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Colton's Secret Investigation
Justine Davis


She must hunt down a killer…and her past! Deputy Daria Bloom must hunt down a deadly murderer…whilst conducting a covert investigation into her own past. When FBI agent Stefan Roberts joins the hunt for the killer, Daria must confront a whole new problem—an indelible attraction to her colleague…







As she digs into her history

Her own future hangs in the balance

Deputy Daria Bloom is conducting a covert investigation into her past. At the same time, she and FBI agent Stefan Roberts are closing in on the deadly Avalanche Killer. When sparks fly between Daria and Stefan, their mutual attraction soon complicates their manhunt. With two cases to crack, Daria must find her own killer truths within.


JUSTINE DAVIS lives on Puget Sound in Washington State, watching big ships and the occasional submarine go by and sharing the neighbourhood with assorted wildlife, including a pair of bald eagles, deer, a bear or two and a tailless raccoon. In the few hours when she’s not planning, plotting or writing her next book, her favourite things are photography, knitting her way through a huge yarn stash and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

Connect with Justine on her website, justinedavis.com (http://www.justinedavis.com), at Twitter.com/justine_d_davis (http://Twitter.com/justine_d_davis) or on Facebook at Facebook.com/justinedaredavis (http://Facebook.com/justinedaredavis)


Also by Justine Davis (#u5f51bccf-d5ab-5f0a-8b51-bb5bb42cab90)

Operation Midnight

Operation Reunion

Operation Blind Date Operation

Unleashed

Operation Power Play Operation

Homecoming Operation Soldier

Next Door Operation Alpha

Operation Notorious

Operation Hero’s Watch

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Colton’s Secret Investigation

Justine Davis






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


ISBN: 978-1-474-09452-8

COLTON’S SECRET INVESTIGATION

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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




Note to Readers (#u5f51bccf-d5ab-5f0a-8b51-bb5bb42cab90)


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Contents

Cover (#u93624105-cc44-51fd-9b40-6c37d4ba6a35)

Back Cover Text (#u36c5a8ec-8d31-59b0-88c2-f7631fc3872c)

About the Author (#ud1196c99-54b1-500e-9d7b-8fda2e539bae)

Booklist (#u39191729-b787-59d4-ac8d-afadf50664cb)

Title Page (#u5e197fd2-e0d9-5034-8fdc-9cb45f5795b4)

Copyright (#u2afe361f-6a16-502c-ae59-84e65493c2d8)

Note to Readers

Chapter 1 (#u29ae6947-1d3b-567b-84cd-19b969405855)

Chapter 2 (#u066eaef1-6cfe-5958-85d6-08a5b3144108)

Chapter 3 (#u9af3dd4a-fb6f-52e9-b007-3afdd93fdc35)

Chapter 4 (#u81ddccc6-51e1-5452-bac5-fbbffea491cd)

Chapter 5 (#uecb5e774-4061-5b6e-bc59-5f8e933fbfaa)

Chapter 6 (#u4d4cd535-10d9-548b-b13f-76000c9ef43f)

Chapter 7 (#u96cf5575-eac5-5544-9cc9-23ff1a576644)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter 1 (#u5f51bccf-d5ab-5f0a-8b51-bb5bb42cab90)


She’d only capped off a few rounds, but Deputy Daria Bloom already knew her range score was going to suck. But she kept firing.

Fire.

A new missing girl.

Fire.

Bodies. Too many.

Fire.

Idiot media nicknames for monsters.

Fire.

Blue Eyes.

Fire.

Deputy Gates.

Fire.

Her mother.

Fire.

Stefan.

Fire. Fire. Fire.

She set down the Glock 19, still undecided whether the purchase had been worth it. She preferred her Springfield XD(M) because it fit her hands better. Her boss cut her some slack and let her carry the XD(M), since with it she was the best shot in the department. But the Glock was the official weapon of the sheriff’s office, and so she had to qualify with it, as well.

At the thought of her boss, she would have fired another round if she hadn’t already emptied the magazine. What if Trey Colton lost the election that was less than a week away now? She couldn’t imagine working for someone else. Not to mention that if he didn’t win, it would be so egregiously unfair. He was the best sheriff this county had ever had. But there was a serial killer still on the loose nearly ten months after the first body had been found, and the outcry was mounting. And while it was hardly Trey’s fault, he was the public face of the department, so all the blowback hit him.

Daria pushed the button that brought the target silhouette back to her. She studied the pattern of holes. It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared, but it wasn’t pretty. She’d visited the ten ring a time or two, but otherwise she’d been wide and high. She smothered a sigh.

For a moment she went through the postshooting routine, focusing on every step as if she’d never done it before. She knew she was trying to stop thinking about everything that had crowded into her mind, throwing off her concentration. Her frustration about this case was uppermost, but a certain FBI agent was nearing the top of the list, as well.

And to think she’d been pleased when Trey had selected her to be the local liaison with the Bureau. But that was before she’d laid eyes on Stefan Roberts. In all his tall, broad-shouldered, hard-muscled glory. She’d never really thought of herself as a woman who would go for a younger man, but that guy would give any breathing woman pause. In a twisted sort of way that made her not particularly happy with herself, she was glad his domestic situation was a mess, because it had enabled her to get over the initial shock of this gorgeous creature and put him where he belonged.

In the “not interested in” category.

And yet in the three months they had been collaborating together, the man had turned her carefully controlled life upside down. He was as fiercely dedicated to this case as she was, and that made working with him easier than it could have been. He had also done what she’d been trying unsuccessfully to do for years—he’d unraveled the sad conclusion to her mother’s story. She now had the history of Ava Bloom and knew the bravery her mother had shown. Thanks to Stefan.

He had done it as a favor to her. Without hesitation. And she couldn’t describe how that had made her feel.

“Well, you qualified, but barely.”

“I’m not done yet,” Daria told the range master, who had appeared behind her. The man smiled at her. For a rather crusty old guy, Ray Ingersol could be nice sometimes.

“And with those words, wars are won,” he said.

She smiled back at that. “I feel as if I’m in a war,” she admitted.

“Awful stuff going on. Awful stuff.”

She couldn’t argue that. With a fresh target and a new magazine, she shut everything else out of her mind and imagined having this ruthless Avalanche Killer in her sights. And this time when the target came back, there were four holes in the ten ring—three small individual holes, and one big ragged one.

Ray gave a low whistle. “Eight through the same hole? That’s some fine shooting, Deputy Bloom. I’m guessing you’ll be wanting that one turned in as your qualifying score?”

“Turn them both in,” she said as she gathered up her brass.

Ray’s smile widened, and he gave her an approving nod. “Honesty. I like that. It’s in short supply these days.”

“Sadly true.”

“Any closer on finding that maniac?”

“I think the official phrase is ‘the investigation is ongoing.’”

Ray snorted inelegantly.

“My sentiments exactly,” she agreed.

And she meant it. This case was beyond frustrating, for so many reasons. The obvious, of course—a deranged serial killer was destroying a town, both emotionally and economically, and here she was nearly a year later with no resolution—but also she felt as if she was letting Trey down. The sheriff had trusted her to get the job done when he’d had to recuse himself because the first suspect’s body had been found on his cousin Wyatt’s ranch, and there’d been an uproar about the Coltons getting preferential treatment. Which only made the load heavier, given her own personal history—which she had kept secret.

And then there was her gut certainty that Sabrina Gilford had not been a victim of their serial killer, which was just the cherry on top of this swirling mix. It was enough to give her nightmares, and in fact on occasion had.

Straighten up, girl—you didn’t get to where you are by quitting. Whoever, wherever this killer is, he’s going down, and you’re going to do it.






If he hadn’t gone for the shaved head look some time ago, Stefan Roberts figured he’d be tearing his hair out about now.

“I won’t go! I don’t like it here. I don’t like you!”

He stared at the five-year-old who was his son, standing there glaring at him with his arms crossed firmly across his small chest. He weighed his options. He could spend some more time trying to talk the child into going to school without a fuss. Except he was already running late for work. He could leave it for Mrs. Crane, the sitter he’d hired, to handle. But that seemed…cowardly somehow. He could pick the kid up and carry him out to the car. And maybe stuff him in the trunk? That’d go over well.

He sucked in a deep breath and fought for calm. Blowing up at his son would do no good at all, he was sure. He’d snapped at him a few times when he’d hit the end of his patience, and the boy had just closed off further.

“Look, Samuel, I know this wasn’t your idea. You didn’t want this. But we’re here—we’re stuck with each other. Can’t you make the best of it?”

The glare only intensified. So once more, he’d apparently said the wrong thing. And his already frayed temper lost another thread. When he spoke it was with the rigidness of an anger barely held at bay.

“That’s enough. You’re going to school, Samuel. How you go is up to you.”

Something shifted in the boy’s dark eyes, so like his mother’s. Something that was there and gone so quickly it was hard to pin a name on it. Had he been at work, he would have immediately registered it as fear, but he didn’t want to believe his son was afraid of him. The massive changes in his life, sure. But him? He didn’t like that idea at all.

