Sparking His Interest
The office door swung open. Steve stuck his head inside. “Wanna get a beer later?”
“Yeah. Maybe. If I’m awake later.”
“You can tell me all about the sexy Captain Hughes.”
“She’s here to work, not date the locals.” Oh, Mr. Righteous, are we? You, however, can come on to her all you like. He refused to acknowledge his conscience trying to tell him that he just didn’t need Steve’s competition. Women fell at the guy’s feet on a daily basis. “Watch yourself, baby brother, she’s armed.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
Whatever additional warning Wes would have liked to issue was interrupted by the mayor and Ben brushing by Steve as they entered the office.
“Ben,” the mayor said as he waddled across the room, “I just don’t see how this woman, this outsider can do a better job than your folks here.”
Steve grinned, then retreated quickly, closing the door.
The mayor went on, “She sent Doc Moses into a near faint with that body business.”
Before Wes could defend Cara or explain the situation the mayor had—as usual—gotten wrong, Ben spoke up. “Doc’s the coroner. By law we have to call him to the scene. Captain Hughes has graciously offered to assist in the investigation by bringing in one of her colleagues for the autopsy.”
“Oh, hello, Wes,” the mayor said absently, plopping into a chair in front of Ben’s desk. “Glad you’re here. I’m sure you’ll be on my side in this.”
Wes met Ben’s gaze over the mayor’s head. His brother shook his head.
Striving to take his brother’s silent advice, Wes didn’t comment, though where the mayor got that Wes of all people would be on his side, he hadn’t a clue. At least the mayor’s presence had driven all self-pitying, morose thoughts from his mind. No one could keep from smiling in the presence of a man in a lime-green polyester jumpsuit with bright orange rhinestones, turquoise braided trim and pink sunglasses.
“We have a murder to investigate,” Wes began. “We’re all on the same side.”
The mayor sighed into his jowls. “Yes, yes, of course. Any idea who he was?”
“There was no ID on the body,” Ben said. “Captain Hughes told me only that he was male, Caucasian, probably between forty-five and fifty. Mr. Addison has been contacted, and he’s spoken with his managers. None of the employees are unaccounted for, so we’re going to put the dental records into a national database.”
The mayor winced. “Dental records. I can’t believe this is happening in Baxter.”
Ben sank into the chair behind his desk. He, too, hadn’t slept. “I know. It’s been a rough night for everyone.”
“Mr. Addison will demand quick answers,” the mayor added.
Wes, who still hadn’t moved from his position in front of the window, couldn’t resist this time. “He’ll have to wait in line.”
The mayor glanced up at him, surprise evident in his eyes. “Wes, you know as well as I do how important Mr. Addison is to this community. It’s thanks to his civic generosity that we have a new communications system in the police station.”
Wes ground his teeth. “I’m well aware of his contribution.”
“Tax dollars are simply not enough,” the mayor continued, obviously not aware of Wes’s gathering temper. “Without cooperation from the business community we can’t move our town forward.”
Wes was all for moving forward, and he couldn’t deny the equipment was cutting-edge, but in his experience, ultragenerous gifts of thousands of dollars never arrived without a cost. Especially from a blow-hard like Addison. Wes had been waiting nearly four months to find out just when Addison would ask for his favor. The passing of time had only made him more itchy, wondering just how much the businessman expected in return from the Baxter Police Department.
“Personally,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the window, “I think it will be interesting to see just how anxious Addison is to get this case solved.”
The mayor sat erect, even as Ben sighed. “What do you mean by that? The last thing I need is my peace officers making attacks against our citizens. We must all put up a brave front in this time of crisis.”
Ben held up his hand. “Mayor, let’s please not jump to conclusions about anyone or anything.” He directed his gaze to Wes, giving him no doubt that he was included in this warning. “We don’t need the newspaper to get wind of any more problems. I understand from a friend at the paper that the Atlanta media have been calling them all afternoon for updates. Their cameras are imminent. We all need to be professional and resolute in this.”
