return to independent living after a flare-up of a heart condition. He’d been home only a few days before the wallet incident.
Accidents happened. It wasn’t easy to make peace with the physical limitations of aging. Francesca hadn’t even crossed the hump to thirty-five, and she was getting a glimmer. Those extra five pounds she was suddenly unable to starve off had made her a target for her daughter’s comments about “muffin tops.”
For this once-vital man to admit, let alone accept, that he needed help with routine daily tasks couldn’t possibly be easy. So Francesca sidled close to Jack, leaving the detective to his questioning, and whispered in a voice she hoped the captain couldn’t overhear. “He has misplaced his wallet before.”
Understanding flared in that dark gaze, and Jack lowered his own voice to a throaty whisper. “Often?”
“Just once. An employee found it.”
“You have that employee’s name?”
The warning bells in her head starting clanging. “I’ll give you a copy of the report before you go.”
“You’ll tell us who has access to this apartment?”
“Of course.” Those alarm bells were shrieking loud enough to kill off brain cells now. More was going on here than these men were sharing. A lot more.
He inclined his head then asked, “Captain, we need to know if you’ve made any trips out of state recently.”
The captain reached for his wife’s hand and muttered something Francesca couldn’t make out. Mrs. Hickman seemed to understand, though, and asked, “Detective, is my husband in some sort of trouble?”
Even Francesca found herself awaiting that answer. Neither Jack’s nor Detective Tanner’s expressions gave anything away. But Jack produced a business card. “We just had some questions that needed answers, sir. We’ll be back in touch.”
“And if you wouldn’t mind,” Detective Tanner added. “Will you make us a list of all the places you’ve used your debit and credit cards recently? Online purchases, too, if you’ve made any. Call the number on that card when you get the list together. I’ll swing by to pick it up.”
Francesca was not happy with that answer, which said nothing and everything all at once, and left a nice couple looking confused and worried.
“Ms. Raffa.” Jack turned to her.
He didn’t need to say another word. Reaching for the door, she politely refused his bid to hold it for her. She waited while both men strode through then used the moment to address the Hickmans. “Don’t worry. I’ll see what I can find out.”
She slipped into the hallway and shut the door behind her. Neither man said a word while awaiting the elevator but, once the door hissed shut and the elevator began its descent, Francesca took advantage of her captive audience.
“Frankly, gentlemen, you’ve got me worried. I can’t imagine the police department has the time or staff to investigate every reappearing wallet. I assume you’re concerned about something else.”
What other explanation could there be? True, Bluestone Mountain hadn’t grown up all that much in the sixteen years she’d been away, but she read the papers. There was enough crime in and around town to keep the police force busy.
“I’m sure you understand we can’t discuss an open investigation, Ms. Raffa.” Jack sounded cordial enough.
“Precisely the problem since the investigation had been closed the last I heard.” She wasn’t going to be sidetracked. “We outsource our personnel screening with a highly reputable firm. I’ve worked with them in the past with another management company. I need to know if you’re concerned about theft, Chief Sloan. I’m responsible for ensuring the residents’ safety.”
“Do you have reason to suspect any of your employees of dishonesty?” Jack asked.
“If I did, the party or parties in question wouldn’t be on my staff.”
The corners of his mouth twitched as if he was holding back a smile. “You have to do a lot of documenting before you can let an employee go.”
“True enough.” That thought was enough to distract her from his almost grin. Terminating an employee potentially opened up the property to a claim with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. Defending one claim cost nearly eighty person-hours in information gathering alone. Greywacke Lodge was a well-staffed facility, but administration had enough on its hands without that additional workload.
“Let me rephrase,” Detective Tanner said. “Are you in the process of documenting to terminate any of your employees for suspicion of theft?”
“No, Detective, I’m not.”
“I understand your concern,” Jack said, and something in that whiskey-warm voice assured her he did. “You have my word that if suspicion falls on any of your staff, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Thank you.”
“Will you tell us about Greywacke Lodge,” Jack asked as the elevator stopped at the first floor.
Francesca moved through the lobby, catching June’s inquisitive gaze as she circled the desk and led the way down the administrative corridor.
“What exactly would you like to know?”
“Who lives here?” The detective cast a meaningful glance around. “Looks like a hotel.”
Francesca smiled. “Greywacke Lodge is a senior-living community, upscale as far as these communities go. Seniors come to enjoy their retirement years in comfort and convenience, and we provide long-term housing and a level of assistance tailored to their individual needs.”
She filled them in on the stats of the property and the lodge’s mission to provide a healthy, successful environment. Residents were kept active under the supervision of medical, lifestyle and activities’ coordinators. The calendar was so full that Francesca had to check it daily to keep up.
“When independent living is no longer a viable option,” she explained, “we also provide assisted living in a nursing center nearby. It’s staffed to meet the more demanding needs of aging and provides rehabilitative services for our residents recovering from hospital stays.”
Detective Tanner took notes as they strolled toward her office, but Jack gave her his undivided attention. The man had a knack for making it seem as if he was hanging on to her every word. A knack that must serve him as well in local politics as it had way back when every high school teacher and coach had adored him. Was he still Bluestone Mountain’s golden boy? She wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn he was.
Striding through the reception area outside her office, Francesca instructed her administrative assistant to make copies of the missing wallet reports. Then she ushered the men into her office and offered them seats.
“The copies won’t take long,” she said.
“Thank you.” Jack smiled, nothing more than a courteous response, but somehow one polite smile reflected charm that could be wielded like a weapon.
Detective Tanner set his notepad on her desk. “Who owns this place?”
“There is no one owner,” she explained, grateful for an excuse to look away from Jack. Honestly, she might have been seventeen again. “It’s the product of a collaborative partnership of companies that specialize in senior living.”
“Their names?” Poising his pen above the notebook, he waited.
Francesca wondered if this was some sort of test. This information was a matter of public record. “Lakeland Developers, University Realty Associates, Northstar Management and Rockport Investment Banking.”
“And you’re with the management company?”
