The Good Daughter

by Jean Brashear

  “He had no right—” Danielle keened, her body bending from the weight of her anguish.

  Chloe knelt before the young woman, stroking the baby-fine wisps of hair.

  “I can’t feel—my body is numb. When I—when the johns touch me, it’s like I’m dead. I feel nothing.”

  Pressing a kiss to the woman’s head, feeling Danielle’s tears on her fingers, Chloe held Danielle as she rocked in anguish. “But you will one day—” Moisture escaped Chloe’s lids. “It will take time, but it can happen. And you’re not alone in this, Danielle,” she promised.

  WAITING OUTSIDE, even though it made no sense, Vince couldn’t help glancing over at the oaks he’d stood under with Chloe. He scanned the parking lot for her car; when he spotted the small, unremarkable vehicle, he smiled.

  He might not always choose the safe route, but he seldom set out to do something that defied logic; yet reason had been in short supply since he’d met her. Even if his life wasn’t so screwed up now, what future could there be for them? Especially with Barnes in the picture. The King of Hair Spray. Vince chuckled at Wanda’s description.

  Unfortunately, however, Barnes presented a very real danger to him. Getting between Barnes and Chloe could only make Vince’s life worse, but Vince found himself unable to care about the consequences as much as he should. She’d definitely gotten under his skin, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  Nothing was the right answer. Now, if only he could make himself listen. He should stay away from her. That was better for her and what he needed to do to avoid distraction.

  If lonely brown eyes would quit taunting him in his dreams, golden hair quit filling his vision…

  Vince straightened and headed toward his car. When he got to the T-bird, he slid inside but sat there going over all that had happened, sifting for clues to get a handle on his situation. Tino had arranged the meet with Moreno’s goon. Tonight Vince should have an important piece of the puzzle.

  Lost in thought, he almost missed Chloe leaving the building. Something was wrong. Her gait was stiff and lacking in her usual grace.

  He started from his car to see what was the matter, but she’d already gotten into hers and was driving off. Vince kept a careful pursuit, fairly certain by her path that she was returning to headquarters.

  He followed her into the parking garage, searching for a spot close to the ones assigned to the Wellness Office and the D.A. When he couldn’t find one, he abandoned his car at the edge of a row and strode toward her. “Chloe? Are you okay?”

  She whirled, her face pale, her body somehow fragile again. “I’m—I’m fine.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I said I’m—”

  “Come here.” He reached for her, and Chloe froze.

  Then with a jerky step, she moved into his arms, and he felt her tremble.

  Drawing her closer, he tightened his hold, stroking her back and soothing her with nonsense sounds. Chloe’s arms were trapped between them, her head nestled against his throat.

  Slowly, Vince rocked her. Cheek brushing against her hair, he drew the scent of her into his lungs. “Ah, Chloe, you give too much of yourself to other people.”

  A shudder racked her frame. Vince placed a kiss on her hair, then to her temple, then lowered his mouth to the tender corner of hers.

  Oh, God. How could he stay away from her until this was over? A slow groan escaped him; he wanted to shield her from everything, to take over the duty of guarding her tender heart from the world.

  Chloe’s head drifted back, exposing her long, pale throat. Tears leaked down her cheeks. He kissed her teardrops, tasting the salt of Chloe’s compassion.

  Chloe shivered, her hands clutching at his shirt. Need scorched him down to the bone. It wasn’t just Chloe’s body he wanted, though God knows he craved that. He wanted inside her heart, wanted to protect her. To make all this go away so she wouldn’t get hurt.

  And he longed to ease the ache that had been years building inside him with the balm of her generous heart.

  CHLOE CUDDLED CLOSER. He was a champion. A good man who’d grown up with less to trust than she herself, yet he still tilted at windmills, still remembered, beneath that tough shell, what it felt like to be powerless—and to need.

  She’d cried more with Vince than she’d done in her entire life. She tilted up her head to apologize, but the look in his eyes stole every word.

  His head lowered, and his lips touched hers. The first breath of promise stirred within her.

