"Yeah, and she looks a lot like a streetwalker, for that matter," Nick muttered.
Trying unsuccessfully to unhook his bra—aka torture band—he gave up and yanked it over his head. He used to be able to do it with one hand. Of course, it hadn't been behind his back then.
He grimaced as his breasts were freed from the confining garment. It was bad enough being in a woman's body, but why had Séamus felt compelled to make Nick so well-endowed? Raquel was at least a ten and a half. He glanced down at the lush breasts attached to his once flat, once hairy chest. Okay, maybe a twelve.
After pulling on an oversized T-shirt, he flopped into a chair in front of the television's blank screen. "Séamus, I don't know what got into you."
"Oh, stop your bellyachin', Nick."
It was hard to get used to hearing voices in his head. Especially when that voice belonged to a former New York City cop who sounded far less than angelic. "I saw Margo," Nick whispered on a sigh.
"Margo's a good person, and she deserves better than you."
Scowling upward, Nick scratched in a manner a lady wouldn't be caught dead doing. But then… he was already dead, and he sure as hell wasn't a lady.
"Where'd this body come from?" Nick asked. "Is this an Invasion of the Body Snatchers deal?"
"Don't worry about it. The body's owner lived and died in another time and place."
"Okay. So how do I go about finding Margo a new husband?" He chewed a long, manicured nail. It was damned strange, trying to find his own wife another man.
"But you're not a man anymore."
"Yeah, thanks for reminding me."
"And she's already found the right man."
"Already found him?" Nick rubbed his chin, still amazed at how smooth his skin was now. "When do I get to meet him?"
"You know exactly who he is."
"No, I—" Realization smacked Nick between the eyes. Oh, he'd considered the possibility earlier in the evening but had denied it. Repeatedly. Even Séamus couldn't be that cruel. Then again, what about this Raquel gig?
Nick swallowed hard, remembering all those years of lurking in Jared Carson's shadow. All his life, Nick had struggled to stay one step ahead of Jared. And failed.
Until Margo.
"So I'm being punished." Nick sighed, rubbing dried mascara from his eyes and pondering the merits of the entire pint of dark fudge ice cream lurking in the freezer.
"No, you're being given the opportunity to fix your mistakes." Séamus made a tsking sound in Nick's head. "An opportunity most would welcome."
Nick closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair. "I guess pride is something we aren't allowed to have even after we die."
"Depends."
"Why him?" A shudder crawled through Nick from the top of his stylish, tousled hairdo to the tip of his perfect pedicure. "Jared Carson has always kicked my ass." His new voice dripped sarcasm like battery acid. "Star in baseball, football, basketball, track and field, class president, and I'll bet you already know who ran against him. Gee, thanks, Séamus. Thanks a lot."
Bitterness tasted vile on his tongue. The ice cream would help. Nick kept his eyes closed, but that couldn't block the memory of his father's lectures. Fred Riley's kid was never the best at anything. Sure, Nick had been close many times, but second place was never good enough for his old man. Especially not second to Jared…
"Winning isn't everything. In fact, it really isn't important at all in the big scheme of things."
"Easy for you to say." Nick opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, half-expecting to find a certain angel's ugly mug smirking from the plaster. "Besides, he's a male stripper. Get a grip."
"Think real hard, Nicholas. Does that ring true?"
"No." Nick sat up straight, remembering football hero Jared from college. "Not a bit."
"So use your brain, Red."
"But if he isn't a stripper, then—" Nick covered his face and sucked air between his fingers. "He's a cop. I should've known. He's a frigging cop. Why? Huh? Why not a nice stockbroker, a banker, or even another lawyer?"
"She tried that once."
"You have to remind me every chance you get, don't you?" Nick closed his eyes and groaned. "A cop who happens to have been a lifelong pain in my ass? Shouldn't dying get me a reprieve from that guy? No way. I'll find her someone else."
"Nick—"
"You said this is my job."
"What are we going to do with you?"
