Deadly Pursuit (2 page)

Her eyes narrowed. “When did the plans change?”

“Thursday afternoon. My dad called me at work.”

“Did Cole know that?”

“I think I mentioned it to him yesterday. Why?”

“It's not important.”

Pressing her lips together, she turned on her heel and headed toward the kitchen.

But as Mitch took a seat on one of the side chairs in her living room, he sensed Cole's lapse was, indeed, important.

And he had a feeling it didn't bode well for his colleague.

You are dead meat, dear brother.

Alison latched the spacious cage in the basement, unmoved for once by Bert's pleading whine to be released.

Cole had known as of yesterday that the man's father wouldn't be part of the date, and he hadn't bothered to give her an update.

He was going to pay for this. Big-time.

Resting one hand on the cage for leverage, she straightened up. He was going to pay for something else too.

He'd failed to disclose that the bureau's newest detective was hot.

Very hot.

Okay, so maybe a guy wouldn't think in those terms. But all he'd offered when she'd asked him on Thursday what Mitch looked like was that the man had brown hair and was tall. Pretty sketchy for a guy who dealt with detailed descriptions every day on the job.

He could have told her about Mitch's velvet brown eyes. Or his broad shoulders. Or his firm chin with the tiny Cary Grant cleft. Not to mention his potent presence, which radiated strength and integrity and leashed power.

No way did she believe Cole's reticence was an oversight.

On the other hand, why should she care, when the handsome man waiting upstairs was hers for the evening? She slipped her fingers into the cage and gave Bert's ear a distracted scratch. This could turn out to be a lot more interesting than she'd expected. Not that she'd ever tell Cole about her change of heart. Overprotective brothers might be bad.

But I-told-you-so-ing brothers were worse.

Seated at a small table tucked into one corner of the noisy VFW hall, where a rowdy duck dance was in progress, Mitch took a sip of soda. It was the first time he and Alison had been left alone. His relatives had all paraded by to say hello—and from their interested looks, it was clear they assumed he was on a real date rather than a mission of mercy.

Truth be told, he was beginning to wish it was a real date.

If it was, though, he wouldn't have brought Alison here. He'd have taken her to some classy place for a sit-down dinner instead of the roast-beef-and-mostaccioli buffet that was the standard fare at weddings in his family. A quiet place where they could have had a real conversation instead of trying to shout over a DJ who seemed to have only one volume setting on his equipment: deafening.

Not that Alison appeared to mind the down-home festivities or the noise. She'd chatted with everyone who'd stopped by, the epitome of graciousness. She'd impressed his father, who'd given him an approving wink when she wasn't looking. And if her tapping foot was any indication, she was enjoying the silliness on the dance floor.

But he didn't want their evening to end with a duck dance.

Taking a final swing of soda, he leaned toward her. “You ready to head out?”

She looked at him in surprise. And unless he was way off base, there was a touch of regret in her eyes.

That was encouraging.

“Whenever you'd like to leave is fine, but we've only been here an hour and a half. Will your family be disappointed if you don't stay longer?”

“I've talked to everyone I need to, and trust me. In this crowd, my absence won't even be missed. Give me a minute to say good night to my dad and wish the bride and groom well, okay?”

“Sure.”

He said his good-byes as quickly as he could, and as he wove back to their table she gathered up her purse and shawl and stood.

Taking her arm, he led the way out of the noisy, crowded hall. Just as they reached the deserted foyer, the duck dance ended and the DJ switched to the Nat King Cole/Natalie Cole rendition of “Unforgettable.”

His step faltered.

“Did you forget something?”

At Alison's question, Mitch looked down at her. If she wasn't Cole's sister, if he hadn't been railroaded into this date, he wouldn't be hesitating over his next move. But he usually avoided being anything more than friendly to setup dates—and sisters of colleagues.

He'd already decided to break that rule when he'd opted for an early departure, though, and he wasn't going to rethink his decision.

“No. But it just occurred to me that I never invited you to dance.”

