Marked for Murder

TWO

It was 8:20 p.m., and Margo had been running on coffee and adrenaline for seventeen hours. Pulling into her driveway, she parked the prowl car near the kitchen entry to her white cottage and sank back in her seat. She was in no hurry to get out. As she’d driven home, she’d noticed the soft lights glowing in some of the homes she’d passed, and suddenly, entering her dark, empty house wasn’t very appealing.

She was thirty-two years old. She should’ve been married by now, maybe even had a baby on the way. She loved police work. She did. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t enough. Recently, her mom had begun to guiltily suggest that it was time to let a good man into her life again. Someone like Margo’s dad, who’d died after a massive stroke last year. But the truth was, no man had ever made her as happy, then as miserable, as Cole had. As for her mother… Charlotte McBride was coping better with her husband’s loss now. In fact, she’d left Sunday for North Carolina to spend time with a friend who’d also been widowed. Margo found comfort in that. A year ago, her mom had been a grieving puddle of nerves, frightened of living alone, fearful of money matters, only held together with meds, her faith in God…and her only child.

Two light knocks at her car window nearly catapulted Margo through the roof. She jerked her head to the left—and her spirits fell a little further.

Cole backed up to let her out of the car. “Sorry I startled you.”

“No problem,” she murmured, deciding that God was just as mad at her as she was at Him. There was no other reason she could think of for Cole’s wretched timing. She shut the cruiser’s door and glanced around. His black Silverado was nowhere in sight. “Where did you park?”

He nodded toward the lovely Victorian bed-and-breakfast fifty yards from Margo’s tiny front porch. “I walked. I’m staying at the Blackberry.”

Situated on a slight hill on the opposite side of the street, it was the last building on the block before thick woods and highway asphalt took over. In the near twilight, electric candles burned in the windows of Jenna Harper’s Blackberry Hill B&B, its pink shingles and white gingerbread aglow in the lamppost and landscape lighting.

Margo held back a groan. What was Jenna thinking? It was downright traitorous for a good friend to rent to another good friend’s ex. Especially when it put the couple in uneasy proximity.

“You wish I were staying somewhere else,” he guessed when she failed to reply.

“No, not at all,” she fibbed. “I’m just…surprised.”

“Good. Because I might be here for a few days. It depends.”

Margo felt her nerve endings curl into little knots. “It depends on what?”

“Things,” he answered cryptically, then lifted a plastic grocery bag she’d failed to notice. “Have you had dinner?”

“Yes. I had a bagel a little while ago.”

His rugged features lined. “A bagel isn’t dinner. You never did eat enough to keep a bird alive. Do you have eggs?”

“Cole—why do you need to know that?”

“Because I picked up a few things—ham, cheese, a green pepper. I thought if you hadn’t eaten, I’d make us a couple of omelets, then we could talk about things.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Why?”

Margo met his eyes. Because every time they talked she ended up hurting. “Because I’ve been awake since three a.m., and I can barely think. I’m tired, Cole. Too tired to fill our awkward pauses and silences. I need a shower, and I need some sleep.”

“I’m only asking for a few minutes,” he said. “I can have the omelets on the table by the time you’re out of the shower.”

She shook her head wearily. “No, you can’t.”

“Okay, it might take a bit longer—and you don’t have to say a word. I’ll do the talking. All you have to do is nod or shake your head no.” He lowered his voice, his dark eyes gentle on hers. “Please. This is important to me.”

Finally, Margo nodded. He’d said please. He’d said it was important. She couldn’t refuse. “Can you say what you need to say in thirty minutes?”

“Yes.”

Good, because that’s about all she could manage.

Ten minutes later, feeling human again, Margo padded barefoot across the blue braided rug in her small living room, following the sound of music from a country station. She’d added the plants, wall hangings and other warm touches to the room. But Cole had helped her pick out her country-blue sofa and love seat, tables and lamps after she’d accepted his proposal. It was furniture she’d insisted that she pay for—furniture that would eventually grace the home he’d begun to build.

Months later, the only thing they’d done together was argue.

