Cold Case Cop (4 page)

Her cheeks were flushed and her green eyes sharp with the prospect of a challenge. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, drawing his attention to her full breasts.

Alex realized he wanted to kiss her.
Damn.
Kiss Mackey. Where the hell had that come from? “Why do you want in the club?”

“I found Kit’s old chauffeur but he didn’t have much to add. So I figured I would visit the club—Kit Westgate’s old hangout. I was hoping to ask around and see if anyone remembered her.”

“No one’s allowed in without a membership unless they are a guest of a member.”

“Yeah, I know. But I thought maybe I could just slip in the side entrance. I was five feet in the side door when I was stopped by that goon. He said he spotted me because I don’t blend in.”

Alex studied her outfit. It didn’t blend. Frankly, it was a shade too tight and sexy for the club. “You’re just too…”

“Inexpensive, lowbrow, cheap?” The hint of defensiveness in her voice surprised him.

“Sexy.”

She blushed. “
This
is not sexy.”

That made him grin. “Come on, Mackey. You know how to work an outfit so that the male cops you interview don’t think too clearly.”

Mackey shrugged, unapologetic. “I get the quotes any way I can.” She shot an annoyed glance back at the club.

“Get over it. You got caught and were tossed out.”

She drew in a calming breath. “It’s not that I mind getting caught. It’s happened before. It’s just that these highbrow types put me on the defensive. They think a big bankroll and a pedigree makes them better.”

“Sounds like you’ve got issues.” Tara Mackey was generally one of the most open-minded people he knew. “I’m surprised you have such a narrow view of the wealthy.”

“You sound like Roxie.”

“Roxie?”

“My aunt. She raised me.”

The tidbit of information told him that he knew very little about Mackey personally. It was enough to make him curious about all the other things he didn’t know about her.

Regina chose that moment to approach them. His ex looped her arm possessively around his. “Alex, who is your little friend?”

Her emphasis on
little
had Tara visibly bristly. She opened her mouth, ready to fire back an answer.

Alex cut Tara off before she could comment. “Regina, I’d like you to meet Tara Mackey. Tara is a crime reporter for the
Boston Globe
. Tara, this is Regina Albright.”

Regina’s brows rose. “A crime reporter? You must have met Alex at the police station.”

Tara smiled, but he sensed her tension. “That’s right.”

Regina wrinkled her delicate nose. “Alex mentioned an article in the paper a few months ago. He wasn’t pleased with the headline.” She laid her manicured finger against her chin. “What was that headline? Oh, I remember. Arsonist Smokes Cops. That really made him mad.”

Mackey’s didn’t flinch. “That was my piece. I was covering the north-side fires, set by an arsonist who called himself Nero.”

Alex had called Mackey the day that article had come out. He had gotten her voice-mail and had expressed his displeasure in no uncertain terms. She’d responded later with a text message.
Glad u red my stuff
. “We caught the guy last week.”

“And I reported that,” Mackey added. “Brady had a few nice quotes as well.”

Mackey’s gaze dropped to Regina’s hold on him. Her lips flattened. Some knew of his privileged background, but for the most part he downplayed it. He doubted Mackey knew. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind.

“Regina,” Mackey said slowly. “How do you know Detective Kirkland?”

Regina grinned, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary. “Didn’t Alex tell you about me?”

“No.”

Alex pulled his arm free of Regina. “Regina and I were married a long, long time ago.”

Monday, July 14, 2:00 p.m.

R
egina grinned. “Darling, it wasn’t that long ago.”

Tara’s smile froze on her face. But mentally, her brain ticked through the facts she knew about the Albright family. Blue blood. Money. Privilege. They represented the worst possible combination as far as she was concerned. So what was a homicide cop like Kirkland doing mixed up with a family like that?

“I didn’t realize that you’d been married.” Tara’s tone sounded extra cheery. She was trying to prove to Regina and herself that she didn’t care that Kirkland had been married. It sure wasn’t any of
her
business who he slept with or who he’d been married to.

