Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  “Tell me about it, Veronica.”

  Deep down inside, Veronica’s heart twisted. How she wished she could tell someone the awful haunting secrets she kept buried inside. For some reason, it seemed especially important that she make this man believe her.

  But when she opened up to people, they thought she was nuts. She’d only shared her fears and details of her past with a couple of men in her life, and they’d turned away from her. She couldn’t bear to open herself up to that kind of pain again.

  Dawson folded his hands on the table. “Veronica, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

  She laid the soggy napkins on the table and met his gaze. “It was nothing. It just reminded me of the movie.”

  “Yeah. Almost everyone’s seen The Wizard of Oz, but most people don’t freak out when they hear the theme song.”

  Veronica squelched the retort on the tip of her tongue. She might as well tell him as much of the truth as possible. He would probably find out everything about her when he checked into her past. “My mom used to sing me that song before she died.”

  Dawson rubbed his thumb over his chin. “I can understand how that would upset you. But you don’t know who sent it?”

  Veronica shook her head. “I told you in my office, I have no idea.”

  “Maybe someone in the family?”

  “I don’t have any family.” Veronica’s hands squeezed her glass. “I’m sure you’ve discovered that by now.”

  Dawson’s brief nod told her all she needed to know. Of course he’d read her history. Was he here just to satisfy his curiosity or did he really want to help her?

  “And you live alone? Not even a pet? Cat or dog?”

  Veronica shook her head. “No. I don’t like cats. I’m thinking about getting a dog, though.”

  Dawson downed the rest of his drink. “Hmm. There were cat hairs in your apartment.”

  Veronica glanced up, her eyes wide. “Cat hairs. Then that proves it, someone must have been there.”

  “That proves a cat might have wandered in sometime when you left the door open. It doesn’t prove a person was there.”

  Veronica frowned.

  “Okay, let’s get back to the music box. Why did it upset you so much?” Dawson asked softly.

  Veronica hesitated, cupping her empty glass in her hand and swirling the ice cubes around. “My mother gave me a music box that played the song for my seventh birthday. It was a few days before she died. No one knew about it except my grandmother.” Veronica sighed. “And my grandmother is dead.”

  Dawson nodded, his expression unreadable. “What about a housekeeper?”

  “We didn’t have a housekeeper. And the strange thing is that I think it’s the same music box.”

  Dawson drummed his fingers on the table. “What makes you think that?”

  Veronica chewed her lip. “I’d forgotten about it until I saw it. Then my memory came flooding back. It had this little crack in the bottom left corner where I dropped it, but Daddy glued it back together.”

  “And this one has a chip in the same place?”

  “Yes.” Veronica was quiet. “I haven’t seen that box in years. I didn’t even remember it existed, much less know what happened to it years ago.”

  Dawson made a mumbling sound. “Okay, let’s assume someone found it and sent it to you. When your grandmother passed away, maybe she’d kept it with some of her things. Did she leave you anything valuable? Money, property, jewelry?”

  Veronica wrinkled her forehead in thought. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m looking for an angle. I thought if she did, perhaps there’s another family member out there who wants the inheritance, too. It might explain the attack. Has anything like this happened before?”

  “No.” Veronica mulled over the possibilities. “And there wasn’t any other family that I’m aware of. Besides, my grandmother didn’t have much financially. Just a small house, a few personal things. We weren’t wealthy by any means.”

  “What happened to the house?”

  “I sold it,” Veronica said. “I couldn’t stay there without her.”

  Dawson ran a hand through his thick hair. “Do you know anyone who would want to hurt you? Any enemies? Someone who might have a vendetta against you? Co-workers or clients you’ve made angry in the past?”

  Veronica shifted uneasily as Wayne Barrett’s arrogant face flashed before her, his threat echoing in her ears. He had lost two million dollars. Still, she hated to accuse him of trying to hurt her when she had no proof.

  Detective Dawson covered her hand with his. “If you want me to help you, you have to trust me.”

