Truth or Consequences

by Diana Duncan

  Someday, she would belong.

  She wasn’t quite sure how, since she’d never had the privilege. She’d been a child born of secrets and lies. Her past had imprisoned her in loathing, fear and isolation. Evander was her very first pet. Her very first friend.

  She lathered her skin with body wash. She was a fast learner, though. You tended to learn fast when you were different. When you didn’t dare bring a classmate home. She remembered watching giggling girls at various schools. Best friends, their arms around one another, planning sleepovers and sharing secrets. She’d longed to join in, but circumstances had forced her to remain at a distance. Though gregarious and outgoing, she’d always had to stifle her true nature. She never dared get close to anyone. Never dared invite anyone over.

  Her secrets were too risky, too horrifying to confide.

  With Evander, she could finally relax. Speak freely. No wariness about ulterior motives. No safeguarding every word. No worry about an accidental, terrifying slip of the tongue.

  The fickle water supply suddenly went ice-cold. She barely had time to gasp before it surged back to hot. She and Evander were both wandering mongrels. He’d found someone to take him in. Would she? If she did, would she be able to set aside twenty-six years of conditioning and share herself with another person? She knew what it was like to be truly, completely on her own. A relationship would require an element of trust she’d never been allowed to explore.

  After too many years alone, she craved the opportunity.

  She leaned against the misty shower wall, closed her eyes and let the drumming water soothe her. As they had too often lately, her thoughts wandered to Officer Aidan O’Rourke. With his thick, wavy black hair, melted-caramel eyes and sinfully sensual lips, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Bossy was the poster boy for bodacious hunks. Not to mention his ruggedly handsome face, hard-muscled physique and reflexes as fast and deadly as a timber wolf.

  But what intrigued her most was his chivalry. Though he’d been livid with her that December night in the parking lot, her Dark Champion had unhesitatingly put his body between her and flying bullets. Then there was the emotional pain swirling in his wounded brown eyes, the quiet suffering bracketing his stubborn mouth. Reading back issues of the local paper—something she always did in a new town to learn the history—had revealed the reason. Several dates with Marvin, the geeky clerk in the Riverside PD records room, had filled in the gaps. And her heart had broken for Aidan.

  Too soon, the water cooled. She stepped onto the turquoise-flowered bathmat and wrapped herself in a matching towel. Nine years ago, over half a million dollars had gone missing after an armored-car heist. Aidan’s father was lead officer at the scene, and blame had fallen on him. The allegations were never proven, but his reputation had been soiled. He was taken off the streets and assigned permanent desk duty.

  She blotted droplets from her skin. Before Brian O’Rourke could clear his name, he’d been murdered in a home-invasion robbery. They’d never found his body, but the blood at the site—his own study—was abundant enough for a judge to rule him dead by homicide.

  Zoe wiped condensation from the mirror and fluffed her short, feathery curls with her fingers. A few of Brian’s fellow police officers speculated that he’d faked the murder and was living it up in a private paradise. Zoe didn’t believe the rumors for a second. She studied her somber reflection, and empathy for Aidan ached in her chest. Her intuition was screaming off the scale. Responsible cops and devoted family men didn’t just turn. She would uncover the truth. It was more than just another intriguing story. Brian O’Rourke deserved to rest in peace. And his wife and sons should not have to live in torment.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, Evander wove between her ankles. “You smell a rat too, don’t ya, buddy?” Zoe bent to pet the cat, and his uneven purr rumbled. The rat in question was a vicious crook named Tony DiMarco. Tony owned a security company that trained and supplied armed guards…who then gave him inside information for bank and home-invasion robberies. He was responsible for the bank robbery that had brought her and Aidan together. He’d been badly burned and shot in the head during the confrontation, and had spent the past six months under armed guard in Mercy Hospital’s rehab facility.

  She had put her computer skills to work and painstakingly unraveled an intricate web of dummy corporations owned by his security company. Corporations that were being hastily liquidated. DiMarco had suffered brain damage and was incapacitated. So where was the money going? And why?