Alex cleared his throat. “Regina and I have been divorced for eight years.”

Regina pouted. “Has it been that long? It seems like it was only yesterday we were vacationing in St. Moritz for our honeymoon. And of course there was that cozy dinner at your house a few months ago.”

Regina might as well have stamped
Mine
on Kirkland’s forehead.

Again, Tara reminded herself that it was none of her business. “How’d you two hook up in the first place?”

Regina smiled. “We grew up together.”

Albright. St. Moritz. Kirkland.

In a flash Tara connected the dots. How could she have been so stupid? The Kirkland family was the bluest of the blue bloods. His younger brother Brandon was constantly being quoted in the financial section. He was a wizard when it came to the financial markets. The family had more money than most small countries.

Alex
Kirkland
was not a regular guy a girl asked out for a beer or invited to a ballgame. “Kirkland, you’re one of
the
Kirklands, aren’t you?”

His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

Regina laughed. “You didn’t know? Good Lord, everyone knows Alex is the heir to the fortune.”

Kirkland cleared his throat. “My brother runs the company. I’m a cop.”

Tara suddenly felt foolish and awkward. She was a reporter. It was her job to know about people. But with Kirkland, she’d not looked past the badge and his reputation as a cop.

Again, she flashed the too-bright smile. “Hey, I’d love to stand here all day and chat. But I’ve got to go. Have a good one.” She started across the circular drive toward her car.

“Mackey,” Kirkland said.

She ignored him. It was unreasonable for her to be mad at him, but she was. She had really wanted him to be just a regular guy.

Kirkland caught up to her just as she reached her car. His grip on her arm was gentle but strong enough to stop her. “What’s eating you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re pissed that I slept with my ex a few months ago?”

“Please, I could care less about that.”

His gaze narrowed. “So that means you have something against rich people.”

Tara dropped her gaze to her purse and started to dig for her keys. Damn, where were they? “I’ve nothing against the rich.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

He laid his hand on her arm. “Coward.”

She jerked her arm free, but continued to dig in her purse. Where were her keys? “Go away.”

“Not until I explain.”

She could feel the color rise in her face. “Explain what? You’re rich. You have connections. Why you chose to downplay that fact is your business. It’s not a big deal. Really.”

He studied her face. “This is a big deal to you. Why?”

She refused to let this get to her. “What’s a big deal is that I can’t find my keys and I’ve got to get to work.”

“At the paper?”

“At Roxie’s bar. I wait tables there a few nights a week.” Her fingertips brushed metal and she pulled out her keys. She jammed the key in the lock.

Kirkland shoved his hands in his pockets. “I downplay my background because I don’t want it overshadowing my police work.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” She opened the door.

He studied her closely. “Did some rich kid jilt you at one time?”

She got in the car and sat down. The last thing she wanted to do was examine her own prejudices, hang-ups and failed relationships. “Can we just drop it?”

He seemed to understand that she’d said all she was going to say. Like a good interrogator, he changed tactics. “I talked to Regina about Kit.”

That had her refocusing her attention back on him. “And?”

“Regina and Kit were in New York eighteen months ago and a saleswoman in Saks called Kit Brenda.”

Curiosity ignited in her. “Did Regina know who the woman was?

“No. To her she was just a salesclerk.” He shifted his stance as if his leg bothered him. “Kit told the woman she was mistaken and then demanded they leave the store.”

Her mind ticked through the possibilities.

Kirkland’s gaze narrowed. “I think you’re right about there being more to this case. I’m going to move this case from the back burner to the front, Mackey.”

Tara hid her smile. She hadn’t thought he could leave the unsolved case alone for long. “And you will give me the scoop if you solve it before me?”

“Why should I?” A grin tipped the edge of his lips, and the smile changed his entire look. He wasn’t classically handsome but there was a ruggedness—
a maleness
—that she found far more attractive.

