Читать книгу Forbidden Lover - Amanda Stevens - Страница 12

Dean Stanton was in rare form, Erin observed at the reception that night. A dour man with a much younger and more attractive wife, the head of Hillsboro University usually did well to string more than two or three sentences together without pausing to glower.

Tonight, however, he was almost ebullient, talking and laughing with the members of the board and faculty, going out of his way to make each and every one of them feel welcome.

There were several wealthy alumni in attendance as well, and Erin suspected their presence played heavily in the dean’s exhibition of good humor.

Plus, it was obvious he enjoyed showing off his house and his wife, and who could blame him? They were both gorgeous, the latter being tall, blond, and buxom, with her rather impressive attributes stunningly displayed in a low-cut, ice-blue cocktail dress.

And the house was every bit her equal. The lower level was huge, with one room flowing into the next through high, arching doorways. Silk rugs dotted the polished hardwood floors, and the paneled walls and heavy oak shelving were garnished with oil paintings and African artifacts. Ornate chandeliers spilled soft lighting throughout the rooms, and a magnificent free-standing staircase curved gracefully to a second-floor gallery where another group of people mingled with drinks.

Erin had always imagined her father’s home looking something like this—spacious and grand with evidence of the family’s ill-gotten gains nearly everywhere one looked.

Dean Stanton had earned his house the old-fashioned way. It came with his title. A definite perk for climbing the academic ladder, Erin decided.

She stood apart from the throng, sipping her wine and eyeing the gathering with a bored, critical eye. Schmoozing with the board of trustees and would-be donors was a part of her work she hated, but it was necessary in her field, where laboratories and research grants were often funded by private donations.

Erin caught Dean Stanton’s eye, and he motioned her over. He was talking to a particularly intense-looking group of people, and Erin grimaced inwardly as she made her way across the crowded room.

“I’d like you to meet the newest member of the Hillsboro family,” he said proudly, his gaze moving over Erin in an appreciative sweep. She suspected he’d been worried about what she might turn up here wearing tonight, but in spite of her distaste for such functions, she’d learned a long time ago how to play the game.

She wore a black, sleeveless tunic over matching pants and a fluid silk jersey that clung to her scant curves, filling them out in ways nature had forgotten to. Her high heels helped alleviate nature’s other slight, and just to remind herself that she hadn’t been entirely forsaken, she’d left her hair down. The thick, wavy tresses swung over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that made her feel sexy and wanton. A fleeting feeling, to be sure…

She felt Dean Stanton’s hand on her back, urging her into the spotlight, and Erin had to resist the temptation to pull back. He made the introductions, but the names all ran together in her head, and she hardly noticed any of the faces, except for the tall man who took her hand and held it for a shade longer than she would have liked.

He was impeccably dressed, with silver hair slicked back from his face and a dark tan that highlighted the coldest pair of gray eyes she’d ever encountered. There was something about those eyes, about the way he looked at her, that made Erin experience the same vague uneasiness she’d felt that afternoon after talking with Ross.

Could this man be the one Ross had seen watching her? He did look familiar, and even his name, Ed Dawson, rang a very faint bell.

Erin’s stomach fluttered in warning as she removed her hand from his. She heard Dean Stanton address him again, and she listened more alertly, trying to place where she might have seen him before.

“…consulting on cases all over the Midwest as well as Chicago,” Stanton was saying. He turned to Erin. “Why don’t you tell us about some of the cases you worked on down in Knoxville, Dr. Casey?”

Erin frowned briefly, not wanting to talk about her work except in the most general terms. “Most of my work is fairly routine. Not all that interesting to anyone other than myself.”

The silver-haired man’s brows lifted slightly. “You’re far too modest. I find what you do fascinating, Dr. Casey. I’d certainly like to hear more about your cases at some future date, particularly the ones connected with the Chicago Police Department.”

“Those cases are current,” she explained, “and may end up in court. I’m really not at liberty to discuss them.”

Dean Stanton scowled at her. “Your reticence is admirable, Dr. Casey, but if the superintendent of the Chicago Police Department wants an update on the criminal cases in which you’re currently involved, you would have no objection, surely.”

Superintendent of the Chicago Police Department? Of course! That’s why the man’s face and name seemed so familiar. Undoubtedly, Erin had seen Ed Dawson on television, or perhaps seen his picture in the newspaper.

