When Night Falls (12 page)

“Morning, commander,” she said, using his formal title instead of Uncle Ben, as she’d done for as long as she remembered. “What’s up?”

He propped a hip against her cluttered desk. “I just hung up the phone with William Armstrong.”

Her heart started to pound a little harder, and a strange roar rose inside her. All she’d wanted to do was help the man, and now he was going to hang her out to dry. “He’s worried sick about his daughter,” she said by way of explanation. “I’m not sure he’s thinking clearly.”

“Apparently not.”

“Whatever he said—”

“I don’t know what you did or said to that man, but he wants you something fierce, Jessie girl.”

Jess went very still. Deep inside she started to shake, but she kept her expression noncommittal. “Excuse me?” she asked, pushing to her feet.

This was not news a girl could take sitting down.

Uncle Ben shook his head. “I’ve known that man for over fifteen years, and never once do I remember him changing his mind. About anything.”

Uncompromising, she remembered thinking. A man of singular focus. An island unto himself. And that’s the way he wanted it.

“Yesterday he insisted that I remove you from the case, but this morning, he’s threatening to scream bloody murder if I take you away from him.”

Jess braced her hand against the side of her desk before her legs went out from under her. Surely Uncle Ben had no idea of the impact of his words, but they pummeled like shards of granite. She’d sat on her sofa the remainder of the night, staring at her aquarium, trying to forget the need she’d tasted in Liam’s kiss, seen in his eyes. They were bad for each other. An accident waiting to happen. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Uncle Ben looked at her queerly. She’d never once turned down an assignment. “Something going on I don’t know about? Is Armstrong back to playing games?”

Jess almost laughed. “I wouldn’t call them games—they’re just part of who he is. I’m not sure he can see me as anyone other than Wallace Clark’s daughter.”

“And that makes you uniquely qualified to work with him on this case. You’ve been where his daughter is. You know what it’s like to grow up with a powerful father. You know how her mind—”

“Emily Armstrong didn’t run away,” Jess said abruptly.

“Detective Long thinks she did.”

“Because he wants to,” she countered. “Because when he looks at William Armstrong, he sees only the man he thinks got away with murder. He can’t see the father, the man who loves his only child so much he’s built his entire life around making her as happy as possible.”

“And who do you see?” Uncle Ben asked gently.

A lump of emotion lodged in her throat. “I see them all.” And it was tearing her apart.

“That’s what makes you such a good cop, Jessie. You see both sides of the coin. You don’t let yourself get blinded by preconceived notions.”

She sighed. “Sometimes it’s hard.”

“Of course it’s hard, especially when the man I’m asking you to help is one you grew up hearing your father malign. But there was no evidence against him seventeen years ago, and there still isn’t. Too many people, your father included, let emotion cloud objectivity. We may never know what happened to Heather Manning, but with you on the case, I have every confidence we’ll find out what’s happened to her daughter.”

Jess winced. Moisture rushed to the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let it seep forward. “I want her to be okay so damn badly.”

Uncle Ben put a hand to her shoulder. “You can’t control that. You can only control the effort you put into the case, how hard you try.” His eyes gentled, and his smile turned sage. “It’s time to lay the past to rest. It’s time to come full circle. You can do it, too. I know you can. Find that man’s daughter. End the hostility.”

Jess forced a smile, but deep inside, she wept. The tension would never ease, not even if she found Emily Armstrong alive and well. The last time a Clark crossed paths with William Armstrong, the repercussions had lasted over fifteen years, beyond even the grave.

Instinct warned this time the fallout would last even longer, extend far deeper.

“Of course,” she said with a brittle smile. “I’ll give him my all.”

* * *

The house was dark. Only one light shone from an upstairs window. The skeletal branches of an old post oak extended across the golden glow, swaying with the wind, but they didn’t obscure Liam’s view. He sat in his car, waiting. Watching.

For what, he wasn’t sure.

He should leave. Liam knew that. Voyeurism wasn’t his style, but that awareness hadn’t made him crank up the engine thirty minutes before, and it didn’t now. Just a few more minutes, he told himself. Then he would drive away.

In the back seat, Molly whimpered. She was a good dog, loyal and patient, but she clearly knew something was not right. She missed Emily, and Liam knew he wasn’t helping matters. The tension radiating from him was enough to choke a horse, much less a dog. He probably shouldn’t have dragged her out on this late-night crusade, but she’d looked at him with those soulful chocolate eyes of hers, and he’d been unable to turn his back on her and just walk away. So here he was, sitting in a darkened car, an antsy Labrador retriever in the back seat, staking out the condo of the lead detective assigned to his daughter’s case.

