Cowboy Cop

by Lori Wilde

  “But what was he looking for?” Lucy asked. “I don’t have anything valuable.”

  Nick turned to her. “The evidence.”

  Her mouth fell open. “From Midge’s newspaper column?”

  Delaney perked up. “Was that the column that claimed you found new evidence in the case against Mad Dog Moore?”

  “You saw it, too?” Nick asked the lieutenant.

  Delaney snorted. “It was big news down at the station. You know cops don’t like to be accused of shoddy investigating—especially Luke Rafferty.”

  “I wanted to flush out the real arsonist,” Lucy explained. “Midge offered to help me.”

  “And that’s when you told her about this new evidence?” Delaney asked. “The proof that can set your brother free?”

  “It does exist,” Lucy insisted. “I just haven’t found it yet. But I was hoping the real arsonist would panic and do something stupid to reveal himself.”

  “Looks like he panicked all right,” Nick said.

  Delaney tapped his pen against the notepad. “So let me get this straight. You made it all up? There is no new evidence in the case?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Lucy admitted.

  “That’s why the burglar left empty-handed,” Nick concluded. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t be back.” He turned to Delaney. “I think Lucy should be under police protection.”

  Delaney shook his head. “We just don’t have that kind of manpower, Holden. Unless you want me to put her in lockup—for her own protection.”

  Lucy shot to her feet. She knew Nick wanted to be rid of her, but locking her away seemed a little extreme. “One Moore in jail is already one too many. You can’t put me there against my will.”

  “She’s right about that,” Delaney agreed, “although I think it might be the safest place for her.”

  Lucy shook her head. “No way.”

  Nick stood up and folded his arms across his chest, stubbornness practically oozing from every pore. “Then I’ve got an even better idea.”

  “This is Nick’s room,” Hattie said, leading Lucy into a large attic bedroom with queen-sized bed and a tall antique dresser tucked in one corner. “We’ll get you settled in, then I’ll bring you a bottle of my homemade blackberry cordial. I’ve decided to give one to every client of Cowboy Confidential just to show my appreciation.”

  “That sound wonderful,” Lucy said, not realizing how tired she was until she set her suitcase down on the floor with a thud. Her legs still felt shaky from the shock of seeing her home torn apart. “I think Nick is overreacting, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He insisted I stay with you while he camps out at my apartment.”

  “He does have a stubborn streak.” A fond smile curved her lips. “He gets that from his grandfather, the most stubborn man I ever met.”

  “Stubborn is an understatement.” Lucy sat down on the bed, then plopped backward, sinking into the downy comforter. “Nick never listens to a word I say. He’s bossy and opinionated and bullheaded.”

  “All the things I love about him,” Hattie chimed. “But he has his faults, too.”

  “What if the burglar does come back to my apartment?” Lucy asked, voicing the fear that had been niggling at her for the last hour. “Nick could be in danger.”

  “Don’t worry. My grandson knows how to take care of himself.” Hattie stepped back and eyed Lucy from head to toe. “I think it will just about fit.”

  “What?” she asked, distracted by the scent of Nick on the bedcovers.

  It made her stomach flip-flop to think of him sleeping here, cozy and rumpled and practically naked. Unless he slept in pajamas. But for some reason, pajamas and Nick Holden just didn’t seem to go together.

  “My wedding dress. We might have to take up the hem a bit, but otherwise I think it will be perfect.”

  Lucy sat up on the bed. “Your wedding dress?”

  “It’s a long satin gown. Very simple. Nothing elaborate or fussy.” Hattie tapped her chin with one finger. “And I think a circlet of delicate silk flowers for your hair. Or would you prefer a veil?”

  “Hattie, I’m not planning a wedding.”

  “Oh, I know that, dear. Not yet. First we have to settle this little mix-up with your brother. But once he’s out of jail, there’s no reason for you and Nick to wait any longer.”

  “Me and Nick?” Lucy squeaked. She’d imagined herself married someday. When the right man came along. But that man couldn’t be Nick, with his criminal record and dead-end future. Could it? Just the thought of spending the rest of her days and nights with him made her feel dizzy. Probably not a good sign.