"Beats the he—" Nick bit the inside of his cheek. "Sorry. I can't—I won't—let Margo take up with a cop. Especially not that cop."
"I see."
"Yeah, I'm sure you do."
"Are you forgetting I was one of New York's finest?'"
Nick slumped lower in his chair.
"The guilt you've carried around about how you won Mar go is only one of the reasons you're here now."
Nick stiffened—his gut twisted into a violent knot. "Séamus, is that why you picked Carson? To punish me?"
"I didn't pick him. He's Margo's destiny. You interfered."
"If it's going to happen anyway, then why do I have to be around to witness it?"
"They need a catalyst. You and Jared were rivals. Besides, you know secrets that will explain the past."
"Secrets? What secrets?"
"You must remember what your father—"
"No way, buster. We aren't going there." Nick punched the arm of his chair and clenched his teeth, determined to change the subject. "So I'm supposed to help her get over me? How sweet." His voice grew hoarse and tears—tears?—pricked his eyelids. "This is perfect. Now I'm going to cry just like a woman, too. Thanks a lot, Séamus."
"Crying might do you some good."
"That's a matter of opinion." Nick dabbed at his eyes with the hem of his T-shirt, visualizing himself with the chocolate ice cream and a spoon. "But I'm telling you right here and now, I can find Margo a better man."
Séamus sighed in Nick's head—not a pleasant experience by any means.
"Will you stop that?" Nick rubbed his temples with both thumbs. "You're giving me a headache."
"Jared is the right ma—"
"Over my dead body."
"No problem."
Jared Carson stared at his reflection in the appropriately warped bathroom mirror. A neon sign flashed vacancy outside the window, less than ten feet away. This hole away from home left a lot to be desired, but it served his purpose. After popping two aspirin into his mouth, he washed them down with tepid tap water, then raked his fingers through his hair. Tonight had brought a few surprises. That drug raid, for starters. Why had the locals raided the Studfinder? How much did they know?
Bracing himself on the sink's edge, he stared at his reflection as if the answers were hidden in the glass. Fat chance. He had to face the possibility of a leak. His cover seemed intact, though. So far. But if the local boys interfered again, Jared's investigation would fall apart too soon. Way too soon.
And, as if he didn't have enough complications, there was Margo. Why now?
He'd known Lake view was her hometown, but he figured Riley would have moved his bride to the big city for a life of wealth and glamour. So why was she back here working for a small newspaper? Married to a successful attorney, Margo would shine at the country club, and she'd never have to hold down a paying job.
A far different life than he could have offered.
He slammed his fist against the edge of the sink, immediately regretting it. "Damn." Hard porcelain couldn't take the place of a good punching bag for working out his frustrations. A human jaw, on the other hand…
Flexing his bruised hand, he padded barefoot to the window and stared out at the night. If he'd known Margo and Nick Riley had settled in Lakeview, he never would have accepted this assignment.
But it was too late to back out now. His cover was in place and he'd just have to explain that to Margo. And her husband. God, the last person in the world he wanted to face right now was Nick Riley.
The man who'd stolen the only woman Jared had ever loved.
Two weeks before graduation, Nick had arranged for Margo to catch Jared in the arms of another sorority sister. Somehow, the girl had managed to get into his room and his bed without him knowing it. In retrospect, he realized Nick must have paid her to set Jared up for a fall.
Nick hadn't let a moment pass before he'd moved in on a vulnerable Margo. She'd refused to listen to Jared's explanations, which angered him enough to allow his pride to get in the way. Big mistake.
"Easy enough to say now." With a sigh, he shook his head in disgust.
Swallowing the bitter bile frying his throat, he trudged to the lumpy full-sized bed and flopped down on top of the tattered bedspread. He had a job to do—an important one. Margo would keep his secret once he explained why he was here. But Nick…
Jared rolled to his side and stared at the flashing sign, hypnotized by its rhythmic display.
