by Dee Davis
“What about this Mahoney fellow?” His voice was casual, too casual. Maudeen had obviously been shooting off her mouth.
“Nothing to tell, really. He was subbing for Walter Finley.”
“The old sot.” Her father’s voice was derisive. “Maudeen thought Mahoney might have upset you.”
“Hardly.” The man made her light up like a Fourth of July fireworks display, but that wasn’t the kind of thing her father was talking about.
“Good. Mahoney isn’t a novice.”
“You know him?”
“No, but he has a reputation. Let’s just say he’s been around the block a time or two.”
“But not on the political beat.”
“True, but a barracuda is dangerous in and out of the water.” As usual, her father was talking in analogies.
Anger flared. “Well, he’s not a danger to me. I’m not about to get sucked in by a—” She stopped herself. No need letting her father know exactly how much Jake Mahoney had already gotten to her. “—someone like that,” she finished lamely.
“I know you won’t, darlin’. It’s just that I worry. A father’s prerogative.”
“I know you worry, but you don’t have to. I’m a grown woman, Daddy, and there isn’t a reporter alive who can get the best of me.”
“That’s my girl.” She heard the pride in her father’s voice. “And as much as I hate to admit it, I guess I owe him my thanks.”
“I suppose so.” She admitted it grudingly, not liking the idea of being in Jake Mahoney’s debt one little bit.
“Well, I’ll have Bill send him some scotch or something. That ought to take care of it.” Leave it to her father to put a material value on her life.
“At least make it single malt,” she said, grinning.
“Done.” The smile in her father’s voice answered her own. “So I’ll see you tonight?”
Riley felt a surge of delight. The house was so empty without her father there. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. We’ll have dinner. Leon is coming.”
Leon Bronowsky was her father’s oldest friend and closest adviser. “You, me, and Leon. That’ll be nice.”
“Maudeen too.”
She sighed, resigned to the fact that Maudeen was a fixture in their lives whether she wanted it that way or not.
“Riley, you there?” Now her father sounded annoyed, signaling that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
Despite the fact that she was alone in the kitchen, she felt the hot stain of a blush, and ducked her head, feeling all of about twelve. “I’m here, Daddy. Dinner will be perfect.”
“I’m glad you’re all right.” His voice had softened now, and Riley basked in the warmth of his love. “And despite my misgivings, I’m glad Jake Mahoney was around to help. Just watch out for him, all right? Reporters like him are dangerous.”
“Only if we have something to hide. Which we don’t. Besides, unless I’m dead, he’s not going to be interested.”
“That’s not funny, Riley.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll stay out of his way, okay?”
“That’s my girl.” His voice swelled with pride.
“ ’Bye, Daddy. I love you.” She placed the phone back on the wall, remembering the way Jake’s hard body had felt against hers.
He was dangerous all right, but not in the way her father was thinking.
Jake walked into his office, juggling his mail and a Burger King sack, almost tripping over his trash can in the progress. It hadn’t exactly been a banner day. First, he’d misplayed a key source, sending the man running for deep cover. Next, he’d had to cover for Walter, bailing the man out yet again, forced to trail around after the ice princess.
And, to add insult to injury, his hormones had mutinied with one look at her holiness, leaving him on testosterone overload. Then, as if his day wasn’t already perfect, his car had been blown to smithereens in what appeared to be a bad case of mistaken identity.
Hell, the lady hadn’t even been grateful. He’d torn his favorite jeans, lost a hell of a car, and she’d acted like the whole thing was his fault. His fault. He sat down in his chair, his traitorous mind happily trotting out images of Riley O’Brien. Silvery eyes and golden hair. A goddess with an attitude he’d just as soon live without.
To hell with that.
She was just a pretty face, and anything else he’d seen was simply imagination. It was over, and he’d escaped practically unscathed, fragmented Saab not withstanding. He should be kissing the floor and thanking his lucky stars. Instead he was mooning around like a lovesick basset hound.
