by Maggie Price
She gave him a look from behind her lashes. “So, lemon tea bread will pay off my debt?”
“Hell no, that first loaf would be the initial payment on your installment plan.” He arched a dark brow. “We haven’t even talked about the interest that’ll accrue. Compounded daily.”
“Sounds to me like the rate you charge is exorbitant.”
“You have no idea. It might take the rest of your life to pay off your debt.”
More than anything, she wished she could look into her future and see Josh there. In truth, she saw only Creath. Felt only a vivid premonition of disaster.
She drew in a slow breath, let it out, then pushed away from the counter. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for work.” She gestured toward her laptop. “Do you want me to leave my computer here?”
“Yeah. I’ll take it upstairs and print off what Langley sent.”
Sliding a companionable arm around her waist, Josh walked her down the hallway, thinking how right it felt to hold her against him. How right it felt for her to be in the house that he considered his second home.
Holding the screen door open, he followed her out onto the front porch into the long shadows of the late afternoon. The air was hot and still, heavy with the scent of the yellow roses spilling out of the multitude of pots. “So, can I expect you here after you get off work?”
She glanced in the direction of Etta’s house before looking back at him. “I don’t know. With Etta off the IV, I’m thinking I should move back into the apartment over the tavern.”
“Which translates into your wanting to put space between you and Etta. You and me.”
“I’m being careful. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I agree. But Langley’s watching Creath. If the bastard leaves New Orleans, we’ll know. It’s the same arrangement you’ve had with Langley the past year.” He cupped his palm to her cheek. “The only thing that’s changed is that you’re not alone in this anymore.”
She laid her hand over his. “I know.” He was right, she conceded. Langley had assured them he’d seen Creath the previous night. If Creath left New Orleans, Langley would sound the alarm. So there was no reason she should say no to Josh. No reason to turn away from comfort, from passion. From the man she loved. “I’ll see you later, then.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Josh leaned a shoulder against the nearest porch column, watching as she steered her Mustang out of Etta’s driveway. The night he’d walked into Truelove’s and spotted Regan, he had somehow known she was going to be a huge complication. He’d never been more right in his life.
He narrowed his eyes. One of the stops they’d made while in Dallas was to have lunch. When Regan excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, he’d phoned Nate. As they’d anticipated, his brother had gotten a call about the run he’d done on Regan’s prints. Only it had been from Creath’s partner, who mentioned Creath was out of the office, wrapping up another case. As far as Nate could tell, the partner had been satisfied with the prints-found-in-a-stolen-car explanation. So maybe, just maybe, they’d dodged that bullet.
Personally, Josh hadn’t been so lucky. When he told Nate he had no intention of arresting Regan and turning her in, Nate’s curses had turned the air blue. Josh was well aware of the risk to his career, even without Nate’s vehement reminders. Josh hadn’t even attempted to explain to his brother what Regan meant to him. Wasn’t sure he could explain.
He just knew she was worth every risk to his heart, to his job. His life. And he couldn’t walk away from her.
He pulled open the screen door and headed back to the kitchen. There, he settled on the stool in front of the laptop and studied Payne Creath.
Josh had been a cop for a decade, yet in the course of his career, he had never confronted true evil until now. For a split second, he got the image of Creath with Regan, his hands…No. He couldn’t think like that. If he did, he would go nuts.
So, he would concentrate on taking Creath down. And while he was at it, figure out the best way to keep the woman he wanted safe and firmly in his life.
Chapter 14
“These your thong panties, Howie?” Josh asked the following afternoon while leaning against the front of Chief Decker’s desk.
Wearing a white T-shirt and green fatigues, his sandy hair overdue for a haircut, Howie Lyons sat stiffly in the visitor chair. He eyed the evidence bag in Josh’s hand as if it were a snake ready to strike. “Don’t know why you think they are.”
“I found them in your nightstand.”
Astonishment crossed Howie’s sharp-boned face. Replaced by uneasiness. “You got no right snoopin’ in my apartment. You’re not even on the Sundown police force. Where’s Chief Decker?”
