"Heroin isn't the kind of thing you keep lying around the house."
"But finding a buyer might take you a while if you have to be extra careful. It isn't something a cop would want to be hasty about."
"True," Hugh agreed thoughtfully. "I know the right kind of people, but they'd laugh in my face if I suddenly announced I had some stuff to unload. They'd figure it for a setup."
"Here's a thought. What if Stuart was stringing his partner along, but he had unloaded the heroin."
"Then where in hell's the money?" his brother asked logically.
"Safe-deposit box. Swiss bank account. Anything's possible."
Hugh shot another, inscrutable glance at John. "You're sure about Natalie."
John's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I can't believe she'd want dirty money."
"It's in her favor that Reed's been dead a year and she hasn't changed her lifestyle," Hugh admitted. "For all we knew, he might have had a great life insurance policy that left her a rich widow. Nobody would have wondered."
One of the many parts of this that bothered John was the implication for Natalie. If Stuart hadn't told her he was suddenly one hell of a lot richer, when had he intended to spring it on her? What kind of lies would he have used? Or was it possible she wasn't part of the new life he was planning?
She'd mourned him sincerely. How would she deal with the knowledge that he was not only crooked, he'd lied to her?
"On the other hand," Hugh continued, tone musing, "a smart widow left in her spot might just decide to let some time go by. In case anyone was watching. She's young. She's got time."
John swore viciously. "Can that kind of talk! I'd bet my life on her honesty."
"Would you." Hugh's gaze was unexpectedly penetrating. "Seems to me my big bro has a crush on the lady."
"We're friends. Can't you trust a friend?" Even John knew he didn't sound completely convincing.
"Sure. Why not? But, hey, I saw the way she flew into your arms."
"She was scared."
"I was there. Wasn't me she was looking for."
John didn't lie to his brothers. This wasn't a good time to start, given that he and Hugh were both obligated to take what they'd learned to their superiors and to Internal Affairs, and he was about to ask Hugh to ignore that duty. Not just because he thought he and Hugh would have a better chance of flushing out the bad guy themselves, but because he knew how this would look for Natalie.
If Stuart had stolen a half a million bucks worth of heroin, where was it? Where was the money? The department would figure she must know the answer.
John had pulled the car into his slot in the garage beneath the station, but he didn't turn off the engine. Beside him, Hugh waited, slouched bonelessly in the seat, the epitome of patience.
"I kissed her last night." John sounded hoarse.
Hugh waited some more.
"She kissed me back, but afterward she didn't want to talk about it. We were good friends. I'm guessing that's something she doesn't want to change."
"But you do," his brother said.
"I don't know." John let out a long breath. "I just can't quit thinking about her. I want…" He stopped.
"Her," Hugh finished succinctly.
"More, I was going to say." John squeezed his eyes shut. "But hell, yeah, I want her."
"Yeah, I kind of noticed." His brother's tone of faint amusement penetrated John's absorption.
His eyes shot open, then narrowed. "You think it's funny?"
"Connor and I both figure you've been half in love with her since you woke up one morning and realized she wasn't married anymore. It's just taken you a while to admit it."
John digested the fact that his brothers had been talking about him, then dismissed his irritation. "You know Natalie. Do you think she's lying about the money?"
"Nah." He hesitated, then shrugged. "The lady's got secrets. I never feel like I'm seeing all the way through her. But you know her better than I do. If you trust her, I trust her."
"I do."
His brother spread his hands and reached for the door handle. "Good enough for me."
Turning off the ignition, John nodded. He would have felt the same. He and Hugh had their differences, but in other ways they were tight.
"You know," he said into the silence, conversationally, "Internal Affairs would look hard at me, too. Stuart Reed and I were partners."
Hugh swung back, quick anger glinting in his eyes. "I'd better not hear that kind of crap from anyone."
"How could I not have known? Damn it, we worked together."