She nodded. “Northstar Management. We staff over two dozen properties around the country.”
The intercom beeped. “That’ll be the copies, gentlemen.”
Jack rose, the sleek gray lines of his suit enhancing the athleticism of the motion. Francesca wondered if the high school football star still played. Was he a coach for his kids? Did he even have kids? Just the thought of this gorgeous man reproducing with the bullying bitch he’d once dated was enough to make Francesca twitch.
“We appreciate your help, Ms. Raffa.” Jack extended his hand. “We’ll be in touch.”
Francesca had been helpful. She’d given a lot more information than she’d gotten in return. Now it was his turn to repay the favor. “What can I tell the Hickmans, Chief Sloan? They’ll be worried, and the captain really doesn’t need any stress right now.”
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Heart trouble. He spent some time in our nursing center after a hospital stay. He wasn’t home long before he misplaced his wallet.”
“Tell them not to worry. If there’s a problem we’ll advise them on how to proceed.”
Not exactly what she was hoping for, but it wasn’t her place to push. She’d leave that to the Hickmans’ daughter. So she ushered the men from her office, picked up the copies from Yvette before escorting them back to the lobby.
They exchanged polite goodbyes. Francesca waited while they got into an unmarked car. As Jack slipped into the passenger side, he glanced over his shoulder and caught her gaze. And smiled that smile.
Then he slid into the car. The door closed behind him, and the tinted windows shielded him from view. He could be staring right at her for all she knew, so Francesca stood her ground until the car pulled away, refused to give a man with law-enforcement vision the slightest indication that her heart was pounding double-time.
Honestly.
“Never a dull moment around here,” June commented drily when Francesca finally returned to the lobby.
“That’s the truth.” She shrugged off the cold. “Now it’s time to get back to work.”
But as she strode toward her office, she couldn’t stop thinking about Jack. Police chief? She’d have pegged him for a world-class surgeon or a high-powered attorney or some other similarly affluent career. He’d been A-list back in high school. His future had looked like the land of opportunity from where Francesca had been standing.
Then again, when she remembered the way he’d listened to her talk about the lodge, she wasn’t surprised he’d gone into a career that relied heavily on his people skills. Even she, in the seventh circle of social hell, hadn’t missed out on the whole Jack Sloan mystique. How such a guy had been involved with Karan Kowalski…Francesca shook off the thought, determined not to let the past impact her present. No one knew better than she did that people grew and changed. For all she knew, Jack could be married to Karan now and have six kids. But he hadn’t been wearing a wedding band.
Which meant exactly nothing, she thought stubbornly. Her ex-husband, Nicky, had taken off his ring when it had suited him, as she’d learned too late.
Jeez. What was it about a charming man that melted her from the inside out? One might think her years with Nicky Raffa would have made her immune. Apparently not.

CHAPTER THREE
THE SUN HAD GONE DOWN hours ago, but Jack was only now getting around to a workout. Not his preference, but it beat missing one for the third day in a row. He’d just left the office, which was late even for him, and he was no slouch when it came to long days. All the law-enforcement agencies in the area worked closely with the sheriff and the state troopers to keep the Catskills safe. Since crime happened around the clock, Jack had to be available the same.
But he enjoyed his job. The flexibility. And the surprises. No two days were ever alike. Every time he walked through the door or his cell phone rang, some new challenge forced him to juggle commitments with crises in the inadequate amount of time available.
Who’d come up with a twenty-four-hour day, anyway?
Left to Jack, he’d have added at least six more hours—enough for some decent shut-eye.
He wiped the sweat from his neck before moving to the bench for some barbell curls. One nice part of a night-time workout was that he practically had the gym to himself. No waiting for equipment, which was exactly why Tom Censullo, the owner of Pit Bull Gym, kept the place open 24/7. For some diehards, workouts were like crime.
“You do know that normal people are at home watching the news right now?” The familiar, but unexpected voice broke into Jack’s thoughts.
Surprised, he glanced in the direction of the sound to find his dad heading toward him. “You’re telling me you’re not normal?”
His dad tossed a towel on a nearby bench. “That’s news?”
“Maybe not.”
Shrugging, his dad propped a water bottle against the leg of the bench before sitting.
When he’d been younger, Jack had thought his father was the most conventional, and humorless, parent on the planet. Only maturity had helped him appreciate his father’s finer points.
A corporate attorney for a Fortune 500 company, Richard Sloan was as no-nonsense and traditional as his wife was avant-garde. Jack had come to think of them as big business meets the debutante. His mother and father were an unusual combination, but they complemented each other in their surprising ways.
His mother had grown up on the Upper East Side. She was the daughter of privilege who cared more for her current crusade than for what might be printed on the society page.
His dad was privileged in his own right. Bluestone Mountain royalty descended from one of the founding miners of the area. As a young man he hadn’t been able to blow out of his hometown for civilization fast enough. He’d headed to Manhattan, where he’d earned a law degree, an enviable job with a company he was still employed by some forty years later, and a wife who’d insisted they rear their only son in the Catskills’ fresh air.
His father commuted to this very day.
“Why are you here so late?” Jack asked.
“Your mother had a fundraiser tonight. She stayed in the city.”
“But you came home?”
His father rolled his eyes, a look Jack knew meant he hadn’t made the trip willingly. “Gus-Gus isn’t doing so well.”
That explained it. Gus-Gus was the patriarch of his mother’s hoard of Maltese dogs. Eighteen years old if he was a day. “Michaela couldn’t have kept an eye on him?”
“Your mother would have cancelled the whole event if she could have gotten away with it. The governor doesn’t have another free slot in her schedule for six months.”
“She didn’t want to leave Gus-Gus at Michaela’s mercy.” The family’s live-in housekeeper didn’t have the same soft spot for dogs that Jack’s mother had. “She’s afraid Michaela won’t hear him if he has trouble breathing. And if he does go downhill, she knows Michaela won’t usher him from life in the style to which he’s accustomed.”
“She trusts you?”
“I have detailed instructions.”
