by Linda Turner
Caught in the mesmerizing trap of his gaze and hands, Katie swallowed, her breath shuddering through her lungs, her heart thundering. Under his fingers, her skin heated from the faintest whisper of his touch. He was seducing her, she thought dazedly, right in front of her uncles and a crowd of strangers, with nothing more than his hands and a few easily spoken lies!
Indignation flashed in her blue eyes like lightning before a storm, but before she could tell her uncles the truth, Grant grinned and dropped his arm back down to her waist, pulling her flush against his side. "Don't look at me like that, honey. I know it was all my fault we broke up. It was the biggest mistake I ever made. But it might not be too late for us if you'll just give me a chance."
"I didn't realize Katie was seriously involved with anyone when she was in college," Mike Gallegos said quietly, his gaze lingering on the proprietary arm Grant had put around Katie's shoulders. He looked straight into Grant's eyes. "She never mentioned you."
Katie knew this was her chance. She had only to open her mouth to set the record straight. Tilting her head back she stared into Grant's hard face, but the intensity in his eyes had the words dying on her tongue. Even without the warning squeeze he gave her waist, she could read his silent message. Don't. She hesitated, but her willpower seemed to disintegrate. Like a puppet on a string, she turned to her uncles and forced a teasing smile. "A girl's got to keep a few secrets, Uncle Mike."
"That's right," Henry chided. "Lighten up, Mike. Katie's all grown up now."
"And she certainly doesn't need us watching over her like a bunch of mother hens," Tony added as he nudged the other two men toward the parking lot. "Come on, guys, these two have got a lot of catching up to do and we're in the way."
The teasing wink he threw Katie just before he and the others disappeared into the crowd brought a flood of hot color to her cheeks. As soon as her uncles were out of sight, she jerked free of Grant's arm and turned to glare at him. "Just what was that all about?"
Grant frowned at the spectators that swarmed around them on their way to the exit. They couldn't talk here, not when anyone could overhear their conversation. But one look at the stubborn set of Katie's jaw told him she wasn't budging without an explanation. Muttering a curse, he reached for her, pulling her back to his side with an ease that was all too natural.
Katie gasped. "Let go of me! I want some answers—"
"You'll get them if you'll just pipe down a second," he growled into her ear as he urged her toward the exit and forced himself to ignore the way she fit into his arms. "What did you expect me to do? Stand there and let you tell everyone that I'm an old friend of Sam Bradford's who just happens to think he was murdered? Damn it, if I'd have wanted the news broadcast, I'd have gone to the television station!"
"I wasn't going to broadcast it," she whispered furiously, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.
"Oh, really? And what would you call it? If I hadn't stopped you, it wouldn't have been any time before your uncles would have discovered I was a P.I. from Chicago," he retorted as they reached her car. "I couldn't take the chance that they'd start to wonder what I was doing here. You're the only one in Miami who knows about that, and I'd just as soon keep it that way."
"So you lied," she said flatly, stepping away from his encircling arm to confront him.
He shrugged, his mouth curving wickedly. "I needed a cover and you were it. What's the matter? Can't you picture us as college sweethearts!"
If he thought she was going to answer that, he was crazy! Her body was still humming from his closeness. "I'm going home," she said stiffly.
His mocking grin told her he wasn't fooled by her evasiveness, but he nodded and moved to his car, which was parked next to hers. Grant realized that some things were better left unanswered. "I'll follow you."
It took Katie only minutes to reach the aging neighborhood where she had lived since she was a child. Over the years, the formerly upper-middle-class area had gone down some as city growth shifted to the opposite side of town, but it had lost none of its charm. Porch lights illuminated quaint, old-fashioned houses with gabled roofs, dormer windows and neatly manicured yards.
Parking in her driveway, Katie waited for Grant to join her on the deep porch that stretched across the entire width of the house. Then she unlocked the front door and stepped inside. "Come on in," she said as she moved through the darkness to switch on a lamp. "I'll get us something to drink and then we can talk. How about some iced tea?"
Grant nodded absently and studied the decor of the room. At first glance, it had all the touches of a formal living room: a sprawling white rattan couch and love seat, elegant hardwood floors highlighted by a white woven rug, ferns and ivy that hung at long, white-shuttered windows. It was cool, sophisticated, untouchable—until one noticed the books and newspapers spread haphazardly about, the basketball in the corner, the turquoise and rose chintz pillows that spilled from the furniture onto the floor.
Moving to the couch, Grant picked up the newspaper lying there and arched a brow in surprise. "Does your boss know you read the Tribune?" he called to Katie as he heard her cracking ice in the kitchen.
She chuckled. "He'd be the first to agree that it never hurts to keep tabs on the competition." She returned with the tea, handed him a glass and sank down onto one of the love seats, curling her feet beneath her. "But I originally started taking it because of Sam. His writing was always so … cutting. He had a way of dragging a reader into a story whether they wanted to go or not. Of course, I never told him that," she confided with a rueful half smile. "He was already too sure of himself as it was."
Setting his glass on the end table, Grant pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took a folded sheet of paper from it. "I think you'd better read this," he said quietly as he handed the paper to her. He took the seat opposite her. "It'll explain everything."
