Single and Searching (14 page)

"I'm going to let Henry S. easel paint. It's for the letter 'e' for the book. I haven't decided what we'll do for 'f' yet, maybe footprints."

"You're so creative, Casey." Jill tucked a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. "My job is the most boring in the world. My fingers even fall asleep at the keyboard."

"Yeah, but you make great money. I could never work with computers. You must be genius IQ."

Jill shrugged, slumped into a patio chair and stretched out her long legs.

"Even if he hasn't called, he sent you a gift every single day, didn't he?" Jenna asked.

Casey groaned. "I know. Every time I tell myself to forget the man, the doorbell rings and there's another present."

"You should forget him," Jill mumbled.

Casey studied her friend's solemn expression. The combination of Jill's introverted personality and intelligence created an aloof aura around her, but Casey suspected her lack of social interest masked huge insecurities and a past more painful than her own. Casey and Jenna had shared their childhood stories, but Jill had never confided in them.

"Don't be a spoilsport," Jenna teased. "If Casey's finally found one good guy out of the bunch, we should root for her."

Jill rolled her eyes, feigning interest in a piece of mint Casey had clipped for the tea.

"What kind of presents did you get, Casey?" Jenna snagged a glass from the tray. "I'm dying to see."

Casey tapped her fingernails on the table. "Well, he sent a cookie tin filled with cinnamon cookies, doughnuts, and éclairs. He sent Henry S. a little car, dog bones for Dog, and yesterday, this beautiful ebony silk scarf arrived along with a bottle of French perfume."

Jenna clapped her hands together. "It was him! I had a feeling the man who bought that scarf was your Gabe."

"How would you know?" Jill asked.

"My Gabe? He isn't mine," Casey said.

"He came into the shop day before yesterday. When he signed the credit slip, I saw his name. I wondered if he was buying it for you. Oh, Casey, he's a hunk."

Casey blushed. "He is hot, isn't he? It's that little dimple that gets me, you know."

"Yeah, dimples are rough," Jenna said with a wink. "Just think, Casey, you went to his office to chew a chunk out of his butt, and here you are in love with him."

"In love?" Casey and Jill chorused. Casey's glass clinked onto the wrought iron table.

Jenna's eyes twinkled with mischief. "I hear it every time you say his name. And he asked a lot of questions about you."

Casey examined her toenails in an attempt to act non chalant. "What kind of questions?"

Jenna shrugged. "Oh, the usual. How long we've known each other, if other men had been in to buy you stuff? He even bought this gorgeous set of men's briefs. You'll have to tell me how he looks in them."

"Jenna!" Casey envisioned Gabe in the underwear and her body tingled.

"You are terrible," Jill said.

"Well, I wasn't going to ask him to model, tempting though it was."

Casey shook her head.

"I think the man's in love," Jenna added.

"Jenna, I hate to tell you this, but I think you need new batteries for your hearing aid," Casey said. "And stop looking at me that way!"

Jenna sipped her drink. "I don't need new batteries. These
are
new."

Frown lines deepened Jill's forehead. "So, is he taking you to the awards dinner?"

Casey shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't asked. Besides, I have a date with someone else tonight."

"You're going out on Gabe?" Jenna asked.

Casey rolled her eyes. "It's not like we're really dating or exclusive. And weren't you were the one who told me not to give up on the ads?"

Jill waved her hand. "Right. I say play the field."

Casey snorted. "This is the last one. If he turns out to be a loser, too, then you know what they say. Three strikes and you're out."

Henry S. swung the back door open and ran outside chasing Dog with a squirt gun.

Casey fidgeted. "Besides, I can't get involved with Gabe. He knows nothing about my past. And there's Henry S. to consider."

"Doesn't Gabe like children?" Jenna asked.

Casey wrinkled her nose in thought. "Well, yeah, he seems to."

"So, what's the problem?"

"He's still a man," Jill blurted.

Casey and Jenna both stared at Jill.

"You know what we vowed. We didn't need men," Jill said quickly.

"You're right," Jenna said, "We don't need men, Jill. But we can
want
them."

