by Lori Foster
“How so?”
He smoothed her glossy dark hair behind her ears, touched her arched brows. “You were so upset, I thought...”
“Oh, no. When I’m upset, I usually work through it at the computer. Same when I’m excited. Or sad.”
Mick shook his head. Not much got in the way of her writing.
“It’s just that last night was so wonderful. You were so wonderful.” She sighed again, a sigh of repletion and fulfillment, making him feel like that damn white knight she’d spoken of.
Then she added, “I’ve been thinking, too, about Neddie, about some of the stories he told me.”
Slowly, Mick straightened. “Let’s do this over coffee.”
“Do this?”
“I have a gut feeling that whatever you’re going to tell me will be the clue we’ve been missing. I need caffeine to digest it all, so I don’t miss anything important.”
Delilah stood and did her own stretching. His pulse leaped. If this wasn’t so important... He eyed the bed. But no, it was important, and he had to see to her safety first.
“This gut feeling of yours,” she asked, “is it like a cop’s sixth sense?”
Mick put his arm around her and led the way to the kitchen, flipping on the lights as he went. It was only five-thirty. It’d be another hour or so before the sun lit the sky. “I just know that somehow all this stuff is related.”
She nodded, took a stool at the counter—evidently more than willing to have him wait on her, which he was glad to do. “I think it has to do with the story I’m working on.”
“Your newest book?” He measured coffee and turned on the machine.
She nodded. “You got anything I can snack on? I’m starved.”
He remembered she’d been too upset to eat much the night before, and guilt washed over him. He scrounged around until he found her a few cookies. “I can put some eggs and bacon on, too,” he offered, and she accepted with a mouthful of cookie.
“You talk while I cook,” he said.
She waved the second cookie at him. “Neddie was trying to go straight, you know? A condition of his parole was that he continue to be counseled, and part of his counseling was to own up to the things he knew he’d done wrong. So he sometimes talked to me.”
“You were supposed to absolve him of guilt?”
“Not even close.” She chewed on her cookie, thinking, then shuddered. “He told me some gruesome stories,” she admitted. “Stuff I could never use in a book. It was too...real, and you know what they say about truth being stranger than fiction. But in a way, Neddie had this odd code of honor. He didn’t hurt anyone that he didn’t think needed to be hurt. I mean, he didn’t just choose innocent victims.”
“He hired himself out, honey. He did what he was paid to do.”
“I know.” She brushed the remainder of the crumbs from her hands and watched Mick lay bacon in a hot skillet. “But he only took jobs that his conscience would let him take. Like this one guy he snuffed—”
“Snuffed?” Mick eyed her, appalled at the casual way she said that.
She shrugged. “It’s part of the lingo.”
Didn’t he know it. “Go on.”
“Anyway, the guy he killed had some huge gambling debts, but Neddie said he took the job because the guy also abused his wife.”
Mick made a face. “What a discerning fellow.”
Delilah laughed. “That’s what I said to him. And he knew it was still wrong, but he said he half enjoyed beating that guy up and then dumping him for dead, because he hated anyone who would hit a woman.”
“We’re in agreement on that.”
In a voice as soft as butter, she said, “I know.”
Mick poked at the bacon with a fork. He couldn’t take her hero worship on an empty stomach, so he steered her back to the subject at hand. “What does any of this have to do with your story?”
“Well, Neddie told me that these guys tried to hire him to kill a man because the guy knew too much and wanted to come clean. They were afraid he’d turn evidence on them or something, so they wanted Neddie to kill him, then sink his car in the river.”
Mick jerked around, staring at her. A limp piece of uncooked bacon dangled from the fork in his hand.
“Neddie refused. Not only because he was out of the business and trying to go straight, but because he said he sympathized with the other guy. He said they were alike, both of them wanting to be legit, and there was no proof the guy would rat. After all, Neddie said he’d never ratted anyone out before.”
This is it, Mick thought with a surge of triumph. This is the link.
“I told Neddie about how I’d learned to escape a car that had gone into the river, and he said I couldn’t have escaped if I’d been dead before it went in.” Delilah tilted her head at Mick, her beautiful, light blue eyes filled with a heavy sadness. “Is that what happened to Neddie? You said he was murdered, and I know he drowned. Did someone kill him, then drive his car into the river? The paper didn’t give all the details. I didn’t know you were a cop, so I didn’t think you’d know, either. After all, it was supposed to be confidential stuff for the ongoing investigation.”
For the first time that he could remember since becoming an officer of the law, Mick didn’t even consider what was right or wrong. He set a cup of coffee in front of Delilah and pulled out the stool next to her. Their bare knees touched, his on the outside of hers. “Neddie’s wrists,” he explained carefully, “had bruises on them, evidence that he’d been tied up, though there were no ropes or anything on him when his body was found.”
Delilah reached for his hand, and Mick squeezed her fingers.
