Hot Contact (2 page)

She gestured toward the path leading back to the pool area. “I think perhaps I interrupted you, after all,” she said,
her expression as apologetic as her mask would allow. “I'll go.”

“No.” He caught her by the hand then didn't release her. He hadn't realized how little he'd spoken. Obviously he had made her uncomfortable. “I had a rough day.” Week. Month. Year. “I thought I dreamed you up.”

Her dark gaze held him captive. “I'm quite real.”

“I can see that.” He didn't know what else to say. She was like a beacon in the fog of his world. He wanted to follow the light, to let it shine on him, to brighten his existence. Pure selfishness, he admitted, since he had nothing to offer her or any woman except dead emotions, a screwed-up mind, an ulcer, probably, and the short fuse of a man long deprived of uninterrupted sleep. Plus a job in jeopardy. Oh, yeah. He had a lot going for him, all right.

Take back your life.
Again the lieutenant's words assaulted him. Suddenly he wanted his life back. No, not back, but better.

The woman continued to study him. He didn't break eye contact. Couldn't. Something about her demanded that he look deeply into her eyes, to allow her to look into his, not an easy feat with masks on. Finally she set her martini glass aside and took a step toward him.

“Dance?” she asked, soft and low, as music filtered in from hidden speakers.

He took her into his arms. Her body felt lithe and limber as they moved to the slow rhythm. He pulled the rose from her hair and dragged it across her cheek. Her eyes glittered darkly. He went hard with need.

One strap of her sexy dress slid off her shoulder and down her arm. He hooked a finger into the fallen strap and dragged it onto her shoulder. She didn't protest nor did she encourage him toward more. He let his finger slide down the strap until it met fabric. Her breast cushioned his hand;
he felt her breath stop then tugged her toward him, his gaze on hers, lowered his head, brought his mouth close—

“Well. I see you've met,” Scott Simons said into the magic moment.

Joe swore.

T
he stranger's single, explicit curse flattered Arianna, but before she could decide why, he took a step back from her. Regret and relief assaulted her simultaneously. She was aroused, more than she'd been in a long time, and she'd known him for ten minutes! She should be grateful that Scott had come along….

But she wasn't.

“Everyone has unmasked,” Scott said, grinning as if something momentous was about to happen.

Arianna glanced at the man dressed as Zorro. Would he take off his mask? He seemed reluctant—or maybe he was still caught up in what they'd just experienced. She'd danced with him because she'd recognized something even his mask couldn't hide—a kindred spirit. Battle weariness. Like her. So they'd distracted each other from whatever demons haunted them.

Arianna lifted her mask away. He seemed to stop
breathing. She saw his eyes close for longer than a blink, then he took off his hat and untied his mask.

“Yes, we've met,” he said to Scott, but looking at her. “Ms. Alvarado. It's nice to see you again.”

She wanted to punch Scott in the mouth. Anything to wipe that stupid grin off his face. “Detective,” she said calmly to the man she'd come to the party hoping to see. “How've you been?”

“Business, my ass,” Scott said before he left them alone.

“What was that supposed to mean?” Joe asked.

“Does anyone know why Scott says the things he does?” she replied, her fists clenched. She ran a few sentences through her head. Everything sounded inane. “Well,” she began.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “That was interesting.”

Her shoulders loosened. “‘Interesting' tells me nothing.”

“Care to put your spin on it?”

She settled on honesty, especially since she had a favor to ask of him. “I don't usually come on that strong.”

His brows lifted as if he didn't quite believe her. He tucked her rose back in her hair. His fingertips grazed her ear then her neck, his gaze serious. “Thank you for the dance.”

She shivered. Annoyance came hard and fast. What was going on? She knew how to control her reaction but made no effort to. That attraction she'd felt last December was as strong as ever. “You're welcome.”

She wanted to ask him why he'd come, since Scott had been adamant that Joe wouldn't dress for Halloween. “I like your choice of costume,” she said.

“I can't wait to take it off. How about you?”

She swallowed the innuendo that sprang to mind. “I'm comfortable in mine.” She couldn't be alone with him for
one more minute. She'd never been so unguardedly drawn to anyone, ever. If she wanted his help, she needed to stay businesslike, to act like the thirty-three-year-old professional woman she was, not some hormonal teenager. “Shall we head back to the party?”

