by Maggie Price
Smiling at the thought, Nicole veered past the cozy dining room with its polished table and armoire heavy with silver and crystal. The kitchen she’d had converted into an extension of the living room came into view.
Though she knew he was there, the sight of Jake standing at the stove, poking a long fork into a skillet of sizzling bacon, gave her heart a jolt. He was barefoot, dressed in jeans and his rumpled white shirt he’d yet to button. His dark hair was temptingly rumpled, his jaw stubbled.
Yes, she thought, biting off a sigh as she answered the question she’d asked herself earlier. Jake Ford looked as appealing in the morning as she’d imagined he would.
She swallowed against a flash of heated desire. She was afraid, very afraid she was close to losing all perspective where the man was concerned. “I didn’t expect you to cook breakfast on top of everything else.”
He looked over his shoulder. His gaze traveled from the top of her head down to her polished toenails, then back up to settle on her bruised cheek. A muscle in his jaw jerked, but his eyes stayed level. “How do you feel?”
“Better than last night.” A sudden case of nerves had her hovering in the arched entrance when she realized he looked very much at home in her kitchen with its warm slate counters and creamy white appliances. Too much at home.
She nodded toward the stove. “I can finish that.”
“I’ve got a handle on it,” he said, using the fork to nudge the sizzling strips. “I came in here to fix coffee. I couldn’t find any, so I decided to cook.” He dipped his head toward the skillet. “The package said this stuff’s turkey bacon.”
“That’s right. It’s nitrate-free.”
“That another way of saying it’s pork-free?”
“Turkey’s much healthier.”
Jake slid her a sidelong look. “Did your pal Peck tell you that?”
“I read books on nutrition. But Sebastian does embrace the philosophy that a person will never be at his peak unless he eats right.”
“Does Peck also embrace you?”
Nicole hesitated. “Are you asking if Sebastian and I are lovers?”
Jake lifted a dark brow. “The subject of your relationship came up during an interview. Whether you have a thing going might play into the investigation.”
“I see.” She jutted her chin against a flare of disappointment, knowing Jake had asked solely because of the case. If she’d harbored hope that she still had some objectivity left when it came to Jake Ford, she knew now she’d totally lost it.
“The answer is no, I’m not having an affair with Sebastian.” And because she felt so off balance, she added, “Some people can’t understand that a platonic relationship between a man and a woman can exist.”
When Jake grunted, she moved out of the doorway to one of the glass-fronted cabinets. “I don’t have any coffee, but I can brew some tea.”
“Tea?” He sounded as though he’d spoken through clenched teeth. “You got any with caffeine in it?”
The edgy growl in his voice had her lips curving. God, why did everything about the man lure her? “In your honor, Sergeant, I’ll bypass the decaf and go with the high-test stuff. I’ve got a special blend that Mel made from one of his uncle Zebulon’s recipes.”
“That the uncle who grows fresh herbs as a hobby?”
“Yes. You’ve got a good memory, Sergeant.”
“Comes in handy for a cop.”
She filled a kettle with water, then moved to the stove and switched on a burner. Up close now, she saw the shadow of fatigue beneath Jake’s eyes, the lines at the corners of his mouth. Guilt tugged at her, knowing he’d gotten up throughout the night to check on her.
The sudden urge to press a soft kiss against those lines of weariness had a knot of nerves tingling at the base of her neck.
“I, ah, I guess you’re addicted to cop coffee?” The sight of his broad chest darkened by sleek black hair seemed to dull her talent for small talk.
“Cop coffee?”
“Every movie or TV show with cops has them swilling coffee, whether they’re shoving paperwork around a desk or on a stakeout.” She retrieved china cups and saucers from a cabinet, positioned them on floral place mats at the high counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. “If Hollywood is to be believed, all cops take their coffee strong and black.”
“Guzzling the equivalent of battery acid helps protect our macho image.” He transferred the bacon to a plate, put it in the oven to warm, then grabbed a bowl sitting on a nearby cutting board.
“An omelet, too?” she asked, watching him dump a mixture of eggs, cheese, chopped bell peppers and mushrooms into the skillet. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. You’re witnessing my total culinary skills.” Looking up, he flashed her a reckless grin. “I usually know when a meal’s done by the ringing of the smoke alarm.”
She remembered another time in her life when the air clogged in her lungs simply because a man grinned at her. With a siren screeching in her head, Nicole reached for a colorful tea tin. It would be smarter—and much safer—to get her mind off the man and focus on the reason the cop was in her kitchen.
“When I woke up, I had an instant when I thought everything that happened last night had been a bad dream.” While she spoke, she filled a teapot glazed to a buttery glow, set it aside to steep. “That I hadn’t gotten hit by the equivalent of a speeding truck. That DeSoto was alive.”
“He’s not.” Jake folded the omelet, nudged it around in the skillet. “I wish I could tell you different.”
“You’re almost certain he was murdered, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’ve been wrong before. When you work Homicide, you learn fast not to make assumptions until you’ve got facts to back them up. Even after I get a confession, I do my best to make the suspect prove to me that he or she did it.” He glanced at the green-marbled wall clock hanging amid a collection of framed restaurant menus. “I called the M.E. last night from the scene. He agreed to go in early this morning and do the autopsy. I’ll probably know something within the hour.”