“He had a wound on the back of his head, too. The coroner said he’d been struck with a blunt object, knocked out just before the car went off the bridge—or possibly as the car went over. It’d be impossible to tell for sure, but as you just said, he wasn’t given the chance to escape the car and swim to the surface. We’re thinking whoever did it hoped the car wouldn’t be found until time and the natural effects of water and cold had done enough damage to disguise a deliberate murder.”
“He had a suicide note in his pocket?”
Mick nodded. “Yeah.”
Her lips quivered, and she drew a ragged breath. “That’s exactly what Neddie described, what he said the men wanted him to do.” She blinked away a sheen of tears, and whispered raggedly, “I used that whole scenario in my book.”
“The book you’re working on now?”
“Yes. In the last book, the hero got away by keeping his head and doing the things I’d learned from submerging myself in a car.”
Mick shuddered. He could not think about that now. Somehow he’d figure out a way to temper Delilah’s more dangerous inclinations, without stifling her.
“But in this book,” she continued, oblivious to his turmoil, “he was knocked out, a suicide note planted on him, and the heroine had to save him.”
Just like Delilah to twist things around, Mick thought. But then, if any woman were capable of a rescue, it’d be Delilah Piper. He wouldn’t underestimate her on anything, once she set her mind to it.
It was an enormous long shot, but Mick asked, “That whole scenario is too damn close to the truth to be comfortable. Does anyone know what’s in this book?”
She nodded. “Tons of people, I’m sure. Remember I told you I was on the news, discussing my current project? We talked about that whole scene. I...I was laughing about it, bragging that it could happen, and that a woman might indeed be a hero. I never once considered that I could be putting Neddie in danger.”
“Neddie didn’t know about the interview?”
“I don’t know.” She covered her face. “He died shortly after that. He...he might have died because of me. Someone could have heard that radio program, so
meone who knew we’d become friends, that Neddie coached me on my research.”
“And they might have assumed he’d told you too much, and that you could repeat it.” If Mick thought he’d felt fear before, it was nothing to what he felt now. Someone wanted to shut her up, to make certain she couldn’t repeat details that might be incriminating. But he didn’t know who, and until he did know, until he could get the bastards, her life was at stake.
Delilah rocked slowly back and forth in her seat as the ramifications settled around her. “I’m to blame.”
With a new fury, Mick tipped up her chin. “Wrong. Don’t even go there, babe. When you live the type of life Neddie did, then you run the risks. That’s just how it is.”
“He was changing.”
“Maybe just a little too late.” Mick pulled her into his lap. “Did Neddie give you any names, anything that might connect him with the killers?”
She thought hard, staring down at her hands. Slowly her gaze rose to his. “You know, he did say something, but I’m not sure it’ll help.”
“At this point, it’d have to be more than we’ve got.”
She nodded, her brows drawn. “He said the guys who wanted to hire him should have known better, because they’d been in prison with him in ’86, all of them convicted for car theft.”
It took several moments for it to sink in, before Mick allowed himself to believe. “Bingo.”
“You think?”
“I think it’ll be easy enough to check prison records. That might do it, with your testimony. Especially if the fingerprints from the apartment next to yours match up. We should have those today.”
“Is that why they tried to kill me? They knew Neddie had been talking to me? They knew he’d...told me things?”
Mick hugged her. God, she was precious to him. And she was also smart, so there was no point in hoping to protect her. Besides, he didn’t want her feeling guilty for Neddie’s death, not if he could help it.
“The bruises on Neddie’s wrists showed that he put up a hell of a fight, that he tried to work himself free. But he didn’t make it.” Mick kissed her temple, her ear. “Could be they promised to let him go if he named everyone he’d talked to.”
She shook her head, adamant in Neddie’s defense. “No, Neddie would never have done that, not if he thought they’d hurt me.”
Her innocence amazed him. “How long did you know him, sweetheart?”
“A few months. But we were friends, Mick,” she said staunchly.
“That’s not enough time to really judge.”
She leaned back and gave him a level look. “It’s longer than I’ve known you.”
Mick scowled, not appreciating that comparison at all. “He was an admitted murderer. A car thief. Those things are not synonymous with ethics, and any man could cave when his life was on the line.”
“I won’t believe that.”
Mick decided to let it go. She’d been hurt enough, and disillusioning her now wouldn’t accomplish a thing. “Let’s finish up breakfast and shower, then I’ll call Faradon. He should be up by then, and if not, well, he’ll get up.”
“You really think any of this will make a difference?”
“I know it will.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I want this behind us. I want us to take walks in the park and go to the zoo, and I want to get back to my research.”
Mick groaned. He didn’t know if he could live through her special brand of daredevil study.
But he knew he didn’t want to live without her, so he supposed he’d find a way to get used to it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The phone rang while Mick was in the shower. He’d insisted that Del go ahead while he cleaned the kitchen, and when she’d protested, he claimed it had to be that way. If he showered with her, they’d never leave his house.
She accepted that he probably was right.
With her hair still wet and her feet bare, Del picked up the phone. “Dawson residence.”
“Faradon here. Is this Ms. Piper?”
