One-Night Alibi

by Kara Lennox

  Hudson was about to object again. That was when he saw her, the stunning brunette standing near the edge of the pool with a martini glass in her hand. She was tall, made taller still by silver stiletto heels. Her dress shimmered like liquid silver, clinging sinuously to her curves. Her black hair was piled on top of her head in an artfully casual way that had probably taken hours to achieve.

  Hudson might not have paid her that much attention, except that she was looking right at him.

  Without meaning to, he sank into the chair Billy had offered moments ago. Who is she? And why is she smiling at me like that?

  “See something you like?” Billy asked.

  Hudson forced himself to break the almost-hypnotic stare-off with the woman. Her eyes were a deep ocean-blue—he could tell even at this distance.

  Claudia took an immediate interest in the object of his attention. “She’s a friend of Jillian’s, a sorority sister, I think. Can’t remember her name.”

  Hudson stole another glance at her. She was on the move now. Walking. Toward him.

  Billy punched him on the arm. “Dude, she’s coming over here.”

  And she did. She came right to their table, striding boldly like a runway model. But she switched her gaze from Hudson to Claudia. “Hi, you’re Claudia, right? I remember you from the bridal shower. I’m...Liz.”

  “Hi, Liz, it’s good to see you again.”

  “Would you all mind if I joined you? My date seems to have gone missing.”

  “Sure, here’s a chair,” Billy said, nearly spilling his special beer as he pulled out the fourth chair for her. A waiter stopped by to see who needed drinks, and Billy insisted he bring Hudson a Fishhead, or whatever the hell the beer was called.

  Hudson would have objected. But the woman had so gobsmacked him, he’d been struck speechless.

  “This is my husband, Billy,” Claudia said, “and our friend Hudson.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Hudson said with his best polite Southern-boy manners.

  The brunette took a sip of her martini, then somehow fished the olive out with just her tongue in a way that was totally sexy and classy at the same time.

  Hudson’s mouth went dry.

  When the waiter brought his beer, he chugged down a third without even tasting it.

  “You knew Jillian in college?” Claudia asked, trying to get the conversation rolling.

  Hudson wasn’t that interested in conversation. He just wanted to look at Liz, though her voice was a pleasing blend of smooth honey over six miles of rough road.

  “I did, but we weren’t good friends until more recently when we worked on a charity event together.”

  So, Liz obviously came from high society. Ivy League college, sorority, charity events. She oozed class. So not his type. Or rather, not the type who gave a sheriff’s-department detective a second look. A suspended detective, accused somewhat convincingly of police brutality.

  So why was she staring at him?

  “Have we met?” he asked bluntly.

  “I don’t think so. I’d remember.”

  Then she’d probably seen his picture in the paper or on TV. His case had drawn much too much unwanted publicity. The Mandalay name had a lot of cachet in the Houston area.

  Claudia gasped. “Oh, Billy, I love this song. Let’s dance.”

  Hudson recognized a ploy to leave him and Liz alone, but he didn’t object. He’d just keep staring at her until she got tired of it. It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose. He’d probably never see her again after this night.

  “How about it, Hudson. Want to dance?” Liz raised one eyebrow playfully.

  “Me? Not much of a dancer.”

  “Oh, come on. Anybody can dance.”

  “Sure, right.” He let her drag him to his feet. What the hell. Didn’t matter, really, in the grand scheme of things, and holding her in his arms didn’t sound like such a bad deal. All he had to do was move his feet a little, or at least pretend to try to dance.

  A parquet floor had been laid out over the flagstone patio for dancing in the shadow of the band, which had switched from country-western to big band. Hudson dredged up some long-ago memories of a ballroom dance class he’d taken to please an old girlfriend. He’d forgotten her name, but maybe he could at least remember how to get into hold.

  He took Liz into his arms. As other couples twirled and dipped around him, he shuffled his feet back and forth.

