by Maggie Price
The incision had been there long enough to heal. Long enough to lose all postsurgical redness and fade to a pale flesh tone.
Had the cause of the surgery been Sloan’s incentive toward a healthier lifestyle?
He’d once been as much a coffee freak as she, but now he drank orange juice and lemonade—fresh lemonade. He worked out in a gym, swam laps. The man ate salads. Two years ago, he wouldn’t have known endive from a nosedive. Now he ate the stuff.
Julia exited the interstate, veered through an alley and half a dozen side streets to avoid traffic, then pulled into an unloading zone at the back of the county courthouse. The clock on the dash served as a glaring reminder that her stop at Sloan’s house had made her over an hour late to meet Bill. Yet she remained in her car with the motor idling and air conditioner blasting while her thoughts remained maddeningly on Sloan.
Judging from the looks of him, his fitness regime was nothing new. When she and Halliday interviewed him in his office that morning, Sloan’s dark, tailored suit had been deceiving. But the sight of him in his bathing trunks revealed rock-solid muscles and powerful calves—not overdeveloped, but impressive all the same. Sloan’s body looked harder, tougher, his muscles more distinctly defined than before.
His body not only looked that way, it felt that way, too. Heat pooled in her cheeks at the memory of the latent strength in the hand that had curved with familiar intimacy on the back of her neck. And when she shoved from his touch, she’d had the quick impression of pressing against steel.
Julia shifted her gaze and stared idly out the windshield at a bony black cat that slunk along the curb. There had been moments over the past two years when she thought she’d die of the need to feel Sloan’s touch. She’d grieved with the knowledge that her flesh would never again ignite from the heady feel of his mouth slicking down her throat, her shoulder, then settling onto her breast to nip, suckle....
She closed her eyes on a groan. The first time he’d taken her in his arms, an instant, electric connection had hummed through her body. She’d felt it every time they’d touched, and today had been no exception. The moment Sloan’s palm pressed against her flesh, a searing longing slammed into her like a fist. A longing as intense as it was unexpected.
Propping her elbows against the steering wheel, Julia pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. Her reaction to Sloan’s touch had been merely that—a knee-jerk response that meant nothing. Nothing. She couldn’t let it affect the investigation, couldn’t let it affect her.
With her next breath, anger stirred inside her as she acknowledged that was exactly what had happened. Otherwise, why had some reckless part of her wanted to lift a hand and touch that scar? Trace her fingers along the length of it? And why the hell was she allowing the aftermath of some unknown surgery to trail through her thoughts in an endless loop when she needed to concentrate on the case?
Killing the engine, she shoved open the door and stepped outside. The oppressive heat nearly took her breath away. She slammed the door, sending the scrawny black cat skittering beneath a graffiti-painted dumpster.
It was close to seven, and the only public access into the courthouse was through the sheriffs office. Julia checked in with a sleepy-eyed deputy who buzzed her through the security door. She cut across the dim rotunda, the marble halls echoing with the hollow clicking of her sandals as she made her way to the district attorney’s office. There, the reception area was dark, the hallway filled with gray shadows. The wedge of light jutting from the office at the end of the corridor drew her like a divining rod to water.
She paused just outside the door, unobserved by the man sitting in his shirtsleeves behind a desk inch deep with file folders, legal documents and general clutter. At the front edge of the blotter sat a nameplate that read Bill Taylor, First Assistant District Attorney.
The office was simple, the furniture sturdy but utilitarian. Untidy piles of file folders sat on top of bookcases and beneath the two leather visitors’ chairs at the front of the desk.
Julia shifted her gaze. While her fiancé concentrated on the contents of a legal pad, she concentrated on him. The glare of fluorescent lights emphasized the blond highlights in his thick, sandy hair; accentuated the firmness of his generous mouth; the awareness in his blue eyes. Those handsome, fine-honed features belonged to a man with a cool, purposeful temperament that Julia held in awe. Things that shot her blood pressure into the red zone often drew only a shrug from Bill.
