Kicking the Habit (4 page)

“I’ll be fine, and I keep telling you I don’t need
protection. It’s not that bad, really. I would never dream of complaining after
the mayor so generously donated this building to me, with the town’s help of
course.”

The mayor, huh? “Whatever. I’m still not leaving you alone,
whether you like it or not.” Ace grunted as he pulled up to the curb, threw the
truck into park, and hopped out. Walking around to her side, he opened her door
and reached inside.

She grabbed his wrists to still the forward-reaching path
of his hands. “Honestly, Detective, I think I can manage. I’m not a child.”

“No, but you
are
extremely short, and this truck is very high.” He nudged
her fingers off and placed his hands on both sides of her waist, then helped
her down, his hands lingering longer than they should have.

“Oh …” She stared at his hands for a moment, looking
dazed. “Well, thank you.” She jerked out of her stupor and stepped away from
his touch. “Just because you’re a giant, doesn’t mean you can boss people
around. Good-bye, Detective.” She marched toward the front of the building,
with her key in hand.

“Wait! You forgot your box.” Ace snagged her belongings
and chased after her, his long strides bringing him right behind her in no
time. Just before they reached the front door, a loud bang rang out from behind
them.
Shit.
“Get down!” He dropped
the box as she spun around, dark eyes huge round saucers, surrounded by a sea
of white.

She let out
a scream as he wrapped his arms around her and tackled her. Twisting as they
fell, he landed on his back with her on top. Then he rolled them over in a
flash and covered her head with his hand, burying his face in the crook of her
neck.

Her soft
curves molded to his rock-hard body, and he felt every breath she took. Every
beat of her heart as it pounded against his. His senses swam in the headiness
of her scent: a hint of starch, a whiff of fabric softener, and something that was
sinfully Cece.

“I can’t
breathe, Detective,” she said, wheezing. “What is the matter with you?”

He peeked over his shoulder and scanned the area. Nothing. Still cautious, Ace lifted his weight up onto his
elbows and stared down into her eyes. “What’s the matter with me? I just saved
your life.”

“From what? Exhaust fumes?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“That was a car backfiring. A
mechanic working over at the garage next door works on his car every day, and
every day at one, it backfires right on schedule. Granny has complained for the
past week that it interferes with her digestion, since she lives right down the
street.”

Ace rolled to his feet and helped the nun up with him. He
glanced over at the mechanic, who waved a rag in the air and shouted, “Sorry.”

Ace scowled and shook his head. During his years in the
service and then on the city streets as a cop, he’d honed his senses in order
to survive. He hadn’t been in a small town long enough to lose that, and all
morning the tingle in his spine told him someone was watching them. “It was a
car this time, but next time, you might not be so lucky. My gut tells me it’s
only a matter of time before the bad guys figure out you’re
not hiding behind the church anymore.”

“Well, my gut tells me I’m more in danger with you
around, Detective. My backside is going to be bruised beyond belief. Do you
know how hard that ground is this time of year?” She stared at him, looking
thoroughly frustrated and confused.

She wasn’t the only one frustrated and confused, and the
ground sure as hell wasn’t the only thing that was hard, but one thing was for
certain. If his hunch was right, and it usually was, she was in danger, and he
was thoroughly screwed. Especially because the senator’s
killer had apparently found a new target.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Again. Big surprise there. Anywho, snooping is harder than I thought. Not that I think
I’m a detective or anything. I’m simply having conversations. Asking questions. Helping people. And
if I discover a few more clues along the way, and maybe don’t tell a certain
real detective, it’s not obstructing justice. I mean, I fully intend to follow
up on the clues people reveal in confidence, being that I’m a counselor of
sorts now. And counselors have a confidentiality clause, right? Right. I feel so much better now that we talked.

Cece watched with a heavy
heart as Senator Sloan’s wife read the cards on the bounty of floral sprays
that filled the funeral home. Soft, soothing music filtered through the sound
system, and the pungent aroma of flowers settled over the packed room. After a
moment, Mrs. Sloan lovingly placed a rose on her husband’s casket, then turned
and froze Cece with an icy look.

