Читать книгу Hard To Handle - Kylie Brant - Страница 11

It was a mistake. Nerves scrambled in Meghan’s stomach. In her eagerness to avoid Wadrell, with his increasingly slick lines and smooth advances, she’d considered Connally the lesser of two evils. Too late she’d remembered all the reasons she would be wise to shun his presence, as well. In the shadowy interior of his car, on the near-silent ride to her apartment, he exuded a danger all his own.

His voice rumbled out in the darkness, startling her. “Who’s taking care of your nephew tonight?”

With effort she kept the anxiety from her words. “My neighbor, Callie.”

“The woman who came to the door this afternoon?” He glanced her way, caught her nod. “Is she your baby-sitter?”

“Her son, Alex, and Danny are friends. We trade off duties. That way each of us can get away when we need to.”

“Sounds handy.”

That deep bass of his sounded even more gravelly in the shadowy interior of the car. His natural timbre was low, always sounding as though he’d just awakened. That thought elicited an accompanying mental image of him just rousing from sleep, his hard jaws shadowed and those whiskey-colored eyes still drowsy. She could feel her cheeks warm at the intimate thought of him, and turned her face to the window, glad that the darkness would hide her reaction.

She could blame the odd path her thoughts were taking on the upset she’d had earlier today, and then again tonight. She didn’t normally spend much time thinking about men’s voices. And especially not a man who was intent on pulling her nephew into the middle of a criminal investigation.

The memory firmed her earlier resolve. At all costs Connally and his partner had to be kept away from Danny. The boy was too young to be well schooled in keeping secrets. And Meghan was determined Connally would never learn about his ability.

The rest of the ride passed in silence. When he pulled up in front of her apartment, she lost no time exiting the car. “Thank you for…what are you doing?”

Gabe put the car into park and turned off the ignition. He didn’t answer her until he’d rounded the vehicle and cupped her elbow in his hand. “Walking you up to your apartment.”

She tried, in vain, to pull away from him. “That isn’t necessary. Besides, you left your car in a no-parking zone.”

His teeth flashed in the darkness. “Don’t worry. I know someone who can fix tickets for me.”

“An admission of corruption,” she muttered as he steered her toward the door of the building, “from one of CPD’s finest. My, my, how surprising.”

“I can also spring that security code for you if you’re not going to punch it in. Lose your key? The inside lock will take ten seconds, tops.” He gave a shrug. “Some talents never leave you.”

She gave him a sidelong glance as she tapped in her code on the security panel. “Rather odd ‘talents’ for a detective to admit to. Did you pick them up from your days in the academy?”

He scanned the street quickly, then opened the door and ushered her inside. “No, from my days as a delinquent.”

His answer succeeded in keeping her silent all the way up to the fourth floor. Knowing it would be fruitless to try and leave him at the elevator, she suffered through having him accompany her to her door, take the key from her and open it.

“Thank you. Again.” She snatched the key away from him and dropped it back in her purse. There was no gratitude in her tone, and she was certain he realized it.

His lips quirked slightly. “No problem. Again. Where’s Callie live?”

“Why?”

His smile grew wider at the thread of caution in the word. “That’s where Danny is, right? I figure she wouldn’t leave her son and maybe her husband to come over here and sit, so Danny must be over there.”

She heaved a sigh. It had been an impossibly long day, and this man was partly responsible for that. The sooner he was on his way, the sooner she could get her life back to normal. Or what passed for normal these days.

“She just lives a few doors that way. Now if you…” Her words tapered off as he began to stride in the direction she’d indicated.

She trailed in his wake like an obedient puppy and didn’t care for the feeling. “Detective, I’ve thanked you for the ride, but it’s time for you to leave.”

“The kid’s probably asleep. You shouldn’t be carrying him. Which door?”

