“Good.”
Her reaction shocked Luke into focusing on her. “What did you say?”
“I said good. He deserves whatever he gets.” She reached behind her for her soda, and passed Luke his beer. “I won’t bother to tell you that their deaths weren’t your fault.”
“Thanks. A dozen shrinks have already tried. Put me on medical leave until we all realized I couldn’t stay in Chicago.”
“You did what you were trained to do. And I will tell you that you’re stupid if you keep that photo on the mantel out of guilt.”
“Excuse me?”
“Those men sacrificed their lives following a man they trusted, doing something they believed in. And you demean their memories by regretting that.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I am very familiar with making choices that leave you feeling sick to your stomach, shaky with regret. But someone has to make the choice to act, and that’s what you did. To the best of your ability.”
“And my men be damned?”
“No, and your men died with honor. Which is more than I can say for most.”
“For yourself?”
Kell shut her eyes and shook her head. “One confession per meal,” she quipped, her voice forcibly light. “I think your pasta is overheating.”
CHAPTER 19
“Soon,” Luke threatened lightly, deciding not to push. For now. Wounds that had never quite healed over pulsed too raw for him to do battle. But, he promised, her turn would come. Instead, he turned his attention to the pasta, barely saving it from ruin. “I’ve got a Chardonnay chilling in the refrigerator.”
“Got it.” She gratefully accepted the reprieve and fetched the wine. A quick hunt through his cabinets revealed glasses. Before she could ask, a corkscrew appeared by her elbow. “Anything else?”
“Salad dressing should do it.” He reignited the burner beneath the saucepan, then coated the pasta with the contents. Cooking settled him, the creation of a meal to satisfy at least one keen appetite. As she moved around his kitchen, Kell made it nearly impossible to ignore the brilliantly painful twist in his gut or heavy beat of desire. He wanted her more each time he came near her, and walking away became more of a trial.
One that would end soon.
Aware of her temporary escape, Kell skirted around Luke in the kitchen, finding tasks to keep her out of reach. After placing the dressing on the table, she gathered plates and utensils. There was an order to his kitchen, not rigid or controlled but seamless and competent.
She understood that about him, but the rest, the anguish and loss, that had shocked her. He didn’t wear his grief like a martyr, the way some might have. Neither had he buried it, pretending his past had vanished by leaving Chicago. No, she realized, he’d found another outlet, a way to honor their memories through serving another community. Protecting those whose lives he shared.
A man like Luke didn’t become a cop. He’d always been one. Would always be. Standing for others, making their worlds safe, whether he knew their names or not. A man like Luke couldn’t have made the choices she had. She doubted he’d ever find himself so deep that they’d be necessary.
Which doomed whatever grew between them, she admitted. Attraction, respect, even, if she were to be honest, affection, couldn’t compensate for their differences. A sheriff and a defense attorney.
“Stop it.”
Looking up, she caught his gaze over the island, felt the tension rise around her. “Stop what?”
“Figuring out why this won’t work.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“But that mind of yours was processing all the angles.”
Caught, she plowed ahead. “You and I don’t share the same codes, Luke. We’re on opposite sides.”
“That’s not true.” He flattened his palms on the butcher block. “I have a goal, and so do you. To get the answers. We just ask different questions.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Because you want to make it harder. Then you can ignore how I make you feel.”
“I don’t feel anything that I can’t forget once this is over.”
“It won’t be over, Kell.” A promise, a threat, blazed from ebony.
Before she could react, he’d banked the emotion, leaving only a cool watchfulness that had her taking a half-step away. “Dinner’s ready.”
“What?”
“Dinner. Pomodoro and fettucine.” Balancing the bowl and garlic bread he retrieved from the oven, Luke led the way to the table. Kell had laid out dishes and utensils, and he efficiently ladled pasta onto their plates. He offered her a slice of bread, butter melting onto the platter. “Come and sit down.”
