Arouse Suspicion (2 page)

"Did the one o'clock say what he wanted?" Danni asked, pausing in her office doorway.

Cathy shook her head. "He said he'll tell you in person.

Danni shrugged, closed the door, and crossed to her desk. Pulling open the lower drawer, she placed her backpack inside. She felt the hard line of her Smith & Wesson in the pack and debated placing the revolver in a more accessible location in case her next appointment was some psycho. Hell, it'd happened before. A delinquent father she'd tracked down had stalked in, waving a knife and threatening to kill her for forcing him to meet his financial responsibilities to his children. She'd disarmed him using defensive moves her father had taught her when she was fourteen years old in case some boyfriend got a little too friendly.

Danni slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes. Not all her memories of her father were unpleasant. She remembered the first time she'd ridden her bicycle without the training wheels. Her dad had hauled her into his big arms and swung her around until she was laughing so hard she almost lost her earlier snack of chocolate cookies and grape Kool-Aid. Years later, when she'd graduated from the Police Academy, her father's proud smile and tentative hug had made her feel the same way.

But it was the memory of his disappointment when she'd turned in her badge that had made her sick to her stomach.

The intercom buzzed, startling Danni out of the eclipsing memories. She leaned forward and stabbed a button. "Yes?"

"Nick Sirocco is here to see you."

"Send him in."

Cathy opened the door, and Danni stood, catching the wink and smirk the paralegal sent her. Then Nick Sirocco strode forward, and Danni understood Cathy's signals.

Danni had been expecting a middle-aged man trying to get the goods on a cheating wife, not someone who looked like he'd just stepped out of a Chippendales gig. Nick Sirocco was a good two or three inches over six feet with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and hips. Faded blue jeans that hugged muscular thighs and a taut gray T-shirt beneath a weathered brown bomber jacket brought Danni's hormones scampering out of hibernation.

"Danielle Hawkins?"

The deep-timbred voice sent her gaze to his face, only to have her attention captured by startlingly clear blue eyes beneath a high forehead and closely trimmed honey-brown hair. A sense of familiarity washed through her, but she dismissed it. She wouldn't have forgotten meeting someone like Nick Sirocco.

"Yes, I'm Danni Hawkins." She mentally chided herself for reacting like a sex-obsessed teenager. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Sirocco." She extended her hand over her desk, and he crossed the short distance to shake it. His strong, warm grip sent pleasurable currents rushing through her and jump-started parts of her body that had been out of commission for too long.

"Call me Nick." His smile brought creases to the corners of his eyes and mouth.

He glanced down, and she followed his gaze to the tea stain on her trousers. Her face burned, and she quickly lowered herself back to her chair, grateful for the desk's cover.

So much for first impressions.

"Would you like something to drink?" Danni asked. "Coffee? Soda?"

"A glass of water would be good."

"I'll get it," Cathy offered and closed the door behind her.

Sirocco had obviously made an impact on the paralegal. Cathy was usually adamant about not playing gofer.

He lowered himself to his chair with an animal-like grace.

Danni wasn't used to dealing with drop-dead gorgeous men in her office. The majority of her clients were women, and the few men who sought her help looked like over-the-hill jocks with more gut than hair.

She lifted her gaze to his summer-sky-colored eyes. "What can I help you with, Mr. Sirocco?"

"Nick," he insisted.

Danni usually remained professional with her clients, but if Sirocco preferred less formality, who was she to argue?

"What can I do for you, Nick?" she reiterated.

A crease appeared between his eyebrows, and the discomfort that crossed his features made Danni tense.

"I knew your father," he said.

Danni narrowed her eyes as adrenaline leapt into her veins. "A lot of people knew my father."

"I saw you at the funeral."

She studied him more closely, trying to remember if she'd seen him at the service or the graveside. But she'd kept her gaze downcast throughout most of the funeral and could recall few of those who'd attended.

"You were the only family Paddy had," Sirocco added.

Paddy.
Was Sirocco just another bloodsucking reporter who'd dug a little deeper than his colleagues?

A soft knock on the door gave Danni a momentary reprieve. "Come in."

Cathy entered with two glasses of ice water, handing one to Sirocco and placing the other on the desk in front of Danni.

"Thank you," Sirocco said.

Danni murmured the same, and Cathy left them alone. Although Danni hadn't asked for the water, she was grateful. Sirocco's little announcement had given her a case of dry mouth.

"So, how did you know him?" Danni asked after taking a sip.

"He helped me when I needed it." Sirocco shrugged, but his eyes were crystalline. "I owe him."

