Dangerous Desires

by Dawn Altieri

  The SUV’s Bluetooth buzzed with Mack’s number on the screen. Jake jabbed the button to answer it. “Yeah, Mack.”

  “You need to come back to the precinct. They’ve got someone they want us to talk to.”

  Great. He’d been that close to getting a decent night’s sleep. But it was probably just as well. If he went home, no doubt he’d be up all night anyway, obsessing over that promotion and fighting back the memories this new case had dredged up.

  He cut the steering wheel hard to head around the block, back in the direction of the place he spent more time in than his own apartment. “I’m on my way.”

  Chapter Three

  Emma fidgeted in her seat in the local precinct’s small, brightly lit interview room. A clock ticked away the approach to midnight above the large mirrored window like the ones she’d seen on so many television crime shows. A shiver of self-consciousness ran through her at the possibility of more officers scrutinizing her from the other side of the glass.

  Her heart hadn’t stopped racing since she’d all but collapsed into the planter box outside her apartment, and it still showed no sign of slowing down. After giving what little information she could muster to the patrolman who’d responded to her call, she’d been brought to the First Precinct to give a formal statement. She’d faced a parade of officers who all had the same questions. Anyone who’d want to hurt you? Anyone you’ve argued with recently? Anyone who might be holding a grudge?

  No, no, and no.

  “Ms. Sloane?”

  She stood as a light-haired, middle-aged man in a dark suit entered the room and reached out to shake her hand.

  “Detective John MacKenzie, homicide division. Call me Mack. My partner, Detective Jake Quinn.”

  She turned to the second, much younger detective, and her breath caught as she met his gaze. Electricity shot through her as he took her hand in his. He was tall, at least six foot two since he towered over her five-foot-six frame. His dark unruly hair was a little too long, but sexy as hell. He gave her a nod of acknowledgment, and a warm blush rose in her cheeks as he examined her with a slow sweep of his ice-blue eyes. She had the strangest feeling she’d met him before. Had she?

  Mack took the seat opposite her while his partner leaned against the wall near the door, propped one foot against it, and shoved his fists into the pockets of his jeans. Dark curls peeked over the top button of his white dress shirt, and the fabric strained against the well-defined muscles of his chest.

  Wait, did he say homicide?

  “We have just a few more questions for you,” Mack said.

  She faced him, praying he hadn’t caught her ogling his partner. “Okay.”

  “Emma— Can I call you Emma?”

  “Yes.”

  “Emma,” he said, his voice soft and encouraging, “I need you to do your best to tell me everything you can about the guy who grabbed you.”

  She swallowed past the lump of anxiety lodged in her throat and glanced toward the door. Apparently Mack asked the questions while the second detective stood ready to analyze her reactions in some sort of good-cop-bad-cop routine like she’d seen on TV, searching for any signs she was hiding something. Although as the victim, she couldn’t imagine what they’d think she’d be hiding.

  She sighed deeply. She’d already been over everything with three other officers and a sketch artist, and she was clearly losing focus. “It happened so fast, all I saw was black clothing and hazel eyes.”

  “What about height and build?”

  Another question she’d been asked numerous times. “He was taller than me, I’d say about six feet. And he seemed to be in decent shape. He wasn’t skinny, but he wasn’t overweight, either. He was wearing a sweatshirt, so it was hard to tell.”

  Mack scribbled furiously on his notepad, as if the crew of detectives in the adjoining room and the video camera that was no doubt recording her weren’t enough to catch all the details. “Does the name Abigail Murray mean anything to you?”

  Okay. That was a new one.

  Emma thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. Who is Abigail Murray?”

  Mack’s face remained as neutral as the gray walls of the room. An awkward silence hung in the air as he stole a glance at the second detective. Those gorgeous blue eyes were still locked on her. Her scrambled thoughts had to be playing tricks on her. She’d just been the victim of an attack. Certainly the detective was not checking her out. No. He was simply doing his job, observing her. That had to be it.

  “Abigail Murray was murdered earlier tonight,” Mack said evenly.

  A shudder went through her.

  He slung an arm across the back of the simple wooden chair next to him, taking on a relaxed pose likely meant to put her at ease. It didn’t work. “You match the victim’s physical profile.” His voice was gentle despite the grim subject of the conversation. “You look like her. A lot like her.”

  She sucked in a breath and folded her arms around herself.

  “There’s a chance the person who attacked you this evening is the same person who murdered Abigail Murray. Of course, it also could have been a random break-in attempt. Your building is known for its wealthy residents.”

  And she was one of them, since Justin had left her everything he owned.

  “So we’re looking at it from that angle, too,” Mack went on. “He could’ve been waiting for someone to come home and unlock the front entrance so he could force his way in.”

  She nodded. And nodded some more. “Yeah. That’s probably it. It makes sense.” A robbery attempt, not a murderer. Maybe if she kept nodding, she could even convince herself.

