Survive the Hunt

by Diana Duncan

  But what intrigued her most was his chivalry. Though he’d been livid with her that December night in the parking lot, her Dark Champion had unhesitatingly put his body between her and flying bullets.

  And what woman with a heart could resist wanting to soothe the pain in those wounded brown eyes, the quiet suffering bracketing his sexy, stubborn mouth?

  Reading back issues of the local paper online—she always learned the history in a new town—had revealed the cause. Several dates with Marvin, the geeky clerk in the Riverside PD records room, filled in the gaps. And her heart had broken for Aidan.

  Too soon, the water cooled. She stepped onto the turquoise-flowered bathmat and wrapped herself in a matching towel. Nine years ago, over five million dollars had gone missing after an armored-car heist. Aidan’s father was lead officer at the scene, and blame had fallen on him. The allegations were never proven, but his reputation had been trashed. He was taken off the streets and assigned permanent desk duty.

  Before Brian O’Rourke could clear his name, he’d been murdered in a home-invasion robbery. They’d never found his body, but the massive amount of blood at the crime scene—his own family room—was enough for a judge to rule him dead by homicide.

  A few of Brian’s fellow police officers speculated he’d faked the murder and was living it up in paradise. She fluffed her short, feathery curls as empathy for Aidan ached in her chest. Her intuition screamed that Brian was innocent. Responsible cops and devoted family men didn’t just turn rotten.

  She would uncover the truth. This was more than just another intriguing story. Brian O’Rourke deserved to rest in peace. And his wife and sons shouldn’t have to live in torment. She didn’t expect to have a family or security any time in the near future, but restoring a measure of security to the O’Rourke family might help fill the aching void inside her. And if cracking a cold case boosted her journalism credentials ... extra frosting on the cupcake.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, Evander wove between her ankles. “You smell a rat too, don’t ya, buddy?” She bent to pet the cat, and his uneven purr rumbled. The rat in question was a vicious crook named Tony DiMarco. Tony owned a security company that trained and supplied armed guards, who’d then given him inside information for robberies.

  He was responsible for the bank robbery that’d brought her and Aidan together. He’d been badly burned and shot in the head during the final confrontation, and had spent the past six months supposedly helpless, but under armed guard in Mercy Hospital’s attached rehab facility.

  The armed guard detail was another red alert. Obviously Riverside PD knew something Zoe didn’t.

  Her investigative talents had painstakingly unraveled an intricate web of dummy corporations owned by DiMarco’s security company. Those corporations were suddenly being hastily liquidated, but DiMarco had suffered brain damage and was incapacitated.

  So where was the money going? And why?

  Secrets and lies brought trouble. Caused pain. She’d become a reporter to gain a forum to educate and help people. Her outgoing personality, verbal acuity, and unerring instincts were perfect for the job, as was a survival skill honed over the years ... the ability to read people. She knew when someone wasn’t quite what he or she seemed. Knew when someone was lying. DiMarco was the key to the puzzle she was trying to unlock. She felt it clear to her marrow. Proving it ... not quite there yet.

  After donning a purple bra and bikini undies, she chose low-rider jeans and a short-sleeved lavender peasant top from the lidded cardboard box parked at the foot of her mattress. Brian O’Rourke and Tony DiMarco had known each other years ago, and DiMarco still carried a grudge against O’Rourke. No coincidence, that. Nailing down DiMarco’s guilt could quite possibly clear Aidan’s father’s name.

  Smiling, she slipped bare feet into orange crocs. Aidan O’Rourke thought he was a closed book, but he was easier to read than the Riverside Daily. He didn’t detest her nearly as much as he pretended.

  There was innate sensuality in the graceful way he moved. Compelling intensity hidden in the dark secrets of his eyes. Appealing assurance in his commanding presence. He made her pulse riot, her knees go wonky, and her stomach jitterbug. Just being near him was more electrifying than riding the gigantic roller coaster at Six Flags Magic Mountain.

  Every time they met, they sparred. And sparks flew.