  “Chloe, what in God’s name is going on here?” Roger Barnes thundered.

  She jerked back to reality, the sound of Roger’s voice a few cars over sending shock waves across her nerves. Grasping for a foothold in the present, mourning for what had been ripped away, she tried to tear herself from Vince’s arms to face Roger.

  But Vince wouldn’t let go, bracing her against his side. Though Roger seeing them together could spell disaster for Vince, he never slackened his grip.

  The two men bristled, the tension in Vince’s frame matching the rigid lines of Roger’s. “What are you doing here, Coronado? You’re suspended from duty.”

  “It’s a public place, Barnes. I’m a taxpayer.”

  This was a nightmare. Roger could destroy Vince, and she would have been the key to his downfall. From his body language, Vince was primed to defend her, but she couldn’t let him do it. He was in too much trouble already; she had to defuse the situation.

  She slipped away from the fingers tightening on her waist. She’d have to manage the negotiation of her life to spare him.

  And he was the one man who’d never agree—who’d rather endanger himself than disappoint her.

  They’d been standing in the shadows, and Vince’s broad back had been between Roger and her. She prayed that Roger had only seen her too close to Vince, not drowning in his kiss.

  “Thank you, Detective,” she said in her best imitation of her mother’s aplomb. “It was kind of you to help when I fell.”

  She forced herself to turn her back on him as though he’d served his purpose. “Roger.” She brightened, composing her face into a careful mask. “I’m so glad to see you.” Putting distance between her and Vince as fast as she dared, she kept her gaze trained only on Roger.

  “Chloe, don’t do this,” she thought she heard Vince murmur. She prayed Roger hadn’t. Closing her fingers on Roger’s arm, Chloe walked fast.

  She led Roger toward the stairwell, dredging up questions about his day as her face carefully assumed the contours of the woman Roger liked—cool, unemotional, controlled. While her heart cried out to the man she was desperate to save, Chloe hoped that he’d understand and not interfere.

  She had to persuade Roger that what he’d seen was not what had really happened. If she hesitated, if she lost her nerve, Vince was doomed.

  Halfway down one flight of stairs, Roger jerked his arm loose. “What in the name of heaven were you thinking?”

  She had to make her explanation convincing. She let the tears meant for Vince escape once more, hoping they would distract the angry man before her. God knows she’d never felt shakier. “Oh, Roger, I—I was just so unnerved after my session at the shelter. I don’t know what came over me, but I wasn’t watching where I was going and lost my balance. Thank goodness Detective Coronado was nearby when I stumbled.”

  Roger frowned. “It’s foolhardy to even be seen with a cop like him. You’re risking too much with that man, Chloe. Cut off your sessions immediately and issue your report.”

  Her knees went weak with relief. He hadn’t seen enough. She would endure a lecture, grateful for Roger’s tunnel vision. He was so self-absorbed that he wouldn’t imagine her ever falling for someone like Vince. “I’ve already done it.”

  “Good. Stay away from him from now on. You can’t taint your whole career over a rogue cop.”

  She bit back the defense that leaped to her tongue. “I’m always careful.” She held her breath as he studied her.

/>   Finally, he nodded. “You must keep proper distance from this work, Chloe, or it will get you into trouble. Your family’s reputation is too important.”

  It was all she could do to bite back a retort. Her family’s reputation was important to him, he really meant. If he only knew… He’d find out soon enough, but meanwhile, whatever strands of obligation she’d felt toward him snapped.

  “Coming?” he asked, gesturing toward the stairs. “How about dinner this evening?”

  I’d rather starve first. “I’m sorry, I can’t. My volunteer session ran overtime. I have a mountain of paperwork to do.”

  “Very well. I’m due in the chief’s office. See you later, Chloe. Remember what I said.”

  When he turned in the opposite direction, Chloe fought off conflicting urges to sink to the ground in relief or stick out her tongue at his retreating back. Pompous ass.

  Then Chloe smiled. Vince had had more impact than Roger could ever imagine. She waited until she heard the elevator’s ding and the doors close behind Roger to head for her office.