  Amazingly, she moved right along with him, graceful as a swan. In her tall heels she met him eye to eye. Now he could examine those amazing inky-blue eyes up close. Little gold flecks shimmered in the irises like rays of sunshine on the surface of the ocean, and a pleasurable tingle wiggled down his spine.

  “Are you a friend of the bride, or the groom?” she asked.

  “I know both of them, but only slightly. I guess Claudia got me the invitation. She thought I’d be interested in seeing the Logan place.”

  “It’s pretty amazing. And if there’s one thing Jillian knows how to do, it’s throw a party. What do you do for a living?”

  He knew the question would come up. “Cop. You?”

  “Social worker.”

  Not what he expected. If she worked at all, he’d been guessing something glamorous—fashion editor, commercial real estate. “Enjoy it?”

  “Immensely. You?”

  “Usually.”

  “Aren’t you scared?”

  “Most of the time I’m just too busy to be scared.”

  “Ever been shot?”

  “No. That sort of thing is very rare.”

  “Ever shot anyone?”

  “Also very rare. I’ve hardly ever unholstered my weapon, much less shot at someone.”

  “Still, it’s got to be dangerous at times.”

  “I imagine your job has its dangers, too. You probably deal with all segments of society. Lowlifes.”

  “Well, pretty troubled people, anyway. I wouldn’t call them ‘lowlifes.’”

  The song switched to a slow number. Hudson thought the dance would be over, but she made no move to leave the dance floor. He pulled her close, resting his cheek against her hair and inhaling the scents of something clean and fruity. This was ridiculously pleasant.

  But odd.

  An unwelcome thought appealed to him. “Are you trying to make your date jealous, by any chance?”

  She laughed. “Hardly. I think he’s in the cabana banging one of the bridesmaids. It was just a casual date. I don’t care.”

  “You need a ride home?” The words slipped out.

  “I might.” She tickled the back of his neck with her fingertips.

  Was this exotic creature coming on to him? He wasn’t exactly a troll; he knew some women found him attractive. Some liked the whole idea of dating a cop—it was a power thing. Others liked his surfer-boy looks, or they found out he had a house at the lake and a boat and thought he had money.

  But not this kind of woman.

  He asked himself if perhaps he was being played, but he couldn’t figure out her angle. Yeah, this encounter felt...off somehow. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to put an end to it.

  He didn’t like games. But something compelled him to find out how this one would play out. He would call her bluff.

  “I wasn’t planning to stay long,” he said. “We can leave whenever you want.”

  She put her lips close to his ear and whispered, “I can go anytime. But first, I think you should see the garden.”

  The song ended and they pulled apart. He had no interest in flowers, but the idea of strolling among fragrant roses with Liz was oddly appealing.

  “I love gardens,” he lied. “Lead the way.”

  She wobbled a bit on her high heels as they made their way around the enormous pool illuminated by dozens of floating candles. Maybe she’d had one too many martinis. He didn’t want to hook up with her if she was going to regret it. And really, he had no business getting entangled with anyone, let alone a mystery woman, when his
life was such a mess...no matter how alluring she might be.

  They were just going to look at flowers, he reasoned. They hadn’t reached the point of no return. Either of them could still bow out gracefully.

  She took his hand, pulling him along, wanting to go faster in a suddenly childlike way. “It’s the most amazing garden. The Logans’ gardener, Hung Li, is a world-renowned rose cultivator. He has some prizewinning varieties that were developed right here.”

  She escorted him off the patio through a fancy gate in a redwood fence. A charming path of flagstones meandered through what had to be an herb garden, given the scents of sage and lavender greeting Hudson’s nose.

  “The Logans’ chef, Cora, uses as many homegrown fruits and vegetables as she can,” Liz continued as if she were a tour guide.

  Stone benches were scattered here and there, along with pieces of huge marble columns strewn about, an echo of the ancient Rome theme inside the foyer. More statues, too.

  He’d heard that Daniel acquired archaeological antiquities from private collectors all over the world, and he’d made provisions in his will for the items to be donated to appropriate museums in the items’ countries of origin.

