Guarding the Socialite (13 page)

Sensing her patience was thinning with his act, he dropped it. “No, you made a dictate and I simply went along with it for the moment. But the fact remains that I find you incredibly sexy and you feel the same about me. We're consenting adults. I say we should let our feelings lead the way.”

“Absolutely not,” she snapped, incensed at how entirely
casual
he was about the fact that they'd been intimate. “That's not how I operate.”

“And how do you operate, Ms. Vale? Educate me.”

His request took her aback. “What do you mean?” she asked, exasperated. “I've already told you…”

Dillon pushed to his knees and moved toward her. “Yes, but the question is…did you mean it?”

She stared. “Of course I meant it,” she shot back, though in truth she was a little confused at the moment. “I'm not a casual sex kind of girl. I'm sorry if I gave off the wrong impression.”

He pulled back. “So you're looking for a commitment…”

“No, I'm not looking for anything.”

Apparently he didn't believe her. “Everyone is looking for something, even if they don't want to admit what it is they want.”

“You're talking in circles,” she accused him, getting annoyed all over again. “I know exactly what I want.”

Dillon's chuckle sounded dark around the edges as he said, “Love, wanting and having are two different things, aren't they?”

She fell silent. He was right. Privately, she wanted a life of her own. She wondered what it might be like to be less involved with Iris House, to have the freedom to explore the possibilities of a true relationship, but when she thought too hard about it, the inevitable conclusion was painfully clear.

It was either Iris House or a relationship, and she just couldn't make that choice. So it was better this way, to never know what could be. Besides, she was a practical woman and rarely prone to flights of fancy, so why did her chest feel as if something was sitting on it when she pushed Dillon away?

She stole a glance at Dillon and then scooped up her fallen wineglass. The whole thing was ridiculous. Him and her? A recipe for disaster. And frankly, she didn't need any more wrenches thrown into the cogs of her well-oiled machine. “Good night, Dillon,” she said stiffly and then removed herself from temptation.

E
mma awoke with a stuffed-up head and a crick in her neck from sleeping oddly. Perfect, she thought wryly, wincing as she pulled herself from the bed. After last night she wasn't eager to face Dillon again. The man did terrible things to her resolve and she didn't know why she was drawn to him in the worst way.

Perhaps it was the darkness she sensed hidden behind that laconic smile and sharp gaze. He joked with his mouth but his eyes told another story. She'd yet to work up the nerve to ask him about the scar on his cheek. It was none of her business, really, she chided herself as she undressed and stepped into the shower.

It was hard to forget what she'd done in this very shower with Dillon. When had she become such a wanton woman? Taking her pleasure where she found it, even if she found it in the man assigned to her protection. Oh, Lord, she hardly recognized herself these days. It was likely the strain, she
rationalized, but there was something she was hard-pressed to deny, lurking at the edge of her thoughts, reminding her that needs forgotten became needs unbridled.

She closed her eyes and tried to stop the memory of Dillon's hands on her breasts, his lips traveling along her flesh in a searing path across her collarbone, and the way he wrung wave after wave of cresting sensation from her body.

Get a hold of yourself, please.
Not even as a teenager was she so hormonal. She cooled the water temperature, gasping as icy jets pelted her skin and sent all thoughts, aside from getting out of the shower, running from her mind.

Which is exactly what she'd needed to put herself on track.

 

Dillon made a quick call to the Bureau, patching straight through to the Internet Crimes division, where he knew he'd find an old friend.

“Jones,” a voice on the other line answered. “What can I do you for?”

“IT geeks are bloody odd,” he said with a grin, knowing his friend and former Child Abduction Rapid Deployment—or CARD as they called it—teammate would know right away who was calling.

“Hey, Dillon,” D'Marcus exclaimed. “I wondered when I'd hear from you. Been a long time, buddy. How's it going?”

“Good,” Dillon lied quite amiably. Really, what could he admit to in pleasant conversation? He couldn't say he was becoming infatuated with a woman he was supposed to be protecting and he'd made up the need to sleep in her apartment so he could be close to her and avoid his own empty condo. So he lied. “Things are excellent, actually.”

