A Guilty Affair (9 page)

“That'd be better,” Riley said quickly, pulling out a notepad from the top nightstand drawer.

As she jotted down the directions, images of kissing Noah rewound in her mind, bringing heat to her face. She hurried off the phone with Pamela Hubbard, half-afraid the woman would somehow discern Riley's lustful thoughts about her son.

That's when it occurred to her what a quandary she faced. The less time she spent alone with Noah, the less likely she'd be to cross the line. On the other hand, in order to get what she needed from him, she had to spend time with him—and the more, the better.

She tapped the pen against her lips. Somehow she'd have to ignore the fact that she was wildly attracted to him, that he was without question one of the sexiest men she'd ever known. She'd have to get over that bone-melting sensation she experienced every time their fingers brushed or he looked at her a certain way. And God help her, she'd have to stop thinking about that scorching, forbidden kiss they'd shared.

There wasn't going to be an encore performance. She wouldn't allow it. What was the phrase she'd used on Noah? Impervious to temptation? That was it. No matter how attractive she found him, she would have to become impervious to temptation. She'd returned home for one purpose and one purpose only. Nothing and no one could interfere with that.

It had to be this way.

The alternative was too unsettling. For more reasons than one.

In San Antonio, whenever a police officer was killed in the line of duty or caused death or injury to someone else, an Officer Involved Shooting Team was assembled to investigate the incident. The team usually consisted of the Homicide Unit lieutenant, three sergeants, and at least six detectives.

On a Saturday afternoon when he should have been catching up on paperwork, mowing his lawn, or tending to any number of other tasks, Noah found himself seated in the living room of retired sergeant Jerry Burns, who'd served on the OIST that handled Trevor's shooting.

Burns, a fifty-two-year-old man with thinning gray hair, pale blue eyes, and the telltale beginnings of a paunch, had been forced into early retirement after injuring his back on the job last year. But anyone who knew Jerry Burns knew he wasn't enjoying the life of a retired cop. Instead of collecting disability checks, he'd much rather be supervising a team of overworked, underpaid homicide detectives, a responsibility he'd enjoyed for fifteen years with the SAPD. Although Noah had been assigned to a different detail within the Homicide Unit, he'd always had a tremendous amount of respect for Jerry Burns. Unlike the authoritarian sergeant Noah had once reported to, Burns gave his detectives room to breathe, providing a buffer against the captain and those above Burns in the chain of command. Time and again, he'd proven to be trustworthy and discreet. For that reason, Noah knew he'd never have to worry about Burns telling anyone about his inquiries into Trevor's death.

When Noah called him that afternoon, Burns had been so eager for contact with someone from his former life that he'd agreed to Noah's visit without asking too many questions.

Now, however, after they'd exhausted talk of the weather, the NBA playoffs, and updates on members of the Sunday Night Pool Sharks, Burns chuckled dryly. “Not that I'm complaining, Roarke, but I know you didn't drive all the way out here to drink my good beer and shoot the breeze. What's on your mind—or do I even need to ask?”

Noah managed a wry smile. “Guess it's that obvious, huh?”

Burns nodded. “You're here to ask more questions about the shooting,” he said resignedly.

Noah inclined his head.
This has nothing to do with what happened yesterday
, he told himself firmly.
Just because you kissed Riley doesn't mean you now share her belief that Trevor may have caused his own death
.

Burns sighed. “I don't know what else I can tell you, Roarke. Because you were Trevor's best friend and former partner on the force, we gave you unrestricted access to all our files—the crime scene report, the autopsy results, the findings from the OIST investigation. You went through everything with a fine-tooth comb and interviewed everyone from witnesses at the scene to convicts Trevor had sent to jail within the past year. When it was all said and done, you learned nothing more than what you'd already been told. That Trevor was shot and killed by a robbery suspect fleeing arrest.”

“I know.” Noah pushed out a long, deep breath. “I just can't help but wonder if we missed something.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know,” Noah said honestly.

In the aftermath of Trevor's senseless death, Noah had investigated the shooting as thoroughly as the officers assigned to the case. It had never once occurred to him that Trevor may have been involved in something shady that got him killed. He'd had no reason to suspect such a thing—until Riley returned with her awful suspicions. Suddenly he'd found himself poring through the old case files again, dredging up painful memories he'd sooner forget.

Burns was watching him sympathetically. “You'd been off the force for over a year when Trevor was killed. I know you felt out of the loop, which was why I made every effort to keep you informed and involved in the investigation—without Chief Pittman's knowledge, of course. You know he would've nailed our hides to the wall if he ever found out we'd given you unlimited access to our files, former cop or not.”

Noah nodded. “I know, and I appreciate what you did for me.”

“But you still have questions.” Burns paused. “Or does someone else?”

Noah tensed. “What do you mean?”

