Nowhere to Hide (11 page)

*****

Colleen glanced downward, away from Graham’s compelling blue eyes. Her knee was barely in contact, and she left it where it was for the time being. “Afraid?”

“
Just looking out for the next generation of Harrigans.”

“
I know the difference between sparring and fighting. Your future progeny have nothing to worry about.”

He took her wrists and levered her away, and she stood. He raised himself to a sitting position. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

She was loose now, and she lowered herself to the mat next to Graham, tucked her knees to her chest. “ I took some Tae Kwon Do classes.”

Graham frowned. “You have a lot more moves than they teach in martial arts classes.”

“
I’ve got three older brothers, remember?”

“
You don’t have to hide from me, Colleen.”

Maybe she didn’t. Maybe he’d opened a crack. “Mac,” she said. “That’s what they called me at work.”

“
Okay, Mac. You feeling better?”

“
Yeah.” She smiled. “I think so. Thanks. How did you know? To bring me here, I mean.”

“
Physical activity always burns off stress. Foolproof.”

She doubted this was the kind of physical activity he’d had in mind when he’d stopped by her apartment. He placed his hands at her shoulders and gently massaged her neck. Slowly, he increased the pressure, and she almost melted. The confusion she’d felt when he’d arrived at her door returned like a swarm of hornets, and something tightened inside her chest. His fingers moved across her shoulders. His warm breath tickled the side of her neck, and she jerked up, ramming her head into what must have been his nose.

“
Shit,” he said and turned away.

“
Oh, God. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Are you bleeding?”

He turned to face her and pulled his hand away from his nose. “No. No blood. I’m all right. Took me by surprise.” He smiled. “Not that different from what you’ve been doing to me all night.”

She felt herself blushing. “I can’t seem to figure out how I feel.”

“
You’ve had a rough day. What if we just talk?”

“
You’re back to your Celt stuff, aren’t you?”

“
Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

She wished she knew. Feeling comfortable would be nice. “You said something about making CID this afternoon. Congratulations.”

“
A little premature. The office has ninety-day cross-training. Kind of a testing of the waters for both sides. I qualified, but there are two of us pretty much equal at the top of the list. The next ninety days give me a chance to prove myself.”

“
I’m sure you will. From what I can tell, you’d be a good detective. I hope you don’t die on the list before a slot opens.”

As soon as she uttered the words, she realized she’d been talking like a cop. She forced herself to keep her gaze steady.

Graham stared past her and when his focus returned, his eyes had deepened to midnight. “When were you going to tell me?”

Her heart pounded, and she knew he knew. Thought she might even be relieved. “Tell you what?”

“
Colleen. No, Mac. You’re right, Mac suits you. You were a cop.”

“
You said you wouldn’t check on me.”

“
I didn’t. I can’t even say exactly when I knew. Maybe the way you went through your apartment, maybe the way you moved tonight. Or started talking like a cop. Or the way you seem to come to attention when you get irritated with me. Which, I may add, seems to be way too often.” He smiled. “There. Like now. You’re two inches taller, even sitting down.”

She realized he was right and slouched again. “Better, Deputy?” She almost stopped breathing as she waited for him to ask her why she’d left the force.

“
Much. But I think maybe it’s time to take you home. You’ve had quite a day and I need to map out my plan of action for Schaeffer.” He stood and offered his hand.

With a sigh, she took it, and when he’d pulled her to her feet, she didn’t let go. His hands were warm and strong, his eyes were gentle, and she was so tired of hiding. Something unraveled inside, and she let her fingers entwine with his and tilted her head up. He closed the short distance between them, and she pressed her lips to his, forcing his mouth open, probing with her tongue, needing him to fill an emptiness she hadn’t been aware of. She tasted the sweat-salt on his lips, heard his breathing quicken, felt the heat spreading to places inside her that hadn’t felt heat in far too long. Her knees grew weak, and she leaned into him. Felt his arousal. Felt him push her away.

“
What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?” she asked. She couldn’t have misread him.