She heard the unspoken truce and accepted. Taking a seat, she quipped, “I think my arteries just clogged.” Worth it, she decided, if the flavors match the smells. “Between Hervé and you, I’ll have justification for a whole new wardrobe to capture my expanding waistline.”
“Italian food demands sacrifice.” Filling her glass, he smiled at her over the rim. “And confidence, which you’ve got in abundance.”
“You find me arrogant?”
Luke pondered the question as he swirled pasta onto his fork. “Arrogant isn’t the right word. You’ve got the brains to prove your point. Insolent, maybe. On the edge of pretentious, absolutely.”
Kell bristled. “I am not pretentious.”
“Says the woman driving a sixty-thousand-dollar car.”
“Perhaps the issue is your fixation on my Porsche. First you tell me I have it to let out my energy and now it’s proof that I’m ostentatious.”
Luke lifted his wine, sipping thoughtfully. “Kell, I would never describe you as ostentatious.”
Taking the bait, she insisted, “Then how would you describe me? Besides insolent and pretentious?”
“Complicated.” He swirled pasta around his fork, considering. “Part of what fascinates me about you is your ability to say almost nothing and somehow manage to fill the entire room. No wasted motions, no flashy ways. There’s confidence and control, all crowding against that block of fear that keeps you hiding away.”
“I appreciate the psychoanalysis,” she scoffed. “How much do I owe you?”
“An honest answer. For once.”
“Try me.”
“Have you thought of me?”
“Of course,” Kell equivocated. “Your job is to put my client in prison.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
Luke reached across the table and plucked her glass from suddenly nerveless fingers. Dark eyes focused on her, dragging her into their ebony pools. She resisted the undertow, but felt herself being swept under. “Tell me.”
“I’ve thought of you. Too much.”
“And what did you think?”
“Turnabout?”
“Fine.”
Kell cocked her head to study him. “A man shouldn’t have a face like yours in real life.”
“Sorry,” he mocked.
“You’ve learned to balance your strength with a softness I didn’t expect.”
“I’m not soft.”
“No. But you are kind. To impressionable boys and starry-eyed teenage girls. To ex-cons and murder suspects.” She held his eyes, wanting him to know this much at least. “I like you, Luke. You’re a good man.”
“Kell.”
Abandoning caution, she finished, “And I thought about your mouth. The way you kiss me. Like there’s nothing else in the world.”
“There isn’t.” Heat thundered in his veins, hardened him in a swift rush that left dinner forgotten. He stood, drawing her to her feet. “Let me show you.”
Kell swayed once, dreamily. Warily. “I don’t know.”
“Learn,” he ordered as his mouth captured hers.
She braced for invasion, ready to be swept away. But he baffled her with a glide of his lips against hers, a teasing foray that opened her mouth in protest. Even then, h
e held back, wrapping her tight until she could feel only him. Everywhere.
Softly, inexorably, he tested the contours of her lips, the damp heat urging him inside. Reaching for patience, Luke sank down onto the chair she’d abandoned and settled her across his lap. Her eyes fluttered open, her fingers clutched at his shoulders. When she tugged him closer, patience fled.
Heat, a conflagration, searing at his senses. Cool, the feel of her hair tumbling beneath his seeking fingers. The cotton shirt he’d insisted upon frustrated his hands as they streaked down over generous curves. A button flew free as he forgot to wait. Touch, taste, take. The litany poured through him, shook him.
More, she thought dizzily. More of the slick of tongue against tongue. More of his hands skating along her skin, building desire with a stroke, a touch. Unwilling to wait, she twisted against him, slanting her mouth to claim. His scent punched through her, a spice that drove want higher and higher. In concert, she fumbled at the slippery buttons that defied her urgency.
When his thumb crested the rise of her breast, she moaned and retaliated, nipping at his mouth. A dark laugh rose between them, hers, his.
Luke thought to sate himself, but found only a deeper hunger. Energy jolted through him and he dragged her impossibly closer. Mindless now, only wanting to be inside, he lifted her to his mouth, licking at silken flesh that pouted for his attention. Then he drew her inside, reveling in her cries.
