“We need to meet with my people,” he said, tersely adding, “Now.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth turned down in annoyance. “What if I have other plans for the evening?”
“You have something more important going on than ducking a murder charge?”
That deflated her, and then something inside Gideon softened. Suddenly Simone looked vulnerable…like the scared girl he remembered before the trial. Back then, he’d wanted to take her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her, how horrible he felt knowing his father’s murder was ripping them apart.
Back then, Michael had stood between them and had kept Simone from the trial, had kept him from seeing Simone ever again.
But Michael wasn’t here now.
Gideon reached out and touched her cheek. Though Simone’s eyes widened, she didn’t move away. Fingertips burning where they met her delicate skin, he slid his hand back around her neck, and tugged her closer. She leaned into him and he wrapped his arms around her back. He held her and wondered how he’d gone without this…this feeling of rightness for so long. He’d never felt with another woman the way he did with Simone in his arms.
He needed objectivity, to be able to stand back and not let Simone get to him. Wanting to do more than just hold her, he, instead, did nothing at all.
The hardest nothing of his life.
Simone suddenly came awake, pushing at him with frantic intensity. So she felt it, too, Gideon thought, smiling as he let her go.
“There’ll be no more of that,” she gasped.
“No more of what?”
“Holding? Comforting?”
“No, I mean yes!”
“Touching?”
“You want your hand broken?”
“I get the picture, Simone.” He grinned down at her. “So do you.”
“Is your ego inflating again?”
“It’s not my ego that I’m worried about inflating,” he clarified.
Gideon almost laughed at her outraged expression as she realized what he meant. Fearing that she would go back on her agreement with his offer if he didn’t back off fast, he lost the smile and gestured for them to start heading in the direction they had come.
When she stood firm, her jaw set, he said, “The parking lot is that way.”
“I know where the parking lot is. I walked here.”
“I didn’t. And since we’re heading for Club Undercover, a vehicle would be in order. Unless you want to break in those designer boots.”
Sighing, Simone stalked off toward the parking lot. Gideon was content to follow, admiring his view of her swaying hips.
Fate had pulled them apart. Now it had brought them back together, but Gideon knew it was only temporary. He had to remember that if he wanted to stay sane.
CLUB UNDERCOVER sat on an angled street about a two-mile shot from downtown in the Wicker Park/Bucktown neighborhood, originally known as the Polish Gold Coast. Things changed, Simone knew. For decades, the neighborhood had seen hard times. Once a haven for artists and students, the area was on its way up. The less affluent were being replaced by high-income residents as the neighborhood became gentrified. Still, for now, the area continued to be an eclectic mix—the purple-haired, tattooed and pierced mingling with those dressed in upscale suits and designer duds.
On a clear night like tonight, the lit skyscrapers in the heart of the city appeared to be close enough to touch. Almost romantic. Simone shook away that thought as Gideon handed off the car to a valet.
Although it was Sunday, the club was so popular that lines had already formed along Milwaukee Avenue. Patrons in their twenties and thirties were somehow having conversations despite the competing thump-thump of bass coming from the sound system below.
Simone was glad Gideon steered her through the crowd and down the stairs and not past the area where Al Cecchi had been murdered.
“Mags, alert everyone that I’ll be in my office,” Gideon told the hostess, who was wearing low riders, thick-soled boots and a sparkly green backless top, a headset tucked into her short hair spiked with glittery green.
“Got it, boss.”
Simone followed Gideon into his office, stark with black and chrome furniture and walls the same deep blue as his eyes. Eyes she avoided meeting. She hated that she felt vulnerable in his presence. Hated that she had to depend on him to get her out of trouble.
Thankfully, they weren’t alone for long. Before she knew it, Simone was surrounded by testosterone— Blade Stone, the guy who’d been tending bar in the silent auction area; Gabe Connor, the security chief; John Logan, a detective with the CPD. Then a breeze of fresh air waltzed into the room—Cassandra Freed—and Simone took a calming breath.
“Hang in there,” Cass murmured, patting her shoulder before taking a seat.
“We’re all here, so we can get started,” Gideon said. “Logan, what’s the status of the official investigation?”
“Several people are suspects, Simone here still being number one on the list. You picked up the dagger, right?”
Simone started. “Yes, but—”
“Just because you touched it doesn’t always mean a print will show,” Logan went on. “Or it could be smeared. At any rate, it’ll take a while to get the prints through the AFIS—that’s the Automated Fingerprint Information System. Days, maybe weeks, and—”
“Wait a minute!” Simone interrupted, glaring at Gideon. “Do you mean to say you already talked this over with your people before I even agreed to take your help?”
“We all have a vote here. They had to agree before I could approach you.”
“Your priorities are a little skewed,” Simone said tersely. She looked around at them. “So why did you all agree?” She zeroed in on Logan. “Especially you. You could lose your standing with the police department if they knew what you were doing.”
“That’s why we don’t advertise,” Gideon said.
“I was talking to him. So, why?”
