A Perfect Stranger

by Ryan, Jenna

  “Marlowe. No, thanks. This is a very nice house, Mrs. Brewster.”

  “Nice and expensive,” she agreed. “And it’s Hannah. If you’re looking to rent a room, I have one left. Second floor, faces the garden. Oh, here he is, Arden’s boy. Come out of the sun, Cristian. This is Marlowe. He might be taking our last room.”

  Cristian’s mop of blond curls, his eager expression and his lanky build reminded Marlowe of Val. But then Val reminded him of pretty much every college quarterback he’d played against at Michigan State.

  “My last name’s Turner.” The twenty-something man cast an uncertain glance at Hancock, whose garish smile was starting to distort his mouth. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Hannah beamed. “Cristian’s a painter. He came to Philadelphia because of our thriving artistic community.”

  Cristian rubbed at a bump on his neck. “I think something bit me, Aunt Hannah.”

  “Well, you march right inside and put some ice on it.” Moving his hair, she tutted. “Will you look at that ear. Today it was a mosquito. Ten years ago it was—What was it again, dear? A schnauzer?”

  “Rottweiler.” Cristian tugged on his ragged left earlobe. “Owner figured he was going for my earring. I think he was going for my throat.”

  “You should have kicked him.” Hancock raised a leg, but lowered it at a stern look from Hannah. “Gotta show it who’s boss,” he finished with a nasty grin.

  “Yeah, right. Uh, where’s the ointment, Aunt Hannah?”

  “In the downstairs bathroom, dear. Oh, and would you mind calling for Eddie to open up the garden room as you go past the study?”

  Hancock smirked at Marlowe. “Don’t know how long you’re planning to stay, but if you get wind of any openings for a short-order cook, you let me know. My specialty’s a burger…Whoa there, Silver.” He broke off mid-sentence to leer. “Who would that pretty little darlin’ be?”

  Hannah rapped him again with her fan. “You put your eyes straight back in their sockets, Mr. Hancock. That’s Darcy. Now, she’s sweet as can be, but the two of you would simply not be compatible.”

  Both Cristian, riveted on the threshold, and Hancock, whose mouth had curled back into that Grinch-like smile, watched her bend and stretch as she extracted three bags of groceries from her trunk.

  Exasperated, Hannah shooed both men along, then smiled at Marlowe. “Do say the garden room will suit you. It’s on the cool side of the house.”

  Annoyed that he’d wanted to do a great deal more than move John Hancock along, Marlowe returned his attention to the woman in front of him.

  “Darcy’s a reporter,” Hannah revealed with a sly expression. “Sadly, she had some trouble a few days ago. Poor dear was mugged right outside her front door. I feel somewhat responsible since I’d talked to her not five minutes earlier.”

  “You didn’t see anyone?”

  Catching his arm, Hannah brought him down to her level. “See those hedges? A body could be murdered on the far side, and no one would ever know about it. If only she’d screamed.”

  “Guess she didn’t think of it.”

  “Fortunately, the man ran away, no real harm done. Cristian will be trimming those bushes down to waist height as soon as he gets his second wind. I’d ask Eddie to do it, but it’s difficult to schedule outdoor chores between sporting events.” She dismissed the matter and straightened. “Now about that room. Seeing as it’s my last, and Eddie scored on one of his long-shot bets this past week, we might be able to negotiate the price down a tad. Say forty-five dollars a night from fifty?”

  Marlowe glanced at Darcy’s hedge. “Does that include breakfast?”

  “Lunch, as well, if you want it.” She held out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  Big mistake, Marlowe’s instincts warned. He felt the darkness rolling through him. But in the end, it was Darcy he saw, and Darcy he continued to see even as the carousel of his mind revolved.

  And with the darkness still slithering through his head, he accepted her hand.

  “THANK YOU, THANK YOU, thank you.” On the threshold of Darcy’s office, Elaine hugged an eleven-page printout to her chest. “You not only made deadline, but you also made the moon chocolate readable.”