  Secrets and lies bought trouble. Caused pain. She’d become a reporter so she’d have an open forum to educate and help people. Her outgoing personality, verbal acuity and unerring instincts were perfect for the job, as was a survival skill she’d picked up over the years…the ability to read people. She knew when someone wasn’t quite what he or she seemed. Knew when someone was lying. DiMarco was the key to the puzzle she was trying to unlock. She knew it clear to her bones. Proving it, however, was a ways off yet.

  After donning a purple bra and bikini undies, Zoe chose low-rider jeans and a short-sleeved lavender peasant top from the lidded cardboard box parked at the foot of her mattress. Brian O’Rourke and Tony DiMarco had known each other years ago. The link couldn’t be a coincidence. Proving DiMarco’s guilt might clear Aidan’s father’s name.

  Grinning, Zoe slipped bare feet into worn tan mules. Aidan O’Rourke thought he was a closed book, but he was easier to read than the Riverside Daily. He didn’t detest her nearly as much as he pretended.

  There was innate sensuality in the graceful way he moved. Compelling intensity hidden in the dark secrets in his eyes. Appealing assurance in his commanding presence. He made her heart beat faster, her knees weak and her stomach flip-flop. Just being near him was more exciting than riding the gigantic wooden roller coaster at Six Flags Magic Mountain. Every time they met, they sparred. And sparks flew.

  Unlike him, she didn’t try to disguise her interest. Not that it mattered. He didn’t seem inclined to act on the attraction. She’d give up Lucky, her treasured green glass frog, to know why she didn’t measure up. He wasn’t seeing anyone on a regular basis. Attending the Seattle Star Trek convention with Marvin had left her fully informed in more ways than one, even if she did have to dress up like a Klingon. The three-hour drive each way was a treasure trove of conversation.

  She fastened on faux amethyst hoop earrings. On second thought, maybe Aidan’s standoffish attitude was for the best.

  If her cop knew what she was up to, he’d blow a gasket.

  She wasn’t sure how or when she’d started thinking of him as “her cop,” but she couldn’t seem to break the habit. Each time they met, the more he warned her away, the more proprietary she felt. Under his bluster, she saw hurt. Isolation. She knew all about trying to hoe life’s row all alone. She couldn’t squelch the urge to hold him. Comfort him. She rolled her eyes. Yeah, the Big Bad Wolf would love the poor baby treatment. Not.

  A light hand with blush, mascara and lip gloss gave her the ingenue look she wanted today. She tucked four boxes of Cracker Jack into the ancient, vinyl-lined canvas bag she called her survival kit. Not a traditional breakfast, but filling, energizing…and cheap when purchased at the dollar store.

  She glanced down at Evander, trotting at her heels. “Caramel-covered popcorn and peanuts are as nutritious as sugar-coated cereal, right?” He chirped in agreement. She filled a water bottle at the tap, and then tucked it into her bag.

  A light summer breeze drifted through the screened apartment windows, propped open several safe inches. She breathed in fresh morning air. Thank goodness she’d be out during the heat of the day, when the tiny room turned into an oven. Evander jumped onto a windowsill beside Lucky to snooze in the sun. She patted him. “Nap all day and prowl all night. You’ve got it rough, pal.”

  Shouldering her bag, she headed out to her ancient, but reliable red Corolla. Determination swung in her stride.

  She had a bank robber to interview.

&
nbsp; Chapter 2

  11:00 a.m.

  “I am his niece. I’ve been out of the country serving in the Peace Corps and only just discovered poor Uncle Tony had been hurt.” Zoe innocently widened her eyes at the young, sandy-haired cop barring her way into Tony DiMarco’s hospital room. This time, as opposed to her usual accuracy, her best guess was way off. When she’d seen Officer Richard Ryan’s twinkling blue eyes and baby face, she’d figured he’d cave in five minutes. Instead, she’d been trying to talk her way past him for fifteen.

  “Sorry, miss.” Officer Ryan shook his head and planted himself more firmly in front of the door.

  “He’s probably terribly lonely. I’m sure he wants to see me. What harm could it do?”

  The cop indicated the cell phone he’d used to call the station when she’d first arrived, and repeated his softly spoken but implacable litany. “No civilians allowed inside without permission from headquarters.”

  She wasn’t getting anywhere. Desperation welled up. “I have permission.” Shoot, she was gonna have to do this the hard way and take her lumps later. “From Aidan O’Rourke.”

