by Kylie Brant
Rolling down her window, she smiled at the girl, getting only a blank look in return. “Can’t find anything to do today?”
It was apparent by the girl’s long pause that she was debating whether she was bored enough to talk to A.J. Tedium eventually won out, because she sauntered closer to the car. “There’s never nothing to do in this town. ’Cept go to the public pool, and she—” her head jerked toward the house “—never buys me a season’s ticket.”
A.J. thought there was more than the usual childish discontent sounding in her voice. “Maybe your mom is having a hard time making ends meet,” she suggested.
“She’s not my mom!” The correction was swift and fierce. “And the only reason she never has money is because she spends it all on her clothes and her hair. That and running around with whatever jerk she’s dating at the moment.”
The girl flopped down on the grass beside the car. “My dad had to buy this place, because she always wasted the money he sent her.” She rolled her eyes, the gesture far older than her years. “They think I don’t know he sends her money to take care of me.”
A thought occurred, so preposterous that A.J. could scarcely credit it. “Who’s your dad?”
The girl sent her an impatient glance. “You should know, you came here looking for him. It’s Paul Delgado.”
“An hour and a half.” A.J. grated the words out between clenched teeth. “You must be losing your touch, McKay. It usually only takes minutes before women start pouring their hearts out to you.”
She could have sworn she saw him wince as he steered the car away from the curb. “Now, A.J., don’t be like that. I just didn’t want you to be placed in a tough position, professionally. Ms. Clancy was a tough sell. I couldn’t rely on my natural wit and charm. I had to get creative.”
A vivid imagination could be a blessing or a curse. She made no attempt to keep the suspicion from her voice. “Do I want to know just how creative you got?”
He hesitated, thinking of the tale he’d spun about his fictitious banking employer and a mix-up in Delgado’s accounts. Sometimes details were better glossed over. “Don’t you think you’d be happier not knowing?”
She opened her mouth, shut it again. The fact that he was right didn’t mean she was any happier about being relegated to the back seat in today’s affairs.
“Clancy wasn’t going to talk to us, especially if we told her who we were. You saw how uncooperative she was. The situation called for some innovation.” He gave her a self-satisfied smile. “And it certainly paid off. Because guess where Delgado keeps many of his personal effects?”
“Here, of course. He visits about once a month.” Enjoying his startled look, it was her turn to smile. “You’re not the only one who came up with some information. Bet you can’t guess who the girl at the house belongs to.”
His eyes widened satisfyingly. “No way.”
She nodded. “Exactly my reaction. That poor kid has Delgado for a father.”
Dare turned on to the freeway back toward the airport. “What a life she’s got ahead of her. Especially when he spends the rest of his years in prison.”
A.J. felt a flicker of pity. She could well imagine the child’s hopelessness, her despair, once she really got old enough to understand just what kind of man her father was. She was already far older than A.J. had been before a similar realization had dawned on her. Her own father had been a monster, and she’d often felt like she was the only thing standing between him and her mother’s fragile grip on reality.
As a barrier, she’d proved remarkably ineffective.
“Aren’t you even interested in what I found in there?”
She welcomed the diversion his question presented. “You’re telling me you actually got the woman to let you dig around in his stuff?”
“Not as much as I would have liked. She was watching me pretty closely. But I was able to come up with this.”
He reached in his pocket, pulled out a small black notebook and tossed it to her.
Aghast, A.J. stared at it. Her voice was strangled. “You removed something from the house? McKay, do I have to remind you of the laws surrounding the chain of evidence?”
Pretending to consider, he finally said, “No, I don’t think so. I had permission to be in the house, and Clancy actually told me I could take this with me.” He may have persuaded her that the book merely listed dates of bank transactions, but he saw no reason to burden A.J. with extra details. “Since I’m turning the information directly over to an officer of the court, I’d have to guess that you would have a 75 percent chance of getting it admitted as evidence, if necessary. That’s assuming it’s tied to a crime in the first place.”
She glared at him. “In your case I’d say a little knowledge really is a dangerous thing.”
“And a little knowledge just might break this case wide open,” he said imperturbably. “Take a look at it and tell me what you think.”
Reluctantly A.J. opened it. On the first few pages there were numbered notations. “Okay, I’ll bite. What are these supposed to mean?”
“Look at the combination of numbers. They could stand for dates, couldn’t they?”
She flipped through the pages, saw he was right. “If so, the oldest one dates to almost ten years ago.” Even as the words left her mouth, she realized their significance. “Almost as long as Delgado’s been out of prison.”
Dare gave her an approving look. “Exactly. Maybe we’ve got some information there that’s going to link Delgado to Paulie the Knife.”
A.J. was already shaking her head. “Let’s not leap to conclusions.”
“Somehow I thought you’d say that. Look at the date that’s fifth from the bottom.” A.J. did. It was less than four months ago. “Do you remember Meghan telling you Delgado bragged to her about killing her sister? I’ll have to check to be absolutely certain, but I think we’ll find that the date will correspond with the day she died.”
Chapter 8
A.J. and Dare met Connally at district headquarters and waited as he fed the dates and Delgado’s MO into the national Criminal Apprehension database. Several of the dates matched those on which homicides had taken place, the oldest having occurred almost a decade ago.
