McLain's Law

by Kylie Brant

  Her startled gaze flew to his. She used the coffee mug as a shield, sipping from it as her mind searched frantically for something to say. She certainly wasn’t about to disclose the real reason for her distraction. She set the cup down carefully and said, “Oh, it was nothing really. I talked to my mother this morning, and I was just thinking about our conversation, that’s all.”

  “Nothing wrong, I hope?”

  “No.” Michele smiled faintly. “There’s nothing wrong.” That was the same lie she had told her mother this morning, but James looked more satisfied with it than her mother had been. He shocked her then by picking up one of her hands and holding it in both of his.

  “Michele, I’m sure you realize that I’m interested in you as far more than a colleague. I find you most . . . enchanting.” His mouth came down to hers softly, and she sat frozen, her eyes fluttering shut as she accepted his kiss.

  It was . . . nice, she realized sadly. Merely nice. It raised no answering feelings in her; instead it left her empty. She despaired even as she acknowledged the fact. It was unfair of her to make comparisons, but it would be even more unfair if she were to use James’s attraction to her to shield her from Connor McLain.

  “I’m sorry, James. I don’t feel the same way.”

  He watched her keenly. “Perhaps in time, if we dated . . .”

  Michele shook her head. “I think it could get a bit uncomfortable at work if things didn’t work out,” she averred gently.

  He dropped her hand, inquiring tightly, “There’s someone else?”

  “No!” Her surprise wasn’t feigned. “No, there’s no one. I’m just not very interested in developing a relationship right now.”

  The man at her side shook his head. “Whether you’re interested in it or not isn’t really the issue, Michele. It just happens. What about that McLain person who came to the office the other day?”

  Michele felt horror wash over her as she imagined every aspect of her relationship with Connor becoming common knowledge. “What about him?”

  “You’re not dating him?”

  “I told you, James, I’m not dating anyone. Certainly not Connor McLain.” Her agitation was apparent as she rose and took her cup back to the kitchen. “I don’t know where you got that impression.”

  “Just from observing the two of you that day, actually. There were some interesting undercurrents. I must have misinterpreted them.”

  “You must have,” she said flatly. James took his cue from her tone and stood.

  Michele walked him to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for dinner this evening.”

  He looked down at her. “Thank you for the company, Michele.” And then he was gone.

  She thankfully locked the door after him and leaned against it. Imagine James thinking he had read something into the brief time when he had been in the presence of her and Connor. All he’d read was her desire to punch the man, she thought waspishly and crossed to pick up his cup. She remembered once again that she hadn’t seen Sammy yet tonight. She sighed and began a search for him.

  She finally found him in her bedroom, the last place she looked and had to spend several long minutes coaxing him out from underneath her bed. When she finally had him in her arms, she stood up, lecturing him in a severe tone. “I suppose this means you’ve been really naughty, hmm, to have hidden yourself away for so long? I’m not sure you deserve supper tonight after all.” She turned toward the door without hesitating in her scolding. As she started out of the room, her eyes opened wide.

  Michele screamed involuntarily, then clapped one hand over her mouth as her eyes took in the large dead bird hanging from her dresser mirror. It hung from a noose fashioned with one of her own belts. Its head lay limply to the side, its neck obviously broken.

  Bile rushed up in her throat and she looked around wildly, half expecting to see the person responsible for this cruel scene, before rushing out of the room. She’d reached the front door before she stopped, reason slowly returning. Whoever had been here was obviously gone. She’d been all over the house already, looking for her pet, and certainly she would have seen the intruder if he was still there.

  Her skin crawled at the thought, and she dropped Sammy unceremoniously. Turning and leaning against the door, she took deep breaths, trying to still her racing heart. Her mind was whirling so madly that she failed to respond even when Sammy wound around her ankles, mewling querulously. Finally, after long moments, she drew a deep shuddering breath. Slowly, without conscious decision, she walked to her purse and took out her cell.

  * * *

  “McLain!”

  Connor cocked an eye at the desk sergeant as he walked by. He had just finished more than twelve hours on the job, and he wasn’t anxious to linger.

  “Line three is for you.”

  He bit out a curse. The last thing he wanted to do right now was start on something new. He was burned-out. All he wanted was some sleep.

  “Who is it?”

  The desk sergeant rolled his eyes. “I’m not your answering service, McLain. Some broad.”

  He picked up the phone and punched the button. “Lieutenant McLain.”

  “Connor.” A soft voice trembled, then was quiet.

  He could hear the other person on the line draw a shaky breath. “Who is this?” he demanded. A sudden, frightening thought struck him. “Michele? Is that you?” He barely waited for her affirmative reply before demanding, “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Michele drew a deep breath, striving for an even tone when all she really wanted was to scream and scream and scream. “Someone’s been here,” she managed, before her voice broke.

  “Where are you? Are you at home?” His voice was tight. At her barely audible reply, his voice changed, got lower and more soothing. “Okay, Princess, here’s what I want you to do. Do you have a neighbor you could call?”

  Michele’s hand went to her forehead. Why did he ask that? How would that help? “Yes, I suppose . . . .”

