by Adrianne Lee
He rose slowly as she neared, raking his gaze over her, unable to hide the pleasure he felt at being the object of her attention, at being the envy of every other man in the bar. “Irish.”
Kerrie’s palms dampened, her insides quivered. She felt exposed Naked. But she would not flinch. Would not let him know the power his very gaze had over her. Keeping her voice even, she asked, “Are you following me, Donnello?”
She was right on target, but Roman smirked. “The last time I checked McRory’s was a public place—and I’m a public guy.”
She wanted to shake the grin off his face. “We both know neither of us is here for McRory’s public amenities. I won’t brook any interference in my case tonight. Keep your distance or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of justice.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Irish. I’m just going to sit here, eat, drink., and observe your technique.”
Observe her technique? Suspicion flared inside Kerrie. Despite all the glowing endorsements of his peers, she didn’t completely trust Roman Donnello. She glanced around and spotting her reserved table, she noted with pleasure it was too far from this one for him to hear anything that would be said.
Let him watch. It might make her nervous, but that would be all. A little extra pressure would keep her on her toes. She gave him her sweetest smile. “As long as you keep your distance—observe all you want.”
Roman lifted his shot glass to her in a mock toast. Then tossed it back. She grinned smugly and left. He watched her walk away, his gaze tracing every switch of her shapely fanny. Desire pooled hot and thick in his groin, and he quickly warned himself to quit dreaming the impossible. Kerrie Muldoon deserved a man who was willing to settle down and be a husband to her. A father to Maureen. He was not that man.
Roman leaned back in his chair. Making a pretense of stretching, he. inserted the nearly invisible listening device into his ear. A smile wavered at the corner of his mouth as he watched Kerrie take the chair with her back to him.
“Cage, I’m in position,” she said, her voice ringing clear and true in Roman’s ear. His suppressed smile blossomed. As advertised, the hi-tech bug he’d stuck to the underside of her table was state of the art.
Chapter Six
With any luck at all Loverboy would soon walk into McRory’s bar. Kerrie shifted on her seat Hadn’t she been thinking this very thing just two nights ago? The image of Jeremy Dane filled her head. Had she already met the murderer she sought? Dane was definitely weird enough. Then again, so was Troy. The no-show’s whiny voice replayed in her head. Liar. Don’t you know how to be faithful to one man?
The irony of how faithful she’d been to one man, Roman, almost made her laugh. She forced her mind to the case. Had both men responded to the ads placed by Detective Leah Davis? Had both met Bud Grimes’s fiancee in this very bar? Had one of them killed her?
She shook off a chill. She couldn’t ask Leah—and neither of these men’s names were on any of her reports. But names could be changed. Loverboy could call himself anything he wanted.
She bit down on the straw in her tonic glass, silently lamenting their lack of any real leads. And yet, she felt in her gut they were getting close. Maybe Mike Springer—the man she awaited now—was Loverboy.
Someone laughed, a voice sounding like Roman’s. Kerrie’s dark musings fled, and against her will, her awareness centered on him. She could feel his gaze caressing her back, and hated the answering heat deep within herk—nowing that it endorsed her mother’s accusations about her feelings for Roman, about her reluctance to tell him the truth.
She sighed, prompting Cage to ask what was the matter.
“Nothing,” she whispered.
A man stood near the bar entrance, frowning at her, seeming unsure what to do next. He wasn’t striking like Roman, or unassuming like Jeremy Dane. Instead he reminded her of Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle, the kind of man most women would trust on first sight.
He had dark, curly brown hair and eyes as warm as hot chocolate, and features as endearing as the average boy next door. He wore a long-sleeved, knit shirt, the sleeves pulled down to his wrists, and rumpled corduroy slacks. He was average height with a wiry build. Probably stronger than he appeared.
He ambled up to the table with shy uncertainty. “Kerrie?”
His disarming, charming mien set all her cop instincts on red alert. “Mike?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, smiling his shy grin. “Wow, you’re really pret—”
He broke off, instantly embarrassed at having spoken his thoughts aloud.