Wes had been pushed beyond his already shaky patience. He wanted to scream, to explode. He stalked across the room. “You be professional. I’ll be pissed. A man has lost his life. There’s an arsonist running loose in our town.” He yanked open the door. “We have to—”
He ground to a halt, encountering Cara on the other side of the door. Her hand was raised to knock.
“Oh, hi,” she said. Her eyes were droopy and bloodshot, her skin pale.
“You—” He stopped. Her exhaustion was none of his business. She was a trained expert. She didn’t need him babying her. “Come on in.”
Ben and the mayor both stood up as she walked into the room, with Ben offering her the chair next to the mayor. “Coffee?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve had too much already.”
“What do you know about the victim?” Ben asked.
Wes returned to his place by the window, all thoughts of storming out gone. Ridiculous, this need to be near her. But there it was. Undeniable.
“Not too much,” Cara said. “He definitely died of smoke inhalation. He probably never even woke up. He had holes in the bottoms of his shoes and several of his teeth were rotten. I think he was a homeless person or drifter, who wandered in looking for a warm place to sleep. The lock on the back door had been jimmied, so he probably sneaked in that way. The warehouse manager confirmed having to run out a man who fits his general description a couple of weeks ago.”
“Any chance he’s the arsonist?” the mayor asked, wringing his chubby hands.
“It’s possible, I guess, though no traces of gasoline were found on his hands or clothes.”
“You don’t think he’s responsible?” Ben asked.
“No, I don’t.”
Wes kept silent. He’d have the opportunity to argue his point about Addison being the prime suspect, but he had no intention of doing so in front of the mayor. They’d already had an argument about this after the first fire. Wes had made the mistake of pointing out that Addison had had the property up for sale a few months before and hadn’t been successful in dumping it, and wasn’t it convenient that the property was now a complete loss?
The resulting diatribe, complete with horror at the quick, wrongful judgment of a generous (aka rich) law-abiding citizen, still rang in his ears.
The mayor bit his lip, then glanced at his watch. “Good grief, I’m going to be late to the garden club luncheon.” He shook his head. “And I must say, it’s a measure of how upset we all are that no one commented on my garden motif suit.” He waddled out.
For the first time since their horrible discovery in the warehouse, Wes met Cara’s gaze, and they shared a smile.
“Don’t start with me—either one of you,” Ben said, obviously noting their amusement. “You haven’t had to listen to him moan about the upcoming elections, about how he’s dedicated his whole life to this town and how that ‘young, whippersnapper lawyer’ running against him will use these fires to prove he can’t maintain order and safety.”
“I’ve been at the morgue, you know,” Cara pointed out.
“And I’ve been…” Wes began. Actually, he’d been brooding. “I got chewed out after the last fire.”
Ben went on as if he hadn’t heard them. “And the whole time he’s rambling I’m thinking, Where exactly does he get those suits? I mean does he have them made? I can’t imagine a store carrying them in inventory.”
Wes crossed the room, sitting on the edge of Ben’s desk. He hadn’t seen his brother this messed up since the day he’d asked for advice about dating Monica. “Cheer up, Chief. It could be worse.”
“I don’t see how.”
Wes fought back laughter. “The whippersnapper lawyer could be a big Kiss fan.”
Ben groaned, then narrowed his eyes at Cara. “You look terrible.”
She blinked, then glared back. “Gee, thanks.”
Ben’s face flushed. “Sorry. You just—” He stopped, looking to Wes for support.
Wes simply shook his head.
“You need some rest,” Ben said, gazing unflinchingly at Cara.
Brave guy, Wes thought. That pistol is within easy reach.
Ben began writing on a slip of paper. “These are directions to my house. I want you to go back to the apartment you’re renting, sleep for at least four hours, then come to my house for dinner at seven.” He extended the paper, which Cara took. “That’s an order.”
Cara clamped her jaw tight, but managed to ask, “Is there a room I could use here? I’d rather be close if a lead develops. And I’m fine with ordering pizza and meeting in your office.”