She glanced at him apologetically. “I’m sorry. But I was just reminded this afternoon how vital it is to safeguard our forensic work.”

“No apology necessary,” Dawson said smoothly. “As Dean Stanton correctly pointed out, your discretion is admirable. A cocktail party is not the place for such a discussion.” The look he gave Dean Stanton was almost frigid, and Stanton, in turn, glared angrily at Erin. There was no mistaking who would get the blame for his faux pas.

Just then, a woman behind Ed Dawson turned and came to join them. She looked to be in her late fifties, probably around Dawson’s age, but she was still a very pretty woman, with a nice complexion and short, dark hair. The green silk dress she wore was exactly right for her age and her coloring, and the smile she flashed Erin was the first genuine show of friendliness she’d seen all evening.

Ed Dawson took her hand and pulled her forward. “I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine. This is Maggie Gallagher,” he said to the group, but his gaze remained on Erin. “She has three sons who are in the Detective Division. It’s possible you may cross paths with one of them in the future, Dr. Casey.”

Startled, Erin stared at the woman for a moment. Maggie Gallagher’s features, especially her blue eyes, were very like the detective’s Erin had met earlier that day. Were Dawson’s words prophetic, or did he know Nick Gallagher had already been to see her?

She gave Maggie a tentative smile. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Gallagher.”

“Call me Maggie,” the woman said warmly.

“And I’m Erin.”

“You look so young to be a doctor!”

“I’m a Ph.D.,” Erin explained.

“Dr. Casey is a forensic anthropologist,” Dawson said. “She consults with the Chicago Police Department, as well as other law enforcement organizations throughout the Midwest.”

Maggie Gallagher couldn’t quite hide her surprise. “A forensic anthropologist. That means you work with—”

“Bones,” Erin supplied. “Skeletal remains. I help with identification.”

“She does much more than that,” Dawson said, his expression almost grim. “A good forensic anthropologist can also determine cause and manner of death. Their expert testimony has helped us convict countless murderers who would have otherwise gone free.”

“My goodness.” Maggie looked dutifully impressed. “Are you here with your husband, Dr. Casey?”

“I’m not married.”

Maggie’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “I’ll be sure to tell my sons that I met you.”

Three sons in the police department, Erin mused. And by the looks of things, Maggie Gallagher and the superintendent were a little more than mere acquaintances. His hand rested possessively on her back, and when Maggie glanced up at him, the two exchanged a look that was unmistakable.

He bent down to say something to her, and Erin used the interlude to make her escape. Murmuring her excuses to Dean Stanton, she drifted away, melting once more into the crowd.

She wondered if she could slip away altogether and not be noticed. She still had to go by the lab and pack her equipment for the excavation, then call Detective Gallagher…

Lost in thought about the next day’s work, she jumped slightly when someone said her name. She turned, meeting Superintendent Dawson’s cool gaze, and again Erin felt a vague uneasiness. As head of the Chicago Police Department, he was a very important man. She wanted to believe her disquiet was a result of his title and position, but there was something else about him, a hardness in his eyes that could have been the result of his years on the police force, but somehow Erin suspected it was not.

She thought him a cold man, perhaps even cruel, and she had a hard time picturing a woman like Maggie Gallagher being drawn to him. But then again, he wasvery attractive. In some ways, charismatic, which could make him a very dangerous man.

“I hope you don’t mind my seeking you out like this,” he said.

“Of course not,” she lied.

“I wanted to tell you again how much I appreciate your discretion. I know Dean Stanton can be—shall we say—persuasive, and I admire the way you held your ground with him.”

Erin wished she could take pleasure in Dawson’s praise, but something told her he had an ulterior motive for his comments. “Discretion is part of my job,” she said with a light shrug. “Just as it is with yours.”

“Actually, your job is what I’d like to talk to you about.” He smiled down at her, but Erin couldn’t detect a single note of warmth or amusement in his eyes. “I don’t like uncleared cases, but unfortunately, our files are full of Jane and John Does, many of them homicides whose perpetrators were never apprehended because the victims couldn’t be identified. Your work is extremely important to CPD, Dr. Casey. Make no mistake about that.”

