And if she did spot it? Raine smiled grimly at herself in the mirror. She had the perfect excuse to leave the party early.
As she opened her dresser, she saw last night's clothes scattered across the floor. Like they'd been tossed there by an impatient lover. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she flung them into the laundry hamper. Slammed down the lid. Then reached in her underwear drawer and grabbed the first bra and panties she found.
Threw on a tee shirt and shorts, then headed for the kitchen. She couldn't bear the thought of food, but she wanted coffee.
She froze. Connor stood at the stove, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows. The sleek, ropy muscles of his forearms flexed and relaxed as he flipped pancakes on her griddle.
"What are you doing here? I heard you leave." She barely recognized the hoarse, tight voice as her own.
Connor turned toward her. His gaze touched her for a split second, then drifted over her shoulder. "I came back. I'm making breakfast."
She'd thought she'd never see him again. But here he was, standing in her kitchen. Cooking breakfast for her. "Why?"
"I'm not going anywhere, Raine." He flipped a pancake too hard, and the perfectly browned hotcake flopped off the griddle and onto the stove. He picked it up and tossed it back, then sucked on his fingers. As if he'd been burned.
"That was thoughtful, but you don't have to stay. You can leave." Now, she silently begged. Before she broke down at the sight of him cooking for her.
He slid two pancakes off the griddle and onto a waiting plate, then turned to face her. "Can't do that. I'm taking you to your grandmother's party today."
She took a step backward, then forced herself to stop. To straighten. "What are you talking about? How do you even know about my grandmother's party?" Deep inside, warmth spread through her veins. A small, stupid part of her was relieved. Wanted to have someone to face that ordeal with her. But the rest of her, the non-stupid part, was appalled.
"We talked about it while you were in the hospital. You insisted I take you to pick up your car. Said you needed it to go to this shindig." He set the pancakes on the table. The bright blue and green of the mismatched plates was cheerful. Happy. She turned her head away, afraid the tears would fall. "I told you that since you couldn't drive, I'd take you."
"You're making that up. I wouldn't have agreed to that." She crossed her arms to hide her shaking hands and swallowed. Hard.
"You didn't have much choice. You couldn't see out of your eye. You couldn't drive." He let his gaze flicker over her for a moment. "Guess you were pretty drugged up if you don't remember."
She'd opened up to him when she was at her most vulnerable. What was she thinking? And what else had she told him after they'd given her the painkillers? Her face burned as she dug around in her memory and came up empty. "Thanks for offering, but I'm fine now. You're off the hook. I'm going by myself."
"Sorry. You're stuck with me."
Oh, God. She wanted to be stuck with him. But the awfulness of last night had been mostly her fault. She was the one who'd said she wanted 'fun'.
And he'd stayed. He stuck the landing. So she had to give him an out and let him go. "I know you have to work today. So eat your breakfast, then you can go."
He opened her silverware drawer and gathered two forks and knives. Then he reached into her refrigerator and grabbed the butter and maple syrup. He moved around her kitchen as if he belonged here. Even after last night.
Her chest squeezed tight.
He slid onto one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm not working today. I switched with someone, so I have the day off."
She shouldn't be so happy. She shouldn't want him to go to the party with her. She spotted the full carafe in the coffeemaker and moved carefully past him to pour herself a cup. The sweet, buttery scent of the pancakes drifted up to her, and she stared down at them. Finally, she sat down across from him, clutching her mug. She took a too-big gulf of the hot liquid and burned her mouth.
Did she want to spend the day with him? Yeah. She did. But Beatrice Talbott's party was the last place she'd take him.
It was awful. Demeaning. Every time she was in that cold house, with her frosty grandmother, the stench of money and power sat on her chest like an elephant. She never took a deep breath until she was on her way home.
No way would she expose that vulnerability to Connor.
