Belonging (6 page)

Kim nodded obediently. One bare toe nudged a
braided rug in an oddly uncertain gesture that tugged at Angie's
heart. She sensed that Kim hadn't come solely to tell her Mrs.
Johnson had arrived.

"All right, young lady, out with it," Angie
said cheerfully. She pulled Kim over to the bed, then sat down
beside her.

At Kim's silence she squeezed her daughter's
shoulder reassuringly. "Hon, you can tell me anything."

Angie lowered her head and added in a
conspiratorial whisper, "Mommy doesn't bite like Spooky does."
Spooky was the family cat, a silver tabby who was rather
independent and aloof. Nonetheless, Kim and Casey adored her. When
she was in the right mood, she didn't mind the girls playing with
her. But when she wasn't, she didn't hesitate to let them know. And
unlike other cats, instead of scratching she tried to bite.

Angie's words earned a tentative smile. Then
wide brown eyes turned up to her. "Mommy, is Todd coming here to
pick you up?"

Her anxious whisper wasn't lost on Angie. If
Todd and Angie were going to the same social function, he often
picked her up at home beforehand and drove her home afterward.
Sometimes he stayed for coffee.

But the concern Angie had felt such a short
time ago at Janice's surfaced once more. "No," she explained,
"Todd's been on vacation all week." Knowing Kim's normal reaction
to men, Angie really hadn't thought much of her behavior. But for
the first time she wondered if the child hadn't been more
withdrawn than usual around Todd. She almost asked her if she
disliked him and why, but Kim's face had lost its worried
expression.

Angie's eyes lingered speculatively on Kim as
she moved from the bed. At the dressing table she picked up a
bottle of perfume and shyly asked if she could use it.

"Of course you can," Angie replied
readily.

When she left the house a short time later,
however, she couldn't help but be reminded of the child Kim had
once been—so lively and vivacious, much like Casey. But after Evan
died, Kim had retreated into her own little world, a shadow of her
former self. It was so bad for a time that Angie had considered
taking her to a child psychologist. Then, little by little, Kim had
begun to respond once again. But she wasn't the same child she'd
been before Evan's death. Angie suspected much of it stemmed from
the sense of loss she'd felt over losing her father. It saddened
her that both of them, mother and daughter, carried scars because
of Evan.

For a moment she almost hated her dead
husband. Even from the grave he hadn't lost his ability to hurt
her.

***

Matt stood in the shadows just outside the
French doors that led to the terrace. There was a thoughtful air
about him as he leaned one broad shoulder against the doorframe and
gazed into the crowded banquet room.

He hated affairs like this; they triggered
unwelcome memories of the endless parties Linda had always
insisted he attend with her, parties filled with frivolous chatter
and plastic people. Granted, this wasn't on the same grand scale
and the people weren't all affluent Chicago blue bloods. But the
fact remained: if he wasn't the guest of honor, he wouldn't have
come tonight. He'd have much preferred to spend the evening
lounging around at home, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and
watching the late movie on TV, instead of being trussed up in a
three-piece suit and pretending he was having a good time. And it
was exactly what he intended to do as soon as he left.

But something—someone—was keeping him here.
He had scarcely been able to take his eyes off her since she had
first entered the room. The dress she wore highlighted her blond
beauty but, if anything, made her appear even more aloof. He had no
trouble picturing her driving up in her Mercedes and handing her
keys to the parking valet without a word. No doubt she lived in an
apartment, probably decorated in sterile whites and cool glass,
something like the one he and Linda had shared for the three years
they'd been married. God, how he'd hated coming home, feeling he
couldn't even relax by putting his feet up on the ottoman for fear
of getting it dirty.

Yet with her quiet elegance, the golden
wreath of her hair and her slender gracefulness, he couldn't deny
the sensual image Angela Hall projected. Nor could he repress the
memory of his long-ago fascination for the ever-elusive Linda.
Linda, who had promised everything ... and given nothing. She had
used her sensuality as a weapon, something to be given or withheld
as the mood struck her.