“That's great, man. I was worried about you.” D'Marcus's voice dipped low as if he didn't want anyone to overhear their
conversation. “You know, after all that shit went down like it did with the Babysitter…I figured retirement was in your future. I mean, anyone would've folded up shop after what you went through. But look at you, back in the field, again. Talk about balls of steel, you crazy Brit. I love it!”

Dillon grimaced and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah, so I need your skills to help me out on a case,” he said, wanting to talk business, not old times. He missed his old teammate but they'd both gone in separate directions since the Babysitter case. D'Marcus had taken a promotion to the Internet Crimes division on a different floor of the building and since they never saw each other, they might as well have moved to different states. But office gossip knew no floor boundaries and D'Marcus, being stationed in the hub of geek central, probably heard all the latest dirt on everyone. “I need you to run some names and check phone records. Can you do that for me?” he asked.

“That's child's play—you know that. Give me something I couldn't do in my sleep,” D'Marcus scoffed. “Hit me with the targets and I'll have the info in an hour. What am I looking for specifically?”

“I want to get a snapshot of a man named Robert Gavin. His address is 343 Bush Street in Pacific Heights. He's some society tosser who may have a hidden agenda. I don't trust him. He rubs me wrong. I want to know what he buys at the grocery store, how much he pays for cable and what he puts on his credit card. Also, check his bank records for any large withdrawals or transfers.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks. Ring me if you find anything interesting.”

“No prob. Good to hear your voice again, man. We should get together sometime, maybe get a beer or something real soon,” D'Marcus suggested good-naturedly.

“Yeah. Good to hear you, too,” Dillon said, his palms
starting to sweat. He rubbed them on his trousers. “Right, so I'll get back to you on that offer, yeah?”

“Sure. I'll call as soon as I got something worth talking about.”

Dillon offered his thanks and then quickly rang off. Damn it. Wiping at the sweat dotting his brow he swore at his own issues. Get over it, man.

But before he could shake off the clammy feel of neurotic residue, his cell phone rang in his hand.

That was fast, he thought as he answered, believing it was D'Marcus again. But it wasn't.

“Agent McIntyre, we've got a problem,” growled the man on the other end, and Dillon silently swore for not checking caller ID first. His new boss, Director Pratt, was nearly as difficult to stomach as his previous boss had been when he'd been with the CARD team. Dillon was starting to sense a pattern here. Perhaps he had a problem with authority. “I've got a complaint here by some scumbag with a purple Mohawk—”

“Actually, it's a faux hawk, sir,” he corrected, knowing it would just further piss Pratt off. Damn, he had a bad attitude. It was a wonder he still had a job these days.

“I could give a shit,” Director Pratt snapped, his voice raising. “What I do care about is the fact that a federal agent under my command is out there playing fast and loose with the rules. You broke his nose? Twice? Now this kid wants the Bureau to pay for the medical bills.”

“The unmitigated nerve,” Dillon said, glancing at his watch. He was supposed to meet Emma back at Iris House in a few minutes. He started walking to his car, dodging traffic while half listening to Pratt threaten him with suspension if he didn't straighten up and fly right.

“This isn't how things are done around here. You might've gotten away with a helluva lot when you were running around
with that CARD team, but around here, we follow the book. You got me?”

Except when a friend needs a favor, such as when Nigel Vale placed a call and suddenly, all resources are directed toward the Iris House case when there were plenty of other cases needing attention, too.
Eh. Well, that was life.
“Right. Book. Anything else?”

“Don't patronize me,” Pratt said, his voice lowering with barely contained anger. “I can tell the difference.”

“It's the accent. You just think I'm being patronizing because my accent tends to make everything I say sound superior. I assure you…I'm not patronizing you, sir.”
Yawn.
Perhaps Kara was right. He should've taken a longer break from the Bureau. Too late now. He wouldn't walk away from Emma. All jokes aside, he felt a growing sense of urgency to get this guy caught. “So this punk…did he tell you that he's a drug dealer and a pimp? Check his record. It's pleasant reading for a night at home.”

“Be that as it may…the punk has rights. Stop stepping on them and we'll get along just fine.”

“I'm trying to stop a killer. I thought that was the priority.”

“Do it within the letter of the law. If I hear of anything else like this coming across my desk, you're off the case. You're trouble, McIntyre. I had my reservations putting you on point for this but your experience was supposed to make up for your bad attitude. So far, I ain't seeing anything for my investment, if you know what I mean.”