Christ.
He dropped the food on the desk and began sorting through the pile of envelopes. He’d started having his mail sent to the office after the divorce. He was never home enough to remember to pick up his mail, let alone read any of it. This way at least it stood a fighting chance. He grinned, lobbing a stack of catalogues at the trash, the weight of the magazines making the plastic bin rock.
Propping his feet up, he reached into the sack for his cheeseburger. Protein, dairy, vegetables, and carbs. The perfect meal. He took a bite and leaned back, his gaze settling on the remaining stack of mail. With a sigh, he set his burger on the desk and reached for the envelopes, opening the top one.
Bill. He tossed it onto the desk and opened the next few; more bills. What he needed was to win the lottery. He made a comfortable living. Enough to keep him in cheeseburgers and beer. But with Lacey always whining for more money, he was hardly getting ahead.
As if to prove the point, the last creamy envelope was addressed with his ex-wife’s familiar scrawl. If handwriting could talk, this one would definitely sound southern. Soft and sensual, dripping with honey. Lacey was a Dixie belle to the core. And to hear her tell it—a destitute one.
He sent alimony religiously, but it never was enough. He might not have been good enough for her, but his money certainly was. She contacted him at least once a month with a sob story designed to play him like a violin—and usually she got her way. He was a pushover. But not today. Today he was ending the cycle once and for all.
Carefully folding the antique laid envelope into an airplane, he shot it off toward the trash, grinning. It arced across the room and dropped neatly into the can, joining the catalogues. Whatever Lacey wanted, she could find some other sucker to provide it for her. He picked up his cheeseburger and took another bite.
Women were dangerous. If he hadn’t already been convinced, spending the morning with Riley O’Brien had certainly proved it. And there he was full circle again. Back to silver eyes and golden hair. He threw the remains of his cheeseburger at the trash can, his stomach tightening painfully.
Damn it all to hell.
“Glad to see you’re still among the living.” Tim Pierce poked his bald head around the edge of Jake’s cubicle, his face reflecting concern despite the flippant tone of his voice.
“Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my car.” Jake tried to sound nonchalant and failed.
“I guess it’s totaled?” His editor ambled into the cubicle and sat on the folding piece of metal that passed for a guest chair.
“I’d say one step beyond that, actually.”
Tim peered at him speculatively through his glasses. “Any idea what it was all about?”
“Logic says it was something to do with the rally, but the police are hedging. So I guess until David makes the bomber, we won’t know anything for certain.”
“And maybe not even then.” Tim shrugged. “So you’re left with a hell of a lot of coincidences. Any chance this somehow ties into the Larsen fire?”
Jake reached for his french fries. “I’m thinking not. But never say never. I’m hoping maybe Douglas Michaels will be able to clear things up for me.”
“You’ve actually got an appointment with him?” Tim raised his eyebrows, obviously impressed. “I thought after your phone call he’d run for cover.”
“He did.” Jake shr
ugged. “But his secretary told me he was working at home today.”
“So you figured you’d just drop by for a little visit with Atlanta’s finest.” Tim smiled. “I like the way you think.”
“Well, let’s hope Michaels feels the same way. With Larsen dead, the police chief is our best shot at the truth. And he wasn’t exactly forthcoming the first time around.”
“I take it there wasn’t much left of Larsen’s house.”
“Nothing usable.”
“You’re sure?” Tim reached for a fry.
“Positive. I managed to have a look-see right after the fire.”
“What about his office?”
“I’m being stonewalled in the regular channels, but I pulled in a favor, and with any luck I’ll be getting access to his case files in the next day or so.”
“And the girlfriend?”
“Still out if town. But she’s due back any day. I’ll talk to her then. In the meantime, I need to crack Michaels. If Larsen was right, the man is dirty up to his eyeballs. All I have to do is prove it.”