“Thanks.” She blushed, too-not that she hadn’t been told before that she was pretty, but the way he’d blurted it out said he’d had low expectations about their meeting, and reminded her he had feelings that could be hurt. Another part of her knew this could be an act. “Please, sit down.”
“Oh, of course.” He pulled out the chair and sat on its edge as if it were either too small or he wasn’t sure he would be staying.
Cage and she had done a preliminary background check on him and had discovered he’d given his real name when he’d answered the Introductions ad they’d placed. She couldn’t say that about all the respondents. Although she already knew, she asked, “So, what do you do to keep the creditors from your door?”
His disarming grin appeared. “I’m a CP—”
The waitress interrupted, asking for his drink order.
Kerrie hated playing with people’s emotions. Mike Springer might be Loverboy, or he might be as innocent as he appeared—just a nice guy trying to find a nice woman and have a nice relationship.
“What beer do you have in the bottle?” he asked the waitress.
As the waitress reeled off the choices for Mike, Kerrie considered the arguments against his innocence—such as the fact that he was twice divorced. Such as his last ex claiming he liked to beat her up, although there was no record of her having ever called the police. So, her claims could be false.
Fact was, there might be nothing wrong with Mike Springer except his inability to choose the right woman for himself.
“I guess I’ll have a bottle of Red Dog,” he decided.
“I’ll have another of these.” Kerrie raised her empty tonic glass to the waitress, an undercover rookie, who nodded and wrote on a round cocktail coaster.
But before she could leave, Mike changed his mind and selected a different beer, then grinned sheepishly at Kerrie and launched into an explanation of why he’d selected the second brew over the first. She listened with half an ear.
Regardless of personal feelings, her job wasn’t to take pity on suspects. If this man was innocent the worst that would befall him was a bruised ego. She had to hang onto the bigger picture. Hang onto the reason she was here. Innocent women, whose names she didn’t know, whose faces she had never seen, were counting on her to put a maniac away. Was Mike Springer a maniac?
If he was, it wasn’t obvious. Unlike Jeremy Dane, the touchy-feely, control freak she had to share dinner with later. How was she going to stomach that?
The waitress delivered their drinks and left. Mike took a swig of beer, then launched back into his diatribe on various brews.
Kerrie nodded. She felt eyes boring into her back. Roman, again. No. She wouldn’t think about him. Wouldn’t play mind games with herself. The only interest Roman had in her—that mattered—was catching Loverboy.
But the subject of Roman wasn’t easily dismissed. Worry about his discovering her secret had sunk tiny claws in the corners of her mind and refused to be ignored.
“Hey, Muldoon,” Cage said in her ear. “Have you fallen asleep? Get this Springer guy off the blessed properties of beer and on track.”
Heat spiked Kerrie’s cheeks. “That’s all very interesting, Mike, but I’m not a beer drinker and I’d really rather talk about you. I think you were telling me you’re a CPA?”
“Yeah.” He took a swallow of his beer. “I have an office in my home on Lake Washington.”
&nb
sp; “Lake Washington?” Cage squawked. “He lives with his old man in a two-bedroom rambler in Ballard. Works out of the converted garage. Why the lie?”
To impress her? Then again, why do that if he hoped to see her after tonight? “You have a house on Lake Washington?”
Mike nodded
Kerrie’s mind churned. If he expected this date to develop into a relationship, he’d know somewhere down the line, he’d have to admit this lie and explain it away. She
took a long drink of tonic. Maybe he didn’t plan to see her again after tonight “Is it a new house?”
“New to me. Just moved in last week.”
“Not true,” Cage said.
Mike’s boyish smile appeared. “Say, would you like to see it?”
“Sure.” Her stomach twisted with anticipation. Maybe they were closer to catching Loverboy than even she had suspected. “When?”
“Well, finish your drink and we can go now.”
Was this the ploy he’d used on Wendy Waring and Leah Davis?
