Courage Bay Sentinel

Avenger Linked to Latest Murder

Courage Bay’s serial killer appears to have struck again.

Businessman Bernie Brusco, who survived a recent murder attempt at a private fundraiser for the Courage Bay Hospital, was found dead Sunday night at the base of a cliff backing onto his home in the exclusive neighborhood of Jacaranda Heights. Brusco’s death has been labeled a homicide by police, but so far Chief Max Zirinsky will not confirm that this case is being treated as yet another killing by the Avenger.

Brusco, who moved here recently from Los Angeles, collapsed from an apparent heart attack at the society fundraiser last Friday night. Chief of staff Callie Baker, who was also in attendance, applied CPR on-site until the ambulance arrived. Doctors at Courage Bay Hospital discovered Brusco had been given a drink laced with the drug ephedra. Once Brusco was released from hospital, it appears that his killer came back to finish the job.

Chief Zirinsky keeps assuring the public that there is no need for alarm, but the citizens of Courage Bay can’t help asking the question “Who will the Avenger hit next?”

About the Author

JOANNA WAYNE

was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organization. Her debut novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list for romance and has won many industry awards. She is also a popular speaker at writing organizations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

Joanna currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star State. You may write Joanna at P.O. Box 265, Montgomery, Texas 77356.

Justice for All
Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

The world is always in need of heroes. That’s why I was so excited about participating in a series that concentrated on the heroic efforts of firefighters, police officers, medical personnel and other citizens of Courage Bay. Max Zirinsky and Callie Baker are the epitome of true heroes to me, in that they risked extreme danger to themselves to do what had to be done to stop the Avenger.

And I especially liked that the series was set in California. As a Southerner, I don’t get to the West Coast nearly often enough, but I was fortunate enough to spend several summers there a few years back. Many moments stand out in my mind from those visits, but some of my favorites involve sunsets and moonlit walks on the beach—as romantic a spot as I could ever wish for. I could almost feel the sand between my toes and hear the roar of the surf when Max and Callie took their first walk along the beach. I hope you do, as well.

I love to hear from readers. Please visit my Web site at www.joannawayne.com.

Happy reading,

Joanna

In memory of my good friend Linda West,

I aka Linda Lewis and Dixie Kane,

I who warmed many a heart

I with her tales of love and laughter.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

THE GALA WAS IN FULL SWING, as glitzy an affair as socialite and heiress Mary McGuire Hancock, III, was known for. White canvas canopied the spacious grounds, strands of miniature lights twinkled like stars in every tree and music from a jazz combo played backup to conversations and laughter.

And like all gatherings of the Courage Bay elite, fashion was on parade. Sequined gowns clung to gorgeously slinky bodies and stretched across paunchier ones. Men in tuxedos lined up at the open bars, while waiters in stiff white shirts and creased black pants wandered the crowd with trays of recherche hors d’oeuvres.

It was a night for visiting old friends and making new ones, a night for schmoozing and soliciting checks for impressive sums of money.

A night for murder.

His pulse quickened at the thought, but he was careful not to show any sign of his excitement. This had to be just another charitable function until the perfect moment presented itself. The night had just started. He had plenty of time.

But once he struck, justice would be swift and merciless. Most importantly, justice would be served.

CALLIE BAKER FINISHED a conversation with one of the councilmen and turned to find District Attorney Henry Lalane at her elbow.

“You look lovely tonight, Callie.”

“Thank you, Henry.”

“This must be a big event for the hospital’s chief of staff.”

“Bigger for the children who’ll benefit from the donations we raise,” she said. “The money’s earmarked to purchase new equipment for the pediatric wing.”

“It’s a great turnout.”

“You have to love that about Courage Bay. Rich or poor, the residents are always ready to support a worthy cause.”

“There’s not a lot of poor people here tonight.”

“No, but there have been so many other fund-raisers across the city. The latest was sponsored by the students at Jacaranda High. They raised over a thousand dollars for the hospital at their spring carnival.”

“So I heard. My niece goes to school there.”

And his daughter probably would have been a student there, too, if she hadn’t been killed a few years before in a random drive-by shooting. No one was ever apprehended for the crime. Callie was sorry she’d mentioned the school now, though Henry didn’t seem upset by the comment. Still, she knew how devastated he and his wife had been at the loss of their daughter.

Henry sipped his drink. “Bernie Brusco seems to be enjoying himself,” he said, letting his gaze settle on the man who was laughing and tangoing across the portable dance floor with their hostess.

“Not the best of dancers,” Callie observed, “but he’s generous. I hadn’t met him before tonight, but he wrote out a very substantial check for the hospital.”

“He should. He’s probably one of the richest men here.”

“Really. I wouldn’t have guessed that. What does he do?”

“Owns a string of convenience stores in L.A. Yet here he is crashing our little social scene.”

“Mary said he bought a house in Courage Bay.”

“Lucky us.”

“And that must be another new face in town,” Callie said, nodding toward a very handsome man standing beneath a palm tree a few yards away, looking exceedingly bored. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Looks like an aging surfer to me. I hate those new T-shirt looking things that pass for dress shirts.”

“It’s the style.” Callie had no idea if the stranger surfed, but she thought he was aging quite nicely. Probably near forty, he was still lean and sun-bronzed, with short sandy hair and a great body. The kind of guy Callie’s best friend Mikki would classify as a hunk.

Too bad Mikki hadn’t been available to attend the party. She’d have made certain the guy wasn’t bored, unless he happened to have a ring on his finger. Mikki’s claim was that every good-looking guy in southern California was gay, married or divorced and carried more baggage than a 747. Callie wasn’t totally convinced she was wrong.

“Think I’ll go introduce myself,” Henry said. “Then I’ll have to search for my social butterfly wife. It’s getting late, and I’ve got a full day tomorrow.”

“Are you working on Saturdays now?”

“Too many of them, but not by choice. The workload seems to have doubled over the last year. Unfortunately our staff hasn’t.”

Callie nodded and finished her second glass of champagne as Henry walked away. She spent the next few minutes chatting with various guests, then decided she was too tired to make small talk. It was nearing midnight, and like Henry, she was feeling the strain of a long, busy week. Most of the doctors on staff at Courage Bay Hospital who’d attended the event had already called it an evening.

Callie headed toward the area where she’d seen Mary and Bernie a few minutes earlier, wanting to thank her hostess one last time before cutting out. She stopped short when she heard a ruckus break out beneath the canopy to her left. She spun around just in time to see Bernie Brusco fall against one of the small tables. Another guest tried to break his fall, but the table collapsed, and both men fell on top of it.

“We need a doctor,” someone yelled.

Callie rushed over, along with everyone else in hearing distance. She ordered the anxious crowd back and knelt in the grass beside Bernie.

“Can’t…breathe. Chest…hurts.”

“Call 911 for an ambulance,” Callie ordered, directing her comment to Mary. She reached for Bernie’s wrist to check his pulse. It was dangerously accelerated.

“Do something.” Bernie’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

Callie put the flat of her hand on the man’s chest and felt the rapid, irregular beating of his heart. “Has this happened before?”

“No.”

His shallow gasps weren’t getting much oxygen to his lungs, so she slipped her arm beneath him and placed his head at an angle that should have made breathing easier. He clutched her arm and held on tight.

“Don’t let…me die.”

“I won’t.” Not if she could help it. “Try to take a deep breath.”

“I’m…trying.”

He gasped then went limp.