He really had lost his mind.

“It’s okay, girl,” he told her. “Daddy’s going to make everything better, you’ll see.”

Focused on his daughter’s dog, he almost missed the shadow move across the glow of the window. The slender silhouette was fleeting, graceful and one hell of a call to arms.

Detective Jessica Clark was home, and she was awake.

Leave,
he told himself again, but instead opened the door and stepped into the cold night. “Come on, girl,” he said, taking Molly’s leash and leading her onto the concrete. She’d been alone enough recently. He couldn’t leave her in the car while he had a word or two with the enigmatic detective.

He hadn’t heard from Jessica all day. Not even a phone call. He had a right to know what was going on, he thought, as he led the dog to the door. He had a right to updates.

And if Detective Jessica Clark wouldn’t give him one on her own, then by God, he’d get one his way.

He raised a fist to knock on the solid wood door, found himself pounding instead. Loudly. Forcefully. The words
open up
almost tore from his throat, but he wasn’t a cop, and this wasn’t a raid.

Through a nearby window he saw a light come on downstairs, then another. He resisted the urge to step aside and look inside. He didn’t want her to have advance warning of his identity. He wanted to see her expression when she opened the door. Or if she demanded to know who was there first, he wanted to hear her voice when he announced himself. There was truth in initial reactions, and even a trained detective couldn’t completely hide the slight flaring of her eyes, the catch to her voice.

The door swung open, and Detective Jessica Clark greeted him with her arms crossed over her chest. “Good evening, Liam.”

Something inside him lightened at the simple sight of her, and he realized he suddenly felt more okay than he had all day.

She didn’t look the least bit surprised to see him. Nor did she look suitable for visitors. Nor did she look like a cop. Her hair was twisted off her face, her cheeks flushed. She wore only a leopard-print silk robe that revealed the arch of her collarbone and the indentation of her waist. The swell of breasts beneath silky fabric invited a man to wonder if anything else lay beneath. Even her feet were bare. A light musky fragrance clung to her scantily clad body like a cloud of temptation.

Liam bit back a strangled groan of surprise.

And that’s when it hit him. Detective Jessica Clark was a beautiful, desirable, passionate woman. She was dressed for bed.

She might not be alone.

Chapter 10

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”
A
re you standing on my doorstep in the middle of the night for a reason?” Jessica asked, much as he had the night before when she led him to the mirror in the foyer.
“Or are you in the mood for another game? I’ve always favored chess myself, but you strike me more as a poker man.”

Just like that, the weight on his heart lightened. He looked at her standing there in that skimpy robe and wondered how she did it. She looked as soft as a dewy rose petal on a spring morning, but instinct warned that if he didn’t tread carefully, he’d find thorns beneath the beauty.

He hadn’t come here to bleed.

“I didn’t hear from you today,” he said gruffly.

She met his gaze. “I told you I’d call if anything changed. Nothing has.”

But something had. And like last night when he’d shattered the line between them, Liam stood between two temperature extremes. The coldness at his back, the warmth inside Jessica’s condo.

His gaze dipped over the body she usually hid behind boxy suits, then returned to her face. “Do you always answer the door half-naked?”

She lifted her chin. A slight smile played at her lips. “Does it matter?”

“Just doesn’t seem very smart to me.”

“I’m a detective, Liam. I knew who was standing on the other side, and I knew you were here for the cop, not the woman. I figured how I’m dressed didn’t matter.”

Her voice was low and throaty, infuriatingly indifferent. It was the
woman’s
voice, he realized. Coming from the
woman’s
body, in the
woman’s
home.

Just like a cop to vanish when you needed one the most.

“Does it matter, Liam?”

He looked into her eyes, knew he was safer concentrating on her face, not her body. “Not in the least bit.”

Something shockingly close to disappointment flickered in the amber depths of her gaze. She glanced at Molly, sitting patiently at his heels. “Out for a late-night walk? Aren’t you a bit far from home?”

Again, he bit back the urge to laugh, not sure how the hell she kept diffusing him. “She misses Emily,” he said, rubbing a hand along the dog’s head. “I didn’t think it was fair to leave her home alone.”

Jessica went down on a knee to cup the dog’s face. She rubbed her thumbs along Molly’s snout, then stroked her silky ears. “You changed her bandanna,” she murmured, fingering the burgundy fabric covered with gold angels.

Liam frowned. Detective Jessica Clark was entirely too observant. She was also entirely too distracting down on the floor with Molly, giving him a glimpse of her cleavage.

