Cuff Me

by Lauren Layne

  “Not entirely true,” Jill said, holding up a finger. “For some people there might be no more trigger quite as hot as being ignored by someone you love.”

  He shook his head. “Lenora was nearly seventy. The people in her life would have learned not to love her that deeply. They would have been used to it.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that we’ve been trying to figure out the murder’s trigger, when what we really should have been looking for is Lenora’s. What would have set her off enough to say something that would drive another person to murder her. She’s not a woman that inspires great passion because she doesn’t feel great passion. Except when talking about—”

  “Her career,” Jill said, finally understanding what he was getting out. “Lenora Birch cared about her career—her legacy—more than anything.”

  He nodded. “Someone that threatened that—challenged that—it would have pissed her off. She would have been—”

  “Cruel,” Jill finished for him. “Her agent said that Lenora could be cruel when she felt her legacy as an actress was threatened.”

  “We’ve been looking at people that Lenora’s wronged on the personal front, but it’s the professional one we need to pay attention to. It didn’t dawn on me before, because she’s retired, but then I thought of my dad. He’s retired, but so much of his self-worth still stems from his identity as a cop.”

  Jill wandered closer to his board, feeling both elated and overwhelmed. “The woman’s been in acting since she was fifteen. There are literally decades of old rivalries. Holly Adams was just the tip of the iceberg…”

  “So we start with her,” Vincent said. “Something tells me the woman will be all too happy to provide a list of all her and Lenora’s old acting buddies that might be holding a grudge.”

  “Yes, she will,” Jill said slowly, as everything began to settle around her. She felt both the most calm she’d been in weeks—months—and the most invigorated.

  She turned back toward Vincent and saw that he was feeling the same things as her. Elation. Relief.

  “We did it,” he said, sounding slightly awestruck. “We fucking did it.”

  Vincent lifted his hands to his sides as a wide grin spread over his face, and then he looked at his hands in surprise, as though not sure what to do with them—not sure what to do with the unfamiliar sensation of happiness.

  And then he apparently figured it out. Vincent’s hands found their way to either side of her face, and he bent his head to hers.

  And kissed her.

  The kiss was over before Jill even realized it had begun.

  Nothing but a firm meeting of lips.

  A victory kiss, if you will. The type of kiss a friend gives another friend in an impulsive moment of triumph.

  There was nothing romantic.

  Nothing sexual.

  Vincent had already moved away from her, his attention shifted back to his precious board.

  Jill lifted her fingers to her lips.

  It was nothing. It meant nothing.

  But if it was nothing… why was her hand shaking? Why were her lips tingling?

  If it was nothing…

  Why did she want him to do it again?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Vin helped himself to yet another piece of pizza and tried not to stare at Jill’s profile as she chewed absently on the end of a pencil.

  She looked completely unperturbed. As though an hour earlier their lips hadn’t collided in a careless, casual victory kiss.

  He took a sip of beer. Casual my ass.

  That kiss had been…

  There were at least half a dozen reasons he shouldn’t have done it. The fact that she belonged to another man being number one.

  But reason number two was a very close second.

  He shouldn’t have done it, because now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Couldn’t stop wanting to do it again.

  Except longer this time—he would linger. Let his hands explore her curves as his tongue slipped into her mouth, learning what she liked…

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  She glanced up from her notebook. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  Jill reached out and grabbed the neck of her own beer bottle, twisting it between her fingers before taking a sip and staring at him all the while.

  “What?” he asked, irritated.

  “Nothing,” she said sweetly.

  He glared. “Are you mocking me right now?”

  “Only because you’re so cute when you’re riled.”

  “You’re a nightmare,” he muttered.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “I think I’ve been pretty good lately. I haven’t played the ‘what’s your favorite color’ game, or tried to set you up with that cute barista at the Times Square Starbucks. I haven’t forced any Abba sing-along, or…”

  “What, you, like, want a medal for not driving me nuts?”

  She sat back and smiled, happy with herself. “So I’m not driving you nuts?”

  Damn. He’d walked right into that one. “You are.”

  She sighed. “I can’t win with you these days. You gripe if I talk about the wedding too much. If I don’t talk about the wedding at all, you make snide ‘trouble in paradise’ comments. It’s like—”

  “Don’t move to Chicago.”

  Jill broke off and stared at him in shock. “What?”

  Vincent wiped his mouth with the paper towel doubling as a napkin as he finished chewing his pizza. “You heard me.”

  She let out a little laugh. “Yeah, I was sort of hoping I heard you wrong.”

  He forced himself to meet her gaze steadily. “Don’t leave, Jill. You belong in New York.”

  You belong with me.

  She set her beer carefully on the table. “It’s not that I want to leave New York, Vin—”

  “Then don’t.”

  “It’s not that simple,” she said, her voice rising a notch.

  “Well, make it that simple.”

  She snapped her notebook on the table. “You’re impossible. Just because you’ve got this whole lone wolf thing going on doesn’t mean that the rest of us want to be alone forever.”

