The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming) (11 page)

Travis clicked off, telling himself he was doing as much as he could. But Carol Schoenberg would give Hank the perfect opening to pay Bryce Wayland a visit. And Travis was dying to go along.

However, that just wasn’t an option. Aside from anything else, now that he was involved with Celeste he absolutely had to stay in the background.

He glanced at her, thinking
involved
wasn’t actually the right word. It was where he’d figured they’d been heading, but since she’d laid down her ground rules he wasn’t sure.

All he knew was that wherever they
did
go from here would be up to her. Regardless of the way he felt about her, he had no intention of kissing her again. If there was going to be a next move, it would have to be hers.

“Will Hank call her right away?” she asked.

“I’ll bet he’s already talking to her. And driving toward Bryce’s at the same time. So if he
did
kill Donna—”

“Travis, I was telling her mother the truth. He’s not a violent man. I mean, I’ve reached the stage of accepting that he might be behind the contract. But only because we can’t think of who else it could be. And the idea of him actually killing Donna...”

Travis was tempted to point out that if Bryce had murdered Steve it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he’d killed Donna, as well. He kept quiet, though, assuming she’d put that together for herself.

She did. Almost immediately.

“Yet there has to be
some
explanation for her disappearance,” she continued slowly. “And if it
was
him who shot Steve, and Donna knew about it... Why on earth would he tell her, though?”

“I doubt he would have. But when you live with someone... It could have been as simple as her noticing blood on his clothes and getting the truth out of him.

“And once she knew what he’d done... The next time they have a major fight she threatens to tell. So he kills her. If he’s already committed one murder, he’s got more to lose by letting her talk than by getting rid of her.”

After a few moments of silence, Celeste murmured, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to think your husband—estranged or not—might be a murderer?”

“I can imagine,” he said softly.

It was obviously a very unsettling thought. Unsettling enough, no doubt, to make her seriously wonder about her judgment in men. So maybe he shouldn’t be taking her rejection quite so personally.

But he found it impossible not to.

“Celeste?” he said after another silence. “Ever since we learned about that contract, the prospect of your going to the service for your brother has been worrying me. And now, with Mrs. Schoenberg saying Bryce will be there...”

She gazed at him for a minute, then said, “If Bryce is behind the contract, he isn’t intending to kill me himself.”

“No, but...”

“You’re thinking the Ice Man might be there?”

“I’m just thinking we don’t want to take the slightest chance.”

“But you said a hit man never chooses a public place. A place where there’d be witnesses.”

“Yeah, I did.” And it was true. Usually.

Now that she was staying here, though, the Ice Man wouldn’t know where to find her. So what if he figured the service could be his only chance at her—and decided to risk a public place?

“Travis, I can’t
not
go.”

He’d been certain she’d say that, which was why he hadn’t bothered raising the issue before this. But being right didn’t make him any happier.

“Then maybe you could stay out of sight,” he suggested. “There’s probably some sort of special room for the family, or—”

“No,” she interrupted. “Even though Steve and I weren’t close, he was my brother. And I’ve got to be there for him.”

“Celeste...”

She shook her head. “Not showing my face just isn’t something I could do. I’d never be able to come to terms with it. Besides, you told me homicide detectives would be checking out the mourners. This Ice Man will realize that, won’t he? And that will
ensure
he stays away.”

“Probably,” he admitted. But he wasn’t going to let this drop until they’d reached some sort of compromise.

“You intend to go with your aunt?” he said.

“Yes. And my cousins. The funeral people said they’d send a car to pick them up, then come by my place.”

“Instead of that, how about going with Hank?”

“My aunt would think it was awfully strange. A man I’ve never even mentioned before.”

“We can come up with an explanation. That it’s standard procedure in a murder case. Or that you knew him long before he was assigned the case. Deciding on something believable won’t be a problem.”

“Then I guess it would make sense to have him with me.”

“Good, because as much as I’d like it to be
me
with you, I just—”

“I know. You explained before. You’d be in hot water if—”

“No, it isn’t that anymore. That was only when you were a suspect.”

“Then...?”

“Nobody except Hank knows you’re staying with me, and we want to keep it that way. So it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to be sitting right beside you. Just in case.”

Celeste gazed at him for a long moment, then said, “You’re not one hundred percent sure the Ice Man won’t be there, are you?”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure. But why take any chances.”

