Motive, Means... And Marriage?

by Hilary Byrnes

  “Good.” Helen ran a tired hand through her hair. “Any sign of those police files yet?”

  “Nope. I’ve gone through this stuff three times, and I can’t find them. Are you sure you didn’t take them home last night?”

  “I’m sure.” She frowned at the heaps of paper. “They’ve got to be here somewhere.”

  She was positive she’d left the files relating to Jamie Lee Turner’s murder right on top of her desk. All the files Carmel had copied for her had been there: Patrick’s personnel files, Marty’s notes, the case files for the Turner murder.

  She and Dave had unearthed the personnel files, but they couldn’t find the case files or Marty’s notes. So where were they? Jumbled in with the mess of paper on the floor?

  Helen bit her lip. It would take days to systematically sort through all the paper. Too long. She needed those files right away, needed them to check Patrick’s story.

  Needed to prove to herself that she’d done the right thing—the logical thing—by postponing the arrest. That it wasn’t the crazy feelings that sprang between them each time they touched, those dangerous flashes of heat, that had made her agree to Patrick’s request.

  She stood and walked over to her desk. “Keep up the good work, Dave. I’ll see if I can get another copy of those files.”

  Sitting down at her desk, she flipped through her Rolodex card file. Calling Carmel was the last thing she felt like doing. When she’d told him earlier that Patrick’s arrest had been postponed, he’d all but accused her of having an affair with Patrick. And she’d come dangerously close to losing her temper in return.

  She didn’t want to deal with him again. Not today. Not when her control was already stretched so thin and tight. But there was no help for it. She had to have those files.

  Gritting her teeth, she picked up the phone and dialed Carmel’s number.

  He answered immediately. “Carmel.”

  “Lieutenant. It’s Helen Stewart. I need another copy of those files you gave me Monday night.”

  “All of them?” he demanded.

  “Not quite all. I don’t need the personnel files. Just the case files on the Turner murder and Marty’s notes.”

  “What happened? You lose them already?”

  She tightened her lips. “No, I didn’t lose them. Someone broke into my office last night and tore through every piece of paper I have. It’ll take days to deal with the mess, and I don’t have that kind of time.”

  “Okay,” he said grudgingly. “Hang on.”

  She heard a clatter as he dropped the phone, and then sounds of paper shuffling. A muffled string of profanity made her wince, and then Caimel came back on the line.

  “I can’t find the files. Someone must’ve moved them off my desk. I’ll call you back when I find them.”

  “I need those files right away.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Look, I’ll ask around and call you back in a couple minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  He hung up without a response. Helen stared at the receiver for a long moment before she put it down. Unease curled through her stomach. She couldn’t find the files. Carmel couldn’t find the files. What if... But there was no point in speculating about it until Carmel got back to her.

  She sighed and tapped her pen against her desk, staring out the window. Rain dripped down the pane. Across the street, a woman wearing a bright yellow slicker hurried out of a store, hustling a child carrying a miniature umbrella.

  The phone rang, and she grabbed it. “Helen Stewart.”

  “It’s Carmel.” He paused. “Look, I, uh...”

  The unease in her stomach twisted into a painful cramp. “You can’t find the files.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “It doesn’t take a genius, Lieutenant Carmel. Someone breaks into my office. My files go missing, but after all, they’re only copies. Why am I not surprised the originals would vanish, too?”

  “Hey!” Carmel’s outraged bellow crackled across the line. “I didn’t take them, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  “You’re mighty quick to defend yourself against something you haven’t been accused of. Guilty conscience, Lieutenant?”

  “I told you, I didn’t take the damn files!”

  “So someone broke into the police department, got past the desk sergeant, through the bull pen, and into your office without anyone seeing them?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  She kept her voice cool and professional. “Those files had better turn up. I want every drawer, every filing cabinet, every desk searched until they’re found.” If by some miracle he was telling the truth, they had to be there somewhere.

  Carmel’s breathing was hard and heavy. “It’s a waste of time. We’re not gonna find them.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “No? You seem very certain for a man who doesn’t know where they are.”

  “Just don’t tell me how to do my job, lady!”

  The taut wire of her control finally snapped. “And don’t you get in the way of my case! If you do, I’ll see you lose your precious job! Go find those files, Lieutenant. I’ll expect them on my desk by tomorrow morning.” She banged down the phone.

  From the corner of the office, Dave looked at her strangely. “You okay, Helen?”

  She sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m all right. But will you give me a couple of minutes, please?”

  “Sure thing. Time for a cup of coffee, anyway.” He got to his feet and ambled out of her office.

  Helen stared at the piles of paper on the floor.

  They weren’t going to find the files anywhere. Not here. Not at the police department. She would bet her life on it.

  It was incredible, but it looked as though someone had broken into her office with the express purpose of stealing those files. And judging by his response, that somebody was very likely Lieutenant Edward Carmel.

  Her hands shaky, Helen grabbed the phone book. She looked up the number she wanted, picked up the phone, and dialed.

