Killer Charms

by Marianne Stillings

  His voice held a note of fake outrage as he said, “And you were on the up-and-up the whole time with me, were you, Inspector Andrea Darling of the San Francisco Police Department?”

  “I was just doing my job.”

  “And I was just doing mine.”

  “I…I have a lot of questions,” she stumbled. “About why you’re here, what you’re after.”

  “Ask away. I’ll tell you what I can.”

  She licked her lips. “The most immediate question is…are you going to kiss me now—”

  The “or not” part got lost when Logan’s lips met hers.

  She went up on her toes as his arms slid around her waist. He pulled her tight, tighter, until their bodies were aligned, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her breast.

  His mouth was soft, his kiss tender, as though he’d been waiting to kiss her like this from the beginning. No secrets now, no obstacles. Just two people in each other’s arms, the long waiting and wondering over, the time for honesty at hand.

  He tugged on her lips, then pulled back a fraction to smile down at her. “So you were sent undercover to get the goods on a con man, eh?”

  “Aye,” she murmured against his mouth. “A fake clairvoyant who cheats wealthy women out of their money or their virtue.” She smiled up at him. “They figured you targeted Drew Mochrie as your next victim. I was supposed to find out how you got your inside information. Guess I know that answer to that, Mr. Secret Agent man.”

  She lowered her lashes and remembered her immediate—and unprofessional—attraction to him. Her brother’s warning, the commander’s blackmail, the murder, the necklace, even her bizarre dreams.

  “It seemed a simple enough assignment at the beginning,” she said. “But things have gotten more complicated than anyone would have imagined.”

  His aquamarine eyes turned stormy, all mischief gone. “Aye. And likewise.”

  “So,” she said. “Tell me why you’re here. What did you come to the U.S. for? Who are you after, Chief Inspector Logan S. Macmillan?”

  A look of raw emotion passed over his face. “I’m after the man responsible for the murder of a countryman of mine.”

  “A countryman?”

  “Aye. And a friend. Tolley Mochrie.”

  “Mochrie?” Andie’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought Drew killed her brother.”

  Logan shook his head, then eased Andie out of his embrace. Stepping away, he went to the window and crossed his arms over his chest. With his back to her he said, “Drew may have been a willing accomplice, maybe not, but it was another who did the deed. He’s the one I’m after. He’s the one I’ll have.”

  “Who, Logan?”

  He turned then, his stance solid and fierce. Once more, she was reminded of an ancient warrior, armed and ready for battle. And very, very dangerous.

  He searched her eyes and she got the impression he was debating whether he could trust her. The air between them grew thick, time slowed, stopped. The rage in his eyes made her want to look away, but she didn’t.

  “Who, Logan?” she whispered. “Who killed Tolley Mochrie? Who is it you’re after?”

  Through tightly clenched teeth, he bit out, “Your boss, it is, lass. Bradley Bostwick.”

  Chapter 18

  Give us grace and strength to forbear, to persevere.

  Robert Louis Stevenson

  Ollie stepped out of the bathroom, took one look at the expression on the lass’s face, and said brightly, “Right then. I’m off to grab a bite. Can I bring you two anything?”

  Logan shook his head, then said to Andie, “You?”

  But she was simply staring at him, jaw slack, eyes wide, like a kitten surprised by a Doberman.

  “Well then,” Ollie said. “I’m off.”

  As the door closed behind the departing Ollie Kerr, Logan said, “I’ve broken several regulations by telling you what I’m about, especially since you could turn right around and alert your Commander Bostwick.”

  “I won’t,” she whispered, then lowered her head. “Trust me. I won’t.” She ran her fingers through her hair, then went to the bed and sat on the edge. “You…you have hard evidence that Bostwick killed Mochrie?”

  Logan eased himself down next to Andie. He placed his elbows on his knees and tented his fingers. Without looking over at her, he said, “If we had hard evidence, the bastard would be behind bars.”

