The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  “I heard about that. How’s he doing?”

  “Milking it,” Ryan said with a wink. “Time was, a guy took a pop, he mopped up the blood and got back on the street.”

  “After he chewed the bullet out with his teeth.”

  “That’s the way.” Someone shouted for Ryan, and he shouted back that they should hold on. “We miss you around here, Captain,” he said, leaning on the desk again. “Goldman’s okay as an acting captain. I mean he pushes paper with the best of them, but let’s face it. The man’s an asshole.”

  “You’ll break him in.”

  “No, sir.” Ryan shook his head. “Some you do, some you don’t. The men knew they could talk to you, straight. Knew they’d find you on the street as often as you’d be riding the desk. With Goldman you gotta climb up the chain of command and tippytoe through regulations and procedure.” His genial face wrinkled into a sneer. “You won’t catch him going through the door, not unless there’s a camera and three reporters on the other side.”

  Whatever Jed felt about Ryan’s easy flow of information, he kept to himself. “Good press doesn’t hurt the department. Is Lieutenant Chapman in? I need to talk to him.”

  “Sure, I think he’s in his office. You can track him down.”

  Jed waited, then lifted his brow. “Give me a visitor’s badge, Ryan.”

  Ryan turned pink with embarrassed dismay. “Shit, Captain.”

  “I need a visitor’s badge, Sergeant.”

  “Makes me sick,” Ryan muttered as he pulled one out. “I gotta tell you, it makes me sick.”

  “You told me.” Jed clamped the badge onto his shirt.

  To get to Brent, he had to walk through the bull pen. He would have preferred a nice slow waltz on hot coals. His stomach clenched each time his name was called, each time he was forced to stop and exchange a word. Each time he forced himself to ignore the speculation, the unasked questions.

  By the time he reached Brent’s door, the tension was rapping at the base of his neck like a dull spike.

  He knocked once, then pushed the door open. Brent was sitting at his overburdened desk, the phone at his ear. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He glanced up. Instantly the irritation in his eyes cleared. “Yeah, yeah, and when you’re ready to shoot straight, we’ll deal. I’ll get back to you.” He hung up and leaned back in his chair. “I thought the noise level out there rose a few degrees. You were in the neighborhood, thought you’d drop by, right?”

  “No.” Jed sat down, took out a cigarette.

  “I know, you needed a fix of cop coffee.”

  “When I get that bad, I’ll have myself committed.” Jed struck a match. He didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to get involved. But he had to. “Is Goldman being as big an asshole as Ryan claims?”

  Grimacing, Brent rose to pour two cups of coffee from the pot on his hot plate. “Well, he’s not exactly Mr. Popularity around here. I caught Thomas down in the locker room sticking pins in a Goldman doll. I recognized it because it had those little beady eyes and big teeth.”

  Jed took the coffee. “What did you do about the doll?”

  “I stuck a couple pins in it myself. So far, Goldman doesn’t seem to be in any particular discomfort.”

  Jed grinned. The first sip of coffee wiped that off his face. “You know, I could put in your name with the chief. I figure he’d listen to my recommendation.”

  “Not interested.” Brent took off his glasses to wipe ineffectively at the smudges. “I’m lousy at delegating. Thomas might end up sticking pins in an incredibly handsome doll wearing horn-rims.” He leaned against the edge of his desk. “Come back, Jed.”

  Jed lowered his eyes to his coffee, slowly lifted them again. “I can’t. Christ, Brent, I’m a mess. Give me a badge right now and I don’t know what I’d do, or who’d pay for it. Last night.” He had to stop. He took a deep drag on his cigarette. “Somebody’d been in my place, in my things.”

  “You had another break-in over there?”

  Jed shook his head. “This was slick. A couple things out of place, a drawer shut when I’d left it partway open, that kind of thing. I’d been out most of the day. Elaine’s estate, the settlement on her house.” Weary, he kneaded the back of his neck. “After all that, I went and had a drink, I went to a movie. I came home, took one look around and went after Dora.”

