Reunited with the P.I. Read online

  “Until recently I’d have put her in second place behind Eden, but given the last few weeks, she’s inching into gold medal status. The only ones who’ve ever really been able to get through to her are—”

  “Eden and Allie. I figured.” Vince scrubbed his fingers across the bridge of his nose. “We’ll keep them in reserve for now, but it’ll get easier on us once they’re back in town. In the meantime, is your lieutenant in on this? Has there been any discussion about getting them protection?”

  “I believe there was a cursory conversation with Simone that ended with an anatomically painful suggestion as to where we could stash that idea.”

  “Well, isn’t that too bad?” Simone would be surprised what he was anatomically capable of. “Can I get a few minutes with you and your boss?”

  “Can I tell him what this is about specifically?”

  “Sure.” Vince got to his feet and finished the last of his coffee. This agreement with Simone was turning into quicksand. The more he struggled to break free, the deeper he sank. “You can tell him Deputy District Attorney Simone Armstrong just earned herself a bodyguard.”

  Chapter 8

  Defiance overrode reason as Simone unlatched the lock on her patio door and stepped outside. Bypassing the cushioned chair, she carried her wine to the railing. It was twilight, and she attempted to lose herself in the view of Capital Park nestled in the distance below. No one was going to scare her into not living her life.

  They might, however, give her an epic headache and turn her into one of those foolish teenagers in a horror movie who goes to check on that weird noise in the attic. Idiots deserved what they got. Yet here she stood. In the open air.

  The afternoon had both dragged and sped by. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get those photos—and the thought of whoever was behind them—out of her head. She’d stared down murderers, gang members and drug dealers, ignored their threats, and pushed to see justice done. No way was she going to let a handful of photographs scare her into giving up whatever Chloe’s killer wanted of her and her friends.

  What did he want? He’d gotten away with one of the most heinous crimes someone could commit. Why come back now and make them relive the nightmare of Chloe’s death? Unless he hadn’t been able to before now for some reason. And the reason was what she’d spent the better part of the afternoon looking into. Searching for recently released violent felons who had served at least twenty years. She’d gotten halfway through the depressing list before taking a break and had used the Denton case as a palate cleanser.

  She’d considered texting Eden and Allie. They needed to be warned what might be waiting for them when they got back into town. But she knew her friends well enough to know that they’d cut short whatever plans they had. Life couldn’t stop because some maniac had put them in his crosshairs. Besides, whatever had been done so far had been done within the city limits. Odds were her friends were safer where they were.

  She drank and, despite the chill running up her spine, remained where she was and scanned the street and surrounding buildings. For once the neighborhood didn’t bring her the peace she longed for. Not the markets and art gallery, not the yoga studio or bookstore.

  When she spotted the familiar black sports car pulling into one of the remaining parking spots across the street, her breath caught. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of Vince climbing out of his car before he grabbed a couple of bags out of the backseat and started toward her building.

  Her lips curved, halting in midsmile when he stopped in the middle of the street and looked up. Was it possible, even from this distance, he was scowling at her? Again, she stayed where she was as he disappeared below, no doubt checking himself in with the doorman by flashing his pseudo badge and ID. Little did he know one of the reasons she’d chosen the upscale loft apartment building was its security: card-only-access elevators, former law enforcement security, doormen who knew how to handle just about any situation.

  Her knuckles whitened around the stem of her glass. Chloe’s killer wasn’t going to win. She wasn’t going to let him. He’d taken enough from them already; he wasn’t going to rob them of the fragile peace they’d found. A peace that would only be solidified when he was caught, put behind bars. Or put in the ground.

  Simone drank deeply. She was beginning to sound like the avenging angel she’d been accused of being.

  The doorbell rang.

  She dropped her chin against her chest, squeezed her eyes shut. “Yeah, I’m going to need more wine.” Barefoot, she headed inside, leaving the door open to allow the Delta breeze to play against the lightweight curtains.

  She flipped the deadbolt and pulled open her door. She did her best to stop the little dance her insides did at the sight of him, but within seconds it had turned into a full-blown jig. Was she ever going to get him out of her system?

  “Just once I’d love to see you in some kind—any kind—of color.” His gaze skimmed the white silk pajama set she’d climbed into minutes after she’d gotten home. He stopped briefly on her breasts that tightened beneath his heated stare. Any impulse to cross her arms slipped right out of her mind as she planted her free hand on her hip. Hiding from him in any sense was useless. Besides, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before.

  “How much did you bribe my doorman to let you up?”

  “Not a penny. I got through on pure charm. Relax.” That grin he used whenever he was up to something beamed brightly. “Jack called ahead and vouched for me. I’m on the list and everything.”

  “You talked to Jack without me?” Was that a good idea?

  “Do you mind?” He hefted one of the bags. “These are getting heavy.”

  “Wimp.” Forget that she’d seen him bench-press twice her weight. Simone bit the inside of her cheek and stepped back, unnerved at how he maneuvered her apartment like he knew it. She locked the door, then followed to the kitchen, hiking herself onto one of the two barstools as he unpacked enough groceries for a week. “I take it you have something to report about Mara?”

