“No,” Luther muttered, grabbing her and gently drawing her back. He didn’t like the kid. More than that, he didn’t like the way the kid looked at Cleo, all moony eyes and broken hearts. The piano player was fairly high on his list of suspects, but all Luther had in the way of proof was an apparent schoolboy crush. Eric didn’t look at all like a coldblooded killer, but there was one thing Luther had learned in the past several years: looks could be deceiving.
Cleo turned to him, smiled, and came up on her toes to kiss him briefly. “I missed you, I thought about you all day, I could spend all night right here. But this is business. I’ll be right back. Edgar,” she called in a louder voice, “fix Luther a cup of coffee and a sandwich.”
Eric led the way to her office, and Cleo followed the kid. God, he loved to watch her walk away....
When the two of them were in the office, Luther walked quietly down the hallway and stopped outside the almost-closed door. Eric mentioned a song he’d like to play one night soon, and Cleo agreed. They talked about the set for Valentine’s Day, and then Eric lowered his voice. Luther strained to hear, wondering if he should interrupt, but then Cleo spoke, a smile in her voice.
“That’s great,” she said.
Luther made his way back to the bar. Like Cleo had said, strictly business.
Edgar placed the coffee and sandwich before him in a matter of minutes. Instead of moving away, as he usually did, the bartender took up residence on the other side of the bar, a scowl on his face and one eye almost shut, he squinted so hard.
“What are your intentions toward Cleo?” the older man finally asked, practically spitting out the words.
Luther finished what was in his mouth and took a long swallow of coffee. “Are you asking me if those intentions are honorable?”
“I am.”
“What are you, her father?”
Edgar’s nostrils flared. “She doesn’t need some cop coming around, acting like he has the right to take what he wants with no concern for her feelings. She has feelings, you know.”
“I know.” He almost felt guilty for suspecting Eric and Edgar. They cared about Cleo and made no bones about it. It would be easier for her if the killer was a stranger. Someone she could easily and gratefully dismiss from her life, once the guy was behind bars. If it did turn out to be someone she considered a friend...
“She deserves better than to be manhandled by the likes of you.”
“I don’t...” Luther began. His beeper went off, and he grabbed at it impatiently. Ray. He snagged his cell phone from an inside jacket pocket and dialed the number.
Ray answered his own cell phone. “We’re going to the hospital!” he shouted over the sound of traffic in the background.
Luther’s heart almost stopped. Not again. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Grace is in labor.”
Luther breathed a sigh of relief. Of course. “Great. Call me when it gets here.”
“This is a baby, Luther, not an it. And I will not call you when he or she arrives. We want you to be there.”
His sandwich did a little dance in his stomach. “I don’t have to actually be there. Do I?”
Ray laughed. “No, we’ll let you pace in the waiting room, you coward. But we do want you close. Bring Cleo, if you want.”
“Okay.”
“Luther,” Ray said more solemnly. “You still haven’t given us an answer.”
“I know.”
“We’re counting on you, man.”
Luther shook his head. He didn’t want anyone counting on him, not personally. Give him a crime to solve, a bad guy to crack, a job to do. That he could handle. But this… first Cleo and now the Madigan baby. It was almost more than he could stand.
“I’ll be there.” He hit the end button and headed for Cleo’s office. Without knocking, he pushed open her door. Eric sat on one side of the desk, Cleo sat on the other. They both jumped when the door flew open.
“Grace is having her baby,” he said. “Come with me.”
“Sure.” Cleo rose gracefully. “Eric, you can perform solo tonight. Try out that song you wrote. I’ll look over the lyrics later, and we’ll use it next week, for sure.” She looked at Luther again. “Do we need to go now?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I need to make a stop or two on the way.”
Luther wouldn’t tell her what was in the huge bag he carried. In fact, he’d been oddly silent since they’d gotten to the hospital. He paced as if he was about to become a father himself.
