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

  A shadow passed beneath the streetlight and Veronica locked the dead bolt. She peered out the window again, bending one blind slightly so she couldn’t be seen, then searched the darkness for any sign of the shadow. A van pulled up and a group of teenagers piled out, laughing and talking.

  Veronica massaged her temple and fought the panicky feeling that often came with night. Her body ached with fatigue, but she still didn’t want to go to bed. Would she have the nightmare tonight? Would she imagine the screams of her parents as she often did when she closed her eyes?

  She reminded herself that Nathan had posted a guard outside her apartment, then fixed herself a cup of hot tea and turned on the TV. After grabbing a crocheted afghan her grandmother had made, she curled up on the sofa to watch Miracle on 34th Street, hoping she might fall asleep before dawn. As she sipped her tea, her thoughts drifted to her past, to the visit to her old house, to Nathan and how she’d felt in his arms. Maybe he could help her unravel the secrets of her life, and maybe if she discovered she was the reason her parents had died, she would one day be able to forgive herself. And maybe he wouldn’t walk out on her when this was all over.

  Veronica sighed. That would take a miracle.

  Chapter Seven

  In the car, Nathan tried to distract his thoughts from the sensuous way Veronica had looked all freshly bathed, the ebony strands of her hair glistening with moisture. He had to forget the kiss. And that little throaty moan she made—

  Damn. He needed to occupy his mind with work so he wouldn’t have time to think of the non-work related activities he craved indulging in with the woman. Cursing his uncontrollable reaction to her, he dialed the precinct. “Sherry, this is Detective Dawson. Can you find out who handled the Miller case years ago?”

  The elderly policewoman whistled into the phone. “Anything for you, hon.” He waited, listening to her fingers click on the computer. Seconds later she spoke up. “Daryl Scroggins. He was the police chief back then. Retired about five years ago.”

  “Thanks, Sherry. You’re a doll.”

  Sherry laughed. She was always teasing him to find a good woman and settle down. “Come by the house and I’ll make you a pecan pie.”

  Nathan laughed. “Maybe one day soon.”

  Sherry chuckled. “And bring your woman by so I can meet her.”

  “There isn’t a woman,” Nathan said, although he instantly thought of Veronica. “Listen, Sherry. See what you can find out on Wayne Barrett and Barrett Pharmaceuticals.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.” He remembered seeing Scroggins talking to Veronica at Gerald’s campaign party. He hung up and dialed Scroggins.

  “This is Detective Dawson,” he said. “I heard you worked on the Miller murder-suicide investigation twenty years ago.”

  Scroggins sounded defensive. “Yeah, why do you want to know?”

  “Well, I’d rather not talk about it on the phone. I’d like to come by your house.”

  He waited, curious at the long pause on the other end of the line. “Not tonight,” Scroggins finally said. “My wife and I have company.”

  “Okay. How about in the morning?”

  “I’m busy.”

  Nathan tightened his fingers around the phone, wondering again at Scroggins’s reluctance. Was he really busy or just putting him off?

  “You name the time, I’ll be there,” Nathan said, refusing to give up.

  “Look, son. That case is two decades old. You ought to leave the past alone.”

  Nathan frowned at his last statement, then Scroggins slammed down the phone. What was it the person had said on the message to Veronica?

  Leave the past alone.

  VERONICA TOSSED and turned in her sleep as she wrestled with demons from her past. Flinging her hands wildly, she tried to escape the clutches of the approaching shadow. Patches of gray light enveloped her, blurring her view, and she strained to see the doorway, but air pressed around her, suffocating her, tearing the life from her lungs as someone thrust a bloody knife toward her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound caught in her throat and a sliver of pure terror racked her body. Her parents. They were going to die.

  She reached out to save them, to run for help, but something blocked the doorway and her legs were immobilized like steel pillars, dragging her down. She crouched into a ball and hid in the darkness, biting her lip until she tasted her own blood, covering her ears to drown out the pain of her parents’ cries. She closed her eyes so tightly her eyelids ached and her chest heaved with her silent sobs. She couldn’t save them.

