Stolen Seduction Page 8

  “Just talk to me.”

  She shook her head slowly. “You can’t help me. Don’t even try.”

  The finality of her voice stiffened his spine. Something in her tone set his instincts on alert.

  Before he could ask what she meant, she was gathering her sweatshirt and heading for the door. “Don’t come back. Not unless you really do plan to arrest me.”

  Then she was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Somehow Hailey made it back to her room, closed and locked the door, then sank right to the floor. In the words of her ex…holy hell.

  She pulled her knees up to her chest, dropped her head. Then just breathed. In and out. Until her heart rate slid back in the human range and her brain slowly came back online.

  Okay, the whole sparring thing? Not her brightest idea. But when he’d walked into that gym, she’d been so frustrated with him and everything else, it’d seemed like the easiest way to get him gone. At the time, knocking him on his ass had felt like heaven. Until the tables had turned and he’d kissed her. Then she’d been reminded what true heaven was really like.

  Her hand trembled as she brought it to her mouth and ran her fingers over her lips. Like she didn’t have enough stupid fantasies swirling in her head where he was concerned? Thanks to the last two nights, she now knew what Shane tasted like, what he felt like pressed up against her, all hard and aroused, what it would be like to give in and take exactly what she wanted.

  Dammit. Dammit, Maxwell.

  She pushed up from the floor and started pacing. Around the couch, over to the cherry dining room table, across the room to the fireplace and back to the door. She wasn’t going to think about Shane and that stupid—second—kiss. How either one had made her feel or the fact all she wanted was more. Or his admission he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her for the past three months. Nope. Nada. Not doing it. Going there would only get her in more trouble. And right now she had enough trouble to fill an entire freakin’ Egyptian pyramid.

  So think, moron.

  Okay. He’d come for answers. But also, for some strange reason, to warn her. And for that she was thankful. If they could really ID her on that security camera, he’d have been here to arrest her. Not kiss her silly until she turned to gelatin.

  Don’t go there.

  Right. She wasn’t.

  So that meant the video wasn’t conclusive and they didn’t have enough to take before a judge—at least not yet—which also meant they were probably going nuts searching for a murder weapon. And she knew they weren’t going to find one. Not with her prints on it anyway. Not unless…

  Her stomach rolled. And she thought of her missing Italian dagger. The one her father had left her in his will.

  What if that warning in the elevator hadn’t been a warning after all? What if it was simply a distraction? Everyone at RR knew the dagger was hers. If someone wanted to frame her for Bryan’s murder, they couldn’t have picked a better way to do it.

  Holy…hell.

  She was going to get charged for this. She could feel it coming, rolling in her blood like a wave on the Atlantic. There was a whole host of Roarkes who hated her and wanted a piece of the business. Though, yeah, just the thought a blood relative of hers could do something so horrible…her family was sick.

  She needed to get the hell out of Lake Geneva. Before the cops found something else on her.

  She reached for the phone. Though it was after midnight, she didn’t care about the hour. Steve Gleason, her pilot, was staying just down the hall, in one of the only other habitable rooms in the resort’s hotel. He answered on the second ring, sounding groggy as hell.

  “Steve, it’s Hailey. Change of plans. I need the jet fired up and ready to go tomorrow morning.”

  “Sure thing, Ms. Roarke.” He yawned. “You tell me what time and we can be out of here in minutes.”

  Hailey thought through her schedule. She couldn’t get out of the meeting in the morning, and if she disappeared before then, it’d be like slapping an I’M GUILTY sign right to her forehead. She could slink out afterward and no one would be the wiser for…at least a day. “The meeting with the city planning commission is at nine. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. Have the plane ready and on standby at ten.”

  “No problem. I have to file a flight plan. We heading back to Miami?”

  She wasn’t sure. A lot depended on what happened in the next few hours. “Yes.”

  She hung up and immediately went into the bedroom to pack. Though she was sweaty and needed a shower, it could wait. She wasn’t leaving a damn thing here because she wasn’t sure when she’d be back.

  If things escalated like she expected they would, the cops would come looking for her. Her timeline had just taken a drastic nosedive. No more playing CEO and taking her time while she looked for those damn statues in her father’s ludicrous treasure hunt. The only way to clear her name now and find out who’d really killed Bryan was to get to the end first. She had no doubt when she had all six statues and figured out whatever this big secret was, the real killer would come after her.

  He couldn’t sleep for shit. Tylenol PM hadn’t helped. Counting sheep in his head didn’t do a damn bit of good. And there was no way he was touching the hooch in his kitchen cupboard. It hadn’t worked in quite a while anyway.

  Instead of staring at the ceiling until he felt like putting his fist through a wall, Shane dressed and headed for the office. As he parked it behind his desk, he figured if he couldn’t sleep, he’d get caught up on some of that damn paperwork piling up. Maybe writing reports would take his mind off things he couldn’t control.

  Or didn’t know what the hell to do about in the first place.

