by Chris Taylor
“Ooh, I knew it! You like him! You like your number one suspect! Oh, Ms Sabattini, whatever are we going to do with you?”
Chloe’s cheeks burned, even in her solitude. She wisely refrained from arguing. Savannah was a pit bull when she smelled a story. It was another thing that made her so good at her job. It wasn’t nearly as endearing when that tenacity was turned on Chloe.
“I called you to get your advice, Savannah. You’re supposed to be my best friend. You’re supposed to be here for me in my hour of need.”
“Oh, we both know what you need, baby and it isn’t me.”
Chloe couldn’t help it. She giggled, even as heat spread through her body.
“You have to call him, Chloe. Do it. Your star witness is lying. You’re beginning to doubt your defendant’s guilt. You owe the man a chance to explain, away from the pressure of the interrogation. And he’s cute. You owe it to yourself to find out once and for all if he’s in the running.”
Butterflies multiplied in Chloe’s stomach. Could she call Declan out of hours and ask him to meet her? Did she dare?
* * *
Declan lay sprawled across the couch, a half empty glass of scotch in his hand. Tilting his head, he poured what remained of it down his throat, relishing the slow burn. Reaching down, his fingers closed around the neck of the bottle. He brought it up to eye level and discovered it was empty. Cursing savagely, he struggled to a sitting position.
Oblivious to the beauty of the cool, spring night wafting in the air moving across his balcony or the occasional murmur of late-night traffic on the road below, he moved across the living room and hunted behind the bar for another bottle. Coming up empty, he cursed again.
He wasn’t much of a drinker, especially when it came to hard liquor. A few beers on a Friday night or at a social function on the weekend were about the sum of it, but he liked to keep his bar well stocked for times when friends came over. Too bad he’d forgotten the scotch had run low.
His gaze scanned the labels of the assortment of other bottles lined up on the shelf. There was an unopened bottle of rum, but he’d never been a rum drinker. The one and only time he’d tried it was after a police union football game and he’d been so ill he’d vowed never to touch the stuff again.
A headache began to make itself known behind his eyes and with a sigh tinged heavily with regret and disappointment, he set his empty glass down on the countertop and headed back to the couch.
The image of Chloe sitting across from him in the courtroom, watching the proceedings—proceedings she’d instigated—wouldn’t leave him.
He’d noticed her right away, of course. There was something about her that drew him. As the hearing had drawn on, he’d felt her gaze upon him. He’d fought the urge to look at her until he’d lost the battle.
The surge of heat that had traveled through his gut and down to his groin when their eyes connected had taken him by surprise. Of course, from the moment of their first meeting he’d found her compelling, but so far, the reasons for bringing them together had managed to quell any real thought that things could go any further.
Under normal circumstances, he would have flirted with her, maybe even asked her out, but these weren’t normal circumstances. She was investigating him for a crime and the heinous nature of that prohibited any attempt at normality between them.
And yet, he’d sensed a change in her attitude sometime after Charlie had taken the stand. She’d sat up straighter in the hard plastic seat and her gaze had narrowed on the witness. A frown had marred the flawless skin of her forehead and she’d bitten down on her lip.
He’d noticed all of this and had wished he’d been able to keep his attention on what had been unfolding in front of him. Even the shock of hearing the lies fall from Charlie’s mouth couldn’t completely divert him from the investigator’s distracting presence and curious response to Charlie’s statement under oath.
But nothing changed the fact they were on opposite sides of a serious criminal investigation—an investigation that pointed the finger squarely at him.
It was an unsettling thought. Apart from the odd speeding ticket when he’d thrown caution to the wind and had opened the throttle on his 1199 Panigale Ducati on the freeway north to Sydney, he’d never imagined he’d find himself on the wrong side of the law and not in a million years had he thought he’d be the defendant in a criminal trial.
But that’s how it was, and any future with the delectable Chloe Sabattini would be doomed before it started. The system advocated innocence until proven guilty, but everyone knew the prosecution was convinced of the defendant’s guilt before they stepped foot inside the courtroom. They wouldn’t bring a case before a magistrate or a judge unless they were confident they could win.
Chloe Sabattini was the senior investigator. She was the one who’d put together the brief, the one who’d interviewed the witnesses, prepared the statements, met with the prosecutor. It didn’t take much to work out how she felt about his status. Under these circumstances most men would give up on thinking there could ever be something between them.
But he wasn’t most men.
His parents had taught him to strive for the unreachable, to ignore hardships and setbacks and never lose sight of his goal. Being of mixed race, life hadn’t always been easy and his parents had known he’d face additional obstacles because of it. He’d learned to set aside prejudices and narrow-minded opinions and forge on, regardless. He’d never let anything stand in his way of creating a successful life and career he was proud of.
A surge of determination brought him upright. He straightened on the sofa and dropped his feet onto the floor. He’d never taken the easy way out and he’d never given up on something that was important to him. There was no way he was going to go down without a fight. He was innocent. One way to clear his name was to convince the woman who was responsible for him being there.
With renewed energy, he strode with purpose to the kitchen and picked up his phone from where he’d left it on the counter. Scrolling through his contacts, he found her number and listened as it dialed out.
