Unforgivable (8 page)

And then, suddenly, nothing.
Nada.
His case wrapped up, and so did his interest in her.

She should have been relieved. A romance with Ric Santos was the last thing she needed. It would disrupt everything. The logical part of her knew it was for the best. But the nonlogical part of her felt hurt. Her pride was wounded, especially after she’d mulled it over and realized what had happened.

She suspected it was happening again now.

“And why are you here tonight?” she asked.

He leaned back in his chair but didn’t say anything.

She huffed out a breath and resumed eating. Then she pushed her bowl away. “I know why. It’s the Ashley Meyer case.”

His eyebrows snapped up.

“You want me to fast-track your labs for you, so you decided it’s time to start buttering me up again.”

“Buttering you up?” The side of his mouth twitched. He was laughing at her.

She stood up from the table and took her bowl to the sink. She turned and leaned back against the counter. He was watching her with those intense dark eyes. The amusement was gone now, but she couldn’t read his expression.

“Is that what you think?” he asked.

“You’re telling me you’re not here on business?”

He stood and walked over to her, soup bowl in hand. His gaze locked with hers as he reached around her to put the bowl on the counter.

“
Your
business. Not the Meyer case.”

“You mean the shooting?” She felt a surge of alarm. She’d been so preoccupied with Sam she hadn’t thought about Frank Hannigan in hours. “What happened?”

He hesitated, as if trying to decide how much to tell her.

“Do you have a suspect?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“Just a hunch. Something that’s been bugging me tonight. About you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You seem to be having a rough week.”

She stared at him.

“Someone kidnaps you at a convenience store. Rips off a few hundred bucks. Then he has a chance to drive away, but instead, he chases you down and tries to kill you. Next, your nephew goes missing while you’re on an outing together, all in the space of two days.”

“You think there’s a connection?”

He didn’t answer. Obviously, he did, or he wouldn’t have brought it up. Mia’s stomach clenched. The idea that Sam had somehow been targeted because of her …

“You having any trouble I should know about?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Ex-boyfriends, coworkers, new neighbors who don’t like you?”

She laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

She stared at him. He wasn’t kidding.

“You owe anyone money?”

“No. I mean, yeah, the mortgage company, but—”

“Anyone owe you money?”

“No.” Jeez. He was interrogating her as though she’d done something wrong. “Let’s backtrack a minute. You think the man Sam talked to in the reptile house—” She frowned. “Are you saying he could be the man who shot me?”

“I think we should consider the possibility.”

“Why?”

“Sam’s description, for one thing.”

“All he could tell us was that the guy was white and had a fluorescent green SpongeBob Band-Aid on his nose. And a ball cap.”

“That was a disguise, like the hood and the bandanna from the other night. When a kid talks to someone with a bright green Band-Aid on his nose, all he notices is the Band-Aid. The cartoon character. He notices that detail because his attention’s been directed there. Bank robbers have been known to do the same thing. Distract someone with a phony feature like that, people focus on it at the expense of everything else.”

Mia shook her head, trying to make the idea fit. “But why would someone want to hurt me through Sam?”

“That’s why I’m asking. Have you had any trouble lately? Anything at work? In your personal life? Anyone following you? Any hang-up calls?”

The only trouble she’d had near the time of the shooting was that run-in with her boss. But she didn’t see how Snyder could possibly be involved in this.

“There’s been nothing,” she said. “Nothing like that at all.”

His look was intense now, and she could tell he took his theory seriously. He didn’t believe these were random events.

Fear churned her stomach. What if he was right?

Ric stepped closer. He reached up and rubbed the pad of his thumb over the bruise on her cheek. Her heart started to pound, but it wasn’t from fear anymore. He was going to kiss her.

Mia’s throat went dry. His hand cupped her face. His heated gaze caught hers before she closed her eyes and felt his mouth press against hers.
Finally,
she thought as she went up on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck.

The doorbell rang, and she jerked away.

Ric glanced at the hallway, then looked at her sharply. “You expecting someone?”

“No.”

She hurried for the door, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t ring again and wake up Sam.

“Check who it is,” Ric said behind her.

Mia gazed through the peephole at the blond bombshell standing on her front porch. This was going to be interesting.

She pulled open the door, and Sophie stepped right in. She was dressed to kill in a black miniskirt, knee-high black boots, and a green satin shirt that dipped low in front. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a just-outof-bed style.

“Hel
lo.
” She looked Ric up and down and then looked at Mia. “I was wondering whose truck that was.”

“Ric, you know Sophie from the lab?”

“Nice seeing you.” He nodded at Sophie and turned to Mia. “I should go.” He held her gaze for a moment, and she felt her cheeks heat. He’d finally kissed her. And he looked as if he wanted to do it again.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said, and then slipped out.

Mia watched him walk to his truck and get behind the wheel before closing the front door and locking up again.

“I sure hope he’ll be in touch,” Sophie said. “And I am
so
sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t. What are you doing here, though? I thought you had a gig tonight.”

“I go on at eleven, but I’m having a wardrobe malfunction. Any chance you could lend me that gauzy thing you wore to Alex and Nathan’s Christmas party?”

“The black blouse?”

“Yeah, the see-through one. I snagged my bracelet on this shirt, and I’ve got nothing else to wear tonight.”

“You can borrow whatever you want. Just don’t wake Sam.”

Mia led her into her bedroom and straight to the minuscule 1930s-era closet. It was the least charming of the house’s old-fashioned features.

“So, what’s up with you and Ric Santos?” Sophie asked as Mia handed her the blouse.

