Книга - The Baby Scheme

The Baby Scheme
Jacqueline Diamond


Working With This Ex-Cop Was More Than She Bargained For!Fired from her job as an investigative reporter, Alli Gardner has something to prove. Finding out who's behind an illegal baby-adoption ring might just be the way to do it–her once-in-a-lifetime scoop. She can't do it alone, so for help she goes to Kevin Vickers, the crack private investigator with an unblemished reputation, who's always made it his business to rub her the wrong way.The evidence in the baby-scheme case soon points clearly to the perpetrators.That's the easy part for Alli.How should she handle the evidence of what's between her and Kevin?









“Better safe than sorry. Follow me.”


Alli dodged behind a parked truck. Keeping low, she and Kevin made their way between the rows of cars.

The van continued to prowl. Passing several vacant spaces, it came relentlessly in their direction.

When the glare of a lamp illuminated the interior, she saw two men in the front seat. Pairs of men didn’t generally cruise around swanky hotels in the middle of the evening, passing up available spaces.

Unless they were looking for someone.

Kevin kept darting in a stop-and-go pattern, homing in on his car. At last they reached the sedan and he opened the door with a key.

“The next part’s going to be tricky,” he said. “Keep your head down in case they start shooting.”

“Maybe we should call the cops….”


Dear Reader,

As a former newspaper and Associated Press reporter, I enjoy reliving the excitement—and the sometimes sharp mix of personalities—that one finds in a newsroom. I may lack Alli’s disregard for danger, and I never suffered a backstabber on the order of Payne Jacobson, but if fiction didn’t heighten our experiences, it would be dull indeed!

Kevin Vickers isn’t based on any individual police officer or detective I’ve known, but in my single days, visiting the police station was the highlight of the morning. After reading the log, I’d chat with lieutenants and sergeants in the detective, patrol and traffic bureaus. Some of them definitely fit the bill as hunks! Most proved patient and quite helpful. I’m glad to say that, unlike the stereotype of the antagonistic reporter, I sometimes managed to repay the favor in my articles by encouraging witnesses to come forward.

So there’s a bit of nostalgia for me in this tale, but Alli and Kevin ran away with the story and made everything fresh again. I hope you feel that way, too!

If you enjoy the book, please e-mail me at jdiamondfriends@aol.com and visit my Web site at www.jacquelinediamond.com.

Best wishes,







The Baby Scheme

Jacqueline Diamond






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


A former Associated Press reporter, Jacqueline Diamond has written more than sixty novels and received a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times magazine. Jackie lives in Southern California with her husband, two sons and two cats.




Books by Jacqueline Diamond


HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

913—THE IMPROPERLY PREGNANT PRINCESS

962—DIAGNOSIS: EXPECTING BOSS’S BABY

971—PRESCRIPTION: MARRY HER IMMEDIATELY

978—PROGNOSIS: A BABY? MAYBE

1046—THE BABY’S BODYGUARD


For Kurt




Contents


Chapter One (#u8f0fb9d0-8948-5db4-9f97-726a01c152ba)

Chapter Two (#u39924671-a1b1-57ce-bf1e-7596a8ffab43)

Chapter Three (#u85a9f199-4622-5a4e-b710-25024620c519)

Chapter Four (#ufe323b76-6544-56c1-b215-1d50a9b111f7)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


Alli Gardner had just arrived at her newsroom desk on Thursday morning when she spotted the startling front-page headline. As she sank down and read the story, her feeling of shock shifted to outrage.

The allegation that the recently named mayor of Serene Beach, California, had run backroom gambling tournaments to benefit his computer stores didn’t surprise her. After all, she’d done the research and written the story.

The problem was, it didn’t carry her byline.

She read the first few paragraphs again. Those weren’t only her facts—they were her words. Yet she hadn’t quite finished the exposé the previous night and therefore hadn’t submitted it, although the assistant managing editor had known she was working on it.

The byline belonged to Payne Jacobson, the assistant managing editor’s nephew.

In her five years with the Orange Coast Outlook, Alli had never considered the possibility that someone might raid her computer. That is, not until Payne joined the staff six months ago.

After he’d twice written articles based on her research and quotes, she’d complained to his uncle that he must have found a way to access her computer files. But not only had Ned Jacobson sided with his nephew, he’d hinted that Alli feared competition.

This time, she’d deliberately kept all the notes on her personal laptop to prevent Payne from accessing them through the newspaper’s networked computer system. She’d taken the laptop home at night, too, but she’d left it unattended on her desk several times during the past few days.

The jerk couldn’t have read her files last night. That meant he must have installed spy software.

Alli felt as though steam were pouring out of her ears. If that weasel thought she was going to sit still over this, she had news for him—the kind of news he wouldn’t want to steal.

She flipped open the laptop and typed in “You little thief!” then added a few more colorful insults for good measure. As she saved the file, she glanced across a group of desks to where the twenty-three-year-old sat smirking while typing on his keyboard.

His blond, designer haircut and trendy suit couldn’t offset the thinness of his face or the deceitful cast of his small eyes. Of course, she wasn’t exactly an unbiased observer.

As she waited for his spyware to steal her latest keystrokes, Alli reflected on how hard she’d worked to earn her reporter’s job, while Payne had waltzed into it, courtesy of his connections. After completing journalism school, she’d labored for two years as a writer in a public relations office, then spent three years at a weekly before landing this position against stiff competition.

Even so, she wouldn’t object if Payne were honest and did good work. But his writing—when he did any of his own—had a clunky, amateurish quality despite Ned’s editing. In addition, according to his annoyed interviewees, he often misquoted them. Surely anyone other than a doting relative could tell that he hadn’t written this exposé.

Across the room, she saw Payne’s cheeks flush and his gaze flick toward her. Insult received. She’d proved her point about the spyware.

Beyond him, behind a glass office window, J. J. Morosco stood up and stretched. Despite the early hour, the short, rotund managing editor had been at work for quite a while.

A forty-something go-getter, J.J. had stepped on more than a few toes during his first year at the Orange Coast Outlook. Hired from a newspaper in the San Francisco Bay area, he’d revamped the sports and entertainment sections, turning them into showpieces that the publisher trumpeted in TV ads. The result had been an increase in subscriptions and newsstand sales.

Alli hated to bother him with an intramural quarrel. But how could anyone tolerate having stories stolen? Besides, this act of plagiarism threw the newspaper’s ethical stance into question.

After unfolding her five-foot-nine-inch frame from behind the desk, she marched across the linoleum. Reporters nudged one another and turned to watch, probably expecting a showdown. She’d made no secret of her allegations about Payne.

The sight of her reflection in the glass made Alli pause. Where she’d stuck a pen in her shirt pocket, a telltale spot of ink revealed that she’d forgotten to cap it. The way her skirt had swiveled around her hips didn’t improve her appearance, either.

What a mess, and at only nine o’clock in the morning. She lacked the patience to repair to the ladies’ room, however, especially since she could do nothing about the inkblot.

After hiking her skirt into place, Alli realized she’d done so in full view of the managing editor. With a sigh, she resumed her approach. She couldn’t back down now.

When she stepped into his office, J.J. rose out of courtesy. Noticing that she loomed over him, she quickly found a chair.

“I’m here about the story in this morning’s paper,” she said. “The one concerning Mayor LeMott.”

“Ned tells me you were working on something similar.” J.J. eased into his seat. “He says Payne warned him you might have a complaint.”

“It wasn’t similar. This is my story,” Alli told him. “Word for word.”

“But you hadn’t filed it yet.”

“I’d written it, but I was holding off so I could double-check a couple of points,” she explained. “And there’s a side-bar I didn’t have time to complete. Mr. Morosco, Payne’s planted spyware in my laptop. He stole every bit of that piece from me.”

The editor’s forehead wrinkled. He’d been putting in such long hours that he’d begun to lose his tan and had gained a few pounds, she noted.

“The two of you have never gotten along, have you? He’d only been here a month when you accused him of stealing your notebook.”

“It disappeared from my desk right after he passed by, and the next day he turned in a story based on my research!”

“A guard found your notebook outside that afternoon, right next to where you usually park,” the M.E. replied.

“I didn’t drop it. I’m not that careless.” Alli hated being put on the defensive. “Look, you can talk to any of the people I quoted in today’s story and they’ll confirm who did the reporting.”

“Except that most of your sources spoke anonymously,” he pointed out.

“I was going to identify them to Ned when I handed in the piece!” That was standard procedure. “Also, since when does this paper assign two people to the same story?”

She’d heard of a few big papers that ran their operations in such a cutthroat manner, but the Outlook couldn’t afford such a waste of staff time. Besides, that kind of competition did horrible things to morale.

“He says Payne asked if he could pursue the same subject. He decided to let the kid show what he could do, and he beat you to the punch.”

How could she win when the assistant managing editor was stabbing her in the back? If she were in J.J.’s seat, she probably wouldn’t believe her accusation, either.

“Give Payne his own assignment, something he can’t steal from anyone else,” she said. “He’ll blow it.”

“As it happens, he’s going to have plenty of chances.” J.J. fiddled with some papers. “I’m sure you’re aware that I’ve streamlined two other sections. In the meantime, the publisher and Ned and I have been tossing around ideas for the news operation. I’m about to put those proposals into effect.”

Why was he telling her this? Allie wondered uneasily. And why was he avoiding her gaze?

“The publisher believes we’ve got too much duplication and dead wood,” he went on. “Some of the older staff members will be asked to take early retirement, but I’ll have to cut deeper. After careful consideration, I’m afraid we have to let you go.”

“What?” Alli stared at him in disbelief.

Until six months ago, she’d been one of the Outlook’s stars, a feat she’d accomplished through hard work, drive and an instinct for news. Despite her abilities, she knew as well as anyone how few jobs opened up in the newspaper business. Being laid off might mean banishment from the career she loved.

“I was going to wait a few more days, but this seems as good a time as any,” J.J. said. “It’s best if you clean out your desk and leave immediately. Naturally, you’ll be eligible for unemployment, and we’ll give you two weeks’ severance pay.”

