Just Once

by Addison Fox

  For who she was when she was with him.

  “I do have issues.” His voice broke the quiet. “I’d prefer we gave them a different name, but you nailed the root cause.”

  “I’m sorry, Landon. That was out of line and way, way below the belt. I’m always up for a good fight, but I’m not a dirty fighter, and that shot was a straight kidney punch.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  She lifted up on her toes and pressed a hard, firm kiss to his lips. “I don’t expect you to forget it, but I hope you know I didn’t truly mean it.”

  She fell back to her heels and shook her head. “That’s not quite right. I meant the bigger point. It’s something we need to talk about and deal with. But I didn’t mean the hurt behind it.”

  “Got it.”

  His hand snaked out behind her and reached for her mug.

  “Hey. That’s mine.”

  He licked the rim of the mug, a steady smile on his face. “Looks like you’re going to need to make a second cup.”

  “You do realize licking that mug after what we just did is sort of pointless.”

  He backed away, his eyes alight with a clear desire to go for round two. “Prove it.”

  They did go for round two, along with a third in the shower before Daphne smacked him on his wet ass and told him he’d better put up or shut up about brunch. He was stuck with the jeans and T-shirt he’d walked over in, but he had managed a half-decent shave with a disposable razor and gel shaving cream that had him smelling like a beauty queen.

  “You sure you’re up for meeting everyone?”

  Daphne shot him a glance over her shoulder as they got out of a cab in front of his mother’s. “Why? Do I have visible hickeys?”

  “No. Although mental note for later.”

  Her grin was saucy even as her words were straight-up-the-line practical. “Then why would I mind, since this was what I’d planned to do with my afternoon?”

  “You didn’t plan this after three rounds of rather extraordinary sex.” He avoided mentioning the ugly dive into his past or their silent agreement, post-apology, to skip further discussion.

  “Then I’ll have something delightful to think about when your loved ones are evaluating my overall quality and ability to produce offspring.”

  “You think they do that?”

  “Don’t they?”

  “No . . . I . . . well . . .” He thought back over Nick’s brunch visits with Emma and a whispered conversation he’d overheard between his mother and Mrs. W. He distinctly heard the words “beautiful babies” had come out of Mrs. W.’s mouth, along with a corresponding giggle of agreement from his mother.

  “I’d do the same. In fact, I have done the same when Antonio, Gio, and Rory brought their girlfriends around. Antonio even managed to marry Stella, so it is a survivable event.”

  “What about Cade?”

  “He dates bimbos who aren’t worth the brain cells to consider. Come on. We’re already late.”

  “Wow. Isn’t that a little harsh to the sisterhood?”

  “Horribly so. But since they allow my brother and his ‘sowing the wild oats’ routine off easy, I’m not inclined to want to see any of them procreate. I do, however, wish them happy lives with men who will appreciate them for far more than their endowments.”

  “I appreciate your endowments.”

  That saucy grin only grew witchier, and Landon had half a mind to whistle the cabbie back, who was still idling at the corner. But since he’d already seen Mrs. W. peeking out the front-room curtains, he figured their moment to escape had passed them by.

  With a resigned sigh, Landon followed Daphne up the steps of his mother’s brownstone, channeling his energies instead toward the gorgeous sway of her hips.

  “Stop looking at my ass.”

  “Then get behind me.”

  “That would look subservient.”

  “Then I’m looking at your ass and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Perv,” she hissed.

  “Tease,” he whispered in her ear, delighted when she leaned back against him, her ear reaching the edge of his lips. He kissed her because she was there, and because it felt good, and because if he kept kissing her he could forget all the things they hadn’t said to each other.

  And all the things they’d still need to say if there was any chance for a future between them.

  With a ball cap pulled down low over his face, Hank Meyers sidestepped the cameras he knew were in range across the street and slipped into the DUMBO office building. The key card had been easy. The loopy redhead who managed the front desk for McGee was all too happy to give him the card to bring in a load of packages at lunch.

  He’d made a show of handing it back to her, nimbly repocketing it when he’d pointed toward the ten-dollar bill he’d accidentally dropped on her side of the desk. He’d congratulate himself on the originality, but he’d been pulling that trick—or a variation of it—for the past ten years as he hunted up information for his clients.

  What he hadn’t planned on was needing to make a return visit.

  If the old biddy had paid him they’d be all square. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that not only was there no usable information on the server like Bitch Reynolds had insisted there was, but Landon McGee was squeaky clean.

  So he’d give her a taste of her own.

  He might not have the cleanest edges, but no one played Hank Meyers. Bitch wanted him to do her dirty work then he’d give it right back.

  The key card worked for the front door of the building as well as the office, and it was a matter of moments before he’d cleared both. The office loft looked much as it had earlier that week. The computers perched in lines on desks were slick, and if he wasn’t determined to give Reynolds her due, he might have considered lifting one to upgrade his own business. But that was work for another day.

  Dragging on gloves, he pulled the two servers he’d lifted the other day from his backpack and set them on the front desk. He quickly eyed the desk, his eyes alighting on a stack of boxes full of coffee pods. Those he’d take. He’d been out of pods for a few weeks, and they’d keep his backpack well formed when he walked back out.