“
Sweet Jesus, no.” His voice was hoarse. “But—” He tilted his head to a corner near the ceiling. Colleen followed his gaze and stood in numb shock.

“
A security camera. Why didn’t you say something?” Damn it, why hadn’t she noticed? She was getting sloppy. New fury started to bubble up inside. She’d dropped her guard for one second and it was “Smile, You’re on Candid Camera.”

“
I was a little too caught up in the moment to remember right away. Besides, Manny’s the epitome of discretion. He won’t say anything.”

“
So you’ve done this before?” She stomped over to the side of the room and pulled on her sweatshirt. “How many women has the Graham Cracker Man seduced on the mats in the gym?”

“
Colleen, wait…”

She yanked on her socks and laced up her sneakers. “Take me home.”

“
It’s not like that.”

“
Now.”

“
Colleen, listen to me.” He stuck his gun into his jeans, picked up his socks and started shoving bare feet into his shoes.

She pushed the door open. Striding down the hall, she was aware of his step-hopping as he tried to follow with his shoes half on, but she wouldn’t slow down. At the front counter, Manny glanced up, then made a point of studying a notebook when she walked by. Graham caught up with her and pushed the exit door open for her. She slid past him, yanked the band from her ponytail and shook out her hair as she walked to his Jeep. He unlocked the door, she climbed in, buckled up and folded her arms across her chest.

McDonalds didn’t cry.

“
Colleen. Mac. It’s not what you think.”

“
Shut up, Harrigan. Just shut up. I don’t want to think.”

She clicked her belt off as soon as he turned into the driveway and hopped out of the car almost before it stopped. When she had her apartment door unlocked, she turned to see him still sitting in the car, engine running. She let herself in, closed the door, and secured the deadbolt. After she turned on the lamp, she heard the Jeep backing out of the driveway. Good riddance.

Almost without thinking, she put the kettle on for some tea, powered on her computer and took a quick shower, trying not to think about what had happened. How close she’d come to opening up all the way, letting him in. Becoming another in an undoubtedly long list of conquests. Well, even if he went back to the gym, there wasn’t much for him and Manny to see. One kiss. The memory was still fresh, and the warmth spreading through her did nothing but make her seethe.

No. Now was not the time to think about what had happened. Screw Harrigan, screw his damn blue eyes and his stupid Celt to Celt crap. Maybe she’d solve his damn case for him. Show him she was the better cop.

Graham drove away, barely aware of where he was going. His gut churned and he forced himself to pay attention to traffic. That’s all he’d need—getting pulled over on top of everything else he’d screwed up today. At his townhouse apartment complex, he parked the Jeep next to his cruiser and sat behind the wheel while he tried to sort out his thoughts. Colleen had been wrong about him. So why hadn’t he insisted she listen to him? Was she pissed at him, or the camera? After giving the steering wheel three good thwacks, he turned off the ignition and forced himself to walk at a civilized pace up the sidewalk to his apartment.

Inside, he dug for the television remote amid the pile of motorcycle magazines on the coffee table. He flipped to ESPN, poured a whiskey, and set it next to the newest issue of
Gourmet
, then peeled off his clothes on the way upstairs to shower.

When he stepped under the needle-sharp spray, his head cleared. He’d screwed up with Colleen and he realized for the first time since his puppy love days in high school, he actually cared. Shampoo dripped into his eyes and he grabbed a washcloth to rinse away the sting. Too bad he couldn’t rinse out the stinging in his gut too.

Graham toweled off, dug some cotton drawstring pants and an old Orlando Magic sweatshirt out of a pile of clean but unfolded laundry, went downstairs, and flopped on the couch. Swallowing the whiskey, he felt the heat course through him as it worked its way down his throat. He poured a second drink and scanned a recipe for grilled salmon before he picked up the remote. He thumbed through the channels, trying to decide whether to call and apologize. No. She’d stormed off without giving him a chance to explain how wrong she’d been about being one in a long line of gymnasium seductions.

