by Beverly Bird
Jesse winced for him. More voices rose, in alarm this time, as the boy began wailing. No one on the Hadley side even deigned to look that way.
Jesse swore beneath his breath and stopped to pick up the boy himself. The kid kept howling.
“He’s probably got one of those concussion things!” someone cried.
“Get Dr. Angie!” someone else shouted.
Jesse’s heart slammed against his chest. His head snapped up hard and quickly enough that he felt a spasm in his neck. “Angie who?”
They could have been speaking of anyone, but against all reason he knew they weren’t. And he was right.
He spotted her standing at the back of the church. The word hiding came immediately to mind. It could just as easily be said that because she had arrived late, she had hovered there in the back to avoid disrupting the ceremony. But her spine seemed to be pressed against the wall in the brief second before she began pushing her way through the crowd.
She wore a dress that beat the floral one hands down. It was just as short, but this one was a vibrant red. Having noticed that, Jesse had more or less intended that his gaze should stop right there, but his eyes wandered down her legs again, down, down, until they finally found a pair of bright red shoes this time.
“Good God,” he murmured.
“Give him to me.”
“What?” He looked up at her face again. Her hair was loose today, a riot of spun gold spilling over her shoulders. It was incredible. And just as amazingly, his fingers itched to bury themselves in it, to take handfuls of it and tilt her head back to see her yield.
This woman would not yield easily.
Nor was she even his type, he mused, feeling dazed. On the one occasion he’d encountered her, she’d left him feeling disoriented, confused—as if a Mack truck had broadsided him.
“The child,” she clarified tightly. “Please. Give me the child.”
Jesse thrust the boy at her. He realized that she again seemed reluctant to meet his eyes.
She ran her fingers—fingers that routinely touched and probed the dead for their secrets—expertly over the child’s scalp. No matter what they did for a living, he had the absurd impression that her fine-boned, elegant hands belonged on the Hadley side of the church, while the rest of her...
He was absolutely clueless as to where the rest of her might belong.
“No dents,” she observed finally. Then she shifted the boy’s weight so that he was straddling her hips, facing her. She locked her hands together under his bottom and smiled.
She hadn’t smiled in his office at all. With all that yellow-white hair spilling over her shoulders, she reminded him of the sun rising—radiant, brilliant, illuminating.
“Feel sick to your stomach?” she asked the boy. He shook his head. “Okay, tilt your head back a little there. Let me see up your nose.”
“My nose?” He’d recovered enough to giggle.
Angela Byerly cocked her head to the side. “You’re fine. Nothing up there but—” She broke off suddenly. “Never mind. We’re hobnobbing among the elite here. We’d best keep that to ourselves.” There was a strong bite to her last words until she turned to the boy’s mother. “I think he’s fine. Just keep an eye on him. If you notice any bruising around his eyes or behind his ears, find me and let me know.”
The woman nodded solemnly.
“Are you going to the reception?” the man beside her asked. He shot a wide-eyed look over to the Hadley side of the church.
Jesse followed his gaze, unable to fathom it. He felt the beginnings of a headache.
“For a little while,” Angela answered. “Then I’ll be at home. One way or another, you’ll be able to find me.”
She handed the boy over to his mother and turned away. Jesse reached out an unconscious hand to stop her, then he let it fall to his side. What in the world would he say to her? It wasn’t the time or place to talk about the business of the Shokonnet release—and he hadn’t learned anything new yet in any event. He let her go and moved silently after her.
Angela felt him behind her.
She didn’t want to be so aware of him—God knew she didn’t want to. Jesse Hadley was the kind of man who could chew her up and spit her out without so much as a burp afterward, and she had far bigger worries right now. She needed to keep her eyes open for Wendell Glowan, for Charlie Price. Yet every nerve tingled with the sense of him behind her.
Angela hurried out, trying to lengthen the space between them. She paused only as long as she had to, hugging John warmly and Tessa a little more reservedly.
Nearly a hundred people were trying to push through the outer doors, an impossibility. Jesse Hadley moved through them, his hard arm brushing against her shoulder as he passed her. Angela pulled back sharply as he touched her, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He made his way to the massive carved doors and threw them open so that everyone could spill out.
Angela spilled out with the rest of them and took a deep breath of the warm, humid air. “Half an hour at the reception,” she murmured, “and I’m out of there.”
Six limousines were lined up at the curb. Beyond them was a scattering of Cadillacs, Mercedes, Lincolns and, notably, one Rolls-Royce. She wondered which was Wendell Glowan’s car. She wondered if any of them belonged to Charlie Price.
She hadn’t notice Charlie in the church. The judge was another matter. He’d been in the second pew on the left. She glanced around and couldn’t see him outside.
She made her way to the limousine that had brought her. Her gaze went past the elegant, pricey cars. Other automobiles were crouched like poor relations behind them. There were Jeeps and sedans, sport-utility vehicles and a plethora of Philadelphia Police Department cruisers. Angela felt her mouth try to curl into a smile in spite of her nerves. The reception would be at Tessa’s parents’ estate. It was a safe guess that the Hadleys had never had the likes of the P.P.D. in their parlor before.
