The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming)

by Dawn Stewardson

  “You seem to spend a lot of evenings working.”

  “I think there’s a special rule for the self-employed. Usually, you’re either in the midst of a dry spell or swamped.”

  “And right now you’re swamped?”

  “No, right now I’m just pressed for time on this manuscript.”

  “Then we could do dinner again tomorrow. My treat.”

  She hesitated, wondering if, by then, she’d have had enough thinking time. “Well...yes,” she finally said. “That would be nice.”

  “Good. I’ll come by around seven, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  When she walked him to the door, he simply gave her another warm smile and said, “See you tomorrow.”

  “Right. Around seven.” She locked up behind him, then once again wandered over to the front window so she could see him when he appeared on the street below.

  As she waited, her thoughts returned to the subject of what was happening between them. Why was she so drawn to this particular man at this particular time?

  Was it a straightforward, Cupid-shot-an-arrow sort of attraction? Or was it something a whole lot more complex?

  She’d pretty well come to terms with her marriage breaking up, but her mother’s death was still giving her a lot of sleepless nights. And now Steve had been murdered and she was a suspect.

  Man, if anyone could use an emotional anchor it was her. So was that what Travis represented to her subconscious?

  It could well be. The fact that he was a cop, an authority figure... The way he’d come riding along like the proverbial white knight, doing battle for her with Evan Reese... And, most important, he believed in her innocence despite his partner’s suspicions.

  She stood looking down at him as he walked out of the building and headed across to his car. When he reached it, he turned and raised his hand the way he’d done earlier.

  This time, she didn’t feel embarrassed. This time, she smiled and raised hers in return.

  * * *

  HE’D BEEN ROAMING West Seventy-fourth, getting a sense of how many people were on this block of it in the evening.

  Very few, it turned out. And that had started him thinking that if he did end up having to whack the Langley woman in her apartment, then coming to do the job under the cover of darkness would be a good idea.

  It was about then that he’d spotted her staring down at the street.

  For a moment he’d imagined her in his gun site. Centered in the window, a perfect target. One shot, instant death. But when the time came he wouldn’t be standing around waiting for her to show her face at a window.

  Curious about why she was looking out, he’d stepped into the sheltering shadow of a staircase and watched the scene unfold.

  The dark-haired man coming out of the building. Crossing to the black Mustang. Turning to gaze up at Celeste Langley. Her smiling.

  Even from a hundred feet away the Ice Man thought he could smell a cop—which started him swearing under his breath.

  When he’d checked her out he’d figured there’d be no problems at all. A woman on her own was easy prey. All he’d have to do was wait for the go-ahead, then make his move. But if the cop was her boyfriend there could be complications.

  The Mustang had started to pull away from the curb, so he memorized the plate number. It was no big deal to get an ownership run, and he would. But he was almost certain the guy was heat. Had a sixth sense about that. And if he was right he’d priced the job too cheaply.

  He shook his head, wishing he hadn’t already taken the money. But he had, so he was committed.

  In his business, when you agreed to do a job you did it. Otherwise, the word hit the street and your rep hit the skids.

  When he looked back at the window, Celeste Langley was gone. That didn’t matter, though. He’d already seen enough to know he’d have to be careful.

  In fact, he’d better come by again tomorrow night. See if this guy was here all the time.

  * * *

  AT A QUARTER PAST TEN the next morning, Travis pulled into an empty parking space near the renovated SoHo building that housed Walter Namouth’s office. He climbed out of his car and headed through the dazzling October sunshine in the direction of the front door.

  He didn’t intend to go inside. Not even into the lobby. But he wanted to talk to Celeste after she’d finished with the lawyer.

  As promised, Hank was unofficially keeping him informed. He’d called last night to say that Steve Parker’s autopsy was scheduled for today. And since that wasn’t the sort of thing you told a dead man’s sister over the phone, coming by to wait for Celeste made sense.

  This way, he could drive her home, hear what Namouth had had to say and see how she was feeling about things at this point.

  He’d pretty well figured out how he was feeling about them. His brain had refused to shut down and let him sleep last night, so he’d spent a lot of time thinking. And he’d reached some conclusions about just how helpful he could be to Celeste—without doing anything that would put Espizito into cardiac arrest if he heard about it.

  Accompanying her to a meeting with a criminal lawyer would definitely not have been a wise move. Neither would letting her in on anything Hank told him about what was happening with the case.

  But the department didn’t own him. Besides, he was on leave, which meant that what he did with his time really wasn’t anyone’s business except his own.

  As he reached the front of the building he was telling himself that if one of his friends had a problem and came to him for advice, he wouldn’t hesitate to give it. Or if one of them just wanted someone to talk to, he’d listen. And Celeste was fast becoming a friend. Oh, maybe not exactly a friend, but...

  Well, the terminology didn’t matter. What mattered was that there was no reason he couldn’t be there for her.

