“Nope.”
“But you’re going to keep looking,” she guessed.
“Yep.”
“Why?”
Because he owed it to Karen. He owed it to himself.
“That’s my job,” he said.
“Shouldn’t you have help? I don’t know, but—a partner or something?”
His former partner was dead. Murdered. His current partner, Kenny Stivak, thought he ought to let the big boys handle the case. And Aleksy’s boss told him if he didn’t back off, he’d be busted down to directing Sunday traffic in the St. Wenceslaus parking lot.
“I don’t need help,” he said.
She sniffed. “That’s what my students say. Usually the ones who are most in danger of quitting. Or failing.”
“Well, I’m not going to quit and I can’t afford to fail, so you can save the lecture. Teacher.”
She flushed. She really had the damnedest skin, as fine and delicate as one of the teacups in his mother’s china cabinet. “I haven’t actually decided whether I’ll return to teaching next year.”
Now there was a surprise. “At Lincoln?”
She took a deep breath. “At all.”
Against his will, he felt the drag of interest. It wasn’t just that she was cute and he was bored. Faye Harper had…something, he decided. Smarts, maybe. Or guts.
Which made her comment about leaving teaching puzzling.
“How come?” he asked, figuring she’d say something about teacher burnout or the lousy pay or the school board cutting arts funding again.
“The principal and I didn’t see eye to eye on my handling of a student.”
“Parents?” Sometimes it helped in juvenile cases to get a kid’s family involved. Although, at Lincoln, where families struggled simply to survive, lots of parents no longer had the energy to care.
“The mother wouldn’t speak with me. The stepfather was more…forceful in his opinions.”
“He disagreed with you.”
Faye stared out over the water. “He broke my wrist.”
Aleksy was startled into bobbling his line. He made a grab for the pole. She was a tiny thing. No threat to anyone. What kind of man would raise a hand to her? Anger burned his gut. “You press charges?”
“No. It was an accident,” she explained. “He was trying to make me leave the apartment, and I—fell—down the stairs.”
“He pushed you, you mean. That’s aggravated assault.”
“It was an accident. At least…” Her left hand moved unconsciously to cover the wrist on her knee. The gesture made sense now. “The principal advised me it would be better to treat the incident as an accident.”
“Better for who?”
“For Jamal. My student.”
Aleksy was disgusted. “The one who caused the problem in the first place.”
She shook her head. “No. No, Jamal was never a problem. He was an excellent student.”
“Then, why—”
“He was an excellent student,” she repeated. “Talented in math. Brilliant in art. I pulled every string I had to get him accepted as a scholarship student at the Art Institute school.”
“So, what was the trouble?”
“Jamal’s parents—his stepfather—wanted him to go to a regular college and get a degree in business.”
Aleksy shrugged. “Sounds reasonable to me.”
“Yes. It sounded reasonable to everyone,” Faye said bleakly. “And heaven help Jamal if what was reasonable in this case wasn’t right for him.”
“So, what did you do?”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
It mattered, he thought. To her, if to no one else. Even if she hadn’t confessed she might ditch her job, he could see for himself the stress that haunted her eyes and compressed her mouth.
“Come on. What did you do?”
She stood, close enough that her skirt brushed his arm. His body reacted to her warmth and the scent that fell from her skirt. He hardly had to move his hand and he’d be touching her smooth calf, her warm thigh. He grinned a little at his own fantasy. He could reach right under all that flowery material and—
“I learned I had no business butting in where I wasn’t welcome,” Faye said.
Aleksy’s grin sharpened. She might feel down, but she definitely wasn’t out. “With that kind of attitude, you’d make a lousy cop.”
Her eyes met his, direct and sad, and his amusement cut off like a spigot.
“I made a very bad teacher,” she said. “Excuse me.”
He watched as she scrambled down the bank and back toward the cottage. Her pale legs flashed along the water’s edge.
He was losing his objectivity, damn it. She was just a convenience. And he was a cop. It was time he started thinking like one.
In his experience, only the very innocent and the very guilty ran from questioning. He wondered if anyone could be as innocent as Faye Harper seemed.
Or what she had to hide.
She was running away. Again. And it was beginning to tick her off.
Faye’s sandals slipped on shale and stone. She didn’t used to be such a loser.
She could have kept her mouth shut. She grabbed at a sapling for balance. Instead she’d let herself be lured by Aleksy’s hot dark eyes and easy grin. She’d allowed herself to be seduced by the promise of his understanding. She’d opened her big fat mouth and fallen in, and it wasn’t even his fault. Her hand came away sticky and smelling of tar.
Sure it was.
He was a detective. He probably knew all kinds of ways to get people—to get women—to talk to him. And she had. All it had taken were a few quick questions and a brief show of indignation, and she was right back where she didn’t want to be, revisiting a topic she’d promised herself was over and done with.
With relief, she saw her aunt’s cottage up ahead. Its weathered gray shingles and shabby trim shone in the sun. Ducks dozed in the shadow of the dock. All quiet. Peaceful. And hers, at least for the next few months.
