by Addison Fox
“It’s just a fact. Dig where there’s real potential and leave the past where it belongs.”
She might not be willing to give in to her brother, but Daphne was honest enough with herself to admit her interest in Landon McGee had spiked quickly—and it wasn’t all based on professional interest. However, she wasn’t quite ready to give in on the idea that his past had no bearing on his case.
Up-and-coming businessman. A well-known family in the neighborhood, a fact that had recently been churned up in the local news by his mother’s decision to run for borough president. And a biological mother with criminal history.
She’d be a fool to ignore those facts, and based on Landon’s sharp focus when she mentioned his birth mother, she suspected he felt the same.
“I want to know what I’m dealing with. If it is an outside job, it helps to understand who might have had a motive. A biological son moving up in the world could be an awfully strong incentive to start making trouble.”
Cade scanned the computer screen. “Wow, that’s some heavy shit for a kid to deal with.”
Daphne had already read Landon’s file, her stomach dropping with each incident, and she couldn’t argue with her brother’s assessment. “That’s just what got reported. You can’t get too far with files that were sealed because of his age, but it’s not hard to piece it together.”
“Damn.”
She’d been a cop long enough to know the horrors far too many people lived with. A cop had to separate emotion from the job and do the work to find answers. Or so she told herself. The reality was that there were certain instances—whether it was the person, or the crime, or a combination of both—where those emotions leaped up and swamped you no matter how hard you tried to keep them at bay.
The question here, to her mind, was why had Landon McGee churned up those feelings? The man had a difficult childhood, but it was made better—practically idyllic—by the age of ten. Nothing could erase what was on her screen, but by all accounts the small boy had grown up into a successful man who came from a good home and was raised by a loving mother.
“Daph.” Cade pulled her back to the moment before he swung her screen back around to her. “There you go again.”
“Just thinking.”
“I can see that.” The usual teasing and taunting that provided the framework of their relationship vanished as Cade leaned forward. “Don’t go painting him as some poor, misguided hero. That approach never ends well.”
“I’m not doing that.” The fib slipped out, dangerously close to a lie.
“Good. See that you don’t.”
After a day that included the cops, cleaning up his office and taking a full inventory, and reassuring his mother three times that he was fine, Landon was more than ready to call it quits at five. He was the boss—he could have walked right back out that morning—but he’d stayed to deal with the aftermath of the break-in.
He kept a small staff—two full time employees and a part-timer who enjoyed the coding work around rearing small children—and he gave the three of them a complete briefing. He also regularly employed a cadre of freelancers from around town, nearly all of whom found a way to call, e-mail, or text him throughout the day.
Word clearly traveled as fast as data on his blessedly untouched T-1 line.
With each and every call, e-mail or text, he grew more and more frustrated that his business had been a target. He kept to himself and didn’t run his mouth about his work. Best as he knew, he had no professional enemies. Even the careful, thoughtful list he’d drawn up about his suitemates at Detective Rossi’s urging had produced nothing but reinforcement that he didn’t work with people who wished him harm.
So who would have reason to target BKNY specifically?
When the swirling questions refused to fade, he’d acknowledged the inevitable. It was time for a beer.
The dark interior of his brother’s bar, the End Zone, was cool and welcoming when he walked through the door twenty minutes later. Nick was behind the bar but still in a suit, which must have meant he had some project to do with the Unity Brewery today. Landon took a seat in front of his favorite beer tap. “Didn’t know you could fix up.”
“From time to time. Besides—” Nick wiggled his eyebrows. “—Emma likes me in a suit.”
“For reasons that continue to surprise and amaze, she seems to like you every way.”
“And I’m a lucky man for it.”
Nick was a lucky man. He and Emma had found each other a few months ago, when Nick tried to buy the Unity Brewery—Emma’s family legacy. The two had worked it out, after quite a bit of heartache and Nick’s own stubborn refusal to realize he loved Emma. But now they were engaged and planning a wedding, a state that pleased his mother and their long-term boarder, Mrs. Weston, to no end.
“So quit preening about how lucky you are and pour me a beer. Make it that summer shandy you and Emma have been bragging about.”
“Absolutely.”
Nick went to work on the stick, his gaze on the pilsner glass. “Mom said you had some trouble this morning.”
“I’m not surprised.” His words were flat—in direct contrast to the fresh, foamy beer pouring from Nick’s tap—and Landon swallowed back the frustration. He loved his mother to distraction, but they hadn’t seen eye-to-eye for the past few weeks. He hated how stilted and stale their conversations had become.
“About the trouble or Mom?”
The question was deliberately leading—a talent his brother had in spades—and Landon elected to focus on the easier answer. “Look, I know she’s worried, but I had three different conversations with her today trying to reassure her it was under control.”
Nick handed over the foamy beer. “Is it?”
“For now. The cops came pretty quickly, all things considered. Detective Rossi’s set to come back tomorrow to follow up.”
“Rossi? Cade caught your case?”
Landon swallowed his sip, the cool slide of beer going a long way toward calming the nerves that had ridden him all day. “No, his sister.”