Especially when they were talking about her life.

* * *

B
Y
TEN
O
’
CLOCK
, Celeste was willing the phone to ring. Either of the phones, just as long as Hank was the one calling.

At Travis’s suggestion, she’d rechecked her answering machine an hour ago. And sure enough, there’d been a second message from Donna’s mother—thanking her for having Detective Ballantyne phone and telling her that he’d promised to pay Bryce a visit tonight.

But Hank hadn’t gotten back to them yet, and she was dying to know where things stood.

If it
was
Bryce who wanted her dead, the sooner they were sure of that the better. Then Travis could make him call off the contract and she’d be able to get on with her life.

Her glance flickered to her own personal detective, and she couldn’t help wondering what would happen to
them
after this was over. She’d hurt his feelings last night, maybe badly enough to make him reevaluate his—

“The news or an old episode of
Frasier?
” he said as a newscast began.

“The news is fine,” she told him.

“You don’t think Snoops would rather watch Eddie?”

She smiled. “If Eddie were a bird, he’d be all for it. But he doesn’t like dogs.”

“No?”

“Uh-uh. It’s a genetic thing.”

“That true?” he asked Snoops.

His question made her smile again.

Whereas Bryce had barely tolerated Snoops, Travis and the cat were already developing a rapport. They’d even reached a compromise in their battle for the recliner. Travis had possession, but Snoops was curled up on his lap.

She watched them for a minute, remembering how, last night,
she’d
been curled up with him. Right here on this couch.

Not tonight, though. After they’d eaten dinner and done the dishes, he’d headed straight for the chair.

But what had she expected? She’d told him she wanted to put things between them on hold, and he’d clearly taken that to heart.

The problem was, she kept suspecting she’d made a mistake. Because every time she looked at him she had trouble thinking of anything except how warm and safe she’d felt in his arms. And how his kiss had left her longing for more.

She was unsuccessfully trying to refocus her thoughts when the phone finally rang. The sound made her jump.

Travis answered, then said, “Sure, see you in a minute.

“Hank,” he told her, clicking off. “He’s practically here, so I’ll go let him in.”

Snoops meowed a protest at being deposited on the floor, then leaped back onto the recliner the instant Travis started for the door.

In only a couple of minutes he was back, Hank on his heels.

As they sat down, Travis in the chair once more, Hank next to her on the couch, Travis said, “So what’s the story? Is Bryce our guy?”

“Hard to say,” Hank told him. “Once he recovered from the shock of a detective showing up at his door, he was pretty cool. The only serious reaction I got was when I told him Donna’s mother had called the police—and suggested he’d murdered her. That really browned him off.”

“But it would have whether he’s guilty or not,” Travis said.

“Does he know it was
me
who suggested you talk to Mrs. Schoenberg?” Celeste asked.

“Uh-uh. I just said she’d called us and I’d ended up talking to her.”

That didn’t mean, however, that Bryce wouldn’t eventually hear about her involvement. And if he did, he sure wouldn’t be happy. But that was nowhere near the top of her “things to worry about” list.

“Did you tell him you were Homicide?” Travis was asking.

Hank grinned. “I just said NYPD detective. Thought I’d save the homicide bit for next time.

“At any rate, he gave me the same version of what happened as he gave Mrs. Schoenberg. He and Donna had a fight. He said he wanted her gone by the time he got home from work today and she was. End of story.”

“Did you ask if she’d taken her things?”

Hank nodded. “He said she hadn’t. In fact, he didn’t say anything that I knew was a lie. But he didn’t volunteer anything, either, and when I hit him with the bit about the apartment having been a disaster he got pretty perturbed. He’d straightened everything up, and nobody’d told him that Mrs. Schoenberg had been there.

“But he swore the apartment was fine when he left for his office this morning—that throwing things around was just Donna’s way of expressing her anger before she left.”

“Did he have any idea where she might be?” Celeste asked.

“Not that he was telling me. His theory was that she’s simply dropped out of sight to get people worried. Make it look as if he might have driven her to suicide or something. He basically said she’s a fruitcake, so nothing she did would surprise him.

“Do you know if she actually is nutsy?” he added to Celeste.

She shook her head. “But if she is, Bryce couldn’t have realized it until after she moved in with him. He’s not a fool.”

Travis and Hank exchanged a glance she couldn’t read, then Travis said, “Where are you going from here?”