“You can’t—” She stopped. Of course he could lay her off if he wanted to. But it was so unreasonable! “Was this your idea, the publisher’s or Ned’s?”

Ignoring the question, he began to talk about issuing her last paycheck. Alli didn’t ask again because she was too busy trying to absorb the awful news that she’d just been fired.

A minute later, when she emerged into the newsroom, a hush fell over the place. Even through the glass, people must have realized what was happening. Payne buried his face inside that day’s paper.

Alli ignored him. Obnoxious as he was, he’d never have gotten away with this thievery if his uncle hadn’t condoned it.

She walked over to Ned Jacobson. Swiveling in his computer chair, he peered at her from beneath a shock of graying hair.

Keeping her pitch low, Alli said, “I always respected you. You had high standards and you taught me a lot. I don’t understand why you don’t apply those standards to your own family.”

She strode away with her head high. There was a lot more she wanted to add, but hurling insults would reflect worse on her than on him.

After reaching her desk, Alli couldn’t think what to do. She’d never been fired. She had no idea where to start.

The newsroom secretary scurried over with an empty box. “I guess you’ll be needing this,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Alli nodded in response and bit her lower lip. Thirty was too old to cry, and besides, she prided herself on her toughness.

From the drawers, she scrounged a few personal items and discarded an assortment of candy wrappers, sandwich boxes and plastic spoons. A clipping fluttered to the floor. When she picked it up, the dark, brooding eyes of Detective Kevin Vickers seemed to fix on her.

The article, which dated back three years, announced that he’d left the police department to start his own agency. She couldn’t remember why she’d saved it, except that he was probably the hunkiest guy who’d ever booted her out of his office.

She and Kevin had butted heads frequently when he worked for the PD. Unlike larger police departments, Serene Beach’s didn’t restrict reporters to dealing with a public-information officer, unless that reporter proved unreliable.

Most cops had cooperated once they got to know Alli, but not Detective Uptight. He’d refused to answer all but the most obvious questions about his cases, and she hated taking no for an answer.

She’d been relieved when he left. Well, not entirely. The picture captured his intense gaze and thick brown hair, reminding her how much aesthetic pleasure she’d taken in their encounters. She’d imagined they might run into each other again after he went out on his own, but so far that hadn’t happened.

And, obviously, it wasn’t going to. If she did land a new reporting job, it would have to be somewhere else. Maybe another state.

Without thinking, Alli tossed the clipping into the box, then added some documents she’d dug up about the mayor. Not that she had any use for them, but she wasn’t going to leave them for Payne’s follow-up.

He had to sink or swim on his own now. She wondered when he would realize that and what he’d do about it. Probably steal from somebody else.

Larry Corman, a young photographer Alli hung around with, approached with a glum expression on his round face. “I can’t believe what I heard. They laid you off?”

She nodded.

“It stinks.”

“You’re not kidding.” The rasp in her voice embarrassed her. Alli had always been the strong one in the family, bucking up her mom after her father left them and whenever they hit rough financial waters. “I’ll survive.”

“Everybody knows Payne’s a lousy reporter,” he muttered. “This is going to hurt the whole paper.”

Hearing him say so made Alli feel better. “Guess what he did? He bugged my laptop.”

Larry pushed his round glasses higher on his nose. “Take it to the High Tech Emporium, their main store near the mall. There’s a guy named Brett who can clean it up.”

How ironic, Alli thought. The emporium chain belonged to Klaus LeMott, the man whose shady dealings and political ambitions she’d been investigating. “I’m not sure I’d trust anyone there.”

“I went to high school with Brett. He’s okay,” Larry said.

“Thanks.” Right now, Alli wasn’t sure she could afford to pay anybody to do anything. How much did unemployment compensation pay, anyway?

“Just because you’re leaving doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends,” he added.

She would have hugged him if so many people hadn’t been watching. “Of course.”

“I’ve got your phone number. And you’ve got mine. And you’ll probably land a job in no time…aw, phooey.” He hurried off, his eyes misty.

When her phone rang, Alli nearly ignored it, but her instincts wouldn’t let her. Besides, the call might be personal.

“Hi. This is Alli,” she said into the mouthpiece.

“Allison Gardner?” a woman asked. “My name’s Rita Hernandez. You don’t know me, but I read your articles all the time. Something’s happened that I think you should look into.”

Alli hated to explain that she didn’t work here anymore. Why not hear the woman out and, if it proved to be a non-story as so often happened, at least let her down easily?

“Go ahead.” Alli listened, at first out of politeness and then with growing curiosity. From habit, she almost began typing into the computer; then, remembering the lack of privacy, she pulled out a notepad, instead.

As the source talked, she scribbled rapidly. Rita Hernandez had stumbled onto something interesting, all right, and Alli didn’t intend to hand it over to Payne or anyone else at the Orange Coast Outlook.

The woman had become the victim of a crime she didn’t dare report to authorities. Alli made a snap decision to investigate on her own, no matter how impractical that might seem.

“I appreciate the call, Mrs. Hernandez,” she said when the woman finished. “I’ll work on this and get back in touch. Let me give you my cell-phone number. It’s the best way to reach me.”

“Thank you so much!”

After she rang off, she saw Ned regarding her curiously. “What was that about?” he asked.

“Wrong number,” she responded, and was pleased to hear a few chuckles. Before he could quiz her, an intercom query from the back shop distracted him, and then a woman from Accounting showed up with her check.

Alli pocketed it, grabbed the box and her laptop and scooted out the door. Maybe she’d sell the story to a magazine, or she might use it as leverage to find a job at a bigger paper. One way or the other, she was going to help Mrs. Hernandez and her career at the same time.

Let Payne Jacobson dig up his own stories. She hoped he dug his own grave while he was at it.

ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, KevinVickers drove slowly past a two-story house, noting the fresh paint job and elegant landscaping. The location, just off San Michel Way, in a neighborhood only a step down from a nearby row of mansions, was pretty much what he’d expected for a well-to-do retired obstetrician.

A few days earlier, a young widow named Mary Conners had arrived at his office after receiving a blackmail demand for twenty thousand dollars. She couldn’t pay, she’d told him in tears, and she didn’t want to lose her little boy.

She and her late husband, unable to conceive, had tried in vain to adopt a child in the United States. Agencies had rejected them because of a drunk-driving arrest on her husband’s record.

It had seemed like a miracle when her gynecologist and his partner had offered to help them adopt a baby through an orphanage they knew of in the CentralAmerican country of Costa Buena. Three years ago, they’d joyfully welcomed their son.

Now, less than a year after her husband had died from an aneurysm, an unidentified phone caller had informed Mary that the orphanage illegally bought and sold babies and falsified documents. If she didn’t pay up, she’d be reported to the authorities, who might deport her son.

Mary had confirmed via the Internet that the orphanage was being probed by its home country. She’d spotted Vickers Investigations in the phone book and asked him to find the extortionist. At first, she’d only wanted to persuade the man to accept a lesser amount because of her financial status, but he had pointed out that if she yielded once, more demands might follow.

He’d suggested contacting the police and putting a trace on her line, but she’d refused, even though he’d assured her the police had neither the authority nor the desire to take away the baby. She’d become so distraught that he hadn’t pressed the issue. Besides, the blackmailer, who’d been smart enough to scramble his voice, would almost certainly be using an untraceable phone.

Instead, Mary had begged Kevin to try to track down the blackmailer by other means and threaten him with prosecution. He’d agreed, although he’d warned that if the call had originated from another country, there wasn’t much he could do.

The extortionist had allowed her until Friday to come up with the funds. That made for a week to catch him.

Kevin had quoted Mary the lowest rate on his pay scale; he always gave people a break if they won his sympathy. He’d also been known to bill a little extra on occasion for a bad attitude.

She’d insisted that under no circumstances should he notify the authorities. Kevin had agreed, as long as he didn’t have to violate any laws.

He’d decided to start his fieldwork by paying a surprise visit to Dr. Joseph Abernathy, now retired as a gynecologist, to ask about his still-practicing partner, Dr. Randolph Graybar, and their involvement in the baby ring. He hoped to find out how the blackmailer might have gained access to information about adoptive families.

He circled the block, alert for any suspicious activity. Even in an apparently peaceable community, taking heed of details could mean the difference between life and death.

Kevin had no illusions about the potential for danger. Thanks to California’s stiff restrictions on concealed-gun permits, he was about to walk unarmed into a meeting with a man who might be either an innocent bystander or a blackmailing baby seller. He hadn’t even been able to arrange for backup. Although his agency was profitable enough to bring in a second detective, he’d had no luck finding anyone qualified.

As he made a second circuit of the block, a gray van passed him going the other way. The bright June sunlight showed two shapes in the front seat, but Kevin couldn’t make out any details.

He parked half a block beyond the house to avoid attracting attention. His midpriced white sedan contrasted with the expensive models around it, but at least he’d had the car washed and detailed.

When he got out, he could smell the ocean less than a mile away. He heard a dog barking and noted that it was too far off to pose a threat.

On the short walk to Abernathy’s house, a red sports car with a bent antenna and a back seat crammed with junk caught Kevin’s eye. He guessed it belonged to a kid home from college, although not the doctor’s. According to his bio on the Web, his two children had long ago reached adulthood.

The walkway that bisected Dr. Abernathy’s lawn ascended in a series of steps past flowering bushes to an entrance secluded beneath an arched cover. About to mount the porch, Kevin froze at the scraping sound of the latch opening. He’d come too close to duck out of sight. He’d have to brazen it out.

“I’m grateful to you for talking to me and I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way,” said a smoky female voice that stroked his sensibilities like black velvet. He’d heard the voice before. “I assure you, I have no intention of printing anything until I learn all the facts.”

Onto the porch emerged a willowy figure he had no trouble identifying even though he hadn’t seen her in several years. A breeze fanned her chestnut hair and, although she was glancing back at someone, he knew her eyes appeared slate-colored indoors but jade in sunlight.

