by Kylie Brant
Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he set a brisk pace down the crowded sidewalk. But if he’d hoped to outrun the memories, he was doomed to disappointment. They trailed after him like wisps of fog. Endless pictures of Addie splayed across his mind like still camera shots—the stunned amazement on her face that had turned quickly to slumbrous desire when he’d slipped over her, into her. The feel of their bodies sliding against each other, friction causing heat to rise, temperatures to soar…
Turning into the parking lot where he’d left his car, Dare wondered ironically whether she was haunted in the same way by the mental images that refused to fade. He could attest that sheer force of will was no match for the stubborn memories of their time together. It suited him to blame Addie for that.
The night was pleasantly cool, with a capricious breeze that caressed the skin. Despite the weather, the figure in the shadows was perspiring. The car was late. It would be tempting to use its tardiness as an excuse to slip away, but fear was a powerful deterrent. Promises had been made. Money had changed hands. Actions had been taken that were irrevocable.
To avoid examining those actions too closely, the figure looked up and down the deserted docks one more time. During the day the place was a bustle of activity. At night, however, there was an eerie silence, broken only by the slap of the waves sending the wharf boards groaning.
The long black limo rolled soundlessly out of the darkness and pulled to a stop, lights doused. When the front passenger door opened, a familiar, large shadow got out.
The big man performed the customary body search with insulting familiarity. Then, stepping away, he gave an unseen signal and the back door of the limo opened. Familiar with the drill, the figure approached the door and stopped a couple of feet away.
Waiting in the darkness had been nerve-racking. Waiting for the voice to come from the interior of the darkened car was downright chilling.
“I trust you have something of value for me.”
The figure nodded, pathetically eager, forgetting that the action was lost in the darkness. “I’ve seen all the information the state has so far against Delgado. There are no surprises.”
The voice was distant, reproving. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
Swallowing hard, the figure suppressed an urge to take a step back. “You said you knew about the police’s evidence at the time of arrest. Jacobs doesn’t have any more than that. She still hasn’t interviewed the two witnesses from the school who saw him get into Patterson’s car. She hasn’t finalized her strategy for the preliminary examination.”
“In other words, you have nothing.” The statement was uttered without expression, and invoked a terrifying desire to please.
“Well, there is one thing more. A man by the name of Dare McKay is hanging around her. He’s a reporter.”
“I know who he is.” The words were laced with icy venom, and this time the figure did stumble back several inches. The man in the car, whoever he was, evoked money, power and evil. The silence that followed strained the already-tense air.
Finally the man spoke again. “I think we’re going to adjust your assignment a bit. From now on, not only do I want to be apprised of each piece of information Jacobs has, I also want you to keep track of how much time she spends with McKay. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to shake her up a bit, distract her from the case. I trust you can see to that.”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“I’m redefining our arrangement. Don’t worry, you’ll be suitably compensated. We’ll meet again next week. I trust you’ll have something of more value for me at that time.”
The huge man loomed, shoved a packet into the figure’s hand. Then he got back into the car, and the doors closed. The only sound in the darkness was labored breathing and the quiet whir of an electric window being lowered.
“This warning should be unnecessary, but you don’t want to disappoint me. I have no tolerance for failures.”
The limo left as silently as it had arrived, and the person left on the dock stumbled away. It wasn’t until several blocks later that memory kicked in. In the dim glow of the streetlight, the packet was opened to reveal a neat bundle of hundred-dollar bills. Trembling fingers tucked away the money to be counted in privacy.
Renewed strength was already flowing back into weakened limbs. The assignment was taking an unexpected turn, but it shouldn’t pose much of a problem. Money could be a powerful motivator.
The cab pulled to a stop beside a rusted Blazer that looked as though it provided lodging for at least one family. A.J. looked at the address on the paper she held, checked it against the one on the dilapidated apartment building. She gave silent thanks that she’d left her car at the office. When Connally had called this morning to give her the new information, he’d warned her that the neighborhood was unsafe.
Leaning forward, she handed the driver his fee and a substantial tip. “Keep the meter running and wait for me,” she ordered. “I shouldn’t be longer than twenty minutes or so.”
The driver shrugged, leaned forward and reset the meter. She got out, walked toward the stoop, past hollow-eyed children who were bouncing a ball back and forth, and stepped around the derelict crumpled in a heap, still clutching his bottle. The steps swayed as she moved up them and through the front door.
She found herself in a tiny foyer lined with mailboxes, most of them damaged. There was nothing as modern as an elevator in sight. She climbed three flights of stairs. Her firm knock on the door of apartment 301 was met with silence. She tried again. “Ms. Stillwell?” She punctuated her words with renewed pounding. “It’s Addison Jacobs, assistant state attorney for Cook County. I’d like to speak to you.”
“Now that’s a surefire way to get her to open up the door. There’s not a person alive who wouldn’t want to talk to the law.”
Whirling around, A.J. saw Dare leaning against the wall behind her. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. A sudden thought struck, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did you follow me?”