  That’s how Tony found him just after eight A.M. As office staff filtered into the Detective Division, the room went from the quiet din of the last few hours to the normal chaos Shane was used to hearing. He stopped typing as Tony eased a hip onto his desk. Tiny swirls of steam filtered up from the Starbucks cup in Tony’s hand. “When was the last time you were here before me?”

  Shane frowned, went back to typing. “I don’t know. Never?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” Tony took a sip, eyeing Shane over the lid. “You don’t look so hot, my man.”

  He didn’t feel so hot, either. But that little fact had nothing to do with his health.

  “Tried to call you last night,” Tony said.

  “I was out.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  Tony’s scrutinizing gaze told Shane he wasn’t getting any more crap done until they had it out. He dropped his hands from the keyboard, swiveled and stared at his partner. “Spill it, goldilocks.”

  “I’m worried about you, wife.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “You’ve got that look in your eye again,” Tony said flatly.

  “What look?”

  “The one that says, fuck with me and you’re gonna get it.”

  Shane rolled his eyes. “I always have that look.”

  “No.” Tony shook his head. “Not like this. This one’s been building for the last six months.”

  The reference to what had happened with Julie brought Shane’s blood pressure up, but he clenched his jaw tight and didn’t respond.

  “The IA stuff didn’t help,” Tony added, not taking the hint. “But all this shit with the Roarke girl’s making it worse.”

  Shane scoffed and went back to his computer.

  “I’m not kidding,” Tony said. His voice dropped so no one else could hear him. “If I get a call in the middle of the night that you ate your fucking gun—”

  Shane inclined his head Tony’s way. “That’s not gonna happen.”

  “Is that a guarantee?”

  Was it? Yeah, he realized, it was. Because he’d already discovered he didn’t have a stomach for what that would take. While he didn’t have a whole helluva lot of self-respect left, he wasn’t about to hurt the ones he loved just because he was struggl
ing with what he’d done.

  Plus after running into Hailey Roarke again and finally getting a taste of those sweet and tempting lips, the only thing he could think about putting his mouth to right now was wet and warm and tasted a million times better than cold metal.

  “Stop being such a nancy and quit worrying about me, would ya? If you want to stress about something, start with how the hell you’re gonna afford three kids on your crappy salary.”

  At the reminder of his wife Robin’s newest pregnancy, Tony sat back and grinned. “You should be so lucky to have my problem.”

  Shane snorted and started typing again. “Kids and I don’t mix.”

  “Never know. Might cure that surly attitude of yours.”

  Shane flipped Tony the bird, then went back to typing.

  Tony chuckled and took a sip from his Starbucks again. “Now that’s the wife I know and love.”

  “Maxwell, Chen, quit your gossiping. My office. Now.”

  Shane looked over his shoulder toward Commander O’Conner’s door and frowned. Tony slid off the desk and downed the rest of his coffee, then tossed the paper cup in the wastebasket in his crappy Jordan impersonation. “Five says the temple starts to throb before we even sit down.”

  Shane rose from his desk, feeling like a lamb being led to slaughter as they both headed toward the commander’s office. He felt like that a lot lately. “You’re on. I need to win back the money you took from me yesterday.”

  “Hey, that train could’ve had three engines. It wasn’t a lousy bet.”

  Shane snorted as they crossed the floor. The things they bet on to beat back the doldrums.

  “Close the door behind you,” O’Conner barked as the two stepped in the room.

  No Good morning. Hey, how ya doin’? This couldn’t be good.

  Tony did the honors while Shane shoved his hands in his pockets and snapped open the lid of his Tic Tac box. O’Conner didn’t gesture for them to sit, simply lifted a remote from his desk and pointed it at the TV on a shelf across the room. The vein on the left side of his temple pulsed visibly in time with the older man’s heartbeat.

  Tony jabbed Shane in the ribs and pointed. Frowning, Shane whipped a five-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to his partner before the commander could turn around.

  “Take a look, boys.” On the TV screen, a local news reporter was standing with a crew in front of the Roarke murder scene.

  “Shit,” Tony muttered.

  “…local police are still searching for clues to this gruesome murder in one of Chicago’s premier neighborhoods. But those close to the Chicago Police Department confirm heiress Hailey Roarke, daughter of late hotelier Garrett Roarke and interim CEO of the elite Roarke Resorts, is being questioned by authorities in conjunction with her estranged cousin’s death…”

  “Fuck,” Shane mumbled.

  “…All of this comes on the heels of Garrett Roarke’s recent death. And sources within Roarke Resorts tell us the company is in an uproar as family members wrestle for control. What started out as a Chicago homicide looks to be quickly turning into murder, rich-and-famous style. This is Shelley Hanson reporting onscene for channel…”

  O’Conner stopped the tape and turned toward his two detectives. That little vein at his temple vibrated against his pasty Irish white skin. “How the hell does Shelley Hanson know what the fuck’s going on?”

  When neither man answered, O’Conner’s fiery eyes swung to Shane.

  Shane lifted his hands, palms out. “Don’t look at me. I dated her like twice. A year ago. She’s not getting her shit from me.”

