Undone by Moonlight (16 page)

Reid stared at Anderson, who rose. He walked around the table,
slowly, never saying a word.

Calla, though on the other side of the glass from him, and knew
he was digging into his bad-cop role, shivered.

Finally, Anderson stopped next to Peeps. He bent forward and
spoke directly in her ear. “If you’re shoving crap in our face, Ms. Galloway,
I’ll see to it that the next story you write is an extensive exposé on how
neither prison orange accessorized by chains and cuffs, nor fake beef stew and
instant mashed potatoes are sexy enough to be included in fashion week.”

Yep, he was pretty scary.

“I understand,” Peeps said in a stronger voice than Calla would
have given her credit for.

“So, this suspect...” Reid began, picking up the ball. “Was she
carrying a handbag with gold fabric on it anywhere?”

Peeps seemed surprised, then confident. “No. She—” Another
pause. “She didn’t have a bag. She paid with cash out of her blazer pocket. Mind
you, it was a Pilo Carruba blazer, so the pockets aren’t all that large, but
I—”

“We’d like you to sit with a sketch artist,” Reid
interrupted.

Briefly, Peeps’s eyes widened like saucers. “Really?”

“Yes.” Reid rose. “I think your information is vital to solving
our case.”

Peeps flipped her long, brown locks over her shoulder.
“Certainly, it is. Didn’t I say that from the beginning?”

“Anything else at all you can remember about her?” Anderson
asked, joining Reid. “A name? Some indication of her profession, where she
lived?”

“No, but I did notice she smelled like gardenias.”

14

“G
OOD
HEAVENS
, I
MIGHT
actually have to be grateful to that loony gossip.”

Gathering around the table at Shelby’s catering kitchen, the
most central location for the gang, Devin experienced the oddest combination of
comfort, relief and fear at Calla’s declaration.

Comfort because the gang had, yet again, rushed to his side as
nobody in memory had done. Relief because his nightmare frame-up might actually
come to an end, and fear because when it was all over he’d likely lose
Calla.

He shouldn’t ask her to hang around. He couldn’t.

As Calla stalked around Shelby’s kitchen, and her friends
inexplicably remained silent, Devin knew he had to say something. “She saw the
suspect,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “She’s our best lead.”

“I’m trolling nightclubs with her tonight!” Calla ranted.
“That’s my assignment for the NYPD.”

“You said you didn’t want to sit around doing paperwork,”
Victoria reminded her.

Never had Devin been so grateful for one of Victoria’s snarky
comments.

Calla stopped moving and shifted her glare to her friend. “How
quickly they forget. Do you not recall Labor Day weekend?”

Sitting next to Victoria, Jared grinned.

Would he and Calla ever share another easygoing weekend? Devin
wondered. When he had his badge back would their relationship return to the way
it’d been before—where he lusted after her from a safe distance, and she went
out with other guys while waiting for him to have the guts to do something about
their attraction? Or would it simply be over?

He recalled Victoria and Jared’s weekend having hit a few
bumps, as well. Namely a jewel theft. Somehow they’d worked things out.

“She spied on you and Jared,” Calla said sharply.

Victoria looked unconcerned. “She didn’t say anything that
wasn’t true.” She laid her hand against
Jared’s chest. “I remember her
being quite accurate where Jared’s hotness was concerned.”

Shelby brought over a plate of freshly baked cookies, and each
of the men couldn’t wait to grab one. Devin wondered if the other guys were
thinking the same thing he was: with their mouths full nobody would ask them to
comment, which would prevent them from getting in trouble with the girls.

Shelby sat next to her husband. “I think we all agree Peeps has
been a somewhat...invasive presence in our lives over the last several
months.”

“My father certainly wasn’t pleased to find his name in a
gossip rag,” Trevor said.

Though that hadn’t turned out so bad, Devin recalled. Trevor’s
father, the Earl of Banfield, had actually joined the gang at one point.

Was there long-term room in the group for a moody, distrustful
cop with a nasty genealogy who was proficient on the firing range, not romancing
an alluring woman?

“But this is Devin’s career and reputation we’re trying to
save,” Shelby continued, her gaze meeting Calla’s.
“Whatever we have to do
in order to make that happen is a necessary crisis.”

Calla nodded. “You’re right.” Moving behind Devin, she leaned
down and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly in his
ear.

As always, her sweet scent made his head swim. He’d never
understand her loyalty. Sure, he’d helped out her and her friends a few times,
but he’d only been doing his job. “Have a cookie,” he said, handing her one.

Since he got a kiss on the cheek for that, he wondered if this
boyfriend business could be learned and made a mental note to ask Trevor and
Jared at the first opportunity.