Maltese dogs, both old and young, were serious business in the Sloan house. His mother drove a gas-guzzling Suburban just so she could transport her dogs back and forth between Bluestone and the family apartment in the city. She’d mentioned on several occasions that Gus-Gus didn’t travel as easily as he had in his youth, so Jack knew it must have killed her to leave him behind with one paw in the grave. “If you’re on death watch, then what are you doing here?”
“He was breathing fine when I left,” his father scoffed. “Just don’t mention you saw me.”
“No problem.”
His father adjusted the pin on the weights and got down to business. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be with Jessica Mathis at the gallery opening? I thought your mother said it was tonight, which is why she didn’t ask you to babysit the dog.”
Jack supposed it was good to know she’d have trusted him. “Had to cancel. Working an investigation with Randy.”
His father gave a low whistle. “Better come up with a better reason than that. Your mother will be asking how your date went. Trust me. She likes Jessica.”
“Don’t want to hear it.”
His father chuckled. “A heads-up then because if you think your mother is ever going to back down, think again.”
“She says she wants me to be happy,” Jack said.
“You’re thirty-four, Jack, and single. She doesn’t think you can be happy.”
“Run interference for me. Remind her that she wouldn’t settle for coming in second to your job.”
His dad shook his head. “Don’t know a woman who would.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Lots of women don’t mind the trade-off. Otherwise no doctor on this planet would be married. Pastors or professional athletes, either. She’s out there. Trust me. I just haven’t found her yet.”
“So I should tell your mother to cool her jets because you’re looking for the perfect woman.”
“Yeah.”
Something about that seemed to amuse his dad, who smiled and said, “I’ll do what I can, but I’m not sure anything will work. Your mother’s biological clock is ticking.”
“What started all this up again?”
“Kelly had twins. You’d think those babies were our grandchildren with the way your mother’s been shopping. She even had a sign made for Kelly that reads Twins and Another. What a Lucky Mother!”
Jack sighed.
Kelly was a long-time family friend, a car pool buddy from elementary school. There was no way Jack could compete with Kelly’s ten-year marriage, three kids and white picket fence.
His dad knew it, too. He set the weights into place with a light clank and faced Jack. “Maybe I’ll try the doctor angle. Sacrificing yourself for the good of mankind should appeal to her.”
“Sounds noble.” Jack chuckled. “Protecting the streets is saving lives. Trust me.”
“That’s what you’re doing over at Greywacke Lodge? Saving lives?”
Jack paused midcurl and let the barbell rest on his thigh. “How’d you hear about Greywacke Lodge?”
“Your grandfather is close friends with Judge Pierce. Remember, they’re both past Grand Knights?”
“Got it.” Bluestone’s good old boy connection.
“So does your grandfather. He’s decided your investigation is another reason not to consider senior living.”
At eighty-two, Jack’s grandfather was definitely past the point where living alone was good for his health and everyone else’s stress levels. If his mother and Michaela didn’t bring food every day, the stubborn old guy would starve.
He couldn’t get out much anymore. His failing eyesight made driving unsafe even when the roads weren’t half iced over in the dead of winter. Jack squeezed in time for visits whenever he was in that part of town, but he could tell by how reluctant his grandfather was to let him leave again that those visits weren’t nearly enough.
“So what’s Granddad waiting for?” Jack asked. “You to invite him to move into your place?”
“Already did. Makes sense. At least we’d have Michaela to keep her eyes on him. It’s not like your mom or I are around enough to get in his way.”
“What’s the problem then?”
“Doesn’t want to lose his independence. If he gives up the house…” He let the thought trail off. “But from what I’m hearing about theft at Greywacke Lodge, maybe that isn’t the answer, either.”
“Theft?”
His father paused in between reps and leaned back on the bench, dragging the towel across his face. “Isn’t someone stealing the residents’ credit cards?”
“Granddad said that?”
They exchanged a glance. “Then you’re not investigating the woman who runs the place?”
Jack shook his head. “Haven’t even ruled out the card owner.”
“Oh. Your grandfather must have misunderstood. Not like that hasn’t happened before.”
“Maybe not. You’re not the first person to mention this.”
“Didn’t you go to school with the woman who runs the place, Jack?”
“Yeah. Same year, anyway.”
“So you weren’t friends? She never came over to the house?”
“No, Dad. She never came over to the house.”
His father nodded, looking relieved. Too relieved. This, to Jack’s surprise, annoyed him. A lot. A woman whose name hadn’t yet come up in this investigation shouldn’t be speeding into first place on his suspect list.
“What did Granddad say about her?”
“Not much. Just that she’d been a troublemaker, so no one’s surprised there’s trouble now she’s back. I can’t imagine your grandfather knew the girl. I assume the judge said something.”
Jack set the weights on the rack and took a moment to stretch out his upper back. He let the quiet of the gym, marked only by the rhythmic whisper and clang of the weights and his father’s controlled breathing, deflect his irritation.
“Like I said, we haven’t even ruled out the card owner yet. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep all this to yourself. This fire doesn’t need any fanning.” He leveled a meaningful gaze at his dad. “You’re getting that straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Understood.”
Good enough for Jack. He’d do his bit to knock down speculation about Frankie. A lot of years had passed since high school, and the woman he’d met didn’t strike him as a criminal. He had a good gut instinct, one he trusted.
Frankie might have been a troublemaker once, but she’d been helpful and professional when he’d been at Greywacke Lodge. He liked how she’d handled the Hickmans, clarifying details and reassuring them when they’d been unsettled. She was also unexpectedly beautiful, and he hadn’t been able to resist digging out his old high school yearbook to jog his memory.
Everyone of the class of ’93 had looked ridiculous in their senior pictures. Himself included. A rite of passage, he guessed. Frankie’s young face had been framed by fuzzy hair, the same caramel color it was now—not quite blond, not quite brown, but somewhere in between. But that was where the similarities had ended. Her gaze had been narrowed and her mouth set tight. As if she hadn’t had all that much to smile about.