They’d met a year ago when the first homicide case she’d handled went to trial. Over time, Bill’s open expression and blue eyes that invited trust had pulled her from the alienated, cold existence that settled over her when Sloan left.
Thinking of the gentle tenderness and compassion Bill had shown her sent a wave of gratitude through Julia. What would she have done without him?
As if sensing her presence, Bill lifted his gaze. A tired smile flashed across his tanned face.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she stepped into the office. “I got tied up. I hope you got the message I left on your voice mail.”
“I did.” He rose, came around the desk and dropped a kiss on her cheek. His white shirt was open at the collar; wrinkles gathered around his woven leather suspenders. “And it’s just as well you got held up. A problem’s come up with a key witness in the murder trial I start in the morning. I’ve got two clerks in the conference room researching case law and making calls to try to get things straightened out.” He checked his watch. “I thought I’d have things wrapped in a couple of hours. Now it looks like it’ll be an all-nighter.”
“I can pick something up for dinner,” Julia offered. “Bring it back here.”
“Thanks, but the clerks ordered pizzas. I’ll scavenge off them.” He cocked his head, his appreciative gaze moving down the length of her halter dress. “You look great,” he said softly.
Why don’t you peel off that fine white dress and slide into the hot tub with me, Jules?
Spine going stiff, Julia closed her eyes on the sudden, unwanted intrusion of Sloan’s words.
“Something wrong?” Bill asked as he curled his hand around hers.
“No,” she managed around the knot in her throat. “Nothing.”
She stared down at the large, firm hand that held hers. The gesture was typical of their relationship, Julia thought. Bill reaching for her, instead of her for him. Sloan had taught her well. Taught her that wanting something too much could rip you to shreds when you lost it. With Sloan, loving had mattered too much. It had ground her down, nearly destroyed her. And so, her relationship with Bill was different. She loved him in a quiet, calm way that allowed her to hold back. She seldom reached out. Never let herself want too much.
“I...my mind’s on the case I got today,” she added.
“So, tell me about it.”
“Shouldn’t you concentrate on your murder trial?”
He rolled his shoulders beneath his starched shirt. “To tell you the truth, I need a break.” Keeping his fingers linked with hers, Bill gestured for her to sit in one of the visitors’ chairs, then he settled into the other.
The warm, masculine scent of his cologne drifted into Julia’s lungs, conjuring feelings of contentment. Peace. With Bill, she felt as if she’d pulled on a comfortable sweater.
“What about your case?” he prodded.
“Halliday and I answered a call this morning at Remington Aerospace.”
“I heard about the homicide,” Bill said after a moment. “I didn’t know you took the call.”
She nodded, not surprised Bill knew about the murder. Cops regularly visited the D.A.’s office throughout the day and mentioned whatever new cases were working.
“I would have passed the call to another team if I’d known what I do now,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Sloan’s back.” When Bill remained silent, she shifted her gaze to his face, saw the awareness in his blue eyes. “Did you know?” she asked. “Did you
know he’s back?”
“I saw his picture in this morning’s paper.”
“So did Mother,” Julia said dryly. “She showed up on my doorstep this evening, spouting fire.” Julia lifted a brow as she regarded the man beside her. “Did you plan to mention the picture to me?”
“I’d have maybe gotten around to it...in about a hundred years.” With his long legs stretched out in front of him, Bill stared straight ahead, as if examining the framed law degree hanging on the wall behind his desk. “Sloan Remington’s not exactly my choice topic of conversation.”
“Nor mine.” Julia tightened her fingers around the solid, firm hand that held hers. “I want you to know that I’ll have to deal with Sloan awhile. He’s a suspect.”
Bill’s fingers flinched. “Damn,” he said softly, meeting her gaze. “Who got killed?”
“Vanessa West, Sloan’s executive assistant.” Julia raked her fingers through her hair. “Judging from what I heard in the interviews I conducted, the woman’s unofficial title was ‘Head Bitch.”’
