A Guilty Affair

by Maureen Smith

  Riley blushed, and felt compelled to add, “He was in another room the whole time. It’s not like we were sleeping together, er, I mean, at the same—”

  A quiet smile curved Florinda’s mouth. “I know what you meant, dear. I spoke to him myself. He told me you’d fallen asleep in the living room.”

  Riley bit her lip, comforted by the fact that as long as her grandmother’s eyes remained closed, she wouldn’t see Riley’s apprehensive expression. “Did he sound irritated?”

  “Not at all.” The smile became soft, intuitive. “I don’t think you’d ever have to worry about irritating Noah.”

  Riley was inclined to disagree but saw no reason to point that out. “He really appreciated the pound cake. By the time I left, it was half-gone.”

  “I know. He was eating a piece when I called. I told him I’d bake another one and give it to him when he came to my party.”

  Riley’s mouth fell open. “You invited Noah to your birthday party?”

  “Of course. I knew you wouldn’t do it.”

  “Grandma—”

  Florinda opened her eyes and gave her granddaughter a reproving look. “Don’t I have a right to invite whoever I want to my own birthday party?”

  “Of course, Grandma. It’s just that—”

  “I like Noah Roarke,” Florinda said emphatically. “I think he’s a wonderful young man, and I know you’d think so too if you took the time to get to know him better.”

  Riley sputtered. “ Me?With all due respect, Grandma, I think you’ve got it backward. Noah’s the one who’s been pushing me away for the last five years, not the other way around!”

  Lips pursed, Florinda gave her a long, measuring look. “That really bothers you, doesn’t it?” she murmured.

  Riley forced a dismissive shrug. “Not anymore. Not like it used to.”

  “And you don’t know why he’s been pushing you away?”

  Riley heaved a long, weary sigh. “I have no idea, Grandma. Maybe because I dented his car the very first day we met, and after that he decided I was an airhead. Or maybe he didn’t approve of his best friend dating a reporter. He may have thought I was using Trevor to get the inside scoop on things happening within the police department.” She frowned. “Or maybe he just thought Trevor was too good for me and could do better.”

  Florinda’s mouth tightened, and a flash of indignation flared in her eyes. “Trevor Simmons was not too good for you. If anything—” She broke off abruptly, snapping her mouth shut and averting her gaze.

  For several moments the two women were silent. From somewhere outside, the lazy drone of a lawn mower could be heard.

  With her head bent low, Riley plucked a piece of lint from her skirt. “I know you were never crazy about Trevor,” she said in a subdued voice. “But I loved him, Grandma.”

  Florinda reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “I know you did, baby. And he loved you, too. I never doubted that.”

  Riley lifted her grandmother’s hand and held it to her heart, looking the other woman in the eye. “You’re the only one I’ve told about my dreams, my fears. I hope you know…I hope you understand why I have to find out the truth.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Florinda reached up and cupped Riley’s face in both hands. “I understand so much more than you could ever imagine. And someday, dear granddaughter, the confusion you’ve been feeling—about everything in your life, not just Trevor’s death—will all make sense. Do you believe me?”

  Tears burned at the back of Riley’s throat. She nodded, but deep down inside she wondered if, perhaps, this was one time her grandmother’s prediction about the future wouldn’t come to pass.

  When Noah left the San Antonio Police Department four years ago to start a private detective agency with his older brother, many of his comrades had feared he wouldn’t keep in touch, that he’d simply drop off the face of the earth, never to be seen or heard from again.

  He’d proved them all wrong.

  The first time he showed up for the Sunday-night game of pool at Fast Eddie’s, the deafening cheers and applause that greeted him made him feel like a rock star. Four years later, not much had changed, other than a few expanding waistlines and hairlines that were beginning to recede—fodder for many of the jokes that were exchanged between the close-knit group of cops.

