Roses After Midnight

by Linda Randall Wisdom

  “Zane,” Dylan muttered.

  “Mr. Zane.” Celeste’s greeting was more cordial but still cool. “I’m sure you, of all people, can understand we’re here to speak with Ms. Bowen about her case. This isn’t anything that requires legal representation.”

  “Legal representation is never anything to sneeze at, Detective. I’m merely here to provide moral support for Janice.” He flashed a smile—the kind any prosecuting attorney knew foretold a legal attack that usually left the prosecutor foundering and the case declared in favor of Zane’s client.

  No wonder the police weren’t fond of him.

  Celeste knew many women considered Will Zane a good-looking man. He was an imposing figure in a charcoal chalk-striped Italian designer suit that favored his tall form. She knew there was more than one woman who’d fallen under his spell. She considered herself lucky to be immune to the man’s stockpile of charm.

  She pointedly ignored a tiny voice that told her she’d be feeling entirely different if he were dark-haired with a dark intense gaze that seemed to see all the way to her soul.

  “I understand this is difficult for you, Janice.” She kept her voice low and comforting. “But I was hoping if we went over that night again, something might occur to you that hasn’t before.”

  “All I’ve tried to do since that night is forget every second, and now you want me to remember?” Her face twisted. “Have you ever been raped? Do you have any idea what it’s like?”

  “No, I don’t,” Celeste admitted. “But I’ve talked to enough women to know it’s something that will never leave you. That your best closure is to see your attacker caught. That’s what we want to do, Janice. We want to find this man and bring him to justice. But the only way we can do it is to sift through every piece of evidence and re-interview everyone involved in hopes something new will come to light.”

  Janice blinked rapidly to keep tears at bay. Will got up and walked over to the credenza set against one wall. He poured water into a glass and brought it back to the table. He gently pressed Janice’s hands around the glass. She smiled gratefully and took a sip.

  “You were in bed asleep,” Celeste prompted.

  Janice nodded. “I don’t know why I woke up,” she said, each word sounding filled with pain. “It was as if something brushed across my face. When I opened my eyes, I realized someone was leaning over me.”

  “Did you think it was Mark?”

  She shook her head. “He was in Chicago on business,” she whispered. “We talked on the phone that evening.” Janice stared off into space. “He kept telling me I deserved to be loved. Then he covered my eyes with something.” Her fingers fluttered by her face.

  “When we first talked, you said he only spoke in whispers,” Celeste said. “That he didn’t speak with an accent.”

  “No accent and he never spoke above a whisper. He told me I was beautiful and deserved so much more than I had. Then he lifted my nightgown—” She choked on the words. “And he touched me and pushed himself inside me. All the time he kept telling me he loved me.”

  Dylan spoke up. “Yet you never screamed, never tried to fight him.”

  Will’s green gaze speared them. “I thought Janice was the victim here.”

  Celeste refused to back down under his intimidating stare. “We need to understand everything. So far, none of the victims has fought back.”

  “It’s all right,” Janice assured her boss. “She’s asking what I’ve asked myself all along. Why didn’t I fight or scream.” She turned back to Celeste. “So much ran through my mind that night. I was afraid he might be holding a weapon that I couldn’t see because of the blindfold. I also hoped that if he got what he came for, he would just finish and leave without hurting me.” Her hands continued their contortions.

  Celeste ached to reach out and grasp the woman’s hands, but she knew that many rape victims couldn’t bear to be touched. Guessing by the dry-looking skin, Janice also washed her hands a lot. She recalled one victim who took six showers a day because she never felt clean enough.

  “I can understand this is very difficult for you, but I’d like you to think back to that night. Was there anything that might have stuck in the back of your mind that you dismissed for one reason or another? Something he might have said to you. Did he wear aftershave or cologne? Was there any kind of odor?”

  Janice shook her head. “I didn’t even think about anything, other than praying it would all soon be over.”

