"Well, it might not be Donna Fratella sleeping with Detective Radley after all," Becky said.
Sydney turned her attention to her friend, glad for distraction. "What?"
"You, girl. I think Radley likes you."
"Oh, for Pete’s sake. When did you suddenly go blind? The man obviously has something against me. And I don’t think it’s just because his job is at odds with mine."
"Nope. I think he likes you and doesn’t want to admit it."
"You’re a good reporter, Becky, but you’re wrong on this." The mere consideration that Becky might be right disturbed Sydney more than she’d ever admit aloud. And she resented the fact that physical attraction was taking her mind off her job, even temporarily.
"Don’t be so sure. There were about twenty words in what he just said to you. That’s about eighteen more than he ever offers any other reporter."
Sydney shook her head as she tossed a tip on the table.
"Come on, let’s go."
"We following Radley some more?"
Sydney ignored the note of teasing in Becky’s question. "No. That’s a dead end for the time being. I’m banking on having a little better luck somewhere else."
A stop at Randy Helmswood’s house revealed nothing more than he had a tired looking wife who wasn’t in the marriage of her dreams. Sydney wondered if things were bad enough at the Helmswood home that Randy would attack a much younger, prettier woman.
She hurried through progressively darker streets until she found Charley’s Keg on the outskirts of town. Randy was supposedly inside trying to drown the memory of finding a dead body. The concrete block building would have faded into the dark landscape had it not been for the large neon orange keg on top of the roof. The "C" in Charley’s neon name had burned out, leaving only "harley’s" and making his establishment appear to be a biker bar. Sydney reached into her pocket to make sure her pepper spray was easily accessible.
She coughed as she stepped into the smoke-filled room. The sounds of breaking pool balls and blaring country music assaulted her ears. She scanned the room, noting only three other women. And they didn’t look like the discriminating type. Feigning more confidence than she felt, she strode to the bar.
"Bud Light," she said to the bearded bartender. When he set the cold, sweaty bottle in front of her, she took a sip and almost gagged. Wine was more her speed, but she doubted any had found its way into Charley’s establishment. She glanced up to find the bartender barely suppressing a grin. "Say, you don’t happen to know Randy Helmswood, do you?"
"Who’s asking?"
Sydney thought about lying, but that wasn’t her way of doing business. "I work for the Courier."
"I had a feeling." He nodded toward the opposite side of the room. "That’s him in the red shirt. Go easy on him. He’s had one hell of a day."
"Thanks."
Sydney scooped up her foul-tasting beer and weaved her way amongst the tables. "Randy?" she said when she reached his table.
When he looked up at her, his eyes widened and he swallowed hard. After a couple of seconds, he blinked his eyes and looked at her again. He pushed his beer away. "I think I’ve had too many of these."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I thought you were her."
"Her?"
"That dead girl."
A chill ran up Sydney’s back. She took a bigger swig of beer just to prove she was alive and well and not lying flat on a morgue slab.
"Who did you say you were?" Randy asked, trying to shake off the effects of his night’s diversion.
"I didn’t, but I’m Sydney Blackburn. I’m a reporter with the Courier. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes."
"They told me not to."
"The police?"
"Yeah. They said it would help the case if I didn’t talk to anyone, especially reporters."
No doubt the "they" was actually a "him." Jake Radley to be exact.
Sydney eyed the empty chair across from Randy. "Mind if I sit down?"
Randy shrugged, which Sydney took as an invitation to join him. She watched him as he gave in and took another long drink from his bottle. Some demon other than the alcohol was eating at Randy’s gut, but she couldn’t yet determine whether that might be because he was a cold-blooded murderer or some unfortunate guy who’d found more than he’d bargained for in the woods.
"Mr. Helmswood, I’m not here to make the cops’ job harder. Really, we want the same thing. We all want to find who killed Maggie Field."
"Was that her name?"
"Yes, her family identified her this afternoon."
"God, that had to be awful."
"Can you tell me what you saw this morning?"
"I don’t know."
"I want to do my part in catching this guy," Sydney said. "So Maggie’s family can know that her killer is behind bars."
Randy nodded as he stared at his beer bottle. "He deserves more than that. I hope they fry the bastard. Leaving that poor girl out there with no clothes on as chilly as it was this morning."
Sydney kept quiet despite the fact that Maggie hadn’t been able to feel the cold. Instead, she listened as Randy recounted what he’d told the police.
"I nearly tripped over her."
"What did you see first?"
"Her hair. Her body was hidden behind some bushes, but her hair really stood out." He paused and took another drink of his beer. "It scared the crap out of me, so I ran back to the boat and got to the marina and called 911 as fast as I could."
Sydney listened as Randy talked. By the time he stopped, she didn’t have much more information than she’d had when she entered the bar. But Randy seemed to feel marginally better for having been able to talk about it. You never knew, maybe something he’d said would click into place later.
Fatigue descended on her, making her yearn for the comfort and warmth of her bed.
"Well, thank you for your help, Mr. Helmswood. I appreciate it."
He barely nodded, his thoughts still somewhere far beyond Charley’s Keg.
She stood.
"What do you think that chocolate stuff meant?"