“Should I call backup?” Cage was obviously thinking along the same lines as she. They could have Loverboy behind bars tonight.
“Sure,” she said as much to Cage as to Mike. She didn’t feel one regret that she wouldn’t be keeping her dinner date with Jeremy Dane. “I’d like that, Mike.”
“Irish, are you finished having drinks with this bozo?”
Kerrie jerked erect in her chair. Roman was leaning over her shoulder, his mouth so close their lips nearly brushed as she turned to look at him. What the hell was he doing? Furious, she muttered, “Go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.” He glared at Mike. “Get lost pal.”
“Mike stay where you are. Roman is leaving.”
“Hey, get your hands off the lady.” Mike kept his voice low, but he rose half out of his chair and scowled at Roman. “Who do you think you are?”
“Her husband.”
“My—?” Kerrie sputtered, too stunned to finish. She started to shake her head, but Cage was screaming in her ear, and Mike didn’t let her finish.
He reared out of his chair, still keeping his voice just above a whisper, apparently trying to squelch any attention they’d already drawn. He glared at Kerrie with pure hatred, his warm brown eyes, now as cold and hard as clumps of frozen dirt. “You…you…you…”
She could see a derogatory word hovering on his lips, but he left it unsaid. He stepped back from the table with his hands outflung as if he’d dropped a package. “Hey, you’re welcome to her, buddy. Been there, done that.”
He stormed out of the bar, shaking his head.
Kerrie was so angry she wanted to scream. But she was too mindful of where she was. She glared at Roman, struggling for control, her voice grating with fury. “What’s the matter with you? He’s the best suspect we’ve had so far and, right as I’m on the brink of collaring him, you butt in. I ought to have you arrested.”
“Do it,” Cage advised.
Roman didn’t blame Kerrie for wanting his hide. He’d have skinned anyone who’d done to him what he’d just done to her. But he’d-reacted without thinking-listened to his gut telling him Mike Springer was Loverboy and the next thing he knew he was standing beside Kerrie, telling the creep he was her husband. He would have laughed, but it wasn’t funny.
Knowing she was well within her rights to do exactly as she threatened, he decided to try to bluff his way out of it. He strove to look innocent. “Arrested for what?”
“For obstructing an officer in the line of duty.”
“Cuff him,” Cage growled in her ear. “Mirandize him.”
Roman planted a palm on the table, bracing his arm as he leaned close to Kerrie. “Irish, if you don’t lower your voice you’ll blow your cover.”
Cage swore. “We’ve got a tail on Springer. Want me to come in and take Donnello in?”
“Forget it.” Kerrie blew out a huge breath.
“Thanks I will,” Roman answered, assuming she’d been speaking to him. He slipped around the table and sank slowly into the chair Springer had vacated. “How’s your mom?”
The switch of subjects threw her. She didn’t want to get personal or talk about her family with Roman Donnello. “My mother is fine. She’s home.”
“With Maureen?”
The mention of their daughter dried her throat “Yes.”
“Alone?”
“What do you mean? Of course, alone.”
“I thought you were keeping a guard on her?” Concern filled his amber eyes.
She sighed “No one is after my mom. If it will put your mind at ease, the woman who was stabbed yesterday had her purse stolen. The murder was random, not specific. No one meant to kill my mother.”
Roman wished he could believe that But the nagging sensation he’d had at the hospital yesterday persisted like a determined gnat. Glynna Muldoon was in dire danger. He couldn’t explain how he knew, but he did. “Who knows you’ll be here for most of this evening?”
She tipped her head sideways. “Look, Roman, my boss said he doesn’t want you messing up this case. He won’t be happy about what happened here tonight Or about the fact that I’m not hauling your nosy, interfering butt in to the station for it So, take my advice and back off.”
“Irish, the best way to keep me from messing up your case is to let me tag along with you.” His voice radiated sensuality as if he’d just asked for permission to climb into her bed, instead of into her case. Unwanted heat swirled in the nether regions of her body.