But now she was full of easy smiles, courteous professional smiles for him and Randy. Warm, reassuring smiles for the Hickmans. Appreciative, friendly smiles for the assistant who’d made copies at her request.
Jack wasn’t sure why he’d noticed, except that he’d been on red alert because folks were already implicating her. Or maybe he’d been reconciling the beautiful professional with the girl who’d once sold forged hall passes.
He reached for the barbell when a cell phone rang. Jack didn’t recognize the ringtone. His father set the weights down too fast, and the resulting crash echoed through the quiet gym. He fumbled for the phone buried beneath a sweaty towel.
“I hope this isn’t the damned dog.” He snapped open the phone and said, “Hey, what’s up?”
Jack realized his mother must be on the other end when his father said, “No, he’s hanging in there, hon. Don’t worry. I’ll text you if anything changes, but it won’t. Not until you get back. Gus-Gus is tough.”
Jack couldn’t help but smile, which earned a scowl from his father. “Just enjoy the night and give my regrets to the governor. I’ll see you in the morning.”
After disconnecting the call, he dropped the phone on the bench. “I’d better not push my luck. She’ll probably call Michaela to double check.”
“I hope Gus-Gus doesn’t bite it on your watch.”
“For real.” Swinging his legs around the bench, he stood. “This was good. We should meet here more often. You hear me?”
“I hear you.” Jack factored a few more hours into his perfect day. “I’ll make time.”
“I’m serious, Jack. There’s more to life than work.”
So he’d been told. But right now all Jack could think about was work, and the woman that too many people were convinced should be his number one suspect.

CHAPTER FOUR
ONLY ELEVEN O’CLOCK AND Francesca already knew this day was on its way downhill. Forcing a smile, she slipped the neatly stacked papers back into a folder and said, “Looks like you’ve covered everything with the proposed change to the cable service provider, but I’d like to take some time to consider any hidden overhead before making a decision.”
“I’ve defined all the costs in the budget narrative,” Susanna Adams, chief financial officer, said. “I know the property is new, but now the cable company has installed this far up the mountain, they can offer us a bundled service package that will reduce our overhead considerably. They’re eager for our business and will make the hardware changes without cost to us. Switching only makes sense.”
“I just want to look at the learning curve for a new system. I’m not worried about our staff, but the residents…” She smiled. “It’s phone, TV and Internet. Some can barely work the existing system after six months of living here. I’m sure you’ll have answers to all my questions here, so I’ll make reviewing this a priority.”
“Thank you,” Susanna said politely, but there was no missing that she wasn’t happy with this.
Figuring out ways to streamline costs was part of Susanna’s job. She’d done the research and wanted to act. Francesca understood, but that didn’t change the fact that she needed to consider the effects of those changes everywhere on the property and the way maintenance could support the services. She would need a little time and a few more brain cells than she had to spare right now to consider those effects.
To Susanna’s credit, she didn’t argue, but disapproval was obvious in her brisk motions as she collected her copies and tucked them neatly away.
In any other situation, Francesca wouldn’t be mentally rationalizing her decision. But Susanna Adams had once been Susanna Griffin and Karan Kowalski’s best friend. So instead of being two professionals who’d spent the past six months learning to work together for the benefit of Greywacke Lodge, Francesca and Susanna had been dancing around the past.
Francesca was all for letting bygones be bygones. She’d come back to Bluestone fully aware the past would have to be dealt with, and she worked hard to keep an open mind and let each day be a new day. A courtesy she hoped would come back to her in time. Truth was, she’d been very impressed with Susanna’s work. But the ugliness of long-ago just wouldn’t allow them to be normal around each other.
Shoulders back, chin up. Ever forward.
A heavy silence followed them to the door of the conference room, where they found a surprise awaiting them.
“Jack.” Susanna greeted the man in the reception area with genuine pleasure.
Jack turned at the sound of his name, that smile transforming his face, proving beyond any doubt that he cared very much for Francesca’s CFO. Susanna tossed her arms around his neck, and he gave her a good-natured squeeze.
He met Francesca’s gaze over Susanna’s head and nodded a greeting before asking Susanna, “How are the kids?”
“Hanging in there, thanks.” She stepped back and gave a shrug. “Brooke’s fifteen. What else can I say?”
His laugh was throaty and low. “What about you? Are you hanging in there?”
“Yeah.” Susanna rose up on tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “And you’re a sweetheart for asking.”
Francesca guessed Jack referred to how Susanna was holding up after her husband’s death. According to her personnel file, he’d only died last year. Skip Adams had been another of the high school “in” crowd. A close friend of Jack’s, if memory served. And since their daughter was in the same grade as Gabrielle, they must have married around the same time Francesca had married Nicky.
“You wouldn’t even recognize the kids, Jack,” Susanna said.
“It’s been too long.”
“Always is.” She laughed. “No one sees you anymore. Not since you became chief.”
Francesca stood in the doorway to avoid intruding upon this blast from the past. Her high school years had been filled with similar meetings, and here she stood, many years later, still on the outside where she’d always been.
Feeling the same uncertainty. Feeling the same need to prove that being on the outside was infinitely better than being on the inside when watching Jack and Susanna really made her feel the urge to step back inside the conference room and close the door.
Francesca inhaled deeply, surprised and annoyed. She’d known what coming back to Bluestone would entail. But apparently knowing didn’t necessarily mean she’d be prepared.
She made a break for her office, but Jack’s smooth voice stopped her before she’d even reached the door.
“I was hoping for a few moments of your time, Ms. Raffa,” he said.
“Of course.” She didn’t turn around, not sure whether the heat currently suffusing her entire body was making her blush. “I’ll be in my office.”
She beat a hasty retreat to allow Jack and Susanna to finish up their visit, and closed her office door just as Susanna was promising to give Karan Jack’s regards.
Francesca hightailed it toward her desk and sank into her chair, fanning herself to disperse the effects of a hot flash that had zero to do with menopause. She was such an idiot. Why should she care that Jack hadn’t married Karan after all?
