Harlequin Romantic Suspense July 2021 Box Set

by Carla Cassidy

  Which was the exact opposite reaction of her hormones. Because there was nothing safe about Troy Colton’s effect on her. She realized that now, after spending a few days with him, as well as seeing him with his sister and her family.

  But even if she found him attractive, Evangeline knew she had to manage her expectations. He was here to help her. Yes, they’d kissed and exchanged some lingering glances, but it wasn’t enough. And it certainly wasn’t something she needed to explore here in the midst of whatever was going on against her.

  Or, more to the point, to her.

  “Tell me more about this string between the lights.”

  “I don’t know exactly, but it’s strange. To be fair, it could be nothing more than a string that’s been there for quite a while. Did your complex ever have any decorations up there? Or any sort of sign that the sales office might’ve put up?”

  “No, not that I remember. But I was one of the last residents to buy a unit here. I suppose it could have been placed up there, welcoming people to the condominium complex and encouraging them to look at the model units.”

  And to be fair, it could have been. She had been in her condo for a few years now, but the complex overall was relatively new. Although, would string like that have lasted that long?

  “It’s suspicious—that’s all I need to know. If I had a ladder, I’d get up there myself right now to take it down and log it in as evidence. But I already got a text back from my cousin Jillian. She’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning, with a ladder.”

  “Jillian’s the one in CSI?”

  “Yes. And as Randall Bowe tried to make her his scapegoat, she’s got an ax to grind and a willingness to review any and all evidence, no matter how remote it might seem.”

  “His crimes were endless, weren’t they? I mean, Davison is scary all on his own and his crimes are horrifying. But the way Bowe did it? Operating behind the scenes. It’s diabolical, really.”

  “A lot of his motives came to light as we were investigating Everleigh Emerson.”

  “The woman who was accused of murdering her ex-husband?” When Troy nodded, Evangeline added, “I wasn’t involved with that case, one of my coworkers was. But it was a strange case from the beginning.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, Ms. Emerson got a divorce from the ex. By all accounts, that suggested she’d moved on. Yet somehow she’s suddenly a suspect in her ex-husband’s murder? Obviously, we were following the evidence prosecuting the case, but I remember when we discussed it in a team meeting thinking how odd it was.”

  “You don’t think a marriage gone bad can be a reason for murder?”

  “I’ve done this long enough to realize anything can be a motive, regardless of how irrational it seems to anyone else. But in this particular case, there was just something about it all that never quite fit. Here is a young woman who found a way to move on from a bad time in her life, yet suddenly she comes back?” Evangeline shrugged. “It just always rang false to me.”

  “It did for my cousin Clarke, too. He took on her case. Now they’re a couple and planning their future.”

  She shook her head, smiling as Desiree’s words from earlier sank in. “Your sister made a comment, and in this instance it’s very clearly true. Sometimes the things in our life that are unpleasant or difficult lead us to something wonderful on the other side.”

  “Dez said that?”

  “She did. Or my paraphrased version of it.”

  He quieted, the light smile fading from his lips. “Your opinion on Everleigh’s case, and some of the things that you said earlier...in the car... Does that all have anything to do with your perspective on your own family?”

  That sudden feeling of exposure hit fast and hard. Why had she said those things in the car? Yes, her guard was down a bit from the pleasant evening they’d shared with Desiree, Stavros and Danny. And in the darkened interior of the car, it had felt safe somehow. A quiet place where she could share her thoughts.

  “I was just a bit surprised, I guess. Your family is special.”

  “Is that all?”

  She should have expected he wouldn’t take a simple answer or platitude in place of the truth. Although that was the truth. His family was special. Despite the trauma of losing his mother in the way that he had, he and his sister clearly had a deep and special bond. And the way he described his stepmother, Leanne, the day before was further proof of that.

  So how did you explain those feelings of envy and confusion when confronted with someone whose experience had been so different from your own? More, how did you reconcile that with your own experiences growing up?

  Maybe you didn’t.

  And in the quiet acceptance in Troy’s golden gaze, Evangeline tried to explain. “My parents had a volatile marriage. I spent my childhood living with that. But there are times, when I observe other people’s lives or hear other people’s experiences, that I realize we aren’t all the same. That not everyone grew up the way I did.”

  “Was there violence?”

  “Physical, you mean? No.” She shook her head, the idea of her father exacting his rage with that sort of violence as off-kilter as thinking he could ever remain silent on any subject.

  He’d prided himself, in fact, that he was above “those men who use their fists to make a point.” Hadn’t she heard that over and over?

  Yet hadn’t that “self-control” he prized vanished with the swift lash of his tongue, over and over?

  “My father had issues managing his emotions. Presumably he still has that problem but neither my mother nor I live under his roof any longer. Anything and everything could set him off, but once unleashed, he’d rage and rage.”

