Love Under Fire

“Why? Why would he torch the place?”

She looked surprised, as if suddenly finding him wanting. “Money, of course.”

“How do you explain the cuts on his back?” He riffled the tops of the pages with a thumbnail. “Satan’s initials it said here.”

“Self-inflicted.” Her tone said, “I ain’t taking any crap.” “You have to agree, they’re indecipherable. On the other hand, diving through the glass door could go a long way to explaining them.”

“You really don’t like the guy, do you?”

His question merited a minimal lift of her shoulders and a pout. “That’s neither here nor there. In all my time in Nicks Landing, I’ve never heard one whisper about satanists or black-magic cults. And Rocky can’t come up with a good reason why, if one existed, they’d want to roast him. Come on! The man’s lying. He pulled the story out of thin air, and now he’s stuck with it.”

As if there had been a wind shift, she changed tack.

Experience had taught him to be wary of that glint in her eyes. It meant she wanted something. “Getting back to the subject of money, does Skelton’s insurance policy have a clause setting aside his right to privacy once he makes a claim?”

The glint brightened when he confirmed her supposition. “Most of them do these days.”

“That’s it then. I think we’ve got him. You can look into his finances, banking and etceteras, where I can’t. The bar at the Hard Luck Inn couldn’t possibly cover all his expenses. Losing his shirt would be a helluva incentive for torching his house.”

“Then why didn’t he simply sell the house?”

“Molly, his wife. It was her pride and joy. I’ll take you to Rocky’s tonight and let you get the feel of the Hard Luck Inn. That should give you enough time to go over what you’ve got there.” She nodded toward the envelope. “Personally, I don’t think Rocky had any notion how prophetic the name of his bar would be. He named it that because he was made redundant.”

Now that his afternoon and evening had been arranged to Jo’s satisfaction, all he wanted was out of there. It simplified matters to go along with her plans. “What time?”

She picked up his business card and glanced over it. “I’ll call your cell phone when I’m done, and arrange a time.”

From under her desk she produced a sturdy leather bag, too large to be called a purse, quickly slipping his card into a front pocket. Her next move set his heart racing. Slinging her bag over one shoulder, she slid her fingers through the long black silkiness of her hair before loosing it to fall in a flurry of waves and curls onto her shoulders.

The movement lifted her pink shirt’s miniscule tail above her waistband, allowing a glimpse of smooth satin skin. Her pants slipped lower on her hips, and the shadowy hollow that was her navel, broke up the curve of her honey-colored belly. How would it feel to cradle his head on its softness and simply lie there breathing her in?

Bad move.

Rowan lifted his stunned gaze and swallowed hard.

Their eyes caught as she tucked her shirt in, patted the side of her leather bag and started to walk round the desk. “Ready?”

If he were any more ready he’d be lethal. He’d been half-hard for the past hour, and now he had an ache pressing against his zipper that had to be noticeable. Who’d have thought he’d ever be grateful for the protection of a yellow envelope.

Waving his free hand in the direction of the door, he said, “After you.” Following the convention of ladies first, with heartfelt thanks.

Jeez, she couldn’t believe she’d actually done that. Jo stood at the top of the stairs feeling ashamed of testing the waters the way she had, lifting her arms above her head, knowing it would emphasize her breasts.

She’d watched him swallow the knot in his throat, an involuntary action that only confirmed he was human.

Knowingly, she’d set out on this provocative path, hating to think the buzz zapping her nerves every time he glanced her way was one-sided. That all these hot, bothered and bewildered feelings affected Rowan not one iota. Honestly. Some people read auras, whereas she could sense Rowan’s presence even without hearing his tread on the stairs behind her.

Where had it sprung from, this awareness? When?

Was it really new, or simply something she’d chosen to ignore? With each glance she’d cast his way, hoping he wouldn’t catch her, the hum in her temples increased and the blood in her head bubbled and fizzed as if she had the bends. She couldn’t remember getting this worked up over any man, not even Max Strachan, the last man she’d imagined she loved.

Imagined being the operative word. God, he would have the last laugh now. Max, the one man who’d been honest with her, even if only to tell her she’d no shot of him ever returning her affections.

And Rowan? She’d always thought of him as slightly uptight, at least in her company. First and foremost a by-the-rules guy. Never a step out of place until the last night they had worked together.