  “Is that right?” Officer Ryan’s lips quirked, and Zoe’s hopes spun. The magic key! Open sesame! His friendly blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “That’s different, then.”

  She nodded earnestly. “I understand you won’t want my bag inside for security reasons.” She plunked her survival kit on the rust-colored carpet at his feet. “I’ll take my pad and pen, in case Uncle Tony needs to dictate any instructions.”

  A resonant male baritone drawled behind her. “Good old Uncle Tony could kill you six different ways with that pen.”

  Her heart flipped in a dizzying, tangled swoop of dread and exhilaration. Rats! She knew that caress-of-black-velvet voice.

  Reluctantly, she turned around. Aidan stood directly behind her. If the scuffed brown boots, snug jeans faded in all the best places and white shirt rolled up on his muscled forearms were any indication, the Big Bad Wolf was off duty. Though she had a sneaking suspicion her cop never completely went off duty. He’d hooked a denim jacket over his shoulder with one finger. It was too warm for a jacket, so he’d probably stashed his gun in the pocket. A black pager rode at his waistband. He was on call. SWAT…slathered with awesome testosterone.

  She sucked in a breath. “How long have you been standing there?”

  A scowl creased his ruggedly handsome face. “Long enough.”

  Did the guy ever relax? Geez, did he ever crack a smile? She couldn’t remember seeing one adorn his luscious, stubborn mouth. Then again, when they were together, he was usually steamed. She offered a smile brimming with cheery bravado. “Nice to see you again.”

  He flicked an enigmatic glance at Officer Ryan. “Thanks for calling me, Rich. Take five.”

  “Sure thing, O’Rourke. Figured you’d want to take care of your little fan girl personally.” Grinning, Ryan sauntered down the hallway.

  Fan girl, humph! She was not trailing after Aidan like the so-named swooning teens who followed around pretty-boy movie heartthrobs like Orlando Bloom and Elijah Wood. Zoe grimaced at Ryan’s retreating back. Outfoxed by a guy barely old enough to shave. She must be slipping.

  Aidan deftly inserted his big body between her and DiMarco’s doorway. “What are you trying to pull now?”

  “I need to speak to DiMarco.”

  His movements a symphony of masculine power and grace, he slung his jacket over an upholstered chair parked to the right of the door and crossed tanned, sinewy forearms over his wide chest. “He’d just as soon kill you as look at you.”

  “He’s got no reason to hurt me.” At least not unless he discovered she was trying to bring him down.

  “DiMarco doesn’t need a reason.” His scowl deepened. “Besides, he hasn’t said a word in six months. What makes you think he’d talk to you…if he were able?”

  A male aide trundled down the corridor, pushing a large linen cart. “’Scuse me.”

  Zoe stepped aside. The aide wheeled the cart into the room, and then began to strip the bed.

  Zoe glanced at DiMarco. The pale man slumped in a wheel-chair, his head lolled to the side. He didn’t appear aware of his surroundings. His room was butter-yellow, but the color didn’t really matter. All hospitals looked the same, intersecting rows of door-studded corridors. Behind each door was a person in pain. And all hospitals smelled the same…disinfectant and desperation.

  She pushed the door with the toe of her shoe, nudging it closed enough to preserve the man’s privacy. She probably wouldn’t get any response from DiMarco, but a long shot bet that succeeded always paid off in spades. Her mom languished in a similar rehab facility in San Francisco. But within the stroke-paralyzed shell, sparks flickered in Rita’s green eyes. Where there were sparks, there was life. And where there was life, hope. She wanted to see what was in DiMarco’s eyes. “I thought he might respond to the press.”

  “Why bother?” Torment laced his bitter words. “You people make up whatever you want, anyway. Then you print it, regardless of who it hurts.”

  “Some do,” she acknowledged quietly. “Not me. I want to hear DiMarco’s side of the story.” And if her news that someone was stealing his “hard-earned” money couldn’t get a rise out of the guy, nothing could. Perhaps then the person rapidly accruing Tony’s funds would hear that Tony knew, and tip his hand. She’d studied the crimes Tony was suspected of committing. Even cognitively impaired, DiMarco was a formidable enemy.

  “He’s a ruthless killer,” Aidan growled. “‘His side of the story’ is bent beyond belief.”