He slathered his pancakes with butter, drowned them in maple syrup, and began eating. "I'm not leaving you alone until we nail Northrup. So, yeah, I'm going to that party with you." He held her gaze until she looked away. "Sounded like the party was in a rough part of town. Never know when you might need a cop."
Was he offering in his official, cop persona? Or as the man she...the man who'd come back when she'd shut him out?
It wasn't clear. But either way, she didn't want him there. Didn't want him to see that vulnerable child who'd spent too many years living in her grandmother's house.
She closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure.
The scent of the pancakes drifted up to her, and without thinking, she cut off a piece and ate it. It was delicious. Tender. Sweet.
Swallowing it around the lump in her throat, she said, "It's not a nice neighborhood, but I can take care of myself." She'd greet her grandmother and remind her why Genie wasn't at the party. Then she'd leave.
"Says the woman with a bruise covering half her face and stitches crawling up her head."
She ate another piece of pancake and brushed her fingers over the bruise. It still hurt, but it wasn't throbbing anymore. "You can't take me to my grandmother's house. We don't have that kind of relationship."
He stilled, the fork halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully. "What kind of relationship would that be?"
She shoved her fingers beneath her denim-covered thighs. "A 'meet the parents and relatives' kind." She lifted one shoulder and didn't meet his gaze. "With what we have, what would be the point?"
"'What we have'?" His voice was so soft she could barely hear it. "What would that be, Raine?"
Finally she met his eyes. "Nothing. We have nothing."
His blue eyes glittered like cut glass. He leaned closer. "And who's choice was that? I'm not the one who said we'd have fun and move on."
"You're the one who couldn't get his pants on fast enough yesterday morning." The one who hadn't given her a chance to fix what she'd done. She shoved the chair back and scooped her plate off the table. The fork fell off and landed on the floor with a dull thud.
"You clearly didn't want more than a quick fuck." She swallowed and stared out the kitchen window into the sunlight flooding the courtyard. It stung her eyes, making them burn. "I don't take fuck buddies to my grandmother's party."
"Yeah?" His chair squealed across the floor as he pushed away from the table, then he was behind her, breathing heavily. Heat poured off him. He was too close to her, and she tensed. If he touched her right now, she'd shatter.
"Do you have many fuck buddies, Raine?" His breath washed over her nape, and she shivered. "Because I don't think you do."
She'd never told another man that she just wanted fun. And she wished she'd never said that to Connor. Letting him go would have been better than this awkward, painful morning after. "I don't have any fuck buddies," she whispered.
He cupped her shoulders, slid his hands down her arms, then let her go. Stepped in front of her.
"I'm taking you to that party." His gaze bored into her until she met it. "You're stuck with me, Raine." There was no teasing in his voice. No softness in his eyes. It sounded as if he meant for more than the party.
She refused to let herself think that. It was his cop mentality. His 'protect her' impulse that was behind his determination to go with her to the party.
She had to give him another chance. But it wasn't going to be the party.
"I'm taking you to your grandmother's. Especially if it's in a sketchy neighborhood."
She wanted to laugh. But i
f she started, she'd cry. "Yeah, that neighborhood is as sketchy as they come. But you're still not going with me."
"No?"
***
"This is the exit," she said later that afternoon as they drove north on the Eden's Expressway. "Willow Road."
Connor glanced at her, his eyes narrowed. "Your grandmother lives up here? In rich people land?
"She does." Raine hated the town where she'd spent her teen-aged years. She'd fled at eighteen to go to college and never went back. Except once a year for her grandmother's big birthday bash.
"Right turn," she said at the top of the ramp.
He turned without saying a word. Glanced at her more than once as they drove past the stately homes on large lots. Finally, after a few more turns, they came to a huge house that stood on three acres of land. Cars lined the circular driveway and the edges of the road. "This is it."
Connor parked his Honda in front of a Maserati and turned the engine off. Turned to her, his jaw tight. "We're in fucking Oakvale. The richest suburb in the U.S. And if I'm not mistaken, this house is on the lake. You told me your grandmother lived in a bad neighborhood."
