by Cindi Myers
“Or maybe there’s no way we’ll ever know what they talked about unless they tell us.” Laura turned the truck into the rutted drive to the trailer. She parked and climbed out, but Jace was slower to join her. He moved stiffly, as if in pain. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did he hurt more than your nose?”
“I’m still feeling a couple of those punches.” Jace tried to straighten, but grimaced and remained bent over.
Laura took his arm. “Come on. I think there’s a first aid kit in the closet.”
“Nothing a stiff whiskey and a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”
She wanted to lecture him on the stupidity of fighting. If things had turned ugly and he’d had to pull his weapon to defend himself, their cover would have been blown and the operation aborted. Not to mention, he could have been seriously injured, and she’d have been without a partner. While Jace went into the bathroom to wash off as much blood as possible, she rummaged through shelves until she found the first aid kit. When he emerged, water still dripping from the ends of his hair, purpling bruises already forming beneath both eyes, she had an assortment of bandages and ointments laid out on the kitchen table.
“Are you sure your nose isn’t broken?” she asked, eyeing him critically.
“I’m sure.” He squeezed the tip between his thumb and forefinger, wincing as he did so. “I couldn’t stand that if it was. But he did bang it up pretty good.”
“At least put some antibiotic ointment on that cut on your lip and the one on your chin,” she said. “He must have been wearing a big ring or something.”
“Everything about the dude was big.”
“I hope he doesn’t decide to come after you again.”
“I’m touched that you’re so concerned for me,” he said as he dabbed ointment onto his chin.
“I’m concerned for me. We live together.”
His eyes met hers, and she felt that flare of heat again, the spark that seemed to ignite every time they were alone together. “About that kiss on the dance floor,” he began.
“I don’t want to talk about that kiss.”
“We need to talk about the kiss.” He reached out and captured her hand in his.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” she said, trying, and failing, to pull away from him. “It was a momentary lapse of judgment.”
“I think it was the natural reaction of a man and a woman who are attracted to each other.”
“We are work partners. Gender shouldn’t figure into it.”
“We’re human beings, not robots. Gender is part of what makes us who we are.” He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, sending a current of sensation through her, like an electrical charge. “I’m pretty happy about that right now.”
She jerked her hand away from him. “We have a job to do,” she said. “We can’t make this about us.”
He straightened in his chair. “I respect your feelings, even though I think you’re wrong. If you really believe the only way to handle this is to keep things strictly business between us, then I’ll do that.”
She forced herself to look him in the eye again. “I have to know that I can trust you,” she said.
His expression hardened. “I never have and I never will force myself on a woman. You don’t have to worry about anything like that.”
“I didn’t mean...” But what had she meant? Maybe it wasn’t Jace she couldn’t trust but herself when she was around him. He made her forget the woman she needed to be in favor of a wilder, more out-of-control version of herself. Losing herself that way felt more dangerous than any criminal she had ever faced.
Laura drove to work the next morning while Jace, his face an ugly mass of bruises, sat hunched over in the passenger seat. “Maybe you should have called in sick,” she said.
“Everyone will have heard about the fight by now. If I don’t show up for work, they’ll think Green got the best of me.”
“It looks to me like he did,” she said.
He glared at her, which only made her grin. Grumpy Jace was certainly easier to handle than easygoing Jace, who always seemed to find a way to glide past her doubts and hesitations.
That wasn’t quite a fair assessment, of course. True to his word, he hadn’t so much as brushed up against her this morning, keeping a very respectful and businesslike distance between them and coming to the breakfast table this morning fully and properly dressed.
What did it say about her that she had spent half the meal picturing him without his shirt anyway?
She was on her way to her office when Donna Stroud intercepted her. “Laura, I was hoping I’d catch you,” she said. “Could I speak with you in my office for a minute?”
Laura followed the older woman into her office. Donna settled heavily into the chair behind her desk. She looked as if she had aged in the last week, the lines around her eyes and on either side of her mouth deepened. “Is something wrong?” Laura asked.
“I’m hoping you can tell me if you’ve made any progress in this case,” Donna said.
“I don’t have anything I can share with you at this time,” Laura said. They had one suspect for the bombing and nothing for the poisoning, and things were moving agonizingly slow. “Investigations like this take time,” she continued. “There’s a lot of evidence to sift through and people to question.” Even then, sometimes a lucky break was as critical as good detective work. She was sure they had the latter in this case, but they needed the former.
“I feel as if my life is on hold, waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Donna said. “First the poisoned Stomach Soothers, then the bombing—what next? Why is someone out to destroy me and my family?”
“Right now, we don’t have anything to show that the same person committed both crimes,” Laura said. “It could be that the bombing was done to retaliate for the poisoned stomach medication.”
“Who would do something like that?”
“People who are grieving sometimes react drastically,” Laura said, thinking of Lydia Green’s nephew and Jace’s bruised face. “That doesn’t at all excuse what was done, but it does give us motivation and an idea of where to look.”