Only now its peace had been disturbed. By Alex Denko.
She could have excused him for polluting the atmosphere with high level pheromones.
She couldn’t blame him for listening when she’d been willing to talk. Faye frowned. Anxious to talk.
But she could not forgive him for forcing her to see that, deep down, she still cared desperately about her job. About Jamal. And she must not care. Her health and her sanity depended on it.
She climbed the steps to the deck, one hand already digging in her bag for her keys. Sunglasses, sketchbook, wallet… There they were. She pulled them out and froze with the keys clutched in her hand.
The door was already open.
Not all the way, which explained why she hadn’t noticed it before. But there was a two-inch crack between the sliding panel and the aluminum frame, where she was sure—almost sure—she had pulled the door shut and locked it behind her.
Which meant… Which meant… Oh, dear. Her stomach hollowed.
Heart pounding, she took a deep breath, as if she could force oxygen to her brain to get it working. This wasn’t Chicago, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to be assaulted in her aunt Eileen’s living room by some twitchy kid or strung out junkie desperate enough to follow her home.
But her door was undeniably open.
She peered through the dark glass at the shadowed interior. And there was no way she was going inside alone.
Slowly, she backed down the steps. When she felt the soft ground under her feet, she turned and started to run.
She didn’t have far to go.
The noise of her panicked passage must have traveled ahead of her. Faye was barely under the cover of trees when she saw Aleksy Denko prowling through the brush like a K-9 dog on high alert, head high, face grim. Despite the pole he still carried, no one in their right mind would mistake him for a casual middle-of-the-week fisherman.
She almost sank with relief. She waved instead.
He strode toward her and caught her
elbows in both hands, steadying and supporting her. “You all right?”
“Yes. I’m—” spooked “—fine.”
His expression didn’t change. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I got back to the cottage and—” She swallowed. Was she overreacting? “Well, the door was open.”
“Did you lock it? When you left?”
“I think so.”
“Did you go inside?”
She felt like an idiot. “No.”
“Smart girl. Stay here.” He dropped her arms and loped away.
“Hey!” she yelled weakly. “Shouldn’t you call your brother?”
He ignored her. Or maybe he didn’t hear. Or maybe he figured he was saving her embarrassment, not calling in Officer Cowlick when there was nothing wrong except she was a neurotic nuisance who hadn’t latched her door properly.
But she had. She was almost sure of it.
Aleksy reached the tree line. Beyond him she could see a patch of sunlit grass and her aunt’s gray cottage. He slid out of his pack, laid down his fishing pole and pulled his gun from the small of his back.
Her breath caught in her chest. Oh, dear God.
She hurried forward. At the edge of the trees, she stopped. Stay here, he had ordered, and she didn’t have any better ideas.
It was like watching a movie, she thought. Aleksy disappeared along the side of the house, moving fast and low. Faye waited, her stomach churning, until she saw him come round the opposite corner.
He sort of flowed up the steps to the wooden deck and flattened himself against the wall, out of sight of anyone who might still be inside. He knocked on the weathered shingles.
“Police!”
No response. At least, none that Faye could hear.
He repeated the knock. “Police!”
He shoved the door back along its track and vanished inside. Faye waited with her heart in her throat and her hands pressed to her mouth. A minute crawled by. Two minutes.
Aleksy strolled out onto the deck. “You want to come tell me if you think anything’s missing?” he called.
She started to breathe again. She could do that, she thought, crossing the grass. Unless the thief had rifled through her aunt’s drawers…
She looked up into Aleksy’s expressionless face. “Is it bad?”
He jerked his head toward the open door. “See for yourself.”
She stepped over the aluminum threshold, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the change in light. She frowned in confusion.
Not bad at all. In fact—
“You still got your TV and VCR.” Aleksy’s voice behind her made her jump. “So your intruder wasn’t interested in fencing electronics. You might want to check your bedroom for jewelry.”
She hurried down the short, dark hallway, very aware of him stalking her. Her room looked the way she had left it, the comforter pulled up carelessly over the bright print sheets, her bottles and lotions arranged haphazardly on the dresser, her underwear spilling out of a drawer…
She flushed and scooped a pair of panties off the floor. “Sorry it’s such a mess.”
Aleksy propped his shoulder against the door. “Was it a mess when you left this morning?”
“Yes,” she confessed.
He smiled. “Anything missing?”
“I—” She did a quick survey of her dressertop, jerked open the drawer that held her jewelry. She stared at the tangle of silver chains and colored stones and dangly earrings, all of it pretty and none of it very valuable. “I don’t think so.”
“Too bad.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’d feel better if you got ripped off.”
She stiffened with outrage and embarrassment. “I’m sorry if you feel I wasted your time.”
His mouth compressed. “You didn’t waste my time, cream puff. You definitely had an intruder. I looked at your frame. The door was forced. But if you didn’t get robbed, we have to assume whoever broke in was looking for something.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “Like me. Maybe somebody was checking for ID.”
She did not want to be involved. “Why would someone do that?”