  Now it was his turn to toss his notebook aside. “Who said shit about being alone forever? That’s why you’re moving to Chicago? You think you’re alone?”

  “No, I just—” She reached up and tightened her ponytail the way she did when she was stressed. “Come on, Vin. You knew things were going to change when one of us met someone. We can’t just keep doing this forever, being each other’s everything.”

  He knew she didn’t mean her words to hurt, but they cut like a knife all the same. “I’m not asking you to be my everything,” he said quietly. “I just hate that this guy swoops into your life for all of a couple months, and you’re ready to throw it all away.”

  Vin didn’t look at her as he said it. It was the closest he’d come to admitting… something, and he couldn’t bear to see what might be laughter on her face.

  He heard the sound of her chair scooting backward before she moved closer, dropping into the chair right next to his.

  Her hand found his knee. “Is that what you think? That I’m throwing you away?”

  He said nothing.

  Her fingers squeezed and she leaned down, trying to catch his eye. “I’m always here for you. Even if I’m in a different time zone, you can call me anytime and I’ll come running. You know that.”

  He swallowed. He did know that. Knew that he’d do the same for her.

  He also knew that if he kept on with this push-pull thing, he’d risk losing her. He’d put a rift between them that couldn’t be fixed with a doughnut.

  Vin forced himself to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry about the kiss.”

  Her head snapped back a little. “Oh. Don’t apologize. It was… nothing.”

  Burn. “Right. I know. But I was out of line. I mean, if Tom found out.”
>
  She gave a small smile. “Relax. It’s not like you slipped me tongue and copped a feel.”

  Good God. Even her joking, off-the-cuff comment made him horny.

  “Yeah, right,” he said, forcing a smile.

  There was a moment of silence before she gave his leg a little squeeze. “We’re okay, right?”

  “Sure.”

  She pulled back, looking frustrated. “Would you talk to me? Please. I feel like there’s so much going on inside your head, but the second we get anywhere, you pull back. It’s almost like—”

  “Almost like what?”

  Their eyes clashed for several long tense moments, until she finally shook her head. “Nothing. Almost like nothing.”

  Vincent felt a brief stab of disappointment until he reminded himself that it was for the best. That this was a conversation they could never have.

  He pushed back from the table, grabbing at their empty plates so he had an excuse to walk away.

  Vin heard her sigh of frustration and ignored it. He didn’t know what the hell she wanted from him. Sure, she thought she wanted honesty. She thought she wanted him to spill his guts.

  But if she had a clue—even the tiniest clue—as to what had been going through his head for the past few weeks, she’d probably find a way to escape to Chicago early.

  He dropped the plates noisily into the sink to be dealt with later and then braced his hands on the counter, letting his chin drop, just for a second, willing himself to get it together.

  Vin was so lost in his dark thoughts that he didn’t realize Jill had approached until her arms wrapped around him from behind.

  She squeezed his waist hard, and he felt her cheek nuzzle against the center of his back. Vin wasn’t particularly tall, but Jill was downright short. Perfect.

  She’d always been perfect.

  “We’re gonna be okay, right?” she asked, her voice muffled against his shirt.

  Vin closed his eyes as his hand closed over clasped arms, his head tilting back so that the back of his head rested lightly on the top of hers.

  And because he cared about her—cared about her so damn much—he did the only thing that he could.

  He lied. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re gonna be all right.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Two weeks after her and Vincent’s awkward non-kiss and the even more awkward conversation that had followed, Jill was feeling the best she had in months.

  She and Vincent were back. Really, truly, dynamic-duo kind of back.

  And if maybe some distant part of her brain was buzzing with warning that they were merely in the calm before the storm, she ignored it.

  She’d given him an opening. Given him a chance to say something… and he hadn’t.

  Which was fine. Great. Maybe all his bad moods lately really were just what they seemed: typical Moretti Moods.

  She had bigger things to worry about.

  Like the fact that she had a wedding to plan.

  Like the fact that they still hadn’t caught Lenora Birch’s killer, and it was getting, well, embarrassing.

  But neither had the other homicide investigators assigned to the case, which lessened the embarrassment. Slightly.

  Everyone had a theory. But nobody had even a lick of proof.

  The only good news about the whole thing was that the media had backed off. After nearly constant Who Killed Lenora Birch coverage, everyone had tired of the lack of updates.

  Nobody more so than Vin and Jill.

  They were, however, getting closer. She could feel it down to the tip of her ponytail, and Vincent had been increasingly doing that edgy, snippy thing that meant his brain was working in overdrive.

  “I can’t believe she invited us to stay the night,” he griped for about the thirtieth time since they’d left Queens early that morning.

  “You have to admit, it would have been convenient,” she said, not looking up from her phone, where she read the latest e-mail from the wedding caterer.

  “It’s inappropriate. She’s a suspect.”

  “Which is why I politely declined,” Jill said patiently. “Hey, do you think meatballs are too pedestrian? It says here they can stick rosemary in them as little skewers, which sounds kind of nice…”

  “It sounds ridiculous,” he muttered.

