by Rita Herron
“Angelica?”
Max’s gruff voice fought through the haze of her scattered emotions. She dragged her gaze up to his, saw questions swimming in the depths of his eyes.
“Did Stevie talk about what happened?”
She shook her head. “He’s in shock, Max. I know you have to question him, but…he needs rest.”
Max’s jaw tightened. Then, in an uncharacteristically tender moment, he stroked the little boy’s cheek with the back of his hand.
More emotions swelled in her throat. “Max…”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “Yes?”
“Did you find anything inside? Any evidence…”
“The CSI team will sort through things. I’ll let you know when we get all the tests back.”
Angelica knew her sister had died of a gunshot wound. She’d seen the bullet hole in her chest. “Was she in a lot of pain?”
He squeezed her arm. “She probably didn’t even know what had happened.”
Angelica swallowed, taking some small measure of comfort in his words.
“Does Stevie need to go to the hospital?” Max asked.
“He’s okay physically,” the paramedic said. “But he’s emotionally traumatized.”
Max angled his head toward Angelica.
She contemplated how to answer, but her gut instinct warned her that hospitalization might upset him more. “I think he should go home with me tonight. I’ll take him in tomorrow if he’s not better.”
Max nodded. “I’ll arrange for you two to meet with a psychologist in the morning.” He pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Sheila’s going to wait here until the crime scene unit finishes. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
MAX HELPED Angelica settle Stevie into the back seat of her car, then covered him with a blanket. He took her keys and motioned for her to get into the passenger side. She didn’t argue, a testament to the fatigue lining her face. The ride to her place passed in virtual silence, the occasional hum of the wind and another car and its headlights the only interruption. Ten minutes later, he parked in front of her town house, climbed out and rushed to get the little boy. Angelica fished in her purse for her keys, while he did a visual sweep of the property and road to make sure no one had followed or was lurking around outside.
Her hands trembled, the keys jangling as she fumbled with them, and she glanced at him in apology. He would have unlocked the door himself, but the boy had settled into his arms, and Max didn’t want to disturb the poor kid’s rest.
She flipped on a lamp, throwing a dim glow of light across the foyer, then tossed her coat and gloves onto a hall tree stand, and gestured for him to follow her upstairs.
He climbed the steps behind her, his mind ticking back to the last time he was here. She hadn’t changed the homey decor at all.
But she had changed her bedding, he noted. Instead of pristine stark white bedding, a light blue now dominated the room, with soft touches of yellow and red.
She pointed to the queen-size four-poster. “Put him in here. I want to be nearby in case he wakes up.”
He nodded, waited for her to lower the down comforter, then eased the little boy onto the pale yellow sheets. Stevie stirred, and she rushed to his side, brushing his hair back gently as he nestled into the covers. He looked so damn innocent that Max’s throat tightened, his own childhood memories surfacing. His mama tucking him in bed. His daddy yelling at her from the hall.
The arguments beginning. Another holiday ruined by their fighting…
Shoving aside the memory, he left her with the little boy, turned and strode through the rest of the upstairs, then down the stairs. He had to remain detached. Do his job. Stay alert.
First, he checked all the windows and door locks. Everything seemed secure, although Angelica could use another dead bolt in the kitchen since the door offered access from a terrace. The property was surrounded by a privacy fence, but anyone could scale the damn thing and break a window. He mentally noted that she needed a security system, too, and vowed to have one installed for her.
Her footsteps clicked on the wood as she descended the steps, then she appeared in the kitchen doorway, hugging her arms to her waist. One look at her washed-out face and he grimaced, the urge to fold her in his arms nearly overpowering him.
He opened the cabinet storing her liquor and poured a shot of her favorite Irish cream whiskey into a glass, a fond memory assailing him. She’d once commented that she especially enjoyed the taste after he’d made love to her.
His body tingled at the thought, hunger and desire flaring deep in his belly.
She accepted the glass with a small sigh and gestured toward the bottle of Scotch. He shook his head no. He had to remain alert.
She walked into the den, dragged an afghan over her, and slumped onto the sofa. He threw off his coat and studied her for a moment, amazed at her strength. Awed by the way she’d cared for her nephew.
Hating the fact that he had hurt her.
But that was the aftereffect of seeing her in shock talking.
She was better off without him.
“Thank you for driving us home, Max.”
He sat beside her, his knees splayed as he angled his head toward her. “I’m sorry, Angel. I—I’ll do everything possible to find your sister’s killer.”
“But you need to ask me questions about her,” she whispered raggedly.
He nodded.
Tears filled her eyes again, and his stomach clenched. “They can wait until tomorrow.”
