Kiss Me Deadly

by Susan Kearney

  Mandy accessed the server from a spare computer terminal. While the cops had taken Lisa’s hard drive, all computer files backed up automatically on a daily basis to the server, so Mandy could still access Lisa’s work. “I’ve found the cases that Lisa, Dana, and I have worked on.”

  She printed them out, tucked them in a file holder, and handed it to Zack. “Why don’t you have a look?”

  Mandy tried not to think about how she was invading Lisa’s space. During the last year, the paralegal secretary had made the office her own with pictures of herself kissing a dolphin at Sea World with two of her foster girls in tow, a snow globe filled with a Halloween ghost—a present from one of her kids, a ceramic bowl full of Jolly Ranchers, and a pair of sunglasses tossed onto the desk as if she’d just left and would return momentarily.

  Only, Lisa was never coming back.

  Zack began to read. Mandy liked the way he didn’t ask questions before he finished, had forgotten how easy he was to be around while she was working. He had the ability to remain silent and fade into the background until he wanted to be noticed. Oh, he could turn on the charm, but he had a work ethic that went as deep as hers, allowing her to focus on the task at hand without distractions.

  She pulled out additional files that she and Dana were working on together and which Lisa had coordinated. Any one of them could lead to an ex-husband with a grudge. Or a dissatisfied client.

  Zack had taken a seat on the couch. Sunlight spilled through the window, and she noted the circles under his eyes, reminding her that neither of them had slept much last night.

  Zack, however, still looked alert. His hand holding the file was steady. He sat upright on the couch without slouching, as if ready to lunge to his feet at the first sign of danger. But with only Sylvia answering the phone and her bodyguard in the reception area, the office was unusually quiet. Almost eerily so.

  Mandy couldn’t help thinking that she was glad Zack was there to protect her. She needn’t worry over him finding pictures of Gabrielle in her office. Since she worked with his family, she’d always known the possibility existed that he might return at any time, and so she’d kept Gabby’s pictures at home. Mandy might not know how he’d react if he learned about Gabby, but she could predict with utter certainty how he’d respond to a threat—he’d protect her with his life. That instinct seemed hard-wired into him, and she admired him for it as well as for the work he did.

  Mandy hadn’t had time to really absorb the fact that she and Dana could have died. Instead of losing possessions, they could be dead. Like Lisa. She and Dana could be lying on a cold slab in the morgue right now alongside—

  Stop it.

  Scaring herself silly would do no one any good. With determination, she headed across the hall to her own corner office. Zack stood and gestured for her to let him go first, taking the file folder with him and tucking it under his arm. He scanned the hallway, her office, even checking her coat closet before allowing her to enter.

  Finally, she sat behind her desk, thumbed through her mail, then set it aside. Zack positioned himself with his back to the wall and opposite the doorway, with a casual air that suggested his wariness was routine.

  Chilled by her thoughts of death, Mandy slipped into a blue sweater she’d left on the back of her chair and reached to put her purse in her desk drawer. Except she had no purse. Or driver’s license. She’d reported her stolen credit cards, and new ones were being delivered to the office. But her purse and the rest of the missing contents had been taken last night along with the lottery ticket.

  She was about to boot up her computer when Sylvia buzzed her intercom. “Mandy, Ben’s here to take me to lunch. He wants to talk to Zack, first.”

  “Send him in.” Ben was Sylvia’s husband, a burly ex-cop now relegated to a wheelchair. But his handicap didn’t stop him from staying busy or being a terrific husband. It amazed Mandy that the man seemed unfazed by his relatively recent handicap. After the tragedy, his personality hadn’t seemed to have changed at all. He drove a van outfitted to accommodate his special needs and often stopped in to visit his wife at work. His eyes still twinkled when he looked at Sylvia. Seeing how happy they were after all this time had never seemed real to Mandy. No marriage could be that perfect. Surely no couple could be so devoted to one another?

