Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Everywhere She GoesA Promise for the BabyThat Summer at the Shore

by Janice Kay Johnson

  His mood darker, Noah stalked the several blocks to the public safety building for a meeting with Alec Raynor. As he was ready to go into the building, Cait’s brother happened to be coming out.

  McAllister stopped, his eyes narrowed on Noah.

  Since the one hostile scene back in March when Noah had admitted he had chosen not to hire McAllister for the head job, they had managed to hold semicivilized conversations; they had to, once McAllister made the decision to stay on as acting police chief and then captain of investigative services. Enmity was never far below the surface, though.

  Today, McAllister stepped aside rather than continuing on his way.

  Seeing no choice, Noah did likewise. If he were prone to regrets, he’d be sorry about the tension between them. But he did what he thought was best, and he didn’t allow himself second thoughts.

  “Before the rumors hit,” McAllister said tersely, “I thought I’d tell you I’m running for county sheriff.”

  Noah digested the announcement. The current sheriff was on a par with Mayor Linarelli, as far as Noah was concerned. In other words, lazy and very possibly crooked. “Interesting,” he mused. “Are you asking for my support?”

  McAllister snorted. “That did not cross my mind.”

  “It should have.” Noah was given to making decisions fast—as he’d done where his police captain’s sister was concerned. “You have it,” he said.

  The other man stared at him. “Why?” he finally asked.

  “We both know you’re good at your job. I think you have what it takes to clean up the sheriff’s department.”

  “Just not Angel Butte P.D.”

  “You know why I didn’t want to take a chance.”

  McAllister gave a half laugh, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to tell you where to shove your support?”

  An involuntary grin twitched at Noah’s mouth. “I can guess.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m too ambitious to actually do that.”

  Noah thrust his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He waited while a cluster of women came out of the building, their heads turning at the sight of the mayor talking to Captain McAllister. To his credit, the guy had kept his animosity quiet, but there had to be talk anyway.

  When they were out of earshot, Noah asked, “You and Raynor getting along okay?”

  His expression veiled, McAllister shrugged. “Why wouldn’t we?”

  Noah nodded, even though that was no answer. “Let me know when you want a statement from me.” He pushed his way inside and continued up to Alec Raynor’s office.

  The new chief’s PA waved him in. “He’s expecting you.”

  In fact, the door stood partially open. Talking on his phone, Raynor half sat on his desk, a foot braced on the floor. He glanced at Noah and lifted one finger. Noah nodded and wandered over to study a new painting on the wall.

  It was disturbing, he decided, not the usual government-office pretty. Even he had gone for pretty in decorating his own office, figuring his role was to be a booster for the city and area in general. He’d bought local artists and photographers. This—he couldn’t imagine a local had done it.

  From a distance he’d seen that it was some kind of street melee. Closer up, components broke into shards and you didn’t see the overall scene. Faces stood out, though they were far from realistic. No matter how simply these faces were constructed, though, anger and despair jumped out.

  “The artist is a friend of mine,” Raynor said behind him.

  “I was thinking that most of us go for decorative.”

  Raynor’s laugh sounded like rusted gears grinding. A little like Noah’s own, he reflected. They had that in common.

  Not looks, though. His new police chief was whipcord-lean and not much above average height. Five foot ten, maybe. He had dark hair and eyes as dark a brown as Noah had ever seen. By this time of day, he already needed a shave. During the interview in February, Noah had thought he looked Italian. Now, with the Southern California tan fading, the effect was diminished. Unless the guy took up skiing this coming year, he was going to turn pasty white like the rest of them who didn’t have the time or inclination for winter sports.

  Raynor circled his desk and sank down in the big black leather chair. He looked weary. “I fired two officers today,” he said bluntly. “A sergeant on the patrol side and a detective who was one of our representatives to CODE.” CODE was the coalition of police agencies, including the DEA and FBI, that fought drug trafficking.

  “Damn.” Noah lowered himself into a chair facing the desk. He’d known this was coming but hated to have his assumptions confirmed anyway. “Tip-offs to drug dealers?”

  “That’s what it looks like. No question they took bribes. Maybe even offered guard service. Hard to be sure. We’re still working on who the money came from.” His eyes met Noah’s. “We’ve traced one payment for sure to the same source that paid off Bystrom.”

  Gary Bystrom was the former police chief whose corruption had been uncovered almost by accident in McAllister’s investigation of a murder that had taken place in the city park the same night his now-wife, Maddie Dubeau, had been abducted when she was a teenager. Found along with the boy’s bones was a backpack that contained, among other things, a snapshot of the police chief shaking hands with a known drug dealer and a bank deposit slip for a hefty sum into his account. The Drug Enforcement Agency had mostly taken over digging into the source of those bribes, a real challenge. Raynor was stubbornly refusing to let go entirely of the investigation, with the result that the DEA agent in charge was kindly deigning to keep them informed. Noah and, he suspected, Colin McAllister in particular were getting damn frustrated by the snail’s pace of inquiries that left Bystrom free as a bird. Probably putting away his winter clothes right now and getting out his fly-fishing gear. The only consolation Noah could find was that, at the very least, the feds had him for tax evasion.