"It'll be hard to pay him back now." She kept her tone intentionally blunt.

Startled, Sirocco stared at her like he was trying to discover something within her. His lips turned downward as if he didn't find it. "You don't sound like you're real broken up about his death."

Rage tightened its icy claws around Danni's chest, making it hard to breathe. "You don't know anything about me, Mr. Sirocco, so don't you dare presume to know how I feel about my father."

Sirocco's eyes widened minutely, but enough to tell Danni he got her message, loud and clear. "You're right. I don't know you." His voice was cool and flat.

"Why are you here?"

He took a long moment to answer her question. "I need your help."

"Why?"

"Because you have access to people and places I don't." Sirocco set his glass on a stone coaster on the corner of the desk. "I want to find the man who murdered your father."

Three years ago, Danni had been kicked in the belly by a suspect accused of stealing from his employer. He'd been wearing steel-toed boots at the time, and she recalled her desperation when she couldn't catch her breath and how her heart raced as she'd lain on the grimy gray-and-tan linoleum floor, her arms clutched around her middle. She felt much the same way now.

"I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing. My father was upset about being forced to retire in a few months. His gun was found in his hand, and there were burns around the entry wound on his forehead. Powder residue was found on his hand," Danni said, keeping her hands clasped lest he see her trembling. "If he couldn't be a cop, he had nothing left to live for."

"Bullshit." Sirocco's quiet expletive held more intensity than a loud bellow. "If you knew your father at all, you'd know he would never take the easy way out."

If you knew your father at all...
That was what this all came down to, wasn't it? Had Danni known her father?

Her heart clamored in her chest, and she forced herself to breathe deeply to allay her sudden dizziness. At the time she'd been informed of his death, she'd questioned the suicide ruling. But all the evidence pointed to that determination.

"Why would someone kill him?" Danni managed to ask in a calm voice.

Sirocco glanced away, then brought his sharp gaze back to her. "I don't know. That's why I need your help."

Danni's throbbing head joined in her heart's pounding tempo. "My father is dead. Why can't you let him rest in peace?"

"Because his murderer is walking around out there scot-free." Sirocco dragged a hand over his short hair. For the first time, she noticed dark smudges beneath his eyes. "Paddy left a message on my answering machine the night he was killed. He said he had to talk to me about something important, and that he'd try me in the morning if I didn't get back to him. By the time I got his message, he was already dead."

Danni looked away to regain control of her jagged emotions. Her father had called Sirocco instead of his own daughter the night he committed suicide. But if it was murder...

"If he was planning on killing himself, why did he say he'd call me back in the morning?" Sirocco pressed, leaning forward in his chair.

She shoved the old hurts back down into their tattered box. The man had a point. "What's your connection to my father?"

"I've known him for a long time, ever since I was seventeen. He—" The man took a shaky breath. "I was headed down the road to prison when he turned me around."

Danni's eyes widened as a lightbulb flared and realization dawned. "You were one of them. One of the boys he tried to help."

"Did
help. Like I said, he straightened me out, helped me get into the army. He changed my life."

Danni's life had been changed, too, by her father's involvement with troubled street teens. But it hadn't been for the better. She'd gone with him to the gym until her body began to fill out and "his boys" had started noticing her. At that age, she'd been foolish enough to encourage the attention. After two of the boys had started a fight over her, Danni's father had ordered her to stay home, but he never stayed home with her. He'd always chosen
them
over her.

That decision had been the start of the disintegration of their relationship.

"How nice for you." Danni's rapier sarcasm sliced the air between them.

Sirocco frowned. "I didn't see him for about twelve years. When I got out of the army, I moved back here and started writing books."

Danni noticed a slight hesitation in his speech, as if he were glossing over something or leaving something out of his explanation. She listened more closely.

"We went out to eat a few times. He talked me into helping out with the youth group, giving a hand where I could. You know, coaching some baseball, refereeing some b-ball games, just being there if someone wanted to talk," Sirocco explained with a shrug. "I found I liked it, and it made me feel pretty good to be able to give something back."

Danni swallowed a block of bitterness. Her father had never asked her to help. Not even after she'd donned the brothers-in-blue uniform.

"Two months ago, I asked Paddy if he'd help me with a novel I was working on," Sirocco continued. "I needed technical assistance with proper police procedure, and I wanted to use some cop slang to give the book a more realistic feel. He was excited about it and agreed to be my official consultant." A smile played on his lips. "We met once a week to discuss details."

Danni willed herself to remain calm on the outside, despite the emotional hurricane raging within her. "What evidence do you have, Mr. Sirocco?"