  But Ben still remembered every special occasion, every anniversary. He didn’t seem to harbor any bitterness over his inability to walk. The man was just too perfect.

  Ben wheeled himself to her office, and Zack put down the file, stood, and the two men shook hands. Ben’s gray hair was thinning, his eyebrows bushy over a tanned face. Mandy wasn’t certain, but she believed the two men had met when Zack had been here before, since Ben was always finding excuses to come to the office, bringing his wife a sandwich, taking her to lunch, or running her errands. She sensed an immediate respect for one another between the two lawmen.

  Ben greeted Mandy with a nod and came straight to the point. “Sylvia said the lottery ticket’s been stolen.”

  Expression neutral, Zack closed the file and placed it beside him on the couch. “That’s correct.”

  Mandy expected Ben to ask for details about the stolen ticket. Maybe, he’d suggest going after the thief.

  “I’d like to tell the press.” Ben’s eyebrows knitted with worry. “If we announce that none of the women have the ticket anymore, they should be safer.”

  Hmm. He’d surprised her once again by his unselfishness. Ben wasn’t thinking about the lost riches, but his wife’s safety. Mandy’s, too. He had a point. No one in their right mind would bother attacking women who no longer possessed the winning ticket.

  “You think an announcement will protect us?” Mandy asked, trying to think of a hole in Ben’s theory and doing her best not to catch Zack’s eyes to see what he thought. As much as she respected his opinions, she needed to come to her own conclusions. Besides, looking at him might reveal that she cared more about him than she wanted to admit—even to herself. So she went into attorney mode, running scenarios through her mind, uncertain if Ben’s suggestion had merit. If his plan worked, they could all return to their routines. Mandy could practice law and have her mother bring Gabby home. Right now, normalcy sounded like heaven.

  But one glimpse at Zack from her peripheral vision reminded her that things wouldn’t be normal. Not the normal she’d known before this whole nightmare began. Not once she told Zack the truth.

  “We aren’t even certain if Lisa was killed because someone was after the ticket,” Mandy said, too good an attorney not to punch holes in Ben’s theory. “And I was pushed off the bridge before we won.”

  “What harm can it do?” Ben pleaded.

  “I’ll talk to Catherine,” Zack promised, then found more holes in Ben’s reasoning. “We have nothing to lose by trying, but even if we announce that the ticket’s been stolen, there’s no guarantee the killer will read the paper or hear the news, or that he’ll believe it.”

  “Understood.” Ben’s voice softened. “Please thank your mother for providing the bodyguard for Sylvia. I would have phoned and told her myself, but I didn’t want to bother her at the hospital.” He hesitated. “I heard Dana’s going home and—”

  “You licensed to carry?” Zack asked.

  Carry? Mandy frowned, then realized from the bulge under Ben’s arm he had a weapon holstered there.

  Ben spoke over his shoulder as he rolled out of her office, “Permit’s up to date. I never fired my weapon in the line of duty, not even when I got hit, but I still go to monthly target practice.”

  For all of Ben’s sweet gestures, he remained a hard-edged cop through and through. He meant to protect his woman. Mandy realized that Zack probably had a weapon on him, too. Maybe several. She recalled he liked to wear one on his ankle and carried another at the small of his back, and he slept with one under his pillow
.

  They had yet to discuss sleeping arrangements tonight. Oh . . . God. She couldn’t bring him back to her condo—not with a high chair in the kitchen and baby toys strewn throughout the living room.

  The mere idea of a hotel room brought back two-year-old memories of Zack’s hot kisses, his powerful arms cradling her gently, his fingers in her hair inundating her senses. She didn’t want to remember. But there was only so much tension her body could deal with in a day. As Ben left, she shut those thoughts down and pushed her concerns over sleeping arrangements to the back of her mind.

  She could hear the water cooler cycle on. The fax machine spit out papers. The phone rang, but either Sylvia or the service would pick up. At the sudden intimacy, she could hear the beating of her heart.