“I appreciate that,” Erin told him. “My work is very important to me, too.”

“Your dedication is obvious.” He hesitated, then said pensively, “I’m wondering if you might be interested in participating on a task force I’m putting together for our Missing Persons Bureau. Your input could be invaluable.”

An alarm sounded inside Erin, but she tried to keep her tone and expression neutral. “I’m flattered, but my work here at the university keeps me very busy.”

“I understand. But I’d like to come by your lab someday soon and discuss the project with you anyway. If you wouldn’t have any objection.”

His tone implied that he certainly didn’t expect her to object, but she did. Apart from her heavy schedule at Hillsboro, Erin had no intention of getting involved in a police department task force. She would consult on cases within the safe confines of the university, but she would not risk questions about her background. Erin had always been very careful about keeping a low profile, even on cases that had caught the attention of the media. Now that she had returned to Chicago, it was more important than ever that she adhere to those rules. If her father were to ever find out she was here…

Who are you kidding? a little voice taunted Erin. Her presence in Chicago would make no difference to her father whatsoever. He’d gladly given away his rights to her when she was a baby, hadn’t he? Relinquished all claims, legal and otherwise, in order to retain sole custody of the son he’d cherished, the only child he’d ever wanted.

She glanced up at Dawson, and it almost seemed, by the flicker in his gray eyes, that he knew what she’d been thinking. Had he somehow found out her real name, her true identity? Erin doubted it. If he knew she was from an infamous Chicago crime family, he wouldn’t be asking her to sit on a police task force, would he?

“I’ll have my secretary call you in a day or two,” he advised. “And I must warn you, Dr. Casey, I usually don’t take no for an answer.”

And I must warn you, Erin thought in annoyance, I don’t take orders very well, not even from the superintendent of the Chicago Police Department.

“DR. CASEY, isn’t it? Mary Alice Stanton.” The dean’s wife blocked Erin’s path to the front door, where she had hoped to quietly slip out unnoticed. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. Phil’s been raving about your credentials ever since you accepted the position here at Hillsboro.”

Erin shook hands with the woman. “That’s nice to hear,” she murmured, although she couldn’t imagine Dean Stanton raving about anyone or anything. And after her less than sterling performance with Ed Dawson, whatever admiration Dean Stanton might have been harboring for her would have quickly evaporated.

On closer examination, the dean’s wife was a little older than Erin had first thought, probably around thirty. They were contemporaries, but for the life of her, Erin couldn’t think of a single thing to say to the woman. Mary Alice was beautiful, sexy and glamorous, and judging by the revealing dress she wore, she knew it. There was nothing wrong in that. Erin admired confidence. But women like Mary Alice Stanton, and like Erin’s secretary, Gloria, always made her feel inadequate, and it wasn’t a feeling she liked.

“I couldn’t help noticing that you were having a private conversation with Superintendent Dawson,” Mary Alice observed. “He’s a very interesting man, isn’t he? And so attractive!”

“Yes, he is,” Erin agreed, though not enthusiastically.

Mary Alice appeared not to notice. Her eyes glowed with admiration. “He and my husband have been friends for years, and I went to college with his stepdaughter. That’s how Phil and I met.”

Erin wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond to that, so she merely smiled.

Mary Alice lowered her voice intimately. “You may have heard what happened to her.”

“The stepdaughter?”

She nodded sadly, but there was a strange glow in her eyes, almost as if she relished retelling the story. “Her name was Ashley Dallas. She was murdered eight years ago at a college party. Not Hillsboro,” she quickly added, as if to assuage any fears the information may have generated in Erin. “A man was convicted of her murder, and he’s been on death row for several years. Now, however, there’s a possibility he may be released.”

Something akin to a premonition swept over Erin. She felt chill bumps up and down her bare arms. “Why?”

Mary Alice shrugged. “Some unfortunate legal technicality. It was discovered a few months ago that evidence was deliberately withheld from the police investigation, and the man’s lawyers have pressed for a mistrial or a new trial or something. There was a real brouhaha in the papers about it a few months ago, and some of his groupies organized a protest march at police headquarters. According to the newspaper accounts, the scene got pretty violent.”