The discovery of Clancy’s house, and its owner, was enough to convince a judge that Delgado’s permanent address had been discovered. A search warrant was issued and his personal belongings in Ohio were seized. Hours blurred for the next few days as a mountain of new information accumulated. At the end of each day, all A.J. could do when she went home was fall into exhausted slumber.
But the lack of sleep was a small price to pay for the sudden rapidity with which the case was beginning to gel. Connally and Madison were combing through the evidence from Clancy’s house, and Mark Stanley had already uncovered some very unsavory information about two of Paquin’s supposed witnesses.
And A.J. found herself, strangely enough, in Dare McKay’s company for more hours than she cared to count.
Their time together was going without incident. If nothing else, their forced alliance had shown her that they could spend time in close proximity without personal memories distracting them.
At least, they didn’t appear to be distracting Dare. He was acting, finally, more like a casual acquaintance than a one-time lover. He was polite and charming, while holding his wicked sense of humor in check.
Which explained why she was fairly comfortable sitting in his apartment that evening, at a computer near his, digging into archives from newspapers across the country. The kitchen counter was strewn with fast-food wrappers and her third diet soda was within reach. After Connally had found homicides that might match the dates in Delgado’s book, she and Dare had split the cases. During the day she made calls to the detectives who’d worked the investigations, acquiring more facts about each. She became more and more confident that they were on the right track. The tiniest bit of information they stumbled over just might be the key to tying Delgado’s identity to
that of Paulie the Knife.
She took a break for a moment, rubbed her eyes. Glancing over at Dare, she saw he was still concentrating fiercely on the article he was reading, a pair of gold wire-rim glasses perched on his nose.
There was an odd kick in her stomach at the sight. How was it possible for a man to look studious and sexy at the same time? And why was she even thinking of how the man looked when it had been she who’d insisted on a strictly business relationship between them? Embarrassed, she switched her focus to her screen, but not before he caught her staring.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She could feel a mortified flush crawl up her cheeks. She hadn’t blushed since Mrs. Goetz caught her peeking in the boy’s bathroom in third grade. “I’ve never seen you in glasses before, that’s all.” A knowing smile started to play at his lips. To wipe it off, she added, “They make you look halfway intelligent.”
A lone dimple flashed. “Addie, you’ve really got to stop fawning over me. Your lavish compliments are getting downright embarrassing.”
Deliberately she changed the subject. “Some of the dates in Delgado’s book haven’t been linked to one of these homicides. Does that mean he turned a job down? That he failed at a hit?”
Dare reached up, unfastened a button on his shirt. Her gaze immediately arrowed to the bared triangle of golden skin, before bouncing guiltily away. “I suppose either is possible. But since one of those dates corresponds to the date of Meghan’s sister’s death, there may be a more likely explanation.” As he spoke, he unbuttoned his cuffs and folded his sleeves back. “What if it means he didn’t use his preferred method of murder? That for whatever reason, circumstances forced him to deviate from his knife?”
“You mean like when he ran Meghan’s sister off the road.”
He linked his hands, stretched his arms out in front of him. “Maybe some jobs have to look like accidents. If so, we’d have a devil of a time ever linking him to them.”
The explanation made as much sense as any. It was still difficult for A.J. to be dealing with so many suppositions. She was far more comfortable with facts. But she was willing to accept the change in her methods, if it meant that she could defeat Paquin and get Delgado put away. With renewed purpose she turned back to her machine.
Dare was slower to follow suit. Her armor had grown increasingly less noticeable, aided, perhaps, by his manner toward her. He’d been as circumspect as a priest. Well, almost. Surely priests didn’t indulge in the kind of erotic thoughts that occasionally played across his mind. But working so closely with Addie had convinced him that he was firmly in control of his emotions. A relief for a man unaccustomed to being led around by them.
Night fell unusually early that evening, and he rose to switch on some lights. Clouds were bumping and colliding against the darkening sky, signaling a storm blowing in from the lake. Dare opened the sliding door leading to the small terrace and enjoyed the cool air’s promise of rain.
“Hmm. You should come look at this.”
At her voice he turned and padded back to the kitchen, knelt by her chair. She pointed at a name on the screen. “This article in the Indiana Star details the trial of a Frank Benson six years ago. He was quite a busy guy, apparently. Into drugs, prostitution, lone-sharking…” She broke off, scrolled down further into the story. “He was acquitted of most of the charges, probably because the witnesses who were going to testify against him kept disappearing. But they did manage to convict him of the murder of a rival drug lord.” Her gaze raised to his. “Guess how the guy died?”
His fingers crowded hers on the keyboard as he tried to scroll down the story. “He had his throat cut?”
“Right.” She batted his hand away, closed out of that article and opened another. “He’s been screaming his innocence to high heaven, and now his case is awaiting appeal.” She leaned forward, skimming the article until finding the part she wanted to show him. She pressed the command to highlight the block of text. “He claims it was another drug lord who ordered the hit and then framed him to get two rivals out of the way at once.”
“So you’re thinking this Benson might be innocent?”