New Hope was a small
town. Most of the details of the senator’s death were being kept private because
the investigation was ongoing, but the fact that Cece
had been in the confessional at the time of his confession had leaked out after
she’d chased him outside. The entire
town knew Sloan’s widow blamed Cece for his death, but Cece didn’t take offense.
She agreed with the senator’s wife. Her husband wouldn’t be lying in a coffin
ready to be shipped off to D.C. and lowered into the cold, hard ground if it
hadn’t been for Cece. She never should have gone into
the priest’s side of the confessional. Or at the very least, she should have
spoken up before the senator confessed.

Cece leaned to the side and
whispered in Father Flannigan’s ear, “The senator will never rest in peace
until this case is solved and his murderer is behind bars. It’s time I did
something about it.”

“Glad to hear you’ve
decided to cooperate, Sister,” a deep baritone voice said from behind her,
causing Cece to jump.

A warm rush of heat
surged through her from her toes to her forehead. The man had an uncanny knack
for putting her right on edge. She stared up at Father with pleading eyes,
dreading having to turn around and face the detective. She needed to appear
capable and independent, or Ace would never back off.

The priest looked at
both of them and shrugged. “Well, then, I’ll leave you two alone to talk while
I go speak to the janitor about a couple of church matters.”

Just peachy
. Cece risked a glance up
at Ace and was surprised to see he looked a bit uncomfortable himself. She
highly doubted
she
intimidated
him
, so what on earth could he be
flustered about?

“I’ll catch up with you
in a minute,” she squeaked to the priest’s back. Knowing her face was still flushed, she looked at Detective Jackson and added,
“Allergies,” by way of explanation. “I’m allergic to—” her eyes darted around
as she finished with a desperate tone in her voice “—you,” and then she fanned
her cheeks at Mach speed.

Ace’s green eyes never
wavered from her face, his wide forehead creasing. “You’re allergic to me?”

“Your
cologne, maybe?” One eye twitched in her effort to remain in control.

He frowned. “Not wearing
any.”

Hmmm, that was odd. She
could have sworn he wore cologne because he smelled so good. “Then your hair
products. You must use a ton of goop to keep that flattop so—well—” Her hands
fluttered about, gesturing toward his head. “Flat,” she finished weakly. Okay,
she sounded ridiculous and had no clue why she was acting this way, other than because
she felt inadequate. Just because she was small did not mean she couldn’t take
care of herself or be competent.

“Nope, no hair goop,
either. You sure you’re okay?”

“Never
better.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “So, what did you want to
talk to me about?”

“You cooperating,
remember?”

“Alistair Jackson. You
wouldn’t be here to cause any trouble, would you?” Sister Mary Ethel said,
shuffling over beside him and poking him with a crooked, arthritic finger.

The ninety-year-old nun
was a five-foot-ten Amazon among women and as crotchety as they came. She wouldn’t
care if the Pope himself were standing before her; she’d still speak her mind. She
felt she had the right because she’d been around for so long. In fact, some
parishioners teased her, calling her the waitress at the Last Supper. Old or
not, her noggin was still sharp as ever. Not too much got by her.

Ace’s face turned the
color of ashes, and if Cece didn’t know better, she
could have sworn he cowered a bit. “No, ma’am.” He
shook his head. “No trouble.”

Sister Mary Ethel leaned
in close, until the detective squirmed, and, two inches from his face, she
said, “Good! Keep it that way, you hear?”

“Yes,
ma’am.” He nodded. “Will do.” He snapped his
shoulders back, all but saluting her, then threw in
another, “Ma’am.”

The old nun shuffled off
to talk to the senator’s wife, chuckling all the way as though she knew
something Cece didn’t.

“Are
you
okay?” Cece
asked the detective.

“I’m fine,” he muttered,
shoving his hands deep into his jeans’ pockets and mumbling, “Just allergic to
her
.”