* * *
Chloe stood right inside the doorway and glanced around the dimly lit bar, trying to quell the nerves in her stomach. Although it wasn’t the usual place she chose to hang out, with its dated interior and pervasive smell of stale alcohol, it wasn’t hard to guess why Declan had suggested it.
The clientele were few. A couple of men with grizzled cheeks and graying hair were deep in conversation at the far end of the bar. The only other occupant was an older woman with heavy makeup and deep wrinkles around her mouth that told the story of a chronic smoker. She sat alone at one of the scarred wooden tables scattered around the room, a half empty glass by her elbow.
Although Chloe had never been there before, the bar wasn’t far from her apartment and the short drive hadn’t given her nearly enough time to fully think through her actions.
Why had she agreed to meet him? It was nearly ten-thirty at night. She should be home in bed going over her notes for the witnesses due to appear at the committal hearing in the morning, not meeting with the defendant…
Had she totally lost her mind?
She cursed Savannah under her breath. Meeting with Declan was wrong on so many levels. She shouldn’t have accepted his invitation, despite Savannah’s encouragement and Chloe’s misgivings about Stanford’s evidence. Halting mid-stride, she turned on her heel to leave.
Pushing open the door she’d just entered through, she glimpsed the back of a cab, its taillights receding in the distance. She tugged out her car keys and swung around, intending to head back to her Honda. She gasped when she ran into a hard, hot wall of male.
“Going somewhere?”
Chloe jumped back as if she’d been scalded. His hands reached for her arms and steadied her.
“Whoa! I didn’t mean to startle you.” He offered her a quick grin.
Heat seared her cheeks. Flustered, she looked anywhere but at his face. If
it were possible, he looked even more delectable in his casual white T-shirt and jeans than he had in his formal suit and tie. The stretchy fabric of his shirt hugged the impressive expanse of his chest and she was sure she could still feel the warmth of his fingers where they’d touched her.
“I’m sorry, I-I was just leaving. This isn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t have agreed to come.”
“And yet you’re here.”
When she turned to face him, his gaze captured hers and wouldn’t let it go. Her heart thumped crazily. She swallowed, and tried to speak.
“Declan, look… I’m sorry. I can’t do this. It’s not right.”
“Stanford’s lying. That’s what isn’t right.”
CHAPTER 13
Chloe stared at Declan and bit her lip—torn. Stanford was lying, at least about part of what he’d said. It stood to reason if he’d lied about one thing, he might have lied about others. He might even have lied about it all. He’d agreed he had regular access to Declan’s apartment. It was possible he’d also accessed the laptop. She didn’t know and the confusion and uncertainty of all this was driving her crazy.
On top of all that, she wanted to believe the man who stood in front of her, looking more scrumptious than any man had a right to look. When he called, she’d been shocked. It was like he had ESP. From the time she’d ended her call to Savannah, she’d vacillated about calling him and there he was, on the other end of the phone. It was more than a little surreal.
She’d barely given herself time to brush her hair and throw on some makeup—so much was her haste to meet with him. Despite the lateness of the hour, she still hadn’t changed from the suit she’d worn to court.
He continued to hold her gaze, his eyes encouraging her to stay. Knowing if she left now she might never get to the bottom of it, Chloe nodded and followed him inside. Declan headed toward the bar.
“What are you drinking?” he asked.
Chloe eyed the barman whose overgrown hair and ragged black T-shirt had seen better days and knew instinctively that ordering a margarita was probably something best not done here. She looked back at Declan.
“I’ll have a beer, thanks,” she said.
One dark eyebrow lifted in surprise. “You don’t look like the kind of girl that drinks beer.”
She shrugged. “What does a girl that drinks beer look like?”
His gaze held hers for a significant moment before sliding down her very sensible pale-pink blouse and even more sensible tailored suit, which now looked more than a little rumpled. Despite everything, heat followed in the wake of his gaze, tingling her nerve endings.
“Not as prim and proper as you, that’s for sure.”
She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted, but the teasing gleam in his eyes cooled her indignation.
“Looks can be deceiving,” she murmured, shocking herself. Was she actually flirting with him?
His eyes flared with some indefinable emotion and Chloe’s stomach somersaulted. God, she was so out of her league. He was out of her league. Girls like her didn’t get to go out with guys who looked like they’d stepped out of the pages of GQ. Boys who looked like that were the exclusive property of the cheerleaders, the popular girls, the girls with bodies to die for and hair to match. Not short, shy Italian girls with hair that could only be controlled by a decent drenching—and even then it was a struggle.
In an effort to restore the conversation to a level she could handle, Chloe forced her pulse to slow and cleared her throat.
“I’m actually more of a margarita girl, but I thought I might offend the barman’s sensibilities if I asked for one.”
Declan looked around at their surroundings and grimaced. “Yeah, I’m sorry about the venue. I’m trying to fly under the radar. I passed a handful of reporters and a couple of photographers outside my apartment this afternoon. They were yelling out at me about the hearing.” He shook his head. “It’s already started.”