Kevin’s mouth twisted at his foolishness. Alli Gardner had always irritated him with her refusal to lay off when he didn’t care to discuss a case. As far as he was concerned, her eyes might as well be mustard yellow.

Before he had time to wonder what brought her here, she stumbled into him. As his hands closed around her upper arms, he felt the pressure of her thigh against his and caught a flash of mirth on her generous mouth.

“Well, well,” said the reporter, “if it isn’t my favorite dick.”

Behind her in the doorway appeared a man in his seventies. “Who are you?’ he demanded.

“Kevin Vickers, private investigator.” Setting Alli firmly away from him, he dispensed one of his cards. “I’d appreciate a few words with you, Doctor.”

Abernathy’s frown deepened. “I’m not talking to you and I shouldn’t have talked to her. Whatever you think is going on, it doesn’t involve me.”

“I’m here on behalf of one of your former patients,” Kevin said. “I’m sure you’d be concerned if you knew…”

He halted, registering the sudden acceleration of an engine on the street. Before he could react on his instinctive sense of danger, a sharp crack! rang out.

“In!” Grabbing Alli, he pushed her and the doctor into the foyer and slammed the door. The last thing he observed was a gray van disappearing around the corner.

“Is somebody shooting at us? Nobody’s hurt, are they?” The reporter spared a glance at both men before adding, “That was amazing! Like something out of a movie!” Her face had the feverish look he’d seen on rookie cops whose adrenaline rush overwhelmed their common sense.

He’d been wrong about Alli, Kevin reflected. She wasn’t just a loudmouthed annoyance. She was a pain in the neck who would likely get killed.

“A car backfired,” the doctor said, although he sounded breathless. “I’m sure that’s all.”

Did he believe that or was he trying to avoid summoning the police? “Sir, it sounded like a gunshot to me,” Kevin replied.

“Serene Beach doesn’t have drive-by shootings,” the doctor insisted.

Kevin could hardly argue, since he didn’t intend to call the police. As for Alli, she stood observing the two of them as cheerily as if she were watching a sitcom.

He returned to his purpose for coming here. “Doctor, you may have information that could help one of your former patients, a woman who’s already suffered more than her share of tragedy.”

“As I said, I’m not interested in talking to you.” Sharply, the doctor added, “I don’t wish to be disturbed again, by anyone.”

This seemed like a strong reaction for a man convinced he’d only heard a car backfire, Kevin thought sardonically. “Suppose I told you that a child’s future depends on it?”

“Some people will say anything to get what they want.” The man regarded him stonily. “Both of you—out of here, now!”

Alli quirked an eyebrow without commenting. The doctor’s hostility didn’t faze her. It didn’t inspire her to move toward the door, either.

Kevin knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of her persistence. His sympathies lay with the doctor.

“Please keep my card.” He would have liked to mention his client’s name, but Alli’s presence dissuaded him. “Whoever fired that shot—and it was a shot—knows where you live. They could come back.”

“I’m not going to waste time worrying about someone with carburetor problems, and, unless you’re a mechanic, you shouldn’t, either.” The doctor opened the door, but, Kevin observed, he stayed clear of the gap. “Don’t bother me again. And that interview was off the record, young lady.”

“Too late to change your mind!” she sang out, and scurried away.

Kevin kept his voice low as he put in one last plea. “My client is a widow, she can’t afford to pay blackmail and she doesn’t want to lose her son. Think about it.” He followed Alli onto the porch.

As the latch clicked behind them, he noted a black-and-white cruising along the street, apparently on routine patrol. Even if the officer hadn’t received a report of gunfire, his presence made the shooter’s return unlikely.

Kevin surveyed the front of the house for a bullet hole and examined the ground for a casing, without success. He would have liked to retrieve some evidence, even if he couldn’t make immediate use of it, but either the bullet was buried somewhere or the shooter had fired a warning shot, trying to frighten rather than injure.

Regardless, he wondered how the assailant had found them and how far he—or they—would go to stop this investigation. Kevin hoped the doctor had been right about a car backfiring.

Alli waited for him on the walkway, her head cocked and one hand on her hip. A silky pantsuit skimmed her body. “Looks like we’re working the same case, Detective.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” As he moved past, she fell in beside him. Had he really expected her to give up that easily? Kevin mused.

“Illegal adoptions and blackmail. Sound familiar?” she asked.

“I’m looking for missing medical records,” he improvised. “They’re for a lawsuit against an insurance company.”

“Yeah, sure.” She paused beside the red sports car, then apparently thought better of it and kept pace with Kevin. “We ought to share what we know. It might help us both.”

“My work is confidential.” He clicked open his lock.

She produced a creased business card, crossed off the newspaper’s name and wrote a phone number on the back. “I’m freelancing these days. Here’s my cell number.”

He made no move to take the card. “What happened to your job?”

“It didn’t give me enough scope.” She proffered the card again. He ignored it.

“I’m about as likely to call you as Dr. Abernathy is to call me,” he told her.

Reaching past his jacket lapels, she tucked it into his shirt pocket. Through the fabric, her fingers left a warm imprint against his chest. “Exactly my point, Detective. I’ve got a half-hour taped interview with him, and that’s your best chance of hearing what he has to say. Think about it.”

With a wave, she headed to her car. Stopping beside it, she mouthed the words “Call me!” before slipping inside.

Kevin gritted his teeth. He had other people to contact. Maybe he’d get back to her…but only if he ran out of leads.

And assuming someone didn’t put a bullet through one of them first.




Chapter Two


Transcribing the interview with Dr. Abernathy took most of the afternoon. Until now, Alli hadn’t spent much time working in her studio apartment, and the noise from the pool outside proved distracting.

Also, she kept pausing as she mentally replayed the interview and, especially, the scene at the end, which wasn’t on the tape. She still couldn’t believe someone had shot at her, but the more she considered it, the less she bought the idea of a backfire.

In retrospect, too, that gray van struck her as familiar. She must have seen it near the office earlier without paying much attention.

She wished she had someone to discuss this with, but the only person who came to mind was Kevin Vickers. In fact, he came to mind a little too often.

She had to admit he was sexy. A woman couldn’t help admiring a tall, dark, moody kind of guy, one with a freshly laundered scent and a muscular build, could she?

Alli pictured herself grabbing him by the tie, tumbling him backward across a bed and ripping off those starched garments. Breaking down that prickly exterior and transforming him into a lusty male animal would be much more fun than arguing with him. However, it didn’t appear she would have the chance to do either.

At last she finished the transcription. She had to write on her laptop because it was all she had, but she didn’t dare dial up to the Internet to look for a job or check out Dr. Graybar’s background because Payne would be able to trace her every move. Just thinking about him made her blood pressure soar.

First chance she got, she was going to take her computer in to be debugged, Alli resolved. In the meantime, she didn’t plan to let fear isolate her in this small apartment.

She dug through papers strewn across her thrift-store desk. Surely somewhere in the pile lurked a coupon from the local copy shop, which rented computers with Internet access. Although the library also had a few, they were almost always busy.

The coupon eluded her. Alli did find a half-price sandwich deal from the Black Cat Café, a nearby hangout. It was after five o’clock and her stomach sounded a warning growl. Okay, she’d make the sandwich her first order of business and then she’d draw on her limited funds to surf some job-related Web sites at full price.

Besides, she was feeling stifled in the bland unit with its worn carpeting and tiny kitchenette. If she’d bothered to do more than hang a few posters on the wall, that might have helped, but a used foldout sofa, a tired bureau and a scarred coffee table didn’t exactly brighten the place.

As she drove, Alli’s thoughts returned to the phone call she’d received yesterday morning. Rita Hernandez had sounded angry and frightened at the same time as she’d described how a caller had tried to extort twenty thousand dollars from her to keep silent about the supposedly illegal adoption of her four-year-old daughter.

“I don’t even know if it’s true!” she’d protested. “But how can I go to the police? I’ve read about cases like this. If there’s anything hinky about how a baby was acquired for adoption, even though the person had nothing to do with it, sometimes immigration insists on sending the child back to complete strangers.”

Although only thirty-nine, she had chronic health problems that precluded a pregnancy, she’d explained. She and her husband had been turned down by adoption agencies because they feared her ailments would interfere with parenting. However, that hadn’t proved to be the case.

“We love our daughter and she loves us,” she’d said tearfully. “Then this jerk calls and demands twenty thousand dollars. We’re struggling to pay the rent and health insurance. He’s given us a week to come up with the money, but it’s impossible. What are we supposed to do?”

Alli had jumped at the chance to help her. Also, she saw a story here that went beyond Rita’s personal situation. The doctors who’d arranged for the adoption must have helped lots of other couples. Were they being blackmailed, too? If so, by whom?

During the interview, Dr. Abernathy had appeared dismayed to learn that the orphanage might be operating illegally and seemed horrified about the blackmail. Although Alli wasn’t thrilled at the way he’d clammed up at that point, she tended to believe in his innocence.

She wished Kevin weren’t so pigheaded about pooling their resources. It simply made sense, from her point of view. But he’d always had a hardheaded attitude toward the news media.

Inside the Black Cat, Alli’s senses took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting and the chatter bouncing off hardwood surfaces. Once she could see, she spotted a couple of familiar faces. The café was popular with the Outlook staff.

People nodded in her direction, but no one waved her over to a table as they might have done a few days before. The reason was obvious: J. J. Morosco and Ned Jacobson sat in one corner, having drinks.

Judging by the printouts and charts littering their table, she guessed the two editors were reviewing plans for the news operation. The other staff members must be afraid that their jobs, too, would go on the chopping block.

Luckily, she didn’t have to worry about supporting a family, Alli reflected as she waited at the take-out counter. That was one of the many advantages of staying single and child-free.

She was ordering pastrami on rye when Larry emerged from the café’s back room with another photographer, Bob Midland. Noting the editors, he muttered, “I’ll wait for you outside.”

