If Gil had seemed overwhelming in her office, he completely dwarfed her in his compact sports car. At six foot three, he had a definite sense of presence that made a silent assault on her senses. She could scoot her body to the far side of the gray corduroy seat to avoid his arm brushing hers as he changed gears, but she couldn’t avoid noticing his discreet masculine cologne or the smooth finesse with which he maneuvered the car in and out of the Market’s brick one-way streets.
It was nearing the end of September—a perfect Indian summer day. Paulina felt flushed and uncomfortable despite the air blasting on the air conditioner.
The Market in Canada’s capital city was vibrant with flowers, produce and shoppers. St. Patrick Street was duller, the closely spaced buildings casting the street in shadow. At the end of the street, the elegant silver spires of St. Patrick’s Church beckoned the eye. Gil found a parking spot in front of a run-down apartment building that lacked the fine, albeit sagging architectural detailing of the neighboring row houses. Enclosed concrete balconies from a more modem era of design hugged the ugly brick building. Narrow concrete steps led up to a nondescript entrance.
Gil pressed his lips together and glanced uneasily at the beautiful, midnight-haired woman beside him. He felt as though he’d scored a major point just getting her to Cindy’s apartment. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d made a few inquiries with the solicitor general’s office about private investigators, but so far he wasn’t disappointed. Paulina Stewart was competent and tough all right, and she had a keen intelligence in her starry eyes. She also drove a hard bargain.
He gestured toward the apartment building, ashamed to show her the dump Ted was raising his son in. “This is it. It’s not exactly the Chateau Laurier.” Hell, as soon as Cindy would agree to it, he planned to move them to a nicer neighborhood. He let Paulina go first up the steps, ready to steady her in case she stumbled on the caking concrete in her high heels. The interior of the building smelled of onions and browning meat. Cindy’s apartment was on the first floor and faced the street. He knocked on the door loudly. “Cindy? It’s Gil, open up.”
They waited a few minutes to no avail. Gil shrugged his shoulders. The sick feeling he’d been harboring since Friday told him Cindy hadn’t been home for days.
“So, what do we do now?” He tapped Paulina’s navy leather purse. “Do you have some tools in there to pick the lock?”
Her gray eyes narrowed. “No. Let’s get something clear between us, Mr. Boyer,” she said coldly. “Private investigators don’t have a license to break and enter. I operate completely within the law. If you can’t accept that, then I’ll be happy to return your retainer.”
He held up his hands. Terrific. He’d offended the most highly respected P.I. in the province. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been watching too much TV. What do you suggest we do next?”
“We get into Cindy’s apartment.” A trace of a smile flicked over her lips as she turned and set off briskly down the hall.
“What?” Gil’s jaw dropped. He stood there, his chin all but scraping the floor, watching her walk away. The short skirt of her chic navy-and-white two-piece outfit revealed a great pair of legs. If it wasn’t politically incorrect and she wasn’t working for him, he’d even go so far as to admit she was sexy in a fascinating, irritating way. And bossy. Definitely bossy.
He charged after her. “But you said—”
She cut him off, talking over her shoulder. “Watch and listen. Don’t say anything unless I give you permission to speak—or you’re out on the pavement. Got it?”
He swallowed hard. “Got it.”
She stopped suddenly at the door to the building manager’s apartment. “By the way, you got any more checks on you?” she demanded, raising her hand to knock.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” She gave the door a discreet rap. “We’re probably going to need one.”
A grizzled old guy with a beer gut swung open the door. The sound of applause from a talk show floated into the hallway. “What can I do for ya?”
Paulina flashed a bright smile that probably made the old geezer wish he was thirty years younger. “Are you the manager?”
At the man’s nod, she pulled her ID from her purse and introduced herself. “I apologize for taking you away from your program. We’re here because my client, Mr. Boyer, is worried about his sister-in-law, Cindy, in apartment seven,” she explained. “Gil, show him your driver’s license.”
Gil immediately complied.