Those pale blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully on his face. “I heard through the grapevine that Riley Kane is back in town.”

“She is. And before you ask, she didn't put me up to this, Jerry. I'm here on my own.” Which was true. Riley didn't know he'd decided to pay a visit to the retired sergeant. As far as Noah was concerned, she would never find out, because he didn't expect to learn anything new that would substantiate her fears and suspicions.

“Well, what do you want to know, Roarke? If I remember correctly, you had the crime scene report memorized by the time we were finished with our investigation. At 9:35 a.m. on January 16, Trevor responded to a radio call about a robbery in progress at the E-Z Mart convenience store on the south side. When he entered the store, the suspect was wearing a stocking mask and wielding a .38. There were only three other occupants inside the building, including the cashier. When Trevor ordered the suspect to drop his weapon, the perp escaped through a rear exit leading into an alley. Trevor pursued him. Witnesses in the store reported hearing the exchange of gunfire for at least thirty seconds. By the time other responding officers arrived on the scene, Trevor was down, and the suspect had fled. Ballistics matched the slug found in Trevor's body to the.38 belonging to Conrad Weiss.” Burns paused, his mouth thinned to a grim line. “Did I miss anything?”

Noah shook his head, frowning. “Something that's always bothered me…Trevor never radioed for backup.”

“No, he didn't.” Burns scowled. “His failure to follow protocol probably cost him his damn life. But you know as well as I do that Simmons was hot-headed that way. If there was a chance for him to play the hero, he jumped at it.”

It was true. For as long as Noah could remember, Trevor had always possessed a misguided belief in his own immortality. In school he'd picked fights with bullies and kids that were much bigger than he was, just for the hell of it. And no matter how many times he got the crap beat out of him, nothing had deterred him. Growing up, the majority of the fights Noah had gotten into came as a result of Trevor's antics.

Yeah, he knew better than anyone what a hothead Trevor Simmons had been.

They couldn't have known that it would someday cost him his life.

“In the days and weeks leading up to the shooting,” Noah asked, “did you notice any changes in Trevor's behavior?”

“No.” Burns frowned. “We went over all this during the investigation, Roarke. Nothing's changed, as far as I know. There've been no new developments that would warrant reopening a closed case. What happened to Trevor was an unfortunate tragedy. But we have no reason to believe there was anything more to it than an armed robber shooting an officer in the course of resisting arrest. My advice to you—and to Miss Kane—is to move on with your lives, and let Trevor rest in peace.”

Noah scrubbed a hand over his face and pushed out a deep breath. Burns was right, of course. He'd pretty much told Riley the same thing. It was time for them—for
her
—to move on with her life, as he'd already done. Hadn't he?

He gave Burns a rueful smile. “I don't suppose you could spare a little more of your time to walk me through all the files and reports again? They're in a box in my truck outside.”

Burns stared at him for a prolonged moment, then huffed out a resigned sigh. “What the hell? My wife won't be back from her sister's until this evening anyway. But you owe me big time, Roarke. And if I ever need the services of a private investigator, I expect some sort of discount from you.”

Noah grinned, rising from the sofa. “Anything for you, sergeant.”

Hell, if Jerry Burns could help Noah put to rest any lingering questions about Trevor's death, Noah would be indebted to him for life.

“Y
ou
must be Riley Kane.”

Riley smiled at the tall, handsome, gray-haired gentleman who greeted her at the front door of Pamela Hubbard's home the following afternoon. “Yes, I am. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hubbard.”

Warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners in a welcoming smile. “The pleasure's mine, young lady. I've heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope?”

Lionel Hubbard laughed, a quiet, gravelly sound that rumbled up from his chest. “Of course, of course. Come on in. Everyone's been waiting for you.”

Everyone?
Riley thought nervously as she stepped into the cool interior of the large single-story house. She had only a glimpse of a spacious, elegantly furnished living room off to her left before the rapid approach of footsteps on ceramic tile drew her attention.

“I'm so glad you could make it,” Pamela Hubbard greeted her, beaming a smile of such genuine warmth that Riley wondered what she'd ever done to deserve this woman's incredible generosity.

She smiled as Pamela wrapped her in a tight, fragrant embrace. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“You don't have to thank me,” Pamela said, drawing away to grasp both of Riley's hands. “Like I told you on the phone, I would have called you last week if I'd known you were back home. Don't think I didn't give those boys an earful the first chance I got.”

At sixty-two years old and standing at five-two, Pamela Hubbard was a petite woman with smooth, firm skin the color of mocha and gentle hazel eyes. Her silver hair was styled the same way Riley remembered, in short, sophisticated layers that accentuated her fine-boned features. She wore a pleated navy-blue skirt and cream silk blouse beneath a red apron with World's Greatest, Bestest Grandma stenciled in white letters across the front.