  “I do. I also have some questions for you about the Denton case.” He gestured to the second bag that he’d set on the floor. “Thought maybe we could bounce ideas off one another. After you take a nap.”

  “Why would I take a nap?” She leaned her chin in her hand and scowled at him.

  “Because you have a headache. Right there.” He reached across the counter and poked a finger between her eyes before he removed his jacket and started searching her cabinets. “I picked up that teriyaki tofu salad you like from the health food store.”

  Was there anything he forgot? “I’m not hungry.” But she was itching for a fight. How nice of him to accommodate her.

  “Tell that to your headache.” He stepped in front of her when she got up and headed to the fridge. “Take ten, fifteen minutes, Simone. Turn your brain off and give your eyes a break. We can continue the verbal joust when you’re feeling better.”

  “You know you lost your right to boss me around when you served me with divorce papers.” As much as she hated to admit it, the idea of a power nap held massive appeal.

  “We all make mistakes.”

  She froze in the doorway of her bedroom, uncertain if he meant for her to hear him or not. Their divorce a mistake? Sure, she’d considered that more often than she cared to admit. She didn’t like failing. That Vince might somehow feel the same way? She shook her head, dismissing his muttering. Not going to do it. Not rising to the bait...or whatever it was he was dangling before her tonight.

  Dinner, more wine, and then she’d send him back to his bar, after looking at whatever he thought needed her attention. She sank onto the gold duvet–covered mattress, embraced its cushiony depths and closed her eyes. A minute, she told herself. She rolled onto her side, drew her knees up, feeling more secure than she had all day. Five secon
ds later she was out.

  * * *

  It wasn’t often that Vince’s plan for Simone went off without a hitch. That he didn’t hear a peep out of her bedroom had him checking on her, a wave of protectiveness washing over him as he stood in the doorway.

  Strong and independent to a fault. So hurt she refused to let anyone—even someone who loved her—in. It might take an entire flash of nitro to blast through those defenses of hers, if he was so inclined. He had to admit, the more he thought about it, the more he was.

  He retrieved the folded blanket from the nearby chair, draped it over her. He stepped back and watched her sleep. Yeah. He was so inclined. He’d never in his life met anyone more pristine than Simone. Everything about her—from her clothes to her countenance to her apartment décor—screamed elegance, the absolute opposite of everything he’d ever known in his life.

  He’d missed this. The polish, the beauty.

  He’d missed her.

  Vince clicked on the soft bedside table lamp, turned off the overhead and drew the door almost completely shut.

  Once he got over his initial anger he realized he shouldn’t have been surprised that Simone hadn’t confided in him about Chloe’s killer. Why would she when they had virtually nothing to do with one another any longer. That said, he wasn’t about to let his ex-wife put herself in jeopardy because she was too stubborn to admit there was a maniac stalking her and her friends. It was all he could do not to read her the riot act for loitering in full view on her balcony. In yet another of her white ensembles. She may as well have been a beacon daring whoever was watching her to take a shot.

  Come to think of it...he looked toward her bedroom. He’d bet that was exactly what she’d been doing.

  So foolish.

  That Simone hadn’t shared whatever was in that envelope with either himself or Jack hadn’t sat well with either of them, which meant there was only one solution to make sure they all stayed a step ahead of whoever this maniac was.

  Whether Simone liked it or not, she was stuck with him.

  He knew living spaces often reflected their owners. Simone’s was no different. The open-air loft didn’t allow for clutter. A small dining room table sat in front of the patio door that led out to a spacious balcony extending the length of the unit. He spotted a high-tech treadmill in the far corner, one of the few he’d ever seen not being used as a clothes rack. The entire wall in front of him was windows, the bottom half of which were draped with—what else—white fabric. Not a lot of privacy, but enough that he didn’t feel she was particularly exposed. At least she kept the curtains drawn. On Monday he’d set up an appointment with the head of building security. He planned to be blunt about what was going on and what he needed the guards to be on the lookout for. He also wanted to see the full system up close and personal. While Simone hadn’t asked—and she’d be ticked off to no end when she found out—he wasn’t taking any chances with her safety. Not when they were dealing with someone who had murdered a child.

  Once a person crossed that threshold of evil, there wasn’t a lot they wouldn’t do.

  As Simone napped, he put himself on a mental timer and took the staircase up to the loft where he found her office. Well, well, well. He stuck his hands on his hips and looked around. “Not quite the tidy one here, are we?” Or maybe the clutter was representative of how she was feeling. Off-kilter, uncertain. Scared. He’d seen the fear behind the headache, pounding just as fiercely. He could only hope that would ease as well while she slept.

  The solid wood desk was piled high with files and notepads, scattered pens and piles of sticky notes thick enough to wallpaper a small home. The bookcases that lined the wall behind her were stocked with law texts and assorted novels. There was a small bathroom off to the side, a flat-screen TV in the corner, and there, sticking out from under a hardback law text on the table behind the desk, was what he wanted.

