by Paula Graves
As much as she wanted to talk herself into believing she was letting her imagination run away with her, Jim had a point. “Okay, okay. I’ll call you back. All right? But I’ve got to go down to the parking garage now, or I’ll miss my cab.” She hung up the phone and shoved it into her pocket.
A woman exited the elevator when it opened. She looked up in surprise at Lacey, her expression shifting in the now-familiar pattern of recognition, dismay and pity. The woman smiled warily at Lacey as they passed each other, and for a moment Lacey feared her neighbor was going to express some sort of awkwardly worded sympathy, but the elevator door closed before either of them could speak, and she relaxed back against the wall of the lift, glad to have dodged another in a long line of uncomfortable moments.
Nobody knew how to express condolences for Lacey’s bereavement. Lacey herself would have been at a loss for the right words. How do you say I’m sorry your sister was murdered in your place without making everything a whole lot worse?
She stashed her suitcase in the trunk of her sister’s Impala and took the elevator back to the lobby to wait for the cab to arrive. As promised, she dialed her home number. Jim answered immediately, his voice slightly muffled by a soft swishing sound Lacey couldn’t quite make out. “Thanks for calling me back. I know you think I’m overstepping my bounds.”
Surprised by his apology, she bit back a smile. “I know you’re just concerned for my safety.”
“But you’re a smart, resourceful woman who’s made her way through war zones. I know you know how to take care of yourself.” A touch of humor tinted his voice. “I mean, I saw you with that tire iron the other day.”
She released a huff of laughter, some of her tension dispelling. “Still, it doesn’t hurt to have someone out there watching your back, right? Even if it’s over the phone.”
“When’s the cab supposed to arrive?”
She glanced at her watch. “Should be anytime now. How’s Katie?”
“I got about three pages into Goodnight Moon before she fell asleep. I’m just washing up from dinner now.”
That explained the swishing sound. It was the water running in the sink. “You know, we have a dishwasher.”
“I know. But when I’m worried, I like to keep my hands busy.”
“I thought you knew you didn’t have to worry about me.” She looked up as lights flashed across the lobby glass. Probably her cab arriving.
“Knowing you can take care of yourself is not the same thing as not worrying about your safety,” he murmured in a low, raspy tone that sent a ripple of animal awareness darting up her spine. It had been a while since anyone outside of Marianne had really worried about her safety, she realized. Her bosses at the network wouldn’t have been happy for her to be killed on assignment, of course, but she knew it was more about liability and the loss of a company asset than about her as a person.
Maybe Jim’s concern for her was more about not wanting to lose his new job almost as soon as he’d gotten started. But something in his voice suggested his worry for her was more personal than pragmatic.
And while her head said there was something not quite right about his instant preoccupation with the danger she was in, she couldn’t quell the sense of relief she felt knowing there was someone who cared if she lived or died, whatever his motivation might be.
The lights she’d seen moved closer, and she reached to open the lobby door as they slowed in front of the building.
Until she realized the lights belonged to a familiar blue pickup truck.
She froze, her breath caught in her throat.
She must have made some sort of noise, for Jim’s voice rose on the other end of the line. “What’s happening?”
“The blue pickup truck is in front of my building,” she answered, slowly retreating from the door until her back flattened against the wall.
“Is it stopping?”
The pickup slowed almost to a halt, then began to move again, moving out of sight. Lacey released a soft hiss of breath. “No. It almost did, then it drove on.”
“Lacey, you can’t go meet your friend out there tonight. You need to get in your car and come home.” Jim’s tone rang with authority, reminding her that he’d spent a lot of years in the Marine Corps. She could almost picture him in fatigues, his hair cut high and tight, his voice barking instructions in the same “don’t mess with me” tone he was using now. “Call him and cancel.”
She wanted to argue, but he was right. Whatever Ken Calvert wanted to tell her could wait for another night. “Okay. I’ll call him right now. I’ll call you back when I’m on the road.”
She hung up and dialed the cab company first, canceling the cab. “I have an account,” she told the dispatcher when he balked at canceling the cab when it was nearly to her apartment. “Bill me for it.”
Then she phoned Ken Calvert on her way back to the elevators. After four rings, his voice mail picked up.
“Ken, it’s Lacey. I can’t make it tonight. Call me tomorrow and we’ll reschedule.” She hung up the phone and entered the elevator, trying to calm her rattling nerves.
The walk from the elevator to the Impala was a nightmare, as she found herself spooked by the normal noises of cooling engines and the muted traffic sounds from outside the garage. She didn’t start to relax until she was safely back on the road out of town.
Settling her phone in the hands-free cradle, she called Jim. “I’m on my way home.”
“Stay on the line,” he said.
“I’m feeling like an idiot right about now,” she admitted. “Jumping at shadows.”
“You’re being safe,” he corrected her firmly. “It’s not like the danger isn’t real, right?”
“Can we talk about something else?” she asked, trying to control a sudden case of the shivers. She turned the heat up to high, wishing she’d donned one of the heavy coats she’d packed before she got behind the wheel of the car.