Cece had a strong feeling the detective’s hang-ups
about church went way back and involved a certain head nun, but that was
another topic. Right now, she intended to focus on the senator’s murder. She
turned to the detective. “Just so you know, Alistair, my cooperating doesn’t
involve telling you what the senator said in the confessional.”

He stopped fidgeting and
his gaze locked on hers. “The name’s Ace. Detective Jackson
to you.” He narrowed his eyes to slits. “Just so
you
know I filed that court order.”

A twinge of alarm
skittered along the length of Cece’s spine, but she tamped it down and
plastered on her confident, calm, I-can-handle-anything smile. She looked up at
him. If only she had a step stool. She’d love to be on equal footing with him
just once. “And?” she asked.

“And I know the DA very
well. It’s only a matter of time before a judge rules
in my favor.”

Aha. Gotcha, smarty pants.
“I happen to know the DA is out of town this week,
but nice try.”

Ace mumbled and scrubbed
his blond hair, then pointed his finger. “Just because some low-level newbie
attorney bought that your conversation with Sloan was privileged doesn’t mean
the DA won’t hear me out once he gets back.”

She brushed his finger
aside as though shooing away a bothersome gnat. “That’s just a technicality. I
can stall, and believe me, I will.” She’d seen how many people had shown up at
the senator’s wake, how respected he’d been. Whatever he was involved in was
obviously illegal, but that didn’t mean his reputation should die with him. Her
guilt for playing a role in his death weighed on her conscience.

She’d find his killer,
one way or another.

Ace clamped his jaw and
spoke through his teeth. “Doing something about it had better not mean you
playing detective.”

That part meant walking
a fine line, and she knew it. The detective would only put up with so much
before he took action. “I wouldn’t dream of ‘playing’ anything. Murder is a
serious business.” She hadn’t lied. She wasn’t playing, after all.

She was quite serious
about solving this case.

“Good. So long as we’re both on the same page.” He dropped his
hands to his hips and the edges of his sports coat gaped open, revealing his
badge and gun clipped to his belt.

“Ahhh.” So he wanted to play
hardball. Well, she could play too. In fact, she’d been pretty good at center
field in high school gym class. Verbal sports shouldn’t be much harder. “Apparently,
the Feds are also on the same page.” She scanned the packed room. “What were
their names again?”

Ace peered over the top
of her head and searched the room until he found the two men dressed in their
usual black. He grimaced. “Wallace and Rogers.”

“That’s right, Wallace
and Rogers. Hmmm. They seemed surprised to see me
alone earlier. Something about nun-sitting?” She
lifted her hands, palms up, and shrugged.

Ace scowled. “I’m sure
they were.”

“Well, I’m not a nun,
and you’re not sitting.” She patted his arm. “But don’t you worry. I’m sure
your day will pick up. Speaking of the Feds, they’re right over there, talking
to Mrs. Sloan.” She waggled her fingers at them and smiled wide.

Ace stared at her like
he could read her perfectly, like he didn’t buy her innocent act one bit. This
“fitting in” thing might be harder than she thought. She squirmed.

At last he turned away
and took a long moment to scan the room. “I don’t think I’ve seen this many
politicians in one place since the last election, and half of them were
slinging mud at Sloan just a couple weeks ago. Goddamn hypocrites.”

She cleared her throat,
determined to break him of at least some of his less than virtuous habits by
the end of this case.

“Oh, sorry,” he uttered,
half distracted, still looking about the room.

“The senator was well liked
by many, despite the craziness an election year brings out,” Cece said.

“Well, darlin’, the
mayor sure as shit didn’t like him,” said a man with sin in his eyes and a
swagger racier than Elvis’s as he hip-gyrated over to join Cece and Ace. “Yo, Jackson. Introduce me to this fine young thing.”

How was she supposed to
break the detective of his bad habits with a devil like this around? Cece
pursed her lips.

Ace leveled the guy with
a hard look and smacked him on the shoulder. “Sister Mary Cecelia, this is my
speak-first-before-I-think partner Detective Antonelli.”