  “It’s unlikely he’ll come after you again. Seems like he moved on to Ms. Murray instead. But it couldn’t hurt to be extra cautious.” Mack stood and flipped the cover of his notebook closed. “I think we’ve got all we need for now.” He handed her his card. “If you think of anything, give me a call. And we’ll be in touch if we have anything new for you.”

  She stared down at his card as he moved toward the door, and when he opened it, she shot to her feet. “Wait, I—” Her pulse sped even more, and her lungs constricted at the prospect of standing on a dark street corner trying to hail a cab. “I don’t have a way to get home.”

  Mack exchanged a knowing look with his partner, who gave a slight nod in return. Mack faced her again. “Detective Quinn can take you home.”

  Chapter Four

  Aside from a few courteous remarks, Emma was unable to conjure up much conversation during the ride to her apartment. Detective Quinn—with his brooding air and his serious gaze fixed solidly on the road in front of him—seemed content in the silence. He slowed the SUV to a stop a few buildings away from hers.

  The thought of heading down the street on her own had her stomach roiling once again. “Can you drop me off a bit closer?” she asked.

  “I’ll walk you up. Check inside for you.”

  “Oh.” A strange calm fell over her. “Okay.”

  He followed a step behind as she headed toward the building. She paused at the keypad, frozen in the spot where that monster had grabbed her earlier. Her throat tightened as though his heavy arm were around her neck again, cutting off her air and allowing in only the rubbery stench of the work glove covering her mouth.

  “Everything all right?”

  The detective’s deep, smooth voice broke her trance, startling her and sending a tingle up her spine, the complete opposite of the chill she’d felt earlier at her attacker’s gruff words.

  “Everything’s fine,” she said and opened the door.

  They took the elevator up to her apartment, but the detective stopped her after she unlocked the door. “Wait here,” he said. He slid his fingers to the handgun at his waist, his biceps bunching beneath the fabric of his sport coat as he stepped into her foyer. If he hadn’t been searching for a possibl
e killer, it would’ve been an incredibly sexy move.

  She chased away the thought. He was looking for a possible killer. In her apartment, no less. The shock hadn’t fully hit her until this moment.

  The detective emerged, adjusting his sport coat over his solid torso and concealing the weapon at his waist. She caught another glimpse of the dark curls peeking over the top of his shirt. Why was that so damned hot? And why the hell was she thinking about such things now?

  “All clear.”

  A relieved burst of air left her in a gust. “Thank you.”

  He ushered her inside and cleared his throat. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” he said.

  Her heart stuttered through a few beats. “I’m sorry?”

  He slowly lifted his gaze to hers. “Jake Quinn. I worked on the hit-and-run case. Your fiancé…”

  She felt her already tentative smile vanish as everything came together in an instant. No wonder he’d looked so familiar. In the wake of Justin’s death she’d been traumatized, caught up in the worst nightmare of her life, but of course she’d noticed Detective Quinn back then. Guilt and shame for looking at another man that way had made her force the memory of him so far below the surface, it had almost disappeared.

  Almost.

  But what she couldn’t forget was that this insanely attractive detective had been part of the team that couldn’t find the person responsible for Justin’s death.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “You mainly spoke with my partner, Detective Waters,” he said. “I wasn’t the lead.”

  Detective Charles Waters. The sweet older man had tried so hard to coax details about Justin’s accident from her memory during hours of interviews at the East Hampton Police headquarters. What had gone wrong? What had they missed? Why hadn’t Justin’s killer been brought to justice? Hopefully, Quinn’s investigative skills had improved since she’d last seen him.

  “Are you the lead now?” Her tone was sharp and unforgiving, and though it surprised even her, she had every right to it.

  His narrowed eyes locked with hers, an unspoken acceptance of her challenge. “Yes, I am.”

  She’d insulted him, made him think she didn’t want him on her case. So what? It was true, and she wouldn’t apologize for it. She had a hell of a lot more at stake than he did. “Then why weren’t you the one questioning me?”

  His answer came with no hesitation. “Mack is better with victims. I’m better with suspects.”

  She shifted her stance as though doing so might free her of his determined stare. It was easy to see he’d be an intimidating investigator.

  “I’m truly sorry for the way things turned out,” he said. He faced the living room and the wall of windows showcasing the city skyline, as if lost in thought and remembering every detail. “Your fiancé’s case just ran cold.”

  Detective Waters had told her the same thing. They’d run out of leads and had no choice but to leave the case unsolved unless further evidence emerged. None ever did.

  She swallowed back a well of sadness and frustration. “You’re not on Long Island anymore?”

  Quinn shook his head. “I switched departments about two years ago. A little more action here in the city than there is in the Hamptons.”

  A small gasp escaped her. What a horrid thought. Was more action a good thing for a homicide detective?

  A look of regret flashed across his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. He tipped his chin toward the tray of flowers on the table and tried to change the subject. “Petunias, right?”

  She picked at the decimated plants. “Yes. They are.” Some of them would be salvageable, but the excitement of planting them had been permanently tarnished.

  “My mom used to love these.” The warmth of reminiscence brightened his face, curling one side of his mouth higher than the other and creasing the skin around his eyes. “I couldn’t tell you how many of those I had to help plant as a kid.”