“As enticing a prospect as that would be,” he replied, only a hint of irony in his voice, “it so happens that I was in the neighborhood.” When her eyebrows rose skeptically, he went on. “I’ve just left from checking here myself. Already found out that she’s left for work.”
Although she was loath to request any information from him, she found herself asking, “Do you know when she’ll be back?”
He studied her, not answering. Today she was wearing a beige suit, as ugly as the other ones he’d seen her in recently, and, his gaze dropped, matching shoes. Her blouse was white, her hair combed to a perfect gloss. With the briefcase in her hand, she presented a no-nonsense air that screamed authority. He could only imagine Stillwell’s reaction when faced with her.
“She’ll be back late,” he said, belatedly responding to her question. “If she comes back at all.”
She frowned. “Why would you say that?”
“If you’re here, that means the police have already contacted her, interviewed her.”
He was right, although she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. Connally had called her office to report the conversation shortly after he’d left her. When the detective had expressed a concern about the woman taking off again, A.J. had lost no time coming over to make sure she had a chance to speak to her.
Gathering up her briefcase, she started down the hallway. “I can come back later.”
“You do that.”
It was the innocence in his tone that gave him away. She turned on him. Since he’d been following her so closely, her action placed them only inches apart. Determined not to let their proximity disconcert her, A.J. gave him a challenging look. “Do you know something that I don’t?”
He pretended to give her question solemn consideration before answering. “Nope.” He moved by her and headed for the stairs. Now it was her following him, a situation she didn’t particularly care for. “You’re not going to be hanging aro
und here all day staking the place out in hopes of catching her, are you?”
“Nope.” He took the stairs rapidly, and it was an effort to keep up, wearing heels.
“So you must be pretty sure that she’ll be coming back tonight.”
“Nope.”
They moved through the foyer and outside, down the steps. She reached for his sleeve, pulled him around. “Dammit, McKay, quit being so cryptic. What are you up to?”
“I’m not up to anything. You go ahead and check back later. Try after midnight.”
“And what are you going to be doing?”
He deliberately misunderstood her. “After midnight? That’s kind of a personal question, Addie. I thought those parts of our lives were off-limits.”
She managed, barely, to avoid grinding her teeth. He usually had that effect on her. “Where are you going right now?”
“Me?” He turned, started to amble away. “I’m going to go talk to Honey Stillwell.”
A.J. looked at her cab and back at McKay. It was hard to tell if he was jerking her around or if he could really lead her to the woman.
“So you know where she is?” She had to call the words after him, because she refused to scuttle in his wake like a friendly puppy.
“I might.”
This time her jaw did clench. “Yes or no, McKay. And turn around. I refuse to have this conversation with your back.”
With exaggerated care he did as she requested. “I might know where she is. I won’t know if she’s there until I check, will I? And if she’s not in that spot, I’ve got a couple others to try.”
Giving up, she walked toward him. “So tell me.”
He pursed his lips, shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
She restrained an urge to land a fast right jab to his gut. “You could get yourself in trouble if you’re withholding information from an officer of the court.”
This time he did laugh. “You’re cute when you get all legal and uptight, you know that? But I don’t have any hard facts, just some leads I picked up from her neighbors. If you wanted to, you could canvas the neighborhood, too.”
Intending to do just that, she turned to go. His next words stopped her. “Of course, I can’t imagine any of them talking to you. You’ve got law stamped all over you, and that’s bound to make folks around here a little leery.”
She tapped the sidewalk rapidly with the toe of one shoe. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Good luck.”
She sent a quick glance around the area, dismay filling her. He was right, damn him. It’d be difficult to get any of the people in this area to even open the door, much less talk to her. There had to be an easier way. But it wasn’t simple to turn back to him and say, “Wait. I’m coming with you.” And it certainly wasn’t simple to watch him shake his head.
“I don’t think so.”
There was a limit to her patience. “Listen, McKay, if you’ve got a lead on where Stillwell might be, I’m coming along. I don’t want to take the chance that she might take off before I can talk to her myself.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, enjoying himself. Addie in a temper was a sight to behold. Her face was flushed and her eyes were shooting sparks. He tore his gaze away from the quick rise and fall of her chest and countered, “Connally has already spoken to her.”
“I always speak to all potential witnesses myself, as a follow-up. Don’t you move an inch.” She stalked back to the cab, took out a bill and handed it to the driver. Then she approached McKay again, who was obediently staying put. If he made one crack about her wanting to tag along with him, so help her, she’d deck him.
He was wiser than that. He merely waited for her, then strolled along beside her. Silence stretched, long enough to be awkward. After a few minutes he observed, “Nice day.”
“It was.”
“My car is a couple blocks up the street. Do you want me to carry your briefcase for you?”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Care to make a friendly little wager?” Her glance slid to his. “I bet I find Stillwell in the first place I look.”
She quickened her pace. “So?”
“So if I’m right, then you’ll wear a real dress on our date together.”