“You're looking very well,” Pamela said, holding Riley at arm's length for a moment as she gave her a once-over. She nodded in approval at the pale yellow skirt and jacket Riley wore with a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals. “Just as pretty as a picture, isn't she, Lion?”

Her husband smiled at Riley. “You betcha.”

“Did you go to church with your grandmother this morning?” Pamela inquired.

Riley nodded and smiled. “She wanted to show me off to all her friends.”

Pamela laughed. “Of course. She couldn't stop bragging about you last night at the fund-raiser dance. She's going to have everyone at the senior center trying to marry you off to their eligible grandsons. Oh, has she shown you the pictures yet? Florinda was the belle of the ball. She said you helped her pick out that beautiful gown she was wearing. I told her you have excellent taste.”

“Speaking of taste,” Lionel Hubbard interjected good-naturedly, rubbing his stomach, “when are we going to eat, woman? My mouth has been watering ever since you took that glazed ham out of the oven.”

“Oh, go on with you,” Pamela laughingly chided.

Riley couldn't help but smile, seeing the tender look that passed between them.

“We can eat as soon as the rolls are ready,” Pamela said briskly. “I was waiting for Riley to arrive before I stuck 'em in the oven. Riley, won't you be a dear and go fetch the others from outside? They need to get washed up before they step anywhere near my dinner table. Go right through those French doors to reach the backyard,” she instructed, pointing down a wide expanse of corridor that led to what appeared to be a family room.

Riley obeyed without question, though her palms had grown moist at the prospect of seeing Noah again. She wondered how he felt about his mother inviting her over for Sunday brunch. Would he resent her for showing up? Would he treat her like an intruder, an unwelcome guest at a sacred family gathering?

When he looked at her, would his gaze reflect the memory of their kiss?

As she stepped through the French doors onto the wide wooden deck, the first thing she noticed was an enormous yard framed by ancient cypress trees, manicured shrubs, and lush garden beds teeming with a colorful mélange of flowers that perfumed the air.

The sounds of male laughter, mingled with the slap of a basketball against pavement, reached her ears. Curious, she walked across the deck, sidestepping a set of wrought-iron patio furniture, and peered around the side of the house into a small courtyard. There, engaged in a rough game of thirty-three, were Noah, Kenneth and a young caramel-skinned boy who could only be Kenneth Junior—or KJ, as his family called him. All three of them were shirtless under the hot summer sun, but there was only one bare chest that made Riley's mouth run dry. Noah's impossibly broad shoulders and wide chest planed with hard, sinewy muscle evoked images of a Greco-Roman bronze statue. A light sheen of sweat clung to his glorious brown skin and made Riley wonder what it would be like to touch him, to press her hand against the solid warmth of his bicep and feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

Unable to look away, she watched as he lowered one shoulder, drove past Kenneth and slammed the basketball through the hoop. The metal rim vibrated with the force of the dunk, drawing loud, protesting groans from his brother and nephew. Noah grinned cockily, his teeth flashing strong and white in his handsome face as he reached out to ruffle KJ's curly hair.

“Still think you and your old man can beat me?” he teased, his voice deeper and huskier from physical exertion. Knees weakening, Riley found herself leaning a little too heavily against the deck railing.

Noah glanced up then, meeting her eyes, and Riley's breath caught sharply in her throat. How had she missed the power of those deep, mesmerizing eyes five years ago she wondered, not for the first time.

“Hey Riley!” a voice called out cheerfully.

Riley straightened from the railing and turned around to watch Janie emerge from a gazebo across the yard with a miniature version of herself in tow, both dressed in their Sunday best. Eight-year-old Lourdes Roarke's dark, glossy hair was parted down the center and hung to her tiny waist.

Riley waved at the pair as they approached.

“When'd you get here?” Janie asked, leaning down to press a kiss to Riley's cheek.

“A few minutes ago.” Riley smiled at the young, pretty girl standing beside her mother. “Hi, Lourdes. Do you remember me?”

“Of course,” Lourdes responded with an air of childlike impatience. “You're Uncle Trevor's girlfriend.”

Riley's smile softened. “That's right. You've gotten so tall—you and your brother.”

The girl rolled her dark eyes heavenward. “That's what every grown-up says.”

Janie pinched her daughter on the arm. “Don't be rude,
mija
.”

“Sorry,” Lourdes mumbled sulkily, rubbing her sore arm.

Riley grinned ruefully. “You were right. I used to think the same thing at your age.”

The girl eyed her suspiciously. “Are you here to see my uncle Noah?”

“Lourdes!”

“Does someone need a nap already?” came Noah's amused drawl.

Riley turned as he, Kenneth, and KJ stepped onto the deck, tugging on white shirts over their suit pants. She watched as Noah sauntered over to his niece and tweaked her pert nose. She beamed with pleasure, rewarding him with an adoring smile.