Sydney stopped digging through her purse for her cell phone at Randy’s odd question.
"I’m sorry?"
"That chocolate on her lips. Like a Hershey’s Kiss or something."
Was Randy remembering an aspect of the crime scene or making up details in his alcohol-fogged mind? She couldn’t question him any further. His speech wasn’t slurred yet, but what he said might not be reliable.
"I don’t know, but I’ll check it out." First thing in the morning. Her thoughts were beginning to fog, too, though from lack of sleep rather than copious amounts of alcohol. As she headed for the door, she dialed Mrs. Helmswood to request a ride for Randy. He didn’t need to drive in his current state.
When she exited the noisy bar, the quiet of the parking lot swept over her. The darkness had deepened and crept toward the cars from beyond the reach of the single security light. Foreboding washed over her, freezing her to her spot on the doorstep. She searched the parking lot but saw nothing out of the ordinary. No one hanging around. And yet she couldn’t shake the sense of being watched. Had her mother had a similar feeling or had she been unaware of any potential harm?
Sydney slid her hand into her pocket, gripped the pepper spray with her sweaty palm. With one more look around, she headed for her car, checking in between the parked cars and pickups as she went. When she reached her car, she glanced first into the interior and then behind her before releasing the pepper spray to retrieve her keys.
She slid the key expertly into the lock, a result of endless practice. Fumbling with her keys could get her killed.
Sydney breathed a sigh of relief when she slid into her seat and locked the car doors. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She lived alone with no worries and worked late at the paper without qualm, but she couldn’t conquer the fear of approaching her car at night. Memories flooded he
r each time she had to cross a dim parking lot alone.
Her breath gradually slowed as she leaned her head back against the headrest. She had to get over the irrational fear, bury the past once and for all. How many times had she told herself that?
She opened her eyes only to find someone standing outside her driver’s side window. She screamed and dropped her keys between her feet.
CHAPTER THREE
Sydney’s bright eyes widened and she screamed, causing Jake to jump back. A stab of guilt pierced his gut at the look of sheer terror on her face.
A couple of seconds passed before she realized his identity. Before he could speak, her jaw stiffened and her eyes narrowed. She swung the car door open, cracking his knee with a dull thud but a piercing pain.
"Damn it," he said between gritted teeth.
"Who’s doing the stalking now?" she yelled. "What are you trying to do, give me a freakin’ heart attack?"
"What about you? You about broke my knee."
"Good. That’ll teach you to go around scaring the bejesus out of people."
"That wasn’t my intention," Jake said as he rubbed his knee.
"Then, pray tell, what was?"
Jake abandoned his ministrations and straightened to his full height. "Making sure you’re not badgering Randy Helmswood."
"I’m not badgering anyone. That’s your job."
Trying to ignore the sharp pain shooting through his knee, he stepped closer and stared down at her. Her bravado dimmed a fraction behind those green eyes. "Oh, really. Then why are you here?"
Her lips parted a bit, and for one crazy moment he wanted to dip his own to hers, to taste her sass.
"I was thirsty."
He couldn’t help but smile. "I don’t think you’re a Charley’s kind of girl."
"Is that right? You must not be a very good detective. I just had a nice cold beer."
"A beer?"
"Beers."
"Ah, perhaps I should give you a sobriety test before I let you drive."
He expected to catch her off guard with that. Instead, she extended her arms to her sides and took turns touching her nose with first her right fingertip, then a left one. Without hesitation, she then walked a perfectly straight line several car lengths, executed a solid spin and returned.
"I assure you I’m not impaired. I had one beer. Sometimes a gal needs a beer to relax after a long day at work."
"Indeed."
Anger, or perhaps frustration, fired in her eyes at his mocking tone. She was one serious chick, even when she was trading barbs. She needed to loosen up before she popped.
The combination of her fire and all the talk of beer had him thirsty too, and for something more than a longneck. He licked his dry lips as he stared hard at her. Don’t make a fool of yourself, Radley. Feigning nonchalance, he glanced at his watch.
"You’ve had a long day. Shouldn’t you be home getting some sleep?"
She crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow. "I could ask you the same thing."
She had a point there. His bed sounded pretty inviting at the moment. A tangle of covers, with Sydney wrapped in them, flashed through his mind. Maybe they both needed to call it a day — to their separate quarters, of course.
"You’re right. It’s late. And Charley’s isn’t exactly the safest place for a woman late at night."
"Fine, but I have one question before I go."
Of course. She was made of questions. He slipped his hands into his pants pockets. "Yes?"
"Does chocolate mean anything to you?"
"It’s candy."
"Yes, but does it have anything to do with Maggie Field’s death?"
His spine stiffened. Evidently, Randy had let his booze do the talking. They stared at each other for a few interminable seconds before he started to turn away.
"Listen, I’m only doing my job, just like you," Sydney said.
He stopped, stared at her. "I wouldn’t compare our jobs. They’re nothing alike."
"Aren’t they?"
"No, they’re not." He used his sharp tone like a weapon, hoping to send her fleeing. Reporters doing their "jobs" sometimes got people killed. The face of little Krissy Jacobs rose up in his mind, but he pushed it away.
