“No,” Cleo said. “They wouldn’t.” She held on to Luther more tightly as they stopped by the pond and gazed out over the water. She wanted the murderer to be a stranger. Someone who could be taken from her life without leaving a hole.
“I think we’re going to have to smoke him out.” Luther said almost casually.
“How?”
He looked down at her, tried to smile but didn’t do a very good job of it. “So far, both victims have been men who hurt you. You made jokes on stage about them, and a couple of days later they’re dead.”
She took a deep breath. “If I’d known...”
“I’m not blaming you, just laying out a plan.” He pulled her closer, held her tighter. “You and I are going to break up, and on Friday night—”
“No,” she said, her heart leaping into her throat.
“There may be no other way. We haven’t found a single usable print, the commercial furniture polish that was used to render the victims unconscious is commonly used, and with every hour that passes the killer is closer to getting away with two murders.”
“But—”
“I thought you wanted to go to Florida.”
“I do,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to make you a target, Luther. I… I can’t I can’t stand up there and pretend that you’ve hurt me and purposely put you in danger.”
He brushed a finger under her chin. “I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“When this guy is caught we can put this behind us and go to Florida.”
There was so much promise in that phrase. Go to Florida. It meant starting over. Together. It meant a new, fresh start. It meant love. She’d thought she’d never know love again, and now here it was, staring her in the face and offering things she’d given up on. Love, family, waking to find a man she adored in her bed.
“All right,” she said finally. “If there’s no other way.”
“Friday,” he said with a nod of his head. “Whoever he is, he always seems to be there on Friday.”
Boone was back on the job by that afternoon, and Luther reluctantly left Cleo in the PI’s hands. Luther was more and more certain that she wasn’t personally in danger, but he wasn’t going to take chances. Not with Cleo’s life. The man who’d killed her ex-husband and the heckler was obsessed with her. Obsession could quickly turn to hate, he knew that too well.
He’d interviewed Randi, and the cowboy singer who’d been hanging around her place since Jack’s funeral, several times. He could see why Cleo was suspicious of the woman, but he didn’t see Randi with an i as a killer.
But when Randi came into his office on Wednesday afternoon, she definitely had murder in her eyes. “Now are you going to arrest her?” Randi snapped as she tossed a manila folder onto his desk.
“Arrest who?” he asked calmly, indicating that Randi should take the seat on the opposite side of his desk. Corey Flinger stood supportively behind her.
“Cleo, that’s who.” Randi tapped a finger against the folder. “If hating Jack’s guts wasn’t motive enough, this is. I want her arrested!”
Luther remained calm, while the two people on the opposite side of the desk quickly worked themselves into a tizzy.
“Yeah!” Flinger said, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing out.
“What’s in the folder?” Luther asked.
“Jack’s will. He changed it six months ago, and the bastard didn’t tell me. He left his ex-wife the publishing rights to ‘Come Morning,’ and all those other songs she wrote for her stupid album.”
Seemed only fair to Luther, since Cleo had written the songs. Maybe Tempest had hidden a small shred of decency somewhere deep inside. “Well, I can’t see how there’d be enough money in those songs that are what—almost eight years old?—to constitute a motive.”
Randi shook her head in a show of greatly tried patience.
“You have no idea how the music industry works. It just so happens that ‘Come Morning’ was recently chosen to be the main theme for a Hollywood movie. A big one, with major stars and major financing. The song will be in the movie itself, in the soundtrack, and the country-and-western star who’s recording it for the movie is also going to feature it on her next CD.” She slid the folder across his desk. “We’re talking major money here, Detective Malone.” Randi with an i didn’t sound much like a bimbo at the moment. She seemed to know exactly what she was talking about.
“That’s interesting.”
“Interesting? Detective, this is a hell of a lot more than interesting. It’s a damn good motive.”
“Yeah,” Flinger said again. His limited vocabulary was really starting to get on Luther’s nerves.
Luther opened the folder, noted the lawyer’s name at the top of the first page, and leafed through the simple will. Sure enough, there was Cleo’s name.
“I’m sure Ms. Tanner has no idea that her ex-husband changed his will—”
“I think she did know,” Randi said curtly. “I think Jack told her that she’d get back the rights to her songs when he was dead, and the temptation was more than she could stand.”
Luther wasn’t going to sit here and tell Randi and her moronic cowboy friend how he knew Cleo wasn’t guilty. “Thank you,” he said calmly. “I’ll look into it.”
Randi snatched her folder off the desk and rose swiftly. “You’d better.”
“Yeah!” Flinger muttered.
Cleo rested her cheek against Luther’s shoulder, and they danced to the sad music droning from the jukebox. Maybe they couldn’t be together until this was over, but she was beginning to love pretending for those who watched. It was all she had, for now.
He hadn’t said much tonight. He’d come in, relieved Boone, and asked her to dance.
“Are you by chance wearing one of the gifts I gave you?” she asked.
“Obviously not,” he said absently. “I just can’t bring myself to wear a bright red tie or a purple shirt to work.”
“I meant one of the other gifts.”
