L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (2 page)

CHAPTER ONE

Four years later

THE BLACK SEDAN WITH dark-tinted windows cruised to a stop across the street from Jillian Sullivan’s suburban Chicago home.

Holding open the front door with her backside, Jillian watched the car as she waited for her daughter. When Chloe didn’t come, she reached for her daughter’s rolled-up sleeping bag and suitcase. “I’m taking your things over to Dana and Logan’s, so hustle,” she called to Chloe, then let the door slam behind her.

Summer wrapped around her, Midwest moist and steamy hot. As she lugged Chloe’s gear across the wide expanse of lawn toward her neighbor’s van in the driveway next door, her gaze drifted again to the black sedan.

The windows were so dark she couldn’t tell if the person behind the wheel was a man or a woman, and he, or she, hadn’t made a move to get out. Odd.

“See that car?” Jillian said to Dana as she dropped Chloe’s things on the driveway. “It’s been there for at least five minutes and the driver hasn’t budged.”

Her best friend glanced over, then chucked a duffel bag into the van. “Well, I doubt he’s casing the house while we’re still here.” Grinning, she elbowed Jillian. “Hey. Maybe it’s the hunk you had your eye on at the market this morning. The Viking.”

Jillian slapped her forehead. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” Why, oh why, had she even mentioned noticing the guy? All that did was give Dana another excuse to needle her about dating again. Though her friend hardly needed an excuse.

“Hey, you’re ready. And after four years, it’s about time.”

“Not ready enough to be picking up men at the market, that’s for sure. And I said as tall as a Viking.” Despite what her friends seemed to think, she was just fine with her life as it was. With three hair salons to run and an eleven-going-on-twenty-year-old daughter to raise, she had little time for anything else.

She’d told Dana about him only because he’d been the first man who’d captured her attention in a long time—and it wasn’t because he had a great haircut.

Jillian glanced at the car again. “Maybe the driver’s sick or something.”

“Or waiting for the Hansens to return from golfing?” Dana crossed her arms. “Look, Jillian. Are you worried about Chloe getting homesick on this trip with us?”

“No, but two weeks is a long time. She’s never been away for more than a few days before.”

“A long time for Chloe? Or for you?” Dana’s knowing smile broadened.

“And after that, vacation will be over and she’ll be back in school.”

“So indulge yourself for a change. Do something wild and totally irresponsible with the two weeks.”

“I already did when I let my friends talk me into taking off so much time from work. It’ll be tough to top that.”

Dana shoved back her blunt-cut brown hair and looked at Jillian in exasperation. “Everyone should have such problems. Be happy you’re in the position to do it.” She reached for Chloe’s suitcase and wedged it between two others. “The girls will have a great time. And I’m hoping they’ll be a big help in keeping the little guy company.”

“Hah. Dream on.” As cute as Dana’s two-year-old son Zachary was, it wasn’t likely the two preteen girls would spend much time baby-sitting. Chloe and Dana’s daughter, Hallie, had been practically attached at the hip ever since Jillian and Chloe moved from Los Angeles to the Beverly suburb four years ago to be near her mother-in-law, the only family they had left after Rob died.

“I know. It’s more likely they’ll spend their time squealing over music by some boy band. But one can always hope.”

“Well, if Chloe is any problem at all, just call and I’ll—”

“Chloe will be fine.” Dana gave Jillian a reassuring hug. “Now, I’ve got to get a few more things from inside and then we’re off. Is that everything? Is Chloe ready?”

“I’ll check.” While Dana headed into her garage, Jillian glanced at the black car once more before she sprinted across the leggy grass and up the front steps of her old Tudor home and went inside to see what was taking Chloe so freaking long.

“Mo-om, I can’t find my iPad,” her daughter wailed from her room.

“Chloe, forget it and get your bootie down here right now, or the Wakefields are gonna leave without you.”

