Love by Association

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Colin stiffened. What in hell the police commissioner’s wife was doing there he didn’t know. And he wouldn’t have cared, if not for the fact that Julie was sitting just a few feet away from him.

  This was why she didn’t go out much. To avoid unexpected appearances...

  “Now that the catering decision has been made, I can tell you that Patricia Reynolds has volunteered to handle the catering details for the mystery gala. As you all know, her daughter and son-in-law own Beachside Catering and, to avoid a potential conflict of interest, Patricia didn’t want to take on her duties until our choice had been made.”

  Patricia smiled, including everyone in her greeting. The woman gave endlessly to the community. Volunteering everyplace she could. Providing companionship and guidance through a youth program she’d helped develop to young women who’d gone astray. If not for the fact that she was married to a man who could be bought, Colin would have liked the woman.

  “Regardless of who we chose, Beachside Catering was providing our dessert today. But now I can tell you that caterer C, your unanimous choice, is none other than Beachside Catering.” Leslie smiled as Patricia nodded toward the two women who were standing by a counter in the back of the room.

  Crème de menthe parfaits were being passed around by the time Patricia settled into the empty seat at the end of the table between John and Colin, as far away from Julie as she could be while still being seated at the same table. Colin supposed Leslie was responsible for that.

  But he had to wonder why the other woman had gone along with a plan to include Patricia on the committee at all. Leslie Morrison, the one person in their crowd who knew the details of Julie’s rape, was usually the one who ran interference for his sister, to avoid exactly the kind of situation they now faced.

  Bad enough that Patricia was on the committee, but to have blindsided Julie...

  He was going to have a word with Leslie.

  Later.

  * * *

  CHANTEL HAD NEVER been in a home, free to wander in and out of every single room, as magnificent as the Estrada-mansion-turned-library. If she hadn’t been conscious of Colin’s time, and the fact that Julie didn’t seem to be feeling very well after lunch, she could have spent hours exploring the nooks and crannies of the place.

  She couldn’t imagine ever living there, however. Seemed like a lonely existence to her, having so much space to separate family members. And the idea of having to dust the place...

  Julie didn’t say much as they issued their farewells and made their way to Colin’s town car. She slid into the backseat before Chantel could offer to do so, forcing Chantel to sit up front with Colin.

  Not a bad thing. Just a little awkward at the moment, considering that ever since he’d had his hand on her knee, she’d been half-turned-on.

  She knew that when cops went under they had to do a lot of things to protect their cover—take drugs, even—but having sex for the sake of the job was not something she’d ever do. Or have the department expect her to do.

  She’d be fine. She just needed a few minutes back in her own environment to process what had happened. She wanted out of the heels.

  And to scrub her face. She remembered why she eschewed makeup. It made her skin itch.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to run Julie home first,” Colin said as he started the car. “I’m heading to the office, and the resort is in between.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, and tried to ignore the tingle she felt at the realization that she was going to be completely alone with him for the first time.

  Would he fill the time with small talk? Or try to get personal?

  She needed him to get personal. To take the next step in making them an item. A temporary one. A spring fling.

  Problem was, she wanted it, too...

  “You okay with that?” Colin was looking in the rearview mirror, obviously addressing his sister.

  “Of course,” Julie said and nothing else. Colin didn’t ask her if she felt okay or if anything was wrong. It wasn’t Chantel’s business, but...

  “Did something at lunch not agree with you?” she asked, turning to look at the other woman. In her experience, guys didn’t always pick up on the obvious. And if Julie, who’d been so friendly earlier, was unwell, someone should notice.

  “What?” Julie asked and then said, “Oh, I’m fine. I feel fine.”

  Chantel didn’t need to be a cop to detect the lie. But she figured she’d been put in her place—a stranger who needed to mind her own business—and turned back around.

  Colin glanced in the mirror again, his expression softening, but still said nothing.

  He turned out into the street, drove half a mile and turned again. The silence in the car might not be bothering anyone else, but in Chantel’s world, it was weird—to have something lying there under the surface and not being addressed. But whatever. Must be how the rich and famous dealt with life.

  Ignoring the messy parts.

  Colin glanced in the rearview mirror again. For the fourth time.

  “You want to come into the office with me?” Colin asked five minutes into the drive. “The preliminary child-life specialist contract should be drawn up. If you go over it today, we could have it vetted and ready to present as early as Monday.”

  “Next Friday, as we originally agreed, is fine,” Julie said. “I’m not meeting with the Sunshine committee until then.”

  Another couple of minutes passed. Chantel thought about chattering, except that she wasn’t a chatterer. There were questions she could ask about the ocean in the distance, the weather she could expect during spring in California, about places to eat and things to see. But when in Rome...and she definitely needed them to think she was in Rome.

  “I’m fine, Colin.” The voice in the back of the seat didn’t sound sickly.

  He glanced at his sister again.

  “I really am.”

  Another glance.