“Sure. I could read to you. After all, I know where to find a copy of Goodnight Moon.”
“That’ll put me to sleep.” She didn’t know if it was the blast of heat coming from the vents or Jim Mercer’s warm, comforting voice doing the job, but the shivers had already begun to subside. In their place, a creeping lethargy was starting to take hold, making her limbs feel heavy. “Don’t you have any salty tales from your time in the military? Tell me one.”
He told her several, with the seductive cadence and natural delivery of a born storyteller. Katie was going to love him, Lacey thought. Her little niece was a sucker for a well-told story.
The drive home seemed to pass in no time, unmarred by any further sightings of the blue pickup. As she drove through the tiny town of Cherry Grove, the snow that had been threatening all day finally started to fall, first in a mixture with tiny pebbles of sleet, then as fat, wet clumps as she turned into the long driveway to the farmhouse. “I’m here,” she said into the phone.
“I know. See you in a minute.” Jim hung up the phone.
The outside lights were on, casting brightness across the gravel drive. The front door opened as she walked around to the Impala’s trunk to retrieve her suitcase. By the time she hauled it out, Jim Mercer stood beside her, tall and broad shouldered, a wall of heat in the frigid night air.
He took the suitcase from her numb fingers. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she answered, almost believing it.
He followed her inside, waiting next to her while she engaged the dead bolt on the front door. “I heated up the potpie. I thought you might be hungry.”
She was, she realized. “Starving.”
He set the suitcase on the floor in the living room and led her into the kitchen, where a warm, savory aroma set her stomach rumbling. “It’s not much,” he warned. “Canned vegetables, canned chicken and canned cream-of
-mushroom soup.”
“Beats ramen.” She shot him a quick grin as he waved her into one of the seats at the kitchen table and retrieved a plate of casserole from the microwave. It was warm and surprisingly tasty for something straight out of a can. “Not bad.”
“I’m glad you’re home safe,” Jim said. The warmth in his voice and the intense focus of his gaze sent a ripple of pleasure skating along her spine. She quelled the sensation with ruthless determination.
He was Katie’s nanny. Nothing more.
“Why don’t you try to relax?” he suggested when she started to carry her empty plate to the dishwasher. “I’ll clean up.”
“That’s not your job, you know—” The ring of her cell phone interrupted. With a grimace, she checked the number, frowning at the display. It had a DC area code, but there was no name attached. She briefly considered letting it go to voice mail before curiosity made her pick up. “Hello?”
“Lacey Miles?” the voice on the other end asked. It was a male voice, deep and no-nonsense.
“This is Lacey,” she answered, troubled by something she heard in the man’s voice.
“This is Detective Miller with the Metropolitan Police Department. Did you place a phone call to a Ken Calvert earlier this evening, telling him you couldn’t meet him?”
She tightened her grip on the phone and dropped into the chair she’d just vacated. Jim paused on his way to the sink, turning to give her a worried look. “How did you know that?” she asked Detective Miller.
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “We found the message on Mr. Calvert’s phone. I regret to inform you that Mr. Calvert died earlier tonight.”
Chapter Five
Lacey’s face had gone pale, and her gray eyes flicked up to meet Jim’s. Whatever she’d just heard over the phone had been a gut punch. “What happened?”
Jim eased quietly away from the sink and sat in the chair across the table from her, trying to guess the other end of the phone conversation by reading Lacey’s expression. But she had recovered quickly from the shock of whatever she’d just been told over the phone and now sat composed and quiet, only a faint flicker of emotion in her eyes betraying her inner turmoil.
“I see,” she said a moment later. “Of course. You want to see me tonight?”
Jim glanced at the clock on the wall over the table. It was eight-thirty. If someone was planning to meet with Lacey this late in the evening, something pretty significant must have happened.
But what?
“I’ll be here,” Lacey said finally before she ended the call and set her cell phone on the table in front of her, looking at it for a moment as if it was a dangerous beast she expected to strike.
“Are you okay?” Jim asked.
She looked up at him. “The man I was supposed to meet tonight was murdered.”
Jim’s gut tightened. “My God.”
“He was found at a parking deck on Virginia Avenue, near the memorial, shortly after seven.” She passed a hand over her eyes. “The police didn’t give me any details, really. But a detective wants to talk to me tonight. Since I was the last person to call Ken on his cell phone.”
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
She shook her head as if to ward off his sympathy. “It wasn’t like we were close. He was a source for some stories I did in the past.”
“He had a new tip or something? Is that why he wanted to meet you tonight?” Jim tried not to sound too eager for her answer.
“Something like that,” she answered vaguely, sounding distracted.
“Can I do anything to help you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know that I’m going to be able to add anything of use to the police. Ken was pretty vague about what he wanted to tell me.”
And she was being pretty vague herself, Jim thought. It was too soon in their relationship for her to share anything personal. He’d helped her escape an ambush, which was probably why she’d hired him so quickly, but her gratitude went only so far.