"We all knew him! He'd been in the department long enough." Hugh's brows drew together. "Maybe you overlooked his flaws. The way he encouraged people to whine, for example."
"He did?"
"Hell, yeah. You probably didn't see it because you went home after your shift instead of stopping by the tavern. He didn't bitch about the department himself, but he'd egg everyone else on. I didn't like to sit with him at the Lantern when I stopped for a beer. Just seemed like everyone around him would be grumbling about pay or why our esteemed chief had his head up his you-know-what. Not my style. This one time, I overheard him drop a word in Bettelman's ear that Verbeek had been talking about how Bettelman had frozen at that shoot-out at First National. Remember?" Hugh shook his head. "Yeah, Verbeek said a few things, but he was willing to cut Bettelman some slack. The kid was young. Instead they both ended up with black eyes and they could have gotten the boot. Stuart Reed thought it was funny."
Frowning, John said, "I never noticed."
His brother gave a grunt of laughter. "That's because you're above such things."
He scowled.
Dropping the comedy, Hugh got back to the point. "The thing is, Reed listened to people. He liked to know when they were dissatisfied. He could have found somebody of like mind easy enough."
"Why?" John looked to his brother for answers he didn't have. "That's what I don't get. Nobody goes into law enforcement for the bucks. You get caught, you lose your badge and end up flipping burgers."
Hugh shrugged. "Maybe he figured he was doing the world a favor knocking off a couple of dealers. If he got rich out of it, he deserved it, right? Slaving in the trenches all these years, why not get some payback? You could justify it."
"He was a cop."
"There speaks your honest soul. Maybe he soured. Maybe he was on the take all along, and this was just his big chance to score."
"I thought I knew him." Damn it, he sounded plaintive.
"And now we have to doubt everyone." Hugh didn't look any happier than John felt.
"Let me think about our next step."
Hugh only nodded. "It's your call."
Not an easy one to make. Not when it meant lying to friends and colleagues.
Starting with Geoff Baxter, his partner. John knew how deeply insulted he would be if the situation were reversed. Trouble was, he'd remembered something about Baxter.
John had taken some time off work last year, when Debbie had been diagnosed and they were trying to decide what to do and the kids were scared. In John's absence, Stuart Reed had had a temporary partner: Baxter. Six weeks, hand in glove. Funny coincidence that, during the same six weeks, Stuart Reed had apparently offed a couple of drug dealers and stolen a major shipment of heroin. And that Geoff Baxter was obsessively determined to search every cranny of Natalie's house.
Which had gotten John to thinking things he hadn't said even to his brother.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Natalie hid in her office, a cup of coffee growing cold as she stewed over the night before. She'd spent it tossing and turning, alternately chewing herself out, despairing and rejoicing.
She had never, ever, in all her life, felt such glorious, unrestrained passion. So much wondering, and now she knew. The ache low in her belly had helped keep her restless. Why hadn't he followed her? And why should she expe
ct that he would? He'd made a reckless move. Would he wait for her to make the next one?
Half a dozen times during the night she'd wondered: What if she went down the hall and said, I want you?
Now, at her desk, Natalie buried a moan in her hands at the very idea. She knew she was a mass of contradictions: bold at work, pushy when she had to be, but shy with men and not open, even with her friends. She made friends easily enough, but most didn't seem to notice that she never mentioned her childhood or her doubts about her marriage or her growing anger at Stuart.
Or, God forbid, her crush on Det. John McLean.
All she knew was, she had never in her life done something as brash and risky as walking into a man's bedroom and throwing herself at him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She hardly knew whether she was bemoaning her cowardice, or the weakness that had led her to take that step toward him and to say, "I've thought the same thing." If their friendship was to be salvaged, that was the moment to have laughed and said something like, "It's probably inevitable, considering we are a man and a woman. Of course I've wondered, too! But let's not mess up a good thing."
She could have made it light enough to rescue their dignity. She could even have stayed and chatted a while longer.
