Hot Contact (7 page)

A
rianna kept her focus on the staff meeting the next morning. She had to. She ran them. After the meeting she was scheduled for an appointment with a new client in need of unobtrusive personal protection when he attended a charity ball later in the month. She'd seen a photo of him—fifty-two and easy on the eyes. He was also the target of an animal rights organization which took issue with his pharmaceutical company's use of lab animals to test potential drugs.

Whether she had an issue with that or not, she believed no one should be the victim of violence because his belief system was different. So, if she thought the setup was workable, she would take the job, even though she might get caught up in the violence herself. With her posing as his date, he would appear unconcerned about his safety, while being well guarded.

“Anything else?” Arianna asked the staff assembled in the conference room as business wound down.

No one added anything. They wandered out of the room, several of them stopping to grab another bagel or muffin. Laughter punctuated the steady hum of conversation. She, Sam and Nate hired well. The group was congenial and collegial. They had differences of opinion, some of them strong, but those differences were respected, and the years of experience each person brought to the company meant they needed little direct supervision. Arianna loved going to work.

Except for today. Today she wished she were at Joe's house, analyzing his father's notes.

She noticed Sam lingering after the room had emptied. “Any luck locating Doc?” she asked.

“We're playing phone tag.” He cocked his head. “You were a little off today.”

“Long day yesterday.” She gathered her paperwork and stood.

“Is that all?”

He watched her closely, but as a friend, with concern in his eyes.

“Does it have something to do with Joe Vicente?” Sam pressed.

She leaned a hip against the table. “He's going to help me try to find my father's killer.” She explained the basics. “I have to make the effort,” she said finally.

He nodded. “If there's anything I can do, let me know.”

The receptionist, Julie, appeared in the doorway. “Arianna, Joe Vicente is on line three, and I just put your mother in your office.”

Her mother? Here? She'd come to Arianna's office probably three times in all the years they'd been in business. “Thank you, Julie.”

“Want me to go?” Sam asked.

“No. Hang on a sec.” She punched the line-three button. “Good morning, Detective.”

“Hi. How'd you sleep?”

“Great, thanks. What can I do for you?”

“Ah. All business. Okay. Well, I've been going through the file, and I thought you might want to get a head start on tracking down the eyewitness. You have more resources than I do, since I don't have access to my work computer.”

“Good idea. What's the info?”

“Mary Beth Maxwell. Age twenty-five then.” He gave her the address, birth date and Social Security number.

“Thanks. Anything else I should know?”

“Not at this moment. I'll see you tonight.”

“Around six, okay?”

“Sure. Bye.”

After she hung up she made a copy of the information and passed it to Sam. “Would you work your magic and see if you can come up with anything on this woman? She would be fifty years old today. Could've been married and remarried a bunch of times by now. May not even be alive.” Which would be another clue that went nowhere, and maybe a clue they shouldn't pursue the investigation, after all.

“I'll get right on it,” Sam said. “What's Paloma doing here?”

“Being nosy, I suspect.”

“A mother's prerogative, she would say. I'll stop by your office in a few minutes to say hi.”

“Interrupt me with something that needs my immediate attention, okay?”

He smiled. “As mothers go, she's a good one.”

“I know. I'm just not in the mood.”

“Your detective a little harder to manage than you expected?”

She looked sharply at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“I've always wondered how you would react when you met your match. Now I see. You're defensive.”

“I am not.” She grinned, hoping to throw him off course.

He didn't take the bait. “See you in a few.”

Arianna headed for her office. “Mom! What a nice surprise.” She dropped her paperwork on her desk then hugged her mother. “What brings you here?”

“You didn't return my call.”

“I got home too late.”

“And this morning? Up and gone too early, I suppose.” Paloma took a seat on the sofa. The knuckles on her clenched hands were white.

“That's right.” Arianna joined her, noting the stress on her face, as well.

“So? Did you meet him?”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing.”

Her mother looked at her lap. “I told you,” she said.

“It wasn't that he had nothing new to tell me. Maybe he would have. But he has Alzheimer's, Mom. He's in a care home. His memory is gone, for the most part.”

Was that relief on her mother's face?

“So now you'll let it drop?”

Arianna leaned forward. She put her hands over her mother's. “I can't. Not yet. There are still facts to check and clues to follow. I won't spend the rest of my life searching, if that's what you mean. But it's what I need to do now.”