“Is he dead?” an onlooker asked.

Callie didn’t bother to answer, just leaned over and gave a sharp whack to Bernie’s chest with the side of her hand, then pressed his heart between the sternum and the spine with rhythmic motions. Thankfully the heart responded and started beating again on its own. The pulse remained high, inconsistent with a typical heart attack.

The ambulance arrived in short order. “His pulse is near 180,” Callie told the paramedics as they loaded him onto the stretcher. “Squirt some procardra under his tongue when you get him in the ambulance. I’ll call the E.R. and alert them you’re on the way and to have an IV setup for a nipride drip.”

Bernie managed to murmur his thanks to Callie as the medics hurried him to the ambulance.

Mary was waiting at Callie’s side when she finished the phone call to the E.R. “Will he be all right?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“The hospital E.R. is one of the finest in the state. He’ll get excellent care.” It was the best she could promise.

Mary blinked and flicked the back of her hand across her eyes. “Poor Bernie. One minute he was really enjoying himself, wolfing down hors d’oeuvres as if he hadn’t eaten for days and drinking some kind of specialty cocktail the bartender had mixed for him. The next he was gasping for breath.”

“Which bartender mixed his drink?”

“One of those young men,” Mary answered, motioning to the portable serving area set up at the back of the tent.

“What was he eating?”

“The seafood canapés—you know, the ones served on the shrimp-shaped crackers. He’d piled a dozen or so on his plate. Couldn’t stop raving about how good they were.” Mary slapped her hand against her cheek. “Oh, dear. You don’t suppose they made him sick, do you? My caterer insists on the freshest ingredients. I’m certain the seafood wasn’t tainted.”

“If it was tainted, we’d have a lot more people than Bernie affected. But it’s possible he had an allergic reaction to one of the ingredients.”

“It looked like a heart attack to me,” Mary said, “but then he’s only forty-five, and he seemed perfectly healthy before he collapsed.”

Callie scanned the immediate area for his glass or perhaps a half eaten seafood canapé but found neither. No doubt both had been removed by one of the attentive waiters.

“I guess I’d better get back to the guests and try to salvage what’s left of the party spirit,” Mary said, clasping and unclasping her hands. “I don’t feel much like it, though. I thought Bernie was going to die right here in the grass. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”

“But I was here, and he didn’t die,” Callie said, taking one of Mary’s hand in hers and giving it a comforting squeeze. “The party was lovely, and what happened to Bernie wasn’t your fault.”

“Will you call me as soon as you know something? I can come and stay with Bernie if you think he needs me.”

“I’ll call, but he’s probably better off without company tonight.”

Callie waited until Mary walked away, then went to the large serving table, took a couple of the seafood canapés and wrapped them in a paper napkin. She stopped and had the young bartender write out the ingredients he’d used in Bernie’s special drink, as well.

Avoiding as many of the guests as she could, Callie walked to the front lawn of the sprawling estate and waited for one of the attendants to get her car. The bored stranger was waiting for his as well.

“You were impressive,” he said, stepping closer. “I noticed you earlier but would never have taken the beautiful woman in red for a doctor.”

“Difficult to recognize us when we’re not wearing our white coats,” Callie said. “I don’t think we’ve met.” She extended her hand. “I’m Callie Baker, chief of staff at Courage Bay Hospital.”

“Jerry Hawkins.”

“Are you new to the area?”

“Visiting my mother, Abby Hawkins.”

“I didn’t know Abby had a son.”

“I’m the black sheep of the family. Mother usually keeps me hidden away when I come to visit, lest I embarrass her in front of her friends.”

“Then she should be proud of you. You behaved quite appropriately tonight.”

“I have my moments.”

The attendant drove up with his car. Jerry started to walk away, then turned back to Callie. “The world would have been a better place if you’d let him die.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do know how Bernie Brusco makes his money, don’t you?”

“I heard he owns a chain of convenience stores.”

“To launder the cash he makes supplying drugs to half of southern California.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Not a matter of thinking it. It’s fact.”

“Even if what you say is true, it wouldn’t have mattered. I took an oath to save lives. All lives, not just the ones I deem worthy.”

“Too bad. You probably sentenced a few hundred adolescents to death by keeping Brusco alive.” He turned and walked to his car, leaving the sting of his accusation hanging in the still night air.

MAX ZIRINSKY BIT the end off a cold French fry and stared at the names he’d scribbled on the napkin. Dylan Deeb, Bruce Nepom, Lorna Sinke and Carlos Esposito. Four unsolved murders in one year. Different MO in every case but with one common factor. They were all suspected of having committed a criminal act.

Max reviewed the evidence in his mind, the way he did dozens of times a day. Deeb had made one hit movie, which was preceded and then followed by a string of marginal successes and a few bombs. He’d bought a home in Courage Bay after the box office hit, claiming he’d wanted a place where he could flee the Hollywood publicity circus.

More often than not, he’d brought the circus with him, to the disdain of his privacy-loving neighbors. Deeb was known for his wild parties and a parade of very young, big breasted babes who came and went, frequently in groups.

He’d been brought up on charges of soliciting sexual favors from underage female actresses in exchange for parts in his movies. But all Deeb had to do was give his unhappy starlets the promise of a role in one of his movies, and they merely smiled and refused to testify. Deeb was scum, but he’d walked away from the charges a free man.

Someone had changed that by paying a visit to Deeb’s Courage Bay house in the midst of one of the worst series of rains to hit the area in years. Warnings had gone out for everyone in the area to evacuate.

Deeb’s house had been swept away in a mud slide with Deeb still inside it. Severe bruising on his neck indicated foul play, and an autopsy revealed that he’d been strangled before his house had taken the plunge.

Then there was Bruce Nepom. An unlicensed contractor, Nepom was taken to the E.R. at Courage Bay Hospital after his roof collapsed on him during the storm of the century back in January. Nepom died while in hospital, and an autopsy showed his injuries stemmed from trauma to the base of his skull with a blunt instrument. He’d been facing possible charges in the death of an elderly couple after the roof he’d built for them collapsed, but the case was dropped due to lack of evidence.

The third case involved an aide to city council named Lorna Sinke. The woman had escaped prosecution in the death of her elderly parents when evidence was ruled inadmissible after an improperly executed search warrant. Sinke had been shot in a hostage situation at city hall and died later in the hospital.

And finally there was Esposito, a scumbag who abducted Mexican children from their families and put them to work as migrant workers. Esposito had died instantly when his small plane had crashed into the ballroom of the Grand Hotel. An investigation had found evidence that someone had deliberately tampered with the plane’s engine.

Bottom line was that some damned avenger was creating a crime wave of his own and he was doing it right under Max’s nose. That would have been tough if he was still just a detective on the homicide squad. But now that he was chief of police, it was driving him over the edge.

“Want another beer?” Jake asked, wiping a wet spot off the bar just left of Max’s elbow.

“Nah. I’ve had enough.”

“You’ve only had two. It’s Friday night. Live a little.”

“I’m living, hip hoppin’ big time. Just keeping a low profile so it doesn’t make everyone else jealous.”

Jake leaned over the bar and stared at the names Max had printed on the napkin. “If you were living, those would be foxes’ names and phone numbers on that wrinkled old napkin, not victims.”

“Victims are easier to deal with. They don’t expect flowers.”

“But women have curves and don’t smell like those sweaty cops you were talking to earlier tonight.”

“Could be, but the cops will still respect me in the morning.”