“You’re thinking of Leo Elgin, aren’t you?” Donna shook her head. “I’ve known Leo since he was a little boy. A smart, quiet boy. I can’t imagine him killing someone—a wonderful woman like Lydia Green. Especially not when he’s grieving his mother’s death.”
“We’re looking at a lot of different people and motives,” Laura said. “That was just one example.”
The door to Donna’s office opened and an attractive man with thick silver hair entered. He smiled at Laura. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Donna half rose from her chair. “I didn’t know you were coming in today.”
“Oh, I thought I should come in and check on things.” He moved into the room, then looked at Laura again. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Steve, this is—” Donna began.
“Oh, I know who it is.” The man—Laura realized it must be Steve Stroud—waved away the interruption. “I’m not likely to forget our future daughter-in-law, am I?”
“Steve, this is Laura Lovejoy. She’s Parker’s new administrative assistant, not his fiancée.” Donna’s voice was firm. “Parker and Kathleen split up almost two years ago.”
Steve’s face clouded. “They did? I guess... I guess it just slipped my mind.” He offered Laura a sheepish smile. “You do look a lot like her. A very pretty young woman.” He turned back to his wife. “Is Parker here?”
“I don’t know,” Donna said. “He’s been coming in late some mornings.”
“That’s all right.” Steve’s expression remained benign. “The boy works too hard. Always burning the midnight oil, working late.”
Donna and Laura exchanged glances. Certainly since Laura h
ad been here, Parker had not worked late. “Why don’t you go into your office?” Donna suggested. “I’ll send some reports in that I need you to review.”
He looked relieved. “Of course I’ll review them for you,” he said. “I did always have more patience for that sort of thing than you do.”
“Go on and I’ll send them over in a minute,” Donna said.
She waited until her husband had entered his office and shut the door behind him before she dropped into her chair once more. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “He’s not supposed to drive, but sometimes he gets away from the caretaker I’ve hired and heads down here. I’ll have to call the caretaker and find out what happened.” She glanced toward the office door. “And as you can see, he’s not always well-oriented to time and place. He mixes up the past and present and simply doesn’t remember other things.”
“Who was Kathleen?” Laura asked.
“A young woman Parker dated for a time. They were engaged for a little over six months. Then she broke off the relationship and moved away.”
“Where is she now? Do you know?”
“The last I heard, she was living in Washington, DC.”
“I’ll need her full name and address so we can check.” At Donna’s astonished look, she added, “She probably had nothing to do with any of this, but we need to check out anyone who has had a relationship with the family.” Maybe things between Parker and Kathleen hadn’t been so amicable.
“All right,” Donna said. “I’ll get that information for you.”
“All this must be very stressful for you,” Laura said.
“It is. But there’s nothing to do but carry on.”
“Parker mentioned that he had tried to persuade you to let him take on more of the day-to-day operation of the business,” Laura said.
“He has.” Her expression hardened. “I know that my son is not really your boss, at least not for the long term, but I still don’t feel right discussing him with you this way.”
“I’m only interested if it pertains to the case,” Laura said. Not precisely true. She had a human curiosity to know more about the man she worked with every day. But she was professional enough not to give in to that curiosity.
“Then let’s just say that I don’t think Parker is ready for the responsibility of running this business,” Donna said. “Especially not in this time of crisis.” She stood again. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get some sort of paperwork to keep Steve occupied, before he decides to wander into the factory and cause trouble.”
Laura left the office, pondering the dynamic between husband and wife. What would that be like, to watch the person you had vowed to love for better or worse slipping away right before your eyes?
When she reached her office, Laura was surprised to find Merry seated behind her desk. “Can I help you?” Laura asked, moving past the woman to stow her purse in the filing cabinet.
“I’m just waiting for Parker to come in.” Merry swiveled back and forth in Laura’s chair. “You’re late.”
“I stopped to talk with Mrs. Stroud.”
“What would she want with you?”
Laura didn’t bother answering the question. “I’ll tell Parker you stopped by when he gets in,” she said. “Right now, I have work I need to do.”
Merry made no move to leave, swiveling back and forth in the chair, a smirk on her face. “I think I’ll wait here for Parker to get in.”
“I don’t care what you do, but you need to get out of my chair.” Laura glared at the woman. She wasn’t above yanking Merry out of the chair by her ponytail, but she hoped they could resolve this in a more adult fashion.
“I like this chair,” Merry said. “It’s more comfortable than mine.”
Laura was debating her next move when the door behind them opened and Parker came in. “Good morning, Parker!” Merry called.
Parker looked from Laura to Merry. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
Merry vacated the chair at last and hurried around the desk. “I stopped by to say good morning,” she said.
“Good morning,” he said, then disappeared into his office and shut the door.
