McIver's Mission

In the six years since she’d been out of law school, hundreds of clients had passed through the doors of her law office. Those who could afford to paid an outrageous hourly fee for her passion and expertise and thus subsidized those who could only manage a reduced rate. Some paid nothing at all. She didn’t like to turn away a client; she wouldn’t turn away someone who needed her.

Denise Hemingway had needed her. Arden had first met Denise at the women’s shelter six months earlier. It wasn’t the first time Denise had gone to the shelter, but it was the first time she’d shown a willingness to discuss leaving her husband. Still, it had taken four more months—and several more beatings—before she’d done so. Only after her husband knocked their four-year-old son down a flight of stairs had Denise realized it was crucial to get out. Not just for her own sake, but for her child’s.

Arden had got Denise a restraining order against Eric Hemingway and a judgment for interim custody and child support. Denise and Brian had both gone into counseling, Denise was actively seeking employment, and Brian had just started school. Arden had believed that things could only get better for them.

She’d been wrong.

She’d never forget Denise and Brian, but she knew she had to put the tragedy behind her and move on. She had to believe that she could still help other women, or there would be no reason for her to get out of bed in the morning.

Arden spent a few hours at the women’s shelter, answering questions and dispensing legal advice. If one woman listened, if one woman managed to break the pattern of abuse, she knew the time was well spent. Just as she also knew that most women would return to their homes, their partners, the abuse. Even more never found the resolve to leave at all. And those were the ones whose lives, and those of their children, were in danger.

She sighed, again remembering Denise and Brian. Their deaths had proven that leaving isn’t always enough, and that a restraining order is no match for a gun.

Arden also knew that it was next to impossible to protect someone from an unknown threat. On her way home from the shelter, she stopped at the police station, anyway.

She sat in a hard plastic chair across from Lieutenant Creighton’s desk and studied him. Early thirties, she guessed, with hair so dark it was almost black, eyes a clear and startling blue. Today his jaw was unshaven and his eyes showed signs of fatigue. Still, he was a good-looking man, and she wondered why he failed to make her heart race and her blood heat the way Shaun McIver could do with a simple smile.

“Ms. Doherty. Good morning.”

“I got another letter,” she told him, carefully lifting the envelope by the corner so as not to destroy any fingerprints that might be on it.

“Today?” he asked, already starting to scrawl notes on the legal pad on his desk.

“Last night,” she admitted.

He looked up at her and frowned. “I gave you my pager number. Why wasn’t I contacted right away?”

“I didn’t think the delivery of another letter was an emergency.” It was the third one she’d received, after all.

“You haven’t opened it.”

“I didn’t want to contaminate it,” she explained. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it said. “This one—” she swallowed “—was delivered to my apartment.”

His head came up, his eyes sharp, concerned. “With the rest of your mail?”

“No. It wasn’t in the mail slot. It was under my door.”

“You should have called me,” Creighton said, pulling on a plastic glove before picking up the envelope.

Arden nodded again. She couldn’t admit that she’d forgotten the letter—and everything else—when Shaun had kissed her.

Creighton sliced open the flap and withdrew the single sheet of paper inside. When he unfolded it, she could see that the words on it were in the same careful block print and the same red ink as her name on the outside of the envelope.

“YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned back in her chair, as if she could ward off the threat by distancing herself from the letter.

“We’ll send the letter and the envelope to the lab to check for prints.”

Arden nodded, but she knew better than to expect that they would find anything. The only prints on the other letters had been her own. “Oh, um, a friend of mine picked the envelope up off the floor,” she told him. “His prints will be on it.”

“Who?” Creighton asked.

“Shaun McIver,” she said, unaccountably embarrassed.

“Colin McIver’s brother?” Creighton asked. “The lawyer?”

Arden nodded.

“I played peewee hockey with Colin,” he told her. “Even then we knew he was going to be a superstar.”

“Colin’s married to my cousin,” Arden told him, wondering why she felt the compulsion to share this information. Maybe to somehow explain Shaun’s presence at her apartment Friday night. Not that it was anyone’s business but her own.

