She swallowed, licked her lips. “Uh, well, because, in that first dream, this Emma says something about her father’s name being Timothy Conner, and he owns a dry goods store on Van Ness.”
When they just stared at her, she charged, “Well, it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? Besides, with all your rummaging around, you might find something I can use to snare Sinclair.”
A silence fell between them all as they sipped their coffees and contemplated their next moves. Finally, Andie finished and set her mug aside.
“There’s one more thing I need to talk to you boys about.”
Perhaps it was the tone of her voice that alerted them, but both Ethan and Nate raised their heads, waiting, looking at her as though she were about to announce the Second Coming.
“I’m in a bind,” she began. “A very uncomfortable, unexpected bind, and the only way I’m going to get out of it is by asking blunt questions and getting straight answers. Okay?”
Solemnly, both Ethan and Nate nodded their consent.
“Okay,” she breathed. Lifting her shoulders, she swallowed and straightened her spine.
“Ethan, I’m going to ask you something, and you have to tell me the truth.”
“No problem,” he said, his eyes burning with curiosity and a hint of trepidation.
“Okay, here goes. Rumor has it that the reason you retired from the SFPD was because you were forced to resign.”
Nate’s gaze flicked to his brother, then back to Andie. Ethan, however, remained silent, his eyes boring into hers like industrial lasers.
Andie licked her lips again. “Rumor also has it that the reason you resigned when you did was because…because…Shit, Ethan, did you murder a fellow police officer to cover up an illicit love affair?”
Chapter 10
Give us courage and gaiety and the quiet mind.
Robert Louis Stevenson
It was just past twilight when Logan pulled the Lexus to a stop in the curved drive outside Drew Mochrie’s Sea Cliff estate and turned off the ignition. No van. Though he’d decided it might be a good idea to have Ollie present tonight, his partner seemed to be running a bit late.
That was fine. Gave Logan a few moments to collect his thoughts…thoughts that had been scattered like the winds to the far corners ever since he’d met Andie Devon.
Blast the woman with her cat’s eyes and sassy mouth.
He swiped his freshly shaved jaw with his knuckles.
Andie Devon was beautiful and desirable, and he wanted her. He’d wanted women before and had usually gotten them, but in Andie’s case, he had to wonder—would having sex with her once or twice be enough to satisfy him?
He already knew the answer to that: It would not. This woman was different from all the rest, and the sense of connection he felt when he looked at her or thought of her was what had him staring at the ceiling each night as he tried to sleep. For most of his adult life, he’d not considered himself a one-woman man, but if he did, she could be that woman.
Andie Devon…Andie Devon…Andie…darling Andie…Andie, darling…
Who was she really? He knew what he saw when he looked at her, but it didn’t match what his intuition sensed—intuition being his own personal euphemism for the “gift” of clairvoyance.
Gift. An obscenity was more the way of it.
For the first time in fifteen years, he considered lowering his defenses, allowing the voices to speak to him, but quickly rejected the idea. It would only serve to open a room he’d sealed off forever. Through that locked door lay not only madness, but the softer emotions he’d not let himself acknowledge, let alone enjoy.
As Ollie’s van pulled up behind the Lexus, Logan flipped open his cell phone and punched in the secure number.
“Mr. Sinclair.” The timbre of the woman’s voice was soft, her demeanor crisp and professional. “How may I assist you, sir?”
“How’s the weather in London, Jilly girl?”
Her businesslike tone changed not at all. “Rather damp and a bit dodgy, sir. Aside from a weather report, is there anything else you wished?”
“Indeed, lass. I need a thorough background done, if you’d be so kind.”
“I’ll forward your request. I assume you want the information—”
“Yesterday. Aye.”
“Your usual then.”
“My usual.” He allowed himself a quick smile before his stomach constricted into a hard ball. He should have done this before, as soon as he’d met Andie Devon, but something in him had wanted to trust her—though why he should be so foolish, he couldn’t say. He knew she lied as easily as she breathed, and that suspicious part of him wanted to know what she was hiding.