“I found one Emily had laid out, figured it was what she’d want.”

Jessica pushed to her feet. She looked him in the eye, her expression suddenly fierce. “She’s coming home, Liam. I promise you. We’re going to find your daughter.”

He bit back a blast of emotion. “She’s all I have.”

“I know,” she said softly, holding his gaze. “I know.”

The compassion in her eyes sent a surprising shot of warmth cascading through him. He wanted her to touch him in other ways, he realized grimly. Deeper. Longer lasting.

“You must be freezing,” he said. She wore only the skimpy robe, and here he was, standing in her doorway while the night air hovered in the low thirties.

Jessica’s expression turned somber. “Not with you standing there.” She glanced beyond him, then over her shoulder into the condo. “Would you like to come in for a few minutes? I could make some hot cocoa.”

The offer surprised him. She was always doing that, showing him consideration when he deserved contempt. “I’d like that very much.”

She stepped back and ushered man and dog inside. “You can wait in there,” she said, gesturing to the living room. “I just need a few minutes.”

Liam glanced at the inviting cream-colored sofa, the glass table in front of it, the large aquarium across the room. It was all very feminine, very cozy; there was nothing coplike about the room lit only by the light of a single Tiffany lamp. “Nice place,” he commented.

“Thanks.”

He looked toward Jessica, found her watching him with curiously speculative eyes. Decked out in that silken robe with her hair pulled from her face, a few strands scraggling against her cheeks, she looked dangerously tempting in this feminine sanctuary. “Aren’t you going to get dressed?”

She glanced at her robe, at him. “What’s the matter, granite man?” she asked with a wry smile. “Don’t know how to handle yourself around a half-dressed woman?”

The taunt brought a slow smile to Liam’s lips. Not one to be cornered, he let his gaze dip over the curves of her body, all the way to her burgundy-painted toenails. Heat flashed through him, and he realized how much time had passed since he’d savored the sight of a woman’s body. She looked soft, smelled inviting. He felt himself stiffen and quickly raised his gaze, only to stall on her breasts. They were larger than he’d realized, the swell of creamy flesh just visible above the silk of her robe.

Liam bit back a groan and abruptly found her face. She looked flushed, startled, as though he’d been skimming her flesh with his hands, not his gaze.

The pleasure he found in her reaction pushed him closer to the edge. “Challenging me again, Detective?”

Her eyes sparked. “And if I am?”

If she was, he was in big trouble. “Go get dressed. I don’t need to be charged with harassing an officer.”

A smile broke on her lips, and she laughed. It was a rich, provocative sound, that of a lover, not a cop. “No,” she said, “that you don’t.” With that, she turned and vanished up the stairs, leaving Liam staring after her, wondering what the hell had just gone down between them.

Leave,
he again told himself.
Just walk out the door before she comes back downstairs.
Instead, he led Molly into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator.

By the time Jessica came downstairs wearing an oversize SMU sweatshirt and faded jeans, he was sitting on her sofa with two steaming cups of hot cocoa waiting on the glass table. Molly lay on her side by the aquarium.

The unflappable detective stopped dead in her tracks. Surprise flooded her eyes, and her mouth fell open.

And Liam wanted to smile. Once, he’d enjoyed stripping away her cool, calm, collected facade through taunts, but now he found greater pleasure in doing so by extending a morsel of goodwill rather than the antagonism she expected.

“I couldn’t find an olive branch,” he explained. “I’m afraid hot chocolate will have to do.”

“An olive branch?”

“You were right last night.” He found he needed to tell her. “We’re on the same side. It’s time I start treating you that way, giving you the respect you deserve.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he realized she was too smart, too thorough, to take his words at face value.

“No games.” He extended a cup of steaming cocoa to her. “Just an honest peace offering.”

She stepped closer, eyed the mug. “You’re a brave man.”

“Oh?”

“After last night, you’re handing me hot liquid? Some would consider that a weapon.”

“Some would,” he agreed.

“And you?”

“I’ll take my chances, see if Lady Justice believes in innocent until proven guilty, after all.”

A soft laugh broke from her throat. “Ah, there he is.”

“There’s who?”

She crossed to him and sat by his side, took the hot chocolate from his hands. Her amber eyes were alive, vibrant.

“Innocent until proven guilty? Honest motives may have led you to make this,” she said as she took a slow sip, “but you didn’t hesitate to resort to tactics when I didn’t immediately accept your offer.” She lowered the mug to her lap and wrapped her hands around it. “You can try on a sheep’s clothing all you like, Liam, but we both know the wolf will always be inside.”