Seconds later Jillian’s look-alike daughter came barreling down the stairs, her waist-length strawberry-blond curls flying. All skinny arms and legs, she was already only a few inches shy of Jillian’s five-nine. Chloe hated being so tall just as Jillian had hated it when she’d first sprouted up but not out.

The doorbell buzzed. “I bet it’s Hallie,” Chloe chirped, making a mad dash to the living-room window. She lifted a corner of the blinds and peeked out. “Nah. It’s just a salesman.”

“I don’t care if it’s the president. Now hustle. You were supposed to be ready fifteen minutes ago. Geez, Chloe, you can’t keep people waiting all the time. One of these days they’ll get tired of it and leave you behind.”

Chloe scowled and struck her defiant pose, legs apart, hands on boyish hips. “You do it all the time.”

“Oh, no, you don’t, Miss Sassy Mouth. We’re not playing the reversal thing again.” Jillian leveled her gaze at her look-alike daughter. “I’m not the one keeping my best friend waiting. And…I’m the mom and you’re the kid. My habits are not up for discussion.”

“Never are,” Chloe muttered, then yanked open the closet door in the foyer, hunkered down next to the ever-growing pile of junk, and tossed out one item after another, clothes, boots, soccer ball.

“You might need that backpack if you go hiking.”

“I’m not going at all if I can’t find it.”

Jillian closed her eyes and counted to ten. She couldn’t let their squabbles get to her. Not today. Not when her little girl was leaving for two weeks.

“Look, get the rest of—”

Two loud knocks rattled the front door. Damn. The salesman… and apparently he couldn’t read the No Solicitors sign.

Nerves taut, she turned to her daughter again, drew on her practiced calm and said evenly, “Chloe, get the rest of your things. You’re going right now whether you’ve got everything or not.”

Chloe stalked off in a huff while Jillian, adrenaline still pumping, swung open the door.

“Whatever you’re selli—”

Facing a wide expanse of masculine chest, Jillian’s gaze traveled upward. It was the guy from the market.

She pulled back, her thoughts jumbled as she took in his clothes—black sports jacket over a rumpled Los Angeles Lakers T-shirt and faded jeans. Running shoes. “You’re not a salesman,” she said.

Her mind flashed to that morning when, standing side by side at the organic-vegetable bin, they’d reached for the same eggplant. Their fingers had touched, skin grazing skin, her breath caught and their eyes had met and held. In that moment she’d felt a rush of awareness—the first in four years.

Now his assessing gray eyes did a slow-motion sweep from her tangled hair to her bare feet and silver toe rings. Her blood warmed along the path of his gaze.

“You’re right. I’m not a salesman.”

What the hell... The first guy I’ve even looked at in years and he thinks I’m coming on to him and follows me home. Gripping the knob, she slipped outside and pulled the door halfway shut behind her so Chloe couldn’t hear them.

“If I gave you the wrong impression at the market—” she said, “—I’m really sorry. I was in a hurry and sometimes when I’m in a hurry I get preoccupied, and when I’m thinking of other things it might look like something that might’ve given you the wrong impression... I mean—” She stopped for a breath.

The ghost of a grin played at the corners of his mouth. “Mrs. Sullivan…” His expression quickly sobered.

She blinked. He knows my name? My name. Los Angeles T-shirt. And he was following her. Yeah. She got it.

He flashed a police shield. “Mrs. Sullivan, I’m Detective Adam Ramsey.”

She felt a fleeting twinge of disappointment that the attraction she’d experienced when she first saw him had been only on her part. Stupid. Totally stupid.

“LAPD,” he added.

“Were you following me earlier?” She squared her shoulders. “Or did you just happen to be buying groceries in the same place I was?”

He smiled, stuffed his badge into a pocket, then glanced past her into the house. “I’d like to talk with you. May I come in?”

She didn’t step aside. “Have you found my husband’s murderer?”

“No.”

That was it? No explanation or apology? The LAPD had put her through living hell during their investigation of her husband’s murder. When they’d come up with nothing to solve the case, they’d focused on her, as if she was the criminal. As far as she was concerned, they’d botched the job and the killer had literally gotten away with murder.