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying him—no, God not that one.” Meghan managed to catch his arm before he could pound on Edna Hathaway’s door. “All you’re liable to find in that apartment is a seventy-eight-year-old lady with an eye for expensive vodka and anything in pants.” The warning wasn’t exaggerated in the slightest. “I heard that it took three days to resuscitate the last man who went in there.”

He grinned at her over his shoulder. “Sounds interesting.” He’d managed to surprise her. He could see it in her eyes and the way her mouth tilted in response. He watched closely, wanting, more than he should have, to see her smile break free. And then he stared, staggered when it did, lightening her expression and softening her eyes. His stomach jittered oddly, and he couldn’t take his gaze off her, not even when her smile faded to be replaced by her earlier coolness.

She moved past him to a door on the opposite side of the hall and tapped lightly. A few moments later it opened and a woman Gabe recognized from that afternoon appeared in the doorway. “Hi. I thought you’d be later. I went ahead and put Danny down on the couch. They begged to stay in Alex’s room but I knew my chances of getting them to sleep there were nonexistent.”

“It didn’t take as long as I thought.” Meghan moved through the doorway, with Gabe right behind her. Spotting the boy curled up on the couch, he crossed the room, bent down and lifted him easily in his arms.

“He gave me a ride home…it’s a long story,” he heard Meghan murmur to her friend.

“Well,” Callie replied, turning to follow the three to the door, “you can tell me about it tomorrow. All about it.” As the door closed behind her and Meghan hurried to catch up with Connally’s long strides, she tried not to imagine the conversation she was going to be in for the next morning.

She caught up with the detective in her living room, where he was waiting patiently for her. “Which is his room?”

“Really, you’ve done enough. If you’d just put him down…” When the man continued to stand there, clearly with no intention of complying, she gave in with ill grace and led him down the hallway. She picked up his treasured Pokémon backpack and tossed it to the end of the bed, before pulling the covers down. Connally moved past her without a sound and gently laid the boy down on the lower of the two bunk beds.

Pulling the covers up and tucking them around her nephew, Megan paused an instant. His breathing was even and deep, and there was a slight flush on his face, which still held some baby fullness. There was an unexpected catch deep in her chest, and in an unconscious gesture, her hand reached out, hovered.

“He’s a good-looking kid.”

The deep voice rumbling in her ear made her start, and she snatched her hand away. Putting a finger to her lips, she walked to the door and waited for Connally to follow. Then she flipped on the hallway light, being careful to leave Danny’s door open. By the time she’d led him back to the living room she’d run out of both patience and composure.

“It’s been a long day. I’m going to follow Danny’s lead and retire soon myself.”

Her attempt at a dismissal failed sadly. Connally’s mouth quirked. “Could I get a glass of water before you throw me out?”

“I’m not—” Pressing her lips together midprotest, Meghan turned and marched to the kitchen. There was something about that man, she fumed, snatching a glass from the cupboard and waiting for the water to run cold, that had her stuttering and stammering like an adolescent. She seemed to have difficulty finishing a sentence around him, and she suspected that he deliberately tried to keep her off balance.

When she returned with the glass, Connally wasn’t where she’d left him. Instead, he’d poked into her study, and seemed quite at home surveying the works in progress she had tacked up on the walls.

The sight stoked her temper further. She’d never enjoyed having people look at her work before it was finished. Even her agent didn’t see her sketches until she’d painstakingly redone them to her satisfaction. Privacy was something that had been hard fought for, hard won. She didn’t relinquish it easily.

“Your water, Detective.” Her voice was several degrees cooler than the liquid in the glass. He didn’t turn at her voice. He was shaking his head slowly.

“Wow. These are yours, right?”

The admiration in his tone slightly soothed nerves that were scraped and raw. “Yes. I’m currently working on illustrations for another Milton Cramer book. It’s about a lonely monster who’s looking for friends, but I’m going to have to scale some of these drawings back. I’m afraid they might give the children nightmares.”