“That’s not funny, Max.”

And not true, either. If the department didn’t solve these murder cases, no one was going to respect him in the morning, least of all himself.

He glanced at his watch. Nearly 1:00 a.m., and he was still wide-awake. Not much point going back to his empty apartment and tossing around in that king-size bed all by himself. “Okay, Jake, one more beer.”

“You got it, Max. The night is young. And you see that table of hotties sitting over there sipping margaritas…”

Max swivelled around on the bar stool and stared at the three young women flirting with a couple of the department’s newer and fortunately unmarried recruits sitting at the table next to them.

“I see them. Now what?”

“Hell, Max. Do I have to tell you everything? Send them a drink. Go over and talk to them. You might just get lucky tonight.”

“I’m old enough to be their father.”

“But you aren’t their father.”

“If I was, I’d tell them to stay the hell away from those cops they’re working so hard to pick up. Cops make lousy husbands.”

Jake shook his head and walked away. By the time he returned with the beer, Max was deep in thought about getting lucky. Luck for him would be arresting the Avenger—before he struck again.

CALLIE FINISHED WRITING out the orders for a thorough toxicology check on Bernie, handed it to the nurse on duty and walked back to the small cubicle where the patient was stretched out on the examining table. Ordinarily the E.R. doctor who had taken charge of Bernie when he arrived at the hospital would take over at this point, but Callie had decided to be Bernie’s doctor of record since she’d treated him at Mary’s.

“So how much longer do I have to stay here?” Bernie asked, shifting his weight to his right side and sticking one bare foot from beneath the bleached white sheet.

“Only about ten more minutes in here, but I’m admitting you to the hospital.”

“Don’t even think about it.” He waved his hand as if dismissing her last statement. “I can’t stay in the hospital. My business doesn’t run itself.”

“Which makes it all the more important that you stay here long enough for us to find out what caused your problems tonight.”

“I know what caused it. Stress. And if I don’t get out of here, the stress will double.”

“Stress could have brought on tonight’s episode,” she admitted, “but it’s not likely.”

“It doesn’t matter what caused it. I’m fine now,” he insisted. “I saw my blood pressure reading. It’s 140 over 100. That’s practically normal.”

“Much closer to normal than it was, but I’d still like to run a few tests, and you need to see a cardiologist.”

“So, what are we looking at? One day?”

“Possibly. Maybe more depending on when a cardiologist can see you and what kind of results we get from the tests.”

He rolled his eyes. “I have to be out of here by Monday morning at the latest.”

“I say we discuss that after we know more. I’m going to limit the number of visitors you can have to two at a time, fifteen minutes a visit, four times a day. You need to get some rest.”

“Fine by me. I don’t want people hanging around gawking at me hanging out of this thing.” He pulled on the loose fabric of the hospital gown to make his point.

She made a few notations on his chart, told him she’d see him in the morning and stepped out the door, shedding her white lab coat as she did.

“Hey, no one told me they were filming E.R. here tonight. If they had, I would have dressed for the occasion, too.”

Callie turned to see Mikki McCallister striding toward her. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”

“One of my darlings started running a high fever and his parents were nervous wrecks. I told them I’d meet them here and check him out.”

“Have you seen the patient yet?”

“Just left them. He’s got one of those stubborn viruses that don’t realize they’re supposed to check out after twenty-four hours. He’ll be fine, just needed the special touch of Dr. Mikki—and some glucose. What about you? Did you miss us so much you had to leave the soiree and pay a visit to the emergency room?”

“You got it. I think it’s the ambiance around here I can’t stay away from. Impatient patients. Harried doctors. And that woman yelling in Room 4 because we won’t keep supplying her with pain pills for her imaginary ailments.”

“So why are you here?” Mikki asked.

“One of the guests at the party collapsed and his heart stopped beating. I had to manually pump the chest to get it going again, so I stopped by to check on him.”

“Heart attack?”

“Atypical symptoms. It’s possible it was an allergic reaction, maybe to something he ate or drank at the party.”

“Speaking of food, I’m famished. How about stopping off at the Bar and Grill with me for a burger? You can wow the night crew with your cleavage.”

“Wowing Jake the bartender. Now why didn’t I think of that?”

Mikki was talking nonstop, but Callie’s mind stayed on Bernie as they walked to their cars.

The world would have been a better place if you’d let him die.

If Jerry Hawkins thought that, then others probably did, too—like the man that both the press and the police dubbed the Avenger. But would a serial killer be crazy enough to attempt murder at a house with nearly a hundred people milling around?

“Meet you in the bar,” Mikki said, unlocking her car door. “And don’t look so glum. I’m getting strange vibes about the rest of the night. Must have something to do with that knockout dress of yours.”

“Your vibes should go on Prozac.”

Callie slid behind the wheel, mindful of the red cocktail dress that slid up to mid thigh when she sat. The dress was a bit more revealing than she usually wore, a splurge purchase on one of her rare trips to Rodeo Drive. She’d loved it on the mannequin and liked it even better on her.

But hot dress or not, Mikki’s vibes or not, she didn’t expect or want any male attention tonight. Not that she was opposed to dating, but her recent attempts at relationships had been more trouble than they were worth. Her last steady had said she was too intimidating. When she asked what he meant by that, he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—explain.

Oh, well. She could live without a man in her life if she had to. She’d done it for the last eight years. Besides, she had Pickering to keep her company. He was always glad to see her and never complained of her long hours or accused her of being intimidating.

Retrievers were great that way.

Her cell phone rang before she reached the restaurant. It was Mary, anxious for news of her ill guest.

MAX FINISHED THE THIRD beer and pulled his wallet from his pocket. “What do I owe you, Jake?”

“I got your ticket here somewhere.” He turned and searched through the collection behind the bar until he found Max’s bill. “That will be $14.20…Well, well, well, look what just walked in.”

Max pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slid it across the bar to Jake before turning to see what new babe had caught the roaming eye of the bartender.

It was Callie Baker in red—her cinnamon hair framing her youthful face, her long shapely legs set off by the high-heeled sandals. He swallowed hard as a memory of Callie flashed in his mind. A brief encounter that should never have happened.

But the old memory showed no sign of retreating as Callie waved and started walking in his direction. He should have left a beer ago.

CHAPTER TWO

“IS SITTING AT THE BAR OKAY?” Callie asked, once she’d spotted Max. She hadn’t planned to go to him just yet with her suspicions, but since he was here, she’d like to hear his opinions on Bernie Brusco.

“That’s not a bar stool kind of dress you’re wearing, but it works for me,” Mikki said. “Grab us a seat. I see my one of my firemen buddies standing by the pool table. I want to go over and say hi.”

“I thought you were famished.”

“I am. Order me a cheeseburger, loaded, including jalapeños, and add a side of chili fries.”

“You’re eating hot peppers and chili fries in the middle of the night?”

“Sure. I’m from Texas. We like it spicy—the hotter the better.”

“Guess that explains your fondness for firemen.”

Mikki smiled as she strode off, her long blond hair bouncing about her shoulders. Now that she’d shed her lab coat, she looked more like a teenager than a doctor.

Callie walked over and stopped at Max’s elbow. “Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t know.” He gave her outfit an approving once-over. “Is Prince Charming going to show up and demand a duel?”

“No Prince Charming. I was at a fund-raiser earlier and had to stop back by the hospital. I didn’t bother to change.” She sidled onto the stool next to him.