“Because I’m the one that brought this case back to your attention and I’ve promised to share with you anything I find.”

Amusement sparked in his eyes. “You share and I’ll share?”

“It’s a fair arrangement.” She checked her watch. “Damn. Listen, I really do have to get going. I’ve got to stop by the paper before I get to Roxie’s.” She fired up the engine.

He stepped back from the car and she closed the door. “Be careful, Mackey. This case is going to ruffle feathers.” He really looked worried.

“Ruffling feathers is what I do best. You know that.” Gravel kicked up as she shoved the gear into Reverse and backed out of the parking lot, leaving Alex Kirkland staring after her.

The newspaper offices were busy when Tara arrived. She waved to the guard at reception and punched the up elevator button. The doors dinged opened to Bill Heckman, a tall, slim man with blond hair who always wore a Ramones T-shirt. This shirt was black with red lettering and a white skull. He was holding a stack of magazines and had an unlit cigarette behind his left ear.

Bill grinned. “Tara. How goes it?”

Tara and Bill had grown up in the same neighborhood. They had many friends in common from school and now both worked for the paper. They’d gone out a few times and Bill had wanted to get serious, but Tara had kept the relationship limited to friendship and the occasional Red Sox game. “It’s going. Thanks again for that mock-up. It’s been great.”

“No sweat.”

“Where you headed?”

“Going to the sports bar across the street. They’re doing highlights of the Sox games from last year. Want to come?”

She was genuinely sorry she couldn’t go. “I’ve got to work. Rain check?”

“Will do.” He grinned. “Tell Roxie hi. And I’ll be by on Saturday to fix that leaky faucet.”

“Thanks, Bill.” She kissed him on the cheek and got on the elevator. She punched Three and the doors closed. The elevator doors opened on the third floor to a large room with three rows of desks separated by narrow aisles. Most of the desks had reporters sitting at them. Everyone was either staring at a computer screen or talking on the phone. They were all racing to meet the evening deadline for the morning paper.

Tara hurried to her desk. Miriam had given her a week to work on the Westgate piece, so she had no evening deadline. The story was due in six days. She sat down and set her bag by her desk. She clicked on her computer.

While the machine booted up, she glanced at the stack of mail on her desk. Under the pile of various press releases and police incident reports she found a manila envelope. It had
T. Mackey
written on it. As she reached for it, her computer screen came on and she opened her e-mail. There were several Urgent Reply Requested e-mails from accounting regarding her last expense report. She dealt with those.

Her phone rang twice. She answered questions from two reporters before she got back to the envelope. She tore the sealed edge open.

Inside, she found a piece of paper folded crisply in half. She unfolded the paper and discovered it was a New York City rap sheet for a Brenda Latimer. Why on earth would someone send her Brenda Latimer’s file? She checked the envelope for a note, but there was none.

Tara dropped her gaze to Brenda Latimer’s picture. Immediately, the photo had Tara straightening. The girl was twenty-three or-four and had ink-black hair. A rebellious look glinted behind ice-blue eyes that were outlined in extremely heavy makeup.

There was no missing the similarities. The oval face, the graceful jawline and the high slash of cheekbones were unmistakable.

Brenda Latimer was a younger, less sophisticated version of Kit Westgate.

Monday, July 14, 6:15 p.m.

A
s Tara drove through downtown traffic toward the turnpike, her head spun with possibilities. Had Kit Westgate Landover, last year’s society darling, had a secret life before she came to Boston? This would change everything, and all the preconceived notions the police had regarding suspects would change.

The engine of Tara’s car made a grinding sound as she shifted into a higher gear and got onto the turnpike.

Had Brenda become Kit? Or was this some hoax designed to throw her off? She had no way of knowing until she did more digging.

Keep me posted
. Kirkland’s words echoed in her head. She had promised to keep him informed. And she would. Eventually.

