“Was this your first murder vic?” he asked, a little more gently.
“I’ve worked homicide cases before,” she said defensively.
“So you’ve read reports and seen photographs,” he guessed.
There was no censure in his tone, just compassion and understanding. “Nothing that prepared me for…” She didn’t know how to describe the sense of horror that had overwhelmed her when she’d walked into Roger Merrick’s apartment and saw what had been done to him.
“Nothing can,” he told her.
Natalie nodded.
“Is it safe to assume you’ve seen more than enough here?”
She could only nod again.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
Her already unsettled stomach pitched precariously. “Thanks, but I try not to drink coffee at 2:00 a.m.—it keeps me awake.”
Creighton smiled at her lame attempt at humor, and—for the second that those dimples flashed—she forgot about the gruesome scene in apartment 1D.
“You were just up close and personal with a dead guy,” he reminded her. “I don’t think you’ll be getting any more sleep tonight.”
He was right, of course. But almost as unnerving as the view of what a bullet could do to the human body was Lieutenant Creighton’s sudden hint of compassion. “Don’t you have to collect evidence or something?”
“The CSU is taking care of that,” he told her. “And the ME is ready to take possession of the body.”
“Merrick,” she said, hating the cold formalities of death that reduced the individual to a designation.
It didn’t matter to her that the victim had been an accused drug dealer with a record of arrests longer than her arm, he’d been a person. An hour or so earlier, she’d spoken to him on the phone. He’d been scared when he’d called her. She’d recognized the fear, the apprehension in his voice. Had he known, even then, that his time was running out?
She couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if she hadn’t vacillated over her decision to meet with him. “If I’d come right away—”
“You might have ended up like Merrick,” Creighton interrupted before she could complete the thought. “Whoever did this to him wouldn’t have thought twice about taking out any potential witnesses.”
Natalie shuddered. She hadn’t allowed herself to consider that possibility, hadn’t wanted to admit—even to herself—how foolhardy her actions had been in coming here tonight.
“Coffee?” he offered again.
This time, she drew a deep breath and nodded.
The sign in the window of Sam’s Diner advertised breakfast twenty-four hours a day. It was one of the reasons it was such a popular establishment with the local cops.
“Are you hungry?” Dylan asked, sliding into the vinyl booth across from the A.D.A.
Natalie started to shake her head, paused. “I shouldn’t be. But I missed dinner, and something smells really good.”
“They do a great ham-and-cheese omelet.”
“Maybe I’ll try it,” she agreed, turning over her cup as the waitress approached their table with a pot of coffee in hand.
“Good morning, Sylvia.” He greeted the waitress who was already filling their cups.
“Morning, Lieutenant. Ma’am.”
Natalie frowned; Dylan grinned. “This is Natalie Vaughn—our newest assistant district attorney,” he said.
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Will you be wanting breakfast or just coffee this morning?”
“Breakfast,” he answered. “Two ham-and-cheese omelets.”
“Can you make mine with egg whites only?” Natalie asked, emptying a creamer into her cup. “And whole-wheat toast, please. No butter.”
Sylvia nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Dylan shook his head.
“What?” Natalie demanded.
“It’s a greasy spoon. You want to eat healthy, you should go to one of those yuppie delis that serve alfalfa sprouts on everything.”
“I like alfalfa sprouts,” she told him, sounding just a bit defensive.
“I could have guessed.”
“That must be why you’re carrying the badge.”
He laughed, pleasantly surprised by her bland touch of humor. He’d invited her for coffee because he’d wanted to get her away from Merrick’s apartment. He wasn’t happy that she’d been at the scene; he was even more unhappy about his fading prospects of apprehending Conroy.
But there was no point in remaining angry with Natalie when Merrick was dead, and nothing to be gained from yelling at her anymore when she looked as if she was beating herself up enough for the both of them. And he had to admire the way she’d held herself together at the scene. He’d have expected her to be crying or throwing up, at the very least cowering.
She’d been shaken, there was no doubt about that. But she’d held her ground and she’d answered his questions, and she’d proven—at least on this matter—that he’d underestimated her.
“Other than tonight, how are you enjoying the new job?” he asked.
The cup Natalie had picked up trembled slightly in her hand. “It hasn’t been boring.”
“I’ll bet you thought you were getting away from the problems of the big city by coming to Fairweather.”
“I did,” she admitted.
“If it makes you feel any better, this town doesn’t have a high rate of violent crime.”
“Except in the neighborhood I walked into tonight,” she reminded him.
“But still relatively low compared to the bigger cities.”
“I’m sure that will help me sleep,” she said dryly.
The simple offhand comment brought to mind images of Natalie in bed. In his bed. Her sexily tousled hair spread over his pillowcase, her stormy eyes heavy with desire, her lips erotically swollen from his kisses. The image was startlingly vivid, the longing achingly real. “If you’re having trouble sleeping, maybe I could help.”
Her cup clattered in the saucer as she set it back down, and her eyes were wide and wary as they met his. Obviously his offer had surprised her. No more than it had surprised him.