  It took some kind of ego to do that.

  They passed an enormous greenhouse, where Hudson caught glimpses of hothouse tomatoes through the windows. Row upon row of empty garden space, waiting to be planted, surrounded them.

  Finally they reached another fence, a quaint white-picket affair that called to mind a country garden in rural England. On the other side, a small plot fairly burst at the seams with roses. Houston’s mild winters meant you could have flowers year-round, if you worked at it. Apparently someone here did.

  Rosebushes climbed fences and trellises grew out of huge urns and directly from the ground. The garden overflowed with red and pink and white roses, peach ones, yellow ones, roses in colors Hudson had never seen before. Even in the falling dusk, the colors were so vivid they hurt his eyes.

  Hudson would be the last person to expect the sight of a bunch of flowers to move him, but the explosion of color took his breath away.

  Or perhaps it was the woman standing next to him, whose beauty outshone even the most stunning of these roses.

  “See this one?” She pointed to a bright yellow rose with orange-tipped petals. “It’s called Texas Sunrise. And that one over there?” She pointed to a peculiarly shaded purplish-pink rose. “That’s the Houstonian.”

  “You sound like you know a lot about roses.”

  “Well, I know what I learned on the tour Mr. Li gave earlier.” She winked one long-lashed blue eye at him, and swear to God, he almost swooned.

  “What’s that over there?” he asked, pointing to another small, fenced-in area that sported a very different look from the carefully cultivated and pruned roses. Flowering shrubs, trees and vines grew in untamed profusion. A small brass plaque on the gate read Hummingbird Garden.

  Hudson quickly realized why. The moment they entered the space, small winged creatures could be spied zooming all about the place, sampling nectar from both flowers and the feeders. There must have been at least fifty of them. Some had bright red throats, the color visible only when they turned a certain direction.

  “Good golly.” Liz barely breathed the words, she was in such awe. With that one decidedly unsophisticated expletive, the polish of wealth and privilege dropped away, revealing something of the little girl she must have been.

  Tearing his eyes away from the sight of the tiny birds, Hudson chose to look at her instead. Liz’s mouth was open slightly, her eyes bright as her gaze darted around the secluded garden.

  One of the little critters stopped midair about six inches from Liz’s face, seeming to look into her eyes in a curious way, then abruptly zoomed off.

  She laughed in surprise and delight. “I’ve never seen so many at once.” She kept her voice low, so as not to disturb the hummers. “And I’ve never seen them this close. It’s like we stepped into a magic storybook.” She turned then to look at him, and she must have seen something of what he was thinking—that he’d never been so close to such a beautiful woman, and that her naked sense of wonder was surprisingly erotic.

  Hudson felt privileged—as if he’d seen a side of her few ever saw.

  Whatever she’d seen in his face, she must have liked it, because when he leaned in to steal a kiss, she didn’t object. She sipped a quick breath before their lips met.

  She tasted of the martini she’d recently drunk, and he wondered idly how many she’d had. Only one or two drinks could lower inhibitions. He suspected Liz wasn’t the type who picked up strange men at weddings; then again, he didn’t know her at all.

  Her lips also tasted of strawberry lip gloss, and when he ruffled her hair, he caught another whiff of that fruity scent—apple, maybe.

  Unable to resist, he placed a series of light kisses along her jawline, then dipped his head to nuzzle her neck, pressing his nose against her soft skin.

  Mangos. Her skin smelled like a ripe mango right off the tree, like the ones he’d had in Mexico. The woman was a veritable fruit basket of sensations. Even her breasts reminded him of ripe fruit, and he suddenly realized he had one of them in his hand. Her nipple peaked, pressing against his palm through the silky-thin material of her dress.

  Liz moaned, soft and low.

  Boisterous laughter drifted from the pool area, reminding Hudson that they were still in a public area, that anyone could happen upon them. He wouldn’t really care, but she might.

  “I want to take you someplace more private,” he said, his lips close to her ear.