  She gazed into Aidan’s deep-brown eyes. Compelling. Seductive. Glittering with rich, dark heat far more addictive than her favorite espresso. “It’s okay, Aidan. I know.”

  His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Know what?”

  “DiMarco and your dad were army buddies during the Vietnam War. They were stationed in Hawaii along with your mom, who was a civilian nurse. Your father mustered out injured, accompanied by your mom, while Tony went to war as a Black Ops assassin.”

  Startled surprise stamped his features before he shuttered his expression. “Yesterday’s news, Ms. Zagretti.”

  “All pieces of the same puzzle.” He didn’t deny it, but then he couldn’t deny the truth. “When DiMarco robbed the mall’s bank, he was wearing your father’s watch…a watch you and your brothers made and gave to your dad for Father’s Day when you were young.” She paused, loath to whammy him with a bad memory. “The watch Brian O’Rourke was wearing the day he died.”

  Lightning flashed in his eyes. He grasped her shoulders and spun her, trapping her between his body and the wall. He stepped close and lowered his face to hers, and his quiet voice thrummed with fury. “Aside from me, my brothers are the only ones who know that. How did you find out?”

  For a big guy who was supremely ticked off, his grip on her shoulders was rigidly controlled. Her cop knew his strength and didn’t abuse it. Heat radiated from him, enveloping her in the clean, appealing scent of soap and man. She put her hands on his forearms. His muscles jumped under her touch, and her breath caught. Touching him zapped her as strongly as the time she’d been sneaking around after a story and had grabbed a low-voltage electric fence. If his reaction was any indication, he felt the shock waves, too. “I observe. I listen. I see and hear things.”

  His jaw clenched. “You didn’t leave when I threw you off the mall incident site,” his deep voice rumbled ominously. “You hid and spied. What else did you hear?”

  Gorgeous and smart. After he’d saved her life, he’d ordered her off the property. Instead, concealed by the storm and the chaos, she’d circled back. She’d climbed inside a huge Dumpster near where Aidan and his brothers were conducting a private powwow and had feverishly scribbled notes via penlight. “DiMarco’s MO fits a series of home-invasion robberies that includes the robbery that killed your father.” Perhaps if he understood her motives, her goal, they could work together. “I believe
Tony DiMarco framed and killed your dad, and I think it was personal. All I need is enough proof to take him down.”

  His face was inches from hers, his breath warm on her lips. “Be warned.” His body vibrated with rage, but his grip stayed gentle. “Don’t screw with my family. I will do whatever it takes to protect them.”

  In spite of the trauma the O’Rourkes had experienced, she almost envied them. How wonderful it would feel to have someone who cared enough to put your welfare above all others. To have the ultimate protector watching your back. She and her mom had always been a distrustful, isolated island in a cold sea of humanity. With Mom working long hours at under-the-table jobs to support them, Zoe had often been alone, even at night. Always afraid. Especially at night.

  She raised her chin. She refused to be afraid now. Not of the specter haunting her past, and certainly not of Aidan O’Rourke. “I don’t intend to upset your family. I’m trying to help them.”

  He snorted. “DiMarco isn’t the only one who knows how to assassinate with a pen. You journalists are champs. Making accusations my father can’t defend. Mocking our faith in his innocence. Exposing our grief for the public to sneer at.” His mouth twisted in pain. “‘Mrs. O’Rourke, your husband is a dead dirty cop, how do you feel? Details at eleven.’”

  Anguish squeezed her heart. Even after nine years, his wounds hadn’t healed. How could they? He’d never had closure. She could give him what he craved. “I know you were hurt by biased reporting before, and I’m sorry.” She surrendered to the compulsion to touch his cheek. “I’m not like that, I promise. I report the truth.”

  He jerked back like she’d burned him, and his smooth, hot skin and fine sandpaper whiskers brushed her palm. He snatched his hands from her shoulders. “Ms. Zagretti, you and your fellow reporters wouldn’t recognize the truth if it bit you on the—”

  “My friends call me Zoe.” Well, if she had friends, they would. Sudden doubt assailed her. Did she even know how to make friends? Just because Aidan desired her didn’t mean he liked her. Or wanted to. Perhaps her less-than-auspicious background would turn him off. Not everyone wanted to adopt stray mongrels.