Jesse stepped around her and opened the rear limo door. Angela jumped. She hadn’t realized that he had caught up with her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“This is the car you were going to, right?”
She looked quickly at the driver. Damn. “Yes. He brought me. Tessa...” She trailed off.
His green eyes sharpened. Like a cat that had just scented prey, she imagined.
“You’re a friend of Tessa’s?” Why hadn’t his sister mentioned it? He’d thought she was here in a more-or-less official capacity.
Angela shook her head. “No. I mean, by association, I guess. I’m a friend of John’s.”
Why hadn’t Gunner ever mentioned it?
Probably, he figured, because Gunner’s world had once been full of beautiful, unorthodox women just like this one. Gunner would not consider Angela Byerly an oddity at all.
“Get in,” he said too shortly, and he thought he heard her gasp. But when he glanced at her again, her face looked like stone. Alabaster, except for two streaks of hectic color high on her cheeks.
“No, thank you.”
“This is my car,” he said inanely.
Her heart stuttered. Tessa had sent her brother’s car for her? Damn it. she cursed silently.
“Fine,” she responded. “Ride in it. Excuse me.”
“How will you get to the reception?”
“I’ll hitch a ride with someone.”
“That’s ridiculous.” What was it about him that she seemed to find so offensive? He was insulted all over again.
Angela shook her head helplessly. Then she expelled her breath and turned back, sliding into the car. Making a big deal of it, she decided, would only make things worse. That was the other thing she had learned about his kind. The faster you ran from them, the more they were compelled to follow.
Jesse sat across from her, and the limo began rolling. “Champagne?” he asked finally.
She kept her gaze doggedly on the window and the passing streets, then glanced around delibera
tely to see that he had already poured for her. “Certainly.” She took the flute from him, exercising great care not to touch his hand.
Her eyes went back to the window. Jesse felt another strong spurt of irritation that she was ignoring him—as though he was above being ignored, he chided himself dryly. Though, of course, he was—at least as far as the city politics and a handful of models and actresses and heiresses were concerned. But this idealistic doctor with great legs and too much hair was simply shutting him out.
She settled a little deeper into the plush leather and crossed the legs in question. Jesse cleared his throat. “Nice shoes,” he said at last.
Her eyes flicked back to him. Suspiciously. “Do you like them?”
“They’re different.”
Good enough, she thought. That was what she strived for. “Thank you.”
“Can I ask you something?”
Her gaze flashed to him again. “What?”
Actually, too many questions crowded onto his tongue to be counted. What the hell have I ever done to you? Why were your friends glowering at the Hadley side of the church?
“Why do you do it? What you do for a living.” He looked at her hands again and tried to imagine them cutting, weighing, examining. Something in his gut rolled over queasily and he wished he hadn’t.
“Someone has to.”
“But why a woman with legs like miles of heaven?”
Angela lost her breath for a moment. She didn’t want to feel the pleasure that scooted through her, warm and ticklish. She took a deep swig of champagne and coughed a little.
“That’s Cristal Rosé,” Jesse said carefully. “Louis Roederer. A hundred and ninety dollars a bottle.”
“So?”
“So it might be worth savoring.”
“Some other time.” She gulped again and tried hard not to let him see her shiver with the goodness of it. It was not something she would ever have spent money on herself, but it delighted her—cold and crisp, it made swallowing a sensual experience.
“Your job?” Jesse pressed, because what she was doing with the champagne made him uncomfortable.
Her eyes darted to him. “Oh. I got my medical degree in forensic medicine,” she said finally. “With a minor in pathology.”
He nodded. He was self-contained, she thought, and oh, so polite. It made her stomach flutter with nerves. She’d learned the hard way that manners often went no deeper than the surface.
“Pathology means the causes and nature of disease,” she went on, her throat tight.
“I know that.”
Yes, of course he would. He was very educated in his own right. “Basic bodily malfunction,” she finished. “When something goes wrong, I like to know why.” She looked out the window again. Please, just let him shut up.
She couldn’t have said why she was babbling responses as if someone was holding a gun to her head. She was usually far, far more cautious than this.
Maybe it was his eyes. She allowed herself one more quick glance at them. At the moment, they were curious and as piercing as a hawk’s, as though he could see the answers inside her head if he only stared hard enough.
“It seems morbid,” he pointed out levelly.
“I balance it.”
“With wild dresses?”
How could he know? “What’s wrong with the way I dress?” she demanded.
“Nothing.” Everything. “It just sort of...demands attention.”
He wasn’t prepared for her reaction. Color flooded her face this time. If she had been angry when she had barged into his office on Thursday, now she was livid.
What the hell did I say? he wondered.
“Keeping your attention in line is your problem, Counselor.”
Suddenly, he was angry, as well. “And what’s yours?”
“My what?”
“Your problem!”
