Buch lesen: «Risking It All»
“In. Out,” Aiden said.
“What?” Grace gasped the word, and suddenly he could feel her trembling under his touch. Oh, man, he thought. Beautiful, mysterious and trembling.
“Inhale, exhale,” he explained. “That’s what I meant.”
“I’m breathing,” she retorted.
“Not well. And your pulse is going off like a machine gun.”
“What kind of mind uses machine guns in an analogy?”
He tightened his grip on her wrist. “Maybe a criminal mind,” he suggested. “Maybe dark characters excite you.”
“Go to hell.”
“I might, for what I’m thinking about doing to you right now. You know, there are only so many miles of legs, so much dark hair, a man can stand.” That did it.
She wrenched away from him.
He really rattled her, he realized, and he didn’t understand why. All this mystery was going to make for one very long night.
Dear Reader,
This is definitely a month to celebrate, because Kathleen Korbel is back! This award-winning, bestselling author continues the saga of the Kendall family with Some Men’s Dreams, a journey of the heart that will have you smiling through tears as you join Gen Kendall in meeting Dr. Jack O’Neill and his very special daughter, Elizabeth. Run—don’t walk—to the store to get your copy of this genuine keeper.
Don’t miss out on the rest of our books this month, either. Kylie Brant continues THE TREMAINE TRADITION with Truth or Lies, a dicey tale of love on both sides of the law. Then pick up RaeAnne Thayne’s Freefall for a haunting, mysterious, page-turner of a romance. Round out the month with new books by favorites Beverly Bird, who’s Risking It All, and Frances Housden, who’ll introduce you to a Heartbreak Hero, and brand-new author Madalyn Reese, who gives you No Place To Hide from her talented debut.
And, as always, come back again next month, when Silhouette Intimate Moments offers you six more of the best and most exciting romances around.
Enjoy!
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Editor
Risking It All
Beverly Bird
MILLS & BOON
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BEVERLY BIRD
has lived in several places in the United States, but she is currently back where her roots began on an island in New Jersey. Her time is devoted to her family and her writing. She is the author of numerous romance novels, both contemporary and historical. Beverly loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at BvrlyeB@aol.com.
For Don again…. The Title Man.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 1
Aidan McKenna decided that he could easily be provoked into hurting the man who was shoving him down Cell Block Nine of the county prison. One more nudge of that nightstick into the small of his back would do it, he thought, then the bastard did it again.
Aidan stopped walking and the guard ran up his heels. He pivoted and crowded him bodily against a gray brick wall that seemed to have absorbed the decaying odor of all the evil that had passed this way over the years. Every convict down the cell block was rattling the bars of his cage now, hooting and shouting obscenities.
He couldn’t stay here, Aidan thought. “Where are you taking me?”
“The holding cell for now,” the guard answered.
“That’s downstairs. Block One.”
The guard began inching to his left. Aidan looked that way. There was an alarm button on the wall there. He crowded the man harder into the brick to keep him from reaching it. Aidan had an easy twenty pounds on him and most of the guard’s pounds seemed given to fat anyway, so it didn’t take much effort.
“I’m a cop, you idiot,” he warned. “Did you read the paperwork that came in with me? Does the term protective custody mean anything to you? Listen to them!” They knew he was a cop—somehow the inmates always knew. And this was the worst of the bunch. Block Nine was for the hardened criminals waiting to be moved out to the state pen.
The guard’s belligerent expression faltered. “Your paperwork doesn’t say you’re a cop.”
“Look again. What’s my name?”
“Bran Downey.”
“Nope. Listen to them,” Aidan said again. He moved one shoulder in the direction of the cells and all the raucous inmates.
“They know.”
The guard glanced up and down the block, uncertainty putting creases in his expression now. The inmates’ hurled expletives left very little doubt as to Aidan’s identity. The man swore. “I’ll put you downstairs until we straighten this out. But if you’re pulling one on me, Baines is going to have my job.”
“He’s already got mine.” Edward Baines was the chief of police and Aidan was still trying to figure out what part he played in this.