“Yes,” she said shortly. Detective Faradon still wasn’t one of her favorite people, not after the interrogation she’d been through.
“We got the fingerprints back and have some photos to go with them. We’d like you to come to the station and take a look, see if you can ID anyone. How soon can you be here?”
She bristled at his demanding tone. At the very least, she felt the man owed her a few apologies. “Actually, Mick and I were coming in, anyway.” She didn’t mention her new “evidence” because she wasn’t convinced it would help. Mick could explain everything.
There was a pause, then he asked, “How soon?”
“Mick is about done showering now. I’d say we’ll leave here in the next fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting,” he said, and rudely hung up.
A few minutes later Mick came out looking nicely rugged and sexy as sin in faded, well-worn jeans and a soft gray T-shirt. He wore scuffed, lace-up black boots. As Del watched, he checked his gun.
She inched closer. “Can I see?”
He glanced up. “What? My gun?”
Nodding, she said, “A Smith & Wesson, right? Semiautomatic?”
Mick held the gun out of her reach. “No one touches my gun but me.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to fire it. And I do know a little about guns.”
“Research, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then you know enough to understand how dangerous they are.” With a dexterity that proved how quickly he was healing, he tucked the gun into a holster at the small of his back, and smoothed his T-shirt over it. “And,” he said again, “no one touches my gun but me.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
He caught her before she could turn away, and kissed her neck. It was shameful, but she immediately softened, just as he’d probably known she would.
“Who was on the phone?” he asked against her throat.
Sometimes it was annoying, loving Mick. She couldn’t seem to stay angry with him, especially when he kissed her. “Your buddy, Faradon.”
“He’s not my buddy, he’s just the lead investigator on the robbery and shooting.” He kissed her again, this time nuzzling beneath her ear. It felt like her toes melted. “What did he want?”
Struggling to get her brain in gear, she succeeded in saying, “He has fingerprints and photos, and he wants us to come take a look for a positive ID.”
Stepping back from her, Mick looked at the chunky black watch on his wrist. “Hell, it’s barely eight o’clock. He’s at it early.”
Feeling hopeful for the first time, Del asked, “Do you think that means we’re close to having this wrapped up?”
Mick took her arm and headed for the door. “Even with an ID, we’d still have to get hold of them, but it’d sure make it easier to track the bastards down. It’s tougher to hide when everyone knows who you are. There’s also the possibility that Rudy’ll be more willing to talk once we have names.”
The sun never did quite rise. Instead, as they stepped outside, they saw that fat purple clouds had rolled in, leaving the air heavy with the scent of rain. In the distance, lightning flickered.
Mick cursed. “Did you want to grab a jacket or umbrella?”
“I won’t melt.”
She saw his surprise, then his smile, as he opened the car door for her. “I’d forgotten your affinity for rain,” he said.
When she raised a brow, he explained, “The day I finally met you, the day of the robbery. Everyone else had an umbrella, but you didn’t even seem to notice how soaked you’d gotten.” He slid his hand over her waist and squeezed suggestively. “I noticed.”
Del smiled at that. It was nice being reminded tha
t the awesome attraction went both ways. If Mick had indeed noticed her when she looked like a used rag mop, then his interest was as keen as hers. Maybe more so, because she hadn’t paid him a bit of mind until the shooting.
Once he folded his big body behind the wheel, she told him, “I love running in the drizzling rain. It’s peaceful and it stimulates my muse.”
He started to make a nasty crack, no doubt about stimulating her, and Del elbowed him. They both laughed and she thought how nice it was, how right, to be with Mick this way. She wondered, once everything was settled, what would happen. When it was no longer necessary for her to stay with him for protection, would he ask her to leave? Would he ask her to stay?
Half an hour later she was still pondering that when the sky opened up. No slight drizzle this, but a raging summer storm full of power. The stuffy, humid air came alive with electricity, crackling and snapping all around them. Trees bent and dipped, leaves and debris danced across the rain-washed roadways.
Del slanted Mick a look. “Rainstorms are sexy,” she whispered.
“You’re sexy. Rain or no rain,” he replied, keeping his gaze on the road.
She grinned, about to tell him how she’d like to spend the afternoon once they finished at the station, when they were blinded by a sudden glare. In the darkness of the morning storm, an approaching car’s bright lights reflected off Mick’s door. He flinched, throwing up a hand, but it didn’t help. The car came from an empty side street, and rather than slowing, it accelerated to a reckless speed across the slick roadway, coming right for them.
Mick glanced out his window, gripped the wheel tightly and muttered with icy calm, “Hold on.”
The car struck the back side-panel, throwing them into a spin. Del’s seat belt tightened; she yelped in alarm, barely keeping her wits enough to twist around, trying to see what happened.
At the force of impact, Mick first overcompensated, and the car slewed off the road and into the mud before grasping the slick pavement again.
Del, assuming it was an accident—a result of the rainy conditions—wondered why Mick didn’t just pull over. She looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed, in time to see the other car straighten and shoot toward them again.