  “Do you live alone?” she asked, not bothering to play coy.

  “Yes. But my house is at Lake Conroe.” He didn’t want to drive all the way out there. An amorous mood sometimes had a way of evaporating during an hour on the road. “How about we find an empty room around here somewhere?” Surely some place in this monstrous house they could find a room with a lock and a bed or a sofa.

  “Too many people around. Let’s go.” Without waiting for agreement, she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the hummingbird garden, the magical little creatures forgotten. Hudson hadn’t paid his respects to the bride and groom, but he doubted he would be missed.

  He and Liz entered the house through a side door, making their way through a mudroom, then the huge granite-and-stainless-steel kitchen, which was bustling with activity. A champagne cork popped. A tray of hors d’oeuvres came out of the oven. No one paid two interlopers any attention.

  Under other circumstances, Hudson would have wanted to gawk at the opulence of Daniel Logan’s home. But his attention was too firmly fixed on the siren who had, for some questionable reason, culled him out of the herd of men in attendance at the society wedding.

  Maybe his luck was turning.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ELIZABETH DOWNEY HADN’T meant for this to happen. As she sat in the passenger seat of Hudson Vale’s classic 280Z, her gaze fixed on his firm profile as he deftly wove the sports car through traffic on I-45, she considered speaking up, changing the course of her actions. She could tell him she’d changed her mind. She had no doubt he would promptly turn around and take her back to the wedding or to her own apartment.

  She’d never met Hudson until today, but she knew a lot about him. When she’d seen the headline about a Montgomery County sheriff’s detective allegedly beating Franklin Mandalay during a bogus arrest, she’d been consumed with curiosity—about the incident and about the cop who’d stood up to a powerful and wealthy attorney. She had learned everything she could about Hudson, even paying a private investigator to suss him out, find out his story.

  There wasn’t much. Other than one incident during his rookie year when he’d been reprimanded for punching a wife-beater, Hudson Vale had an exemplary record. Prior to becoming a cop, he’d led a completely normal life. Two parents, a brother, middle-class suburbia. His dad had been a Houston cop, retired now. The Vale boys had gone to publ
ic school, then community college. The younger brother, Parker, was also a cop.

  Hudson had never been arrested. He’d never been married. His only debt was a sizable mortgage on his house.

  Elizabeth’s eyes had nearly popped out of her head when she’d spotted Hudson at the reception. She had stared at him rudely, she knew, but she’d had to be sure it was him. His photos certainly hadn’t done him justice. In two dimensions, he was uncommonly good-looking. In three, he made her skin tingle and her mouth water. He made her think of sinful things.

  She’d just wanted to meet him, that was all. Share one harmless dance. Size him up. But within five minutes of meeting him, she knew one or two dances wouldn’t be enough. She sensed a lot going on behind those hazel eyes and the easy smile that faded when he thought no one was looking.

  While his attention was on his driving, she took a leisurely inventory of his features. He had a strong jaw and a slightly hawkish nose—those were her first observations. His hair, worn a little long for cop standards, was wavy and streaked by the sun. It would probably curl if he let it get much longer.

  His eyelashes were way longer than any man’s ought to be. His lips were full, and whenever a car slowed in front of them, he teased his lower lip with his teeth, a gesture that did strange, squiggly things to her insides.

  She cracked the window, drawing a rush of fresh air onto her face.

  “Want me to turn on the AC?” Hudson asked.

  “No, this is fine.” She focused on his hand, which rested casually on the gearshift knob. He had a couple of healing scrapes on his knuckles. Souvenirs from his violent encounter?

  They lapsed into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward.

  Again, she thought about telling him she’d been hasty. She could stop this now. End the encounter. But the little she’d learned about Hudson only made her want to know more.

  “What made you become a cop?” That was a legitimate thing for her to ask. Any new acquaintance might pose a similar question.

  “My dad was a cop. I admired him—still do. My brother’s a cop. My uncle’s a cop. Guess it’s in the blood. What made you become a social worker?”