Lawman Lover

by Saranne Dawson

  “Then an hour ago, we picked up the driver—on another tip—and he’s talking, trying to save his own butt by claiming that he didn’t know Weems was going to shoot anybody. So we need to talk about how to handle him.”

  He paused and frowned at her again. “What was wrong with you? You looked...strange.”

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

  He still looked doubtful, but he let her go after planting a quick, soft kiss on her lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t get over to your place last night,” he murmured. “But I spent most of the night tracking Weems down.”

  “You were...very effective last night at the meeting.”

  Michael arched a dark brow. “Okay, so I came off a little too strong. But everyone understood my motive. It told them that we care about getting the guy. And I didn’t lay a hand on him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  She found her way to the protection of her chair. Michael took a seat across from her, and they began to talk about the driver and whether or not they should offer him a deal. Amanda called her secretary and asked her to get Annie Wetherspoon, her assistant who’d been on call last night. The case would be assigned to her, since she’d handled it initially.

  “I’ve cleared your calendar for the afternoon,” her secretary said over the speakerphone after Amanda had asked her to get Annie.

  “Thank you,” Amanda replied, avoiding Michael’s questioning gaze.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I just decided to take the afternoon off, that’s all.”

  “Ah, well, maybe I can manage some time off myself,” he said, his dark eyes gleaming.

  “I have some things to take care of,” she said, then breathed a sigh of relief when Annie knocked and pushed open the door.

  CLUTCHING HER TICKET, Amanda boarded the train to the city. John’s office was only one subway ride from Grand Central. Besides, she wanted the travel time to think out her approach to him. She’d called him first thing this morning, asking to see him on an “important matter.” Being the discreet person he was, he hadn’t asked any questions, though she didn’t doubt that he was puzzled—or perhaps even suspicious.

  But as soon as she dropped into a seat, it was Michael who claimed her thoughts. Even in the midst of his elation at catching the drive-by killer, she knew he probably doubted her pathetic explanations. The only thing that had saved her from a grilling—gentle or otherwise—was the appearance of one of her other assistants just as she and Annie and Michael had been wrapping up their discussion.

  Well, she thought, it didn’t matter now. Regardless of the outcome of her meeting with John, she would have to tell Michael everything. She’d already compromised herself professionally—and perhaps even put her election at risk. Certainly, Neal Hadden would try to make an issue of it, regardless of what she did.

  During a long and mostly sleepless night, Amanda had begun to wonder how it might have happened. Even if Eve Lauden had confronted John with a pregnancy and then tried to blackmail him, she simply could not bring herself to believe that the gentle, quiet man she’d known all her life would be capable of a murderous rage. And yet, what other explanation could there be?

  She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes, wishing fervently that she’d missed something—or that Eve Lauden had lied about having a “customer” from the island. After all, Tina had said that she liked to brag.

  She’d chosen a window seat, and the seat next to her remained empty as the train pulled out of the station. But now she felt movement next to her. She didn’t open her eyes, instead praying that whoever had sat down wouldn’t be the talkative kind.

  But then a faint scent tickled her nose: a very familiar and pleasant men’s cologne. No! It couldn’t be! She kept her eyes closed. If it was Michael, he would have said something. But the coincidence of someone sitting down next to her, wearing that same cologne...

  She opened her eyes very cautiously to mere slits—then widened them. All she could see was a pair of long legs stretched out and one hand that rested in his lap, but that was all she needed to see. She knew those muscled thighs, and she knew those strong hands very well. He’d followed her!

  Keeping otherwise perfectly still, she swiveled her head in his direction. He was sleeping—or he appeared to be, at any rate. She remembered that he’d said he’d spent the night tracking down the killer.

  She turned her head again and closed her own eyes. She couldn’t show up at John’s office with Michael in tow! That would seem to John like a terrible betrayal. She thought about getting off at the next stop, then taking another train or renting a car. But there was no way she could get past Michael to the aisle. He was sprawled in such a way that she couldn’t step over his legs, but couldn’t step between them, either.

  She had to persuade Michael to let her see John alone. But that brought her back to her thoughts of earlier this morning, when she’d misinterpreted that look of triumph and believed he was glad to have before him the prospect of arresting John Verhoeven.

  They were nearing Poughkeepsie, and the train began to slow. Amanda opened her eyes again. Michael was still asleep. She envisioned herself making a break for it: leaping over his legs and rushing off the train at the last possible moment. Even if he woke up, could he move that quickly?

  She thought it might be worth a shot. He’d talked to John while he was in Port Henry, and he might not have his office number, and even if he had that, he would still have to get the address. If she could rent a car quickly—or even take a taxi—she could get there before him.

  The train slowed still more, then came to a stop. She was only two rows from the door. She got up carefully, watching Michael all the while, then hitched up her slim skirt and started to step over his legs.