“You got it,” Alli said. As the counterman rang up her bill, the managing editor glanced her way. “Hi, J.J.,” she called breezily. “How’s it hanging?”

The entire room fell silent. Ned averted his face.

“Fine,” the M.E. answered politely.

“See you around.” After paying for her order and collecting the takeout sack, she strolled outside.

Alli had learned long ago that the best way to handle an awkward situation was to tough it out. During her school days, her cocky attitude might have alienated some teachers, but it had rallied her spirits while she moved around the country with her mother, a graphic artist whose jobs were often temporary.

She found Larry leaning against her car. “What’s happening with you?” he asked. “Any job prospects?”

“Not yet.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her face and realized she’d forgotten to brush it. She hadn’t put on lipstick, either, but what was the point? It would only smear on her sandwich. “Need a ride?” she asked as she unlocked the car.

“Actually, yes. I rode over with Bob. I’m on duty tonight. Do you mind dropping me at the paper?”

“Doesn’t bother me.” She didn’t see why she should be ashamed about having gotten the boot. It was Ned and Payne who ought to be ashamed, and J.J. for not paying closer attention to her accomplishments.

During the ride, she inquired about the mood in the news-room since she’d left. “I’ll bet you could cut the tension with an X-Acto knife.”

“Yeah. It’s miserable. Everybody’s afraid of getting the ax.” He pushed his glasses higher on his nose.

“I’m sorry to hear it.” People couldn’t do their best work when they had to keep looking over their shoulders.

“This morning, a couple of reporters brought laptops to work,” Larry added. “I think they’re scared Payne will steal their stuff.”

Although each employee had an individual password to the paper’s networked computers, Payne had begun stealing Alli’s notes almost as soon as he’d arrived. She assumed that either he had a talent for hacking or he’d found the passwords in his uncle’s desk, in which case nobody was safe.

“You’d better warn them not to leave their laptops unattended,” she replied. “He loaded spyware onto mine.”

“I already put the word out.”

She drove another block before asking, “What’s Payne up to? Don’t tell me he’s doing some actual reporting.”

“Did you read this morning’s paper?”

“I’m afraid not.” Accustomed to receiving a copy at work, she’d never subscribed. If she were to start taking a paper now, she’d prefer to study one of the larger papers where she might be applying.

“He wrote a follow-up to the exposé,” Larry said. “While Ned was editing it, he kept yelling about risking a libel suit.”

“Payne must have used the stuff I was saving for my side-bar. I’m sure he didn’t bother to track down anything on his own. Obviously he didn’t write it very well, either.” Alli took some satisfaction in that.

One of the reasons she hadn’t turned in her story a day earlier was that she wanted to take extra care with the allegations about Mayor LeMott. Payne must have slept through his libel class in journalism school, or perhaps he was too lazy to care.

She made a left on Bordeaux Way. “It’s good to know the other reporters believe my version of events.”

“Sure they do. Besides, they recognized your style in yesterday’s article,” Larry told her.

“I’m surprised Morosco didn’t. I know he’s relatively new, but surely he’s read my work.”

Larry shrugged. “Madge Leeky thinks he’s trying to impress the publisher by putting his stamp on the paper. She says he wants to believe in Payne because he likes the idea that he hired a ‘star.’” Madge had written for the Outlook since before Alli was born.

“I don’t think that star’s going to twinkle for very long. At least, I hope not.” She pulled to the curb in front of the boxy, three-story building. It felt weird not to be parking in back as usual.

Larry sat glumly in place. “We all miss you. It isn’t the same since you left.”

“It’s only been a day and a half.”

“It seems longer.”

It did to Alli, too. Then an idea hit her. “You could help if you’re willing. But I wouldn’t want to land you in trouble.”

His face brightened. “Tell me how.”

“It would be great if you would access the paper’s library and look up Dr. Joseph Abernathy and Dr. Randolph Graybar,” she said. “I’m working on a freelance story about them, kind of a showpiece. It’s a secret.”

“Graybar? Is he any relation to the former lieutenant governor, Aldis Graybar?”

She hadn’t made the connection. “I’ll try to check online, but I still can’t use my laptop on the Internet.”

“I’ll get on it right away.”

She made sure he had her cell number. “If anyone acts suspicious, don’t do it,” she warned. “One person being fired because of Payne Jacobson is already one too many.”

He opened the car door. “I’ll be careful. Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome. I really appreciate whatever you can find out.”

As she drove off, Alli hoped she hadn’t done the wrong thing by making the impulsive request. Well, she’d advised Larry to back off if things got touchy. And she knew he would respect her request for secrecy.

The copy shop had a Closed sign on the door. The hours read 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. and it was a little past that.

Alli headed home. Inside the apartment complex, she was nearing her unit when her pulse rocketed into high gear.

In a visitor’s space across from her building sat a gray van like the one in the drive-by shooting. Despite the late hour, lingering June daylight revealed two man-size silhouettes in the front seat.

Tapping the brake, she backed out of sight behind an SUV. Had they spotted her? She sat trying to listen past the rush of her blood for the roar of the van’s engine or the slap of running feet, anything to indicate they were in pursuit.

She heard nothing.

It might not be the same van. But she didn’t intend to run any foolish risks.

Common sense warned her to call the police. If she did, however, she’d have to tell them about the incident at Dr. Abernathy’s and why she’d been there. Someone from the Outlook would read the report and discover what she was working on.

As Alli sat mulling over what to do next, it occurred to her that she must be on to something big for these men to spend their time stalking her. Unless, of course, the men weren’t connected to the adoption ring. She’d also been investigating Mayor LeMott who, before going straight as a businessman, was rumored to have been involved in loan-sharking and racketeering.

He’d escaped prosecution because witnesses against him had a nasty habit of disappearing. The thought sent shivers down Alli’s spine.

He knew she’d been working on a story about him because he’d granted an interview after his election as mayor in April, expecting a puff piece. Even though her name wouldn’t have appeared on today’s article, it had probably quoted from the interview.

Oh, the heck with it. She wasn’t giving up her investigation, regardless of the danger. What would happen if reporters let themselves be intimidated into silence?

First necessity: to rescue a few essentials from her apartment. Second requirement: to locate another base of operations, preferably one that cost nothing and came with a computer.

Her mother would welcome her, but Mom lived in Texas. Larry shared a tiny beach pad with four buddies, so that put him out of the running.

An image sprang to mind of a glowering man with muscular shoulders, intense physical presence and access to Internet databases. The fact that Kevin Vickers wanted nothing to do with her was, in her view, a mere technicality.

After slipping out of the car, Alli traced a circuitous path toward the back of her apartment unit. A glimpse around the corner showed the two guys sitting in their van, staring in the direction of the main entrance.

She’d met the mayor’s bodyguards, Dale and Bruce, a few times. The fellow sitting on the near side had cropped hair and a beefy nose, just like Dale. The other fellow’s bleached orange hair matched Bruce’s.

Caked mud obscured the license plate’s number. Considering that it hadn’t rained in months, Alli figured the men had hidden it on purpose, but now she knew who they were—for all the good that did.

Quietly, she withdrew. Adrenaline powered her up the rear stairs to her apartment, where she made short work of packing.

She’d completed the first step of her plan. Now came the hard part.

JUNE WAS A TIME for fresh beginnings: weddings, graduations and a new baseball season, during which the Anaheim Angels might just possibly, if heaven smiled and fish learned to fly, win another World Series.

It was also, Kevin had learned during his three years as a private eye, a time when spouses cheated and people on disability leaped about reshingling their roofs with the spryness of mountain goats. Cynicism firmly in place, he arrived at his office after a long day, his camera brimming with evidence.

Sometimes he wondered why he’d left the police department. He’d liked his position as a robbery-homicide detective and he’d enjoyed the give-and-take with fellow officers. But he preferred freedom, even when it meant long hours and unpaid accounts receivable.

When he’d decided to leave, another former officer had invited him to join his security firm. However, he’d decided to strike out on his own, and he’d never regretted it.

Kevin unlocked the front door of the small office building and, bypassing the elevator, mounted the stairs to the second floor. At this hour—nearly 7:00 p.m.—the accounting firm and escrow company that shared the premises had closed for the day.

He hoped his secretary had left as well. He’d informed Heloise in no uncertain terms that her day ended at five o’clock. He wasn’t paying overtime and he didn’t need her to babysit his phone messages.

But she sat at her desk, short blond hair revealing a hint of dark roots, acknowledging him with a smile as she adjusted her grip on her cell phone. “Betsy, it’s up to your sister to decide whether she wants another baby,” Heloise was saying. “I know it isn’t your fault you had triplets, but if you can manage three, why can’t she?”

“Mom!” Kevin said. “Would you please go home?”

“It’s your dad’s pizza and poker night, so nobody needs me,” his mother replied calmly. Into the phone, she added, “Your brother just got back. Darling, whatever happens, I promise to keep watching your kids on Saturday mornings.”

Kevin collected his mail and escaped into his private office. He’d had more than enough of his younger sisters’ jockeying for their mother’s attention. They were welcome to it. As the eldest child and only son, he received far too much.

Still, Mom made a great assistant. He knew before he even checked that his e-mail had been culled of spam, his clients billed and his phone messages screened so he could be notified of anything urgent.

During his first two years in business, he’d put up with a series of secretaries who ranged from inept to barely tolerable. Even the halfway-decent ones didn’t stay long. He knew his sharp manner had something to do with this, but who could blame him for losing patience with repeated screwups?

When his mother offered to fill in short-term, he’d agreed out of desperation. Although Heloise’s only previous paid experience had been decades ago as a preschool teacher, her experience as head of the PTA and other volunteer groups had made her a whiz at management.

They got along surprisingly well. She dismissed Kevin’s bouts of grumpiness with aplomb, claiming he’d been much worse as a teenager. She matched his obsession with neatness, and she kept her motherly instincts in check during regular hours.

After five o’clock, however, all bets were off. So it didn’t surprise him when she appeared in the doorway to ask, “Have you eaten?”

