The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming)

by Dawn Stewardson

  “Long story short, Parker called the cops and they were waiting for the perps when they left the club. ’Course, they made bail the next day, which means they were out when he was killed.”

  “They knew he’d fingered them?”

  Hank nodded. “Apparently, they were drunk enough to be mouthing off, but not too drunk to miss him listening in. They stopped when they noticed, but he’d already heard enough.

  “According to our informant, they put things together and were talking revenge. But it might have been nothing more than talk.”

  “You’ve got good descriptions, though? Know how tall they are?”

  “Not tall.”

  “So they fit the bill there. But if they’d come to Parker’s apartment, he wouldn’t have let them in.”

  “Not likely, although you never know. There could be some explanation. At any rate, we sure want to have a chat with them.”

  “You know where they are?”

  “No. But we’ll keep looking till we find them. So what do you think?”

  Travis shrugged. “Reese is unstable and I’d say potentially dangerous. But without anyone to put him at the scene, if he’s got an alibi that checks out...”

  “And the lowlifes?”

  “Well, you don’t have enough to draw any conclusions there yet. But you already knew that. And you knew my read on Reese, too. So what else are we doing here?”

  Hank took a sip of coffee, then met Travis’s gaze. “Where do things stand between you and Celeste Langley?”

  “I’ve been seeing her,” he admitted. He trusted Hank not to repeat that. And there was undoubtedly a good reason for his question.

  “Yeah, I figured you would be. That’s why I wanted to tell you about Reese and the scumbags before we got to her.

  “I’m going to need some help from you, buddy, and I wanted you concentrating on what I was saying—so you’d have a clear picture of where the entire case stands. Because the others are obviously more probable suspects than she is.”

  “Obviously,” Travis said, glad to hear that Hank no longer sounded as if he actually thought Celeste might be a killer.

  “I still want to know who that blonde was,” he said, shooting Travis a glance that said he hadn’t completely eliminated Celeste as a possibility.

  “But...look,” he continued, “I learned something only an hour ago that’s started me thinking maybe nobody on my list had anything to do with Parker’s death. Neither Celeste nor Reese nor the other two.

  “And it’s got me back to wondering if Adele Langley’s hit-and-run really was an accident. Back to wondering if it’s connected to her son’s murder. But whether it is or not...”

  “Hank, get to the point, huh?”

  “Okay, the point is that I put Celeste’s name out on the street, too.”

  “And?” Travis could feel that all-too-familiar numbness at the base of his spine. What had Hank learned about Celeste?

  “She was our only suspect at that stage, and I figured it was worth a shot. You never know what you’ll hear, right?”

  “What did you hear?”

  “Buddy...she’s in one truckload of trouble.”

  * * *

  AFTER CELESTE had spoken with someone at the funeral home and arranged a time for the service on Saturday, she called the relatives and a couple of friends she’d promised to get back to. She’d barely finished that when her intercom buzzed.

  It proved to be Travis—even though she hadn’t been expecting to see him again until seven.

  She released the front-door lock, wondering if he’d figured she’d be feeling blue and in need of company. But whatever he was doing here, just knowing that he was on his way up to her apartment made her smile.

  That, however, was not good. Ensuring their relationship remained platonic would be tough if he kept showing up every time she turned around. Because the more she saw of him the more she liked him.

  She opened her door to discover he was already on his way down the hall. And something obviously wasn’t right.

  There was tension in his stride, and his expression was so dark that fear began nibbling at her.

  For a moment, she felt certain Hank had said he was going to arrest her. But that couldn’t be it when she hadn’t even been questioned. Could it?

  She let Travis in without a word, afraid to ask what the problem was. Instead, she simply led the way to the living room, aware she was only delaying the inevitable.

  When he silently sank onto the couch and gestured for her to join him, she made herself ask what was wrong.

  He shook his head, looking as if he knew he had to tell her but seriously didn’t want to.

  “Travis, I can see it’s bad, so let’s get it over with.”

  The glance he gave her warned it was even worse than she could imagine.

  After a few endless seconds, he said, “I’ve been trying to think of a good way to say this, but there just isn’t one. Hank wanted to see me because he’d learned that...Celeste, somebody’s got a contract out on you.”

  His words hung between them, their meaning not sinking in right away.

  When it finally did, her heart began to pound and the room started to spin.

  A second later, Travis had his arm around her shoulders and was telling her to put her head between her knees.

  “Good. Now, take a few deep breaths,” he ordered.

  She tried to. But the terror crawling around inside her chest kept clutching at her throat—and she had to concentrate to breathe at all, let alone deeply.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She managed another breath, wishing she could believe him yet knowing she’d be incredibly naive to.

  “Once you calm down we’ll talk. Figure out who’s behind this and how to take care of it.”

