The Good Daughter (7 page)

“But a family can give love and support.”

His harsh laughter chilled her. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

She glanced over at his stony profile. “Have you met any of your relatives?”

“Nope. Don’t care to, either.”

“Have you ever tried to find out who your father was?”

The white grip of his knuckles would have alerted her, even if the set of his jaw hadn’t. “Yeah, once, when I was still married. I thought maybe my kids should meet their grandparents.”

Her heart sank. “You have kids?”

“No.” His curt tone warned her off. “We’re not in the office, Doc. I said
maybe
I’d spill my guts, all right?
Cut me some slack. It’s just a damn drink.” He stared straight ahead, his jaw flexing.

Coming had been a mistake. “Perhaps you should take me back.”

Vince’s head jerked around, his gaze fiery. He stared at her for a long moment, then twisted to watch the traffic. With ease, he slid the T-bird into a parking spot. “Forget it, we’re here. You can tough it out.”

“Vince, I—” Too late. He was already rounding the hood. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped from the car, moving away from him quickly. “Fine. I’ll call a cab.”

“Oh, hell—” His hand shot out and snagged her elbow, turning her toward him with gentle but irrevocable force. “I’m sorry, Chloe. You don’t deserve my anger. I just—” He glanced away, then back. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I’m not too good with women anyway. I’ve never figured out how to handle them right.” His eyes crinkled with his grin. “No big news there, huh?”

Chloe thought of his kindness under the oaks, of the gentle way he’d spoken to Sally. “No, I’m the one who owes the apology. Curiosity about people is a part of my makeup, but I went too far. The difficulty of drawing the line is why I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

His hand slid down to hers, warm fingers clasping, his thumb stroking across the back of her hand. His smile almost boyish, he glanced at her, dimple deep and disarming. “But you’re already here. Let’s call a truce, okay? Start all over?” With his free hand, he traced another cross over his heart. “I’ll add not being touchy to the list of promises.”

He was wrong about his effect on women. That smile alone was a killer. “All right.” She nodded. “A new start.”

V
INCE HAD NEVER
expected Chloe to be funny. Beneath that cool elegance lay a shyness that surprised him, along with a wicked sense of humor. Maybe the drink had relaxed her, but she’d only had one glass of wine. He’d like to think that perhaps their truce had helped. The first few minutes had been awkward, but they’d finally found something in common when he’d discovered that she loved playing darts. At last she appeared more comfortable around him.

He sure felt easy with her. This was what he’d needed: a respite from the gnawing in his gut, the sense of impotence when he had so much to accomplish.

Standing behind her, he scanned her from the honey-gold hair over a figure with more curves than he would have first guessed, all the way down long, long legs to trim ankles. She’d doffed her suit jacket, leaving her arms bare; she’d kicked her heels off under the table, and the tight French twist had strands escaping everywhere. Just now, her concentration was focused on only one thing—the dartboard in front of her.

Vince smiled. A fierce competitor, too—that had surprised him. She’d always seemed as if nothing really ruffled her, except that evening at the shelter. He was realizing that he’d bought into the facade, but beneath the patrician appearance lay someone altogether different, someone fascinating and elusive. Vince found himself wanting to uncover all her secrets.

You’ve got plenty else to investigate, Vince. Leave her alone.
But the Vince who dared much cast sense to the winds and moved closer behind Chloe. “You’re going to bite off that tongue if you don’t stop sticking it out before you throw,” he murmured beside her ear.

She stiffened slightly but tossed a smirk in his direction. “Out of my way, Detective. You’re just hoping to throw me off.”

“And your point is…?”

She merely arched one slender eyebrow.

Damn, he wanted to touch her. He put up his hands in surrender but only backed up about six inches.

He could still feel the heat of her all along the front of him, and his body responded. Instead of grabbing her waist with both hands the way he’d prefer, he settled for one escaping lock of her hair, sliding it through his fingers.

Chloe went still. But she didn’t move away.

He exhaled, stirring the wisps at her nape.

A shiver rippled through her. From his height, he could see her nipples peak beneath the thin silk of her blouse. The hand that held the dart trembled, but she didn’t turn around.