His eyes blazed with impatience, and he braced his forearms on his thighs. "He wouldn't kill himself. And if you would take a few minutes to think about it, you'd know that, too."

He truly believed in her father. For a second, she hated Nick Sirocco. She hated that he had more faith in her father than she did.

She hated him because he'd had what she'd been denied.

"Who had a motive?" Danni asked, trying to remain objective, even as adolescent memories rose, ugly and spiteful, inside her.

"I don't know." Sirocco's words came out clipped and harsh. "You're the private investigator; you know the ins and outs of this stuff."

Unable to sit any longer, Danni rose and paced the small space between Sirocco's chair and the door. Her insides felt like fire ants had taken up permanent residence.

Sirocco shifted in his chair so he could watch her. "He was your father," he said softly.

Danni paused, took a deep, shaky breath, and shoved her fingers through her hair, snagging the curls and tugging them back, away from her face. "I didn't know him very well, Mr. Sirocco. He had his life, and I had mine. His ex-partner, Sam Richmond, was more like a father to me than he was."

Sirocco looked like he wanted to ask a question, but instead, he pressed his lips together. "Your dad told me all about you."

Danni's vision blurred with unwelcome moisture. Why couldn't he have talked
to
her instead of
about
her?

"Help me find the person who murdered him." Sirocco's piercing blue eyes demanded her agreement.

Murder.
It was such an ugly word, and even uglier when applied to someone she'd known. Her own father.

If there was even a possibility of foul play, Danni had the responsibility to find his killer. Maybe she didn't owe him like Sirocco did, but despite everything, she'd loved him.

And maybe somehow her father could see her and be proud of her.

Chapter Two

Nick watched the indecision play across Danni Hawkins's smooth face. He narrowed his eyes, remembering back fifteen years to the young teenage girl who'd accompanied Paddy to the gym. He recalled her as a tomboy, defeating more than one older boy at a game of horse. She'd been able to sink her shot more often than not when the basketball left her talented hands. She'd only accompanied Paddy three or four times, then he'd shown up alone. She must've decided hanging out with her friends was cooler than shooting hoops with her dad and a bunch of boys.

He studied Danni a little closer, recognizing much of that cocky tomboy in the woman who stood before him now. She had her father's midnight blue eyes—sharp and intelligent—but they possessed a brooding cynicism Paddy's hadn't. She'd also inherited his dark curly hair, but Nick assumed the chestnut glints were from her mother. Who would've figured the gangly kid would turn into a beautiful woman? A woman with one hell of a chip on her shoulder.

She stopped pacing and faced him. "I want to do some checking around first, before I agree to do this."

"So you believe me?"

"To be honest, I don't know what to believe, Mr. Sirocco."

Nick stood and stared down at her, trying not to notice the light smudge of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Or the way they made her seem more vulnerable, and him feel more protective.

As if Danni Hawkins needed to be protected.
Riiight.

"He said he couldn't wait to get the first copy of the book he was helping me with." Nick smiled without humor. "I planned on dedicating it to him."

Her gaze wavered and dropped. She stepped around him and crossed to the door but didn't open it. Finally meeting his eyes, she said, "I want to hear the phone message from my father."

"You'll have to come over to my place or I'll have to bring the answering machine here."

"You can drop it by tomorrow."

"Then we'll start?"

"We?"

"Someone killed your father. If you investigate on your own and get too close, you could wind up dead, too." Nick took a deep breath, surprised he'd given voice to the bizarre compulsion to protect her. But then, she was Paddy's daughter, and Nick owed the man plenty. The least he could do was try to keep his daughter safe. "Look, Ms. Hawkins, I may not have been a cop or know how to conduct an investigation, but I can handle myself."

"So can I." She raised her chin. "I do this kind of thing all the time."

"So you investigate your father's murder all the time?"

She flinched visibly, and the color leached from her cheeks. It was a cheap shot, but at least Nick had gotten an honest reaction.

She crossed her arms, and Nick recognized the gesture—a defense to keep everyone out and her own emotions locked in. He knew because he'd used it often enough himself.

"If I'm right, the killer was probably someone Paddy knew," Nick said. "In fact, it's pretty likely it was someone in the department."

Her expression flared with disbelief and fear—fear that he might be right. "Christ, Sirocco, you're accusing a fellow cop of killing my father?"

He nodded slowly. "It's the only thing that makes sense." Indecision wavered in her eyes, and Nick pressed his advantage. "You're going to need me to watch your back."

"I don't
need
anybody."

