Cowboy Cop

by Lori Wilde

  Her cheeks grew warm. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand to ward off his apology. At least she hoped it was an apology. “Let’s just forget about that kiss.”

  “Believe me, I’ve tried,” he muttered. “Just like I’ve tried to figure out how I ever got into this mess. Because when we were in the library, you looked harmless. Did you hypnotize me? Use mind control? Voodoo?”

  “Quit trying to change the subject. I want to know about the new lead in the case. At least give me a hint.”

  “No.”

  “Does it involve Vanessa?” she asked, then waved her hand in the air. “What am I saying? Of course it does. She was at dinner with you tonight. She must have made some kind of slipup. Did she say something incriminating? Reveal a motive? Use the wrong fork?”

  “I’m not going to stand here in the hallway playing Twenty Questions.”

  “Then let’s go inside,” she said, placing her hand on the doorknob.

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “I’ll make coffee. We can talk about the case and plan our strategy.”

  “I don’t drink coffee.”

  “Then I’ll give you tea, beer, milk of magnesia—anything you want.”

  “How about the silent treatment?”

  “You’re impossible!” she exclaimed, wanting to shake him. Didn’t he realize how important this was to her? How much she was willing to sacrifice for her brother? “Not to mention irritating, stubborn, and evasive. Didn’t they teach you any communication skills in prison?”

  “I guess we were all too busy with those ballroom dance lessons.”

  “Well, you’ve got tap dancing down pat,” Lucy said in a fit of exasperation. “You’ve avoided answering all of my questions, Nick. You won’t tell me about the new clue. And I think you’re trying your hardest to start an argument.”

  He just stood there watching her, his jaw clamped tightly shut.

  “You are, aren’t you?” she accused. “In fact, you’ve been like this ever since we met. It’s like you purposely try to pick fights with me.”

  “You’re right,” he admitted, taking a step closer to her. “I do.”

  Suddenly Lucy became very aware of all six feet, two inches of solid, potent male. She swallowed. “Why?”

  “Because it keeps me from doing something stupid.”

  She stared up at him, confused. “Like what?”

  “Like this.” He lowered his head and captured her mouth with his own.

  Her breath caught in her throat at the unexpected onslaught of his lips. His mouth melded against hers with raw desire and molten heat. Desire flared inside her as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tightly against him.

  Lucy leaned into him, her hands pressed against his chest. Her fingers flexed against hard, unyielding muscle until he moaned low into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

  She slid her hands up to his shoulders, wrapping them around his neck to pull him even closer. Then she held on tight as he kissed her again. She kissed him back, shutting out everything but the fierce intensity of their embrace.

  When he finally ended the kiss, she could barely breathe, much less think clearly. So he did find her attractive. The very idea made her light-headed. Or maybe it was lack of oxygen. Nick was certainly taking up his fair share, breathing hard and fast, his mouth only scant inches from her own.

  “Now do you understand?” he rasped, his hands gripping her shoulders.

  She nodded.

  “I want you, Lucy. I want you all the time. Right now I’d like nothing better than to take you into that apartment and lock the door. To shut out the rest of the world. To keep you there, in my arms, for a week…a month…a year. I want to make love to you until we both pass out from exhaustion. And then I want to love you all over again.”

  His communication skills were definitely improving.

  “Why…” she began, the word sticking in her parched throat. She licked her lips, unnerved by the way his gaze followed her tongue. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

  “Because it’s impossible. You have a policy against guys like me. And even if you didn’t, I can’t afford to take that kind of risk.” He stepped away from her. “You’re trouble, Lucy Moore. You’ve been trouble since the first day we met.”

  The loss of his body heat didn’t explain the sudden chill deep inside her. He meant it. Stubborn determination steeled his gray eyes.

  How could he kiss her like that one moment, then want nothing to do with her the next? Was it possible that he hadn’t experienced the same emotional upheaval during that kiss? Was it possible that she was falling in love with Nick Holden?

  Lucy sucked in her breath. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve just been trying to help with the case.”

  “That’s the problem. From now on, I’m working solo.”

  She blinked back her shock at his unexpected announcement. “You can’t be serious.”

  “No more contact between us. Except by cell phone. It’s the only way I’ll agree to keep working for you.”

  She couldn’t believe it. He was actually afraid of her. What next? A clove of garlic around his neck to keep her at bay?

  “This is ridiculous. I’ll admit I’m attracted to you, too.” A serious understatement, considering her knees were so weak she needed to lean against the wall to remain upright. “If we both exercise some self-control, I’m sure we can resist temptation.”

  “I can’t,” he said baldly. “Not anymore.”

  “Just until after the case,” she promised.

  A muscle flickered in his jaw. “Nothing is going to change once the case is over. I don’t want any complications in my life, and you can’t risk your dreams by becoming involved with an ex-con—a dirty cop who will never be accepted in this city.”

  “So you’re doing this for me?” she asked, helpless and frustrated as she saw her newest, most precious dream slipping away. The dream conceived in Nick’s arms. Tears stung her eyes. “For a dirty cop, you’re annoyingly noble. Besides, I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

  “The decision is already made. I won’t let you sacrifice your life, too.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. End of discussion.” He reached around her to open the door. As it swung open, he turned her around and gave her a gentle shove.