For now, all she wanted to do was find out anything and everything on Brenda Latimer. She’d start with the police records in New York and work backward to Brenda’s birth records, marriage records and any other bit of public information on file.

Tara reached into her purse and dug out her phone as she raced around a car. She dialed her aunt. Roxie picked up on the first ring and offered a raspy, “Hello.”

“Roxie, it’s me, Tara.”

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Can you survive without me at work for an hour or two this evening? I’ve got something I really have to do.”

“Sure, doll, that’s fine.” She lowered her voice a notch. “Please tell me you have a date.”

Tara smiled. Roxie had been after her for months to build some kind of social life outside of the paper and the bar. “I promise to give a full report when I get back.”

“Good deal. Take care, sweetie.”

“Thanks.” She rang off, smiling. Tara had been six years old when her mother had died in a car crash. Roxie, her mother’s sister, had just opened her bar and was an unlikely candidate for a guardian. When Tara’s father had refused custody, Roxie hadn’t hesitated, and had taken Tara into her life. Tara couldn’t have asked for a better parent.

Tara tossed her cell on the passenger seat. Her mind turned back to work as she headed south on the turnpike. She’d just passed Fifth Street when she first noticed the black van in her rearview mirror. The driver was weaving in and out of traffic as if he was in a big hurry. He closed in on her quickly and came right up to her bumper.

“Okay, Mr. Jerk. What’s the rush?” She gripped the steering wheel and switched lanes, figuring he wanted to pass her on the left. “That jerk’s going to cause an accident,” she muttered to herself.

She expected the van to pass, but instead he came up behind her and hovered right on her bumper. Gazing in the rearview mirror, she tried to get a look at the driver’s face. Dark sunglasses and a oversize hood made it impossible to determine if the driver was a man or a woman.

She glanced to the passenger seat at her phone. She needed to call the cops. One hand tightly gripping the steering wheel, she leaned over to get her phone. The van was within inches of her bumper now.

When her fingers wrapped around the phone, she frantically flipped it open and dialed 9-1-1.

The van hit her bumper hard. Metal crunched metal. Her car swerved. She screamed a few obscenities she’d learned from Roxie’s patrons.

Tara dropped her phone and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. She righted the car and kept it on the road.

She expected the van to fall back, but instead it came toward her again. This time the driver hit her so hard she veered off the side of the road.

Her wheels crossed the white line of the shoulder and the next thing she knew she was skidding sideways. Her brakes squealed, and in one terrifying moment, her car flipped and her airbag deployed.

Alex hated hospitals. The antiseptic smells, the sound of gurneys passing and the hushed conversations all reminded him of the time he’d spent here, fighting for his own life. He’d come because Brady’s oldest son, a rookie highway patrolman, had informed him that Mackey had been run off the road. Her car had been totaled and an ambulance had taken her to the hospital. Alex had left the office immediately and gone directly to St. Bridget’s Hospital.

A day on his feet had taken a toll on his leg. His muscles had stiffened and his limp had returned. But there was nothing to be done about it as he moved down the hospital hallway toward the nurses’ station. “I’m here for Tara Mackey.”

The blond nurse peered over half glasses. She looked tired, and her gaze was no-nonsense. “Are you family?”

“No.” He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his shield and flipped it open. “I’m with the Boston Police Department.”

The nurse studied the badge carefully before nodding. “What can I do for you?”

Alex tucked the badge back in his pocket. “I’d like to see Ms. Mackey and talk to her about tonight’s accident.”

The woman’s gaze brightened a fraction. “I can tell you that she’s bruised and banged up, but she’ll be fine.”

“Thank God.” Relief had him smiling. “Can I see her?”

“She’s in cubical number five.”

“Thanks.”

“Detective, are you a friend of hers?”

He shoved his hand in his pocket. “You could say that.”

