Читать книгу Cold Case Cop - Mary Burton - Страница 8

Monday, July 14, 2:00 p.m.

Regina grinned. “Darling, it wasn’t that long ago.”

Tara’s smile froze on her face. But mentally, her brain ticked through the facts she knew about the Albright family. Blue blood. Money. Privilege. They represented the worst possible combination as far as she was concerned. So what was a homicide cop like Kirkland doing mixed up with a family like that?

“I didn’t realize that you’d been married.” Tara’s tone sounded extra cheery. She was trying to prove to Regina and herself that she didn’t care that Kirkland had been married. It sure wasn’t any of her business who he slept with or who he’d been married to.

Alex cleared his throat. “Regina and I have been divorced for eight years.”

Regina pouted. “Has it been that long? It seems like it was only yesterday we were vacationing in St. Moritz for our honeymoon. And of course there was that cozy dinner at your house a few months ago.”

Regina might as well have stamped Mine on Kirkland’s forehead.

Again, Tara reminded herself that it was none of her business. “How’d you two hook up in the first place?”

Regina smiled. “We grew up together.”

Albright. St. Moritz. Kirkland.

In a flash Tara connected the dots. How could she have been so stupid? The Kirkland family was the bluest of the blue bloods. His younger brother Brandon was constantly being quoted in the financial section. He was a wizard when it came to the financial markets. The family had more money than most small countries.

Alex Kirkland was not a regular guy a girl asked out for a beer or invited to a ballgame. “Kirkland, you’re one of the Kirklands, aren’t you?”

His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

Regina laughed. “You didn’t know? Good Lord, everyone knows Alex is the heir to the fortune.”

Kirkland cleared his throat. “My brother runs the company. I’m a cop.”

Tara suddenly felt foolish and awkward. She was a reporter. It was her job to know about people. But with Kirkland, she’d not looked past the badge and his reputation as a cop.

Again, she flashed the too-bright smile. “Hey, I’d love to stand here all day and chat. But I’ve got to go. Have a good one.” She started across the circular drive toward her car.

“Mackey,” Kirkland said.

She ignored him. It was unreasonable for her to be mad at him, but she was. She had really wanted him to be just a regular guy.

Kirkland caught up to her just as she reached her car. His grip on her arm was gentle but strong enough to stop her. “What’s eating you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re pissed that I slept with my ex a few months ago?”

“Please, I could care less about that.”

His gaze narrowed. “So that means you have something against rich people.”

Tara dropped her gaze to her purse and started to dig for her keys. Damn, where were they? “I’ve nothing against the rich.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

He laid his hand on her arm. “Coward.”

She jerked her arm free, but continued to dig in her purse. Where were her keys? “Go away.”

“Not until I explain.”

She could feel the color rise in her face. “Explain what? You’re rich. You have connections. Why you chose to downplay that fact is your business. It’s not a big deal. Really.”

He studied her face. “This is a big deal to you. Why?”

She refused to let this get to her. “What’s a big deal is that I can’t find my keys and I’ve got to get to work.”

“At the paper?”

“At Roxie’s bar. I wait tables there a few nights a week.” Her fingertips brushed metal and she pulled out her keys. She jammed the key in the lock.

Kirkland shoved his hands in his pockets. “I downplay my background because I don’t want it overshadowing my police work.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” She opened the door.

He studied her closely. “Did some rich kid jilt you at one time?”

She got in the car and sat down. The last thing she wanted to do was examine her own prejudices, hang-ups and failed relationships. “Can we just drop it?”

He seemed to understand that she’d said all she was going to say. Like a good interrogator, he changed tactics. “I talked to Regina about Kit.”

That had her refocusing her attention back on him. “And?”

“Regina and Kit were in New York eighteen months ago and a saleswoman in Saks called Kit Brenda.”

Curiosity ignited in her. “Did Regina know who the woman was?

“No. To her she was just a salesclerk.” He shifted his stance as if his leg bothered him. “Kit told the woman she was mistaken and then demanded they leave the store.”

Her mind ticked through the possibilities.

Kirkland’s gaze narrowed. “I think you’re right about there being more to this case. I’m going to move this case from the back burner to the front, Mackey.”

Tara hid her smile. She hadn’t thought he could leave the unsolved case alone for long. “And you will give me the scoop if you solve it before me?”

“Why should I?” A grin tipped the edge of his lips, and the smile changed his entire look. He wasn’t classically handsome but there was a ruggedness—a maleness—that she found far more attractive.

“Because I’m the one that brought this case back to your attention and I’ve promised to share with you anything I find.”

Amusement sparked in his eyes. “You share and I’ll share?”

“It’s a fair arrangement.” She checked her watch. “Damn. Listen, I really do have to get going. I’ve got to stop by the paper before I get to Roxie’s.” She fired up the engine.

He stepped back from the car and she closed the door. “Be careful, Mackey. This case is going to ruffle feathers.” He really looked worried.

“Ruffling feathers is what I do best. You know that.” Gravel kicked up as she shoved the gear into Reverse and backed out of the parking lot, leaving Alex Kirkland staring after her.

The newspaper offices were busy when Tara arrived. She waved to the guard at reception and punched the up elevator button. The doors dinged opened to Bill Heckman, a tall, slim man with blond hair who always wore a Ramones T-shirt. This shirt was black with red lettering and a white skull. He was holding a stack of magazines and had an unlit cigarette behind his left ear.

Bill grinned. “Tara. How goes it?”

Tara and Bill had grown up in the same neighborhood. They had many friends in common from school and now both worked for the paper. They’d gone out a few times and Bill had wanted to get serious, but Tara had kept the relationship limited to friendship and the occasional Red Sox game. “It’s going. Thanks again for that mock-up. It’s been great.”

“No sweat.”

“Where you headed?”

“Going to the sports bar across the street. They’re doing highlights of the Sox games from last year. Want to come?”

She was genuinely sorry she couldn’t go. “I’ve got to work. Rain check?”

“Will do.” He grinned. “Tell Roxie hi. And I’ll be by on Saturday to fix that leaky faucet.”

“Thanks, Bill.” She kissed him on the cheek and got on the elevator. She punched Three and the doors closed. The elevator doors opened on the third floor to a large room with three rows of desks separated by narrow aisles. Most of the desks had reporters sitting at them. Everyone was either staring at a computer screen or talking on the phone. They were all racing to meet the evening deadline for the morning paper.

Tara hurried to her desk. Miriam had given her a week to work on the Westgate piece, so she had no evening deadline. The story was due in six days. She sat down and set her bag by her desk. She clicked on her computer.

While the machine booted up, she glanced at the stack of mail on her desk. Under the pile of various press releases and police incident reports she found a manila envelope. It had T. Mackey written on it. As she reached for it, her computer screen came on and she opened her e-mail. There were several Urgent Reply Requested e-mails from accounting regarding her last expense report. She dealt with those.

Her phone rang twice. She answered questions from two reporters before she got back to the envelope. She tore the sealed edge open.

Inside, she found a piece of paper folded crisply in half. She unfolded the paper and discovered it was a New York City rap sheet for a Brenda Latimer. Why on earth would someone send her Brenda Latimer’s file? She checked the envelope for a note, but there was none.

Tara dropped her gaze to Brenda Latimer’s picture. Immediately, the photo had Tara straightening. The girl was twenty-three or-four and had ink-black hair. A rebellious look glinted behind ice-blue eyes that were outlined in extremely heavy makeup.

There was no missing the similarities. The oval face, the graceful jawline and the high slash of cheekbones were unmistakable.