“There’s your car service. You’d better go.”
Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “Beau…”
Whatever she was going to say, he didn’t want to hear. He’d survived just about all the damn rejection he could stand in one night. He took a lesson from her and pasted on a cool smile. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I’ve got no complaints. If anybody asks, I’ll tell them that for a cold-blooded ice princess, you can really burn up the sheets.”
He wouldn’t have thought it possible but her face paled even more, until she looked bloodless, ashen. She gazed at him out of blue eyes that looked far too big for her features, then she tilted her chin a little, opened the door and walked out into the rain.
As soon as she left he wanted to call her back, to apologize for being such a complete, unmitigated ass but he didn’t. He stood at the door in only his Levi’s and watched her climb into the limo with all her customary grace and style.
Before the driver shut the door, he saw her mouth move as she said something to the woman, but he couldn’t tell what it was, then he saw Elizabeth lean against the seat and close her eyes, as if she wanted to block out the whole messy night from start to finish.
* * *
She refused to cry.
Elizabeth pushed the button to raise the privacy screen between her and the car service driver—a pretty young Asian woman she hadn’t met. She leaned back against the leather upholstery of the limousine and closed her eyes, willing herself to hang on a little while longer.
Her chest ached as if she’d been punched by a prize-fighter, her head pounded as if the monkeys in one of the books she signed to Alex had been pounding millions of drums in her head, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the seat and weep.
She was shivering, she realized. Profound, bone-deep shivers. She adjusted the limousine’s heat but even that blast of warm air didn’t seem to take the chill away.
What just happened in there? She hated that she wasn’t exactly sure, that she had missed half of what Beau had said to her. When she was tired or stressed, her stupid brain was more likely to blitz out on her, and the strain of the party and then the emotional roller coaster afterward had left her exhausted.
His words hadn’t made any sense to her. Had he said something about her being a snob? Where had that come from? Since his meaning wasn’t clear to her, she had tried to focus on his expression. He’d been cold and remote, far different from the tender lover of a few hours earlier. The disdain in his eyes had slashed at her like a machete.
He despised her, had called her a cold-blooded ice princess. She’d caught that much, even if she didn’t understand it. How could he think she was still cold after her passionate response in his arms?
She had completely unraveled in his arms, given him everything, had let him into every exposed corner of her soul.
And then she had left.
She frowned. Was that why he had been so angry? Of course, she realized. She had hurt him by leaving his bed without a word, by calling a driver to collect her instead of waking him to take her home, and he had lashed out by calling her a snob, a cold-blooded ice princess.
She wanted to laugh and was tempted to order the driver to turn around so she could tell Beau he couldn’t have been further from the truth. She didn’t care what kind of truck he drove or what might be in his bank statement.
Her father might have cared about silly things like that but she didn’t. Beau was the most wonderful man she’d ever met, kind and smart and decent. That was all that mattered.
She couldn’t tell him, though. It was far better for him to believe she was snobbish and cold than for him to ever suspect how stupid she was. For him to ever learn how she had lied to him, just as his grandmother had.
A Bach piano concerto played over the limousine’s stereo system and she tried to let the soothing notes wash over her, but those stolen hours with Beau were too raw, too fresh, too consuming. She could think of nothing but him, of holding him, touching him, feeling him move inside her.
She had no regrets. She wouldn’t allow them.
As she watched the city lights disappear in the limousine’s back window, she only wished for a small amount of courage. Enough that she could find the strength—and the words—to tell Beau the truth.
* * *
Some days he really hated his job.
This wasn’t one of them.
Beau grabbed a doughnut from the celebratory box being passed around the weekly briefing. It was one hell of a fine Friday morning.
“Good work, Riley,” Dennis Speth said, then swore as a blob of raspberry jelly spurted out of the doughnut he was lifting to his mouth and plopped onto his tie.
“I wasn’t too sure we’d really nailed this bastard,” his lieutenant mumbled around a mouthful of bearclaw. “We had a few loose ends that still could have used a few more knots.”
“The jury only needed an hour to come back with a guilty verdict last night so they must not have agreed. Benelli will have all the time he wants to try unraveling the state’s case against him. Twenty-five to life.”
He felt like celebrating, in more ways than one. Now that little Laura Benelli’s torturer and executioner would spend the rest of his life in prison and the case against the bastard couldn’t be jeopardized by his subsequent actions, he could accelerate his investigation against the not-so-honorable Judge Andrew Sheffield.
Maybe once he caught Tina Hidalgo’s murderer, he could put Elizabeth Quinn behind him. Maybe the ripe peach scent of her would stop haunting his dreams. Maybe his life could get back to normal.
He had spent nearly a week of sleepless nights, tantalized by the sweet, summery scent of her that lingered in his house, in his bed—though how that damn aroma could still be hanging around defied logic. He’d spent the first sleepless night after she walked out on him doing laundry, washing all his sheets and bedding twice and using double fabric softener in every load. But still they smelled like Elizabeth, enticing and sweet and delectable.
If it was only a scent lingering in his house, he could handle it. Hell, he could always go down to the wharf and bring back a flounder to fry up to give his house a less pleasant aroma.
