Lethal in Love

by Michelle Somers

  Seth seemed out of excuses. Who said miracles didn’t happen?

  As she passed, her father sprung forwards and grasped her hand. ‘Not before we talk.’

  Her voice wavered through the constriction in her throat. ‘And you haven’t already?’

  ‘Not about this.’

  She caught the scent of leather and sandalwood, but its familiar comfort eluded her.

  His grip tightened. ‘Come with me.’

  Their gazes clashed, the plea in her father’s grappling with the strings of her heart. Then he softened his hold and let go, turning away to leave her standing there. With a sigh, she followed down the hall. Much as she wanted out, something about her father’s mood made her need to stay.

  She hadn’t a clue what was going through Seth’s mind as he shadowed behind them. Whatever it was, he’d promised he wouldn’t look for a story here and she had little choice but to take him at his word.

  They paused at the study door. Her father’s hand gripped the doorknob, twisted and pushed. As the door swung inward, he stepped aside. ‘In every killer’s career, there are moments that define them.’

  She froze, the sound of his voice dulled by a harsh ringing in her ears.

  ‘And then, eventually, there’s that one moment, an irreversible slip, that marks the beginning of the end. A decision that brings down even those who seem invincible.’ He stepped inside.

  She couldn’t join him. Even if she wanted to move, her legs and the muscles that propelled them refused to cooperate.

  The study was no longer simply ‘a study’. Each wall displayed a mish-mash of Post-its and photos and string. Thirty-five cold-case deaths and seven recent, all laid out with the hope of uncovering a lead to that one common link—a killer.

  Nausea battled against her throat.

  ‘The Night Terror made that mistake when he killed Bec. She was the . . . slip.’ Her father dragged his hand down his face, over deep, dark lines that hadn’t been there a week ago. ‘We just need to find out why.’

  22

  ‘Why a homicide detective?’

  Jayda stared unblinking as heat crept across the windscreen, slowly gnawing at the once thick blanket of condensation. She hadn’t realised until now how tense she was. The air outside was cold, the air in the car not much better.

  She’d never seen her father like that. Single-minded. A man obsessed, without care or consideration for the consequences.

  There’d been no opportunity to talk about the OPI. Or the accusations she still hadn’t heard him deny. Regardless of Seth’s presence, she could tell her father wasn’t talking. The implications of which she dared not consider.

  ‘Jayda?’

  She blinked. Seth’s eyes were directed towards the road ahead, but his hand reached out to rest tentatively on her knee.

  Warmth flooded her skin, his touch somehow comforting, without demand or insinuation. Like one friend consoling another. Neither of them had mentioned her father’s war cave since they left the house, and she was grateful for Seth’s sensitivity in not bringing it up now.

  ‘It has to be more than a love for really bad cop shows with super-hot, kick-ass female detectives.’ His chin dimpled.

  She focused on the feel of Seth’s palm on her knee and the deep familiarity of his voice. The responding warmth that frittered through her body.

  ‘Why choose the “order” part of Law and Order?’ The corner of his mouth quirked. ‘Aside from the boredom factor, that is.’

  That pulled a smile to her lips. ‘My dad.’

  The windscreen was almost clear, the tips of her fingers regaining feeling as she flexed them in her lap. ‘It’s a Thomasz tradition. Every generation, as far back as you can trace, has produced at least one cop.’

  ‘So you were pretty much destined at birth.’

  She hesitated, listening to the slush of tyres rolling over the wet road. At least the rain had stopped, even if the sky was still dull and dark.

  She sighed. It wasn’t as if Seth wouldn’t uncover the truth if he decided to dig. ‘I’m adopted. So it’s more about upbringing than genetics.’

  The car jerked as his gaze left the road to stare at her. His surprise wasn’t unexpected. Few people guessed.

  Seconds later he turned back to the stretch of headlights over the street ahead, his fingers flexing around the black grip of the steering wheel. ‘That explains the hair.’

  ‘And temper?’ She gave a wry smile. ‘It’s an ongoing joke in our household. Everyone else is so . . . balanced and predictable.’

