Sudden Engagement

by Julie Miller

  But Ginny was different. She didn’t play the game at which he excelled. With her, the battle of wills was for real.

  Brett couldn’t help but defend himself. “My business is successful.”

  “I wasn’t accusing you of lying.”

  “Then what are you accusing me of?”

  His taunt seemed to strike a nerve in her. She averted her face and blew out her breath on a long sigh. In the space of a heartbeat, Brett’s adversarial instincts switched to an uncomfortable mix of guilt and concern. She rose to her feet, a coordinated series of movements blending grace and control.

  Regretting his self-serving need to strike back, to assert himself, Brett chose to remain seated. She stood beside him, not quite face-to-face, and he could see the ultrafine spider-web of bluish veins beneath the pale porcelain of her skin.

  He curled his fingers into his palms, combatting the urge to touch her, to see if her cheek was as smooth and soft and fragile as it looked. He’d forgotten her job for the moment, given vent to his frustration. He’d simply reacted. Without much thought or consideration of the consequences.

  “How much do you stand to lose if the Ludlow project fails?” She didn’t look at him until she’d finished the question.

  When he turned his face to her, he nearly sank to the floor. Eye-to-eye, mere inches away, he felt the gentle heat of her reaching out to him like a tentative caress.

  He must be tired and imagining things, he thought. He’d seen those eyes cool and blank. He’d seen them wide and dark with fear.

  But he’d never seen them as he did now. The tiniest of frowns made a shallow dent between her eyebrows, and her eyes gleamed with a warmth that reminded him of sunshine streaming in through a stained-glass window.

  The uncustomary openness in her expression triggered an unexpected response inside him, a desire to be equally frank, without sugarcoating the truth with a smile or a clever joke.

  “I could lose my shirt, if I’m not careful. If this project fails and I have to repay my investors on top of the accumulated debt, I’ll go bankrupt. Taylor Construction would be no more.”

  “What about your personal assets?”

  His family suspected he was in this building campaign up to his eyeballs, but he’d never shared the extent of what he had laid on the table to make this reclamation project happen. But alone in his office with the bright-eyed detective, the words spilled out. “I could lose everything.”

  She uttered a sound like a gasp of disbelief, then turned and paced to the far end of the room. When she spun around, Brett sat up straighter. That brief glimpse of compassion he’d imagined had vanished. She was primed for battle again.

  “Then why do this? Why not take the renovation one building at a time?”

  He took the offensive, standing and bracing his hands on his hips. “Are you investigating me or the murder?”

  “This is personal for you, isn’t it?” She walked closer, each step a brick of suspicion building against him on some unknown case. “Does this have anything to do with Mark Bishop’s death?”

  Brett turned his face to the ceiling and swore. When he looked at her again, he didn’t bother softening the blow. She hadn’t pulled any punches, and neither would he. “You got a lot of nerve, lady.”

  “I understand Mark Bishop was a friend of yours.”

  He shook his head, admiring her gall, if not her choice of topic. “That woman you just met was his sister. The Bishops were like family to me.” A defensive edge slipped into his voice. He didn’t try to mask it. “I met Mark through the Big Brother program. He was a good kid who needed a break. I tried to give him one.”

  “What can you tell me about his death?”

  “Somebody beat the hell out of him, then left him without any medical attention. Why do you want to know?”

  “That body in the basement could be Mark and Sophie’s father, Alvin Bishop.”

  “Hell.” He collapsed back onto the desk. “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t have the forensics yet, but the timeline fits. It’s a possibility.”

  It seemed impossible. To hear that name again. Twelve years after the man got away with murder…or maybe he hadn’t, after all. Brett looked Ginny square in the eye. Her phone message had said she wanted to discuss the case. But which one?

  He schooled what was left of his patience and asked, “Just what is it you want from me?”

  “Do you have any idea who’d want to kill Alvin Bishop?”

  “Me, for one.”

  “Brett.”

