What did his sister always tell him? He needed to think with the head above his waist, not below. He needed to get the hell out of here before he forgot he’d even made a rule.
He smiled down at her troubled expression, wishing he could smooth away her worry. She had a reason to be worried, but not why she thought.
“Are you frightened?” he asked.
“I wasn’t until you said that about a gun to Magda’s head.”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to make you think. The security in this building is already damn good, since no one can even get on an elevator or enter the stairwell without knowing the code. I’ve spoken to the building manager and he’s hiring on an extra guard for the lobby. He also says each unit has a panic room.”
Her blue eyes widened. “Oh, that’s right. Uncle Mike says his safe room is impossible to breach, so I can lock myself in there and send out an SOS.”
“Good. So as long as you confirm that whoever is on the other side of your locked front door is who it’s supposed to be—”
“And if it’s not, I’ll run into the safe room.”
Dean nodded approvingly. “Then you’re safer here than almost anywhere.”
And he didn’t believe the shooter would try to get at June inside the Enclave. If the sniper was responsible for the dead birds—and that really wasn’t his pattern to issue a warning—he’d know how tight security was and wouldn’t take the risk.
He’d go after her outside. Fast, deadly and without a heads-up. That was the way this shooter worked.
She was far safer here than at his house. Safer from a lot of things.
“I’ve got some more work to do tonight,” he said. “As soon as I’m sure what’s going on, I’ll let you know.”
“Are the doves—gone from the garage?”
“Of course. I parked the Cobra where it belonged, locked it and put the tarp back on.”
“Thanks,” she said, hugging her chest. She nibbled at her bottom lip, a troubled expression still in her eyes.
Hating that she was obsessing about the dead birds again, Dean moved toward the door. He didn’t want to leave her like this. Hell, he never wanted to leave her. For the thousandth time he considering staying, rejecting lame reason after lame reason about why it would be okay if he did.
Maybe he’d invite her to accompany him tomorrow. Why not? He could ensure her safety at least for the day, and as long as he wasn’t alone with her, he wouldn’t be tempted to peel off her clothing. Well, he would, but in a crowd he couldn’t act on the impulse.
When had he ever thought up excuses to see a woman with other people around? Damn, what had happened to him?
He turned back. “Are you busy tomorrow?”
She shrugged, looking interested. “Nothing special.”
“Want to come to a barbecue with me?”
She grinned. “That sounds delicious. Where?”
“At my sister’s house.”
He was tempted to laugh at the dumbstruck expression on her face. She definitely wasn’t worrying about the dead birds anymore.
“You want me to meet your family?”
“You saw the photographs, June,” he said in his most wounded tone. “You know I wasn’t raised by wolves.”
She laughed softly. “I’d love to meet them.”
“I’ll pick you up at noon.”
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Magda buzzed June before eleven to tell her that her friend Dean had arrived at the Enclave. Why so early? June wondered, dripping water on the white marble floor, clutching a damp towel draped around her hips. She’d just completed her morning swim. If she’d indulged in a few more laps, she would have missed this call.
“Well, send him up,” she said. No help for it.
“No, no,” Magda said in a theatrical whisper, as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear. “He and other policemen from the city of Miami went up to Mr. DiNovio’s unit on the twelfth floor.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m good, Junie,” Magda said, “but not telepathic. They did not share their purpose with me, only insisted I let them go up.”
“Okay, thanks. Keep me posted.” Wow. What the hell is going on?
June resisted the urge to call Dean to find out. She always avoided Alfonso DiNovio, the most vocal of the residents who wanted her to remove the aviary. Unfortunately they used the same elevator. More than once she’d refused to get on with him so she wouldn’t have to listen to his vitriol. What had he done that would cause the police to visit him on a Sunday morning? And why would Dean be with cops from the city of Miami? He worked for Miami Beach.
June hurried into the bathroom. She needed to shower and get ready. Dean could arrive any minute, and she’d been looking forward to his arrival since last night. She figured today was almost like a date. No, not almost. It was a date. She was going to meet his family. When was the last time she’d met a boyfriend’s family? Not since high school.
Not that Dean was a boyfriend. He’d only asked her to his sister’s so he could keep an eye on her, another example of how controlling he could be. She knew that, and so what? She hadn’t anticipated an outing this much since the fire.
She also knew her overwhelming attraction to Detective Dean Hammer made zero sense. But she’d quit worrying about it because she’d decided the pull was purely physical. How could she help herself? He was gorgeous, incredibly sexy and had a sweet side to him hidden beneath his dictatorial police exterior.
The problem was her emotions were scrambled by Sandy’s death and all mixed up with the fact that he was a cop trying to protect her.
As soon as the case was solved, it would all be over. Or at least he’d given her no reason to believe otherwise.
But what was Dean doing with Mr. DiNovio?
June clicked off her blow dryer and stared into the mirror. Horrified blue eyes reflected back at her. Was this about her? About Sandy’s murder?
Had Mr. DiNovio left the dead doves in Uncle Mike’s parking space? No way.
