Midnight Rain

by Dee Davis

  “We’re concerned that your nosing around might be interfering with our investigation.” Roswell’s carefully modulated voice took on the tone of a schoolteacher. A teacher talking to a truant.

  Irritation surged through him. “I’m more concerned that we won’t find Miller’s murderer.”

  “I’m aware of that fact, but sometimes there’s more at stake than is readily apparent.”

  “You’re talking in riddles, Roswell, and frankly I don’t have time for them. So why don’t you just cut to the chase.” With more nonchalance than he was feeling, he reached for a french fry.

  “I’m talking about all the questions you’re asking over at Guardian.”

  His resentment ratcheted up a notch, and he fought to keep his tone civil. “I’m a detective, Roswell, that’s what I do.”

  “Not when it might endanger an ongoing FBI investigation.”

  “Which you can’t tell me about.” He reached for another french fry, considering what he’d do with it if it were capable of inflicting pain.

  Roswell shrugged, the gesture laced with superiority. Fucking bastard. “It’s need to know.”

  “Fine.” Eric leaned forward, eyes narrowed, just barely hanging on to his temper. “Until you decide I need to know, or until someone pulls me off of the case, I’m going to continue to ask questions.”

  Roswell leaned forward, too, his face just inches away from D’Angelo’s. “I came here as a courtesy, but if I have to go to your superior, I will. I want you to back off. And I want it now.”

  “So you’re taking over the case?” He held his position, even though it was an effort to do so. Not for all the beer in Milwaukee would he let the bastard think he’d gained ground.

  “No.” Roswell sat back. Score one for the APD. “It’s still your case.”

  Which meant Roswell was here without authority. Eric frowned. “Then I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

  Roswell stood up. “I just want you to proceed with caution. There’s a lot at stake.”

  “I’m always careful, Roswell. That’s why I’m good at what I do. Now, if you’re finished . . .” He gestured to his now cold hamburger.

  The man fixed him with a stare meant to intimidate. “Just watch your step.”

  D’Angelo raised an eyebrow, holding back a spurt of laughter. He’d used the same technique on suspects. He hoped he was better. He picked up a fry, ignoring the fact that it was greasy and cold. “No problem.”

  Roswell narrowed his eyes, obviously doubting Eric’s sincerity—smart guy—then with a curt nod he turned and strode from the squad room.

  “What the hell was that about?” Haskins walked up to the desk Roswell had vacated, dropping down into the chair.

  “Damned if I know.” D’Angelo threw the hamburger at the trash can. It landed with a satisfactory thwack.

  “Looked like a pissing match to me.” Tony leaned back, propping his feet on the desk. “So who won?”

  “Let’s just say I did the department proud.” Eric grinned, then sobered. “Seriously, I don’t know what the fuck was going on. He told me to back off the Miller case, but then when I wouldn’t back off, he did.”

  “The great Roswell?” Haskin’s sarcasm was thicker than the squad room coffee.

  “Yeah. Go figure.” D’Angelo leaned back in his chair, trying to sort through the conversation. “One thing is for certain, though. This is about something a whole lot bigger than a drug addict with a big mouth. Whatever Miller had to sell, the FBI wanted it bad. And unless I miss my guess, Jonathan Brighton is involved in it up to his memory-impaired ass.”

  “Are you all right?” Katie wasn’t sure exactly why she asked the question. It’s just that he’d seemed so determined to get her to come, and now that they were actually out, he hadn’t said more than three words.

  “I’m sorry.” John stared down at his pizza, toying with the edge of his paper plate. “I’m afraid I’m not very good company tonight.”

  “That’s a bit of an understatement actually.” She reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong.”

  He studied her face for a moment, obviously debating the wisdom of revealing himself, then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, his expression shuttered. “According to my bank records, I liquidated about half a million dollars worth of assets before leaving for Mexico.”

  “That’s a lot of money.” She sat back, frowning. “You’ve no idea why you liquidated it?”

  He shook his head. “None at all. There’s nothing to indicate where I put it or what I might have wanted with it.”

  She toyed with her pizza, trying to order her thoughts. “Have you told anyone else what you found?”

  He shook his head, carefully reaching for his iced tea. “I wanted to sort through it first.”

  “And you wound up taking me out to dinner instead.” She met his gaze, surprised to see honesty there. Honesty and hope.

  God, he believed she was going to help him. Guilt washed through her. Guilt colored with emotions she wasn’t about to examine.

  At least not now.

  “Believe me, it was a much-needed distraction.” His smile was slow, his eyes still worried. “Look, I didn’t mean to drag you into my problems.”

  “You didn’t drag me. I volunteered. Remember? Besides, sometimes it’s nice to be able to talk to someone with no ulterior motives.”

  “Everyone has ulterior motives, Katie.”

  She was silent for a moment, considering his statement. “I suppose that’s probably true—if you want to be that literal. But that’s not what I meant. I just thought it might be nice to talk to someone who wasn’t a part of your life before you were injured.”