“And if you’re wrong, you’ll wear one,” she shot back.
A broad smile crossed his face. She hadn’t told him there was no possibility of a date ever happening. It was pathetic, he reflected, how such a little thing could give him hope.
“Okay, lose the jacket.”
Her look, her voice, was deadly. “I beg your pardon.”
“C’mon, Addie, look at this place. No one in there is going to talk to us with you looking—” he gestured with his hand “—the way you do.”
Realizing the truth in his words didn’t make her any more eager to comply. She unbuttoned the suit jacket and slipped out of it, her movements jerky.
“Okay, now the blouse.” Her gaze whipped to his and he raised a hand placatingly. “I mean, just loosen it a bit. Unfasten the top couple of buttons.” When she didn’t move to obey, he went to help her and nearly lost his fingers in the attempt.
“I can manage my own clothing,” she snapped. “I’ve been dressing myself for some time now.”
“From what I’ve seen of your wardrobe, that comes as no surprise.” He surveyed her critically. There was still a starched quality to her that clothes couldn’t counter. He reached out a hand, raked it through her hair, tousling the careful styling. He was barely quick enough to pull away before being raked by her long fingernails.
“Do you enjoy living dangerously, McKay?”
He ignored the quietly lethal tone. “That’s probably as good as we can do. C’mon.” He opened his car door. “We’ll put your briefcase in the trunk.”
She got out and rounded the car. “I’m taking it in with me.”
“No, you’re not.” He unlocked the trunk and it swung open.
It was difficult to say which she found more annoying—the calm certainty in his tone or the look of exaggerated patience on his face. “I need to take notes if she talks.”
“You can write your notes when we get back outside.” He unwrapped her fingers from the handle of her briefcase, tossed it in the trunk and closed it. The lid on her temper lifted.
“Listen, McKay, I’m getting sick of your high-handed ways.” She poked an index finger at his chest for emphasis. “Quit giving me orders. And while we’re at it, quit putting your hands on me, or you’ll find yourself facedown on the sidewalk, kissing concrete.”
It was tempting to remind her that there had been a time, albeit a brief one, when she’d liked his hands on her. A time when he’d been kissing her. But neither of them needed the distraction of those particular memories at the moment. He grabbed the hand that threatened to maim him and held it firmly. “Now you listen. You’re out of your element here. Will you admit, at least, that I have a certain expertise in tracking people down and then getting them to open up?”
Their gazes clashed. “I’ve been conducting interviews for years.”
“Yeah, on your own turf. In your office. In courtrooms. The last thing we need is for you to start your cross-examination routine. If Stillwell is in there, she has to be handled delicately. She’s probably still raw from being questioned by Connally earlier today. Given her relationship with Delgado, it’s doubtful whether she has a real high regard for the law. You could screw everything up the first time you open your mouth and start spouting legalese.”
It was maddening to admit that his argument made sense. It was even more maddening to realize that his hold on her hand had loosened, that his thumb was caressing her skin. She yanked away, all too aware of the heat left in the wake of his touch. “There’s nothing to stop me from going in there and talking to her by myself.”
Unsurprised by her show of stubbornness, he made a sweeping motion toward the door. “Go right ahead. I’m sure she’ll tell you everything she told Connally. Care to pl
ace another little wager—on which of us gets more information?”
She glared futilely at him. His electric-blue eyes were somber; not a hint of amusement showed on his face. He was, she realized, as serious about his job as she was about hers. If she did as she’d threatened and questioned Stillwell separately, she’d never know what, if anything, the woman had told McKay. And she didn’t trust him to tell her, either.
Without another word she started toward the door. He reached it first and held it open. She sailed by him, only to stop short several feet inside the dark interior. “McKay,” she hissed. “This is a strip joint.”
“Can’t get anything by you.”
Her elbow caught his ribs in a not-quite-accidental jab. It was almost worth it. Rubbing the spot where she’d caught him, he said, “One guy I talked to from Stillwell’s building claims Honey works here. Says he’s watched her show.” He led her to a table in the partially filled room, well back from the stage and runway. He doubted Addie would appreciate a closer vantage point.
She was slow to seat herself in the chair he pulled out for her, so he reached over, tugged helpfully at her skirt. A scantily clad waitress was shuffling in their direction. Before Addie could open her mouth, Dare sent a winning smile to the other woman.
“What can I get for you.”
“Coffee for me. Addie?”
“I don’t want anything.”
Dare looked back at the waitress. “She’ll have a soda.”
“Ten dollars.”
Dare reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet. Taking out a ten and a five, he handed both to the woman, saying casually, “We’re hoping to catch Honey’s act. She on today?”
The ten went in the pocket of the waitress’s apron. The five disappeared beneath it, to be tucked in the woman’s garter. She took an inordinate amount of time slipping the bill in securely, all the while exposing her shapely leg. “She’s next. If you stick around, though, I’ll be on in a couple hours.” It was clear the invitation was issued for Dare’s benefit. “It’d be worth your time.”