Gabe walked from one large sketch to another, studying each carefully. “You’re probably right. They kinda give a chill.” He sent her a measuring glance. “I read you had something to do with art, but I figured maybe one of those high-priced galleries or something. The ones where they hang pictures that don’t look like anything.”

Her earlier calm shattered as she grasped the meaning behind his words. “You ‘read’?” He’d used those same words earlier, she remembered, when he’d spoken about Sandra. Her eyes narrowed. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve been checking up on me?”

He seemed unfazed by the fury on her face, in her voice. “Hazard of the job.” He approached her and took the glass from her hands and drank. “You didn’t seem to want to explain any further about your sister, so I did a little checking.”

The ease with which he explained away prying into her life, her family, with all its twisted, dysfunctional fragments, made her shake with anger.

“Well, I have to hand it to you, Detective. You move fast.” She went toward the door, her movements jerky, and yanked it open. “I’m sure they have quite a file on Sandra at CPD. The cops always liked to do a background check before they decided to use her in any way they could.”

He sipped from the glass and watched her, his pale eyes giving nothing away. “If there’s a file, I haven’t seen it. I pulled up the Tribune’s archives. You’ve gotten a fair amount of press yourself over the years.”

His words were like a blade, tearing through the fragile shroud of privacy she’d sought for so many years. Seclusion had always proved elusive for her family. The huge gates around the family estate had seemed more effective at keeping them in, than in keeping the rest of the world out. Her hand clenched on the knob, longing to slam the door shut with a resounding bang, preferably on him.

“You’re mad.”

“It must be your excellent deductive skills that earned you the rank of detective.” He didn’t appear about to leave. When a neighboring tenant walked by the open door and glanced in curiously, Meghan swung it shut, wishing the detective’s big foot were caught in it.

“I can understand why you might blame the department for what happened to your sister.”

She regarded him warily from her position by the door. For some reason she was loath to get any closer. “Thanks. You can’t know what your validation of my opinion means to me.”

He thought it wise to ignore her sarcasm. “I’ve pieced together enough to figure out how it went down. Your sister offered to help Wadrell with his investigation. Word somehow got to the press that a psychic was being consulted. The media dug up her name and that was made public, too. Your sister wound up dead and you think the gang Wadrell was investigating is responsible.” He watched her soberly. “And you blame the police.”

The brief dispassionate narrative made Meghan’s mouth go dry. The words, honed with truth, arrowed with painful accuracy. “They didn’t protect her. She put herself at risk to help them and then ended up with her name in headlines. It was an open invitation for those thugs to go after her.”

Interest flickered in his eyes. “Do you know for certain that she was threatened?” Wadrell, when pressed, had claimed otherwise.

Meghan looked away. “Sandra didn’t mention anything, no.” In masterful understatement she continued, “But then, we weren’t particularly close.”

He was silent for a moment. “In any case, I think you had a legitimate fear. One that deserved to be looked into.”

“According to your department, it was looked into. Are you going to spew the party line, too, and tell me that her car accident was just a coincidence?”

Her words were delivered like a dare. Because he recognized the pain underlying them, he kept his tone even. “Is that what you were told?”

Voice brittle, she said, “I was assured that a thorough investigation of the accident was conducted. Sandra supposedly went over that embankment because she misjudged the curve, not because the car had been tampered with. It was just plain old bad luck, but gee, the department sure regrets our loss.” She stopped then, and pressed her lips firmly together.

“But you don’t believe that.”

“Would you?”

He set the glass down on a nearby table and then straightened again. “If I were in your shoes? Probably not.”

Her gaze swung back to him. She’d expected him to ridicule her beliefs, or to hotly defend his department’s ethics. His failure to do either took her off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He unzipped his battered leather jacket and slipped his hands in the pockets. His stance drew her eyes to the width of the shoulders, the narrow waist and lean hips. The body was as impressive as the face. He radiated strength, determination and heat. She had no doubt that countless women had been attracted to that combination, had sought to warm themselves with his fire. She was equally certain that each of them had ended up badly burned.