“Can’t get away from work even on a Friday night. You’re getting as bad as me.”

“I tried. Bernie Brusco collapsed at the party. I stopped by the E.R. to check on him.”

“Is he all right?” Max asked.

“I think so. Actually it was more serious than a collapse. His heart stopped beating.” She hooked the back of her heels on the rung of the bar stool. “Do you know Bernie?”

“We haven’t met, but I know who he is and that he bought a house in Jacaranda Heights.”

“What else do you know about him?”

“Nothing officially.”

“How about unofficially?” Callie asked.

“Like what?”

“Is he into drug trafficking?”

“I’m guessing that’s not the occupation he put on his hospital admittance form.”

“No, but someone at the party seemed convinced it was true.”

“He’s the kingpin,” Max admitted. “Runs his own little cocaine and crack empire. L.A. police have arrested him several times, but the charges never stick. There’s no sign he’s involved in distribution in Courage Bay, though. Guess he doesn’t want to dirty up his own backyard.” Max rested his elbows on the bar. “Was his collapse drug related?”

“It’s possible. I ordered a toxicology report.”

Jake took the order for Callie’s glass of wine and Mikki’s feast.

“How about you, Chief Zirinsky?” he asked. “Can I get you another beer?”

Max waved him off. “I’ve had my limit.” He waited until Jake walked away before continuing the discussion. “Any chance he was poisoned?”

“A chance, but no real reason to suspect it at this point.”

Max nodded, but she could tell by his expression that the wheels in his mind were still rolling. He thought this might be the work of the Avenger. Not that she hadn’t considered it. In fact, she’d found herself leery of every death or unexplained accident since she’d alerted Max of the suspicious nature of Bruce Nepom’s injuries. Still, she didn’t have any medical information yet to indicate intentional poisoning.

“There’s a lot of things that could have caused the symptoms, Max. Don’t read too much into this yet.”

“It’s a waste of time to tell that to a cop on a murder case, Callie. We read too much into everything.”

“Sounds as if you don’t have any real leads yet on the Avenger.”

“Try no leads. When will you have the results back on the blood test?”

“Tomorrow morning. I can call you if you like.”

“Please do.”

“The party was at Mary Hancock’s, a very top-drawer affair. I can’t imagine any of the guests capable of serial murder, even in the name of justice.”

“Wouldn’t have to be a guest who poisoned him,” Max said. “There had to be lots of other people around as well. Caterers, bartenders, food servers, parking attendants, cleanup crew.”

Jake set Callie’s glass of wine in front of her, and she picked it up and took a long, cooling sip. The talk of murder was getting to her.

“So what else is going on in your life these days, Dr. Callie Baker?” Max asked, obviously sensing her increasing uneasiness.

“Mostly work—and taking Pickering for his beach walks.”

“I guess being chief of staff adds more to your plate.”

“Some. I’ve stopped taking on new patients for now, but I’m still seeing all my established ones. What about you?”

“Work, work and more work.”

“Guess we’re a couple of duds,” Callie said.

“A dud? Not you, Callie. You make the society section of the local paper at least once a month.”

“What are you doing reading the society section, Max? You were never interested in the social whirl.”

“I check out the hot women.”

“You could have your pick of women in this town, hot or not. You always could.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it.” The answer took zero thought. Max was not only good-looking in a rugged sort of way, but smart and honest and—and incredibly tender, though most women probably didn’t know that.

She hadn’t until the night when…Callie’s thoughts were thankfully interrupted by Mikki’s boisterous arrival.

“Hey, no food yet? What’s the holdup, Jake?” Mikki took the stool next to Callie’s. “A woman could starve in this place.”

“Keeping it hot for you,” Jake answered.

“Max Zirinsky, meet Dr. Mikki McCallister,” Callie said, making the introductions. “Mikki is a pediatrician on staff at the hospital. Max is Courage Bay’s chief of police.”

The two of them reached across Callie and shook hands just as Jake arrived with the food.

“I’ll get out of here and let you two party on,” Max said.

“There’s always room for one more at a party,” Mikki offered.

“No, we’ve already established I’m a dud.”

“We did no such thing,” Callie chided. “We only established the fact that you work too much.”

Max stood and placed a hand on Callie’s shoulder. The touch sent a shiver of awareness shimmying through her system. That’s what she got for letting those old memories creep back into her mind.

“I’ll call you in the morning,” she said. “Will you be home?”

“Call my cell.” He picked up a napkin and scribbled the number on it. “It was good seeing you. You look great.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

He said a quick goodbye to Mikki, then headed for the door, his cop swagger as pronounced as ever.

“Did I just break up a magical moment?” Mikki asked.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I sensed a sizzle.”

“No way. Max is an old friend.”

“Doesn’t look that old to me, and he does great things for a pair of jeans. Terrific butt.”

“Do you check out every guy that way?”

“Like you didn’t. I saw you watching him walk off. But I’m more interested in that phone number he scribbled down for you, and the way he was eyeing you when he told you how good you looked. I could feel the heat over here.”

“That was fumes from the chili.”

“So, what’s the story on him?”

“Max is an old friend, just like I said. And my ex’s cousin.”

“Tell me more.”

“That’s it. Max and Tony are probably as opposite as two people can be, but they’re kin. And the phone number is so I can let him know about a patient whose symptoms seem a little suspicious.”

“Playing detective again?”

“Just being cautious.”

Mikki picked up her overstuffed burger and somehow got her small mouth opened wide enough to take a chunk out of it. Watching her eat never failed to amaze Callie. Mikki was five-two and couldn’t possibly weigh much over a hundred pounds, but she had the appetite of a teenage boy. And the energy of one as well.

She was also an excellent pediatrician and very insightful. But this time she’d definitely misread the signs. Max had come to Callie’s rescue once, but he’d backed miles away after that and let her know in silent but certain terms that he had no interest in her as a woman.

Callie let the memory of being in his arms slip into her mind for one heated second, then pushed it back to the hidden crevice where she planned to leave it.

CALLIE LOOKED UP when Dr. Alec Giroux tapped on her open office door. “Mind if I come in? I’m bearing gifts, that is, if you can call a toxicology report a gift.”

“Then by all means come in. It’s not often I have an E.R. doctor stop in to deliver lab reports.”

“Just brown nosing the chief of staff,” Alec said.

“Nice try, but you buck me on too many issues for me to buy that. So what’s up?”

Alec handed her the lab printout. “I’d walked over to the lab to pick up a report on one of my patients, and the technician brought Bernie Brusco’s results to my attention.”

“Why is that?”

“His results look a lot like those of the teenager we lost in E.R. last week.”

“The ephedra overdose?”

He nodded. “There was a notable amount of ephedra in Bernie’s bloodstream as well, along with a trace of cocaine and considerably more than a trace of alcohol.”

She scanned the report. “That would explain his symptoms.”

“You don’t look or sound surprised.”

“I’ve heard that Bernie runs his own drug empire in Los Angeles, so I’m not too shocked that he had the cocaine in his system. He could be selling ephedra, too, since the FDA pulled products containing it from the shelves.”

“If he’s in the biz, he should have known better than to mix and match volatile drugs.”

“You’d think. I’ll talk to Max Zirinsky and make him aware of the similarity in the two cases.”

“Good idea. And I’ll get back to the E.R. Never know what a Saturday morning might bring.”

“Just be thankful we’re not dealing with a heat wave like the one we had last summer.”