  None except the minor detail that she was a suspect. Still, it wouldn’t take Hank long to realize he had that one wrong.

  Of course, if he didn’t... Man, if he didn’t, then Celeste would really need a friend.

  Travis walked on past the building and down the block a few hundred feet, trying not to think he might have let a flaw or two creep into his logic. Because regardless of that possibility he wanted to spend as much time with her as she’d let him.

  Maybe he hadn’t known her long, but he was already reconsidering his theory about cops and serious relationships. They weren’t always a bad mix. The divorce rate on the force might be high, but it was nowhere near a hundred percent.

  After he’d been waiting out front for half an hour or so, Celeste emerged from the building.

  He simply watched her at first—aware that she seemed even more beautiful than she had only yesterday—then he started toward her.

  “Hi,” he said, falling into step beside her.

  Celeste hadn’t noticed Travis until he spoke, and it amazed her that the mere sound of his voice could brighten her mood.

  “Hi yourself,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood so I figured I’d give you a ride home.”

  “Just happened to, huh?”

  She shot him a smile, then waited, expecting him to ask about her appointment with Walter Namouth. He fooled her, though, and didn’t say another word until they’d reached his car.

  After sticking the key in the ignition, he looked over at her and said, “You wanted me to let you know about your brother’s autopsy. It’s today.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, her throat suddenly tight.

  “So you can firm up the funeral arrangements for any day from tomorrow on,” he added gently.

  “Yes. I guess...he wanted to be cremated. Did I mention that?”

  “No.”

  �
�Well, he did. He told me after our mother died. So instead of a funeral I should really be calling it a memorial service. But as for the time...Saturday, do you think?”

  He nodded, hesitated, finally said, “I’d like to go to it with you, but I can’t. There’ll be guys from Homicide there. Checking out the mourners. It’s standard procedure. And as long as you’re a suspect, I’d be in hot water if I...”

  “I understand,” she said. She wished he could be with her, though—so much that it frightened her, because it wasn’t a wish that was consistent with the decision she’d come to last night.

  After hours of thinking, she’d concluded the only thing to do was keep their relationship platonic. At least until she no longer was a suspect.

  Once her life was back to some semblance of normality, she’d be in a better position to figure out whether her feelings for him were the genuine item or she merely wanted a strong man to lean on.

  Yet, despite knowing it wouldn’t be a good idea to—

  “But you’ll have someone there with you?” he asked.

  “Yes. I have an aunt. My mother’s sister. I’m close to her—and to my cousins. And I know some of my friends will come.”

  “Good.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Would you like to grab an early lunch?”

  “Thanks, but I’d better go straight home. I should call and firm up the arrangements for the service. Get it over with. And someone’s stopping by for that manuscript.”

  “Right.” He pulled into the flow of traffic. “What about dinner? Are we still on for that or...?”

  “Sure,” she said, even though she knew finalizing those arrangements wouldn’t leave her in the best of spirits. “I’ll be better off going out than sitting home alone.”

  He drove another block or so before finally asking how her meeting with Namouth had gone.

  “Well...I’m glad I talked to him, although I couldn’t really tell him much. Just that the police thought there’d been a woman at Steve’s apartment on Saturday evening, and I’ve gathered she’s a suspect. And that Hank must figure she was me because...

  “I explained about the survivor clause in my mother’s will. Even though you didn’t say exactly why Hank figures I did it, there’s nothing else I can think of.”

  Travis still didn’t tell her whether she was guessing right or not. He merely said, “And what did Namouth say?”

  “He asked how I knew Hank suspected me.”

  “And?”

  “I said you’d warned me. I knew it was safe enough. That lawyer-client privilege would apply to everything I told him.

  “His view,” she continued unhappily, “is that since there’s no one to back up my alibi I’ll almost certainly end up having to go in for questioning. Unless the police learn who that woman actually was.”

  Travis gave her a sympathetic glance, then said, “Well, as I told you yesterday, being questioned and being charged are two very different things. But I assume he advised you not to answer any questions unless he’s present?”

  “Yes. And he gave me the number of his service. Said they can reach him twenty-four hours a day.”

  “Well, nobody’s going to drag you down to the precinct in the middle of the night. You don’t have to worry about that happening.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Still, that hardly meant she didn’t have to worry at all. Being a murder suspect, even an innocent one, was something she couldn’t imagine anyone not worrying about.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Wednesday, October 6, 11:28 a.m.

  TRAVIS AND CELESTE had just about reached her place when his cellular rang.

  “Quinn,” he answered.

  “I need to talk to you,” Hank said with no preamble and an unusual edge to his voice. “Can you meet me at Lucy’s? Half an hour?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I’ll fill you in then.”

  “That was Hank,” Travis said, clicking off.

  “Oh?”

  Celeste was obviously going for casual, but her expression said she was dying to ask if the call had been about her brother’s case.

