by AJ Nuest
Eden disappeared around a corner and his heart ratcheted into the center of his throat. He high-tailed it to the end of the block and then growled as he spotted her clipping the shoulder of a suit. She dropped her cell into that huge bag slung over her shoulder, glanced back at him and jaywalked to merge with the window shopping crowd of Chicago’s Magnificent Mile.
Why the hell didn’t she just stop? He sidestepped the hood of a cab and trotted after her. This whole chase scene was ridiculous. She wasn’t getting away from him, so what was the point?
Women. They were nothing but a pain in the ass. She ducked inside the revolving door of a department store and Kelly shouldered through a group of school-aged kids apparently out on a sight-seeing fieldtrip.
Dammit, three seconds in a women’s dressing room and she was apt to change her appearance and try to sneak past him. Not that her efforts would work. He pushed through the nearest entrance just as her legs disappeared up the escalator, ducking low as she stepped off to the right. One whiff and, no matter what she looked like, he would know her. The soft scent of her skin had been embedded in his brain. So had the sexy roll of her hips and the way she strutted her stuff in those come-to-Jesus heels.
He lunged up the steps two at a time and trailed her into the lingerie department. Oh, come on. This was her important errand? That entire wild goose chase just so they could end up here? Okay, crazy.
Or maybe this was her attempt at hitting him below the belt. Knowing her, she’d led him here on purpose to make him sweat.
She selected a sheer lacy bustier and held it at just the right angle so he had a full view of the skimpy outfit over her shoulder. Nice. Kelly stopped a few feet behind her and crossed his arms as she fingered the black bow between the cups, fiddled with the stretchy garters hanging off the bottom.
Nope, not just sweat. She’d brought him here to torture him, get him all geared up so he’d lose focus.
Yeah, fat chance of that happening, Dirty Deeds.
She returned the black doily to the rack and unhooked a see-thru, white negligee, slipped her hand under the short hem and curled a finger around the center string to test the stretchy resistance of the thong.
Christ. He swallowed at the thought of her perfect curves wrapped in that barely there lace, standing before him, lips parting as she crawled up his body for a kiss. He trailed his gaze down her shoulders, back and waist to a firm, round ass that would bring any sane man to his knees. Sweet Jesus, and those legs…naked except for a pair of thigh high stockings, wrapped around his hips as he thru—
His perusal screeched to a halt, and he jerked his focus back up to her bottom. Wait a second…
“Goddamn it.” That was not Eden’s ass. No more than the one he toted around on the top of his legs.
Three stomping strides, and he grabbed the woman’s arm, whirling her to face him. Son of a bitch! She had distracted him on purpose. Otherwise, sure as shit, he would’ve noticed those auburn coils on her head were a wig.
“Where is she?” He yanked the fake hair off the stand-in’s head and she blushed as her dark, angular bob tumbled around her ears. Tugging her a step closer, he got up in her grill. “Tell me right now where she went or, I swear to God, I’ll make sure you spend the night in a cell.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged his hand off her arm, straightened the bag on her shoulder. “Eden didn’t tell me where she was going. She set the whole thing up an hour ago, and only just called and told me to meet her at the entrance to Bloomingdale’s. She gave me specific instructions on what to wear, where to lead you—”
He pulled an abrupt about face and marched straight for the escalator, muttering a string of obscenities that would’ve earned him a judicious smack across the face from his mother’s right hand.
She’d done it again. Loping down the descending steps, he looked left then right along the continuous swish of the store’s four revolving doors, but he was too late. That reality had set in the second he’d realized the woman fiddling with the porn star wardrobe was no longer Eden.
Pushing out onto the street, he scanned the mingling bodies even though his efforts were useless. He’d lost her. Son of a bitch, he’d lost her again. She was in the wind. Exactly like she’d planned, and never before had the city of Chicago seemed so damn big.