First, his liaisons weren’t
seductions
. Not a chance. His partners were willing participants. Second, they were the sort who wouldn’t be caught dead sparring. If they exercised, they took step classes at the ritzy health clubs; they didn’t allow themselves to be thrown around on a mat. He refused to acknowledge Colleen might have been half-right about him. He wanted her, true, but not for a quick lay. He could imagine her reaction if he said, “You’re not like the others.” But damn, she wasn’t. He downed half the drink and clunked the glass onto the table.

Maybe he should forget Colleen. She obviously had a lot of baggage and didn’t want to share the load. But she almost had, damn it. He had sensed it when she’d admitted to being a cop.
Screw it
. What he needed right now was a little mattress mambo. He reached for the phone on the end table. Courtney? No. Stephanie. She worked late. She wouldn’t mind a ten o’clock booty call. The phone rang twice before he broke the connection.

What kind of a jerk was he? First class. Telling himself Colleen was wrong about his motives and what’s the first thing he does? Starts to prove her right. Shit.

He had a job to do and damn, he was going to do it and do it right, starting with a little extra effort. Show Schaeffer he wasn’t a womanizing clock-milker like Proctor.

It was too late to make any work calls tonight, but he could sure as hell be ready to go first thing in the morning. He studied the names on the printout Erica had given him. Most were unfamiliar, but the few he recognized represented money. One hell of a lot of money. His eyes stopped at Kimberly’s name, and he went down the list and found Doris there as well. Okay, maybe the family got a courtesy invite to a high-end reception. Or had they been donors? What would it take to find out how much money they’d raised that night and who’d done the donating? Erica might be able to ferret it out. For the first time, he noticed the top of the page. He’d barely glanced at the heading, but now he attached a name to the project. Crystal Shores. That should give him something more to search for. He went to his computer and began an Internet search. He could probably do more from the office, but the whiskey meant he wasn’t getting behind the wheel again tonight.

Nothing on any Crystal Shores project in Florida. Stuart Gravely Enterprises got a few hits, and he clicked to their website. Not much there. Some promos about a retirement community in the California desert, a list of other developments with no active links, a form to submit if you wanted to become an investor—yeah, right, but Graham bet there were folks who would bite—an e-mail contact form and a telephone number. He pushed the mouse aside. Tomorrow he could get into the databases he’d need.

He took a stack of index cards from his desk and started putting names and facts on each one. Soon, he had a pile for Jeffrey, one for Doris, others for Stuart Gravely and Kimberly Simon, Frank Townsend and one for Crystal Shores.

With some highlighters, he color coded the cards for people and events. Not a lot yet, but he vowed by end of shift tomorrow, he’d have three times as many cards and a lot more notes on his legal pad. Kimberly lived in Ocala, and Townsend lived in Gainesville. He wondered if the office would authorize in-person visits. He should be able to call on both in a day, which would minimize travel.

Nearly midnight. He pressed his fingertips against his eyelids and yawned. Satisfied with a productive night’s efforts, he arranged the cards in a neat stack and twisted to work out the kinks in his spine. As he moved to the bedroom, he noticed the beginnings of the aches he’d feel tomorrow. And Colleen’s face, her green eyes narrowed to slits, her flush of anger, returned, along with a coiling in his gut.

At five, Graham gave up on sleep and made his way to the shower. Fitful periods of dozing broken up by dreams that ranged from erotic fantasies to heart-pounding nightmares had left him groggy. He definitely felt the aftereffects of last night’s workout. The hot water eased some of the soreness, but he popped some ibuprofen with a glass of orange juice. The note on the fridge with “coffee” underlined three times in red marker didn’t lighten his mood. Ever the optimist, he peeked into the canister in case the coffee fairy had replenished his supply. Not surprised to see it empty, he finished dressing and headed for Starbucks before going into the station, making a mental note to get a pound of French roast along with his espresso.

Double espresso in hand, tongue tingling from trying to gulp the scalding liquid, he made his way through the station to a desk with a vacant computer terminal. The caffeine hadn’t kicked in yet, and he made no effort to hide a yawn.