  He answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

  The sound of his deep voice sent a rush of relief racing through her, a feeling she didn’t want to analyze too closely.

  “Patrick,” she said. “We have to talk.”

  Patrick parked his car in the gravel lot above the stone retaining wall. The rain had finally stopped, so he didn’t bother rolling up his window before he headed down the uneven steps that led to the beach.

  He saw Helen in the distance, walking along the edge of the surf. Her blond hair shone like a beacon against the pewter-gray of sea and sky. Even at this distance, he felt a tug of desire at the sight of her.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Helen?”

  The wind whipped away his voice, so he headed across the beach, following the line of slender footprints Helen had left in the sand. “Helen!”

  She still didn’t hear him. The tide was just turning, and surf boomed and crashed against the shore. Wind gusted across the beach, blowing wet sand and strands of kelp before it.

  He caught up to Helen and touched her shoulder.

  She whirled around, fists clenched, prepared to strike.

  He held up his hands. “It’s just me.”

  “Patrick.” She took a deep breath and unclenched her hands. “You scared me.”

  “I called you, but you didn’t hear me.”

  She glanced out at the sea. “It’s pretty wild out here today.” She turned her gaze back to him. “Thank you for coming.”

  “How could I resist?” He grinned, trying to make light of the elation he’d felt when she called him. “Beautiful women don’t invite me to secret assignations on lonely beaches every day.”

  Helen’s lips tightened. “Don’t joke about it. I think you might be in danger.”

  “Danger?” He glanced around. The beach was deserted. The rain had only stopped a few minutes ago, and the wind still whipped the waves into a frenzy. Nobody else was crazy enoug
h to be out here on a day like this.

  “Not here,” Helen said quickly. “That’s why I wanted you to meet me here. Where nobody would see us.”

  He couldn’t resist teasing her just a little. “And I thought it was because you’d finally given in to my irresistible charm.”

  “This is serious, Patrick. I think you might have been right last night. About Marty’s murder being related to the case you were working on. And maybe even about you being in danger.”

  She was trying to sound cool and unconcerned, but Patrick detected the fear in her voice. Instinctively, he wanted to comfort her, to pull her into his arms and soothe her. And to do more than soothe her. To kiss her beautiful trembling mouth, to taste the salt of the ocean on her skin.

  To make her remember just how good it had been between them.

  A bolt of heat shot through him at the thought. His reaction was physical, immediate, and he controlled it with difficulty. This was definitely not the time to kiss her. Not when she obviously had something important to tell him.

  Not when she had an excuse to push him away—again.

  He tried not to look at her mouth. “What’s happened?”

  “Someone broke into my office last night. Not any of the other offices in the suite, just mine.”

  “And?”

  “The files are gone. All the files relating to Jamie Lee Turner’s murder. As far as I can tell, nothing else was taken—just the files. There must have been something in them. Maybe something that could incriminate somebody.”

  For the first time since Helen had said she was applying for a warrant, he felt a surge of real hope. This was the first tangible evidence that his hunch was right.

  He dragged his hand over his jaw. “So Marty’s murder does have something to do with the Turner case.”

  “It also has something to do with Lieutenant Carmel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My files were just copies. Carmel had the originals—and they’ve mysteriously ‘disappeared.’” Her voice was grim. “Whatever is going on, Carmel is up to his neck in it.”

  Patrick swore under his breath. “I thought he had something to do with this.”

  “But how? Was he involved in Jamie Lee’s murder? Or is he just setting you up? But if that’s the case, why would he care about the Turner files?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand what’s going on. And I hate the idea that someone is using me to prosecute you when you’re innocent.”

  Innocent The word made Patrick’s heart leap, the blood sing to his head. Helen believed in him. She actually believed in him.

  His face broke into a big smile. “So what did your boss say about it?”

  “I haven’t told him.”

  “What?” His smile faded. “Why not?”

  “Patrick, there is a mountain of evidence against you. Weighed against that, a break-in and a few missing files aren’t all that significant.”

  “But you know I’m innocent.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I do. Even before the break-in. I had my doubts that you killed Marty. But that’s not the point.”

  “Then what is the point?”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts. “If I go to Franklin without any hard proof and tell him you’re innocent, do you know what he’ll say?”

  “No.”

  “He’ll say that I’m allowing my personal feelings to affect my judgment, and he’ll take me off the case.”

  Sudden anger twisted through his gut. Was it only seconds ago that he’d thought she believed in him? What was it with her, anyway? Every time he started to think she gave a damn, she turned right around and slapped him down.

  And the worst part of it was that her rejection—the reminder that he didn’t mean anything to her, that he wasn’t her type—actually hurt.

  Dammit, he was a fool, he told himself bitterly. He knew better than to care what she—or any other woman—thought of him. To care whether he measured up in her eyes or not. After Jessica had killed their future and destroyed their marriage, he’d sworn he wouldn’t give any woman that kind of power over him again. Especially a woman like her: a lawyer, a woman who cared more about success than anything else, even—

  “Did you hear me, Patrick?” Helen put her hands on her hips. “I said, he’ll take me off the case.”

