Criminal Promises (4 page)

“We’ll be right there.” He
said something in a muffled voice, then spoke directly into the
phone again. “Keep your broom in the closet.”
Click.

She held the phone away from her ear and
rolled her eyes. What was it with cops? Did their mothers not teach
them any manners? Or did the academy erase the training?

She checked on Jared, told him to stay in his
room and listen for Emma. He nodded and kept playing his game. She
headed back to the entryway to watch for Harte out the front
window, but he and his partner were already on the porch.

They were dressed similarly in jeans and
snug, muscle-hugging T-shirts with lightweight suit jackets likely
intended to conceal their guns. Harte’s partner, Craig if she
remembered correctly, took pictures while Harte ordered someone on
the phone to come deal with the animal. He hung up, slipped the
phone into one pocket and pulled a pair of latex gloves from the
other. He lifted the paper from the carcass. His body
stiffened.

She wasn’t sure how to define the look on his
face, but violent rage was mild.

Rather than spy on them, and she had no
desire to see the raccoon up close and personal again, Maggie moved
into the living room, certain they would ring the bell when they
were ready to talk. The flickering images of the animal, of Harte
stiffening, of the dead woman’s once happy face kept her alert.
Incredibly alert.

She fluffed and straightened the pillows.
Turned a few of the knick-knacks on the entertainment center back
in order. Looked around the room for something else to do and
settled on straightening the magazines before she realized she was
fidgeting. She never fidgeted.

Determined to stop, she sat on the sofa and
flipped through the parenting magazine still in her hand. The
doorbell rang, jarred her from her skimming. BD and his partner
stood on a bloodstained doorstep, free of the dead animal.

Handsome in a classic blonde,
sexy-guy-next-door kind of way, Harte’s partner would likely be the
charmer of the duo. His flirty smile and half wave of greeting
confirmed it. She’d bet he could break a woman’s heart without her
feeling a moment of pain.

“Mrs. Sullivan.” Harte’s
hard gaze roamed her face. Her temperature shot up. “You may
remember my partner, Craig Harrison.”

“Yes. Come on in.” She
shook Craig’s hand and was a little stunned to find herself smiling
at him, considering the reason for their visit. Definitely a
charmer. She nodded toward the smear of blood on the porch she’d
have to clean up soon. Very soon. “Thanks for coming so quickly and
taking care of that.”

“Thank you for calling
us.” Harte held up the plastic bag with the pictures as they moved
inside. “Hopefully this will lead us to answers. Miss Dane’s family
deserves closure.”

What about mine? Why was
Mike’s replacement killed?
“So you
identified her already?” Maggie closed the door against the summer
heat and humidity. When she moved up beside Harte, his eyes were
riveted on the once again clean living room.

“Yes. You clean up
quickly.”

“Yes.” She would have
preferred sleep, but until four thirty a.m. the last two nights
she’d alternately cleaned and checked on the kids and watched the
street for Harte’s car. He’d been pretty well hidden behind a
neighbor’s sedan, but she’d spotted his black Audi.

Each time, an edgy flurry had spread through
her at the sight of his car, encouraging her to go ask why he was
watching her house and how long he’d been doing it. Another part
wasn’t sure she wanted the answer. Especially now.

She led them into the
recessed living area. “I don’t know who would have left that on my
porch. Neither can I help but wonder what kind of message the
picture is supposed to be sending. What does this have to do with
me?”

“I couldn’t say.” Harte’s
face remained void of emotion, but his tone stated the lack of
answer was due more to job commitment than lack of suspicion. Craig
shot a quick surprised glance at his partner, but veiled it
instantly.

“Of course not,” Maggie
muttered.

Harte asked questions along the lines of
those he’d asked Saturday. Only this time they were more focused on
her and any possible enemies. As if she’d done anything as a single
mom who builds websites to make enemies. When she said as much, he
suggested the heat of the summer and the inactivity of school not
being in session, kids got bored and pulled pranks. She knew
bored-over-the-summer kid pranks. This was no prank.