  “Well someone’s leaking info to the press and I want it stopped. Crap like this makes us look like incompetent fools.” His eyes shot to Chen. “You got enough to go before the judge?”

  Tony shrugged. “Not yet. Nothing conclusive on that dagger.”

  “Dagger?” Shane asked, looking sharply at his partner.

  Tony glanced at him. “Yeah. I was about to tell you before we came in here. Ruiz and Ogada found a dagger hidden in the basement. Had the initials LdM on one side of the handle, GR on the other. Forensics ran it but didn’t come up with anything.” He looked back at O’Conner. “Also got a call in to Garrett Roarke’s lawyer in Florida. Thing looks like a collector’s item. Piece like that had to be in a guy’s will, don’t you think? Looked ancient.”

  Shane’s blood ran cold.

  “Only if we’re lucky.” O’Conner dropped into the chair behind his desk and rubbed a hand down his face. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ve got press calling from all over the country on this one. Enter-fucking-tainment Tonight wants an exclusive, like they have a snowball’s chance in hell at getting it. The Roarke sister, the one like Paris Hilton. What’s her name? Nipples?”

  Tony chortled. “Nicole.”

  “Yeah. Nicole. Media freakin’ loves her. Speculation her sister might be up for murder’s boosted all their ratings, which means my life’s hell.” He pinned Shane and Tony with a look. “I want that crime scene swept again. If that’s the murder weapon, we have to make fucking sure before we go public. Chen, you get that link between the dagger and the Roarke woman confirmed, then you get in font of Judge Hamilton and get that warrant. I want this case wrapped up. Unsolved homicides where millionaires get hacked like sushi are not my idea of fun. Now get gone. Both of you.”

  The door snapped shut behind Shane, but he hardly heard it. He was in a daze as he walked toward his desk. LdM meant nothing to him. But GR was just too coincidental to be real. What were the chances Hailey’s father had given her that dagger? Or left it to her in his will?

  Considering everything else, pretty fucking good.

  “Hey, Maxwell,” Tony said, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. “Got an art history prof over at North-western who said he could give us some background on that dagger.” He lifted a print photo of the weapon. “Let’s run down and check it out.”

  Motive, means and a murder weapon. All at the same time. It was too neat. Too convenient. The whole damn thing screamed stupid criminal.

  If there was one thing Shane knew absolutely above all else, it was that Hailey Roarke was not stupid. She’d been a cop, after all. She knew how the system worked. And he couldn’t get the fact he’d seen her leading with her left hand last night out of his head. Which meant only one thing. None of this was as it appeared to be.

  “Yoo-hoo,” Tony said, waving his hand in front of Shane’s face. “Over here.”

  Shane glanced up sharply. “What?”

  “Murder weapon. Research. You and me. Let’s go, wife.”

  Sweat broke out on the back of Shane’s neck. “Yeah. You go ahead without me. I gotta finish these reports.”

  Tony’s brow dropped as Shane sat and reached for his keyboard. “Since when do you pass up being in the field for sitting behind a desk?”

  Irritation edged Shane’s voice. “Since I came in early to get this shit done. Now leave me alone so I can do it. They don’t need two of us prowling around at the university. You can call me when you’ve got something.”

  Tony eyed him a long beat. Slid his coat on slowly. And though Shane didn’t glance up, he knew his partner was looking at him like he’d sprouted horns and maybe wings to go with them. A meteor hitting the building right now would be less of a surprise than the fact Shane wasn’t tagging along on this one.

  Tension rippled between them as Shane’s fingers raced over the keyboard and he typed words he didn’t see. Screw it. He didn’t care what Tony thought.

  “Okay,” Tony finally said in a wary voice. “Keep your phone on.”

  “I will.”

  Tony eyed him one more time like he knew Shane was lying through his pearly whites, but headed for the elevator anyway.

  As soon as the double doors closed, Shane’s pulse jumped. He killed the computer, grabbed his coat and hit the back stairwell.

  Screw the no-more-questions. She was gonna tell him what the hell was going on even if it mea
nt he had to string her up by her toes to get her to talk.

  And dammit. That thought wasn’t a turn-on. Not in the least.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Billy Sullivan lifted his R?vos to his forehead to get a clear view of the brunette in the slinky white string bikini across the pool at the South Beach Ritz. She was just coming up the steps, water running from her long dark hair, sluicing over her deeply tanned skin, sliding over her perfect little ass.

  Now that girl was hot. Tiny little waist, nice rack, perfectly proportioned hips. And a mouth, ah hell, a mouth a guy would die to have wrapped around his—

  “Something from the bar?”

  Billy dropped his sunglasses back onto his nose and looked up at the redheaded waitress standing next to his poolside table, waiting to take his drink order. “Jack and Coke.” He gestured with his shoulder across the pool where bikini-girl was stopped near a chaise, shaking her head to the side and blotting her face with a hot pink towel. “See the girl over there in the white suit?”

  The waitress glanced up. The look on her face said, I see her and know who she is, and you don’t stand a chance in hell. “Yes.”