by Harper Allen
His self-deprecating honesty took her by surprise. “We both know it wasn’t that simple,” she said slowly. “I pretty much threw myself at you that evening in my office. I accept half the responsibility for what happened.”
She hesitated, and then went on, her heart in her mouth. “This—” she spread her fingers wide over her belly “—isn’t a result of what we did together, in case you were wondering. I know we were insane enough not to take precautions that third and final time, but the dates don’t work out. I would have already been pregnant when we—when we—”
She floundered to an halt.
“When we made love, cher’?” Taking her by surprise again, he shook his head. “Hell, I know I’m not the father, sugar. Tony Corso is, isn’t he?”
Her brother had asked her that same question, but in a furious tone of voice. She’d refused to give him an answer, knowing full well that her silence would seem to him to be confirmation of his suspicions, and since she’d had no intention of telling Josh that she’d slept with a stranger his assumptions had suited her just fine.
As Connor Ducharme’s same assumption should, she told herself. She didn’t want him to wonder if he was the father of her baby, so why should she feel even the slightest pinprick of disillusion that he was so easily bowing out from the position?
“Tony’s the father,” she agreed tartly. “But what made you so sure you weren’t in the running even before I told you, Detective? Was it a smidge of relief on learning that if anyone’s going to get slapped with a paternity suit, it’s not going to be you?”
The green eyes across from her darkened. As if he felt suddenly restless, Con got to his feet and took a few steps into the middle of the room before halting beneath the mobile swaying gently above. His hands in his pockets, he tipped his head back to look at it.
“I never understood men who needed to get their asses hauled into court before they’d pay support, honey,” he said softly. “I always saw children as a gift. I’d like a whole houseful of them, with a mama to go along with them.”
Still looking up at the mobile he went on, his tone devoid of emotion. “But that’s not in the cards for me. I know I’m not in the running, cher’, because I can’t be in the running. An illness when I was a boy took care of that particular possibility for me.”
She stared at him. “But how can that be?” she began unguardedly. Before she could continue he turned to her.
“Just the luck of the draw, I guess,” he said, his jaw tight and his gaze unreadable. “From what I’ve been told, the consequences could have been a lot more serious. Does Corso know he’s going to be a father?”
There was an added watchfulness in his gaze as he waited for her answer. This was the reason he’d sought her out, Marilyn realized suddenly. He was still hunting Tony Corso. This was an official visit.
But of course it was, she told herself a heartbeat later. What had she expected—that he’d brokenly confess she’d haunted his sleepless nights, that his search for Corso was just an excuse to see her again, that he’d fallen hopelessly in love with her during those few hours they’d spent together and he hadn’t been able to stay away?
She was a damn lead in his investigation. Their unplanned tryst in her office had been an unforeseen perk to him, nothing more.
She didn’t owe Con Ducharme anything.
“Tony and I slept together once,” she said flatly. “He wasn’t the love of my life and I obviously wasn’t his, since the next day I found he’d not only walked out on me but on his job at Mills & Grommett. No, he doesn’t know I’m pregnant, and if I knew where to find him, I still don’t think I’d tell him. But Tony’s not planning on being found, Detective.”
“Something’s happened.” His gaze narrowed. “When I first came to you asking about Corso you made it clear that you didn’t believe he was guilty of any criminal conduct. Now I get the feeling you wouldn’t put anything past him. When did your opinion change?”
Why couldn’t the man have stayed in New Orleans? Marilyn thought hopelessly. What she was about to tell him would have been hard enough over the phone as she’d planned. She wasn’t sure if she could go through with it in person.
But she had to.
“Today,” she said. She looked down at her lap, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Because today I realized beyond a doubt that when Tony left Mills & Grommett so hastily he helped himself to a severance bonus from the company…except what he took from M & G went way beyond the fraud you told me he’d committed in Louisiana.”
“That fraud I told you about—” he began, but she didn’t let him finish. The next sentence was going to be the worst, she knew. Best to get it out as soon as possible.
“He stole viral stock.” Even to her own ears her voice sounded strained. “We’re a pharmaceutical firm. That’s one of the things our research department works with—viruses, some of them deadly. And somehow Corso got into my computer and authorized the transfer of a batch to a nonexistent company.”
Now she did meet his eyes. “Either he intends to sell it on the black market, or…” She’d been wrong, Marilyn thought sickly. This was the sentence too terrible to finish.
But the dark-haired man in front of her seemed to have no qualms. “Or he’s got his own plans for the stuff,” Con said.
He held her gaze, his features so grim they seemed carved. Like emeralds on fire, his eyes blazed with some incendiary emotion in the tan of his face.
That emotion was hatred, Marilyn realized with a sudden chill—a hatred so deep and all-encompassing that it seemed almost an entity in itself. If Con Ducharme’s hatred didn’t consume his enemy, she thought slowly, it would end up not only consuming him but everything he held precious.
Fear ran through her. Her hand spread protectively over the child growing inside her.
“You know what that plan is, don’t you?” Her voice cracked. “You know what Tony used me for.”
Just for a second the emotion in those green eyes darkened to compassion. Then it blazed up again, and when Con answered her his tone was devoid of any feeling at all.
