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Chapter Four

In spite of the top-of-the-line appliances, Rue didn’t find much in Cody’s kitchen that could be turned into an actual meal. A couple of eggs, some dairy creamer and butter. Flour and sugar. Frozen veggies but nothing fresh. Canned soups.

She assembled ingredients and glanced across the granite counter toward the front room where Cody stood at the window, staring down at the city lights. Slowly, he lowered the telephone receiver from his ear. He looked good from the back; his tailored suit coat tapered from his shoulders to his lean torso.

Had she really kissed him? Even though she could still feel the tingling rush of pheromones, she couldn’t believe she’d been so impetuous. Could she blame her lack of inhibition on the vodka? Not really. She’d only had a couple of sips. Maybe she wasn’t thinking rationally because she hadn’t eaten since two o’clock, and it was almost ten.

Instead of joining her in the kitchen, he left the living room and disappeared down the hall. A little rude, but guys didn’t usually announce their trips to the bathroom.

Using a whisk, she whipped up a thin batter for crepes. The process of cooking relaxed her. The smells, flavors and textures of food allowed her to set aside the horrifying events of the day and concentrate on something normal and comforting. She took a healthy swig of her vodka and orange juice. Cooking was something she did well. Not like relationships.

In her life so far, there had only been one serious attachment. She’d lived with one guy—an archeology major—for three months before he left for a dig site in Peru. They’d intended to get back together, but it didn’t work out. And she hadn’t been heartbroken. They were compatible but lacked fire.

In her brief kiss with Cody, she’d felt more passion than in her whole time in that other relationship. The intensity was a little bit scary…and a little bit wonderful. She needed to be careful not to get carried away, not to expect too much.

When he returned to the kitchen, he’d changed from his suit to jeans and a faded red University of Denver sweatshirt. The clothes were casual, but he was tense. He took a seat on the opposite side of the granite counter between the kitchen and the living room. His expression dark and brooding, he drained most of his vodka and orange juice in one long gulp.

“Bad phone call?” she asked.

“It was Danny.”

And he didn’t ask to talk to her? He must be aware that she was staying here. She’d told the lead homicide detective where she could be reached, and he’d certainly report back to her former stepfather. “What did he say?”

“They’ve already done ballistics on the gun from the crime scene.”

“Wow, that was fast.”

“Danny has a lot of pull. The murder of Bob Lindahl is the number-one case for the Denver PD.”

“Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?” She found a copper-bottom skillet in a lower cabinet and fired up the gas burner. “The quicker they investigate, the more likely they’ll solve the crime. Right?”

“True. My father’s body wasn’t found for sixteen hours. He lay dead on the concrete floor of a warehouse while the killer covered his tracks.”

She heard the bitterness in his voice. “He was an assistant district attorney. I’m sure the police investigated thoroughly.”

“Not good enough.”

She flipped a smidgen of butter into the skillet and watched it melt. The secret to perfect crepes was having exactly the right heat. “How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

The oldest of five children. “It must have been hard on you.”

“It was worse for my mother. My parents were one of those couples who were best friends as well as lovers. Always laughing. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Embarrassing for us kids. But in a good way.”

She poured a stream of batter into the skillet. “Did she ever remarry?”

“Didn’t even date. She used to say that she’d already had the one true love of her life. Nobody else could live up to her memories of my father.”

She wondered if the same was true for Cody. He spoke of his parents’ relationship with such reverence. Could it be that he wanted the same thing and wasn’t willing to settle for less? That might explain why this very eligible bachelor wasn’t married.

Carefully, Rue flipped the crepe. Lightly browned but not crispy. Perfect. She transferred the thin pancake to a plate and poured another. “How hungry are you? Do you want two or three?”

“Don’t you want to hear about the ballistics?”

“I doubt it’ll mean anything to me. I don’t pay much attention to the news, don’t even know the names of the current bad guys. Or gangs. Or whatever.”

“At one time, you did,” he said. “While Danny was your stepfather.”

She pulled off another perfect crepe. “He did a lot of work with gangs when I was a kid. That’s where I first met Jerome Samuels, his campaign manager. Jerome’s father was a gang leader.”

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

“You must be the only one.” She poured more batter. “Jerome loves to tell his story. How he was a thug, a gangsta, a juvenile delinquent. Then he pulled himself out of his life of crime, went to college and became a big, fat success.”

“Is it true?”

“Mostly,” she admitted. “I was just a kid at the time when Danny was involved in gang negotiations, and I resented the attention he gave to anybody else, including Jerome.”

“The gang project,” Cody said. “That turned into a career move for Danny. His place in those negotiations launched him into politics.”

Another endeavor that had taken his focus away from Rue. Even worse, her mother had gotten involved. When Leticia jumped into the political arena and took up networking, she no longer had time for Rue’s school plays and field trips. Her mother couldn’t wait to make the transition from cop’s wife to the spouse of a respected legislator.