“Well, unless Donna turns up, her mother will file a missing person’s tomorrow. So there’s a chance we could get a warrant to search his apartment.”

“Not
much
of a chance.”

“Why not?” Celeste asked.

“Because women are always having fights with their boyfriends, then disappearing,” Travis explained. “And they normally turn up safe and sound. Which means it’s unlikely any judge would issue a warrant to search the apartment of a respectable citizen—a lawyer yet—just because Donna’s mother is worried about her.”

When she turned to Hank, he nodded his agreement. Then, before she could ask anything more, Travis’s cell began ringing.

“Quinn,” he answered.

After a brief pause, he said, “Yes, Mr. Reese, of course I remember you.”

Reese? Evan Reese?
She glanced at her watch, wondering what on earth the man wanted at all, let alone this late at night.

Then she looked at Travis once more, as he said, “A favor? What sort of favor?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Thursday, October 7, 10:52 p.m.

T
RAVIS
WAITED
FOR
Evan Reese to elaborate, wondering what he was up to and wishing he could put the man on speakerphone so Celeste and Hank could listen in.

Saying they were curious would be a distinct understatement. They were leaning far enough forward on the couch that they were at risk of tipping off.

“It involves Celeste Langley,” Reese finally announced.

That was
not
something Travis wanted to hear. He exhaled slowly, then looked meaningfully over at the others and said, “A favor involving Celeste Langley?”

The words were barely out before he regretted them. They’d clearly heightened Celeste’s anxiety level—so much so that he decided he wouldn’t try to fill in any more blanks until after the call was finished.

“Yes, I need to talk to her,” Reese was saying. “But every time I’ve phoned I’ve gotten her machine.”

Travis fumed. Both he and Hank had made it clear that Reese wasn’t to contact Celeste again, yet the guy couldn’t care less.

“I think she’s home but screening her calls,” Reese continued. “She’ll pick up for
you,
though, won’t she?”

When Travis simply let that pass, Reese said, “I never leave messages on machines. It’s a matter of principle. So I’ve been sitting here looking at your card, and thinking that if you wouldn’t mind just asking her to phone me...”

“Mr. Reese, the last I heard, Ms. Langley didn’t want to—”

“No, you don’t understand. I’ve learned something about her brother’s death. Something very important.”

Travis could feel adrenaline racing through his veins.

He doubted Reese had learned anything that Hank and the rest of the detectives weren’t already on top of. But it was conceivable that all along he’d known something they didn’t.

Even though he had an airtight alibi for the evening Steve Parker was murdered, that didn’t rule out the possibility he’d played a role in the killing.

“Something very important,” Travis repeated evenly. “In that case, you should be talking to Detective Ballantyne. He’s in charge of the case, so why don’t I have
him
call you, and—”

“No. I’m not going to discuss it with anyone except Celeste. Not initially. After I’ve talked to her, I’ll be ready for Ballantyne. But I’ve got to talk to her first.”

“Why?”

“Because I want her to know it’s
me
who’s giving you people her brother’s murderer.”

“Mr. Reese, you have my word that she’ll know you’re helping.”

“I’m talking about more than
helping,
” he snapped. “Didn’t you hear me? I can give you the murderer.”

“Well, that’s absolutely terrific. But having you talk to her first just isn’t the way we work. So—”

“I talk to her first or I don’t talk to anyone. Your decision.” With that, he hung up.

“What?” Hank said the instant Travis clicked off.

“He says he knows who killed Steve Parker. But he wants to tell Celeste before he’ll talk to you. He wants her to call him.”

“You have his number?” she asked.

“Wait a minute. Let’s not forget this guy’s a nut bar. He might not know a thing.”

“On the other hand, he might,” Hank said. “And there’s only one way to find out. I’ve got his number right here,” he added, digging his notebook from his pocket.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Travis muttered.

But that hardly meant he liked the idea of Celeste phoning Reese. Both times she’d spoken to him before, he’d scared the devil out of her.

“Let’s wait until morning,” he suggested. “We don’t want to seem too eager about giving in to him.”

“We don’t want him having time to change his mind, either,” Hank pointed out.

“Yeah...well...okay, but we’ll do the conference call routine again.”

Once they had their two cell phones and the apartment’s line linked, Hank punched in the numbers that would add Reese to the mix.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Travis asked Celeste.