  Thick smoke hung in the air over the bar and pool tables, and hard-edged hip-hop music blared from a jukebox in the corner. After winning his match, Noah sidled up to the bar and ordered a beer for himself and the detective who slid onto the stool beside him. The barmaid, an attractive young brunette wearing a tight T-shirt and cutoff jeans, offered Noah and his companion a sultry, inviting smile as she set the frothy beers on the counter before them.

  “Enjoy your drinks, fellas,” she purred.

  Paulo Sanchez winked at her. “We’d enjoy them even more if you’d join us, beautiful.”

  She gave a demure little laugh. “Maybe next time.”

  “That’s what you always say,” Paulo protested, his dark gaze following the girl’s shapely bottom as she moved off to tend to the next customer. “Damn. What a tease.”

  Shaking his head, Noah scooped his cold bottle off the counter and took a healthy swig of beer. “Look on the bright side,” he said pragmatically.

  “What’s that?”

  “She says the same thing to everyone. So she’s an equal-opportunity tease.”

  Paulo laughed, choking on a swallow of beer. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he gave Noah a sideways look. “I bet she’d go out with you if you asked her.”

  “Guess we’ll never find out.”

  Paulo gave his head a mournful shake. “Damned shame, that.”

  At thirty-six, Detective Paulo Sanchez had been with the SAPD for fourteen years. In Noah’s judgment, having worked with him in homicide and on patrol, Paulo Sanchez was one of the best of the best: aggressive, hard, intelligent. A cop’s cop. Wearing a black T-shirt, faded jeans, scuffed leather boots, and sporting a perpetual five-o’clock shadow, Sanchez looked every bit the tough guy he was. But few people knew the depth of the emotional scars he bore, byproducts of a failed marriage and the brutal murder of a woman he’d once had an affair with. The guilt he’d suffered in the aftermath of both had nearly destroyed him, sending him into a tailspin of self-destructive behavior until his cousin, an FBI agent at the local field office, had intervened. Sanchez had taken a six-month leave of absence to, as he put it, “get his scrambled marbles in order.”

  The self-imposed sabbatical seemed to have worked. He’d quit smoking and now adhered to a strict two-drink limit whenever he went out. Noah, like every other cop gathered at the pool hall that Sunday evening, had a tremendous amount of respect for the way Paulo had turned his life around. How could you not respect a guy who was willing to admit he needed help?

  Noah wondered grimly if he could apply the same solution to his obsession with Riley Kane. But it wasn’t as if a sabbatical would cure him. The woman already lived halfway across the country—how much more distance could he ask for?

  “So what’s going on with you, mi amigo?” Paulo asked conversationally. “How’s life as a P.I.?”

  “Business is good,” Noah said, shoving thoughts of Riley aside. “So good, in fact, that we’re seriously considering hiring another investigator.”

  “No kidding? Even with your sister as the third partner, you still need help with the caseload?”

  Noah nodded. “Especially now that Daniela’s thinking about going to law school.” For real this time, he mused, inwardly grimacing at the memory of his younger sister going undercover as a law student in order to get the goods on her husband’s father, a prominent defense attorney suspected of criminal negligence. The undercover assignment had ended disastrously, and Daniela’s role in it had nearly cost her the love of her life. Noah had been racked with guilt for months afterward, even after the couple reconciled.

  He, like Paulo, definitely knew a thing or two about gui
lt.

  “Daniela wants to become a lawyer?”

  “She’s considering it. She and her husband have talked about opening their own law firm someday.”

  Paulo snorted. “Why doesn’t Thorne just run his old man’s firm? Hell, it’s already well established and successful.”

  “Caleb’s not interested in practicing criminal law anymore. I respect that about him—the man knows what he wants and doesn’t give a damn what anyone else thinks.”

  “You’re like that, too, Roarke. Remember how much flak you caught when you announced you were leaving the force to start a business with your brother?”

  Noah chuckled grimly. “Yeah. I think there were bets going around about how soon I’d be back in the chief’s office, begging for my old job.”

  “I know.” Paulo grinned. “I started one of ’em.”

  “Bastard,” Noah grumbled without rancor.