He shrugged, snagging her attention again. “Since you’re blaming the department for your sister’s name being made public, you’d be apt to question the investigation of the accident.” Taking a step backward, he leaned one shoulder against the wall. “I’m still having trouble trying to figure out why you’d go to Wadrell for help with this. I’d think with the grudge you’re carrying, he’d be the last one you’d trust, seeing that he was primary detective on the case your sister was involved with.”

Because he owes us!

The hot words blazed across her mind, but remained unuttered. She had no intention of explaining herself to this man. “Yes,” she replied flatly. “He was.”

She crossed to the couch and sank down on it. She didn’t like the way Connally watched her, as if he could read her emotions, the jumbled pain, anger and regret, all too clearly. His scrutiny made her uncomfortable, although it shouldn’t have. She was a master at shielding her thoughts. She had her childhood with Sandra to thank for that.

“Detective Wadrell naturally feels badly about my sister’s death.” Only the slightest hint of irony tinged her words. “He’s offered to look into the accident report himself, double-check the conclusions by running them by another investigator he knows.”

Connally said nothing, only continued to watch her. A sense of unease slid down her spine. There was a stillness about the man that had her nerves prickling. All his concentration, all his considerable energy was focused on her, and the intensity was unsettling. She wondered if he used this brooding contemplation to effect, when staring down a suspect. There was something about the simmering silence that made her want to fill the void with words, though she’d never been one to babble.

With effort, she glanced away, crossed one leg over the other and smoothed her skirt. She’d expected the detective to chide her for her lack of faith in the CPD, rather than express understanding. But it didn’t matter. Nothing he could say would sway her from her goal, at any rate. She’d use Wadrell just as he’d used her sister. There was no question of feeling guilty about it. The cost of Sandra’s cooperation with the department had been high. Danny had lost a mother. Meghan had lost a sister. She’d never believe that a simple accident was the cause. Nothing about Sandra had ever been simple. Certainly not her death.

“Is Wadrell hoping you’ll take your sister’s place in his investigation?”

Her head jerked up. Gabe’s expression was inscrutable. “No. Sandra’s ability isn’t exactly something that runs in the family, like blond hair.” She held her breath, wondering if he’d accept the blatant untruth.

He nodded, and she breathed a little easier. She doubted whether he was convinced of the authenticity of Sandra’s talent, at any rate. He struck her as a very pragmatic man. He’d believe only what he could see, could prove.

“Wadrell’s a decent cop, but there’s not a considerate bone in his body. I can only think of one other reason he’d offer to help. And that’s to get close to you.”

“Do you think I don’t know that, Detective?” It was her turn to surprise him. She took a grim satisfaction in his reaction. “I’m not naive. I know exactly what motivated your buddy’s offer of assistance. And I don’t care what his intentions are, as long as I get what I want.”

With slow, deliberate movements he pushed away from the wall and approached her, one methodical step at a time. He set the glass down and braced his hands on the coffee table. Face close to hers, he murmured, sotto voce, “He’s not my buddy.”

His proximity leeched the air from her lungs. She’d underestimated the man. His presence was even more compelling up close, close enough for her to see the flecks of gold in his pale eyes, near enough for her to reach up a hand and trace every hard angle of his face.

Her fingers curled into her palms. She refused to let him see the effect he had on her, the cost of her careless shrug. “Sorry. From what you said it sounded like you knew him well.”

He gazed at her a moment longer, then slowly straightened. Her strangled lungs drew in much-needed oxygen. “I know him well enough to realize he’s not the type to do a favor without expecting something in return.”

He wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t already figured out for herself, but the words, spoken out loud, made her hesitate. She’d taken grim satisfaction in the idea of using Wadrell to answer the questions she still had about the accident. It was, she’d thought, no more than was due them. And if he expected more than she was willing to give in return, rejection was exactly what he deserved. Although, she remembered, with a faint shudder, having to dodge his interest tonight had filled her with nothing short of revulsion.