She nodded, although she looked awfully nervous.

When Reese answered on the first ring, an image of a vulture hovering over a phone popped into Travis’s mind.

“Mr. Reese, it’s Celeste Langley,” she said. “Detective Quinn just called and asked me to phone you. I hope it’s not too late.”

“No, not at all. I’m a night owl.”

Or a night vulture, as the case may be.

Reese said nothing more, so Hank gestured for Celeste to pick up the ball.

“Detective Quinn said you wanted to talk to me about my brother’s case,” she prompted.

“Yes, I do. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

She shot Travis an anxious glance; he firmly shook his head. There was no way she was getting together with that weirdo.

“I was thinking Joe Allen. On Forty-sixth. You know? Near Eighth?”

“Ah...well, yes, I know where it is, but I got the impression that you only wanted to talk on the phone.”

“No. Detective Quinn must have misunderstood.”

“I guess he must have. But I’m afraid I’m not up to socializing. I’m still feeling pretty shaky about the murder, and—”

“I understand. This won’t be socializing, though. And it really isn’t something we can discuss over the phone.”

“But—”

“Celeste, I know who killed your brother. And I want to see your face when I tell you.”

She looked at Travis once more, a question in her eyes.

He mouthed,
I’m not sure.
Reese was probably lying. But possibly, he wasn’t.

“Well...that’s wonderful. Your knowing, I mean. It’ll be such a relief when the case is closed. Still, I think it would be more appropriate for—”

“Joe Allen. Tomorrow at one. I’ve already made the reservation,” Reese added. Then the connection was broken.

“Call him back,” Travis told her. “Tell him you won’t be there and see if you can—”

“Hey,” Hank interrupted. “Let’s not be too hasty. None of us wants her face-to-face with Reese, but what if he really
does
know who our perp is?”

“I’ll go,” Celeste said. “Hank’s right. I have to. He might really know.”

“But...” Travis eyed her for a minute, then simply shook his head and didn’t bother with the rest.

Her expression said he could argue against her decision till one tomorrow afternoon without changing her mind.

* * *

B
EING
ON
LEAVE
, and not exactly in the CO’s good books, Travis wasn’t about to go anywhere near Manhattan North Homicide. But he’d wanted a couple of things, so he’d asked Hank to pick them up.

Hank dropped them off a little after eleven in the morning, which left plenty of time.

“Everything else organized?” Travis asked, reaching for the bag.

“Uh-huh. A couple of our guys will be having lunch in the restaurant. Two more will be in a car near the entrance. And I’m putting a uniform in the alley out back.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Hey, no thanks necessary. I don’t want anything happening to her, either. But Reese isn’t likely to try much in a restaurant. You know that. And with any luck he
can
tell us who killed Parker.”

“Yeah, maybe he can,” Travis agreed, although he really doubted it. The idea of him handing them their perp seemed just too improbable.

“I’ll stop by again later,” Hank said as they walked over to where he’d double-parked. “I want to hear the details firsthand.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Travis waited until Hank had climbed into his car, before starting back to the apartment. When he got there, Celeste glanced curiously at the bag.

“Just a couple of things for your meeting with Reese,” he said.

She eyed him for a minute, then said, “You’re really worried about it, aren’t you.”

Admitting she was right would only make
her
more anxious, so he merely said, “I just don’t want to take any chances, and we’re not going to. For starters, you won’t be meeting him at
his
location. I’ll be the one at Joe Allen. I’ll bring him to you.”

“And I’ll be...?”

“Down the block at another restaurant called Zia’s.”

“What if he doesn’t go for the change of venue?”

“Then he doesn’t get to talk to you.”

“But—”

“Celeste, I’m not letting him have control. And if that means he takes a hike, then we do without whatever he has to say. But if he plays along, we want a place where keeping you under surveillance will be easy.”

“Surveillance?”

“Yeah, we’ll have some of our people at Zia’s. It’s small. Easy to see who’s doing what.”

“Travis...do you actually think Reese might...” She paused, glancing over to where his gun was sitting.

“You won’t need a gun,” he told her. And surely that was true.

As Hank had said, even a nut bar like Reese wouldn’t likely try much in a restaurant. And if he did, their fellows would take care of him. Fast.