They made a U-turn and went back to the elevator. The calls from the cells grew louder, more vicious. In eleven years on the streets, five in a uniform, six as a detective, Aidan had heard it all and he caught a few phrases now that even he wasn’t familiar with. Then the elevator doors slid shut behind them and sealed them into quiet.
“Call Plattsmier,” Aidan decided as the elevator doors slid open again. Plattsmier was the Robbery-Homicide captain.
“He’ll tell you who I am. If he sounds hinky about IDing me, ask him to check with Fox Whittington.” He had a few buddies in the R-H unit.
They stepped out onto the first floor. The guy pushed him again, this time toward a small temp cell halfway down a wing off the prison lobby. Aidan went in gladly, given the alternative. But he still winced when the bars clanged shut.
Fear was clawing madly in his gut now since he had temporarily fixed his most immediate problem—that of being locked up on Nine with a few guys he may well have put there. If it got out of control, he wouldn’t be able to think past it. Same thing with the image of his parents that kept trying to swim into his mind’s eye. Hell, if they got into the mix, he’d end up comatose with shame and bitterness and regret. Best to keep focused, he decided. Aidan sat down on a cold concrete bench to wait.
Grace Simkanian felt her blood trying to boil as she watched her client smirk at her over his shoulder. “Told you. No sweat,” the kid said as he crossed the courthouse lobby. He was nineteen years old and he still lived at home, had never gone to college or bothered to find gainful employment. His daddy was loaded. He spent his time getting drunk and ramming his Dodge Viper into various city fixtures. The last altercation had been with a fire hydrant.
Grace could not let herself despise him. She was a criminal defense attorney employed by the most prestigious firm in the city. She’d spent a long, arduous and destitute year clerking for the Honorable Lorenzo Castello after she’d finished law school, delaying a decent income by a full twelve months to add that ultrarespectable notch to her belt. She was going to be a judge herself one day. Then she could express her opinion of people who stepped outside the law because it was the easy way. But for now she was stuck with getting them off the hook.
“This latest incident will cost you over three thousand dollars,” Grace said to her client, pushing past him through the lobby doors. “No, wait. Forgive me. I’m wrong. It will be closer to four thousand with the hike in your car insurance.”
“It’ll take the insurance people a year to catch up.” He jogged down the steps.
Let it go, Grace told herself, but a hot little fist punched at her forehead from the inside out. There were days when she really hated her job.
Grace watched the kid cross the street to his car in the municipal lot—a new lemon-yellow Lotus that would probably be wrapped around the Liberty Bell in another two weeks. Then she turned up the street toward the bus stop.
She was almost there when her cell phone started chirping inside her briefcase. She leaned back against a building to fish it out.
“No,” she said into it without greeting. She was so tired parts of her throbbed.
“I beg your pardon?”
Grace swore mildly under her breath. It wasn’t Mandy or Jenny, her confidantes, her pals. It was Dan Lutz, one of the senior partners of her law firm.
“Where are you?” he asked. “I need you to head over to County prison.”
Instinctively Grace looked across the street for the kid who had just left her. He couldn’t possibly have gotten himself into trouble again so fast. Ergo, another of Lutz’s rich college chums had offspring in trouble. Those were the only cases she caught just now. She’d been with Russell and Lutz less than a month.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“His name is Aidan McKenna. Detective Third Grade, Vice, Philadelphia P.D.”
“Who am I supposed to be seeing him about?”
“Himself. They’re holding him in a temp cell over there.”
Her pulse kicked, not just at the usual places but in a chain reaction of little hitches all through her blood. Grace came off the building she was leaning against.
This was big. This was huge.
“And you’re giving it to me?” she asked bluntly.
“Everyone else is tied up with something.”
Either that, she decided, or Lutz thought this McKenna was a no-win case. “Details?” She curled her voice up at the end to turn the single-word demand into a polite question and started to look for a cab.
“They’ve got him up on morality charges, but that’s a departmental mess. His union liaison can deal with it. Our problem is an extortion charge, mob-related.”
Grace waved down a taxi. It hurt to spend the money on one, but there was no help for it. She had to get over to County fast. Her chest was starting to hurt. A cop on the take. This was the lowest of the low in her estimation.
She opened the cab door and dropped down onto the cracked pseudo-leather seat. “I guess he still has plenty of that cash stashed aside if he can afford us.”