“Small world,” Creighton said.

Smaller town, Arden thought wryly.

“As a member of the local bar association, his prints will be on file. That will make it easy to isolate any unknowns.”

“There weren’t any prints on the other letters.”

Creighton nodded. “There probably won’t be on this one, either, but we have to go through the motions. Sometimes these guys get sloppy.”

Arden didn’t think so. Every step this guy took had been planned with care and deliberation. He wouldn’t slip up.

Lieutenant Creighton pulled copies of the other two letters out of the file. Arden glanced away as he laid them side-by-side on the top of his desk. The bold lettering was ominous and compelling, drawing her gaze reluctantly back to the pages.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN I WOULD FIND YOU.”

“YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO INTERFERE.”

The first note had been delivered to her office. She’d found it within the stack of regular mail, although the envelope bore no postage or address, just her name scrawled in the same bold lettering. That had been almost two months ago. The second had also been delivered to her office, about three weeks later. But it was this last letter, delivered to her home, that increased her feelings of trepidation. Somehow she knew this wasn’t a prank, an empty threat. The letters were a warning of something to come. But she didn’t know what or why.

“You’re sure you have no idea who might have sent these letters?”

She shook her head. “If I did, I’d tell you.”

“This one—” Creighton pointed to the first letter “—suggests that you’re acquainted with your pen pal.”

Arden wrapped her arms tighter around herself and pushed away the painful memories that nudged from the back of her mind. More than twenty years had passed since Aunt Tess had brought her to Fairweather; there was no reason for Gavin to look for her now. Mentioning her stepfather’s name, reliving the humiliation and the pain, would only hurt her again. She refused to give him that kind of power. “If I thought I knew who was doing this, I’d tell you.”

“An ex-boyfriend?” Creighton prompted.

Arden’s thoughts drifted from Gavin to Brad. But the way their relationship had ended was unlikely to suggest that he was obsessed about her. “No.”

“A beautiful woman like yourself must have admirers.”

She frowned.

He held up his hands. “I didn’t mean any offense,” he said. “It’s just an objective observation.”

“I’m sure it’s not an ex-boyfriend.”

“A rejected suitor, perhaps?”

Arden rolled her eyes; Creighton shrugged.

“You know as well as I do that almost one-third of all violent crimes against women are perpetrated by their partners or former partners.”

“I know,” Arden agreed. “And I know this isn’t a boyfriend, an ex-boyfriend or a wanna-be boyfriend.” That was all she was going to say without admitting outright that she hadn’t had a date in the past two years.

“Okay,” Creighton relented. “Then we’re back to considering that the threats must be related to one of your cases.”

“That seems like the most reasonable explanation,” she admitted. “But I’ve gone through all of my files, concentrating on new clients in the few weeks preceding the arrival of the first letter, and nothing strikes me as out of the ordinary.”

“I’d like a list of those clients,” Creighton said.

Arden hesitated. “I can’t breach confidentiality.”

“I don’t need any details,” Creighton said. “Just names.”

She hesitated, hating that her fear outweighed her sense of professional obligation. “All right.”

When Arden returned home after her meeting with Lieutenant Creighton, Shaun was seated on a bench in front of her building, his long, denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him. Her heart gave a little sigh. No man should look so good.

One of his wide-palmed hands idly stroked Rocky’s back as he chatted with Greta Dempsey. The dog’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth, his eyes closed. Arden couldn’t blame him. It was all too easy to remember the feel of those hands on her back, stroking, seducing, and she’d been pretty close to drooling herself.

She shook off the memory and stepped closer, heard the musical tinkle of Greta’s laughter. The older woman’s eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed, confirming to Arden that her own reaction wasn’t unique. Women—young and old and in between—adored him.

Shaun’s lips curved in response to something Greta said, and all Arden could think about was how it felt to have those lips on hers. How much she wanted to feel them again.