Drawing a guarded breath, Margo stepped into the kitchen. He’d said she didn’t have to say a word, but that wasn’t realistic. If he needed to talk, as long as he didn’t bring up the past or assess blame, she’d talk back.

“You’re moving right along,” she said.

Cole glanced around briefly from the charcoal-gray countertop where he was adding chopped green pepper to the diced ham, onions and shredded cheese on the plate beside him. He stepped to the left and put the cutting board in the sink. “Hunger’s a great motivator. I stopped at the diner a little before seven, but they were already closed. I hope Aggie’s okay.”

Normal conversation. So far so good.

“She’s fine. She helps out with bingo at the church every other Wednesday night.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said, taking the eggs from the fridge and setting them on the counter. He pulled a clear glass bowl from the cupboard. “I like what you’ve done with your kitchen.”

“Thanks.” Eleven months ago it had been a bright, sunny yellow. Now her oak cabinets and appliances stretched along one white wall with a burgundy-roses border. A few steps away in the dining area, a ruffled burgundy valance topped the oversize window that looked out onto her deck and the woods below. The centerpiece of burgundy silk roses, greens and baby’s breath set on a doily in the middle of her round table, was her own creation.

Updating her kitchen had been therapy. She’d needed something to fill her free time after Cole left—something besides caring for her mother.

Margo stared at his broad shoulders and tapering back as he cracked eggs into the bowl and set the shells aside. And a poignant rush of déjà vu threatened to crush her heart and lungs. Once in a while after church on Sundays, they’d skip breakfast at the diner and make brunch here together. It had been quite an adventure, with both of them sidestepping and bumping into each other as they worked. He used to laugh that he couldn’t wait until they moved into their dream home where they’d be cooking in a kitchen larger than a postage stamp. So much for dreams.

Cole turned around, breaking her thoughts and wiping his hands on a dish towel. His dark brown hair was longer now that he didn’t have to comply with department policy. But if anything, the slightly shaggy look made him even more attractive.

“Okay, everything’s ready for the pan, and your tea’s decaf.” He nodded at the steaming stoneware mug on the counter. “It won’t keep you up.”

No, but having him back in town would. “Great. Can I help?”

“Sure. Want to sauté the vegetables?”

The way she once did? Yes, she would.

The theme from an old TV detective series pounded from the cell phone clipped to Cole’s belt. Pulling it from its case, he checked the number and frowned. “Sorry. I need a few minutes. It’s a callback from a new client.”

She hesitated. “A new client? Sounds like things are going well at Sharp.”

“Well enough,” he replied quietly.

They both knew what she’d meant. Are you happy there? Is the work satisfying? Do you still think about returning to your old precinct in Manhattan?

Henry Mancini’s Peter Gunn theme continued to play in Cole’s hand. “I’d better get this,” he said. Then he flipped open his phone and went into the living room, his low baritone fading. “Mrs. Farley. Yes, I did call. Thanks for getting back to me.”

Margo moved to the range, adjusted the flame under the skillet, added a little butter and olive oil and then tossed in the crisp vegetables.

Was he happy at Sharp Investigations? Could he be happy doing anything but police work? He’d come from a long line of tough city cops. His dad, uncles and grand-dad had all served, and from them had sprung a handful of rowdy cop cousins—incurable jokesters who loved saying that Cole had shed his Andy Sipowicz image to be Charity’s Barney Fife.

She’d known his history when they’d fallen in love and he’d chosen to move here. She just hadn’t known that being a cop was such a large part of who he was as a man. She heard his voice again, as clearly as if their first real disagreement had happened only days ago.

“You know Wilcox was wrong,” he’d said. “I can’t believe you want to stay. Is that the kind of man you want to work for?”

“Yes, he was wrong,” she’d returned. “He should’ve asked for help from the state guys before the case went cold. But it doesn’t make any sense for both of us to be without jobs. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you know this was the first time John made a misstep.”

“Yeah, John’s a saint,” he’d snapped, shutting her down.

After a thoughtful moment, he’d said quietly, “I spoke with my precinct captain yesterday. I can have my old job back if I want it. All I have to do is say the word.”