“I don’t have one. Or at least I didn’t until you released Lacie Shokonnet’s body.”
“How the hell did we get back to that?” His voice rose. He saw her flinch.
“It’s the only common ground we’ve got,” she said coldly.
He realized belatedly that the limo had stopped. They had reached his parents’ estate. His head was pounding now.
Jesse got out of the car first. He refrained from giving her a hand, though all his breeding rebelled. Actually, it felt damned good to leave her high and dry and march inside by himself. Under any other circumstances, he might have grinned. He didn’t get many opportunities to act so petty. But this woman had a chip on her shoulder the size of the Hope Diamond.
Angela got out of the car more slowly, plunking her hat on her head. She was still shaken. Sort of demands attention. Something in her stomach curled inward upon itself. Like uncle, like nephew. She wanted to cry, but there was no private place to do it. The limo was already moving off behind her.
Damn them. Damn them all. Of all the women in the city, why had John Gunner chosen to marry a Hadley?
She took a deep breath, calming herself. Half an hour, she promised herself. She made her way toward the house.
Jesse looked back at her from the door at the last moment, without meaning to. His breath left him on a rush and his irritation gave way once more to confusion. He stared at her.
She walked toward the house looking for all the world like a woman who expected to meet her Maker within. And she wore the most incredible, garish hat he had ever seen in his life.
Chapter 3
Huge white columns rose on either side of the front door. Angela slipped between them and into the foyer, feeling a little like Cinderella, but not at all looking forward to the ball.
She followed voices—and Jesse Hadley’s broad shoulders—to the back of the house. There she found an immense veranda that ran the whole width of the mansion. Many of the guests had already moved down onto an emerald green lawn.
Angela remained where she was. The food was here. It would give her something to do with her hands.
She nibbled on a rumaki and carefully checked out the crowd. She spotted Wendell Glowan at one of the tables sprinkled with designed nonchalance around the lawn. He was grinning widely, talking loudly, and his face was already flushed. She wondered how much he’d had to drink, then decided that she didn’t want to know. She didn’t trust herself with such knowledge. She didn’t want to know anything about the judge that might give her the high and lofty idea that she might be able to destroy him.
Her... a Byerly. Fat chance.
Charlie Price was nowhere to be seen.
She looked toward the polished dance floor that had been constructed on the lawn. It didn’t take the Gunners—or any of John’s friends—very long to make themselves at home. They swarmed and mingled, and a few were already gyrating to the beat of the band. The police department was well represented. Give them a little of that bubbly, Angela thought, and it ought to turn out to be quite a party. The cops she knew were famous for letting their hair down emphatically whenever they were given half a chance.
John stopped beside her. She felt a rush of real pleasure.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m here,” she replied simply. And that said it all.
Gunner grinned.
“How did you avoid inviting Price?” she asked suddenly.
His grin went crooked. “By insisting that we had to do this this weekend. He’s out of town.”
Relief flooded her, and gratitude. “Thanks.”
“I’d sure as hell rather see you at my wedding than him. Listen, I’ve got to find Tessa.”
“John.” She stopped him as he stepped away.
“What?”
“Congratulations again.”
The grin came back. “Yeah. Thanks. Maybe you’ll even catch the bouquet.”
She managed to keep smiling at him as fear rattled briefly inside her. “Not if I can help it.”
When he was gone, she turned away to study the buffet table again. The shrimp look
ed interesting. There were little chilies tucked inside them and some sort of dipping sauce. Excellent, she thought, popping one into her mouth. She chewed, then wrapped six of them, along with six of the rumaki, into a napkin, opened her purse and dropped the bundle inside. The kids from the neighborhood—especially the girls—would never forgive her if she didn’t bring something back from the other side of the tracks.
“Sending it to Somalia?” Jesse asked from behind her.
Angela spun around, her hair swirling. She hadn’t seen him coming this time, either. She’d relaxed once she’d known for sure that Charlie Price wasn’t going to pop up. She’d trusted John to keep him away—had made herself trust him—but knowing for sure was a relief.
It took her a moment to squelch any visible reaction. She was damned if she was going to let this man get to her. Half an hour, she promised herself again.
“Do you know how many people you could feed with this?” she countered idly.
“One hundred fifty, if the caterer’s bill is to be believed.”
“It would feed three hundred if they were used to having nothing.”
“We already donate heavily to several charities.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do.” She finally looked at him. “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked bluntly.
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand, though he was discomfited. No social niceties and casual flirtations here. She certainly said what was on her mind.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“I don’t want to talk with you.”
He almost smiled. “I can tell.”
“So why are you pushing it? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
The words rolled off his tongue as blatantly as hers seemed to startling even him. The woman had an extremely odd effect on him. “You intrigue me,” he answered.
She took a quick, almost infinitesimal step backward. If he hadn’t been watching her, he would have missed it. “So get unintrigued,” she snapped.
“Trust me. I’m trying.” He hesitated. “Dance with me.”
She took another step back. “No!”