Cuff Me (7 page)

Jill leaned forward. “Why?”

Perhaps Lenora had cheated, or there’d been some sort of scandal. Perhaps one that Clayton Wallace hadn’t let go of, even after fifteen years…

Dorothy lifted one slim shoulder. “He was gay, of course. He and Lenora remained the best of friends, though. I believe he’s living in California now.”

Jill had to stop herself from slumping. A gay ex-husband with whom the victim was “the best of friends” was not exactly a prime suspect.

Vincent came around to the two women then and sat down beside Jill.

They weren’t touching… not quite. But suddenly Jill was distracted, because he smelled… like soap.

Not fancy cologne, no expensive aftershave.

Vincent Moretti smelled like soap, and it was… nice.

Had he always smelled like this? Maybe he’d gotten new soap. Maybe…

“Detective?”

Vincent was staring at her in confusion, and too late Jill realized that she was all but leaning into him. And judging from the expectant look on both of their faces, a question had been directed at her and Jill had missed it because she’d been too busy—

“Sorry, what?” she asked.

Vincent’s gaze dropped to her mouth for a single moment before his dark eyes lifted back to hers. “Ms. Birch asked if you’d care for more tea?”

“Oh. Oh! Yes. I’d love some.”

He lifted an eyebrow and flicked his eyes to her cup. It was nearly full.

She ignored this—and him—as she extended her cup and saucer to Dorothy, who politely didn’t comment on
Jill’s full cup as she added just the tiniest splash from the pot.

“Yesterday you said that my sister had fallen—was likely pushed,” Dorothy was saying, her voice remarkably steady.

“Yes, ma’am,” Vincent said.

“And there was no chance it could have been an accident?”

“We don’t think so,” Jill said quietly. “The height of the railing… it would have taken some force—”

She broke off, not wanting to go into more details than she had to about this woman’s sister’s death.

Vin leaned forward. “Of course, we can’t officially rule it a homicide until we rule out suicide—”

Dorothy gave a delicate, feminine snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. Lenora was far too fond of herself to take her own life. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have done so in such a messy manner.”

Dorothy Birch’s words echoed Jill’s from yesterday. She resisted the urge to kick Vincent and mutter,
I told you so.

The older woman sighed and set her cup aside. “I suppose you’re here because you want to know if I have any ideas on who might have done it.”

“Yes,” Jill said quickly before Vincent could inform Dorothy that they were actually here to see if
she
might have done it.

“Well, I have no idea,” Dorothy said.

Jill didn’t even bother to sigh. It was about what she’d expected.

“But if I were to hazard a guess…” Dorothy continued.

Jill and Vincent sat up straighter.

“… I’d start with Malcolm Torres.”

“Her second husband,” Jill said, mostly for Vin’s sake.

“Yes,” Dorothy said, taking a sip of her tea.

“Why him?” Vincent asked.

“Because of the death threats, of course.”

Vin and Jill turned to stare at each other. Of course.

V
incent spotted his two brothers the moment he walked into the completely generic sports bar.

Both Luc and Anthony were already halfway through their beers, so they’d obviously been here awhile, despite the fact that Vin had arrived five minutes
earlier
than when Anthony had told him to show up.

The fact that they were deep in conversation confirmed Vin’s fears: they were talking about him.

This was confirmed when they ended their conversation the moment they saw him approach.

“Having a nice gossip session, girls?” he asked, dropping onto the stool across from them.

Neither had the decency to look the least bit apologetic.

Anthony glanced over at the bartender, signaled another round.

Vincent shrugged off his leather jacket as they moved
to a table, and set it on an empty seat. “Tell me again why we’re grabbing beers at this crap hole when we’re supposed to be at Elena’s in”—he glanced at his watch—“twenty-five minutes?”

Anth jerked his head in Luc’s direction. “Ava tipped Luc off that Elena has been experimenting with a signature cocktail.”

“Ah,” Vin said. “Say no more.”

Their sister was a decent cook; hard not to be with the way their mother had determined to raise her only daughter to learn every Italian cooking tip she had flowing through her veins.

But for reasons that nobody understood, Elena could never be satisfied with just serving wine and beer when she hosted the family.

For that matter, she wasn’t satisfied with just basic cocktail ingredients either. Martinis. Manhattans. Gin and tonic. All fine.

No, Elena had a penchant for trying things like Elderflower Spritzes, and Parsley Lemongrass Margaritas.

In other words, his little sister had a serious skill for messing up good booze.

“Thanks,” he muttered to the bored-looking bartender who delivered three beers to their table.

He took a long sip. Then another. It wasn’t that he had to be plied with alcohol before family gatherings, but for this one…

He took another drink.

“Thanks,” he said to his brothers. Not
thanks
for the beer, so much as thanks for, well… understanding.

Understanding that he needed this for what was to come.

Jill’s boyfriend—no,
fiancé
—was in town.