Fear had nearly taken her breath away. “In Manhattan. Constantly putting your life on the line.”

“I’d be a cop again.”

“And I’d be terrified every time you walked out the door.”

The nerve in his jaw worked. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you’re building a home we already love. And I’m saying we want children. Cole, I don’t want to raise them in a city.”

“I need to work, Margo. I can’t go on like this in definitely.”

“I know,” she’d whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

They might’ve been able to get past that, Margo thought, pushing the ham and veggies around in the pan. But he’d grown up in a household with old-fashioned parents with old-fashioned values. The Blackburn code was simple: the husband provided for his family. Any man who couldn’t hold up his end of the bargain wasn’t worthy of the name.

Despite her prayers that God would send an answer, no help came, and they began to argue about everything. By the time he was offered a job with Sharp Investigations in Pittsburgh and started talking about buying a home there, she was so afraid of being uprooted and jobless if their upcoming marriage failed, she balked. Though it broke her heart, she said no again. For the time being, she would stay in Charity. She saw it as logical. He saw it as betrayal.

“It would only be temporary,” she’d said. “Just until you’re sure that P.I. work is what you want to do.”

He’d kept tossing clothes into a suitcase. “We can’t fix what’s wrong between us, living apart. Whatever happened to whither thou goest, Margo?”

“We wouldn’t be apart that often,” she’d insisted. “A lot of P.I. work is done on the phone and Internet these days, and Pittsburgh is only two hours away. You could drive back any night you wanted to, and I could visit you on my days off.”

That’s when he’d turned around, met her eyes and said, “Fine. If you want to stay, stay. I just have one question.”

“What?” she’d replied on a nervous breath.

“Are we still getting married or not?”

Blinking away the sting in her eyes, Margo moved the ham and vegetables to a plate, then slid the bowl of eggs closer, grabbed a wire whisk and put it to work.

If only he’d listened to her, and not gone head-to-head with John.

If only he’d been able to find more police work in the area.

If only her father hadn’t died, leaving behind a grief-stricken wife who couldn’t cope.

If only the God she’d loved and revered since her childhood hadn’t ignored her prayers.

When Cole finally returned, the omelets were done—and her round resin table outside was set. “Everything’s ready,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought we’d eat on the deck.”

Cole glanced through the window, his gaze narrowing. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“I know. But it’s pretty outside, and the mosquitoes haven’t shown up yet.” She couldn’t very well say she felt his presence so acutely that if they ate in her tiny kitchen she wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite. Outside in the evening air, she at least had a chance.

“Okay,” he said amiably. “The deck it is.”

The blue sky was darkening as they settled at the table and pulled in their chairs, while above the trees, a white smudge of a moon had appeared. Cole picked up the lighter she’d left on the table, lit the citronella candle between them, then set the lighter aside.

Eleven months ago, Margo with her deep connection to God, and Cole with his lukewarm faith would’ve joined hands and asked the blessing on their meal. Now, after too many unanswered prayers and too many losses, they simply ate, while Cole kept the conversation going and they avoided anything that approached real eye contact.

She was still picking at her food when Cole pushed his plate back, drained the last of his milk and spoke. If they’d been at a Renaissance fair, blaring trumpets would’ve announced to one and all that something important was coming.

His gaze drifted briefly over her damp, shoulder-length hair, gray sweats and pink T-shirt. “So, how did it go with the victim’s roommate today?” he asked. “Was she helpful?”

The question was so pointed that, after their casual discussions about Charity’s suddenly bustling lumber business and the friends they had in common, Margo did make real eye contact. That was when she saw the intense interest on his face. He wasn’t just making idle chitchat. The Hudson girl’s death was the main thing on his mind right now. That’s what he wanted to talk about. That’s why they were having omelets. His visit had nothing to do with the two of them. It was all about the case.

Slowly, she pushed her plate aside, too. “We talked about this earlier. I can’t discuss it.”

His earnest gaze held hers. “You can discuss it with me. I worked the case two years ago, remember?”