She cleared her throat. “Are you propositioning me, Lieutenant?”
Was he? If so, that scene in Merrick’s apartment must have shaken him more than he realized. He hadn’t shared his bed with anyone since Beth died, nor had he wanted to do so. “No.” He considered. “Maybe.”
Natalie chuckled. The soft sexy sound suited her, he thought. It was as unconsciously seductive as everything else about her.
Sylvia returned from the kitchen with two plates, set them down on the table.
Dylan waited until the waitress was out of earshot before continuing. “What would you say if I were propositioning you?”
“No.” Her response was quick and unequivocal.
“Ouch.” But he was more relieved than insulted.
She smiled as she toyed with the fried potatoes on her plate. “It’s nothing personal. I’m just not in the habit of going to bed with men I’ve known less than twenty-four hours.”
Nor was he in the habit of propositioning women he’d known less than twenty-four hours, but he wasn’t going to admit that to her. Acknowledging the uncharacteristic reaction would be too close to acknowledging his feelings—and he wasn’t even sure what those feelings were.
Instead, he played it casual. He glanced at his watch. “I’ll get back to you later, then.”
“Don’t bother. I’m also not in the habit of getting involved with people I work with.”
“There are always exceptions to a rule.”
“Not this one,” she said firmly, digging in to her omelet.
He knew she was right. In fact, he’d come to the same conclusion himself—and had promptly forgotten his own resolution the minute she’d sat down across from him.
“Besides,” she said, “I find your sudden interest more than a little suspicious when you’ve made no secret of the fac
t that you don’t approve of my being hired to fill the vacancy in the D.A.’s office.”
“It doesn’t matter if I approve or disapprove, and I distinctly remember telling you that I was reserving judgment.”
“You were quick enough to pass judgment when you found me in Merrick’s apartment.”
“And I’m not going to apologize for that,” he told her. “You shouldn’t have been there. However valid your reasons for agreeing to meet with him, you should never have ventured into that neighborhood on your own without telling anyone where you were going.”
“I called you,” she admitted.
That surprised him. “You did?”
She bit into a piece of toast. Frowned. “It’s buttered.”
“I’m sure your arteries will survive.” He slathered jam onto his own bread. “When did you call me?”
“Before I left to meet with Merrick. I left a message on your voice mail.”
“Oh.” He usually left his cell phone in the car when he was home. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”
She smiled wryly, drawing his attention to the fullness of her soft pink lips. Kissable lips, he thought again. And glistening now with traces of butter. He tore his gaze away, gulped down a mouthful of bitter coffee.
“I tried,” she said. “You weren’t listening. You just steamrolled past without giving me a chance to explain.”
Well, he was paying complete attention to her now, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the feelings she stirred inside him. Feelings he hadn’t been aware of since Beth’s death. Feelings he hadn’t thought he’d ever experience again. Not with another woman. Grief, guilt and regrets assailed him, not just because of Beth and everything they’d lost, but because he’d treated Natalie unfairly. He hadn’t expected the instantaneous attraction, and he’d immediately taken an adversarial stance with her to avoid examining his feelings.
“I guess I should apologize,” he said, although she wouldn’t know he was referring to more than just his behavior at Merrick’s apartment.
She shook her head. “I just want to forget everything that’s happened in the past few hours.”
“That’s not likely. Not once the press starts sniffing around.”
She groaned. “I’ve stepped in it up to my knees, haven’t I?”
“Yeah, but you’re wearing nice shoes.” He’d noticed those immediately. Expensive designer shoes like the ones his sister Hannah favored. With skinny heels that added at least two inches to her height and emphasized her slender ankles and shapely calves. There wasn’t much about Natalie Vaughn he hadn’t noticed.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m glad you find this amusing.”
“In my job, if you don’t learn to find the humor in things, you don’t last very long.”
She pushed her plate aside. “How long have you been a cop?”
“Almost fifteen years.” He dumped salt on the potatoes left on her plate, then scooped up a forkful and brought them to his lips.
“You keep eating like that, you won’t last another fifteen,” she warned him.
He grinned. “It’s nice to know that you’re worried about me.”
“I just hate to think of the loss to the Fairweather P.D. if you die of heart disease.”
“Yeah.” He put his fork down. “Tierney might get my job.”
“I met him yesterday, at the courthouse.” She picked up her coffee cup, sipped.
“Then he stopped by your office this afternoon and invited you to dinner.”
She frowned. “How did you know that?”
“He told me he was going to.”
“Oh.”
“Obviously you turned him down.”
“I’m working sixteen hours a day, just trying to get up to speed on my files.”
“Is that the only reason you declined his invitation?”
“I don’t mix business and pleasure,” she reminded him. “And even if I wanted to, I don’t have time for complications in my life right now.”
Dylan didn’t think Ben wanted anything more complicated than sex from Natalie, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Not when he had to admit his own thoughts had gone down that same road. “Complications are what make life interesting,” he said instead.
