Vince did a double take at the superstore that carried everything from lumber to faucets to nails. “You go there?”
She turned toward him. “You, too?”
It was hard to tell who was more surprised. “Oh, yeah. I bought this fixer-upper in Travis Heights that should have come with a warning tag—Lifetime Project.”
Chloe laughed. “Mine could have the same. What’s your least favorite thing?”
He was still trying to imagine her doing any type of home repair at all. “That’s easy. Plumbing.”
“I leave that to the experts.” Her smile grew. “But there’s something rewarding about refinishing wood floors.”
Vince glanced down at those slim, perfect hands. “You refinished your own floors?”
“Careful, Detective. Your snobbery is showing.”
“I’m no snob. It’s just that—”
She began to laugh. “The look on your face is priceless. My mother gets that same expression of horror that her perfect little girl likes to get dirt on her hands.”
Vince studied her, marveling at the thought. “You’re not kidding, right? You really did your own wood floors?”
“Every last one. Also stripped and stained all the trim in my house.”
“I’ll be damned.”
Chloe chuckled. “You don’t exactly look like the Bob Vila type yourself, Vince.”
He shot her an appreciative grin. “Surprised the hell out of me, too, but there’s something about—” He glanced over. “Don’t suppose you like to wallpaper?”
That wide, lush mouth curved at the corners. “I had to redo the first room three times to get it right, but I could practically teach a wallpapering class now.”
“Good,” he said, forgetting all the reasons why it could never work. “A demo, then, this Saturday. My kitchen.”
“You think I’m going to volunteer to wallpaper when I don’t have to?”
“It would be a service to mankind.”
She giggled. Dr. Cool and Elegant…giggling. “To one man, you mean. Chicken. Learn the hard way, as I did.”
“I’ll feed you like a queen. Fix breakfast, lunch and take you to dinner when we’re through,” he wheedled.
“You hate wallpapering that badly?”
“I stink at wallpapering. Have mercy, Chloe. My house deserves the best.”
She stared at him. “You love it, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I never had a place of my own before.”
When sympathy swamped her eyes, he shook it off. “Don’t start feeling sorry for me. Where’s your house, Tarrytown?”
“Rosedale.”
He knew his surprise showed. “Is that allowed for society ladies?”
“You really are a prisoner of your prejudices, aren’t you? My mother and you would get along well.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s a compliment.”
“It’s not. My mother can’t stand that I’m straying from the preordained path. She and my father—” Her voice caught, and she fell silent.
“You okay?” When she didn’t answer, he found a place to pull over. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” But the stiff set of her shoulders made a lie of her words.
Vince knew the smart thing was to let it go. He had plenty on his plate—more than enough. But he remembered her valiant insistence on refusing comfort under the trees. Thought about how hard she tried not to recoil at the sordidness she encountered through this job when, best he could tell, she’d led a sheltered life.
And he realized something else about Chloe St. Claire. She was a giver, when most of the people he’d ever met were takers, including him. He wondered again what motivated someone like her who could have any luxury, who could avoid contact forever with the seaminess of the real world, to tackle the job she had.
She might have been raised a princess, but she didn’t expect to be treated as one.
He was the least likely prospect, but a part of him wished he could be the shining knight she deserved. Lacking that, he could at least be a friend. “You’re a lot better at giving out help than you are at accepting it, aren’t you, Doc? You ever think that’s a damn selfish attitude?”
Her head whipped around. Frost invaded her voice. “I don’t believe I deserve that, Detective.”
She was right. And she probably had a boatload of friends to comfort her, but they weren’t here. “Princess to peasant, eh?” he goaded.
“What?” Icicles melted against fury. “You have no right—”
He shrugged. “That’s true. But something’s bothering you, and I’m here with time on my hands, thanks to Newcombe. So just pretend I’m a wall and talk to me about what’s got you worried.”
For long seconds, she was silent. Vince was almost ready to give up, when she spoke. “My parents have sheltered me all my life as though I were fine crystal that would break at the slightest touch.” Her voice trembled again, but when he looked at her, he realized that anger was causing it.
“Overprotective?”
One corner of her mouth quirked. “To put it mildly.” Then sorrow darkened those golden-brown eyes again. “I just discovered that they’ve been hiding from me that my father has been diagnosed with leukemia and may need a bone-marrow transplant.” Sad eyes sparked. “And they refuse to let me be tested as a donor—” Her gaze whipped to his. “I’m twenty-seven years old, and they’re treating me like a child.”
He’d never been a child. “So what’s holding you back? Go get tested anyway.”
Mutiny tightened her lips. “I made the appointment today.”
“Good for you.”
“But they’ll be so furious. Mother says I’ll make Daddy worse if I admit that I know. He’s sure he’ll solve this himself and that his little girl doesn’t need to worry her pretty little head over it.”
Vince had to laugh. “He really doesn’t understand you, does he?”
She looked startled. “Why do you say that?”
“If I ever met a more stubborn woman in my life, I can’t recall it. Oh, you look like some sort of arm candy, all right, but I knew that first night that I might as well give up and let you do whatever it was you were determined to do.”