Of course she remembered. How could she forget? Seeing his name on the old reports she’d pulled out today had made dealing with the current case even more difficult. The files had been riddled with Cole’s thoughts. Cole’s handwriting. Cole’s presence.

“Two years ago, I could’ve shared every detail with you,” she said as kindly as she could. “You were on the force then.”

If the reminder hurt, he didn’t show it. “I won’t say a word about anything you tell me. Not to anyone.”

“I know that. Your discretion and integrity are two of your best qualities. You don’t betray confidences.”

“Then why can’t we talk about this?”

“Because it’s against department policy. Please don’t put me on the spot.” And please don’t tell me you’re not surprised that I said no yet again.

There was no missing the frustration in his eyes, but after a moment, he nodded.

They didn’t speak for a while, just sat there listening to the sounds of night approaching. Crickets chirped beneath the deck. A slight breeze lifted the pine boughs and ruffled the maples. Peepers in the creek below sang backup to Carrie Underwood as that Louisville Slugger song drifted through the kitchen screen.

The song was nearly over when Cole eased forward, stirred a half teaspoon of sugar into her tea, then slid it toward her. “I can help you with this case, Margo. Bring me in on a consulting basis.”

As much as she hated to do it, she had to shake her head. “You know what our budget’s like. We’re smaller than small potatoes. There’s no money. Even if there were a few dollars earmarked for consultant fees, I’d have to clear it with the mayor and town council.”

His expression cooled as he asked about the man who’d officially dismissed him. “Is Hank Keller still the mayor?”

Margo shook her head again. “No, Bernice Marshall is.”

“Good, then we have a shot. Tell her I’ll do it for nothing. That should make her decision a lot easier.”

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he reached across the table and laced his fingers through hers. Margo felt the gentle contact all the way to that place in her heart and mind where treasured memories were stored.

His low voice pulled at her emotions. “This case cost both of us in ways I’ll never forget, Margo. I need to be a part of it so I can finally close the door on that chapter of my life and move on.”

He could do that? How fortunate for him. She’d never be able to close that door completely.

“Maybe you could remind Bernice that you’re undermanned. With Wilcox gone, besides yourself you only have two full-time guys and two part-timers, one of whom is retirement age. We both know that some of the day-to-day work—important work—will be back-burnered while they’re chasing down leads.” His voice dropped a little more. “I can help, Margo.”

He was right. Everything he’d said made perfect sense. He had more experience than any other officer on the force, her included, and his instincts were spot-on. If he hadn’t lost his temper with John and been dismissed, he’d be leading this investigation. She’d be taking her orders from him.

“Will you do it?”

She nodded reluctantly. Including him was a perfect solution to a lot of their problems. But there was no way the butterflies beating the walls of her stomach would agree. If this was approved, and she had no reason to think it wouldn’t, they’d be working together again. Side by side. Day and night.

Cole’s smile of appreciation faltered as he seemed to sense her doubts. “It’ll be okay,” he vowed. “We’re both professionals. What we had is over. There’s no reason why it has to get in the way of the work.” He squeezed her hand, then withdrew his. “We got through dinner without a nuclear meltdown, didn’t we?”

Yes, they had—on the surface, anyway. But they’d both steered clear of anything that could become inflammatory. That could change if emotions ran high and they started in on each other again. The answer came from a tiny voice in the back of her mind. Then you’ll have to see that that doesn’t happen, won’t you?

“Okay,” she said after drawing a deep breath. “I’ll call the mayor first thing in the morning, and ask her to contact the council members. Considering the gravity of the situation, I doubt they’ll have to meet formally. A few phone calls should do it.”

Determination lined his face. “Good. I’d like to look at the Hudson file as soon as I can. The old files, too.” He checked his wristwatch. “Thirty minutes. My time’s up.” Rising, he stacked their plates and flatware on the tray she’d left on the seat beside him, and put their condiments and napkins back in the woven-straw basket.

“Leave them. You’ve done enough tonight.” Had he ever.

“At least let me do the dishes. You need to sleep.”