When he'd seen Margo sitting in the audience tonight, his initial reaction had been embarrassment, then joy. He'd never forgotten her gray eyes, her honey-brown hair, her lithe young body, or the passion she'd shown so openly during their college years. No other woman had insinuated herself into his heart since Margo, and he wasn't sure if it was because he wouldn't allow it or because no other woman could take her place.
Or both.
And how could he forget Nick? The rich kid whose real estate tycoon father had owned or held the mortgage on everything and everybody in his small town. Except for Carson's Garage. Jared's uncle and guardian had been an independent cuss who never borrowed or loaned a dime his entire life. Everything they'd ever owned had been paid for with hard-earned cash.
A cold draft seeped in around the cheap, aluminum-framed window, and he shivered. Taking refuge under the blankets, he continued to stare at the flashing sign. What a sorry excuse for a bed. The floor would probably be more comfortable, but colder, too.
And no amount of physical discomfort could blot out his memories. Not tonight.
If Nick had gone to some posh private college instead of the state university, so many things would be different. By now, Jared would be married to Margo. He knew that without a doubt. They'd probably have a baby, or one on the way.
And he definitely wouldn't have taken this cruddy job-not a chance. He would have gone home and worked as a deputy until Sheriff Bob was ready to retire, then he would've run for the office himself.
But Fred and Nick Riley's obsession with winning and Jared's own stupid sense of pride had ruined it all.
Ah, Margo. He squeezed his eyes shut and remembered that night in the woods behind her sorority house, when she'd given herself to him completely. The night they'd both declared their love for each other…
No other woman had ever touched him or drained him so completely—physically or emotionally. Sure, he'd had sex with more than a few women in his life, but he'd only made love with one. Margo. Sweet Margo.
Forget it, chump. She was a married woman, and the last person she needed messing up her life was the likes of Jared Carson. He'd had his chance. It was over.
He punched his pillow and sat up in bed. Between worrying about this case and strolling down memory lane, he'd be up all night. Since he couldn't sleep, maybe he'd get some answers instead.
Grumbling, he reached for the phone and dialed his contact's number. Jared's body tensed, thoughts of Margo pushed aside by duty.
"This better be important," a sleep-roughened voice said after one ring.
"What the hell's going on? Is there a leak?"
"Beats the hell outta me." Charlie sighed into the phone.
"And my cover?" Silence. That did nothing to bolster Jared's confidence. "Charlie, is my cover blown?"
"Nah, I'm sure it's fine."
Jared stood and paced. "We'll continue as planned for now, but you let me know in advance if anything else crops up. Got it? I don't like surprises."
"Sure. Get some shut-eye."
Jared disconnected the call and dropped the receiver into its cradle. No, he didn't like surprises one iota. Like seeing Margo again.
4
Margo winced as her alarm clock blasted through her brain. No, not her alarm clock—the phone. What had she done to deserve a wake-up call this morning?
Steph is a dead woman.
Without opening her eyes, she fumbled for the receiver. Anything to keep it from ringing again. Some party animal. Three—four?—tropical drinks had given her a hangover.
"Meet me for breakfast," a woman—definitely not Steph—said before Margo uttered a syllable.
"What? Who is this?" She shoved a pillow behind her head and opened one eye. Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth with something resembling wallpaper paste. "Breakfast?" Her stomach threatened immediate mutiny.
"Yeah, how about the Little Diner?"
She and Nick had eaten dozens of breakfasts in that downtown restaurant during their marriage. "Who is this?"
"Raquel. Raquel Eastwood."
No longer groggy, Margo opened the other eye and scooted herself into a partial sitting position. "Why?" Suspicion slithered through her. Was there a complication from last night's trip to the police station? "Am I in some kind of trouble?"
A nervous laugh sounded through the phone. "No, I just thought we'd chat over breakfast. How about it?"
Margo rubbed her forehead and nodded, then remembered that wasn't terribly effective over the phone. "Sure, I suppose." She swallowed and grimaced. "It'll take me at least an hour to get my act together."
"Too much Silver Oaks?"
The mere thought of anything alcoholic made Margo's stomach lurch. "No, I wish that was—" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Wait a minute. How did you know my favorite wine?"
