Mistletoe and Murder in Las Vegas (10 page)

A jangling sound interrupted his speech.

“I think that’s my process server client,” Lenny said, looking at the landline phone.

“Go ahead and answer it,” Joanne said quietly, heading around the desk.

He watched her walk toward him, her pace slow, almost leisurely, unlike the uptight woman he’d been dealing with. Underneath the starchy, striped business shirt that hung low on her hips, he caught the languorous sway of her body, as if it defied the rigid life rules set by its owner. As she walked past the window, sunlight warmed the curve of her neck and cheek and set fire to her springy red curls.

She halted in front of him. “An evidentiary lead?”

He nodded yes, taking in that familiar scent of coconut. Maybe it was the light, or her closeness, but he was more aware of her freckles, including a pretty pink one that decorated the very tip of an earlobe.

“A waitress at Java the Hut, the coffee house located across the street from Organica Streetwear, told me that a customer—an older gentleman—claimed to have seen someone matching Dita’s description peering in the front store windows of Organica fifteen or so minutes before the fire started.”

“He was outside the coffee shop?”

“No, sitting at an inside counter that runs the length of the front window. Has five or six stools.”

“So other customers must have also seen this man.”

“According to the waitress, he was the only one sitting at the window that evening. She said business slows down around that time.”

“Does this waitress have a name?”

“Nancy.”

“I’d like Nancy’s phone number.”

He wasn’t lying about Nancy being a waitress, or what she had told him, but giving out her number could throw a wrench into his investigations.

“If you were to call Nancy without my first asking her permission to give out her number, we might alienate our only link to a potential witness. As I’m sure you know, people don’t like their confidences betrayed.”

“Oh, please. You
flirted
with Nancy, which is why she gave you her number…I wouldn’t blame her for being unhappy with you for handing it out, especially to another woman.”

He started to deny he’d flirted, but smiled instead. “Got me there.”

They stared at each other for a few moments. In the background, Lenny chatted on the phone.

“Anyway,” Joanne continued, “There’s no
we could alienate our only link...
I’m the defense, you’re the government on the side of the prosecution. There’s no
we
. We’re enemies in this battle.”

She was taking a hard line, acting tough, but he didn’t buy it for a second. Not after seeing the leisurely sway of her hips as she crossed the room, and that twinkle of curiosity when he owned up to flirting with Nancy. Sometimes honesty was the best weapon with people as it usually disarmed their argument…if not, it confused the hell out of them.

“Maybe we’re not enemies,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve learned a few things today about Dita’s former boyfriend that will interest you. And I bet you’d love to pick my brain about arson investigations. I’m probably one of the best in the field.”

That twinkle turned into a sparkle. She wanted what he was offering, but didn’t want to say it. Yet.

“What does ATF want with my client?”

Just because they were on opposite sides in this case, didn’t mean they couldn’t share some information. Not enough to hurt either of their goals, but enough to sweeten the deal. He had done that before with private defense lawyers, just as she had certainly done as a public defender with prosecutors and their investigators.

But he didn’t want to do that standing here, toe-to-toe in someone else’s office. He wanted the opportunity to talk to her at length, comfortably, with their guards down. Hell, he wanted to know the real her, too, the woman underneath the formidable Joanne Galvin, Esq., the woman who defied the lawyer’s stricter rules about living and business.

He glanced at the grandfather clock. Soon it would be five and he hadn’t eaten since grabbing a stale cranberry nut muffin for breakfast at the hotel gift shop.

“How about we call a truce and see if we can forge some kind of alliance over dinner,” he suggested.

“What kind of alliance?”

“The usual kind. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Everything we say will be held in the strictest confidence, of course, on both our sides.”

Which all sounded good and aboveboard, but his mind went back to the part where he scratched her back, and he imagined the softness of her skin so prettily sprinkled with freckles.

She made a disbelieving sound. “I’m supposed to believe this from the guy who lied about being a newspaper reporter?”

