2 A Match Made in Mystery

by J. B. Lynn

  Mildred sniffed her disbelief.

  Gerald, unaware he was being discussed, hurried over, a uniformed police officer on his heels. “The police are here, Mrs. M.”

  “I can see that, Gerald. Thank you.” She turned her attention back to Brady. “Can you do that thing you promised now?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Brady stood and moved away, tilting his head, indicating that Gerald should follow him.

  While the officer took the seat he’d just occupied, Brady whispered to Gerald, “Can you stay with her?”

  Gerald nodded nervously. “But she won’t like me hovering.”

  Brady chuckled. He’d been the one to hire the young associate because he’d gotten the impression he was quick on the uptake. “You’re right about that. If she gives you any grief, just tell her to take it up with me.”

  Gerald nodded despite the fact he didn’t look convinced that would save him from Mildred’s wrath.

  “You’re a good man.” Brady clapped him on the shoulder before heading for the elevators in search of his secretary and the mysterious Amy.

  As he waited for it to arrive, he wondered what Armani would make of the woman who’d known what a purple people eater was crossing his path again.

  The silver door slid open and he stepped inside the lift, thinking the matchmaker would probably tell him it was fate or something.

  Usually he didn’t believe in such things, but he was willing to admit it was a strange coincidence.

  Disembarking from the elevator, he strode purposefully toward Lara’s desk. Before he turned the corner, he heard his secretary’s familiar laughter bouncing off the walls.

  Lara was perched on the corner of her desk, laughing at something that the woman who stood beside her, sipping from a mug, had just said.

  Spotting Brady, Lara waved him over. “Mildred called her stupid!” she revealed, doubling over in laughter.

  Amy warily watched his arrival over the rim of her drink.

  He grinned at her. “Don’t take it personally. She’s called us all stupid.”

  Instead of smiling back, she nodded solemnly. In the dim lighting of the restaurant, he hadn’t noticed the shadows beneath her eyes, but under the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lighting, the dark circles were obvious. He wondered what had put them there. He wondered if he could help banish them.

  He shook his head, unsettled by the direction of his thoughts. “I’m Brady.” He extended his hand.

  Lowering her mug she shook his hand. “Amy.”

  Despite the lingering warmth from the hot drink, he could feel she was chilled. “You’re freezing. Would you like a dry shirt?”

  She blinked, self-consciously brushing damp tendrils of hair off her cheek.

  “Lara, could you…?” He trailed off, realizing she’d already launched herself off the desk and was hurrying away to find a shirt.

  Brady studied the woman in front of him. She stared back at him with a defiant tilt of her chin. Her jaw was set and her dark eyes flashed dangerously as though she was ready and willing to take him on.

  No doubt the encounter with the mugger had been difficult for her, too. He suspected it was adrenaline that tinged her cheeks pink.

  “That was a very brave thing you did,” he said gently, wanting to assure her he wasn’t her adversary.

  She shrugged. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe it was stupid.”

  Lara rushed up waving a white piece of fabric. “Found one. Come on, Amy. I’ll show you into the restroom so you can change.”

  “Then bring her in to see me,” Brady ordered.

  Something in his tone made Lara slide a sideways glance at him as she took Amy by the elbow and led her away.

  His cellphone buzzed as they disappeared from view. Digging it out of his pocket, he didn’t even look at the caller ID. “Yeah?”

  “The police officer wants to talk to Mrs. M.’s rescuer,” Gerald told him.

  “She’s changing into something dry. We’ll be down in a minute.” Brady disconnected the call.

  He bent to pick up the green canvas purse that rested beside Lara’s desk. He guessed it belonged to Amy, knowing his secretary would never be caught carrying anything that didn’t sport a designer label. He was surprised to find it weighed a ton.

  His phone buzzed again.

  Glancing down at the display, he saw Tom had sent him the phone number for Armani Vasquez.

  “What’s going on?” Lara stage-whispered from behind him.

  He whirled around, guiltily stowing his phone away. “What do you mean?”

  “You offer her one of your prized shirts and then pull the very alpha male ‘bring her to see me’ act.”

  “Mildred wants me to help her.”

  “That doesn’t explain the shirt.” Lara was always teasing him about his love of clean and pressed shirts and his need to always have a spare on hand.

  Brady shook his head. “She was cold. Where is she? The police want to talk to her.”

  “She’ll be out in a minute. What does Mildred want you to help her with?”

  He shrugged. “No idea. She seemed to think assistance was needed.”

  They both turned as the sound of squishing footsteps approached.

  Brady sucked in a sharp breath, wondering how he could have ever thought the woman in front of him was mousy. Draped in the crisp white shirt, her hair slicked back in a high pony-tail, and a slash of Lara’s signature shade of red accenting her lips, Amy looked like a fashion model, all high cheekbones and dark eyes.

  “Wow. Quite the transformation.” Lara gushed. “Amazing what a little lipstick can do.”

  A hesitant smile twitched at the corners of Amy’s mouth. “Thank you.” Transferring her gaze to Brady, she reached out. “That’s mine.”