  He liked the sound of his name in her crisp, clean voice, even if it was couched in a reprimand. But she’d made it more than clear that he was just a means to an end of a case for her. Keeping that sobering thought in mind, he answered, “Just about anybody in town back then. He wasn’t a nice guy.”

  She moved a step closer, folding her hands together and beseeching him in an unconscious gesture that he found difficult to ignore. “Mac says you know more about the neighborhood’s history than anyone. Records about the Ludlow tenants are sketchy and outdated. Do you think you could give me some specifics?”

  The intelligent gleam in those dark blue eyes never wavered. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I’m investigating a murder. I’m always serious.”

  He could see that. “All right, then. But not on an empty stomach.” Her challenge galvanized him. Shoving himself to his feet, he grabbed his keys from the desk and strode toward the door. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and it’s past nine o’clock. I need to fuel up if I’m going to do this right.”

  Ginny hurried after him in quicker, shorter strides. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I mean I’m hungry. I’m going to go eat.”

  “Now?”

  He pushed the door and held it open for her, amused by the incredulity of her question. Once she was outside, he closed and locked it behind him. “That’s the general idea.”

  He heard a rapid rush of air behind him. “I’m just getting started. There’s more I need to ask.”

  “I figured you’d come with me.”

  He swept his arm out, indicating she precede him down the stairs. Instead, she took a step back against the iron railing. Maybe it was a trick of the overhead light, but her already fair skin blanched to an unhealthy shade of pale.

  Brett reached out and touched her shoulder. “You all right?”

  For an instant, time suspended itself between them. But before he could question her jumpy reaction, Ginny shrugged away his fingers and bolted down the steps. He could tell by her hushed tones that she’d dropped him from the conversation. “I’ll look up the names of some of the longtime residents of this part of the city. Maybe I can get them to talk. Forensics alone won’t tell me why that man was buried alive.”

  “Time out.” He caught up to her in three long strides, and coiled his hand around her upper arm, holding on when she would have pulled away again. “I didn’t say anything about not talking. You stirred up some ghosts when you mentioned Mark and Alvin Bishop. I want to be sure I’m thinking clearly. I don’t want to make a mistake about either death.”

  Beneath the coiled tension of sleek muscles, he felt…trembling. He glanced from his hand up into the smooth perfection of her face. Cool and rock-solid as always, she revealed no emotion. But the fine tremors didn’t lie. Something made her nervous. Had he startled her? Or was it the fact that he refused to let go?

  He was torn between putting her at ease and demanding to know why she’d so easily dismiss his help. Conscience beat curiosity.

  “Look, my uncle was a cop. My cousin Mitch, your boss, is captain of the local precinct. I have three brothers who are in law enforcement or criminal investigation. A fourth who used to be. It’d be suicide at family reunions if I didn’t help a cop when she asked me.”

  No laugh.

  Shrugging off his inability to coax even a smile from her, he released her. She backed off a step and buri
ed her hands in the pockets of her blazer.

  “The older a case is, the harder it is to solve,” she said, as if explaining her aversion to his touch. “If I don’t have your full cooperation, then this is pointless.”

  “We’ll find out the truth. Together.”

  With the challenge hanging in the air, he dared her to retreat a third time. Her gaze darted from the sidewalk to her car and back to the middle of his chest. “All right. We’ll eat.”

  He rewarded her hard-won agreement with a smile, overlooking the bothersome observation that she hadn’t looked him in the eye. “There’s a diner on the next block. Since the rain stopped, we can walk.” Keeping a comfortable distance between them, Brett headed for the corner, shortening his stride so Ginny didn’t have to pump her legs in double time to keep up.

  “I suppose it makes good sense.” She seemed intent on reasoning this out. “I need background. You need to eat. We can combine both and save some time.”

  “See? It’s a good plan all round. Not bad for an arrogant bozo like me, huh?”