  Could they actually do that? Was there even the slightest chance she wouldn’t end up dead?

  She had no idea how they could possibly “take care of it,” but Travis sounded as if he really thought there’d be a way. So maybe, just maybe...

  Her heart still thudding and her breathing nowhere near back to normal, she shakily sat up straight.

  He gave her an encouraging smile. But instead of making her feel better, it started tears stinging her eyes.

  “Oh, Celeste,” he murmured as they spilled over. Then he pulled her into his arms and simply held her.

  Even someone who wasn’t normally a crier had a limit, and she knew she was beyond hers. She cried so hard and for so long that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stop.

  All the horrible things that had happened during the past year had depleted her emotional reserves, and she was afraid she didn’t have enough left to cope with a broken fingernail, let alone the fact that someone wanted her dead.

  Gradually, though, she managed to regain control and just sat in the comforting warmth of Travis’s embrace.

  “All right now?” he murmured at last.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Travis exhaled slowly, feeling strangely bereft as Celeste eased away from him. Her softness made him wish he could hold her forever; her sultry scent was positively bewitching. And now, gazing at her face, he had an almost overwhelming urge to kiss her.

  He told himself that was crazy. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks tear-stained.

  Even so, there was something about her that made him want to just take her in his arms again and hold her until she forgot about everything in the world except him.

  But she was both terrified and vulnerable, as he’d known she’d be. And during the drive here he’d vowed he would act strictly as a friend to her while she was in that condition.

  Besides which, a few other factors were giving him
pause. In his more lucid moments, he kept remembering cops and serious relationships didn’t mix. And remembering that was why he’d always made a point of backing off whenever he’d felt much more than a twinge of interest in a woman.

  So even though Celeste had gotten to him in a way no other woman ever had, if he was smart he’d at least proceed very slowly and carefully.

  He’d be crazy to let himself get in any deeper before he had a clearer picture of what she was really like, and what they might be like together.

  And getting romantically involved with her would definitely be getting in deeper. So deep, he suspected, that getting out again would prove very difficult. If not impossible.

  “Travis?” she said at last. “Are you sure about this contract? Couldn’t Hank be wrong?”

  As much as he wished that was likely, there wasn’t much chance of it. And he didn’t intend to lie to her. Downplaying how serious things were would be deadly dangerous.

  “Hank’s not wrong very often,” he made himself say. “And in this instance, he got the word from one of his most reliable sources.”

  “Then—”

  “But contracts can be called off.”

  “Really?”

  Her hopeful look went straight to his heart.

  “Really,” he said. “A hit man gets paid up front. So if whoever paid him changes his mind, what does he care? He’s already got his money.”

  “Then...there’s actually a chance you could...”

  “A very good chance,” he told her, sounding a lot more confident than he felt.

  The truth was, he couldn’t do a thing about the contract unless he knew either who’d paid for it or who the hit man was. And Hank’s informant didn’t have a clue about the guy’s real identity. He’d only heard him referred to as the Ice Man.

  Still, there was nothing to gain by dwelling on the negative. Especially not when, with any luck, he and Celeste would be able to figure out who’d hired the killer. Or at least come up with a probable suspect.

  Telling himself it was time to get started on that, he said, “Celeste, I know this is an awful question, but I have to ask it. Can you think of anyone who might want you dead?”

  While she stared at her shoes, he rapidly reminded himself how far he’d decided to go here.

  He wasn’t about to get into the possibility that her mother’s “accident” had been step one in somebody’s plan to murder three people. Not yet, at least. It would only make her more upset.

  Besides, after Hank talked to the investigating officers and learned what the witnesses had to say, he might conclude that Adele Langley’s death really had been accidental.

  Regardless of that, though, the important thing right now was to figure out who was targeting Celeste.

  Finally, she looked up again, her blue eyes dark with emotion, and said, “Travis, I honestly don’t have a clue who’d want to kill me.”

  “No, I didn’t really think you would,” he said softly. “But somebody does, and he’s got to have a reason. And...Hank has a theory about that.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well...this entire conversation has to stay strictly between the two of us. You understand that.”

  “Of course. I know you could get in trouble, and I’d never say anything to... You can trust me.”

  He nodded, certain he could, yet feeling strange about the prospect of letting a civilian in on confidential police business.

  That wasn’t how he’d originally intended to play things with her. And under normal circumstances he’d never have changed his mind. But these were hardly normal circumstances, so he simply ignored the uneasy feeling and began.

  “Hank figures that whoever killed Steve is behind the contract on you.”

  “What?” she whispered, her face growing pale.

  After hesitating a second, he took her hands in his. Trying to comfort her hardly constituted as a romantic gesture.