  “Well, hey, what are sleepless nights for if not to draft and redraft feature articles?”

  “Yeah, what’s up with that?” Removing thick reading glasses, her editor, a tall, narrow-chested woman in her early fifties, came in to perch on the arm of the sofa. “Some pervert jumps you outside your front door, and I hear about it from a cop? Really, kiddo, there’s such a thing as a telephone.”

  Keys and sunglasses in hand, Darcy checked her e-mail. “There was more to it than I could tell you.”

  “Like a dead man in a sleazy motel room?”

  “I can’t give you details, Elaine. You know how the system works.”

  “I also know how much attention you usually pay to that system.” Elaine leaned forward. “Was it anyone you knew?”

  “No comment.” Darcy reached for her shoulder bag, popped the glam sunglasses on top of her head and started for the door. “At least not until Monday.”

  Elaine bared her teeth. “This is so annoying. We both know how this stuff sells, and you’re shutting me out.”

  “All I want to shut right now is the door.”

  Reaching back inside, Darcy snagged Elaine’s wrist. “Give me a break, okay? It’s a thousand degrees today, my landlady’s given me five casseroles that no one with half a brain would eat, and if you think the cops are keeping me apprised of the investigation, you’re wrong.” At the elevator bank, she pressed Down. “I answered questions, gave my statement, answered more questions, then went home and spent the rest of yesterday and most of last night refining an article you insisted had to be done by Monday. Be happy. It’s only Saturday, and there it is, in your freshly manicured hands.”

  Elaine admired her fingernails as they boarded the elevator. “I got the works for my date tonight.”

  “Yeah? Are we talking hot stud at last?”

  “So-so. He’s the CEO of a cable station that aspires to rival CNN.”

  Darcy let her eyes sparkle. “Does personality enter the picture at all?”

  Elaine’s lips smiled, her eyes didn’t. “I’m fifty-something, kiddo. I’ve been married twice and lost money both times. I want Ebenezer Scrooge this time. Rich and stingy—except when it comes to me. Barring that elusive miracle, I’ll have to hope and pray our little newsmagazine can break a story that has our big Manhattan brothers scrambling to catch up.”

  “So that would be a no to the personality question.”

  On the street with the burn of the early-evening sun on her shoulders, Darcy let Elaine pull her to a stop. “Get me an exclusive, okay? The magazine needs it. Your coworkers need it. I need it.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Darcy tweaked her editor’s collar. “In the meantime, go home, cool down, get ready for tonight. I’ll see you Monday.”

  “I sincerely hope so.”

  It was the tone of her voice more than her words that echoed in Darcy’s head.

  Too revved to return home, she detoured to the gym, the wonderfully cool gym with the fitness instructor whose hot body paled next to the memory of a certain P.I. she was determined to run, punch or meditate out of her system.

  Of course it didn’t work, but then she didn’t expect it to. Any man whose face haunted her patchy sleep wasn’t likely to be blown off that easily.

  After showering, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a white tank top, packed her gear and headed for home.

  Her arrival was greeted by a barking dog and the lingering traces of a barbecue. Mrs. Brewster’s cat, Hodgepodge, lay on his back on the sidewalk with his paws in the air. Overhead, a faint breeze rustled the neighborhood trees.

  Crouching as she passed, Darcy tickled Podge’s tummy and received a yawning meow in response.

  She realized with a twinge that she’d forgotten to set her house ala
rm when she’d left today. Foolish? Yes. But on the plus side, the front hedge had been trimmed as promised, and there was still a glimmer of light in the sky.

  Her cell phone rang while she was climbing the porch stairs.

  She glanced at the screen. “Oh, good. Perfect.” She flipped it open. “I thought you’d be long gone by now, Marlowe.”

  “Guess we both thought wrong.”

  “So are we talking choice here or police order?”

  She imagined his faint smile. “You found the body, Darcy.”

  “After you got us into the motel room.”

  “What can I say? Val’s captain’s a fan.”

  “Which means you’re staying by choice, then.”

