Sawyer, Meryl (24 page)

Paul stopped in the alley behind her apartment. He handed her the
thick computer printout, saying, "Give this to Mitch. Bring it back to me
Monday."

"Mitch? He's here?"

"Back for the weekend recess."

She climbed out of the car with a sense of dread. She'd expected
Mitch to be gone at least two weeks. She liked him at a distance. Talking to
him on the phone was far easier than seeing him in person. Less tempting by
half.

Well, there was nothing she could do about it. She'd have to face
him. Should she tell him what she'd found on the phone calls from the Farenholt
law firm? No. It was probably nothing, probably just coincidence. She need to
check a little more before she mentioned anything to Mitch.

Mitch answered the knock at his back door, nudging Jenny aside
with his knee. The dog was beating the wall with her tail, obviously as anxious
to see Royce as Mitch was. The porch light shone down on Royce, making her
blond hair seem even more golden. The consultant had restyled her hair with a
sleek cut that tamed her rowdy curls, and it hung just below her chin, curving
in slightly to frame her jaw. Sexy as hell.

She handed him a computer printout as thick as a Bible. "Paul
said to give you this. It's the police inventory of the contents of my
house."

He moved aside and motioned for her to come in. "Let's go
over it together."

"Why?" Her tone was guarded. "The evidence list is
on top. We can see what they're using."

He tossed the printout on the kitchen table where she'd have to
sit next to him to examine it. "We can tell what they were looking for by
the way the inventory is arranged." He pulled out a chair for her.
"First, I'm ordering a pizza. Want some?"

"And give you a reason to call me 'pork chop'?" She
flashed him an insolent smile. "I'll have a salad with the dressing on the
side... please." She slid into the chair and began thumbing through the
printout.

He ordered the pizza, joking with Ernie, the owner of the pizza
parlor that Mitch called almost every night. While he talked, he studied Royce.
He'd decided to take a different tack with her—a more subtle approach.

"What do you see?" he asked as he hung up.

"My God, they listed every single thing I own. No wonder it
took them so long. I never knew I had this much stuff."

"Typical in drug cases. They're looking for stolen goods that
people gave you instead of money."

"You're right. Everything of value comes first. The
earthquake money, which they've kept for evidence. The good luck piggy bank my
father gave me when I was eight. It had thirty-one dollars and twenty-six cents
in it. Jewelry..." She ran her finger down the short list.

Mitch sat beside her, deliberately not sitting too close. As
always, Jenny moved to his side and put her head on his knee. He stroked her
silky fur, his eyes on Royce. She was so absorbed by the list that she failed
to notice him studying her.

"Hmmmmm." She stopped and checked the evidence list,
then looked at him with those matchless green eyes. "I don't see my
mother's gold charm bracelet. I wear it almost every day. I'm very sentimental
about it."

Mitch seized the opportunity to scoot a bit closer as he reached
across the Lucite table for the printout. "It's probably listed under
another category."

But it wasn't. It took them over an hour to check the lists. By
that time the pizza and salad had been delivered, and they were eating as they
worked.

Mitch never thought he could be this close to Royce without
touching her. Not that he wasn't tempted. But she seemed to be relaxing with
him. Don't push your luck. "Where did you keep the bracelet?"

"I usually wore it, but it didn't go with that beaded
cocktail dress. I must have taken it off in my bedroom. Maybe the bathroom. I'm
not sure."

Mitch reached for the last piece of pizza. "Someone on one of
the special teams might have tucked it in his pocket. They're usually above
reproach, but it's happened. That's what got Paul into trouble."

"Really? Jewelry was missing?"

"No. Money. It was a drug bust. Paul was there with another homicide
detective because they'd gotten a tip there was a body in the basement. They
found several suitcases of money. Some of it disappeared. Paul was under
suspicion because he'd been down there by himself for a minute, but they
couldn't prove a thing. Still, the Internal Affairs guys were merciless. Paul
resigned."

"That's terrible. Poor man." Royce sighed and he battled
the urge to take her into his arms.

"It was the city's loss. He's the best detective I've ever
seen. That's why he's on your case."

"Val's working for him, you know."

"In the credit card fraud department. That's upstairs away
from the unit working on your case." He tried to sound reassuring, but he
was concerned. He didn't like having a suspect so close to case files.

"About the bracelet," Royce said, "it's possible
they missed it. My place is such a mess that it's hard to tell what's
there."

"We're going to report it. If it turns up, we can cancel the
report. That way you'll get insurance money if it doesn't." Mitch got up
and tossed the pizza box in the trash compactor.

"Will I bother you if I use the computer tonight?" she
asked.

"No, I'm going to be in the office too" he said, making
this up as he went. "Doing research."

Now he could picture it, he thought, after they'd gone up to the office
and were working. When he was away, he'd been unable to imagine her in his
office: Royce tapping softly on the computer keys, her head bent, sending a
fall of blond hair over her shoulder. She was so damned cute, he could kiss
her. And even though his back was killing him, nothing could have budged Mitch,
not even faithful Jenny gazing up at him, silently pleading to be taken for a
walk.

Later Mitch looked up, ready to suggest walking Jenny. Royce was
staring at the computer screen. Her profile was to him, so he couldn't exactly
see her expression, but she seemed upset. He gazed at her a few more minutes
but she didn't move. He rattled some papers. Nothing.

He walked over, turned a chair around backward and sat down,
straddling the chair. Jenny followed him, nudging her head under his hand so he
could pet her. Royce's eyes were fired with a light he'd seen too often. She
was pissed big time.

Aw, hell, not tonight. The last thing he wanted to do was fight
with her. He wanted to take her into his bed with soft music crooning from the
stereo, slowly undress her, and make love all night.