But thoughts of her were far more intrusive.
No matter how hard he tried—and he’d spent plenty of time since Sunday doing his best—he couldn’t go more than a few moments without her elegant features sneaking into his mind, without remembering her heated response to his touch, the eager way she returned his kisses, as if she couldn’t get enough.
When she came apart, her eyes went all unfocused and she made the most incredibly sexy sounds….
“Yo, Riley. You still with us?”
He jerked his attention back to the meeting and found a dozen people watching him expectantly. Hell. The meeting had begun and was in full swing while he was sitting here getting all turned on by a memory.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m here,” he answered his lieutenant.
“What have you and Griffin got?”
He tried to focus on work. “We’re still following up leads on the Martin hit-and-run and we’re close to an arrest in the Chung stabbing. Oh, and I’d like to bring in a suspect for an interview in the Hidalgo case.”
Banks frowned and checked the case files in front of him. “Hidalgo case. What Hidalgo case?”
“The exotic dancer who was shot a month ago at the LakeView apartment complex, remember?”
The frown deepened. “Would this be the same exotic dancer whose death the medical examiner and this department ruled a suicide?”
“Yeah. That would be the one.”
“The same one I told you to drop?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Damn it, we talked about this, Riley. Speth and Walker did clean work on the case. Why are you still wasting your energy and my department’s resources?”
“You said I could do it on my own time, remember?
“Why? It’s a dead horse, Riley. Ge
t the hell off.”
He shrugged. “I’m still getting a vibe, Charlie. Tina Hidalgo was more than just a stripper. She had a deaf kid and was making plans for their future together, for a special surgical procedure that might have improved his hearing. Why would she do that if she was planning to kill herself?”
“I don’t know. Why do jumpers make dinner plans for the next day even as they’re heading to the bridge? They just do.”
“I don’t think Tina Hidalgo offed herself. I’m working on a couple of leads and, like I said, I’d like to interview a possible suspect and check out his alibi if that’s okay with you.”
“Obviously, a compelling need for my permission to do anything has never particularly bothered you before, Detective Riley.”
Beau cleared his throat again. “It could, uh, have a few minor political ramifications for you.”
“Oh, great. Just what I need. Who is it? The mayor?”
“No. Andrew Sheffield.”
The lieutenant and every other detective in the room stared at him with the same stupefied expression. “Judge Andrew Sheffield?” Banks finally said in a strangled voice.
“Yeah. He and Hidalgo had a thing a few years ago. He was the kid’s father and apparently didn’t know until a couple weeks before her murder, about the same time he wrote out a check to the stripper. Not chump change, either. A hundred grand.”
One of the other detectives whistled, but the lieutenant’s features began to turn an alarming shade of red. “Sheffield paid a stripper off over his illegitimate child to the tune of a hundred grand just days before she dies under suspicious circumstances. And you have known about this for how long?”
“A few weeks.” Had it really only been two weeks since he’d kissed Elizabeth in that bank vault? With everything that had occurred between them since, he felt as if he’d known her forever.
“And you never thought to add me to the loop?”
“Obviously this was a delicate situation given the Benelli trial was still underway. We spent six months working the Benelli case, and I didn’t want to jeopardize that. I thought it prudent to wait until the trial was over before moving forward.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word prudent! Pay a visit to Sheffield and find out what he has to say. I’ll try to brace myself for whatever’s going to hit the fan.”
Beau nodded, relieved at escaping so lightly. The meeting ended and he was on his way back to his desk before he realized his partner hadn’t stopped glaring at him for the last twenty minutes.
He sighed and paused outside the door to the squad room. “What did I do now?”
“I’d like to know the same question the lieutenant asked back there. Why didn’t you add me to the loop on the Hidalgo case? This is about the case you’re working on for Elizabeth Quinn, isn’t it?”
He hated the way his insides went all soft and mushy just at the mention of her name. “No,” he growled. “This is about Tina Hidalgo. She deserves justice.”
“If you had bothered to tell me what was going on in the case, maybe I could help you find it for her. I’m supposed to be your partner, remember? If you can ever manage to get your thick head past the fact that I’m not Grace Dugan.”
He’d never seen Griff mad before, but steam was practically shooting out of the kid’s ears. “Sorry. You’re right, I should have told you.”
“Why bother telling me anything? I’m just filling a slot here until you get a real partner, right? Well, here’s a news flash for you, Riley. I was a good cop on the beat and I could be a damn good detective if I ever had the chance to do more than track down license numbers and all the rest of your scut work. Well, screw you. I’m putting in for a transfer to a place where maybe I can be more than somebody’s errand boy.”
Whoa. Where the hell did that come from? Beau gazed at the detective, trying to figure out how to respond. Before he could come up with anything, the phone rang.
He wanted to ignore it but knew he couldn’t. Not when he was waiting for calls from a half dozen informants on the pending cases cluttering the top of his desk.
“Yeah,” he snapped.