  He extended the bag toward her. “It weighs a ton. What do you have in here?”

  “Books.” She snatched it away.

  “Are you a student?”

  She let out a bitter laugh. “Only of life.”

  “The police want to talk to you,” Lara interjected. “We have to go back down to the lobby.”

  Amy turned in the direction of the elevators.

  “Wait,” Lara ordered. “Here.” She held up the black cardigan she usually kept draped on the back of her chair. “You still look cold.”

  Spinning back around to face her, Amy eyed it for a moment.

  Brady got the distinct impression she was calculating the garment’s cost.

  “That’s okay,” she said, turning away again. “But thank you.”

  Lara, unaccustomed to being refused, would have none of it. Hurrying up behind the other woman, she threw it around Amy’s shoulders.

  When Amy opened her mouth to protest, Lara held up a finger to silence her. “Choose your words carefully, or I’ll have to agree with Mildred’s assessment that you’re stupid.”

  The other woman chuckled softly. “Okay. Thank you.”

  “Better.” Lara beamed, slipping her arm through Amy’s like they were lifelong friends.

  Brady followed them to the elevators.

  Lara raised an eyebrow.

  “I need to check on Mildred,” he replied smoothly. The truth was, he found himself intrigued by the woman Armani Vasquez may have been trying to get him to meet, and he wasn’t ready to let her out of his sight.

  “You know, that shirt looks way better on her than it ever did on you,” Lara teased as they all stepped into the elevator.

  “It does,” he murmured appreciatively.

  Seeing the way Amy tensed under the scrutiny, he quickly added, “Then again, so does your sweater.”

  Lara stuck her tongue out. “Watch it, mister.”

  Arriving at the lobby level, the door slid open and they all stepped out. First Lara, followed by Amy. Brady brought up the rear.

  He almost plowed into Amy when she came to an abrupt halt.

  “What…?” he began, but then looking over her head, he saw what she was reacting to.r />
  When they’d left the lobby, there had been one lone police officer taking Mildred’s statement, now there were more than half a dozen swarming around and the air was charged with a strange energy.

  “There she is.” Gerald, standing across the lobby, talking to an intense-looking man in a tan, rumpled suit, pointed at Amy.

  Everyone in the lobby stopped what they were doing to look over at her.

  Instinctively, Brady placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “I should have never come,” she muttered under her breath. “This was such a bad idea.”

  Chapter Seven

  If Amy hadn’t already been chilled to the bone from getting soaked by the rain, the sight of a lobby full of policemen would have sent a shiver down her spine.

  Something was wrong. Something bigger than a foiled mugging.

  As she focused on the cop in the tan suit who was pulling out a badge as he approached, she felt the weight of Brady’s hand resting on her shoulder. She would have shaken it off, but found she liked the warmth and sense of stability it offered.

  Watching him interact with the old lady and then with Lara, Amy had realized she’d misjudged him that night at Busy Bea’s. He wasn’t slick and self-centered like his dinner-mate had been. He seemed to genuinely connect with people.

  Now the physical connection he offered seemed like a much-needed anchor in a chaotic situation.

  She knew the man in the tan suit was a police detective even before he flashed his badge.

  “Miss Winn?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m Detective Smith. I need to ask you some questions about what happened earlier.”

  “Okay.”

  “Maybe there’s some place quieter,” the detective suggested, looking over her shoulder to Brady for guidance.

  “This way.” Taking his hand from her shoulder, Brady led them around the corner as Lara discreetly disappeared.

  “Thanks,” the detective murmured. “And you are?”

  “Brady Stewart.”

  “And your relationship with Miss Winn?”

  “I’m her attorney.”

  Surprised, Amy stumbled.

  Brady caught her elbow, preventing her from doing a face-plant.

  She looked at him sharply, wondering what kind of game he was playing, but his expression was bland, giving nothing away.

  Detective Smith looked from one to the other and shrugged. “I don’t think Miss Winn needs a lawyer.”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll be the one to decide that,” Brady replied smoothly. He pointed to an alcove.

  He released her elbow as Amy slid into a seat. The detective sat opposite her. Brady remained standing at a ninety-degree angle to them both.

  Thunder boomed and the building’s lights flickered.

  Flinching, Amy sucked in a breath, hoping the electricity would remain on despite the storm. She felt Brady’s concerned gaze on her, but fought the urge to look to him for reassurance.

  She took a steadying breath and reminded herself that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. She didn’t need the blond-haired man to do it for her.

  The detective pulled out a battered notebook and a pen. “I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Michelson about what happened. I just need to see if you remember anything else.”

  “Whatever I can do to help,” Amy said quietly, a knot of apprehension forming in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t sure if the sudden goose bumps that rose on her arms were caused by the building’s over-eager air-conditioning system or because her gut was signaling she was in trouble.

  “Just tell me in your own words what happened.”

  Clearing her throat nervously, Amy rubbed her arms, trying to banish the chill. “I noticed them fighting over the purse.”

  “Mrs. Michelson and her assailant?”

  She nodded.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I ran over and told him to stop.”