She bit her lip, then sipped the liqueur, taking a moment to compose herself. “If it’ll help, we can talk tonight.” She hesitated, her finger tracing a circle around the top of the empty glass as she placed it on the coffee table. Her hands were still red and flushed from the cold. “That is, unless you need to go.”
He cleared his throat, knowing she wouldn’t like what he had to say, but determined. “I’m not leaving you tonight, Angelica. I’m staying here with you and Stevie.”
Her gaze flashed panic. “You think Stevie saw the killer, that he might come after him, don’t you?”
He couldn’t lie to her. So he simply nodded.
The gut-wrenching fear on her face, mingling with the tears that trickled down her cheek, tipped him over the edge. Unable to resist, he pulled her in his arms and held her.
Chapter Three
Although Angelica knew it was wrong to allow herself to lean on Max, when he opened his arms to her, she fell into them. She simply didn’t have the energy to fight her grief alone.
At least not tonight.
Tomorrow she would be strong again. Take care of Stevie. Do what she had to do for Gina and him.
Just as she’d been doing since Gina was a teenager and had gotten pregnant.
Max held her tightly, stroking her back and hair, whispering all the nonsensical words that she longed to hear. All lies that everything would be all right, because nothing could be right again. Not when their world had been destroyed by violence.
But she took comfort in Max anyway, drawing strength from his warm body, from the husky sound of his deep voice and the steadfast assurance in his eyes.
Max had been put on the earth to protect others. She had been the one to want a relationship. If he had nothing else to offer her, she would accept his help and not push for more.
At least for Stevie’s sake.
Finally, her emotions drained, she collapsed limply against his chest. He continued to hold her, brushing away her tears with his thumb and gently stroking her cheek.
She cleared her throat and looked up into his eyes, silently thanking him for his presence. “I’m sorry, Max.”
“Shh, you have nothing to apologize for, Angel. It’s been a rough night.”
Other than Stevie, Max was the only person who’d ever called her Angel. She’d tried to forget that these past few months, but the way he murmured the nickname now made her heart flutter ridiculously anyway.
“Do you feel like talking?”
<
br /> She nodded. Leaning against the back of the sofa, she missed his arms around her, but gathered her courage. The questions—they had to be answered. And the sooner she did, the sooner they might find Gina’s killer. “What do you want to know?”
He sighed and steepled his hands. “Since I didn’t see evidence of a forced entry at your sister’s house, it’s possible Gina knew her killer. Who has she been dating lately?”
A nervous laugh escaped Angelica, but she bit back the bitterness. “I’m not sure. Gina had a tendency to boomerang between boyfriends. She wasn’t exactly…monogamous.”
He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Okay, maybe you could make a list for me. I’ll start questioning the men tomorrow.”
“I’ll try, but she didn’t confide details about her romantic life to me,” Angelica admitted. “She knew I didn’t approve of her traipsing men in and out in front of Stevie.”
“So you and your sister argued?” he asked quietly.
Angelica shrugged, wishing she could turn back the clock and take back the heated words. Guilt pressed against her chest. If only she could have found a way to make her sister listen, she might still be alive. “Sometimes. I wanted her to get a decent job, look for a responsible man who could be a father for Stevie.”
Max winced at the picture she was painting of Gina. Angel had obviously been the steady, loving, unselfish one who had taken care of her family. The very reason he’d had to run from her. Max didn’t do families.
He didn’t want to let them down, especially Angel. She would have high expectations.
He removed a small spiral notepad from his pocket and handed it to her. “Can you write down any names you remember?”
She took the pencil and scribbled three names: Will Inkling, Larry Bevels, and Ricky Turner.
“Do you have any idea where I could find these guys?”
Angelica rubbed her temple. “Will is a bartender at a club downtown called Pandora’s Box. Larry is a bouncer at the same place. And Ricky…I’m not sure where he works. I think she picked him up one night in another club. Or he could have been a customer. I didn’t ask.”
They all sounded like upstanding guys, Max thought dryly, understanding Angelica’s concerns regarding her sister’s lifestyle. “Thanks, that gives us a start. Where did your sister work?”
Angelica thumbed a shaky hand through her hair. She looked so pale and drawn that he wanted to hold her again.
“She was a nail tech for a while,” Angelica said. “Then she waitressed at several different places. Her last job was at Pandora’s Box. That’s how she met the guys.”
“She waitressed there?”
Angelica’s troubled eyes met his. “I guess that’s what you could call it.”
He’d never been to the establishment, but it was a combination bar/strip club that featured topless waitresses, lap dances and expensive martinis. It was also on police radar for running a prostitution ring. Apparently the club had several private small rooms—the boxes that held Pandora’s secrets. Men paid well to dip into the box.