“I’m fine with pizza, too, but my wife has other ideas, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
Cara nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“Wes, can you come to dinner, too? We’ll have some privacy to discuss the case at length.”
Wes noticed his brother asked him rather than demanded, even though the jurisdiction of the case allowed him to command the police however he saw fit. It was this unfailingly polite, restrained tone that set Wes’s teeth on edge. Their teasing over the mayor seemed forgotten, replaced by the usual tension.
He shoved aside the trouble. “I’ll find you a room,” he said to Cara.
She rose. “Chief” was all she said to Ben in parting. She didn’t speak to Wes either until he stopped outside a private room decorated in blue and gray and resembling a small hotel suite, including a computer and entertainment center and a bathroom off to the right. “Nice room. Does everybody else’s look like this?” she asked suspiciously, as if wary of special treatment.
“No, the guys sleep in a one-room bunk hall. This would be for our female firefighters—if we had any.”
She raised her eyebrows.
Her silence unnerved him. No one could ever accuse him of being the most talkative person in a crowd, so carrying the conversation didn’t set well with him.
“They keep bringing the local school kids through here on field trips, thinking someday surely one of the girls will see the job’s appeal.”
“Hmm,” she said as she wandered into the room.
Wes stayed in the doorway. All these weird, gut-clenching feelings kept slamming into him when he looked at her. The lust he understood, could even embrace, if it wasn’t for this case they were working together. But he wanted to sit her down and get her life story. He wanted to know what had driven her to become an arson investigator. He wanted to know her favorite foods, movies and books. He wanted to tuck her into bed and watch those shrewd, expressive eyes close in sleep.
Obviously through exploring the room, she faced him. “You’ve been with me more than Ben. Do I look exhausted?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me to lie down?”
“It would piss me off, so I knew it would piss you off. I’ll see you at dinner.” He backed out, closing the door as he went, wondering how he could possibly already have such a strong sense of her.
And wondering why he was walking away instead of running.
3
CARA RAISED her hand to ring the doorbell at Ben and Monica’s house. Then, just as quickly, dropped her hand by her side.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.
She was actually nervous about this meeting. He was coming. That annoyingly sexy and intriguing Wes Kimball. When she looked at him every professional thought in her head ran like crazy for higher ground.
She did not get in a lather about men. The few relationships she’d experienced had been brief, all ending when the man in question couldn’t seem to grasp the concept that her career was the highest priority in her life. And she hadn’t met one yet to cause her to reconsider the idea.
“You’re being an idiot, Cara.”
With her index finger, she punched the doorbell a little harder than necessary and wondered if the rosy lipstick she’d added after a quick shower at her apartment was already smudged as usual.
Monica opened the door—thank God. “Cara!” She grabbed her into a quick hug. “Don’t you look great. That lipstick is just the perfect shade.”
Oh, goody, that mystery was solved. Now she could sleep nights.
But while she rolled her eyes regarding her own spurt of vanity, she reveled in Monica’s. Her friend wore a clingy white sweater, a purple leather miniskirt and matching purple stilettos. Her long red hair was curled and sensuously framed her striking face, highlighting her bright green eyes.
How she was going to discuss a fatal arson case with two men in this woman’s presence, though, Cara had no idea.
In the foyer, she slid out of her jacket, then handed her friend the bottle of champagne she’d picked up at the liquor store.
If possible, Monica brightened even more. “Oooh! I haven’t had champagne in ages. You’ll share with me, won’t you?”
Cara glanced around the lovely, two-story foyer, her gaze jumping from detail to detail. Lots of wood and windows, great rich colors of dark green, claret and gold. Monica’s impeccable taste as a decorator was obvious. “One glass. I’ve got case files to go through.”
Monica stuck out her tongue. “You can’t work all night.”
“And I’ve got to drive home.”
“Home? To Atlanta? You can’t—”
Cara held up her hand. “I rented an apartment in town.”
“Oh, good. It’ll be nice having you so close.”
