Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahil 03] (3 page)

She had been about to pause at the front desk to ask if she could go up, as one did not just prance into the police commissioner’s office. But now she wanted to race for the stairs before Kurland saw her. For the man seemed to be present every time she called on Bragg, and he might very well begin to make something of it.

He might very well begin to suspect the truth.

Kurland’s back remained to her, as he spoke with one of the arresting officers, hunting for a story. Francesca hurried forward, ignoring the chaos around her. Reaching the
stairs, she walked calmly up to the first landing. As she turned the corner, she glanced down into the hall below.

Kurland had detached himself from the officers, the other reporters, and the criminal, and he now stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring thoughtfully up at her. He was a slim man in his thirties. Their gazes met; he smiled and waved at her.

Francesca felt herself flush and she quickened her steps. Kurland would, she knew, make more of her visit to the police commissioner than he had any right to. She would probably find a story in tomorrow’s
Sun:
“Millionaire’s Daughter Enamored of Married Police Commissioner.”

Her heart lurched as she reached the second floor and she dismissed Kurland from her mind. Thus far he was an irritation, but no more. Perhaps in the future she should actively try to avoid him. And perhaps, now that she knew Bragg was married, she should not be such a frequent visitor at police headquarters.

That thought was sobering. Nor was it a happy one. She was determined not to lose his friendship now. How could she? He was a reformer as she was. He was one of the most noble and civic-minded men she had ever met. She admired him so.

And they made a great investigative team.

Before Francesca was a long hallway lined with doors. One of the very first was Bragg’s office; across from it was a conference room. At the farthest end of the hall was an open area filled with desks where most of this precinct’s detective force worked. Now it was fairly quiet, consisting of the hushed murmur of voices, a typewriter’s staccato sound, and someone’s brief and coarse laughter.

The door to his small office was open. It contained two desks, including the one where he now sat and worked. He lolled in his cane-backed chair behind it, on the telephone. The moment she paused in the doorway, he saw her and their eyes met.

Francesca smiled, not moving.

He smiled back, not looking away.

As he finished his conversation, Francesca studied him. His grandfather was part Apache. It was evident in Bragg’s nearly olive coloring and his achingly high cheekbones. But his hair was a tawny, sun-streaked gold, and his eyes were amber: he had the most unusual coloring. She had seen the way other women eyed him. There was no question that his looks were striking. He was the kind of man who turned heads and made hearts flutter, yet he was also the kind of a man who walked into rooms with a quiet power and authority, the kind of a man who gave people pause and made conversation stop.

Bragg had removed both his jacket and vest, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. His lack of attire revealed just how muscular and fit he was. For he was a broad-shouldered man with a very trim waist and small hips, and unlike most men, he had not an ounce of fat anywhere on his body. His body was, in fact, hard and powerful. She knew that for a fact.

She knew that from having been in his arms, not once, but twice. Of course, that must
never
happen again.

He put down the telephone and stood. His gaze did not waver, and a smile was there, in his eyes, one that was so warm it could surely melt ice.

Francesca felt her own answering smile. It crossed her mind that her feelings were so powerful that maybe this was just too dangerous, at least for her, if not for them both. But then she dismissed her thoughts, because she could see no alternative to the friendship they now had.

She closed the door behind her.

“Francesca,” he said, moving out from behind his desk. “This is a very pleasant surprise.”

She smiled back at him. “I hope you don’t mind my calling this way. I do not have a case for us to discuss, Bragg.”

“Thank God,” he laughed.

She laughed a little, too.

“So this is a social call?” he asked, touching her arm lightly.

Francesca removed her mink-lined coat, which he hung upon a wall peg. “Yes, I suppose it is. I was on my way home from college, and I decided to say hello.” She wondered if he would put his vest on, at least. He did not, and it was somewhat distracting.

“And how is my favorite bluestocking?” he asked with a teasing tone instead.

Her smile faded and she felt it. Bragg knew about her studies, too. “I am quite behind. I may soon fail Biology.”

“You? Fail? I doubt that. You would never fail at anything,” he said, his gaze upon her. “Not because of your intelligence, but because of your determination.”