Casey tweaked Jenna's ponytail and raised a questioning brow. "Hey, are you keeping something from us, Jenna?"

Jenna's smile dwindled as she focused on wiping away the sweat beads trickling down the side of her glass. "I didn't mean for me, Casey. You know dating a girl like me is awkward. Some people think just because I can't hear, I'm dumb. Why the first time a man tried to stick his tongue in my ear, he'd probably get shocked from the batteries."

Casey frowned at her friend. "Jenna Barrett, I don't ever want to hear you say that again, do you understand me? You are beautiful and funny and have boobs I'd die for."

A smile tugged at Jenna's lips.

Casey rattled on. "You're twenty-eight and own your own boutique while half the city is unemployed. All the business people in the area respect you. Any guy who would let your hearing impairment bother him isn't worth your spit."

"They're all losers," Jill added.

Henry S. raced up, an assortment of paint brushes in one hand. "Paint, Mommy?"

"Yes, buddy," Casey said.

"Paint you and Jiww and Wenna. Butiful, Mommy," Henry S. said.

Casey clipped a piece of paper onto the easel. "See, some men are gentlemen."

A lopsided smile twitched at Jill's lips. "Okay, okay, maybe this one's not so bad," Jill admitted.

Henry S. painted three blue blobs. "Wook, wour heads."

The three women burst out laughing.

* * *

Gabe stared at the list on the refrigerator as he thought about Casey. Well, two out of seventeen wasn't so bad. He took a black magic marker and marked through every line but those two—then circled the words intelligent and attractive.

Neat, understanding of his job, attractive, 5'10", long black hair, professional type, cooks, entertains, intelligent, quiet, sedate, calm, a good housekeeper, orderly, economical.

He grabbed a cup of coffee and strode to his computer and sank down, still perplexed about Casey and the ABC story. So far, he'd talked to Lt. Harper and five victims. In one respect, the minimal amount of evidence favored Casey's innocence. On the other hand, it emphasized the importance of the anonymous witness, making Casey look even guiltier.

Harper had questioned him about Casey's ad again, and he'd assured him pursuing Casey would lead to nothing. He'd told Harper he'd investigated Casey thoroughly.

Although that list of needs in her journal were identical to the items stolen, and the computer, fax, and printer he'd seen in her bedroom were the right models. Raising a child alone could be expensive. Did she have other debts that would drive her to steal for money? Was she having to pay this guy Travis off for some reason? Or maybe she'd bought stolen merchandise without knowing?

Under other circumstances, he would automatically run a background check on any one he considered suspect. But dammit, this was Casey.

With his heart involved, could his conscience allow him to personally violate her privacy?

Still, solving the case was part of his job.

And anxiety surrounding the robberies heightened daily. City officials constantly pressured Harper for more news. If something new didn't turn up soon, Harper would question Casey himself.

Gabe would have to investigate her before he let that happen.

Who was the anonymous caller who'd pointed suspicion at her, and why had they sent word to the newspaper instead of the police?

Was it a set-up?

The question nagged at him again. Who would implicate Casey in a crime? He couldn't imagine a loving, friendly, giving woman like Casey collecting enemies.

He searched the computer, pulling up every piece of information he could find about past crimes that had similarities. The only remotely similar case stemmed back thirty years.

Serial criminals often chose very orderly, methodical approaches. A man-woman team had stolen jewels in succession according to the order of the days of the week. But both the man and woman should still be serving time in jail. A series of alphabet murders had occurred in Europe, but the man had been sentenced to life imprisonment. According to the records, if still alive, he would be about seventy-five years old.

Another deadend. Gabe sighed in frustration. He missed Casey and ached to see her. But the next time he saw her he wanted to make love to her, and he wanted to do it with a clear conscience.

On impulse, he pulled the file listing the qualities he desired in an ideal mate. The list resembled many of the ads he'd read in the newspaper, many of the ones he'd called pathetic. Whatever had possessed him to write such a list? The person he described sounded totally boring.

Hell, the mayor's daughter fit the list. And she
was
boring. Nothing like Casey.

He typed Casey's name and began a list describing her.