Paloma searched her daughter's eyes. “All right,
mija.
I will save my breath.”

“Thank you. You know, it was really odd seeing Mr. Vicente. I had a flashback of when he came to the house after Dad died. You screamed at him. And he was so kind—to both of us.”

Paloma stiffened. “He had a job to do. He wasn't doing it well enough or fast enough for me.”

“In the end he didn't do it at all. They never found the killer.”

“Hey, gorgeous.” Sam came into the room.

Her mother transformed as Sam bent down to kiss her cheek, her expression changing from pinched to pleased, the contrast making Arianna even more starkly aware of how much her mother was upset by Arianna digging for information. She couldn't help that, however. Her need to know took priority.

“How was your honeymoon?” Paloma asked Sam.

“Everything a honeymoon should be.” He looked at Arianna. “I thought you had an appointment.”

She looked at her watch. “I do. Mom, I've really got to run.”

Arianna walked her mother to her car. Going with her gut instinct, Arianna asked, “Is there something you're not telling me?”

“There is a great deal I haven't told you,
mija.
” Her smile was serene.

“About Dad. About his murder. Are you afraid of something that might come out if I investigate too closely?”

“I am worried about you. Do not let it become an obsession.”

Which wasn't an answer, Arianna thought, but she let it go. For now.

Arianna made it through the day. She accepted the case
to do personal protection for the pharmaceutical CEO. She met with two other clients regarding ongoing cases. Sam hadn't had any luck locating the eyewitness, Mary Beth Maxwell, as yet.

Arianna changed into jeans and a peasant blouse in her office then went to her car. She hit the speakerphone button and dialed Joe's number to tell him she was on her way.

“Could you pick up a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk on the way?” he asked.

“Um, sure.”

He laughed. “I was kidding. I've been feeling like a housewife waiting for her husband to come home.”

“Oh.” She smiled. “Vacation getting to you?”

“It got to me on the first day. But I'm getting better. See you soon. Bring your appetite. I've been slaving away all day.”

She'd never been wooed before. Well, some had tried, she had to admit, but she had no interest in being courted. “You promised that the next move was mine.”

“There are moves, and then there are moves.”

She heard the confident smile in his voice. Smart. She liked that about him. And quick. And attractive. And an amazing sprinter. She'd known from his first kiss that it would be good between them—he knew how to make the most of a moment—still she'd been surprised by the intensity.

“I have a feeling you can find a fix for any complication,” she said.

“You think? See you soon. Drive safe.”

“Always,” she said, then ended the call, suddenly in a much better mood.

 

Contrary to what Joe had told Arianna, he hadn't been slaving in the kitchen all day. He planned to grill ham
burgers, and he'd bought salad and dessert from a local deli. She would probably be horrified at the fat and calorie content, but his repertoire of culinary accomplishments was a short list.

The phone rang. He wondered if she was calling to say she wouldn't be able to make it, after all.

It wasn't Arianna, however, but his lieutenant returning his call.

“You wanted me to check in once in a while,” Joe said.

“How's it going?” Morgan asked.

“Good.”

“You keeping busy?”

“Yeah.”

“How's your father?”

“The same. I'm almost done clearing out the house. The new owners take possession next week.”

“So, it'll be behind you.”

Only someone who hadn't been through what he'd been through would say it like that, like it was easy to give up your history. “Yeah.”

“Been on a date?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He couldn't have asked for a better lead into what he wanted to ask Morgan. “With Arianna Alvarado.”

“The P.I.?”

“We met at a Halloween party. Did you know her father was LAPD and was killed on the job?” He saw Arianna's car pull up in front of his house.

“I did know that. She doesn't seem like your type.”

“I was surprised, too. What's the story with her father, do you know? She says it's unsolved and my dad was lead on it.” Joe opened the front door as Arianna came up the walkway. She smiled and walked past him then on into the
living room. He was distracted by the way she looked in her jeans, so he didn't notice Morgan's silence until several seconds had passed.

“I remember when the shooting took place,” Morgan said. “But I wasn't a detective yet.”

“I'd like to come in and take a look at the file.”

A few beats passed. “I told you four weeks and I meant it, Joe.”

“This would be different.”

“No, it would be another obsession in your life.”

“Are you saying I can't see the file?”

