Temperature's Rising (5 page)

He didn’t want another woman asking him to take a safe desk job, then getting pissed when he refused. Being a cop on the streets was his life. It would be easier for him to stop breathing than give it up.

Mentally, he hung a NO TRESPASSING sign around Jessica’s neck. It was time he turned the game back to his side of the court and stopped thinking about the chief ’s daughter.

“About those suspects, sir?”

The chief looked unwilling to change the conversation, but after a brief hesitation, reached across his desk and picked up a folder. “The Meredith family is on the top of my list right now.”

Conor let out a deep breath, glad he’d temporarily given up the quest for his daughter’s hand.

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“There’s three of them,” he continued. “The father’s name is Winston and his two sons are Barry and George.

They’ve recently moved back to the area. Just about the time the robberies started. Right now they’re our prime suspects.”

“Why them?”

“Kelvin Adams spotted Winston in Wal-Mart and called to let me know our old friend was back in town.

Kelvin’s retired now, but he used to be the chief here.”

“Maybe Winston has gone straight.” He shook his head. “Not a chance. Winston’s got a rap sheet that stretches all the way from El Paso to Houston.” A thoughtful frown wrinkled his brow. “Something tells me they’re not working alone, though. He never did in the past. He’s a follower . . . not a leader. Besides, things are too orchestrated.”

He tossed the folder across his desk. Conor leaned forward and picked it up, flipping through the pages. “What do you mean?”

“Winston’s not stupid, but he’s also not smart enough to plan these burglaries. He’s getting inside information when the victims are going to be away from home—the layout of the houses. That sort of thing.” Conor turned the next sheet of paper and paused, staring at the picture of a flashy young man.

“The youngest son, George,” he supplied. “He’s thirty and recently married.” The chief stood and came around the desk.

“Is this guy for real?” George looked like something out of a bad Mafia film. The side-view picture showed slicked back hair pulled into a thin ponytail, pale skin, and a cocky expression.

“He’s a piece of work, isn’t he? I arrested him a few times when I was still working a beat. He was just a kid back then. Fourteen or fifteen. Not too bright. I remember once George tried to break into a house through the 40

Karen Kelley

doggy door. He took off all his clothes and greased himself down. Used half a can of Crisco. George made it halfway through before getting stuck. I’d love to have seen the expressions on the homeowners’ faces when they returned that evening.”

“Talk about a full moon.” Conor chuckled.

“That’s George.” The chief laughed. “About the time he turned eighteen he began telling everyone he was Italian. A social worker once told me his mother was American, though. She dumped him on his father’s doorstep when he was about six. As far as I know, she’s never contacted him.” He perched on a corner of his desk, crossing his arms in front of him.

Conor flipped to the next picture. “And this one, I suppose, is his brother.”

The chief nodded. “Barry. He’s thirty-six. The oldest.

As mean as his old man. He’s already had a stint in the joint. Stole a car before he turned fifteen. After that, he’d hit liquor stores. Convenience stores. Penny-ante stuff until now. Gut feeling tells me he’s graduated.” The older brother had the same wiry build as George, but that’s where the similarity ended. His beady eyes held a calculating gleam.

He went to the next picture. “The father?”

“Dear old Dad. Meaner than a two-headed rattlesnake and built like a bulldozer. Only thing, the elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top. You wouldn’t want to turn your back on that one.”

Conor closed the file. “I assume you have a plan?”

“We’re sending in a surveillance team. They’ll act as a newly married couple, something in common with George and his bride.”

“Surveillance?” His eyebrows rose.

“I’d thought about giving the assignment to Marty and Angie. It won’t be the first time they’ve pretended to be married. There’s a house next door to the Merediths TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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that’s unoccupied and up for sale. We’ll have them go through all the motions of renting and moving in. But you know . . .” The chief scratched his chin thoughtfully. “This would be just the right assignment for you instead of Marty. In fact, you might even call it fate.” Conor looked gratefully toward the chief, but his smile faltered when he saw the speculative gleam in the corner of the older man’s eyes. An uneasy premonition stole over him. The chief said it might be fate, but something told Conor he’d better move forward cautiously.