  She sighed and put her phone down. “If you don’t want me to talk about the wedding, you can just say so.”

  “I don’t want you to talk about the wedding.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine.”

  Jill felt irrationally annoyed, which wasn’t fair. Of course Vin didn’t want to talk about the wedding. Not many dudes gave a shit about appetizers and party favors.

  Well, Tom did. But that’s because it was Tom’s wedding. And because he was, well… perfect.

  Perfection was tiresome.

  Jill shoved the thought away before it had a chance to fully form.

  What was wrong with her?

  She was marrying Tom.

  And yet she couldn’t seem to stop needling this man. This man who’d always been there for her, in his crusty, monotone kind of way.

  Jill put her phone and her notebook away. No more wedding talk. It always put her in a bad mood.

  And if the fact that planning her wedding put her in a bad mood was really alarming, she pushed that thought aside too.

  “Hey, has your Spidey sense given you any more tingles about Holly Adams?” she said. “Since we discovered that she wasn’t as forthcoming about her and Lenora’s history as she could have been?”

  That was a major understatement.

  In Jill’s research to unearth Lenora Birch’s complicated career in Hollywood, there was one name that came up over and over:

  Holly Adams.

  Despite early rumors that Holly Adams would be cast as the lead, it was just announced that the much coveted role went to Lenora Birch…

  Once again, Holly Adams and Lenora Birch are fighting for a plum role. Casting insiders say their money’s on Lenora…

  Holly Adams has made no secret of her excitement about the project, but early rumors indicate that it was Lenora Adams’s audition that wowed the producer…

  “I need to spend some time with her,” Vincent grumbled. “I can’t pluck theories out of the air.”

  “Really?” Jill asked dryly. “Since when?”

  “She wasn’t straight with us last time,” Vincent said. “Which wouldn’t bother me if she hadn’t made such an effort to convince us she was telling all.”

  “You’re mad because she played us,” Jill concluded.

  He was silent for several moments. “Yes.”

  She smiled, surprised at the admission. “Well, she’s an actress. It’s her job to fool people. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “That’s the problem with our growing list of suspects. They’re all actors. Speaking of which, how’s the list coming?”

  Ah yes. A list. Jill loved her lists.

  Jill and Vincent’s partnership was a solid one for two reasons:

  The first was the most obvious—he was bad cop, she was good cop. They practically defined the cliché.

  The second was subtler.

  Vin was the feelings guy; the one who paced and observed and pondered until a breakthrough occurred.

  Jill was more about the data; she trusted his hunch—always. But then it fell to her to figure out how to act on it. Where to look for the proof. How to maneuver the suspect into a confession.

  Or in complicated cases like this one, how to narrow down their suspects from all of Hollywood to a viable list.

  Jill had spent the last ten days glued to her computer, most of those with Vincent hovering over her shoulder, which hadn’t been annoying at all.

  “The list is almost done,” she said, stalling.

  He glanced over. “You’re not telling me something.”

  Jill turned to look out the window, wondering if now was a good time to give him the news, since he was preoccupied wit
h driving, or if it would make him swerve off the road in irritation.

  “You know, I don’t think you realize how lucky we are that Holly Adams lives so close to New York,” she said, deciding to ease into it.

  “Close? We’ve been in the car for two hours, and we’re not even halfway there. Fucking rush hour.”

  Here we go.

  “She’s a lot closer than the rest of the suspects.”

  He was silent. “Explain.”

  “Lenora Birch was an actress, Vin. A Hollywood actress.”

  More silence. “Tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting,” he said. “Tell me we’re not—”

  “Going to California?”

  He groaned. “No. No fucking way. I don’t care how many enemies she has in Beverly Hills, she didn’t die there. The crime was committed in New York.”

  “I’m aware of that, thanks. But based on what I’ve learned, if you’re a big name in Hollywood, you’re either in LA, or you’re in New York. There’s a lot of crossover. And four of the names I keep coming across on the Lenora Birch enemy list?”

  “Don’t tell me. Do not tell me what I think you’re going to tell me.”

  “They were in Manhattan at the time of her murder. But they live in California.”

  Vincent swore softly. “What the hell is wrong with these old folks, all jetting around across the country all willy-nilly?”

  “Wait, and you think they’re the old folks? Are you kidding me with the willy-nilly?”

  “Nonna says it,” he grumbled. “And California? Really?”

  Jill smiled. “You’re going to look so great with a tan.”

  She reached out to playfully poke his cheek and he batted her hand away. “Why don’t we just fly them out here?”

  “Yeah, the department’s really gonna go for that. Flying out four suspects from LAX to JFK, then paying for their transportation, then hotels…”

  “Well, they’re not going to go for flying us out there either.”

  “Maybe not. But if we chipped in on flights, I’m guessing they’d spot the hotel room.”

  “Why the hell would we do that?” he asked.

  She stared at him. “Waiting for it…”

  “Fuck,” he muttered the second it clicked. “You’re thinking we can see Marco.”