Took him a moment to remember what the hell he’d said. Oh, right. Building an alliance that would be kept in confidence, which he meant, but she doubted him so now he had to back up his earnestness. This woman was giving his body and his brain a workout.

He nudged his chin in the direction of Lenny, still engrossed in his phone call.

“Don’t tell me your investigator never pulled a pretext to get an interview. Or gave a fake name and occupation to cover why he’d been sitting in a car for hours on stakeout. C’mon, Red, admit it…lying is one of the better tools in an investigator’s bag of tricks.”

“My name’s Joanne, not Red, and I’ll buy that investigators lie. But you’re a federal agent, which moves this game we’re playing to the deep end of the ocean.”

“Feel a bit in over your head?”

A snappy retort to show he was at the top of this game...a position that turned precarious when she turned her head slightly and light washed into her eyes, rinsing their color to a softer green—not too dark, not too light—but that sweet spot in the middle that wanted to trust.

And in that instant, he wanted to be the man she trusted again. Not just over a business dinner, or even a week of meetings, but the one she trusted far longer with her dreams and wishes, even her disappointments. The one who never let her down. Maybe even the one with whom all heartache ended. And from the way her soft green eyes looked at him, filled with a mix of hope and incredulity, he half wondered if she felt it, too.

And then she blinked, and he remembered to breathe, and the moment ended.

Joanne eased in a breath, trying to quell her nerves. He was standing so close, she swore she could feel his energy, warm and electric, rippling against her skin. And the way he looked at her, those brown eyes darkening to a color like burnt sugar, it was a miracle she was still able to stand.

“Go to dinner with me,” he said gently. “Trust me for just one evening…and you’ll learn I’m here to protect you in the deep end. I know what you need, and you have what I want. Whatever we share will remain between the two of us.”

She wasn’t sure if he was talking about this proposed alliance, eating dinner or having wanton sex...and God help her, she was ready for all three, but she would only consider one. Dinner. And even that had a big
maybe
attached. His hardy masculinity might rouse her feminine nerves, but more powerful than that was her need to protect and care for her unborn child.

Fighting the urge to ask if many women fell for that
I know what you need, and you have what I want line
, she instead gave him a what-are-you-talking-about? look. An old courtroom trick—if you felt stuck or confused or just needed a few moments to think, act as if the prosecution has temporarily lost its mind.

The thing about attorneys...they might say and do dumb things, but they rarely strayed far from logic and reason. Plus after what she’d been through with Roger and Burnette, she hated being played for a sucker.

On the other hand, she wanted to pick McGill’s brain, find out what he knew about the Timepiece Arsonist and the Organica Streetwear arson.

“Nobody needs to protect me in the deep end, Mr. McGill. You might
think
you know what I want, but you don’t…however, I have a pretty good idea what you need to support the government’s case against the
real
Timepiece Arsonist, whom you’re desperate to find...so much so, you’re willing to pin the rap on an innocent young woman. So let’s cut the bull and agree this is a business dinner where we’ll appraise each other to decide
if
we want to forge an alliance.”

Well, well...Mr. Special Agent looked taken aback. Two points for Team Joanne. And unless her people-radar was on the blink, she detected he was giving her some serious cred, too.

He scratched his eyebrow and gave her a look.

“Seems to me,” he said quietly, “
I’m
the one who might need protecting in the deep end.”

G
loria gasped
on the other end of the phone call. “You’re going out on a date with Muscle Boy?”

Joanne, phone pressed to her ear, stood in the small bathroom, which doubled as a laundry room with a stacked mini-washer-dryer set in a former closet. She’d changed into her cream silk top and avocado-green business suit, whose skirt stretched tight across her tummy but at least she could still close the zipper. Barely. She’d rummaged through the last two unpacked boxes hoping to find her taupe pumps, but didn’t, leaving her with no choice but to again wear these hideous black mules. After she got some decent shoes, she was going to burn these damn things.