But right now, he just had to get the boy out the door and to school. Mrs. Crane would see to him when school was out. He would have to talk to her, see if she had any ideas on how to deal with the rotten attitude Samuel seemed to have arrived with. But he didn’t have time now. He had to get to work. Daria would be wondering where the hell he was. And he didn’t want Daria Bloom mad at him.

Might be safer if she was.

He barely acknowledged the wayward thought. He was used to them by now. That day three months ago when he’d first walked into the sheriff’s office and seen the deputy assigned to the case, he’d known this wasn’t going to be routine. Working every day, in close proximity, to that? He’d known the first moment she turned those wide, beautiful, golden-brown eyes on him assessingly that this woman could be trouble. There wasn’t a damned thing about her he didn’t like, from the way that short, sleek haircut of hers bared the nape of her neck when she bent her head, to the way she moved, like a dancer he’d seen once back in Chicago.

Then again, he’d learned his lesson well; he’d been hot for Leah, too, and look how that had turned out. She hadn’t had whatever it took to be married to an FBI agent, if that even existed. She’d been excited at first, but then the reality of long hours away and the stringent dedication that the job necessitated had settled in. When she’d gotten pregnant with Samuel, things had improved a little, but it hadn’t lasted. By then she had bigger, grander plans for her future than being married to him.

And then it had fallen apart, and the son he loved so much had become a part-time presence in his life. He hated the fact, but between his work hours, Leah’s lack of cooperation, and then his transfer, that’s what had happened.

He shook off the thoughts; he needed to focus on the immediate issue, which was getting Samuel to school. In the end it took bribery—the promise of an extra bit of video-game time—but Stefan counted it as a win. At least the kid’s favorite game was a fantasy instead of just blowing stuff up or shooting people. And as he finally headed off to work, he found himself smiling wryly that that was the most optimistic thing he could think of just now.

He called the field office to check in. It was a formality, since he’d been allocated to this case full-time until it was resolved. When he got to the sheriff’s office and found Daria had not yet arrived, he felt a tiny bit of annoyance mixed with relief.

“She’s at the range,” the perky secretary they’d been assigned told him. Then, in a tone of confidentiality, she added, “She’s the best shot in the department, you know. Some of the guys won’t admit that, but she’s outscored all of them at one time or another.”

“Good to know,” Stefan said drolly. “I’ll try not to make her shooting mad at me.” He was only half kidding. There was something about Daria Bloom that made him think she was not a woman to be crossed.

“Oh, she’d never shoot at you. That’d be like shooting at one of the local scenic wonders.”

Stefan blinked. Was she flirting with him? She was, what, maybe twenty? He suddenly felt old.

“Now you’re a scenic wonder?”

He nearly groaned aloud as the voice came from behind him. A voice he recognized too well, since the husky timbre of it sent the craziest tingle over his skin. But he put on his best unaffected grin as he turned to see the woman in question approaching.

“So’s Denver International,” he said, referring to the jaw-dropping airport structure voted the ugliest building in the state by half the population, the most beautiful by the other half. And to his inward delight, she laughed. It was rare enough with all the pressure on her right now that she even smiled, so he counted this as a win.

“Sorry I’m late. I needed to clean both weapons, so it took longer.”

“Gotta keep the tools clean,” he agreed. “I was running behind myself.”

“Problem?”

“Only personal,” he said with a slight grimace. She let it go without asking, and he appreciated that. He appreciated a lot about Daria.

She confirmed with the secretary, who was watching them with a little too much interest, that there were no messages she hadn’t already gotten. They were turning to go to the office assigned solely to this case when the door behind them opened and Sheriff Trey Colton stepped through.

Trey was about Stefan’s own height and had a no-nonsense air about him that Stefan liked. He was also, as far as Stefan could see, a fine sheriff. By the book and honorable and, up until this Avalanche Killer mess, nothing had happened to mar his stellar record. As the first African American to be elected sheriff, not to mention one of the youngest people ever to hold the office, he was clearly determined to keep it that way. And Stefan was glad to help. He’d had his own dragons to slay on his way to where he was now, so he could relate.

They gave him an update, not that there was much to report. Trey restated his complete faith in them, which made Stefan even more determined, and with a barely concealed grimace the sheriff went off to deal with today’s round of media chaos.

Better him than me.

“He’s actually much happier lately,” Daria murmured as they said goodbye and headed down the hall.

“No thanks to us,” Stefan muttered.

“I know. Or the election campaign,” she added.

“I registered just so I could vote for him.” He’d only been in Colorado for a couple of years, so there hadn’t been a major election since his arrival.

“That’s good of you,” she said, sounding like she meant it.

“He’s a good guy. I admire and respect him and the job he’s done. And I’m glad if he’s happier.”

“Thank Aisha for that,” Daria confided as they went into what they’d begun to call the Avalanche office. “Now that’s a true love match.”

“Not something I’d know much about,” he grumbled, then regretted letting the words out.

“It’s pretty obvious with them, isn’t it? Besides, I happen to know she’s loved him for years.”

“She has?”

“Since they were kids in grade school.”

Stefan’s brow furrowed. “But they’re only getting together now?” The couple had become engaged about the time he and Daria had begun to work together on this case.

“She didn’t think he loved her, and she wasn’t going to settle for less. So she made him prove he meant it. He had to make the first move.”

She said it so approvingly even he couldn’t miss it. “Obviously you agree with that.”

“Yes. Completely. She had to be sure he felt the same.”

He studied her for a moment. Told himself it not only wasn’t his business, he didn’t want to know. Because knowing more about this woman had so far only drawn him in deeper, and that spelled trouble. But the next thing he knew he was asking, anyway.

“Personal experience?” She gave him a sharp look. He put up his hands and remembered his earlier thought that this was not a woman to be crossed. “You just sounded so…positive.”

Her expression changed to something more…he wasn’t sure what. Damn, Daria was hard to figure out. “You really want to open those doors, mine and yours?”

Well, that was plain enough; if she talked about her past, she was going to ask about his. Fine with him—the bare bones of his situation were common enough, and he had it down to a sound bite. “Mine’s easy. Married, she couldn’t handle my job, divorced.”

“I notice you left out the most important part.”

He grimaced, wishing he’d never started this. “Love? I thought so. Not sure about her.”

She studied him for a long moment before she said softly, “I meant your son.”

He was glad his skin was dark enough she couldn’t see what would be, judging from the heat he felt, a flaming blush. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d blushed. Maybe in the academy over a decade ago, when he’d missed a clue so obvious he’d felt humiliated.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Never mind. You’re right. Don’t open those doors.”




Chapter 2 (#u5f51bccf-d5ab-5f0a-8b51-bb5bb42cab90)


Unlike at the shooting range, there was only one reason Daria was having trouble focusing on the matter at hand right now, and his name was Stefan Roberts. He’d clammed up completely the moment she’d mentioned his son. And that bothered her.

She knew Stefan’s son had just recently come to live with him full-time, but other than that he never spoke of young Samuel other than to say they’d had very little contact since the divorce and what there had been hadn’t gone well. Most parents she knew were happy to talk endlessly about their kids. Her friend Fiona, with three boys, could go on forever. Yet Stefan never mentioned doing anything with the boy, or his interests, or even his existence. So she sensed things were not going well on that front.

As if this case isn’t enough of a distraction, imagine trying to deal with it with a five-year-old at home.

She resolved to cut him some slack as they dived back into the case.

“This room,” he said rather sourly as they closed the door on the office, “is starting to look like the lair of a lunatic.”

She looked around at the whiteboards they’d wheeled in, covered now with photographs and names and locations and details, with a single, long timeline spanning them all. Those had been Stefan’s idea—he said he’d always been able to work better with as much of the case as possible right in front of him all the time. She’d found it worked well for her, too.

“I can’t argue that,” she agreed. Nor could she argue the fact that his deep, rumbly voice did crazy things to her insides. Which made no sense at all.

“Worked a serial killer case in Rockford once. He had a room in his house that looked a lot like this. Only thing missing is the spiderweb of string he had pinned up, making up his elaborate conspiracy connections.”

“Hmm,” she said, looking from board to board.

“What?”

“Just wondering if a ball of yarn might help.”

He laughed. He really did have a nice laugh to go with that deep, rumbly, sexy voice. And the rare grin that flashed with it was…well, breathtaking. “You got one around?”

“Not here,” she said. “I have a stash at home.”

He lifted a brow at her. “You hoard yarn?”

She put on her best snooty voice. “It’s not hoarding, Agent Roberts. It’s therapy.”

He gave another chuckle. “What do you do with it?”

“Knit.” He blinked. “And before you say anything derogatory, keep in mind knitting involves two very pointy tools.”

“I just…never pictured you as the knitting type.”

“What you don’t want to picture is me without it. Other people count to ten to hold on to their temper. I count stitches.”

“Point taken. Er, no pun intended.”

“Too bad,” she retorted. “It would have been a good one.”

And suddenly they were both laughing. And it was the most amazing feeling she’d had in a long time. That they could laugh amid what was going on was probably a bit macabre, but she couldn’t deny it felt good.

“Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”

“Me, too. So, shall we get back on the merry-go-round?”

