Authors: Brenda Harlen
McIver's Mission (3 page)
Wishing Mrs. Dempsey a good evening,
of stairs to her third-floor apartment, grateful that the dim lighting in the
hallway wouldn't reveal the flush that infused her cheeks.
She unlocked the door of her apartment and stepped
inside, her hand halting in mid-air by the light switch as her gaze landed on
the envelope on the hardwood floor.
And the knot in her belly that had only started to
loosen, tightened again.
Chapter
2
S
haun
hadn't missed the sudden hitch in
breathing as she fumbled for the lights. Concerned, he stepped into the apartment
and closed the door behind him. Her eyes were wide and focused on the floor.
Following her gaze, he bent to pick up the envelope. There was no postage, no
address, no return address. Nothing but her name printed in red ink. Nothing at
all to explain the prickling sensation at the back of his neck or his sudden
and instinctive desire to protect her.
"Do you always get mail delivered to your
door?" he asked casually, offering her the envelope.
"—not usually."
She walked into the kitchen, tossed the piece of mail
onto the counter as if it was of no importance. But he'd seen the fear in her
eyes, the erratic throbbing of the pulse at the base of her jaw as she'd taken
the envelope from his hand. It was as if she already knew what was in the
letter.
"Aren't you going to open it?" he asked.
just from … my landlord. There's a … a new tenant in the building. Downstairs.
He's been complaining … about noise." She shifted her gaze, cleared her
throat. "He—the landlord—has been delivering warning notices … to keep the
new guy happy."
Shaun knew she was lying, and he couldn't help being
concerned.
she was terrified.
He bit back a sigh, wondering what the hell was going
on in her life, wishing he could just walk away, and knowing he wouldn't. He
reached out and gently laid a hand on her shoulder, surprised when she jumped
as if he'd pulled a gun on her. He dropped his hand. "Are you okay?"
"Sure. Fine." She stepped away from him.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"The letter—from your landlord." He caught a
flicker in the depths of her dark eyes. "He isn't harassing you about this
noise complaint, is he?"
"No." She shook her head. "
He wanted to press, but she had already taken the
carafe from the coffeemaker and crossed to the sink to fill it with water.
Instead he leaned back against the counter and watched her, and he almost
forgot the multitude of unanswered questions niggling at the back of his mind.
She was a pleasure to watch: tall and slender, with
subtle curves in all the right places. She emptied the water into the reservoir,
then replaced the carafe, and he felt his mouth go dry as she reached for the
buttons that ran down the front of her jacket. She was wearing a blouse
underneath, but still, watching her unfasten those buttons, slide her arms out
of the sleeves, seemed so … intimate. She tossed the jacket over the back of a
chair and turned to the refrigerator.
Shaun swallowed and tried not to notice the way the
silky fabric of her blouse molded to the curve of her breasts. Then she opened
the fridge and bent at the knees, her black skirt stretching enticingly over
the smooth curve of her shapely buttocks as she reached for the tin of coffee.
He tore his gaze away.
What was wrong with him? This was
family.
She was also a woman. An incredibly attractive woman.
Although he'd never been blind to her attributes, the attraction had never
before hit him in the same way. It had been a while since he'd felt more than
the most basic stirring of desire, and this sudden and fierce attraction
concerned him.
Why had he even suggested coming up to her apartment?
Why couldn't he have taken her less-than-subtle hint that she wanted to be
alone?
Because it was Friday night and
he
didn't want
to be alone.
He also didn't want to be hanging out at a smoky bar with
the usual crowd, trying to seem duly enthralled with Sarah Jones, a court clerk
he'd dated a few times last year. He was tired of the bar scene, weary of the
dating game. Which was why he'd practically leaped at the opportunity to have
dinner with
He felt comfortable with her. And because he wasn't trying to get her into his
bed, he didn't have to impress her. He didn't have to pretend.
But if he really wasn't interested in
difficult to tear his eyes from her? Why was he unable to stop imagining the
subtle curves hidden beneath her tidy little suit?
In the interests of self-preservation, he moved away
from her, stepping out of the kitchen to survey the modest apartment.
The living room walls were off-white in color and
completely bare. No artwork or photos marred the pristine surface. The
furniture was deep blue: a plush sofa and two matching chairs that were covered
in some
suedelike
fabric. In front of the sofa was a
dark wood coffee table polished to a high gloss. A matching entertainment unit
sat against the opposite wall, containing a small television, a VCR and a
portable stereo.
There was a short bookcase beside the front door with
two framed photos on top of it. Shaun stepped closer. One frame held Nikki and
Colin's wedding picture, the other, their daughter,
Carly's
,
most recent school photo. There were no other mementos or knickknacks around
the room. No magazines tossed on the coffee table, no decorative cushions on
the sofa, no fancy lamps or little glass dishes. There were no plants or
flowers, no signs of life. In fact, there was nothing in the room—save those
two photos—that wasn't useful or necessary.