Arianna raised her brows at him.

“I'm saying I don't want to see you anywhere near this building. Let it go.”

“I might be able to, but I doubt she will. Just so you know.”

“Thanks for the warning. And thanks for the call. I'm glad you're making good use of your time off, although I have to say, I can't picture you with Ms. Alvarado.”

“She's not as tough as her reputation.”

“Maybe. Keep me up to date.”

Joe pressed the off button. He tossed the phone to his other hand and back again. “Interesting.”

“What was?”

He put the phone aside and sat beside her on the sofa. “My lieutenant pretty much told me not to get involved in your father's case.”

“He forbid you?”

“More like warned me off.”

“What do you think it means?”

“That there's more to the story.”

Her eyes darkened. “There's no way we can get the official file and see if there's anything different there?”

“Not without permission. And you can bet I can't get
permission now. Morgan probably put a freeze on it in Records.”

“He can do that?”

“I don't see why not.”

“Even with the Freedom of Information Act, I couldn't get it now?”

“I don't know. We'd have to check. But at least we have the photocopies of the file, and something the official record doesn't have—my father's notes.”

“Indecipherable, but there,” she said. She stood. “Let's get started.”

He stood, too. Keeping his hands off her took willpower. “Dinner first.”

“But—”

He shook his head. “Dinner. Conversation. A little relaxation. Then we'll work.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Then you can keep me company while I eat. I know you're anxious, but you also need fuel.”

“
You
are bossy.”

He led the way to the backyard, to the barbecue. “Just making sure you don't fall into the same trap as I did.”

“What trap?”

“I didn't take time for myself this past year. Not only did it wear me out and burn me out, I lost a fiancée because of it.”

F
inally, Arianna thought. She would learn about his fiancée. “What was her name?” she asked.

“Jane.” He lifted the lid on the barbecue and shoved the hot coals around with some tongs, making an even layer.

“I hope you like hamburgers.”

She smiled. He'd been teasing her about the food. “Yes.”

“And potato salad?”

“Homemade?”

“Made by someone.” He grinned. “And raspberry cheesecake. Made by someone.”

“So, you slaved all day, hmm?”
Can we end the banter and get to the issue of your fiancée?

“Hey, it took me hours to decide what to buy. It's the thought that counts.”

“It is.” She wandered away from him, waiting him out. A koi pond sat to one side of a slate path. Several koi
scooted into a dark corner as she approached. She sat on a wooden bench to watch. “This is a beautiful spot. Did you add the pond?”

“Came with the house, but I had to fix it up.” He went silent. “It's killing you, not asking questions,” he said finally.

She turned her head toward him. As he added the hamburger patties, smoke and sizzle rose from the grill, obscuring him. “I admit I'm curious.”

“Want a beer?”

Another stall, she thought. “That'd be great.”

He went into the house. She stared into the water. Oh, he was a cool one. He could draw out a discussion until the average person would be ready to punch him. She wasn't average, however. She hoped he knew that.

When he returned he passed her a bottle and sat beside her. She took a swallow, then waited, aware of him next to her. She remembered how he kissed, a slow heat that turned blazing hot. She remembered how his mouth felt on her breast, and the feel of his body on hers. And how he felt inside her….

“We met at a Lakers game,” he said. “Two years ago.”

“She's a basketball fan?”

“She's employed by the team.”

“A cheerleader?” Arianna, who'd never known a moment of jealousy, suddenly felt it rise up inside her. She didn't like the feeling.

“Public relations.”

“You fell in love.”

After a few seconds he nodded. “We got engaged about a month before my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

Arianna waited.

“Jane hung in there for a few months, but she got fed up with me putting my parents first. Plus it was the busiest
time of year for her. She was on the road a lot with the team. Then there were the play-offs. She expected me to ignore my parents when she was in town. I couldn't…. She gave me back the ring. That was six months ago.”

“Your mother died a month later.”

He nodded.

“Then your father was alone, and you stepped in.”

“I don't regret it.”

“Yet you lost your fiancée because of it.”

“Obviously it wasn't a good match.”

“She was selfish.”

He got up and went to the barbecue to flip the burgers. “She deserved more than I could give her.”

Arianna decided not to comment. She was glad he was rid of Jane, who apparently hadn't loved him enough to share his burdens.

“How about you?” he asked. “Any former fiancés?”