So what in the hell was he supposed to do now? Turning a slow circle, he tossed his hands in the air. They dropped lifeless to his sides as he inspected each unfamiliar face passing by. Stand around like some moony teenager waiting for her call? She had to know how crazy that would make him. She must’ve known pulling this shit would be like reaching inside his chest and—
He wrenched his shoulders back. Wait, wait, wait. Just hold on. Setting his jaw, he pivoted toward the street and started straight back toward the apartment. He was not going there. Not again. Eden was a part of his investigation and that was all. He’d follow procedure just like he’d always done, starting with a search of her last known whereabouts, and build the case brick by brick until it was solved. To hell with everything else.
His phone chirped, and he stumbled to a stop. Breathing deep, he closed his eyes and slowly exhaled, fighting the way his gut twisted at the thought she might be on the other end of the call.
He dug his phone from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Archer. And that was fine. Yep, fine and dandy the caller wasn’t Eden. Kelly really couldn’t give two shits. “Riordan.”
“You need to head in.”
Good. Maybe DeFranco had gotten a hit on the DNA from under Ruby’s nails. “I’m on my way. I just need to make a stop first.” To see if he could find any clues to where Eden might have gone inside that apartment.
“Skip it.” Archer paused. “Ramirez just called it in, Kelly. We got another floater.”
He snapped his head up. No. God no, that wasn’t possible. For Christ’s sake, she’d only been missing a few minutes.
“DeFranco’s bringing him in now. ID says the vic’s a guy by the name of Malcolm Smith.”
Chapter 7
“How bad was it?” Eden pressed her cell to her cheek, legs crossed, the toe of her stiletto tapping the filthy floor of the cab.
Outside the windows, Chicago’s denizens bustled along the brightly lit storefronts, completely unaware she’d just delivered a metaphorical cold, hard slap to one of the most decent men she’d ever met.
God, she was a horrible person. That stunt she’d pulled was downright mean. If she had to rate herself, she’d float to the surface somewhere around the level of pond scum.
“He was really pissed.” Tanner’s sigh floated through the line. “And then, honestly? He sorta looked like someone had sucker punched him in the stomach.”
Eden’s eyes slipped closed. Okay, she wouldn’t float like pond scum. She was more like the rank layer of rotting sediment that squished between a person’s toes.
She shook her head. This wasn’t who she was, dammit. Ensuring the scales of decency stayed balanced was more than just a work ethic, it was the basis of her entire existence. For her to trick Kelly after he’d spent the entire night standing watch outside that apartment went against everything she believed in, but the stubborn man had simply given her no choice. Showing up on Malcolm’s doorstep with Chicago’s lead homicide detective in tow was liable give her mentor a heart attack.
Expelling a harsh breath, she shifted and re-crossed her legs. “I’m pulling the plug on the downtown office.”
Tanner gasped. “Eden, no. You can’t do that.”
The past twenty-four hours, she’d made one epic mistake after the next, starting with her plan to meet Detective Riordan and going right up until the moment she’d hopped into this cab. But the mistakes ended here. Now.
“As soon as you can, call Mocha and have him meet you at the space.” Eden glanced through the windshield as the driver veered onto I-94 and merged with oncoming traffic.
She’d deliberated her decision into th
e wee hours of the morning but, bottom line was, none of them were safe. Not after last night’s attempt on her life, and whoever had attacked her, she wasn’t about to give him the same opportunity with Tanner and Mocha.
“I want everything bagged and shipped to the satellite storage space near O’Hare. I’m heading to Malcolm’s and I’ll call you from there. Back up the files to portable drives and then install the virus on the mainframe.” If anyone tried hacking into their system, they’d have a big, fat headache on their hands.
“Oh, my God. Eden, you’re scaring me. What happened? Are you okay?”
The concern in Tanner’s voice brought on such a swell of memories, Eden’s chest ached, but she shoved the weakness aside before it could take hold. This was exactly what came with getting emotionally attached. Ultimately, caring for another person equaled pain. Her years in foster care had taught her that, and the rest had come years later through a hurt much closer to home.