“Amen. Never want a summer like that again. A heat wave and a deadly viral epidemic.”

An epidemic that had hit Alec particularly hard, since his daughter had almost died from the virus. “How are Cameron and Stacy?” she asked.

“They’re great. And Janice has become quite the mother. She’s an amazing woman.”

He smiled broadly and Callie felt just the tiniest twinge of envy. Alec’s first marriage had been just as big a mistake as hers, but he’d found love again and seemed incredibly happy. Not that Callie wasn’t happy. Nor did she have time for a family and children—even if she had been able to have them. A fast growing tumor three years ago had resulted in a hysterectomy.

“Tell Janice hello for me,” she said, pushing the unexpected thoughts of family and kids aside.

“Will do.”

Callie scanned the lab report again when Alec left, then slipped into her doctor’s coat for a personal visit with her patient. Bernie was lucky to be alive, but there was no indication the Avenger had tried to kill him. Looked more like Bernie was trying to save the killer the trouble and do the job himself.

Callie took the elevator up to Bernie’s room. The door was open a crack and she heard his boisterous voice and a woman’s laughter echoing down the hallway. She tapped lightly on the door before stepping inside.

Mary Hancock stopped laughing and backed away from the bed. “Good morning, Callie. I promise I’m not tiring out the patient. I just came by to check on him and bring him a fruit basket.”

“A bit of cheery company won’t hurt him, as long as he doesn’t overdo it.”

Callie spied the fruit basket on the table in the corner of the room. It was covered in cellophane, tied with a gold bow and filled with mangos, avocados, peaches, kiwi and pomegranates, with an impressive pineapple in the middle. The basket was almost as colorful and flamboyant as the bearer.

Mary was one of Callie’s patients. At sixty-one, Mary could have easily passed for fifteen years younger. Money for surgery and the right clothes to flatter her petite figure probably took a lot of credit for that, but it was Mary’s vivacious personality that added the youthful pizzazz.

Callie pulled the chart at the foot of Bernie’s bed. His vitals were back to normal except for a slightly elevated systolic reading. “How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Brusco?”

“Terrific and ready to get out of the hospital. Like I told you, it was just stress. A good night’s rest did the trick.”

Bernie scooted up higher on his pillow, tugging on the hospital gown so that it didn’t pull around the neck. “Thanks for coming by, Mary. And don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” he said, dismissing his visitor.

“Good. When you’re feeling better, I’ll teach you to do the tango correctly.”

“With these two left feet?”

They both laughed and Mary said a quick goodbye to Callie before exiting. Mary was obviously fond of Bernie. Callie seriously doubted she knew how the man made his living or that he did drugs himself.

Courage Bay was a few miles and a world away from Los Angeles. In spite of a growing population, the city had a small-town attitude, and people tended to trust one another to be who and what they purported to be. She’d hate to see Mary hurt by a man like Bernie.

“Guess you have the results of the blood work,” Bernie said, once Mary was out of the room.

“Just got it back from the lab a few minutes ago.”

“Then you know I had a little cocaine in my system.”

She nodded.

“I hope you won’t get the wrong idea. It’s not like I’m an addict or anything. You know how it is up in Los Angeles. You go with the boys, you sniff a little to be sociable. I won’t even do that again after what happened last night.”

“You had cocaine, alcohol and dangerous levels of an illegal stimulant in your system. That’s a pretty lethal mix. You’re lucky to be alive this morning.”

Bernie narrowed his eyes. “What stimulant?”

A strange question, Callie thought. He’d readily admitted the cocaine, so why not the stimulant? “Ephedra,” she said. “A much larger dose than if you’d taken it as a dietary supplement.”

“Ephedra.” He repeated the word, then drew his lips together and nodded as if he were figuring out a mystery. “You’re sure about that?”

“Very sure. Don’t you remember taking it?”

“My recollection of last night’s activities are not too keen.”

That was believable, yet he remembered the party and the cocaine.

He sat up straighter. “You know, Doc, pretty as you are and as nice as the nurses are treating me, I need to get out of here today.”

“I recommend you stay until Monday.”

“Nothing personal, Doc, but I’ve got urgent business to take care of. I have to be back in Los Angeles by Monday morning.”

“Then at least stay one more night.”

He drew his lips into a slight scowl. “One more night, but that’s it, no matter what any new tests show.”

“It’s your choice.”

“Thanks, Doc. For last night and for looking in on me today.”

“You’re welcome, but I can only do so much. The real responsibility for taking care of yourself rests with you.”

“Don’t I Know it.”

She made a couple of notations on his chart, slipped it back in place, then told him she’d see him later.

“You’re sure about the ephedra?” he asked as she headed for the door.

“I’m sure.”

She hurried to the elevator, eager to go back to her office and call Max with the findings. She had no proof at all, but she had a strong hunch that Bernie didn’t knowingly take the ephedra. Which meant the Avenger may well have been at Mary’s party, armed with the stimulant that had almost killed Bernie Brusco.

MAX PICKED CALLIE UP in front of the hospital at ten after twelve, determined to have no recurrence of the lust that had blindsided him last night, lingering long after he’d crawled into his bed. No way could he play in Callie’s league. He probably couldn’t even get a job as bat boy.

“Have you had lunch?” Max asked, trying not to notice that she looked as ravishing in the pale gray slacks and the yellow cotton blouse as she had in the dynamite dress last night.

“I haven’t even had breakfast,” she said.

“Then we might as well eat while we talk, unless you’d rather not.”

“Lunch sounds good.”

“So where’s your preference?” Max asked.

“Somewhere outside. It’s much too gorgeous to be stuck indoors.”

“How about Grady’s?”

“Perfect.”

It would be if they were only going there to eat instead of to discuss a possible link to a vengeful killer who’d outsmarted Max at every turn. Grady’s was on the beach and had a large covered deck where patrons had a great view of the bay and could listen to the sounds of the surf. On most days there were enough surfers in the area to provide a side show as well.

Callie gave him the results of the lab report and Bernie’s reaction on the drive over. By the time the waitress showed them to a table in the back corner of the deck, possibilities were already streaming though his mind.

“So what’s your take on this?” Callie asked, once they’d put in their drink order and had been given a menu.

“I think your hunch could be right. Ephedra doesn’t seem the kind of drug a man like Bernie would mess around with, not with all the serious drugs he has at his disposal. Besides, kingpins like Bernie are rarely big-time users. They need to keep their minds clear to run the business.”

Which meant it was very possible someone at Mary Hancock’s party slipped the stimulant into his food or drink. If it was the Avenger, and if he was in fact at the party last night, this might be the best lead Max had had since the killing spree started.

“There are a lot more common and probably more effective substances a killer could have used,” Callie said. “What would make him choose something like ephedra?”

“Any number of reasons. Availability, personal experience, or he may have gotten the idea from the media attention surrounding the death of the high school student.”

“That makes sense,” Callie admitted.

“If you hadn’t been there and Bernie had died of the presenting symptoms, would his death have been classified a heart attack?”

“Quite possibly.”

The waitress returned with Max’s coffee and Callie’s raspberry iced tea. Max ordered a cheeseburger without even glancing at the menu. Callie decided on the fresh green salad topped with lump crab meat and avocado, dressing on the side.

Another glaring difference between them, Max noted. His taste buds were partial to the routine. Callie’s went for more sophisticated fare.