Greta spotted her first and waved her over. “Arden, I was hoping to catch up with you. I have a plate of warm oatmeal-raisin cookies with your name on them.”

Arden stepped toward them. “I’m going to have to buy a new wardrobe if you keep baking me cookies.”

Greta dismissed the comment with a careless wave of her hand. “A few extra pounds won’t do you any harm. A man wants a woman with soft curves he can cuddle up to.” She turned to Shaun and winked. “Isn’t that right?”

Shaun grinned. “I won’t argue with that.”

Greta nodded, satisfied. “Well, then. Come on upstairs to get the cookies. You can take them to Arden’s apartment to have with your tea.”

“I haven’t invited Mr. McIver up for tea and cookies,” Arden said dryly.

“If you’re a smart woman, you will,” Greta said then gave a gentle tug to Rocky’s leash. “Come along, sweetie. We don’t want to miss Jeopardy.”

“I’m sorry,” Arden apologized to Shaun after Greta and Rocky had disappeared inside the building. “She’s a wonderful lady who just can’t seem to mind her own business.”

“She cares about you,” Shaun said simply.

“She’s obsessed with finding a nice young man for me to settle down with.”

“I got that impression.”

Arden cringed. “What did she say to you?”

“It wasn’t what she said so much as how she said it. Greta Dempsey could teach the members of the Fairweather P.D. a thing or two about interrogation,” he said.

“I am so sorry. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not looking to settle down.”

“You don’t want a husband and two-point-two kids and a house with a white picket fence?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Is it my turn to be interrogated?”

He flashed her that quick, sexy smile. “I’m curious about you, Doherty.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But when I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

He held up a tape measure. “To take measurements. For your shelves.”

“Oh.”

“You forgot?”

“Actually, I thought you’d forget.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think you really wanted to build shelves for me.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to,” he told her.

“Then I guess I’ll have to invite you in to take measurements.”

“Am I going to get tea and cookies, too?”

“Cookies,” Arden told him. “I still don’t have any tea.”

“Coffee would be okay,” he suggested. “Maybe some of that Jamaican stuff.”

Arden laughed. “Now I know the real reason for your visit.”

“Just an added bonus,” he assured her.

She opened the front door of the building and led the way up the stairs. Mrs. Dempsey was just coming out of her apartment with a plate heaped with cookies as Arden turned down the hall. She could smell the mouth-watering scents of nutmeg and cinnamon.

She wanted to ask Mrs. Dempsey if she’d seen anyone she didn’t recognize in the building the previous afternoon, but she couldn’t do so in front of Shaun. If she did, he’d know she’d been lying about the envelope coming from her landlord. And she had no intention of discussing the letters with him.

Greta passed off the plate of cookies to Arden and smiled. “Smart girl,” she said in a stage whisper.

“Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey,” Arden said. Then, to clarify, “For the cookies.”

Greta winked at them both. “Enjoy.”

Arden shook her head as she juggled the plate of cookies and her briefcase, trying to reach the keys in her pocket, but she was smiling. Shaun took the cookies, inhaled deeply, and a low hum of pleasure sounded in his throat. The sensual sound caused Arden’s insides to quiver.

She stepped away from him quickly, into the apartment, and set her briefcase down. “Mrs. Dempsey makes fabulous cookies.”

“And oatmeal-raisin are your favorite,” Shaun said.

“How do you know?”

“She told me.” He followed her into the kitchen.

Arden didn’t want to speculate about what else her neighbor might have told him. “That doesn’t mean she has to give me three dozen.”

“She thinks you’re too skinny,” Shaun reminded her, helping himself to a cookie.

“If she wants cuddly, she should get a teddy bear.”

He laughed. “She worries about you. She doesn’t have any children of her own to fuss over.”

Arden measured coffee grinds into the filter. “How long were you talking to her?”

“I didn’t clock the conversation,” he said dryly.

“Approximately?” she prompted.

“Half an hour.” He grinned. “It was…informative.”

“I’ll bet.”

He bit into the cookie, finished it off in two bites and reached for another. “These are fabulous.”

