Between Love and Duty

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “You must not,” she pointed out. Or Tito couldn’t have broken into his house.

  He patted his hip, where she’d become aware of the bulk of his holster when he held her. “I carry my own.”

  Jane rolled her eyes to gaze upward. His mouth tightened.

  He toured all five rooms plus bathroom in her house, going so far as to open her closets and stoop to look under her bed. Painfully aware of the state of the bedroom closet and unable to recall the last time she’d so much as glanced under the bed—never mind cleaned under it—Jane cringed. She kept quiet, though, because she wanted him looking. Heaven help her, she was desperately grateful to him for being here.

  “All clear,” he said finally. Pause. “Unless somebody’s hiding underneath that jumble of shoes.”

  Stiffening, she said, “I suppose you line yours up in military order.”

  He met her eyes and said nothing. Which meant he did, she supposed. His house had been very neat and spotlessly clean.

  “You probably hire a housekeeper.”

  “I do,” he agreed. “Housekeepers usually clean. If necessary, around clutter.”

  Jerk. Jane was glad to remember how obnoxious he could be, because she was beginning to wish he wasn’t on the verge of leaving her alone.

  There was no way in hell she could ask him to stay, though. Excepting the snide remark or two, he was all cop now. The man who’d held her so warmly and securely in his arms was no more. Police Captain Mac-Lachlan looked wet, tired and impatient to be gone.

  “Keep the phone beside your bed,” he advised. Then, seeing the expression on her face, added, “Not that there’s any reason you should need it. Even if our perpetrator is escalating, he has a long ways to go before he’ll be ready to confront you.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “Oh, that’s a great comfort!”

  The wintry gray of his eyes softened, unless she was imagining it. “Jane, we’ll catch him.”

  They were standing by her front door now. His hand was on the knob.

  “Thank you,” she forced herself to say. “I mean, for…well, for everything.” Putting your arms around me.

  He nodded. Hesitated. “Jane…”

  She suddenly had trouble breathing. Looking into those eyes, seeing the worry he’d been hiding and something darker yet, Jane desperately wanted him to hold her again. The silence was unnatural, as was the length of time they did nothing but look at each other and fight…what?

  It’s only adrenaline, she tried to tell herself, and didn’t believe it, not after the way she’d drooled over him in MacDonald’s. He was autocratic and brusque and close-minded, everything she despised in a man, but he also made her feel things she never had before. And, from the moment she’d seen the windshield tonight, he’d represented something else to her: safety.

  He made a sound, something ragged in his throat. Jane actually swayed toward him, and then he swore, said, “Lock behind me,” and left so quickly she was still trying to regain her balance.

  What she was mostly left with was embarrassment.

  THE FOLLOWING DAY SHE LED Detective Niall MacLachlan into her small office. Alison was here today to mind the store, and with continuing rain business was slow, anyway. Her curiosity was obvious, and Jane supposed she’d have to enlighten her and her two other employees, too, in case something happened when she wasn’t here.

  Niall looked enough like Duncan that the relationship was obvious if you knew to look for it. They were nearly the same height and build, both lean, solid and athletic. Their gray eyes were disturbingly alike. Niall’s hair was a deep auburn, however, and she’d seen last night that his stubble was pure copper. He presented quite differently from his brother; his body language was relaxed, his smile pleasant.

  She poured them both coffee, and they sat in the office, her chair swiveled to face his, which sat beside the desk. They were virtually knee to knee in the tiny space. He whipped out a spiral notebook and began to grill her.

  Of course she had to take the message out. He snapped on a latex glove to carefully remove it from the manila envelope and sat silently studying it. Feeling cold, Jane rubbed her hands over her bare forearms and looked away from the disturbing, vicious chain of raggedly cutout letters.

  Without any comment, Niall slid the sheet of paper into the envelope and said, “I’ll have to take this.”

  Jane gave a jerky nod. Truthfully, she’d be glad not to have its malignant presence in her desk anymore.

  He asked questions; she talked. Only when he said, “I’ll need names,” did she hesitate. Confidentiality was key to her role as Guardian ad Litem. Most of the people she was telling him about had vented to her, and that was all. How could she be effective if it got out that she’d named everyone who’d ever been mad at her to the police?

  Niall had been watching her. Evidently reading her mind, he said, “I’ll be discreet. I promise. I’ll start by calling the judges concerned with any likely cases, to keep them on top of this. I can do background checks without anyone knowing, and I can likely get a good idea whether some potential suspects have moved on with their lives, no longer live in the area, whatever.” He shrugged. “I’ll let you know before I talk to anyone in person.”

  “I suppose I don’t have any choice at this point.”

  “No.” For a moment, he sounded as implacable as Duncan often did.

  Jane nibbled on her lip. “Okay. Um, you probably know that Duncan’s got a thing about Hector.”

  She’d swear she saw the light of amusement in those eyes that were so like his brother’s.