But, no. She'd gasped, whispered, "I've thought the same thing," and walked into his arms.
For the most wonderful, sensual, sexy kiss of her life.
Only now was she remembering everything she had to lose. What if she did sleep with him, and it wasn't that great? Natalie let out something halfway between a sob and a laugh. Okay. She couldn't imagine that would happen. So, what if it was great, but sex was all they had? Sex plus friendship did not necessarily equal love. And only love and marriage and forever was worth risking all that could go wrong.
She'd expected some of the fall to begin this morning, when Natalie was certain they wouldn't be able to meet each other's eyes. What if he was already sorry about the kiss? What if sex was casual to him, and he didn't figure it would get in the way of their friendship?
But it would. It had to. Natalie was so afraid that if they became sexually involved, eventually one of them would lose interest, and then he wouldn't drop by anymore, or call her at night just to talk, or come running when she needed him.
Reason said she needed him as a friend more than she did as a lover.
Her heart whispered, yes, but what if he could fall in love with her? What if he had? Could she? Wasn't that possibility worth almost any risk?
She didn't know. Yes. No. Maybe.
With another moan, Natalie opened a drawer and stared inside blankly. She needed several files. But which ones?
Face it, Natalie thought, she had no idea how to take the risk, short of tucking her dignity in a drawer and presenting herself in his bedroom. No idea what to say to him tonight. No idea what to do if he didn't make another move and say anything to her.
She was a coward.
Coward enough to have been relieved to shower and dress and find John and the kids already gone that morning, only a note on the kitchen counter saying, Had an early appointment today. Mom will take the kids to school. See you after work. John.
Her day consisted of meetings. It had begun with their usual Monday morning quarterbacking session, when she and heads of other departments sat around a conference table and went page by page through competing newspapers to see how the Sentinel compared.
Generally well, she thought, at least on the advertising side. Editorials were sometimes mealy-mouthed, a sin common to newspapers from a community where everyone knew everyone. Local coverage was excellent, and wasn't that why the citizens of Port Dare subscribed to the Sentinel? For the most part, she was able to tune out.
She'd calmed herself enough to recollect what information she needed to see one of several local businessmen who didn't like the expensive, glossy inserts run by chain stores. They couldn't afford to compete, of course, and her only answer was to suggest they host events that might make the news pages.
The owner of a hardware store, he glowered at her. "You mean, one of those damn things where I give away a car to whoever sits in it longest?"
"Why not?" she countered. "Think of Survivor. You know how the world watched." She'd paused just long enough. "On the other hand, if you don't want quite as much publicity, go for a simple donation to a needy family. I guarantee you'll get an article."
She left him thoughtfully eyeing the rows of ride-on mowers with balloons tied to their gear shifts. Dang, maybe she should change careers. She'd make a heck of a fund-raiser for a charity.
On the other hand, she didn't have the nerve to grab her cell phone and call John.
Contradictions.
Having brought her riding clothes, she went straight to the stable after work and rode in the large outdoor arena despite a slight autumn drizzle. The stallion was in an irritable, fidgety mood, fighting her every command. He wanted to gallop, not trot, and he refused to change leads as she reined him in a tight figure-eight. Some days Natalie would have thrown up her hands and opened the gate, taking him for a long, freewheeling ride in the foothills. Today she grimly worked him until sweat soaked his flanks and he did as she bid.
"Congratulations," Pam Reynolds said, as Natalie led him into the wide aisle of the barn, shook dampness from her hair and reached for the buckle to loosen the girth. "You usually let him ride roughshod over you."
"Oh, thanks." Natalie heaved the saddle off. "You know, I'm not trying to show him. He and I are supposed to be having fun."
The stable owner bent and lifted the foreleg of one of the horses she used for lessons. Loosing a pebble with the pick, she said musingly, "It's a shame. That horse is wasted here."