“Boyer?” The manager’s curious eyes scanned the license and gave Gil the once-over. “Is that your brother Ted who died?”
Gil nodded, trying to follow Paulina’s instructions to the letter.
“Sorry.”
Paulina put her hand to her breast and spoke in a low confidential tone, “Then you understand the situation, Mr….?”
“Just call me Max,” the man replied.
“Well, Max, Cindy’s naturally been very upset by Ted’s death. She’s in a fragile emotional state. Mr. Boyer was supposed to take Cindy and the baby out to dinner last Thursday, but Cindy wasn’t home. And she hasn’t been answering the phone. Would it be too much trouble for you to check her apartment—just to make sure she and the baby are okay? Maybe Mr. Boyer could leave her a note to allay his concerns?”
Max frowned. “Do you think she’s run off? Tomorrow’s the end of the month and she hasn’t paid her rent.”
Paulina cleared her throat. “It’s possible. As I said, she’s in a fragile state. And if that’s the case, we’re sure you and the company that manages the building would want to be informed immediately. Mr. Boyer would be more than happy to give you a check to cover October’s rent. If Cindy has skipped out, you can consider this her thirty days’ notice.”
“Let’s have a look, then,” Max decided. Gil could have kissed Paulina as the manager stepped into the corridor, closing his apartment door behind him. She had that old guy wrapped around her finger, sweet as you please.
But Gil’s fever of excitement was short lived. The barren closets of Cindy’s apartment confirmed his worst fears. Cindy had left the furnishings, but she’d taken everything else that could fit into a suitcase—with the exception of the plushy caramel teddy bear Gil had given Mikey three weeks ago. Gil felt a tight band snap inside him as he lifted the bear from Mikey’s crib and held it against his chest. It smelled of diapers and baby powder…and Mikey.
Oh, God, had Cindy left the bear behind as a subtle way of saying she didn’t want him involved in her and Mikey’s life?
Gil wasn’t sure he could endure losing both Ted and Mikey. Ted was his only sibling. Regret and guilt burned like acid in Gil’s heart. If only I’d kept my opinions to myself and loaned Ted the money, then none of this would have happened. Gil abruptly deleted the “if” statement from his mind, as though debugging a program. Mikey needed an uncle in his life as much as Gil needed to love Mikey. Somebody had to teach the kid how to play baseball and…
“Gil?”
He turned around to see Paulina framed in the doorway of the bedroom. He liked the soft and compassionate way she said his name; it was worth twenty extra bucks an hour. He gruffly swiped his eyes. Damn, the last six weeks had turned him to mush.
“I’ll need the check now for four hundred dollars,” she said. “Max has gone to get a copy of the lease on the apartment. Maybe Cindy listed some relatives on it, to contact in case of emergency.”
Gil fumbled for his checkbook and saluted her with it. “I hear and I obey. Do you think Max would mind if I kept my friend the bear here?”
Paulina felt unprofessional tears sting her eyes. Beneath Gil’s macho exterior beat a heart of marshmallow. “No. In fact, I told him you’d take care of removing Cindy’s things so the apartment could be available for rent sooner.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
They walked into the small living area of the onebedroom apartment. A worn plaid couch faced a natural wicker shelving unit
holding the television. Magazines and baby toys were scattered on the carpet. An infant seat sat on the black oak table in the eating area. Paulina had already checked the cupboards for baby bottles and formula. Cindy had taken it all with her.
“You wrote on one of the forms that Cindy doesn’t own a car, but you mentioned Ted had a truck. Could Cindy be driving Ted’s truck?” Paulina asked Gil, wondering why Cindy hadn’t bothered taking some of the lighter furniture.
“No. The garage told me it wasn’t worth fixing. I had to pay them to tow it to a salvage yard. I’m not even sure Cindy knows how to drive.”
Paulina frowned.
Max reappeared lugging a stack of cardboard boxes. He carried a sheet of paper between his teeth like a dog delivering a newspaper. Setting the boxes down, he removed the paper from his mouth and passed it to her. “Here’s the rental agreement.”
