Partners in Crime

by Alicia Scott

  She turned away.

  “Tough life, isn’t it?” Jack hammered. “Never close to anyone. No family, no community, no boyfriends. All you have is your money and your lifestyle. Just the nice clothes and imported automobiles to keep you warm at night. And now you won’t even have that. Just so you can protect some people you don’t give a damn about. Your professionalism’s worth that much, Joanna? You know none of your former clients are going to visit you in prison or send you cards on Christmas.”

  “I don’t know who hired me,” she said abruptly. Her gaze was fastened on the far wall.

  “What do you mean? I hardly think you take orders from anonymous voices over the telephone.”

  She finally met his gaze. Her eyes were stormy, the only emotion he’d ever seen her express. “Dean Springer. He’s the one who called, he’s the one who showed up and briefed me. He gave me the files and the orders and he handed over the cash. He wanted me to take care of the Hanson woman, too, but I told him I wasn’t risking everything for a silly vision…there are hundreds of tall blondes in Grand Springs. But for an extra fifty thousand, I did agree to framing Josie Reynolds. Planting the syringe, mailing packages to the cops…. It wasn’t hard. At least not in the beginning.”

  “Who is Dean Springer?” Jack demanded.

  She smiled benignly. “No one,” she whispered. “Absolutely no one.”

  She hadn’t lied to them. By the end of the week, they’d gotten an arrest warrant for Dean Springer, but he’d fled from his home. Dean had no degree, no expertise. He was a “neighborhood man.” The kind of guy who grew up with people who went on to do interesting things. People who then hired him to do interesting things.

  As Stone put it, he wasn’t the general, but just another foot soldier. In short, they’d caught the person who’d pulled the trigger, but they still didn’t know who had ordered Olivia’s death or why.

  The good news was that Josie’s name was finally cleared. Hal Stuart publicly acknowledged that the audit had revealed Josie to be an excellent treasurer, and the mayor’s office was happy to have her back.

  Monday, she would return to work. Life would return to normal. Kind of.

  Thursday night, Jack had dinner with his parents. Ben was his usual effervescent self. Betty was slightly anxious, but Jack saw her gaze going to his father time and time again. There was a new softness around her eyes, a new glow to her face. Their ordeal hadn’t fractured his mother. It seemed to have given her more faith. Perhaps she’d realized what Ben had been saying all along. Life was messy, and families worked together to clean it up.

  Jack thought his father was a very smart man. So Friday night, he decided he’d waited long enough. He put on his best suit, stopped by the jeweler’s and visited the florist. He was ready.

  * * *

  Josie was still yawning when the doorbell rang. This recovery business was hard work, and everyone knew she took her job seriously. If she slept anymore, she was going to sink so deep into her feather mattress they would never find her body. She hadn’t even bothered to get dressed for three consecutive days. She loved decadence.

  Belting her red kimono robe more tightly around her waist, she wandered to her front door and spied one sharp-looking Jack Stryker through the peephole. Already she was smiling.

  “Who is it?” she called out playfully.

  “A moderate Republican in search of a good time.”

  “I think that’s an oxymoron,” she informed him, but opened the door gamely. Jack promptly withdrew the dozen peach roses from behind his back and held them out.

  “I believe you requested these.”

  “Oh, oh my. Okay, you can come in and play.”

  She bustled away to put the roses in water. They were the real thing, complete with huge thorns and a wonderfully fresh scent. She didn’t have any vases so she stuck the dozen in a canning jar after clipping off the ends. Her first bouquet of fresh roses.

  “Nice day at the office, dear?” she teased, arranging her flowers.

  Jack sighed and appeared momentarily disgruntled. “No progress,” he grumbled. “Joanna will serve time for the murder, but we haven’t moved beyond that. We still don’t know why, Josie. Someone paid one hundred thousand dollars for Olivia’s death and fifty to frame you. That’s pretty darn serious money, and we don’t know who and we don’t know why. Hell, we don’t even know if it was something personal or something professional.”

  Josie didn’t answer. She didn’t know, either. Olivia had been her best friend, but she had been a private person. Not even her children, Hal or Eve, seemed to know much about Olivia’s personal life.

  “Well,” Jack said at last, his tone more brisk. “We’ll catch up with this Dean Springer character sooner or later, and with a bit of pressure, I’m sure he’ll give up his boss. We’ll find him. Now, my dear—” he swept her close to him “—I didn’t come here just to talk about work.”

  “No?” She ran her finger down his chest, toying with one of the pearly buttons. “What did you come here for?” she asked as innocently as possible. A rich warmth was already coursing through her.

