Hot Contact

by Susan Crosby

“Do you have to sell it?”

  “Yeah. Why’d you come back, Arianna?”

  She’d been waiting for that question. He was a detective. He would want motive. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I started to drive to my office, but I got stuck in traffic, and I realized I didn’t want to go there. I thought about how abrupt and rude I’d been, leaving like I did.”

  “You were disappointed.”

  “Greatly. But that’s my problem, not yours. My mother didn’t want me to pursue it. Maybe I shouldn’t.” Making and keeping eye contact was ingrained in her. He matched her skill. She wasn’t sure what he saw when he looked at her, but she couldn’t shake how worn-out he looked. Protective instincts she’d never acknowledged before slammed into her, throwing her off balance. “Look, do you need help?”

  His brows went up. “Help? With what?”

  “With doing your inventory. Are you getting things ready for a garage sale?”

  “I’m taking what I want to keep and deciding what to donate and what to toss.”

  She couldn’t figure him out. Last night he’d taken charge, his good-night kiss even more memorable because of his complete command of the moment. Today he seemed to be holding back, waiting for her to make a move.

  Fine. Good. She didn’t want him to pursue her, anyway, right? She didn’t need that kind of complication. She’d been careful not to become involved with a cop, not even once. She could resist him.

  “Are you offering to help?” Joe asked.

  “I’d be happy to.” The words spilled out unchecked. To cover her astonishment, she pushed away from the table and glanced at her watch. “I have to be home by six o’clock.”

  “Four hours is more than enough time,” he said, also standing.

  “I have a date,” she added, almost wincing at the defensive tone in her voice.

  “I see.”

  She heard the smile in his voice. She hadn’t been this rattled since…she couldn’t remember when. A woman in her profession couldn’t afford to be.

  But then, this wasn’t business.

  In the attic, Joe watched Arianna wrap a framed photograph in newspaper and pack it carefully in a box, as if it were her treasure, not his. What he’d heard about her when he’d inquired around the department last year was that she was tough, smart and unsentimental, facts he’d observed for himself when she’d provided him with information on the Wells case last year. Their involvement had been brief and businesslike, with a hint of male/female awareness making the meeting interesting. But he’d also been engaged to Jane. In all the complications of his life since then he’d forgotten about Arianna.

  He wondered now how he could have. Anyone who thought her unsentimental hadn’t seen her expression when she ordered him to go do something else so she could pack his mother’s clothes. She’d even shut the closet door before he returned so he wouldn’t see the empty space. He would remember her kindness.

  Joe glanced at his watch. She would have to leave soon. For her date. He didn’t know why he’d assumed she wasn’t involved with anyone. Maybe because last night she’d come to the party alone, and danced with him, and kissed him back.

  But last night she’d come to the party for a purpose—to meet him. She wouldn’t have brought a boyfriend along. It would’ve been business to her.

  She was a damned challenging woman. And he liked predictable.

  “What’s in those boxes?” she asked, pointing to the last ones, tucked under the eaves.

  He closed the lid on the trunk he’d been rummaging through, deciding he needed to keep everything in it. Relics of past generations.

  Joe dragged the four unmarked boxes into the center of the room and opened one. His heart began to pound. He opened the second box, then he looked at Arianna. “Files,” he said. “My father’s old case files.”

  Her eyes widened. She sat up straight but said nothing. Was she waiting for him to offer her the files? Of course she was.

  “You’re welcome to stay and look through them,” he said.

  “Don’t you need to ask your father’s permission?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head.

  She pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket and dialed. “Jordan, hi, it’s me. Look, I’m sorry to do this but I need to cancel our plans for tonight…. No, not work, but something important. Can I call you tomorrow?… Terrific. Thanks. Bye.”

  Joe could measure her excitement not by her voice or her face, both of which she controlled remarkably, but by her hands, which shook. He shoved one box toward her.

  She said nothing. She didn’t have to.

  He worried they were opening a Pandora’s box.

  The sounds of manila folders and paper being shuffled replaced conversation. Tension filled the air like smoke from a smoldering fire, thick and acrid, making it hard to breathe. Joe admitted to himself that he was as anxious as Arianna to find the file, to know what happened. How she had become that important to him that fast wasn’t something he wanted to examine very closely, but he felt her anticipation—and her dread—as strongly as if it were coming from inside him.

  “They’re not in any order,” she said after flipping through the first few files. “They should be in order, either alphabetically or by date, wouldn’t you think?”

  “Yeah.” The neatly typed labels mocked them. They should have represented organization, the ability to put your hands on the right folder any time. Instead, twenty years of files were tossed haphazardly into boxes as if one had no more relevance than another.

  Or as if someone had searched through them, not returning them to their proper order.

  “I found it,” Arianna said, but without excitement or urgency. Silence roared through the tiny attic space. She held up a file, opened it. “Empty.”

  Empty—worse than the potential Pandora’s box. No truths revealed. No illusions shattered. No answers for a daughter who desperately needed them—and maybe a son, too, who wanted to know how a cop killing could go unsolved.