Tom
Whatshisface
had arrived last night, and Elena had been planning his “welcome to the family” party all week.

Vin knew that he’d have to meet the guy eventually. Hell, he wanted to meet him, so he knew what he was up against. It was just…

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

“So you ready to talk about it?” Luc asked.

Vincent glanced up to find both brothers watching him, their expressions more serenely patient than usual.

“Talk about what?” Vin asked.

Anthony linked his fingers, set them on the table, and leaned forward. “Honestly, Vin? Cut the bullshit. We did this the other night, the whole dance around the topic. You’re our brother. We know you.”

Vincent opened his mouth to argue, but Luc picked up where Anth stopped. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we’ll respect that, but don’t pretend it’s nothing. Don’t pretend that you’re thrown off by the fact that your woman is getting married to someone else.”

Your woman.

He’d known, of course, that his brothers thought of Jill as his.

Knew that his whole family thought that. The Morettis, as a group, were not inclined toward subtlety.

But had
Vincent
ever known it?

He wasn’t sure.

He only knew that when faced with the prospect of her walking down the aisle toward another man…

His stomach clenched.

He took a deep breath. “Jill’s moving to Chicago.”

“No,” Anthony replied immediately, and the same second Luc let loose with, “The hell she is.”

“Yup. Fancy Pants Fiancé is opening up a hotel there or some shit.”

“And she’s going to what, just pack it up and follow him?” Anth said. “Become the little woman? Because that’s not—”

“She’s apparently got connections at Chicago PD. Or Tom does,” Vincent said, staring at the table. “She’s not done being a cop, she’s just done being a New York cop.”

Done being his partner.

Luc shook his head. “This has gone too far. What’s your plan?”

It took Vincent a moment to register that Luc was directing the question to him. “What makes you think I have a plan?”

What makes you think I have a say?

Anthony again leaned forward, his sanctimonious Big Brother face still firmly in place.

“Luc’s right. Enough with the playing-dumb bullshit. Are you in love with Jill Henley, or are you not?”

Vincent choked on his beer.

Cleared his throat, tried to talk, and started coughing again.

“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to freak him out,” Luc said under his breath to Anth.

“He can handle it,” Anthony said with a shrug.

“Look at him!” Luc pointed at Vincent. “He looks ready to pass out.”

Vincent
felt
ready to pass out.

How the hell had his brothers got it in their heads that he was in love with Jill? Or with anyone?

Vincent wasn’t even sure he knew what love was.

Family
love, sure. He loved his parents. His sister. Loved his brothers, when they weren’t being delusional morons. He was crazy about his grandmother, and even Ava and Maggie, who were new to his life, but might as well be sisters…

But
in love
was a different animal altogether.

One that Vincent had never encountered.

He’d dated, sure. Not so much recently. Okay, so it had been a couple years since he’d done more than hook up with random women.

He didn’t do
dating
, not in the traditional sense. Not in the out-to-dinner, bring-her-home-to-Mom kind of way.

And he’d certainly never felt anything more than passing lust for the women whom he’d brought to his bed.

It wasn’t that Vin didn’t believe in love, the all-consuming, turn-you-into-a-sappy-moron thing. He wasn’t that cynical. He’d seen it every day growing up between his parents.

Hell, it had taken him seconds to understand what happened to Luc the second he met Ava, only to watch it all over again when Anthony met Maggie.

He believed in love. He did.

He just didn’t believe in it
for him
.

Not because he had any gory emotional wounds, not because he had some brokenhearted past.

He was just… he didn’t
feel
like other people did.

He wasn’t some sort of sociopathic weirdo, he just had never really absorbed things to his very soul the way his sister, and to a lesser extent his brothers, had.

So, no.

Vincent certainly wasn’t in love with Jill Henley.

“Do you need smelling salts, honey?” Luc asked politely.

Vincent finally recovered from his shock and shot his brother the finger. Then his other brother too just for good measure.

“Where the hell did you two idiots get that idea?” he asked.

Luc sighed and slumped back. “Still in denial, I see.”

Vincent ran a hand over the back of his neck, feeling strangely itchy. “Look, I’ll admit that I’m having a hard time with these changes with Jill. But only because I don’t want her to make a mistake. Because she’s a
friend
.”

He may have emphasized this last word a bit too desperately, and he could have sworn he saw Anth hide a smirk.

“So you’re just going to let her go off to Chicago?” Luc asked.

“Hell no,” Vincent grumbled.

“So, let me get this straight,” Anth said slowly. “You’re not in love with her… but you’re also not going to let her go be in love with someone else?”

Vincent drained the last of his bottle, set it on the table with a clink. “She’s not in love with this Tom guy.”

“Really? Because the big-ass rock on her hand says otherwise.”

Vin pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and fished out a couple of bills. “Jill’s in love with the idea of love. Always has been.”

“Can I be there when you tell her that? Please?” Luc begged.