Her friend’s enthusiasm helped Cara to finally set aside the stomach-rolling memories of last night. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“Ben and Wes are outside on the deck, grilling something. I’m not really sure what. I tried to tell them that for dinner parties these days people order in, then fix everything on silver platters to make it look like you’d slaved in the kitchen all day. But they pointed out the limited selection of ‘ordering in’ places in Baxter. I mean this town sells live bait in vending machines. Where are we going to order a respectable dinner?”
“Live bait?”
“Yep. Ben assured me that all real men knew how to grill, so I poured a glass of wine and left them to it.”
“Excellent idea,” Cara said as they walked into the kitchen.
The room stole her breath. Dark oak cabinets and floors, stone countertops, stainless steel appliances, more warm touches of red and gold, artistic bowls and accessories, and to one side an octagon-shaped cupola with a glass ceiling and glass walls. It looked like one of those kitchens on the Home and Garden channel.
She walked into the cupola, absorbing the clear, twinkling view of the lake on the other side of the windows. She felt as if she were suspended over the lake, nothing but water beneath her and sky above.
“What do you think?” Monica asked from behind her.
Cara spun to face her. “Wow.”
Her friend beamed.
The back door swung open, and Ben’s voice floated into the room “…a pretty good game, but—” Ben himself appeared, holding a bottle of beer in one hand and a platter of steaks in the other. He smiled at Cara. “Good. You’re here. And looking rested.”
“Thanks.” Though she’d been aggravated as hell that he’d ordered her to take a break, she had to admit he’d been right. The moment she’d woken from her nap, her theory about the case had begun to solidify. She was anxious to share her idea.
Wes entered the room just behind Ben. “Hey,” he said briefly to her, then crossed to the recycling bin to toss out his beer bottle. “Want another one?” he asked his brother.
Now how in the world could he act so nonchalant around her when she got a head rush and butterflies colliding in her stomach when she so much as glanced his way?
“Yeah,” Ben said as he set the platter of steaks on the counter.
Monica handed her a glass of champagne, and Cara resisted the urge to slug down half the contents. Why did the guy make her feel so unsettled? It was damn annoying.
Sipping her drink, she watched him wander over to the cupola and stare out the window. Even in a crowd he seemed to be alone. She knew the feeling well and wondered if he just wasn’t a people person, or if he, like her, pushed people away for deeper reasons. After so many years in foster homes, she tended to keep people at a distance out of a lack of trust and an awkwardness about sharing her feelings. Did he feel the same?
Monica had once shared with her the circumstances of Ben and Wes’s father’s death. She’d also said that their mother had fallen apart after he’d passed away and now lived in Florida. Apparently their mom rarely saw or spoke to her children. Maybe Wes felt abandoned. Cara sensed a kindred spirit, and that seemed like a really bad thing in the middle of a major case.
Looking away from him, she leaned against the center island. “Do we have to make small talk first, or can we get right to the case?”
Ben’s gaze went directly to Monica.
She heaved a sigh. “Can we at least wait until after dinner for the gruesome details?”
Cara figured she was being rude, but with Wes around she felt especially awkward. She kept having flashbacks to her first double date, which had been forced upon her by one of her foster sisters. Everyone had laughed and talked as they ate pizza, while she’d been so frozen into silence the guys had thought she didn’t speak English. Not exactly her finest moment.
To talk you had to share pieces of yourself, reveal feelings and ambitions. Too personal. Too close. People she got close to always left her—one way or another.
As the group took their places at the table, she shook off the loneliness. Those days were gone. She made her own decisions, spent time with the people she wanted to.
And she admitted—if only to herself—Wes Kimball was one of those people.
Dammit.
DURING DINNER, Cara put her theory on hold, mentioned the house, and Monica pretty much took care of the conversation. But she couldn’t avoid the stoic Lieutenant Kimball. Probably because he sat right next to her.
His thigh nearly touched hers.
Their hands even brushed once.
He barely spoke. He grunted. And ate. Occasionally he sipped beer.