  She took one look inside her apartment and screamed.

  “Wow,” Nick said, stepping over the threshold. “This place really is a mess. Have you ever thought about hiring a cleaning service?”

  “I didn’t do this,” she exclaimed, looking around her living room in disbelief. “I may not be Martha Stewart, but I’m not a total slob. Someone must have broken in.” She wrapped her arms around herself, attempting to ward off the cold emptiness growing inside of her.

  Her apartment was in total disarray. Clothes from the laundry basket she’d left by the door were strewn across the hardwood floor. Her precious books from her bookshelf lay open in haphazard piles all over the room. Every drawer of the antique buffet she’d inherited from her great aunt stood open and empty, the treasured contents of each dumped onto the wool rug beneath it.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Nick warned just as she reached down to pick up a shattered photograph of Melvin on his motorcycle. “The police will want to check for fingerprints.”

  “Police.” She mouthed the word under her breath, still not ready to believe this could really be happening to her.

  Nick pushed her gently onto an easy chair. “You sit here while I check out the rest of the apartment.”

  His words had barely registered before he was back by her side. “The kitchen, bathroom, and your bedroom all look like this one. The intruder was certainly thorough.”

  “But not very neat.”

  “Can you tell if anything is missing?”

  She looked around the disheveled room again as the reality slowly began to sink
in. “Actually, it looks like he added stuff. I can’t believe all this mess belongs to me.” Then her eyes widened in horror. “Someone was inside my apartment. Do you know what that means?”

  Nick nodded. “You probably feel violated.”

  “What I feel is embarrassed! Some total stranger saw my apartment.” She closed her eyes. “All those dirty dishes on the counter. I didn’t even have time to wipe off the kitchen table after breakfast this morning. And the bathroom…” She groaned and leaned her head back against the chair. “I was going to mop the floor tomorrow. Really.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “Who cares what the scum who did this thinks?”

  She stood up. “I’ve got to clean up before the police get here.”

  “I told you not to touch anything.”

  “Just a little dusting,” she said, eyeing the thick layer on top of the buffet. “Maybe give the bathtub a quick wipe with a sponge.”

  “Lucy,” he said, gently pulling her back down into the chair. “You can scour the place from top to bottom after the police check everything out. I called them from the bedroom. They should be here any minute.”

  “Great. First they think I’m a lousy call girl, and now they’ll think I’m a lousy housekeeper.” A lump lodged in her throat as she swallowed a sob.

  Nick kneeled down next to her chair, gently brushing her hair off her cheek. “Everything will be all right. We’ll catch the jerk who did this to you. I promise.”

  If only he’d hold her in his arms…make her feel safe…make her feel comforted. Make her feel like he was paying attention. “Nick?” she said as he stared at something over her shoulder.

  He stood. “Your answering machine is blinking. Who still uses an answering machine?”

  “It was here when I moved in,” she said with a small shrug. “So I just kept it for landline calls.”

  He walked over to the telephone stand. Picking up a pencil, he pushed the play button with the tip of the eraser.

  She was experiencing one of the most traumatic moments of her life, and he was worried about retrieving phone messages.

  “The burglar might have called earlier to make certain the apartment was empty,” Nick explained. “It’s a typical M.O.”

  The first message was an insurance salesman who, ironically, offered a special one-month rate against theft and burglary. The second was from Letitia Beaumont, wondering if Lucy could serve tea at the next meeting of the Heritage Library Foundation.

  The third caller didn’t identify himself. “Hello, Lucy,” he said, the voice sounding muffled and far away. “Will you pick up if you’re there? Lucy? I have an important message for you. Pick up, Lucy.”

  “Do you know who that was?” Nick asked as the answering machine beeped twice to indicate the end of the messages.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t sound the same.”

  Nick slowly turned around to face her. “The same as what?”

  “As the other guy.” She wrinkled her nose. “This one sounds rougher, meaner. Clarence’s voice is higher, and he has kind of an asthmatic wheeze when he talks.”

  “Who is Clarence?”

  “My stalker,” she said, then shrugged her shoulders. “Well, that’s not really his name. I just call him that.” Nick sat down on the sofa next to her chair. “Slow down a minute. Someone is stalking you?”

  She shrugged again. “Well, maybe not technically stalking me. He leaves bizarre messages on my answering machine. Once in a while it seems like a light-blue car is tailing me. But there have to be hundreds of those around, right?”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’ve found footprints outside my window. But that could be the gardener or the meter man.”

  “Or it could be Clarence. How long have you been getting these phone calls?”

  She thought a moment. “Just for the past few weeks.”

  “And you’ve named him Clarence?” Nick asked in a strangled voice.

  “It made it all seem less scary. I didn’t want to overreact to a few crank phone calls. Besides, why would anyone be stalking me?”

  “Why would anyone break into your apartment?” he asked, pacing back and forth across the living room. “Or frame your brother? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this sooner.”

