Читать книгу Deadly Reunion - Florence Case - Страница 8

Seeing the dead body of her friend and mentor two days ago had been bad enough—seeing her ex-fiancé’s alive and breathing one in less than a minute was going to be torture. But Angie Delitano had examined the situation she suddenly found herself in from every angle, and out of all the people she couldn’t trust right now, Boone Walker was the only one she was certain was not involved. So here she was, going to a man who had betrayed her for help.

How dumb was that?

Resting her hand on the knob that would open the door to the Walker law firm, she took a deep breath. What to say? How to act? Six months ago, after he’d shredded her reputation—and her heart—she’d left Boone’s engagement ring on the witness stand in front of a packed courtroom, vowing never to lay eyes on him again. But earlier today, she’d found out she no longer had the luxury of that choice.

Someone had threatened her life.

So now her insides were doing jumping jacks, and her emotions were on the verge of boiling over. Having to go to Boone for help made her want to hit something. He’d been willing to wreck her reputation to defend a suspected wife-murderer, forgetting all about how he supposedly loved her. Worse, Boone’s expert defense of the man—who she still believed with all her instincts and heart had murdered his wife—had freed the creep…who was now dating her sister.

“Cope,” she ordered herself. She willed the tears burning behind her eyes to go away. Luckily she was a cop and had plenty of practice in appearing cool and detached, even when her heart was breaking for a victim. She would need that facade in front of Boone. She couldn’t let him think she might actually still care about him.

Because there was no way she could, right?

Resolutely, Angie turned the knob and opened the door, once again the in-control, never-say-die police officer. Her sister’s life—and maybe her own—depended on her getting Boone as a backup this morning. After that, she could really walk away and pretend he didn’t exist.

Which suited her just fine.

What on earth…? Boone Walker watched his former fiancée launch herself into his office for the first time in months. Thanks to years in the courtroom, where the unexpected often happened, he was able to sit back calmly and pin his well-cultivated, steady stare on her, concealing the confusion her sudden appearance caused inside him. After she’d left his ring on the witness stand, Angie hadn’t answered his phone calls or shown any signs of wanting to talk things over—so why now? It didn’t make sense.

Unless…something was terribly wrong and she was desperate. Or maybe…she was finally ready to talk?

His new secretary, Karen, appeared right behind Angie with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I asked her to let me announce her, but she said there was no need, you knew who she was.”

“Don’t worry about it. Tornadoes are hard to stop,” Boone said. His secretary sent him a faint smile, but Angie kept her cool, “can’t touch me” look.

Waving Karen out, he waited until she closed the door, then turned his attention to the woman he’d almost married. He thought of a hundred things to say. “Are you okay?” “Am I under arrest?” “Funny seeing you here.” But he lost his mind and instead said, “I missed you.”

For only a few seconds, her pine-green eyes, shaded by thick black lashes, softened. She splayed her fingertips through her chin-length, pale blond waves, a sure sign she was flustered; Boone watched her in fascination, like he’d always done. He doubted she realized how much she’d captivated him from the moment he’d first seen her well over a year ago. Or how much it bothered him to do what he’d had to in court months later.

The uncertainty in her eyes was either that she didn’t believe he’d missed her at all, or that she was second-guessing herself for coming here. It couldn’t be the last part—Angie Delitano hadn’t had an indecisive moment in all the time he’d known her. Not even in the courtroom that day. She’d left his ring behind and, just like his mom where his dad was concerned, never looked back.

He needed to remember that.

“Talk to me, Angie.”

“Things have happened this week,” she said. “Bad things.”

“I heard about Cliff Haggis’s suicide.” Boone never would have guessed the seasoned detective, Angie’s mentor at the station, capable of suicide. But neither was he surprised. Being a cop was hard anywhere, and Copper City, even though it was a lot smaller than nearby Cincinnati and had a lower-than-average crime rate, was no exception.

“I’m sorry,” he added, tapping the pile of papers at the side of his desk to distract himself. Relating to people on an emotional level was not easy for him, but even he knew how to be polite. “I know he was a good friend of yours.”