  He assured himself that it wasn’t nearly as big an expense as the computer. Hipster kids could afford giving him his morning caffeine hit for a few weeks.

  With deliberate steps he tossed a few items from the desk to the floor, then dragged the heavy leather pillows off the couch in the reception area. Pleased someone would notice there had been a second intruder, he moved back to the servers and his parting shot.

  Pulling the thick vellum card from his pocket, he rested it on top of the square black server box.

  “Return courtesy of Bitch Reynolds.” He laughed to himself as he turned to leave. He’d briefly toyed with leaving the key card as well, but decided against it.

  Better to hedge his bets.

  It’s a shame Reynolds hadn’t thought to do the same before she stiffed him on the bill.

  With four older brothers, twenty-two first cousins, and a cadre of aunts and uncles who regularly paraded through her parents’ home, Daphne knew something about family. The rhythms of conversation and the ebb and flow of information were something she not only understood, but was fluent in both speaking and interpreting.

  And she had no trouble interpreting what went down in Louisa Mills’ dining room over brunch.

  A group of people Landon had teasingly referred to as his “mother’s misfits” had a language and rhythm all their own. Part neighborhood gossip, part wary concern of an outsider, and a third part genuine kindness and interest in others seemed to be the hallmark of the assembled crowd.

  And today, Daphne was the center of all their attention.

  Some had tentatively asked her about her parents, indicating a base familiarity with her family. Others had questioned her work for the NYPD. A few others had blatantly asked how long she’d been seeing Landon. No matter the subject, each was glea
ning an addition piece of information to contribute to the greater whole.

  Everyone won.

  Everyone was smarter.

  And everyone had a bit more of their curiosity assuaged.

  She also had a more-than-appropriate comeuppance to her attitude toward her brother’s former girlfriends when one of Cade’s exes waddled over to her, eight months pregnant and glowing with happiness. “Daphne! It’s wonderful to see you again.”

  “Evie?”

  They exchanged pleasantries, and Evie was considerably more engaging than Daphne had remembered. It was only after she’d gotten the details on Evie’s new life—she was married to one of the neighbor’s sons—that a strong prick of awareness lit up Daphne’s skin.

  “I owe you an apology. I don’t think I was all that welcoming when you were dating Cade.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, actually. It’s not.”

  Evie shrugged, her sweet face alight with understanding. “I know how you felt, and for the record, I think you’re right.”

  “How I felt?”

  “Cade belongs with your friend, Jasmine. It took me one holiday party with your family to realize it.”

  “It’s that obvious?”

  “To everyone except Cade.”

  “It still doesn’t change my unwelcome behavior.”

  Evie leaned in, a cute pixie with a beach ball for a stomach. “You can make it up to me by snagging me one more waffle over on the sideboard. I’m going to go put my feet up.”

  “Deal.”

  As Daphne went to work putting together Evie’s waffle, making sure to add an extra scoop of whipped cream, she was forced to admit that whether she liked it or not, the same pack behavior she accused her brothers of ran solidly through her as well.

  It was humbling. And rather embarrassing.

  “Way to do a bit of territorial peeing of your own,” Daphne muttered to herself.

  “What dear?” The infamous Mrs. Emily Weston toddled over to her, a spry eighty if she was a day.

  “Oh hello.” Heat crept into Daphne’s cheeks, but the unflappable Mrs. W. either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care.

  “Making another waffle for Evie?”

  “It’s really for the baby,” Daphne quickly improvised.

  “Of course, of course.”

  Mrs. W. stood nearby, not helping, but clearly waiting for Daphne to speak.

  “This is such a fun event. Landon said that his mom regularly hosts Sunday meals?”

  “Louisa leans toward brunch in the summer and something more hearty for dinner, when the weekends get cooler. We’re a motley lot, but it works.”

  “It’s great.” An oh-so-original affirmation that had already set her off earlier.

  “What’s also great is seeing you with our Landon.”

  “Oh. Well, yes. He’s pretty great, too.”

  Shut up, Rossi. Say great one more time and they’re going to string you up by your toes off the Coney Island boardwalk for lack of originality and a total inability to hold an adult conversation.

  Once again, she had the humbling realization she’d judged Cade’s ex-girlfriends with far too pointed a brush. And no matter how well-prepared she’d believed herself, it was an entirely different experience to be on the receiving end of everyone’s scrutiny and attention.

  “Have you had any breaks in his case?”

  “I’m giving it my full attention.”

  Emily nodded, her voice conspiratorial as she leaned in. “I know you detectives need to play it close to the vest. For my money, I’d look close at that Gretchen Reynolds. That bitter woman has been making a whole world of trouble.”

  Daphne’s social awkwardness vanished in the face of Emily’s certainty. “Has Mrs. Reynolds done something?”

  “So you do know who she is?”

  “I’ve kept my ear to the ground. I understand she made some unkind remarks to Ms. Mills last month.”

  “She’s bitter, and she’s trouble.”

  “Has she approached Ms. Mills since then?”

  Mrs. W. sniffed. “Not that Louisa’s said. But I still think she’s trouble.”