She didn’t. Not one way or the other. She’d decided after the divorce that she was putting the “woman” part of her life on hold until after Gabrielle went off to college. She had so little time—with her daughter, who was growing up so quickly, and with Nonna. Add to that her challenging new job, and there simply weren’t enough hours in the day.
Francesca was at peace with that decision. For the time being she was reveling in motherhood, making up for lost time as a granddaughter, too.
A sharp knock signaled the opening door, and Jack appeared.
“Hello again.” He motioned her to remain seated as he sank into a chair before her desk.
He raked his gaze over her, those black eyes taking in everything in a fast glance, and Francesca, idiot that she was, could suddenly feel the heat of the climate-controlled air through the sheer silk of her blouse.
“I received a message to pick up the Hickmans’ list.”
It took Francesca a moment to wrap her brain around that. “Their daughter mentioned she was coming by to help them get it together.”
He was so tall that she could still meet his gaze above the file folders that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on her desk. Edging a pile to the side as nonchalantly as possible, she cleared space between them.
“So what else can I do for you today, Jack?” she asked.
“I’m wondering if you’re having the same problem I am.”
“What’s that?”
“Too much discussion about what happened to Hickman’s wallet.”
“One of the reasons for the meeting you caught me and Susanna leaving.” She gave a dismissive wave. “It’s not really surprising considering the collective nature of our community. Who’s talking on your end?”
“The friends and relatives of your residents. Any attempts at damage control?”
“I believe wholeheartedly that a strong offense is the best defense. We’ve been reassuring residents that we’re doing our part to protect their personal information and offering them tools to protect themselves.”
“Like what?”
She motioned to a folder on top of a stack. “We feature an ongoing lecture series here on Thursdays, so Rachel, my activities director, is putting together talks about today’s electronic climate. Tips to protect against credit card fraud and identify telephone hoaxes. Stuff like that. We’re hoping to get someone in to address phishing scams, too, since a surprising number of our residents are computer literate.” She paused and took a deep breath, not sure why she sounded so breathless. “She’s working with the Identity Theft Resource Center to schedule speakers who’ll gear topics toward seniors.”
“Excellent. I can put in a mention with our crime prevention task leader. He could get someone out here.”
“Wow. That would be great. I’ll tell Rachel. Thanks.”
“No problem. Now before I go see the Hickmans, I’m hoping to get your authorization for a walk-through of your common areas. I have a list of items and I’d like to see if any turn up around here. It would save me from going to a judge for a subpoena.”
Francesca frowned, concern finally managing to wipe away every shred of her ridiculous reaction to this man. “You promised I’d be the first to know if I needed to worry about my staff. Is it time to start?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. This is just a formality.”
“Then take your walk-through. Would you like an escort?”
“If you’ll do the honors.”
She was surprised when she really shouldn’t have been. Once charming Jack Sloan, always charming Jack Sloan. “Of course.”
She didn’t waste a second, but hopped up and led him from the office, eager to escape his dark gaze. Even if only for the time it took her to get to the door.
She didn’t make it. Jack stood and withdrew a long envelope from an inside jacket pocket.
“I understand you have a vault on the property.” He unfolded the papers and closed the distance between them. “Any possibility of finding out if any of these items are in it?”
Francesca stood her ground until he was close enough for her to read his list. And inhale his aftershave. The same fresh scent she’d noticed before. But the effect dispelled fast when she saw the items on his list. “Whoa.”
“Recognize anything?”
“Can’t say I’ve noticed the captain wearing a Rolex that cost more than my Jeep.” She took a discreet step back, found a few inches between her and this man made it easier to think.
“Jack, our residents don’t normally walk around wearing their Sunday best. I can check the log but anything more won’t be possible without a subpoena, I’m afraid.”
“Good enough.”
Francesca led Jack the short distance down the hall to the vault’s anteroom. He surveyed the small room, no bigger than a standard walk-in closet with the wall vault on the far end.
“Who has access?” he asked.
“Myself. My assistant director. Susanna. Head of Security. Human Resources. That’s it.”
“What about assistants? Do you or any of your managers ever authorize support staff to handle the deposits and withdrawals?”
“Only the paperwork. Otherwise, I’d have to turn over the key and security codes. The vault runs its own security log, so I can always check who accesses.”
Moving in front of the computer, she brought up the program and entered her password. “My staff is well-versed on the protocol, Jack. We can’t offer security if we’re not willing to provide it. And, honestly, it’s not as if overseeing this vault is a full-time job. It’s only a courtesy for residents who haven’t made personal arrangements for security in their own apartments.”
“Some of the residents have their own vaults?”
“All apartment designs offer the personal security feature. Some opt for it before they move in, but it’s available as an add-on afterward, as well.”
Jack nodded and held up the list for her to read. The program had a search function, where Francesca inputted brand names of watches and descriptions of various pieces of jewelry.
No matches.
“Doesn’t look like anyone has us hanging on to any six-carat pink diamonds, either,” she said to break the silence.
Jack looked amused but didn’t get a chance to reply before his cell phone vibrated audibly.
Glancing at the display, he smiled apologetically. “I need to take this.”
Francesca only nodded, relieved for a break from him standing on top of her.
Get a grip, Francesca! Back in high school, she’d prided herself on being different from the rest of the female student body who drooled every time Jack walked down the hall. She’d thought he was drop-dead gorgeous like the rest of them, true, but as far as she was concerned, something had to be wrong with any guy who dated Karan Kowalski.
Now she had to wonder. Even if she was interested in dating—which she was not at this time of her life, thank you very much—Jack was exactly the sort of man she’d vowed to steer clear of. A charmer. And after thirteen years of marriage to a man who could make the polar ice cap melt with one smile, Francesca could spot a charmer a mile away.
Forcing her fingers to fly, she typed descriptions into the search function even faster, racing against the clock—or his phone conversation as it was.
No matches.
She wanted out of this tiny room, where Jack seemed to steal all the air.
No matches.
Finally, she entered the last one…
“I’m sorry about that, Francesca,” Jack said, flipping his phone shut and stepping back into the room.
