by Maggie Price
“You’re not the only one with concerns here, lady.”
When he leaned forward, she sucked in air against an undeniable longing. If he dipped his head, his mouth would be on hers. Desire shot straight to her stomach, swirled there while she watched anger flash in his eyes.
“Do you think I enjoy knowing I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any other woman? Any other woman?”
“I didn’t know,” she said almost desperately as her heartbeat echoed in her head.
“Now you do. I’ve got reasons of my own not to like what’s happened between us. Good reasons. But, facts are facts and I’m damned if I can help having feelings for you, Nicole. It’s too bad you don’t want me to have those feelings, because I do. You’ve got no control over that. What you do have a say about is whether I ever put my hands on you again.”
“Jake, it’s…”
“I want my hands on you,” he continued quietly when her voice faltered. “I want to take you, Nicole. Right here, right now. But as long as you’ve got a problem with me touching you, I won’t.”
“That’d…be…best.” Her legs were jelly; the only thing that kept her from sagging to the floor was the fact that her spine was jammed against the bookcase.
“Fine, that’s how we’ll play this.” He stepped away. “If you plan on working here today, I’ll have a female officer come over.”
She swallowed hard at his instant transformation into hard-edged cop. He’d given her what she wanted, agreed to the equivalent of dumping ice water on their relationship. So why did she feel as if a big hole had ripped inside her heart?
“It’s not necessary to have someone come over,” she managed to say over her dry-as-dust throat while she tried to untangle her thought processes. “Don’t you think the person who killed DeSoto knows that if I could identify him or her, the police would have shown up on their doorstep by now?”
“That’s probably safe to assume. I just don’t like making assumptions about anyone’s safety.”
“I want to go to the office, Jake. I need to go. Tons of people are around all the time. Mel’s right outside my door.”
Jake scowled. “You’ll stay with Bill and Whitney at night?”
“Yes. I don’t like to be run out of my own home, but there’s no sense in taking chances.”
“If Lieutenant Ryan okays it for me to go undercover on dates with Livingston and Nelson, I’ll come by your office later today. You’ll need to do the standard paperwork, put me in the system just like any other client.”
“Fine.”
“Do you trust Mel to keep quiet about the operation?”
“Absolutely.”
Jake hooked a thumb in the front pocket of his jeans. “Your car is parked in Villanova’s driveway. I’ll give you a lift there, then follow you to the office. I’ve got a few phone calls to make while you get ready.”
“I won’t be long.”
He nodded, turned, then strode out the door.
Watching him go, Nicole assured herself that everything was fine now. Straightened out. She was no longer in danger of being plundered or plundering. No longer at risk of feeling the breathless thrill one felt when they plunged off the edge of a cliff. Or the shattering pain when one landed. That was what she wanted.
She lifted an unsteady hand to her throbbing cheek. If she’d just gotten what she wanted, why then did she want to race after Jake and fall into his arms? Why did her body ache to be touched by him and only him?
She squeezed her eyes shut as her heart contracted, and wondered if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.
Chapter 8
Damned if he would beg, for Nicole or anyone.
Tightening his hands on the steering wheel, Jake whipped the cruiser into the service lane behind a row of trendy businesses to avoid the lunch-hour traffic. No, he wouldn’t beg, not even a woman whom he wanted with a fervor that was like a sickness.
After some sort of introspection on her part, Nicole had decided he didn’t fit her profile. He wasn’t the kind of man she wanted to drag her to her kitchen floor for manic sex. What the hell did the woman know about the kind of man she wanted?
The absolute idiocy of that last thought brought Jake up short. Easing his death grip on the steering wheel, he flexed his fingers while banking the urge for a cigarette. She’d made one mistake and learned from it. Now she was a romance engineer, for crying out loud. Had probably fixed up hundreds of successful matches. That ought to just about make her an expert when it came to knowing what kind of man she wanted for herself.
