by Linda Howard
Again Malory studied the living room with critical eyes. “There’s something odd about this place,” she said thoughtfully. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s very pleasant. You have comfortable furnishings, and nice paintings on the walls. Everything matches well enough, and the lamps didn’t come from a discount store or a yard sale….”
“But?” Gideon prodded.
She looked at him, then, with those curious blue eyes of hers. “The television is small and cheap, and the phone is an old land line. Most single men of a certain age who have a disposable income own a decent stereo. You have a boom box that any self-respecting fifteen-year-old would be embarrassed to carry onto the beach. Run of bad luck?”
Luck again. How could he tell her that his electronic devices had a nasty habit of exploding without warning? He owned two more small televisions, which were stored in a spare bedroom, ready for the time when this one went, and he’d never had any luck with cordless phones or digital clocks. He couldn’t get too close to a vehicle that relied on computer chips, which was why he drove older models. On the rare occasions when he’d been on an airplane, he’d worn a powerful shielding charm that only Dante could fashion. He went through cell phones the way other people went through Kleenex.
“I don’t watch much TV. Don’t listen to much music, either. Cordless phones aren’t secure.”
“And you need your phone calls to be secure because…?”
Enough was enough. Gideon rose slowly to his feet. He left his drink behind and crossed the room to stand near her. “Why don’t you just ask me?” he said softly.
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me if I’m dirty.”
The alarm in her eyes was vivid, and he could almost see her assessing the situation. He wasn’t armed, at least as far as she could tell. She was. He had a small advantage, standing over her this way, but she had the gun handy.
“Ask,” he said again.
Her eyes caught and held his. “Are you?”
“No.”
Her alarm faded gradually. “Something here stinks to high heaven. I just haven’t figured out what, yet.”
“It’s the money. People can’t believe that anyone would be a cop if they have any other choice.”
“It’s more than the money, Raintree. You’re good. You’re too good.”
He leaned slightly forward, and she didn’t shrink away. She smelled good. She smelled clean and sweet and tempting. She smelled comfortable and familiar. His fingers curled, as he resisted the temptation to reach out and touch her. Just a finger on her cheek or a tracing of her jaw, that was all he wanted. He kept his hands to himself.
“I made my choice a long time ago. I don’t do this job because I have to. I have enough money in the bank to be a beach bum, if it suits me. I could get a job in my brother’s casino—” as long as he stayed far, far away from the slot machines “—or live at the homeplace, or just do nothing at all. But when my parents were murdered, it was a couple of detectives and a handful of deputies who caught the killer and put him away. This job is important, and I do it because I can.”
He did this job because he had no choice.
Her expression told him nothing. Nothing at all.
She’s bad, Daddy. Very, very bad. Had Emma been warning him about Sherry Bishop’s killer? Or his new partner?
Chapter 4
Monday—10:45 p.m.
She’d killed the wrong woman.
Tabby was sitting in the back corner of the coffee shop, but she didn’t watch the riverfront beyond the wide window, which was busy on this warm summer night; instead she kept her eyes on the patrons and the employees inside. She wouldn’t have thought a place that sold coffee and cookies would be so crowded this late on a Monday night, but the small tables were filled with a mixture of both tourists and regulars, who drank decaf and munched on giant-sized cookies. Many of the regular patrons and the two young waitresses on duty sniffled as they reminisced about the deceased Sherry Bishop. Okay, so she’d made a mistake. At least she had the pleasure of soaking in the pain and fear in the coffee shop for her trouble. Last night’s exercise hadn’t been a complete waste of time.
Until Tabby had seen the evening news, she’d had no idea that she’d killed the wrong woman. Satisfied and coming down off her natural high, she’d slept most of the day. When she’d awakened, she’d spent some time studying her newest souvenirs. One day she would learn of a way to use those mementos in a powerful working of magic that would give her the powers of those she’d killed. At the time she’d thought her newest victim was Raintree and therefore more powerful than the others, and so she’d touched what she’d taken with reverence and, yes, even glee. Everyone possessed some talent that could be taken, some gift that was wasted or ignored or undiscovered, but this was Raintree.
And then she’d turned on the television to watch the evening news, only to discover that what she’d taken had not been Raintree at all.
Who would have thought there would be two pink-haired women living in the same apartment? She sipped at her cooling coffee. Cael was going to kill her when he found out, unless she fixed her mistake, pronto. She’d been hoping Echo Raintree would be here tonight, so she could follow the girl to wherever she was staying and finish the job. But no such luck, at least not so far. The murder of both girls would raise a few eyebrows, she knew that, but what choice did she have? None.
So far Echo hadn’t made an appearance. Not tonight. Maybe she was off somewhere crying about her roommate’s death, but surely she wouldn’t stay away all week. If nothing else, the funeral would take place in a matter of days. Tabby didn’t know the details of the arrangements, but that info would be public soon enough. There was no way Echo could stay away from her roommate’s funeral. It just had to happen this week.
If Echo Raintree had a vision about what was to come and she warned her family, things would not go as smoothly as planned.