“Really?” He heard pride and wonder in her voice. Then she shot him a sideways glance. “You did not. You bring new meaning to the word stubborn.”
He threw his hands wide. “I promise. Gave up right then.”
Her somber gaze eased. “You are such a liar.” Her lips curved.
At that moment, he wanted to grab her and drag her off somewhere private, away from investigations and gangs and—
Moreno. Tino. He had a better chance now to prove that Moreno murdered Carlos, and he couldn’t let any momentary attraction, however tempting, deter him from justice.
And she had Roger Barnes, who wanted to nail him. As well as a life that could never include someone like him, no matter this momentary rebellion at its restrictions.
“Doc, I need back on duty.”
All trace of animation drained from her face. He watched as Dr. Cool and Elegant took over the body that had housed the laughing, cutthroat darts player. She stared out of the windshield of the car, as still as stone.
Vince cursed beneath his breath. “I’m sorry.” But that changed nothing. “I didn’t mean—”
She cut him off, hands folded carefully in her lap. “If you’d take me to my car or let me off so I can call a cab—”
“Chloe.” He clasped her arm. “I’m sorry. I wish I could make you understand, but—”
“I understand perfectly. You took me out to soften me up so I would see things your way.”
“Damn it, listen to me.” But if he explained his urgency, it would only feed into Sarge’s concern that he’d lost balance, that he was pushing too hard on a case that wasn’t his. He ground his teeth. “It wasn’t that way. I had a great time.”
“I should never have gone with you.” Her tone was so neutral he might as well
have been a bug on the sidewalk. “It won’t happen again.”
“It will.”
“It can’t,” she insisted.
Vince called himself every foul name he could think of. He’d probably set his cause back by weeks. In a vile mood, he started the car and took off, tires squealing.
“Let me out,” she demanded. “I’ll get a cab.”
“Don’t push me,” he growled. “I said I’d take you back, and I will.”
The rest of the trip played out in a silence that grated on his nerves. Tension throbbed in the air until he could barely breathe. As he drove through the department parking garage, he wondered how in the hell to salvage the mess he’d made.
He was still pondering what to say when he found her car.
She reached for her purse and grasped the door handle. He reached past her and jammed down the lock.
“If you try to stop me from leaving, Detective, I’ll be forced to report you.” Beneath her brave words, her voice quivered with nerves.
“You can do that,” he admitted. “But I don’t imagine you want to be revealing where you were this evening.”
If anything, her frame stiffened more.
Vince dropped his head for a second and struggled to contain the temper that had always been his Waterloo. “Look, Chloe—”
“I don’t think first names are appropriate.”
“You really don’t want to be called a pampered princess, I suggest you take that snotty tone out of your voice.”
Her head whipped around and he saw not icy control but blazing fury.
And the glistening sheen of tears held back by the barest margin.
It leached the anger right out of him. “I’m sorry, Doc.” He exhaled loudly. “My damn temper will be the death of me. And my big mouth.” He held her gaze, willing her to listen. “Look, I had a great time with you back there.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “You’re my client. We can’t do this.”
Then cut me loose, he wanted to say. I’ve got to get back to work. But he reined in his disastrous way with words. “How much longer do I need to be your client? You don’t really believe I have a death wish, do you? Sarge worries too much.”
He thought he saw a trace of amusement before she turned her head away and discreetly wiped at her eyes. “No,” she admitted. Then her gaze met his. “But I do think that there’s a lot more going on than you’re admitting. We should discuss that.”
Vince wanted to groan. Wanted to howl. “The bad guys don’t stop working just because I’m on leave, Chloe.”
“I know.” Her voice was whisper quiet. “Call Wanda in the morning and work out a time, even if I have to stay late.”
His head whipped around and he stared at her. “You’re going to cut me loose.”
Sorrow and wisdom and rue swirled in her gaze. “Maybe. But first we have to talk.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She held the cards. “Tomorrow, then.”
She grasped the handle. “Good night, Detective.” With a whisk of hosiery across the seat cushions, she was gone.
“Good night, Doc.” Despite the urge to burn rubber on the concrete, he forced himself to drive away slowly. He would prove to her that he was fit for duty if it killed him.
And it very well might.
FOR THE FIRST TIME she could ever remember, Chloe didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want to be alone. Maybe she would go back to her office. Catch up on paperwork.
Doc, I need back on duty.
None of it had been real; that was what hurt. Not the laughter or the teasing. Not the way he stood so close to her, nearly touching…the heat of his big strong body…
I had a great time.
For most of the evening, those words had appeared to be true. He’d shed the tension that hadn’t left his frame since that first night at the crime scene. The intensity that was his trademark had been banked; for long moments, he’d seemed younger, more carefree, the way he might have been had life granted him a normal childhood. He was a fierce competitor, yes, and she appreciated it that he hadn’t let her win. She’d had to battle for every point.
He even fought dirty. Chloe smiled. No one in her perfect, ordered life had ever done that to her.
At the memory of his hand lifting one lock of her hair from her neck…the feel of his breath upon her nape and how shockingly much she’d wanted him to press his lips just there—
Headlights entered the parking lot. Footsteps sounded, coming up the stairwell.