As it turned out, the joke was on her. Their marriage disintegrated shortly after Danny was elected as a state representative.

Rue poured the last of the batter into the pan. “Are you going to tell me about the ballistics?”

“The gun used to kill Bob Lindahl was the same weapon that killed my father.”

She dropped the spatula and whirled around to face him. “The same gun?”

“A Colt.45 automatic.”

No wonder Cody had been tense. He would be forced to confront his father’s death as part of the ongoing investigation. She wished for a way to comfort him but knew it would be impossible to console him for his loss. “How does Bob Lindahl’s murder connect with your father’s?”

“I assume it has something to do with events that happened twenty years ago.”

“Lindahl was a cop back then.”

“So was Danny.”

The hostile edge in Cody’s voice disturbed her. “Surely you don’t think Danny was involved in your father’s murder?”

“They were both investigating the gangs. My father and Danny worked together. They knew each other.”

“So?” His insinuations were beginning to tick her off.

“The same weapon that killed my father was used on Lindahl this afternoon at a party for Danny’s supporters. Obviously Danny is involved.”

“With a murder? Danny’s no saint, but there’s no way he’d ever have anything to do with murder.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Well, don’t. Don’t even think it.”

She glanced back toward the skillet where her last crepe was burning. There was no way to repair that burnt mess. Yanking the skillet off the stove, she scraped the charred remains into the sink.

Cody’s suspicion of Danny grated on her nerves. Throughout Danny’s mayoral campaign, she’d put up with a lot of innuendo, but that was from journalists looking for dirt. Somebody like Cody ought to know better.

Nonetheless, she shouldn’t have snapped at him. He’d had shocking news, wasn’t himself. He was upset. But so was she, damn it.

Quickly, she assembled the rest of the ingredients for crepes stuffed with creamed tuna, cheese and vegetables. She’d intended to add an over-easy egg on the side, but her hands were shaking. This was too much stress for one day.

While she set the plates on the glass-topped table in the dining area, Cody refreshed their drinks.

He sat beside her, and they each took a taste. The crepes were okay but not a recipe that would go into her keeper file.

“Not bad,” he said.

“I didn’t have much to work with.”

Less than half an hour ago, she’d kissed him. But that sensual warmth was as chilled as gazpacho. She didn’t want to be here. “It might be best if I book myself into a motel tonight.”

He glanced up sharply. “I want you to stay.”

“I’d rather not impose. You have a lot to think about. The police investigation is going to rake up a lot of memories.”

“I welcome the investigation. I want my father’s murderer caught. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I should go.”

“Stay.” He reached over and placed his hand atop hers. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

His touch surprised her, and she pulled her hand away. His friendliness felt phony. Why did he want her here? What was he after?

“You’ve had a hell of a day, Rue. What kind of man would I be if I threw you out in the cold?”

An honest one. There was no particular reason he should care about her well-being. “I can take care of myself.”

He turned on a smile that was as fake as a plastic ficus. “Stay here and get a good night’s sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”

She seriously doubted that.

AFTER RUE had gone to bed, Cody went into his home office, leaving the door partially open. If Rue tried to sneak out in the middle of the night, he wanted to be able to hear. At the very least, he was responsible for her safety.

His plan for using her to get closer to Danny was a fiasco. He’d made the mistake of insulting Danny, and loyalty to her former stepfather ran deep. Without hesitation, she’d defended Danny’s reputation for being a good guy, a former cop with a sterling reputation.

Cody knew better. Nobody was shiny pure. Everybody made mistakes, took shortcuts that bordered on illegal, followed their personal interests. Everybody had secrets in their past, even the newly elected mayor of Denver.

How could Rue blindly defend him? She was smarter than that. Quick-witted and funny, her mind worked in a relatively logical pattern in spite of the unexpected twists. Like when she’d kissed him.

He sank into the chair behind his desk. That kiss had been one hell of a surprise. He hadn’t intended for this relationship to turn sexual. Even a great white shark had enough scruples to know it was wrong to seduce a woman for information. He’d only wanted to be friends with Rue, to get close enough to infiltrate Danny’s inner circle.

Instead, his thoughts ranged over her luscious little body, imagining the texture of her skin and the feel of her long, silky hair. Unlike many of the women he dated, Rue wasn’t the type who could handle a casual fling. She’d expect more from him, more than he could deliver. Hell, it might be best to say a polite goodbye and forget he’d ever met her.

On the desktop in front of him was a square cardboard box—his Lucky Ted file. Inside were folders with legal documents, copies of his father’s death certificate and insurance papers, reports from a private detective, mementos and photographs. He took out a scrapbook he’d started shortly after his father was murdered.

On the beat-up cover was a faded picture of the Rockies, a reminder of camping trips on the Platte River. The pages were filled with Cody’s own handwriting—a twelve-year-old’s scrawl and newspaper clippings.

