Lethal in Love

by Michelle Somers

  He had her. Although what he could possibly say to make her change her mind, she had no idea.

  ‘Fine. You get five minutes. Just know it’s because of what you did after . . .’ She swallowed. ‘This has nothing to do with what happened before.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She watched him saunter towards her guest bathroom and anger had everything to do with the wildfire coursing through her blood. Not the taut thighs and butt moulded to perfection beneath her bathrobe.

  Her skin burned. Damn that she should notice that now. He turned, caught her staring. Double damn.

  His chin dimpled. ‘And just for the record, what happened before wasn’t nice.’ The slide of a smile stole his lips. ‘It was phenomenal.’

  14

  A rustle of denim at the study door told Jayda she was no longer alone. The call to her father would have to wait.

  Air huffed out through her lips and only then did she realise she’d been holding her breath. She dropped the phone onto her desk and glanced briefly at the profile on her laptop before closing the lid. She’d catch the bastard. If it was the last bloody thing she did.

  ‘Calling your dad?’

  How the hell did he know?

  She looked up. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’s just lost a daughter. How do you think he is?’ She bit her lip. Since when was she a first-class bitch? Closing her eyes, she massaged her forehead. ‘He’s stunned. We all are.’

  Seth nodded, and she felt his comfort from halfway across the room. What’s more, she wanted it. When had that happened?

  ‘When’s the funeral?’

  ‘Friday.’

  ‘I—’

  She stood, palms flat on the polished mahogany of her desk as she leaned forwards, fighting her urge to need someone when the only person she knew she could rely on was herself.

  ‘I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got a shitload of work to do and half the morning’s gone already.’

  He entered the room, his presence swallowing vital airspace. She stepped back.

  ‘I understood you were on extended leave.’

  With a wave of her hand she brushed his comment aside. ‘I promised you five minutes and if you want to waste it discussing my current job status, that’s your choice. The timer’s on, Seth.’

  ‘I said you drive a hard bargain and I wasn’t wrong.’ His grin quickly faded. She wasn’t a mean person by nature, but this entire situation was bringing out the worst in her. And much as she hated it, she was on autopilot with a brake pedal on the fritz.

  ‘I want to help you, Jayda.’

  ‘Help me do what?’

  ‘Find the man responsible for the deaths of all those women. And your sister.’ His voice shook, the words ground out from his lips. As if he were outraged. As if there was no other reason for him wanting to ‘help’ her.

  Her palms left the desk, and she was unable to prevent the constriction of muscles in her chest. ‘And why would you want to do that? More altruistic gestures, or do you have some other hidden agenda?’

  ‘In answer to your first question, I’m human and I want a psychopath behind bars. And in answer to your second . . .’ He frowned. ‘I’m a reporter and I want this story.’

  The click in her brain must have resonated on the other side of the globe. She hadn’t guessed, but now she knew it made perfect sense. The reason for his interest. His insights.

  She forced her gaze to remain locked with his. ‘Is that why you approached me in the bar? For information?’

  He rocked onto his heels, then his toes. ‘That’s part of it.’

  ‘And what exactly was the other part?’

  He rocked again. ‘Our first meeting.’

  ‘The kiss?’

  He stilled. ‘You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it, too.’

  Wild heat skittered through her blood, burning her lips with the memory. The want. How could she lie when he’d experienced her reaction to him firsthand? ‘But I never hid what I was after from you.’

  ‘My body.’

  She raised her chin. ‘A body. Yours just happened to be there.’ That wiped the warmth from his face, and took her the final step towards super-bitch status.

  ‘You lied to me, Seth. How do I know I can trust you now?’

  ‘You don’t. And other than to promise there’ll be no lies from now on—if you say yes to working together, that is—I don’t know what else I can do.’

  ‘Tell me what you can offer that I don’t already have with the entire police force at my disposal.’

  ‘The entire police force might be a stretch given your enforced “on leave until further notice” status.’ He perched on the corner of her desk.

  She edged away until her back was almost at the window.

  ‘I have information you need. And contacts you don’t have. And then there’s always the old motto, “two heads are better than one”.’

  ‘I have a partner.’

  ‘Who’s not on your wavelength.’

  Her head snapped back. How was a man she barely knew able to detect what had eluded even the closest members of her squad? ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘My gut.’

  She flexed her fingers, resisting the urge to cross her arms. ‘And you are, I suppose?’

  He looked at her blankly.

  ‘On my wavelength.’

  ‘We agreed about the last two murders.’

  There was that. But to convince her there would have to be more. And if there were . . . Bec was her priority, and no matter how distasteful the thought, she’d work with the devil if it caught her sister’s killer. Tears stung the back of her throat as she swallowed. ‘If I consent to working together, there’ll be rules.’

  He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Rules?’

  ‘Yes, rules. Provisos. All of which you need to agree to before we proceed.’

  ‘Right.’ His gaze never once left hers. Finally he nodded and waved his hand. ‘Shoot.’