Chloe shook her head. None of that mattered. She had no reason to feel hurt. Vince Coronado was simply acting in his own self-interest, trying whatever methods would allow him to get back to the work at which he was so good. If he didn’t care so much about being a cop, he wouldn’t be so effective.
She was the one who’d studied the human psyche in such detail; none of what had happened should be a surprise.
Turning the key in the ignition, Chloe reminded herself that she had a job to do, and that was all that was important. She’d gambled that she could make inroads on understanding Vince by accompanying him into his world.
She wasn’t a gambler by nature, and this only reminded her of why.
If you didn’t risk, you didn’t lose. She left the parking lot and headed home to resume her normal routine. To bed at a sensible hour so she’d be fresh for the next day’s demands.
Even though one of them would be seeing Vince Coronado again.
VINCE ENTERED the Crystal Pistol, loud country music and cigarette smoke assaulting his senses. The cavernous interior would be tough to search if Mike didn’t insist on claiming his own particular table every time. Vince veered to the right side of the room, spotting Mike’s blond head easily.
The redhead on his friend’s lap made it even simpler.
Vince watched as Mike pulled her head down for a long kiss, and wondered how many other women he’d charmed in the dark corners of this place. Dark corners, hell—Mike seduced them on the dance floor, at the bar, probably in the parking lot, too. A fair number he took home. Vince had had his share of women, but he preferred them one at a time. Mike went for quantity; he loved women easily, at the drop of a hat, the wink of an eye.
The redhead pulled back from Mike slowly, her expression dazed. Her squirming glance at Vince grabbed his buddy’s attention, and Mike turned.
“Hey, man, decided to have a little fun for a change?” Mike’s easy grin showed no embarrassment. The redhead tried to stand up, but Mike held her still with one arm across her thighs. “Come on, take a load off. Let’s get you a beer.”
His head already pounding from the noise, Vince shook his head. “Can I talk to you outside?”
Mike’s gaze grew immediately serious. He spoke to the redhead. “Will you excuse me for a minute, Joanie darlin’?”
“Jo Nell,” she corrected.
“Ah, but sugar, you look just like that cute Joanie from Happy Days.”
She pouted prettily. “Joanie had dark hair.”
“I mean those dimples of yours, sweet darlin’.” He set her on her feet and stood. “And these luscious lips.” Leaning down, he planted one more slow kiss. “You won’t let any ol’ shitkicker wander off with you while I’m gone, will you?”
Shoulders moving in a coquette’s shrug, she showed some mettle. “Maybe…if you take too much time.”
“Oh, my buddy here knows how to get to the point, don’t you, Vince?”
Her gaze moved to him. Vince nodded. “I won’t keep him long, Jo Nell.”
Her smile revealed the deep dimples. “Thanks, Vince. Then you two come back—I’ve got a friend.”
Mike slung an arm around Vince’s neck. “Oh, sugar, that’s the pity of it. Vince here suffered a war wound, and he can’t—”
Vince’s elbow connected with Mike’s midsection, and air expelled in a sharp gust. “Maybe another time, Jo Nell. But thank you.”
Eyes soft with sympathy, the redhead smiled. “It didn’t affec
t your dancing, did it, Vince?” Mike guffawed.
“Go to hell, Mike,” Vince muttered, stifling the urge to laugh himself. “My dancing’s all right, thank goodness,” he answered Jo Nell. “If you’ll excuse us…” He all but dragged Mike to the door. Outside, the music still carried, but at least he could hear.
“What’s up, buddy?” Mike wiped tears of amusement from his eyes.
Vince shot him a glare. “Real funny, man. She’s too sweet for you.”
“Yeah, but she hasn’t figured it out yet.” Mike sobered. “How are you?”
“More than ready to get back in the hunt.”
“So what’s the word? Doc signed off on you yet?”
Vince uttered one quick curse. “No.”
“Don’t tell me, you’re being your usual sunny self.”
“Bite me,” Vince replied. “But that’s not why I came.”
Mike merely nodded for him to continue.
“I’ve got a new snitch, but he’s nervous about his girlfriend and son taking heat if things go south. I told him I’d take care of them, but he’s worried about what if something happens to me.”
“What could happen—” Mike stopped in midsentence. “He’s heard about your threats to Moreno. But that was months ago.”
Vince hesitated. He wasn’t prepared to saddle Mike with the knowledge that he was still actively working to build a case against Moreno. If things went bad, he didn’t want Mike taking any heat for being his friend. He shrugged. “He worries too much—not the hero type. He’ll be a good source on the Eastsiders if I can get him to loosen up, but I had to promise him that someone else would help if there came a time when I couldn’t.”
“Sure, man, whatever,” Mike said. “What’s his name?”
“Tino Garza.”
“Got it.” Mike paused. “Any news on your other informant, the one who turned around on you?”
Vince grimaced. “Not yet.”
“You know I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Yeah. I do.” Vince clapped him on the shoulder and forced a grin. “Get on back in there with that little honey.”
“You sure?” Mike’s forehead wrinkled. “We could go grab a beer or something.”
“Nah, been a long day. I’m headed for the sack.”
The Good Daughter Page 9