On the only occasions they’d met since, he’d acted pretty cagey, accepting her apology for darn near getting him killed with his usual stony face. As if nothing touched him, not even death.

So who had changed, her or him?

Jo stopped at the foot of the stairs, turned, waiting till Rowan drew level. “I have business with Sergeant Jackson. I’ll call you this evening.”

“No problem. I’ll walk with you. I want to tell the sergeant I’m leaving and thank him for his help. I expect to be in and out of the station house quite a bit. Might as well stay on the guy’s good side.”

Jo rolled her eyes and shrugged, a small piece of body language she’d inherited from her Dalmatian grandmother along with her cheekbones and black curls. “Suit yourself.”

What was he really after? It was unlike Rowan to be ingratiating. And how could he bear to watch Harry doing the work he’d had to give up? If she’d lost her job, the way Rowan had, she’d never enter another police station.

Spinning on her heel, she marched along the corridor, her steps brisk, concealing her doleful thoughts. But soon her true nature won through. She had a comic mental flash of what might have been, if Rowan had still been there when she’d arrived with Ginny. She broke into a grin as she pictured Rowan’s face.

All teenagers morphed into an alien life-form these days. What was the betting Ginny would have gone off the planet? Jo was grateful Rowan hadn’t heard the wolf whistle of approval coming from her car. With a sigh, she acknowledged she’d made a few hormone-driven moves herself in the last hour, as if her body had been taken over. The green light had gone on the moment he teased her about her offer to show him everything she had.

Then later…her feeble attempt to get a reaction from him, well that memory was plain embarrassing. Rowan would never really be attracted to her. She’d known him too long. In future it would pay to keep her eyes to herself and off Rowan. The problem being, the new Rowan was just so easy on the eye.

Dear heavens, now there was a thought to jump-start her brain. She was responsible for the new and improved model. Responsible for all the pain he’d gone through while they’d fought to piece his shattered leg together. She forgot how many times he’d gone under the surgeon’s knife.

Rowan’s strength of mind showed in taut, sleek muscles that couldn’t be bought. She ought to be thankful he hadn’t lost himself in the pain her foolish actions had inflicted.

How would she fare if she lost her career?

Would she even know herself anymore?

She burst through the door, mind made up. All thoughts of Rowan as a living, breathing babe were banned. All her priorities were in a straight line. She needed his help to prove her father’s ex-partner had burned down his house, not to discover how it felt to kiss a man with a moustache.

Of greater importance was a chance to prove to her superiors that she’d always known Rocky Skelton was a liar. Maybe then they would take a fresh look at the black marks on her father’s record. She simply had to place that doubt in their minds, and make them realize Milo Jellic had been done wrong.

Rowan had barely passed through the doors when Harry Jackson asked, “How’s it going, McQuaid? Was Jo able to set your mind at rest?”

Rest wasn’t exactly the way Rowan would phrase it. Set fire to his libido? Yeah. Tightened the thumbscrews on his hormones? You bet! After this, he’d be lucky to get a good night’s sleep for dreaming of Jo. Being over her, under her, inside her.

Damage control! He pulled a lead curtain across his thoughts.

Harry’s grin didn’t attempt to hide that he’d been conniving as he looked from one to the other of them. He and Bull were the only two who knew he’d come home. The only two he wanted to know. His old friend probably thought he’d been doing Rowan a favor by not warning him the detective he’d come to see was six feet of luscious curves. No way could Harry know they had a history together, or that most of his friends blamed Jo for his departure from the force. The way they told it he would have done the same for anyone. Anyone stupid enough to become a target. He wasn’t so sure. He’d only known he couldn’t let the bastard shoot her.

“Bull has given us a week to pull it together. Then I can okay Skelton’s payment.” The black look he’d expected from Jo didn’t materialize. Instead her attention focused on a little redhead, sitting on a bench by the far wall staring at him with her mouth gaping. He gave a mental shrug. Kids.

“Harry. Why is Ginny still here?”

The sergeant’s voice dropped a notch while he spoke to Jo, “Her mother had to work and her father won’t be home till later. Ms. Wilks said to send her on home, she’d be all right. But I had a feeling you’d rather see she got there.”