  He picked up his coffee again. It was no more bitter than the taste already lodged in his throat. “I mean I went after her, Brent. Saw the crime, made the collar.” In disgust, he crushed out his cigarette and rose. “I pushed her around.”

  “Christ, Jed.” Stunned, he watched Jed pace the office. “You didn’t—you didn’t hit her?”

  “No.” How could he be offended by the question? Jed wondered. “I scared the hell out of her, though. Scared myself after I pulled it in. I didn’t think it through. I didn’t keep it chilled. I just snapped. I’m not going to take the chance of doing something like that from behind a badge, Brent.” He turned back. “That badge used to mean something to me.”

  “I’ve known you almost ten years. I never once saw you misuse it.”

  “And I don’t intend to. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. Dora didn’t go into my apartment. So who did?”

  “Might have been a return from whoever broke in the other night. Looking for something to lift.”

  “I don’t have a lot in there with me, but there was a couple hundred in cash in the drawer. My thirty-eight. A Sony Walkman. Dora’s place across the hall’s loaded.”

  “What about the security?”

  “I looked it over, couldn’t find anything. This guy’s good, Brent. A pro. It could be a connection to Speck, somebody who wants revenge.”

  “Speck wasn’t the kind to inspire loyalty after death.” But, like Jed, Brent wasn’t willing to dismiss the possibility. “I’m going to do some checking. Why don’t I put a couple of eyes on the building?”

  Normally Jed would have cringed at the thought of protection. Now he merely nodded. “I’d appreciate it. If somebody wants me, I wouldn’t like to have Dora caught in the middle.”

  “Consider it done. So tell me, how are you handling things with Dora?”

  “I apologized.” He snorted, turned to study Brent’s poster of Eastwood’s Dirty Harry. “Big fucking deal. I offered to move out, but she didn’t seem to care one way or the other.” He muttered under his breath, but Brent’s ears were keen.

  “What was that? Did you say something about flowers?”

  “I bought her some damn flowers,” Jed snapped. “She won’t even look at them. She sure as hell won’t look at me. Which would be just fine and dandy, except . . .”

  “Except?”

  Jed whirled back, a bleak expression on his face. “Goddamn it, Brent, she’s got me. I don’t know how she did it, but she’s got me. If I don’t have her soon, I’m going to start drooling.”

  “Bad sign,” Brent said with a slow nod. “Drooling’s a very bad sign.”

  “You getting a kick out of this?”

  “Well . . . yeah.” Brent grinned and pushed up his glasses. “A big one, actually. I mean, as I recall, you’ve always been smooth and on top of things—no pun intended—with women. Always figured it was all that high-class breeding. Now you’re standing there with this hook in your mouth. It looks good on you.”

  Jed just glared.

  “So she’s pissed,” Brent continued. “She’ll make you sweat for a little while, beg a little.”

  “I’m not begging. Screw begging.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’d rather she be angry than frightened.” No, he realized, he didn’t think he could handle having her look at him with fear in her eyes again. “I thought I might pick up some more flowers on the way back.”

  “Maybe you’d better think sparkles, pal. The kind you hang around your neck.”

  “Jewelry? I’m not going to bribe her to forgive me.”

  “What are the flowers for?”

  “Flowers ar
en’t a bribe.” Amazed that a married man could know so little, Jed headed for the door. “Flowers are sentimental. Jewelry’s mercenary.”

  “Yeah, and there’s nobody more mercenary than an angry woman. Just ask my wife,” Brent shouted when Jed kept going. “Hey, Skimmerhorn! I’ll be in touch.”

  Chuckling to himself, Brent went back to his desk. He called up the Speck file on the computer.

  Jed was surprised to find Dora still at her desk when he returned. He’d been gone more than three hours, and in the short time he’d known her, he’d never seen her huddled with paperwork for more than half that time. Dora seemed to prefer the contact with customers, or perhaps it was the satisfaction of collecting money.

  Probably both.

  It didn’t surprise him that she ignored him every bit as completely as she had that morning, but this time he thought he was prepared.

  “I got you something.”

