2 A Match Made in Mystery

by J. B. Lynn

  Amy glanced down at her bag guiltily.

  “On the other hand, I don’t think his choice of victim was a coincidence.”

  She felt Brady, sitting beside her, tense.

  “You think he was waiting to attack Mildred?”

  The tension in Brady’s voice made Amy wince. She risked a quick look at his profile and saw the muscle in his jaw jumping as though he was clenching his teeth. She had the ridiculous urge to lift her hand and try to wipe his tension away. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap.

  Detective Smith watched the lawyer’s reaction carefully before speaking. “This isn’t the first time Mrs. Michelman was attacked, is it?”

  Brady frowned. “No. Last month her home was burglarized.”

  “And before that,” Smith consulted his notebook, “her car was stolen, right?”

  “You seem to know a lot about her.”

  “She and her husband are big supporters of the P.B.A.,” Smith replied easily. “The brass wants her looked after.”

  “So do I.”

  Smith nodded. “Any idea what she’s got that someone’s intent on stealing?”

  Brady shrugged helplessly. “No clue. Have you asked her?”

  “She claimed not to know.” The detective’s tone made it clear that he hadn’t believed the older woman.

  “She can be a bit stubborn,” Brady admitted.

  Smith chuckled.

  Amy blinked, surprised. The sound of his laughter was pleasant and the act revealed that the somber man had deep laugh lines around his eyes.

  “Okay,” Brady replied, a smile in his voice. “Maybe stubborn is an understatement.”

  “I’ll have officers step up patrols in her neighborhood, but beyond that, there’s not a lot I can do for her. She’s alone in that house?”

  Brady nodded. “Mr. Michelman is on a trip around the world with his son. I think they’re in India now.”

  Smith frowned. “I tried to convince her to hire someone for protection, but I got the impression she didn’t think much of my opinion. Maybe you can talk to her?”

  “I can try,” Brady agreed, but he didn’t sound convinced he could sway her decision.

  “If you think of anything else, Miss Winn, could you give me a call?” Getting to his feet, Detective Smith handed her a business card.

  “Of course.” Standing, she wobbled unsteadily.

  In an effort to support her, Brady grabbed her elbow, his fingers scorching her with a heat that spread like wildfire through her body.

  She shook him off.

  “Only trying to help,” he murmured.

  Detective Smith’s gaze flitted between the two of them and a strange smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Thanks for your help.” With a wave, he strolled away.

  The moment he rounded the corner and was out of sight, Brady grabbed her elbow again.

  Surprised, Amy looked up at him.

  “Why were you here?” He speared her with his gaze, intensity swirling in their depths, like a whirlpool, threatening to suck her in and swamp her sensibility.

  Thankfully, before she drowned in his eyes, Gerald, the young, suspendered man, hurried over. “Mrs. M. wants to see you.”

  “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute,” Brady told him dismissively without looking at him.

  Unoffended by the slight, Gerald replied easily, “It’s not you she wants to see. She wants to talk to ‘that Amy gal.’”

  His impression of Mildred Michelman was dead-on and both Brady and Amy laughed.

  “I heard that, Gerald,” Mrs. M. admonished, appearing from around the corner.

  Gerald paled.

  “You’re lucky you’re so damn good at what you’re doing for Mr. Burberry,” the old lady told him, plucking at his bowtie like it was the string of a violin. “Otherwise I might be offended.”

  “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” Brady reminded her.

  Gerald shot him a grateful look.

  “Tell me, Amy, what were you doing here standing in the rain, staring at this building as though your life depended on it?” Mildred asked, abruptly changing the subject. Her tone was sharp, her gaze pointed as it bored into Amy.

  Amy shivered, once again unsure of why. Thinking of the envelope in the bottom of her purse, she murmured, “It just may.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Well what is it? Spit it out,” Mildred ordered.

  Brady observed Amy’s hesitation. She hadn’t told the detective why she was here. He was fairly certain she didn’t want to tell anyone, but Mrs. M. had a way of drawing out secrets.

  Gerald cleared his throat. “You could have your conversation somewhere more private.” He tilted his head in the direction of the building receptionist who was practically falling out of her chair as she leaned in the direction to eavesdrop.

  Watching Amy flash him a grateful smile and Gerald silently answering her with a cheeky grin made Brady want to hit the young associate. He was accustomed to fighting his battles with his mind and mouth, but something about the bedraggled woman beside him, who he barely knew, caused him to want to resort to physical violence.

  “Yes, yes. Good thinking, Gerald.” Mildred bustled away toward the elevator, calling over her shoulder. “We’ll use your office, Brady. Lara can make me more tea. Hurry, Gerald. Keep up.”

  Hustling to catch up with the older woman, Gerald left Brady and Amy behind.

  Looking down at the woman standing beside him, Brady felt a stab of pity for her. She looked exhausted and shell-shocked. “Day’s not turning out the way you’d planned?” he asked gently.

  “They rarely do.” She bent to pick up her purse.

  “I can carry that for you.”