“Oh,” he said. “No. What if I got shot, and they rushed me to the hospital and cut off my suit and found cowboys or hearts. I’d bleed to death, while the doctors laughed over my—”
“Don’t say that,” Cleo said, lifting her head to glance up. “Don’t even joke about it.”
He’d been teasing her, she knew, but he looked serious tonight. The lines on his face were more pronounced, his eyes were dark. “Sorry. Cleo, we need to talk.”
“Talk away.”
“Not here.” He glanced around the sparsely populated room.
She was tempted to give him his Valentine tonight. Oh, she couldn’t wait to see his face! But no. She wanted to do this right and that meant she would wait until Valentine’s Day, when they were alone.
“My office.” She took his hand, and they left the dance floor in mid-song. His hand wrapped around hers, and he didn’t let go. To anyone watching, it might look as if they were headed to the back for a little hanky-panky. She wished that were true.
Luther closed the door behind him, and Cleo made her way across the small room. She turned to face Luther and leaned against the desk.
“Randi with an i came to see me today.” He didn’t keep his distance, as he knew he should, but came directly to her and brushed aside a curl that touched her cheek.
“I’m sorry,” she said, just a little caustically.
“She thinks you killed Jack, or that you at the very least had something to do with his death.” He backed up, perhaps realizing it was dangerous to stand too close, and dug around in his pocket to come up with a strawberry candy. Instead of unwrapping the candy and putting it in his mouth, he played with it as he talked. “Those publishing rights for ‘Come Morning’? Tempest left them to you in his will.”
“It’s an old song,” she said dismissively. “Hardly worth killing anyone over.”
“Randi mentioned a movie,” Luther continued. “A soundtrack, some country star’s
new album.”
Cleo felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh, dear.”
“Is that worth a lot of money? I have someone checking on the specifics, but—”
“It should be enough to keep me in peanut butter and dog food for a very long time,” Cleo said.
Luther nodded. “We have to find this guy, and fast. If I didn’t know better I’d be looking at you real hard, Cleo. I know you didn’t kill your ex or Webb, but if I remained distanced in this case, like I should, I’d have to suspect that you might be somehow involved.”
She shivered, and Luther saw her response. “We’ll get him,” he assured her in a low, deep voice that wrapped around her and did, amazingly, make her feel better. Warmer. Not alone, after so many years of being alone.
“I know.”
He came to her because he knew she needed it, she supposed. His hand drifted back up to brush her hair, her cheek, to trace her lips. “Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not,” she said.
“You are,” he responded gruffly.
She shook her head. “I’m worried, that’s all. You want me to make you a target. How am I supposed to do that and make it look real? How can I pretend to hate you?”
He moved near, so near that she closed her eyes and savored the almost touch, the way his aura skimmed hers. She didn’t usually have such fanciful thoughts, but right now… yes, something definitely merged. His heat and hers. The energy that danced around them.
She reached out blindly and found him, her searching fingers touching his chest, her palm resting there. His fingers trailed down her throat, the gentlest caress she’d ever experienced.
Her own hand skimmed up to touch his neck. She needed to touch him, even if it was just in this way. She needed to feel his heartbeat and his warmth. Her eyes drifted open. She wanted to see his face, to see her pale fingers against his tanned neck, to watch the way his dark eyes went almost black.
His fingers dipped gently beneath the collar of her little black dress, brushing the swell of her breasts as he leaned his head down to kiss her neck. Her body throbbed in time with that kiss.
She couldn’t ignore the truth; she really was falling in love with Luther. She couldn’t imagine a life without him in it. He touched her and she had hope for the future. She hadn’t dared to hope in so long. Physically, she wanted him here and now. On the desk, on the floor, against the wall… she didn’t care. She craved him.
In a deeper place she had ignored for too long, she wanted more. She wanted to know that Luther would be there forever. She wanted to wake and find him in her bed every morning. Babies. Girls like little Angel Madigan and boys who would have their father’s dark eyes. She wanted that, too. She wanted Luther to love her the way she loved him, so deeply it hurt.
For the first time in years, she wanted everything. And she had the faith to believe that what she wanted could one day be hers.
Luther lifted her off her feet and placed her so she sat on the edge of the desk. He stood between her thighs, and her legs wrapped around his as he took her mouth deep, with a craving she tasted and savored. His fingers speared through her hair, and he held her there while he plundered her mouth.
She cradled Luther’s head, holding him to her. Her legs tightened around him, drawing him close. His fingers dipped lower into the bodice of her dress, finding and barely teasing a nipple that hardened at his touch.
Cleo’s body throbbed and moistened, and she felt Luther’s insistent erection pressing against her. Her clothes and his kept them apart, but those annoying bits of fabric could so easily be disposed of...
Someone knocked on the office door casually and quickly before throwing it open.
“Lizzy wants next Friday—” Edgar began.
Luther jumped back, and Cleo slid off the desk, landing on her feet. Luther offered a steadying arm, one she gratefully took.
Edgar stood in the open doorway, an expression of disgust on his face. “We can talk about it later. I just wanted the name and phone number of that girl who filled in last time.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Cleo said, trying to sound calm and cool and falling far short.