“Yeah, he was,” she said. She took a long breath, and he watched her slim fingers alternately grip and let loose of the oversize, chocolate leather handbag she had in her arms.

“Sit?” he invited with a gesture of his hand toward his client chair, since she seemed about to run away. She folded her slim, graceful build onto the seat, her face once again wearing what he thought of as her “cop stare.” She’d used it for the first time when he was ripping apart her testimony. He had a feeling before this day was through, he’d see the stare over and over again.

The detached look probably meant she wasn’t there to talk about their ruined relationship, or to set it right. That was fine by him. She’d hurt him badly when she’d been unwilling to understand his absolute need to do what he’d done and then broken their engagement—but he’d forced himself to recover. He refused to be his father, pining after a woman who couldn’t understand why he was the way he was.

“Indirectly,” Angie said, glancing at his once again tapping fingers, “my being here has to do with Cliff’s death. He told me something before he died, and I was on my way to investigate what he said this morning, but then something happened, and I don’t know if I can trust anyone at the precinct now.” She took a breath and gazed into his eyes. “All I am certain of is that I can trust you with my life.”

The air went out of Boone as her words about believing in him dug into his heart. He stilled his fingers.

“So I decided to put our past aside temporarily,” she added. “While I can’t say I’m happy about what you did to my reputation in court, I have to admit you tried to warn me ahead of time about your loyalty to your clients. They come first.”

Angie was correct, and that brought Boone no joy whatsoever. He had indirectly hurt her so he could get an innocent man freed. And he was sorry he’d had to. But he couldn’t be any different than he was, and that meant she was better off without him. And he was better off without a woman who was going to get in the way of his mission.

“But your loyalty to them also showed me,” Angie continued, “that if you give me your word you will help me, just like you help your clients, you’ll be there for me.”

Boone continued to stare at her. His first inclination—and heartfelt desire—was to say “of course, whatever you need, just ask,” but he couldn’t voice the words. He had rebuilt the emotional wall around himself that she’d broken through when they met and fell in love, and was refocused on his passion for helping people who had been falsely accused of crimes, like his father had been. He was, if not happy, at least content. Being around her again, even for a little while, could change all that. Divert him from his true purpose. He didn’t think it was worth chancing.

On the other side of the argument, Boone knew how alone Angie was. He couldn’t stand it when people had no one to turn to. Especially women. Besides, he owed her…something.

“Never mind,” she said, rising and swiping her indigo jeans with her hand as though she were brushing him off. “This was a mistake, coming here. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Pivoting, she headed across the thick emerald carpeting to the door, making no sound.

Her every step farther away from him squeezed Boone’s heart painfully. Man, he was no good at stuff like this. He needed to let her go.

Let her go.

“You haven’t even said what kind of help you need, Angie.”

She turned and stared at him again, working her shiny pink bottom lip back and forth slowly. “There was a time,” she said slowly, “you wouldn’t have needed to ask. You would have just agreed to help me.”

Boone tore his gaze from her lips to her eyes. He could see the deep pain she felt from having to come to him for help, and for a few seconds, he longed to wipe away that pain. To fix everything between them. But that was impossible. They were just too different.

“I’m treating you like a client, remember? Your rules.”

“I’m going to regret this,” she said with a doomsday sense of drama. “I know I’m going to regret this.”

Him, too. “Give me a try anyway.”

She remained on the other side of his office. Boone welcomed the distance from the woman so he could pay more attention to what she would say instead of how lovely her eyes were. At least it ought to have worked that way. From this perspective, though, he was only reminded of how willowy her frame was, and how gracefully she moved. And how much he missed her presence in his life.

Strange how getting hurt didn’t dissolve attraction.

“As I said, before Cliff…died…he gave me some information. A message on my answering machine. That missing murder weapon in the Detry case?”

The weapon he’d let the jury think Angie had either not really seen or had lost track of? The missing evidence that had brought about the end of their engagement and his dreams for the wonderful family he’d always wanted? Yeah, he knew that weapon. Tensing, not wanting to fight with her over a trial that could not be changed, he nodded.