  She blinked a few times, then turned her face to him. “Well then, how do you know he did it? I mean, the guy’s a genuine, diamond-plated son of a bitch, but homicide…”

  “I can only reveal so much, lass—”

  “So let me get this straight.” She looked a bit dazed. “My going undercover was all for nothing. This whole case is for…nothing…”

  Her voice trailed off, but he hadn’t missed the anger entangled with dejection in her words.

  Sliding his arm around her shoulders, he said, “I’m sorry that I’m not a crook, Andie. Would it make you feel better if I stole something?”

  When she just stared blankly at him, he smiled sheepishly. “I have something in mind right enough. Something I’ve wanted from the first. Very valuable it is, and locked tight away, I’d say. It’ll be a challenge to steal, but it’s a prize beyond measure and definitely worth the effort.”

  Ignoring his innuendo, she studied him for a moment, then shrugged out of his embrace. Standing, she began to pace the room again. Her frown told him all he needed to know about what was going on inside her head.

  When finally she halted, she said, “How long have you known who I am, Logan? Was it from that first time we met?”

  “Nae. I didn’t know you were a detective until I had the home office run a background a few days ago.”

  Her mouth flattened, her eyes narrowed. “But how could you when you didn’t even know my real name?”

  He pursed his lips. “In a way, lass, you told me by your reaction every time I called you darlin’. So I did a check on Devon, which turned up nothing, of course. But I also had them check Andrea Darling, which was quite informative.”

  Her pretty mouth went flat. “That was quite a leap. Not many people would have made it.”

  “Call it instinct, if you will.”

  “Or clairvoyance?” Her sarcastic words were punctuated when she angrily crossed her arms under her breasts.

  “Nae. Never that, lass. I don’t go there anymore, remember?”

  She started pacing again, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she moved slowly back and forth through the room. Halting in front of the TV, she said, “I’m assuming you did not kill Drew Mochrie.”

  “You assume rightly.”

  “Then how did you get the necklace?”

  “The fact is, she gave it up willingly. When I met her at the bank, I told her who I was, and that we knew what she was up to. I explained that if she turned over the necklace, the Crown Court might go easier on her. The insurance company might even drop the charges. I didn’t make any promises, but she became so agitated, she took the necklace out of the box, burst into tears, and shoved it at me, then ran out of the bank. That was the last time I saw her.”

  “And she was killed later that day.”

  “It appears so, yes.”

  “Why,” she said, drawing out the word into five syllables, “didn’t you explain who you were to the detectives who interviewed you?”

  “You mean yer brother?” He stood and walked to the bar, where he poured himself a club soda. When he gestured to her with the bottle, she nodded, so he filled another tumbler. Adding ice from the minifridge, he handed one to her, then took a drink of his own. “I had to maintain my cover and didn’t know who I could trust. Didn’t know who would go running to Bostwick. The time was not right for full disclosure.”

  She seemed to think about it for a second, then blew out a tight breath. “Okay, I can buy that. But what was this elaborate hoax all about? Why pretend to shoot Ollie?”

  He took another gul
p of his drink. “I wanted to get Bostwick’s attention. He killed Tolley Mochrie to get the necklace, but failed. Then he killed Drew—”

  “What! Bostwick killed…are you sure?”

  He swallowed more sparkling water to try and get the sour taste out of his mouth, but it didn’t work. His hatred of Bradley Bostwick polluted every atom in his body. “He killed her, yet still failed to get the necklace. I wanted him to know I had it.”

  She whispered, “Oh, my God. You want him to come after you.”

  “I couldn’t just go walkin’ into his office and introduce myself, now could I, lass? That’s about all I can tell you for now.” He wondered what she’d say if he told her the truth…the entire truth. “There are things…complications to this case I can’t discuss, for the time being.”

  They stood only a few feet apart, but he could feel the heat from her body as her anger began to rise. “You used me. You staged killing Ollie so I’d haul your ass in, and there are ‘things’ you can’t tell me?”

  He looked steadily into her eyes. “Aye, lass. Had to. I’m sorry—”

  “Well there are ‘things’ going on that I can’t tell you about either, and between your things and my things, my career just may well end up in a rat-hole!”