“Cops are only human,” Logan said, flicking an invisible piece of lint from his suit jacket. “We follow a trail of bread crumbs and hope it takes us to the right conclusion. Sometimes the bread crumbs are wrong. My wife was set up to take the fall for a killer.” His voice softened. “If we didn’t help her, she might be dead instead of in bed with me on a cold winter night.” His gray eyes were intense and his expression serious under his spiked buzz cut. “Gideon says you didn’t do it and that’s good enough for me.”
“Same here,” Blade said.
Gabe shrugged. “Me, too.”
“Then it’s unanimous,” Cass added.
Simone understood why Gideon was willing to put himself out—at least, she thought she did—but she didn’t know these people. “What do you expect in return? Unfortunately, I’m a little strapped for cash right now—”
“We don’t do it for the money.” Cass’s smile was brittle as she said, “When you do time for a crime you didn’t commit, you can’t ever get those years of your life back.”
Simone had the vague feeling that this was more personal for Cass than it was for Logan. She looked at each of them, Gabe and Blade included, and noted their serious expressions. Whatever their reasons for helping her, they all seemed sincere.
“So how do we start?”
“We need to take a look at all the suspects,” Logan said.
“How many are there?”
Gabe snorted. “How many people had reason to hate a lawyer?”
“Hey!” Blade objected.
“Sorry. Criminal lawyer,” Gabe said. “I didn’t mean to include Lynn.”
Cass explained, “Lynn Cross is a divorce attorney. She and Blade are engaged.”
“My husband was a lawyer, too,” Simone said. “And a good man.”
“Okay, no lawyer comments,” Gideon said bluntly. “What about Cecchi?”
Simone shrugged. “I didn’t exactly keep up with him and his clients.”
“Narrow it down to anyone at the party.”
“Nikki Albright is on the list,” Logan confirmed. “Have you ever known her to be violent?”
Simone shook her head. “Only to be greedy and a liar. She couldn’t have seen me stab Al because I didn’t do it.”
“She already admitted she didn’t see it, that she merely stumbled onto you standing over the body.”
“Thank God.”
“That doesn’t leave you in the clear,” Logan said. “Several people heard your argument over money. And a couple of people saw you with that dagger in your hand.”
“I picked it up off the floor. Galen O’Neill also handled it. She said she was bidding on it for her husband, but I wonder. I had this odd feeling…as if she wanted it for herself.”
Logan nodded. “Apparently, she did win the bid.”
“Then shouldn’t she be suspect?” Blade asked.
Simone didn’t really think the normally timid Galen was capable of violence. But what about self-protection? Hesitantly, she said, “Galen and Al had words earlier in the evening. What if he blamed her for losing his desk and went after her in the corridor?”
“Cecchi was arguing with everyone,” Blade said. “Including his wife.”
“Neither woman is in the clear,” Logan stated. “Anyone else you can think of?” His gaze penetrated Simone.
She shifted in her seat. Only one other person she could think of—Michael. But her brother had promised to stay out of it. As far as she knew, Michael had never set foot in the auction area.
“No one,” she said.
“I think we should start with the wife, find out what she knows,” Gideon said, his gaze never leaving Simone’s face. “See if she’s a grieving widow or otherwise.”
Grieving widow…
His words got to Simone. Was he questioning her loyalty to David? Or was it her guilt that she still was attracted to Gideon getting to her?
“Right. We can talk to Teresa,” she agreed. “Then what?”
“I’ll keep you informed if anything new breaks in the investigation,” Logan said.
Gabe raised his hand. “If you need any high-tech spy toys, I’m your man.”
“I’ll be backup wherever,” Blade offered. “Bodyguard. If you need me to follow someone…”
Right, a tall muscular man with long hair, a hawk-like nose and high cheekbones would really blend in anywhere.
“And I want you to introduce me as a potential member of the Chicago Philanthropic Club.”
Simone started at Cass’s request. “You really want to be a member?”
Cass nodded. “I may not have a lot of money, but I make up for it in enthusiasm. Besides, I want to get a feel for the other suspects.”
“Feel? Are you a closet therapist?”
“She’s a closet psychic,” Gideon said.
Great. Just when she was beginning to think she could breathe a little easier, they had to go and pull the rug out from under her.
“Gideon’s exaggerating,” Cass was quick to assure her. “I’m simply more intuitive than they are. It seems like we need to cover all the key players at the charity event to see what they have to say about Al Cecchi. Getting the truth out of people is something I’m good at face-to-face. I just…know things.”
“Great,” Simone said, aloud this time, trying not to show how shaken up she really was. She plastered a smile on her face. “Let’s get started.”
Chapter Five
As they drove toward the Central Station neighborhood for a surprise visit to Teresa Cecchi, Simone figured she should have known she was going to be thrown into close contact with Gideon by accepting his help. Had that been why he’d volunteered?
“So what do you think of Cecchi’s widow?” Gideon asked.
“Teresa? She’s all right. We were never close. She was always pleasant to me, the way wives of business partners usually are to each other.”
