Hot Contact (15 page)

He'd forgotten about it. Ridiculous. He'd forgotten. “You saw?”

“And I waited, giving you space to deal with it, because I knew if I joined you, it would stop the conversation, one that apparently needed to take place. Don't you think it hurt me that you didn't share that? But I tried to understand. I was willing to wait. I assumed you would tell me eventually, if it mattered.” She faltered, made a sound of frustra
tion, then turned her back on him. “I can't believe how wrong I was about you.”

She grabbed her purse off her desk and headed for the door, where she stopped and turned around. Her eyes were bright. Tears? Because of him? Idiot, he called himself. Stupid idiot.

“Arianna—”

She stopped him with a look he couldn't describe, a combination of hurt and distance, as if she'd already separated herself from him.

“One of the reasons I didn't tell you about my mother and your father,” she said with heat, “was because I didn't want to put you in the position of seeing my mother for the rest of your life and knowing that about her. It didn't occur to me that your father would kill for her. Not once. If I'd realized it was evidence,
I would've told you.
” Her voice shook. She swiped a hand over her cheeks, pushing away tears. “But mostly—” she stopped, took a breath as another tear trailed down her face, then another “—mostly I didn't tell you because I didn't want to damage your image of your father any more than it already had been. He can't defend himself, can he?” She opened the door. “Goodbye. It's been…an experience.”

Joe stared after her, too shell-shocked to move. His throat convulsed. He couldn't even call out to her to stay. Lieutenant Morgan had been right, after all, when he'd worried that Joe would get hurt—or someone else would. He'd blown up. Stupidly. So totally unlike him. And she was right—by withholding truths from her, he'd done the same thing she had, maybe not even for reasons as good as she had.

She hadn't done what her mother did. Not even close. He'd jumped to conclusions because of what Jane had told him yesterday—that his father had cheated on his mother.
Added to what Paloma had said on the phone about her having a relationship with his father… He'd made assumptions. A man in his profession should know better than to make assumptions.

A few of her parting words struck him then. She hadn't wanted to put him in the position of seeing her mother for the rest of his life? Meaning she'd expected him to be in her life forever? As in marriage?

This morning she'd kissed him goodbye for the first time.

He slammed his fist into the door. “Dammit!” How could he have been so blind? He'd been as afraid of the truth as she had been, yet she'd faced it better, more honestly.

He needed to catch her before she—

“You've worn out your welcome,” Sam Remington said, blocking his way.

Joe looked past Sam to the windows overlooking the parking lot. He saw Arianna's car pull out, heard rubber squeal. “I've got to stop her.”

Sam didn't move. “Seems to me you made a whole lot of mistakes.”

“I recognize that now. We both did.” But that didn't mean it was over. He looked Sam in the eye, wondering about his protectiveness. “I won't hurt her again.”

“See that you don't.” Sam moved aside.

Joe raced to the parking lot then realized he didn't even know where she lived. He tried calling her cell phone. She didn't answer. He glanced at the building, saw Sam watching him and knew he wouldn't be welcome at her office again. He didn't know where she took yoga classes or tae kwon do or which shooting range she used. Where did that leave him?

Between a rock and a hard place.

Well, hell, even between a rock and a hard place, sunlight could get through. He just needed to follow the light.

I
t was rare for Joe to work on a Saturday night, but here he was, scanning a large crowd of starstruck fans all hoping for a glimpse of their favorite celebrity. The event was a charity ball to benefit an animal rescue group, a popular cause among the entertainment crowd. Ironically, Joe was there because one of the guests, the CEO of a pharmaceutical company, had been targeted by a small, radical organization protesting the use of lab animals in pharmaceutical testing.

Trevor Hollings, the CEO, was assaulted at a similar event two months ago, the worst of his injuries caused by pepper spray in his eyes. Tonight everyone would've preferred he enter the grand hotel through a different entrance, but he refused, even though he was putting other people in harm's way just to prove he couldn't be cowed.

Normally, the event planners would hire off-duty cops for security. This time the department sent officers, having
been tipped that the protest would get uglier than the last one. The information was deemed reliable enough that Joe and his partner, Tony Mendes, were preassigned to do the follow-up and build a criminal case, if necessary. Instead of waiting at home for a call, Joe and Mendes decided to attend, the threat viable enough to make it worth their time.

Plus, Joe had nothing better to do on a Saturday night. He'd returned to work after begging his lieutenant to cut short his forced vacation. He'd done as much as humanly possible to get Arianna to talk to him. Sent flowers to her office, bombarded her with e-mails. One time he dared to be in the parking lot waiting for her to arrive at work, but she'd driven in, seen him, and driven out.

How the hell was he supposed to win her back if he couldn't get near her? It wasn't like she was going to call him. The only communication he'd received was one short e-mail, in which she said she'd read his father's pages looking for “dove.” She'd found the references, all right, but that he should know she'd thought his father had written “done,” his writing hard to read, as Joe well knew. She'd told Joe to go back and read them, substituting the word “done,” and see that it made sense, too, that she hadn't lied. She'd never seen it.