  What they’d known all along was that he had to be getting tip-offs from officers in the department about police raids. McAllister had found the first two; these were the next to fall.

  “It’s still only the beginning, I suspect.”

  Noah grunted. He wanted to see some trials and prison cell doors clanging shut.

  The dark eyes were direct. “You know most of the work on this was done by McAllister.”

  “You’re asking why he isn’t sitting in your chair?” Noah rolled his shoulders and then told him.

  “I think you misjudged him.” Raynor’s smile was razor-sharp and came and went swiftly. “To my benefit, of course.”

  “Is it? I still don’t know why you wanted this job.”

  Still eyeing him, his police chief ran a hand over his darkly shadowed jaw, maybe to give himself a moment. “I was looking for a peaceful town. Not for me.” He hesitated. “My brother was special forces, killed in Afghanistan. I’ve been stepping in to help his widow with their kids. The boy’s thirteen, gotten to a rebellious stage. L.A. wasn’t the place for him.”

  “I didn’t know you’d brought family with you.”

  “They’re not here yet. Took a while for Julia to sell her house.” He shrugged. “Now she’s waiting out the rest of the school year. They’re moving up here as soon as the kids are out the end of June.”

  Noah was unexpectedly relieved to have the answer to the questions he’d asked himself. It was even one he could understand, although this was a big change of direction for a man to make for his sister-in-law and her kids.

  “Are we as peaceful as you thought we’d be?” he asked.

  Raynor gave a bark of laughter. “Sure. There’s only been one murder since I arrived, you know.” That had been a domestic. “Now, honesty, that’s another story.”

  Noah laughed. “Okay,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “Keep me infor
med.”

  Raynor stood, too, presumably from courtesy. “Will do.”

  Noah left, thinking that the past hour had been exceptionally informative. Now all he asked was that he make it back to his office without so much as another glimpse of his new director of community development.

  * * *

  COLIN SET ASIDE the newspaper when he saw Cait come out of the guest bedroom. “You going out this evening?” he asked with deceptive casualness.

  “City council meeting,” Cait reminded him.

  “Oh, right.”

  She grinned at his tone. “Isn’t there such a thing as a county council?”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  She gave him a saucy look. “You could come keep me company.”

  “A fate worse than death.”

  Chuckling, she twirled in a circle, arms outstretched. “Do I look all right? I want to dazzle ’em.” She didn’t mention who in particular she wanted to dazzle. The suit was one of her favorites, a deep rose she’d worn over a yellow shell. These were about her highest heels, too, saved for occasions like this when she wouldn’t be on her feet for eight hours.

  Her brother did relax enough to smile. “Can’t fail,” he assured her.

  “Good. Don’t wait up, I don’t know how late I’ll be.”

  He frowned, rose to his feet and followed her to the door. “Why don’t you park right by the front porch when you get in instead of off to the side of the garage?”

  “You let Nell park in the garage even though she has to scamper all the way across the yard when she gets in at night.” This was one of those evenings when Nell was working at the library in Sunriver until nine, which meant she didn’t get home until close to ten. Cait knew her brother didn’t like these evenings but had resigned himself.

  “I listen for her,” he said simply.

  Cait sighed. She liked his protective streak. She did. She just wasn’t sure she could live with it. Maybe cops were always like that with their own families, given what they saw on the job. She admired how patient Nell was with him, although, come to think of it, in her case it was only a few months ago that someone had tried to kill her.

  Cait had a flash of memory: Blake smashing his booted foot into the fenders and doors of her small car, the screech of metal giving. His last, quiet words before he melted into the night.

  I will never accept that you’re not mine.

  She was careful to hide her shiver from Colin. She should hope he decided to wait up for her, too, so she didn’t have to be afraid when she let herself into the dark house tonight.

  She hadn’t been in Angel Butte that long. How would Blake find out where she’d gone?

  But she didn’t kid herself. Short of assuming a new identity, disappearing wasn’t possible in the modern world. Within the next few days, the city website would be updated with her name and bio. Blake might not even have had to wait for that. He’d met Colin; he knew where he lived.

  He could show up anytime.

  So, for now, she would be grateful for her brother’s watchful eye, Cait promised herself. She kissed his cheek and said, “I’ll park so close to the front steps you won’t be able to squeeze by in the morning yourself,” and hurried out the door to the sound of his chuckle.

  The council had their own chamber in the city hall wing off the historic courthouse, she had discovered her first day during the whirlwind tour Noah conducted. She’d seen the agenda for tonight and knew there were no very exciting decisions facing them, so she wasn’t surprised to find the audience thin. Noah had a place at the raised semicircular table along with the nine council members. He wasn’t sitting yet, although he stood behind the table talking to a balding, potbellied man and a woman who looked to be in her forties and wearing a fire-engine-red suit Cait admired.

