by Karen Rose
Rachel’s eyes dropped to the sandwich on her lap and Kristen realized she’d seen that same expression on Abe’s face—the morning they’d found the first body and he’d been so angry that she’d put cops on the suspect list. She’d rebuked him and he’d been embarrassed. Now, Rachel wagged her dark head. “No. I’ll probably get grounded again.” She looked up, a gleam in her blue eyes. Abe’s eyes. And in Abe’s Kristen had seen that same gleam. “Unless you don’t tell on me.”
Kristen had to chuckle. “Actually, what’s going to happen is that I’m going to see you home and your parents will wonder why I’m with you. Then you’ll tell them yourself. You didn’t think I’d let you waltz out of here alone, did you? It’s going to be dark soon.”
Rachel’s pretty mouth pushed up in a frown. “I didn’t think about that.”
Kristen lifted a brow. “You’d better be thinking three steps ahead of everyone if you want to be a prosecutor. You have to determine all the possible outcomes and plan for each one.”
Rachel perked back up. “So will you come to my school? Please?” She pressed her clasped hands to her heart. “I promise not to come see you alone on the El ever again.”
“I notice you didn’t promise not to take the El alone ever again,” Kristen responded wryly and Rachel just grinned. Kristen looked at the files on her desk. They were Greg’s problem now. She was on an “overdue vacation.” “Why not? My calendar has suddenly been freed.”
With a confident look that said she’d never really expected any other outcome, Rachel sat back and took another bite. “Extra credit, here I come.”
Kristen looked at the young girl fondly. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Rachel.”
Monday, February 23, 5:00 P.M.
Jacob Conti sat back in his chair, brooding. “So what do you know?”
Drake shot him a concerned look. “She’s squeaky clean, Jacob. The woman hasn’t had so much as a parking ticket. She seems to be the impossible. An honest lawyer.”
Jacob turned his chair to face the wall, scowling. “You told me that before.”
“It was true when Angelo was on trial, it’s true now,” Drake said with a patience that grated on his nerves. Drake thoroughly investigated Miss Mayhew when she was assigned Angelo’s murder trial. They’d looked for something, anything to use against her then, to embarrass her, to blackmail her if necessary. There’d been nothing.
She was a sanctimonious little bitch.
He stared at Angelo’s picture hanging on the wall before his eyes and felt the sting of tears. Stupid, stupid kid. Opening his mouth that way.
The man who took his son’s life would pay dearly.
Elaine hadn’t left her bed since he’d broken the news to her yesterday. Hardest thing he’d done in his life. She’d had to be sedated and the doctor even now waited at her bedside in case she woke up in hysterics again.
“She scratched Paglieri,” Drake said and Jacob turned his head, staring.
“What?”
“Paglieri,” Drake said tightly. “The guy you sent over last night to bully Mayhew with a gun without my knowledge.”
Jacob turned the chair, narrowed his eyes at Drake. “I don’t need your permission, Drake. I’m still the boss here, remember?”
Drake didn’t blink. “I remember. I’m also telling you it was a damn stupid thing to have done, Jacob. You were thinking with your heart, not with your head.”
An ashtray went flying across the room, shattering against the wall and splattering ash all over the floor. “Of course I’m thinking with my heart. My son is dead, Drake.” A wave of grief hit him so immense he bowed from its weight. “Angelo’s dead, Drake.”
“I know, Jacob,” Drake said gently. “But you can’t harass a woman like Mayhew in her own home without consequences. She scratched Paglieri. Skin samples, Jacob. DNA. If he’s caught, they’ll follow him back to you. Let me handle this.”
“You said you couldn’t find anything.”
“Nothing illegal, Jacob. That doesn’t mean she can’t be convinced to cooperate.”
Jacob sighed. Drake was right. He wasn’t doing Angelo any good by acting impulsively. “I’m listening.”
Monday, February 23, 6:00 P.M.