The door opened, and Tabby automatically turned her head to watch the couple enter the coffee shop. Her heart skipped a beat. Holy crap. Gideon Raintree. Her mouth practically watered. She wanted Gideon much more than she’d ever wanted Echo, but orders were to wait. Killing a cop would cause too much commotion, Cael said; it would raise too many questions. Later in the week, when it was almost time, then she could kill Gideon. But not tonight.
Tabby didn’t think anyone had seen her near the scene of the crime last night, but she was doubly glad she’d decided to wear the short brunette wig tonight. Her head was hot, and it already itched, but at least she didn’t have to worry about anyone recognizing her. She could relax, sit back and watch.
Gideon and the woman who was with him took a seat in the corner, where they could see everyone and everything in the restaurant. They were dressed casually, the woman all in black, Raintree in jeans and a faded T-shirt. Both of them were armed, though not openly. Ankle holsters for both; no badges visible. Was this an official visit? Of course it was. They were searching for Sherry Bishop’s killer.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tabby studied the woman with Raintree. Cael had ordered her not to take out Gideon just yet, but what about the woman? Was she a girlfriend? Cop? Judging by the ankle holster, she would have to say cop, but maybe the woman was both colleague and bed buddy. Something was going on. No fear or sadness radiated from the couple on the opposite side of the room, but there was energy. Sexual, slightly acrimonious, uncertain energy. Whatever the relationship might be, killing the woman would definitely sidetrack Raintree if he got too close too soon. It would raise a stink, though, which Cael definitely didn’t want just yet.
Tabby got antsy sitting and watching. Knowing she’d made a mistake did take some of the pleasure out of last night’s outing, and she wanted more. She always wanted more. She’d already screwed up this job, so what did it matter if she killed a cop who wasn’t a part of her original assignment? Getting rid of the woman would distract Gideon, and she needed him to be distracted. She needed his attention diverted to someth
ing besides Echo and the wrong damn dead woman.
Since everything had already gone wrong and Tabby didn’t dare contact Cael until the job was done, his instructions didn’t matter quite so much. As long as Echo and Gideon were both dead by the end of the week, she would be forgiven for any mistakes that happened along the way. She could shoot the female cop and Gideon from a distance at almost any time, but that wasn’t what she wanted. Tabby didn’t much care how she took out the woman, but Gideon was another matter entirely.
Gideon Raintree was a member of the royal family, next in line for Dranir, powerful in a way she could not entirely imagine. When she killed him, she wanted to be close. She wanted to be touching him when she thrust the knife that had taken Sherry Bishop’s life into his heart. She wanted his blood on her hands, and a souvenir or two for her collection.
Even though she had not yet discovered a way to take the gifts she longed to steal, she did draw energy from the keepsakes she collected. Properly treated and dried, stored in a special leather bag that grew heavier with each passing year, those mementos fed her power when she was, by necessity, subdued. Cael insisted that she curb her enthusiasm, that she be cautious and not draw attention to herself and her gifts. Not yet. Not until they had taken that which was rightfully theirs. She had been very subtle and cautious in the games she played, but all that was about to change.
Yes, she could take out her target from a distance, but killing Gideon Raintree would be a powerful and delicious moment, and she wasn’t yet ready to give up that moment in the name of expediency.
Tuesday—7:40 a.m.
Breakfast at the Hilton buffet, Raintree had informed her last night. It was a Tuesday morning tradition with the Wilmington PD detectives. Hope parked her Toyota in the lot and walked toward the restaurant, unconsciously smoothing a wrinkle out of her black pants and adjusting her jacket over her hips as she walked quickly toward the entrance. She was ten minutes late, but her mother had been talking her ear off as she’d left the shop, and it hadn’t been easy to get away.
The group she’d been invited to join was easy to spot. A round table in the center of the restaurant was occupied by nine men, all of them in suits, all of them Wilmington detectives. Raintree stood out, even in this crowd of similarly dressed men who held jobs much like his own. He might as well have a spotlight trained on him, the way he drew the eye. The men talked to and over one another as they drank coffee, and consumed eggs and bacon and biscuits. Hope held her head high as she walked in their direction. It wasn’t long before a few heads turned. Eyebrows rose. Jaws dropped.
Hope was accustomed to the initial reaction she usually aroused. She didn’t look like a cop, and in the beginning there was always resentment, along with an unspoken question. Had she slept her way to the top? And if she hadn’t, would she? She had to be more businesslike, more distant, more dedicated, than any man in this profession. She never would have left Raleigh and started this process all over again if not for her mother. Nothing else could have made her go through this uncomfortable initiation period for a second time.
The only vacant chair at the table was next to Raintree. She took it, and he introduced her to the other detectives. After the initial round of questions and open interest, the men returned to their discussion: Where to meet for lunch tomorrow.
Eventually the conversation turned from food to cases currently under investigation, including—but not exclusively—Sherry Bishop’s murder. Through a number of outlets, state and federal, Raintree had requested the files of all unsolved murders of the same kind over the past six months, and by this afternoon he would have the majority of those files on his desk—and hers. As they talked about the case, a few important things quickly became clear. Gideon Raintree was a good cop, and the men he worked with respected and liked him.
