Deadly Force (8 page)

“What?” He looked puzzled, but then he sighed and shook his head. “Everybody copes in a different way.”

“I guess. Anyway, I have wanted to try it for years.
Maybe I can work it in yet this fall. If not, then next spring for sure.”

He handed her back the brochure. “That’s a good place,” he said. “I’ve done their trips. They range from three hours to three days.”

“Three days? Yikes. That would be two nights of sleeping outside?”

He laughed and suddenly looked years younger. “Oh, yeah. No extra charge for the mosquitoes.”

“Great.
I love a good value.”

“Come on,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “let’s go before Nightmare eats the seat cushions. If I’m right, Mom’s pulling the fresh-baked coffee cake out of the oven right now. Hope you’re not philosophically opposed to sugar.”

“Uh, no,” she replied as she almost tripped. Having Sam’s arm around her shoulder made it difficult to walk or talk. Not that
it meant anything to him.

“How much farther?” she asked as they reached the car.

Sam took his arm away and used it to open her door. “We’ll be there in an hour. Can’t wait to see the little rug rat.”

Claire slid in and smiled at Nightmare who had his head hanging over the front seat. “How long have your brother and sister-in-law been married?” she asked, once Sam got in.

“About
a year. I think they were both anxious to start a family.”

“How did they meet?”

Sam smiled. “Well, it’s sort of a funny story. Now, that is. At the time, it was pretty tense. Joanna, known as Tara then, was hiding in Wyattville. Living under an assumed name, living a life totally different than the one she’d had to leave before her sorry-excuse-for-a-man ex-fiancé made good on his promise
to kill her. Jake was doing some interim duty as the police chief, helping out an old friend. Short story is he managed to get the guy and the girl. He got damn lucky on both counts.”

“Do they still live in Wyattville?”

“Yes. Joanna has a little restaurant there. Works her tail off. Maybe a baby will slow her down a little.”

“Does Jake work at the restaurant, too?”

“No. The
interim job turned into a full-time gig.”

She frowned at him. “I thought I remembered my mother saying once that your father was a police officer.”

“He was. Guess it’s in our blood. We all seem to like it pretty well.” He backed the car out of its parking space. “How about you? You like your job?”

Getting the anonymous letter at work had left a bad taste in her mouth, but yes, she
loved her job. Loved the opportunity to be creative every day, to talk to customers, to offer new ways to advertise their products. “Yes. I’m incredibly lucky to be working at a top agency.”

“They knew talent when they saw it.”

Oh, man. “I guess I work pretty hard to make sure that I earn the right to work there.”

“So, do you work closely with that guy you were sitting on the steps
with? Mission, right?”

“Some. I did my first big market-research project with Pete and I learned so much.”

“I’ll bet.”

Claire swiveled in her seat, pulling on her seat belt. Sam faced forward, his eyes scanning the road, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. Then she noticed the grip he had on the steering wheel. His knuckles were almost white. “He lives in a very nice
neighborhood,” Sam said.

“Hannah said that his parents died when he was in his early twenties. That was their house.”

“Is he married?” Sam asked, surprising her.

“No. I’m sure he dates. He doesn’t say much about it.”

“So how old do you think he is?” Sam asked, his tone casual, too casual.

Why was Sam so fascinated with Pete? “Why? Are you interested in him?” She knew it
was a ridiculous question, but Sam was acting very weird.

Sam gave her a look that told her he didn’t think she was funny. “Oh, fine,” she said. “I guess about forty. I don’t really know.”

Sam shrugged. “He’s way too old for you.”

“What?”

Sam shrugged and faced forward again. “I just think you need to be careful around men like that?”

What the heck was he talking about?
“Men like what?”

He tapped one finger against the steering wheel. “Never mind.”

“No way. Don’t say something like that and then just shut down.”

He checked both mirrors, flipped on his signal and switched lanes. They drove another half mile and with each turn of the tires, Claire could practically feel her blood pressure rising. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Look, Sam.
When two people have a conversation, it’s helpful if they both talk.”

He let out an audible puff of air. “Fine. When a guy looks at a girl’s butt the way he was looking at yours, I don’t think he’s really all that interested in doing business. Unless his business is focused around getting some on the conference-room table.”

