“Does it help to know I’m more concerned about you?”
“No.” He cleared his throat, uneasy with her statement. He didn’t need her or anyone else worrying over him. Too many expectations went along with worry and concern. Managing that with his parents and siblings was enough.
“I’m a grown man…” He left that sentence unfinished as her blue eyes sparked with a challenge. “I’m not being sexist. I only meant that I value my independence.”
“Same.” She sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Go on and keep digging.”
“I have a security team.”
Her toe started tapping. “Same.”
“You can’t blame me or anyone else for worrying if you are the real target,” he said in a desperate attempt to drag himself out of the verbal pit he’d created.
She froze, as if time had come to a screeching halt, and then burst out laughing. After she caught her breath, then dried the tears gathered at the corners of her amazing eyes, she said, “The fire implies you are the target. Just as I told you before.”
“Maybe he just couldn’t get to you.”
“A fact which only underscores that my precautions are enough.”
But how long would those precautions hold up? “He can’t get to me now. I’m in the penthouse. Join me there.” He caught himself before he reached across the table for her hands. “Please, Melissa. Orr must be coming unhinged if he’s back in town and raising hell.”
“No. Thank you.” Her answer, delivered in that cool, calm tone, only aggravated him more. “And you’re still assuming Orr is behind all of this. I can’t make assumptions.”
“Once again, one eyewitness isn’t enough?”
“Your account from last night is a good start. Reliable. Valued. And you will need to give a formal statement at the station, preferably today. Many eyewitnesses are not as reliable as you, which is why the justice system relies on evidence. I have to operate within that system.”
“And if the evidence in the system is compromised, like Hannah McPherson claims?”
“Again, I am working on it. For both of you. I can’t give you details—”
“The news reported that the DA dumped Hannah in the county jail. That’s pretty rough for a woman her age.”
“It is,” she agreed. “My cousin, Troy, wrote up the report, took her statement and handled the transfer. You don’t like it, talk to the DA.”
He shook his head. “Seems extreme for such a sweet old lady.”
“Sweet old kidnapper, you mean.” She held up a hand and he had a ridiculous urge to draw those long fingers to his lips. “The case is out of my hands. I just had the same conversation with Desiree,” she added.
“Danny’s mom is furious, I bet.”
“You’d lose that bet,” Melissa mused. “She’s far more relieved. Maybe it’s motherhood.”
He waited, but her gaze drifted somewhere he couldn’t follow. “How so?” he prompted.
She shifted in her seat. “I won’t explain it well.”
“Try,” he urged.
“Desiree almost condones the grandmother’s actions. It’s bizarre. As if she can’t cast stones because there’s no end to how far she’d go for Danny.”
“And you can’t relate?”
Melissa’s nose wrinkled. “I think I’m more worried that I can.” She looked up at the ceiling, her hair, long and loose today, falling back in a river of red fire. “When we were talking to Everleigh’s mom, my heart cracked at her loss of faith in her daughter. And when we were at Hannah McPherson’s place, the desperation was palpable.
“Three moms last night facing the darkest times in parenthood. And…I don’t know. My heart ached for all of them in turn.”
Not the darkest times, he thought. They each still had the child they loved. Maybe out of reach for a time, possibly in danger or in trouble, but alive. Where there was life, there was hope. Death was irreversible. Insurmountable. No going back, no hope for a brighter tomorrow.
“All of them heartbroken, if only in the short term,” he said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
He avoided a direct answer. “I believe your ability to relate to each of them last night and today is part of what makes you a good cop.”
Whatever he expected, it wasn’t another laugh. “Since when? The rumors eventually get back to me, Antonio. The entirety of the GGPD is aware that you believe we’re incompetent and that it starts at the top.”
“Surely you have to agree letting Drew Orr roam free isn’t a shining moment. Maybe if you had taken my statement, it would’ve been handled properly.”
“You’re unbelievable,” she said. “Just when I think I’ve figured you out, you change gears. That kind of comment is as much of an insult to me as it to the detective who led the case. It’s six months now, right?”
“Pretty much.”
“The statements and reports wouldn’t change anything unless the evidence backed it up. I don’t tell you how to be hospitable. How about you stop judging my work until you have a degree and more than a decade of experience in law enforcement?”
“You’re right,” he said, stung. He rubbed the spot where his chest ached, standing again. “Forgive me.” He would not burden her with the ghosts of his past. They were irrelevant, anyway. “I really didn’t come to argue, only to report the text messages and that’s done. I need to get over to the house to meet with the insurance adjuster.”
“Would it be a problem for me to join you?”
Until she mentioned it, he hadn’t realized how much he wanted her there. “Two cars or one?” he asked, reaching for her coat.
She didn’t even roll her eyes this time as he held it for her. She did pull her keys from her pocket. “Two cars.”
“I thought there was safety in numbers,” he teased.
“Call it an experiment,” she replied with a grin that set his pulse skipping. “This way if someone opens fire, we might be able to sort out the real target.”