“I can handle Wadrell,” she said with more assurance than she felt. Her words clearly failed to convince Connally. He was regarding her with something like derision in his eyes.

“I guess it depends on your definition of the word. From where I sat tonight it looked like you were the one being handled.”

Meghan flushed. She looked good with temper flaring in her eyes and coloring her cheeks, Gabe decided. She wasn’t as emotionless as she would have him believe. Why that should matter to him he didn’t know, except that it would have been a shame if a woman who looked like her was really as cold and as closed off as she pretended to be.

He folded his arms over his chest. “Let’s look at your options here. As far as the department goes, your sister’s accident is a closed case. You said yourself Wadrell’s motives are suspect. Why would you trust him to follow through on his promise?”

“Are you worried about me, Detective?” Her voice was mocking. “Don’t be. I learned a long time ago that the only person I can trust is myself.”

Her statement hit him with the force of a punch. He could have echoed the words himself; certainly he believed the same. But he knew the kind of knocks it had taken to shape his cynical point of view. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t like to consider the kind of experiences that might have shaped hers.

He perched on her coffee table, retaining a position close to her. “There’s no use taking stupid chances if you don’t have to. Wadrell’s a slime. You know he’s more interested in your body than in your sister’s death.”

Her chin angled and she met him stare for stare. “Why do you care?”

Their gazes battled for long moments before Gabe finally answered. “Let’s just say that I don’t like to see people taken advantage of. And I’ve never been a fan of Wadrell’s.”

Meghan looked beyond his shoulder to the clock on the wall. It was after ten. Early, really. But all of a sudden she was weary, clear to the bone. The time she’d spent with Wadrell had put her on edge. She still didn’t doubt her ability to keep him at arm’s length, but she was beginning to question the wisdom of her plan. She would have only the detective’s word, after all, that he’d actually conducted another investigation into the accident. She’d have no reason to believe him. And no choice not to. When Danny was old enough to be given the details, the very least he deserved were the facts involved in his mother’s death. All of them.

She glanced at Connally again. Sitting atop her table, he was much too close. Much too…physical. He was big enough to project a subtle threat sheerly through his stature. The breadth of his heavy shoulders blocked her view of the room behind him, and the broad chest beneath his crossed arms depicted a certain power. In a studiedly casual move, she settled more deeply into the couch cushions. It was ridiculous to feel that the slight movement had put some much-needed distance between them. Ridiculous, because there was nothing about his actions or his expression to suggest she had anything to fear from him.

Except that he was a cop. He was in her apartment, and he was intent on dragging Danny into the middle of a police investigation.

“I have another option for you to consider.” His voice, coming after a minute of silence, seemed raspier than usual.

“Forget Wadrell. Let me help you instead.”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. He’d never be considered one of those white knights charging to rescue ladies in distress. He found jackets and ties confining enough; armor would be murder.

He shook off the fanciful thought. “You want something. So do I. I’ll take another look into the accident for you. In return, you’ll cooperate by allowing Danny to assist us in any way we need him.” As if sensing the protest she was about to utter, he went on quickly, “You get what you want, I get what I want. It’ll be strictly business.” Her cooperation would make his job easier. He didn’t want to chance her sabotaging him at every turn, maybe even coaching the boy to tell them nothing. He needed every lead he could get on this case.

Everything inside Meghan recoiled from accepting his offer. For different reasons, she was even more loath to spend time in his presence than she was in Wadrell’s. And there was no way, absolutely none, that she would let Danny get embroiled with the police. She knew nothing about raising children. But the one thing she did know was that her psychic ability had ruined Sandra’s life. If she could spare Danny only one thing, it would be that.

Connally was speaking again. “Of course, maybe you have other reasons to want to stick with Wadrell. Maybe you really wouldn’t mind if you and he…” He made a gesture with his hand which, along with his tone, made his message clear.