She almost wondered why he’d asked her to come along, but every now and then he looked at her and she could tell that her presence calmed him, somehow. So she was happy to sit and smile and read outdated magazines until the middle of the night.
Finally, a grinning Ray came into the waiting room. “It’s a girl.”
“Of course it is,” Luther said, giving a relieved smile.
“Come on back.” Ray led them down a hallway and into a room where Grace sat up in bed with a tiny pink-wrapped bundle in her arms. The new mother looked exhausted but happy. Beaming, in fact.
“Is everything all right?” Luther asked, placing his large bag on the floor.
“Everything went great,” Ray said. “Grace was wonderful, and I got to cut the cord.”
Luther grimaced. “Isn’t that what you paid the doctor for?”
“Come and look at her,” Ray said, grinning widely. “Angel Madigan.”
“Angel,” Luther said as he bent cautiously over the bed to get a look at the baby’s face.
Ray was not satisfied. He carefully lifted the baby from Grace’s arms and handed her to Luther, before he could move away or protest. After a moment of sheer terror, Luther relaxed and even smiled.
“Lucky for you,” Luther teased, “she looks like her mother.” He turned around and walked toward Cleo.
She felt like an intruder here, among people who’d been friends for so long. “I should wait outside,” she said softly.
“Don’t you want to see it?” Luther asked.
“Her,” Ray and Grace said at the same time.
“Sorry. Don’t you want to see her?” He held the baby close.
“Sure.” Cleo was fascinated by dark blue eyes, a little bow of a mouth and full cheeks. Even more, she was fascinated by the way Luther held the baby. His arms were so big, with that tiny baby snuggled in them, but he was sure and steady as a rock. “She’s gorgeous.”
Luther lowered his voice. “She’s red and her head is shaped like a melon.”
“I heard that,” Ray said, apparently taking no offense.
“Quit eavesdropping and open your present,” Luther said, nodding toward the bag he’d left by the door.
Ray collected the bag and placed it on the single chair in the room. He reached inside and pulled out something large and black and bulky.
“A bulletproof vest,” he said, sounding confused.
“I’ll get you another one next week,” Luther said, his eyes on the baby. “You each need your own.”
Ray set the vest aside and dug down in the bag. “And vitamins.”
“His and hers,” Luther mumbled. “Take them. Every day.”
Grace smiled. “Does this mean your answer is yes? You’ll be Angel’s godfather?”
“Do you have air bags in both vehicles?”
“Yes,” Grace said, almost laughing.
“Then, the answer is yes.” He handed the baby to Cleo, his movements deliberate and cautious. “You want to hold her?”
“I shouldn’t,” Cleo said as he deposited the baby in her arms. Oh, but it felt right. Red faced and melon headed and all, Angel Madigan was a beautiful baby. Little Angel opened her eyes, cast a glance up and settled comfortably in Cleo’s arms.
So completely trusting, Cleo thought with wonder. Had she ever trusted anyone so much? She’d spent the past few years waiting to be dropped, she knew that much. She’d never even considered the possibility that she might one day have a child of her own.
But now she was thinking… maybe. One day.
“Uh-oh,” Ray said, moving forward. “Cleo’s getting that maternal look. I’d better rescue her while I can.” He gently took the baby, kissed Angel on the forehead and settled into the chair beside Grace’s bed. “They’re contagious, you know,” he teased. “You see one of these babies and before you know it you’re having your own.”
Cleo shook her head. “I’ll just visit yours.”
“Anytime.”
Grace looked exhausted, with good reason. “We should go,” Luther said, taking Cleo’s arm. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“Great,” Ray said. “And Luther—” his happy smile disappeared “—thank you. You have no idea what this means to us.”
Luther was obviously embarrassed. “Just… take the damn vitamins.”
“You got it.”
Chapter Twelve
Luther sent Boone home and knocked soundly on Cleo’s door. He hadn’t slept much last night, and he was crankier than usual. He wasn’t supposed to dream about the way Cleo looked holding a baby; he wasn’t supposed to wake up in the night reaching for her.