“When you say thorough, sir—”
“I mean use every resource we’ve got. I want to know it all, from whether she was bottle-fed, to her favorite subject at school, to the name of the first boy she ever kissed. Everything, to right down to her DNA.”
“Subject’s name?”
“Andrea Devon.” Inside his head, he saw her face, and that shocked and wary look in her eyes every time he called her—
“And Jilly my girl, in case you come up empty on Devon,” he added slowly, “try this…”
He supplied a few more details, then finished the call. As he slipped the cell into his pocket, Ollie tapped on the window, then jerked his thumb toward the Mochrie house, where Drew stood in the threshold wearing a low-cut red dress and a sanguine expression.
Opening his door, he mumbled to Ollie, “Showtime, lad. Twenty quid says I get her to agree and have her baubles in my hands by noon tomorrow.”
“Yer on,” Ollie snorted. “Even you ain’t that good—”
“Yoo-hoo!” Miss Mochrie sang from the porch, one hand fluttering in the air. “I’m ready for you, Logan!”
He flicked a quick glance at Ollie. “Ye hear that, lad?” he muttered. “She’s ready for me.”
Ollie scowled, as though he’d just seen his twenty quid sprout wings and fly off to the Highlands.
Logan stepped onto the porch. “You look lovely tonight,” he said, taking the woman’s outstretched hand. Bending his head, he placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles.
“Oh, Logan,” she cooed. “I feel confident this evening will prove quite successful.”
“I’ve no doubt of it, ma’am.”
With Ollie in the lead, the trio made for the scullery and down to the wine cellar.
“May I take your arm, Mr. Sinclair?” Drew mewled. “I’m feeling a bit weak and need the support of your masculine strength.”
“Anything to help ease you through this difficult time,” Logan said, taking her hand in the crook of his arm.
Though he couldn’t be sure, he thought Ollie snorted.
When they reached the spot where Tolley Mochrie had met his end, Logan took a deep breath, shook out his hands, rolled his shoulders, and tried to give the impression he was opening himself up to contact from beyond.
At his side, Drew Mochrie remained silent for a moment, then leaned toward his ear, and whispered, “When we’re done here, Logan, perhaps you and I…” She cast a quick glance at Ollie unpacking his camera. “That is to say, just the two of us should go upstairs for a, ehm, nightcap?” She arched a brow and pursed her glossy lips.
“Indeed we can, lass. But first, let us attend to the business at hand.” To Ollie, he said, “Ready, lad?”
His camera secured to the tripod, Ollie gave a quick nod. “Aye.”
Closing his eyes, Logan let his head fall back. “Allister? Are you there? Can you hear me?” Inside his head, muffled voices tried to make themselves heard. He ignored them. “We call upon the spirit of Tolley Mochrie this night.” His eyes still closed, he said, “Miss Mochrie, what is it you wish to say to your brother?”
“Oh, uh, yes.” Her tone was impatient. “Well, tell him to move on then. That’s all. Just, I don’t know, go toward the light, or some such thing. I mean, no reason to linger, is there?”
�
�No, but—”
“Oh, blast!” she snapped. “Perhaps tonight isn’t the best for contacting my late brother. Perhaps we could do this another time, and just go upstairs and have that drink now—”
“What’s that, Allister?” Logan boomed over her invitation. “The Star of Avril?”
He opened his eyes, rubbed his temples as though plagued by a sudden headache. In a weary voice, he said, “Tolley is desperate to know whether that necklace is safe. He mentioned it last time, as I recall. He insists on knowing, and seems quite distressed about it.”
Miss Mochrie blinked up at him, irritation plain to see in the depths of her calculating eyes. “As I said before, ’tis in a safe-deposit—”
“My dear, your brother insists on seeing it. That is to say, he wants me to see it and report to Allister that it is safe.” He shook his head as though in a state of confusion. “Does this necklace have some significance for your brother, other than its pecuniary value?”