“Captain Plattsmier called me and asked me to take him on,” Lutz said without actually answering.
Ah, she thought. Pro bono then, a freebie in the interest of firm-city relations. Now she understood why Lutz was giving it to her. “I’ll handle it.”
She disconnected and sat forward to direct the driver. It was time to go wrestle another loser free of the jaws of justice. But this particular loser would be her ticket out, she decided. When she got this guy off, her earn-her-stripes days of DUI cases and the other minor riffraff at the bottom of the firm’s barrel would be behind her.
Aidan McKenna didn’t know it yet, but she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“Your lawyer’s here,” the guard said.
Aidan jerked off the concrete bench and stood to approach the bars.
“She’s in one of the interrogation rooms now.”
She? There was just enough old-world Irish in him that he frowned briefly at that. He thought of his mother again, born in Killarney, a tough no-nonsense woman who was happiest at a stove.
The guard pulled open the cage door and Aidan stepped through, leaving thoughts of his mother’s face behind in the cell.
“Guess you did something,” the guard said with a little grunt.
“Even if it ain’t murder two. Plattsmier didn’t say to shove you out the door. He got you a mouthpiece instead.”
All that told Aidan was that Plattsmier knew something was going on. He knew that Aidan was being charged with a crime, but he wasn’t going to let him spend a night on Nine for a murder he hadn’t committed. So which side did that put him on?
Aidan didn’t know. It occurred to him that at the moment he didn’t know much at all.
He followed the guard up the hall to an interrogation room. Then the guy removed his cuffs and stepped aside. Aidan went through the door alone—and stopped cold.
She was seated at the head of the table and she was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her jet-black hair was a little wild, long, curling here and there in waves that just wouldn’t lie flat—the kind of hair that made a man think of sex, made him want to believe he’d been the one to take handfuls of it and tangle it. She was frowning down at some paperwork in front of her. A tiny crease dug into her smooth brow. Her nose was exquisitely straight, her mouth lush and, as he watched— God bless him, the tip of her tongue poked out to lick her bottom lip.
Everything inside him went painfully rigid. Not only a her, he thought. That kind of her. A knockout.
She looked up at him. “Who’s Bran Downey?”
Aidan found his voice. “That’s the question of the hour.”
“Sit down.” She motioned abruptly at one of the other chairs.
“Ask me nicely first.” Aidan leaned one shoulder against the wall.
Her nostrils flared delicately. She stared at him as though she needed a moment to digest his words. Then she frowned. “Are you antagonizing me?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
Aidan approved of the response. She was direct. And it was a good question. Maybe it was the bedroom hair that made him feel cantankerous. He’d had enough of gorgeous women for a lifetime.
“I wasn’t the one who started this off by giving orders,” he pointed out.
Her jaw hardened. “Please, Mr. McKenna, won’t you have a seat?”
She rebounded well, too. “Thanks, I think I will.”
He pushed off the wall and went to the table. He pulled a chair out, turned it around, and straddled it. She picked up his paperwork again.
“Is this the part where you ask me if I did it?” Aidan wondered.
She glanced up at him. Purple, he thought, her eyes were a hue of purple, at least in this harsh fluorescent light. And damned if he didn’t find himself wondering what they looked like when they were heavily lidded with satisfaction or opaque with need.
He never learned.
“It doesn’t matter,” she answered.
That ticked him off. “Well, I didn’t. Do it, that is.”
“Of course not.”
He came out of the chair so suddenly he saw her recoil a little. He slammed it back into place at the table and went to the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked quickly.
“I think I’ll call another lawyer. One who believes me.”
“Wait!” Her voice went sharp without really rising.
Aidan reached the door and looked back at her.
“Let’s…” She licked her lip again. “Let’s start over,” she finished as though the words tasted bad.
He wagged a finger back and forth between them. “This? Us?”
“I’ve had a long day. Maybe I was too…” She faltered, seeming unable to finish.
“Condescending?” he offered. “Judgmental?”
Ah, there, he thought. There was heat in those eyes. They’d been cold and blank up until now, but something that reminded him of a solar flare hit them as he watched.