A long, protracted silence met his terse greeting and for a brief second he thought it might be Elizabeth. Before he could analyze his reaction, the caller spoke and extinguished an emotion Beau refused to admit was anything remotely resembling relief and joy.
“Is this Detective Riley?” a woman who most definitely was not Elizabeth asked.
“Yeah.”
“This is Leigh Sheffield calling. We met the other night at a party at my home.”
How could he forget? “Yes?”
She paused again, reminding him painfully of Elizabeth. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward but I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.”
Yeah, well, he hadn’t given her another thought once he and Elizabeth walked out of the Sheffield mansion. Since he was fairly certain she probably wouldn’t appreciate that little tidbit of information, he opted to keep his mouth shut.
“I’d like to see you again, Detective,” Leigh went on. “I’ve got this thing for big, dark-haired men with intense eyes and powerful shoulders. I’m not usually so blunt, but I have a feeling the two of us would be phenomenal together.”
Beau fought the urge to reach up and loosen his tie.
“I just bought a new yacht, a sweet thirty-six footer from Italy. I thought maybe the two of us could take an evening and sail somewhere private to watch the sunset and maybe not come back until morning. Anytime you want. In fact, I’m taking her out today if you would like to come. All you have to do is just say the word.”
He’d rather be dragged buck naked behind a ferry full of his closest friends and co-workers.
“Um, it sounds great, really it does,” he lied. “But I’m afraid I can’t. I’m, uh, involved with someone right now.”
Another long silence met his words, as if she couldn’t actually believe someone would refuse her offer. “Don’t tell me you and Elizabeth are actually serious.”
The shock in her voice seriously annoyed him. While it wasn’t technically true, he wasn’t about to tell Leigh Sheffield that, not with the animosity between the two women.
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Come on, Detective. I figured the other night was a pity date or something. I mean, how could you possibly not be bored to tears after five minutes of conversation with Lizzie? A man like you couldn’t seriously be interested in someone like her.”
“Someone like her?”
“She’s an idiot, Detective! A simpleton. Not quite right in the head, if you know what I mean.”
He sat back in his chair, stupefied. What the hell was she talking about? “Are you sure we’re discussing the same person here?”
“Elizabeth Anne Quinn. Blond hair, blue eyes. Daughter to the late media mogul Jonathan Quinn. The Elizabeth Quinn whose IQ and dress size are roughly the same.”
Even for Leigh Sheffield, that kind of remark seemed bitchy in the extreme.
“The Elizabeth Quinn I know is bright and funny,” he said stiffly.
“She must really have you snowed.” She didn’t bother hiding her cruelty now. It was exposed in her voice, like a thin, jagged fissure bisecting limestone.
“Here’s the way it is, Detective. Lizzie is a freak and she always has been. Believe me, I’ve known her all my life. She didn’t even talk until she was six or seven and then she stuttered so badly you couldn’t even understand her. When she did get a word out, it was usually the wrong one. It used to curdle my stomach at dinner parties to have to listen to Lizzie asking someone to pass the salt and p-p-p-puppy. Poor Jonathan. She was worse than a disappointment to him. She was a complete embarrassment. He could barely stand to be in the same room with her. She hasn’t changed any over the years. She might be better at hiding it, but she’s still the same babbling idiot she’s always been.”
It was a damn good thing he was already sitting down sinc
e all the air whooshed out of him as if he’d just taken a billy club to the gut.
Suddenly everything made sense. All the missing pieces of the Elizabeth Quinn puzzle came flying together and clicked into stunning place.
He thought of the way she hesitated before speaking, her dislike of crowds, the serious frown of concentration on her face whenever she was listening to him.
She wasn’t cold or distant. She was struggling with a communicative disorder.
He was the idiot here. With grim clarity, he recalled his deliberate cruelty before she left his house Sunday night. How he had taunted her with her reputation as an ice princess, had called her cold.
His words must have seemed as cruel to Elizabeth as the venom the woman on the other end of the line was spewing.
Layered underneath his shock and self-disgust was another emotion, something tender and scary that he wasn’t completely sure he wanted to identify.
“Now that you know about Elizabeth, are you ready to come out with me on my yacht?” Leigh Sheffield’s purr in his ear grated down his spine like metal scraping on metal. “I can show you what it’s like to be with a woman who not only knows what she wants but can string more than three words together at a time to tell you about it. What do you think?”
“I think I have far better things to do with my time than waste another minute of it talking to someone like you.”
He slammed the phone back into the cradle and swore roundly.
Griffin had taken a seat at his own desk during Beau’s phone conversation. Now he leaned back in his chair and watched him warily. “Everything okay?”
“No,” Beau muttered. He wasn’t sure anything would ever be okay again. His chest ached and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.
When he decided to tangle up his life, he did it with a holy vengeance. All those scary emotions floated to the surface, and he finally acknowledged what he’d been afraid to face for days.
He was in love with Elizabeth Quinn.
How the hell had that happened?
He thought of her on the Mari, her eyes shining and her slender hands flying as she talked with Alex. Of her laughing with Luisa the day he’d eaten dinner at Harbor View. Of her gently kissing the scar tissue left over from his gunshot wound.
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