As had become habit now, they went through it all again. They’d done it so often they both had every step of the investigation practically committed to memory. But this was her first case anywhere near this magnitude, and Daria was determined to justify Trey’s faith in her.

They went over what little they had on the newest missing girl. They knew little except that she was from Denver, had been gone a week longer than expected and resembled the other victims. It wasn’t even certain yet that she was a victim of their quarry. But the resemblance was there, so they factored her in, although as of now she was in the category of “possible.”

Others were searching for her as an active missing person, and Daria sent up an earnest hope that she was found alive—and not simply because another victim would ratchet up the pressure on them.

“Blue Eyes,” Stefan muttered when they finally reached the newest bit of information they had.

“Helpful, huh?” Daria deadpanned.

“More than we had before,” he said. He turned to the laptop that was now booted up on the table in the center of the room. He tapped a couple of keys, and the recording she’d heard at least a dozen times played again. She listened to Lucy Reese, aka Bianca Rouge, tell her friend Candace—who had unexpectedly turned out to be the mother of the baby left on Fox Colton’s doorstep—that her date had passed out drunk, so she was down in the hotel bar and had connected with an older guy who was “still hot.” She had cheerfully referred to him as Blue Eyes and ended with a promise to see Candace later.

A promise she had been unable to keep.

It still gave her chills to listen to that rather ordinary message, given in such normal, even happy tones, by a woman who would soon be dead.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” she said.

“Used to what?”

Sighing, she looked at Stefan. “Hearing her sound so happy and chipper. It’s still distressing to listen to, knowing what happened to her.”

“Don’t ever get used to it,” Stefan said quietly. “If you ever get to the point where you can hear that, knowing, and not be distressed, it’s time to walk away.”

She hadn’t expected that. Sometimes this man surprised her. There were depths to Stefan Roberts that he kept hidden. It occurred to her to wonder if that might be part of the problem with his son, if he kept his feelings so masked the boy didn’t know how he felt, but she quickly pushed the thought away. It was, she reminded herself again, not her business.

An hour later they exchanged a glance, and both sighed at the same moment. He gave a low chuckle. “No sense putting it off any longer.”

“Agreed. Frame by frame this time?”

He nodded. He adjusted the settings on the video player on the laptop while she grabbed the remote and turned on the flat screen. This was going to take hours upon hours, she knew, going through all relevant feeds and angles of the security video from the hotel one frame at a time, but they’d so far been unable to find anything at all, even in slow motion, and this was their last shot.

“What do you want to start with?” he asked.

“The elevator lobby,” she said. “We know Bianca at least was upstairs first.”

He nodded and called up the video. It was already at the point where they had spotted Bianca coming out of elevator two. The timing coordinated with the message she’d left Candace, which was how they’d located this moment when she had come out of the elevator after leaving her drunken, passed-out client up on the third floor.

It was slow work. By utilizing some facial recognition software Stefan had access to, they had managed to track Bianca from the elevator across the lobby. Daria felt like calling her Lucy, because that’s who she really wanted to get justice for, the girl she’d once been who had found her way into this life for reasons they hadn’t yet uncovered.

Bianca had been headed in the general direction of the bar off the main lobby, but as far as they had been able to tell, she had not appeared in any video of the bar itself. So they now set themselves to going second by second, looking at every figure in the busy lobby, as far into the background of the video as they could see. They made notes of clothing to compare with other shots, anything that looked even vaguely similar to what Bianca had been wearing.

They studied any exchanges between men and women, taking notes again on clothing and any other distinguishing characteristics, on the theory that any man in the lobby could have been the one she connected with, and that he might have tried to pick up another woman before Bianca. And just because her message to Candace had mentioned the bar didn’t necessarily mean she’d met him in there.

She and Stefan had spoken little, but she’d found it interesting. Since they couldn’t see eye color on the videos, they’d given up trying to eliminate on that basis. Especially after, when she wearily suggested they just look at blonds for a while, Stefan smiled wryly and said, “I’ve got a cousin who’s darker than I am and has the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.”

“I was kidding,” Daria said. “But I’ll bet your cousin is striking.”

“She’s gorgeous.”

Well, that doesn’t seem fair. Two of them in the same family? She yanked herself back to the matter at hand, although her next thought grew right out of that.

“That brings up the other issue,” she said.

“You mean her description of the guy?”

Daria nodded. Bianca had referred to the man she was meeting as handsome. They’d each pointed out men in videos to look more closely at, but after a couple of startled looks at each other over their selections, they laughed again.

“I defer to your female judgment,” Stefan said with a grimace. “Obviously I have no clue.”

“Different things are attractive to different women,” she replied. “But I’m not sure that applies in Bianca’s case. For her…job, she’d be looking for the ones who perhaps couldn’t get any woman in the room with a look.”

“You mean not the glamour guys, the movie-star types?”

“I mean,” she said, risking a grin at him, “guys who don’t look like you.”

He looked taken aback. She knew it couldn’t be at her assessment of his looks—after all, the guy had to look in a mirror now and then. He had to know he was way beyond handsome. Was it that she dared to tease him?

She shrugged. “I figured we’d been working together long enough now I could rib you a little. Sorry if I was out of line.”

“I…no. I just didn’t think you…thought that.”

It was her turn to blink. “What, you didn’t think I noticed? I’m not blind, Roberts.”

He looked at her for a long, silent moment. Let his gaze slide from her head to her toes. “Neither am I,” he said softly.

And that quickly he turned it around on her. Daria’s breath jammed up in her throat. She knew she could clean up nice, and when she took the time and trouble in, say, formal wear, she was attractive enough. But on duty she was all business. She’d set her course when she’d first been hired on here four years ago, and any guy who tried to flirt with her on the job was quickly chilled by her lack of response.

She had, with some nudging from Trey, gone out a few times with one of his closest friends, fellow deputy Keith Parker. Dates that were perfectly nice but utterly lacking in chemistry. And they had both quickly agreed they were much better off as friends, especially since they had to work together.

Which did not explain why she’d said what she’d did just now. It couldn’t be simply that Stefan was from outside the department. Or that he was quite possibly the most luscious male she’d encountered in a long time, let alone spent any appreciable time with. Could it?

Since she had no answers, and couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t get her in deeper, she simply went back to work.

On and on they went. Finding nothing. Only when her back began to ache—a rare occurrence for her, since she was determinedly in tip-top shape—did Daria finally glance at the time.

“Whoa,” she said, startled.

Stefan, who had been as intent on the task as she, looked up from the screen. She guessed, by the way he blinked, then rubbed at his eyes, that they were as dry and weary as hers were.

“It’s after eight,” she said.

He blinked again, and apparently as disbelieving as she had been, glanced at his watch.

“Damn. I’ve got to make a call.”

“And I’ve got to answer a call,” she said. “I’ll be in the ladies’.”

Her way of putting it earned her another brief flash of that grin. But when she came back, there was no sign of the amused man she’d left.

“Problem?” she asked.

“Yeah. Look, I know we’ve got a long way to go yet on this stuff, but…my sitter has to leave. And I can’t leave Samuel alone.”

“I should think not,” Daria said, imagining all the trouble a five-year-old could get into left to his own devices. “So…you want to call it a night?”

“No, I don’t, not when we’ve got so much more to get through. But…look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ve got a setup like this in my home office. It wouldn’t take much to pick up right where we left off there.”

Warning bells went off in Daria’s head. No way did she want to be in a nice, homey environment with this man. But as she looked at him—once she managed to stop dwelling on his strong jaw, broad shoulders and narrow hips—she realized he was more than a little frazzled. He would likely be so worried about his boy that he wouldn’t be thinking about…what she was thinking about. And couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

Just because you think he’s the hottest thing that’s ever walked these mountains doesn’t mean he feels the same about you, idiot. And even if he did, it would not only be inappropriate, it would be downright stupid. For you, anyway.

“Fine,” she said abruptly. “I’d like to finish this tonight.”

“Thanks,” he said, and it sounded so heartfelt she felt even sillier for her own thoughts.

And she shoved them back into that “not interested” box.




Chapter 3 (#u5f51bccf-d5ab-5f0a-8b51-bb5bb42cab90)


Mrs. Crane couldn’t leave fast enough. After a quick report that Samuel had refused to eat dinner or quit playing his video game or go to bed, she was gone. Stefan noticed Daria looking around the house with interest, but he couldn’t read her reaction to his place in her expression. He wasn’t sure if maybe he should be glad of that.

But right now he shouldn’t be thinking about that. He shouldn’t be thinking about Daria at all, but about the rebellious kid who had landed on him. He walked over to where the boy was indeed glued to his video controller, his eyes on the screen. He didn’t even look up when Stefan came in. And not for the first time, Stefan thought he should never have hooked the system up to the big TV. He’d foolishly thought of it as a peace offering.

He walked over to the couch. “Way past your bedtime.”

The boy didn’t even look up from his game.

“Come on, Samuel. Shut it down.”

Again the boy ignored him.

“He’s almost to the big castle. He can’t stop now.” Stefan turned to stare at Daria. Even Samuel looked up, startled. “Watch out, there’s a zombie!” she warned the boy, who quickly went back to the game, and with a couple of button presses, the stiffly walking, sickly-green creature was gone.