  She almost made it. One foot was already planted in the aisle and the other one was in midair when his arm suddenly snaked out and caught her around the waist and his dark eyes gleamed with amusement at her awkward position. The doors hissed shut and the train lurched into motion and she fell against him.

  “Nice try,” he murmured, holding her close for a moment before helping her back to her seat. “But you might have tried trusting me instead.”

  She settled back into her seat, caught somewhere between anger and embarrassment. He shifted in his seat until he was facing her. “I’d like to get some sleep. We can talk when we get to Grand Central.”

  Then, without waiting for her to respond, he leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes again. Amanda looked over at him after a few minutes and saw his chest rise and fall with slow, easy motions. He really was asleep. Now, in addition to being angry and embarrassed, she envied him.

  The towns and cities of Westchester County passed by, and then they were in the Bronx. A short time later, the train clattered across the bridge into Manhattan, and shortly after that, they were in the long tunnel that carried them to Grand Central. And still, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

  Chapter Nine

  Michael woke up as the train came to a halt in the bowels of Grand Central Station. He stretched and yawned, then hauled himself from the seat and stood aside to let her out. Neither of them said a word as they joined the other passengers in a long line down the ramp and up the stairs into the main concourse. Michael drew her out of the hurrying masses of people, seizing her hand and holding on to it as though he expected her to bolt at any moment, which was exactly what she considered doing.

  “When is he expecting you?”

  There was no point to her asking whom he meant. Even in the midst of her present emotional confusion, it occurred to Amanda that honesty was not only the best policy where Michael was concerned, but also the only policy.

  “Two o’clock,” she said, glancing at her watch. The train had been on time. She had forty-five minutes to reach John’s office.

  “I assume, since you’re rushing down here to talk to him, that you
must have found Tina Jacobs.”

  She nodded. “Last night She was at the meeting.”

  “And?”

  She told him all of it. He listened quietly, not interrupting her. Then, when she had finished, he released her hand and jammed his own hands into his pockets.

  “Damn! This does not sound good.”

  She gave him a startled look. “What do you mean? I thought...”

  “You thought wrong,” he stated, cutting her off. “Or partly wrong, anyway. I’m not eager to arrest any of them, despite what you think. But it’s only because of what it means to you.”

  “John Verhoeven is my godfather—my father’s oldest and closest friend.”

  “I know. You told me that.”

  “There isn’t enough evidence to arrest him anyway,” she told him, unable to keep a note of defensiveness from her voice.

  “I know that, too. Unless he admits his involvement, the only way he can be nailed is if I find out who that madam was.”

  “Tina won’t tell me.”

  “But she knows.”

  “Yes. Michael, I want to talk to John alone. I’d feel as though I were betraying him if I bring you with me.”

  “Dammit, Amanda, don’t you see how you’re putting yourself at risk? You’re too smart to do something like that.” He glared at her. “I’m coming with you. That makes it official. And if it gets out that you were there, I’ll deny it. I’ll explain it to Verhoeven. Regardless of what he might have done, he’ll want to protect you.”

  She lowered her head as tears stung the backs of her eyes. He was right. She thought about how she’d wanted to run to him for protection, and how here he was, protecting her from herself.

  “I still can’t believe he’d...hurt someone,” she murmured.

  “Maybe it was an accident,” he said soothingly. “But things will still get ugly. Come on. We’d better get going.”

  He took her arm and started off toward the stairs that led up to the exit. “I was planning to take the subway,” she told him.

  He continued to guide her toward the stairs. “I hate the subway. We’ll take a cab.”

  They climbed the stairs and immediately got a cab. Amanda gave the driver the address. Michael leaned back in the seat and smiled at her. “You were really going to take the subway?”

  “The subway is faster.”

  Michael stared out the window. “I hate the subways—and everything else down here. You never know what’s coming at you.”

  “That’s because you’re a cop, and you always expect the worst. I love the city. In fact, I almost moved here after law school.”

  “Okay, so I don’t mind coming down here once in a while.”

  She turned to him quizzically. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I’ll compromise. When you want to come down here, we will.”

  She smiled, but it drained away quickly. “You seem to be making a lot of compromises where I’m concerned, Michael.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what love is all about, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, feeling a lump begin to form in her throat. She wondered if she’d ever imagined it being like this. She didn’t think so. She must have envisioned flowery declarations, like most women did.

  “You’ll have to make some compromises, too,” he said after a brief silence. “Being married to a cop won’t be easy.”

  He’d done it again! He’d just tossed the word out there casually, as though it were a fait accompli.

  “We haven’t discussed marriage,” she said huskily.

  “Maybe not, but exactly where did you think we were headed? Like I said, I know it’s going to be rougher on you than on me. Some people will be questioning every decision you make.”

  “Assuming I win the election,” she reminded him.

  “You will,” he said confidently. “And after you do, we’ll get married.”

  “Michael, don’t you think you’re compromising yourself by being in charge of this investigation? If people know about our relationship...”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  JOHN VERHOEVEN RAISED his brows in mild surprise when Michael followed her into his elegant office high above Wall Street. But if he was at all concerned about a police presence, he hid it well.