  “I appreciate your input.”

  “You’re a good girl. You listen, and you didn’t just brush me off. So I’ll add a bit of advice.”

  Although she’d left a pregnant woman waiting on her waffle, Daphne couldn’t resist talking to Mrs. W. for a few more moments. “I’d appreciate it.”

  “You hang in there with Landon.”

  “Oh. Well, like I said, he’s great.” She gave herself a mental eye roll but continued on. “I’m enjoying his company.”

  “You do more than enjoy it. You keep him in line and make sure he gets out of that place in his head he spends way too much time in.”

  Daphne hadn’t ever been a particularly good liar, and she refused to play dumb at the incredibly accurate description that matched all she’d already observed of the man. “Got it.”

  “That man is a catch and a half. But he’s way more stubborn, far too quiet, and more suspicious than anyone gives him credit for.”

  “Got it.” Daphne added a head nod this time, for good measure.

  “So don’t go giving in to him. Go head-to-head and give it all right back. He wants to be stubborn, you knock him on his ass.”

  “She’s already done that, Mrs. W.”

  The social mortification Daphne had managed to tamp down came roaring back to life. “Landon.”

  “You two look like you’re planning a big museum heist or world domination. I’m not sure which.”

  “You’re so funny.” Mrs. W. pulled him close for a hug. With no attempt to whisper, she pointed toward Daphne. “Don’t mess things up with this one. She’s a keeper.”

  Well aware she’d nearly messed things up all on her own, Daphne glanced down at the waffle she held. “Let me make Evie’s waffle delivery, and I’ll be right back.”

  The delightful Evie already had her hands up as Daphne reached her, her smile bright and her eyes glazed as she stared at the waffle in pregnant avarice. “This looks amazing.”

  “I added extra whipped cream.”

  “You’re a goddess.”

  Daphne debated sitting down when the hidden pocket of her dress buzzed. “I’m sorry, if you’d excuse me for a minute.”

  She moved to a corner of the room and pulled out her work cell. Although she hated to check during the party, and she was off duty, she couldn’t just skip the message. The call had already gone to voice-mail so she quickly switched screens and saw the precinct dispatch number as the source of the message.

  She hit play and a message came through from dispatch outlining the location and the details.

  Daphne listened, then replayed the message. As she did, she let her gaze scan the room, from the various family friends she’d met, on to Landon’s actual family. His mother stood laughing with Nick and Emma while Landon still stood in close conversation with Mrs. W.

  They were blithely unaware she was even on the phone, let alone taking a call that affected them.

  As if he sensed her gaze on him, Landon looked up and met her eyes. His own eyes narrowed and his mouth firmed up in a straight line as he excused himself, helping Mrs. W. to a seat before he walked over.

  “What is it?”

  “There was another break-in at your office.”

  Twelve

  “Gretchen.” Louisa Mills’s hushed remark hung in the air as they all stood around the lobby of Landon’s office. Daphne had secured some quick backup from a local officer on patrol to do an initial scan, but after clearing the space and ensuring no one was there, she sent the woman on her way.

  She now stood in a small circle of Landon’s family, their reactions careening between shock and anger before continuing right on to confusion.

  Why would Gretchen do this?

  Did she do this?

  Did someone set her up?

  It was Emma who’d asked the last, jus
t distant enough from the situation to see it with a higher degree of clarity.

  “The woman’s a problem.” Nick waved at the mess on the floor. “Reynolds made it clear from her very first outreach to Mom that she wanted to ruin her borough-presidency run. Looks like she’s extended her menace to breaking and entering as well.”

  “So she left a calling card to do it?” Emma remained reasonable, even as stubborn flares seemed to shimmer in the air around her.

  “It’s madness.” Louisa walked around the small space, careful to keep her hands to herself. “She’s so hateful. So determined.”

  Landon pulled his mother close. “And whether we like it or not, very possibly set up. Most criminals don’t leave a hoity-toity calling card.”

  “No.” Louisa shook her head, blinking back the light sheen of tears in her eyes. “No, they don’t. But who would know to leave her card? Or get her card in the first place? Despite her threats, she hasn’t gone public with her accusations about me. Who would do this?”

  Daphne had wondered the same but was still gathering impressions of the scene. The break-in had a half-assed quality, as if for show instead of real damage. A few items scattered around, haphazard and rushed. Messes that were more surface clutter than true destruction.

  And the two stolen servers, perched atop the counter that filled the small lobby, a calling card strategically placed on top so as not to be missed.

  So how did Gretchen Reynolds fit?

  Landon had remained quiet since they walked in. Once she’d given him the all clear he’d walked the space, visually checking equipment and workstations. Other than confirming to her that things looked intact, he’d stayed silent.

  The past few days edged her thoughts as she watched him with his family, participating, yet on the fringes, too. This was his space—his business. Yet he seemed more concerned about his mother than fixing what was his. Was he angry? Frustrated? Offended? Nothing showed.

  She’d never been fully comfortable with silence. While she hated clichés, she could hardly argue with the hot-blooded Italian moniker that had been tossed at her and her family more than once. They were big and loud and boisterous and tended to approach life in animated conversation.