"I said it wasn't a 'nice' neighborhood. This isn't." She stepped out of the car and stood facing the house, looking through the iron fence at the red brick house and the formal gardens. Most people, driving down the road, would look at that house and envy the people who lived there. Raine knew better.
An expensive house did not make a happy home.
She turned to find Connor watching her. "Let's get this over with."
Without waiting for him to answer, she turned and headed toward the red brick paver driveway bordered by severely trimmed bushes. Dark clouds obscured the sun, and the air was heavy. Still. Just like the ball of anxiety in her stomach.
Every time she walked up to this house, she remembered coming here when her parents were alive. She and Genie huddled close as they headed for the huge house that blocked the sun. They knew they had to be on their best behavior. Sit quietly. Say please and thank you. Watch their manners at dinner.
And every time, as they got in the car to go home, their mother would turn around and say, "She's not as bad as she seems."
Turned out their mother was wrong. Beatrice Talbott was far worse.
She slowed as she neared the house, unable to will her feet to move. After a moment, Connor slid his hand into hers. Surprise made her flinch at the contact. But she clung to his warm hand. It managed to banish the ghosts of visits past.
"Thank God I came with you."
She glanced at him. "Maybe. Yeah."
He'd worn her down. He hadn't argued, hadn't questioned her. He'd just told her that he was going. Over and over. And when he'd taken her to retrieve her car, instead of heading home, he'd followed her.
She'd known he would follow her all the way to Oakvale. So, with a ridiculous sense of relief, of freedom, she'd parked her car at her apartment and silently got into his.
Staring at the imposing house, she was glad he'd been so stubborn. Glad he hadn't let her win.
"What's the story here?" he said, twining his warm, comforting fingers with hers. "Tell me."
She shrugged one shoulder. "She raised us after our parents died. A sad time."
"A hundred bucks says that doesn't even begin to cover it."
Her mouth curled into a fleeting smile. "Not taking that bet."
"You gonna fill me in?"
"Maybe later." She squared her shoulders. She'd find her grandmother. Wish her the obligatory 'happy birthday'. Remind her that only one of her granddaughters was here today because the other granddaughter, sweet, gentle Genie, had been killed by her husband. A man Beatrice adored.
***
Connor watched as Raine braced herself. Straightened her spine, threw her shoulders back, took a deep breath. As if she was heading into battle. She opened the front door and tugged him into the house.
The place was a museum.
Oriental carpets glowed in the light and covered the wood floors. The pictures on the wall probably belonged in the Art Institute – all dark colors, religious symbols, old varnish. One room held Impressionist paintings. He'd swear one of them was a Monet.
Everything was old. And expensive. The kind of place where you needed to keep your hands to yourself. No kid could play in this stifling house.
Raine had lived here.
He wanted to linger, to see if there was anything of her left in the cold, formal place, but she was walking with purpose. Towing him along behind her, as if she had to get out of this place in order to breathe again.
They burst through a door and into the kitchen. A sharp breeze blew through the room from a wall of windows, carrying the scent of the lake. Unlike what he'd seen of the house so far, this part was thoroughly modern. Equipped with a Viking stove and a SubZero refrigerator. Granite countertops. Cabinets that even he recognized as expensive. The room could have been lifted from Architectural Digest magazine.
Men and women in dark uniforms barely looked up from their preparations as he and Raine walked through.
Raine was too still beside him. As if girding herself for an ordeal. To get her mind off whatever was coming, he asked, "What are we doing in the kitchen?"
"Shortest route to the backyard," she answered, tightening her grip on his hand. She pushed through a door onto a patio and gulped in air. Maybe it had been impossible for her to breathe in that house.