“Dealing with county business.” Josh laid the bag aside. “A warrant gave me the right to ‘snoop.’” He flicked a look at the tall cop who stood near the closed door, his arms bulging under the short sleeves of his uniform shirt. “Officer Steed, who is on the Sundown PD, assisted in searching your residence.” Steed had also Mirandized Howie when he picked Etta’s night cook up at his favorite fishing spot, but Josh didn’t make a habit of reminding suspects they had the right to remain silent.
“Want to tell me about the thong, Howie?”
“Belongs to a lady friend. Her name’s private.”
“So is what people do in their own homes. But you’ve been creeping around Sundown, looking in windows.”
“Who says?”
Josh crossed his arms over his chest. “Late last year, the police began getting prowler reports. That’s about the same time you started staying out after your shift at Truelove’s ended instead of going home.”
“You been talking to Cinda,” Howie scoffed. “Don’t know why you’d listen to a woman who went off the deep end gettin’ religion and tossed her husband out—”
“You’re right, I talked to your soon-to-be-ex when she got back to town this morning from visiting her sister. Cinda told me religion has nothing to do with your impending divorce. You stopped going home. The final straw was her finding a pair of women’s panties in the glove box of your pickup.”
“I found them panties outside the Laundromat. And you’d start staying out, too, if your wife barred you from her bed, saying she’d had enough sex to last a lifetime.”
“So, you decided to get your kicks by peeking in windows. Scaring women.” Josh narrowed his eyes. “I work sex crimes, Howie. That’s why Decker asked me to consult on this investigation. I know that voyeurs don’t stop with peeking in windows. They break into houses like you did when you stole that black thong. Commit rapes.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Howie held up his hands, palms toward Josh. “I ain’t ever raped no woman.”
“Ever thought about it?”
“Hell no! Dammit, Josh, you’ve known me since you was a boy. You know I don’t go around rapin’ women.”
“No, I don’t know.” But Howie had been a part of Etta’s life for as long as Josh could remember, so he settled into the chair beside the man’s and warmed his voice up a couple of notches. “This is serious.”
Howie eyed him warily. “Didn’t mean no harm. It’s just when Cinda cast me out I was so damn mad. Hurt. So, I started driving around Sundown after the tavern closed. Sometimes I’d walk. Peek in a window or two.”
“Why did you unscrew porch lights?”
“Well, hell, I didn’t want nobody to see me and get upset. Anyway, what harm is there in unscrewing a lightbulb?”
“Did you see any harm in breaking into Virginia Nash’s house? Stealing her granddaughter’s thong?”
“I didn’t break in. Everybody knows Virginia don’t lock her doors. In fact, her back door was standing open that night ’cause it was so hot out. I looked in the window and seen them thongs in the laundry basket. So I just opened the screen door and snagged ’em. A man’s got a right to his fantasies.”
Josh gave Howie a level look. “Were you fantasizing when you crept up on Regan’s balcony and
watched her sleeping?”
“I wasn’t there ’cause of no fantasy. Mind you, Regan’s a fine-looking young woman, but I’ve been worried about her. She looks so…I don’t know, scared sometimes.” Howie shrugged. “That night at work, she was jumpy, kept her eye on the door like she was expectin’ someone she didn’t want to see walk into the tavern. After closing, I snuck upstairs on the balcony and looked in her window to make sure she was okay.”
Giving Howie credit for being perceptive, Josh tapped his fingers against the chair’s arm while his thoughts slid to the previous night. When he’d heard Regan’s car pull in after she got off work, he’d stepped out onto the porch. He could still feel the way her mouth had scorched over his, slicing a jagged line of need straight through him while her scent slithered into his system. And that was even before they got inside the front door.
But even the hungry, possessive tide that burned through him couldn’t totally mask the deep, intuitive disquiet that had settled inside him. A disquiet that still hung on. He glanced at the wall clock, thinking Regan was probably busy right now in his kitchen, whipping up the loaf of lemon tea bread she’d promised to bake.