Callie rolled a finger over the condensation on her glass. “If Bernie thinks someone tried to kill him, surely he’ll go to the police.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. A guy like Bernie’s more likely to seek out his own revenge.” Just what Courage Bay and Max needed. An avenger out to get the Avenger. Sounded like a bad Hollywood script, and even thinking about it gave Max a headache.

They fell silent when the waitress brought the food. But not talking was not necessarily a good thing when he was sitting across a small table from Callie, Max acknowledged. It left him too much time to notice the delicate softness of her hands as she forked bites of salad to her full, pink lips. Too much time to admire the way her breasts pushed against the fabric of her blouse. Too much time to remember the way her body had felt pressed against his.

“What do we do, Max?”

The question flustered him for a second before he realized she wasn’t reading his mind and referring to the incriminating thoughts he was entertaining. “You’ve done your part. It’s up to me to try to make sense of it all.”

“I don’t think I have done my part.”

He didn’t like the sound of that or the look in her eyes right now. “I appreciate the heads-up on this, Callie, but don’t even think about getting involved in the investigation.”

“Why not? I was standing a few feet away from Bernie when he collapsed. And the hostess is a friend of mine.”

“If the Avenger is involved in this, and I’m not even suggesting that he is, we’re talking about a man who’s killed at least four people and tried to kill Bernie. He’s smart and he’s dangerous.”

“And needs to be stopped.”

“Right. By the cops. Not by beautiful doctors with no experience in law enforcement.”

“I wasn’t planning to start carrying a gun and beating the bushes for the killer.”

“Good. Don’t talk to Mary about this, either, or anyone else who was at the party.”

As he dipped a French fry into a pool of ketchup, it struck Max that this was the first time he’d had lunch with a woman other than the cops on his force in longer than he cared to remember. And he was sitting here giving orders and talking about murder. “I say we drop the subject,” he suggested. “It’s bad for the digestive system.”

“Okay, but I still think I could help with the investigation.”

They stopped talking until they finished eating. “So,” Callie said, dabbing the napkin to the corner of her lips, “what does the chief of police do for fun on gorgeous Saturday afternoons?”

“Does doing the laundry count as fun?”

She groaned. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Of course. That’s just the warm-up. It’s stopping at the market for TV dinners that really gets my juices pumping. And let me guess. What does the chief of staff at Courage Bay Hospital do? Loll away her hours at the yacht club? Go sailing? Shop for dresses like that sexy little number you had on last night?”

“I’m sailing with friends this afternoon, but every other Saturday I volunteer at the Keller Center. It’s a facility that provides housing and medical care for indigent women in their last trimester of pregnancy. Not really what I’d classify as fun, but extremely satisfying.”

Her involvement in the center surprised him, though he didn’t know why it should. One of the things that had driven her and his cousin apart had been the fact that she chose to work at a clinic in a low income area after completing her residency instead of accepting a very lucrative and prestigious position with a doctor in private practice in Beverly Hills.

The silence grew awkward. It was one of the few times Max envied guys who could make meaningless small talk. Start him on any murder he’d ever investigated and he could talk your ear off. Football, basketball, baseball. Hit him with any of those and he could jump right in. But ask for small talk with a woman and he’d trip right over his tongue.

The waitress stopped by and offered coffee or dessert, but Callie refused both. She was ready to go. Who could blame her? Max pulled a few bills from his money clip and slipped them under the ticket, then stood up to leave.

Callie took a phone call on the drive back and spent the entire trip discussing a cancer patient whose insurance company didn’t want to pay for an experimental drug the physician in charge wanted to use. She broke the connection as he pulled into the circular driveway in front of the hospital.

“I enjoyed lunch, Max. We should do it more often.”

“Sounds good.”

The smile she gave him ricocheted around inside him like one of those balls in a lottery draw.

“You take care,” Max said, anxious to be off and have his reawakened emotions fade back into oblivion. A chief of police didn’t need emotions. Just brains and guts.

“I hope I helped.” She hesitated as if she wanted to say more, then opened the door and climbed out. One last wave and she was gone. Max started the engine and took a deep breath, ready to feel the relief seep into his mind.

It didn’t.

At the end of the driveway he turned left and headed down to headquarters. He didn’t know if Bernie was one of the Avenger’s victims or not, but four others were. And if he didn’t find the guy and get him off the streets soon, there would be a fifth. It was only a matter of time.

BERNIE LEFT THE HOSPITAL Sunday afternoon. He didn’t need a specialist to tell him his heart was pumping. Didn’t need anyone to tell him that someone had tried to kill him Friday night, either.

Nothing surprising in that. There were lots of people who’d be glad to see him turn up dead. He just hadn’t expected them to be attending a society function in Courage Bay. He’d have to start watching his back every minute, no longer just when he was on his L.A. turf.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and stepped onto his back deck. The view of the Pacific Ocean was breathtaking, worth every penny of the exorbitant price of the house. More than his mother had made in a lifetime of backbreaking work cleaning other women’s houses.

She’d even died in one, mopping someone else’s dirty floors. The hurt dug into him, felt like a buzzard’s claws piercing his heart. He’d thought if he made enough money, if he insinuated himself into the lives of wealthy people like the ones who’d once hired his mother to clean their houses, he’d vindicate her suffering and eradicate the pain.

One day it might, but it hadn’t happened yet.

He walked across his yard, stepped out the gate of his security fence and headed toward the edge of the steep precipice. Using his hand to shade his eyes from the sun, he looked down at the churning waves beating against the outcropping of jagged rocks.

A flash of heat and pain hit the back of his head. That was the last thing he was aware of as he toppled over the edge of the cliff and plunged to the rocks below.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS A HELL OF A TIME for his chief of detectives to be attending a terrorist training session with the CIA in Washington D.C., Max decided as he drove away from the scene of Courage Bay’s latest murder. Not only was Adam Guthrie out of town, but Flint Mauro, his new assistant chief, was still on his honeymoon. Either of them would have been perfect to head up the latest murder investigation.

Who was he kidding? As much as he’d like to have Adam and Flint around to team up with, Max had no intention of taking just a supervisory role with this case. This latest murder might be connected to the Avenger, and that was more than he could stomach.

The Avenger’s days were numbered. It was no idle threat. Not even a warning. It was just plain fact.

The TV newsmen were waiting when Max skidded to a stop in his private parking spot at police headquarters. The whole lot were insatiable vultures, but he didn’t doubt for a second that he’d be just as persistent were he a newsman instead of a cop. He just never understood how bad news traveled so fast.

The cameras started popping the second he stepped out of his car. Someone stuck a microphone in his face.

“Do you think the latest murder is the work of the serial killer known as the Avenger?”

“There’s no conclusive proof of anything at this time.”

“Is it true that Bernie Brusco had connections with organized crime?”

Max kept walking. “No comment at this time.”

“Will you form a serial killer task force?”

Yeah, and he was it. “Bernie Brusco’s murder will be fully investigated using every resource we have.”

“Do you think the killer could be a Courage Bay police officer?”

“It could be anyone,” Max said. “That’s it for now.”

“Will you be holding a press conference?”

“Should ordinary citizens be afraid?”

“Do you have suspects?”

The questions kept flying at him as he ducked inside the building, but he waved them off. The reporters would soon fall away, heading back to their newspaper desks and TV stations with the little they knew. A Sunday afternoon murder in the prestigious neighborhood of Jacaranda Heights would be the lead story in all the media. The Avenger would no doubt get a great deal of satisfaction from the attention.

