by Maggie Price
Why hadn’t he just stayed away?
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Books by Maggie Price
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Copyright
Why hadn’t he just stayed away?
Because there had been no way in hell to predict Vanessa’s murder. No way to know that deed would bring Julia back into his life, and, with her, the reminder of all he’d given up.
Julia, who made him want to make promises he couldn’t keep. Julia, who wasn’t just any woman. She was the only woman.
And now she knew the truth. Knew he’d loved her when he walked out, knew the real reason for his leaving. Sloan’s mouth tightened as he pictured the mix of fire and challenge—and hurt—that had leaped into her eyes.
Maybe after all this time it was best. Maybe someday she would develop a grudging understanding of why he’d purposely destroyed her love for him.
Maybe she wouldn’t hate him for the rest of her life....
Dear Reader,
They say all good things must end someday, and this month we bid a reluctant farewell to Nora Roberts’ STARS OF MITHRA trilogy. Secret Star is a fitting windup to one of this New York Times bestselling author’s most captivating miniseries ever. I don’t want to give anything away, but I will say this: You’re in for the ride of your life—and that’s after one of the best openings ever. Enjoy!
Marilyn Pappano also wraps up a trilogy this month. Knight Errant is the last of her SOUTHERN KNIGHTS miniseries, the story of Nick Carlucci and the bodyguard he reluctantly accepts, then falls for—hook, line and sinker. Then say goodbye to MAXIMILLIAN’S CHILDREN, as reader favorite Alicia Scott offers Brandon’s Bride, the book in which secrets are revealed and the last of the Ferringers finds love. Award-winning Maggie Price is back with her second book, The Man She Almost Married, and Christa Conan checks in with One Night at a Time, a sequel to All I Need Finally, welcome new author Lauren Nichols, whose Accidenral Heiress is a wonderful debut,
And then come back next month for more of the best romantic reading around—right here at Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Yours,
Leslie Wainger
Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator
* * *
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
* * *
THE MAN SHE ALMOST MARRIED
MAGGIE PRICE
Books by Maggie Price
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Prime Suspect #816
The Man She Almost Married #838
MAGGIE PRICE
turned to crime at the age of twenty-two. That’s when she went to work at the Oklahoma City Police Department. As a civilian crime analyst, she evaluated suspects’ methods of operation during the commission of robberies and sex crimes, and developed profiles on those suspects. During her tenure at OCPD, Maggie stood in lineups, worked on homicide task forces, established procedures for evidence submittal, even posed as the wife of an undercover officer in the investigation of a fortune-teller.
While at OCPD, Maggie stored up enough tales of intrigue, murder and mayhem to keep her at the keyboard for years. The first of those tales won the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award for Romantic Suspense and was published by Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Maggie invites her readers to contact her at 5208 W. Reno, Suite 350, Oklahoma City, OK 73127-6317.
To my very fantastic critique partners, Nancy Berland
and Merline Lovelace. Thank you for taking time on that
wickedly cold January day to meet over brunch and
weave your magic. You make the bad times better, and
the good times fantastic. When it comes to support, you
guys put an orthopedic mattress to shame.
Chapter 1
“A corpse awaits us.”
With her cell phone crammed between her cheek and shoulder, Sergeant Julia Cruze checked the clock on her car’s dashboard. Their shift didn’t kick in for fifteen minutes, and already her partner was on the line to her.
She let out a weighty sigh as she glanced at her leather tote on the passenger seat, the morning newspaper bulging out its unzipped top. Inside was the case file on the unsolved homicide that had plagued her for the past month. She’d planned to spend part of the day reinterviewing the victim’s neighbors and family. Now, unless they got lucky—real lucky—she’d have another case file to add to the one in her tote.
“What have we got?” Julia asked, slowing the unmarked cruiser to legal speed in case a change of direction was in her future.
“A woman bought it in the parking garage of her office building,” her partner replied cheerfully. “I’m just leaving the station, so I don’t have any specifics. But I imagine there’s blood, gore and mayhem involved. The perfect welcome back after our days off.”
Rolling her eyes, Julia sipped the steaming coffee she’d purchased at the minimarket around the corner from her apartment. Sergeant Travis Halliday, her rookie partner of six months, had jumped into the fray of the Oklahoma City Police Department’s Homicide detail with the gusto of a kid attacking Christmas presents. In a contest between Halliday and the medical examiner, it would be nose-to-nose who had a keener interest in viewing dead bodies.
“Here’s an idea, Halliday,” Julia began dryly. “Instead of me driving around all morning looking for the scene, why don’t you give me the address?”
“The deceased awaits us at Remington Aerospace’s corporate office. Address is—”
“I know it,” Julia shot back, and set her teeth against the quick, instinctive lurch of her stomach. Two years, and the name still had the impact of a bare-fisted punch.
“Ouch. What’s the matter? Did you and Bill go a few rounds last night?”
