Roses After Midnight

by Linda Randall Wisdom

  Luc’s jaw clenched. “I don’t run away from anything.” Or anyone, he thought.

  Celeste didn’t look convinced. “Don’t worry, Mr. Dante. You don’t have to run from me if we happen to see each other on the street.”

  “We’re on opposite sides,” Luc muttered.

  “Opposite sex, yes. Opposite sides, I don’t think so. We have the same goals. We both want to see the good guy win.” And with that, she moved away.

  Luc could swear Celeste Bradshaw had just gotten the best of him. He left the bar before he could give in to the suggestions racing through his mind. Foremost would have been to drag her over the bar and kiss her senseless.

  Maybe if he gave in to his baser instincts, he’d be able to get her out of his system—before insanity took over.

  Dear Reader,

  The days are hot and the reading is hotter here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. Linda Turner is back with the next of THOSE MARRYING MCBRIDES! in Always a McBride. Taylor Bishop has only just found out about his familial connection—and he has no idea it’s going to lead him straight to love.

  In Shooting Starr, Kathleen Creighton ratchets up both the suspense and the romance in a story of torn loyalties you’ll long remember. Carla Cassidy returns to CHEROKEE CORNERS in Last Seen…, a novel about two people whose circumstances ought to prevent them from falling in love but don’t. On Dean’s Watch is the latest from reader favorite Linda Winstead Jones, and it will keep you turning the pages as her federal marshal hero falls hard for the woman he’s supposed to be keeping an undercover watch over. Roses After Midnight, by Linda Randall Wisdom, is a suspenseful look at the hunt for a serial rapist—and the blossoming of an unexpected romance. Finally, take a look at Debra Cowan’s Burning Love and watch passion flare to life between a female arson investigator and the handsome cop who may be her prime suspect.

  Enjoy them all—and come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance reading around.

  Yours,

  Leslie J. Wainger

  Executive Editor

  Roses After Midnight

  LINDA RANDALL WISDOM

  Books by Linda Randall Wisdom

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  No More Secrets #640

  No More Mister Nice Guy #741

  In Memory’s Shadow #782

  A Stranger Is Watching #879

  Mirror, Mirror #1049

  Small-Town Secrets #1131

  Roses After Midnight #1235

  Silhouette Romance

  Dancer in the Shadows #49

  Fourteen Karat Beauty #95

  Bright Tomorrow #132

  Dreams from the Past #166

  Snow Queen #241

  Silhouette Special Edition

  A Man with Doubts #27

  Unspoken Past #74

  Island Rogue #160

  Business as Usual #190

  A World of Their Own #220

  LINDA RANDALL WISDOM

  grew up never imagining being anything other than a writer. In high school, her journalism instructor encouraged her fiction writing, but in college, her journalism adviser told her she wouldn’t get anywhere in fiction writing, while women were needed in the newspaper field. She wasn’t totally derailed, just delayed for a while until the day she wrote her first two novels, Dancer in the Shadows and Fourteen Karat Beauty, which she sold to Silhouette Romance on her wedding anniversary in 1979. From that day on, she never looked back.

  She lives in Southern California with her husband, a spoiled-rotten terrier/Chihuahua mix named Bogie, who’s also on her Web site, four parrots, five Siamese fighting fish and a tortoise named Florence. All of her pets have shown up in her books. She also likes to include at least one true incident in each book. Many of them have come from friends and prove that truth is stranger than fiction!

  She can be contacted through her Web site http://occrwa.com/lindawisdom.

  Many thanks to my agent, Karen Solem, for being there when I needed her and for reminding me I can do it.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Prologue

  N ancy couldn’t stop smiling. For once, Gary had actually listened to her!

  Earlier that evening, she’d come home, once again furious with her boyfriend for caring more about spending time at a sports bar called The End Zone watching football than spending time with her. Even after she’d warned him at lunch the other day that she was sick and tired of his wanting to be with his friends more than he wanted to be with her. How could he tell her she was important to him, then go off with his idiot friends?

  She’d come back to their apartment with her mind firmly made up. As far as she was concerned, the man was out of second chances.

  She wasn’t sure what later woke her out of her light sleep. She’d been about to scream when a hand gently covered her mouth.

  “Let me show you how I really feel about you,” a man had whispered against her ear.

  Then he had backed up his words with deeds. And such wonderful deeds they were.

  To keep with the mystery, he’d covered her eyes with a silk scarf, insisted on the lights remaining off, kept his voice at a whisper and, afterwards, had drawn her a bath and even washed her hair before carrying her back to bed. Afterwards, he’d left as silently as he arrived. She couldn’t understand why he insisted on the mystery, but she wasn’t about to complain as long as he was finally concentrating on her!

  Now she lay there feeling exhilarated from the incredible night Gary had given her.

  Her smile widened when she heard the door open and close.

  Gary’s back, she thought to herself as she sat up and switched on the lamp by the bed. She even thought about returning the favor.