  “He did mention Ortez.”

  She explained again why Hector was an unlikely suspect. Niall made dutiful notes. She then told him about her other current case, close to wrapping up. The Joneses were, on the surface, so ordinary, starting with their name. The divorce was hideous, however. Glenn had apparently had multiple affairs and felt justified because, in his words, his wife had gotten fat and was about as appealing as “that bitch on TV.”

  “He used the word bitch.”

  “Yes. I don’t know who he was talking about.”

  “Is the wife…” Niall glanced down at his notes. “Renee. Is she fat?”

  “Maybe.” Jane hated the word. “She told me she put on a little weight with each kid, and that Glenn was so awful she kept eating to spite him.”

  “Nice folks.”

  “Oh, yeah. The grandmother is almost as bad as the father,” she said, “but it’s a little hard to imagine a fifty-something woman spray-painting bitch on my back door.”

  The utter cynicism on Niall’s face was unsettling. “You might be surprised.”

  “The father has cornered me a couple of times,” she admitted. “He gives me the creeps.”

  “I can see why.”

  She told him about several other cases she’d handled the past couple of years. In one, Jane had ended up recommending shared custody, which had infuriated the mother, who had expected to gain full custody and limit her ex-husband’s visitation. “Charlotte and Allen Hess. By the end, I wasn’t her favorite person. There was another one,” she said slowly, “where I suspect the father was sexually abusing the girl. But she wasn’t talking, and there was no real evidence. I think the judge got the same vibes, though. Last I knew the dad was allowed only supervised visitation with her.”

  “Did you supervise it?” Niall asked, looking interested.

  She shook her head. “It was going to be long-term. I only do it when it’s short-term, like Hector and Tito. I would have said no, anyway, though. The father was…quite hostile to me.”

  Niall wrote down the name: Richard Hopkins.

  Satisfied finally, he closed his notebook and said, “You’ve given me plenty to start with. I’ll be in touch as I need to. Here’s my card.” He extended one to her. “The second number is my cell. Call the instant anything else happens.”

  She so loved the implication that, of course, something would happen. Rising with him,
Jane said, “This must seem like a huge waste of time to you, compared to the kind of stuff you usually deal with. Surely vandalism doesn’t generally get referred to a detective.”

  He looked at her straight on, and once again she had the disquieting impression he might be more like Duncan than first impressions suggested. He was utterly calm, controlled and, she sensed, as relentless as he had to be.

  “No,” he said, “Duncan was right. The fact that this is likely connected to your work with the court makes it a priority. A threat to you is no different than a threat to a judge, a prosecuting attorney or a police officer.”

  Showing him out, she was relieved to see that Alison was occupied with a girl trying on tap shoes, her mother hovering and talking about whether her toes pinched. Jane felt like she needed a few minutes to collect herself.

  It wasn’t any of the angry fathers she found herself thinking about once the detective was gone, however. Rather, it was the two MacLachlan brothers.

  Beyond the physical resemblance, they’d seemed so different. Duncan crackled with an air of command. In his presence, no one would ever mistake who was in charge. Niall didn’t give her that impression. He was way more relaxed and pleasant than Duncan ever was; she bet he was much better liked than his brother.

  And yet…she’d had this weird sense that she would electrocute herself if she tried to enter his space. He had a force field around him, invisible but palpable. Duncan had let her see some emotions. Even when he was shoving them down deep, they were there. She wondered if anybody ever saw beyond Niall’s facade to what lay beneath.

  No, she thought, frowning, she was being silly—his remoteness was probably his on-the-job persona. Probably a lot of cops were like that. She was jumping to conclusions. Who knew, he might be famed for wild parties, exhibitionism and a sexy girlfriend of the month. Or—Duncan hadn’t said—Niall could have a devoted wife and brood of kids.

  But somehow she doubted it. Duncan MacLachlan made her mad more often than not. Niall had, instead, left her feeling chilled even though she’d liked him. And she couldn’t even quite put her finger on why. She wondered how close the two men were. Having Duncan step in as a parental figure had to have put some strain on the sibling relationship.

  She gave her head a shake and went to refill her cup of coffee. She needed to quit thinking about Duncan as if he mattered to her beyond being a current obstacle. Last night, for a minute, she’d thought… But he’d managed to shutter whatever she’d imagined she saw in his eyes. His curt “Lock behind me” pretty much said it all.

  He might be attracted to her, but he wasn’t interested in taking it anywhere. Which was smart; he liked to give orders and she’d vowed never again to take them. He’d be happiest with a sweet, adoring woman, and she…she’d be happiest with no man at all.

  What she absolutely refused to think about was how long she’d lain awake last night, listening tensely to the muted sounds of a settling house, of occasional traffic and neighborhood dogs, raccoons raiding garbage cans and feral cats squabbling, the rain overrunning the gutters. Sounds that would normally be mere background. And most of all she wasn’t going to think about how vividly she pictured Duncan’s face, taut with some inner stress, or remembered the comfort and excitement she’d felt in his arms.