“I’ll send some home with you,” she promised.

“Thanks. Mrs. Fields can’t compare to Mrs. Dempsey.”

Arden smiled and took a cookie for herself. “I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.” She pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard and filled them with fresh-brewed coffee. Then she carried both cups to the table, setting one in front of Shaun.

“I didn’t only stop by to take measurements,” he told her.

Arden sipped her coffee, waiting for further explanation.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay—after yesterday.”

After her breakdown in the park? Or after his kiss? Her answer would be the same in either case, but she chose to accept the first interpretation. Just because she was obsessing over that kiss, she wasn’t going to delude herself into thinking that he was. Shaun McIver probably went around kissing women all the time; she just happened to be the only one in the vicinity last night. What bothered her more than the way he’d kissed her was the way she’d kissed him back. Her response to him had been disproportionate and out of character.

“I’m fine,” she told him.

He nodded. “Good. You look good.” His gaze skimmed over her and he smiled. “A little on the skinny side, but good.”

“You might want to think about whose cookies you’re eating and whose coffee you’re drinking before you start throwing the insults around.”

“I apologize,” he said with mock solemnity.

Arden pushed the cookie plate a little closer to him.

“I was a little concerned when you weren’t here this morning,” Shaun told her.

Arden frowned. She wasn’t comfortable with other people worrying about her. “I told you I was okay.”

He nodded. “Mrs. Dempsey guessed that you were at the women’s shelter. She said that you spend a few hours there a couple of days a month.”

“That’s true.”

“Visiting clients?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes just to talk to the women about their legal options.”

“Can you bill for that?”

“Not everything is about billing,” she said testily.

“It was just a question,” he said. “There’s no need to get defensive.”

She sipped her coffee, considered another cookie.

“I think it’s admirable that you’re willing to share your time and expertise. Not many lawyers do pro bono work anymore.”

“It’s surprising, and depressing, how many clients I get from the shelter.”

“It’s probably reassuring, though, for those clients to meet you in an informal setting. Most people don’t like having to see a lawyer at the best of times. I imagine it would be a lot worse for a woman who’s been abused, having to face someone she’s never met and share the horrors of her life—particularly if the lawyer is a man.”

His insight surprised her. Most people didn’t want to hear about the work she did, didn’t understand her commitment. Still, his sudden interest confused her.

“I’m sure you don’t want to talk about my career, or my crusade, as some call it.”

“Everything about you interests me, Doherty.”

She tilted her head. “Are you hitting on me, McIver?”

“If you have to ask, I’m doing something wrong.”

She laughed softly. “Don’t bother. I don’t date lawyers.”

In fact, she hadn’t dated at all in a long time. But even if she was looking to date someone, even if she was willing to bend the rule, it wouldn’t be for Shaun McIver. Shaun was everything she didn’t want in a man.

“Neither do I,” he admitted, contradicting his earlier statement.

“Your fiancée was a lawyer, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” he said shortly.

She nodded. “I could give you a speech about how you shouldn’t let one bad experience disillusion you against a whole profession—but I’m not sure it’s true. Life is a hard lesson, and we should learn what we can from it.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he said, his dark green eyes intent on her.

She wasn’t happy that the conversation had taken such a personal turn. She didn’t mind talking about his life and his past, but she had no interest in rehashing her own sordid history. “No one lives thirty-one years without having some experience,” she said lightly.

Shaun finished his coffee and pushed away from the table. To Arden’s surprise, he came back with the coffeepot in one hand and the carton of milk in the other. He refilled both of their mugs, then added a splash of milk to her cup.

She stared at her coffee, then at Shaun’s back. It was only the second time he’d been in her kitchen, and yet he moved around as if he was comfortable there, as if he belonged there.

“So tell me about this wealth of experience you’ve acquired in your thirty-one years,” Shaun suggested, when he was again seated beside her.

She gestured around the spartan apartment. “As you can see, it’s not the only wealth I’ve acquired.”