Even the books on the shelves, arranged in
alphabetical order, were legal texts. The room was very much a reflection of
its tenant, he realized. Practical, efficient, ruthlessly organized. A
beautiful façade, offering no hint of anything inside. The realization
frustrated him, as did his sudden curiosity about a woman he'd known for so
long. Except that he didn't really know her at all.
He glanced in the direction of the dining room. At
least, he assumed it was the dining room. It was hard to tell as the room was
bare of furniture except for the packing boxes stacked four and five high
against the back wall.
Beyond the dining room was a short hallway, probably
leading to
bedroom. He turned away. The last thing he needed to think about was where she
slept. What she slept in.
He moved back to the kitchen.
There were no dirty dishes in the sink, no crumbs on
the countertop. Just the coffeemaker, currently bubbling away, and a microwave.
Curious, he peeked over her shoulder as she opened the refrigerator again. She
put the can of coffee inside and pulled out a carton of milk. Other than those
two items, there were half a dozen containers of yogurt, a couple of cans of
diet cola and a half-empty bottle of white wine. That was it. He frowned. No
wonder her kitchen was spotless—she didn't eat here.
As she closed the door again, he noticed the flutter
of a small newspaper clipping that had been taped to the outside. It was the
obituary of Denise Hemingway, age twenty-nine, and her four year-old son,
Brian. He remembered reading about them in the paper, how they'd both been
killed by Eric Hemingway—Denise's husband, Brian's father—before he'd turned
the gun on himself.
It was hard to miss the story. Things like that might
be commonplace in bigger cities, but in small-town
domestic slayings were a rare occurrence and, consequently, front-page news.
The victim, he realized, must have been
He scanned further, noted that the funeral was …
today.
Finally the pieces clicked into place and confirmed
his earlier suspicions about
She wasn't cool or detached. She was a woman who cared about her clients, and
cared deeply. Not only had she taken the time to go to the funeral, she'd shed
deep, grief-filled tears for the mother and son who had lost their lives so
tragically.
"How do you take your coffee?"
"Black."
She filled the two mugs and handed one to him, then
added a splash of milk to the other.
"Denise Hemingway," he said, and saw her
back stiffen.
She set the milk carton down before turning to face
him. "What about her?" Her eyes were stark, almost empty, her voice
the same. But he knew now that it was a mask, that her emotions ran deep.
"She was your client?" he prompted.
"That's where you were earlier today," he
guessed.
She nodded again. "Yes."
She didn't ask for his compassion, but he felt
compelled to offer it. He set his mug on the counter and moved toward her,
breaching the few-foot gap that separated them to take her in his arms. She
resisted at first, her back straight, her shoulders stiff. But he continued to hold
her, running his hand down her back, his fingers roaming over the silky fabric
of her blouse.
Would her skin be as soft? He chastised himself for
the wayward thought. He was supposed to be offering her comfort, not
speculating about the feel of her naked skin beneath his hands.
She didn't cry again, but she finally let out a long,
shuddering breath and relaxed against him.
"She came to me for help,"
dejected. "She was counting on me, and I let her down."
"You did everything you could for her," he
said, knowing it was true, and knowing she would find no comfort in that fact.
* * *
arms. She didn't want to talk about Denise and Brian, she didn't even want to
think about them right now. When Shaun went home, when she went to bed, she'd
think about them then. She wouldn't be able to stop. Nor would she be able to
stop the nightmares that plagued her sleep.
"Why don't we take our coffee into the living
room?" she suggested.
"Okay," Shaun agreed.
She was grateful that he didn't ask any more questions
or try to appease her with useless words or platitudes. Nothing anyone could
say or do could make up for what had happened.
She moved over to the sofa and curled up in her usual
spot at one end, then wished she'd chosen a chair when he sat down beside her.
She wasn't sure why she was so unnerved by his presence today. She'd spent a
fair amount of time in his company over the past few years. When
cousin, Nikki, and Nikki's daughter,
Carly
, Shaun had
visited often to spend tune with his former sister-in-law and his niece. Maybe
that was the difference. It was just the two of them tonight, and being alone
with him felt strange to
"This is great coffee," Shaun said.
with everyone, but I figure you earned it. Putting up with me this afternoon,
buying me dinner."
"It was my pleasure."
She managed a smile. "I doubt it, but
thanks."
"That's what friends are for," he said
easily.
She propped her feet up on the coffee table, crossing
them at the ankles as she settled back against the cushions. "I don't need
anyone to take care of me, McIver."
"Did I suggest you did?"
"No, but I think your sudden offer of friendship
was inspired by the fact that I cried on your shoulder. Believe me, it was a
one-time thing."
"That's too bad," he said. "I thought
it was a pretty good excuse to hold you in my arms."