“Nicely done,” Daria said. “Now, when you get to the castle wall, it’s time to come have something to eat before bed. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Samuel said, focused on the game but still responding.

And to Stefan’s shock, when the game seemed to pause at the foot of a soaring stone wall, Samuel closed it and put down the controller.

“Have you encountered the dragon yet?” Daria asked the boy conversationally as they walked toward the kitchen. Stefan followed, suddenly feeling like a bystander in his own house.

“Not yet,” Samuel said.

“Ohhhh, you wiiill,” she said in an over-the-top creepy voice that made Samuel laugh. Stefan was gaping now; he hadn’t seen his son laugh since he’d been here.

Then the boy looked at her curiously. “Who are you?”

“My name is Daria. I’m working with your dad for a while.”

The boy’s expression changed, became something wary. “Oh.”

“You don’t like that,” Daria said. “Why?”

“My mom worked with someone. An’ he doesn’t like me. So she sent me away. Now I’m stuck here.”

Daria glanced at Stefan, and he felt his jaw tighten involuntarily.

“Well, I like you, so no problem,” she said to Samuel cheerfully. “What do you want to eat?”

The wariness faded from the boy’s expression. And Stefan had the niggling thought that he should be paying attention.

“I don’t know,” Samuel said. “There’s never anything good here.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“It’s all this fancy stuff.”

“Not even a good burger, huh?” Daria sympathized.

“No.”

“Maybe we should just look and see if there’s anything we can make edible.”

“What’s edi—ed…what you said?”

“It means you can eat it without gagging,” she said in a loud whisper.

And again the boy laughed. Stefan gave a slow, wondering shake of his head. I should definitely be paying attention here. How does she do that?

Daria was looking at him questioningly. He realized she was seeking some reaction from him, probably to her taking over. “Don’t stop now,” he muttered.

And then she was in his kitchen. Looking in the refrigerator. She ignored the leftover Szechuan takeout he’d had last night and figured they would eat later while working, and if she noticed the six-pack of beer—well, five-pack, now—on the top shelf, she ignored it. She poked into the deli drawer, then looked over her shoulder at him.

“Bread?” she asked.

Afraid to say anything for fear of setting Samuel off again, he walked over to the small pantry and got out the half loaf that was in there.

“Good,” she said. “Samuel, do you know where a skillet is?”

Stefan blinked, since it was hanging on a rack practically in front of her, opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again.

“Silly, it’s right there,” Samuel said, grinning and pointing.

“Why, so it is. Good eyes, my friend.”

She’d done it on purpose, Stefan realized. She was bringing Samuel into the conversation in a way he never would have thought of. And the boy was responding, right before his eyes.

“Now if only we had some butter, we could have a mega grilled cheese sandwich.”

Looking intrigued, Samuel trotted into the kitchen and pointed at a covered dish on the counter. He was tall for his age, but not quite tall enough to reach it. “It’s in there.”

“Then we’re a go.” She reached up for the skillet, unhooked it and handed it to the boy, who looked beyond startled. “Go set that on a front burner for me, will you? Don’t turn it on yet, though. I have to get the stuff ready.”

“’Kay.”

With exquisite care, Samuel carried the skillet over and set it down as she’d instructed. Stefan was leaning against the opposite kitchen counter now, watching in complete fascination.

“Good job,” Daria said. “But do you see a problem?”

“No.”

“Back up a little.” The boy did so. “Now walk toward me.”

He started to do as she’d said. Then, suddenly, just before his face would have collided with the protruding skillet handle, he yelped, “Oh!” Samuel reached and moved the skillet so the handle wasn’t sticking out.

“Wow, you figured that out quick,” Daria said. And Stefan felt the strangest sensation somewhere in his chest as his son beamed at her. He’d been wrestling with the boy for a month now, and she had charmed him in fifteen minutes flat.

Not only that, but when she’d finished preparing the thick, melted cheese sandwich, the boy gobbled it down, along with a big glass of the milk Samuel had looked at scornfully when Stefan had offered it to him.

“Now, let’s get you to bed, so you can be all rested up to attack tomorrow.”

The boy seemed to like the way she put it and happily headed into the bathroom next to his bedroom to brush his teeth. Daria stood in the doorway, saying, “Look at you—you don’t even need a step stool, you’re so tall. Are you sure you’re not six or seven?”

Samuel gave her a toothpaste-laden grin. And just to further emphasize the difference, he jumped into bed happily. Daria pulled the covers up over him as she said, “Kind of a big bed, huh?”

“Too big,” Samuel muttered, so low Stefan almost couldn’t hear it. He frowned. A bed was a bed, wasn’t it? If you fit in it, what did it matter how big it was?

Well, unless you had someone like Daria in it with you.

He could feel the pressure on his teeth telling him just how hard he was clenching his jaw to make sure he didn’t say anything even vaguely like what he had just thought.

“I see you’ve got some fun books there,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed as she gestured at the two colorful books on the nightstand.

“They’re dumb,” Samuel pronounced. “For babies. Teacher reads it to us. ‘The cat chased the mouse.’ What kind of story is that?”

“I see. I guess you’d better learn to read yourself in a hurry so you can get into the good stuff.”

For the first time, Samuel glanced at his father. “You mean like the boring stuff he reads?”

Daria didn’t look at Stefan. She was fixated on his son as if he were the most interesting person in her life. “Boring, huh? What doesn’t it have that it should?”

Samuel thought, his brow furrowed. “Dragons. Maybe spaceships. Or a cool dog, not a silly cat.”

“Hmm,” Daria said, and she pulled out her phone. “I might just be able to help you there.”

Stefan couldn’t see what she was doing from here, but he was afraid to move from the doorway and shatter the mood. Plus, he was feeling decidedly extraneous, unnecessary. Add to that the realization that was dawning that he’d never quite thought of his son as a person with opinions and ideas of his own, and he was feeling like a complete failure. Again.

He watched as Daria held out her phone for Samuel to see. “Maybe a dog like that?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, I just happen to have his story right here. Want to hear how it starts?” The boy nodded excitedly. “Okay,” Daria said. “But you have to listen with your eyes closed, so you can imagine the story in your mind better.”

Obediently, Samuel’s dark eyes closed.

She swiped a finger across the screen, obviously opening what was a reading app. And then she began to read in a low, pleasant voice. But when she got to dialogue, her voice took on a different tone for each character, making it come even more alive.

Stefan found even he was caught up in the story of a lost dog looking for home. And when she stopped what seemed like a very short time later, he realized he was waiting for Daria to begin again. But instead she brushed her fingers gently over Samuel’s cheek, stood up and stuffed her phone back into her pocket. Only then did Stefan realize his son was fast asleep.

“You’re a miracle worker,” he said softly when she had crossed the room to the doorway.

“It didn’t take that much.”

More than I’ve got, apparently.

He backed out into the hallway and stood there, still a little in shock, as Daria pulled the door closed behind her. Well, almost closed; she left it open about an inch. When he reached for the knob to close it the rest of the way, she looked at him curiously.

“Don’t you leave it open a little so you can hear him in the night, if he needs anything?”

In fact, he had not. It had never occurred to him. He had looked upon the closing of that door as a sign they had survived another day, and usually felt a sense of relief that made him also feel guilty.

“I…didn’t think of it. We used to, when he was a baby, but I didn’t think—Damn, I suck at this,” he muttered.

Turning away, he headed down the hall, embarrassed that she’d seen him at his most…ineffective. She followed him into the den, where he powered up the laptop and began to set it up to mirror onto the flat screen that was actually bigger than the one at the office.

“The first time you shot for a score, was it perfect?”

He stopped, wondering where that had come from. Looked over his shoulder at her. “Of course not. I’d never shot at a target before.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“You didn’t expect to be a crack shot the first time, so why expect to be dad of the year when you’ve only just jumped back into the parenting pool?”

He blinked. “I…never thought of it like that. I mean, he’s five, and…”

“You said you hadn’t had much contact since the divorce?”

“No. And what we had was…strained.”

“And you’ve been on your own for a couple of years now, so in essence, you’re starting over. Building from scratch, and that takes time.”

Stefan looked at his watch, not realizing why until the thought formed in his head. In the space of less than half an hour, Daria Bloom had both charmed his son and made Stefan himself feel so much better in the process.

“Miracle worker,” he said, “doesn’t even begin to describe it.”




Chapter 4 (#u5f51bccf-d5ab-5f0a-8b51-bb5bb42cab90)


Daria tried to focus on the screen as they laboriously went through the security video as promised, frame by frame, but her mind kept drifting back down the hall to where a little boy slept. He was a sweet kid who was just feeling helpless right now, ripped out of the life he knew and plunged into another world. A world that clearly hadn’t ever had him in mind. No wonder he was snarly. It was self-preservation. Especially if what he’d said was true—that some man in his mother’s life didn’t like him and so he was discarded. At least her own mother had had no choice. She couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like to know she just hadn’t wanted her child.

And even more disconcerting, she kept looking up and finding Stefan watching her. Something in his eyes unsettled her.

“Problem?” she finally asked.