That man wasn’t him.
“Hell.”
Scowling, Jake pulled back out into traffic and immediately changed lanes to pass some cretin going twenty in a cherry-red Beemer. He knew that once he got past the sting of Nicole’s rejection and stopped thinking with his glands he would concede she’d done him a favor. After all, he didn’t want anything that even resembled a serious relationship, had sworn he’d never again involve himself in one. He knew too well the high price a man could pay for loving a woman. A child. Children.
He blew out a breath against the tightness that settled in his chest. It was hard to believe the wife and daughters who were so alive in his heart had been dead two years. Although his wrenching grief had transformed into a dull ache, at times the void Annie and the twins’ deaths had left in his life was almost unbearable. As was the knowledge he’d handled his loss by crawling into a bottle and heading toward hell without a thought to the consequences for himself or anyone else. His recklessness had cost one woman her life. His boss had read him his rights, charged him with her murder and seven others, then locked him in a cage. Jake knew he would still be rotting behind bars if it hadn’t been for Whitney’s dogged belief in his innocence. He hadn’t forgotten that his partner had nearly gotten herself killed attempting to clear him of the murders.
Bill Taylor hadn’t forgotten, either. Jake had heard the reserve in the A.D.A.’s voice last night when he’d phoned the honeymooning couple in Cancún. Taylor had been understandably upset to hear about the death of his friend, Villanova. When Jake detailed Nicole’s injuries, concern had mixed with an undertone of heat in the A.D.A.’s voice. It was when Jake mentioned his plan to bunk on Nicole’s couch that he’d sensed Bill Taylor’s transformation into a distrustful older brother.
The A.D.A. didn’t want his sister hanging around a man who’d screwed up his life so thoroughly. Jake didn’t blame the guy. He figured he would feel the same if he had a baby sister.
All things considered, Nicole had been right to cool things, he conceded as he steered the cruiser into the lot bordering the sleek skyscraper that housed Meet Your Match and Sebastian’s. He pulled into a parking space, let his gaze slide up to the top floor, then focused on what he knew were the windows of her office. He had enough regrets for one lifetime. Having personal feelings for Nicole—whatever the hell they were—was something he hadn’t planned. And was an area he would just have to leave alone.
Along with her.
Which might prove hard to do, he acknowledged. The approval for his going undercover as a single man looking for love was working its way up the chain of command. Jake glanced at his watch. He figured Lieutenant Ryan would get back to him this afternoon with the captain and major’s go-ahead for the operation.
While he was waiting for those approvals, Jake planned to drop in on Sebastian Peck. Once it dawned on the Viking god why he was there, Jake doubted he’d be welcome.
Too damn bad.
He opened the cruiser’s door and stepped into the noonday heat. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he retrieved his sunglasses and slid them on.
The forest of blue and purple hydrangeas at the base of the towering structure looked as thick and plush as it had two days ago when he’d first set eyes on the building. The setting might be the same, Jake thought, but he now had information about Sebastian Peck that he hadn’t known then. According to Mel Hall, Ormiston had accused the Swede of turn
ing the late Eddie Denson on to steroids. That accusation had allegedly resulted in a heated argument. Less than two weeks later, someone plunged a needle into Ormiston’s neck and condemned the man to a torturous death. Mel had also mentioned that Peck didn’t bother to conceal a case of white-hot jealousy when DeSoto Villanova hung around Nicole during workouts.
Had that jealousy, along with whatever had resulted during the argument with Ormiston, compelled Peck to do away with both men?
That was a question he hoped to find the answer to during his visit with Peck, Jake thought as he headed toward the building’s revolving door.
Five minutes later, Jake strode into Sebastian’s. The receptionist with the cotton candy-pink lipstick and matching eye shadow who’d been there the day before gave him a wary look from behind her glass-block desk.
“I need to see your boss.”