Paulina gingerly avoided the teeth marks and spittle at the top of the page. She could feel Gil standing behind her, reading over her shoulder. The heat of his body radiated into hers, heightening her awareness of him. She made a determined effort to focus her attention on the sections of the contract spelled out in blue ink.
“Sorry, all it says is her next-of-kin is Gilbert Boyer,” Max added helpfully. He scratched the gray bristles studding his double chin.
“That’s me in the flesh,” Gil responded. “Here’s the check for the rent, Max—and something extra for your trouble.”
Max’s eyes lit up at the crisp twenty-dollar bill. Paulina shot Gil a warning look over her shoulder to remind him not to take any more initiatives without consulting her. Not that he had done any damage. The close proximity of their bodies forced her to tilt her head back, granting her an upclose-and-personal view of Gil’s jaw. Not a millimeter of flesh sagged. The skin hugging his square chin was smooth, lightly tanned—and scented of him.
Paulina’s mouth went dry. Her cheeks grew warm as she hastily glanced back at the building manager. “Yes, thank you, Max. We’ll remove a few things and tidy up. Is it all right if we talk to the neighbors? Maybe one of them saw or heard something that might tell us where Cindy was headed.”
“Sure. Let me know when you’re done so I can lock up.”
Paulina returned the rental agreement to him. After Max had gone, she tried to ignore the fact that Gil was in the apartment with her as she picked up Cindy’s phone and pressed the redial button. She had a job to do. It rang twice before an answering machine kicked in. A man’s voice with a French accent said, “Allo, leave a message.”
“Hi, this is Louise,” she ad-libbed. “I’m a friend of Cindy D’Angelo. Could you please get back to me at 555-7012?” She disconnected the line, then punched in the code *69. An automated voice told her the last number to have called Cindy’s apartment. She repeated it to Gil. “Does that sound familiar to you?”
“Yeah, it’s my home number.” He jabbed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The fabric stretched taut across his lower hips. “Who’s Louise?”
“I’ve no idea,” Paulina responded, averting her gaze from the locale of his impressive, male attributes. “Everybody knows at least one Louise in Ottawa, don’t they? The number I left is a private unlisted line to my office. If someone calls back, I’ll say I’m a mother from the parent drop-in program. Don’t just stand there,” she instructed, plucking the Yellow Pages phone directory from the kitchen counter and tossing it into one of the boxes. “Grab all the wastebaskets in the apartment. We’re taking the trash with us—we’ll sort it later at my office.” She started peeling off the tape that held Cindy’s calendar to the refrigerator door.
“Okay, you’re the boss.” He disappeared into the bathroom, where she heard him opening cupboards.
She fluffed her bangs from her sticky forehead. Heaven help her, it was hot in here. Her suit top was clamped to her skin. She added the calendar to the box and crossed the living room to open the sliding-glass patio door. The drooping beige drapes were partially drawn. They rattled along the rod as she shoved them aside in search of the door handle. Paulina froze. The door was open a crack. Had Cindy forgotten to lock it?
Paulina ditched that theory when she glanced through the window and noticed the narrow white plastic planter that had obviously fallen from the ledge of the concrete balcony. Pink and purple petunias and potting soil littered the concrete floor. Paulina slid the door wider and examined the locking mechanism in consternation. Someone had been up here—and it wasn’t the wind. The wind couldn’t gouge fresh scratch marks in the door’s aluminum frame.
Someone had obviously broken into Cindy’s apartment. Who? Thieves?
Thoughtfully, Paulina leaned over the concrete balcony wall. Cindy’s apartment was one floor above the parking garage. Low-growing junipers crowded a shrub bed bordering the building’s cracked front steps. But a metal handrail at the main entrance provided a convenient leg up to a would-be intruder with enough upper-body strength to pull himself over the balcony. Whoever it was had legs long enough to knock over the planter when they straddled the wall.
Crouching down, she examined a partial footprint in the potting soil. The letters of a word were clearly discernible; the shoe manufacturer’s name spelled backward. Brooks.