  “Uncle John, you remember Michael Quinn—Lieutenant Quinn? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was coming with me, but I didn’t know it at the time.”

  The two men shook hands, and Michael said, “I invited myself along—for her protection.”

  “‘For her protection?”’ John echoed, clearly puzzled.

  “We want to talk to you about some information that came to Amanda last night,” Michael said. “We now think we know the identity of the body from the island. Her name was Eve Lauden.”

  Amanda had taken a seat, but both men remained standing. John was frowning as he glanced from Michael to her, then back again to Michael. “Eve Lauden? Should I know her?” He turned to Amanda again. “The name isn’t familiar.”

  Michael took the chair beside Amanda and John sat down, as well, still clearly puzzled. She felt a surge of hope. Surely he couldn’t be that good an actor. But Michael’s next words put a considerable dent in those burgeoning hopes.

  “She might have used a different name. Hookers often do.”

  John’s blue eyes grew wide. “She was a prostitute? But what was she—?” He stopped abruptly, and his pale skin flushed. “I see. You think that I might have taken a prostitute out there, a child prostitute? Didn’t you tell me that she was in her teens?”

  “Eve Lauden was seventeen at the time of her death,” Michael confirmed. “She probably looked older, of course.”

  John was quiet for a long time, his gaze turned inward. Amanda held her breath. Her blood was turning to ice. Beside her, Michael was poised on the edge of the leather chair, his full attention on John.

  Finally, John shook his gray head. “I can see how you might think that. You know that I was going out there, and you know that my marriage was in trouble.” He paused and shook his head as a tiny rueful smile touched his mouth.

  “This is beginning to feel like a nightmare. You know, I’ve always enjoyed reading crime fiction—police procedurals mostly. But I never expected to find myself in the middle of one.”

  “Are you saying that you never took anyone out there?” Michael asked.

  John looked straight at him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, and it’s what I said before. There were no other women in my life until long after Sara and I had split up. And even if there had been, it certainly wouldn’t have been a child—or a prostitute.”

  Amanda believed him, and she was sure it wasn’t just because she wanted to believe him. But what she believed wasn’t important here. She cast a glance at Michael, but he was wearing his cop face and she couldn’t begin to guess what he thought.

  “There was a ring of them,” Michael went on. “They were being run by a woman in Parkside, who also dealt drugs to middle-class types who didn’t want to deal with street peddlers. We haven’t found her yet, but when we do, she should be able to identify her customers.”

  A faint frown crossed John’s lean, attractive face. “Drugs, too,” he said with a sigh. “There was a lot of that back then—I mean, among people who’d never use them now. Cocaine, mostly. I knew some people who tried it, but I never did. I don’t even drink that much. I dislike losing control—especially back then.”

  He glanced at Amanda for the first time in a while, then returned his attention to Michael. “As Amanda may have told you, Sara, my first wife, was mentally ill. It was a...very difficult marriage. She wouldn’t seek help. I was even more afraid of losing control then.”

  Amanda was listening and remembering, remembering how John had always been so gentle and careful with his sick wife—and so determined to protect Lise from everything.

  “You said that you knew people who had used cocaine back then. Were any of them from the families
on the island?” Michael asked.

  Once again, John’s gaze flicked briefly to Amanda. She knew what he must be thinking. “Michael knows about Jesse, Uncle John.”

  There was no mistaking the relief in his eyes. He nodded. “I don’t know about anyone else, and I think I would have known.”

  Then he frowned. “Is it possible that this girl went out there with Jesse and some others—and then some sort of terrible accident happened and they panicked and just buried her? I know that sounds far-fetched, but...”

  “It’s possible,” Michael said, pulling himself out of his chair. “I haven’t wanted to lean on Jesse too much, but it looks like I’ll have to.”

  John turned to Amanda. “Lise tells me that she’s...having problems again.”

  “She is,” Amanda acknowledged sadly. “But at least this time, she didn’t have to be pushed into getting some help.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I’d hate to see her marriage destroyed. I like Steve, and I think he’s good for her.”

  “Steve and Michael are friends,” Amanda told him.

  John turned to Michael. Then his gaze traveled between them, and he seemed to be about to say something. But before he could, Michael put out his hand.

  “I’m sorry to have bothered you like this, Mr. Verhoeven, but I guess you understand.”

  John took Michael’s outstretched hand. “Yes, I do. And if there was any way I could help you in your investigation, I would. Believe me when I say that all this has been very troubling to me. Not only has that poor child been buried in my front yard all that time, but it also brings back a very sad time in my own life—and in yours, as well, Amanda. We nearly lost you that spring—and we did lose Trish, of course.”

  As he spoke he let go of Michael’s hand and came around the desk to take both of Amanda’s hands in his. “I hope Jesse knows nothing about this, but if she does, I’m sure it couldn’t have been her fault.”