“Cliff said that he took the evidence and buried it, and then let me take the heat for it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Cliff Haggis and his wife had taken Angie under their wing when Angie’s former husband, a no-good drug dealer, had been killed in a shootout with the police. They’d also led her to a relationship with Christ, one that Boone didn’t understand and felt no hope of ever achieving. “Cliff was one of the good guys.”

“Yeah. Rude awakening, huh? Most of the rest of his message was basically an apology for helping to wreck my life.”

Boone had read in the paper how Angie was investigated by her department for negligence—because of his innuendoes in the Detry trial—and that the investigation had been dropped for lack of conclusive evidence one way or another.

“Most of the rest?” Boone asked. “What else did he say?”

“That he was trying to make things right. He told me to dig up the gun, clear my reputation, but then to let the dead rest in peace. That doing anything else was too dangerous. I was worried about him and wanted more of an explanation than he was giving, so I went over there. The front door was open, and he was on the couch.”

She took a shaky breath. “Suicide is what they’re saying. But I have no idea why he would do that.” She paused and gazed at him. “It was brutal.”

Boone saw the shock at the discovery still in her eyes, heard her voice falter, but once again, he wasn’t sure what to say beyond platitudes. Words never failed him while arguing a case, but the second emotions came into play, his vocabulary dried up. He’d discovered that after he and Angie got engaged and the first problem between them arose. He’d never figured out how to help her feel better—he wished he had. Maybe things would have been…

Don’t go there, he warned himself.

For over a minute, they just looked at each other. Angie shook off the pain over Cliff and drank in the sight of Boone’s broad shoulders, squared-off jaw and penetrating, royal-blue eyes as if he were lifesaving water. That was okay—as long as she remembered that too much of that water could drown her.

Exhaling a quick breath from her mouth, she returned to the front of his desk, where she again plopped down in the client chair, almost as opulent as his own, and let her bag fall onto the carpet in a chocolate heap. Boone remained in his seat behind the mahogany monstrosity he called a desk.

She’d blinked first because it was hard to look at the man and not want him to take her in his arms—especially from the instant Boone had said he missed her and traded his distant look for a concerned one. Concerned was good. Good as long as she kept her head over it, got his help and then left him behind.

Because in reality, his concern meant nothing. He’d shown the same emotion for Warren Detry, the wife-murderer she’d arrested who Boone had sworn was innocent. Concern wasn’t love. Not even Boone’s interest in her from the moment they’d met, she’d come to realize, was love. She wasn’t going to fool herself again—she just wasn’t someone anyone could love. Hadn’t her own mother shown her that?

But she was getting lost in the past, and Boone was waiting for her to continue.

She swallowed down a lump in her throat. Cope. “Trouble is, Cliff wasn’t exactly clear about where the evidence was, and I wasn’t able to ask him.” She arced her hands in the air in frustration. “I could only figure he meant some of the message as a puzzle, trying to make sure he didn’t leave behind any information that might get into the wrong hands. He loved word puzzles. It took me a while, but I came up with one idea about the references to digging up evidence long buried and letting the dead rest in peace. It might mean he buried the gun at Detry’s wife’s gravesite.”

“You think?”

“I don’t know. There’s too much about this whole thing I don’t understand. Why he had to kill himself…” She shook her head slowly. “I especially don’t get that. But there’s more.”

“I kind of figured, or you would’ve brought the weapon here gift wrapped with an ‘I told you so.’”

Her smile was spontaneous. She could have shot herself for not holding it back, for as soon as Boone saw her grin, his solemn blue eyes took on that twinkle she remembered all too well. Peachy.

“I like making you smile,” he told her.

“Well, don’t like it too much.”

Instead of being irritated, he just grinned. She pretended not to melt a little, but it was hard. Diversion needed.

“This is where the ‘something happened’ part comes in,” she continued. “Before I came here, I was headed to the Last Stop Cemetery, where Laurie Detry is buried, and I stopped for coffee. When I came out to my car, I found a nasty little death threat under my windshield wiper. It warned me to forget what I think I know about the murder or I’m dead.”