“Sorry,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “I just can’t get over how you handled Sam. Samuel.” He said it in the tone of a self-correction. When she gave him a curious look, he shrugged. “His mother insists on Samuel.”

“What does he want to be called?”

Stefan glanced toward the hallway, then said rather sheepishly, “I don’t know. I never asked him.” He gave another, more definite shake of his head. “I never thought to talk to him the way you did.”

“I gathered. Talk to him, Stefan, not at him. And more important, listen to what he says. He needs to know he’s got your full attention, and not only when you’re correcting him. He needs to believe he matters to you.”

“Of course he matters.” He ran a hand over his head. And let out a long, weary breath. “I remember when he was born. I was going to be the greatest dad ever. I’d had my own father for an example, you know?”

She smiled at him. “Siblings?” she asked.

“Three.” His mouth quirked. “All sisters, after me.”

“Oh, lucky them,” she teased, but also meaning it. “A strapping big brother to look out for them.”

He gave her an odd look. “That’s exactly what my dad said when I hit about twelve. That it was my job, too, to watch out for them.”

“You’re close, you and your dad?”

He looked sad again. “We were. But… I couldn’t…” Another long breath. “My folks have been married for thirty-five years. And they’re still crazy about each other. They live in Florida now. My dad still treats my mom like a queen, and she thinks he hung the moon. But I couldn’t even keep that going for five years, let alone thirty-five.”

The moment he finished, she could tell he regretted saying all that. Essentially admitting that he felt like a failure for the destruction of his marriage. In the weeks they’d worked together, he’d rarely spoken of anything personal, so this was a switch. She wondered if he shared those feelings with anyone. And if, as she guessed, he didn’t, what it must feel like to keep all that bottled up inside.

Asks the woman who has plenty of secrets of her own to keep?

“What about Sam? Does he have any contact with them?”

“Not much.” He grimaced. “My ex saw to that.”

“Well, I guess you can fix that now, can’t you?” He gave her a startled look, as if he hadn’t thought of that. “Your mom sounds like the kind of grandmother any boy would love. They’d probably both welcome the chance to help if you sent up a flare.”

“I…you’re right. Two of my sisters have kids, and they’re really close to them.”

“So there’s some help.” She frowned. “Who’s the guy who didn’t like him?”

Stefan’s expression hardened. “His mother’s fiancé.”

“Oh. Ouch.”

“And he doesn’t just not like him, he hates him. Gave her an ultimatum. Get rid of him or the wedding’s off.”

Daria’s eyes widened as she looked at him in utter astonishment. “His mother is marrying someone who would make an outrageous demand like that, and who feels that way about her own child?”

“Yeah, well, Leah’s always had a…calculating streak.”

“What is he, rich?” Daria asked.

“And connected. She’s an event organizer, and he moves in all the right circles.”

“No wonder your son is angry. He has every right to be.”

He stared at her for a moment. And then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “I never thought of it like that, either. From his point of view.”

“You probably haven’t had time,” she said, trying to be understanding. “Just trying to organize childcare is a pain, with this case ongoing. And you had to get him into school in a rush, so it’s no wonder you haven’t had a chance to fix up his room or connect with other parents.”

He blinked. “What? What’s wrong with his room?”

“It’s fine…for a grown-up. But a kid needs his own stuff, needs things he likes around him, so he feels at home. And,” she added, “a smaller bed.”

Something flashed in those striking light brown eyes, something that made her wonder what he was thinking. But he only said, “I heard you say that. What difference does it make?”

“The difference between feeling lost in a place too big for you and safe in your own little shelter.”

It was a moment before he leaned back in the desk chair he sat in. She’d noticed early on he had the seat set a good three inches higher than a normal seat, to accommodate his height. Her feet probably wouldn’t even touch the floor.

“How do you know all this? You said you’d never had kids.”

She felt the old, painful pang. “No. Nor will I ever, biologically. Doctors told me that long ago.” She’d had years to get used to the idea, but that didn’t stop her from feeling sad about it now and then.

“I’m sorry. You’re obviously great with them,” he said, and there was a note of genuineness in his voice that she appreciated.

“I have friends with kids,” she answered evenly. “In fact, my best friend has three boys, including twins about Sam’s age.” She purposely chose the name the boy’s mother didn’t like, felt a small pleasure in doing it and didn’t care at the moment if it was petty. “I’ve been around them and babysat them since they were born.”

“So…tell me what all I need to do. Besides a smaller bed.”

“You might not like it.”

“I just want him to like it.”

She heard the undertone of desperation in his voice. He did truly love his son—he just didn’t know him. And she doubted she or anyone could have done much better under the circumstances.

“All right,” she said. “You want my opinion? There’s no place for a kid here, not even a yard, and it’s obvious. It looks like the proverbial bachelor pad.”

His gaze darted away, and he said uncomfortably, “Yeah, I was kind of going for that, after the divorce.”

“Do you still like it?”

“Actually… I never really did. I was kind of reeling, and it was just…”

“A declaration?”

His mouth quirked. “I guess.”

“You need furniture a kid can get on, even climb on, without being afraid of hurting it or getting it dirty. He needs books, toys, maybe a stuffed animal to hug at night, although he’d probably deny it. And more playing room—another reason for the smaller bed—and pictures of what he likes.”

Again he ran a hand over his head. “I don’t even know what he likes.”

“He likes that video game. Find some stuff about it—it’s everywhere. He likes grilled cheese sandwiches, like most kids, and I’m sure your Szechuan is way too spicy for him. Kids have simple tastes at that age. Peanut butter and jelly isn’t just a cliché. And,” she added with a grin, “he likes dogs better than cats.”

“Well, we’re in agreement there,” Stefan said with a wry laugh.

“Think about that, then.”

“What?”

“A dog.”

Stefan blinked. “You mean…get one? I don’t even have time to take care of Samuel, and you want to add a dog into the mix?”

“I didn’t mean tomorrow,” she said with a laugh. “But maybe take a trip over to Max Hollick’s place. The K-9 Cadets program. He’s got a bunch of puppies there for training. And since they’re all already spoken for, you won’t be confronted with Sam insisting on taking one home. But you can see how he is with them, see if you think it would be worth it.”

“That…makes sense,” he admitted. “As long as he knows we can’t do it now.”

“Maybe when this case is over.” She grimaced. “If it ever is.”

“It will be,” he promised. “But not if we don’t get back to work.”

“Yeah. Right.”

They went back to the frame-by-frame analysis of the security videos. They enlarged each frame in quarters to get a closer look at people in the background, looking for even a slight resemblance to Bianca. Daria had begun this by looking for the dress she’d been wearing, but Stefan had pointed out she could have changed at any time. He’d rather offhandedly mentioned a witness he’d once had, also a “working girl,” who’d told him she always carried a change of clothes with her in case something happened to what she was wearing. Like an extra-energetic client.

Daria had turned away as heat rose in her cheeks at his words. Unlike Stefan, if she blushed it would show beneath her lighter brown skin. Not, she thought, that he likely ever blushed. He’d probably seen too much, and he’d said that so casually. She didn’t want him thinking she was so green that such things embarrassed her, but in fact her county was usually a calm, quiet place, and she’d never encountered a case like this one before. Thank goodness.

It was nearly midnight and Daria’s eyes were burning when Stefan finally leaned back and rubbed at his own eyes, then shook his head. “I’ve had it,” he muttered.

“Me, too,” she agreed.

“I could be looking right at Bianca or our killer and it wouldn’t register.”

“Fresh start tomorrow?” she suggested, and he nodded. “I’ll mark the spot where we left off.”

“Maybe back it up to a half hour ago,” he said wryly. “I think that’s when my brain checked out.”

“Done,” Daria replied. She shut down the laptop; it was technically sheriff’s department property, so she’d take it with her. As they left the den, she glanced toward the hallway. “You’ll work it out with him, Stefan,” she said quietly. “Give it time.”

“Time? Took you less then half an hour to get more out of him than I have since he got here.”

“I have more practice,” she said with a smile.

He walked her out to her car, and she guessed from the way her breath made vapor that it was at or below freezing.

“Welcome to November,” she muttered. “Why aren’t you shivering?” He’d come outside in just his long-sleeved shirt, whereas she had on her jacket and was still cold.

“This is nothing. Add a little northeast wind off the lake for some lake-effect snow, and you’d have a mild Chicago winter,” he said.

“Humph. I’m from California. I’ll never get totally used to this.”

“There are ways to stay warm.”

She was sure he didn’t mean that as a double entendre, so she quashed her instinctive reaction. And he looked as if he regretted saying it anyway, so she turned back to what she knew was his biggest concern.

“Look, I know with work, and especially right now, it’s impossible, but Sam’s going to need kids to play with. Not to be critical, but Mrs. Crane doesn’t seem the type to bend and get down on his level.”

“No, she’s not,” he admitted. “But she was the only one available on such short notice.” He grimaced. “Leah called me on a Friday and said he’d be flying in on Sunday.”