Max dropped to the chair behind his desk, one of the reporters’ questions sticking in his mind like a gearshift that wouldn’t budge. Did he think the perp could be a cop? Not that the question surprised him. Lawmen were obvious candidates for avenger-type murders. There wasn’t a cop out there who at some point didn’t get sick and tired of putting his or her life on the line while the legal system passed more and more laws to protect the guilty and the justice system kept releasing the criminals and throwing them back on the streets.

Max knew and trusted his force down to a person. Still, knowing the facts about avenger-type killings made his choice clear. He’d go this investigation alone, and he’d be as objective as was humanly possible when it came to evidence. No one, positively no one, would be off-limits as a suspect if the evidence pointed to them. But he was definitely not buying into the mind set that this had to be a cop.

Avenger-type killings took a certain type of individual, one who could plan and carry out an execution with a sense of purpose and duty. One who accepted the role of judge and jury and had no qualms about issuing a death sentence. Historically these killers weren’t coldhearted or evil the way most murderers were.

They weren’t psychopaths, either. If anything, they were usually oversensitive to right and wrong—saw everything in black and white with no shades of gray in the mix. A lot of people with no connection to law enforcement fit that profile.

The sun was setting, and elongated shadows crawled across the room as Max walked into his office and dropped into his chair. He pulled out his notes and started the gruesome task of dissecting every detail that he’d collected at the crime scene. There was very little to go on.

Bernie lived at the highest point of Jacaranda Heights, and had a much steeper drop-off than most of the other residents. Even if the bullet hadn’t killed him, the fall would have.

There had been no exit wound, so it was a safe bet that they’d find the bullet somewhere inside the skull. Forensics would be able to narrow down the type of weapon and possibly an estimate of the distance it had traveled before making contact.

Weary now, Max got up and walked over to the file cabinet, where he pulled the four files of the previous murders. He’d go through them one by one, immerse himself in the facts surrounding each case, review them day and night until some pattern emerged.

No murder was perfect. The evidence was always there. The challenge was in finding and recognizing it.

First file, first murder—Hollywood producer Dylan Deeb. The killer obviously found Deeb’s sexual exploitation of underage actresses repugnant enough to assign Deeb a death sentence.

Max’s cell phone rang. He checked the number on the ID. Callie Baker. He stupidly raked his fingers through his hair as if she could see him, before he cleared his throat and took the call.

“Hello, Callie.”

“Max, I was hoping I could catch you.”

Her words sizzled along his nerve endings, and he wondered how a mere voice could produce that sensation. But then it wasn’t a mere voice. It was Callie’s.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked.

“I just turned on my TV for the evening news. They said Bernie Brusco was murdered.”

Damn. He could have let her know since Brusco had been her patient. “I’m sorry, Callie. I should have called you and told you about the murder.”

“Then someone did intentionally try to kill him at Mary’s party.”

“We don’t have proof of that.”

“But it makes sense. The excessive amounts of ephedra didn’t work, so someone shot him and pushed him over the cliff behind his house to damage the evidence.”

“You looking to give up medicine and become a detective, Callie?”

“No, I figure I can do both.”

She was teasing, but that didn’t make her interest in being involved in this case go down any easier. “Didn’t we have this conversation at lunch yesterday and decide that you should stay out of the investigation?”

“We did, but that was when Bernie was alive, and attempted murder was only speculation.”

The sizzle along his nerve endings cooled to caustic apprehension. “The investigation is police business, Callie. I can’t bring you into it any more than you’d have me come in and write prescriptions for your patients or dispense medical advice.”

“But you could administer first aid in an emergency if you were on the spot. That’s all I’m proposing.”

“Define your version of first aid.”

“I’ll write out a list of everyone I remember seeing at the party Friday night just before or after Bernie collapsed. I know you said it could have been one of the hired staff instead of a guest, but at least this would give you a place to start.”

“I can get the guest list from Mary Hancock.”

“Sure you can, and I know you will, but that won’t narrow down the guests who were still there when Bernie had his attack. I’ve thought about it, and I can identify a lot of the people who were standing around both before and after I went to Bernie’s aid. Besides, if you ask Mary about the whereabouts of guests at specific times, she may feel as if she’s incriminating them. It’s my guess she’ll be hesitant to do that. I, on the other hand, have no qualms about supplying you with information. And I know about Jerry Hawkins.”

“Who’s Jerry Hawkins?”

“A guest at the party who I have reason to believe is a suspect—and the reason you should talk to me.”

Damn. She was speaking his language, and there was no way he could turn down her offer for information. There should be no risk involved with that—not as long as she spoke only to him and didn’t let anyone else know that she was giving him the inside scoop.

No risk for her.

Being with Callie was always a risk for him. Tough to have a heart too stupid to know when it didn’t have a chance. Fortunately Max had a brain that did. He was meat and potatoes. Callie was caviar.

Besides, even if they got past that, he was lousy at dating, and his brief dive into the pool of matrimonial bliss had been a disaster. Things got too tangled when he tried to fit his life with someone else’s, and he hated tangles that didn’t end with an arrest.

His marriage had been years ago, when he was fresh out of college and a rookie on the force. It had lasted all of eight weeks, not even past what most would consider the honeymoon stage. She’d left him, claimed he was married to his job and had no time for a wife. He hadn’t fought the breakup since he figured she just might be right.

“We have to talk, Max,” Callie insisted.

“Yeah. I could meet with you sometime tomorrow,” he said, resigning himself to the fact that he’d have to face this like a man. Then again, that was the problem.

“I have an incredibly full day. What about tomorrow evening? Dinner at my place?”

He swallowed a groan. Dinner at Callie’s would mean a half dozen forks laid out like a puzzle, crystal stems that he’d probably knock over and break, and something he’d have to choke down like that raw fish wrapped in seaweed that was so popular these days. Worse, it would mean trying to digest food while his insides did weird things every time she smiled or made eye contact.

“Nothing fancy,” she said. “Come as you are.”

Sure, with a loaded gun on his hip and another in his trousers that could get him into real trouble. “What time?”

“Sevenish.”

“Cops don’t have sevenish on their watches. Seven-ten, seven-twenty, seven twenty-two, but not sevenish.”

“Seven-ten,” she said. “See you then?”

“I’ll be there. In the meantime, don’t talk to anyone about the fact that you’re providing me with information.”

“I hadn’t planned to spread it around, but surely I can mention it to Mikki?”

“No one. Not even Mikki.”

He sat staring at the open file in front of him after he broke the connection. He didn’t want to frighten Callie unnecessarily, but the Avenger was getting bolder by the murder. Who knew when he’d cross his own line, decide that his work was so important that it didn’t matter who he had to kill to protect himself and his mission? Max planned to make damn sure the threat didn’t extend to Callie.

Then as always when Max’s thoughts centered on Callie, the old memory started burning inside him. One night, eight long years ago. His breath caught as he remembered the pressure of her breasts pressed against him, the feel of her hot tears on his neck. The sweet, salty taste of her lips.

Now he was having dinner with her at her place. He had to be out of his mind.

IT WAS SURPRISING and somewhat alarming to Callie that she was getting such a high from her sideline involvement in a murder case. Not that she wasn’t extremely upset that Bernie had been killed. She was.

But solving a murder case was a whole lot different from puzzling over a medical case.

Both involved life and death and a lot of hypothesis, but the killer in Bernie’s case was a calculating human instead of a disease. That changed the game plan considerably. She’d started on her guest list immediately after her conversation with Max last night, and the task had so consumed her that she hadn’t fallen asleep until after midnight.