“You have so much faith in me,” she returned, but she was flushing with pleasure at his words.

“Yes, I do,” he said evenly.

She just looked at him and he simply looked back.

It was too much to bear. The innocence of friendship vanished, replaced by something that was so much more. How close they stood to each other now. Francesca wished, fervently, that he were free. If he were a single man, undoubtedly he would pull her into his arms for an extremely intimate kiss.

“I imagine you are behind,” he said, somewhat unevenly. He cleared his throat. “When do you have time to study? You are either studying, raising money, or solving murders—that is hardly conducive to attaining a higher education.”

“It is very hard, being a reformer, a sleuth, and a student,” she said seriously.

“Yes, it is. Francesca, what is wrong? I can see that something is bothering you. I hope it is your schedule and nothing more.” His golden gaze was penetrating.

She wondered if he was referring to the truth that now lay, acknowledged, between them. The truth of the fact that he had a wife. Or was he referring to the
Sun
? “How could I have given an interview Tuesday? How, Bragg?” she asked. “Have you seen the
Sun
?”

He seemed amused. “Yes, I have. You earned that interview, Francesca. Are you in trouble?”

“Not yet. I hid today’s paper, and I have heard that Papa was very annoyed. I cannot even begin to explain to you what his morning papers mean to him. If he and Mama ever see that story, I am finished. I feel certain of that.”

“Perhaps you should sit down,” he said, appearing amused.

“Is this funny?” Francesca cried.

He guided her to an overstuffed and shabby chair; the tweed wool fabric was torn in places. “No, I am sorry, not really.”

She sat and twisted to look up at him. He remained lighthearted and even amused. “Bragg, if I am punished like some small child, this will hardly be a subject for laughter.”

“I am sorry. But you were in danger, Francesca.” And he gave her a penetrating look, and he was no longer smiling.

Even though the subject they had turned upon was now a serious one, his golden gaze did odd things to her heartbeat. She gripped the arms of the chair. “I was
briefly
in danger,” she said.

“So now you rebut? Francesca, you were tied up! To a bed—and by a killer and the killer’s accomplice, I might add.” His eyes flashed.

“I hardly knew what would happen when I went over to the house,” Francesca said.

“You were in danger, Francesca, and you know that I do not approve of that. Perhaps you should rethink this
new hobby of yours. Sleuthing, clearly, can be dangerous work, and you are a young woman.”

“But we are partners. And I am a good sleuth. You said so yourself.”

“You are an excellent detective,” he admitted grimly.

“I cannot just quit, now. Are you working on a new case?” she asked suddenly, brightly.

He rested a lean hip on the edge of his desk. She felt herself blush and she looked away. He said, “My detective bureau woks on all investigations, Francesca. You know that. My personal involvement with Eliza Burton precipitated my interest in that case, and the fact that Randall was Calder’s father assured my involvement there.”

Calder Hart was Bragg’s half brother. They shared the same mother, Lily Hart, who had died of cancer when Bragg was a boy of eleven, Hart two years younger. Bragg’s father, Rathe Bragg, alerted to the existence of an illegitimate son, had taken both boys into his own rather large family. At the time, Rathe was a political appointee of President Grover Cleveland, and the family was residing in Washington, D.C. Later the Braggs returned to New York, but briefly, for their daughter Lucy’s wedding brought them to Texas. Francesca had overheard that Rathe and Grace were soon returning to New York, with several of their five children. She assumed the oldest ones were living on their own.

Calder Hart had been a suspect in his father’s murder, as he had grown up hating the man who had refused to ever acknowledge him or their relationship.

Bragg sighed a little. “Why don’t you take a sabbatical from your new profession? That would be the best way to manage your parents, I think, should they learn of what happened in the Randall Murder, and it is also the best way to improve your grades.”

“So there is no new case?” Francesca asked, somewhat glum.

Bragg sighed. “Francesca, my immediate agenda is to appoint a chief of police, which I have yet to do after being in office for an entire month.”

She sat up straighter, her interest piqued. “And have you found an honest man for the job?”