  “I’m angry more than anything else.”

  Okay, this probably wasn’t a conversation she needed to be hearing. Now that she knew Julie wasn’t coming down with food poisoning. Or the flu.

  “I’m going to speak with Leslie.” Colin’s voice was firm. His jaw tight.

  Chantel went high into cop mode. Why would Julie be angry with Leslie? What had she missed back there?

  And to do with her subject?

  “Why?” Julie’s question was sharp. “This has nothing to do with Leslie.”

  “She should have given you a heads-up.”

  “I never told her who he’d...” She broke off right when things were finally getting good.

  Whether all eyes were on her or not, Chantel felt as though they were. In her world, she’d have turned around and asked what was going on. She’d have risked being told it was none of her business, but she’d have asked.

  Her crash course in polite society hadn’t prepared her for this moment.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I feel as though I shouldn’t be here, and yet I can’t politely exit a moving car.” She spoke softly in character with Chantel Johnson, gentling her voice. But the Chantel Harris in her hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Julie told her. “I’ve behaved horribly, letting my personal feelings put a damper on what was a really nice afternoon...”

  “Your personal feelings matter,” Chantel said. Just as Leslie Morrison’s personal feelings mattered. People got upset for good reason. “Clearly you need to speak with your brother...” And she needed to keep her mouth shut.

  Colin had glanced in the mirror a couple more times but was otherwise driving with his attention seemingly on the road.

  “It’s just... Patricia Reynolds...”

  Not Leslie Morrison? Chantel waited.

>   “She’s following me.”

  What?

  “She’s not following you, Jules.” Colin was stopped at a light and turned toward his sister.

  “Yes, she is, Colin. She’s the police commissioner’s wife,” Julie said to Chantel, who’d also turned around. Chantel continued to face backward as the light changed and Colin was driving once again.

  She’d known, of course, exactly who the woman was. Knew, too, as soon as she’d appeared in the room, that the woman had made an excuse for joining the committee late so that she could watch over Chantel. Either to report back to the commissioner on how his undercover rookie was doing in case she was screwing up and he needed to intervene or to provide inside support in what was a very sensitive investigation.

  A question she’d intended to ask Captain Reagan first thing Monday morning.

  “You think the police commissioner’s wife is following you,” she said now. Curious.

  “I know she is.”

  And the obvious response to that, in any society, had to be, “Why?”

  “I’m on four committees, and she’s managed to somehow be involved in all four projects.”

  “Our circle isn’t all that big,” Colin said. “Patricia has been heavily involved in volunteer projects since before she married Paul. You know that.”

  Paul. To him. Commissioner Reynolds to everyone in Chantel’s circle.

  “Yes, but over the past several months, she’s joined each project I’m involved with, and they didn’t just all start up,” Julie said. “I know I’m right on this one, Colin. She’s spying on me.”

  With a mental step back, Chantel faced front but had to ask again, “Why would she spy on you?”

  It would be weird if she didn’t ask. Right?

  “I was...involved...in something. Years ago. And recently, another woman we all know had a situation...something that came out through her son at school...and Patricia, I’m sure at Paul’s behest, is watching me.”

  “Why?”

  Colin glanced at her then. “They want her to stay quiet.”

  “About what she was involved in years ago? Or what happened recently?”

  “Nothing happened recently,” Colin said. “It was just a misunderstanding stemming from the wrong interpretation of a harmless school project. But Julie’s friends with the woman. She thinks that Commissioner Reynolds is nervous that she’ll try to bring up old grievances.”

  “I know he is. And it’s not just that I’m friends with...the woman. The things they’re saying...there’s something in it similar to my situation. And we know mine is true.”

  Colin didn’t respond to Julie’s remark. This time Chantel followed his lead.

  Heart pumping, she made a mental note to check Julie Fairbanks again. She’d already run a check on the family, the night after she’d met Colin. But maybe she’d missed something?

  She had to find a way to get Colin to explain to her why he didn’t have much faith in his sister’s judgment on the matter. And why the commissioner would send his wife to spy on her for being friends with someone.

  Maybe, if she got lucky, he’d even tell her what the matter was.

  In the meantime, she’d gained an important piece of information for her case. The woman Julie had just mentioned—the one who’d appeared to have a similar problem, but didn’t—had to be Leslie Morrison. Surely there weren’t two kids with school projects that had been interpreted to mean trouble in their admittedly small circle.

  That would be too much of a coincidence. And as a cop, Chantel didn’t put a lot of stock in coincidence.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHILE JULIE’S SUSPICIONS had put a definite damper on the mood in the car that afternoon, Colin found that the changed atmosphere didn’t dim the flame of his desire to see Chantel again. As quickly as possible.

  Because that was a first—him feeling driven from within to pursue something non–Julie related when his sister was obviously upset—the urge grew in intensity. That Chantel was attracted to him, too, wasn’t a huge surprise to him.