  Veronica’s jaw ached from clenching it. Trust. The seventy-five-million-dollar word. She’d never totally trusted anybody, not even Ron. It had eventually destroyed their relationship.

  “Come on, Veronica. These are routine questions any detective would ask. We can go down to the station to finish this if you’d rather, but I thought you’d feel more comfortable here.”

  “All right,” she began. “In my business, I’ve made a few clients angry, usually by not saving them as much money as they want.”

  “Lost any cases recently? Had to turn anyone in to the IRS?”

  Veronica smiled. “I don’t lose, Mr. Dawson.”

  “Nathan.”

  “What?”

  “If we’re going to be working together, I’d just as soon you call me by my first name.”

  “Is that normal?”

  Nathan grinned. “It is for me.”

  Veronica couldn’t resist a smile. The man could probably charm Uncle Sam out of an audit.

  “I’d like you to get me a list of all your clients. Highlight any who haven’t been pleased with their settlement.”

  Veronica nodded, and glanced up at the waiter. “Would you like to order dinner?” he asked.

  As if on cue, Veronica’s stomach growled. “Sure. I skipped lunch. I’ll have a salad and quiche.”

  “Real men don’t eat quiche,” Nathan muttered. Veronica smothered a laugh. His mouth quirked into a smile as he met her gaze. “You’re beautiful when you smile.” He handed her the bread basket and she blushed. “Bring me the ribs.”

  Veronica laughed again, this time unable to smother the sound. “A real macho man, huh? I suppose you want your meat bleeding?”

  “Sure, it’s juicy and tender that way,” Nathan said with a grin.

  As the waiter placed their orders, Nathan turned back to Veronica. “So you may have a disgruntled client in the wake. How about boyfriends? Any lovers or ex-ones we should worry about?”

  Veronica tensed and tore her roll in half. How in the world could she answer that?

  “Are there, Veronica?” Nathan’s husky voice made her squirm. “Are you involved with anyone I should know about?”

  She slathered butter haphazardly all over her roll. “No,” she said softly. “No one you should know about.”

  THERE WASN’T A MAN in her life. A ridiculous sense of relief filled Nathan. After following Veronica home and making sure her apartment was secure, he headed to the station.

  Veronica’s lack of a boyfriend eliminated the possibility of an ex-lover trying to hurt her, but he had a disturbing feeling that wasn’t the reason he felt relieved. Damn. He couldn’t do this. He could not get involved with her. He could not be suckered in by her big doelike eyes or that lyrical voice of hers. He could not care about Veronica Miller.

  She was just a case. Just a strange, bizarre, fascinating case. And the first person to make him feel really alive since his accident. Since he’d come back to work, he’d mostly stuck to routine investigations. Now, he’d finally been handed something interesting. Only it wasn’t just the case fascinating him. It was the woman herself. She was beautiful and enticing, although quite possibly a mental case.

  But for some reason he believed her.

  He parked at the station, climbed out and hurried to his desk. Ford was perched on top, one leg swinging
against the metal frame, his hand around a mug of coffee. Or what the precinct called coffee. It tasted more like bitter chunks of sludge, but it usually did the job—it kept you awake when duty called. And right now, duty had his number.

  “Okay, Ford, what did you find out?” Nathan relaxed into his chair, refusing to let Ford see his irritation. He knew Ford thought he was too young to be a detective, and Nathan intended to prove the man wrong. He also understood Ford’s skepticism about Veronica, and Ford had a right to his doubts. Shoot, even he had doubts.

  Ford pointed to a file on his desk. “Got some background on the Miller woman. She moved here from Fort Lauderdale a couple of months ago. Left a booming practice to branch out on her own.”

  “Any problems with co-workers there?”

  “Naw. Her boss said she was a brilliant attorney. Said she kept to herself, didn’t socialize much. Thought she was a little weird, but didn’t say anything specific.”

  Nathan opened the file. Somehow he felt guilty, as if he was violating Veronica’s privacy. He’d never felt that way before. Investigating people was his job. “Did he know why she decided to leave the practice?”

