by Leann Harris
“Detective McGill took me to the morgue to identify Gwen Kennedy’s body.”
Emma came out of her chair. “I’m sorry, J.D. I had no idea. I was just thrilled to see you looking mussed in the company of a gorgeous man.”
J.D. tried to stop her cheeks from flaming. She might as well have tried to stop the sun from coming up. Why didn’t Emma just come out and tell McGill that she hadn’t had a date in the last six months? J.D.’s last serious relationship had ended when the man insisted she sleep with him, after all the money he’d put out over the last six weeks. So she sat down, wrote him a check for five hundred dollars, then punched him in the mouth. When he threatened to press assault charges, she told him she’d stop payment on the check. She hadn’t heard from him since.
She stole a glance at McGill. He had the oddest expression on his face. A cross between amusement and astonishment.
“If you filed all the depositions, you don’t need to stay any longer, Emma. C’mon, McGill, we can talk in my office.”
She threw her purse on the desk and dropped her shoes. As she took off her suit jacket and hung it over the desk chair, she watched him survey her office. What did he think? She worked hard to make the room welcoming. Most of her clients were poor, and she wanted an atmosphere that would make them comfortable. Her large mahogany desk gave off a warm tone, the two leather chairs in front of it were soft and roomy. Beneath the windows to one side, the overstuffed sofa with throw pillows was in pastels. The soft green carpet complemented the peach color of the walls.
She fished the two chocolate bars from her purse and held one out to him. “Want one?”
He shook his head. She moved to the couch and curled up in the corner. Eagerly, she tore into the candy bar wrapping.
“Your office is a surprise,” Luke said as he sat in one of the leather chairs.
After swallowing a mouthful of chocolate, she asked, “Why do you say that?”
“The room reflects a warmth, a softness that you don’t show in the courtroom.”
“I’d be run over by the D.A. and the police if I wasn’t tough.”
“We all have our hidden sides,” he mumbled. He withdrew a notebook from his inside coat pocket. Pulling out a pen, he settled back into the chair and stretched out his long legs. Her eyes were drawn to the cowboy boots he wore.
“Is that a requirement of all Dallas detectives?”
“What?”
With her candy bar, she pointed to his feet. “Is it department policy that you wear cowboy boots?”
“No, but we have discovered it makes breaking our suspects’ kneecaps easier.”
J.D. shot up, her feet hitting the floor. “What?”
Luke grinned. “I got you, Counselor. Who would’ve believed you’d be that gullible?”
“That was unfair, McGill,” she said, relaxing back against the cushions.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice becoming somber, “but usually people believe the worst about the police no matter how farfetched the story.”
She couldn’t argue. He had a point.
“How close were you to Gwen Kennedy?”
“We were friends in high school, not best friends, just friends. After we went to college, I lost track of her.”
“Tell me what you know about her.”
Hugging a pillow to her chest, she thought back. “Gwen and I grew up in Midland. Her dad died when she was four or five. Her mother died when Gwen was in college. She had one brother, who left Texas when she was in high school.”
“Do you know which college she attended?”
“University of Texas, Austin campus.”
“What did she do for a living?”
“I don’t know.”
“When you saw her last July fourth, didn’t you talk?”
“It was at a political party given by the state senator at the civic center. She and I only exchanged greetings, then my dad pulled me away to talk to someone else.”
He frowned as if to say that didn’t help this investigation. J.D. shrugged and took another bite of her chocolate.
“So you don’t have any idea why she called you?”
“She obviously was in some sort of legal trouble, but she never said specifically what.”
“Any idea where she lived?”
J.D. set down her candy and rubbed her temples, letting her fingers trail through her hair. “No, but I somehow got the impression she didn’t live in Dallas.”
“Chocolate aggravates headaches, Anderson.”
She glared at him. “Thanks for the helpful information. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“Being the chocoholic you are, I didn’t think you’d appreciate the information.”
