by Julie Miller
“Taylor.” A crisp male voice called from behind the obstruction of Brett’s wide shoulders.
The sudden paralysis in Brett’s arms shocked her into curious silence. There was no mistaking the strength and hardness of the man as he slowly lowered her to the ground.
She watched the play of emotions across Brett’s face. Recognition. Annoyance. Anger. Regret. Then, like a slate being wiped clean, he fixed a smile on his mouth. A smile that never reached his eyes.
“Chamberlain.” Brett turned, opening up her view of the blond-haired man, but keeping the jut of his shoulder positioned between her and this Chamberlain.
Tall himself, though leaner in build than Brett’s muscular bulk, he wore a tan trench coat over an impeccably cut spring wool suit. His gold watch and the black leather briefcase he carried added to the appearance of wealth and gentility.
But there was nothing gentle in the cold assessment of his dark eyes. “I just scheduled an appointment with your secretary. My investors aren’t pleased with what they’ve seen in the news. One million dollars is a lot of money to be throwing away on a failing project like yours.”
She expected Brett to bristle at the attack, but his expression never changed. “I didn’t ask for your clients’ money. It’s just an opportunity for them to improve public relations. They know no one around here wants that casino and the crime that comes with it.”
“Crime? Hasn’t your family cleaned up the neighborhood yet? I thought that was the Taylor mission. To serve and protect us all, whether we want them to or not.”
The muscles bunched in Brett’s shoulders. He shifted his feet to a defensive stance. Ginny latched onto his arm with both hands and tugged sharply against the explosive tension there. Her cop’s instincts to defuse the antagonism between the two men melded with her curiosity at the cause of it. “Brett. Why don’t you introduce us?”
The blond man’s gaze swept over Ginny. “I’m Eric Chamberlain, an old high school acquaintance of Brett’s. And you are…?”
She had no chance of holding on to Brett if he really wanted to take a swing at this guy. But as if he understood her silent request, he held himself still beneath her touch.
Acquaintance? Hell. Ginny might not know either man on a personal level, but she understood conflict. She recognized an old rivalry, a battle that had been fought before between these two men. She filed away her questions for later and extended her right hand.
“Ginny Rafferty. Better watch what you say about cops.” She flashed her badge. “I’m one of them.”
Switching the grip on his briefcase, he took her hand. It was a doctor’s hand, a lawyer’s hand. Smooth-skinned, lacking the calluses and character of a hand like Brett’s. “Waste of a pretty face.”
Ginny snatched her hand back. Apparently she hadn’t received her due of chauvinistic quips yet today. But she never got to voice the retort on the tip of her tongue.
Brett jabbed Eric in the chest, encouraging him to take a step back. “Is there a reason you want to insult my fiancée?”
“Brett, I can defend…”
But both men had already excluded her from the conversation.
Eric’s eyes widened. “Fiancée?” His surprise transformed into a smug smile. “No wonder Sophie couldn’t reach you. While you were busy entertaining the police, they’ve been busy spreading the bad news.”
“What are you talking about?” Brett challenged.
Eric’s shoulders swaggered with some kind of victory. “Apparently that body you dug up was old man Bishop. Sophie got the news a couple of hours ago. Imagine her daddy being buried alive. She tried to reach you, but I see now you were…” He glanced over at Ginny, then back at Brett. “…otherwise occupied.”
Brett lurched forward and Ginny darted between the two men. Ignoring the insult and Brett’s defense against it, she flattened her hands on his chest and shoved. Hard. What she lacked in strength, she made up for in surprise, averting a possible assault charge against Brett. Judging by her first impression, Eric Chamberlain would be more than happy to file one.
Brett blinked twice and focused on her upturned face, as if just now remembering her presence.
But Eric Chamberlain forged ahead, taunting Brett. “She turned to me, Taylor. Me.”
Brett shifted his gaze over the top of her head. “For what?”