  DUNCAN DROPPED BY THE detective’s division midafternoon, stopping for a word here and there until he reached Niall’s desk. His brother was on the phone, hunched irritably forward while he simultaneously scrolled through a website on his computer. He glanced up at Duncan, looked amused but not surprised to see him and mouthed, “Give me a minute.” Then he said into the phone, “Uh-huh. Ms. Hess moved… A year ago.” He took his hand from the mouse and jotted something on his spiral notebook, open to one side. “You think she remarried. Do you recall the name…? No. I see. Thank you for your time, Mr. Davis.”

  It took him another minute to extract himself from the conversation. Finally he ended the call and leaned back in his chair. “Captain. What can I do for you?”

  It was usual for them to play down their relationship on the job, although it wasn’t a secret. Duncan went out of his way to avoid any appearance of partiality, despite which he suspected that Niall had to live with the constant irritation of knowing that coworkers assumed, nonetheless, that he benefited from brotherly partiality.

  “Detective,” he said wryly.

  Niall waited, eyebrows raised. The amusement still lurked; he wanted to make Duncan ask. Which, of course, he had to do, now that he’d come all the way down here.

  “Did you get the message that was mailed to her?”

  Niall opened a manila envelope and slid the piece of colored paper onto his desk blotter. Duncan already knew what it said. What he hadn’t counted on was the impact of seeing the ugly message itself. Rage rose in his throat.

  “And she didn’t think this was threatening?”

  Niall made a noncommittal noise.

  “You’ll check for fingerprints?”

  “No, I brought it with me so I could post it on the bulletin board. What do you think?” He carefully shook it into the envelope.

  Duncan struggled to tamp down the red tide of fury. “What did you learn?”

  “Quite a lot.” Niall riffled several pages of his notebook. “I’m currently trying to determine which of the people Ms. Brooks named are even remotely likely to be possibles.”

  “You haven’t eliminated any?” Duncan demanded.

  Niall glanced at his watch. “I’ve had barely an hour since I got back to my desk,” he said mildly.

  “Was she frank with you?”

  “I think so. Do you have reason to believe she wouldn’t be?”

  His mouth compressed. “No. Yes. She has qualms about divulging names.”

  “So I gathered. She did, however.”

  He nodded, relieved. “And then there’s her pigheaded determination to believe Ortez is a good, kind man who’s fated to be named father-of-the-year.”

  He probably shouldn’t have said “pigheaded.” That made him sound too emotionally invested.

  Niall rocked in his chair, a smile playing around his mouth. “Rubs you wrong, does she?”

  “Like sandpaper,” he heard himself admit, then had the uncomfortable realization of how accurate that was. Sandpaper was certainly not pleasant to the bare skin, and it could rub you raw. But what it left behind could be something smooth and glossy and rich. Sensuous to the touch, when it wasn’t before.

  His body was beginning to crave the scrape of her personality.

  Before his brother’s all-too-knowing eyes could see entirely too much, Duncan said shortly, “Have you eliminated anyone?”

  “Actually, yes. Two possibilities, a Roger Griswold, a former foster father who apparently issued some threats when Ms. Brooks encouraged the return of a child to the mother, and Jeff Cotter, a father who sued for custody of his kids and lost.”

  “Have they moved away?”

  “Griswold did. Cotter has apparently reconciled with his ex-wife and lives with his kids. They’re talking remarriage. It was the judge—Brikoff,” he added as an aside, “who tells me that Cotter claims that losing in court was the wake-up call he needed to make changes in his life. He’s gone through an anger management program and is in counseling with his ex. Brikoff feels the change is genuine and doubts the guy holds a grudge against your Ms. Brooks.”

  “Could be deceptive.”

  Niall shrugged. “Maybe, but he’s looking pretty unlikely.”

  “You’ll keep me informed?”

  “Have I ever mentioned that you’re a control freak?”

  Duncan glowered and left.

  HE MADE A POINT OF CALLING Tito in the after-school hours. He suggested they shoot some baskets at the open-gym tonight at the high school, and he could tell Tito hated to say no. He wanted to stay home, however, because Raul, the former brother-in-law, was supposed to be coming by. The boy must have realized he couldn’t realistically do anything to help
his sister, and there had been no hint the useless ex-husband—or were they actually divorced?—was violent. He was determined to be there, though, perhaps only to glare.

  “Did Jane let you know what happened last night?” Duncan asked.

  “Sí. Yes.” Tito sounded animated. “She said someone broke her windshield while we were in McDonald’s eating. That she had to have the police come. We couldn’t find you after the movie, so Papa drove me home.”

  “You like the movie?”

  Sí, sí. It was muy bueno. Much excitement. There had been a good deal of blood and death, according to Tito, and a train had hit a car, although the hero had flung himself out in the nick of time.