“That’s for real. Thanks, Harry, I’ll still have to speak to the mother, though. Where does she work?”

“The Hard Luck Inn.”

One black eyebrow rose as Jo’s gaze left Harry and zeroed in on him. “Looks like we’ve got two birds to kill tonight.” The lopsided smile quirked her lips, producing a dimple. “That will be Ms. Wilks’s hard luck.”

The conversation was interrupted by Bull and Jake bringing two men through the door from the cells under protest.

“Uh-oh, gotta go,” muttered Jo, her gaze on the girl. “I’ll catch you tonight, McQuaid. For now, I have to baby-sit.”

Harry let Jo get out of earshot before he produced the question Rowan could see hovering on his lips. “You two got a date tonight?”

“Not so’s you’d notice. We’re going to visit Jo’s chief suspect.” As soon as he’d said it, he remembered Bull’s reaction and wished he could pull the words back.

“You mean Rocky?”

“Yeah, but keep it under your hat. I don’t think it’s for public consumption. You know the guy, Harry. What do you think of him? Is he capable of flights of fantasy? Satanists?”

“Must admit I thought it far-fetched when I first heard the story, but everyone else was convinced.”

“Everyone but Jo?”

“I guess you could say if I took it with a pinch of salt, she used a bloody ladle. But then, she never worked with Rocky, didn’t know him the way we do.”

“And what do you know?”

Harry’s mouth twisted as he considered. “He can be pretty sharp, and if that’s how things are shaping, watch you don’t get cut.”

“Thanks for the warning.” He hitched one trouser leg and sat down on the corner of Harry’s desk, getting comfortable. “Talking about warnings, why didn’t you do me the same favor with Jo?”

“Made your heart jump, did she? She’s one beautiful woman.”

“There are lots of beautiful women.”

“Yeah, but you still haven’t married any of them.”

“Hell, you’re as bad as Scott—”

“Oh, I can tell you and him are the same. Time you were both married.”

“Well, he’s decided he doesn’t need an heir as long as Taine and I are around, but Taine can’t do the same for me, so I ought to marry and beget heirs.”

“Been matchmaking, has he?”

“You could say that. Now that I’ve left the force, he feels obliged to introduce me to all the eligible women in his circle. He never once said anything against me leaving him to look after the firm to become a cop, but I can tell he’s glad it’s behind me now. I guess he’d always had this idea I was invincible because of being so much bigger.”

“Yeah, it always was you who got him out of trouble.”

“Well, he’s turned that around now with the firm.” He slipped Harry a wry grin. “If it hadn’t been for Scott, we wouldn’t be living in the style we’ve become accustomed to.”

“Scott’s done well by us all.”

“Have you got shares as well?”

“I’ve got the ones your father gave mine, when he worked for him. Probably thought Dad earned them putting up with you lot.”

“Come off it, you spent as much time at our house as you did at your own.”

Harry had the grace to look sheepish. “I helped Dad.”

“Is that what you called it? Well, I’m helping Jo and I’ll probably be about as much use. You can’t find what’s not there.”

Heaven help him, was he starting to think like her? The last thing he wanted was to suspect Rocky Skelton of fraud. If that happened he could be here for longer than a week, long enough for the woman to get under his skin again.

Hell, she was under there now.

Damn, this was a complication. No matter how much he treasured his own hide, he had a dislike of paying out the firm’s money for nothing, probably part of the Scottish heritage he’d been so quick to deny after what his mother did. It was all right for the hierarchy to say, “Write it off as public relations.” In this district most people put their money with the Stanhopes, thinking it would benefit them in the long run.

Rowan stood. “I’d better get going. I’m living on the Fancy. Scott said he’d have someone leave it ready for me, but you never know with him.”

“I for one never thought he’d play matchmaker. Shows how wrong you can be. It’s usually us married guys who’re pushing all their mates into the same boat. Has he managed to set you up with someone then?”

Hoping it would keep Harry off his back, he told him, “There’s a woman I’ve taken out a couple of times, but it’s early days. Might never come to anything.” Hell, he knew it wouldn’t, not now he’d met Jo again.