The year was 1987. Ronald Reagan was President. The hit movie was Fatal Attraction. Michael Jackson was singing “Bad.” Local news focused on Colorado Senator Gary Hart who’d been shot down in his run for the presidency when he’d been caught with his pants down. The New Age community was mobilizing for the harmonic convergence in Chaco Canyon. And Lucky Ted Berringer was shot dead in a Denver warehouse.

Though Cody knew all this information by heart, he scanned the clippings, looking for mentions of Danny Mason.

At the time of his murder, his father had been focusing on an investigation of gang violence and drug dealing which had led to allegations of local cops taking bribes to look the other way on crime. Lucky Ted had gotten a tip from a suspect in a drive-by shooting and was on his way to meet with this informant when he was murdered. A week later, the snitch also turned up dead. It was assumed that both murders were gang-related. Arrests were made, but no one was ever charged.

As he scanned the articles, the name of one of the gang leaders popped out: Jackson Samuels. The father of Jerome Samuels? Rue had mentioned Jerome’s juvenile-delinquent background. How old was Jerome at the time of Lucky Ted’s murder?

Cody turned on his computer and searched the Internet for a quick bio on Jerome. He was fourteen in 1987, old enough to pull a trigger. His juvenile record was sealed but there were ways of accessing that information. Jerome had gone to the University of Colorado in Boulder on a baseball scholarship and graduated with a degree in political science. After that he’d worked on some political campaigns and spent a couple of years as a lobbyist. Then he became Danny’s right-hand man.

Was Jerome Samuels the person who had sent him the campaign bumper sticker for Danny and the shamrock tiepin? If so, why? Jerome wouldn’t want to implicate Danny who was about to become mayor and, very likely, appoint Jerome to a high position.

Cody stared at the computer screen. He should have made the connection to Jerome on his own, but it had taken Rue to point it out. She knew the family secrets, and he couldn’t let her go until she’d told him everything.

Returning to the past, Cody flipped through old newspaper articles. Danny Mason had been mentioned in the cop scandal, as had Bob Lindahl. And a dozen other Denver cops. In the Internal Affairs investigation, both were cleared of suspicion.

Cody brushed his thumb over a yellowed newspaper clipping with his father’s photograph. A familiar wave of sadness washed through him. News reports could only skim the surface; mere words were unable to express how the loss of a father affected a family. Though the Berringers stayed on in the same rambling old house, the halls seemed vacant. His father’s seat at the head of the table remained empty until a year and a half later at Thanksgiving when Cody, at age fourteen, took that position to carve the turkey. He had become the man of the house.

His mother hadn’t been much help. She’d managed to drag herself through the day in her job as a schoolteacher, but she was exhausted by the time she got home.

He flipped open the lid on a cigar box. The photograph on top was a wedding picture of his father and mother. So young. So hopeful.

A tear slipped down his cheek as he tried to reconcile the pretty, smiling brunette in the wedding photo with the way his mother looked now. She seemed to have faded. Her hair was gray. Her baggy clothes hung on her thin frame.

He heard a sound from the hallway and looked up in time to see Rue’s back. Had she been spying on him? Had she seen him cry?

He bolted from the chair. Anger surged through him as he stormed down the hall to the guest bedroom. Why the hell was she sneaking around in here? What was she after? Without knocking, he yanked open the door to the guest bedroom.

She stood in the middle of the room wearing a pink nightshirt—one of the few items of clothing she’d thrown into her overnight bag. Her long hair fell all the way to the tips of her breasts.

“Were you spying on me?” he demanded.

She lifted her chin. “I was looking for you. I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“Being rude.”

Her hazel eyes were red-rimmed, and her pale cheeks were smudged. She looked as though she might have been crying, herself. Because of something he’d done? Something he’d said? He didn’t want to care about her. She was only a means to an end. Danny Mason’s little girl.

“How long were you standing in the door to my office?”

“Only a minute. You looked busy, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Cody tried to give her a disarming smile. But he couldn’t. Too many sorrows from the past weighed upon him. Past rage. Past frustration.

This was his burden. His alone. He didn’t share his past with anyone. Especially not someone from the enemy camp. “There’s no need to say you’re sorry.”

“But I am. You’ve been really nice to me. All day. I don’t know how I would have gotten through all this without your help. I shouldn’t have fussed at you. So there. I’m sorry.”

He could feel her retreating from him, pulling away. Their budding friendship was dying on the vine. He couldn’t have that. He needed her.

Time to turn on the charisma. He was brilliant at charming people. Juries loved him. Women wanted to be with him. Rue would be no different.

He took a step toward her. A kiss should solve everything. He rested his hand on her shoulder. Though he felt her tense, he leaned down.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Showing you that we can be friends.”

His hand slid down her arm, and he anchored her in place. His lips were inches away from hers when she pulled away. “Stop it, Cody. This isn’t right.”