  ‘You say that like it’s a good thing.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘I have a tendency towards the unpredictable.’

  His smile tugged at somewhere below her gut. She squeezed her thighs together and stared at the distorted shimmer of streetlamps on wet asphalt as they passed, hunting for words and distraction.

  ‘What about you? Why journalism?’

  He manoeuvred the car into a park and killed the ignition. ‘Because every question has an answer. And for those answers that aren’t obvious, I uncover them.’

  ‘That’s almost . . . poetic.’

  ‘It’s been rumoured I have a way with words.’

  Almost-black eyes gazed at her across the car’s interior. Her heart fluttered and she felt his draw, felt herself drowning in that look. Then he leaned in and her lips tingled with memory.

  ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m starved.’ He released her seatbelt, then his, pulled back and opened the car door. ‘Coming?’

  It wasn’t until she’d stepped out of the car and let go of the door that she knew she could stand on her own. Before that her legs resembled the bellows of an accordion. She felt . . . She didn’t know what she felt. Aroused. Angry. Let down.

  Rejected.

  Back at the apartment, he’d all but told her he found her irresistible. But he had no trouble resisting her now. Had even assured her father, to her mortification, that nothing was going to happen between them.

  Then, just now in the car, she’d wanted him. He had to have guessed, yet he’d pulled away as though it was the easiest thing in the world. Did men really lose interest that quick?

  She fell into step beside him. What was wrong with her? She was better than this. Didn’t go all melty and pathetic every time an attractive guy looked at her.

  Until now, apparently.

  Well that stopped right here, right now.

  No matter how many walls came down tonight, no matter how charming and sensitive Seth might seem, he was still a reporter, and a man. Neither of which she had any use for beyond solving the case.

  Jayda was pissed at him. He got it.

  Hell, he was pissed at him, too. How’d he managed to pull away? Acting as if he didn’t want to kiss her until she no longer remembered her name, let alone those stupid rules of hers. It was a bloody miracle he hadn’t thrown her seat back and satisfied the obvious hunger in her expression right there and then.

  All he knew was he wouldn’t end another evening with a blockade between them.

  She didn’t trust him. That much was clear, in the way she wouldn’t share her thoughts, her feelings, what was happening with her father. And much as it had nothing to do with the Night Terror and catching the bastard, he wanted to know.

  The aroma of fresh tomato and basil hit his nostrils. Damn, he was hungry. And if he couldn’t satisfy one appetite, the least he could do was appease another. He stalked between a pair of large Victorian columns and pushed the door of the bistro, holding it open for Jayda before following her inside.

  ‘Vecchio amico!’

  Before Seth could answer, he was whipped round and enveloped in one of those old, university, shoulder-grabbing, back-slapping hugs.

  ‘Antonio!’

  More back slapping, followed by their old signature handshake. ‘I saw your story in the Telegraph. Pure genius. You’ve made it!’

  ‘Almost.’ He couldn’t help but grin. ‘And I see you finall
y succumbed to the family business.’

  ‘What can I say? When Nonno speaks, we listen.’ His friend clutched his shoulder and drew the corners of his mouth downward, stroking an imaginary moustache as he prepared for one of his legendary Godfather impressions. ‘Nipotini, a man who doesn’t spend time with his family can never be a real man.’

  Seth chuckled. ‘Nothing like a dose of old-fashioned Italian guilt to pull you into line.’

  ‘We may be the masters, but the guilt-trip’s not exclusive to us Italians.’ The hold on his shoulder tightened. ‘I’m just glad you never gave up.’

  ‘Thanks, man.’

  ‘You made it, Seth. Your mama and papa can’t help but be proud now, no?’ Antonio grinned, before his eyes wandered and filled with appreciation. Seth followed his gaze.

  Jayda stood just inside the door, watching with candid interest. He moved to her side, unable to resist placing his arm firmly round her waist.

  ‘Antonio, this is Jayda Thomasz. Jayda, Antonio Carboni.’