  She couldn’t look at Zack sitting on the couch. She refused to dwell on the fascinating bit of sunlight that beamed onto the V-neck of his shirt, revealing bronzed skin and a dusting of black curls. Instead she printed the files she wanted and scooped them up. “Why don’t we discuss these over lunch?”

  He stared at her, his eyes bright and interested. “Good idea. I’m starved.”

  Was he flirting again? She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t like her inability to read him. In many ways, he was the man she remembered, and yet, he seemed more serious, less ready to smile. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who’d changed.

  But good God, he could still turn on the charm. Yet he wouldn’t push. She recalled he liked his ladies hot. And willing. She’d been both. No one had ever jazzed her up like Zack could with a mere glance. She’d never forget that he’d once told her that her skin was her best accessory. Sheesh—the way the man made her blood heat shouldn’t be legal. Or possible. Not with everything that had happened. Still . . .

  Stop it.

  She couldn’t dwell in the past. She had a crisis on her hands. Besides, it didn’t seem fair to be reminiscing after what had happened to Lisa. Perhaps, thinking about Zack was her way of coping with the horror of her death. Perhaps it was normal to express grief by reaching out to someone. Only that someone could not be Zack.

  She’d changed a lot in the last two years, too. She was more wary. Less likely to break her own rules.

  Chapter Eleven

  OVER TRADITIONAL Cuban sandwiches—pressed ham, cheese, and Genoese salami from Italy, plus mustard on toasted and flattened bread—a Tampa specialty thanks to its mix of Cuban and Italian heritage—Zack surveyed Mandy. She’d slid into the booth at the restaurant, the files in her hands, almost as if she wanted an excuse to keep the conversation businesslike. Zack sipped his unsweetened iced tea. Could a boyfriend now be in the picture? Surely if that was the case, Dana, his mother, or Mandy herself would have told him.

  Despite his worry over the safety of his mother and sister, the connection between Mandy and him seemed so natural, almost effortless. She was unlike any woman he’d known, with all that passion hidden under her practical nature. But as much as he liked to go with the flow, it was unlike him to take any interest in a woman when involved in a case. Yet Mandy had intrigued him, tantalized him, tested him, since they’d first met. Clearly she was still upset with him for pulling his vanishing act two years ago. But anger wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Anger meant she wasn’t indifferent. He wasn’t sure why that mattered, but it did. Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d exactly been stable lately. Ever since losing that little boy . . .

  Zack tossed his napkin onto his plate. He kept his mouth shut and allowed Mandy to lead the conversation, more intrigued than he should have been. He hadn’t had life signs in so long, but being around her again was proving to be exactly what he needed. Maybe he could learn how to cope with what happened to Todd.

  She ate a few bites of her sandwich, then wiped her mouth with a napkin and pushed her plate and the untouched second half of the Cuban toward him. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” While he ate, she picked up the files and perused them again. He had the feeling she didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to catch his glance. Was she as aware of him as he was of her? She was gorgeous. Stunning eyes. Cute nose. Pouty mouth. He easily recalled those lips kissing him, her mouth creating a burning fever that had made him throw away his good sense and get involved with a protectee. Made him think about getting involved again.

  She sipped her tea, leaned over the files, but her eyes didn’t scan as if she were reading. Instead, she stared, lost in thought. He’d give a week’s pay to know what she was thinking. He was just about to ask when she said, “We have three cases in progress. Attorney-client privilege—”

  “Be damned,” he interrupted. “People are dying.”

  “But—”

  “You’re allowed to share privileged information with coworkers, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “You aren’t—”

  “I’m working for my mother and the firm.”

  She tapped her fingers on the tabletop, then nodded. “Fine.”

  Right now, he needed to dive into the records. He needed to take his mind off Mandy, check out the suspects by delving into the names, dates, and addresses in their files. Two years ago, against his better judgment, he’d allowed himself to get involved with her. Oh, yeah. He’d been some great catch. A guy who didn’t stick around long enough to even say goodbye. But a man who’d thought about her way too often. He wouldn’t make that choice again. In his line of work, such distractions got men killed. Or innocent kids.