“We never fight,” Julia said, then blared her horn at a dented taxi that had cut in front of her. “Does Lieutenant Ryan know we’re on this?”
“He wasn’t in the office when the call came in,” Halliday answered. “Anyway, you and I are first on the schedule so I—”
“Forget it. I’ll meet you there,” Julia said, then ended the connection.
She dragged in air between her teeth and waited for the tightness in her chest to ease. When it didn’t, her temper stirred. “Can the emotions, Cruze,” she muttered. “You got over Sloan Remington a long time ago.”
Punching the gas pedal, she lightened her mood with a neat, illegal U-turn against traffic.
It was barely eight o’clock, yet heat hung in humid waves in the still July air. Julia stood at the entrance to Remington Aerospace’s belowground parking garage, slid the holster that held her 9 mm Smith & Wesson onto her belt, then shrugged into the black pin-striped jacket that matched her slacks. After clipping her gold badge onto the breast pocket, she retrieved her coffee cup and recorder off the top of her cruiser. She glanced across her shoulder toward the street and scanned the continuous line of rush-hour traffic. If Halliday didn’t show in the next few minutes, she’d go in without him and let him catch up.
Looking back toward the building, she took a sip of coffee, her gaze drifting up
ward like slow smoke. The sleek structure of glass and polished metal jutted fifteen floors from the concrete and surrounding pristine flower beds. When Julia realized her gaze had stopped its slow rise just short of the top floor, she expelled an oath. “Get a grip,” she said in disgust. “Sloan’s not there. Hasn’t been for two years.”
And even if the man who once occupied the CEO’s expansive top-floor office was to stride out the revolving door this instant, it would mean nothing to her. Because he meant nothing to her. As if to lend credence to her thoughts, Julia glanced at the diamond engagement ring glittering on her left hand. She’d put her life back together, moved on.
The shout of her name coming from behind dispersed the ghosts. Turning, she watched Travis Halliday sprint toward her on short, stocky legs, his striped tie fluttering against the lapel of his suit coat.
“’Morning, partner.” Grinning broadly, he tipped a bag sporting a bakery shop logo her way. “Chocolate chip heads today’s menu.”
Julia waved the bag away. “Keep eating cookies for breakfast, Halliday, and you’ll have twenty pounds of lard on you before that baby gets here.”
“What can I say?” he asked good-naturedly. “Pam gets a craving, I share the bounty.” He sent a disparaging look at the foam cup in Julia’s hand. “At least I don’t expose my stomach lining to convenience store coffee. That stuff’ll kill you.”
“My stomach,” she commented as they ducked beneath a stretch of yellow crime scene tape.
Halliday glanced up at the towering glass structure and emitted a low whistle between his teeth. “Impressive. Must be good money in the aerospace business these days.”
“If you call nineteen billion dollars in annual sales impressive.”
He slanted her a look. “How the hell do you know that?”
“I read the paper,” Julia answered, then nodded at the ebony-skinned uniformed officer who approached, notepad in hand. She was glad to see Roosevelt O’Shea on the scene. They’d worked the same shift in Patrol before her promotion to Homicide, and she knew he’d make sure things ran by the book.
“What have we got, O’Shea?” she asked while anchoring her recorder to the strap of her purse.
“Victim’s a Vanessa West,” the officer stated. “White female, early twenties. M.E.’s with her now.”
“How’d she die?” Halliday asked.
“Bullet in the back.”
Before them, the barred gate at the head of the ramp leading down to the parking garage stood open. Julia looked up, taking in the surveillance camera with its dark lens tilted at the security card scanner.
“Is the gate working?” she asked.
“Was when I got here,” O’Shea answered. “The lab boys had them open it so they could move their equipment in and out.”
“Are there cameras in the garage?”
“Just one, on the door that leads into the building,” O’Shea said. “The door’s secured like the gate—you have to scan a card to get in.” The officer sent her a knowing smile. “Sorry, Sarge, the homicide occurred out of range of the camera. Guess you’ll have to solve it the old-fashioned way.”
Julia’s mouth curved. “One can hope.” As a concession to the heat, she slid a hand behind her neck and lifted her dark hair. “We need the tapes off both cameras.”
“Already done,” O’Shea said. “I turned them over to the lab.”
“Who found the body?” Halliday asked as he and Julia fell in step with the officer. They headed down the ramp into the parking garage’s welcome coolness.
O’Shea checked his notes. “Guy by the name of Smith-son. Don Smith-son. Says he drove in, parked and nearly tripped over her on his way to the door. He’s shook up, lost his breakfast before he went in to report what he’d found.”
“Where is he now?”
“Over there with one of my men. I put him out of sight of the body. Figured that’d be best.”
Julia glanced across the garage. A uniformed officer stood beside a man hunched in a metal chair. The man had his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. “Let’s look at the victim before we talk to him,” she said.