  ‘Bellissima!’ Antonio ignored her outstretched hand, instead clasping her shoulders, pulling her away from Seth while planting a kiss lavishly on one cheek, then the other.

  She flushed in a way he’d imagined was reserved for their kiss alone and his gut tightened.

  ‘Bellissima come il suono dei violini e il profumo delle rose che trasporta il vento . . .’

  That was a new one. Something about being the wind that brings music and roses? ‘You surpass yourself.’ He slapped his friend’s arm, dislodging his grasp on Jayda in the process. In answer to her raised brow, he added, ‘Antonio says it’s nice to meet you.’

  The corner of her mouth lilted in that gut-tugging way of hers. ‘Funny how it always sounds better in Italian.’

  ‘Everything is better in Italian.’ His friend almost purred the words.

  He snorted. ‘And only an Italian will tell you that.’

  Jayda tilted her head, her gaze darting from Antonio to him, and then back to rest on Antonio. ‘So, who normally wins?’

  He swallowed his irrationality. New respect lit his friend’s expression and he grasped Jayda’s hands, chuckling appreciatively.

  ‘Favoloso! Beautiful and intelligent. You’ve outdone yourself, my friend.’ He held her hand to his heart. ‘If you ever tire of this canaglia, I am yours, Jayda.’

  She opened her mouth, but whatever she meant to say was waylaid by the same blast of cold air that hit his face. Welcome distraction, in the form of a large Italian family, bustled in through the front entrance, forcing them to move to the side.

  Antonio’s smile was laden with Mediterranean charm as he begged the group’s patience in his mother tongue before slapping Seth once more on the back.

  ‘Much as it’s good to see you, amico mio, some of us work for a living.’ He indicated to a waitress clearing a nearby table. ‘Chanel, bella. Show my good friends to table nineteen. And bring them a bottle of Brachetto d’Acqui, my compliments.’

  ‘Thanks, man. You don’t need to—’

  Antonio flourished his hand, in true Italian style. ‘Since when have I done anything because I need to?’

  He laughed. ‘Point well taken.’

  ‘You must try today’s special—Taranto stuffed oysters. I guarantee they will capture your heart. Sono squisiti.’ He kissed his fingers, then bid them Ciao! before imparting the full repertoire of his charm to the other group.

  Seth turned to follow Chanel, avoiding the question in Jayda’s eyes until they were seated.

  ‘Why did you lead Antonio to believe we were a couple?’

  At least she’d waited for the girl to leave. ‘I didn’t lead Antonio to anything. He did that all by himself.’

  ‘Yet you didn’t deny it.’

  ‘Neither did you.’

  Chanel returned.

  He watched Jayda bite her lip, and her anger. Damn, but he couldn’t lose the memory of her taste, wanted to suck every bit of that lip’s sweetness into his mouth, take up where they left off before Bec was killed and any and all chance of something happening between them was killed, too.

  After handing them each a menu, Chanel displayed the red label of a dark wine bottle. At his nod, she released the cork and poured a mouthful into his glass. He swilled the berry-rich effervescence over his palate, the wine and its taste the last thing on his mind. What the process did was gain him time, leaving Jayda to stew. When he couldn’t delay any longer, he gave the expected nod, allowing his glass to be filled, then hers.

  Chanel left with a soft ciao.

  He opened the menu, ready to leave the thread of their conversation hanging where they’d left it.

  ‘This is not a date.’

  Her lips drew tight, the green in her eyes flinted with amber fire. She took a deep sip of her wine, and for a moment the moisture on those ripe, red lips had him distracted, until her gaze narrowed and she lifted a brow.

  His turn, it seemed. ‘I thought we’d already agreed on that.’

  ‘Yes. You, me and my father.’

  He lowered his menu. ‘And now we get to the crux of it all.’ The woman was a swarm of contradictions, and driving him bull-crazy. ‘You’re pissed off because I promised your father nothing would happen between us. Why, Jayda? Because you want something to happen? Because you want this to be a date, despite protesting just a little too much that you don’t?’