“Good. Try to convince her to spend the night. She’s bucking the doctors and trying to get herself released.”

Arguing with doctors was pure Tara. “If her mind is set to leave, she’ll be hard to sway. But I will try.”

“Good luck.”

He strode down the hallway and peeked around the curtain’s edge to make sure he wasn’t catching her in a delicate moment. Instead, he found Tara sitting in a chair by the exam table. Her hospital gown was on the floor, she’d put on her pants and she was trying to wrestle her shirt on. He caught a glimpse of her pink bra and the full swell of her breasts over the delicate lacy edge. He averted his gaze immediately, but had to admit he liked what he’d seen.

Kirkland took a step back. “Mackey, are you decent?”

“Kirkland?” She sounded surprised and a little embarrassed.

“Yep, it’s me.”

“Crap. What are you doing here?” It sounded as if she’d stepped away from the curtain.

“The responding officer was Brady’s oldest son. He called me.”

She groaned. “Do you know everyone in the Boston Police Department?”

Her feisty attitude told him she was going to be just fine. “Not everyone.”

“Give me a second.”

He heard the rustle of clothes. “Need any help?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Seconds later she said, “I’m decent.”

He pushed back the curtain and found her standing by the exam table dressed in the outfit she’d worn this morning in his office, except her shirt wasn’t tucked in and her jacket lay on the chair. Her skin looked pale, and her hair hung loose just below her jawline.

He folded his arms over his chest. “The nurse wants you to spend the night.”

She rolled her eyes. “She’s just being overly cautious. The doctor said I could leave if I really wanted to.”

He didn’t like her coloring or the bruise forming on her collarbone. “What’s the rush, Mackey? Spend the night.”

She ran her hands through her hair. “No thanks. I’ll be better off at home in my own bed.”

He liked the way her thick and lush hair swung loose around her jawline. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked. “You should take it easy in a hospital bed for a night.”

“No. I’ve got to get home.”

“Why? Someone waiting on you?” It occurred to him that it could be a boyfriend waiting. And that didn’t sit well with him.

“As a matter of fact someone is waiting for me.”

Alex had never felt the sting of jealousy, but now for some reason he did. “Who?”

Wincing, she reached for her purse on the chair. “Why do you care?”

“It wouldn’t be wise for you to be home alone.”

She started to dig into her purse. “I’m not going to be alone.”

“Good.”

Mackey found her cell phone and flipped it open. “I know Brady Junior called you, but what are you doing here, Kirkland?”

He was here because he’d needed to see for himself that she was okay. The protective urge didn’t make sense, but it had overridden all logic. “I heard you were giving the nurses hell.”

She blushed. “If they’d just listen to me, I wouldn’t be so difficult.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “You were run off the road by a car on the turnpike. They had reason to be concerned.”

She started to dial a number and then stopped. “But I didn’t lose one hundred IQ points in the process. They are treating me like a baby.”

He understood the feeling. When he’d started to mend from the gunshot wound, the constant monitoring of nurses and doctors had driven him crazy. Mackey was wired like he was, and he knew there was no sense arguing the point. “Tell me about the accident.”

She closed the phone and drew in a breath. He could tell recalling the incident made her uncomfortable. “A van came out of nowhere and got right on my bumper. I moved to the right lane but he followed. Then he hit my bumper with his. I ran off the road.”

That bothered him. She could easily have been killed or badly injured. “Was it a road-rage incident? Did you cut in front of someone while you were driving?”

Her gaze narrowed. “That’s what the other cop asked.”

Lifting a brow, he waited for her answer.

Glaring at him, she started to tuck her shirt in, but winced as if her shoulder hurt. “No, I didn’t cut in front of someone. I was minding my own business when the black van found me.”

Alex tried to distance himself emotionally so he could focus on the facts. He wasn’t having much luck. “Did you get a look at the driver?”