His admiration for her ratcheted up another few notches. Not only was she beautiful, but smart and gutsy, determined. Challenges didn’t deter her; they spurred her on.

“I was going over my notes today,” she said after taking another sip. This time she put the mug on the coffee table. “Do you know how to contact Emily’s mother?”

The deceptively casual question pierced the cozy intimacy, and too late, Liam realized his error. He’d let the lateness of the hour, the intimacy of his surroundings, seduce him into relaxing. Jessica Clark may have been all woman when she answered the door, but with a simple change of clothes, the detective was back.

How like a cop to show up when they were least wanted. “If you’re interested in Heather, you’ll have to ask her parents.”

“They think she’s dead.”

“And you?”

“No body was ever found. I can’t help but wonder if Emily’s disappearance is connected to the past. Could Heather have resurfaced, curious about her daughter? Could Emily be with her?”

“Emmie’s not with her mother,” he said point-blank.

“How do you know? By your own testimony, Emily’s mother walked out on you and her infant daughter, leaving everything in her possession behind, never to be seen from again. She could be anywhere. How do you know she hasn’t resurfaced?”

Liam went on red alert. Less than five minutes before he’d been admiring this woman’s intelligence. Now her clever line of questioning made his blood run cold. He didn’t like to talk about that long-ago time, nor did he like to be backed into a corner.

So much for the olive branch.

Very deliberately, he placed his mug on the coffee table, when in truth he wanted to hurl it against the wall.

Then he looked Detective Jessica Clark dead in the eye. “We were just kids having fun. We weren’t in love. We weren’t ready for commitment or parenthood, especially Heather.” He spoke slowly, clearly, deliberately. “She wanted to give my child away. To strangers. Forever.”

The memory, the knowledge of how close he’d come to losing Emily, sent a chill through him. “I offered to give her the world. I offered to make her my wife. Instead, she had adoption papers drawn up without my consent.”

Jessica drew a pale hand to the lips he’d kissed the night before. “Oh, Liam,” she said softly.

“She was a lost soul,” he went on, reliving the darkest time of his life. He’d never talked about it before. “She was desperate. She didn’t want a child. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to lose her freedom.” The old rage boiled within him, stronger than ever. “She’d had a bad childhood—her father was a powerful man, tried to plan her life for her, even picked out a boy to marry. She rebelled. That’s what I was to her. A way of defying her father. But then all the fun and games ended when she found out she was pregnant—she was terrified about her father’s reaction. I practically had to lock her away to make sure she didn’t do anything rash.”

Frowning, Jessica lowered her hand from her mouth and placed it over his. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

Her hand was soft yet cold, and Liam found himself resisting the urge to turn his palm toward hers, to lace their fingers. He’d never been a man for touching, didn’t understand this sudden compulsion to do so.

“You mean that little tidbit wasn’t in your father’s files?” he asked, fighting himself as much as her.

“I knew you had a volatile relationship, that the cops bad been called a few times for loud arguments—”

Temper flared. “Go ahead and ask me, Detective.”

“Ask you what?”

“How I killed her. If she struggled. How a no-account nineteen-year-old outsmarted the entire department. Where I hid the body.”

Jessica sighed. “Liam, don’t.”

He slid his hand from beneath hers and lifted it to her
face,
held her so she couldn’t look away. “I did not kill that woman.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“But you wondered.”

“Liam—”

“How do you think I felt, Detective? I was nineteen years old. I had an infant daughter to care for and a lynch mob breathing down my neck. No one wanted to believe the perfect Carson Manning’s daughter would abandon her own child, her own life, so let’s just blame it on the no-account who knocked her up. And while we’re at it, let’s take his kid from him, too. Did you know about that? Did you know that the esteemed congressman tried to take Emily from me? After screwing up his own daughter, he tried to take mine?”

Jessica’s eyes darkened. Her hand against his thigh tightened. But she said nothing. She just looked at him, studied him, as though she could see beyond his words to some deeper truth inside.

Liam was not a patient man. He was not used to standing on the sidelines, watching the world go by. He was used to calling his own plays, executing them, ensuring the appropriate follow-through. But there was nothing he could do to make Detective Jessica Clark believe him.

And for some reason, her belief, her faith, mattered.

“I’ve hurt you,” she whispered.

He didn’t want her words to be true but realized they were. “This isn’t about me.”

She lifted a hand to remove his from her face. “I make my own judgments,” she said, curving her palm around his knuckles. “I study the evidence, draw my own conclusions.”