  “I didn’t say…”

  He sensed the snap of her head as she looked up at him. He came to an abrupt stop and turned. Whatever she was about to say died on her lips when their gazes met. She didn’t know he’d been teasing! She would have defended him against the self-mocking insult.

  Big bad Brett Taylor, neighborhood hero and resident handyman, had always taken care of himself and those around him. To know this dainty bit of curves and confidence had been willing to do the same for him warmed a chilly place inside he hadn’t acknowledged for a long time. Ginny Rafferty wasn’t quite the all-business woman who fascinated him. She was human. The woman was as much of a mystery as the cases she worked to solve.

  Reaching an unspoken truce of sorts, he checked for traffic, took her by the elbow and crossed the street with her. He released her as soon as they were safely across. “If we can prove that old man Bishop finally got what he deserved, I’ll answer any question you have, as many times as you want to hear it. There are plenty of folks around here who would love to know the truth.”

  “One thing I’ve learned, working homicide…” He glanced down to see the wry wisdom in her voice reflected in the expression on her pretty face. “There’s always one person who doesn’t want you to find out the truth.”

  Chapter Three

  Ginny halted, a French fry halfway to her mouth, as Brett launched into his second burger with the works. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he needed to fuel up. She’d never seen a man pack away food the way he did, with such relish, such fulfillment.

  For all his brawn, he had a connoisseur’s palate, an artiste’s demeanor, savoring the textures of meat and grain, appreciating the tastes both rich and mild. She likened the expression on his face to what she’d felt at the Jeu de Paume museum at the Louvre in Paris when she’d seen the perfection of color in Claude Monet’s paintings with her own eyes.

  The word sensual sprang to mind as she watched him. And just as quickly, she squashed it. She was here for necessary sustenance and to ask questions. Not to observe and evaluate the grace and gusto of Brett Taylor.

  He towered over her by more than a foot, putting him at six-four or five, and maybe two-twenty, two hundred thirty pounds. As a big man, he had room to store all that food. Yet, with her eye for details, she couldn’t help noticing the flatness of his stomach and the healthy ripple of bicep and forearm beneath his flannel shirt.

  He must be pushing forty, too, though the mischief that danced in his eyes made him seem several years younger. He seemed to be able to shrug off the cares of the world.

  While she…

  She realized he was staring at her, watching her stare at him. She cast aside his amused curiosity by taking a vicious bite of her fry, then stuffing the whole thing into her mouth. She concentrated on chewing each and every bite.

  “You sizing me up as a suspect?” he asked, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.

  “Maybe.” Ooh. Clever comeback, she chided herself. She forced her distracted brain to concentrate on the reason she had agreed to join him for a late dinner. “Earlier, you said Alvin Bishop wasn’t a nice guy. Can you be more specific?”

  His dimples deepened briefly, then disappeared. “Do you always use work as an excuse to avoid having a real conversation?”

  She raised an eyebrow, refusing to take the bait and launch into another verbal duel with him. “This isn’t a date.”

  He pushed his plate aside, rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “Would it be so bad if it was?”

  Disaster was the answer that leaped to mind. Thank God she had intelligence and experience on her side, and didn’t have to rely on her malformed relationship skills to conduct an investigation.

  Ginny folded her napkin and matched his position, ignoring the obvious taunt. “Alvin Bishop?” she prodded.

  He relented. “Let me demonstrate.”

  Brett snapped his fingers and waved Pearl, the owner and chief cook, over to the table. Pearl Jenkins was a plump, ageless woman with a musical laugh and knowing smile. She’d come out from the kitchen to greet him in person when they arrived and he’d swallowed her up in a hug that showed they’d been good friends for a long time. Now she hurried over with an enthusiasm that bordered on doting-aunt status.

  Pearl beamed directly at Brett when she reached the table. “You ready for some pie?”

  He smiled right back, and Ginny thought she detected a blush in the older woman’s cheeks. “What do you have tonight?”