“Nothing.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted. “Then why were you blushing like a tomato when I showed up?”

“I wasn’t.”

Sophie let it go as she stood before Mia’s mirror and shrugged into the shirt. Mia usually wore it over a camisole, along with black pants. Over Sophie’s black lace demibra, it looked infinitely sexier.

“Kind of slutty, I know,” Sophie said. “But onstage, you have to push the envelope a little, or you blend in with the crowd.”

Sophie could wear a burnt-orange shirt to a UT game and still not blend in with the crowd.

“You need to make a play for that man, Mia.” Sophie glanced at her in the mirror. “That dark and dangerous thing he’s got going on is
very
hot.”

“Why don’t
you
make a play for him?”

Sophie tucked in the shirt and gave Mia a get-real look. “First off? I’m not a bitch. And second, he’s, what, five-eleven? I like to wear heels.
You,
on the other hand, would be perfect for him.”

Mia tried to look uninterested. “I try not to get
involved with guys I know from work. It gets complicated.”

Yeah, she’d tried really hard tonight, hadn’t she?

“Problem with that attitude is you’re a workaholic. Where are you ever going to meet anyone?” Sophie fluffed her hair. “Anyway, what was he doing here? Is there a break in your case?”

Mia gave her the nutshell version of the zoo fiasco. By the end of the story, Sophie’s mouth was hanging open.

“Unbelievable. You’ve really had a shit week, haven’t you? You get reamed out by Snyder, carjacked,
shot,
and then you win the worst-babysitter award, all in the space of three days.”

Sophie sounded like Ric, and the gnawing fear was back again, along with the throbbing in Mia’s arm.

“But you know what they say,” Sophie said cheerfully. “Bad luck comes in batches. So does good. You should probably buy a Lotto ticket. Next week will be better.”

“I don’t see how it could be worse.”

After borrowing some slutty earrings to go with the shirt, Sophie took off for her gig, and Mia checked on Sam again. He was curled up on the twin bed in her guest room, one leg out, one leg under the covers—the same way Vivian always slept. Mia’s heart squeezed as she watched him. And she forgave her sister for all of the hurtful things she’d said earlier. Vivian was a mom first and foremost, and she had every right to be fiercely protective of her son.

Mia returned to the kitchen, which was usually her favorite room in the house. But it was too quiet now, with only the faint whisper of the gas stove. She turned off the burner and cleared the beer bottles from the table.
She glanced at the window above the sink. There was a gap between the curtains, allowing a clear view of her to anyone lurking outside. She reached over and tugged the panels together. She needed some real window treatments, not this decorative doily crap the previous owner had put up. The house was old-fashioned, yes, but Mia wanted it to function like a modern home, complete with modern security features. Maybe she was paranoid, but she had seen far too much violence in her career to leave her safety to chance.

What you need is a man, not a house.
Her mother’s words elbowed their way into her head with their usual tact.
What do you need with all that house when you’re not even married?

Mia washed the soup bowls and arranged them on the drying rack. She needed the house for herself. That was enough. At the end of the summer—right after her thirty-second birthday, actually—she’d come to the realization that she was tired of living in beige apartments that smelled like other people’s pets. She was tired of storing her books in the milk crates she’d been dragging around since college. She was tired of driving to public parks so she could spread out a beach towel and enjoy the sun. She was ready to own something, paint something, plant something, and she didn’t need a man in her life to do any of those things, no matter what her mother thought.

So she’d plopped down her savings on a two-bedroom bungalow that she could live in all by herself, and she was glad. Usually. On nights like tonight, though, nights when she was restless and anxious and unnerved, she would have welcomed a man in her home. Or better yet,
her bed. She would have welcomed a strong arm draped over her waist to make her feel safe as she drifted off to sleep. It would have been nice to have the arm—just as long as it didn’t belong to Ric Santos.

Mia put away the soup and washed the ladle. Thank God Sophie had come when she did. What if she hadn’t? Mia knew exactly what. She’d seen the predatory glint in Ric’s eyes the second before he kissed her—like a wolf sizing up his prey. It made her blood tingle. One little kiss, and her no-men-from-work rule had gone straight out the window.

Mia felt a knot of frustration as she wiped down the counter. She should feel relieved, really. An emotional entanglement with a cop was a bad idea. An emotional entanglement with a cop who sent her his cases was beyond stupid. It could jeopardize her objectivity, the hard-earned trait that was the cornerstone of her reputation as a scientist. And in a field where juries could be swayed by a facial expression, a tone of voice, a fumbled answer under cross-examination, reputation was important. Mia’s colleagues trusted her. Juries trusted her. So did lawyers on both sides of the courtroom. They trusted her because she had a sterling reputation, one that thus far had been beyond reproach, and she intended to keep it that way.

So police detectives were out. As were prosecutors, defense attorneys, and judges. What she needed was a nice doctor. Any kind would do. An orthopedist. A podiatrist. Even a dentist. People always told her she had a pretty smile.

Mia gazed at her reflection in the window above the sink and lifted her hand
to her bruised cheek. What had Ric seen in her tonight that had prompted him to kiss her? His face flashed into her mind, the corner of his mouth lifting in that cocky half-smile she’d seen only a few times. And she knew that the nice doctor she needed would bore her to tears—because she really wanted a jaded homicide detective who was attracted to her for all the wrong reasons.

CHAPTER 6

Ric capped off a shit week watching the Cowboys play a shit game against the Philadelphia Eagles.

“Christ,
I
could have made that tackle,” Jonah said, staring at the TV mounted behind the bar. “Fucking cowgirls.”