After a futile attempt to tweak the tenseness out of his shoulders, Josh shifted his gaze back to Howie. The sooner he dealt with the man, the sooner he could get back to Regan.
“Let’s talk about why you took Seamus O’Toole’s keys from behind the bar. Then unlocked his back gate, unscrewed the porch light and got an eyeful watching Mrs. O’Toole.”
When Howie slid his gaze away, Josh continued. “That’s how we got you, Howie. Chief Decker interviewed all the tavern’s employees and vendors who had access to those keys. He whittled down the list until your name was the only one left. What Cinda told me cinched the deal. You might as well come clean.”
“Well, hell, O’Toole brought his wife to the tavern a couple of times. She’s an impressive woman.” Howie shifted in his chair. “I admit to wantin’ a closer look at Mrs. O’Toole.”
Josh shook his head. “Howie, you’re going to have to answer for what you’ve done.”
“What have I got to answer for? The Sundown city council ought to hire me for keepin’ an eye on things during the night. You want to know how many people’s pets I’ve found wandering around and taken back home to keep ’em from gettin’ run over? And I’ve lost count of the number of sprinklers I’ve turned off that people left running and water was gushing down the street. Saved ’em a pot of money on their utility bills, I expect.”
Josh raised a brow. “That’s quite a spin job. Maybe you should go into public relations.”
“There you go,” Howie said comfortably. “I could be the eyes and ears of the police, being as how the only cop on duty at night has to double as dispatcher. I also keep watch on all the hotels in Sundown and the ones on the other side of the lake.”
Flicking a look at Officer Steed, Howie leaned closer to Josh. “If I wasn’t so discreet I’d be naming folks who’ve been sneakin’ over to those hotels to meet each other. A certain officer’s girlfriend being one of ’em. And I haven’t breathed a word about that cop I seen at the Sundown Inn last night, ’cause he might be on some secret undercover job.”
Josh felt himself go still. “What cop?”
“Don’t know. He’s not one of our local boys.”
“How do you know he’s a cop?”
“Well, I didn’t at first. I was strolling around the inn when I spotted a car pulling in that had a rental sticker on the back bumper. It was about an hour after Truelove’s closed, and I wanted to get a better look at the man just to see if he’d been at the tavern earlier. The curtain over the window in his room was closed, but there was enough gap at the bottom for me to see in. He emptied his pants pockets onto the table in front of the window. Then he laid a gun and a shiny gold badge there, too.”
Josh could feel the disquiet inside him ratchet up. “Could you read the name of the department on the badge?”
“Didn’t pay no attention to that.”
Josh’s mouth was as dry as dust. Langley had assured him he would send Regan an e-mail if Creath left New Orleans. Langley hadn’t, so Josh had no firm reason to think the cop Howie had seen was Creath. Still, the deep, intuitive disquiet that swept through Josh told him it was.
He was on his feet and on the other side of Decker’s desk without being aware of having come up out of his chair. “If you saw a picture of the cop would you recognize him?” he asked as he booted up the chief’s computer.
“Might. The gap in the curtain wasn’t that wide so I never got a real good look at him.”
Thanking the fates he remembered what newspaper had run the article Langley e-mailed, Josh accessed the archives, typed in Creath’s name. When the article blipped onto the screen, Josh swiveled the monitor toward Howie. “This the cop?”
Howie leaned forward. “I think so. I’m not sure.”
Josh waited for Creath’s picture to print, grabbed it out of the printer. He gave Steed a quick look as he headed for the door. “Hold Howie.”
“On what charge?”
“Public nuisance.”
With adrenaline charging through his blood, Josh jerked his cell phone off the waist of his jeans. He had to get to Regan before Creath.
“Time to take two pink pills.”
The voice coming out of nowhere had Regan fumbling the pan of batter she was about to slide into Josh’s oven. Her heart thumping, she realized it had been her own voice.
Coming from the pocket of her shorts.
Etta’s memory box, she remembered, expelling a shaky laugh.