  Either he was keeping an eye on all arrivals or watching for her, because his gaze flicked to her the minute she walked in. He’d been in the middle of saying something but stopped midsentence, seeming momentarily paralyzed by the sight of her.

  Feeling unwarranted satisfaction at the idea that she’d dazzled him, Cait gave herself a stern talking-to. Repeat to self—I do not want a man, especially a man as overbearing as this one. Who so happens to be my boss.

  Without looking at him again, she strolled up to the curved table and held out a hand to the city councilman at the end.

  “Hi, I’m Cait McAllister, new in the Office of Community Development.”

  Two hours later, she was struggling to hold on to her expression of eager, or even polite, interest. She had been introduced at the beginning and received with reasonable cordiality. From that point on, much of the discussion concerned possible alterations to the noise ordinance. The citizens who did appear mostly wanted to hog the microphone as they vented about a neighbor’s barking dog or teenagers who were apparently free to party until all hours almost nightly. Nobody showed up to say, “Screw the ordinance! I have a constitutional right to make all the racket I want!” A police captain named Brian Cooper droned on with statistics relating to noise violations and possible repercussions should the projected change be voted through. Cait couldn’t decide if he was really that boring or whether he was trying to put everyone to sleep. To prevent a vote? she wondered, momentarily amused. She’d have to ask Colin about him.

  Cait found herself surreptitiously watching Mayor Chandler. Patience was not one of his virtues, it appeared. Expressions flowed across his face—disbelief and exasperation alternated with the expected boredom. He eventually started either making notes or doodling. Cait leaned toward the doodling explanation.

  Once he lifted his head unexpectedly, and his eyes met hers. They stared at each other for long enough to excite comment if anyone had been paying attention. There was an openness in his eyes and, she was afraid, in hers, as if they hadn’t had time to shield themselves. Even so, she wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking. She discovered, when he suddenly turned his head, that she must have quit breathing. She hoped the gasp wasn’t obvious when she sucked in air.

  She probably should have lingered when the meeting ended, but she couldn’t make herself.

  Oh, God. I shouldn’t have taken this job, she realized as she fled. She couldn’t keep dodging Noah. She either had to get inured to him, or...she didn’t know.

  Joining a cluster of five people who got on the elevator together, she pushed the button for the parking garage and watched as someone else did for the lobby. There was no conversation; everyone stared politely straight ahead.

  She stood aside when the doors opened at the lobby. To her dismay, everyone but her got off. As the doors shut, she weighed the possibility of going back up and hovering until the next group was ready to depart. Nothing but the city council meeting had been happening tonight. The lot would be deserted.

  But the doors were already opening, and she saw that the space was well lit. With relatively few cars left, there weren’t a lot of places for anyone to hide. Nonetheless, she reached in her purse for both her car keys and her pepper spray.

  She walked confidently, heels striking on the cement floor. She had the passing thought that four-inch heels were not a good choice for a woman alone this late in the evening. Unless, of course, she took one off and used it as a weapon.

  Picturing herself brandishing a pink high heel in self-defense almost made her smile.

  No dark figures stepped out from between parked cars. She reached her Mazda unscathed and was dropping the pepper spray back into her purse when she saw the rear window. A lopsided heart speared by a huge arrow had been drawn on it in some kind of greasy red paint.

  Shocked, she stopped, her gaze involuntarily surveying first her surroundings again, then the rest of her car. Dear God, what was that on the windshield? A crack? Or...?

  She backed up, peeked around her car to be sure no one hid
there, then took one slow step at a time until she could see what had happened to the windshield.

  The same smeary red paint had been used to write in foot-tall letters:

  MISS ME YET?

  “Is something wrong?” a man asked from behind her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HAVING EXPECTED CAIT to hang around to talk to council members, Noah was taken aback when he realized she was gone. He had nothing to say to anyone—what a waste of an evening this had been—so, nodding to Brian Cooper, he left the council chamber.

  The elevator doors were just closing. Behind him, voices spilled out of the room. He shot a hunted look behind him. Damn it, if he waited for the next elevator, he’d get stuck making conversation, the last thing he had the patience for tonight. Reversing direction, he escaped into the stairwell in the nick of time.

  Noah emerged into the parking garage to echoing silence. He could see only one person—a slim woman in a deep rose suit that revealed mile-long legs enhanced by heels that had to add four inches to her height. Cait McAllister wasn’t a woman who worried about deferring to men, he figured, or she wouldn’t wear shoes that made her taller than most of them.

  He was halfway across the bare concrete space before he started wondering what she was doing, just standing there staring at her car. No—her head turned, almost surreptitiously, and then she ducked around to the passenger side. Hiding from someone he couldn’t see? Damn it, from him?

  But she reemerged from the space between a concrete pillar and her little hatchback and kept staring at her car. Had she locked her keys in it or left the lights on and killed the battery?

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  She gasped and whirled, one shaking hand holding out some little gizmo. Mace, Noah realized belatedly, or pepper spray. He also took in the shock that dilated her eyes. And then his gaze went past her.

  “What the hell...?” he murmured.

  She seemed to sag. “It’s...the windshield, too.”