Apparently he hadn't learned his lesson as
well as he might have hoped. He couldn't deny that Angela Hall's
icy demeanor both repelled and attracted him.

His mouth turned up in a self-deprecating
smile. A know-it-all psychiatrist would probably say he was
regressing to his childhood, always wanting what he couldn't
have.

Just as he was about to step inside, he
caught her movement in the crowd once more. In a minute he told
himself. Just one more minute--

Again it struck him that, even while she was
talking, laughing, the mayor maintained a certain distance, a
cool detachment. Yet people liked and respected her, not only for
her poise and polish but also for her accomplishments during her
relatively short time in office. He'd learned that much in the week
he'd been on the job. The thought was still with him as he watched
a man come up to her and slip an arm around her shoulders. The
gesture was friendly. There was nothing overly sexual about it. She
was even smiling. Then gracefully, deftly, she slipped away and
turned to someone else.

Matt's eyes narrowed. His mind sharpened. She
was subtle about it, so subtle he doubted anyone else would have
noticed. But it slowly dawned on Matt that this wasn't the first
time tonight he'd seen it happen, and he could draw only one
conclusion.

Angela Hall didn't like to be touched.

***

Angie spent an obligatory few minutes
chatting with one of the county commissioners. She felt as if her
lips would crack as she continued to smile and nod politely, but
at this point his voice was a faint buzz in her head. Her feet hurt
from the unaccustomed height of her heels, and she could feel a
headache coming on. More than ever she wished she were home.

The commissioner finally wandered off, but
Angie had no sooner turned than she saw Blair Andrews coming toward
her.

Under any other circumstances, Angie wouldn't
have minded butting horns with her, but right now she was simply
too tired. She ducked for the nearest door—in this case, two—and
breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief when, from the corner of her
eye, she saw someone grab Blair's arm.

The doors led to a small, enclosed terrace.
Angie stepped across the flagstoned surface to rest her hands
against the railing of the balcony. Inhaling deeply, she filled her
lungs with the cool evening air, and, unable to resist, she bent
over to free her feet from their pinched confinement.

A low chuckle sounded behind her.

Angie whirled, startled by the unexpected
sound. As an unfamiliar blush stained her cheeks, she was glad for
the concealing cloak of darkness—especially when she saw that the
voice belonged to Matthew Richardson.

Matt couldn't help it. His chuckle turned
into a laugh at the sight of Mayor Angela Hall, flawlessly groomed
as always and clutching a shoe in each hand.

Angie tried very hard to frown, but it was
rather
^v
hard to maintain her dignity while she was
standing barefoot. The humor of the situation suddenly struck her,
and she gave in to a smile. "You're the guest of honor," she
reprimanded lightly. "What are you doing hiding out here?"

"Getting a breath of fresh air?" he
suggested.

It must have sounded like the feeble excuse
it was. Her laughter came so readily and was so unlike the rest of
her that Matt found himself studying her once more. There was both
strength and softness in those fine- boned features, and he finally
admitted to himself that there were some inconsistencies about this
woman. And he couldn't have called himself a cop if he wasn't
intrigued by the thought of investigating them further.

He also couldn't have called himself a man if
he'd been totally unaware of exactly how lovely she really was. It
both irritated and amused him that he found her desirable and
alluring. To be singed by the flame once was excusable—twice was
something only a fool would do. Apparently this was his day to make
a fool of himself.

"To tell you the truth," he heard himself
say, "I was just thinking I could use a cigarette. Unfortunately, I
don't smoke."

A cigarette, not a lollipop? Angie couldn't
quite hide her amusement as she thought of Janice's comparison of
this man to Kojak.

She also couldn't help thinking that he
seemed a little more approachable tonight than on the previous
occasions they'd met—the smile softened the blunt edges of his
harsh masculinity. Before she had been distinctly on edge. Now she
felt she could relax—almost. What was it Matt had said? Something
about tonight being a stressful situation.

"I know the feeling," she returned softly.
"Unfortunately, fading into the shadows isn't always
possible."