  “Dinner.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes, I believe I still have some making up to do. If memory serves, we discussed flowers—” he waved to the peach roses “—and fine dining. Hmm, you might want to change clothes.”

  He patted her silk robe, then realized she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it and became a little distracted. With effort, he drew back. “Why don’t you put on a dress, Josie. I have dinner reservations at the finest restaurant imaginable.”

  “Randolphs?”

  “Better.”

  Puzzled and amused, Josie retreated to her room long enough to get dressed. Stryker in a romantic mood was pretty hard to resist. She settled on the black skirt and white silk blouse she’d wanted to wear on their first date a few weeks ago. She was rewarded by the frank appreciation darkening Stryker’s eyes. Not bad at all.

  He didn’t drive her to Randolphs. He drove them out of town, then kept heading up the mountain. Abruptly, he pulled over. Josie looked around in bewilderment.

  “Uh, Jack. There’s nothing here.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  He opened the car door for her, took her hand and led her straight into the woods. They had to walk slowly, her black suede heels not exactly cut out for this business. Abruptly, the trees broke, revealing a gentle lake rippling with moonlight and deep mountain grass swaying with the breeze. The sky stretched out like rich velvet above them, sprinkled lavishly with stars and winking like a child. In the distance, an owl pulsed the air with “whoo, whoo. Whoo, whoo.”

  A picnic table was set up by the shore. Jack flared a match, and a minute later, two candles flickered brightly from their sterling silver bases.

  “Oh, my.” Josie sighed.

  Jack had obviously given this some thought. The picnic table was covered in fine linen and heavy with silver serving platters and thin china plates. The benches on both sides had been covered with cushions.

  “Your chair,” Jack said grandly, obviously quite pleased with himself.

  Josie sat, inspecting the dishes and discovering an exquisite fare of chilled shrimp cocktails, spinach salad and poached dill salmon. The last platter contained a lush array of sweet ripe strawberries dipped in chocolate.

  “Will you father my children?” Josie murmured, completely awestruck. “Seriously.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Now Jack was definitely smug.

  He served her first, then himself, and they both ate with lusty appreciation of fine food. There was chilled white wine and thick crystal glasses filled with water. Of course, some small buggy things committed hari-kari in the candles, but it really was a perfect dinner.

  “I thought you would like outdoors,” Jack said at last, finishing off his salmon, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin and pushing back his plate. “Given all our quality time in caves.”

  “I certainly ha
ve a new appreciation for open spaces,” Josie assured him. She took his hand. “Jack, this was perfect.”

  “I wanted to do something special, Josie. I wanted to show you just how much you mean to me.”

  She opened her mouth, but he silenced her by placing a finger over her lips. “There’s one last thing, you know.”

  She raised a brow in silent question.

  “I gave you flowers, I presented you with a fine dinner. But I believe you also mentioned precious gems. Yes, exactly. You said after flowers and dinner, my apology would have to move on to precious gems. Well, I’d hate to disappoint.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket. His fingers were trembling slightly and his stomach had tied into knots. He didn’t doubt what he was doing for a moment, however. He drew out the blue velvet ring box, and very carefully, he opened it.

  The solitaire diamond winked in the moonlight and burned with an inner flame.

  “Josie Reynolds, will you marry me?”

  Josie stared at the diamond. She stared at Jack. She struggled very hard to say “Yes!” but only succeeded in working her mouth like a blowfish.

  “Take a drink of wine,” Jack suggested.

  She drained her glass. “Yes!” she burst out. “Definitely yes. Of course, yes. Oh, oh, this is so perfect!”

  She scrambled out of the picnic bench. Jack caught her against him before she toppled them both to the ground and returned her kisses just as passionately.

  “I love you, Josie.”

  “I love you, Stryker.”

  He slipped the ring on her finger while the moon rippled across the lake and the owls murmured their consent.

  About the Author

  Alicia Scott is the award-winning author of thirteen romantic suspense novels, including Maggie’s Man, MacNamara’s Woman and Brandon’s Bride. In addition to winning an award for career achievement from RT Book Reviews, Alicia was also a finalist for a prestigious RITA® Award for best contemporary romance for MacNamara’s Woman. Living in New England with her family, Alicia now writes hard-edged suspense as Lisa Gardner. For more information on both careers, please visit www.lisagardner.com.

  ISBN-13: 9781460343173

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Alicia Scott for her contribution to the 36 Hours series.

  Partners in Crime

  Copyright © 1998 by Harlequin Books S.A.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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