He hadn't even looked at the notes to verify it. He believed her. Then he'd stopped trying to contact her. She was more stubborn than he was. Unless she was willing to meet him halfway, there was no way he could make amends.

The noisy crowd brought Joe back to the present and the job he was there to do. He hung with the crowd on the right side of the red carpet, watching. Mendes mingled on the other side. The uniforms created space between the celebrities and fans, and took heat for blocking the view.

Joe read the handmade signs poking above the crowd
here and there. Some appealed to a certain star to look their way, but political statements also dotted the landscape, the usual hot topics, minus one—animal rights, glaring in its omission.

He looked for backpacks, jackets with big pockets, tote bags. Gloves would be out of place on this unusually warm November evening, and could indicate someone about to handle sharp metal or glass—or even acid. Unfortunately backpacks were in vogue, so they were everywhere.

“Head's up,” he heard in his earpiece. “Next car is Hollings's.”

Joe scoped the crowd, watching for a shift. The limo pulled up. The driver came around to the passenger side and opened the door. A red high heel emerged, then an ankle. A slender calf. A few spectacular inches of thigh, revealed by a long slit in the dress. The rest of the incredible body followed, clothed in body-hugging red, the beaded fabric sparkling. A deep V exposed a tempting amount of cleavage. Diamonds shimmered at her throat. Her head emerged, dark hair pulled back and coiled low, like a certain flamenco dancer he remembered. Red lipstick. A small beauty mark near her mouth that he couldn't see but knew was there.

Arianna.

Hollings's private security.

 

Arianna was relieved to be getting out of the limo. Her fifty-two-year-old “date” and client, Trevor Hollings, wore an elegant yet trendy tuxedo. He had striking salt-and-pepper hair and a toned body that men twenty years younger would envy—and women would covet. He was flirtatious and charming.

Too bad he was also boring and egotistical.

A minute ago, as the car had pulled into the line of others
dropping off passengers, she'd said to Hollings, “I need to stay on your right side. Take your cues from me. If I touch you, let me, but don't touch me back. Don't hold my hand or do anything that might prevent me from protecting you.”

“All right.”

“If someone runs toward us, don't try to help me. Let me do my job.”

“That's why I hired you.”

She'd pointed out the window. “Take a look at the faces. Tell me if you see anyone familiar.”

After a bit he said, “They all kind of blend together. Just bodies. And lots of cops.”

An unusually large number, Arianna thought as she scanned the scene.

“I guess he was serious,” Hollings said.

“Who?”

“The detective who called today saying he thought there might be trouble tonight.”

Arianna counted to three, all she had time for. “You didn't think that was information I needed?”

“I'm not afraid.”

Idiot.
“There's a difference between fear and preparation. I would've added more people.”

“I didn't want more. And I did tell him I had hired security.”

She wouldn't work for him again.

“I'll precede you from the car,” she said, checking her anger. “We're walking quickly and directly into the hotel. Got it?”

He nodded. She didn't believe him. She was rarely wrong about someone, but she'd thought when she met him last month that he was sensible and intelligent. Her mistake. One she hoped wouldn't cost her.

Cameras flashed, almost blinding her as she stepped out
of the limo. Expectation buzzed in the air, but diminished as Hollings emerged and the crowd and the paparazzi realized they weren't celebrities of the movie-star type. The flashes stopped. She scanned the crowd. Four men and a woman pushed through a gap in the police line.

“Move in! Move in!” she heard a man yell, someone familiar—

She shoved Hollings toward a uniformed officer. “Get him inside,” she ordered, absorbing the blow of something heavy and metal against her shoulder, but keeping her hands on Hollings's back, pushing him from behind.

The events unfolded in seconds. The five protestors were joined by others from the other side and moved as a unit, tossing bottles, cans and sticks at Hollings—and Arianna—as they hurried along the carpet, jammed now with protestors and police. Arianna stayed at Hollings's back. She was showered with objects that scratched and scraped and punctured her skin. Fury spurred her to turn around just as two men got close enough to use pepper spray. She kicked the canisters out of their hands, connecting hard, immobilizing them. Their agonizing cries filled the air. “Bitch!” one yelled, gripping his damaged hand. Like she cared.

Officers tackled the men, knocking one into her. She tripped over him just as Hollings disappeared safely into the building. The man on the ground clutched a metal stake. There was no way to reverse her body's direction, no way to stop her fall. She put out a hand to try to deflect it—

She was yanked back. Her rescuer landed hard on the ground, rolling as he hit, acting as a cushion, absorbing the blow. Air whooshed out of her lungs. She couldn't move, could barely breathe.

“Are you okay?” the man asked, harsh and low.

Joe. Oh, God.
Joe.

His grip loosened. He sat up, taking her with him.

“Are you okay?”
he repeated, more harshly.

“I'm okay.” She tried to look at him but couldn't turn around far enough. She saw that the police had gotten control of the protestors. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you. My job.” He set his hands on her waist and pulled her up as he stood. “Let me see your shoulder.”