“I had a hamburger.” He’d grabbed one an hour ago. “Thanks, Mom.” Pointedly, Kevin turned on his computer and began downloading photographs.

“You haven’t forgotten about this weekend, have you?”

“I’m working this weekend,” he said automatically.

“Not tomorrow night. It’s Betsy’s tenth high-school reunion and you know I’m giving a party for her friends. Some of them are still single. And some of them are single again. You’ll have your pick.”

Although aware that he’d have to put in an appearance, Kevin shuddered at the prospect of being surrounded by his younger sister’s husband-hungry buddies. He’d barely survived their fifth reunion, and by now their maternal instincts must be roaring into full gear. “I’ll drop by.”

“Don’t make us come fetch you,” his mother warned.

He should never, never have bought a house so close to the Vickers homestead, Kevin reflected for the umpteenth time. Why had he figured three blocks and one busy street would prove any kind of barrier to matchmaking? His two sisters, who also lived in the area, were almost as bad as Heloise.

“I’ll be there,” he muttered, wishing he had an excuse to leave town.

“You’ll enjoy the party,” his mother replied. “Don’t work too late.”

Realizing she was leaving at last, Kevin glanced up from the screen. “Love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too.” A smile brightened her face before she went out.

Kevin made a mental note not to shave tomorrow. While he doubted a grubby appearance would deter his sister’s pals, it might at least discourage cheek kissing.

Refocusing on the computer, he sorted through the photos, picking the most telling ones to forward to his clients. It had been a productive day in which he’d wrapped up a couple of small cases.

Unfortunately, he’d drawn a blank on Mary Conners’s behalf. Dr. Abernathy hadn’t returned phone calls and Dr. Graybar’s office had informed him that the physician declined to meet with him.

Kevin finger combed his hair back from his forehead. He’d have to try another tack.

A rustling in the outer office caught his attention. “Forget something?” he called.

The woman who came into the doorway bore no resemblance to his mother. Alli Gardner was considerably taller and had a sensual shape emphasized by tight-fitting jeans and a clinging emerald top.

“It’s me,” she said. “Tough luck, huh? I guess you were expecting someone else.” She strolled into the room.

“If you want some of my time, I charge by the hour,” he replied.

“Are you always this warm and welcoming?”

“This is nothing. Sometimes I’m rude.”

She slid onto the edge of his desk. Obviously, she wanted something. He folded his arms and waited for her to enlighten him.

“You aren’t married, are you?” Alli asked.

“What?” Despite her naturally seductive manner, he hadn’t gathered she was here for personal reasons.

Leaning across the desk, Alli caught his left hand. The touch wreaked havoc with his rebellious hormones. “No ring. I’m not surprised.”

“How charming of you.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. It’s just that if you were getting laid regularly, you wouldn’t be so crabby.” She grinned.

She might be right, but he’d rather shave his head than admit that. Annoyed, he cleared his throat and said, “Do you have a point?”

Tilting her head, she took her time scrutinizing him. “I was wondering what you look like in the morning. I guess I’ll find out, because I’m going to be staying at your place for a few days.”

Yeah, sure. “Thanks. I needed a laugh.”

“Seriously,” Alli said. “I saw the gray van parked in front of my flat. I barely escaped with my life.”

“They fired at you again?”

“No, but they would have if they’d seen me. I could call the cops, but it would mess up my story and I’m guessing your client doesn’t want that, either. Right?”

“Don’t assume we’re on the same side.”

“There’s something in it for you, naturally,” she proceeded. “You can listen to my interview with the doc and I’ll give you a transcript, too. And together we’ll have a much better chance of helping these families. At least, I assume there’s more than one. You didn’t by any chance talk to Rita Hernandez, did you?”

“My client information is confidential.” All the same, she’d managed to pique Kevin’s interest. He did need that interview.

Alli bent over him, so close her chestnut hair tickled his neck and her apple-cider scent clouded his mind.

“What’re you working on right now?” she asked.

“Hey!” Before he could clear the screen, however, she glimpsed a photo of a cheating husband and his paramour doing the deed in front of a curtainless window.

“I can’t believe they’d do that with the shades open! And one of them is probably married, right?”

“Both of them. Not for long, I suspect.” Kevin closed the program.

“What else have you got? Never mind.” Standing so close he could feel her heat, she said, “Listen, I’ve got a friend at the paper researching background for me, and I promise to share it. I just need a place to hole up and a computer, because mine has a virus.”

“Tell me again why you’re not at the Outlook anymore,” he said, partly to gain control of the conversation and partly because he wanted to know.

“I never told you in the first place.”

“Make it short,” he advised.

“They fired me.” She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “Office politics.”

There had to be more to it, but he knew it wasn’t a matter of competence. Although he had no intention of admitting it, he read her articles frequently. Alli had a gift for digging up information and persuading people to talk.

Although her talents might prove useful, the idea of this woman moving into his house was preposterous. Even if he had a guest bedroom, which he didn’t, she was the last person in the solar system he would choose as a roommate.

On the other hand, if the van really was trailing her, she might have no other recourse than to call the police. For his client’s sake, he’d hate to see that happen.

“Do you have any idea who those guys are?” he asked. “The ones who’re stalking you?”

“They’re the mayor’s bodyguards. I’ve been investigating LeMott, and I guess you’ve seen the stories in the paper.”

Kevin disliked the mayor, both for his unsavory reputation and for his arrogance, but to authorize a drive-by shooting showed a truly brutal nature. It would serve the man right if his hair-trigger temper ruined everything he’d fought for. Unfortunately, it might cost Alli Gardner her life before he got caught.

Then the full meaning of her words sank in. “That wasn’t your byline on the articles. When exactly were you fired?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Office politics, you said?”

“Something like that.”

He’d seen police investigations snarled by competing jurisdictions and rival egos, so it made sense that this happened at newspapers, too. “Who are you writing for now?”

“Like I told you, myself,” she said. “I’m working on speculation.”

Kevin couldn’t suppress a twinge of sympathy. “If I were to give you a place to sleep—and I haven’t made up my mind about that—you’d have to promise not to publish anything until the case is completed. And you could never mention my name or my client’s.”

“I don’t know your client’s name.”

“That isn’t the point.” Another angle bothered him. “The problem is, if these adoptions do turn out to be illegal, my client could still lose her child even if we nail the extortionist.”

“I suppose so,” Alli agreed. “But it seems to me the blackmail angle needs to be handled first, because that’s the most pressing. Besides, we only have his say-so that there’s a problem with the adoptions, right?”

Kevin saw no reason to withhold his data, since he’d confirmed what Mary had told him. “Unfortunately, it’s true. The orphanage is under investigation in Costa Buena for buying and selling babies, although nothing’s been proved.”

“Are they going to try to take the babies back?” she asked.

“I don’t believe they’ve gone that far yet.”

“Don’t you think you should find out for sure?”

“Are you telling me how to do my job?” he snapped.

She scooted away before replying. “Just pointing out the obvious.”

Angrily, Kevin stood up. “Forget about moving in with me. If you’re afraid to go home, stay with friends.”

“You need me,” she said.

“I think it’s the other way around.”

“Well, yeah. That, too. Look, I’m sorry I ruffled your feathers.” On her expressive face, he saw a hint of desperation. “Isn’t there anything I could do to persuade you? Clean your house? Wash your car? Walk your dog? I love animals, by the way, if you happen to have any.”

“I don’t.” It would be cruel to keep a pet when he worked such long hours.

“I can answer the phone and cover for you if there’s someone you don’t want to talk to,” she proposed. “Although I suppose your secretary does that.”

“More or less.” After hours, his mother was likely to quiz the caller to find out if he or she had an eligible daughter. Heloise also promoted his services shamelessly, even to people soliciting political donations or selling restaurant-coupon books.

His mother. The thought reminded Kevin that a bevy of single and divorced women had been given carte blanche to hound him a mere twenty-four hours in the future.

He had options, such as fleeing to Palm Springs or locking his doors and refusing to answer the phone. But either of those choices would interfere with his work. Also, he did need the interview with Dr. Abernathy.

“There is one thing,” he added.

“You got it!” After a heartbeat, Alli added with a note of uncertainty, “What exactly?”

“Go to a party with me tomorrow night,” Kevin said.




Chapter Three


The cottage, painted dove-gray with blue shutters, had a reserved air softened by flowering bushes along the edges of the porch. “Cute house,” Alli said as she followed Kevin up the walk.

“Thanks.” He’d slung her duffel bag over one shoulder but hadn’t made any macho noises about how she should leave everything to him, so she was lugging her suitcase and computer.

He plucked a couple of envelopes from the mailbox before opening the door and punching in the security code. The place smelled nice, Alli thought in surprise, catching a whiff of cinnamon instead of the aged sweat-sock odor she associated with bachelor pads.

Inside, the house appeared bigger and brighter than she’d expected. Off-white carpeting and pale yellow walls heightened the impression of spaciousness, aided by the scarcity of furniture—no couch, just four comfy chairs that swiveled to face either the entertainment center or the fireplace.

Alli, who’d grown in up in apartments, didn’t understand why a guy would want to rent an entire house, but she wasn’t foolish enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kevin had agreed to let her stay for the weekend and hadn’t demanded sex, so how could she complain?

Not that she considered sex out of the question. The guy looked hot from any angle. She liked his powerful build and the fact that, at roughly five-eleven, he would make a perfect dancing partner, neither towering over her nor bumping his head against her chin.

She hoped there’d be dancing at tomorrow’s party. He’d refused to tell her anything about the party, however. She hadn’t packed fancy clothes, but she’d brought a pantsuit that ought to do. Besides, his friends were probably cops who’d take way too much interest in ogling her legs if she displayed them.

“My office is this way.” After tossing his mail on an end table, Kevin headed through a doorway. “The sofa doesn’t open into a bed, but I never promised you the Ritz. I’ll find you a blanket and a pillow, though.”

Alli’s idea of a home office featured a desk assembled from a discount-store kit, a dented file cabinet and piles of books and papers. By contrast, this room could grace a decorating magazine.