“Who says I’m a chocoholic?”
“C’mon, Anderson. Even an untrained observer couldn’t miss the stash in your purse.”
“Hey, we all have our little weaknesses.”
He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like some more than others.
“I didn’t hear that clearly, McGill. Would you care to repeat it?”
“No, Counselor. Can you give me the name of any close friends she might have had?”
She named two of Gwen’s high school friends.
“Are they still living in Midland?”
“I think so.”
He clicked his pen and slipped it into his pocket. “I think that’s all for now. If you can think of anything else, let me know.” He laid one of his business cards on her desk.
Tossing the pillow aside, she stood. “I wish I could be of more help.”
“At least we know the victim’s name and where she grew up.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Run her name through DPS to see if she had a driver’s license. Check the city tax roll, see if she lived here.”
“Will you let me know what you find?”
“I’ll try.”
She grasped the rock-hard muscles of his forearm, and she felt that stupid little flutter in her stomach again. Pushing aside the sensations, she said, “I want to be kept abreast of this investigation, McGill.”
He pointedly stared at her hand on his arm. Feeling foolish, she released him.
“Do you know how many investigations I’ve got going now? This is not TV where I can drop everything and concentrate on this case exclusively.”
She held up her hands. “I know. You’re understaffed and overworked. But I do have a reason for the request.”
“It’d better be a beaut, Anderson.”
“I think whoever killed Gwen was looking for something. She didn’t have it, but they knew she’d contacted me.”
“And the reason they ransacked your office was to find this evidence?”
“Yes. I think if the killer doesn’t find what he wants, he’ll pay me another visit.”
“I think the stress of defending all those guilty clients has finally gotten to you.”
“Think what you want, Detective, but I want to know what you turn up, because I think my life depends on it.”
* * *
After closing the door behind Luke, J.D. rushed upstairs to her bathroom, yanked the aspirin bottle out of the medicine cabinet and swallowed the two pills without water. She should go back to her office and work, she told herself. Instead she stretched out on the bed.
Poor Gwen. Nobody should die the way she had. Gwen was so vibrant and alive last time J.D. saw her. Why did it have to end this way? Why would anyone want to kill her? What was so terrible that someone was willing to murder her to keep her silent?
Although she and Gwen hadn’t been best friends in high school, J.D. remembered the quiet girl whose main ambition was to have enough money never to have to go without again. And to achieve that goal, Gwen worked hard in school and won a scholarship to college.
When J.D. saw her last July, it looked like she had made it. Gwen’s clothes and jewelry had been first-class all the way. If only she’d been able to take the time to talk to her old friend, maybe the
problem would’ve surfaced then. At least she’d have a clue to what was going on now.
With her success, had Gwen discovered the high emotional cost of wealth and decided it wasn’t worth the pain money brought?
The throbbing in her head eased.
She wondered if McGill would find out anything tomorrow, and if he did, would he call her and share the information. If she knew her detective, probably not.
As her muscles relaxed and she slipped into a restless sleep, the last thing she saw was McGill’s whiskey-colored eyes.
CHAPTER 3
J.D. hurried down the back stairs of St. Luke’s Community Church to the basement, where the charity dinner and auction for the Asian community center was being held. She was late, but the circumstances had been beyond her control. Well, almost.
At the bottom step, she paused, listening. The hum of dinner chatter floated through the air. Yet it was another sound that captured her attention. A child’s laughter, followed by a deep, familiar voice.
“I’m going to get you.”
The child laughed again.
Before J.D. could react, a little Asian girl rounded the corner and ran into her, bouncing off her leg. In the next instant, a blindfolded Luke McGill appeared.
“I’ve got you.” His hand shot out, catching J.D. around the hips.
The expression on his face would’ve been comical if the heat vibrating through her body hadn’t been so devastating. For a split second, she wanted to melt into him and feel his strong arms around her.