“Wouldn’t win Miss Congeniality?”
“Not even close. That was her with Sloan in the newspaper photo.”
“I remember thinking how...involved they looked.”
“I thought that, too. He swears the only relationship they had was the job.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I don’t know,” she said in a quiet voice. “But I have an idea how to find out.”
“I’m listening.”
“While Halliday gets his jollies attending the autopsy in the morning, I’ll pay the art museum a visit. I want to talk to people who saw Sloan and Vanessa together. I need to find out how they acted toward each other before and after they posed for the photo.”
Bill cocked his head. “Don’t expect the museum to willingly hand over its guest list. They don’t want donors to come there one night, then get questioned by the police the next day.”
“It’s not the guests I intend to talk to, not now anyway. It’s the people who worked the night of the fund-raiser. Museum staffers, catering crew, the parking-valet employees. Service people blend into the background, get overlooked. But they listen and they hear things.”
“Good idea,” Bill said, then fell silent. When he spoke again, his voice had taken on a somber tone. “What will you do if Remington killed her?”
“Book him.”
He raised their joined hands, pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles. “Maybe what I should ask is what’s going to happen if he isn’t the murderer?”
Julia’s breathing shallowed. “The logical answer is that I’ll arrest whoever is. But I don’t think that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s not.” Bill stared gravely back at her. “Julia, I know how much you loved him. I know how much he hurt you.” He paused. “I’m not sure you’ve ever gotten over that—”
“I did.”
“Over him—”
“I did,” she insisted, then dropped her gaze. The thought of the quick, instinctive wave of longing that had lurched through her when Sloan’s hand settled against her flesh tugged at her conscience. Knee-jerk reaction, she reminded herself.
Taking firm hold of her emotions, she shifted to face Bill. “I wasn’t over Sloan when you and I started seeing each other. But I got over him, and I did it with your help.”
Mouth curving, Bill squeezed her hand, then leaned and settled a whisper-light kiss on her lips. “It was a pleasure,” he murmured.
Eyes closed, Julia waited for the stirring of her pulse, the heated lurch of longing.
Neither came.
“Must be gratifying to have both the mayor and governor show up for your party,” Rick Fox observed as he handed his boss a refill of club soda.
“It’s not exactly my party.”
Sloan’s gaze swept across the tuxedoed and gowned bodies crowded into the hospital’s formal reception room. The low hum of conversation drifted on the air, accompanied by the occasional clink of ice in glasses. The short speech he’d made from the dais, followed by the ribbon cutting, had officially dedicated the new oncology wing in his parents’ memory. Following the ceremony, he’d made his way through the crush of guests, shaking more hands than a politician on the campaign trail. Now Sloan found himself fighting the need to leave, to rid himself of the damn place where the sterile-scented air flung him back to a world of grim, dark memories.
“Hell if it isn’t your party,” Rick observed. “If it wasn’t for Remington money, the very spot we’re standing on would still be a vacant lot.”
“I suppose.”
Rick unbuttoned the jacket of his tux, slid a hand into his trouser pocket and downed a hefty swallow of Scotch. “Since you chose to drift over here behind a potted palm, I gather you’ve got things on your mind other than this to-do. Like Julia’s impromptu visit.”
Sloan studied his security chief over the wedge of lime bestriding the rim of his glass. He and Rick Fox had been best friends since they’d roomed together at college. That Rick could read his thoughts was no surprise.
Sloan wasn’t sure what darkened his mood more—the cool suspicion he’d seen in Julia’s eyes when she accused him of murder, or the aching longing that her presence instilled in him. A longing that made him want to take, to reach out for the one thing he’d forbidden himself.
The one thing he no longer had the right to want.
“Vanessa’s dead,” Sloan said, aware of the edge that had settled in his voice. “The police think I killed her. What the hell do you expect I’m thinking about?”