  “A dead client in a bathtub isn’t good enough reason to stay?”

  She dropped her keys in a bowl, her purse and gym bag on a high-backed chair. “Aren’t you the one who said he didn’t give a rat’s ass about anybody—what was it your friend called you—M?”

  “Val can’t get his tongue around my name after a few drinks. Calling me M is the simple solution.”

  “Your friend had more than a few drinks last night if the coat I saw on his tongue today was any indication. I’m going out on a limb here, Marlowe, but I’d speculate that Detective Reade has some serious issues in his life.”

  “And you know someone who doesn’t?”

  Removing the bush hat she’d bought in Sydney, she shook her hair. “Tell me, have you always lived on the dark side?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, Darcy.”

  “To which you give very few answers.”

  Wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear, she reached into the cupboard. “I saw your Land Rover at Hannah Brewster’s this morning. I’m sure she was delighted to talk and talk and talk to you, but I could have saved you the headache and told you she didn’t see or hear a thing Thursday night. If she had, the guy who attacked me wouldn’t have made it out of the yard.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “No offense. She just goes into superhuman mode in times of trouble, which, frankly, I’m surprised she missed that night.”

  “She misses more than you think.”

  Darcy dropped three large ice cubes into a glass. “Sorry, I’ll need a hint for that one. Has something else happened?” When he didn’t answer, she frowned. “Marlowe?” Sighing, she opened the fridge. “Come on, it’s too hot for games. What is it you know that I don’t?”

  “Look behind you, pretty lady. You’re not alone.”

  Darcy’s heart leaped into in her throat. Her fingers froze on the handle.

  The voice hadn’t come from her phone.

  Chapter Four

  Darcy realized who it was a split second before the heel of her hand snapped to his throat.

  “You,” she stated thirty minutes and a short, temper-cooling walk later, “really need to break that habit of yours.”

  A step behind her on the crowded street, Marlowe grinned. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

  “I’m not. I’m projecting.” She turned to walk backward on the sidewalk. “It’s how I work off being mad.”

  “Would’ve been faster and easier if you’d just laid into me at your house.”

  “I still can, if it’ll make you feel better. You’ve got the potential to be a great second-story man, Marlowe. I have a finicky lock on an obscure cellar door that doesn’t even read like a door anymore, and you go all Sherlock Holmes on me and find it. Point made? No. You have to jimmy the thing, wait for me to come home and set me up with a phone call. If I’d had a knife in my hand at the time, you might not be enjoying this or any other night scene ever again.”

  His gold eyes tracked her past an open bakery and on through a collection of outdoor café tables. “Which says to me, my point still hasn’t been made.”

  “No, I get it.” She turned back to navigate a crosswalk. “One, I should always set my alarm. Two, I should replace any faulty locks. And three, since I didn’t do any of those things, you decided to show me that what you managed to do with a minimum amount of effort, someone a whole lot more lethal could also do. I’m not arguing, Marlowe, and I won’t make those mistakes again. So can we please move on and get a hoagie?”

  “Sounds like—Careful.” Reaching out when she turned to face him once again, he steered her around a man in a MEDIchair.

  “You’ve gotten out of the habit, haven’t you?” he asked as the doors opened on a neighborhood playhouse and a crowd of people rushed by. “You think nothing can hurt you in a crowd.”

  Darcy zeroed in on a cart that sold some of the best street food in the area. “I like people,” she agreed. “I like watching them live their lives, doing the things I wanted to do when I was a kid, but couldn’t because army kids are born transient. That’s not a complaint. I learned a lot and experienced more. But sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to grow up somewhere and know the streets, the stores, my neighbors.”

  “You’re a gypsy, Darcy. Were then, still are now.”

  “Old habits,” she said with a smile. “From the cart she selected two hoagies and two bottles of locally brewed beer. She knew he was watching her and, still smiling, continued to walk. “I have no idea what you’re thinking, unless it has to do with Umer Lugo’s death and why I haven’t mentioned it for the past thirty minutes.”