  Perspiration trickled down her neck, but the room grew cold as if death had opened a door. The sharp sound of someone’s shoes scraping along the floor made her flesh crawl. She’d had that feeling before. A loud thump followed. Was it her parents’ bodies collapsing against the floor as the life slipped from them?

  She awoke with a start at the sound of another loud thump against her front door, her body trembling from the remnants of the recurring nightmare. It took her several seconds to steady her breathing, to remind herself that she had lived through this one, just like she had lived through that night.

  Her stiff muscles protesting, she jumped off the sofa, stumbling over the afghan tangled around her feet. She tried to focus and stared at the door for several seconds, straining to hear. Nothing.

  She slowly padded over to the window and peeked outside. The gray fog of morning greeted her.

  She opened the door slightly, retrieved the morning paper, relocked the door and carried the paper to the kitchen, hoping the local news could displace the fear lingering from her troubled sleep. Although determined to push her nightmares from her mind, she shook slightly as she made her tea. When she opened the paper, the headline shocked her: “Owner of Barrett Pharmaceuticals skips town with stockholders’ money.”

  Hmm. Wayne Barrett was a ruthless businessman and a callous husband who’d cheated on his wife both financially and physically. As she skimmed the article, she found a list of the major stockholders. Interesting. Gerald, Eli’s son, owned over forty-five percent of the company, his grandmother forty percent. Had Barrett ripped them off, too? And was Barrett the main supporter for Gerald’s campaign? If so, Barrett’s move could have a drastic effect on Gerald’s future. Eli was wealthy, but campaigning could drain a person’s wealth.

  The story posed lots of questions about Barrett, and she was certain she would be hearing from Barrett’s ex-wife’s lawyer. She might as well shower and get to work. If she didn’t, she’d probably have newspeople hounding her house. Reporters had nearly driven her crazy as a little girl. They were the last people she wanted to talk to.

  AS NATHAN STUDIED the files Sherry had left on his desk, he rubbed his hand along his aching neck, trying to work out the kinks he’d gotten during his tortured sleep the night before. He’d dreamt about Veronica. First he’d been holding her and giving her comfort while they searched through her parents’ old house, then he’d been caressing her in the twilight with nothing but a sheet covering them. She’d been naked in his arms, and he’d made sweet love to her over and over. Her cries of pleasure had been so beautiful, and they kept replaying over and over in his head like a soft jazz song.

  Both dreams taunted him. Both dreams made him want her more. In the wee hours of the morning, he’d been so tormented, he’d almost gotten up and called her just to hear her voice. Now, he was plain frustrated and felt like biting off someone’s head.

  He smelled Ford’s smoky breath before he heard him speak. Ford would be the perfect one to vent his irritation on.

  “I tied up the robbery case yesterday while you were messing around with that nutcase with the brown eyes.”

  “I wasn’t messing around with her. I was investigating.” Nathan gave him a sharp look. “Make any arrests?”

  “Yep. Bunch of punk kids. Recovered all the merchandise, too.” Ford lit a nonfilter cigarette and blew a stream of smoke in the air. Nathan
gritted his teeth, inhaling the smoky aroma, mentally reminding himself Ford was not going to egg him into smoking again. He’d given up the habit.

  If he hadn’t, he’d have smoked a pack this morning when he’d woken up with the sheets tangled around him and visions of Veronica Miller dancing around his head.

  “Great,” Nathan said, standing up. “I’ve got some legwork to do.”

  “We’re supposed to be partners,” Ford said sarcastically.

  Nathan grinned. “I know. I made a list of places I’d like you to check out for me.”

  Ford growled. “Listen here, you can’t waltz in here and tell me what to do.”

  “Hey, we’re partners, right?” Nathan grinned and walked toward the door. He planned to be waiting on Daryl Scroggins first thing so the man couldn’t put him off again. “Besides, it’s official. Stevens wants us to check out Barrett Pharmaceuticals.”