“Comfort.” The muscles across Brett’s chest expanded beneath Ginny’s fingers. “Seems you let her down. Again. Enjoy your day.” With that insincere wish, Eric strode down the sidewalk.
Brett’s chest deflated like a pricked balloon. “I’d better go to Sophie and tell her what’s going on.”
The sudden absence of danger turned their position into an embrace. Ginny quickly pulled her hands away. Fortunately, she could cover her self-conscious observation with professional concern. “You can’t tell her about the case yet.”
He shook his head, stirring the hair against his collar. “I meant us. Sophie and I have been friends for a lot of years. I don’t want her to hear about our engagement from anyone but me. I didn’t even think how this ruse might affect her.”
Ginny’s resentment of his overbearing tactics faded beneath intellectual curiosity. “What did Eric mean, you let her down? You just said you and Sophie are old friends.”
“I let her down, all right. Real bad.” He scraped his palm across his jaw and released an unexpected sigh of fatigue. “It’s my fault her brother died.”
Chapter Five
Ginny stared at the pink piece of paper in her hand and read the words one more time.
Amy will see you soon.
No name. No phone number.
Just a cryptic note lying in her in-box with a dozen other phone messages.
Setting aside the chill that crept across the back of her neck like the gaze of an unwanted admirer, she scanned her surroundings for a likely purveyor of the sick joke.
The Fourth Precinct office bustled about her in its usual end-of-the-day chaos. She tuned out the strident complaints of the handcuffed man crying for his lawyer. She dismissed the tapping of keyboards at various desks as day officers finished up reports before leaving. Her gaze darted to the raucous laughter over at the coffeepot as officers coming in for the evening shift filled their tanks with caffeine.
No strangers. No loiterers. No curious onlookers watching for her reaction.
So where had the note come from?
There had to be a million Amy’s in the world. But only one had any significance in her life.
And Ginny Rafferty didn’t believe in ghosts.
A bit of her Irish temper kicked in and dispelled the spooked feeling that had temporarily immobilized her. She showed the slip to the man sitting across from her at the adjoining desk.
“Merle, did you take this message?”
He looked up from his computer, scanned the pink slip and shook his head. “I picked up a stack for both of us from Sarge. Is it something important?”
“I’m not sure.” She slipped out of her chair and crossed to the tall front desk near the elevators that greeted visitors to the Fourth Precinct. “Maggie?”
The blond, uniformed officer, built like a Viking princess, but with the sweet freckled face of a Kansas farm girl, looked up from her clipboard. “Yeah, Ginny. What’s up?”
Although almost everyone, from rookie cop to top brass, called Maggie Wheeler by her rank, Sarge, she and Ginny made a point of calling each other by their first names in a show of feminine support in their male-dominated profession. Ginny laid the message on the countertop. “Did you take this phone call? Merle said he got it from your desk.”
Maggie set her clipboard beside the paper and ran down the list of entries, flipping through several pages. Her perpetual smile straightened into a frown of confusion. “It’s not in the log. Maybe Murphy took it when I was on break.” She nudged up the dark blue sleeve at her wrist and checked her watch. “That was about half an hour ago.”
“Could you ask if he remembe
rs it?”
“He took off right at five to catch his son’s soccer game. I can call him on his cell, if you want,” she offered, already reaching for the phone.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll ask him in the morning.”
Maggie pulled the pen from behind her ear and tapped her clipboard. “Every call that comes across this desk goes into the log. More than likely that came through someone else’s line.”
Ginny also considered the possibility that the message hadn’t been phoned in at all, that someone in the building had written it and dropped it off, purposely losing it in the shuffle of papers on the sergeant’s desk.
She picked up the note and read it again. Maybe the events of the past two days had her seeing a threat where none existed.
Still, the timing of the anonymous promise made her wonder if she had piqued someone’s attention on Market Street. Someone who didn’t appreciate her sudden interest in Alvin Bishop. Someone who knew of Alvin’s connection to her sister.
“Is there a problem?” Maggie’s question drew Ginny out of her speculation.