“Drink some more lemonade.” The O’Briens’ housekeeper hovered over Riley’s shoulder, pitcher in hand. Adelaide firmly believed lemonade could bring about world peace if drunk in quantity.
“If I have another sip, I’ll float away.” Riley smiled up at the woman. “I’m fine. A few scratches here and there, but otherwise unscathed.”
“What did your daddy say?”
Riley rolled her eyes. “He said I should have had more protection. Honestly, Adelaide, he acts like I’m a toddler sometimes.”
“I think at the moment his concern is more than justified. Someone just tried to kill you.”
“No they didn’t. It wasn’t my car, remember? I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And frankly, I think everyone is making way too big a deal about this.”
“We just care about you, honey, that’s all.”
Riley smiled up at the older woman. “I know that. And I can’t imagine what I’d do without you. But I’m fine, Adelaide. Honestly. You and Daddy can both just stop your worrying.”
“He coming home?” she asked, setting the pitcher on the table, golden bangles tinkling with the movement.
“Not now. He’s got a meeting over in Marietta, and I didn’t see any point in his canceling just to come hold my hand.”
“Wouldn’t hurt him to miss a meeting.” Adelaide frowned, disapproval coloring her voice.
“We’re too close to the prize. He can’t afford a misstep at this point, and you know it.”
“Canceling a meeting to be with his daughter after she was almost killed is hardly a misstep.”
“You’re making more of it than is necessary. Daddy will be home tonight. I’ll talk to him then.”
“Fine. We’ll leave it at that.” Adelaide raised her hands, shaking her head. “So tell me about Jake Mahoney.”
Riley shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell. He’s a reporter for the AJC. Homicide, which is certainly apropos. He was at the rally covering for someone else. That’s it.”
“That is not it.” Adelaide crossed her arms, her look inscrutable. “The man saved your life.”
Riley frowned. “Because he happened to be in the right place at the right time. I’m telling you it’s no big deal.”
“So who are you trying to convince, me or you?”
Riley blew out an exasperated breath. The woman was too damn observant for her own good. “Neither. I’m stating facts. The man was a boor. He wouldn’t know the ballet from the Follies Bergere.”
“And that matters?” Adelaide’s eyebrows shot up.
“No. Of course not.” Riley ran a distracted hand through her hair. “It’s just that we have nothing in common. He’s a reporter, for God’s sake.”
“Edna’s a reporter.”
“Well, it isn’t the same and you know it.” She felt cornered, as if her emotions were naked for view.
“It’s just not like you to be so ungracious.”
Now she felt chastised. “I’m grateful, of course. But that doesn’t mean I need to grovel at the man’s feet.”
Adelaide laughed. “I never said anything about groveling. In fact, all I did was ask about the man. Seems to me your Mr. Mahoney affected you a little more than you’re willing to let on.”
“He’s not my anything, Adelaide. And he didn’t affect me one way or the other.” There, she’d said it to Adelaide and she’d said it to herself. Jake Mahoney was just a man. A reporter, at that. Anything else she felt was surely the result of overactive adrenaline or something.
“Far be it from me to nose into your business.”
Riley smiled. “That’s a laugh. You’ve been butting into my life since I was old enough to walk.”
“I just want what’s best for you.”
“I know. And right now what’s best for me is business as usual.” She stood up with what she hoped was conviction. “And to that end, I’ve got a committee meeting to go to.”
Adelaide frowned. “Do you think it’s wise to be going out on your own?”
“How many times do I have to say it? There is nothing to worry about. I’m not in any danger. Not from fringe group terrorism and not from Jake Mahoney. In fact, if anyone should be looking over his shoulder, it’s him, not me.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“No.” Riley fought against rising exasperation. “I don’t. But it’s the logical conclusion. It was his car, after all.”
“But it looked like Maudeen’s,” Adelaide insisted stubbornly.
“Yes. But why would anyone want to hurt Maudeen?”
“They wouldn’t. But you’re another story entirely.”