Besides, Celeste had never used a gun. If she tried to, she’d be lucky to remember half of what he’d shown her the other night. And he knew of more than one instance where someone inexperienced had ended up with his gun being used against him.

“You’ll be wearing a wire,” he continued. “So if there’s any trouble, I’ll hear it the moment it starts.”

“A wire,” she repeated, looking surprised. And uneasy.

“It’s just another precaution,” he told her. “As I said, we’re not taking any chances. So let’s get the transmitter taped to you.”

“You mean taped to my skin?”

When he nodded, she said, “Isn’t there some other way?”

“Uh-uh. If it can shift around we either get static or lose the sound entirely.”

She said nothing more, so he took the mike and a roll of tape from the bag and hunkered down in front of her, swallowing hard as he inhaled her perfume.

“Okay,” he said as nonchalantly as he could. “If you just pull your sweater up a few inches...”

She did, revealing an expanse of creamy skin.

Swallowing hard again, he ripped a length of tape from the role.

“That’s going to hurt when it comes off, isn’t it,” she murmured.

He looked up. “Yeah, ’fraid so. But it won’t be too bad.”

“No, I know. I’m just a chicken. I’ve always had sort of a...thing about pulling off tape. Even a tiny bandage. I realize it’s childish, but...”

When she substituted a little shrug in place of the rest of her explanation, he almost asked if she thought she could manage this job herself. But he had to be sure it was done right, so he reached for the transmitter and rested it against her chest.

Her skin felt as warm and smooth as sun-drenched silk; he had an almost overwhelming urge to caress it. Somehow, he forced himself to resist.

He secured the top of the device with the strip of tape, trying not to breathe in any more of her perfume.

“Hold that in place while I get another piece,” he said.

After ripping off a second length of tape, he fixed the bottom of the transmitter to her rib cage.

“That’s got it,” he said, standing up. “Now, all you have to do is clip the mike to your bra. About the center would be good.”

He didn’t watch her fiddle under her sweater with the mike. Instead, he stared straight at the wall and took four times as long as necessary to tuck the receiver into his ear.

“Okay, we’ll do a final volume-level test when you’re ready to go,” he said at last. “But right now I just want to make sure everything’s working okay.

“I’ll go out into the hall and close the door. And you start speaking quietly. The way you would sitting in a restaurant.”

“Where will you be then? When I’m actually in the restaurant, I mean.”

“I’ll have to scope things out once we get there, but probably in the alley. On the street, the noise of the traffic could be a problem.”

“Right,” Celeste murmured, not taking her eyes off him as he turned and started for the door.

She had a suspicion that even if she tried to it would prove impossible.

She’d barely been able to breathe while he’d taped on the transmitter, barely been able to keep her hands from cradling his face and drawing him to his feet...from drawing his mouth to hers.

Knowing how expert his kisses were, how good they made her feel, she’d had to muster all the determination she could to keep her cool.

Cool?
She slowly shook her head as the word echoed in her mind. There was absolutely nothing cool about her when she was as close to Travis Quinn as she’d just been.

The voice of common sense that kept warning her not to rush into anything, to wait and see how she felt about him after this was all over, was becoming so faint she could barely hear it over the sound of her heartbeat.

* * *

T
RAVIS
LEFT
Celeste sitting at a table in Zia’s and started down the block toward Joe Allen—telling himself, once again, that she’d be fine.

He’d seen the detectives parked outside, watching the street. And the ones inside, who’d be keeping a close eye on her.

Yes, his listening in on her conversation was going to be blatant overkill. But he just didn’t want to take the slightest risk. If anything happened to her...

“Nothing will,” he said under his breath.

He reached Joe Allen at a quarter to one, checked with the maître d’ to make sure Reese hadn’t arrived early, then waited outside the restaurant.

At five to, a taxi pulled up and Reese climbed out. The moment Travis spotted him, his gut tightened. If Reese did
anything
to try to harm Celeste, he’d kill him.

“Mr. Reese,” he said as the man turned away from the cab.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“There’s been a slight change of plans. Ms. Langley would rather eat somewhere else.”

“Then why didn’t she say so last night?”

Travis shrugged. “She’s waiting for you. At a restaurant right down the block,” he added, gesturing in its direction.

“This is a
private
lunch,” Reese snapped. “You’re not invited.”

“I’ve already eaten. So I’ll just show you where—”

“I don’t need a guide. What’s the place called?”