It was enough to make him go back to the table. He wanted to see how many other ways they could change, and how quickly. There was a lot going on in there beneath her surface disdain, not that he trusted an ounce of it.
This time when he pulled the chair out, he sat properly. “Go ahead. Start over.”
He sounded as if he was giving her permission, Grace thought. In a way, he was, and that galled her.
Her heart was still beating with a sick thudding rhythm against her chest wall. How would she explain to Lutz if she lost the guy in the initial interview? Her head was fogged. Her thoughts seemed to be swimming through muck. She was tired, she thought, just tired. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that he…well, he unbalanced her.
If she was reading him right, he didn’t like her. Most men never got to the point of deciding whether they did or not. They saw her and that was enough. They looked at her and they wanted her. Grace had learned a long time ago that she need not have a single redeemable quality. They’d trail after her like pups looking for their mama anyway.
He was watching her, waiting for something, she realized. “You…ah, want me to ask you if you’re innocent.”
He nodded.
Grace swallowed carefully. “Okay. Are you innocent?”
“Well, for one thing, I’m not Bran Downey.”
He didn’t actually answer this time, she noticed. She looked down at the papers in front of her. “Bran Downey shot a cab driver on the corner of Broad and Vine. Of course, he was aiming for his wife at the time.”
Aidan reached for the other guy’s paperwork. “Did she get away?”
Grace fought the urge to slap his hand away. “Who cares?” Had she just sounded shrill? Grace briefly covered her face with her hands. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not Bran Downey.”
“Nope. But she did. Get away, that is. Good for her.”
“Yes.”
“If I’m here, where’s Downey?”
“How the hell should I know?” God bless her, now he was making her swear!
“It just makes me wonder about this fine city I’ve vowed to protect and serve. I’m here for undisclosed reasons. Meanwhile, Downey is probably in Bimini by now. What’s wrong with this picture?”
Undisclosed? What did that mean? “I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not representing Downey.”
“Lucky for him. You’re a little tense there, lady.”
He had no idea, Grace thought. Her first felony case had damned near dumped her within minutes of meeting her. He wasn’t the man whose paperwork she’d been given. He wouldn’t let her take charge.
And he was big and blond.
She finally looked at him, really looked at him. He had sea-green eyes that moved between candid and flinty. And it was quite possible that that was a dimple there on the lower part of his left jaw. It showed up when he flashed that quick, arrogant grin. Burly guys with rough jaws ought not to have dimples, she decided.
And why, pray tell, was she thinking about that when she was sitting here with the wrong guy’s paperwork?
“Hold on,” she said sharply, pushing to her feet. Grace left the room to find the guard.
She didn’t see him anywhere in the corridor so she headed for the intake area near the prison lobby. The guy sitting at the desk there was reading something. He glanced her way at the sharp rat-tat-tat of her high heels on the flooring, then he looked back at his magazine for approximately a second. His head jerked up again and he grinned.
This was the kind of reaction she had expected from Aidan McKenna. She had wondered many, many times in the past ten years if her father would really have sent her from Maruja and everything she held dear if he hadn’t worried about the soldiers noticing her and doing unspeakable things.
She reached the desk and pointed a manicured finger at a file there. “Is that the paperwork for everyone who was brought in today?”
“Yeah.” He picked the folder up eagerly.
“Could you look through it for Aidan McKenna’s correct forms? You gave me the wrong ones.”
He grinned crookedly. “Sorry. It got a little hectic around here earlier.”
There hadn’t been another soul at Intake when she’d arrived, Grace thought.
The guard looked through the folder. Then he looked again.
“Is there a problem?” she asked finally, sweetly.
“I got nothing in here for him. Sorry, Miss…uh…”
“Ms.,” she corrected. “Ms. Simkanian. Okay, thank you.”
She went back to the interrogation room and pushed through the door. “Did they take anything from you when they brought you in here?” she asked McKenna. “Your wallet, for instance?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Then let’s go. We’re leaving.”
“Lady, I hate to break this to you, but I really don’t think they’re going to let me walk out of here just because you tell me to.”
Grace almost smiled. “Not only were they tagging you as Bran Downey, they have nothing here for you personally. No papers means no charge. Captain Plattsmier mentioned something about extortion charges—that’s what my senior partner told me—but they don’t have the proper forms so they can’t legally hold you.”