Hope allowed herself to relax a little. Surely if Raintree was crooked, the others would know or at least suspect that something was wrong, and be mistrustful or distant or curious. She saw nothing like that at the table. Last night she’d been so certain that Raintree was somehow involved in the crimes he’d solved. Now she wasn’t so sure. Did she want to believe he was a straight arrow because he was charming and good-looking as well as infuriating? She didn’t want to be that shallow; she didn’t want to be like those women who judged men by their looks and their well-planned words, without ever looking inside to find what was real. It was impossible to tell what a man was like from the outside, and getting to know them well enough to learn the truth was too painful. At least, it had been for her.
Eventually the detectives finished eating and peeled away from the table to start their day. Hope and Raintree left together, stepping from the restaurant into a sunny, warm morning.
“What’s the plan?” Hope asked as they walked into the crowded parking lot. Her heels clicked on the asphalt. Gideon’s steps were slower, steady and rhythmic.
“I want to go back to the apartment and have a look around. Maybe you can work on organizing the paperwork before the case files I requested start coming in. The neighbors’ interviews need to be typed up. It’ll be a day or two before we get a report from the crime lab, but you could give ’em a call and try to hurry it along.”
Hope tried—very hard—not to get riled. “I’m not your secretary, Raintree.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You want me to take care of the paperwork while you investigate.”
“Leon didn’t mind.”
“I’m not Leon.”
He stopped a few feet from his car and looked pointedly down at her. “I’m very well aware of that, Detective Malory.”
“I’ll drive today,” she said.
“I’d better—”
“I’ll drive,” she said again, more slowly this time. She refused to allow him to dominate this partnership. Best to show him right now that she wasn’t going to be pushed around.
There was a flash of something in Raintree’s green eyes. Amusement, maybe. It definitely wasn’t surrender. Still, all he said was, “Okay. If you insist.”
Her Toyota was parked just a few spaces down from his Mustang. “Do you want to put the top up?” she asked, pointing to his convertible.
“It’ll be all right,” he answered casually.
She slipped her keys from the side pocket of her purse and unlocked the doors with the remote on her key chain. She opened the driver’s side door while Raintree paused to look over her vehicle.
He casually placed one hand on the hood and said, “Nice car. Does it get good gas mileage?”
She almost laughed. “Significantly better than your gas guzzler.”
He straightened away from the car and coolly took his place in the passenger seat, seeming perfectly at ease. Yesterday he had been insistent about driving, but today he seemed to accept his role as passenger quite well. Maybe this partnership would work out after all. Hope buckled her seat belt and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened.
She tried again. There was a dead-sounding click, and nothing more.
“Sounds like your starter’s on the fritz,” Raintree said evenly as he opened the passenger door and stepped out. “I know a guy,” he said as he snagged his own car keys from his pocket and headed for his convertible. “I’ll give you his number, and you can catch up with me when—”
“Oh no.” Hope locked her car and followed Raintree, her own strides shorter than his but no less firm. “I’ll take care of the car later. You’re not leaving me here.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re very dedicated, Detective Malory.”
With the harsh sunlight on Raintree’s face, she could see the faint lines around his eyes. He had probably been a pretty boy in his youth, and just enough of the pretty remained to make him interesting. He wasn’t a kid anymore, though. Neither was she.
“I’m stubborn,” she said. “Get used to it.”
He grinned as he opened the passenger side car door for her and waited for her to step inside. S
he did, and then she looked up at him. “Don’t do that again,” she said softly.
“Don’t do what?”
“Treat me like we’re on a date. I’m your partner, Raintree. Did you ever open the door for Leon?”
“No, but he was ugly as sin and had fat, hairy legs.”
She glared at him and didn’t respond.
“Fine,” he said as he rounded the car. “You’re one of the guys. Just another cop, just another partner.”
“That’s right.” She was still annoyed about her car, but she wasn’t about to stand there waiting for a mechanic while Raintree went to the crime scene and tried to piece together any clues he might have missed yesterday.
Hope no longer believed to the pit of her soul that Gideon Raintree was crooked, but she had no proof one way or another, and she didn’t know him well enough to entirely trust what her instincts told her. She’d been burned more than once by a man who hadn’t been what he’d claimed to be. It wouldn’t happen again.
As he pulled his car out of the parking lot, Raintree said, “Leon called me Gideon. If you’re determined to hang with me until we get this whole partner thing straightened out, you might as well do the same.”
Calling him by his first name felt so personal. So friendly. How could she be friendly with Raintree when she still suspected, however uncertainly, that he might be corrupt?
Maybe he really was just a good cop. Maybe she would discover that he was as great a detective as he appeared to be, and his motives were nothing but noble. If that were the case, she would work with him, and learn how and why he was so good.
In truth, more than that was causing her hesitation. In spite of her down-to-earth personality and her dedication to her career, she had the very worst luck with men. She always picked the wrong guy. If there were twenty nice guys in a room and one stinker, she picked the stinker every time. She’d felt an unwanted but undeniable attraction to Gideon Raintree from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, and the last thing she needed right now was to get involved with another stinker.