“All right,” he said, although with surprise on his face. “I take it your firm has done work for Scott?”

“For a number of years.” She led the way down the path toward the pool. She'd been a private investigator for seven years. Her company, ARC Security & Investigations, did consulting and investigative work for many attorneys in the area, especially on high-profile cases.

“I met him eighteen years ago,” Joe said. “He was my training officer after I graduated from the academy. We stayed in touch for a long time.” They emerged from the trail. “Although I hadn't seen him in a couple of years. He's been busy.”

“I see him more on television than in the office these days, too,” she said, eyeing the crowd mingling around the pool. She didn't want to ask her favor tonight at the party. She also didn't dare leave him alone, since Scott might decide to tell him she'd specifically requested he be invited.

Now what? She couldn't leave until he did. And she couldn't wander away. Small talk?

“Do you know anyone else here?” she asked.

“No. Did you come alone?”

I wanted to see you.
“Yes.”

“That surprises me.” He gestured to a couple of chaise lounges. “We should grab those while they're empty. Can I get you a drink?”

She'd left hers behind at the waterfall, she realized. “Yes, please. Martini with a twist, extra olives.”

“I'll be right back.”

She'd barely settled on a lounge when Scott sat down on the one next to hers.

“Did you know he was here?” she asked, watching Joe talk to the bartender.

Scott looked at her over his wineglass, then took a sip. “Yes.”

“Is that how you entertain yourself?”

“You're a cool one, aren't you, Arianna?” He settled a little more comfortably. “Controlled. Smart. I'd never seen you ruffled by anything until you found out I knew Joe.”

“It was a simple favor to ask, inviting him to the party,” she said, wishing she had her drink already, needing the prop.

“More than that, I think.”

She hesitated. Joe was walking toward them. “You won't say anything.”

“I don't know how this is going to play out.” He smiled, patted her knee and stood, making room for Joe, leaning to whisper in her ear, “You know he's not engaged anymore, right?”

Arianna said nothing. She didn't know he
had
been engaged. Was that the reason for the battle-weary look in his eyes? Had he broken it off or had his fiancée?

She thanked Joe as he passed her the drink then raised her brows at Scott, indicating he could move on.

Scott grinned. “So, how do you two know each other?”

“We met during Alexis Wells's attempted murder last year,” Arianna said, aware of Joe taking a seat beside her and stretching out those long legs. His knee-high black Zorro boots made her smile. “Joe was the detective in charge of the case.”

“You worked together? The cop and the P.I.? Strange bedfellows.” He met Arianna's gaze and smiled benignly.

“We shared information without insulting each other's profession,” Joe said. “She's a cut above in her field.”

“Yeah. Most P.I.s only get to eat what they kill,” Scott responded. “But not Arianna and her partners.”

“We work hard.” Her irritation grew. She'd always had a great business relationship with Scott. Why was he making things difficult for her now?

“Scott,” Joe said, his voice quiet but firm. “I like you. But if you continue to offend Ms. Alvarado, she's going to leave. And I'm not going to like you anymore.”

A few seconds ticked by, then Scott lifted his glass to Joe. “To the thrill of the chase.”

Joe stared back.

“Thanks,” Arianna said when their host walked away.

Joe shrugged. “Sometimes he doesn't know when to quit.”

“I've noticed.” She slid a green olive off the toothpick and sucked on it. “Pushing the right buttons is what makes him good in the courtroom, though.”

“But lousy as a friend sometimes.” Joe leaned toward her. “Would you like to get out of here? Go somewhere quiet?”

She was tempted. Entirely too tempted. But if she accepted his invitation she couldn't move the relationship into a business one when she needed to. She had no intention of lying to him or stringing him along. She just didn't want to ask her favor publicly—or in costume. It was too serious for that. The party had been a way to open a dialogue. “I'd love a rain check,” she said.

He studied her for a long time. She made herself breathe.

“Walk me to my car and I'll give you my number,” he said, standing. “You can call me when the sun comes out.”

She smiled. “All right.”

Joe offered her a hand up. He was probably crazy to
pursue her. He should at least wait until his life was back on track, yet he couldn't help but feel she was part of the solution. Wishful thinking, maybe?