Zoe squinted at the tape. Dammit, they’d been too far away and it was too grainy. She’d tried to get film of Mayhew’s house last night from a couple of streets down because the damn cops in front of her house wouldn’t let her any closer. Something had happened last night, and for once it was inside the house, not outside. Looked like Mayhew’s castle had been scaled. Unfortunately, Mayhew appeared unhurt. How unsatisfying. That would have made great copy. Nevertheless, this little story was starting to percolate in all kinds of different directions. Good thing, too, because her lover hadn’t come back. She guessed he actually did have a conscience after all.
She stopped the grainy video. It was worthless. She needed something new. CNN had called this morning and wanted rights to her tape. This was her one shot and she wasn’t going to let Mayhew and her guard dogs ruin it.
Chapter Sixteen
Monday, February 23, 9:00 P.M.
Abe let himself into his mother’s kitchen and took an appreciative breath. Whatever his mother had fixed for dinner smelled wonderful. He only hoped they’d saved him some.
“Well?” Kristen asked from behind him and suddenly dinner was the last thing on his mind. He turned to find her standing in the doorway to his parents’ living room looking totally beautiful and thoughts of the newest box they’d found on her front porch slipped to the fringes of his mind. A glance over her shoulder revealed a grinning Rachel.
“Hiya, Abe.”
He reached around Kristen to cover Rachel’s face with one of his hands. Gently he pushed her, feeling her giggle under his palm. “Scram, kid.”
Kristen’s smile was wry. “We’ve been doing algebra. Actually, Rachel’s been doing algebra, and I’ve been feeling old and stupid.” She silently mouthed, “Save me. Please.”
Abe slid his arm around Kristen’s shoulders to Rachel’s obvious glee. “I’m serious, Rach. Kristen and I have to talk about work. You go back to your algebra.”
“Okay.” Rachel winked broadly. “You go talk about work.” She made a less-than-graceful exit, obviously entertained by very little.
“Oh, to be thirteen again,” Kristen said.
Abe looked down at her. “Would you? Be thirteen again?”
She made a terrible face and he chuckled. “No way in hell.” She sobered quickly. “What did you find?”
He shook his head. “Not here. Rachel has ears like a bat.” He led her through the kitchen and into the laundry room and closed the door, shutting out the sound of the television, leaving only the sound of the dryer banging like it held a pair of running shoes.
“Now tell me,” she said, but he shook his head, wanting to keep the real world at bay just a little longer.
“This first.” He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck, taking in her soft scent, letting it soothe. She sighed and relaxed into him as if she’d been waiting all night for him to do just that. He pulled her arms around his neck and felt like sighing himself when her small hands settled on his skin, lightly playing with his hair. Her face lifted and he closed in, finding her lips exactly as he’d remembered. Better than he’d remembered.
“How are you?” he asked against her mouth and her lips curved.
“You saved me from algebra. What do you think?”
He kissed her again, then pulled back to look into her eyes. She’d been shocked today, hit hard with the administrative leave. But she didn’t seem devastated. Not on the surface anyway, but she hadn’t had a moment to herself since he’d dropped her and Rachel off four hours before. Maybe it had been a good thing. Rachel was enough to take anyone’s mind off anything. “What was for dinner?”
“Pot roast.” She licked her lips and he felt his body surge to life. He shuffled back a half step to put distance between them, not wanting t
o frighten her. Sooner or later she’d grow used to him, to the way his body responded to her. Hopefully much sooner than later. “With those little red potatoes,” she added. “Your mom made you a plate.” Her eyes danced at him. “Your father told stories at dinner.”
Abe groaned. “I’ll bet he did.” He’d left her here under the capable protection of his father, who hadn’t asked a question but who, Abe knew, had a damn good idea of what was going on. Kyle Reagan might be a retired cop, but his connections were as strong as the day he’d left the force. “Which stories? Or am I afraid to ask?”
“Oh, all kinds of stories.” Her fingers stroked the back of his neck and his body clenched. Her eyes narrowing slightly, she repeated the motion, watching him. He splayed his hands wide across the middle of her back, forcing himself not to touch her the way he wanted to. She was testing, exploring her power over him.