A vision of skinny Pete Mission with his pants around his ankles
leaning her backward over the polished cherrywood table made her want to howl.

“Well?” Sam prodded. He looked so serious and it made Claire work extra hard to keep from laughing. She turned her head toward the window, buying time until she could get it under control.

“Claire,” he said, his voice husky. “I’m a jerk. That was crude. There are probably ten ways I could have said that better.
I’m sorry.”

He thought she was offended. That was even funnier. She was just about to let him in on the joke when he leaned over and placed his hand on her knee. Her leg, the stupid, traitorous limb it was, jerked, just like Nightmare’s rump did when Claire petted it. Sam’s hand felt firm and capable and she could feel the heat all the way through her skirt.

She really needed to get
the upper hand here before she did something crazy like grab his hand and stick it down her shirt. She turned toward Sam and gave him her best wide-eyed, don’t-have-a-clue look. “Do you really think that’s what he’s interested in? You think he wants to...to
sleep
with me?”

Sam’s neck turned red, matching the plaid in his shirt. “I’m just saying,” he said, his voice sounding strangled, “that
you need to be careful.”

Claire waved her hand. “Oh, we’d be careful. There’s a lock on the conference-room door.”

Sam’s truck swerved and Claire heard the satisfying sound of tires on loose gravel as Sam brought the vehicle back on the highway. “That’s not what I meant,” he said.

“You think we should leave the door open?” she said, her voice deliberately shocked.

Sam glanced
at her, his mouth open.

“So people could
watch?
” she asked, cocking her head to the side, like some stuffed dog in the window of an old lady’s car.

Sam shut his mouth and narrowed his eyes. With a sudden movement, he flipped on his signal, pressed on the brake and pulled the car far off the highway, almost into the short, yellow-green grass. When the car had stopped, he turned in his
seat. “You’re yanking my chain, aren’t you?” he said, his voice soft.

“I just can’t help but wonder,” she said, “do outrageous things just fall out of your mouth or do you have to work at it?”

He held up a finger and pointed it at her. “Laugh all you want. He wasn’t happy about my being at his house the other night. That tells me that he’s got a thing for you.”

She rolled her eyes.
“Even if you’re right, which you’re not, but if you are, I can handle Pete Mission.”

Now she could see the anger flashing in his eyes. He leaned over toward her and gently grabbed her chin. “I’ve investigated more than my share of sexually violent attacks against women,” he said, his voice stern. “It’s not pretty and it sure as hell isn’t something to laugh about. Most of these attacks are
perpetrated by somebody the victim knows. So don’t assume anybody is harmless.”

He was so close. She could feel the heat coming off his body. His lips were just inches away. She licked her lips and then his grip around her chin tightened, not enough to hurt, but just enough that she knew he felt the connection as much as she did. Oh, man. Sam Vernelli shouldn’t be worrying about her virtue
or safety; he should be worrying about his own.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away. She couldn’t think when he was touching her. “I got carried away at your expense.”

He let his hand drop back into his lap. “You had me going,” he admitted. “The watching thing was a little over the top. That’s what did you in.”

“Watching isn’t your thing?” she asked, suddenly feeling bold.

He stared at her, not blinking, maybe not even breathing. “I prefer to participate,” he said finally. Then he shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just said. “I should not be having this conversation with you.”

With you—Tessa’s sister. He didn’t need to say it. The meaning was clear enough.

“Well,” she said, looking straight ahead, “because you’re into participation, when
we’re a man short on our volleyball team, at least we know who to call.”

Sam started the car. After he’d pulled out onto the highway, Claire risked a look at him. His jaw was set, his lips pressed together and he looked mad as hell.

She didn’t know if he was mad at her or himself. She didn’t think it probably mattered.

Chapter Eight

Sam, with Nightmare dancing around his heels, yanked open the back door of his parents’ house. “Shouldn’t we knock?” Claire asked, more certain than ever this was a mistake.

Sam frowned at her. “I used to live here,” he said. “Come on. Something smells good.”

At least he was talking again. He’d barely spoken for the last hour of the trip. Claire let him
lead her down the wide, ceramic-tiled hallway into a large blue-and-white kitchen with oak cabinets and a big, round, pedestal-style oak table in the center.