Keeping one eye on the stove, Jake leaned a hip against the counter. “I need to ask you more questions about Villanova.”
Nicole plucked up a carafe of herbal vinegar, set it back down. “Okay.”
“You said Bill introduced you.”
“Yes.” She frowned. “I think they met through a case Bill tried. I guess you already know DeSoto owns…owned the Cadillac dealership on May Avenue.”
Jake nodded. “I talked to his sister last night. She said he was divorced several years ago. Has no kids.”
“That’s right. DeSoto was like Phillip—he spent most of his time working and didn’t get out much. Plus, DeSoto didn’t drink, didn’t like to party, so that left him with few ways of meeting women with common interests and goals.”
“When you and I talked in the emergency room, you said Villanova was fine when he left your office yesterday morning.”
“Yes.”
“Did a message come through on his pager while he was with you? Maybe he got a call on his cell phone?”
“No, he didn’t get a page or a call.” She blew out a breath. “I remember you saying he looked upset.”
“Not just looked. When he stepped on the elevator, he rammed into me hard enough to dislocate a shoulder. He was steamed about something.” Jake divided the omelet onto two plates, then pulled the bacon out of the oven. “Did he and Ormiston go out with any of the same women?”
Nicole rubbed at the dull ache in her right temple. “Sev eral, I think. I can access both their match lists on the computer in my study. If you like, I’ll check now.”
“When we’re finished eating is soon enough,” Jake said, handing her the plate of bacon.
“You still think one of the women on Phillip’s match list and now DeSoto’s could be the killer?”
“It’s possible.”
“Even though I’m ninety-nine percent positive the person who ra
ced out of the house and plowed over me was a man?”
“That leaves one percent odds it was a woman. I don’t discount any possibility. If it winds up Villanova died the same way Ormiston did, then it’s a sure bet they were murdered because of something they had in common. So far, you and your company head the list. Number three is the fact that both men belonged to Sebastian’s.” Jake paused. “Whoever offed Ormiston didn’t do it on impulse. The killer took the time to get whatever substance it was that paralyzed Ormiston’s lungs. Then he or she came up with a good enough reason for Ormiston to let him or her get close enough to inject him without him putting up a struggle. All that takes planning.”
“I just…” Nicole’s voice hitched with emotion. “I just wish we knew who…and why.”
“When I know why, I’ll know who.” Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know a college kid named Eddie Denson?”
“Yes, he worked out at Sebastian’s. In fact, he was driving home from there the night he was killed.”
“You ever hear anything about him using steroids?”
Nicole blinked. “No, nothing.”
“Did Ormiston mention he’d lost money in a bad investment?”
“No. Do you think Phillip got murdered because of something that had to do with Eddie and a bad investment?”
“At this point, anything’s possible.” Jake’s eyes gentled. “Look, unless you’re a cop, talking motives for murder doesn’t make for soothing breakfast conversation. Let’s eat, then pick this back up.”
Seconds later, they were sitting side by side on high-backed stools at the counter.
Nicole took a bite of omelet, savored the flavor. “This is awesome.”
“Do I detect a note of surprise in your voice?” Jake asked, forking strips of bacon onto her plate, then his.
“Considering your reference to a smoke alarm, I was half expecting a somewhat hickory flavor.”
“You’d be choking down something akin to rubber if I’d cooked anything else,” he said while Nicole poured tea into the china cups.
“I’ll count my thanks that you stuck with breakfast.”
He sliced off a bite of omelet while giving her a considering look. “So, why matchmaking?”
“Why?”
“I know why I’m a cop. Why are you a romance engineer?”
“I was born with a soft spot for matters of the heart.” Her mouth curved. “My four brothers claim I got my start in the business by sticking my nose into their respective love lives.”
“Did you?”
“Of course. Who better to experiment on than four single, good-looking males who lived under the same roof with me? I had a captive audience.” She scooped up another bite. “When I was in junior high, I sent a questionnaire to all the girls in each of their classes, then analyzed the results. I sneaked into the principal’s office, got on the PA system and announced who each brother’s perfect date to the spring dance would be.”
Jake chuckled. “I bet that was a special moment for everyone involved.”
“Bill, especially, got his nose out of joint.” She raised a shoulder. “After that, my friends started coming to me, asking who I thought they’d go good with. I arranged quite a few dates during my school days.”
“Did those matches work?”
“Almost all of them.” She gave him a bright smile. “It’s like a gift. I just know what people are right for each other.”
Jake sipped his tea, grimaced, then went back to his omelet.
“So how come the consummate matchmaker-with-a-gift is single?” he asked after a moment.