No matches.
She smiled and hit Print. “No apology necessary.”
“Any luck?”
“Depends on your interpretation of luck. No matches, so I’d say my luck is holding. Not sure about yours.” Still not meeting his gaze, she willed the printer to produce quickly, then whisked the report off the tray before the ink was dry. “So, where are we off to next?”
“Housekeeping.” He scanned the document, not appearing in any hurry to move his broad-shouldered self out of her way. “I need to know how you work things here. Do the same staff members regularly service apartments?”
“We assign certain groups to certain quadrants to keep traffic in and out of the apartments to a minimum. Doesn’t always work as we intend, but it’s a pretty solid system.”
“I need to talk to the folks who serviced the Hickmans’ apartment during this time frame.” He finally lifted his gaze from the report and reached into his pocket for another list, which he held out for her.
One quick glance at the list and she saw the possibility for escape. “Let’s go then.”
Jack stepped aside to allow her to precede him, and Francesca resisted the urge to bolt. Leading him down the hallway, she reached for the radio that was a permanent fixture at her waist. “Kath, is Emelina in the laundry today?”
“Yes, Ms. Raffa.”
“Thanks. On my way.” She ended the connection and found Jack staring down at her.
“Do you know where everyone works around here without looking at a roster?”
There was a compliment in there. She could hear it in his deep voice, knew it would be all over his smile if she looked at him. So she didn’t look. “I oversee the scheduling.”
“And have a photographic memory, it sounds like.”
She was saved from a reply when they reached the elevator and the doors slid wide to showcase Mrs. Talbot.
The woman wore a badge with the lodge logo and her name imprinted to provide easy identification for staff and residents. And visiting police chiefs.
“Good day, Mrs. Talbot,” Jack said.
She nodded politely before asking Francesca, “You’re coming for lunch today, aren’t you? It’s Tasty Thursday.”
Francesca glanced at her watch. “Fingers crossed. I can’t promise.”
“They’re featuring my squash casserole, so do your best.” Mrs. Talbot moved along with another polite nod to Minnie Moorehead, who shuffled up aided by an electric-blue walker.
Jack reached above Francesca’s head and held the elevator door.
“More like Tasteless Thursday,” Minnie said as she stepped inside.
Francesca followed, unable to hold back a laugh. “I don’t know about tasteless. Her four-bean salad was so good Chef Kevin added it to the menu.”
Minnie made a moue of distaste. “Gave me gas.”
Francesca wasn’t sure how to respond to that but enjoyed Jack’s surprised response. Nice to know the man could be taken off guard.
To his credit, though, he didn’t miss a beat. Stepping into the elevator, he asked, “What floor, Ms. Moorehead?”
“Fourth.” She eyed him curiously. “This your man, Francesca?”
“Minnie.” Francesca warned and hurried on before Jack could introduce himself. The last thing Minnie needed was anything more interesting than Mrs. Talbot’s squash casserole to discuss over lunch. And another visit from the police chief definitely qualified. “How did you ever find a shade of lipstick to match that beautiful sweater?”
Flattered, Minnie launched into a discourse about her particular shade of Cherries in the Snow until the elevator ground to a stop on the fourth floor.
Disaster averted. Whew!
Jack held the door until Minnie was into the hallway before letting the doors slide closed again. He depressed the button for the basement.
“We’re riding the local today,” Francesca said to fill the quiet.
“An interesting ride.”
“Usually is,” she agreed.
“I’ve got a question for you, Francesca.”
“Shoot.”
“You mentioned that you’d spoken to the Hickmans’ daughter about the list. Do you always liaise for the residents?”
She shrugged. “Not always. Company policy is to notify family members whenever anything out of the ordinary comes up. Unfortunately, we can’t be everywhere at once.”
His visit to the Hickmans was a prime example. She’d barely made it upstairs in time to intervene. “If we can’t notify a family member, we try to make someone from the lodge available. We have a patient care consultant on staff for that purpose, but any one of the management staff will do.”
“It isn’t always possible?”
“Afraid not. Try though we might. This is a senior-living community. We don’t oversee every aspect of our residents’ lives. Our involvement is like our security vault—a courtesy.”
“But your company still has policy in place?”
Hmm. How could she phrase this delicately to a man who clearly wasn’t grasping the whole concept of senior living? “We deal in aging services here, Jack. Double-checking details usually works to everyone’s benefit.”
“Got it.” And something about that quirk at the corners of his mouth told her he did.
They found Emelina in the laundry, but after Jack introduced himself, she eyed the nattily dressed chief of police in horror and launched into a stream of Spanish that had Francesca scrambling to keep up.
“There’s nothing wrong, Emelina,” Francesca said. “Chief Sloan just wants to ask you a few questions.”
Jack stepped in, turned on the charm and soon had Emelina eagerly looking over his list. Anything to help out the police chief. Francesca tried not to be impressed—by the effect of his manner or his fluent Spanish. She tried to find something off-putting in the way he used his charm.
Nada.
But she did find herself distracted when he showed Emelina an entirely different list, one that itemized costly sound systems, hi-definition televisions and computer equipment.
Could all these purchases really have been made on one credit card?
Francesca was getting a really bad feeling and pretended to watch linens being fluffed, folded and tossed into carts while listening to Emelina’s replies.
No, she hadn’t seen a notebook computer in bright pink in any of the apartments she cleaned.
Maybe, she would notice a new flat screen TV since it was her job to dust it. Maybe not. TVs all looked the same since she never had time to watch them.
Yes, there was an apartment she cleaned that had an expensive-looking electronic keyboard.
Francesca knew for a fact that Mrs. Hickman had brought a keyboard as a compact replacement for the baby grand piano she’d played most of her adult life. But that keyboard had moved in with them. Long before the captain had misplaced his wallet.
This time.
Jack thanked Emelina and looked to Francesca for an escort to the next place on his list.
“The residents’ parking garage,” he said. “Would you like to grab a coat?”
“Only if you’re planning to keep me outside a while.”