Chloe felt a pang of sympathy, mixed with a fair dose of guilt. “I understand.” She shrugged. “This place is fine.”
Their drinks arrived in frosted glasses. Declan slid some money over the bar and Chloe murmured her thanks. Collecting their beers, Declan turned and headed in the direction of one of the abandoned tables in the dimmest part of the room.
“We can talk over here,” he said and pulled out a chair for her.
Warmth seeped through her at his chivalry. For all her hard-fought independence, there was something inside her that still appreciated that kind of attention from a man. She reached for one of the glasses and took a sip from it. It was yeasty and cold. The froth stuck to her lip and she licked it off.
Declan’s gaze followed the movement. Even in the dimness, when she glanced up she saw the flare of awareness in his eyes. Desire kindled low in her belly. She gritted her teeth against it; now wasn’t the time to let her hormones dictate her actions. A man’s life and career was at stake.
And that man sat across from her.
Declan seemed to come to the same conclusion. He shook his head and his forehead creased in a frown.
“You must know Stanford’s lying. I read his statement. There was nothing in it about a visit to the park.” He shook his head in disgust, as if still unable to believe it. “I don’t get it. Why haven’t you called off the dogs?”
“How do you know I haven’t?” she challenged.
“Because I wouldn’t have had half a dozen media personnel ready to ambush me outside my apartment the minute I stepped outside, if you had.”
Chloe’s shoulders slumped and she gave it up, unsure why she’d felt the need to challenge him in the first place. The truth was, apart from her efforts to talk her concerns over with Webber and her telephone call to Savannah, she’d done nothing more than toss arguments back and forth in her head ever since she’d heard Stanford’s evidence at the hearing.
“What do you make of Stanford’s evidence?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized she’d spoken aloud. And no wonder; the question had been at the forefront of her thoughts all afternoon.
Declan’s lips compressed. “I don’t know how to explain it and for the life of me, I can’t come up with a reason why Charlie would lie—about everything. That’s the problem.” He stared at her, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “All I know is that I didn’t do it.”
“What does he have to gain?”
“Nothing.” Declan shook his head helplessly. “It’s what makes this whole thing so unbelievable.”
Chloe leaned forward and took another sip of beer. “He’s the same rank as you, isn’t he?”
“Yes. He’s been an agent a few years longer, but we’re the same rank.”
“Has that caused friction?”
“No!” He’s been a good mate from the day I started. I’d have trusted him with my life. It just goes to show how wrong I was.”
“Perhaps he thinks you did it? Perhaps someone else is loading the gun and using him to fire the bullets?”
“But why would he lie about me being at the park? There’s no way in the world it happened and yet he says he was with me.” Declan ran his hands through his hair, his frustration evident. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Chloe nodded thoughtfully. She knew exactly how he felt. Well, probably not exactly. After all, it wasn’t her reputation and freedom on the line. But there’d been times in her life when she’d known the same sense of bewilderment that now emanated from him in almost-palpable waves.
“Let’s think about it. As far as I see it, everything revolves around your login details. Somehow, he’s gotten hold of them.”
“But how?” Declan exploded. “The username was issued to me when I commenced my employment with the AFP. I chose the password. I gave them out to no one.”
“So the only possible explanation is that someone stole them. Let’s back up a minute. What department issued the username?”
Declan shrugged and sat back against his chair. “Human Reso
urces, as far as I know. That’s what I was told at my induction.”
“And what about your password?”
“I was asked to provide one at the induction. Someone from HR spoke with the newcomers. We all filled in a mountain of paperwork, had photos taken for our ID’s, provided tax file numbers, bank accounts, superannuation details and a bunch of other stuff…and then we were asked to come up with a password to use for computer access.”
Nervous excitement tightened Chloe’s stomach. “How did you provide your password?”
Declan looked momentarily confused.
“Did you give it verbally or were you asked to write it down?”
“We were asked to write it down,” he said slowly, comprehension dawning.
“See!” Chloe grinned. “Someone else knew the procedure. I bet it’s still stored in your personnel file, along with all the other forms you filled in. It’s not too great a stretch to imagine someone accessed that file and discovered your login details.”
“But who? And more importantly, why? As far as I know, I’ve done a darned good job since I started. I’ve had my fair share of successes and was well on the way to a promotion. In fact, Gary Julian encouraged me to apply for the team leader’s position that’s about to be advertised.”
Chloe sat forward. “Did Charlie Stanford know you wanted to be a team leader?”
“Of course. He was one of the first people I told.”
“And how did he react?”
Declan shrugged. “Like you’d expect. He offered me congratulations and agreed that I’d make a great team leader.”
“And that was it? You didn’t sense any undertones?”
“No. It’s like I told you before, I can’t, for the life of me, fathom why he’d say those things about me when he knew they were just plain false. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe he was hoping the additional evidence would put you away that much quicker,” she responded dryly.
Declan took a healthy swallow of his beer and then set the glass down. Chloe tried not to notice how strong and masculine his hand was or remember how his fingers felt, firm and warm around her arms when she’d stumbled into him outside. She took another gulp from her beer.