Ah, well that explained a few things,
Cece thought, as she
smiled pleasantly at the man.

Antonelli’s eyes sprang
wide, his dark brows hitting the pomade in his hair. “You’re the nun? Get the
fu—”

“I wouldn’t go there.” Detective
Jackson held up a hand.

What was it with nobody
recognizing her without her habit? She wondered with a frown.

“Call me Rocco, Sister.”
Don Juan’s smile oozed across his face. “Or is it Ms.
Monroe?” He lifted her fingers and kissed the back of her hand, lingering
longer than necessary.

Cece tugged her hand
free and stiffened her smile until it felt like her lips had morphed into
petrified wood. “
Sister
will be fine,
thank you.”

Rocco blinked, Ace broke
into a huge grin, and Cece just rolled her eyes.
Men!

As the detectives began
speculating about the case, she scanned the room and noticed Mayor Evans
talking to the senator’s wife. If the senator and the mayor didn’t get along,
why was the senator’s wife even speaking to him?

“I thought Mayor Evans
was supporting the senator’s opponent?” Cece heard Ace ask Rocco.

Looks like they were on
the same page after all, Cece mused, feeling smug and deciding she didn’t make
a half-bad investigator, no matter what Ace thought. At least she had the “observant”
part down.

“He is,” Rocco said, in
total cop mode now. Don Juan had all but vanished as Rocco crossed his arms and
tilted his head to the side, studying the mayor. “Apparently Mrs. Sloan doesn’t
share her husband’s dislike of the mayor. Maybe her husband wasn’t the only one
with a few secrets to hide.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to
wonder if this murder is connected to a political issue.” Ace wrote something
in his notebook.

Cece smiled at someone
across the room, pretending to be disinterested in the conversation. Add being
a good listener to her skills. She mentally grinned. Her years of counseling
had given her a jump-start in that department.

Letting the two men talk
on and on with their backs to her, she inched over to the mayor and Mrs. Sloan.
If she wanted to find out who killed the senator, she had to start asking her
own questions.

The cops thought the
murder had resulted from a crime of passion. Thought someone had found out
about Sloan’s affair and hired a hit man to kill him or was knowledgeable
enough to pull the job off himself. Apparently,
Detective Jackson now suspected someone with a political agenda was involved. Only
Cece knew the senator had been involved in something illegal.

That someone had
betrayed him.

She doubted the senator’s
wife or Eleanor Meriwether had the means or the capability to be involved in
something illegal. Betraying him and committing a crime of passion—most
definitely. But breaking the law? Not so much.

However, Mumfry Walker—ex-military
guy who had served time for illegal possession of drugs—was a different story. He
and the senator didn’t get along either. Mumfry would have the connections and
the know-how to fire a gun like the gunman had used, and he’d already been
involved in illegal matters in the past. Even the mayor was not above
suspicion. What could the senator have been involved in that was so bad it
would ruin him, like he’d said in the confessional?

Only one way to find out.

She glanced behind her. Ace
and Rocco were still deep in conversation, and the room hadn’t emptied much. People
from all over occupied every square inch of space, paying their respects. For
the time being, they would do as cover.

A group of politicians
huddled together, blocking Cece’s way from hearing the mayor and Mrs. Sloan. For
the first time, being short had an advantage. She slouched down and leaned in
closer to peer between their arms but still couldn’t hear very well. Although
what these men were saying was quite interesting.

“What could have gone
wrong?” one politician asked.

“I don’t know, but a lot
of guys were counting on the senator to show,” a second politician said.

“I never wanted him to
organize the secret meeting in the first place, but he was the one with the
connections and the location,” a third politician said.

Father Flannigan joined
their group. “Gentlemen, so glad you came. I know you all were close with the senator.
This must be very hard on you.” He pasted on his I’m-here-for-you smile, which
Cece had pretty much perfected herself. “I just feel terrible about what
happened to the senator,” he continued. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want
him dead. You all worked closely with him for years. Did he have any enemies?”