They made their way through the crowded house. He guided her slightly ahead of him with a touch to her lower back, just enough to feel the bones of her vertebrae against his fingertips now and then. She turned and looked at him once, her dark eyes again taking his measure in a way no woman in his memory had. She looked deeply, as she had by the waterfall, without blinking. Did he meet her standards or pass her test or whatever it was she was doing when she looked at him like that?

They reached his SUV. He got a business card out of his glove compartment, wrote his home and cell numbers on the back and passed it to her.

“Something on your mind?” he asked when she said nothing. He curled his fingers into his palms, resisting touching her. He wondered how long her hair was. A year ago it was just past her shoulders.

“You're different from other detectives,” she said. “I noticed that before.”

“Different, how?”

“Quieter.”

“And not intimidated?”

She smiled. “Do I intimidate?”

“Competence is often intimidating.”

Arms folded, she leaned a hip and shoulder against his passenger door. “I think I've been complimented.”

“You have.”

“You impress me as well.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” He moved closer, crowding her space a little.

She didn't budge, not even when he slipped a finger under her strap as he had by the waterfall. He focused on the
little beauty mark at the corner of her mouth. “This is very pretty,” he said, kissing the spot. He felt her lips part, heard a soft sound, more than a breath catching, less than surrender. He moved his mouth over hers lightly, brushing his lips against hers, pulling back, making her come to him.

A horn honked. Teenage boys shouted crude encouragement. The only encouragement Joe needed was Arianna's. When he wouldn't take the kiss any deeper she placed her hands along his face and held him still.

“You tease,” she said, her voice husky.

“Just making sure of my welcome.”

Her hesitation lasted all of two seconds. “The door's open.”

He wanted to skim his hands over her incredible body, to feel the weight of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the firm fullness of her rear. He settled for a long, leisurely kiss that she kept trying to deepen and he kept thwarting. He knew he had to leave her wanting more or she wouldn't call him, so he gave her enough to think about but not to satisfy. Gave himself a lot to think about, too, like what it would be like to make love, a foreign concept to him in the past six months.

He pulled back. She opened her eyes. Her skin was drawn taut over her cheekbones. He let his gaze wander lower as she watched. Her nipples were hard. She arched her back just enough that he noticed the unspoken invitation to touch. He declined, counting on there being another time and a better place.

“Adios,”
he said, forcing himself to leave her. He walked around his car and got in, then didn't look back until he was far enough away that she couldn't see him glance in his rearview mirror.

She wasn't staring after him, however, but was strolling
back up to Scott's house, her hips swaying, the ruffled hem intoxicating in its undulating rhythm. She didn't glance in his direction.

After a moment he smiled. He'd met his match.

A
rianna tapped Joe's business card against her thigh as she stared out her living room window at the typical hazy Southern California morning. She had his home number. Why procrastinate?

Dumb question. Because of last night, that's why. Because of the kiss. The almost-as-good-as-sex kiss. How could she ask him to help her now? He would think she kissed him to get him interested, to lure him so that he would cooperate. Nothing was further from the truth. She'd gotten carried away—rare for her.

She was also hesitating because she hadn't yet recovered from last night's nightmare, the one that had been haunting her for weeks. The one that had spurred her toward Joe Vicente.

Arianna turned from the window and sat at her piano, a shiny, black baby grand that dominated her apartment living room. She tapped out a few random notes, then eased
into scales. When her fingers were limber, she played a piece she'd composed, a complex, demanding song still being refined.

After playing the final chord, she sat up straight, set her hands on her thighs and enjoyed the quiet for a moment. Then she talked to herself.

Okay, stall over. Bite the bullet.

She grabbed the portable phone and dialed. He answered on the third ring.

“Good morning, it's Arianna Alvarado,” she said, as businesslike as possible.

“Good morning back,” he replied, a sound suspiciously like laughter in his voice. “And thank you for being specific. It could've been embarrassing if I had you confused with the other Arianna.”

Oh, he knew how he affected her. “The sun hasn't broken through,” she said, forging ahead, “but I'm inviting you to lunch anyway.”

“Don't trust yourself to have dinner with me?”

The underlying sensuality in his voice appealed to her way too much. She started pacing. “Yes.”

“Yes, you don't trust yourself?”