  Amusement glittered in her eyes. Suddenly, she didn’t look quite so tired. “It’s been a long time since a boy carried my books for me.”

  “It’s been a long time since I offered to,” Brady teased back.

  She turned serious. “Why did you tell the detective you were my lawyer?”

  Brady chose his words carefully. “You looked like you needed help.”

  “So that’s your thing? You rescue damsels in distress?” Her eyes sparkled with emotion. “Give them the shirt off your back? Carry their books?”

  Unsure of whether she was impressed or annoyed by his chivalry, he pointed out, “Technically the shirt was on the back of my door, not my back.”

  Her gaze narrowed.

  Realizing she wasn’t amused, he hastily added, “Besides, I have a secret motivation.”

  Tilting her head, she eyed him suspiciously. “What’s that?”

  He shrugged. “Mildred told me to help you.”

  She blinked her surprise. “Why? When?”

  “Before we went up to my office. I don’t know the why. Maybe she figures you helped her and she wants to return the favor.” He reached for her bag and realized he was pleasantly surprised when she relinquished her hold on it. Tilting his head to indicate she should follow him, he moved toward the elevators. “So, are you going to tell anyone why you’re here?”

  With a ding, the elevator doors slid open. They stepped inside.

  As they did, Amy said, “I’m here to see Mr. Willen.”

  Brady tensed at the thought of her being there to see Eric. Had he hit on her at the restaurant? Had she been so fooled by his slick act that she’d made the trip down here just to see him?

  The doors slid shut.

  He met her guileless gaze as he bit out, “Why?”

  Before she could reply, the world went pitch dark and a sudden silence filled the air.

  “Shit.” Her whispered curse seemed to echo off the metal walls of the elevator.

  “It’s the storm. The power should be back on in a minute.” In the enclosed space, he could hear her breath become ragged. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she wheezed, sounding anything but fine.

  “Are you having some sort of attack?” He reached for her, but instead of grab
bing her upper arm, he found himself inadvertently groping her chest.

  “Hey!” She slapped his hand away. A crash a split second later signaled that she’d stumbled backward. “Watch it, mister.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, fumbling for his phone, needing the light from it to see her face.

  “I’ve got pepper spray,” she warned.

  “Actually I have your purse,” he reminded her, “so I’m guessing that leaves you weaponless.”

  “I know self-defense,” she shouted, her words bouncing off the steel walls and ringing in his ears.

  “Relax.” He finally pulled out his phone and turned the flashlight app on, bathing the area near it in eerie light. “I wasn’t attacking you.”

  “You grabbed me,” she accused.

  He pointed the phone in her direction and saw that she was crouched in a pugilist stance, with two fists raised at the ready.

  “You sounded like you were having an asthma attack or something. I was afraid you were going to pass out and fall and hurt yourself.”

  “I do not faint.” She sounded offended that he’d even entertained the notion.

  He angled the phone to get a better look at her face.

  She glared at him, wide-eyed and afraid. Her mouth hung open and she was sucking in shallow breaths that made her shoulders rise and fall.

  “Are you having a panic attack?” he asked gently.

  “No.”

  “Because you seem a little agitated.”

  “We’re trapped in an elevator,” she squeaked, making no pretense of trying to hide her panic. “We could die in here.”

  “We’re not going to die and we won’t be stuck here for long,” he reassured her calmly. “Your bag is heavy, so I’m going to put it down now.” He made the glow from the phone illuminate his actions as he slowly put her purse on the floor.

  “Aren’t there emergency generators or something that are supposed to come on?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Why not?” Her voice cracked, revealing how afraid she was.

  “Because I’m a lawyer, not an electrical engineer.” Thinking that she might feel less threatened if he wasn’t looming over her, he said, “I’m going to sit down now.”

  Moving slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, leaning back against the elevator wall.

  “You’re going to ruin your pants,” she muttered.

  He was glad the darkness hid his smile. “I probably did that earlier when I knelt in a puddle.”

  “Could be.”

  “I’m going to call Lara and tell her where we are.”

  “Okay.”

  While he spoke with Lara, Amy too sat down on the elevator floor, opposite him. He watched her shadowy figure as she pulled her knees into her chest.

  When he was done, he held out his phone to her. “Anyone you want to call?”

  “No.”

  Her answer came out so quickly, he wasn’t sure if she was being abrupt with him or if it was an automatic answer. “I’m going to turn the light off to conserve the battery.”

  She didn’t respond. He could still hear her breathing heavily. He wondered if it was the dark, the enclosed space, or his presence that frightened her.

  “But first I’m going to push your purse over to you and let you find your pepper spray.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can arm yourself against me.”

  A self-recriminating chuckle escaped her. “I’m sorry I said you attacked me.”

  “I’m sorry you thought I attacked you.”

  “I overreacted. I don’t need the spray and you can turn off the light.”

  “Okay. On three. One. Two. Three.”

  Turning off the phone’s light plunged the car into inky darkness.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she replied, but there was a boatload of tension in that single syllable.

  He heard her take a shuddering breath and wished he could do something to make the ordeal easier on her. “If you’re cold, I could give you the shirt off my back.”