Creative, witty, sexy, surprising, innocent, playful, sensitive, energetic, impulsive, fun, tenderhearted, a wonderful mother, spontaneous, delightful, passionate...

He compared the list to the one he'd written before he met Casey. Had he really thought he wanted a quiet, sedate, orderly woman? A woman like that would be about as exciting as editing the obituaries.

He hit the delete button and erased the first list.

Visions of Casey taunted him: Casey's violet eyes, her sweet innocent smile, her beautiful legs encased in that black garter belt, her expression when she'd dropped his pants, then the passion and fear etched on her face when she'd seen him naked. Of course, her tantalizing dream triggered every sensual zone in his body to arousal.

Shifting in his seat, Gabe fought the growing bulge in his pants, and closed the file. Dragging himself away from the computer, he walked around his apartment, staring at the stark white walls, the perfectly arranged furniture, neatly stacked magazines, and the empty rooms. He didn't even own a pet to greet him when he got home. Where his house remained clean and neat, Casey's reeked of disorder. Where silence echoed against bare walls in his house, laughter and noise filled Casey's.

He must be crazy. He'd always liked the quiet, valued the silence, the orderly way he kept his life. Now, the silence seemed achingly empty. Lonely.

To hell with calm, sedate, and orderly. Life without Casey was downright miserable. Gabe picked up his keys and stalked toward the door, but the telephone jangled, stopping him.

"Hello."

"This is Quickchange."

"Did you find out anything?"

"Yeah. Man, the fingerprints on that alphabet letter match the ones from the robberies. They belong to a girl named Casey Jones. Probably in her mid-twenties by now. Past juvenile record, but nothing since."

Gabe swallowed hard and fell back against the wall as if he'd been hit. Casey Jones—she had an alias? Unbelievable. Then he remembered her mentioning that she volunteered at a juvenile center. Could it be connected?

"And that guy, Satterfield. He's a known gambler, been in debt to some hoods over the years. Spent a couple of years in the state pen a while back for robbery. A real mean cuss."

Gabe closed his eyes, his head beginning to throb. How had Casey gotten involved with a man like that? And why did she have an alias?

Dammit, he couldn't believe she had a juvenile record—could the guy be blackmailing her for something?

"You going to talk to Harper, tell him where to find the woman?"

Gabe cleared his throat, biding time. "Eventually. Give me a couple of days. I need to check out something first."

He hung up the phone and dropped his head into his hands, desperate to believe Casey wasn't involved. He remembered her asking him if he'd drop a case if he thought it'd hurt someone? Was she fishing around to see if he'd do that for her? Was she cozying up to him to see if he knew anything?

He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to push away his doubts. She couldn't be using him. Casey wasn't like that.

He had honed his skills in reading people. If he looked into her eyes, he could tell if she was innocent.

Unless this attraction was blinding him...

No, they wouldn't make love tonight. But he had to talk to her. He had to hold her in his arms and feel her warm body pressed against his, if only for a few minutes. He had to find a way to persuade her to confide in him, because if he didn't help her, she was going to wind up in jail.

And she would blame him if the police came for her.

* * *

Travis jerked Casey's arm and snarled, "I've been patient with you, Casey, but if you fight me, I'll make things ugly."

Casey tried not to gag at the sight of the man's smoke-stained teeth. "Get out of here, Travis. You're a known gambler. You don't have a chance."

The sharp edge of Travis' fingernails bit into Casey's wrist, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to show him the pain he caused. "I know things about you, lady, that I don't think you want everyone to know now you're this famous writer. Think parents would run and buy your books if they knew you were a thief?"

A sharp pain settled in Casey's chest.

Travis released a nasty chuckle. "I didn't think so." He shoved her arm away. "I'll be back in two days, bitch. Be ready to deal." Then he turned and strode down the sidewalk as if he'd already won the battle.

Casey shook with anger. Too bad she didn't have magical powers. She'd cast a spell and turn him into a piece of roadkill.

A dead skunk in the middle of the road. She remembered the old song and laughed. It was the only way she could keep from crying.

Ten minutes later, her date arrived.