  “Just wants to meet me for lunch,” he told her.

  “Oh.”

  He pulled up in front of her building, parking in the No Standing zone outside the entrance. “I’ll see you in.”

  “You don’t have to bother. I’ll—”

  “It’s no bother.”

  A buzzer system wasn’t much of a challenge to anyone with determination, and he hadn’t forgotten that Evan Reese knew where Celeste lived. It wouldn’t be a surprise to find him lying in wait for her, ostensibly wanting to talk more about their “cosmic connectedness.”

  There was no sign of Reese, though. Neither on the street nor inside.

  “Do you have time to kill before you meet Hank?” Celeste asked, unlocking her door. “Would you like to come in for coffee?”

  He’d love to. However, since Hank’s tone had warned him that the sooner he heard about whatever was going on the better, he said, “Thanks, but I should just hit the road. I’ll see you later.”

  When she smiled, it almost made him decide he’d stay for a few minutes. Then his feeling about “the sooner the better” made him turn and start down the hall.

  On the way to Lucy’s, he concluded that Hank was hot to tell him about one of two things: either something major had happened in the department, or there was a new development in the Parker case. He figured the latter was the more likely, but exactly what kind of development?

  Not one that proved Celeste’s innocence. Not considering how Hank had sounded. So had his partner uncovered more “evidence” pointing in the direction of her guilt?

  He really hoped that wasn’t it, because if you added enough pieces of circumstantial evidence together you could often build a pretty solid case. And Celeste wasn’t guilty. Knowing her as well as he did now, he didn’t have even the slightest lingering doubt.

  When he arrived at Lucy’s, Hank was already there, a mug of coffee in front of him.

  “Hey,” Travis said, sliding into the booth.

  “Hey.”

  He waited while the waitress brought him coffee, then said, “So? What’s been going on?”

  “Oh, there’s some stuff I want to breeze by you. See what you think.”

  Travis nodded. Hank had only agreed to keep him informed, but they were so used to bouncing ideas off each other that it would be tough to quit cold turkey.

  “First off,” he began, “we talked to Rhonda Stirling.”

  “Jill Flores’s friend.”

  “Right. And their stories match. Had dinner together, watched The English Patient, Stirling was there until after midnight. Plus, she took a taxi home and the pickup and drop-off addresses were logged in. So, since Flores wasn’t the blonde who was visiting Parker—”

  “You mean, the blonde you assume was visiting Parker.”

  Hank shrugged. “She wasn’t visiting anyone else. But I want to tell you about a couple of other things before we get to Celeste Langley.”

  Even though Travis would far rather hear what Hank had to say about Celeste right now, he merely nodded again.

  “Most of the neighbors weren’t any help. Parker kept pretty much to himself and they barely knew him.”

  “So you didn’t luck out and find one with a motive for killing him.”

  “No, but his next-door neighbor had an interesting story—and my guess is that Evan Reese is the central figure in it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh-huh. Apparently, one of the good doctor’s patients used to show up at his apartment outside of office hours. Must have had a talent for slipping past the concierge. Or maybe he’d discovered another way in. Whichever, he fits Reese’
s description.”

  Travis could feel his heart beating a little faster. He’d realized from the start that Reese was bad news, but there’d been nothing to make him think the guy could be their killer. Not until now.

  “The neighbor doesn’t know how frequently Reese came by,” Hank was saying. “Assuming it actually was him. But a couple of times Parker wasn’t home and Reese ended up pounding on the door, yelling that he needed to talk. That’s how this guy could give me a description. The first time he went out into the hall and told Reese to knock it off.”

  “Only the first time?”

  “Yeah, he said our boy got pretty nasty, so the next time he just waited and spoke to Parker about it later.”

  “But Parker was home on Saturday night,” Travis said, thinking aloud. “He’d have let Reese in. And Reese is about five-seven or -eight.”

  “You figure that didn’t occur to me?”

  Travis grinned. “I know it did. So have you paid him another visit?”

  “Not yet, but I will.”

  “He’ll have a good alibi.”

  “Probably, but we’ll see just how solid it is.”

  “So...you’re looking at the first deputy police commissioner’s nephew as a murder suspect. That’s almost enough to make me glad Espizito yanked me off the case.”

  “I’m half wishing he’d yanked me, too. I’ll bet Reese makes another call to his uncle after I talk to him again. But at least I’ll be able to say he’s not the only one we’re questioning. We put Parker’s name out on the street and came up with another couple of suspects.”

  “Uh-huh?” They often turned to snitches when they were short of leads. And with surprising frequency, one of their informants would learn something that explained why the victim had been murdered. Maybe he’d lost big at gambling, for example, and hadn’t paid up.

  “Parker was an amateur musician,” Hank was saying. “Used to jam at a club down on Third. And a month or so ago, while the group was taking a break, he ended up sitting by a couple of two-bit crooks who were discussing a string of break-ins they’d pulled off.