But Antonio was starting to believe neither one of them was safe with Orr on the loose. He had to let her handle things her way, but he struggled with the overwhelming urge to protect her. His fingers tingled and he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. The last woman he’d been willing to slay dragons for was his wife. He swallowed an oath. What if Orr won? What if the worst happened and Antonio lost Melissa too?
CHAPTER 7
The fire damage was worse than Melissa had anticipated. She’d called the station on the drive over and according to the report the officer on duty read to her, the fire hadn’t had much time to grow. The officer also told her the firefighters now suspected arson. Antonio’s kitchen told a far more graphic story.
The sidelight at the door that connected the deck to the kitchen had been smashed. She agreed that the broken glass allowed the arsonist to reach through and unlock the door, tripping the first alarm. Glass fragments had been trampled by firefighter boots, crushed against the beautiful travertine tiles. Scorch marks bloomed from two corners of the cabinetry. Two accelerant devices had been placed and ignited, according to the fire chief.
He was lucky he hadn’t lost the house, she thought for the umpteenth time since walking into the scene. She didn’t bother to say it; she was sure he’d heard the words enough from the others.
There was no sign that the intruder had moved beyond the kitchen, though the insurance adjuster and Antonio had walked the entire residence, inside and out, to be sure all the damage had been documented.
“Your security system did the trick,” she said when they stood side by side on his deck that overlooked the lake. “The alarm must have rushed him.”
“I don’t believe he wanted the whole house to go,” Antonio said. “Yes, I’m assuming it was Orr, and based on that assumption, I can tell you that he has a good idea how I’d rea
ct if he burned down the house.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t share those details with the chief of police.” She smiled, softening the reminder of her position. “Tell me why the house is so important and how it is Orr knows you so well.”
He pushed his gloved hands through the snow on the deck rail. The man was always in motion. “He knows it’s my pride and joy even if I spend most hours at the hotel. I told him how I designed the house from the front door all the way to this deck. How I wanted it to sit on the site so I’d have the best views of the lake from the right rooms.”
“The right rooms?”
“Sure. The most inspiring views shouldn’t be visible only from the master bathroom or whatever.”
“Got it,” she said, amused. “Is there an architecture degree in your long list of accomplishments?”
“No. And the list isn’t all that long. I just knew the end result and worked backward. Once I decided Grave Gulch would be my primary base, the land came first. After that I found the right architect, had the plans drawn up properly.”
“Well, the kitchen was beautiful.” That had been obvious despite the glaring damage.
He rolled his shoulders, tucked his hands into his pockets. “It was.”
“It will be again,” she assured him. “Do you enjoy cooking?”
“A man must eat. Once I left home I quickly realized how smart my mother was to insist that I learn how to cook for myself and the family.”
“My mother is Italian. Same philosophy. Sounds like the two of them would get along.”
“Or possibly fight over the counter space,” he joked. “Do you think this crime will stick to Orr?”
“I’ll do my best to find out who did it,” she promised. There was no point in debating the accusation. Antonio was convinced and although she’d manage the investigation with impartiality, she had a hunch he was right.
Frankly, she was hoping to break their current pattern of being almost friendly only to wind up arguing again. There were people in town she adored, more people she got along with and a few people she avoided because, like oil and water, they didn’t mix.
Antonio had been in the last category before now, a man she was happier avoiding. Oh, he was handsome as sin, but they didn’t agree on anything… Until last night. The look on his face when he held her baby cousin had convinced her there was more to him than luxury hotels, increasing his net worth and his next gorgeous date.
“Why this particular piece of land?” she asked as she stared out toward the lake. Deep snow pressed up against the waterline, stretching out in white sheets over the water. Icicles dripped from the trees, jagged beauty that transformed the view. If she lived here, she might never be persuaded to leave.
“You’re making my point for me,” he said, bumping her shoulder with his. “It’s the view. You should see it from the loft. You’ll have to come back for the full tour.”
The unexpected affection made her skin tingle all over. “I’d like that,” she said without thinking. It was too easy to imagine waking up to these views after a night in his bed. Now she’d have to create an excuse if he ever did offer.
Seeing more of his house would wreck the happy little fantasy she’d spun up last night. The one where she was his date to some gala, leaning close enough to breathe in his cologne. The woman within his reach, able to stroke his arm or accept a caress in return… Would that woman ever be her?
“Melissa?”
She snapped back to the present, feeling the color rising in her face. If she was lucky, he’d blame it on the cold wind blowing off the lake. “Tell me more about Orr. You’ve told me he can shoot and I’d imagine he enjoys it. For now, we’ll assume he isn’t afraid to start a fire.”
“He can kill,” Antonio said, his voice grim. “And get away with it.”
She wouldn’t argue that, either, right now. “Any other dangerous skills I should know about?”
“He believes he can outthink and outmaneuver anyone,” Antonio said.
“We have a know-it-all like that on the CSI team. He annoys everyone, but he’s almost always right. Which is good, but adds to the annoyance.” She turned her back on the lake, leaning against the rail while she studied Antonio. Not her smartest move. He wore dark sunglasses against the glare of sunlight on the snow. Unable to enjoy that gaze, her eyes focused on his mouth.