“That feels good,” he murmured and could see her confidence grow before his eyes. She did it again, then brought her hands around to his chest and pushed his overcoat from his shoulders. He let his arms drop to his sides and shrugged his coat onto the floor. She moved as if she’d pick it up, but his arms went around her again, holding her firm. “Leave it.”
Her eyes grew warm, aware, and he drew in a steadying breath as her fingers pulled at his tie. Pulling it free, she dropped it over his shoulder, letting it fall.
“Your father told me that you and Sean fought all the time.” Her voice was husky as her fingers struggled with the button at his throat and Abe made himself breathe. Made his hands rest calmly on her back.
“All the time,” he said. “Drove my mom nuts.” She finally worked the first button free and he let his arms drop to his sides, curling his hands into fists. This was about power, her taking power, and he’d be damned before he stole one iota of her show.
“Umm.” She scrunched her brows, concentrating on the next button. “My favorite was the one when Sean was teasing you in the backseat of your mother’s old car and you had the bright idea to throw the shoulder belt at him.”
The next button slipped free, and he had trouble remembering his own name, much less the incident she described. “I had to have four stitches in my lip when the seat belt retracted and hit me in the face.”
“Poor baby.” Whether the murmured pity was for him as a seven-year-old with stitches in his lip or him as a fully grown man enduring torture at her hands, he wasn’t sure. She pulled another button free and her fingertips gently stroked the hair at his open collar. She looked up at him in surprise. “It’s soft.”
Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. “What?”
Her fingers continued to stroke that one little spot while she stared up at him. “I wondered if it was coarse or soft. The hair on your chest.”
Not taking his eyes from hers, he yanked at the buttons, opening his shirt to his waist. He took her hands and put them on his chest, gently pulling at her fingers until her hands were flat against him. He could see her pulse beating at the hollow of her throat as he moved her hands side to side, nearly groaning at the pleasure. It had been such a long time since he’d felt a woman’s hands on him. Six long years. It was a homecoming of a different sort. He closed his eyes and just let himself feel. He dropped his hands from hers, and she continued to make wide, sweeping caresses. When he opened his eyes he found her staring up at him, her green eyes luminous with discovery.
“You like this,” she whispered. He couldn’t hear her voice over the sound of the dryer, but her lips moved and he somehow understood.
“Too damn much.” He was harder than an iron rod and knew he’d scare her to death if he pressed her against the dryer like he was dying to. Then her thumbs found his nipples hidden under the thick mat of hair on his chest and he groaned.
Her tongue crept out to moisten her lips and he could feel her arousal, a silken, throbbing web, suspended between them. “Kiss me, Kristen. Please.”
She lifted on her toes and put her lips on his, just a whisper of a kiss. He leaned forward from the waist, his hands grabbing the dryer behind her. She was trapped between his arms and the shaking appliance, but his hips somehow remained an unyielding six inches from her body. “I want you,” he ground out. “I don’t want to scare you, but I want you so much—”
She lifted abruptly on her toes, throwing her arms around his neck and her lips into his. The kiss was wild and she opened her mouth, letting his tongue stroke hers, stroking back. He moved his head, getting the most he could from just the kiss. Her hands moved back to his chest, under his shirt and around to his bare back and he gripped the edge of the dryer as if it were his only lifeline and he was a drowning man.
He was drowning. And he never wanted to come up for air.
Then the door from the outside opened, letting in a burst of frigid air and an astonished Aidan. Aidan’s eyes bugged out and his mouth dropped open and for a moment the three of them stared at each other. Then Aidan stepped back out the door. “Sorry. I’ll go around front.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back, grinning. “Heads up. Sean and Ruth’s van just pulled up and it looks like they’ve got all five kids.”
The door closed and the spell was broken. Kristen looked up at him, her hands still on his bare back. Her fingertips now stroked softly and he shuddered, damning Aidan and thanking him at the same time. Another minute and he wasn’t sure he could have given Kristen the space he knew she needed.