  Celeste continued her questioning for another five minutes, until she realized she wasn’t going to get anything new from the woman.

  “Thank you, Janice. We appreciate your seeing us again.” She closed her notebook and stood up. She glanced at Dylan and Will. “Gentlemen, would you give us a moment, please?”

  Will opened his mouth as if to argue, but Dylan immediately rose and, as if he were the one in charge, ushered the attorney out the door, making sure it was closed behind them.

  Janice looked at Celeste with wary eyes.

  “I realize your life will never be the same again, but I’d like to make a suggestion,” Celeste said quietly. “Don’t hide yourself away, Janice. Don’t allow this tragedy to turn you into a frightened shell. The best thing you can do for yourself is to go down to the animal shelter and adopt a dog that can be both a companion and a guardian. Find yourself a big dog with big teeth. You used to enjoy going for runs in the mornings. Take the dog with you or use the indoor track at Sierra Sports Club.” Sierra was a local fitness center where she knew the law firm had a corporate membership. “Go out with friends, even if it’s for a drink.”

  “They can’t even look at me,” Janice admitted miserably. “They don’t know what to say to me.”

  “I bet not all of them are that way. Maybe you need to give them a chance. Do not let this man win,” Celeste urged.

  Janice looked down at her bare hands. “Mark said my ‘accident’ would hurt his chances at his company.”

  Celeste muttered a description that was graphic and less than flattering about Janice’s former fiancé. It earned a small smile from Janice.

  “Some men are pigs,” Celeste declared. “There’s someone much better out there for you. But you need to work on going forward. And seek counseling.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Janice asked, as Celeste headed for the door.

  Celeste paused. “I don’t like to see the bad guys win,” she explained. “You’re also too intelligent a woman to allow anyone to get the upper hand.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “You work for Will Zane,” she said. “Anyone who can put up with someone that arrogant has to have a strong core.”

  The corners of Janice’s lips tipped up just a bit. “So you’re suggesting I get a big dog?”

  “They’re the best if you want to go for scare tactics. They’re also good company.” Celeste smiled. “I knew someone who got a mastiff that was the size of a small truck. Looks mean as could be but is actually a big baby.”

  When she stepped out into the hallway, Will stood nearby.

  “You tell her to get a dog?” Dylan asked, pushing himself away from the wall he was leaning against.

  “A big one with lots of teeth. Kind of like her boss.” She glanced slyly in Will’s direction.

  “You asked us to leave just so you could tell her to get a dog?” Will stared at her as if unsure of her motives.

  “A dog would give her some confidence because she would feel safer,” Celeste explained, tucking her notebook into her jacket pocket. “Thank you for the use of your conference room.” She held out her hand.

  Will held it a beat too long before releasing it.

  “Just catch the son of a bitch,” he growled before walking away.

  “I was ready to ask if the two of you wanted to be alone,” Dylan quipped as they headed for the reception area. “He was looking at you as if you were some juicy morsel of femininity.”

  “Wow, listen to the pretty
words. Have you been reading the dictionary again?”

  Dylan’s step faltered as a woman walked down the hallway toward them.

  With hair the color of wildfire twisted on top of her head and a dark bronze suit accentuating a curvy body, she looked more like a showgirl than an attorney.

  “Al.” Dylan greeted the woman tonelessly.

  She flashed teeth worthy of a great white shark. “Dyl.” She mocked his deadpan delivery. She made a production of gazing at her watch. “It’s the eighteenth of the month.”

  “All day.”

  “I expected something from you in this morning’s mail.”

  “I was assured of a three p.m. delivery.” Dylan moved on down the hallway with Celeste right behind him.

  “If not, you’ll receive a call by three-oh-one,” the woman called after him.

  “Delivery?” Celeste inquired once they reached the parking lot.

  Dylan slapped the top of the car with his palm. “She forgets I have until eleven fifty-nine and fifty-nine seconds p.m. Next time, I just might have it delivered at that exact time.”