A flicker of . . . distress? . . . darkened her irises to cobalt for a fleeting instant. “I don't dance much anymore. Cole was supposed to mention that.” Her eyes did that squinty thing again. Like she wasn't happy with her brother.

He ignored the reference to his fellow detective. It was always safer to stay out of family battles.

“Because of the car accident?”

Her grip on her small clutch purse tightened, wrinkling the black fabric. “Cole told you about that?”

“No details, if that's what you mean.”

She hesitated for a moment before responding. “The accident did a number on my leg. It's not a hundred percent yet.”

He'd wondered why she'd had trouble rising earlier in the evening when she'd dropped down to pick up her dog. Now he understood.

“Your walking doesn't seem to be impaired, and a foxtrot doesn't require much more than that.”

She stared at him. “You know how to foxtrot?”

“My mom insisted. She said knowing how to dance would impress girls.” He grinned. “Are you impressed?”

“Very.”

He held out his hand. “Why don't we give it a try?”

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she considered him. “I haven't danced in quite a while.”

He gave her his most persuasive smile. “This isn't
Dancing with the Stars
, Alison. There aren't any judges watching us. Besides, I'm rusty too. My last couple of jobs haven't offered me much opportunity to enjoy the finer things in life.”

The smile worked. She set her purse and shawl on a nearby folding chair, then stepped into his arms.

And into his heart.

At least that's what it felt like.

Jolted, Mitch did his best to focus on shuffling his feet to the beat of the music. But it was hard to concentrate with Alison's soft curves nestled against him. With her faint floral scent filling his nostrils. With her silky hair soft against his jaw and her breath a warm whisper against his throat.

“You don't seem the least rusty to me.”

Her slightly unsteady comment refocused his attention.

“And your accident didn't impair your dancing ability.” He eased her closer. She didn't protest.

After that, there didn't seem to be any need for words. They just moved in perfect unison to the music, as if they'd danced together many times before. As if they belonged together.

It was like no dance Mitch had ever experienced.

And he didn't want it to end.

Eventually, though, the song would wind down. But perhaps the evening didn't have to.

“I noticed they were setting out the wedding cake as I was saying good-bye to the bride and groom.” He kept the comment casual as he dipped his head to bring his lips closer to her ear—and her silky hair. “I can grab a piece for you if you like, but I know a better place for dessert, if you're game.”

He detected a very faint hesitation in her step, as if she'd been taken off guard by his impromptu invitation.

“Can I tell you something?” With her cheek resting against his jacket, her uncertain question came out muffled.

“Sure.”

“I didn't want to come tonight.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Can I tell you something back? I didn't either.”

“Cole told me you wanted a date to deflect advances from interested females. That I'd be a defensive shield.”

That was news to him. It seemed his new colleague had played on both their sympathies.

“And he told me your social life's been lacking since you broke up with the guy you were dating.”

She stiffened in his arms but kept moving to the music. “Did he tell you why we broke up?”

“No.”

She relaxed a little. “I plan to have a long talk with my interfering brother.”

The song came to an end, and Mitch slowed his steps, then reluctantly released her from his arms. The bright overhead lights in the foyer didn't provide one shred of romantic ambiance, but as he stared down into Alison's eyes, he could have sworn he heard a violin somewhere. How nuts was that?

“I wouldn't be too hasty.” His comment came out husky, and he cleared his throat. “This evening might turn out okay after all. Even if we were both manipulated into it.”

“I'm not certain that's a good thing.” She wrinkled her nose. “Watching Cole gloat won't be pretty.”

He plucked her filmy lace shawl off the chair, chuckling as he draped it over her shoulders. “We don't have to give him a lot of details.” After retrieving her purse, he took her arm and guided her toward the exit.

“Trust me, I don't plan to.”

“So can I interest you in a detour for some dessert?” He pushed the door open, and they strolled toward his car. “I haven't been to Ted Drewes in years, and I won't feel like I'm really home until I have a strawberry concrete.”