  Five

  Arianna resisted the urge to scream. Instead she drew on her martial arts and yoga training by controlling her breathing and visualizing the sun setting into the ocean.

  “The files are jumbled,” Joe said into her growing calm. “Maybe the papers got mixed with another file.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Let’s take the boxes to the dining room.” He scooped up one box and hauled it down the pull-down attic stairs then shouted back up to her. “Pass me the others, okay?”

  That got her moving. Fifteen minutes later they were settled in the dining room, the old maple table stacked with folders.

  She examined her father’s file. The tag was typed with his name, Mateo Alvarado, the date of his murder and another series of numbers. She thumbed through some other folders. “Look at this,” she said, pointing. “My father’s tag has an extra set of numbers typed on it. As far as I can tell, it’s the only one.”

  Joe made a quick check of the stack nearest him. “None of these, either. Just name and date.”

  Arianna puzzled over it for a few seconds then opened the empty folder again. Closed it. Opened it. “Wouldn’t a homicide investigation produce a lot of paperwork?”

  “Sure. Crime-scene analyses, witness reports, forensics. In the case of a cop within his own department? There would be extra interviews and copies of media coverage. Why?”

  “Look at the folder. The crease is still sharp-edged, as if nothing was ever placed in there at all.”

  He met her gaze. “I don’t know what that could mean.”

  “It’s odd, though, right?”

  “Yeah. Even for an open-and-shut-case, it would be odd.” He turned his attention back to the folders in front of him. “So we’ll go through all the files page by page. If it’s there, we’ll find it.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be there?” she asked, dragging a file closer.

  “I don’t know. Maybe my dad started as the primary but the case was given to someone e
lse and he turned over his notes.”

  “Can you call and ask him?”

  “No.”

  His casual tone irritated her, but she knew she couldn’t push him. She did wonder what the big deal was.

  “I heard a rumor you were in the army,” he said.

  Arianna allowed the change of subject. “For eight years.”

  “You must’ve joined right out of high school.”

  “A week after graduation.”

  “Why?”

  Why? She wondered how to explain it so that he understood. “Do you know who my stepfather is?”

  “No idea.”

  “Estebán Clemente.”

  That got his attention. “The movie guy?” He frowned. “You weren’t…escaping him, were you?”

  His reaction took her by surprise. “Not in the way you mean. He is a loving man, although strict. Very strict.”

  She saw his shoulders loosen. “How did your mother meet him?”

  “After my father died, she started taking me to auditions for television commercials, something I’d wanted to do forever but which my father had forbidden. I landed a few spots and some print ads, as well, enough to keep me busy.”

  “Weren’t you only eight years old?”

  She nodded.

  “Was it something you wanted or your mother wanted?”

  “I wanted it. I did well, too. Then when I had just turned twelve I auditioned for a movie that Estebán was producing. I was cast in a small part. Maria Sanchez, rebel teenager,” she said, remembering the role fondly. “Estebán came to the set on a day I was working. He met my mother, and it was instant fireworks.” She put a file aside and grabbed another. “A couple of months later they were married, and the first thing he did was lay down the law. No more auditions. He said it was a bad business for children and he wouldn’t allow it. My mother supported him, of course. I was angry for years. Years.”

  She caught Joe smiling. “What?”

  “Just picturing you angry. Spitfire.”

  “I hated him. I made his life miserable.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Kept the reins tight. Tolerated me. He said he didn’t care if I liked him or not, that his job was to provide for me and care for me, and he was damned well going to do his job, even if I hated him the rest of my life.”

  “I like him.”

  “You would.”

  Joe nodded sagely. “So, all this caring and providing was so hard to take that you enlisted. I see. Makes sense.”

  She gave him a cool look. “Do you want to hear this story or not?”

  “I do.”

  “Then don’t be sarcastic.” She turned the cover on another file. “Estebán expected me to go to college.”

  “He should’ve been shot.”

  She clamped her mouth shut, mostly against a smile, because now that she was grown up, she did see how juvenile she’d been at the time. “That’s it. I’m not telling you the rest.”

  Joe laughed quietly. “What did you want to do?”

  “I wanted to tramp across Europe for a year first. You know, experience life.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Exactly! Where were you when I needed you?”

  A couple of beats passed. “Patrolling the streets of Los Angeles, keeping you safe from harm,” he said finally. “I take it he refused to support your goal.”

  “Not only would he not support me—he wouldn’t even help. I would’ve had money to do it on my own if he’d let me keep working as an actor. But, no. It was his way or the highway. I chose the highway.”

  “But, the army? Why? You were eighteen. You didn’t have to do what he said anymore.”

  “Because I had no way of supporting myself other than minimum wage jobs. I figured it was the best opportunity for me. And I was right. I even reenlisted when I had the chance. It was a great experience.”

  “You know, Arianna, I can’t quite picture you taking orders.”