Dillon clenched his jaw to keep from telling the man to go screw himself and while he was at it, screw his investment. Pratt was an asshole but he didn't seem to make idle threats and Dillon wasn't about to let Emma's case fall into the hands of someone else. “My methods may not be textbook but they get results. My conversation with that punk, Mad Johnny,
revealed that the vic, Charlotte, had been having an affair with one of Iris House's top donors, Robert Gavin, though for some reason he went by the name Carlyle.”

Pratt made some kind of grunt of approval. “Go on.”

“Without the disc I ‘borrowed' from Mad Johnny, we didn't have much to go on except my gut instinct that he was hiding something.”

There was a long pause and then Pratt said, “All right but no more ‘borrowing.' We need evidence that is admissible in court. Remember that.”

“Of course.”

And then Pratt was gone.

Dillon slowly pocketed his phone and blew out a long breath. Pratt was right. He was trouble. He'd wanted to kick that punk around. Hell, he'd been
hoping
for a little resistance so he had just cause. He'd always danced to his own tune but he'd also always tangoed within the lines. And then there was his attraction to Emma to contend with. He'd never put his personal feelings before a case. But there was something about Emma that made his pulse pound. He shook his head, caught between doing what was right and what felt good. Well, there was no hope for it. For the moment, he'd have to settle for that murky place in between because there was one thing he knew: he wasn't walking away. Not until he knew she was safe.

E
mma detoured toward Bella's room, her head pounding from not enough sleep the night before, and knocked softly.

A muffled answer to come in followed, and Emma opened the door, hoping to meet this mysterious Ben. Her hopes were quelled when she saw Bella studying quietly—and quite alone—on her bed. On one hand, Emma was ecstatic that Bella was doing her homework; on the other hand, she'd really wanted to catch a look at the boy responsible for making a change in Bella.

“Any visitors today?” Emma asked, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. Bella looked up and shook her head. “Oh. Can we talk a minute?” Emma might as well get this conversation over with. It was bound not to go well either way.

“Sure. What's up?” the teen asked, sitting straighter so that her back touched the headboard. “Something wrong?”

“Actually, well, I'm a little concerned about this boy. Now, before you get upset, let's talk this through a little bit.”

Bella swallowed and something flitted across her features but she stubbornly held whatever it was back. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I checked the list of runaways and he's not listed. Are you sure he's who he says he is?”

“Of course I'm sure. Why would he lie?”

“I don't know. That's the part that worries me,” Emma said, truthfully. “There are things happening right now that I don't understand the why of, but I can't deny are happening. Someone is out there, targeting Iris House girls. I have to be suspicious of everyone who isn't part of our ‘family.' And that includes this boy. Please understand I will do my utmost to help him but I have to ensure that he's not a threat to the house.”

Bella nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said, her voice small. “Thank you.”

Emma smiled. “You're welcome.”

Now, she just hoped she wasn't making a huge mistake.

 

Dillon followed Emma into the office. “Everything all right?” he asked as she took a seat at her desk. She glanced at him inquiringly, and he added with a gesture, “You have that look on your face that says something is bothering you.”

She arched one brow at him in amusement. “You know me so well that you can tell when something is bothering me?”

“I'm a fast study,” he returned with a short grin. “So are you going to keep me guessing or are you going to share?”

She leaned back in her chair with a small sigh. “Perhaps later. Right now I want to know how much longer we're going to be under house arrest. The Winter Ball is this weekend
and I'm up to my eyeballs in preparations. Not to be rude but you're slowing me down.”

He surprised her with a laugh. “You know, I enjoy your candor. Not many people are so refreshingly honest.”

She blushed a little. “Oh, God…that was so incredibly rude of me, wasn't it?” she asked, distressed. She fluttered her hands around her temple and massaged the skin. “It's been a day already and I'm quite worried about this situation with that boy. It gives me the creeps knowing he was sneaking into her bedroom at night.”

“Did she tell you anything new?”

“Nothing specific but there was a vibe. Perhaps something she's holding back, afraid that it might color my opinion. You have to understand…Bella has had such a rough start. I can't stand the thought of someone trying to use that to their personal advantage.”

“You really care about this girl,” he said softly.

“I care about all the boarders at Iris House,” she said.

“Yes…but Bella is special. Why?”