Their footsteps echoing hollowly off the concrete floor, they passed rows of parking spaces lit by bright overhead lights. “Someday I’m going. to own one of these babies,” Halliday commented as they passed an assortment of BMWs, several Mercedes and a sleek, black Jaguar.
O’Shea snorted. “Yeah, on a cop’s salary?” He tilted his head toward the cars. “A few of these arrived between the time Smithson found the body and the first uniforms got here.”
Julia looked at Halliday. “We need a list of who drove in each car, and what time.”
“Right,” he said, then popped the last bite of chocolate chip cookie into his mouth. “O’Shea, who’s head of security around here?”
The officer frowned as he flipped through his notes with thick, impatient fingers. “I’ve got the name somewhere....”
“Rick Fox?” Julia asked.
“That’s it,” O’Shea commented. He met her gaze, and she saw the sudden realization settle in his dark eyes. “I guess you know a few people around here.”
“Some.”
He gave an uneasy shrug before looking back at his notes.
Fighting irritation, Julia downed the remains of her coffee, crushed the cup beneath her fingers and jammed it into her purse. What happened between her and Sloan Remington two years ago had cemented itself in the minds of the people she’d been working with at the time. People hadn’t forgotten—wouldn’t forget. That was a fact she’d grown to accept...and live with. What she couldn’t stomach was the occasional look of pity that came her way.
“Is Forensics done with the scene?” she asked, her voice sharp enough to garner a curious look from her partner.
“They should finish soon,” O’Shea advised. As if to verify his comment, a lab tech in a blue jumpsuit stepped around a concrete pillar.
“Scene’s photographed and vacuumed, except the area beneath the body,” he said, hiking the strap on his evidence kit higher on his shoulder. “After the M.E. finishes his prelim and moves her, I’ll go back in and sweep that. The victim’s briefcase needs dusting, but it’s next to the body—didn’t want to disturb anything.”
Julia nodded. “Find anything we need to know about right now?”
“Maybe,” the tech said, pulling a small, plastic evidence bag out of his kit. “Looks like some sort of service pin.”
With Halliday and O’Shea leaning over her shoulders, Julia peered through the plastic at the gold “R” with a small diamond set into its center. She recognized it as the pin presented to Remington employees who hit the twenty-year mark with the company. “Where’d you find it?”
“A few feet from the passenger door of the victim’s car,” the tech said, as Julia returned the bag. “There’s no way of knowing if it’s connected to the homicide.”
Julia expelled a slow breath. “All right, Halliday, let’s make your day and look at the victim.”
Death had not diminished Vanessa West’s beauty. She lay on her back like a broken doll, her bloodless skin looking like porcelain over sculpted cheekbones. Subtle hues of smoke and teal emphasized eyes that stared glassily upward; gloss the color of rich rubies slicked her ripe, slack mouth. A cascade of blond hair fell softly over one cheek, then pooled in a golden frame around her shoulders. Her power-red suit was an expensive one, the snug jacket buttoned over a slim skirt that rode up, exposing sculpted thighs and the clasp of a black lace garter belt.
“Sweet Jesus,” Halliday commented softly. “What a looker.”
The M.E. glanced up from the long chemical thermometer in his hand. “Cruze, Halliday,” he said, then rose, careful to avoid the pool of congealing blood that blossomed from beneath the victim’s right shoulder.
Julia nodded to the small, trim man with graying hair. “What have you got for us?”
“She took a bullet in the back. Looks like small caliber—a .22 or
maybe .25. There’s no trace of gunpowder on her jacket around the wound.”
“So she was shot at a distance,” Julia stated.
“Over five feet away, I’d say.” He slid the thermometer into his black medical bag. “Judging by the body temp, she’s been dead an hour...two at the most.”
Julia glanced at her watch, noted it was eight-fifteen. She looked at O’Shea. “Do we have the weapon?”
“Nowhere in sight,” the officer answered. “I was waiting for the lab to clear out before the uniforms started looking down here.”
“Bring them in now,” she said. “If the gun doesn’t turn up, do a grid search of the grounds.”
While O’Shea unhooked his radio from his Sam Browne belt to issue the order, Julia turned to Halliday. “We’ll need each owner’s permission to search inside their car. If anyone balks, get a warrant. A car doesn’t leave here until it’s checked.”
“Right.”
She glanced back at Vanessa West, regarding the black leather briefcase that lay beside her left, red spiked heel. Julia’s brows knitted and she took a step closer, her eyes narrowing at what she’d first taken as a shadow across one side of the woman’s skirt. “Is that a stain?” she asked, crouching beside the body.
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said, leaning in. “Not blood. That’s for sure.”
Gathering her long hair in one hand to keep it out of her face, Julia lowered her head and caught a whiff of expensive perfume mixed with a familiar scent. “Carrots,” she said as she rose.
“Carrots?” Halliday asked, giving her a blank look.
“Carrot juice,” Julia amended. “O’Shea, was there a cup anywhere around here? Any sign of spilled juice?”
The officer shook his head. “Didn’t see anything.”