“Yes, I trust myself, but I'm inviting you to lunch.”

“Sorry, but I'm headed to my parents' house. I expect to be there all afternoon.”

Her heart slammed into her chest. Even better. She could meet his father. Talk to him. “Can I meet you there?” she asked.

A long silence, then, “At my parents' house?”

“Yes.”

“I don't usually bring a woman home until the tenth date.”

Like your ex-fiancée?
“Will you make an exception?”

Silence again. “Sure, why not?” He gave her the address and directions.

“I have to make a stop first,” she said. “Can I bring lunch with me?”

“That'd be great, thanks.”

“Is there anything I shouldn't bring? Allergic to shellfish or anything?”

“No allergies here.”

“Okay. I'll see you in a couple of hours.” She hung up then went in search of something to wear to meet his parents. His father. A man she'd never met, a man whose name she didn't know until a month ago, but whom she'd hated for twenty-five years.

 

Arianna pulled into a circular driveway of an impressive Spanish Colonial mansion and parked near the garage. She bypassed the front door to jog down a side path into the backyard where she saw several linen-covered round tables with umbrellas set up near the large, tiled swimming pool. The view of the Hollywood Hills was incredible.

She spotted her mother twining elegant leaf garlands around the umbrella poles. Arianna forgot what today's event was. A fashion show, perhaps? Something to raise money for a worthy cause, probably. That was what her mother did for a living ever since she'd married Estebán Clemente, international movie mogul, when Arianna was twelve.

Estebán had changed their lives in immeasurable ways. But one topic was never brought up for discussion—Arianna's father.

“Mom!” she called.

Paloma Alvarado Clemente never hurried. She carried herself with grace and dignity, her skin and make-up flawless, her striking silver and black hair styled in a fashion
able bob. She wore brightly colored designer clothing, and jewelry that clinked and clanked—a striking silver necklace and bracelets crafted by artisans from her native Mexico.

Paloma waited for Arianna now, a serene smile on her face, her arms opening wide to gather her daughter close. Her perfume wrapped Arianna in memories. She nestled for a few seconds longer than usual.

“Everything looks beautiful, Mom. What's the big event?”

“A luncheon for my book club.”

Arianna leaned back. “I didn't know you were in a book club.”

Her mother brushed the hair from Arianna's face and smiled. “We started it a few months ago. It's mostly an excuse to eat and gossip. We take turns hosting.”

“And you're doing your own decorating? I'm impressed.”

“That's part of the rules. I didn't iron the tablecloths myself,” Paloma added in a whisper.

“A small cheat, Mom.”

Paloma walked them to a table where she continued winding the leaf garland up the umbrella pole. Taller than her mother, Arianna took over as it reached the top then taped it there.

“You are looking demure today,
mija,
” Paloma said, eyeing Arianna's jeans and white blouse.

“Good. That's the look I was going for.”

“Are you undercover?”

“No.” Well, sort of, she thought. “I'm meeting someone.”

“Someone special?” her mother asked.

“Mike Vicente.” Her heart pounded as she said the name.

“No.” Paloma's face went ashen. She clasped her
daughter's hands. “You cannot. Arianna, you cannot. I forbid it.”

Arianna squeezed back. “I have to know, Mom.”

“Why? What good can come from this now, after all these years?”

“
My
good.”
See how important this is to me, Mom.
“I need to find out what happened to my father.”

“If they didn't know then, how can they know now?”

“A lot has changed. They're using DNA to solve old cases now.”

Her mother shook her head.

“I've been having nightmares. Dad's trying to tell me something.”

“Even if I believed in such things, why would he wait until now?”

Arianna willed her mother to understand. “Because something is different now. The truth is waiting. He wants me to find it.”

“
Mija,
I am begging you to leave it alone.”

“
Madre,
I can't.” She forced the words out. “I can't rest until I know. I had hoped for your support, but I'll go ahead without it.”

“I cannot endorse this. I cannot.”

Arianna pulled her mother into a powerful hug. “I love you, Mom. I'll keep in touch.”

After a few moments her mother hugged her back, her embrace fierce, as if she could stop her daughter from leaving. Finally she let go.
“Vaya con Dios, mija.”

“You, too, Mom.” Arianna swallowed the lump in her throat and jogged back to her car. Her next conversation wouldn't be any easier.