They wrapped up the
questions and headed toward the door. “Thanks again for calling
me.”

“Didn’t have a reason not
to. Oh…” She met Harte’s gaze wanting to make sure he understood
her coming point. “When you get back to the station, you might
mention a thing called professionalism to Detective Pritchett.
While your phone manners aren’t great, his are appalling and could
land him or the Dallas PD in a lawsuit.”

“What did he do?” Harte’s
jaw hardened so his growled question came through gritted teeth.
White-hot hatred burned in his eyes and pulsed in the
air.

Maggie took a blinking step
back before she got burned.
That
anger was aimed at the other cop? She’d hate to
be a real enemy facing him.

“What did he say?” Harte
repeated the question, each word a punishing punch.

“He answered your phone.”
She thought about ending there. “Apparently I don’t know the
pleasure I’m missing by preferring you to him because he can
satisfy all my needs. Oh, and I have a name, but he seemed to be
under the impression it was either sugar or darlin’. I felt the
need for a shower when I hung up.”

Harte’s pupils shrank until
the blue of his irises popped dominantly. He methodically clenched
and unclenched his hands in tight fists while the veins in his neck
bulged and throbbed. “I
will
deal with him.”

“Let me know if you need a
statement.”

“The bastard would have an
explanation.”

She’d never witnessed a blind rage, yet
didn’t doubt for a second if Pritchett crossed Harte’s path any
time soon, Harte would find immense pleasure in making sure he was
the closest thing to a dead man walking.

“He isn’t worth killing,”
she murmured.

“Maybe not.”

Mmm-mm-mm.
She’d always gone for the brainy types, but the
tightly leashed, raw power radiating from Harte, mixed with his
spicy clove scent and downright sexiness called to her inner
female. Seeing him at such a primal moment… Her pulse points
pounded.

“Right.” Maggie reached
behind her and opened the door. A series of loud pops rang out.
Wood splintered and stung her cheek.

She dove toward the floor. Her heart
stampeded. Craig rushed outside in a semi crouch.

Harte seemed to materialize beside her,
hovering so big she couldn’t see beyond him as he stretched a leg
out and kicked the door closed. The gun he hadn’t been holding a
moment ago pointed to the floor by his side.

“What was
that?”

“I’m not sure.” Harte
cocked his head and focused on something she couldn’t hear for a
moment before easing her up and toward the couch. “Sit
down.”

Shaking her head, she
pulled away and ran down the hall. Harte stopped pursuing her after
two steps and a harsh curse. He still stood cemented to the tile
with pale cheeks and a terror-stricken stare when she returned from
checking the kids. What had scared him
after
the fact? “Were those
gunshots? Was someone shooting?”

“Maybe. It could be
nothing.”

It wasn’t. He and Craig both knew it was
something.

Worrying her wedding ring, she watched Harte
shed the fear-filled shell and slip back into in cop mode. Alert.
Brash. Utterly controlled and intense while he waited for Craig to
return. She would have expected Harte to be the one seeking out
danger while Craig soothed a woman’s fears and worries.

“Mags?” Harte lowered his
gun between his knees as he sat on the table in front of her. “Are
you okay?”

She met his gaze and was
struck by sincere warmth. Familiarity. He always called her Mrs.
Sullivan. Until now. And she hated when people shortened her name,
so why didn’t it bother her with him?
Think about it later.
She took a
deep breath and released it slowly. “Yes.”

“You sure?” He leaned
forward.

His blue eyes were gentle and wary, as if he
expected her to wig out. Rooted in his gaze, arrested by his calm,
she settled. Her pulse slowed to almost normal.

“Maybe.” Instead of
thinking of him as a grumpy detective who happened to be the star
of her sex dreams, she saw him as a man who could be tender. A man
who made her feel safe.

She looked around the room, took in the
plastic covered paper now on the floor, the splinters of wood and
the no longer unlocked windows.