“So that’s it. Extortion.”
“What did you think they were charging you with?”
“I had no idea.”
What kind of game was he playing? She started to point out that charges generally stemmed from whatever a suspect had done, but he was claiming his innocence—sort of—and that would be inching a little too close to the ground that had ticked him off earlier. “I’m sure they’ll chase their tails all night and have you in custody again by morning on the proper ID,” she said instead. “But for now you’re a free man.”
“Can I kiss you?”
Grace backed off fast enough to ram her spine against the doorjamb.
“Purely in gratitude,” he explained.
“None necessary. I’m just doing my job. Keep your mouth to yourself.”
She was rattled, he thought. Interesting.
Since he wouldn’t be spending tonight in a cell, maybe he’d keep her for an attorney after all. Of course, that would involve deciding just how he was going to deal with that jet-black hair and those Violet Eyes. And the legs. Miles of them, he thought, watching her.
They were nearly back at the desk before someone noticed him strolling down the corridor as free as a bird. Four more guards came running. They seemed to come out of the crevices between the bricks in the walls, appearing out of nowhere. They included the man who’d listened to him earlier, the guard who had been reasonable enough to bring him back to the first floor. Aidan was almost sorry for that. Almost, but not quite.
“What are you doing?” the guard yelled. “What is this?”
“Please bring this man his wallet,” Grace said pleasantly.
“Are you crazy?” he demanded.
“Not in the slightest. There’s an easy way to do this and a hard way. You can compare this man standing beside me with the face on his driver’s license or we can call in various members of the P.P.D. to identify him—as one Aidan McKenna. Correct?” She glanced at Aidan.
He nodded agreeably. “That’s me.”
The guard looked frantic. “Hold it, just hold it. I need to call Chief Baines. Or the arresting officers. Jeez.”
“By all means,” Grace agreed. “Call someone. Maybe they can get the proper paperwork here in the next few seconds before my client and I walk out the door. Perhaps then—with the proper paperwork—you’d have cause to detain him, because as it is you have nothing on the basis of which to hold him. You are not going to incarcerate him as Bran Downey because that, you see, is against the law.”
Guards went running. He loved her, Aidan thought.
“Come on,” she said to him in an undertone. “We’re out of here.”
He loved her less. “What about my wallet? I had damned near a hundred dollars in there.”
“You’ll be back here in the morning, I’m sure. In the meantime, they’re not allowed to spend it.”
“Where are we going?” he asked outside as she hailed a cab.
“To track down a man who might or might not begin to regret hiring me.”
It was difficult to tell if Dan Lutz was annoyed or impressed when they finally found him at Bistro Romano, a historic restaurant in Society Hill near South Street. The maître d’ was much easier to read. He was appalled by their gutsy intrusion.
“This way,” he said, his voice as stiff as a pair of new jeans.
“I’m not dressed for it,” McKenna replied.
“I know,” the maître d’ agreed.
The man pulled a little ahead of them as they crossed the dining room. McKenna leaned closer to her to speak in an undertone. “Must be your legs,” he murmured. “That’s why he let us in without a reservation.”
“Leave my legs out of this.”
“Let me make sure I have this straight. I’m not allowed to kiss you and your legs are not a fair topic of conversation. Is there any part of your body you don’t get defensive about?”
Grace stopped dead in her tracks. “How is that any of your business?”
“I’m curious.”
“My body parts are the last thing you should be worried about right now.”
“They’re an intriguing alternative to thinking about my problems. Besides, I have you to think about my problems—at least until I fire you.”
That momentarily quelled her, but Grace rallied. “You won’t have to worry about firing me if you don’t cease and desist with this nonsense.”
“Cease and desist? Is that lawyer-speak?”
“It’s woman-speak. Trust me when I tell you that you’ll recognize the difference.”
“I’m not sure my feeble brain can handle the nuances.”
That startled her. “I never said your brain was feeble.”
“You were looking down your nose at me back there in the prison.”
“I was not.”
“You definitely were.”
He was relentless.