DiNovio hated her, sure, but killing birds was over-the-top. The man owned five or six restaurants and was well-known within the community. Why would he do such a thing? He wouldn’t.
Fine. So why was Dean paying DiNovio one of his little “visits”? Probably for one of his special “conversations.” For sure DiNovio was not the mysterious John Smith. They looked nothing alike. For one thing, Smith appeared anorexic, while DiNovio obviously enjoyed the food at his Italian bistros.
Last night she’d called her uncle to find out about Latham Import employees, but Mike had been out and hadn’t yet returned her call. She slammed her brush down on the bathroom counter.
She wasn’t good at waiting, and now she had to wait on both her uncle and Dean.
She dressed in khaki shorts and a loose yellow cotton blouse. Afternoon barbecues in South Florida could be hot, and she wanted to be comfortable. Would Dean and his brother watch football? Dr. Trujillo had mentioned the University of Miami and the Dolphins were playing this weekend.
The security phone rang, and June dashed to answer.
“Oh, my God, Junie,” Magda whispered, her Russian accent making her hard to understand. “They just took Mr. DiNovio away in the police car. He was in handcuffs.”
“They arrested him?”
“Acht. Here comes your friend.” Magda disconnected.
June left her hand on the phone and sure enough in less than a minute it rang again. “Ms. Latham, you have a visitor,” Magda announced, all cool and collected concierge.
“Thank you, Magda,” June said, matching her tone, although of course she didn’t need to. “Please send him up.”
Pacing by the front door, June heard the elevator doors open into her vestibule. She peered through the tiny security window
to confirm the arrival was indeed Dean, also wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, and threw open the door before he could knock.
“I checked to make sure it was you,” she said before he could open his mouth and chastise her.
He lowered his arm. “Good morning, June.” He smiled, looking more relaxed and pleased than she could ever remember. Of course he did. Putting people in jail probably cheered him up.
“Why did you arrest Alfonso DiNovio?” June demanded.
He didn’t appear surprised that she knew. “May I come in?”
“Yes, yes. Sorry.”
“Your Magda works better than the police dispatchers,” he said as he stepped inside.
June closed the door. Dean looked back at her and raised his eyebrows.
She sighed, clicked the lock and punched buttons to engage the alarm.
“Satisfied?” she asked.
He nodded. “DiNovio left the dead birds to scare you. I guess you know he doesn’t like your little rescue operation on the balcony.”
“Oh, my God,” she said. “That’s crazy. Why would—”
Dean shrugged. “The man is under a lot of stress because business is down. He apparently decided torturing you would be his outlet.”
“Did he confess?” Her knees as shaky as if she’d completed a thousand laps, June plopped onto her sofa.
“He was one of those perps who couldn’t wait to admit he’d done the deed.” Dean shook his head and grinned, obviously remembering the interview. “The guilt ate at him. Unburdening was a relief.”
“How did you figure it out?”
“It wasn’t difficult. The guy was an amateur.”
June nodded, realizing Dean had solved the mystery in less than twenty-four hours. Not bad. “What will happen to DiNovio?”
“The crime is barely a felony, so he’ll bond out by tomorrow morning. He’ll likely get probation and some community service. This building is out of my jurisdiction, so Miami PD took over.”
“God, he must really hate me.”
“He’s not too happy with anyone right now.”
“And I’ll still see him around.”
Dean sat beside her and took her hand. “You don’t have to ever worry about that wing nut again. He’s quite clear about the fact that he’s to leave you alone.”
June stared at Dean’s grim face, wondering what he had said to her neighbor. “Then this had nothing to do with Sandy’s murder?”
“Nothing. Feel better?”
Dean studied her so carefully she had to avert her gaze. He’d worked hard, probably all night, to solve this latest disaster. She suspected—no, she knew he had only done so because of her, that such a minor crime wouldn’t usually warrant so much police attention. Yes, she did feel better. She didn’t have to constantly wonder who had done such a horrible thing.
Still, she hated the idea that anyone could despise her enough to kill innocent creatures.
“Well, I’m glad the murderer hasn’t been inside the Enclave,” she said, “but it’s all way too creepy.”
He squeezed her hand. “So let’s get out of here and go to a party.”
* * *
“HOW LONG HAVE you known Dean?”
The question from Dean’s mother startled June enough to make her pause rinsing plates at the sink. Steam from the hot water rose, obscuring her vision. How long had it been? Only two weeks? Impossible.
It felt as if she’d known him forever.
“Stop the inquisition, Mom,” said Katrina, Dean’s sister, who resembled her mom with similar light brown hair and eyes, while Dean had his dad’s coloring. “June was nice enough to offer to help clean up, and she doesn’t need you badgering her.”
“Just a simple question,” Mrs. Hammer said, using a dish towel with quick, efficient motions. “I’m not badgering.”
“We met a few weeks ago,” June said.
“See? June doesn’t mind,” Mrs. Hammer said.
Katrina threw June a look. “Don’t indulge her. She won’t stop until she knows everything about you.”