“I’m sure he belongs in prison, if not for this crime, then for a multitude of others. But if I were to speculate…” She looked at him, plainly in unfamiliar territory without empirical evidence at hand.
“What if he’s telling the truth?” Dare finished for her. “Warring drug lords sound like the sort of people Delgado would be involved with.”
She lifted a brow. “Long shot?”
“Probably,” he affirmed, and watched her face fall before he added, “but definitely worth checking out.”
“I think so, too.” She smiled, a delighted flash of teeth that tightened his chest and thickened his blood. He didn’t look away. He couldn’t.
It was moments like these that were so hard to forget—when defenses lowered and glimpses of the Addie she hid from the world were revealed. The contrast aroused primitive emotions far better left unidentified.
Seeing the expression on his face, her smile faltered, faded. There was something naked in the way he gazed at her, something suggesting hot sin, seductive danger. She wished she wasn’t intimately acquainted with that look. She wished she could deny her response to it.
Desire thudded in her veins. If only she didn’t have an exquisite memory of being over him, under him, seeing those eyes blaze just that way, until they reflected nothing but her. If only she could deny the power there was in being wanted, with just that kind of intensity.
A breath shuddered out of her. She was helpless to stem the memories that picked that moment to swarm. Her gaze fell to his sculpted lips, remembered their taste. It wasn’t that she no longer had the will to resist the man. She just failed to recall the need to.
Their mouths met, soft, oddly tentative. And then came that slow, gradual sink into pleasure that tilted her world in a way that always alarmed later. Much later. Now there was only the pleasure of it, the increasing pressure, and awareness receding to be replaced with demand.
Dare cupped her face in both his hands and leaned into the kiss. Hunger rocketed through his system. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, coaxed them open. And when they did, need rose up, edgy and fierce.
He reached for her fingers, tugged, and she obeyed his urging. Slipping out of her chair, she sank to the floor, until they were knee to knee. All the while their mouths mated, teeth clashed, breath mingled. She touched his chest where it was bared, and the feel of his warm flesh spiked her own temperature. As if they had a will of their own, her fingers went to the buttons on his shirt, unfastened them one by one. And then went on a sensual discovery, skating over sinew, bone and muscle. Exploring angles and intriguing hollows, gorging her senses on the journey.
He shoved a hand in her hair, pulled her closer. He wanted everything she had to give, more than she’d ever given before. And he wanted, quite desperately, for her to offer it freely. Without reservation.
He dragged his mouth from hers and strew hard, desperate kisses along the delicate line of her jaw, to the pulse at the base of her throat. His need to touch her was fueled by the wake of heat her hands left on his skin. Sparks flickered just below the surface of his flesh. He unfastened the first button on her blouse, skimmed his hand over sensitized flesh.
Her world rocked on its axis, and her hands rose, fisted in his hair. That first contact had spurred unchecked desire, a restless craving. With one gentle finger he traced the swell of her breasts above her bra, before dipping between them. She gasped, the sound caught by his lips.
The evidence of her passion sent a hot ball of lust hurtling through him. His hands went to her waist and he pressed her to him, unable to bring her close enough. Need surged from a primal place, desperate and demanding.
“Don’t deny this, Addie,” he rasped, his mouth skating over her collarbone. “Don’t deny us.” It was a measure of his desire that it took several moments to reali
ze that her body had gone stiff at his words, her lips unresponsive. And when he raised his head to look at her, he already knew what he’d read on her face.
Fear. Pure and unadulterated, it smashed his longing with a brutal fist. He didn’t know if the emotion was directed at him or at herself. The distinction really didn’t matter. The end result was the same.
The bleak realization knifed through him, leaving a sense of desolation that was staggering. He rose, wanting to haul her in his arms again, knowing that he couldn’t. She was that fragile. That vulnerable. To keep from reaching for her, he shoved his hands in his pockets, watched her stumble to her feet and fasten her blouse with shaking fingers.
She turned to go, head bent, then hesitated. He willed her to leave without a word. There was nothing to say. No reason to say it. An instant later he got his wish, and she walked out of his apartment, closing the door quietly behind her.
Dare backed up slowly, leaned heavily against the couch. He didn’t know what Addie was so afraid of, but he knew it was powerful. Whatever it was had kept her running from him for over two years now.
There was a glow of distant lightning in the sky, heralding a storm’s approach. A.J. didn’t heed it. It was the storm within that absorbed all her attention. She found a parking place close to St. Anne’s, carefully positioned her car and turned the key off in the ignition.
Then she rested her forehead against the wheel, as the emotions twisting inside knotted her stomach and pounded at her temples.
Drawing deep breaths, she fought for control. A control that had been noticeably absent while she’d been in Dare’s arms. A control that, if she was truthful with herself, had been receding fractionally for some time.
Only an hour ago she’d been congratulating herself on her ability to work side by side with McKay without any personal complications rising between them. Complications. A wild laugh welled up in her throat. What a word to describe what had just happened. Again. She’d fooled herself once that she could give in to that kind of desire. That she could warm herself with that wealth of heat he transmitted, without ever risking more. Without ever giving more.