  “You two are made for each other. I’ve never seen Nick as animated as he is around you. He can’t take his eyes off you.”

  “I think it’s a form of self-defense. He still hasn’t forgotten about that peanut butter incident.” Lucy settled back onto the bed again and stared up the ceiling, wondering what dreams Nick had imagined for himself while lying awake in this bed.

  Had any of his dreams ever come true?

  “You’ll both laugh about it someday.” Hattie moved over to the closet, making room on the rod for Lucy’s clothes. “Nick has a wonderful sense of humor.”

  She’d rarely even seen him smile. But the few times he had, her knees had gone weak. Nick revealed himself to her in bits and pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle that promises a great picture, but drives you crazy as you try to put it together.

  Now he didn’t even want to see her again, much less marry her. He’d made that perfectly clear after kissing her senseless outside her front door.

  “Nick doesn’t want you to tell anyone you’re staying here,” Hattie reminded her as she walked over to the bed. “He’ll forward your mail and relay any important messages. And you’re not to go anywhere except work without his permission.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Lucy said, frustrated with Nick and the way her life was spinning out of control. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. “I’m twenty-nine years old. I’m a college graduate. I’m an honorary member of the Book-of-the-Month Club. He can’t tell me what to do.”

  “Take it from me, Lucy,” Hattie said, patting her shoulder sympathetically. “Never argue with a Holden man. It’s a waste of breath.”

  “You’re wasting your breath, Holden,” Luke Rafferty said the next morning. He sat with his feet propped on his desk while he munched on a doughnut. “A matchbook isn’t exactly a written confession. You’d never book a suspect on such flimsy evidence. Bring me something more solid and we can reopen the investigation.”

  “We’ve got a tip,” Nick announced. “There may be an eyewitness. A woman who saw the man that started that fire.”

  Luke’s eyes widened. “Now this is what I mean by solid. Give me something I can go on. Have you got a name?”

  Nick shook his head. “Not yet. But I’ve got this.” He flipped the matchbook Vanessa had given him onto the desk. “Harold and Letitia Beaumont, Happy Fortieth Wedding Anniversary. April nineteenth. The same night as the fire. Now tell me how an identical matchbook ended up in the Hanover Building?”

  Luke stared at the matchbook on his desk, then shrugged. “It could have belonged to Mad Dog himself. You know the guys in the lab couldn’t find any prints.”

  “Mad Dog wasn’t at the party.”

  Luke pulled his feet off the desk, sitting straight up in his chair. “He wasn’t invited. But we both know someone with Mad Dog’s background isn’t averse to crashing a party.”

  “Then let’s interview the guests to see if anyone spotted him there. Did you get the list?”

  Luke shook his head as he licked powdered sugar off his fingertips. “Nope. The Beaumonts disposed of the invitation list shortly after the party. According to Mrs. Beaumont, over two hundred people were invited.” Luke sighed. “My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”

  “The Beaumonts were probably afraid you’d charm the designer stockings off their daughter. Of course, th
ey don’t know you like I do.”

  “Hey,” Luke said, holding up both hands, “I’d know better than to abscond with Mad Dog Moore’s woman. I value my life.”

  “Maybe that’s it,” Nick ventured. “One of those smooth, rich boys fell for Vanessa but couldn’t compete with Mad Dog, so he decided to get him out of the way.”

  “I think you’ve been spending too much time with that lovely librarian. That scenario sounds straight out of a novel.”

  Nick had to agree. He was getting desperate for an explanation, any explanation other than the one Lucy didn’t want to hear—that her brother was guilty of arson.

  If only they had something more concrete to go on. So far, all their investigation had turned up was a couple matchbooks and a possible unknown eyewitness with a flower name. Hardly enough to justify reopening the investigation.

  He rubbed his jaw, frustrated with his lack of progress in the case. “Can you come up with a better scenario?”

  Luke grinned. “Maybe Clarence and Jamie teamed up to do it.”