She ran her fingers through her hair, pulled a rubber band from her pocket and tied her hair back. “No. Sunglasses and a hood covered his face.”

He tightened his jaw and released it. “Where were you headed?”

She hesitated a second. “South. To Roxie’s.”

Despite his effort to remain emotionally neutral, he was very worried about her. “When you went off the road, did the driver approach you?”

She frowned at the memory and swayed a fraction. “No. Thank God. I was really rattled.”

He took ahold of her arm and guided her to the chair by the exam table. “You should be sitting down.”

She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “I’m fine,” she said, setting her jaw. “Some jerk on the highway is not going to interfere with my life. He’s already screwed up my evening. I’m going home.” She rose, gingerly set her purse on the exam table and scanned the room with her gaze. “Do you see my shoes anywhere?”

He spotted the flats under the bed, picked them up but held on to them.

She smiled weakly as she slipped on the shoes. “Now all I need is a cab and I’ll be set. I need to get home so my aunt doesn’t start worrying.”

The bit of information pleased him. “
Your aunt
is waiting on you?”

“Yes.” She reopened her cell. “I live on the top floor of the building she owns. She has the second floor, and her bar, Roxie’s, is on the first floor.”

“Right.” He knew next to nothing about her personal life but found he wanted to know more. “Does she know that you’re here?”

Mackey looked a bit embarrassed. “No. And I want to keep it that way. She will freak out if she knows what happened. Her sister—my mother—died in a car accident. She’s the reason I can’t spend the night at the hospital. If I do, she will know something is wrong.”

He grinned. “I always figured you were a free spirit. Not the kind that lives with an aunt.”

She shrugged. “My aunt is getting older. She needs help with the bar. Living on-site saves me money and helps her out. Do you have the number of the Ace cab company? I can’t seem to remember it now.”

“You’re not taking a cab. I’ll give you a ride home. Just stay put while I get your discharge papers.”

She looked genuinely relieved. “Thanks, Kirkland. I owe you.”

Kirkland spent the next twenty minutes convincing a Dr. Finley that Mackey was leaving. The doctor wasn’t as ready for her to leave as Mackey had said, but finally, with assurances from Kirkland that she’d rest, the doctor relented.

Forty-five minutes later, a nurse pushed Mackey’s wheelchair to the patient pickup while Alex retrieved his Impala. He came around to the passenger side of the car and helped her out of the wheelchair. Gingerly, she lowered into the seat. He could see she was hurting.

She started grinning, as if she’d been told a joke.

He leaned inside the open door. “What’s so funny?”

Tara shifted in the seat until she was comfortable. “I’ve got bruised ribs. You’ve got a limp. We make one hell of a pair.”

Alex frowned. “I don’t have a limp anymore.”

She glanced up at him. “It was barely noticeable this morning. But now that you’re tired it’s more pronounced. Face it, we are the walking wounded.”

Alex didn’t respond, and closed her door. As he walked around the car he made an effort not to limp. The bit of showmanship cost him. His leg really ached when he got in the car.

Mackey raised a brow. “Nice show. You almost hid it completely that time.”

“I don’t have a limp.” He fired up the engine.

A flash of pain crossed her face as she clicked her seat belt buckle into the lock.

“It was a mistake to pull you out of the hospital. I can see you’re hurting.”

She breathed out a long breath and met his gaze head on. “Hey, if you don’t have a limp then I don’t have bruised ribs.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “You are a real pain, Mackey.”

She laid her head back against the seat, exposing the long curve of her neck. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

He wondered if her skin was as soft as it looked. “So where to?”

She gave him the address. It was a working-class neighborhood twenty minutes away from the hospital. They drove in silence. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

He glanced at her a couple of times. Sleeping, she looked different. Young. Vulnerable. He’d learned more about Tara Mackey today than he’d learned in the past year.

When he pulled onto her block, the streets were quiet, and he had no trouble finding a parking spot in front of the brick building. He shut off the car engine.