  He was rewarded with a soft chuckle that brought a satisfied grin to his face.

  “I don’t think I’m on the verge of freezing to death.”

  “Let me know if that changes.” The idea of cuddling up to her under the guise of keeping her warm held a certain appeal.

  “Do you think I can see Mr. Willen when we get out of here?”

  Her question felt like a bucket of ice water being dumped on him. “Why?”

  “Because I need to see him.”

  Brady forced himself to keep his tone calm. “He’s not what he seems.”

  “He’s not?”

  “No.”

  “So he’s not a lawyer?” Confusion crept into her voice, making her sound vulnerable.

  “He’s a lawyer,” Brady admitted grudgingly, keeping to himself his belief that Eric Willen was the kind of attorney people made jokes about.

  “Then he’s the one I have to see.”

  As a general rule, Brady hated the way Eric treated women. He wanted to protect Amy from the kind of heartache his co-worker dispensed, not because Mildred had told him to help her, but because he hated the idea of Amy being hurt.

  “Look,” he began, glad the darkness hid the fact he’d balled his hands into fists, “I know he’s handsome and charming and has probably promised you the world, or a date, or a job, or an introduction to someone, but I’m telling you, you don’t want anything to do with Willen. He’s a player. Nothing more.”

  Her stunned silence echoed in the darkness.

  He swallowed hard, realizing he’d said too much. “That didn’t come out right.”

  She remained silent.

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “How old is Mr. Willen?” she asked quietly.

  “Thirty, thirty-one,” Brady snapped impatiently, displeased that despite his warning, she was intent on falling for Eric’s act.

  “There’s an older Mr. Willen, isn’t there?”

  “Eric’s father.”

  “That’s who I’m here to see,” Amy said quietly. “Unless, of course, he’s a player too.”

  Brady was so relieved to hear that she wasn’t there to see Eric that it took him an extra beat or two to realize what she was saying. “You’re here to see his father?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t.”

  He heard her sharp intake of breath.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because he died two weeks ago.”

  Chapter Nine

  The news that the man she was supposed to see was dead, hit Amy like a sucker punch. Jerking back as though it was a physical blow, she banged her head against the elevator’s wall. “Ow!”

  “Are you okay?”

  Brady’s concern wafted across the space that separated them.

  “I hit my head.”

  “I guessed that. Why did you have to see Milton Willen?”

  “I don’t know.” Her fingers gingerly explored the tender spot at the back of her head, wondering if the blow would leave a lump.

  “You don’t know why you have to see him, but you came all the way over here in the pouring rain to do so?”

  The incredulity in Brady’s voice made her wince. “When you put it like that I sound like an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” he soothed. “You’re just not making any sense.”

  “Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.” The last word came out as an unexpected sob. She clapped her hands over her mouth, wondering where it had come from. Sure, she was tired and stressed, but she made it a point to never cry in front of strangers… in front of anyone.

  “Hey, hey,” he murmured, quickly maneuvering himself in the dark so that he was sitting beside her, pressing the side of his arm against hers. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean it.”

  Not trusting herself to speak for fear that the tears clogging her throat would escape, she nodded, forgetting he
couldn’t see her.

  The warmth of his body seeped into hers, chasing away the chill the sweater had failed to fend off. The dark and their physical proximity made her keenly aware of the clean scents of fresh-smelling soap and woodsy cologne.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he reassured her, draping an arm over her shoulders and pulling her close. “We’ll get this all sorted out and everything will be okay.”

  Taking a deep breath, she wiped away a pair of errant tears that managed to ooze out of the corners of her eyes. “Because Mildred said so?”

  He didn’t respond, just tightened his grip on her shoulders, offering her support.

  “Maybe if I explain from the beginning,” she said hopefully, “you’ll be able to make some sense out of it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  She quickly told him about the process server, the letter, and that her friend had urged her to see Mr. Willen right away. “So that’s why I was in front of the building,” she concluded.

  “As soon as we get out of here, you’ll show me the letter?”

  She twisted her hands in her lap. “I can’t afford to pay you much.”

  “We’ll work something out,” he assured her.

  “I don’t know.” She hated owing anyone anything.

  “If you don’t let me help you, Mildred will never forgive me.”

  “And her opinion is important to you?” Amy asked, unable to contain her curiosity. Forgetting about the darkness that enveloped them, she tilted her head back to get a better look at him. Her forehead scraping against his chin set off fireworks through her entire body.

  “Probably more than it should be,” he admitted, his breath tickling her cheek.

  She shivered involuntarily at the sensation.

  The arm wrapped tighter around her, pulled her even closer. “Are you sure you don’t want my shirt?”

  “I’m not cold,” she murmured softly.

  She heard him audibly gulp and reveled in the knowledge that she was affecting him as much as he did her.

  He cleared his throat to ask, “How did you know what a purple people eater is?”

  A wave of sadness swept over her. “Bea, the owner of Busy Bea’s, loved them.” Not wanting to deal with her feelings about Bea’s death, she quickly asked, “Why did you order one?”