  Pearl went through the list as if she was naming off her children. “Coconut cream, lemon meringue, peach cobbler, caramel apple…”

  “Mmm.” Brett winked, and Pearl’s color deepened even further. “Say no more. Caramel apple it is.”

  Pearl turned to include Ginny with a fixed smile that lacked the welcome she’d shown Brett. “You, too?”

  Ginny eyed the half-eaten sandwich on her plate. She’d been hungry enough to down the whole thing, garnish and all. But she’d been unable to relax enough to enjoy her food. Self-conscious about her inability to read Brett with much success, she wanted to keep her guard up.

  But caramel?

  Some things even her considerable will couldn’t prevent her sweet tooth from passing up.

  “Caramel apple sounds delicious.”

  “Pearl?” The woman stopped, mid-bustle, and latched her attention back onto Brett. “Tell Ginny what you remember about Alvin Bishop.”

  “That good-for-nothing devil?” The blush drained right out of the older woman’s face. “Why does she want to know?”

  Ginny straightened her spine at the suspicion that shadowed Pearl’s voice. She pulled back the front of her jacket and flashed her badge. “I’m a detective with KCPD. I’m doing some background research on a case.”

  Pearl’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits in her plump face. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Ginny sensed the information locking up tighter than a vault at the board of trade. She tried to find some way to connect with the woman. “I was born and raised in Kansas City. I’ve lived on both sides of the state line. I asked to be transferred here to the Fourth Precinct two years ago when a position opened up.”

  The dull look in Pearl’s dark eyes told Ginny she hadn’t scored any points. Kansas City was a big town. Living inside the city limits wasn’t the same as living on Market Street. At least not to Pearl Jenkins.

  While Ginny regrouped to think of another way to get Pearl to talk, Brett interceded. His face creased with a boyish grin and he nodded across the table. “Ginny’s a friend of mine. She works with my cousin Mitch. You remember Mitch, don’t you?”

  “Mitch? Of course.” Pearl warmed to the subject immediately. “He came in here not too long ago with that new bride of his. I hear she’s from the ritzy part of town. But you know what? She’s common as dirt. I liked her right away.”

  Ginny watched with grudging admiration as Brett
tapped Pearl’s hand and steered her eager tongue back to the original question. “Alvin Bishop?”

  Just like that. With a smile and a touch from Brett, Pearl opened up. “He got my Freddie fired from the steel plant over by the river. He’s broken things up in my diner more than once. Finally got to where I needed a restraining order to keep him out. I don’t serve liquor here, but it didn’t matter. He was always picking fights.”

  She paused only for a breath, and continued. “One time old Alvin climbed up the fire escape of our building and stole a set of wind chimes Freddie had made for me at the foundry. Five little steel bells, handmade and strung on a rope. I used to love the sound they made in the evening breeze. Old Alvin said they kept him awake at night.” The cautious regard she had given Ginny earlier vanished beneath a curious frown. “What do you want to know about him for?”

  Ginny tucked her envy and resentment of Brett’s success behind the emotional armor she wore as conspicuously as her badge, and kept her answer brief and to the point. “I’m investigating a murder.”

  “Whose? Did old Alvin kill somebody else?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but Brett cut her off. “Better get that pie. You’ll be closing soon.”

  Pearl perked up in an instant. “Coming right up.”

  Ginny attacked Brett the moment the other woman was out of earshot. “What did you do that for? That’s the kind of motive I need to hear about.”

  He leaned back against the vinyl booth, ignoring her burst of temper. “You said you wanted my help. I’m helping. You gotta know these people like I do. If she thinks you’re trying to help Alvin, she’ll clam up again.”

  “I’m trying to find out the truth. I thought that’s what you wanted, too.”

  “I do.” He rubbed his hand across the scruff of his jaw in a weary gesture. “But these are my people. You’re the outsider here. Trust me. Life hasn’t been easy around the City Market for a long time. If you ask too many questions, word will get around, and then they’ll circle the wagons and nobody will talk.”

  “How else will I find answers?”