Daria blinked. “Two days’ notice?” He nodded. And her already low opinion of his ex dropped another notch. “I won’t ask why on earth you got married in the first place, but…”

“She thought the job was glamorous, I guess. Exciting. Didn’t realize it’s mostly grunt work. And I…” He frowned. “Let’s just say she’s gorgeous. And can be quite charming, when it suits her purposes. We eloped after three weeks.”

Daria managed not to comment on that. Instead she asked, “Do you have legal custody now?”

He sighed. “No. She just sent him.”

Her mouth curled. “I’d want to make it all legal so she can’t yank him back if she changes her mind. I can’t imagine anything worse for a five-year-old than being tugged in two like that.”

“I would, if I was at all sure this was going to work.”

At first she winced inwardly. Would he really send the boy back under these circumstances? But he sounded so exhausted she thought she understood; it was all just too much right now.

“Why don’t I call my friend Fiona? She lives less than a mile from here. You could set up a playdate with her boys, see how they all get along. And if it works, make it a regular thing.”

Stefan stared at her. “I…you’d do that?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Of course I would. And Fiona is always looking for kids for her boys to hang out with. She’s also big on them playing outside whenever they can. They’ve got a huge backyard with a sandpit and an amazing play set her husband built, with ladders and a slide and a fort up top, and all kinds of things for the boys to wear themselves out on.”

“Sounds like five-year-old heaven.”

“It is,” she said with a laugh. “It’s a built-in babysitter and gets them away from screens. She never leaves them alone, mind you, but she can be out there and read or garden or do other things at the same time. Until winter—then she’s out there building snow things with them. She and the boys made a dragon once that was amazing. Shall I call her?”

“Please,” he said.

“First thing tomorrow,” she promised.

“Thank you,” he said, with such relief in his voice it made her smile up at him. And in the next instant, before she even realized what was happening, his arms came around her in a fierce hug.

It was a thank-you, she told herself. That’s all. Just thank you for help with a situation he was having trouble with. But repeating it didn’t help much when her heart was hammering and her skin sizzled at the contact with that broad, strong chest. And there she was, the woman who had been cold enough to shiver mere moments ago, suddenly overheating as if it were midday LA in the summer. All because this man had hugged her? She must be—

Her self-accusatory thoughts broke off suddenly as something else registered.

Hers wasn’t the only heart that had suddenly started racing.




Chapter 5 (#u5f51bccf-d5ab-5f0a-8b51-bb5bb42cab90)


Uh-oh.

Stefan heard the warning in his head quite clearly. Crazily, his first thought was a memory from so long ago he couldn’t be sure exactly when it was, except that he’d been a kid, at his grandparents’ home, working on one of the endless jigsaw puzzles that were his grandmother’s passion. He’d always figured the urge to put the pieces of a crime together had come from her, since often it was the same sort of puzzle, with a ton of tiny pieces that all had to fit together.

It wasn’t any of his grandmother’s puzzles he was remembering now, however. It was the burst of satisfaction when a piece he’d tried fit. When it turned out to be right. When it slid into place perfectly.

Daria Bloom in his arms felt that way.

And that scared the hell out of him.

So why wasn’t he letting go? Why wasn’t he backing off? Why was he still standing here, holding her tight against him, letting his body wake up in a way he hadn’t felt since…he couldn’t remember when?

Because it feels good. Too damned good.

With more effort than it ever should have taken, he released her and stepped back.

“Drive carefully,” he said, as if that hug had never gotten out of hand. As if he hadn’t been standing there savoring the scent of her, the feel of her luscious curves against him. As if he hadn’t barely been able to resist the urge to tilt her head back and claim those lips with his own.

For a moment she just stood there, looking a little stunned.

“I…will,” she said, sounding like someone who had momentarily forgotten how to speak.

He watched her drive off. Reminded himself that she was tough, smart, careful and highly trained, so there was no reason for him to feel like he should be seeing her home. Not that he had any choice in the matter. Not with Samuel—Sam—asleep inside.

He realized he was standing out here in near-freezing air, staring after a car that was long out of sight. He went back in the house and made his way down the hall, careful to walk quietly. He peeked in the door of his son’s room. Or, rather, the guest room his son was using.

Guest room. And the truth of what Daria had said swept over him. Samuel felt like a guest—in other words, temporary. And that was his fault, for not thinking about this from the boy’s point of view.

Stefan eased the door open and went into the room. The light from the hallway cast just enough light to see his way to the bed. He sat down on the edge and looked at the child curled up there. Realized the truth of what Daria had said—he looked tiny and helpless in the big expanse of the king-size bed he’d bought on the chance that someday his folks might come to visit.

He reached out and gently cupped his son’s face, taking the time for the first time since he’d arrived to really look at him, to acknowledge that this little boy was the same baby he’d held in such wonder, the same miracle that had filled his heart near to bursting. His, a part of him, yet a unique individual.

When he got up, even though it was late, he settled in with his tablet and started a search for kid’s furniture.






Daria was proud of herself. She’d gotten up and ready and all the way to the station without letting the memory of that hug last night invade her mind. True, it had been a battle, but by the time she’d settled in with the videos to pick up where they’d left off, she thought she’d beaten it back. Of course, the moment she’d thought that, the man himself arrived, and just looking at him blew up any idea that she’d permanently shelved the memory of what had transpired between them.

He’d stopped in the doorway to the office they were using when Melody Hughes, passing by with an armful of mail, had paused to talk to him.

Or flirt with him.

Daria fought the urge to get up and interrupt that conversation. Melody had a right to flirt with whomever she pleased, and Stefan was far too polite to shut her down.

Assuming he’d want to…

Melody was a cute little blonde whom some of the deputies secretly called Barbie because of her resemblance to the doll. Once one of them had accidentally done it to her face, and to his shock she had laughed. He was, she’d told the deputy, hardly the first person to do so. That reaction had earned her a lot of respect, including from Daria herself.

She watched them for a moment, assessingly. Not so much gauging their feelings, or lingering on the contrast of Melody’s petite blondness and Stefan’s tall, dark, powerful presence, but her own response. A response that was sharp, prodding and felt annoyingly like jealousy.

That thought roiled her even more, and she did not like it. She had no time for such nonsense, especially now, and especially with him. Not only was she working this case with him, but he was eight years younger than her, and his personal life was in chaos with Sam’s arrival. That was a trifecta of stop signs, and she’d darned well better obey them.

She thought she had managed to quash her unwanted reaction by the time he actually came into the office.

“Morning,” he said with that megawatt smile that could light up a room. He hadn’t given that to Melody. “I see you’re set up. I’ll just get some coffee and we can dig in.”

She gestured at the desk beside the seat he usually took, where a ceramic mug he’d brought in, telling her he hated drinking out of Styrofoam or paper, was already full of steaming coffee. “I poured you a cup when I got mine. Straight, right?” she asked as she sipped her own sugar-and cream-laced brew.

“I…thanks.” He picked up the mug and took a sip. Then another. “I may live,” he said wryly.

“We were up late.” She studied him for a moment, trying not to think about him and Melody in the doorway, or the hug from last night. Truth be told, she was acquiring an annoyingly long list of things she was trying not to think about with this man. “How was Sam this morning?”

“Not bad,” Stefan said, sitting down and swiveling the chair so he was facing her. “And he is Sam, by the way. I asked him. And it’s a relief not to have to keep correcting myself.”

“Good,” she murmured with a nod.

“He asked about you.”

She quirked a brow. “Did he?”

“He wanted to know if you were coming back.”

“That’s sweet. Unless he was hoping I wouldn’t,” she added.

“Hardly.” He took another drink of coffee, bigger this time, then set the mug down. “He liked you. A lot. He asked if you could go with us this afternoon.”

She blinked. “Where are you going?”

He held her gaze as he said, “Furniture shopping. For his room.”

“I’m glad.”

“So am I. He was so wary when I suggested it, it made me feel worse, but so excited when I said he could pick out whatever he wanted that it…it was like… I don’t know how to describe it.”

“You don’t have to,” she said softly.

“So will you? He really wanted you to come.”

“And you?” The moment the words were out, she regretted saying them.

“I never would have thought of it if not for you, Daria. And this is the first time he’s ever actually asked for something. So yeah, please. Unless you’ve got…a date or something tonight.”

She didn’t think she’d mistaken that hesitation. Which was odd, since they’d established early on, in that casual, getting-to-know-someone-you-were-working-with kind of way, that neither one of them was seeing anyone seriously. Or in her case, even nonseriously.

“All right,” she said. “It would be a nice break from this for a couple of hours.”

There. She’d put a time limit on it. That would make it…easier. Wouldn’t it?

“Thanks,” Stefan said, and he sounded relieved. “I just hope we can find something local. I’d as soon not drive all the way to Denver for this.”

“There’s a place over on Pine Peak Drive, where Fiona got some furniture for the twins. Maybe there?”

“Sounds like a good place to start.”

They left it at that and started back in on the videos. Unfortunately, they had as little success as last night in finding any sign of Bianca, or any man that could clearly be her Blue Eyes. She’d lost track of how many times they’d watched the woman come out of the elevator, walk across the lobby toward the hotel bar, but never appear in the video from inside the bar. And the only people who visibly left the bar during the next hour they scanned were a group of three giggling women and the bartender who had gotten off duty and who they had verified had gone straight home to his very pregnant wife.