“Absolutely, not” The last thing she wanted was to be in constant contact with this man who unnerved her at every turn.
He scowled. “Did you tell Springer that you were meeting someone here for dinner?”
Springer? Kerrie stiffened. He might have overheard her call Mike by his given name as he approached her table, but Roman hadn’t been anywhere near when she, or Mike had used his last name. Dawning rattled through her like an earthquake shaking her to the core. “You insufferable rat! You bugged this table!”
She scrambled to her feet, gathered her purse and coat and scooted across the bar to an empty spot four tables away. She raised a warning hand at him to keep his distance. “Don’t even think about it.”
She wasn’t taking any chances on his following her—and planting the bug again. But to her amazement, Roman turned on his heel and left the bar without so much as another word.
The urge to unleash her rage, to scream, to upend tables and chairs, had Kerrie gripping her muscles so tightly they ached.
“Why is it suddenly so quiet?” Cage inquired.
Kerrie sank to the chair at the new table and whispered, “Donnello left. That jerk bugged my table.”
“I heard. Let it go. The most he learned were a few techniques on selecting beer.”
She decided to take her partner’s advice. They could pick up Springer anytime they wanted. She needed to pull herself together before…Too late. “Oh, great. Jeremy Dane just walked in.”
He wore creased jeans and a dress shirt and tie beneath a tweed sports jacket. His brown hair was combed to perfection and his cool blue eyes were friendly behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He had another pink rose. Her skin crawled.
Cage said, “More bad news. Springer lost the tail we put on him.”
“Great. Have someone swing by the Ballard house. If he doesn’t show in half an hour, put out his license number.”
“Will do.”
Forcing a smile, Kerrie waved Jeremy Dane over to the table. Where he lived was another matter altogether. The background check on him had turned up zilch. He didn’t work for Boeing as he’d told her the other night, didn’t work anywhere in this state that they could ascertain. Unless it was under a different name.
“Hello, Kerrie,” Jeremy said.
Kerrie stiffened. This man had a slight accent, the same as Cage. East Coast for sure. New York or New Jersey, she couldn’t guess. Why had she missed it the other night? Too busy fending
off his odd touching while worrying about Roman? Probably, but why hadn’t Cage mentioned it?
“A perfect rose for a perfect lady.” Jeremy handed her the flower, managing to caress her fingers as she accepted it.
A shiver swept her skin. His first touch and already she felt the need of a long hot shower with a gallon of disinfectant soap. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure Mike Springer was Loverboy. Maybe she’d jumped too quickly to that conclusion. She watched Jeremy take the seat across from her. Necessary or not, she dreaded the evening ahead. “I’m afraid I can’t stay long.”
Jeremy looked as surprised at this as she was that she’d said it. Disappointment flickered across his even features. “I thought we were going to get to know each other better tonight.”
“It’s my mother.” Kerrie decided the truth would keep her from slipping on a lie. “She was in an accident yesterday.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?” He reached for her hands.
She dropped them into her lap. Something about the glint in Jeremy’s eyes prodded her suspicious nature. He seemed genuinely interested in hearing about her mother. Somehow, she felt it wasn’t from politeness, but from something she couldn’t pinpoint. Something sinister? Maybe she just didn’t like this man. Or maybe her problems with Roman were distorting her judgment of men in general. “Mom had a bit of a shock. A woman she was standing beside was stabbed to death during a robbery.”
His eyes rounded behind his glasses. “God. Did the police catch the killer?”
Did the police catch the killer? Not was she hurt? Not was she robbed? Not is she okay? Kerrie’s internal antenna twitched. “No one’s been charged yet.”
The waitress arrived with dinner menus, took drink orders and left.
“So, your mother was a witness.” Jeremy stroked the sleeve of Kerrie’s black sweater as if the angora were a live cat. “Did she see the man? Can she identify him?”
Him? Kerrie hadn’t mentioned the killer’s sex. “No. She was looking at the ground.”