“I want to update all of you, not rant,” Calla said after
eating her cookie. “With our suspect interviews suspended for now, the cops have
come up with a pretty good plan,” she admitted. “Even if it does involve that
big-mouthed Peeps.”

“We have to make deals with lesser cons all the time in order
to get the dangerous ones,” Devin told her.

“The wheels of justice,” Calla commented with a weary shake of
her head. “No wonder Robin Hood is always in such high demand.” She took another
cookie. “So Anderson and Reid think our killer needs attention, a forum, an
audience, and since she can’t admit her real accomplishments—framing Devin and
killing Jimmie—they agree she’ll seek it elsewhere.”

Victoria looked disgusted. “She killed off her only confidant.
That’s just poor planning.”

Calla smiled. “They’re also convinced she follows Peeps’s
column. Here’s the article for this morning.” She retrieve the newspaper from
the counter behind her and tossed it on the table.

The New York Tattletale

TPIS (Thank Peeps It’s
Saturday)

by Peeps
Galloway, Gossipmonger

(And proud of it!)

Darlings, it’s
Saturday.
Need I say
more?

Stick with me, Manhattanites, and I’ll pull you out of the
trenches of your cubicle-chained, hum-drum life and show you what life in the
city is all about—looking great, sizzling music, potent cocktails and blowing
large amounts of dough.

While gorgeous detectives who were recently indicted are being
questioned under hot lights about a certain murder (told you I’d get the scoop),
you can show your support—or join in on his condemnation—with a drink at Urge. I
certainly will.

Be sure to say hi if you see me.

Kidding! You know you won’t actually see me. Tsk, tsk, dear
followers, I have to go incognito as usual. I make the noble sacrifice for you.
After all, how else will I know if Jenny Jam and Simon B. show up together, even
though they supposedly had a public breakup over which rehab spa to enter after
their North American tour is over?

Rest assured, all the
best
people
will be out and about. I’ll be trolling several hot spots, including Black Mask
and Peel It!, but Urge is the final destination. I simply
adore
their cocktails with glowing neon ice cubes.

Ask for Mike behind the bar. He’s been known to give a girl an
extra shot with a wink.

Glowing as a cube,

—Peeps

P.S. My assistants and various members of my spy network will also
be dashing about, so if you should encounter one, be as truthful as you dare.
(How else will I know how to twist whatever you say into something more
interesting and printable?)

* * *

“H
OWARD
IS
AT
THE
STATION
now, holed up
in an interrogation room with Anderson and Reid to strategize ways to get the
suspect to confess,” Calla said when the group shifted their attention back to
her.

“Talk about lousy assignments for a defense attorney.” Victoria
pointed at the column. “Mike?”

“Lieutenant Reid.” Calla glanced at her watch. “He should be
here anytime. One of Shelby’s staff is going to show him the finer points of
bartending.”

Shelby looked skeptical. “I can’t imagine Colin Reid tossing
glasses about and flirting with women sidled up to the bar. Why don’t we put
Trevor and Jared behind the bar? Reid can pose as a bouncer.”

“Or the manager,” Victoria suggested.

Calla glanced at Devin, who said nothing. He was crazy about
Calla, but no way was he jumping in to regarding her friends’ role in the
operation. “They can’t pose as anything,” Calla said, her voice surprisingly
steady. “You guys aren’t going to be there.”

Shelby looked confused; Victoria narrowed her eyes dangerously.
Devin reached for another cookie and considered moving to the other side of the
room.

Out of the line of fire.

“Aren’t going to be where?” Victoria asked, her tone hard and
cold as ice.

“At the nightclubs, on this mission, listening to Peeps babble
incessantly or anywhere near a psycho killer,” Calla said, obviously not nearly
as intimidated by her friend as any other sensible, breathing person would
be.

Shelby and Victoria exchanged a look. “Who votes for a change
in gang leadership?” Shelby asked.

Everybody but Calla and Devin raised their hands.

“Excellent.” Shelby smiled. “I nominate Victoria. Is there a
second?”

“Seconded,” Jared said.

“All in favor of Victoria as the new leader of the Robin Hood
gang, bestowing her full powers of the office and offering her the final yea or
veto on any mission engaged in by the gang, please vote now.”

Again, all hands shot up except Calla’s and Devin’s.

“Four to two,” Shelby said proudly. “Congratulations, Robin aka
Victoria. Is there any other business?”

Devin hadn’t had time to take more than a single bite of his
cookie. “That happened fast.”