“I haven’t heard anything about it.” Erin rarely had time for reading newspapers or even watching the news on television, which quite often made her feel hopelessly out of the loop. She supposed she was the quintessential scientist, cooped up in her lab and shut off from the rest of the world.

“I’m surprised, given the level of publicity it’s received,” Mary Alice said. “But then, I guess you haven’t been in town all that long, and things have recently died down a bit.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but just then, Russell Quay, another anthropology professor and member of the FAHIL staff, hurried over and tapped her on the shoulder.

Mary Alice turned, automatically plastering a smile on her lovely face. “Russell! I haven’t seen you all evening. Where’ve you been hiding, you handsome devil, you?”

The diminutive professor beamed up at her, obviously smitten, and when Mary Alice bent to say something to him, putting her “attributes” at his eye level, Erin thought he might faint dead away.

After a moment, Mary Alice excused herself, and her admirer turned anxiously to follow her with his gaze. Behind his thick, bottlelike glasses, his eyes looked dazed and slightly guilty, like a kid who’d purloined his father’s Penthouse.

“Dr. Quay?”

He turned, startled, as if he hadn’t seen Erin standing there. His face flushed a deep, mottled red, and he muttered something under his breath, quickly whirling away to run headlong into a uniformed server carrying a heavy, silver tray of canapés. Somehow the young woman managed to keep her balance, and after a bit of two-stepping, Russell darted around her and disappeared into the crowd.

“The poor man is obviously sexually deprived,” Lois Childers, an archaeology professor, commented wryly as she ambled up beside Erin. “That’s the kind you have to watch out for, you know. Their frustrations sometimes manifest themselves in very disturbing ways.”

“You sound as if you’ve had some experience,” Erin remarked mildly. Lois was a tall woman, in her early forties, with handsome features and a raspy, sexy voice deepened even more so by her chain smoking. Her auburn hair was shoulder length and blunt cut in a Cleopatra style that highlighted her angular cheekbones. Tonight she wore a gold brocade suit that made her seem positively regal as she gazed upon the proceedings with airy disdain.

“I’ve known my share of head cases,” she blithely admitted. “I’d watch out for Russell if I were you.”

Erin glanced at her in surprise. “Why?”

Lois shrugged. “He thought he would be the one put in charge of FAHIL. Dean Stanton gave him every indication that he would be, then suddenly—” she snapped her fingers “—here you are.”

“I didn’t know,” Erin said, although it was hardly a surprise. Universities were as competitive as multinational corporations. Her appointment was bound to cause some hostility. “I don’t know Dr. Quay all that well, but he doesn’t seem threatening.”

“Well, hell,” Lois said, eyeing Erin over the rim of her wineglass. “Neither do many serial killers.” She paused. “I’ll lay you two to one odds that the little general is still a virgin. His mommy keeps him on too tight a leash.”

“His mommy?”

Lois snorted. “Didn’t you know? Russell still lives with his mother. He asked me to dinner once and the old bag had to come along with us. Do you remember the mother in Throw Momma from the Train?” When Erin admitted she did, Lois nodded grimly. “Well, then, you’ve got the picture.”

“You’ve dated Russell Quay?” Erin hadn’t meant to sound so incredulous, but a more unlikely couple she couldn’t imagine.

“Well, hell,” Lois said. “I’m not getting any younger, and besides, in case you haven’t noticed, the pickings on campus aren’t exactly prime. We can’t all have tall, dark, handsome detectives traipsing through our offices.”

Erin froze. How had Lois known about Detective Gallagher?

Almost casually, she said, “So, who have you been talking to?”

Lois smiled mysteriously. “I have my sources.”

“This is serious, Lois. If there’s a leak at FAHIL—” Lois rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Lighten up, Erin. A good-looking man causes talk. I saw him coming out of your office and I asked Gloria who he was. She obviously had the hots for him herself.”

Gloria Maynard hadn’t exactly overwhelmed Erin with her competence and trustworthiness, and now to hear that she’d been talking about a visitor to the lab, even to Lois, did not bode well for their future working relationship. Erin would have to speak to her secretary at once, warn her to be especially discreet where FAHIL was concerned.

Still, Lois was right. A good-looking man did cause talk, and Nick Gallagher was nothing if not good-looking. An image of him flashed through Erin’s mind, and she felt that same flutter of nerves in her stomach that she’d experienced upon meeting him. She told herself again it wasn’t attraction. She had some sort of sixth sense about the man. Some internal alarm warning her that he meant trouble.