“Just a walk-around.”
“Then I’ll be fine.”
Better to get this tour over with as quickly as possible rather than delay with a trip back to her office. Besides, some cold air might help clear her head. Of course, the instant Francesca got a blast of a Mid-Hudson Valley winter, she was thinking twice about her clever idea to force Jack to hurry.
She watched him scan the rows of cars on both sides of the garage and had to ask, “Did these suspicious purchases on the captain’s credit begin the first time he misplaced his wallet?”
“I’m sorry. Can’t answer that yet.”
Okay. She understood he couldn’t discuss the details of his investigation, but she didn’t like being in the dark. She tried a side-door approach. “If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can help you look.”
“A 2009 Ducati Desmosedici RR.”
Francesca stopped short. “Ducati? As in motorcycle?”
“A limited edition. Red. We’ll check with gatehouse security, but I wanted to walk through in case it was brought onto the property and not registered.”
“Jack?”
He glanced around, obviously just realizing she hadn’t kept up with him. “Francesca?”
“You’re looking for a Ducati, here? But these cars belong to residents who can still drive. There aren’t many. Trust me. Even if the captain bought a Ducati, why would he park it here?”
A frown furrowed his brow. “I have no way of knowing.”
The wind picked up, whipping her hair into her face, blowing through her hose and freezing away any reaction she once might have had to this man’s charm. Now he was just obtuse. “You met the Hickmans, Jack. These lists of yours make it sound as if you think they went on some Bonnie-and-Clyde style shopping rampage. I understand you can’t discuss the details of your investigation, I honestly do, but can’t you be a little clearer on exactly what you’re looking for?”
That black, black gaze bored into hers for a long time before he said, “Evidence linking the suspect charges to the person who made the purchases. I need to confirm whether or not Captain Hickman made these purchases before I can know if I need to keep looking at whoever has access to his credit cards.”
“Like my staff.”
“Like your staff,” he agreed.
“So we’re not talking about a little crime your department will solve quickly? We’re talking about a big messy crime that keeps my residents worrying and every red flag I have flying.”
A crime that would keep the too-charming chief of police dropping by her office whenever he had a question.
“I’m afraid we are,” he said.
“Damn.” Francesca exhaled a frigid breath. “And it’s only Thursday.”
“Tasty Thursday.” He reminded her.
She didn’t need a reminder, thank you.

CHAPTER FIVE
“HANG ON,” SUSANNA WHISPERED into her cell. “I can’t talk here.”
Hurrying from the lobby, she bypassed her office to step inside an exit stairwell. Easing the door closed, she shut out the familiar sounds of the administrative wing. The drone of the copier where Yvette was printing the latest edition of the residents’ activity calendar. The electronic hissing and beeping of the fax machine. The intermittent ringing of the switchboard. Once the door clicked shut, the silence enveloped her in a calm that she welcomed with a deep sigh.
“That’s better,” she breathed into the phone. “What’s up?”
“Dish,” Karan’s voice shot back over the receiver. “Becca told me that Chuck is off the case at your place, and Jack is on. Have you heard?”
Not even a “Hello, how’s your day?” Classic Karan. But Susanna didn’t mind. Despite Karan’s obvious quirks, she’d always been there when it counted. Like during Skip’s long battle with the non-Hodgkins lymphoma that had finally taken his life. Karan had put to work her connections with the medical community and those connections had been considerable—compliments of two ex-husbands.
“No, I hadn’t heard,” Susanna said. “But Jack has been by a few times. I assumed he was helping out.”
“A few times? And you haven’t called?”
Susanna propped the phone against her ear, reached for the handrail and began to climb in her version of a power walk. Well, power wasn’t exactly accurate, since she was wearing a business suit and practical pumps. But she might as well settle in for the long haul because Karan wasn’t going to hang up the phone until she’d been dished all the details.
If it hadn’t been twenty-six degrees outside, Susanna would have preferred to be on the par course. She’d settle for hoofing it up and down the stairs. Good exercise for her butt which, according to her daughter, was showing the effects of too much time behind a desk.
Thank you, Brooke.
“No, I didn’t call. It’s been crazy around here.”
“Susanna, we’re talking about Jack.” Karan’s tone scolded for breaking an all-important, if unspoken, rule.
Karan was always interested in Jack, regardless of who she was married to. “I was getting there. Between this place and all the nonsense going on with the police investigation, not to mention Brandon made the play-offs—”
“Stop right there, Suze. I do not want to hear your litany of excuses. Just tell me what’s going on with Jack.”
Susanna took the next few steps. “I really don’t know anything.”
“But you said he’s been by a few times.”
“He has. I saw him this morning. He asked me to give you his regards.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” She didn’t admit that she’d had to wheedle the courtesy out of him. Jack never so much as mentioned Karan’s name. Not in all the years he’d been dropping by the house to watch football with Skip. He’d moved on with his life, unlike someone else who would remain nameless.
“How does he look? I haven’t seen him since we ran into each other at Gary’s last five-hundred-a-head dinner.”
Not exactly a surprise. Karan might officially live in Bluestone, but she’d been spending more time in the city, avoiding the gritty reality of her latest marriage meltdown. “No obvious gunshot wounds.”
“Susanna!” came the exasperated reply.
Susanna snickered away from the phone’s mouthpiece then said, “I really don’t know anything else. Jack’s been by a few times. That’s all I know. Frankie doesn’t share that sort of stuff with me. Or anyone else for that matter. She’s professional. Ultra professional. I’ve told you that before.”
“Humph. I know what you’ve said, but I still have trouble believing it.”
“Hard to believe, I know, but there you have it,” Susanna agreed automatically, confirming her position on the right side of a line that had been drawn in the sand years ago. “They did tour the property together this morning, though. I overheard her assistant telling one of the other managers.”
“Really?” Karan’s interested tone reassured Susanna that all was forgiven. “A tour of the property? Wonder what they were looking for. Probably where she stashed the body.”
“Karan.” Susanna winced. “That’s awful.”