She faced away from him, felt his fingers graze her skin. She closed her eyes. She'd missed him. Missed him so much. Every hour of every day. Every minute of every night. Every second of every dream. It had been so hard to resist his notes and flowers, but she had a hard time believing he could have made the mental shift from believing they couldn't ever get past the strangeness of their history. Her mother was still alive. After what Paloma had done, how could Joe ever have a relationship with her?

Pride and worry had bitten Arianna then wouldn't let go. She didn't know how to make up with someone. She'd never had to before.

And apparently she'd been right. He'd stopped trying to contact her.

“You're going to have a bruise the size of Texas.” He skimmed other spots. “You need these looked at and cleaned. You're bleeding. You'll need a tetanus shot.”

She turned toward him and noted how his eyes shone with dark, unnamed emotion. Suddenly she couldn't come up with any good reason why she'd kept him at bay. They'd both made mistakes. She could take the first step toward making up. “Thank you.”

His mouth tightened as if he were furious at her. She didn't know what to think. Then he called over an officer. “Take her inside,” he said. “Someone will be in to take her statement, then she needs to go to the hospital.”

He turned away, leaving her standing there with her mouth open, watching him, feeling dismissed. Was he an
gry that she'd gotten caught up in the violence? There'd been an edge to his voice when he'd said that he was doing his job, same as she was. He didn't think a woman should be in the protection business?

She checked on Hollings, who was amazingly unscathed, gave her statement to a detective named Mendes, waited about an hour, then she left, angry and humiliated that he'd ignored her. Her address was on her statement. He could find her when—if—he was ready.

Now or never, she thought. An ending or a new beginning.
The ball's in your court, Joe.

 

Joe broke speed limits to get to his father's care facility at eight-thirty the next morning. He should be at the office. He still had hours of paperwork ahead of him. But Mrs. Winters had called to say Arianna was with his father.

Until yesterday he had no idea Arianna had been coming to visit him, almost every day. Joe had found out only because she'd left behind a sweater. He'd picked it up and smelled her perfume. When he'd asked Mrs. Winters she said she'd been sworn to secrecy.

It was a secret no longer.

He jogged up the walkway, let himself in, then rushed down the hall and into his father's room, coming to an abrupt stop. Chief barked once before he recognized Joe then wagged his tail. His father and Arianna looked up from the table where they sat peacefully cutting out pictures from magazines and gluing them onto sheets of paper.

“Where have you been?” Joe demanded of her, relief sweeping through him at the same time. He made a quick visual check of her. She looked fine.

She glanced at his father, at the startled look on his face, then frowned pointedly at Joe. “I've been right here,” she said cheerfully.

There was a bite to her words, however. He ran a hand down his face, exhausted, but more than ready to spar with her, anything to have an outlet for the rush of emotion now that he knew she was all right, except that his father responded well only to tranquility and routine. Joe was supplying neither. He knew better than to bring problems into his father's room.

“You were supposed to wait for me,” he said as calmly as possible. “No one knew where you were. I called every hospital. You didn't check in.”

“You did not say to wait for you, but I did, anyway—for an hour. Then I called my own doctor. She met me at her office. I'm fine.” She smiled, although not a true one. “Come look at the collage that Mike is making. Isn't it great?”

His father smiled like a child stuck between arguing parents. Joe let out a slow breath and moved closer.

“You sent your
partner
to interview me,” she said, an undertone of irritation in her voice.

“That's great, Dad.” Joe patted his father's back and looked at Arianna. “I knew Mendes would be impartial and unemotional. I couldn't guarantee that I could be. Plus, I was in charge. I was busy.”

“It would've taken thirty seconds, a minute, tops, to come see me.”

“I wouldn't have wanted to leave.” Could he be any more direct?

“You stopped sending me flowers.”

Ah. Was that the problem? He'd stopped pursuing her? Had she expected he would keep at it forever?

He couldn't continue this discussion in front of his father, who looked increasingly confused and agitated. “Can we talk about it later? I need to get back to work.”

She didn't look at him. After a moment she got up and
left the room, just like that. No warning. No goodbye. Nothing. She'd grabbed her purse, so he assumed she was leaving for good.

Joe didn't know what to think.

Chief started to follow, perhaps picking up on her mood.

“Chief. Stay,” his father said. The dog obeyed.

Joe went still. Chief? He'd called the dog Chief, not Sarge? He stared at his father, seeing rare lucidity staring back. “Dad?”

“Better go after her, son.”

He hesitated a couple of seconds, then knelt in front of his father, his father who recognized him for the first time in ages. Maybe the last time. Joe hugged him tight, felt his father's arms around him as if for the first time. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too.” His father kissed his cheek. “Go after her,” he repeated.

Joe couldn't. It would mean giving up his chance to ask about the murder, and his father's role in what happened after. Maybe the only time he could get answers.

Arianna would understand why he didn't go after her. He knew that.