The shame of it was, he liked Barbara, and had thought maybe he could make it work, since she filled all his requirements. A woman he could be friends with, but who didn’t stir his blood. It was a decision he’d made a long time ago. He wasn’t looking for love. That way he wouldn’t be hurt when she found someone else. The pain his father went through when his mother left wasn’t going to be part of his inheritance.

No, it definitely wasn’t for him.

Harry pushed back his chair and stood up to face him. He was two to three inches shorter, but he’d never carried the bulk that Rowan had, even when they’d both been desk jockeys. “No problem then. I wasn’t really shoving Jo your way.”

“No point. Jo and I have known each other for years. We worked together in Auckland.” It didn’t take more than that for Harry to cotton on. Not that he liked doing it to Jo, but if it would help his old friend mind his own business…

“So, she the one…the one who… Look say the word and I’ll get Bull to put Jake back on the arson job.”

“Hell, no!” He leaned over the desk and stared Harry in the eye. “And if word of this gets out I’ll know who to blame. Right? I’ve no animosity toward Jo. I threw myself in the way of that bullet. My choice. Okay?”

“Sure thing. But if you know each other so well, how come she didn’t give you an earful for pinching her parking space?”

“I didn’t know I had.”

Harry’s chin jutted slightly, his eyes narrowing as if hiding the wheels turning behind them. He’d always been easy to read.

“Look, to Jo, I’m simply Rowan McQuaid, and I’d like it to stay that way. I won’t be here long enough for involved explanations. And as much as she thinks she knows me, I know her better. Her mouth is inclined to go into self-destruct mode at the most inopportune moments.”

A grin split the sergeant’s face. “You really do know her.”

“Let’s put it this way, it’s not so much Jo I’m worried about, but if Molly Skelton finds out who I am my life won’t be worth living.”

“Got it in one, mate.”

Outside, Jo was saying, “Will you stop looking like a sick puppy, get into the car and shut the door?” Ginny’s pathetic show of reluctance was ruffling Jo’s patience. The girl was lovesick. Jo sighed, then clamped her lips on the smile forming as she watched the teenager’s crablike shuffle. Each time Ginny’s feet crossed, Jo held her breath, waiting the inevitable tumble while doing a mental inventory of the first-aid stuff she carried in her bag.

Eventually the kid made it to the passenger’s seat without taking her star-glazed eyes off the exit, and fastened her seat belt. Heaven help the boys when the girl grew up; Ginny wasn’t backward at coming forward when someone took her fancy.

“He’s not going to come out. He’s too busy. Besides, his car’s parked out front.” And he would pay for pinching her spot. A chance to drive his Jag would just about cover it. A decision punctuated with an ellipse as her car crawled into Main Street. Hers had to be the oldest model in the fleet. Not simply a case of first come first served, more that with her work schedule, they didn’t expect her to be in any high-speed chases. And in the unlikely scenario of them presenting her with a newer one, she’d have to make do with a tune-up.

Finally, Jo had Ginny’s attention, albeit secondhand. “You mean that beaut car is his? Isn’t he just, just too awesome?”

Awesome was hardly a description she would have used herself, but Rowan was definitely something. She just couldn’t make up her mind what. She wouldn’t go so far as to agree with the hoary old saying that absence made the heart fonder, but in her case it certainly beat faster.

“I think your earlier description was more apt, Ginny. The man is definitely a babe.”

It was as if she’d been given a new and improved pair of eyes that saw past the facade he’d used before. Details she’d missed took on a shimmering quality that beckoned her like a light in the window after dark. Like going home.

God, was that it? She was homesick for Auckland?

No way. The rest of her symptoms were definitely hormonal.

“What’s his name, Miss? Has he come to live in Nicks Landing?” The words came out in a breathless rush.

The title Miss hurt, like suddenly being reduced to the status of maiden aunt, or schoolteacher instead of teen idol. “His name is Rowan McQuaid, he’s only in town for a week, and for heaven’s sake, call me Detective…Jo,” she compromised, on the spur of the moment.

“Is he a detective, too?”

“He’s a private investigator.”

“A private eye…wow, even better. Is he here…like on some big case?”

The child definitely watched too much TV. Philosophical at being reduced to second fiddle, Jo got ready to disappoint the kid. “Nothing exciting, a case of arson, is all. We’ll be working on it together.”