  Ford slurped his coffee. “No. Her boss seemed shocked, said her announcement came out of the blue. He even offered her a partnership, but she refused.”

  Nathan tapped his fingers on the file. Why had she left such a good position to move back here? To the town where her parents were killed—a place that must hold haunting memories for her? Was she running from someone or something back in Florida?

  “Oh, her secretary did say she thought she was seeing a counselor. Said the move might have had something to do with her boyfriend, too. They had a big fight before she left.”

  Nathan glanced up at Ford.

  “Said his name was Ron Cox. Sent a return plane ticket to her office the day she left.”

  Nathan swallowed, angry with himself for being so gullible. Veronica had told him there was no man in her life. If she’d lied about having a boyfriend, what else had she hidden?

  VERONICA WAS MESMERIZED momentarily by the opulence of Eli’s mansion. She’d never known anything like it. The three-story Georgian home and estate had been featured in a magazine once, so she knew it had been designed with ornate Ionic columns, imported marble and tile, elaborate decorative moldings, and its extensive gardens featured statues, topiary and fountains. It certainly didn’t look like anyone’s home. Taking a calming breath, she opened her car door, made her way up the cobblestone walkway and rang the brass doorbell. A butler answered.

  “Eli, it’s so good to see you.” Veronica waved to her godfather as he crossed the marble floor of his elegant foyer and approached her. A brilliant smile spread across his face, and Veronica was grateful to see his coloring had improved from the week before.

  Dressed in a tuxedo, starched white ruffled shirt, and shiny Italian shoes, he looked distinguished and evermore the politician as he gracefully executed his way past staunch supporters and fans of his own days as senator.

  “It’s good to see you, dear.” Eli kissed her on the cheek and extended his arm to escort her into the enormous main dining room. A crowd of sleekly dressed guests were chatting and sipping champagne, or nibbling at the array of hors d’oeuvres situated artfully on white linen-covered tables. A massive crystal chandelier sparkled above the candlelit room, and additional silver trays filled with food and drinks were being passed around by waiters dressed in black.

  An uneasy feeling flitted over Veronica as she joined the party. Tension crackled through the air. Hushed murmurs and curious stares met her appearance.

  Someone was watching her. She’d had the same feeling before—twice when she’d gone walking around her apartment complex, and once on the ride to work. She’d considered reporting her fears, but she had no proof. And she knew the police wouldn’t believe her.

  “Relax, dear, they won’t bite,” Eli whispered in her ear.

  Veronica laughed softly. Even in Eli’s letters, he’d had a sense of humor. “I’m really not much of a party person.” Veronica spotted a woman watching her from across the room. She recognized Eli’s wife, Barbara, from pictures she’d seen in the paper. Barbara wore a long black velvet dress that flattered her figure. Veronica smiled as Barbara approached, but the smile Barbara returned lacked warmth. “I hope your family didn’t mind me coming.”

  Eli shook his head, his thinning dark hair lacquered in place. “Nonsense, of course not. This is a party for my son. I’ve wanted you to meet my family for a long time.”

  “Veronica, it’s nice to meet you,” Barbara said in a formal tone.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” Veronica said, curious at Barbara’s coldness. “This is a lovely party.”

  “And you look lovely yourself.” Barbara raked her gaze over Veronica. Her gray eyes reminded Veronica of a stray cat’s, beady and glittering as if she were preparing for an attack.

  Veronica suddenly felt self-conscious. She’d dressed in a short black evening dress she’d worn to dozens of other business functions. It was modest but well fitting, slightly curved off the shoulders but certainly not revealing. But Barbara seemed to disapprove. Or maybe it wasn’t the dress, maybe it was just her.

  “Hi there, Eli. Things are going well.” A small, white-haired lady wearing spectacles ambled up and slipped her arm around Eli’s waist. A sleeping, white long-haired cat nestled under her arm, and she seemed oblivious to the fact that her turquoise silk dress was covered in feline hairs. Eli grinned and patted her back. A pudgy older man, mostly bald, strolled up beside her.