The woman came that close to stomping her foot. Crossing her arms under her breasts, her pouting lips turned down into a spoiled scowl. “Oh, but Tolley was always obsessed with the damn thing. Had it insured for a king’s sum, he did. Never let me wear it for fear a thief would come along and snatch it. To him, possessing that necklace gave him some kind of credibility in the eyes of society. Or so he thought. Bah.” Now she did stomp her foot. “Gems like that should be trotted out, displayed on one’s décolletage for all to see, not locked away in some dusty bank vault.”
“Ah, it makes more sense now,” Logan said, nodding his head knowingly. “It seems that your brother will not rest in peace, however, until he’s certain it’s still in your possession.”
Her scowl deepened, her mouth curving into a petulant bow. “And showing it to you will suffice, will it?”
Logan shrugged. “That is my understanding. ’Tis not my wish one way or t’other. However, if you agree to let me see it tomorrow, I can reassure your late brother all is well, and you and I can call it a night and go upstairs for that wee dram, if you so desire.”
Emphasis on the word desire.
She angled her head just so and gazed out into space, apparently making an effort to look seductively indecisive. The effect was one of a woman who’d just fallen off a tilt-a-whirl and banged her head on a post.
“Aye, then,” she cooed. Turning on her heel, she headed for the stairs. “I wish no further communications with my dead brother tonight, but I am thirsty.” One stiletto heel on the bottom step, she eased herself around to face Logan. “When you’re packed up here, meet me in the drawing room, won’t you?” To Ollie, she said dismissively, “’Twas nice seeing you again, lad. Good night.”
Ollie shut off his camera and smiled cordially. When she had disappeared up the stairs, he said, “Ah, fock it. Twenty quid it is, then, but only after I see the goods.”
Logan chuckled and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Do you think she suspects anything?” Ollie asked, his gaze still on the shadows at the top of the stairs. “What if she gets the necklace from the bank and decides to skip with it?”
As Logan began climbing the stairs, he looked back at his partner and smiled. “She doesn’t suspect, and she won’t skip. You’ll just have to trust me to deliver.”
Ollie tilted his head and narrowed one eye. “Given what I know about you? Easier said than done, lad. Easier said than done.”
Andie watched as Ethan’s eyes narrowed on her. They glittered like shards of green glass, sharp enough to slice flesh clean to the bone.
“What did you say?” His voice was low, lethal, and if she hadn’t known him better, she’d have been afraid. “Where in the hell—”
“Relax, big brother,” Andie said, then sat back against the padded seat. “Remember Brad Bostwick?”
Next to Ethan, Nate leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. “Commander Bostwick?” He exchanged confused looks with Ethan. “What’s Bostwick got to do with all this?”
Instead of launching into a full explanation, she said, “How much do either of you know about him?”
Ethan shook his head. “Slick Bostwick? I know enough to know I never liked the son of a bitch, sure as hell never trusted him. Married the commissioner’s daughter and used it to climb the ladder.”
Nate nodded. “I agree. He keeps a clean profile, no hint of scandal, nothing touches him. Rumors have persisted for years, but I’ve never known anybody—”
“Yeah, well, you do now,” she said softly.
She raised her gaze to Ethan’s. He hadn’t answered her question, and in order to bring Bostwick down, she’d have to know the truth about everything. She couldn’t risk any more surprises. She had to be prepared with answers for every accusation Bostwick might make. If he attacked, she had to parry, and had to make it stick. “Bostwick is blackmailing me.”
Both Ethan and Nate were halfway out of their seats with their fists doubled when she said, “Easy boys. I’ll explain in a minute. First…”
As Ethan eased himself back down and relaxed his shoulders, she pinned him with her gaze. His chin edged up, his eyes grew wary.
“Bostwick made the claim you murdered a fellow officer, and he has a coroner’s report to back him up. I saw part of it. He’s using it to coerce me into planting evidence in the Sinclair case. Said he’d go public with the report and ruin both you and me, and by association your famous wife—”
“Georgie knows what happened.”