“Yes, I do. That’s why you’re leaving, and why I’ll clean up in the morning.” She nodded toward the steps leading to her driveway. “Go. I’ll get back to you as soon as I hear anything.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. It’s not a done deal.” But she was ninety-percent sure that it would be.

“Good night, Margo. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Good night.”

Tears welled in her eyes as Margo watched him leave. Then she finished clearing the table, blew out the candle and looked toward Jenna’s B&B. In the fall, when the maples and oaks lost their leaves, she had a clear view of the Blackberry’s steep roofs and pretty turret. Now, with the trees fully leafed, she could barely see a few tiny lights on the second floor. That’s where all the rooms were.

That’s where Cole’s room would be.

Suddenly, the fear that working with him again would send her running for a good counselor and a bottle of antacids froze her to the deck boards. She was positively certifiable. What on earth had she been thinking when she agreed to this?

You know, that tiny voice in her head whispered. You know, and you don’t want to admit it.

She was still upset twenty minutes later when the cordless phone on her nightstand shrilled. Margo bolted upright in bed.

Quickly clicking on her lamp, she grabbed the phone and hoped with all her heart that it wasn’t more bad news. Then she checked the caller ID and stilled. It wasn’t Steve O’Dell at the station. Cole’s cell phone number glowed in the display window.

Taking a deep breath, then clearing her throat, she said hello.

“It’s me,” he said.

“I know. Caller ID. Did you forget something?”

“Yes and no. I’ve been thinking about that interview of yours. You threw down the gauntlet today—practically issued a challenge to the killer. I just want to remind you to be more aware of your surroundings. I was standing outside your car for at least ten seconds before I rapped at your window, but you didn’t know I was there.”

What did she say to that? It was your fault because I was thinking about you? That wouldn’t be wise. “I was distracted.”

“I could see that. But from now on, you can’t afford to be.” He hesitated again. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will. Thanks for calling.”

He waited on the line through the uncomfortable pause, then said, “Well…good night again.”

“Good night,” she returned quietly.

Margo replaced the handset in its cradle, then, after a longing look at the Bible beside the phone, flopped back on her pillow. Tomorrow would be another difficult day, and she needed to be clearheaded to deal with it. She needed to sleep. More than that, she needed to forget about the tall, tanned, dark-haired man who’d suddenly dropped back into her life. As if that was an option.

She started to turn off her bedside lamp again, then paused to look at the clock. She knew Bernice Marshall, knew she generally stayed up to watch the late news. Sighing, she picked up the phone again.

“Bernice?” she said when the woman answered. “It’s Margo. Are you wearing your mayor’s hat? I need a favor.”

He squatted in the ferns and pine needles, breathing in the fecund scents of pine, damp earth and blackberries. The remaining berries were on their way to wine now, but the tangy-sweet scent still lingered. He glared at the house—felt the hatred bubble up inside of him as he watched a light go off again upstairs.

She thought she was hot stuff. Thought she was so superior. Thought she could scare him with threats and warnings, and that utterly pathetic impression of a steely-eyed stare. He fingered the folded sheet of paper in his pocket, although he couldn’t really feel it. Not through the plastic bag and his latex gloves.

Satisfied that no one could see him, he sprang nimbly to his feet, then made his way through the thick firs and maples toward the creek that bisected the town. It was time he issued a warning.

Stupid woman.

She had no idea who she was playing with.

THREE

Cole Blackburn sat in the dark on the second-floor turret porch, listening to the party going on a quarter mile away in a clearing local teens had named and claimed. The inn was the last building on the block, so he could even see the faint glow of a fire against the night sky. When he’d worn a badge here, he’d shagged kids out of the “party place” on more than one occasion.

But that wasn’t the reason he couldn’t sleep tonight.

His gut clenched as his thoughts spun back to Margo. She was a good cop, and more than qualified to handle the top position. But she was a woman, and no matter how Stone Age his thinking was, he didn’t want her involved in this mess. Not that he was still in love with her. She’d taken a veritable scalpel to that emotion when she’d given back his ring.

Frowning, he sipped from a bottle of cranberry something-or-other that he’d found in the small fridge in his room.