June resumed her work with a sponge and soap, wondering if it was a common occurrence for Dean’s mother to probe his guests. Did he bring a lot of women to meet his family? At the moment, he was relaxing in the living room with his brother and, as predicted, watching football. Noise from the TV, overlaid by frequent shouts of disappointment or encouragement, filtered into the kitchen where the three women worked.
The afternoon had been relaxed, the food delicious. Everyone, including Dean’s mother and a friendly golden retriever, had made her feel welcome and comfortable, something she hadn’t expected. But she had little experience interacting with a family, much less a large one. Most of her school friends had been only children like her, or at the most had one sibling. She’d never been in the midst of such a large, boisterous group. She found the experience exhausting yet exhilarating. She found herself a little envious.
Dean appeared to have a close, easy relationship with both of his siblings. His brother had ribbed him about being busted back to patrol. Dean took it good-naturedly, but she could tell he didn’t want to talk about whatever had happened.
What would it have been like to have a sister? Or a brother? Or parents that cared about more than money?
The back door burst open, hitting the wall with a bang. Katrina’s two sons, along with their two cousins, all four of them red-faced and out of breath, rushed into the kitchen from games out back.
“We’re thirsty,” Jeb, Katrina’s oldest, announced.
“What do you say?” Katrina instructed her son.
“Please!” they all responded in unison.
Mrs. Hammer opened the refrigerator and handed each child a bottle of cold water. They thanked her and promptly headed back outside. Looking for trouble, June thought.
“Don’t forget it’s my turn,” Cassie, the youngest and only girl, shouted at them from the rear.
As she watched them hurry away, June figured the kids ranged in age from five to ten. They’d drafted their uncle into the backyard to toss the football almost immediately after she and Dean arrived. He’d willingly participated, and June had gone outside to watch, eventually racing to catch the ball herself a couple of times, which had been fun. Even little Cassie took part, although Dean had thrown a smaller, softer ball to her with an easy underhanded throw.
It’d been obvious to June that the games were a regular thing and that Dean enjoyed interacting with his niece and nephews. He’d removed his shirt after a while, which June had thoroughly enjoyed. Unfortunately, after the game, he’d taken a shower and changed into slacks and a fresh shirt.
On the ride over, Dean had explained that both of his siblings were divorced, and the entire family got together every couple of weeks to catch up.
“We’re close,” he’d said. “I’ve taken care of them since my dad’s death.”
Did that explain why Dean had never married and had kids of his own?
“How did you meet?” Mrs. Hammer asked, breaking into June’s thoughts.
“Either on a case or South Beach, right?” Katrina supplied, apparently having decided to join in the interview.
“Is Dean that predictable?” June asked.
“Never, but he does like to party.” Katrina dried her hands as she faced June. “You’re pretty enough to be one of those models he talks about.”
June felt heat rush into her face, but who wouldn’t like such a compliment?
“Word of warning,” Katrina said with a glance toward the living room. “Dean loves to tell the women in his life what to do.”
June grinned, having already experienced Dean’s orders firsthand. Maybe his family didn’t always appreciate him “taking care” of them.
“He was right ab
out your ex, wasn’t he?” Mrs. Hammer asked Kat with lifted eyebrows.
Kat rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
“After my husband passed, Dean considered himself the man of the house,” Mrs. Hammer told June as if to explain Kat’s warning. “He takes that responsibility seriously.”
“A little too seriously,” Kat said. “When I was in high school, he wouldn’t let me go out with a guy until he’d personally checked him out. He’d do the same now if he thought he could get away with it.”
“Well, let’s go see how the Dolphins are doing,” Mrs. Hammer said, apparently having decided the interview was over.
June turned to exit the kitchen and found Dean and his brother, Don, entering.
“Game’s over,” Don announced. “Dolphins lost, but I won ten bucks off Hawk here.”
“I’ll subtract it from what you owe me,” Dean said.
“Isn’t there another game?” Kat asked.
“Of course,” Don said, rubbing his stomach. “But I need another slice of Mom’s key-lime pie to keep up my strength.”
“Be careful, bro.” Dean poked his brother’s abdomen. “They’ll throw you off SWAT if you get any more out of shape.”
“Yeah?” Don said. “Well, I’ll take you on anytime, hotshot.”
“Oh, please,” Mrs. Hammer interjected with a weary shake of her head. “You two are worse than the kids.”
“But you love us.” Don gave his mom a quick hug on his way to the refrigerator. He emerged with the pie and cut a large slice. “Anybody else? June? You should eat here ’cause my cheap brother sure won’t feed you later.”
“No, thanks,” June said with a laugh. She glanced at Dean and found him eying her so intensely it took her breath away.
* * *
DEAN SEARCHED JUNE’S FACE. Had his mom and sister ferreted out her entire history? They were a good team, worked well together, often using a good cop–bad cop technique to find out what they wanted to know from guests. But why not? They’d both been married to cops, although Kat had divorced hers after five miserable years.
June looked a little lost. Maybe it was time to get the hell out of here. Too much family could be a bad thing. Especially considering her history.
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