Paulina rocked back on her heels and swore.
What the hell had Gil been doing up here?
Chapter Two
Tamping down her anger, Paulina collected her purse from the kitchen table and slung it over her shoulder. “I quit,” she informed Gil as he deposited two plastic grocery bags filled with garbage alongside a large green bag he’d removed from the trash container under the kitchen sink.
His face paled.
“What do you mean you quit?” he demanded, taking a threatening step toward her. “You can’t just change your mind like that.”
“Yes, I can.” She crossed her arms over her chest, holding her ground. “You’re not being straight with me. Now I know why you seemed so certain Cindy had run off—because you broke into her apartment.” She followed his glance toward the patio door. His cheeks flagged with sudden color, condemning him. She strove to keep her cool. “The only thing I don’t understand is why you hired me.”
His eyes met hers squarely, but it was impossible to guess what he was thinking. She only saw pain in his shadowed gaze. “I didn’t break in. I only climbed onto the balcony Friday afternoon to look in the window and see if Cindy and Mikey were around.”
She raised her eyebrows. “The marks on the patio door suggest otherwise. It’s been jimmied open.”
“Well, it wasn’t open then. I know, because I tried the door.” His face turned an even shade of red, though he continued to meet her gaze. “I admit, one of the reasons I hired you was because I hoped you could get me inside. Then I’d know for sure if Cindy had gone. I had this sick feeling the other day—the apartment had such a deserted air to it.” He wet his lips nervously. “How does that old saying go? ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures?’“
Paulina didn’t buy his pathetic excuse. Her mother had used the same expression to justify taking Paulina away from her father. “I don’t break the law and I don’t work for people who take the law into their own hands.” She whirled around and headed for the door, her purse bouncing against her hip. “You’ll get your retainer back in the mail, minus an hour’s pay.”
“Wait!”
The hoarse cry of pain resonating in his voice caused her to falter as she reached the door.
“You’re right,” he declared. “I didn’t tell you everything. But it’s hard to admit your mistakes out loud—especially ones that have tragic consequences.”
Tragic consequences? What was he talking about? She paused, her hand on the doorknob, and told herself she was an idiot for sparing him even a second more of her time. But she couldn’t walk away from him any more than she could abandon the children whose pictures plastered her office. “You have ten seconds to tell me what’s eating away at you.”
“I’m pa
rtly to blame for Ted’s death,” he said harshly, self-contempt riddling every word. “I didn’t drive the car that hit him, but if I hadn’t been such a selfish bastard his truck wouldn’t have broken down that night. Ted called me a week before the accident to ask for a loan. He said he needed the money for car repairs. But I, uh, didn’t believe him.” Paulina heard a deep sob escape him. The air in the apartment grew thick with the weight of his anguish. Paulina kept her back to him, steeling herself to remain objective despite the tears gathering in her eyes.
After a minute, Gil continued, “I thought he was angling after poker money. He played poker once a week with his buddies from work and I thought he should be spending his free time with his family.” His voice dipped, simmering with anger, “But Ted always shirked responsibility. He thought he loved Cindy, but he didn’t want to marry her. He had a child and he didn’t think about practical things like life insurance or putting money aside for emergencies. I should have known he’d go to the poker game anyway. His truck broke down on his way home. He got hit when he got out to fix it.”
Paulina blinked away her tears and tried to keep a grip on her emotions as she turned to face him. He was carrying around a truckload of guilt that didn’t belong to him. “You don’t sound selfish to me. You sound like a caring big brother who tried to pass on sound advice to a sibling.”
Gil laughed. The raw sound cut into Paulina’s heart and made her want to open her arms to him. “Yes, well, my brotherly advice backfired with Ted, and it backfired with Cindy. I think I completely overwhelmed her by offering to pay support for Mikey. I honestly believe children need to be home with their mother when they’re young—at least until they start school.” He darted a look at her as though worried he might have offended her feminist principles.
He had.
This Little Baby Page 2