“No.” There was no point in turning the message into a full-scale investigation. She had plenty of other work that needed her attention. She folded up the note and stuffed it into the pocket of her khakis. “It’s just weird.”
Maggie shrugged. “If it’s important, they’ll call back.”
Ginny had an uneasy suspicion someone would.
“Rafferty!” Ginny snapped to attention, an automatic response to the sound of authority. A door opened at the far end of the room. “Get in here!” Mitch Taylor’s voice boomed from the open doorway of the captain’s office. Tall, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, her boss wasn’t a man to be kept waiting.
Maggie leaned across the counter and winked, offering support and dismissing herself at the same time. “I’ll keep checking to see what I can find out.”
“Thanks.” The first thought that entered Ginny’s head was that Mitch had found out about her unofficial investigation into Amy’s murder. Refusing to panic, she straightened the placket of her blouse and walked calmly toward her desk, reminding herself that Mitch wasn’t one to give stern lectures.
But he did control promotions and paychecks.
She hurried her pace.
She reached her chair and picked up the blazer hanging over the back of it. “Ginny!”
She dropped the jacket, deciding speed was more important than appearance at this point.
Merle met her as she walked around their desks. “That doesn’t sound good. Want some backup?”
“No, thanks.” Mitch would have called both their names if he wanted to talk about a case. She had a sneaking suspicion this was going to be something much more personal.
She hesitated for a moment, knowing she needed to tell Merle of her undercover ploy before he found out from anyone else—just as Brett had wanted to tell Sophie. “I think I’ve got us some help on the Bishop case.”
“Yeah?”
“Detective!”
Mitch’s demand forestalled the sharing of any confidences right then. Donning her most professional mask, she hurried past Mitch into his office. He gestured to one of the guest chairs. Ginny sat, hiding her trepidation behind a patient facade, waiting while Mitch sat in his own padded leather chair.
Despite the subtle flecks of gray in his coffee-dark hair, Mitch radiated an energy that commanded attention. He propped his elbows on the desktop and steepled his fingers beneath his chin, shaking his head. Though he was only ten years older than she, he looked downright fatherly.
“Ginny.” Unlike his gruff summons, his voice now was remarkably gentle. If possible, she sat up even straighter, a note of alarm kicking in at his soft tone. “Here I am, all set to go out for a quiet, romantic dinner with my wife, and I get a call from my aunt, asking if I know anything about Brett marrying one of my detectives.”
After the initial surprise passed, Ginny made a conscious effort to close her gaping jaw. “Your family knows?”
“Aunt Martha’s received half a dozen phone calls already. She wants to know why she found out about it through Pearl Jenkins, and not her own son.” He flattened his palms on the top of his desk. “I want to know why my smartest detective didn’t tell me she was going to become part of the family.”
Brett had been right about one thing. In Pearl’s able hands, news traveled fast.
Ginny searched her imagination for a plausible explanation.
She’d rather face down a perp with a gun than lie to Mitch. But she could hardly tell him she had embarked on an unsanctioned undercover investigation, and enlisted his cousin’s aid to pull it off. “Well, Brett and I, we—”
“I’ve got it under control, Mitch.” The deep dark voice from behind her skittered along her skin, raising goose bumps. She turned to see Brett, and his equally dark, compelling blue gaze slipped over to her. “Angel.” With that single word, the rich timbre of his voice sank into her bones like a comforting caress.
She would never have labeled Brett Taylor as “comforting.” But the sight of his big, brawny body filling the doorway to Mitch’s office did exactly that. If anyone could talk his way out of an awkward situation like this, he could.
She hoped her sigh of relief hadn’t been audible to anyone’s ears but her own.
Two easy strides carried him to the arm of her chair. “I’ll call Ma when I get home to explain things.”
Mitch sank back in his oversize chair and crossed his arms. But Ginny saw beyond the relief in his posture. She knew the look in his eyes that demanded answers. “Maybe you’d better explain what’s going on to me first.”