  “Okay, that’s fine, that’s okay. Listen to me.” His voice was controlled and soothing. “I’ll have a squad car at your place in five minutes, okay? You go to your neighbor’s and wait for them to arrive. And I’ll be there as soon as I can, all right? Hang on. Someone will be right there.” Connor frowned as he heard the soft click.

  He replaced the phone and turned to the desk sergeant. “Radio a squad car to go to 406 ½ Daley, will you? Tell them it’s a possible intruder.” He took off at a run.

  “Yeah, okay, but where are you going?” yelled the sergeant at his departing figure.

  “Tell them I’ll meet them there,” Connor shouted over his shoulder.

  A uniformed police officer who Connor recognized answered the sharp rap on Michele’s door. “Evening, Lieutenant,” he said respectfully. Connor nodded as his sharp gaze traveled the room and found Michele seated on the couch with another officer. Relief flooded him at her apparent well-being. He didn’t question the feeling, just as he didn’t question the slow burning rage that was forming inside him.

  “What happened?” he asked, turning his head to pin the officer with his gaze.

  “Miss Easton was next door when we arrived, sir. She was pretty shaken up, but she took us to her bedroom, and that’s where we found it.”

  “Found what?” Connor bit out.

  “Dead bird, sir. Someone had shot it, with a pellet gun, probably, and then broke its neck. Found it hanging from the side of the dresser mirror. Kind of sick, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he murmured grimly. “Real sick.”

  “Oh, and, sir?”

  Connor looked back impatiently.

  The officer lowered his voice. “There was a note with it, the letters cut from a newspaper or something. It was stuck between the mirror and the frame. Just one word. ‘Remember.’ That’s all.”

  Connor turned this new information over in his mind. “Okay. I’ll take care of Miss Easton. Question the neighbors. See if anyone saw someone around here today. A
nd get rid of the mess in her bedroom.”

  The officer shrugged. “Sure thing, Lieutenant.”

  The other officer moved from the couch when Connor came in and sank down next to Michele. “How are you doing?” he asked gently.

  “Fine,” she replied tremulously. “I’m sorry I had to call you. I wasn’t really thinking . . . .”

  “You did exactly the right thing. Lucky for me I worked late, so I was still there when you called.” He gathered her up and pulled her into his arms as she bit her lip. “Hey, c’mere. It’s all right, Princess. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Michele knew she should object to his holding her, object to that blasted name he kept calling her. But she was so weary of fighting. All she wanted was to shut out the cruelty she had witnessed tonight. And it felt so good to be held in his arms right now. Later she would pull herself back together; later she would focus on being strong. Right now she allowed herself to be comforted in his embrace. To be soothed by his strong heartbeat, which sounded steadily beneath her ear, where it was pressed against his chest.

  Connor didn’t put a name to the cold fear that had been with him since he’d taken her call and had accompanied him until he’d walked in her door and seen her unharmed. Wrapping her in his arms was as much for himself as for her.

  “Lieutenant?”

  Both Connor and Michele looked up as one of the officers summoned him. “Looks like that’s how the intruder may have entered the premises.” The officer indicated a window in the kitchen. “I found the screen outside in the bushes.”

  “It doesn’t lock.” Michele was shocked at the hoarseness of her voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “It never has. The landlord always promises to fix it . . . .” Her voice trailed off as she met Connor’s hard gaze.

  “We’ll take care of it tomorrow,” he promised tersely. “In the meantime, you’re not staying here tonight. Get your things.”

  “I’ll be all right,” she began, but Connor was having none of it.

  “The next time you might not be so lucky, Michele. He could be back. I’m not going to allow you to spend the night here and that’s final.”

  Michele found some of her strength returning in the face of his implacable attitude. “All right,” she uttered as she acknowledged the sense he was making. “I’ll find a motel to stay

  “Not a motel.” Connor rose and strode in the direction of her bedroom. “You can stay with me.”

  Michele didn’t know who was more astounded at his assertion, her or the young officer who overheard him make it. She watched as the young man coughed and turned away, while she sat frozen. Stay with him? Like hell! She marched into her bedroom to see him rifling through her underwear drawer.

  The sight infuriated her enough to take her mind off the last time she’d been in that room. “Get away from my clothes,” she hissed at him.

  He paid her no attention as he casually picked out a bra and added it to the pile of clothes in his hand.

  She marched over to him and slammed the drawer, narrowly missing his fingers in the process. “I am perfectly capable of packing for myself.”

  “Good. Put everything you want in that bag over there.” Michele swung her gaze to the overnighter he had obviously dragged from her closet. He brushed by her on his way to the bathroom. When she followed him, she saw him picking up shampoo and makeup and her curling iron, before passing her again to go back and dump his armload into the open suitcase on the bed.

  She followed him back to the bedroom, beginning to feel like an obedient puppy. “Will you stop messing around in my things?”

  Connor closed and zipped the bag, then turned and grabbed her elbow with his free hand, and guided her toward the door. “Let’s go, Princess. I’m beat, and we can both use some rest tonight.”