  “Truly, I’m sorry, but you have to realize, I didn’t know where you stood—”

  “There’s the necklace,” she accused. “Finding it in your possession would have been enough. You didn’t have to frame a fake murder to get my attention, or Bostwick’s.”

  Her eyes flashed with fury. With her fists doubled at her side and her mouth a tight line, she looked like a woman a lesser man would think twice about crossing.

  “I didn’t count on your being such a damn fine detective,” he cajoled. “You weren’t supposed to find it, only witness a killing, then haul my ass in, as you say.”

  She lowered her head for a moment, and when she raised it, she said, “But Ollie isn’t really dead. I don’t understand how—”

  “I’d planned on getting you to leave the room, then Ollie was going to walk out. When the cops arrived, there’d be no body. I mean, I couldn’t really kill the lad, now, could I? Not that he hasn’t deserved a good kick in the nuts on the odd occasion—”

  “What a stupid plan!”

  He shrugged, then chuckled to himself. “True, it’s not without its flaws. But when I discovered you were one of Bostwick’s direct reports, we decided to use that knowledge. A bit on the fly, I’ll admit…”

  Slamming her tumbler on the bar, she huffed, “We’re done here, pal. I have to go to my superiors and tell them what I know. This has all gotten too weird, and since you’re a cop and not a crook, then I have no purpose staying undercover.”

  “You’re going to tell Bostwick about me.”

  “Don’t you see, I have to! If I don’t, I mean, there’s nothing I can do. I mean, like, everything has changed and I…oh, damn! I don’t know what to think anymore!”

  She ran her fingers through her hair, fiddled with an earring, returned to the bar, and took another sip of her drink. “Look, Logan,” she groused. “I hate Bostwick. But I can’t help you. I need to go to Internal Affairs and you need to come with me. If I keep quiet about what I know, I could lose my job. Whatever’s left of my career after this would be shot to hell. Now that I know what’s going on, I have to tell them.”

  Rolling his glass between his fingers, he studied the small bricks of ice floating among the tiny, effervescent bubbles, then raised his eyes to pin Andie where she stood.

  “I don’t want your blasted Internal Affairs involved,” he growled. “I don’t want to relinquish this case to you Yanks. I don’t want to sit by and watch the slimy son of a bitch slip the knot. I didn’t travel over five thousand miles for naught.”

  In three large gulps, he drained the tumbler, then set it carefully down on the bar.

  “Bradley Bostwick murdered two citizens of the United Kingdom, and I intend to see him pay. I came here to get the bastard, and I mean to do just that. And nothing is going to keep me from it, lass,” he rasped. “Not even you.”

  Not even me? Andie thought. Yeah, well, we’ll just see about that, pal.

  She stepped away from him, not out of fear, but frustration.

  “I think we may have a jurisdictional problem here, laddie,” she accused. “I haven’t seen anything yet that says you’re authorized to conduct a criminal investigation in the U.S. Or arrest and extradite, should you uncover evidence that Bostwick is guilty of the murder of Bartholomew Mochrie. As for Drew, that homicide is currently under investigation and has nothing to do with you.” She raised a brow and waited for his response.

  “You know who I am,” he snapped. “You’ve seen and verified my credentials.”

  “Yeah, you’re a detective, all right, but if you’re here to investigate Mochrie’s death for Scotland Yard, I’d like to see some documentation to that effect, please.”

  Again, she waited.

  Narrowing his blue eyes on her, he said, “I don’t have to show anything to you. It’s for your superiors to see, but since I don’t know who Bostwick has in his pocket yet, I’ll only say I havena made an official approach.”

  She watched him, his eyes, his mouth, the tension in his body. He was lying.

  “Who is Ollie, exactly?” she said. “Is he Scotland Yard, too?”

  Logan averted his gaze, then shrugged. “If you must know, he’s…Ollie’s here…in an unofficial capacity, you might say.”

  “How unofficial?”

  “If I tell you, will you help me get Bostwick?”