"You're right, Mitch. I have shit for brains. Look at
this."

He let out a sigh of relief. There was a God. Royce wasn't angry
with him. For once. He scooted so close that he caught the fresh scent of her
shampoo.

She was too preoccupied with the computer to care how close he
was. "The entire time I was dating Brent, he kept calling Caroline from
the office." She scrolled down the screen, saying, "The average call
was over half an hour. He wasn't really over Caroline. No wonder he's dating
her again. Did he ever love me?"

"Caroline is still dating that Italian count. She may never
have been out with Brent after your arrest. Tobias Ingeblatt probably dug up an
old photo. You know he fabricates his stories." Jeezus, why was he
defending that prick Farenholt?

Royce scowled, unconvinced. "Well, phone records don't lie.
He called her every day from the conference room phone."

"Sneaky bastard. He's smarter than I thought he was."

"What do you mean?"

"Ward Farenholt is executor of Caroline's trust, so she's a
client. Secretaries keep logs of billable hours. If Brent called from his own
phone, Caroline would have been charged. But he called from the conference
room, where he had privacy and no one would bill Caroline."

Now Royce looked hurt. Part of him was glad, but another, nobler
side felt for her. Women were fools for Brent Hadn't he learned that lesson
once?

"Come on," he said. "That's enough for tonight.
Let's take Jenny for a walk."

Outside the bracing night was heavy with the scent of the sea and
night-blooming jasmine, a welcome change from the winter months when wispy fog
crept in from the bay. In the distance iridescent stars of light danced on the
water. Royce had run up to her apartment and put on a red wig that made her
look like a stranger. A sexy stranger. Hot, swift currents of arousal surged
through him, but he controlled himself. Tonight he had a game plan.

"You don't have to hold the leash," he told Royce as
Jenny marched ahead, the leash between her teeth. "Just hook it to her
collar and let Jenny hold the other end in her mouth. That way if a cop stops
you for violating the leash law, you just say: 'But, officer, my dog is on a
leash. The law doesn't say a person has to be holding the leash.' "

She laughed, a warm laugh that reminded him of the night he'd met
her. She'd joked with him then, happy, relaxed.

"Leave it to a lawyer to find a way around the law."

"Hey, Jenny loves running free. Just call to her when she
gets to the corner. Sometimes she sprints ahead. I'm afraid she'll get run
over."

"Don't worry, Mitch," Royce said in her familiar sassy
tone. "I know the
intent
of the law. When I walk Jenny, I'll hold
on to the leash."

There was something subtle in the air between them now. Umm-hmmm.
It wasn't just his imagination. She cocked her head to one side and offered him
a shy smile charged with sexual chemistry. Ooo-kay. Now what?

They walked several blocks, then stopped to admire the lovers'
moon suspended above the Golden Gate Bridge. It was perfectly round and as soft
white as a magnolia against the night sky. But Royce's mind wasn't on the
panoramic view. He could tell she was still worrying about Brent.

Her self-esteem had to be zero right about now, and he wasn't sure
what to say to make her feel better. He was great with words, all right. He'd
persuaded countless juries to let guilty men go free, but he'd be damned if he
knew what to say in this situation.

He believed Royce when she said she no longer loved Brent. But,
dammit, she
had
loved him. Not that he could blame her. He'd seen it all
before. And it hurt just as much now as it had then.

Brent Farenholt was handsome in an unfair way. Women couldn't take
their eyes off him. Mitch never got that kind of attention until a woman
realized he was
the
Mitchell Durant. Add money and charm to Brent's
looks and it was no wonder that so many women fell for him. Had anyone ever
said no?

Had any woman ever turned her back on Brent Farenholt?

They headed home, walking in comfortable silence with Jenny
strutting ahead, her leash in her mouth. Royce called to Jenny to stop on every
corner, but his awareness focused entirely on Royce, excluding everything
except the erotic signals her body sent to him. He'd bet the farm she wanted
him, but she wasn't about to let him know it. The past stood between them like
a wound that refused to heal.

He followed her up the stairs to her apartment. She said
good-night and turned to open the door.

"Royce," he said, touching her arm.

She swung around, whipping the red hair around her cheeks. It
resettled in rippling waves across her shoulders as her eyes met his. He'd be
damned if he'd let her go to bed tonight heartsick over that mama's boy.

He caught a strand of hair between his fingers. Not nearly as soft
as her own hair, not nearly as sexy. He slowly brushed the curl over her lips.
Her eyes were luminous in the moonlight; the pupils had reduced the vibrant
green to narrow hoops. How could one woman be so astonishingly appealing?

"Good night," she repeated, a seductive undertone to her
voice.

Hey, Mitch, don't give her a choice. When you do, she runs. He
pulled her to him—Uhh-ooli—more roughly than he'd intended. Her body conformed
to his, the soft fullness of her breasts flattening against his chest as his
mouth found her sensuous lips.

Her mouth was already parted, the tip of her tongue waiting for
his. Heat spiraled through him, faster and hotter than ever before, becoming a
tight knot in his groin.

"Don't," she whispered against his lips, but he felt the
physical pull emanating from her body.

His sixth sense told him not to give her a choice. Make certain
you're the one she dreams about tonight, not that prick. He moved his mouth
over hers, devouring its softness. Instantly her lips responded. Her whole body
did.

He felt her surrender deep in his gut. She was indisputably under
his control. That savage satisfaction was heady and every bit as arousing as
her kiss. She didn't have the power to resist him because she didn't want to—no
matter what she said.

Her tongue flirted with his, enticing him to delve deeper. Her
hips were tilted upward, flush against his turgid sex, challenging him to take
this kiss a step farther.