Big mistake. His somber expression didn’t dull the appeal of his sensual, firm lips. The temptation to kiss him was overwhelming. Desire pooled low in her belly, sweeter than the syrup she’d poured over her French toast.
“That’s not what I mean,” Antonio said. “He craves knowledge. At first I thought it was to compensate for a lack of formal education, but he has a master’s degree in political science, of all things.”
“And he’s a real-estate developer?”
“In name only. He’s a con man. Always has an angle in play using other people’s money. He makes big promises backed only by creative excuses to keep investors from cashing in before he has the next mark lined up. From what I could tell, his education is the only legit thing about him.”
“Unless it’s fake, too.”
“No, I looked him up. He went to Northwestern. The pictures in the yearbook match up. The longer we were associates, the more convinced I was that he lied about everything but that.”
“So he’s proud of his education.” How would that change her approach when they found him? “Is he arrogant about it?”
“He wasn’t with me and I only have a bachelor’s in business.”
Only? He had a bachelor’s and a mind that turned one hotel redesign into a massive net worth and portfolio. “I should let you have your Sunday,” she said, straightening. “I have a full plate and several interviews to prepare for.”
“You have a master’s in criminal justice, right?” he asked.
“Yes.” It wasn’t a secret and it was actually preferred for advancement. “I wish that and determination was enough to solve every case.”
His mouth curled into a sexy grin. “If it was, then your work might be as easy as I’ve implied. I am sorry for my bad attitude.”
“Hardly the first time. I’ve felt the same way,” she admitted. The wind caught her hair and she shook it out of her face, wishing for a hair tie. “Way back when I was a kid and my aunt was murdered, I couldn’t comprehend why the police couldn’t find the killer. Learning it all, working my way up to chief, I think the only silver lining in that entire mess was my ability to empathize with victims.”
“I think your empathy is rooted deeper than an unsolved crime.” He tugged off his glove and tucked her wayward hair behind her ear. “Not that my opinion matters much.”
Her ear and cheek blazed at that light touch, then he put his glove back on. For a long, awkward moment she was speechless. Tenderness and Antonio didn’t go together in her mind. Until recently.
She licked her lips and, before she made a colossal mistake and followed her urge to kiss him, she repeated something about how busy she was and scooted around him.
“Be careful!” he called after her.
She urged him to do the same as she hurried to the safety of her car. But his voice and the conversation lingered in the back of her head. It turned out his opinion mattered to her more than she expected.
That was completely new. And the worst possible timing.
In front of the station, she passed protestors braving the cold, waving signs and chanting “Free Granny.” They weren’t blocking the street or access to the station, so she decided to let the cold dictate how long they stayed out there.
She closed herself in her office and forced her full attention on the Emerson case. If there was a chance the DA had an incomplete or inaccurate picture of the evidence, Melissa needed to find the truth as soon as possible.
She pulled up the case file on her computer,
then read through all of the notes on the Fritz Emerson murder from transcript of the first emergency call to Everleigh’s arrest and arraignment. The investigation looked textbook, right down to the witness who put Everleigh near the scene. Things started falling apart with the evidence. As Melissa read the final forensics report, she could understand the logical conclusion that Everleigh had struck that fatal blow.
Wanting to discuss it with an objective person, she stuck her head out of her office to look for Troy, but he wasn’t in. She wasn’t about to call him after last night. He deserved some rest. Her next visit was to the forensics lab downstairs, but Randall Bowe wasn’t in and neither were Jillian or Billy, who had worked the case.
So she returned to her office, took a deep breath and called the district attorney, Arielle Parks. The DA would not be pleased with what Melissa wanted to discuss. After bringing the lawyer up to speed, she waited for the reaction, pen tapping against her palm.
“Her defense attorney should have found this,” Parks said.
Melissa agreed. “I wish there wasn’t anything for her attorney to find. Can you ask for a continuance?”
Parks sighed heavily. “How much time do you need?”
“I need time to speak with Bowe,” she said. “He’s not in the lab today, but I’ll track him down at home if necessary. I’m hopeful he can shed some light on this when we talk.”
“Be quick,” Parks said, her voice stern. “After all the press last night, I spoke with the judge. Neither of us wants a mistrial or hung jury due to public sympathy for Hannah McPherson. I’ll call him back. He won’t want to risk having a conviction overturned on appeal for a technicality you should have caught. At the same time, Emerson has a right to a speedy trial. I expect he will only grant a continuance through Monday and we’ll be back in court on Tuesday.”
Just about thirty-six hours. With the clock ticking in her head, Melissa ended the call. At least she’d bought a little time. Next, she dialed Bowe’s home number, but it went to voice mail and she left a message. She tried his cell phone too, but he didn’t answer. She left another message, hoping her frustration wasn’t too obvious. The last thing she wanted was to be here spinning her wheels when time was short.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense January 2021 Page 33