  Bumps against a wall heralded Gary’s arrival before he finally lurched his way into the bedroom. The yeasty smell of beer surrounded him.

  His face was slack and eyes glassy from too much alcohol.

  “I’m sorry, baby, I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he slurred. Unable to hold his balance, he fell onto the bed in a drunken heap and promptly passed out.

  Chapter 1

  “D o you care to tell me what Luc Dante has to do with Prince Charming, Bradshaw?”

  The growled demand was enough to make anyone quaver with fear. Chief of Detectives Sam Adams was an imposing man. A former marine with a bite to match his bark, he was known to take no prisoners and suffer no idiots. And that was if he was in a good mood.

  Oddly, Detective Celeste Bradshaw never felt any fear of the man. But she still did her best to never cross him.

  Right now, she was working on perhaps two hours sleep, five cups of coffee that had turned to acid in her stomach and a cinnamon muffin that she’d eaten hours ago. In other words, her nerves were humming.

  “Lieutenant, Parker and I have come up with a common thread we’ve recently discovered in the Prince Charming case.”

  The man considered her with a decided lack of expression. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile. Rumor in the station was that if the man smiled, you knew you were in deep trouble.

  “So you’re saying Luc Dante is that thread?” he asked. “You do realize you’re talking about the man whose restaurant held a private dinner for the mayor and the city council last night when the last rape occurred?”

  Celeste lo
wered her voice. “Yes, sir, I do. But one thing the victims had in common was the fact they had all dined at Dante’s Cafe.”

  “A lot of people eat there. Hell, I do,” he pointed out. “Are you saying you think Dante is Prince Charming?” he said between clenched teeth, glowering at her.

  She kept her courage before her like a shield as she faced him. “No, sir, we don’t think he’s the rapist. But we do feel there could be a connection between the restaurant and the rapes.”

  Sam still regarded her with a stern gaze. “And Parker agrees with all this?”

  “I agree with Bradshaw,” Dylan Parker said, walking up to them. “When last night’s victim recounted her schedule for the past few days, she mentioned she and her boyfriend having lunch at Dante’s Cafe a couple days ago. We called Mr. Dante this morning and asked him if he’d come by the station.”

  “When you don’t consider a man a suspect, you don’t have him come to the station for any kind of questioning.” The lieutenant did not look happy.

  “There’s more involved than just that,” Celeste replied. “We’re hoping he’ll be willing to help us.”

  The lieutenant cocked his head as he listened to her plan. He finally nodded. “If you screw up, it will all be on your head.” With that, he walked off.

  Dylan shook his head. “Well, that was heartwarming,” he muttered. “Nothing like getting that warm and fuzzy feeling from your boss.” He glanced at his partner. “Ready to play cop?” He gestured to the closed door to their right.

  She nodded as she picked up her notes. “Let’s do it.”

  Celeste opened the door and stopped short.

  Ohmigod!

  Luc didn’t like feeling closed in.

  When he received a phone call that morning from a Detective Celeste Bradshaw asking him to come down to the police station, he had been tempted to turn her request over to his attorney. He knew he hadn’t done anything remotely illegal in the past seventeen years, so there was no reason for him to be here. Hell, he even overfed the parking meters. But she’d said she hoped he could help them with a case. Luc never gave in to curiosity, but there was something about the lady’s voice that had him wondering what the face looked like. Recalling the cops he’d dealt with twenty-some years ago, he figured she would look like someone’s nightmare.

  At the station, an officer had ushered him into an interview room and closed the door. As Luc sat waiting for the detective to come in, he felt a strangling sensation as if all the air had been sucked out of the small room. To get his mind off the feeling, he looked around.

  Some things never change. No pictures on walls that were painted what he would call “institutional green.” The only furniture was a plain wooden table and three equally plain chairs that were as uncomfortable as hell. But then, who wants prisoners comfortable during their interrogation? At least this room didn’t have a mirror, so he wouldn’t wonder who was observing him from the other side.

  Why the hell was he here?

  He turned his head when the door opened. A woman and man entered.

  She definitely wasn’t his idea of a cop.

  “Mr. Dante, I’m Detective Bradshaw and this is my partner, Detective Parker.” The woman smiled at him as she held out her hand. “Would you care for something to drink? Some coffee, perhaps?”

  “I’d prefer being told why I’m here,” Luc said, taking her hand even though a part of him didn’t want to. Forget what they told you as a kid. Cops aren’t your friends.

  “Actually, Mr. Dante, we’re hoping you can help us out.” Detective Parker’s smile didn’t have the twenty-four-karat quality of Detective Bradshaw’s. His was more “we’re just buddies here.”

  Bull.

  Luc kept his attention on Bradshaw. Cops had sure changed since he dealt with them on a regular basis. She not only dressed better, she smelled better. If he wasn’t mistaken, the tailored shirt she wore was silk, and he’d hazard a guess that one ounce of her perfume cost more than most police detectives make in a month. Delicately etched features, shoulder-length golden-blond hair pulled back and secured at the nape with a black ribbon, large eyes that were an intriguing blend of green and gray, a generous mouth colored a light rose, and discreet gold hoop earrings.