Now he was being paranoid. He shook the feeling off.

Sure, he’d guessed the chief would like to hook him up with Jessica, but what could he actually do? Handcuff him to her? That wouldn’t happen. At least, not in Conor’s lifetime.

Chapter 4

Jessica pulled her red Mustang convertible into her father’s driveway. Something about coming home made her all soft and satisfied on the inside.

It didn’t matter how often she visited. She’d grown up in this house, played with her brother’s toy trucks and plastic guns under the big oak tree, and shot hoops with her cousins and brother in the driveway.

The basketball net had deteriorated ages ago, but they still played every holiday. It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that there was nothing left but a bare metal hoop.

Her brother was pretty decent . . . most of the time, but her cousins had been rascals. Rotten to the core. They still pulled pranks on her to this day. So far they hadn’t been able to top the stuff she’d pulled on them. She grinned. Of course, she always told them she was too pure and innocent to do anything wrong. God, she loved revenge warfare. Especially since most times she came out the winner.

She got out of the car, strolling past the pink and purple petunias that bloomed in the flower beds running the TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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length of the sidewalk, noticing that her father had added another basket of trailing ivy to the porch.

That made four ivies, two ferns, and one spiked plant that he’d given her a cutting from, saying no one could kill that kind of plant. She had. Her thumb ran more toward purple than green. But her father loved growing them and had a pretty good knack for it. She shook her head. Someday his plants were going to be so thick you couldn’t get to the house.

She smiled.

Her father met her at the door . . . frowning.

“Don’t young people dress for dinner anymore? What was all that talk about wanting to be a lady?” Ouch.

She glanced down and felt the heat rising to her face.

Loose, black button-down shirt and black tights.

He had her there.

She’d chosen the outfit because it was comfortable.

But he was right. She didn’t look much like the lady she’d told him she wanted to be. This was her day off, though.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” She jutted her chin forward. “It’s just the two of us, right? When you called and invited me to dinner you didn’t mention anyone else.”

He ushered her in with one hand and shoved the door closed with the other.

“Well, you never know when someone might drop by.” Her steps faltered. If her father were in court, the judge would throw the book at him just from the look on his face. It screamed:
I’m guilty
! She’d seen that look at least a hundred times, and it usually involved a man.

What was her matchmaking father plotting?

She surveyed the room as if she expected single men to start popping out from the woodwork, but everything looked the same.

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The deep green drapes in the living room had been pulled back and the sheer panels exposed, letting the evening light cascade into the room. The furniture had been cleaned and dusted, giving the house a light, lemony smell.

Her father had even filled the candy dish with caramels. Hmmm. And magazines on the coffee table . . .

she stepped closer.
New Bride
?
June Bride
?
Wedding
Bells
?
Baby Makes Three
! Good lord!

She’d walked right into a trap. Her eyes narrowed.

“Okay, Dad. What’s up? Why aren’t you at the office working on the burglary case?” The last time she’d spoken with him, that’s all he’d talked about.

“Sometimes it helps me think better if I get away from the office.”

He was right. It was a joke at the station that her father had solved a hell of a lot of cases with a dust cloth in his hand.

His bushy eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Besides, can’t I invite my daughter to dinner? I’ve missed you.”

“Missed me? I saw you Monday when supercop arrested me. I talked to you on the phone Tuesday, and this is just Friday.” She paused, her gaze skimming over him.

Odd magazines? Not remembering when he’d last seen her?

Maybe it wasn’t a setup?

It could be something entirely different. Fear swept over her. No one ever wanted to believe their parents were creeping up on . . . old age, but her father wasn’t getting any younger.

She hesitated before she asked the question uppermost in her mind. “You’re not getting forgetful, are you?” Something between a growl and a cough sputtered from him. “Of course I’m not getting forgetful. I’m not TEMPERATURE’S RISING

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that old.” His tone softened. “It’s just that you’re my little girl. I enjoy your company.”