After popping the pan into the oven, she dipped her hand in her pocket and pulled out the long, slim recorder. This morning, she’d helped Etta fix her hair so she would look “fittin’” when A.C. picked her up so they could spend the day at his daughter’s house. Since Etta had finished taking all the antibiotics Doc Zink had prescribed, Regan had intended to delete the message before she left Etta’s, but had forgotten.
Sliding the recorder back into her pocket, Regan made a mental note to return it next door after the lemon tea bread finished baking.
While a CD of low, bluesy music played in the background, Regan rinsed the mixing bowl she’d used, then replaced the flour in the pantry. She imagined she was the picture of domesticity—a woman baking, waiting for the man she loved to come home.
Home. She took in the expansive kitchen with its solid granite counters and up-to-date appliances. She felt so at home here. So loved. Last night, Josh had carried her to his bed and made slow, sweet love to her until she clung to him, feeling drugged and dizzy.
If only, she thought. If only.
When the phone rang, she paused, hoping it was Josh calling to tell her he’d finished his interviews on the peeper case and was on the way there. The answering machine clicked on, and his voice flowed out, instructing the caller to leave a message.
“Josh, it’s Nate.”
Regan went as taut as a bowstring. She’d never spoken to Nate McCall, but she recognized hot fury when she heard it.
“I just got a call from Creath’s partner. Your Susan Kincaid pawned a gun that was used in a homicide in New Orleans. Victim’s name is Bobby Ivers. Josh, you thinking what I’m thinking? Kincaid might be able to claim that being accused of one murder is a setup. But two is becoming a habit. A nasty one. She conveniently—or maybe I should say stupidly—listed her address on the pawn ticket as the apartment over Etta’s tavern. Creath is on his way to pick her up.”
Nate paused, uttered an oath. “Josh, you’re in way over your head. Bran and I are on our way to Sundown to make sure you haven’t lost all your mental capacity over this woman. Not to mention figure out how the hell you’re going to keep your badge.”
Trembling, her legs jelly, Regan gripped the edge of the counter. Creath had found her. She had no idea when. But it had been long enough for him to learn her address in Sundown, then pawn the gun he’d used to kill Bobby in o
rder to set her up for her coworker’s murder, too.
A mix of fear and panic stormed through her. All of her senses screamed the warning that Creath’s arresting her would in no way appease the sick hatred he felt for her. No, he wouldn’t rest until he stripped her of everything. Her freedom, the people she loved.
Josh.
The thing Creath wanted most was her, she reminded herself, struggling for calm. He couldn’t track her and go after Josh at the same time. So, she would run. And if there was any light in the world, the man she loved would stay out of harm’s way.
Holding on to that hope, Regan raced down the hallway. She needed to grab her running money, her computer and clothes from Etta’s, then she’d be gone.
She punched open the front screen door and dashed outside. Her heartbeat battering her ribs, Regan shot across the porch, then the lawn without looking back.
“Regan!”
Josh was still on his front porch when he yelled her name. He shouted it again as he advanced down the hallway, the smell of burning food growing stronger the closer he got to the kitchen.
He didn’t know why the hell he was calling for her. She was gone, and he knew it. Had known it the minute he steered into the drive and saw that her Mustang was gone. Had known it when he raced into Etta’s house and discovered her laptop and her clothes missing from her bedroom.
“Dammit!” He turned off the oven, yanked open its door and got blasted by a cloud of thick, black smoke. He grabbed hot pads, jerked out the pan. She’d been gone long enough for the lemon tea bread to have baked to a black blob.
He lobbed the hot pads across the kitchen. He’d gotten a busy signal when he’d tried to call here while he sped to the Sundown Inn. After the clerk looked at Creath’s picture and verified the New Orleans cop had been the man who’d paid cash for a room the previous night and checked out early that morning, Josh had tried to call Regan again. The phone had rung that time, but his prompting her to pick up had gone unheeded.
Standing in the center of the kitchen, his hands fisted, he became aware of the husky notes of a saxophone drifting on the air. Clenching his jaw, he forced back emotion, forced himself to think like a cop.