Sydney crossed her arms and shifted her weight to the opposite foot. "You might not like to admit it, but we want the same thing. We both want to make sure whoever killed Maggie gets what he deserves."
He searched her face, looking for some sign of deceit, but didn’t find any. "That’s the first thing we’ve agreed on since we met."
"Okay, since we agree on that, why don’t you tell me what Randy was talking about. What does chocolate have to do with this case? He mentioned a piece of chocolate on her lips."
"You can’t give too much credit to a guy nursing a beer bottle."
"Come on, Detective. I may be blond, but I’m not stupid. If Randy had been blowing smoke, you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did."
Jake exhaled a long breath. "I can’t release any other information. It might jeopardize the case."
Sydney threw up her hands. "What is it with you guys? You don’t trust anyone outside the blue brotherhood with the truth. Have you ever thought that if you released a little more information, you might get a break in the case? It’s like you think the public at large can’t handle the facts."
"We’ve had reasons to not trust. Take Randy. I asked him not to discuss the case, and what does he do? He goes and gets liquored up and spills to the first pretty face to come along."
Jake nearly smacked himself for his poor choice of words when Sydney looked at him with a strange, startled expression. Sure, she was pretty, strikingly beautiful even, but there was no way in hell he was getting involved with a reporter. Truth was he shouldn’t get involved with anyone. Good women didn’t deserve to have cops for husbands. Cops sometimes got killed and left their wives and children to grieve and struggle alone. He and his mother were proof of that.
After a few awkward seconds, Sydney looked away and sighed deeply. "I hope your way works, Detective, because I’d hate to think some other woman out there will suffer the same fate because you sat on information."
"I know what I’m doing."
The look of doubt in her eyes when she turned back toward him spoke her thoughts more clearly than words. She couldn’t know how many times he’d doubted his own assertion.
When she walked toward her car, he didn’t follow or say anything to stop her. He watched as she retrieved her keys from the floorboard of the car and stuck them in the ignition.
"Sydney."
She surprised him by pausing in the midst of slamming her door. She glared at him. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to explain. "I’m not doing this to be a jerk or to tick you off. I want to get this guy."
She exhaled slowly. "So do I, Detective, so do I." She pulled the door closed, started the engine then drove away. He didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone sound so tired.
Had he been too harsh? Wrong not to divulge more? What if she was right and opening up more could help this time? He shook his head. No, he’d learned his lesson the hard way. He hadn’t thought of Krissy Jacobs in a long time, not until Sydney had burst into his life that morning. Had it really been less than a day since he’d pitched Sydney out of a crime scene and drawn her ire? Fatigue drew down on his shoulders.
He couldn’t allow himself to go soft. Remaining aloof and hard was the key to being a good cop. Hadn’t watching his father taught him anything?
A woman exited the bar with Randy’s arm draped around her shoulder. Probably his not-so-happy wife. At least Randy would be seen safely home. And Jake could return to his own and grab some much-needed rest. With Maggie’s autopsy scheduled for early the next morning, he needed to be fresh and alert.
When he finally reached his boat on Percy Priest Lake, he thanked the stars above there weren’t any parties in progress on the neighboring craft. He ditched his clothes and slid into bed, letting the gentle w
aves rock him.
But despite the quiet and his weariness, sleep failed to claim him. Each time he closed his eyes, Sydney’s curious expression when he’d made the "pretty face" comment played over and over in his mind. In their brief acquaintance, it’d been the only moment in which she’d looked at him like he was a man and not an obstacle to a good story.
Despite his efforts to disregard her reaction, he liked it. And that bothered him more than anything.
****
The day dawned dark and dreary, but nothing could dampen his mood when he opened the paper and saw he’d made the front page. He smiled and took a deep, satisfying breath. He liked being the top story, even if the readers didn’t know him by name — especially so.
Four months had passed since he’d been the topic of conversation — too long to wait for that glorious feeling of absolute control that had rushed through his veins the day before. He wouldn’t wait that long again.
He ran his fingers over the words describing his latest work. His eyes locked on the byline. Sydney Blackburn. Sydney. What a lovely name. It suited her.
He cut the article from the paper and took it to the corkboard on the facing wall. He pinned it next to the old articles about Stephanie Mortimer. She’d been more of a challenge than Maggie, and he’d enjoyed her much more because of it. The struggle to tame the woman made his blood rush and pump like a wild beast. It made him invincible. He would pick strong, worthy adversaries from now on. He should have been able to tell by looking in her eyes. Maggie’s had been the portal to a weaker, gentle soul.
He walked around the room, grazing his fingertips over the hundreds of photos taped to the wall — images cut from magazines to inspire him. What man wouldn’t want a room full of blond beauties forced to watch his every movement?
He glanced at the clock and cursed the time. He swallowed one last drink of coffee before reluctantly leaving his haven and heading out to work through a now steady rain.
****
Sydney took a deep breath as she parked in the Fields’ driveway. The gray morning sky matched her mood. She hated to bother them at such an awful time, but they might have information that could lead to their daughter’s killer. And finding and punishing that person would help in their eventual healing.
Dangerous Kisses Page 3