Merry stared at the closed door, looking close to tears. Laura settled into the chair behind her desk and booted up her computer.
“He doesn’t like you,” Merry said.
Laura looked up and Merry stalked over to the desk. “Parker was never like this when Cheryl worked for him. Having to work with you has put him in a bad mood.”
Laura shrugged. “If you say so.”
Merry leaned over the desk, both hands planted on its surface. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I’m trying to work.” Laura turned back to her computer.
“Everyone thinks it’s strange that you and your husband showed up here out of nowhere and the next day that bomb goes off. You’re not even from here and you move into one of the top jobs at the company. We all think you’re up to something.”
“I’m not up to anything,” Laura said.
“I think you are,” Merry said. “And I’m going to find out what it is.” She whirled and hurried away, reminding Laura of a defiant child. Her last words might as well have been, I’m telling!
* * *
“THE WARRANT CAME through to allow us to bug Leo Elgin’s house,” Jace said after dinner that evening. Laura had made tacos, so he was supposed to be cleaning up, though he lingered at the table over a glass of iced tea. His bruises looked worse than ever, though she had to admit the rugged look added an air of danger that suited him. “We’ll go in tomorrow, during his mom’s memorial service.”
“What’s your plan?” she asked. Jace always had a plan for these things. His aptitude for legal breaking and entering was one of the reasons he had been recruited for the tactical crime division.
“We’re going in as caterers for the reception after the service.”
“Leo is paying caterers for a reception?” He hadn’t struck Laura as someone who would go to that much trouble.
“Stroud Pharmaceuticals arranged it all,” he said. “Donna Stroud insisted.”
“Ah.” Laura nodded. “And we insisted that Donna Stroud insist.”
“Ramirez might have encouraged her a little, but she doesn’t know that we’re going in or what we’ll be doing.”
“Of course not.” She sighed. “What do you need me to do?”
He studied her across the table. “You need to get a wig,” he said. “Something mousy. And a maid’s uniform.”
“I hope this isn’t going where I think it’s going,” she said.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Smitty,” he said. “I’m not talking about a French maid. Frankly, we need to drab you down so you’re less noticeable.”
“Since when am I noticeable?” She stared at him. “I’m a federal agent. I know how to blend in.”
“You know how to blend in when you’re wearing your black suit with your hair in a bun. But here in Mayville—trust me, you stand out.”
“What do you mean, I stand out?”
He grinned. “Do you know how many men have come up to me and said something about the hot new blonde in Parker’s office?”
She flushed. “What did you say?”
“I told them, yeah, that’s my wife, so hands off.”
Her expression must have conveyed her annoyance. “Hey, it’s what they expect,” he said. “Don’t take it personally.”
How could she not take it personally? On one hand, it bothered her to know men at the plant had been talking about her. On the other hand, she melted a little at the thought of Jace warning them off—as if he really did care.
“Headquarters is sending over a package tomorrow morning,” he said. “It should have everything we need, including the disguises I asked for.”
“Good. B
ecause I think if I go shopping for a wig in Mayville, it’s going to spark rumors.”
His grin was positively wicked. “Then you could tell them you were just trying to liven things up in the bedroom.”
She threw her spoon at him, but he caught it in the air and laughed. “What’s your disguise?” she asked.
“Glasses, earring and fake tattoos.”
She frowned. “Someone could recognize you.”
“Trust me, they won’t.”
She slept fitfully that night, anxiety over the next day’s job mingling with wild dreams of Jace—Jace kissing her, touching her, then leaving her, guaranteeing she awoke tired and out of sorts.
The promised box from headquarters arrived at nine thirty. The memorial service for Gini Elgin was due to begin at eleven. Jace figured they would have about an hour to get in and out before the real caterers showed up, followed by Leo and the other mourners. They each retired to their rooms to get ready.
The black pants, white shirt and gray apron were definitely on the drab side, Laura decided as she studied what she could see of herself in the dresser mirror. The wig—a mousy brown bob with thick bangs—also did little to draw attention to herself. She added the white Keds that had also been in the box, secured her weapon in its harness beneath the apron, and called it good.
She met up with Jace in the kitchen, where he was examining the electronics that had also been packed in their box. Laura stared at his transformation. He wore black pants and a tight black T-shirt that clung to his biceps and abs, showing off details she hadn’t noticed before—mainly, that Jace Cantrell had put in his share of time in the gym. Below the short sleeves of the tee he’d added full-sleeve tattoos—a vividly colored tapestry of birds, fish, serpents and at least one skull. A gold hoop glinted at one ear, and he’d shaved his scruff into a soul patch.
“Is this your idea of drabbing down and not standing out?” she asked, trying—and failing—to tear her eyes away from him.
“I’m going for the opposite effect,” he said. “If anyone does see me, they’ll remember the body art. Once we’re done with the job, I’ll remove the sleeves and the earring, shave off the soul patch and essentially, vanish.”