  “At least that’s a real case,” Ford said. “I saw the paper this morning.”

  “Well, get the details,” Nathan said. “It’s our job to find out the truth, not the reporters’.” He wanted to know exactly how Barrett and Gerald Jones knew each other. Especially since Gerald had been at Veronica’s office only two days before.

  Ford snarled and puffed his cigarette, his eyes gleaming with anger.

  Nathan didn’t point out that Barrett was one of his prime suspects in harassing Veronica. He laughed silently. Ford would really be pissed if he thought he was helping him with Veronica’s case. After all, Ford thought Veronica was crazy.

  “GOOD MORNING, Louise.” Veronica stepped into her office and paused. “Eli, what are you doing here?”

  Eli’s warm smile wasn’t as bright as usual. He gave her a hug. “I came to visit my goddaughter. Anything wrong with that?”

  Veronica shook her head. “No, of course not.”

  She took a stack of messages from Louise. “All about Barrett?”

  Louise nodded. “The phone’s been ringing like mad. And it’s only eight o’clock!”

  Veronica laughed and opened the door, leading Eli in. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked tired and worried, and she suddenly felt uneasy.

  “Something wrong, Eli?”

  She settled at her desk and motioned toward the couch. Eli shook his head and picked up the glass paperweight her grandmother had given her when she’d graduated from law school.

  “Eli?”

  “Oh, yes.” He placed the paperweight down, his shoulders straightening. “I came to talk to you about Gerald.”

  Veronica nodded, noting the newspaper he had rolled up under his arms. “This wouldn’t be about Barrett Pharmaceuticals, would it?”

  Eli gave her a shaky smile. “You’re a smart girl, Veronica.”

  “I’m an attorney,” she said. “And Barrett was my client. Everybody is interested in that.”

  “I assume you know Gerald and my mother owned stock in his company.”

  Veronica nodded. “Is this going to affect Gerald’s campaign?”

  “I believe we have that covered,” Eli said. “But that’s not what I want to discuss.”

  She arched an eyebrow, unable to read Eli’s strange expression. Did he want her to handle Gerald’s financial affairs with the company? “Okay, what is it then?”

  He settled down in the chair, looking weary. “I know Gerald took you to lunch the other day.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure you and he…well, that you should—” Eli coughed, struggling for words.

  “That we should what, Eli? Work together?”

  He swallowed, and Veronica noticed the bulging vein in his throat. “That you should become involved.”

  Her eyes widened, her temper quickly surfacing. “Involved?” She stood up, hands on hips, and glared at Eli. “You’re telling me you don’t want me to date your son?”

  “That’s right,” he said quietly. “Gerald’s in the middle of a campaign, there’s enough gossip about Barrett—”

  “And you think I’ll have a bad effect on his reputation.” Veronica tried to squelch the hurt building in her chest. She was his goddaughter and she’d trusted him. She thought he loved her.

  But when it came to his family, she was an outsider, someone with a past that could hurt his precious son.

  “Don’t worry, Eli,” she said in a hard voice. “I don’t plan to get romantically involved with Gerald.”

  “Wait, Veronica,” Eli sounded desperate. “You don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand perfectly,” she said, walking toward the door and opening it for him. If she’d had the slightest hope she would handle the family’s business or be a part of Eli’s life, the idea had just died. Being her godfather had simply been a responsibility he’d carried out for her parents’ sake. No emotional ties.

  Well, she could handle that. She’d never had anyone to depend on but her grandmother anyway. “I really have work to do now, Eli.”

  He frowned, his gray eyebrows knitting together. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, dear. That wasn’t my intention.”

  “It’s fine,” Veronica said, forcing a smile. “I’m glad you came by.” But don’t bother to again.

  Eli hesitated as if he wanted to say something else, then shook his head and walked out the door.

  “SCROGGINS, glad you could see me,” Nathan said, pushing his way through Scroggins’s front door.

  The older man gave him a surly look and stepped into the marble entryway. “I didn’t exactly say I could see you.”