  Nick folded his arms across his chest. “Very funny. I take it Delaney can’t keep his big mouth shut?”

  Luke shook his head. “That Lucy is priceless. Not to mention creative, sweet, and incredibly sexy in a red wig. Are you sure she doesn’t have a sister?”

  “Believe me,” Nick said, pocketing the matchbook, “Lucy is one of a kind.”

  14

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” Lucy said, hurrying into the Monday afternoon meeting of the Bluebonnet Book Club. “I’m so sorry I’m late. We’ve got several new patrons, so we’re busier than usual around here today.”

  “How nice,” Veda said. “Mr. Bonn must be pleased.”

  Lucy just smiled as she took her seat. Lester wasn’t pleased. In fact, he was mortified. Most of the new patrons were people Lucy had recruited the night she went undercover as a call girl.

  They’d brought in their children for the reading hour and signed up for library cards and had the library director scurrying to the telephone to complain to his mother. He didn’t like change, believing the library to be an almost sacred institution.

  He reminded her of the starchy librarian she’d been terrified of as a small child. The one who had always made Lucy and the other kids from Bale Street wash their hands before they touched any of the books.

  Lester had looked like he wanted to scour the library from floor to ceiling with disinfectant. Fortunately for him, the library closed at six o’clock on Monday evenings so they could find room in the tight city budget to be open on Sunday afternoons.

  He only had to handle three more hours of these unconventional library patrons. Though Lucy sincerely hoped they would return to take advantage of all the Heritage Library had to offer.

  An empty chair caught her attention. “Where’s Hattie?”

  “That’s what we were wondering,” Edith said. “We can’t start the meeting without her. She has to read the minutes.”

  Lucy blinked. “Minutes? But we’re a book club. We don’t have minutes.”

  “We do now, dear,” Edith said, pulling out her knitting needles. “We voted Hattie in as secretary after our last meeting.”

  “Oh,” Lucy said, still confused. “Why?”

  “Some of us suffer from short-term memory loss,” Midge explained in a whisper.

  Veda bristled. “I may be forgetful, but I’m not deaf. Besides, I think it’s a good idea to keep a record of our meetings.”

  “Especially since they’ve gotten so exciting lately,” Ana piped up.

  Midge turned to Lucy. “You can bring us up to date while we wait for Hattie. Tell us everything.” The small circle of women fluttered with anticipation.

  Lucy didn’t know where to begin. “Well…we still haven’t found the real arsonist, but he did break into my apartment because of that item you planted in your column.”

  Midge clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful!”

  Lucy nodded. “Actually, it is. Because now Nick does believe my brother was framed. Of course, he also thinks I might be in danger, so he forced me to move out of my apartment. And he won’t tell me about the new lead in the case.”

  “Isn’t that romantic?” Veda cried. “He’s trying to protect you.”

  Or avoid her. She hadn’t even seen him since the night of the burglary, two whole days ago. Ignoring her might work for Nick, but it only made Lucy very aware of how much she missed him. It probably didn’t help matters that she’d been sleeping in his bed, wrapping her arms around his pillow every night just to breathe in his scent. Pathetic, but true.

  “The problem is that I want to help solve this case,” Lucy said. “But Nick just won’t listen to reason.”

  “He is a man, dear,” Midge reminded her.

  Edith nodded. “Just give him some time. He’ll come around to your way of thinking.”

  “They always do,” Ana added. “Love makes people act pretty crazy sometimes.”

  “But we’re not in love,” Lucy protested, feeling a telltale blush creep into her cheeks.

  They all smiled and Midge winked at her. She was outnumbered. A dozen reasons why she couldn’t love Nick Holden battled on the tip of her tongue: like his prison record, his uncertain future, and his stubbornness. But those reasons didn’t seem to matter as much anymore. Not when she thought about the Nick she’d come to know. How he took care of his grandmother, sang show tunes…kissed with a consuming intensity that made her cheeks burn just to think about it.