"Or expected of the city's mayor," he
remarked. There was a small silence before he added almost
conversationally, "I suppose you'd rather be anywhere but here
right now."

She felt an odd fluttering in her stomach as
she watched him slip his hands into his trouser pockets. His hands
were big, dark with a generous sprinkling of hair across the wide
backs, the fingers long and lean. She shivered, unable to suppress
an unwelcome memory of Evan's hands, warm and tender, hard and
hurting.

Evan was the last person she wanted to think
about now, or any other time for that matter. She forced her
attention back to the present.

Moistening her lips, she took a deep breath.
"If I say yes, will you believe I don't mean that personally?" She
glanced up at him, wishing she could see his face a little better.
"Unfortunately, I can't pretend I don't hear when duty calls." She
sighed, then added, "But I'm really not very fond of get-togethers
like this."

Surely she wasn't saying she was a homebody.
Matt tried not to look surprised. It suddenly occurred to him that
he'd thought all along that she would be in her element at
something like this, just like Linda. But for some reason he was
reluctant to call her a social butterfly, either.

"At last, a kindred spirit." His tone was
teasing, but his mind had backtracked to the moment before. For
just an instant there had been something vulnerable in her
expression. But vulnerability was a facet he found difficult to
reconcile with his impression of her as diamond hard.

His eyes dropped to the shoes that still
dangled from her hands. "You look like Cinderella fleeing the
ball," he observed.

She smiled, a rather secretive smile, Matt
decided. He watched as she moved a few steps to sink into a
wrought-iron chair, putting her high heels beneath it. Her feet, he
noticed, were exactly like the rest of her--small, slender,
dainty.

"More like Cinderella fleeing the wicked
stepmother," she corrected with a thread of amusement in her
voice. Tipping her head to one side, she looked up at him. She
wasn't really sure why she felt more at ease with him, but the
feeling was infinitely better than crossing swords with this man.
She only hoped she wasn't about to shatter the truce.

"Do you remember the reporter from the press
conference on Monday?" she asked. "The one who—" She paused,
suddenly not quite sure how to phrase the question.

His eyes glinted. "Oh, yes. The one who
enlightened me as to my—"

"That's the one," she broke in hastily. "Her
name is Blair Andrews."

Matt nodded. "Don't tell me—you're not
winning any popularity polls where she's concerned."

Angie shook her head. "That obvious, hmm?"
She watched as he shrugged, then angled a chair next to hers and
sat down. His posture seemed inviting, so she went on. "Actually,
Blair's uncle was the last mayor. He was my opponent."

"And she's carrying a grudge because he
wasn't reelected?" He hoped he didn't sound uninterested. But it
was hard to pretend an absorption in her words when all he could
really think of was how pretty she looked with the moonlight
turning that golden halo of hair into silken threads of silver.
Even those incredibly blue eyes of hers were flecked with
silver.

Pretty? God, that didn't even begin to
describe her. Gorgeous. She was absolutely gorgeous.

"Are you married?" He didn't recognize the
voice as his until it was too late. Hell! Matt thought with
annoyance. It sounded as if he were making a pass—and he wasn't.
At least he didn't think he was. Not for an angelic-looking
temptress with a heart of ice.

"I—" The question startled her. Angie wasn't
quite sure why. Maybe it was because she didn't like divulging
personal details to someone who was, after all, a stranger. But she
suspected it had something to do with the rather intent expression
in those intense eyes that swept over her body. It was a look that
was much too thorough for her peace of mind—and much too male.

Her back was suddenly ramrod stiff in the
chair. "That really isn't any of your business," she coolly
informed him.

That icy tone was one he was already very
familiar with. It riled his defenses and made him madder than

hell. But it also made him want to feel—just
once— that he had gotten the long end of the stick.

"Are you?" he asked again.

She glared at him.

Matt grinned in satisfaction.

When she continued to stare at him in
tight-lipped silence, he slipped his hands into his pockets. "I'm
not," he offered casually. "At least not anymore."