  She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and he damned his mind and body for reacting to her.

  Luc wondered how her partner dealt with working with someone so lovely. He was another one to watch out for. The man had a face too young for the gray hair, and his equally gray eyes were the kind that saw too much. Luc figured out their intentions right away. He played bad cop to the lady’s good cop.

  “Mr. Dante, we have asked you to come down in hopes that you can help us,” Celeste said, taking the chair across from him.

  Luc noticed Parker turned his chair around and sat down, resting his arms along the back. He guessed that the couple was not a “couple.” While there was a sense of their being in tune with each other, there was no sense of their sharing more than a job.

  “Planning a special dinner for the Chief of Police?” Luc asked, a sarcastic edge to his voice. Dammit, he didn’t want to be here!

  She ignored his tone. “We’d like to take you into our confidence and hope you’ll understand why you can’t discuss anything we tell you,” she went on. “I’m sure you’ve read the stories about a serial rapist we’ve had in the area who’s been called Prince Charming.”

  Luc jumped to his feet. He slammed his palms down on the tabletop, which rocked under the force. “What the hell is going on that you call me in here about the rapist?”

  Neither moved.

  “First off, Mr. Dante, you are not considered a suspect. But what we’ve discovered in our investigation is that every one of Prince Charming’s victims has been a regular visitor to your restaurant,” Celeste said. “As I said, we do not believe you personally have anything to do with the rapes, but we do feel Dante’s Cafe could be a link.”

  Luc felt a pressure in his chest that threatened to cut off his airway. He’d sweated blood to build his dream. He’d done this to give himself a second chance and offer the same to others. And now the police were telling him that there was a good chance someone he knew was behind a series of rapes. He didn’t give a damn what kind of spin they were trying to put on the situation, he knew the score.

  The lady was telling him that while he wasn’t considered a suspect, someone working at his restaurant could very well be. This wasn’t the kind of publicity any business owner needed.

  He may as well close the doors now.

  “Your reasoning for the restaurant being a link is that the victims dined there,” he said. “There’s been—what?—four, five rapes in the past six months, correct? A great deal more than four or five women have eaten there in the past week alone.” He speared Bradshaw with a chilling gaze.

  It didn’t even faze her. She leafed through her notebook but didn’t look down to consult her notes as she spoke.

  “Two days ago Nancy Gerard and Gary Young celebrated Nancy’s birthday at Dante’s Cafe,” she said. “Last night, someone broke in to her apartment and raped her. Janice Bowen had lunch there about once a week since it was near her office. Barbara Miller was another frequent customer, along with Lauren Davis and Marie Richardson. We think there could be even more victims who haven’t reported the crime for one reason or another. Unfortunately, many rape victims don’t come forward.”

  “Which is not good publicity for the town, is it.” Luc wondered how someone who looked like her was willing to be a cop. “The town council knows the tourist trade will dry up if the rapist continues attacking. No one cares if he’s called Prince Charming.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she said, ignoring the bite to his words. “We’d like to place someone undercover in your restaurant.”

  Luc’s first reaction was to laugh. His second was to tell her “no way in hell!” He chose laughter.

  “Really? What if I refuse your kind
offer? What will you do next? Will the Health Department show up with a variety of infractions or the Fire Department cite me for new fire violations?”

  “None of the above. We just want someone in there to observe. As it happens, you need a bartender and I have bartending experience.”

  “What?” Luc heard her partner’s snort of disbelief echo his own. Aha. The lady hadn’t discussed that idea with Parker.

  “That’s not what we discussed,” Parker muttered.

  She ignored him, too, as she leaned across the table. “I worked six nights a week as a bartender when I was in college. You name a drink, I can make it,” she said confidently.

  “If anyone goes in there undercover, it should be me,” Parker told her.

  Bradshaw shook her head. “The only drink you can whip up is a mean margarita.” She turned back to Luc. “To begin the charade, l will even come in to properly interview for the job.”

  “Tell me something, Detective Bradshaw. Have you ever worked undercover before?” Luc asked, when what he really wanted to say was that the last thing he wanted was a cop working in his restaurant.

  She smiled. “Yes, I have. Look, Mr. Dante, I’m afraid of the rapist striking again and I’ll do whatever it takes to get to him first,” she replied.

  “Understandable, but how do you know a friend won’t come into the restaurant and blow your cover?”

  “It’s a common fact that few people truly look at anyone who serves them. A proper server is usually considered nothing more than a piece of furniture.”

  His glance skated over her. “I can’t imagine anyone seeing you as a piece of furniture.”

  Parker shrugged. “Personally, I always thought she looked like one of those fancy side tables,” he murmured, deadpan.

  Luc looked from one to the other. The set expressions on their faces told him they weren’t going to give up. They were determined to solve their case, and if they had to drag him into it, they would.