  “No. But tell me anyway.”

  If looks could kill, she’d be on death’s door, but instead of grabbing for her throat, he said, “If ye must know, he’s my cousin. My father’s sister’s son, and a good lad for all that.”

  His cousin? Andie shook her head in wonder. As she watched him, things began to make sense. A picture began to form in her brain, and when it was complete, she said, “You have no authority, no jurisdiction to do what you’re doing, am I right? You’ve gone rogue or something, haven’t you?” When he said nothing, she raised her voice. “What in the hell are you up to, Logan? And before you open your mouth, no more lies and half-truths, okay?”

  As they stood facing each other, across the room, Andie’s cell phone chirped to life. She raised her hand to Logan. “I have to get that. When I’m done, I want some answers, Chief Inspector Macmillan.”

  She walked to the bar, opened her purse, and checked the cell’s readout. Her heart rate picked up and her throat tightened. Lowering her head, she flipped the phone open and put it to her ear. “Yes, sir?”

  “Inspector Darling.”

  “Commander Bostwick…”

  In two steps, Logan was beside her. Edging slightly away from him, she said, “What can I do for you, Commander?”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Inspector…”

  As his voice trailed off, Andie felt her stomach turn sour. Something like panic thickened her brain. Her palms dampened. She would have swallowed, but there was no moisture in her mouth.

  “Bad news?” she said. “What kind of bad news?”

  On the other end of the line, Bostwick let out a heavy sigh. “When was the last time you saw or were in contact with your partner?”

  “Jericho?” she said as evenly as she could manage. “Has something happened to Dylan?”

  “I really couldn’t say. I mean, when I spoke with you forty-eight hours ago, he was fine. Now he seems to have…disappeared. Hasn’t reported in, and can’t be reached by phone. I truly hope he hasn’t fallen victim to foul play. I know how close the two of you are.”

  “Bostwick,” she whispered. “I swear to God, if you had anything to do with—”

  “Now, now, Inspector,” he said heartily. “I’m sure he’s fine. Just on a bender or holed up in some motel with his latest conquest. He’ll turn up sooner or later.”

  “Bostwick…” Her voice
was a mere breath, barely audible. “Bostwick, I—”

  “In the meantime, I hope you’re on task, Inspector Darling. I look forward to hearing from you very soon and that you’ve closed that case you’re working on so diligently. The timetable has been accelerated, and I now expect results within the next twenty-four hours. I hope we’re clear on that.”

  The line went dead. She lowered her hand, closed her eyes. Dylan. What had the son of a bitch done to Dylan?

  “Andie?” Logan growled, his voice filled with concern. She felt his hands cup her shoulders as he turned her to face him. “Andie? That was Bostwick? You look pale as a ghaist, lass. Tell me what’s wrong, darlin’.”

  The tears that filled her eyes were not tears of sorrow or regret, but fury and helplessness.

  Dylan. Dear God, what had Bostwick done?

  Raising her face, she locked gazes with Logan. He looked worried, anxious. He ran his thumb gently across her flushed cheek, wiping away a tear that had managed to escape. “Jaysus, lass. What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just lost yer best friend.”

  Slowly, she nodded. “I think maybe I have.”

  She took in a deep breath, blinked away the tears, then straightened her spine. Inside her chest, her heart hardened with resolve.

  “All right, Logan,” she said softly. “I’ll help you get Bostwick, but it’s not going to be easy. The situation is very complicated, he’s covered his tracks well.”

  “But we can get him anyway, aye, lass?”

  She gave him a curt nod. “Aye.”

  Chapter 19

  You cannot run away from weakness; you must sometime fight it out or perish.

  Robert Louis Stevenson

  When the police arrived, Logan put a sardonic look on his face while Andie answered the door.

  “Inspector Darling,” she said to Nate, then nodded to the two uniforms who had accompanied him. “Sinclair’s over there.”

  Over there was the little table by the window, where he sat finishing a mug of coffee. As Nate approached, Logan flicked his gaze to meet the detective’s eyes for a split second. Understanding passed between them.