  “Oh, Nick,” she exclaimed, smiling amidst the chaos. “This is wonderful. You finally believe someone framed Melvin!”

  He stopped pacing. “I think it’s a possibility. But I don’t want to talk about your brother at the moment. I want to know more about Clarence—every little detail.”

  13

  “I guess that about wraps it up,” Lieutenant Delaney said as the evidence crew left the apartment with all the evidence samples in tiny plastic bags. “Are you certain nothing is missing, Miss Moore?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucy said, hugging Sherlock to her chest. She’d finally found her cat underneath her bed, guarding the dust bunnies. “He didn’t take my mother’s pearl ring or the gold bracelet Melvin gave me for my college graduation.”

  “Her television set and all the appliances are still here, too,” Nick added. “Seems like the perp was on a search- and-destroy mission.”

  “Searching for what?” she asked.

  “That’s what we need to figure out.” Lieutenant Delaney seated himself on the gray leather ottoman, wearing what looked like the same wrinkled brown suit she’d seen him in before.

  She found herself wondering if he only owned one suit or if he owned five suits of the same brown color so the jackets and pants were interchangeable.

  “Miss Moore?”

  She blinked, realizing she’d missed his question. Maybe the burglary had affected her more than she thought. “Oh, please call me Lucy. Can you repeat the question?”

  “Nick told me you’ve been receiving some unusual phone calls.” He flipped open the notebook in his hand, then reached into his shirt pocket for a pencil. “Can you tell me how many and the dates?”

  “He told you about Clarence?”

  Lieutenant Delaney jotted the name down in his notebook. “Do you know Clarence’s last name?”

  “I don’t even know his first name. I just call him Clarence.”

  Delaney looked over at Nick, who was seated in a chair across from Lucy.

  “Don’t ask,” Nick told him. “The important thing is Lucy doesn’t think Clarence left the latest message on the answering machine.”

  Delaney nodded. “I listened to it several times. Sounds like the voice is disguised.”

  “Which means it could still be Clarence,” Nick said. “I’d hate to think she has two stalkers.”

  “It’s a good chance it’s someone she knows,” Delaney added.

  Lucy’s mouth fell open. “You think I might know the person who did all of this?” she asked, indicating the disaster area that used to be her living room.

  Nick sat forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. “Check out a guy named Walter ‘Weasel’ Malone,” he told Delaney. “See if he can explain his whereabouts for the past eight hours.”

  “Weasel would never do this to me,” Lucy said. “Besides, he’s allergic to cat hair. He wouldn’t last five minutes in here with Sherlock. It’s probably just some random burglary that could have happened to anyone.”

  Nick turned to her. “How many burglars do you know who would leave a house empty-handed?”

  “Number one, I don’t know any burglars…anymore. And number two, my stuff isn’t that nice. We also don’t know for certain that the person leaving those messages on my answering machine is the same person who broke into my apartment.”

  Delaney rubbed his temple. “Have you made up a name for the burglar?”

  She shrugged. “How about Jamie, since it fits a man or a woman? After all, this is the twenty-first century. I’m sure there are as many women in the burglary business now as there are men.”

  “Perhaps you should see a crisis counselor,” Delaney sugge
sted gently. “I’m sure this has been an upsetting experience for you.”

  Lucy blinked at him. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m perfectly fine.”

  Delaney looked skeptically at Nick.

  Nick gave a brief nod. “Don’t worry about Lucy. She’s always like this.”

  “Okay,” Delaney said slowly, “Then let’s proceed. Did you leave any doors or windows unlocked today?”

  “I always leave the north window open about four inches for Sherlock.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Delaney said. “You’ve got a stalker named Clarence, an intruder named Jamie, and now Sherlock. Who is he and what’s his crime?”

  “Sherlock’s my cat,” she explained. “And he’s not guilty of anything except drooling over my neighbor’s pet parakeet. He likes to lie on the windowsill and enjoy the breeze. Maybe Jamie entered my apartment through the window.”

  Delaney jotted the information in his notepad. “Does anyone else have a key to your apartment?”

  Lucy nibbled her lip. “Melvin did have one, but he gave it back to me after his arrest. Oh, and I used to have a roommate.”

  “Male or female?”

  Lucy could feel Nick tense beside her. “Female,” she said. “Kelsey moved to England last year.”

  “I think you should make a list of all your friends and acquaintances,” Nick suggested. “And anyone who might hold a grudge against you.”

  “Jamie probably doesn’t even know me,” Lucy said, not wanting to believe any of her friends could do this to her. “What if he lost his job and has three small, hungry children to care for? A wife? Desperation drove him to break into my apartment, but then he came to his senses and—”

  “Lucy,” Nick interjected, his voice hard-edged and impatient, “this isn’t some fairy tale. This is real life. Someone broke into your apartment. A criminal. A thief. A murderer, for all we know. When I think you could have been alone here with him…”

  “Miss Moore’s wild imagination seems to be contagious,” Delaney said. “I deal in facts. Someone broke into this apartment, went through everything with a fine-tooth comb, but took nothing. Which means he didn’t find what he was looking for.”