“I've never even contemplated marriage.”
Never been in love. Never cared about anything more than my work.
“Between the job and what I have to do to keep myself in shape for it, I don't even have time for dating much. Every week I've got yoga classes and tae kwon do, plus I go to the shooting range. And I'm the managing partner in the firm. That means more hours in the office than anyone else.”

“Do you travel a lot?”

“Quite a bit, but not as much as Nate and Sam. I have to keep the office running.”

“Do you own a house?”

“No. I've been thinking about it, but I like the apartment where I live. It's close to the office and large enough for my needs.” She'd been craving a house lately, though. A place where she could play piano at midnight if she wanted. A place where she could plant a few flowers— Well, maybe
not. A place where she could hire a gardener, anyway. She smiled at the thought.

Over dinner they talked about their childhoods and high school. First jobs. First sweethearts. She relaxed, more than she had since she'd first set the course to find out the truth about her father's murder.

The air cooled as night set in. They carried the dishes inside then sat at his dining room table, where he'd stacked the paperwork.

“Here are your copies,” he said, shoving a pile toward her. “I ran a set for myself, too, so we'll keep the originals fresh. I also made a list of the facts I know based on the file. Plus I spent a lot of time today going through his notebooks from other cases, trying to decipher the abbreviations he used in this one.”

“Were you able to?” she asked, scanning the list of facts he'd given her.

“No.”

She looked up. “Not at all?”

“He did abbreviate things, but not anything like the numbers and letters that are scattered throughout his notes about your father, which seemed to be more like a personal code.”

“Another dead end,” Arianna said, discouraged. And an even bigger question. What was he hiding?

“Are you prepared to accept that you may not find any answers?” Joe asked.

She considered his question. “If I say no, you might think I don't have faith in your father's ability to investigate. If I say yes, you might think I'm going to give up soon. There is no right answer to that question. For now, I just want to double-check and follow through and see what we find. If all we find are dead ends, so be it.” Maybe.
She was afraid her nightmares wouldn't end unless she found the truth.

“Fair enough. Okay, so what we know for sure is that there was only one eyewitness, Mary Beth Maxwell, who was the clerk on duty at the liquor store where your father was killed during a robbery. She was shot three times and spent weeks in the hospital recovering.”

“According to her statement,” Arianna added, “she had no clear memory of the event. She came to in the hospital two days after the surgery that saved her life. The cash register was empty. Best guess by the owner is that they got away with a few hundred dollars. Not worth shooting anyone for, especially since she didn't have a weapon, but my father probably drew his and the killers fired before being fired upon, then shot Mary Beth so there would be no witnesses.”

“Right. That much is pretty straightforward. She was shot with a .22 caliber. He was shot with a .38.”

“I'm sure those weapons are long gone now.”

“I imagine so. But take a look at page seven. It says your father's gun—a .38 caliber, police issue at the time—was never found at the scene.”

“Do you think it's the one in your father's safe?”

“Maybe. Can't prove it one way or the other. They didn't do ballistics tracings on the issued weapons in those days like they do now.”

They worked for hours, recording combinations of letters, finding where they were repeated and seeing if they fit in any other context. Arianna's almost sleepless night before caught up with her. Even though it was only ten o'clock, she was exhausted. And totally aware of Joe's presence, solid, calm and…tempting. Every time she lost patience with the process, he settled her down by diverting her or pointing out something else. He touched her, too.
His hands bumped hers when they reached for a paper at the same time. Or he gave her a quick shoulder massage each time he left the room to get something to drink or look up something on the Internet.

Like a friend, Arianna decided. An old, comfortable friend—who also turned her on. The massage may have seemed friendly, but as his thumbs worked the muscles in her shoulders, his fingers rested along her collarbones, sometimes drifting down just a little farther, his fingertips not quite grazing the neckline of her blouse, before he walked away.

She could've stopped him, but she didn't even try. There are moves, and then there are
moves,
he'd said. The man had
moves.
Subtle. Sure. Scintillating.

She sighed.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

He looked squarely at her. “You're tired.”

It was partially true. “Yes. I should probably go home.”

“Stay.”

“I can't.”

“Yes, you can. I have a guest room. You're too tired to drive.”

He was right, of course. So why was she balking? Because she'd never let anyone tell her what to do since she'd left the army? Undoubtedly it was more complicated than that. “Don't get paternal on me, Detective.”