Her uneasy gaze flicked to her phone. “Uh, Sebastian’s in his office. He’s on the phone. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Jake didn’t want to give Peck advance warning. “Just point me in his direction. I’ll take things from there.”
She stabbed a polished pink nail toward a paneled door behind her desk.
When Jake stepped through the doorway, the low strains of a classical concerto filled the air. The soft music was a sharp contrast to the bouncy exercise tune that had blasted in the workout area.
Turning a corner, he found himself in a short corridor painted in soft yellow tones with an open door on either side. Through the door to his right Jake spied the modern-day Adonis sitting behind a mahogany desk as massive as the man himself. Peck leaned back in a black leather chair, a cordless phone wedged between one muscled shoulder and his ear. Except for the desk, the office was all cool black marble and stark white walls. The white carpet resembled sea foam and looked deep enough to wade in.
As if sensing his presence, Peck glanced up. He hesitated, then said, “I’ll call you back.”
“Sergeant Ford.” Peck laid the phone aside and rose. His sleeveless black T-shirt and shorts showed off hulking, well-toned muscles. Beneath brilliant-gray eyes, his mouth curved into a smooth smile. “Is it too much to hope you’ve decided to get your biorhythms charted?” As he spoke, he glanced at the high-tech sports watch strapped to his wrist. “I can probably also work in that game of racquetball we talked about.”
“Some other time.”
Jake strode into the office, his scuffed boots sinking into the thick carpet. To his left a small sofa and chairs upholstered in white formed a sitting area. On his right a three-foot spray of waxy white flowers speared out of a black marble urn.
“Can I offer you something?” Peck asked, the faint wisp of Swedish sounding in his voice. “We maintain a fully stocked refreshment bar. Juice, high-protein snacks. Maybe some sparkling water with a twist?”
“Just information.” Without invitation, Jake sat in one of the visitors’ chairs angled in front of the desk. He watched Peck settle into his high-backed leather chair. The man’s eyes were calm, his expression easy. Today his blond mane was slicked back into a queue that hung between his shoulder blades.
“This is a follow-up to yesterday’s visit.” He reached into the pocket of his sports coat and withdrew a small recorder. Leaning, he settled the recorder on the front of the desk. “You don’t mind if I tape this conversation, do you?”
Peck’s eyes flicked to the recorder. “No, that’s fine.”
“Good.” Jake clicked the record button, then eased back in his chair. “You’re entitled to have counsel present, Mr. Peck.”
The man clenched his thick fingers, then unclenched them. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“Only you can answer that at this point.”
“Why don’t you tell me what this is about, then I’ll decide if I want to call my lawyer.”
“Fine. There are a few things about Phillip Ormiston I’m not clear on. I figure you can help me.”
“I told you all I know when you were here yesterday.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“This goes back to my asking you if Ormiston argued with anyone. You told me no. I have a witness who claims he overhead you and Ormiston have a go at each other.”
Wariness slid into Peck’s eyes. “We didn’t argue. We had an intense discussion.”
“Which you failed to mention.”
“Nothing came of it. I didn’t consider it important.”
“Ormiston accused you of illegally distributing steroids to Eddie Denson and you didn’t consider it important?”
“The accusation was false, so no. I didn’t consider it important.”
“Did you supply steroids to Denson?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t sound like Ormiston believed that.”
“I can’t help what he believed.” Peck linked his fingers together on the desk, pulled them apart, linked them again. “He was wrong.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Damn right, I did. He accused me of getting the Denson kid hooked on steroids, of being his supplier. I don’t engage in illegal practices, nor do I allow them to go on in my health club.”
“Did Eddie Denson use steroids?”
Peck closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“He ever discuss them with you?”
“When his family first joined the club. Eddie came in here one night and asked me about steroids, if I’d ever used them.”
“Have you?”
Peck nodded. “When I was involved in body-building competitions. That was a long time ago.”
“Did you tell Eddie you used them?”