He grinned. “Smart, sexy and a sense of humor.”

“Can you turn off the charm, or does it always flow that easily?”

“Maybe you bring out the best in me.”

“Is that your best?” she challenged.

“Not even close.”

Her lips curved in a reluctant smile.

“If you won’t succumb to my endless charm, how about desperation?”

“Do I look desperate?”

“Not you, me.”

She cupped her mug in her palms and raised an eyebrow. “What do you want, McIver?”

Before he could respond to her question, the kitchen window exploded in a shower of glass and Arden was on the floor.

Chapter 4

Shaun didn’t have time to think or plan. It was pure instinct that had him leaping from his chair, knocking Arden from hers and rolling with her to the floor as glass sprinkled down around them.

“Ow. Dammit.” She rubbed the back of her head, her eyes wide with confusion. “What are you doing?”

He felt her shift beneath him. The subtle movement made him all too aware of each and every curve of the body pinned beneath his, causing his to respond in a very predictable fashion. “Stay down.”

“I can’t go anywhere with you sprawled on top of me.”

He felt his lips curve, marveled at the fact that she could make him smile at a time like this. “Don’t move,” he said, slowly levering his body off hers.

Glass crunched beneath his feet as he crouched beside the window and cautiously peered out. People were starting to converge on the sidewalk below, questions and explanations exchanged through a mixture of agitated voices and frantic hand gestures. In the distance he heard the low wail of a police siren.

He returned to Arden, offered a hand to help her to her feet. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. What happened?”

“Somebody took a shot through your window.”

“A shot?” She sounded more puzzled than concerned.

“With a gun,” he clarified, and watched as her cheeks drained of all color. “What did you think that sound was?”

“I thought it was a car backfiring.”

“This is reality, not the movies.”

“This is Fairweather, not Philadelphia,” she countered. “Why would someone be shooting through my window?”

“I’m sure that’s a question the police will be asking you,” Shaun said as the sirens grew closer.

She lifted a hand to push her hair away from her face, and her fingers trembled. She dropped her hand quickly and tucked it into the front pocket of her pants.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said softly. “And to admit it.”

Arden just shrugged. “I should call my landlord about getting that window fixed.”

He bit back the oath of frustration. Why wouldn’t she open up to him? Why couldn’t she trust him? He decided to try another tack. “Do you want to come home with me until the glass is replaced?”

“That’s one I haven’t heard before.”

He grinned. “I’ve had the pleasure of you writhing beneath me once already, but I thought the next time we might try someplace a little more comfortable than your glass-strewn floor.”

“Is body slamming your usual method for getting a woman horizontal?”

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t usually have to resort to blackmail to get a date, either. You seem to inspire me to new heights, Doherty.”

“Should I be impressed?”

“I might have saved your life.”

“And given me a concussion in the process,” she grumbled.

“Doubtful, considering how hard your head is.” But he combed his fingers through the silky strands of her hair and encountered a small lump at the back of her head. He touched his lips to it gently. “Maybe I do need to work on my knight-in-shining-armor routine.”

She managed a smile. “I guess you did pretty good.”

He let his hand linger at the back of her neck, considered kissing her again. Her eyes were wide, wary, but she didn’t pull away. His gaze dropped to her lips—soft and pink and tempting. Before he could decide whether or not to follow his impulse and cover her lips with his own, a loud knock sounded.

Arden jolted, and the opportunity was lost.

“Fairweather P.D.,” a voice called from the other side of the door. “Is anyone in there?”

Arden moved away from him quickly, her hand not quite steady as she wrapped it around the knob.

An interesting and complicated woman, Shaun mused. She seemed more unnerved by the heightened awareness between them than by the knowledge that she’d been shot at. Her demeanor with the police officer confirmed his suspicions. Arden answered the questions smoothly, her voice never wavering. It was only because he was watching her so closely that he saw the flicker of unease in her eyes, noted the way she clasped and unclasped her fingers.

Almost an hour passed before the officer was gone and the broken window boarded up and they were alone again.