“It’s not a date,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It’s a business meeting. And a free meal. I’m so hungry, I could chew tree bark.”

She was also feeling a bit dizzy. Her sister had experienced lightheadedness during both her pregnancies, but it didn’t last much beyond her first trimester. Joanne hoped that meant she had only another month of this occasional wooziness.

“Why are you whispering?”

“He’s sitting in my office, which is just down the hall. Not sure how far my voice travels in this place.”

She opened the glittery Red Hot makeup bag for the first time and extracted a shiny gold lipstick tube.

“You worried about going out to dinner with this guy?”

“Not really.”

She read the name on the lipstick tube.
Jungle Red
. Her sister said women should be bright and shiny, but Jungle Red sounded bright and undomesticated. She dropped it back into the bag.

“’Cause if you want, I’ll follow you tonight,” Gloria offered.

“Please don’t. Piero’s is always busy, lots of people around, plus he’s a
federal agent
. I’ll be the safest woman outside of the Women’s Correction Center under lockdown.” She fished out another tube. “Wish I knew more about him, though. Got any inside contacts at ATF?”

“No. What’s his specialization?”

“Said he’s one of the best arson investigators around.”

She read the label on a second lipstick tube.
Bunny Rouge
. A light, frosty pink color.

“Muscle Boy bragged that he’s
one of the best
? That’s a cocky fed for ya. I’ll dig around some newspaper archives and databases, see what I can find.”

“Oh, and he has a black lab. Very well trained.”

“ATF has a specialized training facility for arson dogs, so Muscle Boy must be that dog’s trainer.”

“He called her Maggie.” She retrieved a wand of mascara from the bag.
La-La Lush Lashes
.

“I’ll check that, too. So, whatcha wearing to dinner?”

“The avocado suit with those ghastly mule shoes. Couldn’t find my taupe pumps.”

“We need to take you shopping. The sooner the better so we can beat the Christmas crowds.”

Joanne had been able to zipper and button this skirt, but who knew how much longer that would be possible. Of course, lying around and eating Ben and Jerry’s at her parents’ hadn’t helped, but it would be a good idea to buy some maternity clothes before holiday shoppers came out in full force.

Which meant she should share her news with Gloria soon. She looked down at her tummy and smiled.

“I need to talk to you about something…but now right now.”

“I don’t like how you sound.”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah, and I’m Princess Leia. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, really. I’d just rather tell you in person.”

“Oh Gawd. You ‘n Jamoke are getting back together!”

“Like I’m that crazy. Lunch tomorrow?”

“Can’t. Interviewing some witnesses.
Whatsamattaferu
? If you don’t tell me now, I’m gonna worry.”

When Gloria asked
Whatsamattaferu?,
Brooklynese for
What’s the problem?
, she was really worried. And a really worried Gloria did things like cruise up in her badass Firebird with Mick bellowing he can’t get no satisfaction.

I can’t go through that again.

Sometimes the best course of action was simply to take action. Big deal, so she told her friend the news over the phone.

“First of all,” Joanne whispered, “I want you to know I’m happy about this. A little scared, but happy. Second, keep it to yourself until I’ve told my parents.”

“
My Gawd
,” her friend murmured. “This is
big
.”

“Yes, it is.” She blinked back emotion. “I’m...pregnant.”

At first she thought her friend hadn’t heard...then Gloria yelped, “
What the hell
?”

Not exactly the response she expected, but at least it was exuberant. Followed by Gloria’s inner-mush rising to the surface. Her voice breaking, she recalled how sad she had been last Christmas seeing her best friend heartbroken after Jamoke rejected the idea of a baby, which had pissed Gloria off, too, because that
schmeboygah
didn’t have the class to at least mention marriage or future babies, but enough of the bad, onto the good. She could not wait to take Joanne shopping for some “badass maternity clothes.”