“Could be somebody around here isn’t comfortable with strangers. Could be they made me as a cop.”
“That would explain why you were on my deck with your gun drawn shouting, ‘Police,’” she said dryly.
Chagrin drew his brows together. “Yeah, well, let’s hope they missed that. Your bad guys were probably off the premises by then.”
“I still don’t understand why they would search my cottage if they were looking for you.”
“They might have hoped to find my star or my gun. But I’m carrying those. Or they could’ve been after some sign that I’m really living here with you.”
“But you’re not,” she protested.
His eyes met hers, dark and direct. “Then we’ve got a problem, don’t we?”
Chapter 4
She was not going to panic.
He couldn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to do. Faye met Aleksy’s hard, implacable gaze. Her stomach flopped. Could he?
In her best teacher voice, she said, “I’d feel more comfortable if we continued this discussion somewhere other than my bedroom.”
He grinned, and her stomach flip-flopped again. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
“What I want is for this whole situation to go away,” she said. “But that’s not going to happen, is it?”
He looked briefly regretful. “Probably not,” he admitted.
Even though she was expecting his answer, it came as a blow. She tried not to flinch. “Okay.” She tugged the door shut behind him and led the way back to her living room studio, trying to get control of herself and the situation. “Then the more pertinent question is, what do I have to do?”
“Call the police.”
She stopped. “You’re police.”
“This isn’t my jurisdiction.”
“But if nothing’s been stolen—”
“You should still call it in. You notify the local police department, they can beef up patrols, file a report, maybe dust for fingerprints.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” The realization sharpened her voice. “You want to find out who was here without it looking like you’re the one who wants to know.”
He didn’t deny it.
She felt slightly sick. Used. “You said I wouldn’t be involved.”
“You’re already involved.”
“Because someone thought you were living here,” she insisted. “Now they know you’re not.”
He raised his eyebrows. “If they know that, then they have to think you were lying. And they’re going to wonder why.”
She stared at him, her stomach churning.
“Call the police,” he said again, his voice gentle. “See what the chief says.”
She remembered the smooth voice over the phone. “He’s your brother. He’ll say whatever you want him to.”
Aleksy shook his head. “Jarek’s one of the good guys. He’ll do whatever he thinks he has to to protect you.”
Police chief Jarek Denko was like his voice, polite, controlled and serious. He arrived within ten minutes of Faye’s call. A female officer, lean and graceful as a greyhound on a leash, stalked beside him. Aleksy went down the steps to meet them.
Faye watched from the porch as they communicated in terse phrases and unspoken signals, as foreign to her as if they really were the animals they resembled. Sniff, sniff, wag, wag, growl. A bubble of amusement rose in her throat.
And then they turned in a pack to face her and she swallowed hard.
“Miss Harper?” The chief of police was a more compact version of his brother, equally intense and almost ten years older. Aleksy’s eyes were dark as coffee. Jarek’s were light as frost. “I’m Jarek Denko. We spoke on the phone.”
It was stupid to feel breathless. “Yes, I—I know.”
He smi
led Aleksy’s smile, with more understanding and less edge. She wasn’t reassured, but she caught herself smiling back. “Do you mind if we sit down?”
“Oh. No. Please.” She retreated to the living room and dropped into a chair, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.
The chief sat forward on Aunt Eileen’s comfortable, ugly couch, his notebook balanced on his knee. Aleksy propped against the fireplace, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on her face.
Faye straightened her spine. Ridiculous to feel as if she were a troublemaker called to the principal’s office. But she did.
She hadn’t done anything wrong, she reminded herself. But it didn’t matter. She hadn’t been wrong to recommend Jamal for an art scholarship, either, and she’d still had to face a reprimand from the principal.
“Just a few routine questions,” Jarek said. “Baker, why don’t you see what that door will tell us.”
The young female officer sprang to the sliding doors and pulled out a flashlight. Faye watched as she angled the beam one way and another.
“Latents?” Aleksy asked.
Officer Baker, her long, dark hair pulled back smoothly from her narrow face, looked to her chief, clearly waiting for his command.
“Dust it,” Jarek ordered. “Now, Miss Harper…”
Faye did her best to answer his questions, trying to ignore the young woman shaking fine black powder off a fat black brush all over her aunt’s door frame, and Aleksy, alive and restless by the fireplace.
“And that’s when you went to find Alex?” Jarek prompted.
“Yes,” Faye said. “I was—just a little nervous.”
Not nervous, she thought miserably. Cowardly.
“Not nervous,” Aleksy corrected her. “Smart.”
Jarek turned his head and regarded his brother. “And what were you doing on Miss Harper’s property?”
“Fishing.”
“Do you have a license?”
Aleksy straightened away from the mantel. “What?”
“A license,” Jarek repeated, deadpan. “To fish.”
“Bite me,” Aleksy said.
Jarek raised an eyebrow. “Get one.”
“Jare, you know I’m not after—” He looked at Baker and stopped.
“As long as you’re here, you’ll do everything by the book,” Jarek said. “Everything. You got me?”
All a Man Can Ask Page 4