The backyard was breathtaking. To the east, Lake Michigan was a flat gray color beneath the clouds, framed by the dense bushes that formed the north and south boundaries of the property. Rigidly formal flower beds criss-crossed the lawn, holding blossoms of different colors in geometric shapes. Four musicians were tucked into a corner next to the patio, playing chamber music. Waiters passed through throngs of people on the lawn, dispensing drinks and hors d'oeuvres.
A chilly breeze blew off the lake, and Raine shivered. He let her hand go long enough to rub his hand down her arm to warm her up. "Guess what they say is true," he murmured.
"What's that?"
"It's always colder by the lake."
She smiled, the first genuine one he'd seen since they got off the Edens Expressway. "Yeah. Especially in Oakvale."
Most of the men wore suits. And they hadn't bought them at a discount clothing store. The women wore elegant gowns and lots of jewelry. "Quite the bash," he murmured to Raine.
"Yeah. All hail Beatrice Talbott," she muttered.
"Where is the guest of honor?" He scanned the crowd for someone who resembled Raine, but there was no one even close.
"If we're lucky, on the opposite side of the crowd." Raine grabbed a glass of white wine from a waiter passing by and knocked back most of it. She scanned the crowd, took one final gulp of wine and replaced the glass on another waiter's tray.
"I didn't think people actually lived like this." He watched the women in fancy dresses and men in suits as they mingled. "This is way too Great Gatsby-ish for me."
"Complete with a murder."
He tightened his grip on her hand. "We'll solve this one."
She clung more tightly to him. "My grandmother thought Peter was the perfect husband for Genie."
He studied her for a long moment. Her face was pale and pinched, and her eyes shadowed. The makeup she wore didn't completely cover the purplish-green bruising around her eye.
He let go of her hand and curled his arm around her shoulders. Her arm was cold to the touch, pebbled with goosebumps, and he pulled her closer. She huddled into him and took a deep, shuddering breath. "You shouldn't have come here, Raine," he said softly. "Let's go home."
"Not yet." Her gaze darted over his shoulder. Searching. "Not until I see her."
"Will that change anything?"
She didn't answer. Suddenly she froze. Then she stepped away from his side and brushed past him.
He followed her toward a tall, regal woman with silver hair in a frosty blue suit. She wore diamonds in her ears and at her th
roat. The woman was speaking to an older couple, but her gaze drifted toward Raine. Softened for a fraction of a second. Then she drew herself straight. Murmured something to the other couple and turned to face Raine.
Connor arrived in time to hear the older woman say, "Lorraine. I'm glad you could make it."
Raine extended her hand to the woman, then curled her fingers into her palm and let her arm drop. "It's been on my calendar for a long time, Grandmother."
Connor stepped up next to her, and Raine fumbled for his hand. Twined her fingers with his and clung. "Grandmother, I'd like you to meet Connor Donovan. A friend of mine. Connor, this is my grandmother, Beatrice Talbott."
Connor shook the older woman's hand. She had a surprisingly strong grip. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Talbott."
"Thank you, Mr. Donovan." The woman's cool eyes studied him as if he were a specimen on a dissection table. "And what do you do? Are you a teacher like Lorraine?"
"No, ma'am. I'm a homicide detective in Chicago."
The woman's lips tightened, but Connor would swear fear flickered in her eyes for a moment as her gaze darted to Raine. Then back at him. "I see. Lorraine, you're just like your mother."
"Thank you, Grandmother," Raine said. She stood straighter. Her smile was forced, but he wasn't sure anyone else would see it. "That's a real compliment."
The woman's eyes narrowed. But before she could speak, she spotted someone behind them and smiled. Held out her hand. "Peter. So glad you could make it. Come say hello to Lorraine."
Chapter 23
Connor turned and froze. The tall blond man was smiling, as if anticipating nothing but party small talk.
Peter Northrup was walking up to them, accompanied by a beautiful red-haired woman. "Grandmother Talbott," he murmured, kissing her cheek. Northrup turned to Raine, and she stepped backward into Connor.
Trust Me (The Donovan Family Book 4) Page 20