Oh God. She swiveled her gaze up to Brett. He wouldn’t dare tell about her search for Amy’s killer, would he?
Brett sat on the arm of her chair, butting his hip against her shoulder. She scooted away from that brief contact, her concerns briefly scattered by distracting thoughts about men with sexy legs. But Brett’s hand settled on her shoulder, pulling her back to his side and back into the charade.
Ginny fixed a smile on her mouth and tried to sound as natural as Brett had. “We haven’t made an official announcement. Work keeps getting in the way.” She added the last bit of truth to soften the strain on her conscience.
Mitch shook his head, looking doubtful. “It just seems pretty sudden. I didn’t even know you two were dating. And now this?”
Brett continued as if they’d been discussing any old case, and not the biggest, most necessary lie of her life. “I didn’t want Ma to get her hopes up. You know, stir up the whole grandkid issue. But Pearl Jenkins got wind of the engagement, and, well, you know Pearl.”
“I know.” The suspicion eased from Mitch’s eyes and he actually laughed. Brett stood to meet him when he came around the desk to shake his hand. “It’s about time. Congratulations.”
Ginny looked away as the two men shared a brotherly hug. She marveled at the friendly clash of titans. How could Brett embrace his cousin and lie through his teeth at the same time?
Just what kind of expertise made him such a smooth actor?
Mitch crossed to the coatrack beside the door. He rolled down his sleeves and pulled on his suit coat, smiling with a secret of his own. “And not to worry. Casey and I are working on the grandkid thing. We may have an announcement ourselves in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s great.”
Ginny stood, setting aside her doubts and adding her own good wishes. Mitch’s new wife had gone through an incredible ordeal with a vengeful stalker the past Thanksgiving, and the two had nearly lost their lives. They deserved the happiness that beamed from the captain’s face.
“Gin. Who’d have thought.” Mitch closed his hands around her shoulders, debating a moment whether to maintain professional distance or forget decorum. He ended up brushing a chaste kiss across her cheek. But he kept shaking his head in a way that made her wonder if they’d really pulled off the deception. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you or send
a sympathy card for taking on this big lug.”
Flustered by the show of warmth and humor, Ginny made a gulping sound in her throat, unable to get the appropriate words past the lie stuck there.
She lost her breath completely when Brett’s arms closed around her waist from behind, pulling her back into his chest. The differences in their heights forced him to curl his shoulders around hers, cocooning her in a web of strength and warmth.
His breath stirred a tendril of hair behind her left ear as he spoke to Mitch. “Once I saw how marriage agreed with you, I decided to take the plunge myself.”
Mitch stepped back and looked at them both. The pleasure and approval in his eyes turned Ginny’s stomach sour, but she kept the smile fixed on her face. “You’ve got a prize here, Brett.”
“I know.”
Brett’s soft-spoken compliment blew a soft breeze against her neck, waking unknown wishes in a forgotten place deep in her soul.
She had to consciously remind herself that sincerity wasn’t part of this game. She stiffened within the mock embrace. Brett’s arms tightened around her, as if sensing her instinct to bolt.
Don’t be afraid of me touching you, he’d said.
And yet she was.
Very afraid.
Afraid the ample shelter of his arms was something she wanted far too much. The wanting made her weak.
And he wanted her to show vulnerability? She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. Snugged inside this false embrace, she didn’t think she could feel any more exposed.
After a round of goodbyes, Mitch left with a promise to lock the office when they were done. The instant the door clicked shut behind him, Ginny pushed away. This time, Brett didn’t resist.
Her ragged breathing echoed in the room as Brett closed the blinds masking Mitch’s office from the rest of the floor.
His chest expanded and fell with a deep breath as he turned to her. “You’re a rotten liar, you know that?”
Ginny hugged her arms around her middle, feeling a sudden chill in the air that had nothing to do with the absence of his body heat surrounding her. “Me? What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything wrong.”