  She gazed at him for a long moment, then slowly shook her head. “I don’t understand. Are you saying Steve was murdered by this hit man who—”

  “No, he was killed by an amateur.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m a detective,” he said, hoping she’d let it go at that. When she was already in a fragile state, hearing additional details about Parker’s death wouldn’t help.

  “But how can you be sure?”

  He hesitated again, then decided that telling her she didn’t need to know would be so patronizing it might only upset her more.

  “Because a pro is concerned about the risk of getting caught,” he said. “So he chooses his time and place carefully. He doesn’t want witnesses. He just wants to do the job and get away from the scene as quickly as possible. That’s why he’ll often shoot someone in a drive-by or do it in a deserted underground garage.”

  “What about those killings you see on the news? Where somebody gets murdered right out in the open? In broad daylight?”

  “Those are usually mob or gang related. And they want witnesses because they’re sending a message.

  “But we’re talking about someone who makes his living as a professional killer. Someone who’d rather not try sneaking into a secure apartment building like your brother’s, hoping he can get up to the fifth floor and back down again without anyone seeing him.

  “Plus, he uses a serious weapon. He doesn’t take any chances on his victim living to tell tales. Whereas Steve was killed with a small pistol. A .38 caliber.”

  “It was big enough to do the job,” she murmured.

  “I...Celeste, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound as if I’m minimizing what happened to him. I was only explaining how we know an amateur killed him.”

  She slowly shook her head. “But an amateur kills him, then turns around and hires a hit man to kill me? Does that make sense? I mean, I live alone. And a woman would generally be an easier target than a man, wouldn’t she? So why...?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The best Hank and I could come up with is that whoever’s behind this just decided not to press his luck.”

  “But...couldn’t it be that the contract isn’t connected to Steve’s death?”

  “It’s not entirely out of the question. Hank and his team are following up on a couple of other possibilities.”

  “You mean other suspects.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “That doesn’t really matter, so—”

  “But it does! Oh, I know you’re the expert here, but I’m the one somebody wants dead. And I need you to tell me every detail you can.

  “It... Huh, I was about to say it would make me feel better, and that would be ridiculous. Right now, I don’t know what would make me feel better. But maybe something will strike a chord, because I’m part of whatever’s going on.”

  He realized she could be right. She was coming at this from an entirely different perspective, so she might think of something he wouldn’t.

  “Okay,” he said, then proceeded to give her a bare-bones summary of the stories about the burglars Parker overheard in the club and Evan Reese showing up at his door.

  “Hasn’t Hank taken Reese in for questioning?” she asked when he was done.

  “Not yet. There’s an added wrinkle with him. His uncle happens to be the first deputy police commissioner.”

  “Ah. So that’s how he managed to cause you so much trouble.”

  “Exactly. And now that we know who his uncle Fred is, Hank will handle him more carefully than I did. But Reese and the others may turn out to have airtight alibis. And if they do...

  “Well, let’s get back to the likelihood that the contract’s connected to your brother’s murder. When his death means you inherit everything from your mother’s estate, the obvious q
uestion is who would benefit if you died?”

  “I...”

  “Do you have a will?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Who’s your beneficiary?” He waited as she anxiously licked her lips—praying she’d give him a name, that she hadn’t bequeathed everything to some charitable organization.

  “My husband,” she murmured at last.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wednesday, October 6, 4:21 p.m.

  HER HUSBAND. Her estranged husband who was living with another woman. Travis’s thoughts had begun racing so fast they all deserved speeding tickets.

  “But...Bryce would never in a million years have murdered Steve,” Celeste murmured. “Or hired a hit man to kill me.”

  He nodded slowly, as if buying that, but he was actually recalling she’d mentioned that Bryce had offered his help when her mother died. And phoned her just the other day, after he’d “heard” about Steve.

  Of course, the guy could have been calling out of genuine concern. Or maybe he’d had another reason.

  He might have just been keeping in touch, making sure she didn’t suddenly decide to get away from her problems and take off. That she’d be where they were expecting her to be when the hit man came calling.

  Focusing on her again, he said, “Celeste, is Bryce aware he’s your beneficiary?”

  She gnawed on her lower lip for a moment, then said, “Yes. In fact, he drew up the wills. Shortly after we got married. His specialty is estate law.”

  “You said wills? Plural?” Travis asked, telling himself to proceed as coolly as he would in any other interview situation.

  “Yes. Two. Mine and my mother’s.”

  “So...the survivor clause was his idea?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably, though. Knowing my mother, she’d have left the details up to him.”

  “Look...I’m going to ask you something you might think is none of my business. But how much is that estate worth? More or less.”

  “I’m not exactly sure yet. It’s a few hundred thousand dollars, though.”