Calla crossed her arms over her chest. “Your coup won’t
succeed. I’m the one with the inside track to the police.”

“Is this your doing?” Victoria demanded, glaring at Devin.

“No.”
Devin put down his cookie. He
was crazy about Calla—well, more than crazy if he was honest with himself—but if
he’d learned anything in the past couple of weeks, it was the power of
friendship. “You think I’d let my girlfriend go undercover to catch a murderer,
but I draw the line at her buddies helping?”

“You’re not doing this without us,” Victoria said.

Devin, knowing it was useless to disagree, kept quiet, knowing
Calla would have her own opinions about wanting to protect her friends’
safety.

“Reid’s right,” she said. “This is too dangerous. I don’t want
you there.”

“You’re not doing this without us,” Trevor repeated.

Calla looked on the verge of screaming. “Devin, do
something.”

He shook his head. “You’re the one who convinced me that I
needed the gang. Why would I change my mind now?”

Seeing the angry, but fearful, expression on her face, he stood
and took her into his arms. Devin wanted to be standing with her tonight more
than he wanted to breathe, but not only couldn’t they take the chance of the
killer recognizing him, he was supposed to be worried about being arrested
again, not out partying.

“I’m not happy about any of you risking yourselves for me, but
when a fellow cop is threatened, team members suit up and volunteers stand in
line. Isn’t that the Robin Hood motto?”

Calla pursed her lips. “Maybe.”

He trailed his fingers through her silky, golden hair,
reminding himself he’d be only a few feet away from her the whole time. “The op
has more protection than the Federal Reserve Bank. We can end this. Don’t you
want your friends there when we do?”

As soon as the words
end this
were
out of his mouth, he wanted to recall them. Was he closing his case, or ending
things with Calla?

“Fine,” Calla said, “but I wanna be Robin again.”

* * *

A
FTER
ENDURING
TWO
nightclubs full of blaring
music, overpriced drinks and randy guys intent on picking up any female with a
pulse, Calla slid onto a bar stool at Urge with a tired groan.

Why did undercover operatives on TV look like they were having
so much fun? Hell, she usually had fun hanging out at energetic clubs.

But it was a whole different game when your lover’s future was
in jeopardy.

“Hey, beautiful. What’ll you have?”

Hearing the familiar, deep voice, Calla nearly kissed Jared in
gratitude. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

“At least he won’t spend the next half hour trying to look down
your shirt,” Devin muttered via the earpiece she wore as part of the audio and
video surveillance he and Detective Anderson were conducting from the van
outside.

“I’ll drink to that,” Calla said. “Give me one of those glowing
ice cube things. With booze this time.”

She’d been ordering club soda and lime all night while watching
seemingly everybody else in the city have a great time. She was so tense, she
could drive nails with the heel of her hand. Convinced she was doing something
wrong by not attracting their suspect, she glanced around.

There were plenty of blondes. But she only saw people enjoying
themselves. People who were visiting on business or on vacation or fellow
city-dwellers, who’d worked their butts of all week so they could keep their
studio apartments and were thrilled to blow off stress on the dance floor,
laughing with friends.

As she arrived, she’d seen Reid prowling the club, posing as an
assistant manager and looking very much the part of the rule-following dictator,
who might be eager to sell drinks, but wasn’t going to let the fun get out of
hand.

Perfect casting.

As were the roles of her fellow gang members, who enjoyed
themselves with drinks and tapas in a nearby booth, even as their attention
darted to her every few seconds.

“Ask Jared if there’s any sign of the suspect,” Devin
prompted.

“Seen a champagne-drinking homicidal blonde?” she asked as
Jared set her drink in front of her.

Jared briefly slid his hand over hers as he passed her an extra
cocktail napkin. “Not so far. How’s it going with Peeps?”

Calla recalled the conversation in the limo that Trevor had
insisted they rent for the night.

“So you and the hot detective, huh?” Peeps had asked her,
nudging her shoulder and winking.

Calla had continued staring at the passing lights of Manhattan.
“If you think I’m telling you anything, you’re out of your mind.”

Now, with little effort, Calla could see the gossipmonger at
the opposite end of the bar. She was chatting up a guy who looked amazingly like
Jets linebacker Franko Ballinger. Probably was. That Peeps was strategic and
shrewd.

Calla had taken a single sip of her drink when the amorous
couple beside her shuffled off and someone else slid onto the stool next to
her.

And her heart stuttered.

A skinny blonde with long hair, teased-at-the-crown,
fashionably dressed and holding a glass of champagne, smiled at her. Even with
the scent of booze, and various perfumes and colognes, the faint aroma of
gardenias hovered in the air.