  “Lashing out emotionally is a form of violence, as well, Evangeline.”

  “Yes, it is.” While she wouldn’t have believed that as a child, she’d worked through the slow journey toward understanding it now. Both through her own therapy and through her casework, she’d come to understand that emotional abuse was real and could do damage, just like a fist.

  “He refused to accept any of his own faults or any responsibility for his choices. If my mother ever dared to complain, he’d verbally strike out, claiming she was anything from a harpy to a madwoman for her thoughts.”

  “Are they still together?”

  “Thankfully, no. They divorced when I was in college.”

  Her mother had stayed in her loveless, emotionally troubled marriage for far longer than she should have. Evangeline had always known it was because she’d feared leaving her only child to battle those forces alone. And still, it bothered Evangeline that her mother had felt the need to do that. That she’d given up her own happiness for so long.

  “I’m glad you and your mother are out of that.”

  “I am, too. But it still can’t change the fact that I’d rather have a real, functioning relationship with my father. Instead, we have cool and distant conversations once a month.”

  It was a situation that had come to suit them well and she had long ago stopped crying about it. Yes, it chafed every so often, a wound that never fully healed. But she’d moved on.

  And had determined to live a better life for herself.

  “Is it at all possible the altercation you saw in the alley yesterday was triggered by your experiences?”

  It was a fair question. She knew that and understood it. As a prosecutor, it would be a question she’d ask herself if she’d evaluated this case through a legal lens. Most of all, based on the time she had spent in Troy’s company, she recognized he meant it in a collaborative way.

  Despite all those things, she couldn’t help but feel the sharp point of his doubt.

  “You think I made it up? That because my father couldn’t control himself, suddenly I’m seeing women murdered in alleyways because of it?”

  “I did
n’t say that.”

  “Are you sure? Because that’s exactly what I heard.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Right. Because I tell you about a piece of my past that I don’t discuss with anyone and suddenly it’s the reason I’m seeing women murdered in Grave Gulch. I sat in that car out there, Troy.” She pointed in the direction of the door. “I saw the doubt in everyone’s eyes.”

  “I’m not doubting you, Evangeline.”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing. I’ve seen enough of it for the past two days to know that I’m right.”

  * * *

  “Are you including me in that number?” Troy struggled against the rising ire, the bile nearly overriding his quiet tone. But even in his frustration, he recognized yelling wasn’t the answer.

  By her own admission, she’d lived with enough of that growing up.

  When she said nothing, he pressed on. “This isn’t about doubt. This is about understanding what is happening to you.”

  “What’s happening to me is that I saw a woman murdered in an alley. I saw the blood spread across her white shirt. I didn’t make that up. Especially since said shirt showed up on my front doorstep.”

  Only it hadn’t stayed there.

  He’d raced over here at top speed, several officers in pursuit behind him, and they’d arrived to find nothing. No shirt, no blood and no remnant of either existed, let alone proof that it had been placed in front of her home.

  “I know what’s being said about me,” she finally said.

  “Not by me.”

  “But you’ve thought it. Come on, Troy. How couldn’t you?”

  “It’s not about what I think. It’s about understanding what’s happening to you.”

  “PTSD over my father isn’t what’s happening here.” She shook her head and stood. “I need some water.”

  As he watched her walk out of the living room, Troy had to admit that he wasn’t being entirely honest with her. He believed her...to an extent. Almost like that belief was just out of reach, in view but not quite in his grasp.

  He knew how he wanted to feel, but what was in his heart kept warring with the facts as he knew them.

  And much as he struggled to admit it, between Melissa, Brett and then, this evening, Stavros, he did have doubts. Legitimate ones. The sort of doubts a detective was supposed to have when working on a case.

  It was the man who was attracted to her who didn’t have them.

  And wasn’t that the whole problem?

  He followed Evangeline into the kitchen, and found her with her back against the counter, a cold bottle of water in her hand.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be the person you need me to be,” he said. “I’m sorry that my job keeps getting in the way. But I need to keep my focus on the Davison case.”

  “I get it.”

  “Do you?” He moved in closer, his hands planting against the counter on either side of her waist. “Do you really?”

  “You’re in a difficult position. We both are.”

  He was enamored by the way her pulse tapped there, in the hollow of her throat. He saw the slight flutter and had the overwhelming urge to press his lips to her flesh.

  Because she wasn’t unaffected.

  He lifted his gaze from temptation, his voice dropping to a lower register. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “For starters, I think you need some distance from this case. I appreciate the help you’ve given me, more than you can ever know. But I think you should get back to work and quit worrying about me.”

  “I don’t think I can do that.”

  Her pulse continued to pound, a fact that must have finally caught up to her when her voice trembled, breathless. “Why not?”

  “Because all I can think about is doing this.”

  Temptation roared back in and he recognized fully that he was past the ability to resist. Bending his head, he pressed his lips against her throat, trailing his tongue over that throbbing pulse. Her light moan filled his ears and provided all the encouragement he needed to keep going.