  ‘I don’t sleep with work colleagues. Ever. So if we do this, we’ll share nothing but a working relationship.’ Heat seeped across her cheeks. With any luck, he wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t as if anything had really happened between her and Chase. And before . . . well, that was before.

  ‘I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t a shame, but I understand your viewpoint.’ He squared his shoulders and performed a three-finger salute. ‘I pledge, here and now, that nothing but work will exist between us, unless you change your mind.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  His smile yelled scepticism. ‘Then there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Boy Scout, were you?’

  ‘Never.’ His expression wasn’t even remotely repentant as he dropped his hand.

  Tension gripped her jaw and she averted her gaze. ‘Number two.’ She turned back to face him. ‘You tell me everything you know and I decide if it’s beneficial to my investigation. If not, I reserve the right to break the agreement.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Now he just looked cocky.

  Instead of slapping the supercilious look from his face, she continued. ‘And at any time during our . . . “association”, if I decide it’s not working, I can do the same.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m sure that works both ways.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Necessity fuelled her restraint, even if her palms were smarting from the dig of her nails. If Seth knew something that helped . . . Deep breath. ‘And the last rule is this—whatever you write or report in your story, Bec and my family are off limits. You renege on that, and your days of farming info from the force will be toast.’

  He hesitated, seemed about to object.

  She raised her hand. ‘It’s not negotiable, Seth. Fail to agree and the deal’s off.’

  ‘So we have a deal?’

  The thought was like rasping her fingernails across sandpaper. But this was for Bec. And she was going in with her eyes wide open.

  Arms cross
ed and both feet square on the floor, she glared at the man parked dispassionately on the edge of her desk. ‘If we have an agreement.’

  She could almost see the scales waver in his mind as he weighed his options. Then he nodded. ‘We have an agreement.’

  It took a moment for the icy claws of realisation to sink in. She shivered.

  Make a deal with the devil . . .

  He offered his hand and she had to take it. Warmth immediately flooded the cold and she waited the obligatory few seconds before wheedling her grip from his.

  Breathe.

  With fresh oxygen came clarity of mind.

  She flipped open the lid of her laptop and ignored the rampant beat of her heart as she pulled up a new screen.

  ‘So, tell me everything you know.’

  15

  ‘It’ll be a closed casket, but she’ll be dressed as she always dressed. With style. Choose something that goes with gloves.’ Her father’s voice cracked. ‘She has to wear gloves.’

  Jayda’s grip on the phone tightened. She focused on the far wall of her study, willing back the tears. ‘Is there anything else I can do?’

  ‘Catch the sick bastard who did this and give her soul peace!’

  She nodded, tried to speak, nothing came out. Her throat rasped. ‘Count on it.’ Mentally cursing the open doorway, she swivelled her chair so the man at her dining table couldn’t look up and see her face. ‘I have to go. I’ll try to swing by later today.’

  ‘Sure, honey. Don’t worry about me. Your mum’s been round, and I’m . . . okay.’

  She swallowed past the sawdust in her throat. Ironic that Bec’s plan might yet work.

  That did it. She scrubbed at a tear before it had a chance to fall.

  Her father coughed. ‘Keep your wits about you, Jayda. I won’t lose you, too.’

  ‘You won’t.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I’m tough like my old man, remember?’

  He ended the call, her whispered ‘love you’ drowned out by the drone of the dial tone.

  Loss seized her stomach like gnarly roots at dry earth. Two days and the pain hadn’t lessened. Would the emptiness ever go? Unlikely. Not only had she lost a sister, she’d lost her best friend. And nothing that passed hereafter would change that.

  She called her mother, left yet another message on voicemail, then let the mobile clatter onto the desk.

  The vacuum inside her chest yawned.

  Her head dropped into her nested arms. She’d never considered the afterlife before now. Ambivalence and an agnostic upbringing had turned her neither towards nor away from the idea of it, and life had never given her reason enough to care. But somehow it seemed fitting that her sister’s soul find peace. And the only way for that to occur was if her killer was removed from the streets, permanently. No matter what the cost.

  She waited for her conscience to pull her thoughts back into line and got nothing but a dull murmur.

  A chair scraped. She looked up, caught Seth refreshing his email screen for the umpteenth time. A second later he’d switched back to the online media, and the scoop that was her half of their deal—inside news on the case.

  In return, she’d gained access to his sourced information. From sources she guessed were so far out of her jurisdiction they made a trip to Mars look like a Sunday stroll.

  It irked. Working alongside someone from his profession when she’d vowed she never would. But she’d grit her teeth and bear it. Play as nice as was humanly possible. If their partnership brought the Night Terror to an end, every uncomfortable minute would be worth it.

  He’d made the headlines.

  Only forty-eight hours since his proposal to Jayda and he’d already hooked a ride on the success train.

  He edged forwards, fingers almost touching the screen. The static, the heat, Monday morning’s Telegraph, the front page—all real.

  Night Terror Copycat Kills Two.