“It’s not his plan, cher’, it’s his mobster uncle’s. And Helio DeMarco would only want to get his hands on experimental viral stock for one reason.” He gave a humorless smile.
“DeMarco intends to use it as a weapon against whoever gets in his way. And that includes anyone who might be too close to discovering what he’s done with your nephew, Sky Langworthy.”
Chapter Four
“You never wanted Tony at all, did you?” Marilyn looked up at Con in dawning comprehension. “The mobster’s the one you’re really after.”
“Helio DeMarco.” He’d drawn something from his pocket, she saw. It gleamed between his fingers as he passed it back and forth, and she realized it was a silver coin. He smiled tightly as he noticed her watching him. “You’re right. I’ve been hunting the bastard for eight months now, ever since he killed a friend of mine. One of these days I’m going to find him, and then—”
The silver dollar flashed upward as he tossed it carelessly into the air. It came down, and he caught it. He spread his palms wide for her inspection, and she inhaled sharply as she realized the coin was nowhere to be seen.
“And then Helio DeMarco’s going to disappear, just like that,” Con said softly. “That’s New Orleans justice, cher’.”
Something in his tone shook her. “Where I come from that’s vengeance,” she said unevenly. “No police force would countenance one of their own taking revenge like that.” Her gaze widened with swift doubt. “Unless that was a lie, too. Are you really a detective with the New Orleans Police, Con?”
For a moment she wondered if he was going to answer her. Then he grinned with real amusement. “Does this sound like a Minnesota accent, sugar?” he drawled. “Sure I’m with the New Awlins authorities, cher’. But I’ll bet you checked me out already, didn’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I—”
Marilyn stopped, the words
dying in her throat. That grin. It was absolutely devastating. And why hadn’t she noticed before that instead of being completely green, in a certain light those emerald eyes of his seemed sparked with gold? He was definitely too much, of course, with one wayward strand of raven-black hair falling across his brow and thick lashes casting shadows on those hard-cut cheekbones. Even his choice of attire, austere as his dark suit and white shirt seemed at first glance, was a world away from both Boston and Denver. His vest was a black on black brocade. His shirt wasn’t cotton, but creamy linen.
He was a throwback. Even as the thought occurred to her she knew she’d hit upon the key to the man. Con Ducharme was pistols at dawn, bourbon on the verandah, a risky dalliance with another man’s wife in a jasmine-scented and moonlit garden. He was a quick temper flaring over a card game. He was heated hours entwined in satin sheets.
He was wearing a gun.
Hard reality returned in a rush as she glimpsed the sliver of worn leather briefly revealed under his jacket. He’d as much as confessed to her that he intended to kill a man. That lazy charm camouflaged a resolve as cold as bare steel.
“As a matter of fact, I did check up on you,” she said slowly. “But tell me, aren’t you a little out of your jurisdiction? You said it yourself—it’s New Orleans justice you’re dispensing, and Denver’s a long way from the Big Easy.”
“I had some time coming to me. I took it. This is a private hunt, not an official one.” He looked away. “You’re right, from the first I was only after Corso because I hoped he’d lead me to DeMarco, and when I found out he’d left his position at your company I got a real bad feeling. When I learned that Mills & Grommett dealt with viral material and that the family who owned the company had just had a child kidnapped, the bad feeling got worse.”
He met her confused gaze, his own shadowed. “But I needed a solid link between his nephew’s disappearance and Sky’s abduction before I could know for sure he was involved, and there didn’t seem to be one until this week when the Denver police forwarded the reports I’d requested on the kidnapping. I’d told them it sounded similar to an unsolved case I’d worked on years ago,” he added.
And why did you feel you needed to give me that information? Marilyn wondered, watching as he looked briefly away again and then back at her, his gaze once more steady and clear. He was lying, she thought with sudden certainty. Not about everything, maybe not about anything important, but it hadn’t happened the way he was telling her.
Still, he was a police detective talking about a case, whether it was officially sanctioned or not. Maybe he was holding back details he couldn’t—
“Denver CSI found traces of eggshells in Sky’s crib.” His words ran through her like an electric shock, driving all else from her mind. He took in her reaction. “Apparently that means the same thing to you as it did to me.”
“I’ve visited M & G’s research facilities often enough to know that one method of cultivating viral stock is to inject it into eggs.” Too agitated to remain seated any longer, she got to her feet and faced him. “I assume you’ve already informed the local police that you suspect Helio DeMarco’s involved in Sky’s kidnapping, but with what I found out today about the missing viral stock, it’s obvious they should widen their investigation to include Corso.”
She swallowed. “I—I’m willing to provide a statement to the Denver P.D. as soon as you can arrange it with them. Just give me a few minutes to compose a notice of resignation from my position at Mills & Grommett. It could save the company some embarrassment when this all comes out, and it might lessen the impact on Josh’s campaign.”
She placed a hand on the back of the sofa for support against the dizziness that swept over her. “Governor Houghton’s people are going to make political hay with this as it is. My brother’s run his platform on the premise that biological weapons research and testing should continue to be restricted, and Houghton is all for opening up the field and bringing a new lab facility to Colorado. Josh won’t have a leg to stand on when the public learns his own sister allowed potentially lethal stock to be stolen right out from under her nose.”