  Nathan grinned. “Well, now I’m here, I think you can make time for me. After all, you and I have a lot in common.”

  “How’s that?” Scroggins asked, his frown deepening.

  “We both stand for the law. I’m a detective and you were once the police chief.”

  Scroggins’s hand shook as he rubbed his balding head.

  “I’ll just take a few minutes of your time, sir,” Nathan said, finding his way through the house.

  Scroggins followed him into a den filled with fancy furniture, but piled with magazines and ashtrays. A bulldog growled from his post in the corner near the stone fireplace. “Have a seat,” Scroggins said sarcastically, pointing to the newspaper-covered sofa.

  Nathan swiped a stack of papers to the side and lowered himself onto the expensive furniture, aware Scroggins wanted him to hurry. He didn’t intend to.

  “I thought I told you to let the past alone,” Scroggins said, settling himself in a brown recliner angled toward the large-screened TV.

  “Well, sir, I’d like to do that, but it seems someone else doesn’t want to do that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Scroggins asked.

  “You know Veronica Miller?”

  He nodded. “Course I do. Everyone knows who she is.”

  Nathan winced at his snide remark. No wonder she was skeptical about people’s reactions. “I’m trying to find out who’s harassing her.”

  Scroggins frowned. “And how do you think I can help?”

  Nathan explained briefly about the intruder, Veronica’s call for help, the message on her machine, the newspaper articles. “Someone is either out to hurt her or—”

  “Or she’s doing it herself,” Scroggins said.

  “I was going to say ‘or they’re trying to drive her crazy.”’

  “Why would someone want to do that?”

  “I thought you could tell me,” Nathan said. He steepled his fingers in front of him and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Tell me about her parents and the night they died.”

  “I don’t see how that can help.” Scroggins huffed and adjusted his recliner.

  “Humor me,” Nathan said, aggravated at Scroggins’s lack of cooperation. “You investigated the case. I suppose you knew her parents.”

  Scroggins nodded, closing his eyes briefly. “It was a sad thing. The Millers were nice folks. Mrs. Miller was pretty as a peach, sweet and good with the little girl.”

&n
bsp; “And the father?”

  “A nice man, good lawyer. Everyone in town respected him.”

  “He didn’t have any enemies, no cases pending or ones he’d lost that could have angered someone enough to hurt him?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Did you investigate it?” Nathan asked, growing angry.

  Scroggins patted his bulging belly. “Look, it was a long time ago. I did everything I could.”

  “What happened to Mr. Miller’s files?”

  Scroggins shrugged. “Burned up in a fire couple days later.”

  Nathan bit back an expletive. “Didn’t he have any backup copies?”

  Scroggins shook his head. “Look, we weren’t so big in computers then, it was hard to copy and store papers. Took up too much space to keep extras.”

  “Didn’t you think the fire was a little suspicious?”

  “Maybe.” Scroggins rolled a cigar between his fingers. “But there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Hell, I knew everyone in town—didn’t know a soul who’d hurt Miller and his wife. Had to be a murder-suicide.” Scroggins heaved a breath, then continued. “At first, the grandma wanted me to keep investigating, then she changed her mind. She was glad I closed the case, said she didn’t want the child dragged through any more trauma.”

  Nathan narrowed his eyes at Scroggins. “Look, you were a cop, for God’s sakes.” The man said nothing, and Nathan paused, realizing Scroggins must have a strong connection to the townspeople. Had he given up so easily because he’d been afraid he might step on someone’s toes? “How about the Millers? Did they have a happy marriage?”

  “Had a squabble or two like most married folks. Mostly little petty things.” Scroggins paused as if remembering. “Except for that night. It was a terrible one.”

  “If no one was there, how did you know about the fight?” Nathan asked.

  Scroggins scratched his head. “Well, Ms. Trudy, woman who lived a couple houses down, had set out to carry the Millers some fresh jelly she’d made. Drove up and heard the fight. She got scared, rushed home and called.”