“I don't know what you mean,” she said, skirting the question but the agitation was written all over her beautiful, expressive face. Dillon understood why Robert Gavin carried a torch for her. Emma opened her mouth to further protest but thought better of it and reluctantly confessed, “You're right. She is special. She reminds me of Elyse, which is probably why I first gravitated toward her but there's more to it now. I've come to…think of her as more than just another boarder who will someday move on. And that's terrible.”

“Why is that terrible?” he asked.

“Because someday Bella
will
move on and I will have to be prepared to let that happen. She doesn't belong to me. She's a ward of the state. In fact, it's a daily battle to keep her at Iris House. Basically, I managed to talk her caseworker into allowing Bella to live here on a trial basis as part of a
pilot program aimed at at-risk teens. But there are so many stipulations…and Bella isn't good at following the rules.”

“A girl after my own heart,” he murmured with a smile.

“Yes, well, they don't look too kindly on problem girls. I've earned more than my share of gray hair on that girl's account.”

“So why not take it out of the state's hands?” he suggested.

She looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

“Formally adopt her.”

Emma stared. “Excuse me?”

“Come now, you can't tell me you haven't thought of it before,” he said. “Everyone can see quite easily that you love her like a daughter, even if, like you said, it started out as something else.”

“It's not that easy,” she said, closing her eyes briefly. “And you're right. The thought has occurred to me. I've even researched the process. I'm not eligible.”

That he found troubling. He couldn't imagine a more loving person than Emma. “How so?”

“Dillon, do we really need to go into this right now?” she asked, clearly pained by it. “I'd rather not if you don't mind. Suffice it to say, it's not an option for me. Bella is not meant to remain in my care.”

He wasn't ready to let it go, but he could tell she was teetering on the edge of tears and he wasn't going to be the one to push her over. He wished he could offer her solace by taking her mind off the problems facing Iris House and the threat of danger stalking her but he had nothing but more disturbing news to share.

“I took a look at the photos that Mad Johnny was using to blackmail Charlotte,” he said, grimacing at the sudden tensing of Emma's shoulders. “They are of Robert and Charlotte. Trust me, you don't want to see them.”

She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. “What are you saying? Is Robert…” She couldn't finish and her face had paled. “Did he kill her?”

“I don't know. The pictures in and of themselves aren't indicative of guilt but I managed to procure a warrant. It was flimsy and it won't take long for his lawyer to rip through it, but at least we'll have the chance—however brief—to get a look at what he doesn't want us to see. I know this is difficult but I have to ask…did any of the other girls have a relationship of any sort with Gavin?”

“Not that I know of but I doubt that means much because I hadn't known about Charlotte and Robert.” She sighed, then as a different thought came to her she sat straighter and narrowed her gaze, remembering. “I don't understand, I thought you said the man Charlotte was seeing was named Carlyle?”

“One and the same. Apparently, Gavin likes to role-play a bit. Plus he didn't want anyone to know he was hooking up with Charlotte so he made her call him by a different name. In case she talked no one would recognize him.”

“What a pig,” she said, glowering. “How demeaning to Charlotte…”

“I told you he wasn't interested in anything more than a tumble with that poor woman. I don't doubt he filled her head with lots of pretty lies but the evidence says otherwise. Be honest with yourself… Can you see Robert Gavin squiring someone like Charlotte to all the social events in town? She lacked finesse, poise and grace. She was a street girl and she looked the part. That's what he liked about her. It wouldn't have mattered to Gavin if she cleaned up, either. To him, she'd always carry the stain of her past. It also made it easy for him to manipulate her. Didn't you say that she was thinking of taking university courses in the next semester?”

“Yes, she was very excited about making a fresh start,” Emma answered slowly. “Why?”

“The manipulative bastard probably dangled the carrot of respectability in front of her, implying that if she were a different kind of girl they might have a future together. All the while he kept her firmly on the street level by desiring the dirty girl.”

Dawning came to Emma. “And because she wanted to remain with him she continued to play the part in the hopes of becoming someone dear to him eventually.”

“Right. You deserve a gold star,” he said with a faint smile. “Which is also why she was willing to do just about anything to keep those pictures from going to Gavin. She wanted to be the kind of woman Gavin would want on his arm, but if word spread that he was shacking up with a former prostitute…there goes his reputation.”