  “I’m sorry.” He turned the glass absently in his good hand. “I know you’re trying to help. It’s just that without memories, I’m not sure how to proceed.”

  She shifted so that she could see him better. “Maybe it’ll help if we look at it sequentially, beginning with the trip to Mexico.”

  “Conceivably a vacation. But with half a million dollars missing, it’s certainly possible something else was going on.”

  “Is there anything in Mexico that could have meant you’d need that kind of cash?”

  “Nothing that makes any sense. Certainly not on a vacation. Hell, I’m having trouble with the idea that I went on a vacation at all, money or no. Especially somewhere like Mexico.”

  “More a Riviera kinda guy?” She’d meant it as a joke, something to lighten the moment, but it came out an insult, and she immediately regretted the words.

  “Maybe before. But now,” he laughed, the sound without humor, “now . . . I don’t know.”

  “Well, we know you went, despite your past preferences. Which could mean something in and of itself.”

  “You mean because I normally wouldn’t have gone there, there must have been a nefarious reason?” His voice held a note of sarcasm at odds with the resignation reflected in the lines of his face.

  “Not nefarious, necessarily. You’re jumping to conclusions. But it is possible there was a reason beyond just a vacation. Danny told me you borrowed a place from a friend?”

  “A client actually. Hobson Enterprises. The account manager offered me the place. The problem is, I don’t remember accepting.”

  “Have you talked to this man?”

  “Andy? No, I haven’t, but it’s a good idea. I’ll call him in the morning. And I can talk to my broker about the asset liquidation. Maybe I told him what it was all about. At the very least I’d have had to authorize the transactions.”

  “It’s a good beginning.” She leaned forward, wanting to reassure him. “One way or the other, you’ll get to the bottom of this. You’ve just got to take it step by step. And if you’ll let me, I want to help.”

  “You’re a special person, Katie Cavanaugh.” His gaze connected with hers, his gratitude almost palpable.

  The guilt was back. “You’re
making a judgment without really knowing me.”

  “I already told you, I trust my instincts.”

  “So,” she said, knowing that her smile was a little too bright, “is Cozzoli’s local?”

  John released her hand, considering the question, accepting the change of subject. “I don’t know. I never really thought about it. I just like the pizza.”

  “Is this where you usually take your dates?” It came out before she had the time to think about how it sounded.

  There was a moment’s hesitation, a beat when their eyes met and words ceased to matter. But it was gone almost before she was cognizant of its existence.

  “No. I usually try to be a little more impressive. Something more upscale.” He waved an arm at the plastic-molded booths.

  “So I didn’t rate?” Again with the mouth. She bit her lower lip, trying to force her brain to take control. She’d meant it as a joke, but somehow it came out sounding like she was hurt. Or petulant. Or something.

  He looked down at his empty paper plate, the fingers on his right hand twitching, tightening, trying to form a fist. “I couldn’t manage anywhere else.”

  The statement had cost him a lot, and she recognized it, and was ashamed. She hadn’t thought about his injuries. About how difficult handling cutlery and glasses must be for him. Dinner, no matter where it was, would be difficult. And a meal out was like putting it all under a microscope for everyone to see.

  “I’m sorry. I never stopped to think about how you might feel about eating out. I never should have agreed to this.”

  “I’m the one who wanted to come, remember?” He held her gaze for a moment, and then looked down again. “So have you had enough?” He tipped his head toward the pizza, changing the mood with just a sentence.

  She couldn’t decide if she should be insulted or relieved. Relieved probably. “More than enough. This place could be addictive.” They stood up and Katie was careful to flank him as they walked toward the door.

  “I’m not going to fall down, you know.” His tone was wry, but there was an undernote of frustration. This was a man used to being in control, and the shooting had robbed him of some of his self-confidence. He tried hard to mask the feelings, but she could see it there, just below the surface.

  “I know.” She casually linked arms with him. “But I can’t help reacting. Write it off as an occupational hazard.” Which of course wasn’t true. Quite honestly, she couldn’t explain her need to help him even to herself. It was automatic. Almost like breathing. And about as uncharacteristic as if she’d suddenly taken to following the edifications of Martha Stewart.

  “Feel like walking?”

  They’d come out onto Congress Avenue, the downtown streetlights seeming to radiate heat. Even with the sun down, it was still hot. “Sure.” She fell into stride beside him, adjusting her natural pace to his slower gait.

  The state capitol lay in front of them, resplendent against the night sky, stars twinkling around the figure of lady liberty.

  “It’s taller than the one in Washington.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She glanced over at him.

  “The dome.” He pointed toward the capitol. “When Texas joined the union they built their capitol so that it would be taller than the one in DC.”

  “Everything’s bigger in Texas?”

  He laughed, his face shadowed in the half-light, his profile strong. A shiver of something primal ran down her spine. This man was dangerous.

  She tripped on a bump in the pavement, and his hand tightened on her arm, keeping her upright. They stopped, standing face-to-face, their breath mingling together beneath the hazy light of the street lamp. “Maybe I’m not the only one who needs to be taken care of,” he whispered, his voice caressing.