The shrill of a cell phone broke through the haze.
Ignoring the sound, Kell fastened her mouth to his throat, laving the strong column, enjoying the gallop of his pulse. She’d wanted, but never craved. Needed, but never yearned.
A second melody joined the first, the cacophony of sound too much to ignore. Cursing, Kell and Luke broke their embrace, chest heaving with labored breath.
He caught her cheek with an unsteady hand. “We have to check, right?”
“Yes,” Kell agreed, rising reluctantly. Her phone in her purse, discarded in the living room. Luke grabbed his phone and flipped it open while she rushed to answer the imperious demand.
“Calder here.”
“Luke, it’s Ruth. You need to get over to the Center right away.”
At the sound of the unflappable Ruth Lee’s near hysteria, Luke’s blood cooled immediately. “What’s going on, Ruth?”
“I just got a call from my friend Annie at the police department. Sheriff, Chief Graves is on his way to arrest Eliza Faraday for the murder of Clay Griffin.”
“Call Cheryl and tell her to meet me there.” Luke snapped the phone shut and snatched up his holster. Fury warred with disgust. He should have seen this coming, should have known that Graves would figure it out. He reopened his phone and dialed.
Adjusting his shirt with his free hand, he strode into the living room. Kell stood at the door, eyes fierce and angry. “Nina said they’ve searched the Center and plan to arrest Eliza. Chief Graves is in the kitchen with three officers. She needs me to come now.”
“We’re going.” Luke caught her hand and twined their fingers. “We’ll figure this out.”
He bundled her into the truck, climbed inside, and gunned the engine. In a rare show, he put the lights on top and whirred the siren. The fifteen-minute trip was over in seven. Kell jumped from the truck before he placed it in park. Two marked vehicles blocked the driveway, their lights flashing blue and white in the silence.
Catching up with her, he warned, “Don’t say anything. Let me handle this.”
Kell jogged up the path, her response nearly a snarl. “She’s my client. My responsibility.” One that she’d neglected to make out like some oversexed teenager. “I should have been here.”
“But you weren’t.” Luke caught her arm and whirled her around to face him. “Whatever Graves is doing, this is not a game to him. If you don’t do as I say, I won’t be able to help her. Or you.” He clamped his hand over her protest. “Or the children inside this house. Graves has a plan and we don’t, so let me figure one out.”
Shoving his hand away from her mouth, Kell argued, “I’m not a damsel in distress, Sheriff. I know how to take care of my own.”
“Yes, you do. And for now, that means trusting me.”
Kell could feel the adrenaline rage through, the vicious kick of guilt that she hadn’t been here. She shunted both aside with effort and focused on the smart move. “Okay. I will trust you. For now.” Her fingers gripped his arm in a bruising hold. “But I won’t risk her. Do you understand?”
“I understand. Come on.”
CHAPTER 20
The tableau as they entered the kitchen told Luke the story. Chief Graves prowled near a black granite countertop, brandishing a chef’s knife with its lethal eight-inch blade. Two officers had been posted inside, a burly redhead composed of equal parts muscle and flesh. His partner was only slightly smaller, in height if not dimension. Luke recognized both men. The taller was a good cop, if a touch lazy, and the shorter one hadn’t left much of an impression.
For her part, Eliza stood stoically at the entryway from the kitchen to the dining room, her tiny frame stiff and unyielding. The shorter officer waited at her side, steel glinting in the light. Luke held Kell’s arm until he saw the cuffs. “Go on.”
Kell dashed to Eliza, hands outstretched. “Mrs. F?” She nudged the officer aside, noting his look of chagrin. “Have they read you your rights?” she demanded.
“Yes, dear.” Eliza nodded once, her hazel eyes steady and unshaken. “Chief Graves also gave me this.” She handed Kell a sheet of paper. Kell accepted the document and skimmed the contents quickly.