Boone muttered a curse and his face darkened, surprising Angie. She’d never seen him look this angry. Sure, he had a heart for the underdog, and in this particular situation, she was the one barking. But he always hid his emotions from clients. Surely he didn’t see her as anything more than that? He understood it was over between them, didn’t he?

Not wanting to get into that—ever—she regrouped. “I could try to handle finding the evidence on my own, but if the missing evidence is buried there, I thought it might be smart to have someone watch my back while I’m busy digging.”

“Really smart,” Boone agreed.

“So will you help?”

“Of course.”

His instant response was a good sign. She was happy he was so willing to play bodyguard, but niggling little doubts immediately started to chomp away at that happiness. What if he really did have the wrong idea about a future for them?

“No strings attached,” she warned.

“Wasn’t even thinking in that direction,” Boone replied easily.

Too easily. Angie’s eyes narrowed. “Neither was I.” Really. “I only came to you because it’s possible someone at the department might have helped Cliff hide the weapon, and covered up for him. I don’t know that anyone did, but I can’t take the chance. If I hand in the evidence there, it might disappear again.”

“That seems possible,” he agreed. “I know the county sheriff’s chief deputy personally. Once we find it, we can bring the evidence to him.”

That would work. Angie nodded slowly. “I am sorry if I’m taking you away from important work—”

“Angie.” Boone held up his palm. “Please, don’t be nervous where I’m concerned. I can take the time for you. And I understand where things stand between us and am not reading anything into your asking me for backup.”

Good. Because she was over him—over men and the idea of a husband bringing her any kind of peace and security at all. Boone had been strike two. From where she stood, she now expected that if God wanted her to be married, He’d find her a husband, and she would have no doubts about the rightness of His choice. Boone could absolutely, positively, not be the right man, because she had a whole boatload of doubts about him.

Even if he was staring at her with eyes she could dive into.

“You do realize,” Boone said suddenly, “that you should get a search warrant to dig on private property?”

“The judge isn’t going to give me one on total speculation, which is all my theory is. Besides, I had my fill of looking like a fool at the trial, thank you.”

His eyes took on an apologetic look, which she ignored. The possibility a judge might laugh at her theory left her cold inside, and she had Boone to thank for robbing her of not only her reputation, but also her confidence in her ability as a cop. As a Christian, she had tried several times during the last half year to make the leap into forgiveness, but she couldn’t, not when Boone wasn’t the least bit sorry. Too much hurt lingered. And fear that if she stuck around Boone for too long, he could betray her all over again.

“You’ve got something else planned?” he asked.

“Instead of a warrant, I’m stopping in at the cemetery caretaker’s office, telling him important evidence might be buried there, and asking for permission to search.” Begging for permission, if need be.

“That should work, too.” Boone nodded. “Since you don’t want to go to a judge, I take it you don’t want my friend from the sheriff’s department coming as a witness, either, just in case the gun isn’t buried there?”

“You’re finally understanding me,” she told him.

“Only six months too late,” he said. The thought lingered in the air between them as Boone reached for a set of keys on the glass-topped surface near his phone, unlocked a desk drawer, and pulled out a Glock she knew he kept within arm’s reach on purpose. He had a wide reputation for being the best criminal-defense attorney in the county, and sometimes, he’d once told her, desperate people who were guilty came to ask him for help. He never knew how well they would take his refusal to defend them. He’d only drawn it twice, but he would shoot if he had to.

She believed him. He always told her the truth, like when he’d said he’d do anything to keep his client from prison. She just hadn’t thought that “anything” would include ruining her.

She swallowed. She had to stop the self-pity and focus. There was a life riding on it.

She watched Boone stand, pull open his black, designer suit jacket and place his weapon in a leather shoulder holster. Broad-shouldered and tall, he had a way of making her feel safe when in his presence, even when he wasn’t carrying.