A woman killed.

A gutted raccoon.

A picture of her late husband.

Getting shot at.

Everything was connected. Somehow. When she
factored in Harte sleeping in his car outside of her home she
became more certain. She wasn’t safe.

“Mags?”

Their first instinct had been danger. And not
entirely because they were used to it. Whatever had happened in the
park had them on edge. And for the first time, she felt exposed and
vulnerable in her home.

“I’m scared.” She didn’t
like making the admission, especially to Harte. But she’d put it
out there and couldn’t rescind it now.

He rested a hand over hers.
Sadness clouded his eyes when he met her gaze. “I’ll take care of
things.”

“That doesn’t change the
facts.” She thumbed her wedding ring in circles on her finger.
Tingles from his touch were enveloping her right hand. “I’m afraid
to take the kids to the park, I don’t feel comfortable in my own
house at night, and I can’t shake the feeling someone’s watching
me—namely you.”

His throat bobbed with a
swallow. “I could come by more often…check in…sort of…be
around.”

He carried a gun and was
big enough to make anyone think twice about breaking in. Not all
bad. She’d just have to ignore the sizzle in her blood when he got
close. Assuming she understood his proposal. “Are you suggesting
you move in here?”

A cough sounded from the
front door. Maggie jumped and turned her head. Harte jerked back.
Craig stood, slack-jawed in the doorway for several “dun-dun-dun”
singing seconds before shaking his cop mask back into place. “There
are a few bullets in the door, but whoever was shooting is long
gone or shot from a distance.”

What was happening to her neighborhood?

She turned to Harte. “About
you being around more…”

“You asked him to move in!
You’ve got to be kidding!” Grace’s eyes lit with mischief as she
cradled Emma in her arms.

Grace was such a sweet sounding name for her
sassy-mouthed meddling sister. In the year since Mike’s death,
they’d shifted from close sisters to best friends. Maggie had
relied heavily on Grace’s support during the pregnancy and the last
few months of dealing with two children alone.

“I wish I were.” Maggie
rolled her eyes as she scrubbed at the blood on the front porch for
the second time. She’d repaired the bullet holes in the doorframe
last night. Grace only knew a woman had been found in the park and
she thought the raccoon was a prank. Maggie omitted the bit about
the paper. “I was…momentarily freaked.”

Okay, she still was, but once she’d started
telling Grace about Harte she’d quickly realized she needed to
travel a different path if she was going to keep the gruesome
truths from her pushy, though caringly so, sister.

Grace squatted in front of
her and stilled. Worry pinched her flawless face. “What did he
say?”

“Thanks, but no thanks.
Worded more diplomatically.”
Wouldn’t want
to hurt the victim’s feelings.

Maggie wiped the sweat from her forehead and
kept scrubbing. Physical labor with the intention of releasing
frustrations didn’t work when she ended up talking about the source
of the frustration.

“The idea was his to begin
with, or I thought it was.” She swiped at the sweat again and
scrubbed harder. “He looked horrified at the prospect.”

“Is it really the security
of his presence you want?” Grace wiggled her brows. Her sister’s
spirit drew men in. Combine it with the smooth perfection of her
Audrey Hepburn face and the fact she was financially well off and
she became lethal.

“Please!” Maggie’s system
hadn’t stopped revving until half an hour after Harte had left, but
she wasn’t telling Grace that. She had to focus on the protection.
Prolonged exposure to the scrumptious detective could be
troublesome. “He’s upped the patrols in the neighborhood and has
been spending the night in his car. He knows more than he’s
telling.”

How is this not telling her too much? Shut
up, Maggie.

Signs of joking slid from
Grace’s face as the ruling concern and worry returned. “You’re
really scared.”

“No. Curious.”
I’m not sure even I buy that lie.

“I could stay with you.”
Grace rubbed her nose against Emma’s cheek. “You could bring the
kids and stay with me.”