This was insane. Swallowing hard, he moved aside, striving to lighten things. “You know, you’ve got one hell of an aim.”

“Thanks.” Her gaze darted toward him and quickly back.

“For a girl, that is.” He grinned.

Her chin rose. “Those are fighting words, Detective.” Squaring her shoulders, she studied the board.

Vince looked down for a brief second, aware that he’d just dodged a bullet. He had to be crazy to even consider letting this go any further.

Chloe did a little skip-dance and clapped, eyes sparkling as she pointed out the dart sitting squarely in the center.

Well, hell. Everybody knew he had a taste for danger.

T
HE RIDE BACK
to her car passed in silence. He wanted, more than was wise, to shoot past the right exit and take her home with him, but even if he thought she’d let him, he didn’t dare. Tino was supposed to make contact tonight.

Chloe sat, legs curled beneath her, head leaning against one hand, elbow propped against the door frame. Light shifted over her as they passed each street lamp, tendrils of hair escaping her tight French twist, flying in the breeze swooping over the windshield. He kept waiting for her to ask him to put the top up, but she seemed not to mind the whip of the wind.

“Home Warehouse,” she murmured. “I’ve spent a bundle in that place.”

Vince did a double take at the superstore that carried everything from lumber to faucets to nails. “You go there?”

She turned toward him. “You, too?”

It was hard to tell who was more surprised. “Oh, yeah. I bought this fixer-upper in Travis Heights that should have come with a warning tag—Lifetime Project.”

Chloe laughed. “Mine could have the same. What’s your least favorite thing?”

He was still trying to imagine her doing any type of home repair at all. “That’s easy. Plumbing.”

“I leave that to the experts.” Her smile grew. “But there’s something rewarding about refinishing wood floors.”

Vince glanced down at those slim, perfect hands. “You refinished your own floors?”

“Careful, Detective. Your snobbery is showing.”

“I’m no snob. It’s just that—”

She began to laugh. “The look on your face is priceless. My mother gets that same expression of horror that her perfect little girl likes to get dirt on her hands.”

Vince studied her, marveling at the thought. “You’re not kidding, right? You really did your own wood floors?”

“Every last one. Also stripped and stained all the trim in my house.”

“I’ll be damned.”

Chloe chuckled. “You don’t exactly look like the Bob Vila type yourself, Vince.”

He shot her an appreciative grin. “Surprised the hell out of me, too, but there’s something about—” He glanced over. “Don’t suppose you like to wallpaper?”

That wide, lush mouth curved at the corners. “I had to redo the first room three times to get it right, but I could practically teach a wallpapering class now.”

“Good,” he said, forgetting all the reasons why it could never work. “A demo, then, this Saturday. My kitchen.”

“You think I’m going to volunteer to wallpaper when I don’t have to?”

“It would be a service to mankind.”

She giggled. Dr. Cool and Elegant…giggling. “To one man, you mean. Chicken. Learn the hard way, as I did.”

“I’ll feed you like a queen. Fix breakfast, lunch and take you to dinner when we’re through,” he wheedled.

“You hate wallpapering that badly?”

“I stink at wallpapering. Have mercy, Chloe. My house deserves the best.”

She stared at him. “You love it, don’t you?”

He nodded. “I never had a place of my own before.”

When sympathy swamped her eyes, he shook it off. “Don’t start feeling sorry for me. Where’s your house, Tarrytown?”

“Rosedale.”

He knew his surprise showed. “Is that allowed for society ladies?”

“You really are a prisoner of your prejudices, aren’t you? My mother and you would get along well.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s a compliment.”

“It’s not. My mother can’t stand that I’m straying from the preordained path. She and my father—” Her voice caught, and she fell silent.

“You okay?” When she didn’t answer, he found a place to pull over. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” But the stiff set of her shoulders made a lie of her words.

Vince knew the smart thing was to let it go. He had
plenty on his plate—more than enough. But he remembered her valiant insistence on refusing comfort under the trees. Thought about how hard she tried not to recoil at the sordidness she encountered through this job when, best he could tell, she’d led a sheltered life.

And he realized something else about Chloe St. Claire. She was a giver, when most of the people he’d ever met were takers, including him. He wondered again what motivated someone like her who could have any luxury, who could avoid contact forever with the seaminess of the real world, to tackle the job she had.