Katie unfolded it and stared down at what was obviously a page from a private letter. But for a timeless moment, she didn't see the words, only the familiar scrawl that she recognized in an instant as Sam's. She would have known it anywhere. For years, he had been sending her short, teasing notes, congratulating her when she scooped him on a story or playfully correcting her on what he considered errors in her style. With a few short lines, he'd annoyed and delighted her by turns, and he'd always goaded her into doing her best. How could she have forgotten those notes?
"Is something wrong?"
The threads of memory that entwined her snapped at the quiet question. She glanced up to find Grant frowning at her in concern. "It's nothing," she said huskily. "This just reminded me of some notes Sam used to send me about my writing. He liked to tease me about my way with words. I guess he read my work as much as I read his."
Staring at the wistful smile that played around her mouth, Grant found himself fighting the sudden urge to snatch the letter from her hand. It wasn't too late. He could tell her to forget everything he'd told her and he'd handle the investigation alone, even if it took him years. But before he could say anything, she'd lowered her eyes and this time he could see she was reading the words. Swearing silently, he waited for her to finish.
I've been working on the story for months now, but yesterday I finally got a tip from Leo, one of my informants, that will set this town back on its ear. We're talking Pulitzer Prize here! One of the city's most respected businessmen is the secret head of a street gang. Yeah, it blew my mind, too, but that's not all. It seems this same pillar of society also has a direct link with the Colombian drug cartel and is supplying the gang with a million dollars' worth of cocaine a day. No wonder the streets are flooded with it. Of course, I still need proof, and that's going to be a hell of a lot harder to come by than Leo's tip. Whoever this businessman is, he's got a lot of power. He's got connections from the barrio to the police department. I'm going to have to watch my back—
The page ended abruptly in midsentence. Stricken, Katie stared at the last line, not even realizing she was crumbling the paper i
n her hands. It was true. Sam had been murdered and she'd never even considered the possibility. How could she have been so blind? She'd accepted the obvious and therefore had unwittingly given his killer months to get away, to cover his tracks and slip into his other life without anyone being the wiser. If only she'd known.
She glanced up sharply at Grant. "When did you get this? Sam's been dead for four months. Why didn't you take this to the police immediately?"
His eyes narrowed at her tone. "I was in Europe on a case when Sam was killed. He must have mailed that letter just days before he died. I didn't get it until I came home a couple of weeks ago."
"But you still didn't go to the police."
"No," he said flatly, his expression hard. "And I'm not going to. You read the letter. Whoever killed Sam has already bought himself some protection in the police department. I can't take a chance on handing that letter over to a bad cop on the take."
This was all so incredible! Unable to sit still, Katie jumped up to pace the room in agitation. "I can't believe no one picked up on this!" Turning to Grant abruptly, she said, "All right, so you can't go to the police. What are you going to do and where do I come in?"
"Sam had the right idea. The only way to expose this man is to get irrefutable proof linking him to the gang and then publish the story before he knows someone else is on to him. You can help me do both and get a hell of a story. But it's going to be dangerous," he cautioned. "Think about it before you give me an answer."
This was one last thing she could do for Sam. Even as the thought registered, Katie knew she didn't have to think about the danger. Danger was an inherent part of her job, one that she had long since come to grips with. She couldn't investigate crime without taking risks. Granted, this story would be more dangerous than most, but Sam had believed in it strongly enough to die. How could she not bring the truth to light and expose his killer?
She sank back down to the couch. "Where do we start?"
For a long, tense moment, Grant stared at her, searching her face for any doubts, any reservations. When he found none, a tension he hadn't even been aware of eased out of him with a sigh of relief. "We haven't got a hell of a lot to go on. In fact, Leo's the only clue we've got, and even then, Sam didn't mention his last name. Finding him's going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack."
Katie skimmed over the letter again, her brows knit in concentration. "Since he came to Sam with information about one of the gangs, chances are we can track him down in the bars in the barrio. I've got some contacts there that might be able to help us. We can start looking tomorrow night."
"Informants don't usually talk about who they're squealing to, but what if this Leo character bragged that he'd been helping Sam Bradford with a big story?" he argued, not liking the idea. "The minute we start asking for him, someone could connect our interest in him to Sam."
"We've got to find him," she countered. "And the only way to do that is to ask around for him in the places where he might hang out. Otherwise, all we've got to go on is a nameless businessman and street gang; and we won't get very far with that."
He frowned. "Then I think we should stick to the cover we established earlier. No one will question why you're spending so much time with me if everyone thinks we're old sweethearts. And if we're going to go bar hopping in the barrio, you'll be safe if everyone thinks you're my woman."
Caught in the heat of his gaze, Katie felt her throat go dry. Safe? she thought wildly. Did he honestly think she would feel safe being claimed by him, even if it was for her own protection? He had only to slip his arm around her waist to throw her senses into a panic. God knows what would happen if he kissed her. She'd probably melt in a pool at his feet!
As if he'd read her thoughts, his gaze dropped to her mouth. "It's only a front, Katie," he said softly, his husky voice reaching out to stroke her like a caress. "A charade we'll perform until we expose the man Sam was after when he drove off that bridge. Think you can do that?"