  His lips traveled the tender skin of her throat, nipping beneath her chin, before he took her mouth with his. Those light moans became deeper, more urgent, as she opened her lips beneath his. And as his tongue swept in and met with hers, Troy finally acknowledged to himself the problem all along.

  As a detective, he needed objectivity.

  But as a man, he had none.

  * * *

  Evangeline felt the water bottle slip from her grip and was abstractly happy she had remembered to put the cap back on. Not that a backsplash of cold water would hurt her right now.

  He was so hot.

  Like a furnace. He was pressed against her now, with the most delicious sort of heat. With her hands now free, she gripped the shirt at his waistband, the fistfuls of material soft to the touch. As his lips moved over hers, more of that delicious heat branded her, as their glorious kiss spun on and on and on.

  Bolder, her hand shifted from his waist to drift over his back. He was so solid, the strength beneath her fingertips an impressive testament to the way that he kept his body in top shape.

  His hands shifted over her body, as well, stroking and coaxing the most delicious responses. When one large hand closed over her breast, his thumb rubbing against her nipple, Evangeline’s knees went weak. Pleasure, an impossible thought over the past few months, was suddenly present, ripe with possibility.

  She wanted him.

  And while she knew it made no sense, nor was it something they could indulge in at this point in time, the opportunity to steal a few moments in his arms was priceless.

  With that thought foremost in her mind, she took. She took all that pleasure and sweet need and drank in as much as she could. Tomorrow would come soon enough. The events swirling around her that made no sense, the ones that were as real and tangible as the man holding her in his arms, would still be there.

  So for now, she took.

  And when he lifted his head to stare down at her, his hazel eyes drugged with desire and his lips still wet from their kiss, she smiled.

  No, he wasn’t unaffected at all.

  “What do you do to me?” she whispered.

  His question, voiced in that husky whisper, was a surprise, and her smile faded at the confused look that painted his face in harsh lines. “Inconvenient attraction?”

  “Really?” That was how he saw this? What was between them.

  “How is it anything else?”

  Or more to the point, how could it be anything else? She wanted to be angry. And some small part of her was hurt. Bruised feelings, really. But if she were honest, she also recognized what he was saying. Because it was nearly impossible to think that this could be real. That this fire between them could be a product of something deeper, instead of the tense, fraught situation she found herself in.

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” He sighed. “But I’ve never been tempted like this before. I know my job and I know my responsibilities. That is as clear to me as my own name. As the love I have for my family. As the next breath I’m going to take. Yet with you, I question my responsibilities.”

  “You’re a good cop, Troy. You’re well respected, and you know how to do the job. Whatever has happened to me over the past few days, you can’t doubt your work. The value you bring to the badge, that’s important.”

  “I know it is. That’s the problem, isn’t it? The badge is important. For a long time, it was everything. But see, these past few days, I’ve realized something.”

  “What?” It almost hurt to ask the question, but she had to know.

  “You, Evangeline. You’re important, too. And it scares the hell out of me.”

  * * *

  Randall Bowe picked up the burner phone, one of several in his possession, a
nd dialed the number he knew by heart. The line rang, and rang some more, each peal a resounding endorsement of his wife’s betrayal.

  Probably out with someone, he thought. Screwing around again, just like she had before their separation. His heart slammed in his chest with the anger and injustice of it all, just like the day he’d discovered her infidelity.

  “Hello?”

  Her answer was a surprise, but now that he had her on the line he couldn’t keep quiet. “You mean you aren’t out right now cheating and defiling yourself with someone else?”

  “Randall.” That was all she said, his name coming out on a strangled breath.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Who’d you think it would be?”

  “You shouldn’t be calling me. You know I’m going to have to call this in to the police.”

  “Like I care.” And like it mattered. They’d never trace the call anyway.

  “Randall, what are you doing? Where are you?”

  That familiar anger churned, low in his gut. It was so dark, so deep.

  So overwhelming.

  Until he’d finally figured out how to use it. How to mold it and shape it, really, so that it became something more than grief and anger. So that it became useful. Like a tool he could wield to derive justice.

  She’d done him wrong, and someone had to pay. And since she hadn’t seemed particularly contrite, or particularly interested in being the one to pay, he’d channeled all that anger toward others.

  He ignored her question about where he was. He missed her to a degree that bordered on stupidity, but even he wasn’t that dumb. “It’s not what I’ve done. It’s about what you’ve done.”

  “I’ve done nothing.”

  “You call cheating on me nothing?”

  She sighed, but it was nothing like the way her sighs had sounded when they were first together. The sweet, delicate ones she’d make when he pulled her close, into his arms.

  “I’m sorry that I didn’t wait until I found a way to talk to you about my unhappiness, but you have to know we both needed to move on.”