  Unlike him, she didn’t try to disguise her interest. Not that it mattered. He didn’t seem inclined to act on the attraction. Why? He wasn’t seeing anyone on a regular basis. Attending the Seattle Star Trek convention with Marvin had left her fully informed about the O’Rourkes in more ways than one—even if she did have to dress up like a Klingon. The three-hour drive each way had been a treasure trove of conversation.

  She fastened on faux amethyst hoop earrings. On second thought, maybe Aidan’s standoffish attitude was a good thing.

  If her cop knew what she was up to, he’d blow a gasket.

  She wasn’t sure how or when she’d started thinking of him as “her cop.” But each time they met, the more he warned her away, the more proprietary she felt. Beneath his bluster, she saw hurt. Isolation. She knew all about trying to plow through life alone. She couldn’t squelch the urge to hold him. Comfort him. She rolled her eyes. Yeah, rad, bad and dangerous SWAT would love the poor baby treatment.

  A light hand with blush, mascara, and shiny cherry lip gloss gave her the ingénue look she wanted for today. She tucked four boxes of Cracker Jack into the ancient, vinyl-lined canvas bag she called her survival kit. Not a traditional breakfast, but filling, energizing, and uber cheap at the Dollar Store.

  She glanced down at Evander, ambling at her side. “Caramel-covered popcorn and peanuts are as nutritious as sugar-coated cereal, right?” He chirped in agreement. She filled a water bottle at the tap, then tucked it into her bag.

  A light summer breeze drifted through the screened apartment windows, locked open several safe inches. She breathed in fresh morning air. Thank goodness she’d be out during the heat of the day, when the tiny room went into broil mode. Evander jumped onto a windowsill to snooze in the sun. She patted him. “Nap all day and prowl all night. Rough life, pal.”

  Shouldering her bag, she headed out to her ancient, but reliable red Corolla. Determination swung in her stride.

  She had a murderous bank robber to interview.

  Chapter 2

  11:00 a.m.

  “I am his niece. I’ve been out of the country serving in the Peace Corps and only just discovered poor Uncle Tony had been hurt.” Zoe innocently widened her eyes at the young, sandy-haired cop barring her from Tony DiMarco’s room. This time, as opposed to her usual accuracy, her best guess was way off. When she’d seen Officer Richard Ryan’s twinkling blue eyes and baby face, she’d figured he’d cave in five minutes. But she’d been trying to BS her way past him for fifteen.

  “Sorry, miss.” Officer Ryan shook his head, planting himself more firmly in front of the door.

  “He’s probably terribly lonely. I’m sure he wants to see me. What harm could it do?”

  The cop indicated the cell phone he’d used to contact the station when she’d first arrived to request clearance for “Angela DiMarco” to see her “Uncle Tony.” No one had returned his call yet, and he repeated his soft-spoken but implacable litany. “No civilians allowed inside without permission from headquarters.”

  Crap. Gonna have to do this the hard way, and face the fallout later. “I have permission. From Aidan O’Rourke.”

  “Is that right?” Officer Ryan’s lips quirked, and her hopes spun. The magic key! Open sesame! Friendly blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “That’s different, then.”

  She nodded earnestly. “I understand you won’t want my bag inside for security reasons.” She plunked her survival kit on the rust-colored carpet at his feet. “But I’ll take my pad and pen, in case Uncle Tony needs to dictate any instructions.”

  “You know,” a resonant male baritone drawled behin
d her. “Good old ‘Uncle Tony’ could kill you six different ways with that pen.”

  Her senses burst to life in a dizzying swoop of tangled dread and exhilaration. Hot damn! She’d know that caress-of-black-velvet voice anywhere.

  Reluctantly, she turned around. Aidan stood directly behind her. If the scuffed brown boots, snug jeans faded in the very best places, and white button-down shirt rolled up on muscled forearms were any indication, Dominant Dude was off duty. Though she suspected her cop never completely went off duty. Confirmation: one long finger hooked a brown leather bomber jacket over his shoulder, and it was too warm for a jacket, so he’d likely stashed his gun inside.

  She sucked in a breath. SWAT ... Slathered With Awesome Testosterone.

  “Um ... how long have you been standing there?”

  A scowl creased his ruggedly handsome face. “Long enough.”