Simone hated bothering the widow, especially with three children to comfort. She’d heard the wake would be the following night. So what if Teresa had been having problems with Al—she’d been married to him for nearly thirty years. But Gideon had deemed the visit necessary, and the sooner the better. He assured Simone the detectives had already questioned Teresa.
“Do you think Teresa Cecchi could commit murder?” he asked.
Simone’s throat tightened. “I think there are a lot of people who could kill someone under extreme circumstances, but I don’t want to be the one who decides who could do it and who couldn’t.”
“I was simply asking for an opinion.”
“One I obviously am not comfortable giving.”
Which he obviously was.
He’d easily testified against her father, as she well remembered. Perhaps he’d had reason to believe Papa had wanted his father dead. Which could have set him up mentally so that he saw what he’d expected to see that fateful night. She found it so difficult to believe that the young man she’d loved had outright lied, but she could believe that he’d been mistaken, that he’d been guilty of bad judgment rather than out-and-out betrayal.
After a moment, Gideon said, “You know, Simone, investigations aren’t perfect. They’re fact-gathering with a lot of supposition thrown in to get to the next step. Unfortunately, the truth doesn’t neatly present itself.”
“I’m aware of that, but I thought we were simply going to ask Teresa about any of Al’s potential enemies. Anyone who might have threatened him.”
“We will. But you have to open your mind to all the possibilities so that you can find the kernels of truth in whatever she tells us. I’m not sure what good any of this is going to do if you won’t even try to draw conclusions from what we learn.”
“I don’t, either. So maybe trying to find the killer is a waste of time.”
“We don’t have to do this.”
Her feeling of being trapped intensified. “I only wish that were true.”
Simone was glad to sink into silence as they turned off State Street. They wound through a newly developed neighborhood of condos, town houses and single family homes, which sat west of the Museum Campus, the grassy knoll along Lake Michigan with walking paths, sculptures and flower beds connecting the Field Museum to the Shedd Aquarium and Adler Planetarium.
They approached the Museum Vista development where Simone pointed to a three-story single-family home of brown brick and gray stone. “It’s that one.”
Gideon whistled. “A minimansion.”
“It’s a lot of house,” Simone agreed. “Especially since only one son visits from college and stays here a few weeks out of the year. The other two children live on their own. I wonder if all the rooms have ever been used for anything more than a few parties.” That was the only reason she’d been inside.
“It sounded as if Cecchi was in the doghouse, so probably two of those bedrooms were in use,” Gideon mused as he parked the car. “The question is, did his wife want him removed from her bed permanently?”
Though it was after nine when they rang the bell, a fiftyish woman dressed in a starched-looking, conservative dark gray dress answered the door. A new employee, Simone thought, remembering the former maid had been younger and prettier. Considering the hour, the maid was no doubt a live-in.
“Mrs. Cecchi isn’t expecting anyone tonight,” the woman announced.
Simone gave her a practiced smile. “I’m aware that she’s in mourning, but would you please tell her that Simone Burke is here?”
Thick brows furrowed over narrow dark eye
s. “I’m sorry, the mistress is not receiving guests.”
“I’m not exactly a guest.”
“Mrs. Cecchi and Ms. Burke are business partners,” Gideon clarified, his low tone vibrating along Simone’s skin. “The matter is urgent.”
“Well, I shall see what I can do. You may wait in the foyer,” the woman said, stepping back to let them in.
The foyer was nearly as large as Simone’s living room. The floor was pale yellow marble, and the walls were lined in yellow silk. There were two chairs with a narrow table to one side of the door, but Simone preferred to stand.
The moment the maid disappeared through a doorway that led to the back of the house, Simone murmured, “Business partners?”
“Both law partners are dead, so the business belongs to the surviving spouses. Right?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, considering neither of us is a lawyer.”
“The clients are among the potential assets. You need to start thinking about protecting your investments.”
But with Al dead, Simone could see all the law firm profits slipping through her fingers for good. She feared losing the money from David’s insurance policy, as well.
A moment later, the maid summoned them to follow her to the back of the house. Gideon placed a hand at the small of her back. The warmth of each long finger made a lasting impression. Simone forced herself to walk naturally so she didn’t let on that he affected her so much after all these years. After all that stood between them.
Ensconced in her conservatory off the kitchen and family room, Teresa Cecchi didn’t look much like the grieving widow. If she was in mourning, Simone couldn’t tell. No grief-stricken family members surrounded her. Her face wasn’t swamped with tears. Her eyes weren’t even swollen and red. In fact, Teresa was busy tending to a large, blooming Christmas cactus. Teresa hummed to herself as she worked over the sink, spraying the plant—resplendent with blooming flowers that matched the fiery red of her sweater—with a fine mist.
“You have my condolences, Teresa,” Simone said, feeling a bit better about intruding. “I’m very sorry about Al.” When the woman didn’t answer, she gave Gideon a puzzled look and murmured, “Beautiful plant.”
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