“I wasn’t always.” Angling her fork, she nudged a bite of omelet around her plate. “Six years ago, I worked for a PR firm. One night I went to a client’s party and met a man who swept me off my feet. I didn’t think, didn’t want to think, I just went with the chemistry. I fell in love—at least at the time I thought it was love. Before a month was up, we got married. Six months later, I came home to pick up a file I’d forgotten and found my darling spouse and some skinny waitress, naked on top of my dining room table.” Nicole glanced across her shoulder toward her dining room. “The scene of the crime,” she murmured. “I got rid of my husband and the table the same day.”
Jake’s gaze followed hers as he let out a long whistle. “Kind of hard to put a positive spin on that kind of evidence.”
“You can bet Cole tried,” she said, her index finger playing along the teacup’s handle. “After the divorce was final, several people told me they’d seen him out on the town with one woman or another. I had no idea.”
“How’d he keep that from you?”
“Two ways. Cole Champion’s the kind of guy people like instantly. He’s charming, fun to be around and talks a good game. There’s just not a lot of depth behind the facade, but it takes time to find that out.” Her mouth lifted into a wry curve. “Once I accepted that he was incapable of being faithful, I forgave him. We’ve settled into a comfortable friendship. I even got him his present job in a roundabout way.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh, I completely forgot!”
“What?”
“DeSoto was in my office one day when Cole dropped by. I introduced them. A few days later, Cole called to tell me DeSoto had hired him. Cole still works at the dealership.”
“Now, there’s a connection.” Jake angled his head. “How long has Champion worked there?”
“About half a year.”
“He and Villanova have any problems?”
“On the contrary. DeSoto mentioned several times what a stroke of luck it was that he’d been in my office that day when Cole showed up.”
“Why’s that?”
“Cole could sell manure to a cattle rancher. You can imagine how well he does when someone who is already in the market for a car shows up. He’s DeSoto’s top salesman.”
“Did your ex also know Phillip Ormiston?”
“I don’t think so. Neither of them ever mentioned meeting the other.”
“Okay.” Jake gave her a long, steady look. “You said Champion kept you in the dark two ways. What’s the second?”
“Actually, that was more my doing than his. I was so crazy about Cole I didn’t bother getting to know him or learn much about him before I jumped off the cliff.”
“If you had, would that have made a difference?”
“I’d like to think so.” She looped a wispy strand of hair behind one ear. “Anyway, after our marriage failed, I decided to make some changes in my life. I had a knack for matchmaking. My experience with Cole taught me the value of finding out up-front as much as you can about a person you might consider becoming involved with. I formed Meet Your Match five years ago next month.”
“And the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Right.” Because her stomach still held an edge of unsteadiness, Nicole pushed her plate aside and sipped her tea.
“So, Jake Ford, you now know all about me. What about you? Why did you become a cop?”
“My reasons are pretty black and white. I believe in rules. In right and wrong. When somebody goes against those things, they should pay the consequences.”
“You could be any kind of cop and still do that. Why Homicide?”
“For me, murder is the ultimate crime. Which is ironic when you consider that not too long ago I was sitting in a cell, charged with eight counts.”
“You, you…” He might as well have smacked her over the head with his plate. “That was you?”
“That was me.”
Nicole swallowed hard. “I heard about it on the news, that a cop had been arrested for all those murders. I didn’t realize it was you.”
“The bastard who committed the murders killed a woman I knew and set me up to take the fall for everything. He was smart, I was careless. If it hadn’t been for Whitney believing in my innocence and your brother giving me the benefit of the doubt, I’d probably still be locked up.”
“That…must have been terrible for you.”
“Not as terrible as for the victims.”
“No, of course not.” Her eyes met his over the rim of her cup. “How do you deal with it? How do you handle a job that puts you close to murder day in and day out?”
“I don’t look at things the same way a civilian does. I can’t.” He nudged his empty plate next to hers. Leaning back, he reached into his shirt pocket, then swore under his breath.
“Problem?”
“I stopped smoking nearly three months ago. Sometimes I forget that.” He shoved a hand through his hair, leaving it even more appealingly rumpled. “Back to homicide. It probably sounds callous, but at this point there’s little that surprises, sickens or shocks me.”
“It doesn’t sound callous. It sounds like a survival technique.” She replaced her cup on the saucer, thinking of the care he’d taken with her last night. Of the gentleness she’d seen in his eyes. Behind all that macho cop lurked a kind heart. “It’s a technique I doubt would help a lot if someone you knew got hurt.”
She saw the instant barrier come up in his eyes. The hand he’d rested on the counter curled into a fist. He was sitting only inches away, yet she felt him distance himself from her. He had lost someone, she realized. Suddenly. Perhaps violently.
“Jake, I’m sorry, I—”
“Yeah, it makes a difference when it’s someone you care about.” His eyes had gone as flat as his voice. “And kids.” He looked away. “Kids make a difference. A big one. I’m working a drive-by shooting right now. A seven-year-old boy died just because he was standing on a street corner the shooter considered his. That’s one bastard you can bet I’ll nail.”
Nicole curved her hand around his fist, bringing his gaze back to hers. “I wouldn’t want your job. But I’m glad there are people like you willing to do it.”
When he swiveled his stool toward hers, their knees bumped. He adjusted by sliding his thighs on either side of hers. “That makes us even. I wouldn’t want your job, either.”