  Jed set the large box on the desk in front of her. When she glanced at it, he had the small satisfaction of spotting the flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

  “It’s, ah, just a robe. To replace the one that got torn last night.”

  “I see.”

  He moved his shoulders restlessly. He wasn’t getting much of a reaction from her, and he figured he’d paid big time. Poking around a woman’s lingerie department with the salesclerk beaming at him had made him feel like a pervert. At least he’d been able to settle for practical terrycloth.

  “I think I got the size right, but you might want to check.”

  Carefully, she closed her checkbook and folded her hands on top of it. When she looked up at him, the curiosity had been replaced by glittering anger. “Let me get this straight, Skimmerhorn. Do you think that a bunch of pathetic flowers and a robe are what it’s going to take to clear the path?”

  “I—”

  She didn’t give him a chance. “You figure a handful of daisies will charm me into sighs and smiles? Is that what you think? I don’t know how you’ve played it before, pal, but it doesn’t work that way with me.” She rose from the desk, slapped her palms down on the department-store box and leaned forward. If eyes were weapons, he’d have already bled to death. “Inexcusable behavior isn’t reconciled by a couple of lame gifts and a hangdog expression.”

  She caught herself on the edge of a shout and paused to fight for control.

  “You should keep going,” Jed said quietly. “Get the rest of it out.”

  “All right, fine. You muscle your way into my apartment flinging accusations. Why? Because I was handy, and because you didn’t like the way things were moving between us. You didn’t even consider that you might be wrong, you just attacked. You scared the bloody hell out of me, and worse . . .” She pressed her lips together and turned away. “You humiliated me, because I just took it. I just stood there trembling and crying. I didn’t even fight back.” Now that she’d admitted it, she felt calmer and faced him again. “I hate that most of all.”

  He understood that all too well. “You’d have been crazy to take me on in the mood I was in.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It is the point.” He felt anger stirring again, viciously self-directed. “For Christ’s sake, Dora, you were facing a maniac who had you by better than fifty pounds. What were you going to do, wrestle me to the ground?”

  “I know self-defense,” she said, lifting her chin. “I could have done something.”

  “You did.” He remembered the way her terrified tears had defused him. “You’re crazy if you let yourself be embarrassed because you were afraid.”

  “I don’t think insulting me is going to smooth the waters, Skimmerhorn.” She lifted a hand to push back her hair. It wasn’t her usual casual gesture, Jed noted. It was a weary one. “Look, I’ve had a rough day—”

  She broke off when he took her hand. Even as she stiffened, he gently straightened her arm. She’d pushed up the sleeves of her jacket to work. There was a light trail of bruises on her forearms, marks he knew would match the press of his fingers.

  “I can keep saying I’m sorry.” His eyes were eloquent. “That doesn’t mean a hell of a lot.” He released her, tucked his hands away in his pockets. “I can’t tell you I’ve never put bruises on a woman before, because I have. But it was always in the line of duty, never personal. I hurt you. And I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

  He started for the steps.

  “Jed.” There was a sigh in her voice. “Wait a minute.” Sucker, she admitted, and flipped open the top of the box. The robe was nearly identical to hers, but for the color. She smoothed a finger down the deep-green terrycloth lapel.

  “They didn’t have a white one.” He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt more foolish in his life. “You wear a lot of bright colors, so . . .”

  “It’s nice. I didn’t say I was forgiving you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’djust prefer if we could put things back on some reasonable level. I’m not comfortable feuding with the neighbors.”

  “You’ve got a right to set the rules.”

  She smiled a little. “You must really be suffering to hand over that kind of power.”

  “You’ve never been a man buying women’s lingerie. You don’t know about suffering.” He wanted to touch her, but knew better. “I am sorry, Dora.”

  “I know. Really, I do. I was nearly as mad at myself as I was at you this morning. Before I could cool off we had some trouble in the shop. So when you came back, I was ready for blood.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Shoplifting.” Her eyes hardened again. “This morning, not long after you left to buy a hair shirt.”

  He didn’t smile. “Are you sure it was all there last night when you closed up?”