Mrs. Vernelli had her back to them, bending over an open oven door. Her husband stood next to her, stirring a pot of something, while he stared out the kitchen window, focused on the small yellow birds that were hopping on and off the
bird feeder that hung on a backyard tree. Ten feet away, through the wide archway that led to the family room, an absolutely gorgeous woman sat on the couch next to a slightly older, leaner version of Sam. The man held the woman’s hand and they both stared into the bassinet that was trimmed with yellow and green ribbons.

“Hey,” Sam said, loud enough to get some attention but not so loud as
to wake a sleeping baby. “What’s for lunch?”

Mrs. Vernelli whirled around, both hands firmly gripped around a roasting pan. She stared first at her youngest son and then at Claire. She opened her mouth but no words came out. The woman’s slightly plump cheeks were pink and Claire didn’t know if it was from the heat of the oven, the pleasure of seeing her youngest son or the shock of seeing
Tessa’s little sister in her kitchen. To her credit, Mrs. Vernelli recovered quickly and offered them one of the most genuinely warm smiles that Claire had ever seen.

She set down the roasting pan and crossed the room. Standing on her tiptoes, she hugged Sam. Then she extended her arm and shook Claire’s hand. “Claire. It’s good to see you again. I’m so glad you could come.”

“It was kind
of you to include me,” she said.

Mr. Vernelli, who had put down his spoon, waved his hand as if it was nothing. Perhaps Sam routinely dragged women home. “I’m Tom. We were sorry to hear about the trouble at your apartment, Claire. Your parents must be very concerned.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, thinking she better tell her parents soon. She took a second glance at Tom Vernelli. He had
twenty-five years on Sam, but his still-handsome face had the same strong bone structure, his eyes danced with the same keen intelligence.

“How are your folks?” Mrs. Vernelli asked.

“Busy.” It was the standard answer. The week before she’d left for Chicago, her mother had been named Volunteer of the Year by a local group. They’d all gone to the awards dinner. It had been a painful reminder
of how far apart she and her mother had grown. When the presenter had read off the list of organizations that her mother supported, Claire hadn’t recognized more than half. She’d wanted to ask her father, but he’d been out in the hall, cell phone to his ear, negotiating the purchase of another company.

“So, do I get to see my niece?” Sam asked, edging toward the bassinet. He bent down and
brushed a kiss across the woman’s forehead and then roughly hugged his brother who’d stood up. Claire was struck by the resemblance between the two men. Both tall and handsome as heck.

“Claire,” Sam said. “This gorgeous creature is my sister-in-law, Joanna. The big oaf next to her is my brother, Jake.”

Both of them flashed a smile, but she didn’t miss that Jake’s gaze was a little more
assessing, a little more curious.

“How’s she doing?” Sam asked, pointing at the bassinet.

“Take a look for yourself,” Joanna said, her voice warm with maternal pride. She shifted and leaned toward the bassinet. When she winced, her husband put his hand on her arm.

“Let me,” he said. Then the man carefully reached his big hands into the bassinet and lifted out the baby. She was swaddled
in a soft yellow blanket. When he made a motion to hand the sweet bundle to his brother, Sam backed up a step. “No, you hold her,” Sam said. “I’ll break her.”

Joanna laughed. “No, you won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Sam said, sounding very serious. He looked at Claire and she thought it might be real panic that she saw on his face. “Help me out, here, okay?” he said. He looked back to
his brother. “Give her to Claire.”

Jake rolled his eyes and then carefully, very carefully, placed the precious bundle in her curved arms. She stared at the round little face, the wisps of strawberry-blond hair and the rosebud mouth, and fell instantly and thoroughly in love. “Oh, she’s perfect,” she said.

And then Sam came close and bent his head. Cautiously, he took one finger and
lifted the edge of the blanket away from the baby’s face. He stared for a minute, then looked up at Jake. “You did good,” he said, his voice soft.

Jake looked at his wife, his eyes filled with love. “I did nothing,” he said. “Joanna did it all.”

“He had the fun part,” Joanna replied, her tone dry.