 

From his parents' bedroom Joe could see the street, and every car that passed by. He didn't know what Arianna
drove, but he imagined it was dark and sleek, like her. Something quiet and powerful. But maybe she would surprise him—again.

Her asking to meet his parents had almost left him speechless. After so many years as a detective he was accustomed to the routinely unpredictable nature of his work—things were often not as they seemed—but his relationships had been fairly predictable…if he didn't count Jane returning his engagement ring. That had caught him by surprise.

A dark blue BMW pulled up in front of the house. No surprise, after all. The trunk popped open, then she climbed out of the car, looking casual in jeans and a white top. Her shiny almost-black hair was down, the length just past her shoulders, which answered his question of last night. He missed the flamenco costume.

She shaded her eyes and looked at the house. He hurried down the stairs to meet her at her car, where she was unloading an ice chest.

“I hope you're hungry,” she said, passing him the chest.

“Always.” Joe noticed she wasn't making eye contact, unusual for her. The first time he met her he'd noticed how much eye contact she made, then noted it again last night. She started to walk past him, a grocery bag in hand. “Arianna.”

“Hmm?”

Distracted wasn't the right word for her demeanor. She seemed nervous. Or anxious, maybe. “Hi. How are you?” he asked.

“Good, thanks. How are you?” She kept walking up the pathway to the house, a small, neat structure that his parents had owned since before he was born. “What a sweet house.”

Joe tried to see it through her eyes. Freshly painted, the
yard well tended, mums in bloom. He'd put in long hours to get it looking good after a few years of neglect.

He followed Arianna into the house, also newly painted and spotless, although the furnishings were dated. “Kitchen's to your right,” he said.

She walked into the room and set her bag on the counter. “Where are your parents?” she asked, looking around.

He put the ice chest next to the bag. “My mother passed away five months ago. My father just moved to a smaller place.”

She stared speechlessly at him for several seconds then crossed her arms and looked at the floor. After what seemed like an hour she said, “I'm so sorry about your mother.”

“Thank you. She put up a long, hard fight. Lung cancer,” he added. “The house just sold. I'm doing an inventory of the contents so that I can figure out what to do with everything.” What's going on? he wanted to ask. She was so subdued he didn't know what kind of conversation to have with her. He figured she would give him hell about implying there would be four for lunch. “Do you want to eat now?”

She roused herself enough to smile. “Sure. Anyone in the neighborhood you'd like to invite? There's enough here to feed ten, I think. Great bread. Marinated shrimp, barbecued chicken, several deli salads.”

His stomach burned at the thought. Even bland food lit a fire. “I don't mind having leftovers.” He took some plates from the cupboard and silverware from the drawer while she set out the containers.

“Do you want the bread heated?” she asked, holding up a loaf of something. If it wasn't sourdough or white sandwich bread he could only hazard a guess. This was brown, flat and oblong.

“Whatever you prefer.” He figured she was a warm
bread kind of person. If she heated it, she meant to stay and have a conversation. If she didn't heat it, she planned a quick escape after the meal.

She moved to the stove and turned it on. He relaxed. Maybe he was reading something into her actions that wasn't there. She was normally confident and direct, but not today. Could she actually be nervous about being alone with him? Was that why she'd jumped at the chance of meeting him at his parents' house?

“I guess I should've told you my parents wouldn't be here,” he said.

“That would've been nice.” A brittle smile accompanied the razor-sharp tone.

He got it. She was mad. That he could handle.

“I didn't mean to mislead you, Arianna.”

“You said you were going to be at your parents' house. You could easily have corrected my assumption that they would be here, but you didn't.” Her eyes gave off sparks.

“I was too curious. Why would you want to meet my parents?” When she didn't answer, he moved to stand next to her. “What's going on?”

After a few seconds she faced him. “My father was murdered twenty-five years ago.”

Like it was yesterday, he decided, seeing the pain in her eyes. “I'm sorry, Arianna. You must have been very young.”

“Eight. Your father was the lead detective in charge of his case.”

Surprise zapped him in the midsection, then he realized she must have known that fact before the party last night. He'd been set up. Used. “Is that why you wanted to meet him?”

“I want to know why he didn't find my father's killer.”