At the mention of the landmark South Side frozen custard stand, she gave him a suspicious look. “Did Cole tell you I like Ted Drewes?”

“No. This was my own idea. So you're a Ted Drewes fan?”

Her features relaxed. “Isn't everyone? Okay. I'm sold.”

Once he settled her in his car, Mitch slipped his jacket off his shoulders, grinning as he circled around to the driver's side.

Now this was what he called a date.

A real one.

And if all went well, perhaps it would be the first of many.

Alison scooped the last bite of custard out of her cardboard cup, closed her eyes, and licked the plastic spoon as she leaned against the side of Mitch's midnight blue Accord. “Perfect!”

“I couldn't agree more.”

Detecting a smile in his voice, she looked over at him. He was leaning against the car too, his long legs crossed at the ankles . . . and his gaze was fixed on her.

Under his blatant—and appreciative—perusal, heat rose on her cheeks. “Are you flirting with me, Mitch Morgan?”

“Guilty as charged. And not the least repentant.” His smile broadened to a grin.

“We hardly know each other.”

“There's a way to fix that.”

She tapped the spoon against her empty cup and watched a stretch limo pull up in front of the simple custard stand. Streetlights had turned the ten o'clock darkness into daylight, but the crowds milling about paid scant attention to the wedding party emerging from behind the tinted privacy windows. It wasn't an unusual occurrence.

But being here with a handsome man—who made no secret of his interest—was out of the ordinary. Ted Drewes had been too plebian for David, and he'd never been in any hurry to advance their relationship.

Mitch, on the other hand, struck her as a man who went after what he wanted with single-minded determination—and didn't waste any time doing it.

That sent a little thrill zipping through her. But it also scared her.

She turned back to him, deciding to repay honesty with honesty. “I'm not a fast mover, Mitch.”

“I can be patient. If it's worth my while.” He held her gaze, his own never wavering.

She blinked. “You don't mince words, do you?”

“Your old boyfriend did?”

“Let's just say he was a bit more . . . discreet . . . in his intentions.”

“His mistake. What does he do for a living?”

“He's an attorney. For the Legal Aid Society.”

“That figures. It's hard to get a straightforward or decisive opinion from a lawyer. Let me pitch that for you.” He tugged her cup from her fingers and set off across the parking lot.

Watching the fabric of his dress shirt grow taut across his broad shoulders as he tossed the empty containers into the trash bin, Alison felt a faint flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't experienced anything like this since the early days of David's courtship. Even then, there had never been such tangible chemistry.

But chemistry could be dangerous. Especially with a man who might view relationships in a far more casual light than she did. So she didn't intend to get carried away. Better safe than sorry, as the old adage cautioned. She needed to take things slow and easy.

As he rejoined her, he touched his tie. “Do you mind if I loosen this? The transition to jacket and tie has been tough. I peel off the formal attire as soon as I get home from the station and avoid it entirely on weekends.”

Alison firmly banished that image from her mind. “No problem.”

He tugged on the knot of silk at his throat and let out a relieved breath. “Better.” Leaning back beside her against the car, he shoved his hands in his pockets and shot her a rakish grin, producing a dimple in his cheek that matched the one in his chin. “So tell me about Alison.”

She lifted her shoulders. “There's not much to tell. I grew up here. Got a degree in social work at one of the local universities. Landed a job in the Department of Social Services Children's Division, where I've been for the past twelve years. Compared to my brothers, I lead a quiet, boring life.”

“Doing important work. Hard work. The unsung hero kind of stuff.” He studied her in silence for a few beats. “You must see some bad situations in your job.”

When was the last time a man had looked at her with such absolute focus, as if she was the most important thing in the world?

She couldn't remember.

But she liked it. A lot.

Slow and easy, Alison. Remember?

Right.

She eased slightly away. “No worse than what you've seen, I'm sure.”

“Watching adults inflict damage on each other isn't fun, but seeing innocent children get hurt . . . that's a whole different ball game. How do you deal with it?”