Natalie felt a blooming of a mother's pride. "You really think he has what it takes to succeed in the showring?"
"We have a couple of Arabians here. You've seen 'em. Nice horses." Pam set down the hoof and circled to the bay's other side. Her voice came over his back. "Your Foxfire makes 'em look like plugs."
"He cost a small fortune." Natalie felt a renewed pang of guilt at Stuart's extravagance and at her own in not having promptly sold the horse and invested the money for her future.
Pam's head appeared above the placid bay's back. "Twenty-five thousand isn't so much. Melissa Monroe paid ten for Baroness."
Baroness was a nice Arab mare, but not showring material. Even Natalie could tell that.
"Foxfire and I are buddies." To heck with prudence or anybody's opinion that her beautiful horse was wasted on her. "I don't want to sell him, and I don't have the skill or interest in showing him. Today was just to remind him that I am the boss. Even if I listen to, um, protests."
"You let that horse get by with murder." Pam's leathery face was momentarily warmed by a smile. "But don't listen to me. I'm jealous, remember."
As always, Natalie offered the stable owner the chance to ride Foxfire. Also as always, Pam refused.
Grimacing at her wet hair and sweat-and-mud-streaked face in the rearview mirror, Natalie drove home. No, not home, she hastily reminded herself, to John's house. She was annoyed with herself when she saw his car in the driveway and wished she could sneak in and shower before she saw him. So what if she was grungy? He'd held her when she cried after Stuart died. He'd seen her with middle-of-the-night hair and a face scrubbed clean of makeup. Their friendship was doomed if she had to start worrying about what she looked like every time she saw him.
Especially since they were now, however awkwardly, living together.
"Hi." She breezed in the back door.
John was chopping onions in the kitchen, his back to her. He glanced over his shoulder, taking her in from head to foot. "Have a good ride?"
"Um." Natalie passed out of his line of sight as quickly as she could without being blatant. "I'll take a fast shower," she called.
His voice followed her. "No hurry."
That being the case, she took her sweet time, washing and drying her hair, discard
ing a couple of shirts before she chose one though she had only put on jeans, and even applying light makeup, something she rarely did in the evening. A woman had her pride, she excused herself.
Only when she reemerged from her bedroom did she notice how quiet the house was. Natalie paused in the hall and listened. No canned laughter from the TV, no bickering.
No children?
Her heart turned a somersault. Did she want to be alone in the house with John?
She momentarily pressed her hand to her chest, trying to quiet the wild beats. Deep breath. Seduction was not necessarily on the menu even if Maddie and Evan weren't home.
Finally she settled for faking poise. Strolling into the kitchen, where John had moved to the stove, she said casually, "I don't hear the kids."
"Mom has them." Lines carved his forehead and his expression was unexpectedly serious. "I wanted to talk to you."
The somersault her heart had taken became a belly flop. He sounded like a man who regretted a mistake and wanted to right it.
She knew herself the kiss shouldn't have happened, so why feel so crushed?
"If you mean last night," she began.
He looked blank. "Last night?" His face cleared. "Oh. I guess we should talk about that, too, but no. This is something else."
Now her heart raced. Why so grim if he'd learned something about the corpse in Stuart's den? Shouldn't he be glad if he'd gotten somewhere on the investigation?
She groped for a stool behind the breakfast bar and sank onto it. "What?"
He swore suddenly and turned back to the stove.
"Damn it, let me get dinner on the table. I just burned the sauce."
The acrid scent filled the kitchen.
"I'm sorry, if you're cooking just because I'm here."
"Don't be ridiculous," he said brusquely. "I have to eat."
Squelched, Natalie waited in silence while he discarded the blackened mess, cleaned the pan and got ingredients out of the refrigerator.
"Can I help?" she asked timidly at one point, but he waved her off.
"This just takes a minute. We're having chicken and broccoli crepes. Everything else is ready."
HIS PARTNER'S WIFE Page 14