She admired the built-in oak shelves along one wall, not to mention the ultraneat computer-printer center and the sleek desk and chair. But where was the clutter? And how could he expect her to stretch out on that flimsy yellow-and-white striped love seat?

“This place must have come furnished.” She turned slowly, taking in the cheery decor. “A guy would never buy stuff like this.” Or else he’d get scuff marks all over it in about five minutes. “Your landlord certainly trusts you.”

“I’m my landlord,” Kevin returned levelly. “I bought the furniture at an estate sale. They sold me a whole houseful, except for the front room. Somebody else beat me to that.”

“You own this place?” A private detective shouldn’t reek of stability, Alli thought. She preferred the movie typecast of a grubby guy who lived in a hole in the wall and recycled his coffee grounds. Well, not too grubby; borderline shaggy would suit her fine.

“My grandparents left me a little money. I decided to do something sensible with it.” Shrugging out of his suit jacket, Kevin draped it over the back of a chair.

“Blowing it on a trip to Europe would be sensible,” Alli said. “You’d have memories to last a lifetime.”

He positioned her laptop on a blotter, careful not to scratch the desk’s gleaming surface. “You mentioned you’ve got a virus. I might have some software to clean it up.”

“It’s not exactly a virus.” As Alli plopped her suitcase beside the love seat, she decided not to complain about the inadequate sleeping accommodations. For one thing, Kevin could still change his mind about letting her stay here. Also, after making several moves with her mother, she’d learned to be flexible.

“So what is it exactly?” He’d flipped the case open, switched on the power and begun scrolling through the computer’s innards.

“Don’t hook it up to the Internet!” Alli said.

“Okay, I won’t. What’s going on?”

She found another chair and stuck it beside the desk. For heaven’s sake, she didn’t see a coffee cup or an empty potato-chip bag anywhere. How could a person function among such neatness?

“A guy at work sneaked in a program to capture my keystrokes,” she explained. “Anything I write shows up on his computer.”

Kevin stopped poking around, although, since the device wasn’t online, he had nothing to fear. “He stole your story?”

“You got it.”

“That explains why some other guy’s byline was on your story about the mayor?”

Alli nodded.

“Is he the reason you got fired?” he asked.

“Bingo.” She filled him in about the assistant managing editor boosting his nephew’s cause and the managing editor wanting to put his stamp on the news operation. “Basically, they didn’t believe me because they didn’t want to.”

“How come you don’t sound angrier?” Kevin inquired.

“Because it wouldn’t do any good.”

“I never thought of you as the passive type.”

In Alli’s experience, most guys would have leaped to her defense, maybe even tried to take over her problem, or gone the opposite route and assumed she was at fault. She liked the way this man waited for her response without trying to put words in her mouth.

“I’m not passive. I’m realistic,” she told him. “My mom spent ages being bitter after Dad dumped us.” That was a rather personal detail to reveal to someone she scarcely knew, but she’d learned that being open about the past helped take the sting out of it. “Finally she figured out that living well is the best revenge. She’s been much happier since she let go of her anger.”

Kevin eyed her suitcase. “You call this living well?”

“Hey, I landed in a nice place, didn’t I?” Alli quipped. “Anyway, I plan to take the laptop in tomorrow to have it debugged.”

He tapped one finger on the desktop. “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry.”

“Why not?”

“We might be able to make creative use of this situation.”

“You have a devious mind.” She grinned. “That raises all kinds of interesting possibilities.”

“Let’s save it in case we really need it,” Kevin said. “In the meantime, I’ve got an old laptop I was keeping for spare parts. It’s slow but it still works, and I cleaned all my files out of the hard drive.”

“You’re letting me stay in your house but you don’t trust me with your files?” she said.

“I have a responsibility to protect my clients from unauthorized intrusions, even accidental ones.” Kevin shut her laptop and set it aside. “By the way, you should put password protection on this thing. That will keep your colleague’s paws off it in the future.”

“He’s not my colleague anymore. And thanks. I’d love to borrow your laptop.”

“I’ll drag it in from the garage later. Also, you should put your car in there in case our shooters decide to cruise around looking for it,” he said. “Now, let’s listen to Dr. Abernathy.”

“Sure.” From her bag, Alli produced the minicassette and recorder. “I made a transcript if you want a copy.”

“I’ll take one later. First I’d like to hear him for myself.” He turned on the tape.

As Kevin listened to the recording, he half closed his eyes in concentration. At this angle, she noticed the sharpness of his cheekbones and the strength in his jaw. He looked like the kind of man a woman could depend on, or maybe the kind she believed she could depend on until push came to shove.

Alli would never make that mistake. Not about any man.

KEVIN LIKED THE WAY Alli handled the interview on the tape. Her supportive comments and well-thought-out questions encouraged the doctor to trust her.

His own police-style approach had its strengths, but warming up reluctant subjects wasn’t one of them. Also, he conceded, an attractive young woman had to be more appealing to a guy.

Alli got under way by saying she was writing a story about local people who’d adopted children from Central America, then proceeded to cite the doctor’s good reputation in the community and praise his desire to help infertile couples. Put at ease, Abernathy related how he’d never considered becoming involved with adoptions until he took on a younger partner eight years previously.

“Dr. Graybar volunteers at the El Centro Orphanage. After we’d been partners for a while, he suggested we find homes for some of the children,” the man informed her in a deep, reassuring tone.

The doctors had started slowly and informally. As demand increased and they began serving referrals in addition to patients, they’d hired a full-time adoptions coordinator.

“That side of our practice just kept growing,” he said. “There’s a lot of need in our community and among the children of Costa Buena. Of course, we try to help patients have children of their own, if that’s what they’re seeking. Providing first-quality medical care has always been my primary mission.”

Doctors Abernathy and Graybar were obstetrician-gynecologists, not fertility specialists, he explained, but they conducted initial workups and offered low-tech treatments that sometimes took care of the problem. More difficult cases were referred to nearby Doctors Circle, a women’s medical center whose staff included internationally known fertility experts.

However, some patients decided to go straight for adoption, fearing the fertility treatments would prove a costly and frustrating ordeal. Others returned a few years later, still childless and more desperate than ever to become parents.

“I was glad to offer them a range of options,” he continued. “Frankly, I’m happy to leave the whole high-tech infertility business to others, but Randy’s more aggressive. He felt we should keep up with the latest procedures so we wouldn’t lose our most challenging cases and, in addition, he wanted to ‘market’ adoptions to a larger clientele. Those were his terms, not mine.”

“Wouldn’t that tax the resources of a two-man office?” asked Alli’s taped voice.

“I thought so. He disagreed. That’s part of the reason I decided to retire about six months ago,” the physician conceded. “Randy and I didn’t see eye to eye on a number of issues, although I certainly respect him. I enjoy playing golf and taking trips with my wife, and this way he can find a new partner or partners who think the way he does.”

“Has he found someone?” she asked.

“He’s interviewed a few, but I don’t think any of them have worked out.”

Listening between the lines, Kevin wondered why Dr. Graybar couldn’t find a new associate. Did his setup make other doctors leery for some reason?

“Let’s talk more about the adoptions,” Alli said. “Did you run into any problem areas?”

“Quite the opposite.” Her subject waxed lyrical about the outcomes. He took pride in the fact that they’d been able to place some special-needs youngsters as well as to find babies for what he half humorously referred to as special-needs parents.

“There’s so much demand for adoptions that agencies often rule out people who would make fine mothers and fathers,” he explained. “Sometimes they’re over forty or have a chronic health condition or perhaps a minor criminal record that’s long in the past. We tried to look beyond that. Even so, all our parents had home studies, so you can be assured we weren’t placing children in unsuitable situations.”

Alli asked how much money the adoptions brought into the partnership. “It’s quite lucrative,” Dr. Abernathy admitted, “although there were additional expenses for us, like hiring a counselor. Most of the fees went to the orphanage and officials in Costa Buena.”

Kevin wondered how big a part the money had played in Dr. Graybar’s push to expand the clientele. He had no objection to anyone turning a profit, but he was receiving a questionable impression of the younger doctor.

Kevin made a note to examine the man’s financial background and to check out the counselor, as well. Both of them had entrée to the adoption records, which meant either could be involved with the extortion.

As the tape continued to roll, Alli probed for more details about the orphanage. However, Abernathy claimed his partner had been the one who maintained contact. The prospective parents also saw the facilities, since they had to travel to Costa Buena and complete paperwork before bringing their children home.

“I never went there,” he said. “Everyone reported the place to be clean and pleasant. A little disorganized, but the kids were well fed and the caretakers showed plenty of affection.”

The interview ran for nearly forty-five minutes before Alli mentioned the investigation and the blackmail demand. The doctor, sounding astonished, asked twice whether she was sure the woman had adopted through his office, and then concluded, “She should go to the police. That’s intolerable.”

It was the kind of reply Kevin would expect from an innocent guy. In his experience, a guilty one was more likely to bluster, suggest that the informant must be lying or fly into a righteous rage.

“What about the blackmailer’s allegation that the orphanage is involved in baby selling?” she asked.

“I don’t believe it. And I’m receiving the impression you haven’t been entirely honest with me, young lady.” His tone became crusty. “Is that why you came here? To make accusations?”

“I’m just trying to understand the situation,” Alli replied.

“How do I know you won’t twist what I’ve said to make me look bad?”

Kevin sympathized, because he’d had exactly that experience with a couple of reporters in the past. That was why he’d been so hostile to Alli.

“I try to be fair and accurate,” she explained.

“I have only your word for that,” the doctor replied. “This interview is over.”

After a few unsuccessful protests, the recording ended. Kevin wished she’d asked whether Dr.Abernathy still profited from the adoptions. But he probably wouldn’t have answered.

If Kevin had the resources, he’d have liked to hire an investigator in Central America to probe the orphanage, but that seemed out of the question. His goal was to help Mary Conners keep both her son and her life savings, which meant he had to find the extortionist as simply and inexpensively as possible.