“The public isn’t going to know that.” Dark brows knitted together in a scowl, and without warning he strode to her side. She felt him take her arm in a firm grasp. “Dammit, cher’, when did you last eat?”
His unforeseen change of subject startled her. “Lunch?” she ventured. She passed a shaky hand across her forehead. “I know I had an apple this afternoon.”
“Merde, it’s no wonder you look like you’re about to take another header on me,” Con muttered ungallantly. “What the hell were you thinking, going without food for so long when you’re supposed to be eating for two?”
“I was about to order in a pizza or something when you showed up on my doorstep.” Marilyn’s dizziness subsided. She tried to pull her arm away but he didn’t relinquish it. “And for your information, women aren’t encouraged to eat for two anymore when they’re pregnant.”
“When they start out as scrawny as you were three months ago they should. Show me what you’ve got in the fridge and I’ll make you a meal.”
Releasing her arm, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and slung it over the back of the sofa. He looked down at the leather shoulder holster he was wearing as if he’d forgotten it was there, made a low sound of annoyance, and slipped out of it, too, laying it beside his jacket.
Her first annoyed impulse was to take him up on his scrawny remark. She was going to have to let it go, Marilyn admonished herself edgily. They’d gotten way off track here, and—
She jerked her head up. “What do you mean, the public isn’t going to know?”
“Just what I said. The public isn’t going to know, the police aren’t going to know, Mills & Grommett isn’t going to know. What you told me tonight about Corso stealing viral stock is our ace in the hole and I don’t intend to lay it on the table just yet.” He looked surprised. “You didn’t think I was going to let you take the heat for this, did you, cher’?”
“But I deserve to.” She pressed her lips together. “We can’t just keep this information to ourselves, Con.”
“I’ll make sure the right people are informed.” He grimaced. “But in this case, the local authorities aren’t the right people. I’m pretty sure DeMarco’s bought off some of the boys in blue, and although I’d be willing to trust the rest of the department with my life there’s no way of knowing right now who’s dirty and who’s not. If one of his paid informants gets word to him that we’re on his nephew’s trail, both Corso and DeMarco will sink out of sight as completely as an old she-gator and her pup in a swamp.”
He smiled tightly. “And as a born-and-bred Louisiana boy like me knows, it’s the gator you don’t see that’s most dangerous. No, we’re going to let them keep thinking they’re safe. Meanwhile, we’ll be gator-hunting. And baby-hunting, too,” he added in a softer tone. “I don’t know what DeMarco wants with your half sister’s baby, but I know he’s definitely behind the kidnapping.”
I have a chance to save Sky. Marilyn felt as if a crack of light had just pierced the clouds that had shadowed her world for the past four months. Tremulous hope leaped in her.
“Oh, Con, I’d give anything to bring him home safely! You don’t know what a nightmare it’s been since the day Josh phoned me and told me he’d been taken.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea of what you’ve been going through.” He hesitated, and then his hands came up to lightly clasp her shoulders. “And I know that night in your office never would have happened if you’d been able to turn to your family for support.”
She shook her head in sharp negation. “That night in my office never would have happened if you hadn’t been a stranger. Right now wouldn’t be happening—I couldn’t go to anyone in my family about how I provided the opportunity for Tony to get his hands on that virus.”
She frowned, wondering how she could make him understand. It was important that he understand, she re
alized in faint surprise. She didn’t know why, but it was.
“My father divorced my mother and remarried when I was just a little girl,” she said slowly. “He insisted on retaining custody of Josh, and didn’t contest it when Mother decided to move back to Boston with me. I was only five years old and I adored my father, so instead of blaming him I blamed his new wife. I decided she’d been the one who’d persuaded him he didn’t need me anymore.”
“That’s Celia Langworthy?” Con’s gaze was shadowed. “I remember reading her name in one of the police reports.”
“Celia Grace Langworthy.” Marilyn tried to keep the censure from her voice. “I don’t think I’ll ever fully forgive her. Who knows, my parents might have gotten back together again if she hadn’t come along.”
She shrugged. “I’m not a little girl anymore and I’ve even come to see that she makes my father happier than my mother ever did, but I still can’t feel close to the woman. She’s an ex-southern belle type—fussy and fluttery. And I guess I’ve always felt it would be disloyal to Mother to forget that Celia replaced her. So I became an outsider in my own family, never feeling I could be myself with them, always knowing there was a barrier between us. Now I almost prefer it that way.”
“I’d better stay a stranger, then.” A corner of his mouth lifted in wry appraisal. “If we’re going to be working together and living in the same building for the next little while, I’d like the barriers to stay down.”
“Living in the same building?”
“I’ve taken the loft upstairs on a short lease,” Con said offhandedly. “I like what you’ve done with your place better, especially that mobile. Who’s the artist?”
She was beginning to know the way the man operated, Marilyn thought. He was a master at distraction, not only when he was performing some baffling piece of sleight-of-hand, but in any conversational confrontation, too. Except this time she wasn’t going to allow herself to be distracted.