  Did the guy ever relax? Geez, did he ever crack a smile? She couldn’t remember seeing one adorn his luscious, obstinate mouth. Then again, when they were together, he was usually pissed off.

  She offered a smile brimming with cheery bravado. “Nice to see you again.”

  He flicked an enigmatic glance at Officer Ryan. “Thanks for calling me, Rich. Take five.”

  “Sure thing, O’Rourke. Figured you’d want to take care of your little fan girl personally.” Grinning, Ryan sauntered down the hallway.

  Fan girl? My ass! She was not trailing after Aidan like a swooning groupie. She grimaced at Ryan’s retreating back. Outfoxed by a guy barely old enough to shave. She must be slipping.

  Aidan deftly inserted his big body between her and DiMarco’s doorway. “What the hell are you trying to pull now?”

  “I need to speak to DiMarco.”

  His movements a symphony of masculine power and grace, he slung his jacket over an upholstered chair parked to the right of the door and crossed those tanned, sinewy forearms over his wide chest. “He’d just as soon kill you as look at you.”

  “He has no reason to hurt me.” Not unless he discovered she was trying to bring him down.

  “DiMarco doesn’t need a reason.” His scowl deepened. “Besides, he hasn’t said a word in six months. What makes you think he’d talk to you, if he were able?”

  A young, blond male aide trundled down the corridor, pushing a large linen cart. “’Scuse me.”

  She stepped aside. The aide wheeled the cart into the room, where he began to strip the bed.

  She glanced in at DiMarco. Appearing unaware of his surroundings, the pale man slumped in a wheelchair, his head lolled to one side. Terrible red burn scars mottled his face. His room was butter-yellow, but the cheerful color didn’t really matter. All hospitals looked the same, intersecting fluorescent-lit rows of door-studded corridors. Behind each door was a person in pain. And all hospitals smelled the same ... disinfectant and desperation.

  Her mom languished in a similar rehab facility in San Francisco. However, within the stroke-paralyzed shell, sparks flickered in Rita’s green eyes. Where there were sparks, there was life. And where there was life, hope. Zoe probably wouldn’t get any response from DiMarco, but she was willing to take even a long-shot bet.

  She wanted to see what was in DiMarco’s eyes.

  “I thought he might respond to the press.”

  “Why bother?” Torment laced Aidan’s bitter words. “You reporters make up whatever salacious lies fit your narrative. Then sell them, regardless of who gets hurt.”

  “Some do,” she acknowledged quietly. “Not me. I want to hear DiMarco’s side of the story.” And if her news that someone was stealing his “hard-earned” money couldn’t get a rise out of the guy, nothing could. Perhaps then the person rapidly accruing Tony’s funds would hear that Tony had been told, and tip his or her hand. She’d studied the crimes Tony was suspected of committing. Even cognitively impaired, DiMarco was a formidable enemy.

  “He’s a ruthless killer,” Aidan growled. “‘His side of the story’ is bent beyond belief.”

  She stared into Aidan’s deep brown eyes. Compelling. Seductive. Glittering with rich, dark heat far more addictive than her favorite espresso. “It’s okay, Aidan. I know.”

  Those eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Know what?”

  “DiMarco and your dad were army buddies. They were stationed in Hawaii along with your mom, who was an Army nurse. Your father mustered out injured, accompanied by your mom, while Tony went to war as a Black Ops assassin.”

  His expression shuttered. “Old news, Zagretti.”

  “All pieces of the same puzzle.” Aidan didn’t deny it, but then he couldn’t deny the truth. “When DiMarco robbed the mall’s bank, he was wearing your father’s watch. A watch you and your brothers made and gave to your dad for Father’s Day when you were young.” She paused, loath to whammy him with a bad memory. “The watch Brian O’Rourke was wearing the day he died.”

  Lightning flashed in his irises. He grasped her shoulders and spun her, trapping her between his big body and the wall. Thrust his face close to hers. “My brothers and I are the only ones who know that.” His lethally quiet voice thrummed with fury. “How did you weasel that out?”