  Michele dug in her heels. “I am not going anywhere with you.” At his glowering look, she added, “All right, I’ll spend the night elsewhere, but not at your place. There are plenty of motels—”

  “What you need tonight is to get out of this house. What you definitely do not need,” Connor stressed, “is to be alone. And you will not be alone. You’ll be with me.” He attempted once again to guide her out the bedroom door.

  Michele became belatedly aware of the two officers in the house, most likely within hearing distance. She kept her voice to a furious whisper. “If I need to be with someone tonight, I assure you that I can find better company than yours.”

  Connor lowered his voice to match hers, but his still managed to be sarcastic. “Oh, and who would you call? Dear James? I can’t believe that you’d choose to explain this whole ordeal to anyone else tonight. Whether you know it or not, you’re teetering on the edge right now. You didn’t call anyone else tonight. You called me. And you know what that tells me? It says that despite all your protests, you trust me. I’m taking you home with me tonight, and that’s final. Grab the cat and what you’ll need for it. I guess it’s coming, too.”

  Michele stared up at him mutinously. He was the last person on earth she wanted to stay with. But he was also right, damn him. She didn’t really relish spending the night alone, starting at every little noise. And she certainly didn’t want to recount the experience to any of her friends and face the questions that would inevitably arise. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy with the situation.

  He helped her gather up Sammy’s things and wrestle the animal into its carrier. She allowed herself to be walked to the front door, since Connor’s tight grip on her arm left no room for further disagreement. “Stop pulling at me,” she groused.

  “Quit your bitching. After all, what could be safer than spending the night with a cop?” He exchanged a few terse words with the officers before gathering up her suitcase and, with a hand on her back, ushered her out the door, down the steps and to his car, which was parked illegally out front.

  “Nice example you set,” Michele sniped huffily as he put the suitcase and carrier next to the pet supplies and overnight bag he’d already placed in the back seat. “How safe will I be with a policeman who ignores any law he likes?”

  Connor slammed her door and walked quickly around to his own, then slid into the car and started the engine. Sparing only a glance in her direction, he replied, “You’ll be as safe as you want to be, Princess.”

  Chapter 8

  Connor slid a concerned glance to his couch, where Michele was sitting, a forlorn slump to her shoulders. She’d gotten quieter and quieter in the car before falling into complete silence. He much preferred their quarreling to the winsome sorrow that had enveloped her like a shroud. At least when she had been sniping at him, she’d been feeling real emotion. But that emotion had slipped away, to be replaced, he knew, with the memory of the sicko who was badgering her.

  “I put your bags in the second bedroom,” he said, startled at how loud his voice sounded in the semidarkness. “The cat made a beeline for under the bed as soon as I let it out.”

  Michele nodded. What was she doing here? she wondered wearily. This was the last place in the world she should be, the last place she wanted to be.

  But that wasn’t exactly true, she realized in a flash. She wasn’t thinking very clearly at the moment, and this probably wasn’t a good idea. But she couldn’t think of anyone who would be easier to be with. She didn’t have to talk to Connor, didn’t have to pretend that she was all right, or try to take his mind off what had happened to her tonight. He would have seen through that in a second. He was content to leave her with her own thoughts, and she knew that if those thoughts got to be too much for her to bear, he would be there for her. Strangely enough, she found the idea comforting.

  She looked at him then, standing still and ill at ease in his own home, and she almost smiled. He obviously didn’t know what to do with the strays he’d just brought home. “Will you answer my questions?”

  Connor looked wary. “I might.”

  “Do you think the same person responsible for that—” her voi
ce shook slightly “—that bird is the one who sent the other note, too?”

  He watched her soberly. “Probably,” he conceded. “But I sure haven’t figured out what the connection between the two of you is yet. The lab should have full results on that letter you received soon. It will be interesting to see if there’s any kind of match with the clues picked up from tonight.”

  “What kind of clues do you think the officer may have found tonight?”

  “The intruder had to take the screen off, and the window will show prints if he didn’t wear gloves.”

  Michele watched him closely, half-amazed at how well she was beginning to be able to read him. “What else?”

  His silence was more telling than a shout. Michele was certain that she was on to something, because she knew Connor wouldn’t lie to her. If he didn’t want her to know something, he might try to change the subject or stonewall her, but he wouldn’t lie.

  “There’s something else. I can see it in your face. You may as well tell me. I’m not going to go into hysterics. I’m stronger than I look.”

  He had no difficulty believing that. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much of a recommendation. She looked as fragile as spun glass, and just as breakable. This latest ordeal had drained most of the color from her face, and she appeared strung as tautly as a wire. “We can discuss this tomorrow,” he said, turning away.

  “No!” Michele’s vehement response surprised him into turning back to face her again. Her eyes were wide and shooting darts at him. A good sign, he silently acknowledged, but not on this subject. She had already dealt with enough tonight; she didn’t need any more turmoil. But from the look on the lady’s face, she wasn’t going to give him the chance to protect her from it.

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that I can trust you to tell me the truth. Now, I want to know what else you learned about this thing tonight.”