  That stiffened her spine. “I know my stock, Skimmerhorn.”

  “You said you got in a few minutes before I did last night.”

  “Yes, what does—”

  “You were upset when I left you. You were still upset this morning. I don’t suppose you’d have noticed.”

  “Noticed what?”

  “If anything was missing from upstairs. Let’s go take a look now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Somebody was in my place last night.”

  She caught herself before she spoke, but he saw the doubt on her face.

  “I’m not saying that to excuse my behavior, but somebody was in my place,” he said again, struggling to keep his voice calm. “Cops see things civilians don’t. I had an idea that it might have been some of Speck’s men, dropping around to hassle me, but it could have been something else. Somebody looking for some trinkets.”

  “What about the alarm system. Those burglary-proof locks you put in?”

  “Nothing’s burglary-proof.”

  “Oh.” She closed her eyes briefly as he took her hand and pulled her up the stairs. “Well, that certainly makes me feel better. A minute ago I was happy being furious at a shoplifter. Now you’ve got me worried that I had some cat burglar prowling around my apartment.”

  “Let’s just check it out. Got your keys?”

  “It’s not locked.” His look made her bristle. “Look, ace, the outside door’s locked, and I was right downstairs. Besides . . .” She shoved open the door. “Nobody’s been in here.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He bent down to examine the lock, saw no obvious signs of tampering. “Did you leave this unlocked when you went out last night?”

  “Maybe.” She was beginning to sulk. “I don’t remember.”

  “Keep any cash in the house?”

  “Some.” She crossed to the kneehole desk and opened a drawer. “It’s right where it’s supposed to be. And so is everything else.”

  “You haven’t looked.”

  “I know what’s in here, Jed.”

  He scanned the room himself, skimming, identifying knickknacks as skillfully as he would faces in a mugbook. “What happened to the painting? The one over
the couch?”

  “The abstract? My mother thought she liked it, so I took it over so she could live with it awhile.” She gestured to the two portraits that replaced it. “I thought I’d like having those two for company. But I was wrong. They’re entirely too somber and disapproving, but I haven’t had the chance to—”

  “Jewelry?”

  “Sure, I have jewelry. Okay, okay.” She rolled her eyes and headed back to the bedroom. She opened a camphorwood-and-ebony chest that sat on a lowboy. “It looks like it’s all here. It’s a little tougher to remember, because I lend Lea pieces, and she lends me . . .” She took out a velvet pouch and shook out a pair of emerald earrings. “If anybody was going to riffle through here, they’d go for these. They’re the real thing.”

  “Nice,” he said after a cursory glance. It didn’t surprise him that she had enough jewelry to adorn a dozen women. Dora enjoyed quantity. Nor did it surprise him that her bedroom was as crowded and homey as her living room. Or as subtly feminine. “Some bed.”

  “I like it. It’s a Louis the Fifteenth reproduction. I bought it from a hotel in San Francisco. I couldn’t resist that headboard.”

  It was high, covered with deep blue brocade and gently curved at the top. She’d added a lushly quilted satin spread and an army of fussy pillows.

  “I like to sit up late and read with a fire going.” She closed the jewelry box. “One of the things that sold me on this building was the size of the rooms, and that I could have a fireplace in my bedroom. It’s—as my father would say—the cat’s meow.” She grinned. “Sorry, Captain, it doesn’t look like I have a crime to report.”

  He should have been relieved. But he couldn’t ignore the tickle at the back of his neck. “Why don’t you give me a list of the stolen goods? We—Brent can have some men check out the pawnshops.”

  “I’ve already reported it.”

  “Let me help.” This time he went with the urge to touch her, to see if she’d back away. But when he ran a hand down her arm, she only smiled.

  So he was forgiven, he thought. Just that simply.

  “All right. It wouldn’t be smart to turn down the services of a police captain over a simple shoplifting. Let me—” She started forward, but he didn’t move with her or aside. All she accomplished was to come a step closer. Her heart stuttered in her chest with an emotion that had nothing to do with fear. Nothing at all. “The list’s downstairs.”