  For a supremely pissed off man, his grip on her shoulders was rigidly controlled. Her cop knew his strength and didn’t abuse it. Heat radiated from him, enveloping her in his clean scent of soap and compelling male essence. She gripped his hard, warm forearms ... and inhaled a startled breath when whammied by a thunderbolt of awareness.

  Holy shit! Touching his skin zapped her—just like the time she’d been sneaking around after a story and grabbed a low-voltage electric fence.

  His muscles jumped beneath her palms and his big body jolted. Yeah, he felt the shock waves, too.

  She strove to find her lost voice. “I ...” There it was. Unsteady as hell, but ... “I observe. Listen. Hear and see things.”

  His rigid jaw twitched. “You didn’t leave when I threw you off the mall incident site,” his deep voice rumbled ominously. “You hid and spied. What else did you hear?”

  Gorgeous and smart. After he’d saved her life, he’d ordered her off the premises. Instead, concealed by the storm and the chaos, she’d circled back and climbed inside a huge Dumpster near where the ambulances were parked. After the hostages were released, she’d had a ringside seat as Aidan and his brothers conducted a private debriefing while youngest brother Grady, the team’s medic, treated Con for a head wound.

  “Aidan, we both know DiMarco’s MO fits a series of home-invasion robberies, which also includes the robbery that killed your father.” Perhaps if he understood her motives, her goal, they could work together. “We both believe Tony DiMarco framed and killed your dad, and think it was personal. All I need is enough proof to convict him.”

  Aidan’s furious breath blasted her lips with heat. “Do not fuck with my family.” Although rage vibrated through his body, his grip stayed gentle. “I will do whatever’s necessary to protect them.”

  Despite the trauma the O’Rourkes had experienced, she almost envied them. How wonderful it’d feel to have someone who cared enough to put your welfare above all others. To have the ultimate protector watching your back.

  She and her mom had always been a distrustful isolated island in the cold sea of humanity. With Mom working long hours at under-the-table jobs to support them, Zoe had often been alone, even at night. Always afraid. Especially at night.

  She raised her chin. No more fear. Not of the specter haunting her past. Certainly not of Aidan O’Rourke. “I don’t intend to hurt your family.”

  He snarled. “DiMarco isn’t the only one who knows how to assassinate with a pen. You journalists ... Making accusations my father can’t defend. Mocking our faith in his innocence. Exposing our grief for the public to sneer at.” His mouth twisted. “‘Mrs. O’Rourke, your husband is a dead dirty cop, how do you feel? Film at eleven.’”

  Her heart squeezed. Even after nine years, his wounds hadn’t healed. How could they? He’d never had
closure. She could give him that. Give him peace. “I know you were hurt by biased reporting before, and I’m so sorry.” She surrendered to the compulsion to gently touch his warm, bristly cheek. Absorbed the bolt of crackling energy. “I’m not like that, I promise. I report the truth.”

  A lifetime of living lies made speaking the truth even more important to her.

  As his head whipped back like she’d scalded him, smooth, hot skin and fine sandpaper whiskers grazed her palm. His hands released her shoulders. “You and your fellow reporters wouldn’t recognize the truth if it bit you on the ass.”

  “Don’t mistake me for an adversary, Aidan. I want to help.”

  “What kind of damn idiot do you take me for?”

  “I don’t think you’re an idiot at all. You’re a very intelligent man. And I’d like for us to be friends.” Sudden doubt assailed her. Just because Aidan desired her didn’t mean he liked her. Not everyone wanted to adopt strays.

  She hesitated. What did she have to lose, except her dubious dignity? “Please, call me Zoe.”

  Smoldering brown irises lasered her. “Playing a dangerous game, Zagretti. And I’m a dangerous man.”

  Dangerous.

  To her peace of mind? Assuredly. To her hormones? Absolutely.

  But bodily harm? Nope. Her self-preservation instincts were infallible. “This isn’t a game to me. Exposing the truth is my life’s ambition.”

  Bright fury blazed around him. “Don’t sell out my family to feed your ambition, or you’ll be one sorry reporter.”

  “I told you, I want to help.”

  “Forget it,” he growled. “You haven’t seen the carnage DiMarco is capable of. He’s already hurt too many people, caused too much pain.”

  “That’s exactly why I can’t forget it.”