The child’s laughter brought them out of their haze. Luke whipped off the towel covering his eyes, blinking to focus. If she didn’t know better, she could’ve sworn that Luke McGill, Supercop, was blushing. But it must have been the evening light filtering through the window above them.
“If you’re here for dinner, you’re late.”
So much for a pleasant exchange of greetings. “My car wouldn’t start.”
“Figures.” He held out his hands to the little girl, and she raced into his arms, screaming with delight as he tossed her into the air and caught her. “How did you get here?”
She really didn’t want to admit how she’d arrived. “The bus.”
A deep chuckle rumbled up from his chest. She gritted her teeth against the sensual response racing through her body. Why, God? Of all the men on earth, why him?
“You have a ticket for this shindig?”
“Of course,” J.D. replied indignantly.
“Show me.”
J.D.’s mouth dropped open. “You don’t believe me? You think I’m lying?”
“I’m a cop, Counselor. I’d like to see proof.”
Digging through her purse, she muttered, “I’d like to tell you what you can do with your proof.”
“Tsk, tsk, and in front of this innocent child.”
J.D.’s head snapped up, catching the look of wicked delight in McGill’s eyes. She held the ticket under his nose. “Here.”
He took the ticket from her hand. “Follow me. I’ll get you something to eat.” He moved across the back of the large room. Long tables had been set up and were filled with chatting people. Straight ahead she could see the kitchen through the serving counter cut into the wall.
“What are you doing here?”
“The police association supports the community center. I help where I can.”
The tender picture Luke made with the tiny girl clinging to his neck, her head resting on his shoulder, forced J.D. to see him as more than a hard-nosed cop. The man standing before her was a man who cared, who could play a game of hide-and-seek blindfolded with a small child.
But what really shook J.D. was the fact that the little girl felt secure enough with Luke to seek comfort and protection from him. She recalled clearly the feel of his large hands on her hips. Suddenly the room seemed too hot, he seemed too large, and her temper too short.
Carefully, Luke set the girl on the countertop. “Don’t move,” he cautioned her.
“‘Kay.” She popped her thumb into her mouth.
“I hope you like Asian cooking,” Luke said to J.D. He handed her a plate, then motioned to the row of dishes and platters on the serving counter. “The ladies in the Asian community each fixed their speciality and brought it. I can identify most of the dishes if you don’t know what they are.”
She smiled sourly. “Thank you, Detective.”
“You’re welcome, Counselor.” He grinned, wagging his eyebrows at her. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said to the little girl, scooping her up. “Let’s go see what’s happening.”
J.D. glared at his retreating back. She served herself, grabbed a cup of tea and walked back into the main room. She set her plate on the last table.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
J.D. spun around and her eyes filled with delight. Instantly, she was in the man’s arms. “Hello, you rascal,” she said, pulling back to survey her old poker buddy. “How are you? And how’s that new daughter of yours?”
Kent Bradley flashed a grin of contentment that spoke volumes about the status of his life. “I’m fine. Melody is— There aren’t words to describe how great she is.”
“Where’s Morgan?”
“At home with the baby. Melody is cutting teeth and not in the best of moods, so Morgan decided to do everyone a favor and stay home,” Kent said. “What are you doing here, as if I didn’t know?”
J.D. shrugged. “You know me, bleeding-heart liberal, can’t pass up any charity event.”
Kent winked. “Sure, Ace, I believe that.”
“Kent Bradley. Good to see you.”
J.D. froze when she heard Luke McGill’s voice.
Kent gave her a puzzled look before he turned to greet the policeman. “Hi, Luke. How have you been?”
“Fine.”
“Have you met my friend J.D. Anderson?” Kent asked.
Luke nodded. “The counselor and I have crossed swords in court.” His acid tone set her teeth on edge. In order to avoid saying anything, J.D. shoved a fork full of food into her mouth.
A grin broke across Kent’s face. “J.D., you really must’ve unloaded on Luke to get such a reaction from him.”