“I fail to see what blowing me up would accomplish. The sympathy vote alone would get Daddy elected by a landslide. It just doesn’t make any sense. I’m sure in a day or so we’ll find out the culprits were some overzealous right-to-lifers.”
“That certainly doesn’t excuse what they did.”
“Of course not. But it does mean that I’m in the clear. So, please, stop worrying.”
“I can’t help myself. I just want you to be safe and happy.” Adelaide’s eyes were dark with something more than just concern over the bombing.
Riley covered the older woman’s hand with hers. “I love you, Adelaide, and I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself. Besides, my meeting is at Douglas Michaels’s. How much trouble can I possibly get into at the chief of police’s house?”
Riley reached for the file in the backseat, grateful for the mundane task. Given the excitement of the day, she could use a strong dose of normal, despite what her father said. And meeting with Douglas Michaels about the teen pregnancy council was just the ticket.
She slammed the car door shut and turned to face the house. Michaels had done well for himself. The two-story colonial was a pristine white, the black shutters adding just the right touch of color. She’d been here once before, but it had been nighttime; so she stopped for a moment to admire the trellis-shaded porch, perfectly accented with pots of colorful geraniums. Gracious living.
With a smile at her own whimsy, she started toward the door, only to stop again when something in the street behind her backfired. Heart pounding, she spun around, her mind replaying the instant inferno of the bombing.
The street was placid, the asphalt road shimmering in the heat. Releasing a breath, she smiled weakly, her concern fading as an ancient car wheezed to a stop, its faded blue finish almost blending into the pavement— except for the splash of red paint near the rear bumper.
She didn’t have a clue what kind of car it was, but it had obviously seen better days. And just as obviously, it didn’t belong in this neighborhood. Another shiver of apprehension tickled her spine, but she pushed it firmly aside. She’d had a hell of a day, but that didn’t mean everything that happened was suspect.
She started to turn away from the dilapidated vehicle, but something ab
out the driver, now emerging from the car, caught her eye. Blue on black.
Jake Mahoney.
And he was scowling.
“What in hell are you doing here?”
She fought against a surge of irritation. Really, the man was too much. “I think the question is more aptly aimed at you.”
“I’m here doing my job.” He came up the path, his eyes narrowed against the sun, even his walk challenging.
“Hounding yet another public official?”
“I’d hardly say I was hounding you, Ms. O’Brien. And even if I were, I’ve paid for it in full.” He gestured toward the Rent-a-Wreck.
“I take it your insurance didn’t cover a replacement car.”
“It didn’t cover bombings period. That,” he jerked his head toward the jalopy, “was all they had available.”
She swallowed laughter, struggling to keep a straight face. “Well, it suits you.”
“Thank you so much, your worshipfulness.” His manner was anything but grateful. In fact, the word curmudgeon sprang to mind. Curmudgeon with pheromones to spare. The man made her slap-happy.
“So, Mr. Mahoney, what have you got in mind for an encore? Snipers? Napalm?”
“An interview, Ms. O’Brien. All I’m here for is an interview. I’ll leave the pyrotechnics to you.”
She raised an eyebrow but refused to rise to the bait. “Is Douglas expecting you?”
“First name basis, huh? I had no idea Michaels ran in such exclusive circles.” He grinned, neatly deflecting the question.
“I’d hardly call my circles elite, Mr. Mahoney.”
“Well, from my point of view, I’d say it doesn’t get much snootier.”
“Why is it everything you say comes out as an insult?” she queried as they stopped in front of the door.
“Maybe because I mean it that way?” He rang the bell, and they waited in silence, the tension between them building with every breath. The door remained steadfastly shut.
“I don’t understand it.” Riley frowned. “We had an appointment.”
“Rounding up campaign contributions?” He reached for the doorknob, giving it an experimental twist.
“I’m here for a meeting.” She bit out the words, surprised at the level of emotion he raised in her.