Meghan’s indignation overcame her caution. “Believe me, I find cops eminently resistible. For that matter, how can I be sure that I wouldn’t have to fight off your advances?”

He didn’t appear to take offense. “’Cause I make it a point to steer wide of your type. So if we partner up for a while, you won’t have to worry about me coming on to you.”

He watched her intently, but when she failed to respond, he said, “If you need convincing…” Before she could guess his intention, he leaned forward in one smooth movement and covered her mouth with his own.

Shock held Meghan motionless. The man was completely outrageous! She managed to raise her hand to his chest before her bones began to take on the consistency of warm wax. It was like kissing a flash of lightning, she thought fuzzily—all sizzling heat and banked strength. There was an unexpected measure of wildness to his taste, layered beneath a hint of tightly harnessed control.

He wasn’t a man to ask permission, and there was no entreaty in his touch. Her hand lingered, forgotten, on his chest as he angled his head and pressed her lips open. His tongue boldly swept in, exchanging her flavor for his own.

Her heart spun once, then kicked a faster beat. He tasted foreign, and primally male. His hand cupped her jaw, his fingers caressing her throat, and the dual assault made her shiver and want, with a suddenness that was all the more frightening for its being completely unfamiliar.

His mouth lifted from hers a fraction, lingered a moment, then eased away.

She stared at him, stunned. “Just what was that supposed to convince me of?” Her voice was threadier than she would have wished, but at least it was steady.

Gabe reached for the glass he’d set down, and brought it to his lips for a long swallow. His eyes avoided hers. “Just proving my point. Neither of us is attracted to the other. That kiss left you cold, right? Me, too.”

Cold? Numb, maybe. Achy, certainly. But cold? A sheerly feminine ire fueled her next words. “The next time you try conducting a little experiment like that you’d better be wearing protection.” She left no doubt that she wasn’t referring to his gun. “The only point you convinced me of is that I’m no better off with you than with Wadrell.”

He looked impatient at her words. “Use your head.” Holding up his fingers, he enumerated, “One, I’m not the detective you hold indirectly responsible for your sister’s death. Two, I outrank Wadrell and I’m better liked. I’ve got guys who’ll be willing to do me favors when I poke into the accident investigation. I doubt Wadrell can get his own mother to invite him to Sunday dinner. And three, we’ve just shown that physically we don’t do a thing for each other.”

She crossed her arms over her chest to keep from strangling him.

“You won’t have to worry about me making moves on you, because I like women with more obvious…uh…charms.” He cocked his head, pretending not to see the simmer of latent temper in her eyes. “Unless…you can’t do that little tassel trick I’ve seen, can you? You know—” his index fingers circled in the air in front of his chest “—the one where you get them going in opposite directions?” When she didn’t respond, couldn’t, he shook his head. “I didn’t think so. So as near as I can tell, us matching up would be perfect. There’ll be no personal interest on my side, and if you can promise the same there won’t be any complications at all.”

The deep-breathing exercises learned at Miss Devain’s School of Deportment had never been more necessary. The actual physical effort of filling her lungs with oxygen almost took Meghan’s mind off the shockingly primal urge to knock that complacent expression off Connally’s face. The strength of the temptation was shocking. Civility was a quality not only valued by her family, but demanded. Tremaynes didn’t indulge in spectacles. There had been no public displays of temper or of affection. Every conversation, every cutting remark, was made in the same chillingly dispassionate tone. The genuine lack of emotion displayed by her mother and grandparents had confused and saddened Meghan by turns.

However, it wasn’t a lack of emotion that was bothering Meghan right now, but the imminent volcanic eruption that this man was close to eliciting. Her gaze narrowed at his bland expression. He was goading her; he had to be. Surely no one could be that irritating, unless by design. What he was suggesting was out of the question. There was no way she was going to shackle herself to Connally willingly, no matter what he promised to do for her.