  The red in her cheeks brewed to the intensity of her hair. ‘I’m surprised your ego didn’t prevent you squeezing through the front door. Really, Seth? If I want you so much, why the rules?’

  ‘Those rules are your armour. Without them you have no protection from what you want and feel when we’re together.’

  ‘Oh really, Romeo. You’re that sure of yourself?’

  Palms flat on the table, he matched her glare for glare. ‘I’m that sure of you.’

  That stopped her. Made her think, her bottom lip growing white under the attention of her teeth. Then she slapped open the menu in front of her. ‘Just make sure Antonio knows the truth. This is not a date, and we are not involved any further than the case requires.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  Her lips pressed together and she turned the page, eyes scanning the cursive print.

  His gut roiled. What was the big deal? Not interest in Antonio. She’d been amused, charmed even, but not attracted to him. He was sure of it.

  Damn, but she was impossible. And enticing and intriguing and infuriating as all hell. And he still wanted her, despite her confounded resistance.

  And why not? His heart quickened. She wanted him, even if she was too bull-headed to admit it. The signs were all there. The way her eyes devoured him when she thought he wasn’t looking, the way her skin coloured when they touched or got too close. The way her nipples thrust hungrily against her top when they clashed. Like now.

  He ducked in mock examination of his menu. Instinct told him something more than the case was holding her back. All he had to do was figure out what.

  Then they could finish what they started less than a week ago.

  Meantime, if she wanted him to back off, then so be it. He turned a page and inspiration hit. Reverse psychology. It worked on kids. He should know, he’d written an entire article on it.

  Already he’d seen its effect on Jayda, her frustration when he pulled back in the car. A little more unrequited need may help tip her over the edge. In the interim, they had a case to solve and being at odds was getting them nowhere.

  He lifted his glass.

  ‘You’re right, Jayda. I’m sorry.’ He met her gaze and wished he could read the thoughts behind it. ‘Our association is about work and I should never have pressured you into something you don’t want. Let’s start again, no funny business, just the investigation.’

  Sipping the wine, he grimaced and stared at the ruby liquid in his glass. What was it with drinks that tasted of fruit and flowers? Antonio should’ve known better.

  He set his glass on the
table.

  ‘Let’s start by making a list of all the people in your life who could be the Night Terror.’

  23

  ‘Amico, what is this with the whiskey?’

  Antonio indicated to the tumbler in Seth’s hand as Jayda polished off her wine and reached for the bottle. If Seth wasn’t going to partake, then she would, with gusto. Anything to take the edge off the evening.

  As if he read her thoughts, Antonio whipped the bottle from the table, pouring her a generous second glass with flourish and an appreciative grin.

  Seth grimaced. ‘You know sweet is not my choice of beverage.’

  ‘Ah, but it is your choice of company.’

  Jayda returned Antonio’s smile with a tight one of her own. He really was charming, loveable even, if only he’d let up on the whole ‘Seth and her’ routine.

  ‘My apologies for the wine. I thought this time you would enjoy the elegance and influenzare. Legend says that Cleopatra believed Brachetto d’Acqui had the power to unleash the passions of her lovers. A little help in this area is always welcome, is it not?’

  Seth’s gaze flicked her way. She nodded.

  ‘And if this were a date, I’d be forever in your debt.’

  He shot a wry grin at his friend, and her heart skipped even though the look wasn’t for her. Averting her gaze, she gulped back another swig of sweetness.

  ‘Jayda’s a homicide detective and we’re collaborating on a case together. This is merely a work dinner, so oysters and love potions would be wasted tonight, my friend.’

  ‘What a sin, to squander such chemistry.’

  ‘Not everything is about love, Antonio.’

  ‘And why not? There is too much of the other in the world today. If everyone had more passione in their lives, there would be no war.’

  Seth chuckled. ‘Maybe you’re right. Just not in this case.’

  Her fingers tightened round the delicate flute stem as she took another sip.

  ‘You Italians see chemistry even where it doesn’t exist. We just don’t see each other in that way.’