  The envelope had been wrinkled, no doubt from her nervous fists clenching it closed. The pictures he found inside, however, reignited the frustration at her keeping this to herself. She could have at least talked to Jack about it. After all, he was up to speed on the Chloe Evans case. It crossed his mind, yet again, that a number of his problems with Simone could be solved by her friends’ return. He’d said as much to Lieutenant Santos and Jack, and while they hadn’t verbally agreed, he’d caught a flash of understanding between them.

  The photos curled his stomach. The image of Simone walking out of this building; another of her heading into her office, talking on her phone; and yet one more of her coming out, presumably on the same day as she was wearing the same clothes. This time she was in the company of a beautiful young woman with tight black curls and a smile wider than the Grand Canyon. Another picture, another day, another...he stopped. This one was different. This one...he set it down and leaned his hands on the desk to examine it. It appeared to be a photocopy of what looked like an old newspaper clipping showing the outskirts of a crime scene, tape stretched in front of three young girls, a crowd behind them.

  The grief on Simone’s, Allie’s and Eden’s childhood faces as they clung to one another transported him to what must have been the day Chloe had been found. For an instant, all Vince saw was nine-year-old Simone, in the center of her friends, her arms wrapped around them as if she could protect them from the world, golden hair spilling over the shoulders of her white summer dress. Tears streaked her cheeks, glistened in her defiant eyes.

  He’d seen plenty of death in his life. While he hadn’t held much grief at the loss of his parents, he’d seen friends die in battle and some, much later, by their own hand. He’d sat by his one-time boss from the security agency as he lost his battle with cancer. His relationship with death was a tedious one, but just then, he knew Simone had lived through something he could never understand.

  What he could comprehend finally, now that he saw the pictures, was her reluctance to talk about it. She and her friends had been through this together, were going through it together now. Convincing her they couldn’t do this alone any longer, that would be the trick. And that would happen once Eden and Allie were back in her orbit.

  He made quick work of taking pictures of the pictures, then emailed them to Jack, cc’d Jack’s lieutenant. He slipped the photos back in place, under the book, then picked up her phone and emailed her contact information to his own phone before he made a call. Then he went downstairs to wait.

  * * *

  “What on earth are you doing?” Simone hugged the warm blanket around her shoulders as she wandered out of her bedroom, blinking.

  “Replacing the locks on your doors.” Vince depressed a new lever on her sliding glass door. The extra security looked like something the military would have developed. “Headache gone?”

  “Mmm.” Never one to admit he was right, Simone looked behind her to the front door. He hadn’t touched that one. Yet. “How long was I asleep that you were able to turn this place into Fort Knox?” Better yet, why was he doing this? Did he think whatever had happened to Mara made her a target?

  “A couple of hours.” He slipped a handful of tools into a duffel bag and zipped it closed. “I also installed a security camera outside your front door.” He pointed to the small monitor on the kitchen counter that displayed the empty third floor hallway. “It’ll feed into the system downstairs once I activate the wireless feature.”

  “What? No alarm that barks or an air raid siren?” She rubbed a hand down her face. “Vince, I’m sure you’re doing what’s best—”

  He smirked and continued to pack up, the muscles in his arms tightening, straining the tattoos marking his skin. Were there more than she remembered? There was a wing, here, on his forearm she didn’t recall.

  “Of course you’re doing what’s best.” She fell into the old dance with practiced ease. It was kind of nice, him taking care of her, but she didn’t want him worr
ying about her. She could take care of herself. She always had. Never mind the fact she’d thought about changing the locks herself, especially when those “mementos” began appearing. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. Wanting him? She shifted on her feet. That was something entirely different. “Do I want to know what caused this sudden attention to my safety?”

  “You already know. You ready to eat?”

  Her stomach growled in response. She clutched the blanket corners tighter. “What do you mean I already know?”

  “You’re working a high-profile case and your main witness has disappeared, remember? Wouldn’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

  Just as she suspected. Except for the first time since they’d reunited, she didn’t believe a word he said. Challenging him would only open up doors she preferred stayed firmly shut. She didn’t want to talk about Chloe, or how she felt about the reappearance of Chloe’s killer. Not with him. Maybe not with anyone.

  “You said you had something you wanted me to look at with Mara’s case?” She climbed up onto a kitchen stool and he pulled a paper container from the fridge. When he poured her another glass of wine, her heart—and attitude—softened. Or maybe she was still too sleepy to fight him. She’d forgotten how nice this could be, a quiet evening in, conversation, a meal. Even with the Denton case and Mara’s disappearance looming.

  She stabbed her fork into the spinach salad dotted with sesame seeds, fried tofu and assorted vegetables. The spicy dressing exploded on her tongue and woke the rest of her up.

  “I went through the camera footage from the school across the street from Mara’s apartment.” He hefted his bag onto the chair beside her and pulled out a stack of papers and photographs. “When I talked to Jack this afternoon—”

  Caution flags waved in her mind. “That’s right. Exactly when did you—”