  VINCE LEANED against the stairwell, adrenaline pumping. Every muscle had strained to intercede, to shield her from the consequences of his lack of self-control.

  The only thing that had stopped him was the plea in her expression. He saw what she was trying to do but couldn’t imagine that Barnes could be so dense. Was he so blind that the power of their emotions hadn’t slapped him in the face?

  When she’d practically dragged Barnes down the stairs, Vince had wanted to jump out and pull her back, daring Barnes to intercede. He’d followed them down the stairs, intent upon his goal, then stopped dead in his tracks as he heard Barnes’s words.

  Good God. If he forced Barnes to recognize their connection, Chloe could lose her job, maybe her license.

  Listening to Chloe argue, Vince hadn’t known whether to kiss her or yell at her. She risked too much for her own welfare. Yet even as dismay surged, he felt warmed throughout that she would leap, however unwisely, to his defense.

  But when she and Barnes parted ways, Vince held himself back from going to her. Too brave by far, Chloe deserved better than to be dragged down to share whatever dark fate could still come his way.

  Drawn toward her, wanting badly to feel her against him and to reassure himself that she was all right, Vince nonetheless forced himself to turn and retrace the steps to his car.

  HECTOR BALDERAS WAS a typical bottom-rung gang-banger, swaggering and posturing to cover up for being so far down the ladder that he’d probably never even met Moreno, much less had any part in doing a job for him. Vince had seen so many losers like him that they blurred together. He shot Tino a glare over Hector’s head that clearly said, What kind of fool do you take me for?

  But Vince remained, even though it might be a waste of time, because he’d also learned over the years that you never knew where the key piece of the puzzle would turn up. Often, it was some small, seemingly unimportant tidbit that made everything fall into place. So he resisted a sigh and concentrated on giving this lowlife his due. “Buy you a beer?”

  “Yeah, okay,” said the clearly uncomfortable Hector. His gaze kept straying to the half-naked woman making love to a shiny chrome pole.

  “Corona all right?” Vince asked with one quick nod to the waitress.

  “What?” said Hector, his tongue all but hanging out of his mouth.

  Tino laughed. “Beer, ése. That piece of tail is messin’ with your mind.”

  “Oh—yeah.” Hector glanced at Vince, but his gaze kept straying back to the stage. “I guess Corona’s all right. With a shot.” He struggled to act unaffected, but despite the meat-locker air-conditioning, sweat popped out on his forehead.

  Vince gave their order and leaned back, his own gaze darting toward the stage. He must be getting old. The fake tits and stiletto heels would once have had his eyes bugging, too, but here, surrounded by women prepared to offer a man whatever he wanted, he was unmoved. Yet, a glimpse of Chloe’s vulnerable nape had the power to make him rock-hard in the blink of an eye.

  The legs of Vince’s chair hit the floor with a thud. Even as the thought of Chloe intruded, he shoved it away. To think of her while in this place almost seemed a sacrilege.

  What was he going to do about her? He’d never made love to a virgin in his life; now it was all he could think about now—and not, as would once have been the case, because she was a challenge. She was more than that—she scared the hell out of him. The responsibility of initiating her into lovemaking broke him out in a cold sweat worse than anything Hector Balderas could possibly feel.

  With ruthless force, Vince dispatched thoughts of Chloe St. Claire. He had no business focusing on her now. Moreno was what had to matter.

  The beers arrived, and Vince endured a conversation, if you could call it that, with Hector and Tino that would never have bothered him before, comparing the body parts and probable sexual skills of the various dancers while he bided his time, softening Hector up, giving him a chance to relax.

  Vince tuned out Hector’s negotiations for a lap dance and let his gaze scan the room.

  And froze as he saw Jerry Akers across the way, staring at him, obviously wondering why he was in here with a couple of lowlifes when he wasn’t cleared for duty yet.

  Lousy damn luck. They’d come to a place not favored by a local gang on purpose. Why Akers was in this bar, Vince didn’t know, but he’d still wonder about Vince’s companions.