His eyes twinkled. “There are a few honest men on the force, Francesca.”

“Then I am glad,” she returned with a smile. The city’s police were notoriously corrupt. Bragg was a part of a reform administration, and police reform was on the top of the agenda. Graft and corruption ruled the day among the police, although last week Bragg had demoted 300 wardsmen while reassigning them to different wards, all in the hope of breaking the stranglehold of those officers in their precincts. “Do you have a genuine candidate in mind?”

“I am thinking of promoting Captain Shea.”

“Shea?” She was surprised. He was often at the front desk downstairs, and he seemed a mild fellow indeed. “Doesn’t an inspector usually get the job?”

“Until now,” he said with a wink. “But Shea is honest, although not very forceful. I believe he might do well, with the right encouragement and incentive.”

Her heart turned over with her admiration for Bragg and her smile failed and she looked at him and wished he were free.

And he felt it, too, for he did not look away, and in the long moment that ensued, the space between them closed, becoming small and tense. How she wished that things might be different between them. If only he had not been so foolish and impulsive when he had been younger, when he had become infatuated with Leigh Anne. He had married her without knowing her, but that could not be changed.

Bragg stood abruptly, as if to increase the distance between them. Francesca gripped her purse and did not
move. Suddenly it was so terribly obvious—she wanted more than friendship. Instantly, Francesca was aghast at herself. She must
never
think in such a way again.

“Of course, you are right. Temporarily I should cease and desist with sleuthing.” She sounded a bit frantic to her own ears, and he turned to face her now, his glance calm but searching. Bragg would never miss a trick, especially from her.

“I would be extremely pleased should you do that, Francesca,” he said softly.

She knew he worried about her. She knew he did not like her putting herself in danger. She also stood up. His desk separated them. It was a huge, cluttered, and bulky obstacle between them. “But we do make a wonderful team,” she said.

For one moment, he did not answer her. His hands were fisted on his hips. She now noticed his posture of tension. When had that happened? He had strong hands, powerful arms. She glanced from his whitened fists to his forearms. They were bare, dusted with dark hair, and all tendon and bone.

“We make a good team,” he admitted, causing her to start, flush, and look up. “Francesca, may I advise you?”

“You may always advise me, Bragg. You need not even ask.” She clutched her purse more tightly.

“Concentrate on your education now. So few women attain a university degree. I know you haven’t had time to study with all the investigative work you have undertaken, and while justice has been served, perhaps, now, you might want to serve yourself
and
calm your parents down.” He smiled at her. “And then I should not have to race about the city, chasing after you.”

“But it is so nice when we chase about the city together,” she said. And it was even nicer when he worried so, to chase about after
her.

He no longer smiled. “Yes, it is. There, I have admitted
it. You are unique, and working with you has been a unique and exceedingly pleasant experience. But again, the danger that accompanies the job is just too much for any woman, even you, Francesca. And, fortunately, women do not work for the police, except occasionally as a secretary.” Theodore Roosevelt had hired a woman for that post.

Francesca studied him. “I am going to concentrate on my education, as I am falling behind in my studies, so that leaves me with little choice. So you win, Bragg. For now, I shall behave in a most ladylike and decorous manner.”

He grinned. “We shall see how long this intention of yours truly lasts. Shall we wager?”

“Bragg! You are corrupting me!” But she was laughing.

“I think so.”

“A dollar? No, wait. I have a better wager.”

His gaze narrowed. “It is . . . ?”

She swallowed, refusing to analyze her motivations now. “Escort me to that new musical. I believe it is playing at the Waldheim Theatre.”

He seemed only slightly startled, and he quickly recovered. “Very well. I give you, oh, two weeks.”

She blinked. Then, “Done. I am going to throw myself into my studies for the rest of the month,” she said.

Now he laughed. “We shall see.”

She didn’t laugh. She had to win this wager now. He would escort her to the theater, and perhaps they would have a late supper afterward. He would be in a tuxedo, she in her new, bold red dress. It would be a glorious evening, even if they were only friends. Perhaps they would even dance afterward, in each other’s arms. . . .