"Uh, you must have told me last night." Another nervous laugh. "Tell you what, bring Steph, too. I'll meet you there in about an hour. Later."
She had not mentioned Silver Oaks last night. Margo shook her head, immediately regretting the sudden movement. Someone at the law firm must have mentioned Margo to Raquel. How else could the woman know so much?
Dismissing it, for now, she called Steph and tried to sound semicoherent. Her sister was disgustingly alert and cheerful. Fortunately, the call lasted only a minute or two, and she dropped the phone.
"Shower," she muttered, pushing to her feet while holding her aching head. "Coffee."
She froze in midstep, suddenly remembering what—rather, who—had plagued her dreams. Jared. She would find him today, interview him, then forget him.
Forget him? The lie of the century.
Exactly seventy minutes later, she slid into an old-fashioned booth at the Little Diner. Amazing what hot water, hot coffee, and aspirin could accomplish in so little time.
Steph looked as if she hadn't been out last night at all, and Raquel Eastwood still had bombshell written all over her. Not only did she boast a mane of curls Nicole Kidman would've envied, but she had a body that wouldn't quit. Margo's short-cropped light brown hair and small breasts suddenly seemed more inadequate than usual.
She'd had more than her share of coffee already this morning, so she ordered tea and toast. "So, you're Warren's new law partner." And why the chummy breakfast invitation?
"Uh, yeah." Raquel took a sip of coffee and looked from Margo to Steph. "Warren's out of town."
"I know." Steph shuddered dramatically. "When the answering service told me, I was afraid we'd be stuck in jail all night. But, you know, it was all kind of fun until we got to the police station."
A strange expression entered the attorney's blue eyes as she turned her gaze on Margo, then looked quickly back to Steph. "It could've been a lot worse," Raquel said.
Steph giggled and winked at her sister. "Did you see the gorgeous dancer Margo got?"
"I didn't get anyone." Margo grimaced. She'd had him, once upon a time—definitely past tense. Her memory of last night was like a scene from a bad soap opera. She'd stayed out a
lmost all night, gone to a male strip show, and been arrested—er, taken in for questioning. To punctuate the event, her college flame had barged into her life and her dreams.
"Mmm, the way he was looking at you, sis…"
"Oh?" Raquel tugged on her bra as if it were uncomfortable, and her face reddened. "You mean the guy at the station?"
When the attorney peered over the rim of her coffee cup, Margo was struck again by how much Raquel reminded her of someone. For some reason she just couldn't determine why. Déjà vu?
"He was dancing at the club before the real police came." Steph wrinkled her nose at Margo. "If you ask me, he was dancing for my sister."
"Stephanie." Margo's face flooded with heat beneath Raquel's stunned expression. "It was really nothing like that. I just happened to be sitting right in front, and—"
"Dancing?" Raquel asked quietly. "So, tell me what he was… like."
What was he like? Hot fudge sundaes, my most erotic
dreams, and the world's fastest roller coaster. Flustered, Margo stared at Raquel. The woman was awfully nosy. "Well, you saw him, too."
"Uh, yeah. Right." Raquel laughed nervously as she added non-dairy creamer to her coffee even though there was real cream on the table. "I guess I really didn't get a very good look at him."
"That's funny." Steph smiled at Margo. "I thought Nick was the only person who preferred that powdered junk to the real thing."
"Me, too." Margo tried to smile but found a lump in her throat she couldn't swallow. "Must be a prerequisite for the law firm."
"Oh, really?" Raquel shrugged. "That must be the real reason Warren hired me."
"Oh, I doubt that." Steph grinned, tilting her head to the side. "I imagine it had a little something to do with your legs, and a couple of other things."
Raquel coughed into her napkin as Steph dissolved into laughter, but Margo didn't join her sister. There was something really strange about Raquel. Then again, maybe it had a little something to do with Margo's lack of sleep and her hangover.
"Hey, sis, look." Steph leaned forward, pointing toward the door. "Is that who I think it is?"
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