  “Well, you proved us all wrong, so it’s water under the bridge.” After a moment, Paulo’s expression turned thoughtful. “So you’re thinking you need another investigator, huh?”

  “Yep. Know anyone who might be interested?”

  “I might be.”

  “Yeah?” Noah paused, beer bottle halfway to his mouth as he studied his companion. “I think you’d make one helluva P.I., Sanchez. Give it some thought.”

  Paulo nodded slowly. “Maybe I will.”

  A round of raucous male laughter drew their attention toward the pool table in the corner, where several of their comrades were teasing Mario Cruz, a young officer who’d recently been invited to join the Sunday Night Pool Sharks, as the group had dubbed themselves several years ago. The coveted invitation hadn’t come without a price. As the youngest cop present, Mario couldn’t take a shot without someone whispering taunts in his ear or “accidentally” bumping into his cue stick, throwing off his concentration.

  Noah was lazily contemplating when to bail the poor kid out when Paulo said, “I heard the damnedest thing yesterday. About Riley Kane. Turns out she’s back in town.”

  Noah grew very still, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer bottle, wishing it were Mario Cruz’s neck instead. Since yesterday, the kid had been blabbering to everyone about pulling Riley over for speeding.

  Paulo looked at him. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

  Noah hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. “I saw her.”

  “Really? How’s she doing?”

  “She seems all right,” Noah lied. No way was he telling anyone—especially another cop—that the fiancée of their fallen comrade was on a mission to prove Trevor had been responsible for his own death.

  “Did she say how she’s enjoying life up North? Her job at the Washington Post?”

  Noah shook his head, sipping his beer. “We didn’t really talk about it.”

  “What did you talk about?” Paulo prodded.

  “Not much. It was a short visit.”

  As Paulo regarded him in shrewd silence, Noah braced himself for the question he knew was coming. But even when it did, he felt as if he’d taken a hard blow to the chest.

  “When are you finally going to tell her how you feel?”

  Noah closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m not.”

  “So you’d rather keep torturing yourself.”

  “I’m not tortured.”

  Paulo said nothing. The lie hung between them, as thick and palpable as the cloud of cigarette smoke that hung over their heads. Paulo was the only one who knew about Noah’s feelings for Riley. Not even his brother knew. If he’d been in his right mind, the secret would’ve followed him to the grave.

  On the night of Trevor’s funeral, Noah had wanted nothing more than to obliterate his grief and pain by drowning himself in a bottle of whiskey. When he arrived at the bar that fateful night, he’d found Paulo already hunched over the counter, nursing a drink. The two men started talking, and by Noah’s third glass of whiskey, he was spilling his guts to Paulo about his feelings for Riley. Paulo had listened to his slurred ramblings in silence, so silent that Noah figured Paulo was probably drunk himself and wouldn’t remember a word of Noah’s confession once they left the bar.

  He was wrong.

  The next day, Paulo called him up and asked one simple question. “What’re you going to do about Riley?”

  It was the last time Noah had allowed himself to drink following an emotional crisis.

  “Why are you punishing yourself for being in love with Trevor’s fiancée?” Paulo asked now, keeping his voice low enough not to be overheard by others.

  “Think about what you just said,” Noah bit off tersely. “She was my best friend’s fiancée.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But Trevor’s not here anymore, man. And, as hard as it is for you to accept, he’s not coming back.”

  “So does that mean I should just move in on his girl?” Noah growled.

  Paulo frowned. “It’s been three years. You wouldn’t exactly be ‘moving in’ on her, mi amigo. And I don’t think anyone else would see it that way, either.”

  Noah scowled. “This isn’t about what other people think. It’s about what I think is right and wrong. What I feel here,” he said, stabbing a finger at his heart, “is wrong.”

  “Why the hell is it? I mean, why can’t it be you, Roarke? Because Trevor met her first?” When Noah said nothing, Paulo shook his head in exasperation. “Riley Kane is a damned beautiful woman. You and I both know she’s not gonna be single forever. Eventually, when she comes out of mourning, she’s going to be ready for another relationship, and when she is, do you want her to end up with you—or some other lucky bastard? Think about that, my friend. Think real hard.”