Mr. and Mrs. Vernelli, their arms wrapped around each other’s back, laughed. Mr. Vernelli
winked at his wife of many years and she blushed like a young woman.

Claire felt a little piece of her heart break. This was what a family should be. People who loved, fiercely and proudly. And to her utter embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears. She tried to blink them away, but Sam, the observant fool he was, saw her.

“Hey,” he said, “what’s wrong?”

Claire looked around the
room. Sam’s father, who obviously felt ill at ease with a woman’s tears, fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His mother, her eyes an equal mixture of question and concern, stared at her. Jake, chewing his bottom lip, turned to Joanna, who shrugged her delicate shoulders. Claire settled her glance on Sam. His eyes were filled with something she couldn’t define, but it warmed her soul,
like the sun shining through the car window had warmed her face. “I’m just so happy,” she said, her voice thick with tears, “for all of you.”

An awkward silence hung in the air and Claire wished she could sink into the floor. Then Joanna, her eyes suddenly full of understanding, patted the couch next to her. “Come sit next to me. We’ll admire the baby together and let the men wait on us.”

“Why should today be any different?” Mr. Vernelli asked and then made a big production of protecting his head, like he expected his wife to swing a cast iron skillet. Sam and Jake laughed and as easily as that, the moment passed. Claire, careful not to jostle the baby, sank down on the couch.

“Thank you,” she whispered to Joanna.

“You’ll get used to it,” Joanna whispered back. “It
can be a bit overwhelming at first.”

“You got that right,” Claire said, rocking the baby gently in her arms. She watched while Jake began to unload the dishwasher and Sam, grabbing milk and butter in one hand and an electric mixer in the other, approached the steaming pan of boiled potatoes. “They really fill up a kitchen,” she said.

Joanna wrinkled her nose. “Nothing sexier than a man
in an apron.”

Claire had a quick and fleeting vision of Sam wearing nothing but an apron. “Uh, yes,” she managed.

“Imagine this,” Joanna said, winking at her. “The first time I saw the two of them together, they were playing basketball. With their shirts off. It was ninety degrees outside, they were sweating, and I was drooling. It was quite an event.”

“Do you think they know?”
Claire whispered, studying Sam and Jake as they completed their tasks.

“I suspect they do,” Joanna said. “It’s just not important to them. By the way, does Sam know you’re interested?”

She thought about denying it, but knew she wasn’t that good of an actress. “It wouldn’t dawn on him. I’m Tessa’s little sister.”

“I’m sorry about your sister,” Joanna said. “It must have been horrible.
But it was a long time ago. She and Sam were very young.”

Claire bit her lower lip. “I’m pretty sure he’s still in love with her.”

Joanna’s pretty green eyes shifted to Sam. He had finished mashing the potatoes and was now scooping out big spoonfuls into a yellow bowl. His mother stood at his side, supervising. When he pretended to stick a finger into the potatoes, his mother whacked
his shoulder with a wooden spoon. Joanna smiled and shrugged. “He wouldn’t have brought you here if he didn’t have feelings—”

“Food’s ready,” Mrs. Vernelli interrupted. She stood next to the table and gestured for them to come.

Joanna reached for the baby and then gently laid her down in the bassinet. “For you,” she finished.

* * *

T
HE
BABY
SLEPT
through lunch, awakening just
as Sheryl Vernelli cleared off the last dessert plates. When Maggie let out a little squawk, Jake’s and Sam’s heads swiveled, like they were ready to spring into immediate action. Joanna, looking infinitely more relaxed, pushed her chair back, calmly walked over to the bassinet and lifted the crying baby out of her crib. The two of them settled in the padded rocking chair in the corner of the large
family room and Joanna discreetly raised the corner of her shirt.

Jake watched for a minute and then, apparently satisfied that all was well, made a big production out of standing up and patting his full stomach. “Dad,” he said, “I’ve misplaced my needle-nose pliers. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair?”

Tom Vernelli scratched his chin. “I’m not sure, Son. Why don’t I take a walk
out to the garage with you and we’ll look.”

Jake nodded and looked pointedly at Sam. “Sam, have you checked on your dog lately?”