"This is important to me," he added, his voice nearly breaking with intensity. "As important as it should be to you."

Her gaze slid away, and she blinked rapidly. He was afraid she would start crying, and he shifted uncomfortably. Women's tears were one thing he had no defense against.

Finally, she raised her head and peered at him with dry eyes. "I'll think about it."

He could tell even that small concession was difficult. Danni Hawkins was what his drill sergeant would've called a lone wolf.

"I'll bring the answering machine over tomorrow," Nick said.

She nodded and opened the door for him.

He walked past her, his arm brushing hers and bringing a rush of awareness through his blood.

"Mr. Sirocco," she called.

He paused in the reception area and glanced back at her.

"Thank you."

He could tell she meant it by the huskiness in her voice and the haunted look in her eyes.

"You're welcome," he replied quietly.

Outside on the sidewalk, Nick breathed deeply of the rain-tinged air, which hid a multitude of less savory odors.

Danni Hawkins puzzled him. One moment, tough as nails; the next, uncertain and vulnerable.

And what did you expect, Sirocco? She buried her father yesterday, and today you're telling her he was murdered.
Nick had poured salt into her wound before it even had time to start healing.

If only he'd checked his phone messages that night. If only he hadn't turned off his ringer.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, reminding Nick he was making like a statue on the sunken, cracked sidewalk. The headache that had dogged him off and on since hearing about Paddy's death throbbed in his temples. Between his guilt and asking questions concerning Paddy at the police department, Nick had slept little the past five days. Despite his attempts to learn anything, he'd been stonewalled by the police rank and file.

Nick knew what it was like. The military was the same way. If someone from outside the closed society started asking questions, that person would be seen as an annoyance at best or a threat at worst. Because of Nick's tenacity, he'd wound up in the latter category. He hadn't planned to go to Danni Hawkins with his suspicions until he had some proof. However, unable to break through the blue wall of silence, he hoped Danni, with her past ties to the department, could slip in and get the information he couldn't.

He unlocked his Jeep Liberty as the first raindrop struck his face. As he drove away, he couldn't help but wonder what could have made a daughter so bitter toward her father, especially when it was Paddy Hawkins.

A man Nick used to wish was his father.

Nick called Danni's office the next day to ensure she'd be there when he arrived. It was later than he'd planned when he rolled into a parking place three car lengths from the office door. Gus had turned her big, doggie-brown eyes on him and suckered Nick into bringing her along. He'd always been a sap where animals and women were concerned.

"Stay," he said to Gus, giving her head a final pat. After making sure the windows were cracked open, he stepped out of the SUV with the phone message machine clutched in one hand. He had no intention of letting it go until Danni agreed to let him accompany her on the investigation.

The receptionist—the nameplate on her desk read Cathy Miller—greeted him with something more than the usual practiced smile. There was no doubt she was interested, but Nick had other things on his mind. Besides, cute Barbie dolls had never been his type.

"Hello, Mr. Sirocco," she said politely.

"Ms. Miller."

"Call me Cathy."

He smiled obligingly. "Cathy. Is Ms. Hawkins in?"

Her gaze flicked away from him. "She's busy. She asked that you leave the answering machine with me."

So that's how Danni was going to play it. Time to let her know he could be just as stubborn. "I'll hang around until she's free and give it to her myself."

Cathy studied him, a speculative gleam entering her eyes. "Wait here, Mr. Sirocco."

The petite woman smiled, but it was the kind of smile that made Nick uncomfortable. The kind that made Nick want to check to see if his fly was open.

She walked to Hawkins's door, knocked lightly, then slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. Nick took a step closer and tilted his head, hoping to hear their conversation, but all he could make out was some mumbling.

He only had a second's warning before Cathy breezed back out. The look on her face told him he hadn't been fast enough in his retreat.

"She'll be out in a minute," Cathy said to him, her eyes laughing.

"Thanks," Nick growled.

Only three years out of covert ops, and already he'd lost all of his stealth skills. Jimmy and Marquez would rag him mercilessly if they found out.

Only they wouldn't find out, because they were gone, just like the other two men who'd been part of his close-knit Ranger team.

Danni came out of her office, a welcome diversion from Nick's downward-spiraling thoughts.

"Mr. Sirocco," she said coolly.

"Ms. Hawkins," Nick responded deliberately. In contrast to the stained trousers and businesslike jacket she sported yesterday, today she wore chunky black boots, black jeans, and a black, red, and white plaid blouse with a white knit shirt beneath it. Also, yesterday she hadn't been wearing a brown leather shoulder holster with a Smith & Wesson .38 nestled within it.