The first politician
shook his head. “The man’s biggest downfall was he couldn’t keep it in his
pants. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the county wanted him dead. No offense.”

Cece leaned in further. This
was getting good.

“None taken,” Father
said. “You were saying?”

She bit back a smile. Father
Flannigan had taught her well. Don’t talk more than necessary. People liked to
talk, and if you let them, they usually told you more than they planned. She
only hoped they would hurry up. It was a matter of time before Sherlock Jackson
and his sidekick Watson discovered what she was up to.

“It’s just frustrating. The
man had a loving wife and great kids,” the second politician added. “But it
never seemed to be enough for him. His death was such a waste.”

“Losing an old friend is
never easy.” The priest smiled, kindness and
compassion filling his eyes.

“Stupid
fool.”
The third politician stared down at the ground, mumbling to himself as though
he’d forgotten the priest was there. “If he smelled there was trouble, he
should have come to us first?”

“Trouble? How
so?”

The man flinched, his
eyes whipping up to the priest’s, and then the other two politicians. “I—I—”

“You can talk to me in
confidence, son. I won’t tell. You should know that by now.” Father reached out
and touched the man’s arm, smiling in a way that had never failed to coax Our
Lady of Glory parishioners into talking. “I only want to help.”

The man looked like he
was dying to get something off his chest. Cece leaned in even further, but then
someone bumped her hard from behind. Lurching forward, she grabbed onto the
politician’s waist to keep from falling. He glanced over his shoulder, looking
startled, and then frowned down at her until she straightened.

Fixing a goofy smile on
her face, she said, “Um … hi?” then waggled her fingers.

The man ignored her as
he looked above her head. His face took on a blank mask, and he squared his
shoulders in a statement that said clearly: conversation over.

“Gentlemen, I’m
Detective Jackson, and this is my partner Detective Antonelli. He’d like to ask
you a few questions if you don’t mind, while I have a word with Sister Mary
Cecelia.”

Uh-oh
, Cece thought.

Without waiting for a
response, Ace wrapped his big fingers around her arm and led her over to the
far corner by a massive picture of the senator’s face perched on an easel.

Those politicians had
been so close to telling Father Flannigan something important—she could feel
it. Like what that secret meeting was all about and what connections the senator
had that the others didn’t. And if the senator really did smell trouble—whatever
that smells like—why
would
he go to
them instead of the police or his priest? She knew somehow the answer to that
question would guide her in the right direction.

“Just what do you think
you’re doing?” Ace hissed.

“Nothing now,” she
grumbled.

“It better stay that
way. You’re not, under any circumstances, to question anyone. Do I make myself
clear?”

She stood as tall as she
could but didn’t even come to the pigheaded detective’s collarbone. Again she
wished for a step stool. Short people had rights too. Like
not having to put up with macho big guys acting like bullies. Maybe
platform shoes were the answer, but knowing her, she’d break an ankle chasing
some bad guy. She groaned and rubbed her neck. It already ached from looking up
so much.

“I was simply having a
conversation with some grieving men.” If you could call, “Um … hi?” a
conversation, but she had to say something to hide her eavesdropping.

“Well, don’t. You’re not
a detective, and you’re putting yourself at risk if anyone even suspects you’re
playing detective. Do you have a death wish?”

“The only wish I have is
that you’d come to church with me and let me help you down from that high horse
you’re on. You obviously have a few issues of your own,
Alistair
.”

Ace smirked. “Cute, but
we’re not talking about me.”

“Maybe we should.” She
tried Father’s “look” on Ace.

He frowned. “Something in your eye?”

She sighed. “No.” Guess
she hadn’t perfected the look as much as she thought. Yet another thing she
hadn’t gotten right as a nun.

“I still think you
should leave.” He glanced at the mayor, who was now talking to those same
politicians, and then back to her. “It’s not safe. Why don’t you let me take
you home?”

She had a clue, she had
a plan, and that was a start. “Whatever you say.”

Blond brows formed a
deep vee. “I say, you agreeing so easily worries the hell out of me. What
exactly are you up to, Cece?”