After ending the call, Joanne applied a touch of mascara, wondering what
schmeboygah
meant, although she could guess from how it sounded. She then picked up the lipstick tube...and stared at it. Bunny Rouge was suddenly too pink, cute and harmless.
Exactly how Roger viewed me.
She dropped Bunny Rouge into the makeup bag, pulled out
Jungle Red
and slicked it on her lips.
I am single mom, one-woman law office, hear me roar!

With a toss of her jungle-red mane, she headed to her office.

M
oments later
, Joanne paused at the entrance to her office, gripping the handle of her stylish, but tasteful, jade tote bag.

McGill sat in the desk swivel chair with his back to her, one muscled arm resting on the desk as he stared out the far window at Graces Avenue. A floor lamp filled the room with a warm glow, highlighting strands of gold in his hair. Maggie lay on the faded area rug on the other side of the desk, calmly eyeing Joanne.

An electric guitar twanged in the distance, probably one of the street performers at the Fremont Street Experience. She caught a faint whiff of popcorn…probably Lenny making up another batch. That guy must be two-thirds popcorn.

She quickly scanned her desk for signs of any tampering with her papers or laptop, but everything looked just as she had left it. He wouldn’t have found anything of importance anyway as she always powered down her computer and locked away confidential files whenever she left her desk, a habit from her public defender days. But it bumped up her trust a notch to see he hadn’t been a sneak.

He must have caught Maggie’s focus on her because he slowly turned his chair, his gaze leaping to her hair with a look she had seen too many times in her life. Part awe, part disbelief. The curse of having crazy-curly hair. She wasn’t in the mood to wrestle the beast into submission, so she’d giving it a light comb, a few pats, and then released it to the wild. She half-expected him to blurt one of the lines she’d heard over the years.

Did you forget your brush?

You have so much hair!

Can I touch it?

When Socrates said the unexamined life wasn’t worth living, he obviously had never known a frizzed-out redhead.

McGill’s gaze finally descended from her hair, did a quick down-up of her suit, before saying, “You look like a lawyer.”

“Did you forget your brush?” would’ve been better
. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Actually,” he said, leaning forward, “I should have said your
suit
is like a lawyer as it is professional and stylish. Sorry I stared at your hair, but it reminded me of ‘The Lady of Shalott,’ a painting by Waterhouse.”

“I…don’t know it.”

“He was one of the Pre-Raphaelites, a group of nineteenth English painters. The Lady of Shalott had long, tumbling hair like fire. I studied the Pre-Raphaelites in a college art history class.” He paused. “Did you brush it?”

Jeez
. “No, I just shake and go.”

“Well, you should shake and go all the time, then, because it’s very pretty.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, as she mindlessly patted her tumbling hair like fire.

“As we discussed, I made reservations at Piero’s, and checked out its website on my phone.” He gestured to his Hawaiian shirt. “I might not meet their dress code.”

“I think you’re okay.”

Her gaze dropped to the spirals of dark chest hair curling over the top button of that wildly red Hawaiian shirt. Fighting a surge of excitement, or maybe nausea, she held her arms tightly to her sides and smiled, vaguely wondering if she’d remembered to brush her teeth.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m…a little…”A wave of dizziness washed over her and the world tilted.

Like magic, he appeared and scooped her up into his arms before she kissed the ground. Cradled in his arms, she took in his soapy, masculine scent, felt his muscled chest under her cheek.

He carried her across the room and gently deposited her into the swivel chair, the seat still warm from his having just sat there. After sitting on the edge of her desk, he pressed his hand lightly against her forehead. His big, warm hand.

“I don’t think you’re running a temperature. Still dizzy?”

“No.”

“Have you been experiencing dizzy spells?”

She didn’t want to answer that question. “I need to eat better.”

He nodded. “What did you eat today?”

“A cookie. Part of an orange. M&Ms. The peanut ones.” Made them sound healthier.