He'd homed right in on the most troubling part of her job. The part that sometimes gave her nightmares.

“Not always very well. There are nights I lay awake worrying about children who've crossed my path. Wondering how they're being treated. If they'll end up on the streets.” She frowned and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I love children, and seeing them in bad situations tears me up. They're so vulnerable, so easily victimized. Someone needs to see that justice is served on their behalf. To protect them. The job seemed like a good fit.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. Most days.”

“Cole tells me your oldest brother is a U.S. marshal. Interesting that all of you went into justice-related fields.”

She smiled. “My dad can take the credit for that. He was a beat cop who did his very best every day to protect the innocent and defend justice. The world lost a good man when he died too young five years ago.” Her voice hoarsened, and she swallowed. “I think all of his children inherited the justice gene.”

“Not a bad legacy to pass on.” Mitch folded his arms across his chest. “And what do you do at the end of the day to unwind?”

“Cook. Knit. Garden. I used to love to swim too, but that's still a little tough. I'm easing back into it, though. And since last summer, Bert has kept me occupied—and entertained.”

His brow rippled for an instant—then smoothed out. “Oh yeah. Your dog. I'm sure he's a fine companion. But dogs do have their limitations.”

She ignored his implication and turned the tables. “Now that you know my life story, tell me about Mitch Morgan. You grew up in St. Louis, right?”

“Yep. In a small house not too far from here. As a matter of fact, I'm living there now while I look for an apartment.”

“What brought you back?”

“My dad. He had to have bypass surgery recently, which was a very tangible reminder that he's getting older—and that times change. I wasn't around much during the last years of my mom's life. I regret that now. So I wanted to be here more for him.”

“You must have been a close family.”

“We were. We used to call ourselves the Three Musketeers. I arrived long after my parents had given up hope of ever having a family, and I suspect that contributed to the closeness. We weren't wealthy in a material sense, but I had a very rich childhood.”

A man who loved his parents. Who had his priorities and values straight.

Nice.

“How did your dad feel about you coming back?”

He gave her a crooked grin. “Happy on one hand. Guilt ridden on the other. He thinks he's taking me away from my glamorous life.” The grin faded. “Actually, he did me a favor. The so-called glamour was waning.”

“Cole said you were a SEAL.”

“For eight years.”

“That's impressive.”

He shrugged. “I liked to swim. I liked excitement. I wanted to serve my country. Being a SEAL seemed like the best way to accomplish all of that.”

“Was it?”

“Yeah.”

“So why did you leave?”

“My enlistment was up. And I'd seen enough action.”

“So you took a quiet job with the NYPD SWAT team.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Cole must have been a font of information.”

“Maybe he hoped your intriguing background would entice me to go out with you.”

“It must have worked.”

“Nope.” The wedding party passed by, close enough for her to hear one of the groomsmen tease the newlyweds about getting started on the large family they wanted. A wave of melancholy washed over her, and she tuned out the conversation. “You know what clinched the deal? When he said you needed my help to dodge matchmaking attempts at the wedding.”

“Ah. You have a soft heart.”

“I thought we were talking about you?”

“I'm changing the subject.”

“I noticed. Very smooth, sailor.”

One side of his mouth hitched into a half smile. “I like a woman who can hold her own in a verbal sparring match.”

Her neck grew warm. “My brothers don't.”

“That's not what I hear.”

“Yeah?” She shot him a skeptical look.

“Yeah. Cole sang your praises the night he used the sympathy card to convince me to take you to the wedding.”

“You must have a soft heart too.”

“Let's keep that our secret, okay?” He pushed off from the car, pressing the heel of his hand against the edge of the roof as he angled toward her. “And as far as sympathy goes, just for the record, that guy you were dating needs it more than you do. He lost out big-time when he let you get away.”

His comment filled her heart with warmth, chasing away her momentary melancholy.
Slow and easy, Alison.

She summoned up a pert smile. “Cole should have warned me about your silver tongue. You have some great lines.”