  Noah already had. It was all he’d thought about for the past three years. The idea of Riley with another man made him fiercely jealous—and profoundly miserable. He couldn’t stomach the thought of her being held, kissed, made love to by someone else. And the day she fell in love again…God help him. He hoped he’d never have to endure that agony. If it happened, he hoped he never had to hear about it.

  “For all we know,” he brooded, hunched over his beer, “she might already have a boyfriend. She’s been gone for three years. We don’t know what kind of life she’s been leading in D.C.”

  Paulo made a face. “Not much of one, according to what I’ve heard. Her friend Lety at the Express-News has kept in touch with Riley. And she says Riley pretty much threw herself into work after she got hired at the Post. She puts in long hours at the office and hasn’t made much time for socializing—or dating.”

  Noah’s relief upon hearing this news was tempered by a sharp pang of guilt. It shouldn’t please him to know that Riley was leading such a solitary life, closing herself off from the rest of the world. The last thing she needed, in the aftermath of losing Trevor, was to be alone.

  His mouth twisted cynically. As if he was an expert on what Riley Kane needed.

  As Paulo studied Noah’s brooding profile, he cocked his head slightly to the side, as if he were angling for a better look into his soul. “Let me ask you something,” he said thoughtfully. “What do you think Trevor would say if he knew how you felt about Riley?”

  Noah frowned darkly. “I try not to think about that too much,” he muttered.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what I think, man. I think he’d tell you to go for it.”

  Noah shot him a look. “You obviously didn’t know Trevor Simmons very well.”

  “I knew him well enough. And I think he’d rather have you, his best friend that he trusted with his life, to take care of his woman, than some prick who might not treat her right.”

  Noah wasn’t so sure about that. As close as he and Trevor had been, there’d always been a slight under-current of tension between them where Riley was concerned. He still remembered the look on Trevor’s face when he’d stepped outside the police station that fateful day and found Riley, her skirt hiked up to her thighs, huddled beside Noah as they examined the fender of his car. Noah hadn
’t missed the way Trevor had pulled her gently to her feet, curved an arm around her waist and held her possessively at his side while he performed the introductions.

  There had been other things, as well, such as the fact that Trevor seldom let Riley out of his sight whenever Noah was around. Once, during a cookout at a fellow officer’s house, Noah had escaped to the privacy of the kitchen to take an important call when Riley appeared in the doorway.

  Seeing him on the phone, she’d motioned to a tray of uncooked hot dogs on the counter behind him. “I need to take those outside,” she’d whispered.

  Noah had stepped out of her way at the same time she moved, bumping into him. They’d laughed and mumbled sheepish apologies to each other. Noah had reached behind him, picked up the tray and passed it to her. As she murmured her thanks, their eyes met and held for a moment, then slid away as Trevor walked into the room. He’d remained by Riley’s side for the rest of the day.

  If Trevor had ever asked Noah outright how he felt about Riley, Noah honestly didn’t know how he would’ve responded. But as it turned out, the topic never came up between the two men. In the back of his mind, though, Noah had always wondered if Trevor suspected the truth—which only compounded his guilt in the aftermath of his friend’s death.

  Shoving aside the painful reverie, Noah tossed down the rest of his beer, then stood and fished two twenties out of his wallet. “I’m gonna go rescue the kid,” he said, hitching his chin toward the pool table where Mario Cruz was trying to figure out which one of the poker-faced cops surrounding him had stolen his cue stick.

  Paulo nodded, a knowing look on his face. As Noah walked away, he heard the detective say, just loud enough for him to hear, “Why don’t you rescue yourself while you’re at it?”

  If I could, Noah thought grimly, I would’ve done it a long time ago.

  Chapter 5

  Riley waited until Monday morning before attempting to approach Noah again.

  She hadn’t trusted herself to go to his house on Sunday. After what had happened—or not happened—between them on Saturday, she’d decided it was best that she avoid being alone with him for any prolonged period of time.