She’d never been so intensely aware of a man before. (Though she could have done without the grunting.) She smelled his cologne over the steak. She found herself staring at his hand as he brought his fork to his mouth. Even listening to Monica describe paint colors and installing tile, Cara knew the moment he moved his hand.
As they dug into dessert—a multilayered chocolate brownie that Cara nearly had an orgasm over—all thoughts of work flew the coop. She was wondering if Monica had actually produced this incredible culinary creation with her own hands when Ben said, “Wes, you mentioned at the station that Addison wasn’t anxious to solve the case. What did you mean by that?”
Still in the throes of chocolate ecstasy, it took Cara a few moments to realize Ben was speaking of their earlier conversation with the mayor.
Wes set down his fork.
Cara marveled at the willpower of this man.
Wes’s gaze flicked to his brother, then he glanced at Cara—the first time all night, by her estimation. He leaned back. “I think Addison is responsible for these fires. He’s hired someone to set them to collect the insurance money.”
Cara said nothing. She’d known from the moment they’d discussed Addison how Wes had felt about him. And since his theory didn’t completely contradict hers, she felt comfortable waiting for her own moment.
Ben rubbed his chin. “That’s a quick judgment. And it has a big problem—Addison’s loaded.”
“He appears loaded. But I’ve heard people talking about him doing a lot of gambling, taking lots of trips to Vegas. God knows he throws his money around town like crazy.” He leaned forward, his blue eyes blazing as he tapped the table with his finger. “Who knows what we’ll find if we dig deep enough?”
Silence followed this accusation. Cara had investigated enough cases to realize Robert Addison was an untouchable. One of the beautiful, wealthy people who didn’t have to explain their actions or take responsibility for their mistakes. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t go after him if the evidence dictated, but it certainly made things sticky. And she didn’t have to live in this town afterward.
Monica rose. “I’ll start cleaning up and let you—”
Standing, Ben wrapped his hand around her wrist. “It’ll keep. I want to hear your opinion.” He kissed her palm, then pulled her back down into her chair.
Though her mind had managed to move from chocolate to arson, Cara couldn’t help but smile inwardly at their display of affection. She’d heard a lot about Ben from her friend and sensed the love they had for one another, but seeing the reality made even her cynical heart sigh.
Monica ran her finger around the rim of her champagne glass. “Addison is charming enough.”
“But…” Cara added for her.
“I don’t like him,” Monica said flatly, flipping her long hair over her shoulder.
Ben tossed his napkin onto his plate. “There’s a lot of that going around.”
“Sorry, honey.” Monica laid her hand over her husband’s. “Most women adore him, of course. He’s loaded, good-looking, generous. But he’s too cocky. Like everybody should worship at his feet. Always has to be the center of attention. Now I like being the center of attention as much as anybody…”
“But, darling, you don’t have to try,” Ben said, gripping her hand and pulling her closer to him.
“Do you guys need some time alone?” Wes asked dryly. “’Cause Cara and I can go.”
“Sorry.” With obvious effort, Ben let go of his wife. “I guess I’m going to have to take this character assassination of Addison seriously—much as it’s going to cause me grief. I don’t ever remember you and Wes agreeing about anything.
“But,” he continued, “it would certainly make my life easier if Addison was innocent. Cara, I half hope you fall head over heels for the man.”
Cara raised her eyebrows. “Don’t count on it.”
Monica laughed and rose from the table, carrying her plate toward the sink. “Go right on wishing, Chief, honey. Cara isn’t easily moved—especially by men.”
Ben got up from the table, as well. “She’s here to help me with a case, darling, I doubt she wants comments made about her personal life.”
Cara stood to help clear the table. Wes rose, too, and to Cara’s surprise eased Monica out of the way, rolled up his sleeves, then proceeded to rinse the dishes.
Just a few feet from Wes’s broad back, Cara leaned against the island. “Oh, she’s not talking about anything personal.”
Monica smiled at her. “Actually, I was talking about this guy Cara and the police arrested about a month ago. He tried to escape as she was putting him in handcuffs.”
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