“Uh, no. That’s a good idea,” Sam added. He pushed his chair back from the table. When he walked past his mom, he kissed her forehead. “Just leave the dishes. Jake and I’ll handle them.” When he walked past Claire’s chair, he put a hand on her shoulder. Light.
Impersonal. And she felt the heat down to her toes.

“You doing okay?” he asked.

“Stuffed,” she said, desperately trying to focus on her stomach and ignore the strength and masculine feel of his large hand. His nails were trimmed short and, if she wasn’t mistaken, his little finger had been broken at least once.

“You got up early after a pretty late night,” he said. “Why don’t you
try to snag a nap?”

She turned her face up and her eyes met his. “You got less sleep than I did,” she reminded him.

“I guess that’s true,” he said. He looked very serious. He stared at her for several seconds and the kitchen suddenly seemed very quiet. Then he smiled. “I’ll wrestle you for the couch later,” he said. He lifted his hand off her shoulder and patted the top of her head.

Like he did to Nightmare every time the darn dog walked by.

In a clatter of bootheels on ceramic tile, the Vernelli men left. The quiet in the kitchen was absolute except the occasional gentle slurping from the rocking chair. Sheryl Vernelli motioned for Claire to follow her into the family room. The older woman took the corner of the green couch and Claire settled into the overstuffed
brown leather chair.

Joanna looked up from her baby and flashed a smile. “You’ll have to forgive them. They simply can’t stop being cops.”

Mrs. Vernelli coughed into her hand and smiled. Claire decided she hadn’t liked anyone as immediately as Joanna in a long time. “Thanks. I appreciate your not pretending that they’re not out there discussing me.”

Mrs. Vernelli picked up a book
off the table next to her, thumbed the pages, then put the book back down. “I must say,” she offered, somewhat hesitantly, “I haven’t seen Sam this serious for a long time. He’s normally full of jokes.”

It seemed like she’d barely seen him smile. “I guess he’ll be relieved when I’m out of his hair.”

“I suppose,” said Mrs. Vernelli as she picked up the hardcover book one more time and
tapped her nail against the spine. It reminded Claire of how Sam rubbed the tips of his index finger and his thumb together when he was nervous.

What in heavens did Mrs. Vernelli have to be nervous about?

* * *

C
LAIRE
WOKE
UP
when Nightmare jumped on top of her. “Hey, you big lug,” she said, pulling her arm from beneath the warm yellow comforter to rub the dog’s fur.

He started
to turn in circles. She knew what that meant. She had about two minutes before he started to howl. She didn’t want him to wake the baby. “Oh, fine. I’ll take you out.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. It couldn’t be much past dawn and the house had cooled down during the night. She opened her suitcase and pulled out blue jeans and a sweatshirt. She quickly stepped out of her pajamas
and into her clothes. She ran a hand through her hair. Her brush was in her purse and she’d left that downstairs.

“Let’s go,” she said, opening the door. “Be quiet,” she warned, as the dog zoomed past her. No doubt everyone else in the house would still be sleeping.

When they got to the back door, Claire slipped Nightmare’s leash onto his collar. They left the house and she was really
glad she’d worn her sweatshirt. Good Lord, it was cold enough that she could see her breath. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up and stuck the hand that didn’t hold Nightmare’s leash into her jeans pocket.

She and Nightmare walked around the yard until Nightmare found a spot to do his thing. When the dog finished, she rubbed his head. “You’re a good boy,” she said. “You really had to
go, didn’t you?”

Nightmare thumped his tail, looking proud. “What do you say we take a walk, sweetie?” She rubbed her fingers across the dollar bills in her pocket and knew she had enough for coffee. If she remembered correctly, there was a gas station-slash-convenience store on the corner, about two blocks away. She pulled gently on Nightmare’s chain, but the dog yanked his head the other
direction and let out two sharp barks.

Claire looked and she could see Sam, dressed in dark blue warm-up pants and a gray sweatshirt running toward her. His arms were pumping, his legs flying, and it made her heart start thumping.

Slow down, Sam. Let me enjoy the view.

Still a block away, he held up his arm, letting her know that he’d seen her. She watched his big body move toward
her and her mouth felt dry. My, my, he was a fine specimen of a man.