  “Last year, Dana and I took the case of a wealthy stockbroker and his stay-at-home wife, a mother of four children under the age of six.” She summed up her cases without again consulting the files. “The husband mortgaged the house to the hilt, pocketed the bank’s loan money, and cleaned out their joint bank account. He claimed he was broke and had to declare bankruptcy due to her spendthrift ways. We hired a forensic accountant who traced the hidden funds to a Bahamian bank. When we forced him to accede to her divorce terms, he was obnoxious. Livid.”

  “You think the stockbroker’s dangerous?”

  Her eyes flashed with a spirit he recalled from their short time together. “He’d threatened her to the point where she’d picked up the kids in the middle of the night and ran to her mother’s house in her nightgown.”

  Zack could tell from her tone that she believed her former client’s spouse was menacing, but he had to remain objective. “Threats and theft are not proof he’s dangerous.”

  “As I recall, the guy was some kind of martial arts champion.”

  “Did she ever say explicitly that he’d hit her?”

  Her lips tightened with a stubborn determination that added strength to her feminine features. She went silent.

  “Well?” he prodded, wondering why she was having such a strong reaction to this case. If he had to guess, it was that she felt compelled to defend those who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, defend themselves.

  “She was terrified of him.” Mandy’s nostrils flared. “She didn’t want the money or the house. Or alimony or child support. She just wanted to get away from him. He fought back by going after sole custody of the kids. He acted as though she was the love of his life—but he had a mistress. I couldn’t let her divorce him without doing right by those children. She needed that child support, and he was furious at the terms he had to accept.”

  “All right. We check out the stockbroker’s whereabouts last night. Who else do you have?”

  “Lisa was also in the middle of filing papers on a bitter child custody case. This one is ongoing, and I can’t speak to my client’s spouse unless his attorney is present.” She tossed her hair out of her eyes, but one lock fell forward over her cheek.

  His fingers itched to brush her hair from her face—so he could touch the softness of her skin, watch her eyes dilate. Damn it. What was she saying? Oh, yeah, bitter child custody case. “I thought Florida awards joint
custody?”

  “Depends on the case. The standard is what is in the best interests of the child.”

  Zack was grateful his own parents had worked out their divorce in a civilized manner. He’d been in college and had chosen to stay near his father in California. Dana had gone to Florida with their mother. Although their parents had set aside their differences for the sake of their children, it had still been tough. Kevin hadn’t handled the divorce well and had gotten involved with drugs. Two years later he was dead.

  “This time, both parents are claiming the other one abused the baby—who isn’t old enough to tell us which parent is causing all the bruises.” Mandy didn’t sound as adamant or certain about this client as she had earlier about the stockbroker.

  Zack swore. “Surely the baby isn’t going back and forth from parent to parent?”

  “The child was taken out of the home and placed into foster care. A court-appointed special advocate now represents the interests of the child. The mother is fine with the arrangement. She says she’d rather lose the baby than see him abused.”

  “That sounds admirable.”

  “She didn’t seem too upset that she couldn’t see the little boy, either.” Mandy’s eyes darkened, and as a George Strait country song twanged over the restaurant’s sound system, she tensed.

  “So you don’t believe her story?”

  “I don’t know. Their situation is heartbreaking. It’ll take months to investigate and settle, and by then the baby will no longer remember either parent. The father is furious. He’s a pediatrician and claims his wife is ruining his reputation. He says she has a record of mental instability.”

  “Is she unstable?”

  “She’s upset.” He read doubts in her eyes. “She cries a lot, and she’s admitted to seeing a psychiatrist—an associate of her husband’s who she claims will take her husband’s side in court.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s ugly, and I’m not sure. In a divorce case, one or both partners often lie.”