“At least there was an orange in there.”

From outside, a lively “Feliz Navidad” played from a passing car, the music fading into the distance. She looked out the window at the palm trees, their twinkling lights bright against the dusky purple sky. She and Roger had always set aside an evening in early December to put up their tree. They’d drink eggnog, play Christmas songs and later eat green bean casserole with fried onion rings sprinkled on the top, her one Christmas dish specialty. It wasn’t that she missed Roger, but damn…she missed what her life had been…or what she thought it had been, she supposed.

“You look sad,” he said quietly.

“Just, uh, thinking about the ghost of Christmas past.”

“Know the best antidote to that guy?”

She blinked. Several times. “You know about Roger?”

“A few things, yes.”

Of course he knew about Roger. Mr. Special Agent probably knew about her, too, before he even showed up on her porch. She looked into his brown eyes, wondering exactly how much he knew about her un-wild, so-not-bad-girl life.
Probably fell asleep by page two
.

“To answer your question,” she said, “I don’t know the antidote to that ghost of Christmases past, except to keep moving forward. Which involves a number of sideways steps, too.”

“Well,
I
know the best antidote to that guy,” he said, standing. “Eating a healthy meal with a good man in Christmas present.”

Was he advertising himself as a good man because he wanted her to like him? Or maybe it was a dig at the “bad man” Roger, which made her wonder what he knew about the two of them. Or why he even cared to know.

On the other hand, he was an ATF special agent. A professional snooper who specialized in arson investigations. He didn’t just dig for dirt, he bulldozed for it.

He picked her purse off the floor where she’d dropped it and handed it to her, then helped her up from the chair. They headed toward the door, his hand protectively on the small of her back. Maggie took her place on his other side.

When they reached the door, he paused. “How do you lock this?”

“It locks automatically when I shut it.”

“You need a dead bolt.” He scanned the large window that looked out on the two parking spots. “Good, you have window locks.”

He opened the door, and she stepped outside, waiting as he checked the outside of the door, too, and the placement of a surveillance camera that Kimmie was going to teach her to use. A passing breeze cooled her skin as she looked up at the purpling sky and caught the twinkling of the first star.

The brush of his steps stopped next to her. They stood together for several moments without talking, gazing at the settling dusk. On the far side of the fence, traffic buzzed along Graces Avenue. “Deck the Halls” played in the distance.

“Forgive that guy,” he said quietly.

Too stunned to dredge up a retort, she looked up at his face. In the evening shadows, she couldn’t clearly see his features, but could make out his pronounced jaw, raggedly mane of hair, and what appeared to be a big smile.

“Not because he deserves it,” he continued. “But because it’ll mess with his head.”

O
n the way
to Piero’s, Mike dropped Maggie off with Archie at their hotel, conveniently located a block from the restaurant. After leaving the vehicle with a valet, he and Joanne walked inside to another era. One filled with a haze of cigarette smoke, guys drinking martinis at the bar, and Sinatra crooning a jazzy tune in the background.

“I don’t think I’m gonna pass the dress code test,” Mike murmured, checking out the crystal glasses sparkling over the long polished wooden bar.

“You’re fine,” she assured him. “If you want, tell the host we’re here to watch sports—he’ll sit us in the bar area, which is more casual.”

He did, and they were escorted to one of several plush leather booths in the back. Over the bar three flat-screened TVs played different sports games, the sound muted. A bartender in a white linen jacket vigorously shook a silver canister, whose contents slushed and rattled.

The waiter set a basket of bread on the table, the yeasty scent filling the air. He explained the
focaccia
and
ciabatta
were homemade and took their drink orders—beer for Mike, iced tea for Joanne.

After the waiter left, he said, “So, you come here to watch sports often?”

“No. I’ve only been here once or twice.”

The corners of her mouth drew down a bit, indicating at least one of times hadn’t been very happy.
Probably because of that ghost of Christmas past.