  Patrick gave a sarcastic laugh. “And we all know you wouldn’t want that to happen. God forbid you should do anything to hurt your career.”

  “It wouldn’t do you any good, either. Another prosecutor would have you arrested in a New York minute.”

  “Whereas you’ve given me twenty-four whole hours. I guess I should be grateful you didn’t already have me arrested. It would have looked great on the evening news, wouldn’t it, darlin‘?”

  Helen’s chin jerked up. “I’m not like Franklin. I don’t care about the press. I want to do what’s right.”

  “As long as it doesn’t hurt your career.”

  Her eyes blazed. “I’ve already admitted my career is very important to me. What’s wrong with that?”

  “There’s something wrong with it when you have an innocent man arrested for a crime you know damn well he didn’t commit.” Patrick spun on his heel and began to walk away.

  “You’re not going to be arrested!” she shouted.

  He froze. “What?”

  “I said, you’re not going to be arrested.” She walked toward him, her feet slapping against the sand. “I called Judge Gove and told him to put the arrest warrant on indefinite hold. I’ll be working on the case, and as soon as I have a solid line on another suspect, I’ll cancel the warrant altogether.”

  Suddenly he felt like a total fool. “Hell. I thought—”

  “I know what you thought. But you were wrong.”

  The surf boomed, and ocean spray swirled into the air as they stood there. Patrick looked into Helen’s face. He read frustration. Determination. Anger.

  Reluctant admiration swept through him. She really was dedicated to her career, but she’d told the truth about wanting to do what was right. It had been a risk for her to call Judge Gove. Another prosecutor would have arrested him—innocent or not—and tried to climb to glory on his back.

  But Helen hadn’t.

  He stretched out a hand to her, but she stepped backward. “Helen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.”

  He gave a rueful smile. “I always did have a temper.”

  “Oh?” she said coolly.

  He nodded. “When I was a kid, I went to Catholic school, you know?” Somehow he wanted to talk, to try to make things right between them. “The kids from the public school used to come by the school yard and call us dirty micks. And worse. Adam always walked away from it. He worked hard. Beat the kids from the public school at debate. And sports.”

  “And you?”

  He shrugged. “Got in a few brawls. One time I heard a guy from the public school call my sister an Irish slut, and I broke his nose.”

  She was trying to look disapproving, but he didn’t miss the spark of interest in her eyes. “What happened then?”

  “The principal gave me the strap. Got home, and my dad gave me a talking-to I’ll never forget. And then there was confession. Father O‘Malley made me spend every Saturday morning for a month in church saying rosaries as a penance.”

  A tiny smile appeared on her lips. “And you never got into any fights again?”

  “Learn my lesson so easily?” He spread his hands. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I should have guessed. You probably kept on punching boys in the nose, didn’t you?”

  “That’s why I became a cop.”

  Her smile became a full-fledged grin. “So you could punch other guys without getting in trouble?”

  “No. Because I wanted to put things right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He paused. Why was he telling her all this? What made him think she w
ould understand? Jessica never had, that was for sure.

  But something in the way Helen looked at him, something in her direct blue gaze, made him want to try to explain. He didn’t understand it, but the words came out of his mouth almost before he could stop them.

  “I got in those fights because I lost my temper. But the reason I lost my temper—It was because I saw the injustice of it The boys from the public school would stand on the other side of the fence taunting us, harassing the girls. It was wrong of them. And I wanted to make them stop.” He shook his head. “My method was all wrong, but my heart was in the right place.”

  “You wanted to make the world a better place,” she said slowly.

  “You make it sound more noble than it is.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “It’s just—this is who I am. I always hated injustice and cruelty. I wanted to stop it. So I grew up and became a cop.”

  She nodded, her eyes serious. “I think I understand.”

  Her words struck him to the core. It was crazy, but for an instant he thought she really did understand. He felt her level gaze deep inside him...almost as though she could see through his leather jacket, through his shirt and his skin, and right into his heart.

  The realization made him stiffen. What was he doing? The only woman to whom he’d ever bared his soul was Jessica. She’d seen him, seen his most secret thoughts and hopes and dreams—and she’d rejected him. And not just him, but everything he had given her....

  Three years ago he’d vowed never to trust a woman like that again. Not ever. He wouldn’t risk putting himself through that kind of fury and pain all over again.

  But now, here he was, telling his innermost thoughts to Helen—who’d already walked away from him once. Who’d made it more than clear that no matter how much her body wanted him, the rest of her definitely didn’t.

  Patrick squeezed his hands into fists. What the bell was wrong with him, anyway? Wanting Helen was one thing. Wanting her, he could handle. But this?

  If he knew what was good for him, he’d better back off this conversation. Fast.

  He forced a casual smile to his face. “So, darlin‘, now you know all my darkest secrets.” He kept his tone light, as though they’d been discussing nothing more important than office gossip or football scores. “I have a terrible temper. Always have, always will.”