Luke didn’t have to read the paper to know what she held. He stepped into Graves’s path and the older man faltered in his confident stride. “A warrant to search the Center, Chief? Which judge did you wake up to get that?”
“Judge Majors. She found my evidence compelling,” Graves announced slyly. “I also have a present for you.” He shoved an envelope at Luke.
“This is my case, Graves.” He fingered the envelope. “Griffin died in my territory.”
“Then you should have been doing your job.” He eyed Kell, ran his tongue across his fleshy pink lips. “One of our citizens is being denied justice due to a personal bias on your part. Would have expected better of you, Luke. Didn’t think you were the type to screw the lead suspect’s attorney.” Graves laughed spitefully. “Hope she was good.”
The punch knocked Graves on his ass and had the two officers charging Luke. He easily evaded them, then held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t try it, Lancy.”
“Arrest him,” Graves cried from his sprawled position on the floor.
The redhead, Lancy, watched Luke carefully. He’d worked for him for a month before being lured away by Graves to the police department, a decision he still regretted. Better pay couldn’t paper over the differences between Graves and Calder. He folded his arms and shook his head at his boss. “I don’t think he’s gonna take another swing, Chief.”
“I said arrest him. Assaulting an officer. Dereliction of duty,” he shrilled. Blood poured from his face and dripped onto the crisp white shirt he’d chosen for the evening’s drama. He’d even called ahead to the news station, and they were supposed to have a camera waiting on his return. A tape he intended to play as the central commercial for his election to sheriff in November. Ruined. “I think he broke my freakin’ nose.”
“Elevate it,” Lancy advised. He left Luke’s side to grab a towel and held it out the chief. “Here you go.”
Graves snatched the cloth and pressed it to his nose, yelping with pain. “Don’t make me give the order again. Place him under arrest. Now.”
Potter, the second officer, helped Graves to his feet. Like Lancy, he’d once worked under Luke and was reluctant to arrest him. The entire business had him unhappy. Being more cunning, he tried a different tack. “Chief, with all due respect, you really think we should arrest the sheriff? Won’t you have a hard time explaining why he hit you?”
&
nbsp; Graves jerked his hand free and adjusted his badge. While it may be good press to portray Calder as a bully, the image of him as the weaker of the two wouldn’t translate well on film. Not when he alone had been harmed. He blustered, “Fine. But I want Eliza Faraday in cuffs and in the squad car. Now.”
Shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them away from Graves’s throat, Luke prodded, “What are the charges? Owning a set of kitchen knives?”
Graves corrected smugly, “Not just any knives, Calder. A knife described as the murder weapon in your autopsy report.” He snatched up a folder, blood staining the cover. With relish, he waved the blue folder at Luke. “According to your own lab reports, Griffin was killed with a ceramic knife. My investigation revealed that she received an identical set last December, Sheriff.” He sneered the title. “Eliza Faraday not only has the knife, she had a reason to want Griffin dead.”
Luke’s expression betrayed nothing. “What’s your theory?”
“I don’t need theory. I’ve got witnesses. Ones who heard Eliza Faraday threaten to kill Clay Griffin on the day he died.” He jabbed a finger in Eliza’s direction. “That’s why she called Ms. Jameson in to help her. Because everyone knows that her specialty is guilty clients. Until now, though, I didn’t realize how far she’d go to get them off.”
“Luke, no,” Kell warned as he took a menacing step toward Graves.
Graves skittered back until he slammed up against the counters. His foot landed in a spot of blood, and he tumbled to the linoleum floor again. Officer Potter scrambled to assist, only to be batted away.
Gaining his feet again, he snatched the cuffs from Potter and approached Eliza. “Eliza Faraday, you are under arrest for the murder of Clay Griffin.” With one hand, he clipped the handcuffs onto her wrist and turned her to secure the other. “Bag that set of knives,” he instructed.
From the doorway, Nina burst into the kitchen, protesting. “This isn’t right! She didn’t do anything.” Several of the older children followed on her heels, demanding her release.
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