Lois gave her a smug look. “I’ll lay you ten to one odds that man doesn’t live with his mother.”

No, Erin thought. For all she knew, he lived with his wife. Or his lover.

That notion gave her another odd feeling, making her stomach tremble even more, and she took a sip of her wine, trying to chase away the unfamiliar sensation.

“And I can tell you without a doubt, he’s no virgin,” Lois declared.

Erin gave her an amused glance. “Without a doubt? You know, of course, that implies a certain knowledge of the fact.”

Lois gave a sensual wince. “Don’t I wish. That dark hair with those blue eyes…that body…” She shuddered. “He’d be an incredible lover.”

Erin’s amusement evaporated, and she became annoyed with the conversation, although she couldn’t say why exactly. “Just because he’s good-looking—”

“It’s more than that,” Lois declared. “When you get to be my age, you have a certain instinct for men. It’s like a radar. You know almost immediately the ones who’ll remember your birthday, the ones who’ll be nice to your mother. The ones who’ll be good in bed,” she added with a sly smile.

“And you think Detective Gallagher would be nice to your mother?” Erin couldn’t help asking.

“Honey chile, my dear ole mother would drool all over him,” Lois drawled, mimicking Erin’s Southern accent.

“Would he remember your birthday?”

Lois gave that a moment’s consideration. “No,” she said finally. “He’s not the type of man who would remember a woman’s birthday. But he’d sure as hell know how to make it up to her.”

ERIN STEPPED OUT onto the portico of the dean’s house a few minutes later, breathing a sigh of relief that she’d finally made good her escape. Then she paused as her gaze lit on a man lurking on the sidewalk across the street. He stood beneath the limbs of a giant elm, his face filtered from the streetlight, and for a moment, Erin’s heart started to race. Had he followed her here? Had he been standing there all evening, waiting for her to come out? If so, why?

An image of the skeletal remains of Case 00-03, locked tight in her lab, flashed through Erin’s head, and panic bloomed inside her. Just as she turned to go back inside the house, the man stepped into the street, leaving the shadows behind, and Erin recognized him. She felt relief and anxiety all at once, and her heart continued to pound as she watched Detective Gallagher cross the street and head up the flower-lined walkway.

He’d be an incredible lover.

Erin cursed herself for lingering as long as she had over that conversation with Lois, because now she couldn’t get the woman’s observations concerning Detective Gallagher out of her head.

Honestly, Erin told herself irritably. Whether the man was Don Juan himself had no bearing on her dealings with him.

And I can tell you without a doubt, he’s no virgin.

Brilliant, Erin thought dryly. It didn’t exactly take a Nobel prize winner in genetic engineering to reach that conclusion. Anyone who had gazed into those baby blues would have deduced that much in two seconds flat, even a forensic anthropologist whose sexual exploits—and it was being extremely imaginative to use that term—were few and far between.

When he drew near her, his steps faltered for one split second before he approached her. “Dr. Casey?”

“Yes.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you.” His gaze swept over her, taking in her loose, flowing hair and the clingy fabric of her tunic and pants. The look on his face made Erin grow almost breathless.

“H-how did you know I’d be here?” she said, wincing inwardly at the stammer.

“Your secretary told me.”

Gloria again. Not only did the woman talk too much, she wasn’t above selling out her boss in order to gain the favor of an attractive man.

Well, who could blame her? a little voice jeered as Erin’s gaze slipped over Detective Gallagher in the dim light. He’d shed the sport coat and slacks he’d worn earlier in favor of jeans and a cotton T-shirt which melded very nicely to his muscular torso. Erin was beginning to appreciate a little more than just his bone structure, she realized. Perhaps she hadn’t given enough credit in the past to toned muscles and tanned skin.

And now you sound just like Lois, that same little voice taunted her.

Well, hell, Erin thought, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

“Are you ready to go?” His gaze flicked over her again, as if he still wasn’t quite convinced she was the woman he’d been expecting.

Erin knew she should be flattered, but for some reason she wasn’t. Had her appearance been that lacking earlier?