She opened the door with a smile on her face, so he assumed she’d used her peephole to see who’d come knocking. Her black curls were a mess, and she wore those flannel pants and a baggy T-shirt. She wasn’t just out of bed, but she hadn’t been up long. She had that warm, rumpled look about her, a trace of dreams left in her eyes. God, she was beautiful.
One long look at him, and her smile slowly died. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Rambo joined her, tail wagging, tongue lolling.
“Nothing. I’m here to take you to lunch.” He realized, as the words left his mouth, that he hadn’t asked her, he’d ordered. Like a drill sergeant. “You haven’t already eaten, have you?”
She backed up and made way for him to enter. “No. Lunch sounds great.”
He hesitated. It would be best if he waited here on the porch while she got ready. Best and much, much safer. He followed her inside, glancing around warily as he closed the door behind him and reached down to pet Rambo’s head. “We need to talk.”
“Sure,” she said. “Let me make you a pot of coffee. You can have a cup or two while I dress.”
She’d made coffee for him once before, and it had been pretty bad. He had no idea how to tactfully tell a woman she’d done something wrong. Seemed safer to just drink the damn coffee and keep his opinion to himself. “Great,” he muttered from the kitchen doorway.
Smiling, she began to gather together what she needed. Rambo carried her favorite ball to Luther and dropped it at his feet. Luther knew what was expected; he kicked the ball into the living room, and Rambo gave chase.
“Or… I can make coffee while you get ready,” he offered.
“No, I need the practice,” she said as she measured out the grounds. “Boone showed me what I was doing wrong.”
“Oh, he did?” Suddenly Luther wished he’d hired some little old man to watch over Cleo. Sure, he trusted Boone with his life and Cleo’s, but could you trust any Sinclair with your woman? Probably not. His unease didn’t last long. Even if he didn’t trust Boone, he did trust Cleo. The realization struck him like a hammer between the eyes. He’d never trusted a woman before. Never. They were flaky like his mother, telling one tale this minute and another tale the next. They were deceitful, like the women he came across in his line of work. They ran when the going got rough, the way Grace had once run from Ray.
He didn’t believe Cleo would do any of those things.
In fact, he knew she wouldn’t. She was honest, sometimes painfully so. She was solid, in a way the other women he’d known were not. And she freely confessed that she was falling in love with him, a fact that scared and encouraged him at the same time.
She got the coffee started and turned to him with that come-hither smile that grabbed his heart, and other regions, too. Yeah, he definitely should’ve waited on the porch.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she walked slowly toward him. “I need to know what to wear.”
“Tim’s Cajun Kitchen,” he said. “If that suits you. I have a craving for gumbo.”
“If you’re having cravings, you’ve been spending way too much time with Grace.”
“We can go somewhere else, if you’d like,” he said, as she met him in the doorway. He really should step back and let her pass, but he wasn’t ready to do that, not just yet.
“Are you kidding? I’d walk over broken glass to get to Tim’s bread pudding.” She smiled as she said this, then cocked her head and set her eyes on his mouth.
The time for him to step aside had come and gone, and still he stood here, blocking Cleo’s exit, staring down at her and doing his best to look his fill. He couldn’t get enough of her; he didn’t want to move. Ever. Behind her, the fresh coffee gurgled and filled the room with its fragrant aroma.
One kiss, he decided as he reached out and brushed a long strand of curling hair away from Cleo’s face. One kiss wouldn’t be so bad. Besides, he needed that one kiss. He absolutely, positively had to have it.
She took the final step that brought her to him. Close enough for touching, close enough to feel her heat. Her body barely skimmed his, her hand snaked beneath his jacket and reached around to caress his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. His arms encircled her possessively, and when he lowered his head to kiss her, just once, she came up on her toes to meet him halfway.