“Yes. I also told him about the risks. He was young. He didn’t want to listen. He wanted to bulk up, not hear about side effects associated with steroid use.”
“One being violent mood swings. Aggressiveness.”
“That’s right.”
“I read the report on the traffic accident in which Denson died,” Jake stated. “Witnesses claim road rage was involved on the kid’s part. Suppose his behavior could be linked directly to steroids. Denson’s parents might decide to make trouble for the person who supplied steroids to their son. Trouble, as in getting felony charges filed and bringing a civil law suit. Those things could cost someone a lot of money and all his assets. Not to mention his freedom.”
Color swept into Peck’s face. “I didn’t supply steroids to Denson.”
“Did Ormiston threaten to go to Denson’s parents and tell them you did? Ormiston doing that would have put both you and your business in a world of hurt.”
“Ormiston didn’t threaten anything. Like I said, we had an intense discussion, not an argument. He left here convinced I had nothing to do with Eddie’s involvement with steroids.”
“Why do you think Ormiston had Denson’s obituary in his locker?”
“I have no idea.”
“Let’s talk about DeSoto Villanova.”
“I—Villanova?”
The change in rhythm had thrown Peck off, as Jake had intended. “Do you get along?”
“He’s a client.” One massive shoulder lifted. “Why wouldn’t we get along?”
“A woman,” Jake said simply. “I understand you and Villanova have had your eyes on the same woman.”
Peck stiffened, hesitated, then relaxed again. “You’re referring to Nicole,” he said finally.
“Right. I hear you don’t like the attention Villanova directs Miss Taylor’s way.”
Peck’s gaze went as hard as granite. “Nicole and I are friends. It’s not my place to like or dislike the attention other men give her.”
“Maybe so, but you’d like to be more than friends.”
“She wouldn’t. I respect her feelings. Is there a point to this?”
“I always have a point. Where were you last night?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Let’s start around six,” Jake continued. “Give me a rundown on everything yo
u did between then and midnight.”
“I worked here at my desk all evening. I didn’t leave until around eleven.”
“Why so late?”
“I had paperwork to catch up on.”
“Did you stay in your office the whole time?”
“Yes.”
“Make any phone calls?”
“No.”
“Receive any?”
Peck scowled. “No. Why do you ask?”
Jake inclined his head toward the door behind the desk. “That the door you told me about? The one that leads into the hall so you can come and go as you please?”
“Yes.”
“Did you use that door yesterday? Slip out, then come back?”
“I used it around eleven when I left for the night. And I didn’t ‘slip out,’ I walked.” Peck fisted his hands. “What the hell is this about? Ormiston died two days ago. Why do you care what I did last night?”
“Because the same person who killed Ormiston murdered DeSoto Villanova.”
“I… What?”
To Jake, the flicker of surprise in Peck’s eyes looked genuine. Still, it could have been one hell of a performance on the Swede’s part. “I think you heard me.”
“Yes. It’s just that I don’t believe…” He slicked a massive hand across the back of his neck. “You think I killed them both, don’t you? I disagreed with Ormiston over steroids. I was jealous of Villanova’s attention to Nicole.”
Jake smiled. “That sums it up.”
“Well, you can just un-sum it.” As anger heated Peck’s voice, his Swedish accent became more pronounced. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Can you prove that?”
“I don’t have to. You have to prove what you’re accusing me of. Since I didn’t do it, there’s no way you can.”
Jake cocked his head. “Is that another legal gem from your girlfriend, Monique? The master of feng shui?”
“Monique is my former girlfriend and my attorney. If you want to talk to me again, she’ll be present.”
“An attitude like that could give the impression you’ve got something to hide.”
“One like yours could give the impression you live in a world of cynicism and absurdity.” Peck studied Jake from across the span of polished mahogany. “If you make it back here for that racquetball game, Sergeant, I suggest you leave time for a herbal detox. You’re clearly in need of one.”