Laughter chimed over the line like silver against crystal. “Perhaps, but this is Frankie we’re talking about.”
As if that explained everything. Honestly, some days Susanna wished with all her heart she’d have listened to Skip when he’d wanted to accept the job promotion that would have taken them to Napa Valley. Then, of course, they’d have been clear across the country when he’d gotten sick, with no family or friends as a support system, alone….
“I have no clue what they were looking for,” Susanna said. “The missing wallet that started this whole fiasco turned up a week ago. That much I know for sure. But Becca told you Chuck was off the case. I find that curious.”
“Isn’t it, though? Doesn’t Jack let his minions do the grunt work nowadays?”
“Like I would know. I don’t see Jack that much anymore.” Not since Skip.
“From what I hear, no one sees him much anymore. Makes you wonder what he does with his free time, doesn’t it?”
Susanna sighed. “Not really.”
“Jack’s working this case for a reason. I know it. Unless he’s itching to get his hands dirty again.”
There was no missing the sarcasm. Karan might not admit it aloud, but she still hadn’t forgiven Jack for veering from the path she’d had mapped out for their future. And from the day she’d set her sights on Jack in the tenth grade, Karan had been mapping. She’d intended to become the wife of a high-power attorney from a Bluestone royal family that had deep ties in Manhattan society. That life would have fit her to a T.
Obviously not Jack, though. He’d surprised them all by rolling up his sleeves and diving into law enforcement. Conversely, no one had been surprised at all when Karan dumped him for the first wealthy medical student she could get her perfectly manicured nails into.
Susanna was about to tell Karan she’d keep her informed when the sounds of young laughter and loud music distracted her.
There was an activity lobby on this floor, but the music wasn’t anything she’d expected to hear for line or ballroom dancing. More like something she’d have told Brooke to turn down. Better yet, turn off. What sort of dance class happened on Thursdays? She tried to remember. The activity calendar was so busy she didn’t know how Rachel kept up.
“Hang on a sec,” she whispered to Karan, pushing the door open to get a peek of what was going on inside.
Windows spanned an entire wall, and bright afternoon sun streamed over the wide expanse of carpeted lobby where nearly four rows of residents stood in lines. It was a nice turnout, over twenty people in all, male and female, all casually dressed. Susanna expected to find Roberto, the lodge’s physical therapist and dance aficionado leading the group in the slow motion steps of some dance. Instead, a young girl stood at the front of the group, a lanky young girl wearing tight jeans, layered shirts and a nose ring.
Frankie’s daughter.
Gabrielle was a pretty girl, close in age to Brooke. But that was where the similarities ended. Everything about Gabrielle screamed “Attitude!” From the artfully arranged chunky silver jewelry to the Converse All Star sneakers that looked as though they were the ones her mother had worn twenty years ago. For all Susanna knew they were.
The music stopped abruptly, and Susanna pulled her eye away from the crack in the door, not wanting to be caught.
“Let’s try it again,” Gabrielle said. “Think superhero. Y’know a dude in tights who can leap tall buildings.”
Susanna risked another peek to see Gabrielle demonstrating a dance move vaguely reminiscent of a horizontal swan dive.
Mrs. Gunderson made a valiant attempt, a slow-motion stretch of arms with gracefully pointed fingertips.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Gabrielle said with a straight face. “You’ve got it.”
Paquita Escabar, Auntie Pippa as she liked to be called, didn’t fare so well. She was a tiny woman, who was a lot older than most people knew, and she would have landed on her face had Mr. Patrick not gallantly steadied her.
Exactly why a licensed physical therapist should be teaching this class.
Susanna opened her mouth to tell Karan she’d call back as Mrs. McIlhenny stopped her attempts at the dance moves and waved her in. “Susanna. Come in. The girls are teaching us the Soulja Boy.”
The girls? Susanna stepped inside the lobby, and sure enough another girl was working the boom box and demonstrating the same dance move…Brooke.
“Got to run,” Susanna said and snapped the phone shut.
“Hi, everyone.” Shoving the phone in her pocket, she made her entrance. “So what’s going on?”
A chorus of replies came from the group, but they barely registered as Susanna glanced at the girls. Gabrielle cocked a hip against the windowsill, folded her arms over her chest and bristled with attitude. Brooke, on the other hand, looked as if she wished the floor would open wide and swallow her whole.
“What do you think of our featured instructors?” Roberto strode in from the direction of the elevators.
“Interesting.” Susanna forced a smile.
“They’re wonderful,” Auntie Pippa said. “Thank you so much, young ladies.”
“They promised to come back next week,” Mrs. McIlhenny added, glancing at Roberto for approval.
Like the girls would have had a chance to say no with this group. Roberto graciously smiled. “The Soulja Boy, hmm?”
“I don’t polka,” Gabrielle issued deadpan.
“We’ve had it with Lawrence Welk,” Mr. Shaw said. “You need to keep it lively or we’ll all drop dead right here.”
Roberto spread his hands in good-natured entreaty. “No arguing with that. How about you, Brooke? Are you in for another session next week?”
Brooke glanced at her mother uncertainly, but Susanna left her to make her own bed. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
Smart kid.
Undeterred, Gabrielle instructed the group, “You keep on practicing that superhero move, okay? You’ll get it and we’ll put it all together.”
“That we can do,” Roberto agreed. “We’ll work on it.”
“Well, have fun, everyone.” Susanna circled the group and attached herself to her daughter for an escort downstairs.
Brooke headed for the elevator behind Gabrielle, but Susanna steered her to the exit door instead.
“The stairs?” Brooke winced. She’d be a captive audience in privacy.
Susanna just opened the door and, once inside, demanded, “You’re supposed to come to my office after school. What was this all about?”
All the previous uncertainty vanished. “Nothing. I just saw Gabrielle going upstairs.”
“So you followed her?”
That one question effectively ended the conversation. Her daughter shut down in the blink of an eye, expression going blank, gaze hardening, and her entire body tensing for the fight. Susanna knew the drill. Brooke was going to stonewall her, likely for days.

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