  It was all there in cyber black-and-white. How Joel Vance had discovered fiancée Gina Hennessey’s secret life. How he’d dug deeper only to find she was having an affair with the Angels of Harlem founder, Angelique Sutton. And how after weeks of surveilling the couple, Joel had warned Angelique to stay away, mimicking the Night Terror murders in order to dispose of her when she refused, before doing the same to Gina.

  How the police had got it so wrong. And how Seth had uncovered the truth so that, now, a mere two days later, Joel Vance was in custody.

  Today’s lead story and he’d broken it.

  Fluff-and-feathers were a thing of the past. He wouldn’t go back.

  His lips twitched, but failed to curve further. In her study, Jayda rubbed at her eyes and what he was pretty certain were tears. She pushed herself up and with heavy steps she returned to the dining table and her computer beside him.

  The article was a triumph tainted by her loss, and it was a bitch that it had to be that way.

  In the newsroom, his editor awaited the next instalment. One which would guarantee his position at the Telegraph as a serious news reporter. Catching the killer would be a two-barrelled gun.

  One click and the screen flipped to his inbox. He scrolled through the email to his parents, then switched to the automatic response he’d received only minutes earlier.

  Thank you for your message, but we are currently in Libya providing geophysical support for US exploration access opportunities . . . blah, blah, blah!

  He hit delete even as the satisfaction began to fade. He had no phone number for them. No address. No other form of contact.

  No doubt at some stage they’d check their emails and then they’d know. Their only son was a success.

  And perhaps they’d call.

  A crunch dragged at his attention.

  Across the table corner, Jayda munched on the last piece of her ham-and-cheese toastie and squinted at her computer screen, formulating yet another of her lists. That thought at least brought the smile back to his lips.

  She looked up, eyes intent on his. ‘Are they pleased?’

  He froze. No way could she know his thoughts. ‘Who?’

  ‘Your family or girlfriend or whoever you contacted about making the front page.’

  ‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’

  The fact that she looked relieved did nothing to soften the rocks in his shoulders.

  ‘Ahh, so your family. Parents or siblings?’

  Something clenched in his gut and the words shot out too hard, too fast. ‘I don’t have any siblings.’

  ‘And you talk about me being hard work!’ She tapped her fingers on the table. ‘Are your parents proud?’

  ‘I have no idea. They haven’t responded to my email.’

  ‘So, call them.’

  ‘They’re in Libya, saving the world from ruin.’

  She stared at him through narrowed lids. He was pissed off. So what? Didn’t mean she had to frown and study him like some kind of museum exhibit.

  ‘They don’t approve of your job.’

  The insight was more statement than question. He grabbed his water glass, for something to do rather than something to drink. ‘They have high expectations, that’s all.’

  Staring at the clear liquid provided no answers. Untenable that at twenty-nine years of age their continued rejection still galled. And even worse, that Jayda should be there to see it.

  ‘And doing what makes you happy doesn’t meet those expectations?’

  He drank, unsure of how to answer. No need. She seemed happy to continue without him.

  ‘I’ve read some of your articles. You’re good.’

  ‘Glad I can provide light entertainment for you and the minions. Which news-breaking bit of genius did it for you? Jelly for Geriatrics or Rest, Relaxation and Peaches?’

  Her expression said she got that he was irked. But he should have known mere irritation wouldn’t deter her.

  ‘You more than entertain. You inform.’

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me your grandmother took gelatine and fixed her ar
thritis.’

  ‘My grandfather, actually.’ She tapped the table with her forefinger. ‘I’m sure there are countless people who include peaches in their diets to combat stress since they read your article on natural sedatives.’ Her eyes speared his. ‘You change lives.’

  ‘When you say it like that . . .’

  ‘Why so bitter?’

  ‘I’m not bitter.’ His fingers stiffened around the glass. ‘I just want to make a difference.’

  ‘Well, I say you do.’

  He knocked back a mouthful of water. Whiskey would have done better. ‘The world won’t stop turning if I quit writing those articles.’

  ‘Tell that to the men out there with abs a six-pack of beer would envy.’

  ‘Hilarious, Jayda.’

  ‘I am on occasion.’ The way she had of half smiling—her mouth quirked up on one side, the amused sparkle in her eyes—it did something to his gut that he couldn’t identify.

  He downed another slug of his less than ice-cold liquid. ‘How did you know?’

  She looked at him, puzzled.

  ‘About the email.’

  ‘Call it a gut-sense. I feel these things.’

  His gaze dropped to her mouth the moment her tongue flicked moisture along her bottom lip. When his eyes lifted, they met and tangled with hers. He couldn’t look away, and hell knows he tried.

  She inhaled, her chest heaving against her tight tee.

  Heat thickened his blood and his body hardened. He was on the verge of leaning in.

  She dragged her gaze away and shuffled back in her seat. ‘Break over. Time to get back to it.’

  He suppressed a groan. Diabolical woman.

  She brushed a red lock from her forehead, tiny furrows deepening between her eyebrows as she stared at her laptop screen. ‘Let’s recap.’

  ‘And that’d be list number three, five or seven?’

  Her chin jerked up, her eyes flashing. ‘My lists work.’

  He stifled a smile. ‘I’m sure they do.’