She glanced at Ginny to ask, “It’s the next left, isn’t it?” only to find her status had been restored.

“That’s ace,” she said, all big eyed. “Yes, turn here, it’s just two blocks down. Top apartment on the corner.”

Jo pulled up outside a run-down apartment building crying out for refurbishment. It was a shame. A lick of light-colored paint over the sea of won’t-show-the-dirt-khaki could give the whole neighborhood a face-lift and send it rocketing up a price bracket.

“Okay,” she said, catching her breath as the dung-colored entrance door creaked open and a woman with a frown carved into her features came out. No wonder the kid had tried to heist pink barrettes. They were an antidote for living here.

“When I visit your mother at work, I’ll discuss which form your punishment will take. Though I guess grounding would be as good as any.”

“Oh no, not grounding, it’s almost Halloween. My friends and I have something planned.”

“Even better.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped. “Can’t I just help someone? An old lady or something? Granny Monroe lives down the hall from us. I could do some cleaning for her.”

Jo pretended to consider a moment. She couldn’t blame the kid not wanting to miss out on a night of trick-or-treating. “I’d have to check with her that you’d done a good job.”

“Sure. No problem. I’ll go right in and ask her now. I can phone you when it’s done. Will that do?”

“Sounds good to me.” Jo dug into the pocket of her shirt and pulled out a business card and gave it to Ginny. “My number’s on there. That doesn’t mean I won’t talk to your mother, but I’ll tell her I’ve okayed you helping Granny Monroe.”

The weight of the world seemed to pull Ginny’s mouth down at the corners. “Molly’s okay, but Rocky doesn’t like it when people take Mom’s mind off her work.”

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ll flash my badge and tell them it’s police business.” She winked at Ginny. “So, what’s wrong with the inn? Don’t you like her working there?”

“I guess it’s all right, but Dad and I hardly see her. Mom says it’s the only way we’re ever going to get out of this dump.” Unfastening her seat belt, Ginny sat with fingers on the handle as if reluctant to press it down.

“Sounds like a wise woman. I’ll talk to her tonight. Rowan and I were going there anyway, but if I were you, I’d tell my Dad what I’d been up to, before your mother gets home.”

The teenager brightened a fraction, her eyes dreamy at the mention of Rowan. “Have you got a date?”

“No, it’s business. We’re working together this week.”

Ginny’s shoulders drooped as if she’d been hoping to live out her fantasies vicariously. “Have a good time anyway.”

“I’ll try.” And she would; hanging around with Rowan for seven days wasn’t her idea of punishment.

Ginny was halfway out the door, her face glum when Jo attempted changing the direction of her thoughts. “So, what are you and your friends doing at Halloween?”

“It’s going to be real exciting. We heard where the black-magic cult have their meetings. It’s at Te Kohanga National Park, and we thought it would be a hoot to spy on them. They’re bound to be up to something on Halloween.”

Chapter 3

Eight o’clock. If Rowan was still on board surely he would be ready, waiting for her call? A call that frankly refused to go through. If Jo heard that computerized voice saying the number she’d dialed was either switched off or out of range one more time, she would spit. But then that’s why she was walking down one of the floating wooden fingers of the marina. To see for herself.

The sea was remarkably calm, due to the huge anticyclone covering the country. A circumstance she gave thanks for. She hated that feeling, as if the bottom had dropped out of her world when she put her foot down, and the floor disappeared. Besides, these were her best high-heeled shoes.

At last she spied it, Stanhope’s Fancy II. Larger than life and twice the size of the boats moored alongside, it was hard to miss its gleaming white hull. On the couple of occasions she’d ventured out on one of these, she’d learned this type of craft was called a midpilothouse motor yacht.

With one arm wrapped round a mooring post, she leaned out over the wooden lip to peer inside. No one around. Hmmm. She looked down at the toes of her red-and-black, faux-lizard shoes, and past them to the flotsam floating in the gap with a sinking feeling. They would have to come off.

Her bag landed with a thump on the boarding platform, but no one came to investigate. With a grin, she did a quick scan of the area, imagining the headlines if she got caught: Detective charged with indecent exposure.

Her red skirt hit just above the knee. Hands on both sides, she hitched it eighteen inches higher, just below her panties, and stepped into space, shoes clutched in one hand.