  But even the possibility that she could be like most of the women who made their attraction to him obvious—after him for his money as much as anything else—didn’t put a damper on his fervency.

  So he asked her to dinner. She accepted. And as he went on with his day, he had a smile on his face.

  * * *

  IN JEANS, a button-down shirt and over-the-ankle hiking boots, Chantel spent a couple of hours at the precinct Saturday afternoon. She checked in with Captain Reagan. Filled Wayne in on lunch. And told him that she’d be having dinner with Colin Fairbanks again that evening.

  “Didn’t take you long to find an ‘in,’” Wayne said, studying her.

  Chin up, Chantel withstood his visual interrogation without as much as a held breath. “I’m good at my job,” she told him. Married to it, was more like it.

  “You are good at your job,” Wayne said, pulling out an empty chair at the table where she sat with a department-issue laptop in front of her. “Maybe too good.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You put the job above everything else.”

  “Lots of guys do.” And she was one of the guys. They had one another’s backs.

  He looked away. “And many of those who do also spend some of their off time in strip clubs.”

  “You think I should go to strip clubs?”

  “I think you’re a healthy, three-dimensional human being who is living a two-dimensional life. Eventually, that’s going to catch up with you. I just don’t want it to be now.”

  She wanted to continue to pretend ignorance. Recognizing it as a weak ploy, she said, “You’re thinking that I might fall for Colin Fairbanks?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “Because he’s rich?”

  “Because you’re out of your element.” He was being a good friend, telling her what he thought she needed to hear, not what she wanted to hear. She took offense, anyway.

  “You don’t think I’m up to running with the rich folks?” She was keeping her emotions in check. It was what she was trained to do. You had to when you were on the job.

  “I’m more concerned with the part you’re playing,” Wayne said. “You’re hot as hell, Chantel. You play it down here—like now, your hair pulled back tight, no makeup, loose clothes and those hiking shoe things you seem to wear night and day, even at the company picnic in the middle of summer...”

  He broke off, as though realizing what he was revealing—the fact that he’d not only noticed how she was dressed last summer at the picnic, and all the time, but that he remembered in such detail.

  Still smarting from his insinuation that she wasn’t up to this assignment, Chantel let him swim in his own stew.

  Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he seemed about to tell her something confidential. In a lowered voice, he said, “When I saw you the other day, in character...”

  He’d just turned up the heat on his pot. Chantel smiled.

  “Sounds to me like you’re the one with issues here, Wayne,” she told him. Because, after all, friends said what the other needed to hear, not what they wanted to hear. “Maybe you should be the one visiting a strip club.”

  The statement was mean. She knew the second it hit its mark and felt bad. She and Wayne were such close friends because, when they’d been trainees together many years before, his wife, Maria, had caught him out in a bar with a stripper and Chantel had stepped in and helped saved his marriage.

  “You get prickly when you’re feeling defensive.”

  “That’s right. You had no business implying that I can’t do my job.”

  “It’s not your job I’m worried about,” he said, still leaning close. He rubbed his hands tog
ether. “I don’t think there’s doubt in anyone’s mind that you’re the best man for the job. That’s not what I’m talking about. And I think you know that.”

  Okay, yeah, she’d known. But...

  “You work so hard to be an equal here, Chantel, that you go overboard. You seem to forget that you’re a woman. Like it’s a bad thing, so you pretend that part of you doesn’t exist.”

  “I’m not a woman at work. I’m a cop.”

  “And when you’re not at work?”

  She thought about work. Or ate chocolate ice cream. Or went to the gym to keep in shape for work.

  “I hang out with Meri and Max,” she said. Wayne knew them both. He’d been instrumental in saving Meri from her fiend of an ex-husband. He also knew that Max had once been married to Chantel’s best friend, Jill. And that Jill had died on the job, saving another cop. “The baby’s over a year old now, and Caleb’s four. I watch them at least once a week so Max and Meri have time to enjoy each other.”

  Because she’d never seen a love like the one they shared.

  Wayne was still watching her, his glance more focused than she liked. He was a great detective.

  Partially because, when he looked, he could see things most people missed. Uncomfortable with that eye turned on her, she shored up her defenses again.

  An instinctive maneuver, not a conscious choice.

  “I’m a woman, Wayne. I love children and nurture them. I have friends. I go to the beach...”

  “Have you been out on even one date since you’ve been here?”

  Chantel thought back. Had it really been over a year since she’d moved from Las Sendas up to Santa Raquel?

  “I’ve been busy finding a place to live, setting it up, spending time with Max and Meri, staying in shape, getting up to speed on the High Risk team. It’s not like I’ve had a lot of spare time.”

  “You’re thirty-two years old. If you’re going to have a family, you should start thinking about doing so...”

  “You and Maria don’t have kids.”

  His head dropped enough that she couldn’t see his expression. “We’re trying,” he said, leaving her to wonder if they were having problems conceiving.