And so what if it had? Why should she care what Detective Gallagher, or anyone else, thought of her looks? Erin had never been a vain person. There had always been so many more interesting pursuits with which to occupy her time. She didn’t even like to shop. She’d ordered the outfit she had on tonight via the Internet, not having concerned herself for more than a minute with the fit, color, or fabric.

Judging by Detective Gallagher’s reaction, the selection was a success, and Erin felt herself growing even more agitated the longer he stared at her.

She pushed back her hair. “I’ll need to go home and change first. Then I’ll have to go by the lab and pick up my equipment.”

“Fine. I’ll drive you.”

Erin started to tell him she had her own car, but then she remembered that she’d walked the few blocks from her garage apartment to the dean’s house, not wanting to be bothered with parking on the narrow street. It had still been daylight then, but now that it was dark and growing cool, she didn’t relish walking home alone. She shrugged. “Thanks. I’d appreciate the ride.”

They started down the marble steps together, and he took her elbow. An old-fashioned, courtly gesture that Erin suspected had been drummed into him by his mother. But for some reason, his touch seemed intimate and knowing, as if he were all too aware of Erin’s reaction to him.

I’ve been in the lab too long, she thought almost in panic, if my insides turn to jelly by the mere touch of an attractive man.

But Ed Dawson’s touch hadn’t affected her that way, Erin reminded herself. Quite the contrary, the feel of his hand on hers had been almost repugnant, and his age had nothing to do with it. She’d always been attracted to older men, and Dawson had the same timeless appeal as Sean Connery. Yet Erin’s instincts had been wary of him from the first and she didn’t know why.

She wondered what Nick Gallagher thought of his mother dating the superintendent of the police department. Did that pave the way for him and his brothers to rise in the ranks?

Erin had an instinct for Nick Gallagher, too, and she didn’t think he was the type of person who would ride another’s coattails. He was restless, driven, almost dogmatic, she suspected, when battling for a cause he believed in. And God help anyone who got in his way.

She shivered as his grasp on her tightened almost imperceptibly when they reached the end of the walkway and he guided her toward his car. “This way.”

He dropped his hand from her elbow, and Erin experienced that same sense of relief and anxiety she’d felt earlier. What was it about him that kept her so off center? She hadn’t felt this way, at least not so quickly, even when she’d fallen madly in love with one of her professors her first year of college. The affair had been disastrous, naturally, because he’d been older and wiser and, she’d discovered too late, married.

A wave of shame washed over her at the memory, but Erin tried to shove it to the farthest recesses of her mind. No use crying over spilt milk, her mother had always told her.

Detective Gallagher opened the door of his car, and Erin slid inside, admiring the smell and feel of the leather seats. The sports car was an import, not one of the more expensive ones, but low-slung and fast just the same. He climbed in on the other side and started the powerful engine, glancing in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb.

The interior of the car was dark and close, the glow from the dash casting only the faintest of light on his features. He barely glanced at her, but seemed deeply preoccupied by his own thoughts. Was he thinking about the remains they would excavate in the morning? Was he wondering about the identity?

Was he keeping something from her? Erin wondered uneasily.

They spoke very little on the way to her place, and once he’d parked on the street near her garage apartment, Erin debated on whether she should invite him up. Better not, she decided, remembering her conversation with Lois. Best to keep their time together on a strictly business level.

“I’ll just be a moment,” she told him.

She opened her door, and the bright light seemed to catch them both by surprise. Their eyes met, and for the longest moment, Erin remained still, mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. Finally he said, “I appreciate the way you rearranged your schedule.”

She shrugged. “No problem. This is what I do.”

He smiled faintly. “A bone detective.”

The smile sent a shiver of awareness racing up her spine. “That’s right.”

“I hope you can work your magic for me, Dr. Casey.”

She lifted a brow. “Don’t you mean for your friend? The county sheriff you mentioned?”

His blue gaze flickered. “Yeah. Sure. If you can identify those remains, you’ll be doing us both a big favor.”

“I’ll identify the remains,” Erin told him confidently. She climbed out of the car and glanced back at him. “But I still believe there’s a lot more to this case than you’ve told me.”

His smile vanished. “I’ve told you everything you need to know,” he said coolly. “You do your job, Dr. Casey, and I’ll do mine.”