Finally, Daria got up out of the chair; she simply couldn’t sit any longer, staring at that screen. “The phrase beating a dead horse comes to mind,” she muttered. “I think it’s time to focus on something else for while. Maybe then something new will bubble up.”

“Agreed. Time to back-burner this.”

She smiled at the phrase, since it was what she called it as well when she put something out of the forefront of her mind and let it percolate. Often the answer she’d been hunting for popped up after she’d ignored the problem for a while.

Has ignoring the fact that he makes you twitchy stopped the feelings?

“When does Sam get out of school?” she asked abruptly.

He glanced at his watch. “In about twenty minutes.”

“Why don’t we go pick him up, feed him lunch and go shopping early?”

The smile he gave her then was well worth the gamble that a five-year-old boy would serve as a sufficient distraction—and keep her mind off pathways it most certainly should not be following.




Chapter 6 (#u5f51bccf-d5ab-5f0a-8b51-bb5bb42cab90)


Stefan could almost see his son’s thought process even from this distance. Sam had come out of class with a small cluster of other boys who looked about the same age, although he was a bit taller than all but one of them. Sam had been talking animatedly with the other tall classmate, gesturing with the hand that wasn’t holding what looked like a drawing, but when that boy had apparently spotted a parent and headed that way, Sam’s entire body language changed. He slumped slightly and trudged toward the parking lot, where he was apparently used to finding Mrs. Crane waiting.

But then Sam spotted him, and Stefan’s jaw tightened a little at the boy’s sudden wariness. Things had been better between them this morning, but apparently that had been forgotten. But then Sam spotted Daria and instantly perked up. A smile forming on his face, he picked up speed.

“Hi, Daria,” he called out.

“Sam!” She waved at the boy, and a quick glance told Stefan she was smiling widely back at him. Sam broke into a run then and skidded to a stop in front of them. “What have you got there?”

Daria’s voice was full of an interest that made the boy practically shine. “We had to draw today.”

“Was it fun?”

“Kinda.”

“May I see?”

The boy hesitated, then held out the page of rough-textured paper. Stefan looked at it over Daria’s shoulder. It was recognizably a person in black, and a brown…creature of some sort, standing atop a long, wobbly green line he presumed was supposed to be grass. In the background was a gray scribble that went up and down across the page.

“Sam,” Daria said with a wide smile, “I was expecting stick figures, but this is so much better!”

Again the boy lit up. Was it really that simple? Was genuine praise that important? He tried to remember himself at that age. Remembered the first time he’d brought home a perfect spelling test and his mom had cooed over it and made him cookies. Maybe it was that simple.

Daria pointed to the gray scribble. “Are those the mountains?”

“Yes,” Sam said, clearly excited that she’d realized this.

“You’re not used to those, are you?”

“No. Just buildings.”

“Well, you did a good job showing them. And let’s see here…” She pointed at the brown creature. “Let me guess. A dog?”

Sam was practically dancing. “Yes! Like the one I want. We watched a movie about a dog.”

Stefan looked at the picture again. Okay, mountains he could buy. And the dog. The person…it definitely wasn’t completely a stick figure—the person was a long oval with stick arms and legs. And short, straight lines of dark hair applied to the slightly crooked head, almost like a cap.

Hair that resembled, in a five-year-old way, Daria’s.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful,” she said. “It should be on display at home.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asked.

“It means put up where everyone can see it.”

“Oh.”

Sam cast a doubtful eye at Stefan. That doubt stabbed at him, and it was an effort to say casually, “I think the refrigerator is the requisite location? We’ll have to pick up some magnets while we’re shopping this afternoon.”

“Shopping?” Sam asked.

“To find you some new bedroom furniture, remember?”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Really? All of us? Today?”

“Right now, if you’re ready.”

Sam let out an excited yelp. He was even more animated when Daria suggested a local burger joint, and it was a toss-up over whether he talked or ate more. She was so good for him.

And stop thinking she’s good for you, too.

And then Stefan found himself somewhere he’d never expected to be—a kids’ furnishings store at the south end of the shopping district downtown. They had sections labeled with signs overhead, divided by age, and they headed toward the 5–7 sign.

“Look at everything first,” Daria suggested, and Sam nodded eagerly.

The boy darted from piece to piece, first piqued by the bed designed like a race car, then to one painted like an Old West stagecoach. He reached out to touch a comforter printed with famous movie characters, then stood looking up in awe at a wall painted like space, with stars and planets over a bed that looked like a spaceship.

“I had no idea,” Stefan muttered.

Daria smiled. “I think it’s all about feeding their imagination.”

“Kind of feels like I’m trying to buy his affection.”

“No,” she said quickly. “You’re just showing him he has a place in your home. That you’re willing to make changes for him. He’s a smart kid—it won’t take long before he realizes that also means he has a place in your heart.”

He stared at her. “How did you get so wise?”

“Comes with age,” she said. “You’ll catch up.”

“You make it sound like you’re ancient.” He wasn’t sure why this bothered him, but it did.

“When I graduated high school, you were ten.”

He winced. When she put it that way… “That’s different. The maturity difference is bigger then.”

She moved then, because Sam had rounded a corner and they couldn’t see him. It seemed instinctive to her, and he wondered if it was something in the female DNA. Which brought back to mind what he’d learned from the trace she’d asked him to run on her own DNA. It had explained a lot about her, from her light brown skin to her determination.

“Ah. Here we go.” She gestured toward some shelves of bedding. “I’ll bet if you dug around in there a bit, you could find some stuff from that video game he loves.”

“That might work,” he said. He glanced past a couple standing behind Daria, who were discussing when and where to meet up later, and saw a display that looked like it had potential. He had to dig a bit, but he found a bedcover that had the characters he recognized. “We’ve gone from sleeping with the fishes to sleeping with zombies,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Same effect,” Daria retorted. “Come on, Sam’s over here, and I think he may have found the perfect bed for this.”

He glanced that direction and saw his son sitting on a twin bed. It wasn’t, Stefan saw to his relief, one of the elaborate things he’d likely have to spend days putting together. It was a bit high, but not so high it made him nervous the boy would fall out and get hurt. There were two steps attached to one end, and the entire thing was painted to look like it was built of stone.

“It’s the castle!” Sam was so excited Stefan couldn’t help smiling. “From my game!”

“So it is,” Stefan said. Then he tossed what he’d found to his son. “Which means this should go with it.”

Sam’s eyes widened as he recognized his zombies. “Wow!”

“And look who’s in the middle,” Daria urged. “In the picture on the other side.”

The boy turned the plastic-wrapped cover over. “It’s the dragon!” He could hardly contain himself now.

“So is this it? What you want?” Stefan asked. “No changing your mind later,” he added.

“Well, maybe when he’s twenty,” Daria said teasingly. The boy laughed, as if the idea of being that old was ludicrous.

Twenty. For a moment Stefan just stared at his son, tried to picture him at that age. You’re still surprised by him at five. Twenty’s beyond your imagination.

Sam shifted his gaze. Gave his father a look that seemed equal parts hope and doubt. “Did you mean it? I can have this in that room?”

That room. Not my room. Daria had been right.

“It’s your room now, Sam,” he said quietly. “So yes, you can have this in your room.”

After a moment, when Sam didn’t speak, Daria said, “I’m sure your room would have been ready if your dad had known sooner you were coming.” She gave Sam a wide-eyed look. “But who knows what he would have picked out? Maybe something really babyish, because he remembers when you were a baby.”

Sam looked horrified. “No! I want this.”

They ended up buying the bed, a shelf that could be hung off the end to make a night table, a small dresser and a couple of pictures for the walls. And, when Daria pointed out—tactfully—that as tall as Sam was for his age, he couldn’t reach clothes hanging in the closet, they added a clever setup that hung a lower pole from the upper one, right at Sam’s height.

Stefan managed not to wince when the clerk rang up the total. But Sam was quite disappointed when he realized they couldn’t take it all with them, and that the furniture and some of the other items would have to be delivered in a few days.

“It won’t all fit in the car, plus we have to get the other stuff out of there,” Stefan explained, “so there’s room for your stuff.”

“Oh,” the boy said. Then, warily again, “Are you mad?”

Stefan blinked. “About what, son?”

“Your stuff.”

For a moment Stefan couldn’t think of what to say. So he tried to imagine what Daria would say. And running on that impulse, he reached out and ran a hand over the boy’s soft, short curls. “You’re worth a lot more to me than any amount of stuff.”

Sam stared at him as if he wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. They were on their way back to the car when Daria’s phone rang. She answered as Stefan got Sam in and situated in the booster seat. The boy didn’t like it, and Stefan understood; he was tall enough it seemed extraneous. But it was the law, and so into the booster seat he went.

“That was Fiona,” Daria said as she got in and fastened her own belt. “She suggested this Saturday for the playdate. They’ve got a covered patio with heaters, so the boys can have lunch outside and if the weather holds play on the fort, as they call it.”

Stefan turned to look at her. “Just like that?”

“Fiona,” Daria said, “is the mother every kid wishes they could have. He’ll have fun and be safe. Can’t ask for much more than that.”