Hot color fired her cheeks. Could she pretend to be his college sweetheart when her body already responded to his touch as if he really were an old lover?
To even consider his suggestion was crazy, impossible, out of the question. But there was no way she could say no. Without her help, Sam's killer would remain free.
"Of course," she said coolly. "We'll play it your way. For now," she quickly added. "But if it doesn't work—"
She broke off in surprise as the front door suddenly banged open and her brother, Ryan, stepped inside. A tall, lanky youth of seventeen, he looked far different from the neat teenager who had left for work earlier that evening. His clothes were dirty and torn, his face battered and bloodied. Horrified, Katie gasped and jumped to her feet. "Ryan! My God, what happened? Are you all right?"
"Now don't go getting all upset, Sis," he said as she rushed over to him. "It's not as bad as it looks."
He towered over her by a good five inches, but that didn't stop her from shooting him a reproving frown. "Try saying that without wincing and I might believe you. What happened?"
"A couple of guys jumped me as I was walking to my car after work. They came out of an alley and I didn't see them until it was too late." He grimaced as she gently grasped his square jaw to turn his face to the light. "I think they loosened a few of my teeth."
"Did you see who they were? Can you identify them?"
"They wore masks, but they had Barracuda colors wrapped around their thighs."
Katie paled. "I knew something like this would happen!" she said hoarsely. "Ryan, I warned you this morning to be careful. You know how Cantu is. He doesn't make idle threats."
"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't think he'd try anything at work."
"Well, this time he's gone too far," she snapped, her blue eyes flashing. "I'm calling the police."
She whirled toward the phone, but Ryan took it out of her hands before she could even begin to dial the number. "It won't do any good, Sis. There were no witnesses, and even if I could identify them, you know Cantu would have alibis for them. Let it go."
"Damn it, Ryan—"
"Would someone like to tell me what's going on?" Grant interrupted quietly. "Who's threatening you?"
"A worm," Katie said bitterly. "His name's Fabian Cantu. He's the leader of a gang called the Barracudas."
"A real lowlife," her brother added. "He's one of those macho types who gets his kicks intimidating people." Stepping across to Grant, he held out his hand and gave him a crooked grin. "I'm Ryan MacDonald. Sorry to interrupt. I didn't realize Katie had company."
"No problem," Grant replied, liking the teenager immediately as he shook his hand. He saw that Ryan favored Katie a great deal with his thick black hair, angular face and confidence that went far beyond his years. "I'm Grant Elliot. Katie and I—"
"Went to college together," she said quickly, shooting him a quelling glance. "We…"
Grant's lips twitched when she hesitated. "We went steady for a while," he confided with dancing eyes, giving Ryan the same story he'd given their uncles. "Katie doesn't like to talk about it. Still, when I came into town on business I just had to look her up."
Oh, he was enjoying this! she thought in frustration. She should have known better than to agree to this act. Next he'd be telling everyone they were once engaged! Resisting the urge to glare at him, she turned to Ryan and frowned at the bruise already swelling high on his cheek. "Come into the kitchen and let me put some ice on that. It's turning blue."
"I'm not surprised," Ryan grumbled, gingerly feeling the tender area just under his right eye as he and Grant followed her into the kitchen. "It hurts like hell."
Grant leaned against the doorjamb and watched Katie fuss over her brother. "Why'd Cantu send his goons after you? What's he got against you?"
Ryan took the ice bag Katie handed him and eased it against his throbbing cheek. "Cantu's been expanding his territory and decided our neighborhood was ripe for the picking. He and his gang moved into a deserted building a
couple of blocks away and tried to set up a crack house."
Grant arched a brow. "Tried?"
"Katie organized a neighborhood crime-watch program," the younger man said proudly. "Every time the gang started making drug sales, someone called the cops. Cantu was so furious, he finally moved out two weeks ago."
"Threatening revenge," Katie added grimly.
"So his attack on Ryan was really to get to you," Grant concluded.
"Cantu doesn't forget a grudge, and Katie's the one he really wants to hurt," Ryan said. "And he'll do it, too. When she least expects it. Every time she goes into the barrio for a story, she leaves herself wide open."
"There are cops all over the place when I'm covering a story. He's not stupid enough to try anything then," she argued. "He's too much of a coward."
Ryan frowned at her. "You're always so sure you can take care of yourself! What about when I'm working the night shift?" he demanded. "You're here alone. He could come in and slit your throat without making a sound."
"He'd never go that far—"
"We don't know that," he cut in. "Personally, I think the man's capable of anything." He turned abruptly to Grant, his blue eyes filled with concern. "Why don't you stay with us while you're in Miami, Grant? You said yourself you planned to spend a lot of time with Katie, and I'd feel a lot better knowing there was another man in the house to protect her when I'm at work."
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
Stunned, Katie completely forgot the role she was supposed to be playing and blurted out, "Oh, no! I don't think that's a very good idea."
Ryan looked from his sister to Grant in puzzlement, frowning at the sudden tension sparking between them. "Why not? It isn't as if we haven't got room. We've got two empty bedrooms upstairs."