  “Mom, this is Veronica Miller. You remember my goddaughter.” Eli swept a hand toward Veronica. “Veronica, this is my mother, Alma. And this is Daryl Scroggins. He used to be the police chief around here years ago.”

  The old woman’s pale coloring turned a pasty white. “Yes, I remember something about her,” the woman said in a low voice, peering at her over her glasses. “Nice to see you, Miss Miller. Amazing how much you look like your mother.”

  “Yes, it is,” Barbara said in a clipped tone.

  Eli’s mother hurried away, making Veronica wonder if she’d somehow caused the woman to be uncomfortable. Daryl Scroggins gave her an assessing look, his right eye twitching nervously. “So you’re the little Miller girl all grown-up?”

  Veronica’s fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. She didn’t think a reply was necessary.

  “Bad thing about your folks.” Scroggins shook his head. “Wish I could have done more back then.”

  “Thank you.” The quiet that descended on the room made Veronica’s chest ache. She heard several people whispering about the murder-suicide. She’d never believed the story, but neither could she remember the truth about what had happened. If she had, she could have convinced the police to investigate further. Her grandmother had repeatedly complained that the police hadn’t done everything they could have to solve her parents’ case. On the other hand, she had discouraged Veronica from returning to Oakland.

  Eli stroked her arm. “Come on, Veronica. I want to introduce you to some friends.”

  Veronica tried to relax, but she felt like an unwelcome outsider. When Eli briefly introduced her to his guests, she sensed tension in their tight smiles and nods. They knew who she was, knew of her past. Some of the people had probably known her parents.

  Coming back to her hometown had been a huge mistake. She’d wanted to remember, but could she really deal with all the gossip and curious stares directed her way?

  She gazed into the crowd as Eli chatted with an old friend. A familiar face wedged its way into the sea of people. Detective Dawson. What was he doing here?

  “You know that man?” Veronica asked.

  Eli nodded. “Of course. I know almost everyone in town.”

  Veronica couldn’t take her eyes off the detective. He turned and spotted her from across the room. Their gazes locked. She could feel his heated look burn into her skin. Where he’d looked handsome in c
asual clothes, he looked absolutely devastating in a tux and tie. The black color and fit of his jacket made his shoulders look even broader, and the dim lights gave his bronze tones a tint that radiated sex appeal. She smiled shyly. He smiled, but his jaw tightened and he gave her a short nod. Still, as she walked away, she felt his gaze searing into her.

  “How’s your practice?” Eli asked.

  “Growing,” Veronica said, trying to tear her gaze from the detective. “My calendar’s almost booked. Being this close to Atlanta really helps.”

  Eli’s face reddened and he broke into a coughing spell.

  “Are you all right, Eli?”

  He nodded, wiping his mouth with the corner of his napkin. “Fine.”

  Veronica sighed in relief. She hadn’t been around Eli much while she was growing up, but he’d always sent birthday cards and called regularly. And he was her last link to her parents. Eli had been their best friend. She’d had the foolish notion that if she lived close by, his family might welcome her. But so far, his mother and wife hadn’t exactly been warm.

  “I guess you’ve been working so hard you haven’t had time to get married?”

  Veronica took a glass of club soda from a waiter, surprised at the question. “No. I’m not sure marriage is for me.”

  “Why do you say that, dear?” Eli asked. Veronica noticed the age spots on his hands and realized he was getting older. If her father were still alive, they’d be almost the same age. Although he’d been dead twenty years, she still missed him.

  “I guess I’m just a loner,” Veronica said. “But I don’t mind. I’m independent, have my own business, friends.” She squirmed, hating herself for lying to Eli.

  “You’ve already made friends here? Anybody I might know?”

  Veronica assumed Detective Dawson didn’t count. Or her secretary. “Well, not yet. I’ve only been here a short while.”

  “Well, I’d like to be the lady’s friend.”

  Veronica jumped at the sound of the deep voice behind her.

  “Gerald!” Eli turned and grinned broadly as a tall, medium-built, dark-haired man slapped him on the back.