  She fanned a sheet of paper in front of her face, ready to introduce a safer topic, like fictional serial killers, when she saw Lester in the doorway, waving frantically at her.

  Excusing herself, she walked over to him. “What is it, Lester?”

  “Another one of those women has arrived,” he hissed, motioning behind him. A petite young woman with straight blond hair that reached almost to her waist stood next to the huge globe in the corner.

  “I have more important duties to attend to,” he said, his thin lips pinched with disapproval. “And since you’re responsible for bringing these people to the library, you can deal with them. I’ll send Mindy to handle your book club duties.”

  Lucy bit back an angry retort. “Fine. I’ll be more than happy to assist her.”

  “Wait until Mrs. Beaumont hears about all this,” he mumbled as he strode away.

  Lucy sighed inwardly, used to Lester’s dissatisfaction with her unorthodox ideas. Over the years, he’d submitted a series of complaints about her. The last typed report critiquing her conduct had been two single-spaced pages long.

  Telling herself to forget about her problems with Lester, she turned to the waif-like woman in the baggy blue sweater and skin-tight black leather pants. The flush in the girl’s cheeks told Lucy she’d overheard Lester’s tantrum.

  “I’m Lucy,” she said with a welcoming smile. “How can I help you, Miss…?”

  “Vyne,” the girl said softly. “But you can call me Lily.”

  Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. “Lily?”

  The woman nodded. “I heard you were looking for me. One of the girls gave me a bookmark with the name and address of this place. I thought the library might be a safe place to…” Her voice trailed off and her hazel eyes grew wide with apprehension as voices sounded in the stairwell.

  Lucy pulled her into the audiovisual room, closing the door behind them. “We can have some privacy in here,” she said, flipping on the lights. Then she turned around. “You’re the one, aren’t you? The eyewitness.”

  Lily sank into a chair. “I know Melvin didn’t start that fire.”

  “You call him Melvin?” Lucy said wistfully. She hadn’t heard anyone call her brother by his real name for years. When he was twelve he’d earned the moniker Mad Dog by facing down a vicious street mongrel and coming out on top. During his teen years, he spent most of his time in trouble, just trying to live up to his reputation. Only Lucy had known there was really a sweet puppy dog beneath all that b
luster.

  A rosy blush suffused Lily’s pale cheeks. “He asked me to call him Melvin. I’d see him sometimes on the street. Not that he ever wanted to do any…business. Melvin was always very kind to me.”

  Lucy’s heart melted. “I’m glad. My brother may act tough, but he’s really just a big pushover—especially for a pretty girl.”

  Lily’s blush deepened. “He always treated me like a lady. I couldn’t believe it when they arrested him.”

  Lucy slid into the chair next to her. “Why didn’t you come forward? Try to help Melvin? Go to the police and tell them what you saw?”

  “No one would have believed me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “I am.” Lily chewed on her lower lip. “The guy wore a tuxedo that night, but I still recognized him. He didn’t see me standing there in the shadows. Shortly after he left Melvin’s place, I saw smoke rolling out of the windows.” She twisted her fingers in her lap. “I called 9-1-1 from the phone booth on the corner to report the fire. Then I ran.”

  “Oh, Lily, you actually recognized him!” Her mind raced to absorb this new information. A tuxedo? Fancy dress for such dirty work. “Now we can nail the real arsonist. You can identify him…”

  Lily shot to her feet. “No. I can’t.”

  “I’ll go down to the police station with you,” Lucy promised. “You can tell them who you saw. Then all you’ll probably have to do is pick him out of a lineup.”

  Lily emphatically shook her head and started backing toward the door. “I’ve probably said too much already. If he finds out…”

  Lucy rose from the chair. “But, Lily, you may be the only one who can help save Melvin.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lily cried. “I can’t. I just…can’t.” Then she turned and bolted out the door.

  Lucy raced after her, knowing she might never see her again if Lily didn’t want to be found. Her heels skidded on the polished tile floor as she rounded the corner. She slammed straight into a hard, broad chest that emitted a resounding “Ooomph!”