“I happen to mean that one.” All levity vanished from his face. “Why did you two break up, anyway? If you don't mind me asking.”

For some reason, she didn't. “He couldn't handle the long-term consequences of my accident. I had some . . . permanent damage.”

Twin furrows appeared on Mitch's brow. She knew he was debating whether to ask the obvious follow-up question—and saved him the trouble by answering it.

“I had serious internal injuries.” She dropped her voice and tugged her shawl tighter. “David wanted children, and I'll never be able to have them.”

The noise continued around them in the parking lot, but all at once it receded into the background. As if a clear curtain had dropped, insulating them from the world around them.

“He left you because of that?”

The chill in Mitch's eyes—and his grim tone—took her off guard. “Having a family was important to him.”

“Hasn't he ever heard of adoption?”

“That wasn't for him.”

He didn't respond. With words, anyway. Instead, he twined his lean, strong fingers with hers. “His loss.”

Her throat tightened. “Thank you. And for the record, I'm over him, despite what Cole might think. I have been for several months.”

“Good. That leaves room for someone else to step in.”

He hadn't said “me.” But the implication was clear.

He squeezed her hand, and when he relinquished it, she missed his touch at once.

“Are you ready to call it a night? I promised to take my dad to church in the morning, and he likes the early service.”

“Yes.” She moved aside as he opened the door, then slipped into the car. All the while trying to analyze what had just happened. She'd never shared so much personal information with anyone on such short acquaintance. Nor felt such a strong attraction.

This was crazy.

Things were happening way too fast.

And now she had a dilemma on her hands. What should she do if he tried to kiss her good night?

If that issue was bothering Mitch, he gave no sign of it as he drove her home. His hand was steady on the wheel, his posture relaxed, his banter laid-back.

She, on the other hand, was a mass of nerves. By the time they pulled up in front of her house, she couldn't even remember what they'd talked about during the drive.

After braking to a stop, he switched off the ignition. “Sit tight. I'll get your door.”

He slid out of the driver's seat, and a few seconds later her door was pulled open. Once she was on her feet, he took her arm and guided her up the concrete path toward her porch.

Still waging an internal debate about how to handle their parting, she took no notice of her surroundings as she groped in her purse for her keys—until Mitch spoke.

“Looks like you have another admirer.”

She paused at the bottom of the three steps. What appeared to be a bouquet wrapped in green floral tissue lay in front of her door, illuminated by the light from the decorative lanterns on each side.

Stymied, she gaped at it. “Who on earth would be sending me flowers?”

“I think you've been holding out on me.”

At his teasing comment, she ascended the steps. “Trust me . . . I haven't.”

Mitch followed, bending down to retrieve the bouquet before she could reach for it. As he lifted it, the tissue gapped open to reveal the flowers inside. All of them wilted. The roses and carnations and daisies were not only well past their prime, their heads were drooping into the brown-edged filler fern.

Alison had never seen a sorrier bouquet.

“How strange.” She pulled her shawl closer around her. “This wasn't here when we left, and it's not warm enough yet to kill flowers that fast. They must have been delivered looking like that.”

When her comment produced no response, she looked up. Twin creases had appeared on Mitch's brow.

“Let's go in for a minute, okay?” He nodded toward the door.

So much for her quandary about how to handle a romantic overture. Based on his grim expression, the last thing on his mind was a good-night kiss.

In silence, she fitted the key in the lock.

He followed her across the threshold to the tune of loud beeps, shut the door behind them, and stuck close as she hurried to the back door to turn off the security system she'd activated before they left. An excited, muffled bark from the basement broke the stillness after the alarm went silent.

“I need to let Bert go outside for a few minutes.”

“I'll go down and get him.” He set the bouquet on the kitchen table and started for the basement door.

Her first inclination was to say she'd handle it. But in light of the unsettling vibes she was picking up from both Mitch and the creepy bouquet, she curbed that auto response. A solo trip to the basement wasn't all that appealing tonight.