He just smiled.

“I do have a change of clothes in my car,” she said casually.

“I'll get the room ready while you get your stuff.”

Apparently the decision was made.

She met him in the guest room then set down the over
night bag she always kept in her trunk, along with a suit and blouse.

She glanced around the room. An old-fashioned quilt covered the bed, although the furniture looked new. The room was appealing in its simplicity, like the rest of the house.

“The bed looks comfortable,” she said.

“If it isn't, you can join me in mine.”

She shook her head, smiling. “You don't give up.”

“Not this time. Do you need anything?”

“I don't have anything to wear to bed. A T-shirt would be great.”

He left. She ran her hand over the quilt, discovering it was hand-stitched. She blew out a breath. She hadn't been this nervous around a man for as long as she could remember.

When he came back he held a light blue dress shirt with long sleeves. “I wanted to picture you in this instead.” He tossed it to her. “Good night.”

“G'night.” She waited until she heard his bedroom door shut before she walked down the hall to the bathroom. After a quick shower she dressed in the shirt then made her way back to the bedroom. The shirt felt like a hug. The sheets were cool. The house was quiet. Too quiet. She must have gotten her second wind, because she wasn't the least bit sleepy.

After tossing and turning for a while she got out of bed and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Glass in hand, she wandered down the hall to the French doors that opened to the backyard. Moonlight bathed the yard and reflected off the pond. If it'd been summer she would've let herself outside to enjoy the evening. Instead she stood and watched and waited, as if something were about to happen.

Nothing did. If she wanted something to happen, she had to make it happen, not wait for it.

She took her glass to the guest room and set it on a coaster on the nightstand. She sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't want to go to sleep. She didn't want the nightmares about her father to return.

After a few minutes of staring at her feet she left the room again, this time heading to the master bedroom. She expected the door to be closed, but it wasn't. She stopped and listened. No sleeping sounds at all. No snoring, or even heavy breathing.

She moved into the room, not making a sound. She could see from his silhouette that he was on his back. She slowed down as she neared him. Suddenly he turned his head slightly and looked at her. She stopped, held her breath.

He lifted the comforter invitingly.

She slid into his bed and his arms, which wrapped around her and tucked the comforter tight at the same time. She burrowed against him. What was it about him that weakened her—and why didn't she mind? He already carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and she didn't want to add to it, yet he didn't make her feel like a burden.

She breathed his name.

“Sleep,” he said. “Just sleep.”

She thought she should warn him. “I have nightmares.”

“I have insomnia.”

“Oh. Well. Good. At least I won't wake you up.”

He laughed softly, his breath warm against her hair. She settled more comfortably against him. It wasn't working, however. She wasn't sleepy. She wanted him.

“Have I told you how much I admire your mind?” she said.

“I'd rather you admire my butt.”

She laughed. “I do. But I'm happy that we're working well together as a team.”

“So am I. Go to sleep.”

“Why? I can't be keeping you awake.”

He rubbed his chin against her hair, but she figured he was smiling at least.

She was pretty sure he wore boxer shorts or something similar. Her knee had brushed fabric when he'd first drawn her close. She wondered if he usually slept in the nude.

She toyed with the hair on his chest. “Do you think, since we've already been intimate, that we could handle a physical relationship as part of our partnership?”

He was quiet for several seconds. “Do you?”

“Would I have asked otherwise?”

“If you wanted to tease me.”

“I don't. Want to tease you.” She leaned back a little, just enough to see his face in the dark.

“Let's talk about it tomorrow,” he said.

Disappointment swamped her. “Tomorrow?”

“When saner heads prevail.”

The man had willpower. But considering that she'd instigated what happened last night, she thought she should wait for him this time. After a minute she couldn't come up with anything more to say, so she tucked herself against him again and closed her eyes.

“I can't believe you bought that,” he said, propping himself up on an elbow, laughter in his voice. He brushed the hair from her face. “You really think I'd pass up the opportunity to make love with you?” He leaned toward her.

She put her hand over his mouth. “There's an undeniable attraction between us I figure is going to make it hard to work together if we don't have an outlet for it. And it's critical that we work well together, because what we find may be hard to face.” She took her hand away. “If sleeping
together keeps some of the tension out of the working relationship, then I'm all for it. If you agree.”