  She licked her lips nervously, wanting to step back. To move away. But she couldn’t.

  She couldn’t.

  Almost against her will, she leaned closer, until his mouth was just centimeters from hers. He closed the distance between them, his good arm sliding around her waist, pulling her against him, his lips brushing hers, lightly at first, then harder, more insistently. As if he couldn’t get enough of her.

  It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel like this. Free. Uninhibited.

  Crazy.

  She pushed back, gulping for air, her eyes searching his.

  His grin was slow, almost lazy, and it made the nerves along her skin dance. “It’s about time we did that, don’t you think?”

  “I . . . I don’t—” She was actually stuttering.

  He covered her lips with a finger, his touch gentle, yet sensual. “It’s late. We should go.”

  She nodded mutely, and let him lead her back toward the car, wondering what the hell was happening to her. Her lips were tingling. Her head was spinning. And she felt all of about fourteen. The rational side of her brain was screaming that she take charge of the situation, put him in his place once and for all, but the other side of her, the side she kept locked deep inside, was awake and demanding a rematch.

  She was caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.

  And quite frankly, it hurt like hell.

  Jason Pollock watched as the computer screen flashed a series of files, arranged by date.

  “Shit.” The word rang out in the stillness of his study, the dates on the computer indicating that someone had accessed the files only a few hours before.

  “Jason?” Valerie’s voice was sleep-clouded. “Is that you?”

  “Yeah, I dropped something.” He closed the lid on his laptop as she walked into the living room. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Work?” She tilted her head toward the computer, smothering a yawn.

  He nodded with a sigh, reopening the computer, canceling the screen with the files. “I couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess.”

  She nodded, and sat down on the sofa. Even tousled from sleep, Valerie was a looker. And it constantly amazed him that she deigned to grace his bed. “I know what you mean. Between Derek’s death and John’s return, it’s hardly been business as usual.”

  “I had three calls today.”

  “About John?” Her perfectly sculpted brows drew together in a frown.

  “Two about him, one about Derek and the police. Not that I blame them. It’s all over the papers. Even if there’s nothing to any of this, we look like we’re involved up to our necks.” He abandoned the computer to come and sit beside her. “So what happened with Frank?”

  “He hasn’t committed yet. But he will.” Her smile held a touch of malice. “Frank’s easy to manipulate. He’s hungry for attention. All I have to do is make him believe I’m interested in him, and he’ll follow me like a puppy.”

  “You’re seducing him.” He frowned, the idea repugnant in and of itself, but even more so when he factored in his feelings for Valerie.

  “Something like that.” She ran a finger up his thigh. “But there’s nothing for you to worry about. Just a means to an end.”

  “One more step toward taking Guardian away from Jonathan.”

  “Exactly. Although you make it sound so calculated.” Valerie shrugged, the gesture just a little too practiced. “I care a great deal about Guardian, Jason. You know that. And Jonathan would be the first one to admit that anything that created a liability to the company should be exorcized. So can you fault me for thinking that now is the time to make our move? Jonathan is down for the count, the troops are restless, and to top that off, some of the clients are beginning to make noises about all the attention we’re getting. All of that adds up to leverage.”

  “Against Jonathan.”

  “Look,” she reached over to lay a hand on his knee, “if it bothers you so much, think about it as if we’re doing the man a favor. He’s not well, Jason. You’ve seen that. He’d be better off starting over.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  He blew out a long breath. “I suppose
not.”

  “Then you’re with me?”

  “I’m not sure what it is exactly you think you’re going to do. But yes, I’m with you.”

  “Good.” She stood up, extending a hand. “Then come to bed.”

  He wanted to go with her. To put all this out of his mind for a moment or two. But he couldn’t. He had to figure out where he stood. And then he had to figure out what he was going to do about it. The play was in motion and it was past time for him to make his move.

  The question was, what the hell was he going to do?

  Katie stood at the window looking at the lights of the city, her stomach tied in knots. She was in over her head. And being a pragmatic person she was the first to admit it. But that didn’t mean there was an easy way out.

  She couldn’t quit. That would be tantamount to admitting that Roswell was right and that a woman couldn’t handle the job. But she couldn’t continue deceiving John. Not after that kiss.

  Lightning flashed against the horizon, the broad band of light giving a momentary illusion of daylight. She sighed. It was classic really. An undercover agent getting too close to the mark. It was always a fine line, but given the chemistry between the two of them, she shouldn’t be surprised. The question was, what to do about it.

  And the answer to that was obvious. She had to get her hormones in order. Get the information she needed. And then get the hell out of Dodge. She was a professional. Everyone probably had a brush with something like this. It was a test. And she was determined to pass with flying colors. Nothing had happened between them.

  They’d talked. And he’d kissed her. That was the pertinent fact. He’d kissed her. Not the other way around. Granted, she’d let it go on a little longer than necessary. But all things considered, she had stayed in character. That had to count for something.

  Besides, the only one who was ever going to know about it was her. . . .

  And John Brighton.