“You’ve got company,” she said. “We should go.”
Her fingers still stroked his back. “Another minute. It just feels so good.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, her forehead, the corner of her mouth. “You feel so good.”
“You’re so patient with me.”
He swallowed hard. “You’re worth the wait.”
She smiled at that, a sad little smile that tore at his heart. “We’ll see,” she said cryptically. She pulled her hands free of his shirt and slumped back against the dryer. “Well, that was an interesting way to work off the pie.”
They were done for now, Abe thought and with regret he straightened and began buttoning his shirt. “There was pie?”
“Cherry. Better than Owen’s, but never tell him I told you.”
He smiled down at her. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Her brows furrowed slightly. “Which one?”
He toyed with one of the pins in her hair. “Any. All.”
She was quiet for a moment, then finally said, “Debra was a lucky woman.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. So he said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She tilted her head, regarding him soberly. “What did you find?”
The call had come just as they were sitting down to dinner. Truman had grabbed another kid leaving a box on her front porch. Once again the kid was a multiple offender, another teen with a yellow sheet as long as his arm. As if on cue, the dryer stopped and the room was quiet. “Arthur Monroe.” Her eyes flickered.
“Little Katie Abrams,” she said.
“Katie Abrams was the name on the stone,” he confirmed.
“One of the worst of my career. I pulled the most liberal judge on the face of the earth who somehow believed a man molested a five-year-old because society had failed him.” She closed her eyes and he could see her bracing herself. “What was the P.S.?”
He clenched his jaw, anger building anew. Sonofabitch. Acting like he cares about her when he’s put her in this danger. “He was worried about your safety. With me.”
Her eyes flew open, wide and startled. “What?”
“He said, ‘Be cautious about who you trust to stand guard over you at night.’ ”
Her eyes flashed, twin emeralds against her creamy skin. “I hate him.”
“I know. I don’t want you to sleep at your house tonight. Come to my apartment.”
Her lips trembled. “I don’t want him to throw me out of my house,” she whispered. “I know you think it’s crazy, but it’s important for me to be in my
own house. Please.”
There was more, he knew. A reason she was so determined to stay in her home, that she’d chosen the words ‘throw me out’. She’d tell him in her own time, just like she’d tell him everything else. “All right,” he said. “But I’ll stay with you.”
Her eyes filled with tears and she dashed them angrily away. “I hate this.”
He pulled her against his chest and she came willingly. “I know.” His cell phone trilled in his pocket and he fished it out as she cuddled against him. “Reagan.”
Mia’s voice came through, shaky. But it wasn’t the connection. It was Mia that was shaky. “Abe, they found Tyrone Yates. He’s dead.”
“Damn. How?”
“It was Blades. They left their mark carved into his face.”
“What about the other one? Aaron Jenkins.”
“Still looking,” Mia said. “His parents are frantic. At least this’ll get the parents of tonight’s kid off our backs for putting their precious junior in protective custody.”
“Maybe this will be enough to get Jenkins’s juvie record unsealed. Judge Rheinhold was so damn pious about it today. Let’s see if he changes his tune now.”
Mia sighed on the other end. “I think we might have better luck with Mrs. Jenkins. Until then, the Blades are serious trouble. Tell Kristen to take a vacation, go to Jamaica.”
“I’ll tell her,” Abe said dryly. He dropped the phone in his pocket. “Mia says hello.”
Kristen lifted a brow. “And what else does Mia say?”
He told her about Tyrone Yates and her shoulders sagged. “I’m ready for algebra now.”
He pressed another kiss to her forehead. “How are you, really?”
“You mean after what happened today or last night?”
“Either. Both.”
She drew a breath and straightened her spine. “I’m pissed as hell, quite honestly. But, there may be an upside. Now I’ll have more time to go through all those old case records so I can help you figure out what’s common here besides me.”
Abe frowned. “But—” She gave him a self-satisfied smile.