  She straightened, overcome by the image of him as a boy with that tousled hair, on his hands and knees helping his mom in the garden. “Really?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “You must be exhausted after what you’ve been through, and here I am babbling about my mother’s flower garden.”

  “Actually, I’m not in a rush to be alone right now.” Not that she necessarily wanted to spend more time with him.

  He ran a hand across the dark scruff on his chin. “We’ve got good officers on this. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  She nodded, but he peered at her as though he sensed her disbelief.

  “If there’s anything you need—”

  She stopped him. She didn’t need anything. Not from him. “I’m fine, just a little shaken up. The security here is good.”

  “It is. I checked the cameras on the way in. All top-shelf stuff.” He swept a hand toward the control panel near the front door. “Secure Link is one of the best systems out there.”

  He’d checked the cameras on the way in? Probably something he would do for anyone in this situation, but somehow, the thought of it felt comforting. Reassuring. Personal.

  Or maybe he just didn’t want to screw up this case, too.

  He reached into his jacket and came out with a business card, which he placed on the table next to the flowers. “If anything comes up, let us know.”

  She pulled a card of her own from her purse. “I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same for me, if you figure out anything about this guy. You know, so I can sleep again someday?”

  Her fingers brushed his as she handed him the card, and she met his ice-blue eyes. He was studying her intently. She quickly pulled her hand away.

  He placed her card in the inner pocket of his sport coat. “Chances are he won’t go after the same person twice, but you should be extra cautious. Lock everything up as soon as I leave.”

  She nodded again. “I will. Thank you, Det—”

  “And call me Jake.”

  “Jake.”

  When he smiled at her, an odd sense of peace came over her.

  God knew why. He was the last person she wanted working on her case, strictly because he’d botched Justin’s investigation three years ago. Definitely not because along with the peaceful feeling came a rush of attraction to the sexy detective.

  Which was unwanted, and totally inappropriate.

  Chapter Five

  Jake stepped onto the sidewalk outside the swanky Upper East Side apartment building and willed his blood to stop pounding through his veins.

  Emma Sloane.

  Holy crap. If he’d known she was the interview Mack wanted him to sit in on, he might have begged off the task. By the time he realized it was her—once they were face-to-face and he was reaching out to shake her delicate hand—it was too late to simply walk away. He scrubbed a hand across his face, scratching his palm on the scruff he hadn’t bothered shaving in three days.

  Way to make a good impression, Quinn.

  There was something about Emma he’d never been able to put his finger on, something that reached deep inside him and grabbed him like no other woman ever had. Something that still hadn’t let go after all this time. Maybe it was her vulnerability, the raw emotion she’d exuded after Justin Windsor’s death, pain the likes of which he understood all too well. Maybe it was her attempt to pretend she didn’t need any help now, even with a possible murderer on her tail.

  None of that mattered. He had a job to do, to figure out if there was a connection between Emma Sloane and Abigail Murray, to figure out if and why the guy had come after her first. It was a job Emma obviously had little confidence he could accomplish. Even more reason for him to get answers.

  He glanced up. From the way they were positioned at each side of the glass doors, the security cameras must have caught the attack. Mack had a call in to
the building’s management for the footage, but it wasn’t unusual for that sort of thing to take a few days without the pressure of a warrant. Perhaps Jake could apply some pressure of his own.

  His cell rang in his pocket, and he dug it out and swiped to answer it. “Hey, Kevin. What’s up?”

  “Had a feeling you’d still be working,” his brother said amid the noise of a crowd in the background.

  “I’m heading home,” Jake lied. He checked the time on his phone—1:18 a.m. The last thing he needed was his brother giving him shit about his ridiculous hours again.

  “You missed a great set tonight. Still coming Friday?”

  In his down time as a business major at Columbia, Kevin played guitar in a classic rock cover band at Donnelly’s Pub in the Village. For Jake, the shows were a chance to have a couple of drinks, see some friends, listen to some good music—even if it meant tearing himself away from his job for a few hours.

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “You okay, man?” Kevin asked. “You sound… I don’t know, winded.”

  Jake rounded the corner in search of other points of entry into the building and spotted a freight entrance. More cameras faced downward from above the metal garage door. He gave the handle a strong tug that got him nowhere. The doorknob to the receiving office yielded the same result. Good.

  He sucked in a lungful of air and returned his attention to his phone call. “You are not going to believe who I saw tonight.”

  “Who?”

  Jake let out a long exhale. “Emma Sloane.”

  “Whoa.” Kevin’s voice pitched higher in disbelief. “The most beautiful woman in the universe, Emma Sloane? The perfect girl for you if only her fiancé hadn’t just died? That Emma Sloane?”

  Jake ground his teeth, regretting the conversation he’d had with his brother long ago over a few too many beers. “Yes, that Emma Sloane.”

  “No shit.” Jake could almost hear Kevin shaking his head with that amused smirk of his. “Do you have her locked in your basement so she doesn’t get away this time?”