“I suppose that four years after the fact it’s a bit much to expect that someone somewhere has done his job.”

“Sorry, I can’t comment on the previous investigation,” the detective said, “but I would like to talk with you about the case.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see if Chloe was coming. “I’m sorry. As you can see, I’m busy with my daughter.” If she’d learned nothing else during the police interrogation four years ago, she’d learned she didn’t have to talk to the police at their will. Not unless they arrested her.

He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll come back in an hour.”

“Mo-om. I still can’t find my iPad, and I promised Hallie I’d bring it.”

The door yanked open from behind and Jillian turned. Chloe stood there scowling, as if the missing notebook was Jillian’s fault. But when Chloe’s gaze swung to the cop, her blue eyes lit up.

“Well, then,” Jillian said to Chloe, “I guess Hallie will just have to be disappointed, because you didn’t bother keeping track of it.”

“Are you my mom’s date?” Chloe asked, as if Jillian hadn’t spoken.

“Chlo-ee,” Jillian said, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “If I were dating, you’d know it. Now, get ready.”

The detective extended a hand past Jillian to her daughter. “Pleased to meet you, Chloe. I’m Adam and I’m here to see your mom on business.”

Color blossomed on Chloe’s cheeks as she reached out and shook his hand. “My mom didn’t tell me anyone was coming over.” She speared Jillian with an accusing glare.

The detective smiled, another disarming, full-fledged job that made Jillian all too aware of…him. Tall, six-four at least, broad-shouldered and blessed with a thick shock of sun-bleached, sandy-brown hair. Her first impression validated, she didn’t smile back. The guy was a hunk. Too bad he was a frikking cop.

“It was a surprise,” he said. “Your mom didn’t know I was coming.”

“A surprise I really don’t need,” Jillian countered, trying to ignore how nice he was being to Chloe.

“Yeah.” The detective rubbed a hand over his chin. “So, I’ll come back later.”

She could hardly wait. Not wanting to show disrespect in front of Chloe, her response burned on her tongue unsaid.

“Have a great time on your trip, Chloe,” he said with a smile and a wave.

Together Chloe and Jillian watched the detective stride across the street and climb into the car.

“Wow, Mom. He’s cool! I think you should absolutely date him.”

“Thanks for the assessment, Ms. Matchmaker, but if you don’t mind, I’ll pick my own dates. He’s not my type.”

“No one’s your type.” Chloe frowned and pursed her lips, as if her mother’s lack of a social life somehow reflected on her.

“That’s a discussion for another time. Now get the rest of your things.”

Chloe stomped off.

Jillian sighed. These days a discussion with her daughter about anything quickly became a battle Jillian never won. It was too soon for her little girl to go through this preteen stuff!

Five minutes later Jillian was outside giving Chloe a crushing good-bye hug, and then her daughter was off for the next two weeks. Two long weeks.

“Love you,” Jillian called out as she waved good-bye, her words gobbled up in the rumble of the engine. She continued watching until the van disappeared around the corner. She glanced across the street. The car was gone, she wished for good. What could he possibly want to talk to her about if they weren’t any closer to solving her husband’s murder than before? And why had he been following her?

Heaving a sigh, she headed back inside through the door to the kitchen, poured some raspberry iced tea and leaned against the refrigerator, then rolled the icy glass over her forehead. Maybe she should take a real vacation while Chloe was gone. Go to California and visit old friends. Or somewhere different altogether.

She gazed around the old country kitchen, with its worn maple cabinets, the faded Formica countertops and dated black appliances. The place looked awful, but with the move and all she’d had to do after Rob’s death, home improvement hadn’t been high on her list of priorities. Hell, back then she’d barely passed survival on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.

She’d been busy getting the first hair salon up and running, and then she’d expanded to two and then three salons, which had taken even more of her time. But now she had no excuses. She had both the time and the money.