“No shit?”
The last of his nerves ticked away as a good laugh took its place. “You’re surprised he has a sister?”
“Nah. I knew the sister part, but I had no idea Daphne had graduated to detective. Last I heard she was stuck on beat duty, managing crowds at the Barclays Center or running Sunday-morning traffic duty. Clearly the woman’s got some ambition if she passed the detective’s test before thirty.”
Landon took in his brother’s words, not for the first time impressed at the news and information Nick possessed. It was probably a toss-up whether it was Nick’s own innate charm and interest in people or the steady stream of information that made its way through the End Zone. Regardless of the method, his brother always had information.
What was more curious was the spike of interest that heated his blood as he thought about Daphne Rossi stuck walking the beat. He didn’t doubt her capability, but he found it hard to imagine the sharp-eyed detective had enjoyed directing people across sidewalks and breaking up fights at the arena.
And then he remembered the stubborn pride that had tilted her head just so this morning, and he understood. Anyone with a lick of ambition spent plenty of time doing the things that weren’t all that appealing to get to the things that were. It spoke well of her that she’d clearly done a shit-ton of beat duty along with studying for her detective’s exam.
Nick intruded on his rambling thoughts. “She’s ambitious for sure. Makes Cade’s family a little crazy, if I understand right.”
Landon glanced over his glass. “They don’t want her on the force?”
“I think the only place Mama and Papa Rossi want her is barefoot, pregnant, and cooking all day for her husband.”
“She’s married?”
“You interested?”
The shandy soured on Landon’s tongue, and this time he didn’t even try to keep the dry, flat notes from his voice. “It was a simple question
. And how modern of Mama and Papa.”
“You think Emma’s father is all that different? He’s coming around, but she still gets comments from time to time. A woman’s place is in the home and all that.”
“I can’t imagine that goes over all that well.”
Nick smiled, the expression quickly turning fierce. “I’ve witnessed a few of those arguments. And no, it doesn’t go over well at all.”
“Good for her. Emma’s good at her job. She shouldn’t apologize for it.”
Nick nodded his head toward a back table. “I’ve got a table of career women who knocked off early today to celebrate a big new-business win. You go over there with that attitude and you’re bound to get lucky.”
Although approaching a table of four women might prove more intimidating than Landon wanted to admit, he did turn to look. All were attractive, especially the redhead directly opposite him, her glass of wine lifted high in a toast. If his head wasn’t so full of a certain dark-haired beauty with an equally determined set to her shoulders, the redhead would have had him swallowing the intimidation factor and walking over.
Nick moved on to help another customer, and Landon returned to his beer. There was no reason to compare any of those women to Daphne Rossi. But he’d be damned if he couldn’t help doing it anyway.
Daphne told herself it was a simple way to mix business with pleasure. After Cade had left her alone, she’d spent a few hours following up on two open cases that had proven frustrating, then switched to a robbery that had occurred in the park the other night that was pretty much open and shut. She’d blown through the requisite paperwork, itching to get done and get out of work.
And damn it, no matter how much she attempted to focus on her computer screen and not her roiling thoughts, she’d been itchy all day.
Something about Landon McGee had set her off, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.
So here she was, sitting at a two top in the End Zone with her best friend, checking out the crowd while trying to remain unobtrusive in the back corner. She’d spotted Landon the moment she’d walked in, but escaped his notice as he spoke to his brother at the bar.
Jasmine closed her menu. “I’m doing one of those big margaritas they whip up behind the bar.”
“Make it two.”
“Yum. And those gooey cheese fries they make.” Tall and slim, Jasmine Shane had never met a plate of fries, brownies or cake that she didn’t love. None of which managed to stick even a moment on her lithe frame.
“You realize that’s an extra hour in the gym for me every night this week?”
Jaz shrugged. “Live a little.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Tell ya what. Enjoy the margarita, and I’ll do that Zumba class you’ve been on me about. Even if I do look like a spastic giraffe in yoga pants.”
“You’ll look gorgeous.”
Jasmine snorted and shook her head. “The zoo wouldn’t take me.”
Their waitress, a short, no-nonsense woman with springy, corkscrew curls and enough attitude to straighten them came up to their table.
“Patty!” Jasmine leaped up and hugged the woman before taking her seat. Although Jaz might have the height, there was nothing giraffelike about her. Or spastic.
Which, Daphne knew, she’d do her level best not to hold against her.
“You’re still the best kid I ever babysat for.” Patty gave Jasmine one more side-armed hug. “Can’t say the same for your brother.”
“I’d like to say Quinton’s grown out of his standard assortment of tricks, but that’s not the case, by a long shot. He’s simply changed his tactics.”
“What’d he do lately?”
“For starters, he scared my mother halfway out of her skin last week by telling her he was moving to DC.”
“Is he?”
“He’s a year away from making partner. I don’t think he’s giving that up.”
Something wavered in Patty’s eyes before it vanished. “You never know. Sometimes it’s good to get out of the neighborhood and spread your wings.”