Their lips touched and he lost it. He forgot everything else but this. How could a kiss be comforting and arousing at the same time? Cleo’s was. How could a woman kiss decadently and innocently at the same time? Cleo did. Her eyes remained trustingly closed, her hands and mouth were as greedy as his. He felt the shudder that snaked through her body, the tremble of her hands at his back.
He spun her around as they kissed and pressed her back against the doorjamb. He tasted her, deep and then with the tip of his tongue against her lower lip. His hands dipped to rest on her hips, to hold her against him while he plundered her mouth.
He couldn’t break away, didn’t want to. The kiss fed something inside him, something more than sexual. He hadn’t known he could feel this way, hungry and on the edge of control. Wanting to fall over that edge, willing to risk anything to have this woman beneath and around him.
It was the catch low in her throat that almost sent him reeling. He could so easily say to hell with the rules, pick her up and carry her to bed where they’d stay all day and all night. He’d never in his life wanted anything as much as he wanted to do just that.
He took his mouth from Cleo’s, and she dropped her head to his shoulder, finding the side of his neck with soft, caressing lips. “This isn’t fair,” she whispered.
“No, it’s not.”
“I’ve waited for you for so long...”
And he had waited for her, hadn’t he? He tangled his hands in her hair. “When this is over, you’re going to close the club for a couple of weeks, or else put someone else in charge.”
“I am?”
“Yes, you are. We’re going to Florida on vacation, and I hope we can get a room with a view because if we don’t we might never see the ocean.”
She sighed, long and sweet, and he took that to mean that she liked the idea. Her head fell back, and she looked up at him with dreamy eyes, those well-kissed lips as tempting as anything he’d ever seen.
Rambo pawed insistently at Luther’s leg, and when he looked down, the dog dropped the ball at his feet.
“Your timing is terrible, mutt,” Luther murmured as he kicked the ball into the living room once again.
Cleo dropped her arms and slipped past him. “I’ll get dressed. The coffee’s almost ready.”
Coffee wouldn’t cure what he had a hankering for now, but what choice did he have?
They were obscenely stuffed with Cajun food and Tim’s fabulous bread pudding. Cleo had a suspicion the slow walk they were taking around the park would do nothing to burn those calories. At
the moment, she didn’t care. Lunch had been great, and walking with Luther beside her was wonderful. The weather was almost springlike. A sweater over her cream-colored pants and blouse was plenty to keep her warm, and the sun shone on her face, promising warmer days to come. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this happy. Not giddy-happy, but deep-down content.
“How much longer?” she asked as they rounded a bend in the path and came upon a gathering of ducks at the edge of the pond. “Do you have any idea who killed Jack and the heckler?”
Luther didn’t answer right away, so Cleo jumped in quickly. “I guess you can’t tell me. That’s okay. I’m just a little impatient.” She shot him a smile. “I haven’t been to Florida in ages.”
He draped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “We don’t have nearly as much as I’d like. We’re discreetly checking out as many of your regulars as we can. Mikey’s been taking pictures on the sly. I’ve got someone checking into Palmer, but he’s a long shot. I’ve done a little digging into Randi’s past, as well as Corey Flinger’s. He has an alibi for the night Jack was killed. It’s not great. If I keep digging I might be able to shake it loose. But I can’t see why they’d bother with Webb, unless it was strictly to send us in the wrong direction.”
“I’m sorry things aren’t going well.”
He stroked her arm, warming her. “I wish you had an alibi,” he said.
“Being in bed with the homicide detective in charge makes for a pretty good one, I imagine,” she teased.
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered. “But I was talking about Jack, not Webb. You have more motive than anyone. I know you didn’t do it. I know you couldn’t. And like you said, your alibi where Webb is concerned is airtight.”
She tried to smile, but it wasn’t easy. Until this crime was solved they couldn’t possibly move forward. For the first time in ages, she wanted to move forward. She wanted to know what came next, what the future held.
“You don’t want to hear it, I know,” he said. “But we have to consider the possibility that Edgar or Eric, or maybe even both—”
CAPTURING CLEO Page 14