“I’ll keep that in mind. But I’m a little too tired for a philosophical discussion right now.” She pushed her cup aside. “And I should try to catch an hour of sleep before I have to get ready for work.”
He nodded. “I’ll keep you posted on the Merrick investigation.”
“Thanks.” She slid out of the booth. “Do me another favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t tell Detective Tierney I had breakfast with you.”
He grinned. It was a tempting thought. “I think I can restrain myself.”
“Thanks,” she said again.
He watched her walk away, enjoying the subtle sway of her hips in the slim skirt and the flex of finely toned muscles in her calves.
Then he paid the tab and headed out of the diner to return to the scene of the crime.
Chapter 3
Natalie jolted at the quick knock at the door. She’d been jittery all day, unable to banish from her mind the sight of Roger Merrick’s bloodied body. Unable to stop thinking about Lieutenant Creighton’s reminder that she might easily have met the same fate on her nocturnal adventure.
“I heard you had some excitement last night.”
There was no sympathy in John Beckett’s clipped tone, nor had she expected any. She’d known this confrontation was inevitable, but her boss had been tied up with jury selection for a conspiracy trial all morning, thus allowing a brief reprieve.
“More than I wanted,” she acknowledged, careful to keep her tone light.
“Not even a month on the job and you stumble into the middle of a murder scene. The press is going to have a field day with this,” he grumbled.
“It’s not like I went out looking to find a dead body,” she pointed out.
“You went looking for trouble,” he insisted.
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Then your being in Roger Merrick’s apartment building at 1:00 a.m. was just an unfortunate coincidence?”
“You hired me to do a job,” she said. “That’s what I was doing.”
“Well, you made a mess of it, and you’re going to clean it up.”
“How?” she asked wearily.
“You can start with the press.” He dropped a fistful of pink message slips on her desk.
Natalie swallowed. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Molly is typing up your statement now.” He turned toward the door, pausing only long enough to offer a parting shot over his shoulder. “Remember—your position in this office is still a probationary one.”
She didn’t need the reminder—she was all too aware of how precarious her situation was, how easily her new life could come crashing down around her. Moving to Fairweather had been a big step, one she hadn’t taken without careful thought. As much as she’d been desperate to get her son out of the low-income, high-crime neighborhood in which they’d lived, she’d been wary of the offer.
You don’t get something for nothing, Shannon had warned.
Her sister was always spouting clichés. “Look before you leap” was another of her favorites.
But in this case, Natalie believed the trade-off was worth it. Getting Jack out of Chicago would be the best thing for him. She’d agreed to let him stay with Shannon until he’d finished out the school year, and to give Natalie a chance to find a home for them. It was all she really wanted—a place where they could both feel settled. And that would happen only if she managed to keep this job.
She shoved the stack of messages aside and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t blame her boss for being annoyed. She had overstepped her bounds. Her decision to meet with Roger Merrick had been impulsive and clearly—in retrospect, anyway—unwise. But Beckett had given he
r the case, and complete discretion to handle it. In fact, he’d seemed more than pleased to get the file off his own desk. If he hadn’t thought she was capable of doing the job, why had he given her the case? Why had he ever hired her?
She hadn’t gotten any further than these questions when an unfamiliar figure stormed into her office. Natalie hadn’t yet had the dubious honor of being introduced to Randolph Hawkins, but she had no doubt that the immaculately dressed man with silver strands woven through dark hair and cold blue eyes glaring angrily across her desk was the infamous defense attorney.
No, angrily wasn’t an accurate description, she realized. Dangerously was much more appropriate.
“You stepped over the line, lady.” The words were as sharp and cold as broken glass.
“My name is Natalie. Natalie Vaughn,” she told him. “And I’m guessing you’re Mr. Hawkins.”
“Then you’re not a complete imbecile, after all,” Hawkins retorted.
Her back stiffened. Regardless of what had happened, he didn’t have any cause to treat her with such blatant disrespect. “I understand that you’re upset about your client, Mr. Hawkins, but—”
“You knew Roger Merrick was my client?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then why did you attempt to meet with him without my presence?”
“I didn’t request the meeting,” she said coolly. “Mr. Merrick did. I’m sorry—”
“Sorry?” he snapped. “You should be a damn sight more than sorry. You killed him.”
“Now, Randolph,” a cool, almost amused voice chided from the doorway. “You know very well that Ms. Vaughn didn’t pump those bullets into Merrick’s body.”
Natalie’s gaze flew to the lieutenant leaning casually against the open door. Creighton had been the first in line to chastise her for her actions of the previous evening, so although she was skeptical about his apparent defense she was also grateful for the interruption.
“She signed his death warrant when she agreed to meet with him.” Hawkins practically spat the words at Dylan.
“I didn’t know he was in danger,” Natalie protested.
Hawkins turned back, directing the full force of his anger at her. “Were you also unaware that meeting with a defendant in the absence of his counsel is a violation of both his rights and professional ethics?”
Bulletproof Hearts Page 3