“So she worked at night. Who kept Stevie?”
“I did,” Angelica said quietly.
“Sounds like you were more of a mother to the boy than your sister.”
Angelica bit down on her lip. “She tried. And since she worked at night, and I teach during the day, it seemed like the best plan. Less stress on Stevie.”
“You don’t have to defend her, Angel.”
Her gaze met his, a sea of different emotions swimming in her eyes. Anguish. Sorrow. Guilt.
“Don’t feel guilty, either.”
“Maybe I rode her too hard,” Angelica whispered, her voice quivering. “Maybe that’s the reason she turned to those men, that type of lifestyle. The reason she ended up like this.”
“Stop it.” Anger hardened Max’s voice. “You were just looking out for her and the boy, so don’t blame yourself. That won’t do you or the kid any good.”
“I did love her,” she said. “Even if we didn’t always agree on things.”
“I know that.” He clasped her hands in his. They were icy cold, trembling. He sensed another onslaught of tears teetering on the surface. Exhaustion would only make it more intense. “Come on, you need some rest. I’ll walk you upstairs. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
She clutched his fingers as if she needed his warmth as a lifeline, and they climbed the steps together. When they reached her bedroom, he hesitated. He wanted to go inside and lie down with her. Hold her until she fell asleep in his arms.
Even if he couldn’t have her the way he wanted.
But Angelica deserved far more than he had to offer. Jaded cops weren’t husband or father material. He should know. Just look at his daddy’s failures.
Besides, behind the closed door little Stevie lay curled in the bed, needing her.
“Thank you for being here, Max.”
He pressed a hand to her cheek. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
She frowned. “You can stay in the guest room. That’s where Stevie usually sleeps.”
He glanced across the hall. Considered the close proximity. If the killer had seen Stevie and knew where Angelica lived, and that Stevie often spent the night with her, he might come here looking for the boy.
Angel’s labored intake of breath broke the silence. “I…don’t know what I would have done tonight without you, Max.” With a soft sigh, she stood on tiptoe, cupped his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. Max froze, fighting a reaction. But the subtle brush of her lips across his mouth sent his body into flames.
Knowing it was wrong, that he couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerable state, he battled his primal instincts to deepen the kiss.
Instead she did so herself. Slowly she teased his lips apart with her tongue. Tasted him as if his taste could sustain her.
A low groan bubbled in his throat as he pushed his hands into her mussed hair, angled her head and slid his tongue inside her mouth. The soft, throaty sound she emitted heightened his desire, and stirred his hunger. He probed deeper into the recesses of her mouth, exploring, remembering the tender, erotic sweetness of her lips as she moved her body next to his. Her breasts brushed his chest, her hips glided into the vee of his thighs, her hands roamed down to clutch at the muscles bunching in his arms.
He wrapped his arms around her, trailing kisses along her cheek and neck, stroking her back, then lower to her waist, then to her backside where he yanked her closer to him. His sex hardened and throbbed toward her, straining against her womanly curves.
Guilt tore into his conscience though just before a soft cry sounded from inside the bedroom. He jerked away, his breath panting out, mingling with the sound of Angelica’s heated response. She stared up at him with dazed eyes, her cheeks glowing softly beneath the dim light, rosy from arousal.
They were playing with fire.
He was here because of work. Because of a murder. And he couldn’t get involved with her again.
Not and keep his objectivity. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“No, Max, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have started it.” A mortified look crossed her face as she opened the door and rushed inside her bedroom.
Max dropped his head forward in his hands, anxiety assaulting him. He wanted to go to her and reassure her that she had nothing to apologize for. But that meant opening up his heart again.
He’d already done that tonight when he’d seen her and the little boy together.
He couldn’t take the chance on doing so again. After all, a killer might be after Stevie, and quite possibly Angelica.
Losing his objectivity might cause him to make a mistake. A mistake that could cost Angel and her nephew their lives.
The price was too high to gamble.
ANGELICA HAD FALLEN into a troubled sleep around 4:00 a.m., her mind pinging back and forth between the kiss she and Max had shared and the grief and worry consuming her. The next morning, Max hadn’t looked much better w
hen he’d handed her a cup of coffee after her shower.
Of course, her sister’s murder was just another case to him. Nothing personal.
She couldn’t forget that, or allow herself to believe that the kiss had been anything but a man offering comfort.
He hadn’t said much to Stevie during the morning. It was almost as if he didn’t know how to talk to him. Not that Stevie was talking.
He refused breakfast. Remained silent on the way to the police station, his brooding face staring out the window. But she felt sure he wasn’t seeing the pretty Christmas decorations around the city.