Janie wrinkled her nose at the newcomers. “You guys are all sweaty. Mama's gonna kill you—you know she told you not to play basketball before lunch.”

Kenneth laughed. “She says that every week, baby. When do we ever listen? Hey girl,” he said warmly to Riley. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks, Kenneth. You know I couldn't say no to your mother. How's it going, KJ?”

Kenneth's son, who had a head full of curly, light brown hair and thick-lashed amber eyes, looked nothing like his fraternal twin sister. Their personalities were also as different as night and day.

KJ gave Riley a bright, eager smile. “Hi, Miss Riley. You gonna play basketball with us later, like you used to?”

Riley chuckled. “I don't think so, handsome. I'm not exactly dressed for it.”

He looked her over and groaned with disappointment. “Aw, man, why do girls always have to wear skirts to church?”

Winking at Riley, Kenneth clapped a hand to his son's shoulder. “Because God knew we'd need more than a good sermon to be lured to the house of worship. Some of us, anyway,” he hastened to add at Janie's narrow-eyed look.

Riley grinned at him. “Well, your mother sent me out here to tell you fellas to wash up before you're allowed anywhere near her dinner table. So, unless you want me to finish all that wonderful food by myself…”

She trailed off, her grin widening as Kenneth and KJ exchanged quick glances, then made a beeline for the French doors.

Noah followed more slowly, pausing for a moment to look back at her. Once again she was snared by his piercing ebony eyes. Air stalled in her lungs as he gazed at her for what seemed an eternity but was probably no longer than a few seconds.

Only when he turned and continued into the house did she let out a slow, shaky breath.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

Hell, it was going to be a long
summer
.

As she did every week, Pamela Hubbard had pulled out all the stops for Sunday brunch. A honey-glazed ham fit to feed a small army was served with baked chicken, sweet-and-sour meatballs, candied yams, green beans and cabbage, potato salad, deviled eggs, and flaky honey rolls that melted in Riley's mouth after the first bite.

By accident or design, she wound up seated next to Noah at the long mahogany table, while Kenneth and Janie sat across from them, and Pamela and her husband claimed opposite ends of the table. Lourdes insisted on sitting on the other side of Noah, determined to ensure that her beloved uncle's attention would not be divided between her and Riley.

“This is an extra special occasion for our family today,” Pamela intoned with a glance around the table that settled warmly on Riley. “We're so glad to have you back home. I, for one, am very anxious to hear what you've been doing with yourself for the past three years.”

“Working hard,” Riley answered with a smile. “The paper keeps me pretty busy.”

“Are you still covering the crime beat?”

Riley shook her head. “Education.” After Trevor's death, she'd needed a long break from stories about fires, drug arrests, beatings and homicides. Attending reading fairs at local elementary schools and reporting on vouchers and national literacy standards had provided a welcome, if sometimes frustrating, change of pace.

Pamela offered an understanding smile. “I think Noah's read some of your articles. He has a subscription to the
Washington Post
, isn't that right, baby?”

Riley looked at him in surprise. “You do?”

Noah lifted one shoulder in an impassive shrug. “I also subscribe to the
New York Times
,” he said pointedly.

“Oh.” Riley tried her best not to sound deflated. “That said,” he added after another moment, “I have read some of your articles. You're a great writer, Riley. You've always been. But I don't need to tell you that.”

She warmed with pleasure at his words. “No,” she agreed, striving for nonchalance, “but it's always nice to hear.”

“I'm sure you hear it all the time,” he said sardonically.

“First I've ever heard it from you, though.”

“Are you saying I've never complimented your writing?”

Their gazes locked for several moments. Gradually Riley became aware of six pairs of eyes focused on them. A slow flush crawled up her neck and spread across her cheeks.

Clearing her throat self-consciously, she reached for her glass of chilled wine as Noah glanced away, becoming absorbed in his food.

Silence descended upon the table for a moment, and then Janie began conversationally, “So, Mama, you never did tell us how the ball went last night?”

“It was wonderful,” Pamela said with feeling. “Aside from the fact that Lion and I had the time of our lives dancing the night away, we also raised a substantial amount of money for the senior center. Thanks to everyone at this table for your generous donations. And speaking of that,” she added, her hazel eyes twinkling with excitement, “Caleb's father also gave out of the abundance of his heart—
and
wallet—by writing us a check for one hundred thousand dollars.”

There were surprised exclamations around the table. KJ stared up at his grandmother in wide-eyed fascination. “That's a lot of money, isn't it, Grandma?”

She smiled indulgently, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “You bet it is, sweetheart. More than enough to buy brand-new computers and educational supplies for the senior center.”

Kenneth grinned, shaking his head from side to side. “Can't say I'm surprised, not after seeing how much Crandall spent on Caleb and Daniela's wedding.
Cha-ching
.”