She sighed with relief. “I enjoy yours, too.” Wrapping her arms around his middle, she hugged him close, breathing in the familiar smell of peppermint. Her father always kept a jar close by, saying the candy was good for an upset stomach. She knew better. He had an incurable sweet tooth.

A sigh escaped. In the future she’d have to remember how sensitive he was about his age.

The doorbell chimed.

Her father jumped as if he’d been shot.

“Oh.” He coughed, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Now I wonder who that could be?” She just bet he did.

“Why don’t you open the door and find out?” She stepped back, folding her arms in front of her as suspicion coursed through her veins. His air of innocence didn’t fool her for one minute. Damn, she’d been hoodwinked!

Her father was a master at the game and she a lowly novice.

“Sometimes I wonder where my mind has gone,” he mumbled as he strolled to the door and opened it. “Officer Richmond—what a pleasant surprise.” She looked from her father to Conor. Great! Mr. Testosterone himself. He seemed startled she was there, but quickly recovered and turned his attention back to her father.

“I have those papers you wanted, Chief.” He hesitated.

“You did ask me to drop them by after work, didn’t you?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve been so busy today I guess it slipped my mind.”

Jessica just bet it had. Couldn’t her father see the man wasn’t interested in her? He’d been ticked off when he discovered who she was, then treated her like a child. He could care less about her.

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I wonder why.
She frowned.

The last time she’d looked in the mirror she hadn’t noticed any warts. She squared her shoulders. Not that it mattered what he thought about her appearance.

She dragged her attention back to the two men when Conor handed her father a thick, brown envelope.

“Ms. Nelson.” He nodded toward her.

Oh my, now wasn’t he polite?

“If there’s nothing else you needed, then I’ll see you Monday.”

“Nonsense! I won’t hear of you leaving since you drove all this way. Come in and visit for a while. I always like to get to know my new officers.” Her father dragged the younger man inside and shoved the door closed. Jessica wondered if he thought Conor might try to escape. She should be so lucky. He wasn’t her type at all. The man had absolutely no sense of humor. He was as dry as a West Texas dust storm.

Absently, her gaze wandered over him. He dressed nicely, though. The deep brown sports coat fit his broad shoulders rather well. Her gaze slowly slid over the cream-colored shirt and down his tan slacks. She envisioned herself wallowing in a decadence of layered chocolate. Damn, she had to quit thinking about Conor like he was . . . like he was a piece of candy and she was about to gobble him up.

She knew what her problem was—she’d been dating Al too long. They hadn’t slept together. There was just something about him that held her back, kept her from making a commitment.

And when she dreamed at night, it wasn’t Al who filled her dreams. Her lover was faceless, but he had an incredible body and slow-moving hands that swept her off to a world filled with erotic pleasure. Sweat always drenched her body when she woke up, and left her yearn-ing for her fantasy lover.

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She sighed.

When she caught her father’s raised eyebrows, she realized she’d begun twisting her button. Sheesh! A daughter didn’t have impure thoughts about a man—especially a virtual stranger—when her father was in the room. She had to get hold of herself . . . and her vivid imagination.

She could have impure thoughts when she was alone.

“Make yourselves comfortable in the living room. I’ll get us something to drink. Soda okay?” Conor hesitated.

“I did want to go over a few things concerning the burglaries.”

“Soda is fine,” Conor conceded.

“I think I smell a rat,” Jessica muttered as she watched her father disappear toward the kitchen. “I’d bet my last dollar he’s matchmaking. If you want to sneak out while you have the chance . . .” Her words trailed off when she caught his blatant stare.

He looked as if he’d never seen her before. A deep, penetrating look that sent waves of heat over her. The walls began closing in, making it hard to breathe. She could almost feel his hands touching, caressing her body.

When he met her gaze, the spell he’d weaved over her magically vanished, leaving her feeling as if she were a candle that had been left out in the sun too long.