Edgar snorted and left, leaving the door wide open.
Luther glanced down at her, passion still burning in his eyes. “You make me crazy,” he said.
It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it wasn’t bad, either. “You didn’t lock the door.”
He looked as if he was considering kicking the door shut and taking up where they’d left off, which would be fine with her.
“Cleo,” Eric’s bright voice called as he slipped into the room. “What do you think? Can we...” He cast a suspicious eye at Luther and curled his lip. “I guess we should talk about this later.”
“No, go ahead,” Cleo said, just a tad more in control.
“Just wondering if we can give my song a run-through tomorrow night.”
“Absolutely,” she said. “It’s fabulous.”
He pointed toward the main room. “One of the regulars, that old guy Charlie? He’s asking about you. Might be nice if you went out and said hello.”
“I’ll do that. Just let me fix my makeup first.”
“Yeah,” he said as he turned and stalked out of the room.
Luther leaned close. “Florida is sounding better and better.”
Chapter Thirteen
Luther arrived at work in a very bad mood. He hadn’t slept more than three hours, and the last of those three hours had made him late. Russell sat at his desk, well-dressed, bright-eyed, and looking like he’d had a good eight hours’ sleep. God, that kid really knew how to get on his nerves.
An array of pictures that had been taken in Cleo’s club lay across the kid’s desk. All they needed was one previous arrest for harassment, some history of violent behavior. Something to point them at the right guy.
“Find anything?” Luther asked as he headed for the coffeepot.
“Not yet,” Russell answered cheerfully. “But I think we might be on the right track.”
Last night he’d come damn close to losing control with Cleo. Again. A few more minutes and he would have been screwing her on the desk. Every one of his reservations forgotten. All his caution thrown out the window.
If not for Edgar and Eric interrupting, one after the other…
Cleo didn’t want to accept that her friends were suspects. Eric was obviously smitten with Cleo, but did he have a harmless crush or was he obsessed? Edgar seemed to be the stern, fatherly type. Did he love Cleo enough to kill for her? Did his fatherly protection go that far?
Something would happen tomorrow night. He and Cleo would stage the big breakup, she’d say something caustic to her adoring crowd, and then they’d wait. If their killer held true to form, on Sunday night they’d know who he or she was.
He didn’t like it, but something niggled at him. In the beginning, Cleo had let Eric and Edgar give her an alibi. She’d come clean after just a few days, and hearing her admit that she hadn’t been with them hadn’t been a surprise. He’d seen the truth on her face, that first night.
Had she realized that? No, he didn’t believe so.
As a cop, he lived with deception every day of his life. He definitely didn’t need it from the woman he… the woman he… What? Wanted? Dreamed about? Loved? He shook off the fantasy. Cleo had a great body, a gorgeous face, a come-hither smile, and a voice that could seduce an angel. Luther Malone was no angel. Had she been working at wrapping him around her little finger from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him and realized what trouble she was in? He didn’t want to believe it might be true, but everything he knew of women told him that he shouldn’t trust her.
And yet, he did. Against all reason, he believed her. He trusted her. He wanted to draw her up against him and protect her from all this. His brain was screaming for caution, but his heart was another matter. For the first time in his life his heart was putting up an argument.
The club wasn’t opened yet, but th
ey were all here. Edgar, setting up the bar for the night, Eric tinkering with the piano, Lizzy wiping down tables and taking down chairs, and Boone sitting in the corner half asleep. She didn’t expect the PI would be here much longer. Bodyguard duty obviously bored him, and this afternoon he’d been getting a lot of calls on his cell phone. She had a feeling he’d be called away soon, for a more exciting, more interesting assignment.
Cleo found herself humming ‘Come Morning’ as she stood at the bar and went over the order for more glasses and mugs, double-checking Edgar’s figures. She hated the song, right? It was sappy and sweet and opened up her heart.
But it was hers again, or soon would be, and at the moment it didn’t seem too sappy at all. Instead it seemed uplifting, a celebration of offering her entire life to the person she loved with all her heart. Right now the song didn’t make her feel vulnerable and foolish the way it usually did. It made her feel whole.
If she and Luther could get through this and still be together, then they could get through anything.
“Cleo!” Eric called from the stage.
She turned and leaned back against the bar. Eric continued to play, effortlessly, without flaw. He was really much too good to stay here much longer. Replacing him when the time came would be tough, but she wanted the best for him. He’d been here more than a year, but he was too talented to be stuck in her tiny club.
“Same set as last Valentine’s Day for tomorrow night?”
“Sure,” she agreed, still remembering last year’s selections. She’d sing happy love songs only, and would open and close with ‘My Funny Valentine.’ She’d wear her red dress, and there would be heart-shaped Mylar balloons floating above the stage. An idea made her smile, and she almost unconsciously reached up and caressed the pendant she wore, the one Luther had given her. “I have some sheet music for you to look at.”
“Something new?”
Cleo nodded. Tomorrow night, for the first time in years, she’d sing ‘Come Morning.’ And it wouldn’t hurt.
CAPTURING CLEO Page 15