  “My guess? You’ve been over it a dozen times already. You’re tapped out.”

  She bumped her shoulder into his arm. “I’m also still irked at you for pointing it out the way you did.” Not to mention, she reflected, for a kiss she might never erase from her mind.

  She held her pulse in check with a sip of cold beer, then felt it spike when he eased her around the side of an Italian restaurant and into the alley.

  Setting bottles and wrappers aside, he ran a thumb over her lower lip. His eyes were unreadable as they stared into hers. “I could get distracted by you, Darcy.”

  “Tell me about it. But that’s not good, is it? For either of us. I have gypsy tendencies, you don’t want to care. I’m not sure I see the point in pursuing something that has Shakespearean tragedy written all over it.”

  The ghost of a smile appeared. “That doesn’t sound like the positive Darcy I met two nights ago.”

  “Sometimes she reverts.”

  “To Shannon?”

  “To S.L. Hunt. That was the name on my Los Angeles byline. S.L. was…Well, I’ll be kind and call her a little too focused, a little too career-driven.”

  “You wouldn’t say ambitious?”

  “No, ambition was Shannon Stone’s arena. Stone is my mother’s family name. I adopted it when I did on-air weather reports in Oregon. It was a small town, and I was just starting out, and I thought Stone sounded more ruthless than Hunt. Then it occurred to me that ruthless might not play well on TV. When I relocated to northern California, I became Shannon Hunt.”

  “You did on-air weather in northern California?”

  “Actually, I anchored the six o’clock news. Bigger town, bigger market, and in the end, a good, strategic move.” She rested her head against the warm stone wall, let her mind drift. “I stayed for about a year, then got an offer from a Los Angeles media group and went with the better money. That’s when S.L. Hunt was born.”

  His eyes swept over her face. “So you traded in live action for the printed word. Why?”

  “I told you. Better money. I wasn’t in it for the glamour, Marlowe. I wanted to get ahead. Be someone. Make a difference. Well, maybe that part came later, but hey, I was in Hollywood. I was twenty-four, free to choose, and my boss liked me.”

  “Yeah? How much ‘like’ are we talking here?”

  “Lots. And her name was Michelle.” She lifted a hand to his hair. “None of this really matters, Marlowe. I’m Darcy now, not Shannon or S.L. Yes, I’m career-minded, but I’m not so fixated that I can’t see, think or feel anything else. These days I prefer different sights, better thoughts, more positive feelings
.” As if to underscore those words, she angled her mouth toward his.

  “Darcy…”

  Undeterred, she moved her hips against him. “I’m pretty sure you started this.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Guess I did.”

  Maybe the sparkle in her eyes challenged him. Or maybe she shifted her body just enough that temptation toppled resistance. All Darcy knew was that one minute she wanted to kiss him, and the next he was lowering his mouth to hers.

  Something exploded inside her. Her body came alive. She ran her hands over his shoulders and around his neck, until her fingers fisted in his hair.

  Pinpoints of light, like fireflies, raced through her head. When he took the kiss deeper, she met him halfway, let the greed inside her rule. She tasted and teased and, pushing them both to the edge, nipped his bottom lip.

  She managed to drag her mouth away a heartbeat short of hopping up and wrapping her legs around him. But her eyes danced as she took one final satisfying bite.

  “Clear enough answer for you, Marlowe?”

  “Might be—if I could remember the question.”

  Pressing the tip of her finger to his chin, Darcy indulged in one last, long kiss. Then she stepped out of temptation’s way and made herself take a deep breath.

  “I have to tell you, Marlowe, I expected wow, not a fireworks display.”

  Picking up the remains of their dinner, Marlowe dumped them in a nearby bin. “Not to diminish the moment, Darcy, but this isn’t why I stayed in Philadelphia.”

  “Because I understand, I’ll keep my distance and simply ask what comes next. Case wise, that is.”

  Grinning a little, he took her hand and drew her back onto the busy street. “I went through the list of contacts in Lugo’s e-mail with Val. There were approximately thirty names.”