“No,” Stefan said gruffly. “I…thank you.”

“Thank her. All I did was facilitate.”

“Still…if not for you…” He drew in a breath. “If not for you, a lot of things.”

And suddenly it was there, in the car with them, the memory of last night and that hug of thanks that had become an entirely different kind of embrace. And he knew, by the way she averted her eyes and became suddenly busy adjusting her purse, that she felt it, too.

Where that left them, he had no idea.




Chapter 7 (#u5f51bccf-d5ab-5f0a-8b51-bb5bb42cab90)


“We should probably explain to Sam what’s going on, don’t you think?” she said as they drove.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Something in the way he said it told her his mind had gone exactly where hers had gone—to last night. But that way lay nothing but trouble, and so she quickly turned to Sam and explained about her friend and the invitation.

Sam took the prospect of this new venture Saturday well, even with a little excitement, although he seemed more enthused about his new bed.

It was a few minutes later when Daria said, with no particular intonation, “We’re not too far from Max Hollick’s place.” Stefan gave her a sideways look, and she shrugged. “Just saying. It’s early yet.”

“You’re determined to get me into this, aren’t you?”

The corners of his mouth were twitching, and she knew he wasn’t upset.

“Not like you’ll go home with one,” she pointed out. “As I said, they’re all spoken for already.”

“Safe enough, I guess. Unless somebody starts nagging.”

“Make it incentive. For good behavior, I mean.”

Stefan surrendered with good grace and made the turn she pointed out.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked.

Daria turned in her seat to look back at the boy. “Do you remember how you felt when you first got here? Like your world had been turned upside down?”

Sam frowned, clearly wondering what this had to do with his question. “Yeah,” he said hesitantly, and Daria hoped the hesitation wasn’t because he still felt that way.

“Well, sometimes when—” she chose the easier word for the five-year-old to understand “—soldiers come home from where there’s been fighting, they feel the same way. Like they don’t know how to fit in back home anymore. Does that make sense to you?”

“Yeah,” the boy repeated, more certainly this time.

“Well, I met someone a while ago who helps them with that, in the coolest way.”

“How?” Sam was clearly intrigued now.

“He finds dogs who have no one to love them, and he matches them up with the soldiers who need them.”

“Dogs?” Sam’s eyes had gone wide.

“Yep,” she said cheerfully. “So the dogs get a home and somebody to love them, and the soldiers get a best friend who will always understand when they’re not feeling quite right. Isn’t that cool?”

“Yeah.” With enthusiasm now, until the boy added sadly, “My mom hates dogs.”

“No surprise there,” Stefan muttered.

She wondered if Stefan realized his son was testing these particular waters. She went on rather briskly, “Anyway, that’s where we’re going. To where Mr. Hollick keeps the dogs for the soldiers. He’s not there right now, but someone will be.”

Sam’s eyes went saucer big this time. “Really?”

“They all belong to someone else already,” she said carefully, “but it would still be fun to meet them, wouldn’t it?”

That Sam could hardly sit still after this gave them the answer to that question. And when they arrived at their destination, and were greeted by an excited cacophony of happy barking, she thought Sam just might lift off, he was so excited.

The fact that within minutes of their arrival Sam was giggling, surrounded by a pack of clearly delighted, gamboling dogs of varying sizes and breed combinations, proved her right better than anything else could have.

The woman who’d greeted them, a grandmotherly sort who said she had become a volunteer at K-9 Cadets after one of Max’s dogs had saved her son’s life, had been quite happy to oblige when Daria explained.

“It’s great for the dogs to encounter all sorts of people, like they will once they’re paired with their veteran. It’s a wonderful thing Max is doing here.”

“Absolutely,” Stefan said, but his eyes were on his son, whose joyous laughter as he played with the animals was something Daria was guessing he hadn’t heard much of.

When he finally turned to look at her, he caught her watching him. “Convinced?” she asked hastily.

His mouth quirked. “Maybe. Still doesn’t give my house any more room for a dog.”

“Details,” she said rather airily, then added with a grin, “Of course, details never matter to the person who doesn’t have to handle them.”






When they got home and Stefan told Sam to look at his room and decide where he wanted his new bed, the boy scampered off happily, looking for the first time like a normal five-year-old.

“Thank you,” Stefan said to Daria again as she prepared to leave. He wanted—oh, how he wanted—to hug her again, but he didn’t dare. “I really haven’t been thinking in his terms, and I should have been.”

“Oh, yes,” she answered lightly. “Here, on two days’ notice, for the first time in your life, instantly start thinking like a five-year-old.”

“You’re cutting me a lot of slack,” he said, but he couldn’t help smiling.

“Somebody has to, since you’re certainly not,” she returned, smiling back in a way that made him want to hug her even more.

But she left, and he felt a little adrift without her quick, easy and wise support. And when she texted him a couple of hours later, asking if he could take a call, he immediately dialed her cell.

“How’s it going with Sam?” was the first thing she asked.

“Better. You really nailed it.”

“I’m glad. But listen, I had a thought. About the case.”

He was surprised at himself, and the fact that he felt almost disappointed that she hadn’t just reached out because she wanted to talk to him.

Business. Colleagues. Serial killer. Hello, Roberts, get with the program.

“Shoot,” he said.

“Remember that couple in the furniture store, behind us when Sam was sitting on the bed?”

His brow furrowed. What that had to do with anything escaped him. But he said, “I remember.”

“Were you close enough to hear what they were saying?”

“Yeah. They were talking about where to meet up later, after they—” It hit him. “You think Bianca met Blue Eyes before she went upstairs?”

“It’s a thought. If she did, then kept her…assigned date, but after he passed out went back downstairs…”

“To wherever they planned to meet up,” he finished.

“It’s a thought.”

“Indeed it is.” He let out a breath. “And a better one than we’ve had yet.”

“It also means we need more lobby and bar video, from earlier in the evening.”

Which meant more hours spent searching that video. Hours spent alone with Daria.

And somehow he didn’t mind.






“Another day of this and I’m throwing away my cell phone, my tablet and my laptop,” Daria muttered, hitting the pause button on the video. “If I never have to stare at another screen again, it would be fine with me.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of taking mine back to Illinois and throwing it in Lake Michigan,” Stefan said, sounding as weary of this as she felt. “Along with every other screen within reach.”

She leaned back in her chair. They had been working backward a half hour at a time from the moment they already knew Bianca had come downstairs for the last time. The security video ran at fifteen frames per second, but they were watching at one-third speed, so an hour took them three times that. Add in that they had to do it twice, once for the lobby video and once for the bar video, and they had only managed to get through two hours of frame-by-frame scrutiny.

Daria’s eyes were burning. Stefan was rubbing at his as well, so she guessed they must feel the same. He got up, stretched. Daria tried not to watch, but it was hard to take her eyes off the sheer muscled beauty of him. He moved like…she tried to think of an analogy and couldn’t. He was simply, purely male, on such an elemental level it was impossible to ignore. Although when he started to pace to the office door, images of a restless, prowling big cat came to mind.

Then he stopped, apparently to look out the single window that gave them a view out into the rest of the building. But he didn’t speak, and so she broke the silence.

“There must be something we can do that doesn’t involve—” she waved vaguely toward the flat screen “—that.”

Stefan went very still. Then he turned his head to look at her, and for just an instant she saw something in his eyes that reminded her once again of that embrace. Not that she needed reminding; it was never far from her mind. Which was ridiculous, really. It wasn’t like they’d shared some long, passionate kiss or something.

And that had been a very poor choice of comparison, she told herself as she had to fight down a jolt of heat at just the thought. She’d simply been closed up in this room alone with him for too long. It was making her mind go crazy places. That was all it was.

“I’m going up to The Lodge,” she said abruptly. “I want to see where the places not covered by the cameras are again.”

She wasn’t sure what she expected to find—they already knew where the few places were—but maybe something would occur to her if she looked again. And if not, at least they would have a break in the eye-straining monotony of going over and over slo-mo video for hours.

“All right,” Stefan agreed easily enough, so easily she wondered if he wanted to get out of these close quarters, too. “But,” he added, “you might want to be aware that it’s snowing.”

“What?” she said, startled. He gestured at the door, and she jumped up and went over to look through the window. Sure enough, the white stuff was coming down outside. Rather steadily.

The cold white stuff. Her spoiled California bones shivered.

“They didn’t predict this,” she said, a bit crankily.

“What a shock. A wrong weather prediction.”

Her gaze snapped to his face. He was grinning at her, the smart aleck. She wanted to be mad, but she simply couldn’t be in the face of that heart-melting grin. She threw up her hands and laughed instead.

“All right, you found me out, I’m a true cold-weather wuss.”

“You’ve been here how long now?”

“Four years,” she said with a grimace. “And my blood shows no signs of thickening up, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“I wasn’t going to hint, I was going to come right out and say it.”

She turned and gave him a mock glare. “Didn’t you say your parents moved to Florida?”

“Only three years ago, and after spending their whole lives in Illinois,” he pointed out. “And,” he added, “Mom says sometimes she misses it. The seasons, I mean.”




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