"I appreciate you bringing me the answering machine." She held out her hand for it.

He shook his head. "We listen to it together."

Danni's lips lost their lushness as she pressed them together. She crossed her arms and rested them below a nice set of breasts. He lifted his gaze to meet hers and wasn't surprised to see stubbornness in her eyes. If he hadn't been at the receiving end of her obstinacy, he would've admired her backbone.

Danni and Nick's staring contest continued until the woman conceded and stepped back. "Come in."

With neither of them speaking, Nick set the answering machine on her desk, and Danni plugged it into an outlet.

"Are you ready?" Nick asked hesitantly. Although he'd listened to the message numerous times, it would be the first time for Danni.

She gave a terse nod.

Nick pressed the Play button.

"You have one old message," the flat monotone stated before Paddy's voice came on. "Message one."

"Rocky, it's Paddy. I need to talk to you. Something's going on at the youth center." He cleared his throat. "I have a feeling I know what it is, but I need your help to prove it. Call me as soon as you get this message. If I don't hear from you tonight, I'll call you in the morning." A weak chuckle. "Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction."

Nick hit the Stop button as the now-familiar pang of guilt settled in his gut. He lifted his gaze to Danni, who was staring down at her lap. Her long curly hair obscured her face, and he had a hunch the veil was intentional.

He wouldn't push her, not yet. Hearing her father's voice had probably been pretty traumatic.

"So you're Rocky," Danni commented, startling Nick.

Of all her possible reactions, that wasn't even on the list. "Paddy called me that when I was a kid," he admitted. He hadn't liked it in the beginning, but Paddy hadn't cared what Nick thought, and he had come to appreciate the nickname. "He said I was always looking for a fight."

She raised her head, and though her eyes were dry, red lines shot through the whites. "I did a lot of thinking last night."

Although Nick's mind raced, he remained still, waiting for her to continue.

"Did you know Dad was Catholic?" she asked.

"No."

She focused inward. "The Church used to say that if a person killed himself, he'd go directly to hell. They changed their tune on that a few years ago, but Dad grew up believing it. As far as I know, he attended Mass and took Communion every Sunday, and went to confession once every two months like a good Catholic."

"How about you?" Nick asked quietly.

"He made me go with him until he couldn't put me over his knee anymore. But he never stopped going. Never stopped believing. His funeral Mass was the first time I'd stepped inside a church in nearly ten years." She took a deep breath. "Do you have any idea what he might've been talking about?"

Nick's mind took a second to catch up to her question. "Not really. It sounds like he stumbled onto something at the center, but..." He shrugged. "I don't know what it might've been."

"But he specifically said he needed you to help prove whatever it was. Why?"

Nick had racked his memory for something, anything that might answer that question.
Why?
All he'd done was worsen his headache. "I don't know. It could be anything, from drugs to gang activity to whatever." He threw his hands in the air. "The center is supposed to be a place to get them away from that kind of stuff, but sometimes it doesn't work that way. Some of the kids there have juvie records. Most of the others have had a close brush with the law. Sometimes the center is the last chance they have before juvenile detention."

"You would know. You were one of them," Danni said.

Nick stiffened defensively, then forced himself to ease his tense muscles. "I was one of the lucky ones, thanks to your father."

Danni's jaw muscle knotted, but she didn't look away. After a long bout of silence, she said, "Maybe some of the kids are dealing there. Maybe Dad found out about it."

Nick thought for a moment. "I don't think so. Not that kids don't murder people, but I can't see a kid being that inventive—making it look like suicide."

Danni drummed her fingers on her desk. "You're probably right. But from Dad's message, it seems that his murder was related to the center."

It was the first time she'd actually stated that Paddy had been murdered. Something had convinced her Nick was right. "So what did you find out?" he asked.

She smiled slightly, as if her opinion of him might have risen a notch or two. "I obtained a copy of the coroner's report. Just as I was told, there were burn marks around the entrance wound. There was also gunpowder residue on his fingers, another indicator that he'd fired a weapon."

This wasn't what Nick was hoping to learn. "That's why it was ruled a suicide."

"That's right. Except Dad was at the shooting range that day, putting in his monthly firearms practice. That could account for the residue on his fingers."

"But wouldn't it have worn off?"

"It can take up to twenty-four hours for the residue to disappear completely from the skin."

Nick sat stiff-backed in his chair, his mind racing. "Did the killer know that he'd been to the range?"

Danni shrugged. "If it was someone in the department, like you suspect, then yes, he could've. The schedules are posted where everyone can see them. But there's something else that's bothering me."