  The detective raised his eyebrows but he didn’t say anything.

  Despite her best intentions, Amy swung her gaze to Brady. He nodded encouragingly.

  “She fell.”

  “He pushed her?”

  “No. The strap broke and she fell.”

  The detective scribbled something. “Then what happened?”

  “I hit him.”

  “How?”

  “I swung my purse at him. He said I broke his nose.”

  “With your purse?” The detective obviously didn’t believe her.

  “You haven’t lifted her purse,” Brady interjected.

  The detective frowned at him.

  In response, Brady scooped up the purse Amy had laid at her feet and held it out to Smith.

  The detective took it grudgingly and almost dropped it. “You swung this at him?”

  She nodded.

  A teasing grin almost cracked through the detective’s serious façade. “Are you training for a shot put championship or something?”

  Amy offered him a polite smile in return. “I like to read.”

  “Electronic devices are a lot lighter.”

  “But they’re expensive to replace if you use them as a weapon,” she joked carefully.

  “True.” The detective handed her bag back to Brady. “What happened next?”

  “I used pepper spray on him.”

  The detective nodded. “And then.”

  “I helped Mrs. M. get up and he ran away.”

  “Did you chase after him?”

  “No.”

  “And, I’m sorry, what did you say his name is?” the detective asked casually, flipping through his notebook.

  Amy stiffened. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen him before.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but she still felt a twinge of guilt. What was the detective looking for?

  “So you just happened to notice Mrs. Michelman struggling with this man.”

  “Yes.”

  “You were strolling past at the right moment?”

  “I wasn’t strolling past,” she said slowly.

  “What were you doing?”

  Having no interest in sharing her personal business with the detective or anyone else, Amy kept her answer brief. “I was standing outside.”

  “In the rain?”

  She nodded.

  The detective’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”

  She met his gaze steadily. “I don’t believe that has anything to do with what happened.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide that?” His tone was laced with steel.

  Amy sat up straighter and then shook her head.

  Smith clicked his pen repeatedly, signaling his frustration. “You’re refusing to cooperate?”

  “Miss Winn’s been very cooperative,” Brady interjected.

  “Thank you for that assessment, counselor, but considering she won’t tell me why she was here in the first place, I’m going to disagree.”

  “Why are you hassling me?” Amy shot the detective a dirty look. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Why aren’t you out there finding the man who mugged an old lady?”

  The detective stared at her for a long moment, tapping his pen against his chin. “Because he’s dead.”

  Amy gasped. A horrible sinking feeling filled her. “Because I hit him with my purse?” She buried her head in her hands. “Oh my God. What did I do?”

  “Don’t say anything.” Moving quickly, Brady sat in the chair beside her, patting her arm reassuring. “What are you playing at, Smith?’

  “I’m just trying to figure out what happened.”

  “She told you. If you don’t like her answers, advise her of her rights, but know this, she isn’t saying one more word.”

  Amy glanced at the man beside her. Gone was the laid back blond surfer dude. He’d morphed into a hardball attorney, all commanding tones and a jaw suddenly set in granite, protecting her.

  And she l
iked it.

  “Relax.” Smith held up his hands, signaling his surrender. “Miss Winn didn’t kill him. A slug from a .45 did.”

  “Oh thank God.” Relieved, she slumped in her seat. Then, realizing how that might have sounded, she straightened. “Not ‘thank God he’s dead.’ I just meant I was glad I didn’t do it.”

  Smith raised an eyebrow.

  “Not that I thought I did,” she babbled. “I mean I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a killer.”

  “Good to know,” Smith drawled.

  Brady clapped a hand over her knee and gave it a light squeeze. “Why don’t you be quiet now and let the detective explain what happened?”

  Amy nodded wordlessly, fairly certain that the heat that rushed from his hand had singed her vocal cords. She struggled to focus on what the detective was saying as she tried to ignore the currents of sensation rocketing through her body.

  “He was found a couple of blocks from here. Two shots to the chest. My guess is it was a .45, but the medical examiner will have to say for sure. Guy was a real lowlife. A lot of enemies. That means a lot of suspects.”

  “And you think that Miss Winn is one of them?” Brady asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Then why the twenty questions?”

  “Because she’s the closest thing I’ve got to a witness.”

  “I didn’t see anything,” Amy hurried to assure him. “I helped Mrs. M. to her feet and then we came right into the building.”

  “Did you notice anyone else during your,” he paused for a moment, searching for the right word, “altercation with him?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you sure?”

  She shrugged. “Pretty sure. It was raining. It’s not like there were a lot of people milling around.”

  “And yet you were there.” The detective eyed her thoughtfully. “And you won’t tell me why.”

  “It’s not relevant.” Even as the words came out of her mouth, Amy wondered why she was stubbornly keeping her secret. Part of it was because she was a private person, but another part, some sixth sense, warned her to keep her mouth shut about it.

  Smith nodded slowly. “I believe you.”

  The knot in Amy’s stomach loosened. “You do?”

  He nodded. “I think your interference in the mugging was a coincidence. An unlucky coincidence for the would-be-mugger.”