Vincent stood. “Better idea. How about you two stay out of mine and Jill’s relationship.”

“Ah, so it
is
a relationship.”

Vincent ignored this.

What he and Jill had was… undefinable. It didn’t need names, or labels. All he knew was that he was suddenly itching to get to Elena’s party. Itching to meet this guy who’d somehow managed to wrap Jill around his finger.

To his brothers’ credit, they finally backed off, and the walk over to their sister’s was blissfully free of talk about women.

Instead, Vin filled them in on the details of the Lenora case, which after a week was still at a complete standstill.

Dorothy Birch’s tip about the ex-husband hadn’t panned out. The man was a hothead for sure, and Vincent had no trouble picturing the son of a bitch uttering death threats.

But his alibi was solid.

He’d been on a Caribbean cruise at the time of Lenora’s death, and only recently returned to town. There were literally hundreds of witnesses, right down to the captain of the cruise ship with whom Malcolm had gotten his picture taken, dated the night of Lenora’s death.

As far as alibis went, being on a crowded ship in the middle of the Caribbean was ironclad.

Anthony had picked a bar close to Elena’s midtown apartment, so in under five minutes, the three Moretti brothers were waiting impatiently for her snotty doorman to find them on her list of approved guests.

Vincent loved his sister but absolutely
hated
her apartment. It was one of those brand-new, sixty-plus-floor monstrosities that completely ruined the character of the city. The outside was all generic shiny glass, the inside all bizarre modern art.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she spent
an exorbitant amount of money on something so soulless, but then… he supposed it was because she
could
.

Elena was the only Moretti sibling not in law enforcement, which would have been fine had her chosen career not been a slap in the face to the NYPD.

It wasn’t just that Elena was a lawyer.

That was fine. No, Elena had to go and be a
defense
attorney. She fought to defend the very jackasses her brothers and father fought to put away.

Still, much as Vin hated her profession, he had to admit that his sister had done quite well for herself. He might not share her penchant for all things new and swanky, but he could respect that Elena knew what she wanted, went for it, and got it.

Once they made it up to her floor, Anth paused before knocking. “Remember, if whatever drink she’s serving has floating flowers in it, we all take turns distracting her while the others dump it. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

But then they were inside Elena’s apartment, and Vin realized rather abruptly that he’d drink whatever his sister put in his hand as long as it had alcohol.

Because there was Jill.

And there was her new man.

And holy hell,
he wasn’t sure that he could do this.

Luc clamped him once on the shoulder before seeking out Ava, and Vin stood in the foyer for several long moments wondering if maybe he could sneak away, plead a stomachache…

Jill spotted him, and the happy smile on her face drew him forward.

He blew out a breath.
He could do this.
He had to.

“You came!” Jill said, all but bounding over to him.

“Of course I came,” he muttered.

Jill’s hair was in its usual ponytail, but that’s where
his
Jill ended, because he barely recognized her from the neck down.

She was wearing a dress. A short, white strapless thing that made her look young, and well… bridal.

Jill linked her arm in Vin’s, oblivious to his turmoil.

He wanted to jerk his arm away. Wanted to bark at her to, for once, give him some Goddamn distance.

Except he wasn’t sure he wanted distance. He wanted…

“How’s the new guy fitting in?” he asked.

“Hmm,” she said, seeming to consider the question.

She took a sip of her drink, which true to Anth’s prediction, had some sort of floating flower in it.

“He’s doing great. Everyone loves him,” she said, taking another sip of drink.

A quick scan of the situation verified this. The entire Moretti clan looked ready to fall at Tom’s feet.

“And this is a problem, because…?”

“It’s not!” she said brightly. “It’s great.”

He gave her a look. “Jill.”

She bit her lip. “Okay, fine, but if you repeat what I’m about to say, I will kill you.”

“Spit it out.”

“Do you think there’s such a thing as too nice?” she asked. “
Too
friendly?”

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “I know there is. I’ve dealt with it every day for the past six years.”

She pinched his arm. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. Henley, you’re like the human equivalent of a rainbow.”

There was a burst of laughter, and she and Vin shifted to see the crowd around Tom laughing as he told a story.

Jill took another sip of her drink, and everything clicked into place.

“Are you
jealous
, Detective?”

She glared at him. “Jealous of what?”

He nudged her shoulder. “That your boy over there is the center of attention. That for once, you’re not the funniest, brightest person in the room?”

Her face fell a little, and he instantly regretted his teasing. He itched to tell her that she was always the brightest person in the room. That she was
his
light.

“I just don’t want Tom to feel like he has to try so hard to make people like him,” she said.

Tom
. Just hearing another man’s name on her lips made him irritable.

“What do
you
think of him?” she asked, gesturing with her glass.

Oh God. Don’t ask me that.

“Haven’t talked to him. Don’t want to make snap decisions,” he said.

Jill snorted. “You make snap decisions all the time. Come on, use your Spidey sense.”