The maître d’ came back to them and cleared his throat. Now kissing was on her mind. Grace decided she would gladly pucker up for the dour-faced little gnome in gratitude for the interruption.
“If it wasn’t my intelligence you were casting aspersions on back there, then what was it?” McKenna asked as they started walking again.
Grace almost choked. “I never cast aspersions.”
“Lady, you had aspersions stamped all over that pretty face of yours.”
She decided to ignore him.
Dan Lutz rose when they reached him. He held a hand out to her. Grace braced herself and took it, knowing he would hold on for a while. It was his habit and it always made her uncomfortable.
There was a second place setting at the table with a half-touched plate of hors d’oeuvres, but Lutz was alone. Ah, she thought, this was a time to tread delicately.
“How in the world did you find me?” he asked.
“I called your secretary at home. She suggested that I contact Lou Russell,” she replied, referring to the firm’s other senior partner. “He said I might find you here.”
Lutz sat again, waving a hand at the other chairs to indicate that they should do so as well, then he motioned to the maître d’. “More wine, please, for my guests.”
They exchanged small talk until the wine steward brought two more glasses and another bottle. Lutz never liked to rush into anything. When the steward began to pour, McKenna held a hand out to prevent him from filling his glass.
“I’d prefer a Guinness,” he said.
Grace felt her blood pressure swell a notch. “Drink the damned wine.”
Lutz cleared his throat. “How did you manage to get a bail hearing so quickly?” he asked.
Time to get down to business, Grace thought. “Actually, I…ah, didn’t.”
“Yet here sits a man I presume is Mr. McKenna. Tell me.”
So she did. She explained about the paperwork glitch and how the authorities had no basis on which to hold him, while a waiter brought McKenna the beer. “By now they’re checking the computer system, of course,” she finished. “I’m sure someone has unearthed his proper paperwork and there are probably cops combing the city looking for him. That’s why I came here to find you and solicit your advice.”
“Some of those cops are my friends,” McKenna offered.
“They won’t look very hard.”
Grace felt something go ping behind her eyes. “Will you please shut up and let me handle this?”
“It was a salient point.” He lifted the Guinness to his mouth.
“I never said you were stupid!”
He ran his tongue over his lip to catch the foam, then he replaced his glass to the table. “Sorry, you lost me there. Must be those quicksilver turns of your own mind. What does my stupidity or lack thereof have to do with this?”
“You keep using college-degree words to prove your point.”
“I have a college degree. I’m also insightful and observant. Which reminds me. What were you casting aspersions on back at the prison? We never did answer that question to my satisfaction.”
Grace deliberately shifted her gaze back to Lutz. She grabbed her wineglass, drank deeply and waited for his verdict. She’d either just done something incredibly stupid…or she’d been brilliant.
Lutz stared into the ruby liquid in his own glass for a moment. “Technically, you should deliver him straight back to the arresting officers,” he said finally. “However, without the paperwork, we have no idea who they are, do we?”
Grace relaxed. He approved of what she had done. Then McKenna spoke up again and her nerves tightened.
“Well, technically, I do know who they are. At four o’clock this afternoon I was playing ball with a couple of my nephews at the city courts. Two uniformed patrolmen came by and slapped handcuffs on me. I don’t know how tight you all are with your families, but that’s something I’d have preferred my sister’s kids not be subjected to.”
Grace felt her heart twist. “We can’t always control what children are subjected to.”
“Yeah, well, I try.”
For the first time since she had made his acquaintance, he seemed sincerely angry. He might have slammed his chair around back at the jail, but that had been nothing compared to what simmered in his eyes now.
“They said they had a warrant for my arrest,” McKenna continued. “I went with them rather than play the whole thing out in front of the boys.”
He’d probably been expecting the arrest, she realized. He had to have known the extortion jig would be up for him sooner or later if he played it out too long. He was a cop; he’d know the odds.
“They took me to County and booked me,” he said. “It never occurred to me to check the name on all those blot pages they were affixing my thumbprints to. Stupid of me.”
Grace wasn’t touching that one.
He leaned forward suddenly, bracing his arms on the table to face her. “Funny that you haven’t gotten around yet to asking why Captain Plattsmier didn’t just have me sprung from that jail instead of calling you.”
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