“It doesn’t matter. The report appears damning, and he threatened to use it if I didn’t help him.” She stopped, sucked in a deep breath, squared her shoulders. “So I need to know. Did you do it, Ethan?”
He stared at her for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to say anything. It was Nate who broke the silence.
“Hey, bro,” he urged gently. “You trusted me. You can trust Andie, too. You know you can. Tell her the truth.”
Ethan nodded slowly, looked briefly away, then met Andie’s gaze. Suddenly, he looked older, tired, as though some invisible weight he’d been carrying a long time was crushing him.
“It happened over seven years ago.” Lowering his eyes, he continued, “Her name was Cathy Vandermere. She was an SFPD hostage negotiator, and my lover.”
“And…and you…you…”
“Yes, Andie. I killed her.”
Andie lay awake, her emotions in too much chaos to sleep.
What Ethan had told her…what he had done. Dear God, how could he live with himself? How could anyone put that kind of thing behind them?
Dammit, Ethan, why didn’t you tell me about this Cathy? I would have understood…but typical male, he’d kept the torment to himself, the guilt. After everything her brother had done for her, all he had sacrificed to help raise her, and she had a chance to repay him with her love and compassion, but he’d denied her by not confiding in her.
She’d be furious at him if she didn’t love and admire him so much.
Men! Men, men, men…
She closed her eyes for a moment. Logan Sinclair’s handsome face immediately appeared, so she opened them again, doubled her fists, and slammed them into the mattress.
Damn the man. He was a crook, a charlatan, a liar, and a cheat, and maybe worse for all she knew. He deserved to be caught, but Bostwick’s demand that she fabricate evidence against him had twisted itself into some bizarre kind of sympathy for Sinclair. Really, she had to keep her priorities straight, or this whole thing would blow up in her face.
Besides Ethan and Sinclair and Bostwick, not to mention Dylan Jericho, there was her mother. She hadn’t called Mom in days, and with her mother’s emotions as frail and flighty as they always were, Andie suddenly felt guilty for just being alive.
Then there were the babies. Nate and his wife Tabitha were expecting a baby in July; Ethan and his wife Georgie were also expecting a baby, also in July, as luck would have it. Her two seemingly forever-bachelor brothers had married within months of each other, and were no
w about to become daddies, while Andie…
She scrunched her eyes closed and pressed her lips together in an effort to keep her emotions under control. She wanted a career, not marriage and not motherhood, and even if she did want those things, not now! She had a professional reputation to build, things to prove, strides to make for herself and all of womankind.
True, the feminist movement was long over, and women had rights and opportunities they’d never had before, but even so, the fire was in her to prove herself capable as a person—neither male nor female, nor married or single or whatever. Just a damn fine police officer above and beyond, and not in spite of being female.
She tugged the covers up under her chin. Sure, husbands and babies were wonderful things, and she wanted those things, too, the same as any woman. But they could wait…there was time…there was always…time…
Drifting down, she saw the little house come into view, and she relaxed…
Home…family…love…yes…oh, yes…
The house on Vallejo Street is smallish, but it suits the two of us just fine. It’s in need of a slap of paint, but me fine young husband assures me the work’ll be done well before the chill of winter settles on the city, well before the most blessed of events.
Of course, the house ain’t what I’m used to, as me father has been sure to point out on the rare occasions he comes by to see how his newly married daughter fares.
“Well now,” he blusters, taking in the cramped kitchen with a view of nothing more than the lines of fluttering bed linens hanging from the wash line in the yard next door. “You’ve made yer nest, haven’t you, Daughter! And now you’ll be lying in it a good long while.” His face, which has always reminded me of an eagle’s, all sharp-eyed and hook-nosed, contorts into a sneer. “You’ll see, when the going gets rough, me girl, where marrying for love will get you, and I’m sayin’ you’ll be sorry. When you come crawlin’ back, I might, I say might, take you in.”
“I won’t come crawlin’ back, Da,” says I. “I love Jacob, and he loves me. We’ll be happy. He’s what I’ve always wanted—”
Killer Charms Page 11