He wasn’t here to uncover all her secrets, he reminded himself. But his curiosity gnawed at him like a ravenous beast.
“You don’t have to stick around for this,” she said suddenly, pushing to her feet. “You can go read or watch TV or something. Go on. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t mind keeping you company if you don’t mind,” he said. “And if the cops start to suspect you of murder, I’m your best alibi, since I was on the phone with you for most of your drive time.”
She slanted a look at him, a smile hovering near her lips. “You may have a point.”
He followed her into the parlor, where she sat in an oversize armchair, tucking her legs under her. He took the chair opposite and tried to look relaxed, despite the adrenaline coursing through his body.
“Do you think the blue pickup truck has any connection to the murder?” he asked.
She frowned. “I guess it depends on when the murder happened. I saw the truck in Arlington around six-thirty.”
“Mr. Pickup Truck may have an accomplice.”
She gave him a narrow-eyed look. “For a nanny, you’re sounding a lot like a cop.”
“Too much true-crime TV, I guess,” he said with an easy smile. “And the whole Marine Corps thing.”
“Right.” Her expression seemed to relax, and Jim breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He was going to have to be careful with this one. She was far too observant. Part and parcel of her career as a reporter, he supposed.
They sat in silence for several long moments, the clock inexorably ticking away the time as they waited for the police detective’s arrival. Finally Jim had all the silence he could stand. He pushed away from the table and rose. “I could use a cup of coffee. You?”
“Please.”
He found the coffee in the cabinet over the coffeemaker and set a pot brewing. He took two mugs from a cabinet nearby and turned to look at her. “How do you like yours?”
“Creamy and sweet,” she admitted with an almost sheepish smile.
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said.
“It’s hardly in keeping with my hard-boiled reporter reputation.” She played her fingers around the edges of her phone. “Not much about my life now is in keeping with that, I suppose.”
“Nothing wrong with that, either.”
She crossed to where he stood, turning to lean against the counter next to him. “How did you do it? How did you transform yourself from Marine to nanny so easily?”
“Who said it was easy?”
“You’re so good with Katie. It was almost instant. I’ve tried so hard to connect with her and sometimes I think she just barely tolerates me.”
“Maybe you’re trying too hard.” He turned his head to look at her, and he was struck hard by the cool beauty of her. Cool, composed and untouchable, like porcelain under ice.
But there was a flicker of fire in those cool gray eyes that intrigued him, far more than he should have allowed, and it occurred to him that he had more to worry about than just Lacey Miles discovering his true purpose for being here.
“I don’t know how to be a mother. My own mother died when I was ten, and Marianne only a couple of years older. I had never been one to play with dolls, the way Marianne had. She took to it so naturally, and to me it’s such a mystery.”
Against his better judgment, he reached out and touched her arm, almost surprised at its warmth. He’d been thinking of her as cool and untouchable, but she was neither.
“I wish you could teach me what to do,” she said softly, turning toward him. He couldn’t stop himself from facing her as well, closing the distance between them to scant inches.
A fierce tug of attraction roared through him, drawing him closer to her. Alarm bells clanged in his brain, but he found himself
ignoring them.
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t draw away, and he knew he was seconds away from a dreadful mistake. But he was damned if he knew how to stop himself from making it.
Rattling bangs on the front door made Lacey jump, and she turned toward the front of the house.
“Let me get it,” Jim offered when she took a step forward.
“No,” she said. “I’m sure it’s Detective Miller. I’m perfectly capable of answering my own door.”
He didn’t argue, but he stayed in step with her, wishing he’d thought to wear his Glock. It was too far away if their late-night visitor proved to be a danger to Lacey.
The man at the door had cop written in every line and crease of his face, in the misshapen flatness of a once-broken nose and the cool suspicion gleaming in his dark brown eyes.
“Ms. Miles? I’m Detective Gerald Miller of the Metropolitan Police Department.” He showed them his credentials. “May I come in?” Though his words were polite, his gravelly voice betrayed his assertive intentions.
He’d come in one way or another, no matter how Lacey answered.
“Of course.” Lacey stepped back to allow him to enter and locked the door behind him. “Detective Miller, this is Jim Mercer. He’s my niece’s caregiver.”
Miller’s gaze coolly assessed him. “You’re a nanny, eh?”
Jim didn’t smile. “I am.”
Miller’s eyebrows notched upward, but he said nothing and turned back to Lacey. “I’d like to speak to you in private.”
The last thing Jim wanted to do was leave Lacey alone with the detective, even though he didn’t doubt that the man was exactly who he said he was. He’d seen his share of corruption among policemen and others in positions of legal authority. The badge was no promise of honor.
But Jim was in no position to make demands. He would be close should anything happen. He’d have to hope that was good enough.
* * *
“I LEFT THE message for Ken and drove back home.” Lacey leveled her gaze on Detective Miller, waiting for his reaction to her story. He had listened without interrupting, which had surprised her. No doubt he’d have more than enough questions now to make up for the silence.