  “Honestly, Dyl, all you have to do is send her a check.” Celeste slid into the passenger seat.

  Dylan grinned. “Yeah, but that would ruin all my fun.”

  “What did you come up with this time?” She was familiar with her partner’s devious mind when it came to his ex-wife.

  “A nice tall cactus in a pot covered with pennies. Ten thousand pennies to be exact.” Dylan switched on the windshield wipers to clear off the rain that had collected on the windshield.

  “What is it with you two?” She shook her head. “All right, she managed to get alimony when the two of you got divorced, but you don’t make it any easier. If you hadn’t ticked off Judge Waggoner when this all started, you wouldn’t have had to pay a thing.”

  “In the beginning it was a dollar a month,” Dylan reminded her.

  “And because of your behavior in court, the amount went up,” she reminded him. “I bet if you went to Alexa and apologized, she would drop it altogether.”

  “Yeah, but I’d lose the joy of figuring out ways to pay her her blood money, even though the woman makes a hell of a lot more than I do,” he pointed out. “Enough talk about the bloodsucker. Come on, Goldilocks, let’s stop for some coffee before heading back to the station.” Stryker had bestowed the nickname on her, but the other officers had quickly picked up.

  To their surprise, Celeste didn’t resent the nickname. She knew in many ways it fit her. Who would expect a sex crimes detective to be a green-eyed blonde who came from a privileged background? She also doubted they would describe her partner, Dylan Parker, aka The Gray Fox, either. Dylan might be in his early thirties, but genetics had him sporting gray hair before he turned twenty-five and intense granite-gray eyes that seemed to see all the way into a person’s soul.

  From the first day, the duo had meshed as if they’d been partners for years. In no time, they finished each other’s sentences, thought alike and sought the same resolution in every case handed to them. They ensured that the victim saw their attacker brought to justice.

  “Fine with me. I don’t have to be at the restaurant until four for happy hour.” A picture of Luc Dante flashed across her mind’s eye and a tiny kernel of warmth settled in her stomach. She had an idea the man was going to prove to be trouble for her in more ways than one.

  Dylan nodded. “Are you still dating that real estate broker? Bill somebody?”

  Celeste slid onto the passenger seat. “Bill Allen? No, we broke up about a month ago.”

  He glanced in her direction. “Really? He looked like Mr. Perfect to me, even if his pearly whites seemed a little too pearly-white and his handshake was a little too firm.”

  “He had issues,” she explained. “Seems he didn’t like the idea that I carry a weapon.”

  Dylan shook his head. “He knew you were a cop when he first asked you out.”

  “He asked me if I thought it was a good idea for me to carry a weapon on those days,” she said drolly.

  He chuckled. “And you didn’t shoot him?”

  “Of course I didn’t shoot him. Do you think I wanted to waste my time filling out all that paperwork for discharging my weapon?” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so.” She looked out the window and thought of the weather reports stating there would be more rain tonight. “How many more before we catch him?” she murmured.

  “I don’t know, babe,” he said. “But I do know that rat terrier personality of yours. That means we’ll be hauling the son of a bitch in soon.” Dylan backed out of the parking space and headed for the exit.

  Celeste thought of what they were up against. Their caseload was increasing. The small police department was growing, but still not fast enough to handle the rapidly growing population in the small town set about a hundred miles north of San Francisco.

  Celeste wondered if the good citizens of the town realized just what went on behind some closed doors. Sometimes she wished she could be as oblivious to the darker side of human nature as they were.

  But she knew oblivion wasn’t an option, and her nature would have thrust her into any battle.

  Chapter 4

  P rince Charming isn’t a part of this place. Luc would know if that was the case. He would feel it in his bones, all the way down to his very soul. He would feel the dark aura in the surroundings as he had before, and it wasn’t there.

  Luc didn’t see himself as a cynic, but he was well versed in right and wrong. Once upon a time, wrong was a way of life for him. Now he walked the straight and narrow and insisted that anyone who worked for him do the same.