  “I’m not saying I could’ve done it forever, but it was a good learning experience. I had been sheltered at home. In the army I learned to stand on my own two feet. I almost died once.” She stopped. She rarely discussed it. “I appreciate life because of it,” she finished, then was quiet a moment before asking, “How about you? Why’d you become a cop?”

  “The obvious answer is because of my dad.”

  “But that’s not why?”

  “It’s part of it.” He put a folder aside, picked up another but didn’t open it. “I thought I could make a difference.”

  “Have you?”

  “Sometimes. And sometimes it’s just routine and frustrating and aggravating. How did you almost die?”

  She knew he wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “Ironically, on a peace-keeping mission. A bomb blast that demolished our barracks. My partners, Nate and Sam, and I were trapped together for two days.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “Bumps and bruises. Sam broke his leg.”

  Joe sat back in his chair, questioning without saying anything.

  “While we were stuck in the rubble waiting for help,” she continued, “we came up with a plan to start our own security and investigation firm. We spent all our awake time figuring it out. I knew Estebán would line us up with contacts at first. And I knew once we got a chance to prove ourselves, we would succeed.” She paid attention to the folder in front of her again. “I don’t have scars from the experience. How about you?”

  “Scars? Not from the job.”

  His expression changed instantly, as if he realized he’d said too much. He picked up another folder even though he hadn’t opened the one in front of him. When he realized what he’d done, he stood. “I’m going to get a beer. Want one?”

  “Sure.” She wondered if his scars were from the breakup with his fiancée.

  They sat at the table until her shoulders and back ached. The emotional upheaval exhausted her even more. As the stack of files dwindled so did her hope. The papers hadn’t been misfiled. They were gone. Or nonexistent.

  She tossed the last folder onto the stack and waited until he was done and did the same. “His was the only empty folder,” she said.

  He dragged his hands down his face. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t understand, Joe.”

  “I don’t either.”

  She waited for him to offer to ask his father. He didn’t.

  Arianna looked at her watch and stood, worn out, irritated and disappointed. She dug her keys out of her pocket. “I should get going.”

  He was slower to stand, but he finally walked with her to the front door. A kind of force field stopped her there. She didn’t know what else to call it, but something made her hesitate rather than open the door.

  “When you get back from your vacation you’ll try to get the file from Records?” she asked, facing him.

  “No promises.”

  She nodded. Still she didn’t move. Couldn’t move. She wanted…something. Frustration over not finding her father’s folder swirled inside her, gathering impotent speed. She wasn’t used to feeling helpless, but she felt helpless now. And alone.

  “Well,” she said, not looking at him but at the doorknob instead.

  “Arianna.” He said her name with such sympathy.

  She couldn’t form any words.

  With a soft murmur of comfort he slipped his arms around her and tucked her close. Her eyes stung. Men didn’t usually hold her—just hold her—probably because she didn’t let them, preferring to stay in charge and in control. But she not only let Joe hold her, she moved closer, relaxing into him. When they were body to body his embrace tightened. She squeezed back. His scent had her nuzzling his neck. Their thighs rubbed together. Everywhere in between he felt wonderful. Long and lean and strong and sexy.

  She lost track of time—long enough for her thoughts to shift from pleasure to awareness. There was a power about him that drew her even as his touch was tender, his hand stroking her ha
ir, soothing, and his breath dusting her cheek, creating chills of anticipation. She yearned for him in a way she couldn’t remember yearning before. This kiss was going to be one for the record books.

  He leaned away, looked into her eyes, brushed her hair back, then left his hands along her face. He held her gaze for long seconds. Then he kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes and waited for his lips to touch her cheek, her other cheek, her lips….

  “I’m sorry we didn’t find what you wanted,” he said against her hair.

  His sympathy caught her off guard. “Me, too,” she said, trying to focus on the shift of mood. “Thank you for trying, though.”

  She tipped her head back and looked at him. She already knew how his lips were a perfect combination of hard and soft, tender and tempting.

  “I guess your friend Jordan is used to you canceling dates,” he said, taking a step back, releasing her. “You must get emergency calls all the time.”

  Icy surprise replaced the heat of the moment, but she’d be damned if she would let him see how stunned she was.

  He had an interesting way of interrogating. Relax the suspect then go in for the kill. “A lot of our work is urgent and time-sensitive,” she said, all business. “And we’re in demand outside L.A. a lot more these days. In fact, we’re getting so many assignments in San Francisco that we’re thinking about opening a branch office there.”

  He crossed his arms. “Would you move?”

  “No. Sam might consider it, at least until the office is well established. His wife has a home there.”

  “That’s right. He married the senator.”

  “They’re on their honeymoon. To answer your first question, though, yes, Jordan is used to me canceling. She’s fine with it, though.”

  His hesitation was short but telling. “She?”

  “We’ve been friends since high school. Jordan Maria Morelli.”

  His mouth twitched. “Did you enjoy that, Arianna?”

  “What?”

  “Letting me think you had a date.”

  “I did have a date. With my friend, Jordan. We were going to see the Jackie Chan marathon.”

  He laughed. “Figures. You’re probably a martial arts expert.”