Not that she was worried or anything. But if she got shot from behind, who would see justice done? Leaning over, she patted her own backup weapon, a Beretta, that was lodged in an ankle holster under her jeans. “Will I be keeping you from any appointments or court appearances?”

“Not unless we get murdered.”

She couldn’t resist rolling her eyes at him. “Like you would let the opposition get the best of you with a little old gun. You’d probably debate him to death first.”

He chuckled, but when he rounded his desk and joined her, his dark blue eyes were serious again. Angie didn’t like that look on him—it meant trouble for her.

“You realize if we find this evidence, it will more than likely be inadmissible in any court, right? The chain of custody can’t be proved. And since Detry’s wife owned the gun to begin with, Detry’s prints showing up on it won’t be a shocker, unless there are blood smears with his prints on them. The only usefulness it’ll have is if someone else’s prints are on the grip.”

“I actually hadn’t thought beyond that dumping it on your desk and the ‘I told you so’ you mentioned earlier,” Angie told him, standing. “But let’s leave it up to a judge to decide if Detry’s prints are usable.” She stressed his name to make sure Boone knew she didn’t doubt the outcome, even if he did. “I know he can’t be retried because of double jeopardy, but maybe they can get him for perjury.”

“Detry didn’t lie.”

What was with this one-upmanship thing? Had they always done it, but she’d been too in love with him to notice? Angie guessed it didn’t matter. She was getting what she wanted, so she flattened her lips together and refused to push his buttons further.

Boone, however, wasn’t as polite. “Your friend’s hiding crucial evidence and lying about its existence needs to be investigated.”

“If you’re suggesting Cliff would murder a woman in cold blood and then hide the weapon, stop. He wouldn’t. Wouldn’t have,” she corrected, glaring at Boone. A word formed on his lips, but she interrupted him with a wave of her hand. “If you say one more word in that direction, I think I’ll leave alone and risk getting shot.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen. You ready?”

He’d caved in awfully fast. Angie frowned as she grabbed her handbag and walked out of the office ahead of him. He was making an effort to be helpful—she had to give him that much—but she knew better than to let her guard down around him. At least she wouldn’t have to see him again past today—if all went well, that was. She didn’t want to think about the alternatives. Sometimes, like when she was around Boone, it was better not to think too much.

Five minutes later they had retrieved a shovel for digging and a metal detector—both brand-spanking-new from Wal-Mart—from her trunk and got into Boone’s charcoal-gray sedan with tinted windows so dark she was sure they were illegal.

“I always thought this car had a sinister aura,” she said, pulling her seat belt around her. Sinister or not, she had to admit the inside smelled good. Like real leather and citrus. Then she realized the lime scent came from Boone, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

“I realize it’s low profile for you.” He turned the key, and the powerful motor came to life. “What exactly is that shade of orange you drive around in?”

“It’s called candy orange, and it’s not that bright.”

“Okay, vivid.”

“At least if anyone runs into me, they can’t claim they didn’t notice me coming. You, however, blend into the highway in a rearview mirror.”

“And you make a nice bull’s-eye if they want to murder you,” he pointed out.

“That’s why we took your car.” She smiled smugly.

“See? I’m already doing my job protecting you.”

He sent her the same impish grin that used to warm her heart. Turned out it still did. They were connecting again, like old times—there was no other way of putting it.

He put the car in gear and turned his attention to driving out of the small parking garage next to his office building, but she watched his profile, unable to tear her eyes away, feeling more alive than at any time in the last six months…

What was she thinking? How easily she’d fallen back into the electric, fun banter they’d once had, as if everything was normal between them. His agreeing to help her, a little verbal football, and a whiff or two of his cologne—was that all she needed to get wrapped up again in her emotions and feelings for him? Stupid. In about an hour, maybe two, Boone was going to drop her off at her candy-orange car and they would never see each other again, unless she had an occasion to arrest someone he was defending and have to testify. And she already knew how going up against him in court worked out. No, thank you. She did not need Boone Walker–type grief.

Lord, help me to let him go. Because at this point, she wasn’t sure what would be more dangerous—running into a murderous Warren Detry…or losing her heart again to Boone.