Daphne said nothing but understood what Patty meant. There were about a million reasons she’d stayed in Brooklyn, and about a million more that regularly nudged her to consider an alternative. Nearly all of them revolved around her family.
“What would you like tonight?”
Talk of margaritas and cheese fries pulled Daphne from her thoughts, and she only nodded when Jasmine chose the fries and a plate of nachos. Once Patty walked off, Jasmine leaned over the table. “So why are we really here?”
“We’re blowing off steam. Both of us had a long day and needed a break and some girl talk.”
Jasmine only nodded before she tilted her gaze in the direction of the bar. “And our presence in this bar on this evening has absolutely nothing to do with that rather attractive man sitting over there nursing a beer, who you’ve stared at off and on ever since we walked in. A man, my sources tell me, you spent all morning with.”
And there was reason one million and one.
Daphne mentally tallied “nosy best friend” on the reasons to stay and go lists before she let out a small sigh. “You don’t miss much.”
“All part of a public defender’s job description.” Jaz leaned over and took Daphne’s hand. “But that goes double as your friend.”
Daphne ran through roughly the same set of information she’d shared with Cade earlier, adding on a few more details she’d gleaned through the afternoon. Even with her friend’s unwavering support and understanding, she still censored the personal, retelling the details with rigid efficiency.
“That’s a rough childhood.”
“You see it every day.”
“I do. And all too often, they don’t end nearly as well as Landon and his brothers.”
“You know them?”
“About as peripherally as you. They were all already out of high school before we went in. Q knows them a bit better. He played on the occasional summer softball league with them. And I know he uses Fender’s auto-body shop.”
Jasmine Shane had been Daphne’s best friend since the day they’d traded sandwiches at lunch. Daphne was the pint-sized second grader from the big Italian family who had sausage, peppers, and onions on a thick Italian roll in her My Little Pony lunch box. She’d taken a seat next to the tall, elegant black girl with the thick-lensed glasses who was already reading at a fifth-grade level and who sat alone every day in the cafeteria with her peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich, Goldfish crackers, and whatever book she was currently devouring.
Jasmine had asked about the smell coming out of Daphne’s vividly pink lunch box and, once told, asked for a taste. When she’d discovered Jasmine actually liked the contents, Daphne had dragged her home that afternoon for a playdate and whatever else her mother had slow-cooking on the stove.
They’d been inseparable ever since.
One of the kitchen runners dropped off their nachos and fries and promised the margaritas were on their way, then hustled off with two burgers for a waiting couple a few tables over. Daphne reached for one of the plates stacked on the edge of their table. “I am not staring at the bar.”
“You are staring, with a side of desperate longing.”
Daphne stopped, a stack of nachos halfway to her plate. “That’s so unfair.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“I’m not desperate.”
“When was the last time you went on a date?” Jaz’s hand was already up in a stop motion of anticipation. “Not one of your mother’s fix ups.”
“Those are dates.”
“A date by choice. That you’re actually excited about.”
Daphne fought the well that opened up in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t been on a date in a while. Certainly not one she wanted to be on since Mike. They’d had a few good years together, and then he’d gotten weird and distant once she started studying for the detective’s exam.
“It’s been a whi
le.”
Unwavering support filled Jasmine’s gentle brown eyes. “I know, sweetie. I know. Which is why you need to trade in longing for a go-get-‘em attitude and go talk to that man right over there.”
“He’s part of my caseload.”
“Oh come on. The case is practically open and shut. There’s nothing wrong with talking to the guy socially.”
“It’s awkward.”
A deep, husky laugh drifted across the table. “It’s attraction. It’s supposed to be awkward. Irresistibly so. So get over there.”
“He’s talking to his brother.”
“He’s also about to be bait for that table of women over there.” Jasmine tilted her head toward a group of well-dressed women growing louder by the minute. “If you can’t wrap your mind around flirting, perhaps you can consider it your civic duty and save him from his inevitable doom.”
Images of Stephanie Sullivan cackling over size thirteen feet filled her mind’s eye and had Daphne standing before she could check the impulse.
It looked like she now had reason one million and two.
Three
Nick’s suggestion to go talk to the table of women had lingered in Landon’s mind, but it was the uncomfortable itch at the back of his neck that had him finally turning on his stool to face the tables. He’d barely given the group of laughing women a glance when his gaze settled on Daphne Rossi seated at a back table with a friend and chatting it up with the End Zone’s living legend and head barmaid, Patty.
The shock of seeing her quickly faded as the telltale whispers of opportunity rose up instead. He’d avoided the immediate sizzle of attraction earlier, but now took the time to give the good detective a more leisurely perusal.
And found she was even more beautiful the second time around.
Long hair still curled around her shoulders before spilling over her back, but she’d obviously done something to amp up the smokiness of her eyes. Even from here, he saw the way her deep brown eyes seemed to take up her face. There was a warmth about her that hadn’t been readily apparent when she was in cop mode. The focused, driven professional had given way to a younger, more carefree version of the same person, and he was even more intrigued than earlier.