She might have been raised a princess, but she didn’t expect to be treated as one.

He was the least likely prospect, but a part of him wished he could be the shining knight she deserved. Lacking that, he could at least be a friend. “You’re a lot better at giving out help than you are at accepting it, aren’t you, Doc? You ever think that’s a damn selfish attitude?”

Her head whipped around. Frost invaded her voice. “I don’t believe I deserve that, Detective.”

She was right. And she probably had a boatload of friends to comfort her, but they weren’t here. “Princess to peasant, eh?” he goaded.

“What?” Icicles melted against fury. “You have no right—”

He shrugged. “That’s true. But something’s bothering you, and I’m here with time on my hands, thanks to Newcombe. So just pretend I’m a wall and talk to me about what’s got you worried.”

For long seconds, she was silent. Vince was almost
ready to give up, when she spoke. “My parents have sheltered me all my life as though I were fine crystal that would break at the slightest touch.” Her voice trembled again, but when he looked at her, he realized that anger was causing it.

“Overprotective?”

One corner of her mouth quirked. “To put it mildly.” Then sorrow darkened those golden-brown eyes again. “I just discovered that they’ve been hiding from me that my father has been diagnosed with leukemia and may need a bone-marrow transplant.” Sad eyes sparked. “And they refuse to let me be tested as a donor—” Her gaze whipped to his. “I’m twenty-seven years old, and they’re treating me like a child.”

He’d never been a child. “So what’s holding you back? Go get tested anyway.”

Mutiny tightened her lips. “I made the appointment today.”

“Good for you.”

“But they’ll be so furious. Mother says I’ll make Daddy worse if I admit that I know. He’s sure he’ll solve this himself and that his little girl doesn’t need to worry her pretty little head over it.”

Vince had to laugh. “He really doesn’t understand you, does he?”

She looked startled. “Why do you say that?”

“If I ever met a more stubborn woman in my life, I can’t recall it. Oh, you look like some sort of arm candy, all right, but I knew that first night that I might as well give up and let you do whatever it was you were determined to do.”

“Really?” He heard pride and wonder in her voice. Then she shot him a sideways glance. “You did not. You bring new meaning to the word
stubborn.
”

He threw his hands wide. “I promise. Gave up right then.”

Her somber gaze eased. “You are such a liar.” Her lips curved.

At that moment, he wanted to grab her and drag her off somewhere private, away from investigations and gangs and—

Moreno. Tino. He had a better chance now to prove that Moreno murdered Carlos, and he couldn’t let any momentary attraction, however tempting, deter him from justice.

And she had Roger Barnes, who wanted to nail him. As well as a life that could never include someone like him, no matter this momentary rebellion at its restrictions.

“Doc, I need back on duty.”

All trace of animation drained from her face. He watched as Dr. Cool and Elegant took over the body that had housed the laughing, cutthroat darts player. She stared out of the windshield of the car, as still as stone.

Vince cursed beneath his breath. “I’m sorry.” But that changed nothing. “I didn’t mean—”

She cut him off, hands folded carefully in her lap. “If you’d take me to my car or let me off so I can call a cab—”

“Chloe.” He clasped her arm. “I’m sorry. I wish I could make you understand, but—”

“I understand perfectly. You took me out to soften me up so I would see things your way.”

“Damn it, listen to me.” But if he explained his urgency, it would only feed into Sarge’s concern that he’d lost balance, that he was pushing too hard on a case that wasn’t his. He ground his teeth. “It wasn’t that way. I had a great time.”

“I should never have gone with you.” Her tone was so neutral he might as well have been a bug on the sidewalk. “It won’t happen again.”

“It will.”

“It can’t,” she insisted.

Vince called himself every foul name he could think of. He’d probably set his cause back by weeks. In a vile mood, he started the car and took off, tires squealing.

“Let me out,” she demanded. “I’ll get a cab.”

“Don’t push me,” he growled. “I said I’d take you back, and I will.”

The rest of the trip played out in a silence that grated on his nerves. Tension throbbed in the air until he could barely breathe. As he drove through the department parking garage, he wondered how in the hell to salvage the mess he’d made.