One suspect had already become evident. “Several things bother me about Dr. Graybar,” he said.

“Like the fact that no one has jumped at the chance to join his practice?” Alli asked, stretching her long legs beneath the desk. When her knee bumped his, she shifted lazily away. “Or the fact that he’s the one who initiated the adoption project?”

“Both.”

“That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to find out whether he’s related to our former lieutenant governor.”

“He’s his son.” Kevin had done some preliminary sniffing into the man’s background. Although the lieutenant governor was retired, he still wielded considerable political influence. “But I haven’t heard of Dr. Graybar’s having any ambitions to run for office.”

“Neither have I,” Alli replied.

It was nearly eight o’clock. “Time to knock off,” Kevin said. She uncoiled from her seat. “If you’ll give me a tour of the house, I’ll figure out where I’m going to sleep.”

He thought he’d made that clear. “You’re sleeping in here.”

“On that?” She indicated the couch. “Sorry, but my legs don’t detach at night.”

It was small, Kevin conceded. Because he towered over his mother and sisters, he tended to think of women as short.

“There’s no spare bedroom,” he explained. “If I were a gentleman, I’d give up my bed for you—but guess what?—I’m not.”

She pretended to sigh. “You wouldn’t happen to have a mink-lined bathtub I could borrow?”

An image sprang to mind of Allie’s deliciously nude body reclining on fur. Kevin stifled it. “No such luck.”

“How about a hammock in the garage?”

It was a tempting notion to get her out from underfoot, but it wouldn’t work. “No hammock and no space once you put your car inside.”

“I’ll figure out something. Why don’t you show me around.”

Since he could hardly refuse, Kevin escorted her through the one-story structure. She gave an appreciative nod to the open entertainment area that stretched from the living room to the kitchen, where she exclaimed over the large cooking and breakfast areas.

As for the master suite, she took in the art deco bed and dresser skeptically. “They’re pretty but totally wrong.”

“What makes you say that?” The estate-sale price had been right, the furniture had required a minimum of refinishing, and his mother and sisters had given their stamp of approval.

“Because you’re a guy.” Alli swung around so suddenly that Kevin found himself nearly nose to nose with her, give or take a few inches. “You need rough stuff that you can collapse onto when you’re drunk.”

“I don’t drink to excess.” After observing how obnoxious some of his friends became, he never quaffed more than one or two beers per evening. “I hate to think what kind of man you usually associate with.”

She peered at him mischievously. “I have wide experience. How about you?”

“I’ve been around.”

“Then how come you need to barter a date for tomorrow night?”

He preferred not to admit he wanted protection from his matchmaking family. “I’m not seeing anyone currently.”

“At the PD, someone told me you were engaged,” she said.

“I had a serious relationship, but it didn’t work out.” He turned away. “Could we change the subject?”

“Did she pick the furniture?”

“The house came after her time,” he told Alli.

He hadn’t reached the point of buying furniture with Lisette Collins, the woman he’d nearly married. Oddly, when he tried to summon an image of her face, all he got was a vague impression of petite femininity marred by petulance.

Kevin had believed they suited each other fine until they’d started discussing their future. That was when she’d produced a list of requirements, including a big house and several kids right away, with her staying home full-time.

When he’d pointed out that he couldn’t afford all that on a policeman’s salary and that she’d need to keep working for at least a few more years, her mouth had formed a hard, stubborn line. Over the next weeks, he’d seen another side of Lisette, alternately pouting and pressuring him.

It had become clear that what she loved was the idea of a man who fit into her preconceived mold. In fairness, Kevin had to admit that he’d been drawn to Lisette because she seemed like the right type rather than because they loved each other.

He considered it unrealistic to expect a wildly passionate marriage, but whatever the two of them had felt didn’t even come close. Once they started facing reality, matters had deteriorated fast, until they parted by mutual consent.

After inspecting the master bathroom, Alli gave a thumbsup to the whirlpool spa. “Too bad I can’t sleep there,” she said. “It’s big enough, but I’d come out looking like a prune.”

“You could spread my sleeping bag in the living room,” Kevin offered.

“Okay. In fact, an idea just hit me.”

“What?” he demanded.

“If I tell you, it’ll spoil the fun.” Her athletic stride carried her out of the bedroom. “Why don’t you go find your laptop for me,” she called back.

“It’s in the garage.” The small detached building lay behind the house.

“My point exactly.” She folded her arms. “I’d like a little time alone to get things organized. Go on, Kev. I’ll be fine.”

He hated bossy women. But she wasn’t exactly pushing him around. She was just…maddeningly stubborn.

“You are not taking over my bedroom,” he warned as he passed her.

“Definitely not.” She widened her eyes in mock innocence. “I promise I won’t make a pass, big boy.”

He ignored the gibe. “The extra blankets and pillows are in the hall closet. You can store your clothes in there.”

“Great.”

Kevin exited through the kitchen and across the back patio. Since the house dated from the 1930s, the two-car garage faced a rear alley, following the style of old carriage houses.

Inside, he set to work moving boxes so he could reach his spare laptop. Once he found it, he realized he needed to dig out the sleeping bag as well. That required shifting yet another set of containers, and then using his Shop-Vac to suction out the accumulation of spiderwebs and grime that he uncovered.

By the time he finished restoring order, he’d been absent nearly twenty minutes. How much trouble could a woman create in that time? Kevin wondered as he hauled his gear indoors.

Emerging into the entertainment area, he broke stride. What had happened to his beautifully arranged home?

In the center of the living room his swivel chairs served as tent poles for a quilt and an assemblage of blankets and sheets that formed a complete, if ragged-looking, enclosure. The tall, multishelved entertainment center against the wall had almost disappeared beneath an assortment of female garments arranged like a shop-window display. Make that a lingerie shop-window display. Alli hadn’t only hung her blouses and skirts in full view, she’d dangled frilly under-things, as well.

“Oh, good, you brought the sleeping bag!” His guest, who’d been lurking to one side observing his reaction, darted forward to lift the bedroll from his arms. “I needed this to finish it off.” She hauled it into the impromptu yurt through a flap.

Kevin couldn’t believe she’d transformed his well-ordered home into chaos. He hated to think how his mother and sisters would react. “Your clothes,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Through the flap, her face popped into view, strands of hair drifting across her nose.

“Put the clothes in the hall closet,” Kevin instructed.

Emerging, Alli plucked some lint from her sweater and dropped it on the carpet. “You have to admit, this place needed livening up.”

He would admit no such thing. “I liked it the way it was.”

“It’s as if nobody really lives here,” she protested. “It isn’t civilized to be that tidy.”

Kevin considered himself distinctly civilized. Well, maybe not at this moment, because he had a strong desire to rip down the mess in his living room and evict his guest, underwear and all. “You can’t leave this—”

The doorbell rang. “I’ll answer it!” Alli sang out.

“Stop right there!”

Alarm flashed across her face. “You think the bodyguards found us?”

“If they had, I doubt they’d be polite enough to ring the bell.” It was far more likely that his mother, Betsy or Barbara had dropped by.

Kevin didn’t require another look to know how his living room must appear, but he couldn’t help it. The place exerted a kind of horrifying fascination, like the scene of a crime. Especially the crimson panties and bra trimmed with black lace that occupied the center of Alli’s fashion monstrosity.

The doorbell rang again. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t home, since he’d made the mistake of leaving his car in front.

“I’ll handle it,” he said.

He took the precaution of glancing through the window, but the figure on the porch remained out of view. His mother and sisters had perfected the art of avoiding surveillance.

There was no point in delaying. That could only make it appear that Alli had been detaining him—perhaps by doing a striptease to remove all that lingerie.

Gritting his teeth, Kevin opened the door.




Chapter Four


“Is, um, Alli here?” she heard a young man ask, and knew immediately who it was, mainly because she’d invited him.

“Larry! That was quick.” Alli squeezed into the doorway next to Kevin, who showed no inclination to move.

The photographer glanced between the two of them. With his round, freckled face and Harry Potter glasses, he made an amusing contrast to the hard-bodied detective.

“I thought you were staying with a girlfriend.”

“I said a friend,” she corrected, and introduced the two men. They shook hands, which seemed to calm Larry somewhat. He apparently found Kevin intimidating, perhaps because he was scowling.

Okay, she should have asked his permission before inviting someone to his house, Alli mused as she escorted her visitor inside, but he’d been in the garage when Larry called.

“Let’s see what you found.” She slipped a file folder from the photographer’s grasp. He’d offered on the phone to e-mail the document until she’d reminded him that Payne might have managed to access her account.

Inside lay several photocopied pages of a news story carrying Madge Leeky’s byline. It was dated three years earlier.

“It’s about the adoption counselor those two doctors hired,” Larry explained. “It’s all I could find.”

Kevin’s frown eased. “You’re helping with her research?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said.

“Did she explain what the story’s about?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” Larry said. “I don’t care as long as she makes a splash. We all want her back at the paper, except for a few idiots. Like maybe two with the same last name.”

Kevin nodded. “Care for a beer?”

The offer apparently indicated Larry had passed muster. “Say yes,” Alli prompted.

“Okay.”

“Alli?” Kevin asked.

“Sure.” She liked being treated as one of the guys. Well, sometimes.

A pucker formed between the photographer’s eyes as he stared past her at the entertainment center. “What hit your clothes, a hurricane?”

Alli gave a little cough, wishing he could have avoided the touchy subject. She hadn’t missed Kevin’s dismayed reaction earlier to her attempt at livening up his decor.

Her true motive had been more self-defense than aesthetics. Despite the spotlessness of the house, the man’s essence infused the place with he-man hormones. As she’d started to hang her things in the hall closet next to a leather jacket, she’d realized that his pheromones were likely to pervade her clothes forever.

That was all she needed: to carry Kevin’s scent around with her, arousing images of the two of them dancing cheek to cheek and thigh to thigh. Mr. Law-and-Way-Too-Much-Order was not even remotely the kind of guy she wanted imprinted on her psyche.