  That was the main reason why he refused to believe anyone he worked with would have anything to do with the Prince Charming case.

  Luc surveyed the kitchen that was in the midst of its usual predinner chaos, with Jimmy’s deep-voiced bellows as accompaniment to the metallic clatter of pans.

  Luc looked at the people he considered family. Many of them had worked in the restaurant since the day it opened. Others had been hired later on. His only recent hires were Flip and Celeste.

  She’s not Detective Bradshaw. When she’s here, she’s Celeste.

  Luc didn’t want to think of her as Celeste. He wanted to keep his distance, and the best way to do that was to remember that she was a police detective intent on putting a member of his “family” in prison. And it wouldn’t be because someone forgot to report to his or her parole officer, or forgot to pay a traffic ticket. This would be for a vile offense.

  Rape.

  His stomach twisted at the thought that someone he knew could deliberately attack a woman. He’d read the reports in the newspaper and heard blurbs on TV. This rapist tried to make his victims believe he was making love to them, not attacking them. The thought sent another gallon of acid flowing directly to his stomach.

  “Good evening, Mr. Dante.”

  He turned to find the one person he felt he should avoid at all cost, but whom he found himself moving toward.

  “We’re pretty informal here,” he said, allowing his gaze to feast on her beauty. “Call me Luc.” He glanced at the large clock on the kitchen wall. “Right on time.”

  “I’m working hard to be the perfect employee,” Celeste replied with a bright smile as she walked through the dining room.

  “Perfect isn’t exactly a norm around here.” He hadn’t meant to, but he found himself following her toward the bar. He stood back and watched her settle in as if she’d worked there for years.

  Celeste wasted no time before checking the stock behind the bar, ensuring there were clean towels and glasses. She got busy filling bowls with pretzels and peanuts, as Luc seated himself at the bar. She glanced up and arched an eyebrow in silent question.

  “So who did you drag out the rubber hoses and bright lights for today?”

  Celeste stopped her task and pushed the bowls to one side. She leaned forward, bracing her forearms on the bar.

&nbs
p; “When a cop works undercover, no one should know what he or she is doing,” she said in a low voice. “Think of it as a secret.”

  Luc leaned forward until his mouth almost touched hers. “If there’s one thing I can do, it’s keep a secret. All I ask is that you don’t try to pin this on the wrong person.”

  Her eyes glittered. Funny, he hadn’t thought of a blonde having a temper. Something about this woman showing fire kicked something deep within his belly.

  Dammit, the last thing he wanted was to feel an attraction to Detective Celeste Bradshaw.

  She was supposed to be cold, hard, unyielding. The kind of cop he had fought against all through his life. Her partner acted like a hard case during their interview—why wasn’t she more like him?

  Instead she stood there with a smile on her lips, not the least bit intimidated by his scowl.

  She smelled like paradise, looked like an angel and…damn, he was looking at her as a woman and not a cop.

  He leaned back slowly, as if her proximity had not rattled him.

  “If we’re going to send someone to jail, we’re going to do everything possible to make sure the right person takes the trip and that no defense attorney can get him or her out because we missed something. One thing we do not intend to ever do is arrest the wrong person.” She put the containers of peanuts and pretzels back down behind the bar. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Dante, I have work to do.” Her cool smile effectively dismissed him.

  Luc felt something burn down deep. He wasn’t used to this sensation. He prided himself on never raising his voice or losing his temper. And especially, he made sure to never feel too much joy. Experience had taught him it was too easy to lose anything you desired too much.

  He pushed himself off the stool and stood up.

  “Wow! What a night.” Flip seemed to literally fly into the room. “It’s pouring outside.” She skimmed her hand over her ponytail, which glittered with droplets of water. She stopped short and looked from one to the other. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was high pitched and colored with apprehension, as if she sensed the tension as tight as a wire between them.