“And there goes any hope of a future together,” Emma surmised. She looked ready to vomit but she didn't sit there in a stunned stupor for long. She jerked open the front drawer and pulled out the guest list for the Winter Ball.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She grabbed a fine-tipped pen from her tidy pen holder and purposefully uncapped it with a fluid movement before meeting his gaze. “Amending the guest list, Agent McIntyre. I've suddenly lost my affection for a certain person,” she said icily, then deliberately struck Robert Gavin's name from her list.

 

Emma was shaking inside. Robert Gavin. Of all the horrible, despicable, wretched… She shuddered. And she'd allowed him to sit at her table, while laughing at his inane jokes. Oh, horror upon horror, she'd briefly entertained the idea of accepting his offer of a night on the town. “Do you
think he killed her?” she asked, pausing a moment to look at Dillon. “Do you think it's him?”

“I don't know,” he answered carefully. “I've got someone going through his phone records right now. The warrant should be processed by tomorrow. We'll know more then.”

“But something tells me your intuition is saying he's not the one,” she said, taking note of his closed-off expression. “Why?”

“Because men can be rutting bastards but that doesn't make them killers. And frankly, I don't see Gavin having the kind of mental agility that this guy has to pull off the murders we've been seeing.”

“Damn. You're right,” she admitted, but she was too incensed at Robert's duplicity to let it go entirely. “Still, one can't be too careful. Perhaps a cavity search is in order,” she suggested, eliciting a rueful laugh from Dillon.

“From the pictures I saw…he might enjoy it.”

“Oh, Lord,” she blushed with a mild groan of distress. “I'm getting a mental picture and it's horrifying.”

“Yeah, I felt the need to wash out my retinas, too. But you're right…we can't be too careful because even though I'm not sure Gavin is the guy…I'm not sure he's not. And I can't take the chance.”

She replaced her list in the drawer and then tried to focus on something productive but her gaze kept going to the scar on Dillon's cheek. Her curiosity was an annoyance. She didn't want to know more about the man than was necessary. At least that's what she told herself with frightening regularity.

“Why aren't you married?” she blurted, stunned that the words had somehow slipped from her mouth with such a desperate ring. Heat crawled into her cheeks and warmed her entire face. “I'm so sorry. I don't know where that came from…. I'm not myself right now—”
Understatement
if there ever was one. If she started a list of all the uncharacteristic
things she'd done since meeting Dillon McIntyre…well, she'd have a very embarrassing list.

“I never met anyone who made me want to be a better man,” he answered, his gaze intense even if he was lounging in the chair across from her. “I'm a man with plenty of vices. Up until last year I was a chain-smoker, I drink too much and for very little reason, I find most people annoying at best, unbearably ignorant at worst, and I've been told I can be terribly rude without even trying.”

She blinked at him. “Oh,” she said, trying for a small smile as she asked. “Is that all?”

He shrugged. “If we're being totally honest, I've also been accused of being a bed hog.”

Since they hadn't actually done any co-sleeping, she wouldn't know but she wasn't averse to finding out, she realized.

“You sound very disagreeable.”

“Exactly. Now you know why I haven't married. Much to Mum's disappointment,” he added in a surly grumble.

“I'm sure there's more to the story,” she said. She wasn't going to point out that he was a handsome man—he surely knew this—and good-looking men didn't stay unattached for long unless there was some kind of truly fatal flaw. Although he'd been seemingly honest about his, she sensed a bigger reason. “How'd you get that scar on your cheek?”

He forced a smile. “It's not a very interesting story.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” she returned, using his own words.

“Well, perhaps I should've said, it's not a very
nice
story.” When she remained silent, refusing to back down, he looked away but not before she caught the sense that whatever had happened had left more than a physical scar. “It was the last case I was assigned with my partner. You may have heard it on the news. The Babysitter.”

“Oh, goodness, yes. That was awful. A woman killing children? I can't even imagine.”

“Yes, well, she was quite the peach,” he quipped darkly. “All because she lost her own baby. Frightening thought…her being a mother.” He grimaced then continued. “In the course of the investigation we were following a lead and me and a fellow teammate, Agent Tana Miller, went into an abandoned old house only to be blown to bits by a homemade bomb the Babysitter left behind as a present. Tana was killed instantly. I recovered eventually.”