“I threw them up in the air and that’s where they stuck,” she improvised for Larry’s benefit.

“Unfortunately, I wasn’t around when it happened,” Kevin said. “Do you think it looks too revealing?”

Larry cleared his throat. “I guess you’d know more about that than I would. Right?”

He was trying to figure out the relationship between the two of them, Alli thought, and tried to figure out how to describe it. Reluctant colleagues? Victims of circumstance? People who bucked a trend by moving in together before their first date?

“I think we should have it shellacked and preserved for posterity,” Kevin replied, and headed for the kitchen.

Alli rattled the article in her hand. “I appreciate this. Did you have any trouble checking it out of the library?”

“I didn’t take it from the library. They make you fill out a form to say what you’re working on,” Larry said. “I got paranoid that the editors might start asking questions, since photographers don’t usually research stories. So I tried another route.”

“What route is that?”

Kevin returned with three beers. “I could pour these into glasses if you prefer, but that takes half the fizz out.”

“I like my beer out of the can,” Alli said.

Larry accepted his with thanks. There was nowhere to sit without knocking down her tent, so they stood there sipping while he continued.

“I asked Madge if she remembered any stories about those doctors. She mentioned she’d written one, and she photocopied it from her files without asking who it was for. I think she knew it must be you.”

“Please thank her for me,” Alli said. “I’ll tell her in person the first chance I have.”

They stood there in increasingly awkward silence. At last Kevin turned to Larry. “Want to go to a party tomorrow night?”

That was the last thing Alli had expected him to say. Why would he invite her friend to join a bunch of cops? “What kind of party is this?”

“A casual gathering.” Kevin swallowed more beer before adding, “With plenty of women.”

“Then why did you invite me?” she asked.

“They’re the wrong kind of women. For me,” he added quickly. “But Larry might hit it off with someone. Unless you’re busy?”

The photographer managed a weak smile. “No, I’d like to come.” Alli was surprised, since at social gatherings with staff members, he always stood around looking uncomfortable. “Uh, where and when?”

Kevin wrote the details on a pad and handed them over. “There’ll be plenty of food. When you arrive, just tell whoever’s at the door that I invited you.”

“You’re sure they won’t mind?” he inquired.

“They’ll be thrilled.”

Something was wrong with this picture. Alli began to have an unpleasant suspicion about the whole party scenario, at least as far as it concerned Kevin. However, she didn’t want to air her concern in front of Larry.

She made polite conversation until they finished their beers. Then she escorted her friend outside and thanked him again for the article.

“I’ll keep my eyes open for anything else about those doctors,” he told her.

Alli wanted to hug him. “You’re my lifeline. I miss you and everybody else, with a few exceptions.”

“About this Kevin guy,” Larry said. “Is he…I mean, are you two…?”

“Dating?” She shook her head. “I had to get out of my apartment. Don’t tell anyone, but I think Mayor LeMott was having me followed.” She decided not to mention the shooting. That would be too big a deal to expect him to keep hush-hush. “So here I am.”

“You and Kevin are old friends?”

“Sort of.” Seeing his confusion, she clarified, “He’s a private detective. We’re helping each other on a case.”

“I think he likes you,” Larry warned.

“He probably likes a lot of women,” Alli said. “But not particularly me.”

“Oh, yeah? I’ll bet he doesn’t let them hang their underwear in his living room.”

“I didn’t exactly obtain his permission to do that.” She resisted the urge to pat Larry’s freckled cheek. “Trust me, there’s nothing going on.”

“It’s none of my business, anyway,” he replied. “And it was nice of him to invite me for tomorrow. I would like to meet a girl.”

She hoped Kevin was right about Larry’s chances. “See you at the party.”

“You bet!”

After he drove away through the tree-lined neighborhood, Alli remembered Kevin’s advice, so she borrowed his garage opener and put her car away. When she returned, she found him standing by the fireplace reading Madge Leeky’s article.

“Anything useful?” she asked.

“It’s mostly puffery,” he said without looking up. “But there’s some interesting background.”

Alli strolled to the master bedroom. She kept expecting Kevin to ask what she was doing, but he seemed to be absorbed in the article.

It was time to check out her suspicions about what he had up his sleeve. She intended to be prepared for whatever might happen tomorrow night.

Out of his sight, she opened the master closet, where a row of dry-cleaner–bagged suits and shirts met her gaze. Pairs of perfectly creased jeans lay folded over hangers. Even his sweatshirts appeared ironed.

But there was nothing here to confirm her theory. She didn’t see so much as a forgotten skirt tucked in one corner or a high-heeled shoe left on the carpeted floor.

Quietly, she moved into the kitchen. A peek into a few cabinets and drawers revealed only that Kevin’s passion for order extended to hanging pot lids in place and organizing utensils in plastic trays. The man was seriously in need of some craziness.

The refrigerator offered Alli’s last hope. Opening it, she nearly uttered a whoop of triumph.

On the shelves sat no fewer than three casseroles, which, upon inspection, turned out to be filled with a tuna-noodle dish, a bean mixture and potatoes au gratin. No bachelor since the dawn of time had ever made three casseroles simultaneously.

She found further evidence in the freezer. Foil-wrapped packages fixed with “From the kitchen of” labels had been marked “meat loaf,” “chocolate cake” and “beef stew.”

The scary part was that the labels had three different names on them. These goodies had come from the kitchens of Heloise, Barbara and Betsy.

Kevin didn’t want a date to keep his ex-girlfriend at bay as she’d surmised. He was juggling three women, and he expected to show up with a fourth!

“Having a good time?” his voice asked close to her ear.

Alli gave a guilty start. Although her instincts urged her to brazen it out by claiming she was hungry, she decided not to lie.

Closing the freezer, she pivoted to face Kevin. He stood inches away, a mocking twist to his mouth.

“You haven’t told me the whole truth about tomorrow night,” she challenged.

Was that guilt fleeting across his face? “Certainly not. I haven’t told you anything about tomorrow night.”

Alli decided to force the issue into the open. “Which of them is going to be there, or is it all three?”

“All three what?”

“Your fan club,” she said. “The ladies who bring lunch. The adoring trio of Heloise, Barbara and Betsy. Do they know about one another? Is this some kind of competition? Where does your date for the party fit in, lover boy?”

Instead of reddening with well-deserved shame, the man got a gleam in his eye. “They’re acquainted with one another.”

“What’s the plan?” Alli pressed. “Are you trying to make them jealous or what?”

“I doubt they’ll be jealous,” he said smoothly. Of all the untrustworthy men Alli had ever met, this one had the most nerve! “You’d be surprised how well we rub along.”

“Do you date them on alternate nights? What are they, your personal harem?” She didn’t really suspect him of promiscuity. However, there was the evidence, right in his refrigerator. “You may think this is funny, but I doubt that they do.”

“I don’t consider the situation funny,” Kevin responded levelly. “You want the truth? Those women are hounding me to death.”

“And you never gave them any reason to think they had some claim on you, right?” she countered.

“We used to be close,” he conceded. “But, you know, people change.”

“So you’re not currently dating any of them?”

“Not a one.”

“And they drop off casseroles purely out of habit?”

“Can I help it if hope springs eternal?” he asked.

Alli was tempted to bop him with a utensil. “I know we made a deal, but I don’t want to get involved in whatever game you’re playing.”

“Tell me something.” Stretching out one arm, he leaned against the fridge and enclosed her in a private space. “Which is crueler, to let them keep showering me with food in hopes of winning my heart, or to show up with a tasty dish like you and put a stop to it?”

Being referred to as a “tasty dish” pushed Alli over the edge. She raised one knee to the exact location of his masculine portions. “You want to hear what I think of Don Juans? I think they deserve what they get.”

The next thing she knew, he’d tossed her over one shoulder, fireman style. “Never threaten an ex-cop,” Kevin advised, and hauled her through the house into the master suite.

Alli waited until he’d almost reached the bed before she kicked out, made contact with the bed frame and shoved in the opposite direction. Releasing a string of swearwords, Kevin staggered backward.

As he stumbled, Alli felt herself begin to slide. It occurred to her that she should have given more thought to the fact that, if he fell, she was going down with him.

Or maybe underneath him.

At the last moment, Kevin managed to avoid dropping her entirely. Instead, he ricocheted across the room and flopped her onto the mattress before toppling across her.

He did more than knock the air out of her lungs. He landed in such a position that, had they not both been wearing slacks, they’d have become lovers by default.

Alli could trace every thoroughly male detail of his anatomy. The process was heightened by the fact that he’d become inexplicably but impressively aroused.

If Kevin Vickers expected to add her to his harem, he was the least perceptive man in history. And she intended to leave him in no doubt of that.

KEVIN WISHED he did have a string of adoring mistresses. They might have taken the edge off his desire, in which case he wouldn’t be responding to Alli Gardner like an overgrown adolescent.

He’d only been joking when he tossed her over his shoulder. He hadn’t intended to do anything except set her on her feet once they got in here.

Still, he understood Alli well enough not to let on what he was thinking. He pitied the man who ever became vulnerable to her, even by so much as an apology.

“Is this what you had in mind when you decided to drag me down on top of you?” he asked.

She sputtered. “I was trying to discourage you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I judge people’s intentions by their actions, and here we are,” he replied. “So if you’re curious about what those other ladies find so irresistible…”

“Kevin,” Alli said.

“Hmm?”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry.” He rolled off. “Normally, I approach a lady with more finesse.”

She sat up, hair tangling around her face and her emerald top revealing a tantalizing strip of lean waistline. The sight of her made Kevin’s groin tighten harder, entirely against his will.

He wasn’t normally attracted to shoot-from-the-hip women. His type was more like Lisette, who, when it came to intimacies, had waited for him to make the first move, and the second and the third. He’d found her tantalizing at first, until he began to wonder if she ever experienced true passion.

Alli’s boldness tantalized him with possibilities. He’d be willing to bet she could match him every step of the way.





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