But the resounding gong of that hollow victory didn’t matter now. Protecting Tanner and Mocha had to be her number one priority. If something tragic were to happen to either of them, she’d never forgive herself. “I want the two of you to lay low until you hear from me. You got that, Tanner? No going out on any jobs regardless of how important they might seem. Mocha has access to plenty of funds if you need money. We’ve put plans in place, so he’ll know what to do. I want you to disappear until I’ve had a chance to figure things out.”
Tanner sighed. “Eden, you know I’ll do anything you want. You know I will, but I still need to hear you say it. For myself. Is everything going to be okay?”
Of course, Tanner would need to hear those words. In the past, she’d had the rug ripped out from underneath her more than anyone ever should. She’d come to think of Eden and Mocha as her makeshift family. Eden knew that, but the poor girl had also been lied to enough, and Eden wasn’t about to placate Tanner with a bunch of reassurances that weren’t hers to give.
If she wanted to survive in this business, Tanner needed to learn when the time had come to cut their losses. “I hope so, sweetie, but I can’t guarantee anything until I speak with Malcolm. That’s why I need you and Mocha to make sure the office is cleaned out. It’s the best thing we can do right now. Take care of yourself and, I promise, as soon as I can, I’ll be in touch.”
Disconnecting the call, Eden lowered the phone to her lap. She tugged her oversized bag next to her thigh and peeled open the zipper, then hesitated over the way Kelly’s business card lay on top of a wad of rolled bills, a change of clothes and a few other necessities she’d stuffed inside.
She could always call him and apologize. She lifted his card from her purse. Then she could set the whole issue aside and forget Kelly Riordan ever existed.
A worn sigh worked through her chest, and she dropped her cell and the card back into her bag. The second he heard her voice, he’d no doubt be at her again, demanding she tell him where she was and what she was doing. But admitting those things would be a betrayal of Malcolm’s trust, and she couldn’t afford that right now despite everything Kelly had done for her.
She shoved the temptation to call him along with her purse across the seat. Howard Weaver had been right. Kelly Riordan was like a dog with a bone. The memory of that panty-melting kiss swam into focus, and she huffed. And a huge bone at that, based on the size of the hard ridge poking her bottom when he’d pulled her onto his lap.
God, she was an idiot. She never should’ve allowed their kiss to go that far. Should’ve put a stop to it the second their lips had touched and those warm flutters had exploded in her stomach.
From the very beginning, she’d known giving in to her baser instincts around Kelly would be like holding a lit match to a hissing blowtorch. Hell, the second he’d gone all sexy on her outside the kitchen, she’d known. There was no ignoring the hard, fast pulse between her legs that intimate moment had initiated…or the way he always seemed so hell bent on touching her mouth.
Propping her elbow near the window, she studied the palatial sprawl of Chicago’s affluent, north side suburbs. But the fact she still craved his heady taste wasn’t the worst of it. Nope, despite the way she longed to discover if his clever tongue would be every bit as talented against her skin, there was much, much more.
The driver peeled onto the off ramp and rolled to a stop at the light. The sad truth was, curiosity had overruled her common sense where the handsome detective was concerned. She checked through the back windshield for any sign of a tail as the light changed to green and the driver turned right.
No one could argue the man was smart, least of all her. The minute she’d woke him up dressed as Scarlet, it was clear as day Kelly’s investigative skills had kicked into overdrive. He’d not only answered the question of why she had those disguises in her closet, he’d immediately realized she planned to head out the door.
But that was exactly the problem.
Even after that peek inside her life, his attraction to her hadn’t wilted. Yeah, the words wilted and Kelly Riordan didn’t even belong in the same universe. He hadn’t pulled back from her or hot-footed in the other direction once he’d learned the truth. If anything, he’d only seemed more intrigued by her. Like he’d enjoyed every minute of solving the Eden Smith mystery, and that delicate thread of understanding had given her hope. A hope that scared the shit out of her even as it renewed her faith that, somewhere out there, good people still existed. And not only had she discovered one, he found her worthy of his attention.