  Playing it cool, Vince nodded and turned away. He leaned forward. “All right, enough,” he ordered. “Bye, babe,” he told the dancer, who shrugged, removed Hector’s hands from her hips and strolled off.

  “Hey,” Hector complained, obviously half-gone from too many beer-and-shot combinations. He turned glittering eyes to Vince. “I wasn’t finished, cabrón.” His voice got louder as he leaped to his feet. His chair clattered to the floor, and heads turned. “Who the hell you think you are? You’re just a damn—”

  “Outside. Now.” Vince rose and walked out, ignoring Hector’s outburst, hoping he’d shut up before he drew any more attention.

  He didn’t. Instead, Hector grabbed Vince’s arm and jerked. “You don’t tell me what to do, man. You need me. I don’t need you.” He doubled his fists, wire-tight with insult.

  Vince longed to coldcock the little worm but merely lifted an eyebrow. “You want my help with your brother or not?” The last thing he needed was the spotlight.

  Hector looked confused, then frowned. “Yeah, but—”

  “Then get the hell outside. Now.” Vince gave Hector his back again.

  After a long moment, Hector followed.

  WHAT A WASTE, Vince thought an hour later as he pulled into his driveway. He leaned his head against the seat and rubbed eyes raw from cigarette smoke and too little sleep.

  Once on the front porch, Vince stuck his key in the dead bolt. It wasn’t locked.

  He backed away, immediately alert. Stepping to the side, he listened carefully for sounds out of place. Then he slipped off the porch and rounded the house, staying well below the windows.

  He hadn’t left a dead bolt unlocked in years.

  He crept across the back porch, every sense tingling. At the door, he tried the knob first, then slid the key noiselessly into the lock, turning it with intricate care. He eased into the kitchen, then paused. Absolute silence greeted him.

  Something didn’t feel right, though.

  Eyes adjusting to the moonlight spilling through the windows, Vince scanned each room as he came to it. A small sound from the living room stopped him. He didn’t recognize it.

  His off-duty weapon was in the coat closet, too far away for him to reach.

  That sound again.

  Suddenly, Vince smiled and moved toward the source of the noise. Standing to the side, though it might be an unnecessary caution, he quickly opened the door.

  “Mrrrr-oowwww,” the prisoner complained, twining around Vince’s feet.

  Vince flipped on
the nearest lamp. “What happened to you, guy?” He perused the room. Nothing obviously out of place, yet his scalp prickled.

  Someone had been in his house.

  The cat’s ears twitched; his tail flicked back and forth. Vince bent over and picked him up. The tomcat growled, then turned, golden eyes blinking. Scratching the animal behind his ears, Vince felt the cat relax by inches; finally, he purred.

  “Sure wish you could talk, fella. I’d like to know what you saw.” He stared into the closet and thought. It took a minute for something to register.

  His weapon was gone.

  “Hell.” His heart sank. Setting the cat down, he observed the room again. Everything looked as it had when he’d left this morning.

  But it didn’t feel the same.

  He saw nothing else missing as he moved through the house. When he opened his bureau drawers, subtle disarray greeted him. His place had been tossed by the best. They’d been thorough. What were they looking for?

  And who were they?

  He could only think of bad scenarios to explain the missing weapon. His fingerprints were all over it; a careful thief could use it in the commission of a crime and no other prints but Vince’s would show up. The back of his neck tingled in horror. Who had been here, and what was the agenda?

  The obvious thing to do was to report the break-in; yet something within him resisted. He’d dust for prints himself, but he already knew what he’d find—

  The absent traces of someone who did not wish Vince Coronado well.

  The suspects were legion.

  Moreno and Don Newcombe were good places to start.

  Vince headed for his car to get his gloves and fingerprint dust. Just as he opened the front door, the phone rang.

  His hand stilled on the door frame. His heart sped up its pace. He debated not answering.

  Three rings. Four. Swearing under his breath, Vince crossed the room quickly, and snatched up the receiver to his ear.

  He didn’t say a word, though. Just waited.

  A tinny, mechanical whine spilled through the line. “It can get worse.” The too-even cadence of an artificial voice grated on his ears.