“No more so than normal,” she groused.
“Shame on you, Ace, for being so merciless to the lieutenant.”
“Ace?” Luke glanced from Kent to J.D., who was glaring at Kent.
“J.D. and I are old poker buddies. She worked with my wife’s brother at First National Bank in Fort Worth and we used to play poker every Thursday night. J.D. was the one who got the financing for Morgan’s documentary.”
“Oh, that reminds me, J.D.,” Kent continued. “I talked on the phone with your dad last week. He’s willing to back Morgan’s next project.” He turned to Luke. “If it hadn’t been for J.D., I don’t know if Mo’s film would’ve been made,” Kent quietly added.
Luke studied J.D. She felt his surprise and knew he was dying to ask why she’d done it.
“How are the boots Martin made for you holding up?” Kent asked.
“Best I’ve had, Kent. They’ve lasted through twenty bookings and interrogations.” He shot J.D. a meaningful look, reminding her of his comment about kneecaps. “I’m glad you recommended him. By the way, have you heard from him lately?”
Kent rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “No, can’t say that I have.”
Luke glanced at J.D., and she noticed a hesitancy in his manner as if he didn’t want to say anything in front of her. “Well, maybe you can help me.”
“Sure.”
“Uh—I’m trying to track down a certain boot heel with the state of Texas etched into it. I thought you might know who sells such an unusual heel, since I haven’t been able to get in touch with Martin.”
Kent rubbed his chin. “Yeah, Martin mentioned a guy in Wichita Falls who does that fancy etching. There was such a demand for it, he quit making boots and strictly does design work.”
“Is he the only one who makes them?”
“I d
on’t know, but Martin would.”
Luke mouthed an obscenity.
“Is there a problem?” Kent asked.
“No. Do you know the name of the guy in Wichita Falls?”
“Not right offhand, but I think I have his address and phone number at home.”
“That’s great. Would you call me tomorrow with it?”
J.D. studied McGill. He was purposely avoiding her eyes. Now, why was he doing that? Did the print of the boot heel have anything to do with Gwen’s murder?
“McGill, is this boot heel connected with Gwen’s case in any way?”
When he turned to her, his face was a mask of innocence. “Shh, Counselor. The auction is about to begin.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but the lights in the room dimmed and the auctioneer hopped onto the stage at the front of the room.
Luke breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been saved by the skin of his teeth and the dimming of the lights. But, he acknowledged ruefully, it was only a temporary reprieve. J.D. wouldn’t let the issue die. He hadn’t wanted to ask Kent about the boot heel in front of her, but he knew if he’d pulled Kent to one side and quietly asked his questions, J.D. would’ve been instantly suspicious. Instead, he’d gambled he could couch his questions in broad terms, slipping it by her. No such luck.
He shook his head. She was too damn sharp for her own good.
He listened absentmindedly to the items auctioned off. His mind kept replaying the moment he’d reached out for Sue Lynn, expecting to grasp her small shoulders. Instead his hands had wrapped around slender, womanly hips. Heat had sizzled through him. Remembering how his thumbs had rested in the hollow next to her hipbones and his fingers had fanned out over her rear, that heat returned full force, turning his mood sour.
Maybe you need a long vacation, McGill, if you get so turned on by a set of hips.
No, it wasn’t the hips that made him a candidate for the funny farm. It was who they belonged to.
And, of course, there was his stupid reaction to seeing her hug Kent Bradley. When Kent returned her hug, Luke had wanted to rush across the room and rip the two apart. Now, what would the department psychiatrist make of that?
“Next we have Detective Lucas McGill’s contribution to our auction. Detective McGill has offered his services as a handyman for this Saturday afternoon. Any of you ladies who have a husband with ten thumbs, or you single women who need some work done around your home by one of the finest specimens of manhood the Dallas Police Department has to offer, this is your chance.”