“Julia,” Rick repeated. “Correct me if I’m wrong, boss.”
Sloan exhaled a slow breath through his teeth and said nothing.
“You nixed my suggestion this morning about asking the mayor to pull her off the investigation,” Rick continued. “I think you ought to reconsider.”
“Why?”
“She’s too close to this. There’s no way she can work the case without emotion having some influence.”
“Trust me,” Sloan began, his mouth taking on a sardonic arch. “Julia did a fine job of grilling me this evening.” He took another sip of club soda, and found he no longer had a taste for it. Eyeing Rick’s glass, he considered changing to Scotch, then decided against it. There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world to ease the knot in his gut.
A man’s loud, booming laugh sounded from somewhere across the crowded room. Sloan glanced up, saw the governor deep in conversation with the mayor and the hospital’s administrator.
“Julia’s having no problem doing her job,” Sloan said, returning his attention to Rick. “I got the distinct impression she’d like nothing better than to slap a pair of handcuffs on me and haul me to jail.”
“And why is that?” Rick asked quietly. “Because she thinks you’re guilty, or because it’s her chance to even the score? You walk out on her, she busts you for murder. You’re tied.”
“Revenge is not Julia’s style.”
“Maybe not. But it’s damn foolish to leave a thing like your freedom to chance.” Rick downed the remainder of his drink, then shoved his glass onto the tray of a scurrying waiter. “And you’re no fool.”
Sloan cocked his head. “I remember one time you called me a fool. You meant it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s still my opinion you made a mistake when you left Julia. But you did what you believed was right, and what I think doesn’t matter. What matters is how you handle things from this point on. There are defense contracts pending for the new wing design that’ll mean millions to Remington Aerospace. The whole thing could fall through if you’re locked up just because some cop decides revenge is sweet.”
“Julia might have a lot against me, but she wouldn’t take things that far—”
“There’s no way you can be sure. Two years have passed since you had anything to do with her. People change, Sloan. Just because you had me keep tabs on her while you were gone doesn’t mean you still know her—not in the sense y
ou’re talking about. You can’t have any idea what she’s thinking, what she feels.”
The persistent hum of conversation that filled the air faded from Sloan’s hearing as he conjured up the image of Julia, her tanned skin dark against the white halter dress. She had changed, he silently conceded. He’d sensed an edge to her that had not existed before. Her body language was part of it, but mostly it was her eyes, the wariness in them, the hardness. Maybe some of that came naturally, considering the daily misery and violence she surely dealt with working in Homicide. But he had no doubt he’d had a part in putting the wary look in those dark eyes. The bitterness.
His jaw tightened. He remembered all too well the feel of her soft, luscious body quivering beneath his, her dark hair a wild cloud of tangles against the sheets while those same eyes gazed up at him, smoky with desire.
As much as he’d wanted her physically, he had wanted the woman more. Theirs had been a joining of the soul as well as the body. He had needed her in his life. But it was a life filled with uncertainty. He hadn’t been willing two years ago to pull that dark, smothering cloud of uncertainty around her. Nor was he willing now when so much gray smoke remained.
“I agree...Julia’s a good cop,” Rick continued. “But there’s no way in hell she should get within a mile of this case. The mayor’s right over there, Sloan. All it’ll take is a phone call from him to Chief McMillan, and you won’t have to deal with Julia and all that emotional baggage.”
“I have no intention of getting her tossed off the investigation, so forget it. Since you’ve been keeping up with her you know she worked hard to get that gold sergeant’s badge.”
“Sloan—”
“Do you know what my going to the mayor would do to her career?”
“Yeah, I know,” Rick said through his teeth. He stared at the milling crowd for a long moment. “What about her fiancé?”
Sloan sliced his friend a narrow look. “What about him?”
“Bill Taylor’s on the second rung of the ladder at the D.A.’s office. He usually tries high-profile cases. God forbid you’d have to face him from the defense table—”