The gabled roof of Malcolm’s tuck-pointed home swung into view as the driver swung onto his street. The irony of that realization had been so thick, she’d run and she’d kept on running, even when Kelly had chased her.
It was what she excelled at, after all. Hiding, becoming someone else. Shit, she’d been doing it so long, she wasn’t even sure how much of her real self remained.
The brakes squeaked as the driver slid to the curb, and she paid the fare and climbed from the cab. Relief washed over her as she stood at the edge of Malcolm’s yard, the taxi roaring away behind her. Of all the places she’d lived, she’d been here the longest, learned the most. Maybe that’s why, over ten years later, this house still seemed like home.
God knew it wasn’t because the place gave her the warm and fuzzies.
She glanced left then right as she started down the long sidewalk to the front door. No strange activity snared her attention. The surrounding yards and street were quiet, the families safe inside the watchful eyes of their alarm-protected homes. She plucked the blue contacts from her eyes and flicked them to the lawn, climbed the front stoop and rang the doorbell.
The drapes were drawn over every window, but that was no big surprise. Malcolm had always been an extremely private person, and even though the early morning drizzle had stopped, the day was overcast. It wasn’t as if he were missing out on the last of the fall sun.
She fiddled with the strap of her bag as she waited for someone to answer. During her training, Malcolm had employed a small staff at this residence. So, where were they now? She hitched her purse higher onto her shoulder and crossed her arms. Then again, they’d needed the extra help given the revolving door of young adults who had continuously come and gone through the halls. A regular, old Professor Xavier’s home for wayward misfits, this place had been back then.
Maybe Malcolm had let the staff go. After all, it was only him now, and possibly the occasional visitor who, like her, needed his assistance.
She sighed and stepped out from under the recessed front stoop to search the second floor windows. No lights, no movement. Okay, what the hell was going on? She rang the doorbell a second time and waited.
The first signs of unease tingled in her fingertips as the house remained quiet, and she searched the grounds to either side before rapping a hard knuckle against the door.
The handle slid ajar, and her pulse leapt the same distance her gaze fell to the faulty lock. Jimmied, thou
gh the scratches on the lock plate were light enough they could’ve easily been mistaken as those made by a key.
Dammit. Adrenaline surged, and her heart sped forward like she’d just sprinted a hard mile uphill. Someone had broken in, but whether or not they were still here, she had no clue. If so, she wasn’t about to let Malcolm face them alone. Not at his age, and not when a good chance existed they were here because of her.
She pushed the door open and scanned the front hall. Nothing. No creepy shadows, no sound. The only activity a few dust motes floating in the air.
The security panel hung just beyond the edge of the door—the power off, the screen dead.
Disabled.
Her jaw tightened, and she silently stepped over the threshold. Okay, asshole. Gently lowering her purse to the floor, she shifted her attention between the library on her right, the stairwell in front, and then over to the living room, round and around as she quietly swung the door closed. This wasn’t some dark alley where she’d been caught off guard by an attack from behind. In fact, the tables had turned. Cutting the power may have worked out fine to help whoever was here break in undetected, but it also gave her the advantage. She wasn’t a seventy-plus-year-old man enjoying the twilight of his retirement, and if she could sneak up on the intruder without making any noise, maybe she could put an end to this bullshit once and for all.
Hefting a solid brass candlestick from the entryway table, she side-stepped down the corridor, shoulders tight, teeth clenched, every nerve prickling like a million tiny spiders crawled over her skin.
Room by room, she searched the first floor, from Malcolm’s office and private bathroom back to the kitchen, and yet nothing filled her ears but the persistent drone of an empty house, her hammering pulse and labored breathing.
The bottom riser creaked as she placed her foot on the first step. She paused, waiting a beat, listening into the silence before continuing up the stairs. In most of the second floor rooms, the furnishings had been covered with white sheets, the mattresses bare and the closets empty. Exactly as she’d expected, Malcolm had closed off portions of the house that were no longer in use.