Worse, the case had crept back into her mind between every patient this morning and during the last twenty minutes while Matilda Golena had gone on and on describing every ache and pain she’d felt since the last visit. At eighty-nine, Matilda had lots of aches and pains.

Callie glanced at her watch as Matilda walked out of her office with a clean bill of health in spite of her age and complaints. Twelve twenty-five. If Callie hurried, she could grab a salad from the hospital cafeteria and have another thirty minutes to make notes about people on her list before she met with the head of nurses to discuss new staff requirements in the outpatient surgery center.

She took the elevator down to the cafeteria, chose her salad and was paying for it when she noticed Abby Hawkins sitting by herself at a table a few feet away. Callie felt a surge of adrenaline. She’d promised Max she wouldn’t discuss the fact that she was cooperating with him in the murder investigation, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t talk to friends, even one whose son was at the very top of Callie’s list. And if some tidbit of valuable information happened to fall in her lap, that was just good fortune.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, stopping at Abby’s table.

“Please do.”

Callie took the food from her tray and set it opposite Abby’s. “Did you volunteer in the addiction unit again this morning?”

“Yes. Every Monday and Wednesday. I teach painting classes to the patients who are interested. Some of them are quite talented, but even the ones who aren’t seem to benefit from the release of splashing colors on a blank canvas.”

“I knew you volunteered. I never realized you taught painting or that you were an artist yourself, for that matter.”

“I hadn’t painted in years, but started dabbling again after the divorce,” Abby said. “I have a few paintings exhibited in Norton’s Gallery, but hope to do a show next spring.”

“I’m impressed. I’ll have to drop by Norton’s.”

“Don’t expect too much. My talent is minimal.”

“Jack Norton must not think so. Did Elizabeth and Jerry inherit your talent?”

Abby’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, so you met Jerry?”

“Yes. I ran into him as he was leaving Mary Hancock’s party Friday night and he introduced himself. I didn’t know you had a son.”

“He doesn’t visit often, but he’s off work recuperating from an injury, so he’s spending a couple of weeks with me.”

Whatever his injury was, it hadn’t been obvious at the party. “Where does he live?”

“Sacramento.”

“If he needs follow-up care while he’s here, perhaps I could see him or suggest another physician.”

“He’s fine,” Abby answered between bites of her sandwich. “Bored, but fine. That’s the only reason he went to Mary’s party the other night. He normally avoids anything that requires more formal attire than jeans or shorts. But he loves to go boating, and I’ve agreed to go with him this afternoon, so I better run.”

Too bad. Callie would love to hear more, especially how a man from Sacramento knew so much about Bernie Brusco.

More info to share with Max tonight—which brought to mind a few other problems. Like why having an old friend to dinner to discuss a police investigation incited titillating sensations at the edge of her consciousness.

But then she’d never understood her feelings for Max Zirinsky, not since that night she’d boo-hooed in his arms over his pompous, self-centered cousin, whom she’d had the poor judgment to marry.

She was ready to trash what was left of her salad and get back to her office when she heard Mikki’s laughter over the clatter of banging trays and chatter. Mikki spotted her at the same time, smiled and came hurrying over with a heaping plate of spaghetti and meatballs and a slice of coconut pie.

“Are you expecting a crowd for lunch?” Callie asked as Mikki started unloading her tray.

“I hope not. I plan to eat every bite of this myself. I missed my midmorning apple and I’m famished.”

“Busy morning?”

“Swimmer’s ear. I think half the population of Courage Bay under fifteen years of age is water-logged. The rest are sunburned or else they’re faking stomachaches so they don’t have to leave their friends and go to summer camp.”

Mikki forked a tangled mass of dangling spaghetti and slid it between her lips.

“And wasn’t that man who was murdered last night the same guy you saw in the emergency room Friday night?” she asked as soon as she’d swallowed.

“One and the same.”

“Did you see the headlines in the morning paper?”

“No.”

“Another one bites the dust. They devoted half a page to talking about the Avenger. They make this killer sound like a cross between Superman and the Terminator.”

“You know how the media loves hype,” Callie said.

“Hype’s one thing. Glorifying a killer is another. What if we all went around killing everyone we wanted dead?” She broke off a bite of her bread and slathered it with butter. “And I caught a bit of the noon news. They showed your friend Max. He’s more than just a nice butt, you know. You really should go after him.”

“Go after him?”

“Yeah, you know, flaunt your stuff the way you did in that red dress Friday night. The poor guy was practically drooling.”

“I didn’t notice his tongue hanging out.”

“Tongues can be tricky. Sometimes you have to go in after them.”

“That’s as gross as watching you sit here in your size four pants and shovel down what amounts to a month’s calories for the rest of us.”

“Someone has to eat this hospital food. But speaking of calories, your favorite resident at the Keller Center is putting on too many pounds again.”

“You must be speaking of Gail Lodestrum.”

“None other than our emotional wreck who’s carrying not one but two fetuses in her womb.

“Did you go up this weekend?”

“Yesterday. Cortina delivered, and I couldn’t wait a whole week to see the new baby.”

“Boy or girl?”

“A dark-haired boy. Perfectly healthy, and totally adorable.”

“Great. Not good news about Gail, though.”

“No. I tried to talk to her, but she shut me out like always, except to ask when you’d be back. For some reason, you seem to be the only one she trusts.”

“She’s only fifteen,” Callie said. “I probably remind her of her mother.”

“The mother who kicked her out of the house when she found out Gail was pregnant. I seriously doubt it. When are the twins due?”

“Early September, but I think they’ll come early,” Callie said, pushing her salad plate out of the way and propping her elbows on the table. “She clams up every time I ask her about the father, but I have a feeling she hasn’t told him about the babies. If she did, she might get a little support there. Or maybe not.”

“She’ll tell you all before it’s over. They always bare their souls to you, even when they won’t talk to the counselors at the center.”

“Pregnant women and dogs like me.”

“And police chiefs.”

Callie felt a slow burn that she was certain reached her cheeks. One of the surgery residents stopped by the table to hit on Mikki before Callie had time to respond. “Great timing,” she told him without bothering to explain what she meant. She said a quick goodbye and headed back to her office.

She was sure Mikki was wrong about Max. If he was attracted to her, she’d be the first to know.

Wouldn’t she?

UNLOCKING AND OPENING the door, Callie stepped inside the rambling beach house she’d inherited from her aunt Louise. Late afternoon sunshine poured through the windows, adding a golden glow to the cream-colored walls, honeyed pine furniture and vivid colors of the upholstered pieces. Pickering got up lazily from his spot in front of the back door and came to greet her.

“Hello, boy. Did you miss me?”

He licked her hand in answer.

Callie slipped out of her shoes and left them at the door, loving the feel of the polished wood against her bare feet as she padded to the kitchen to drop off the white deli bags that held tonight’s dinner. Finger foods that she and Max could eat around the pool as the sun settled to a ball of fire and dropped into the Pacific.

Taking a minute, Callie rummaged through the day’s mail, which she’d picked up on her way in. A few advertising circulars, a couple of catalogs, and an engraved invitation to a wedding reception. Which reminded her of another engagement. The Cravens’ annual garden party was Saturday afternoon. She’d have to remember to call her regrets tomorrow.

Though the party would be nice—social affairs in Marjorie Craven’s beautiful English garden always were—Callie wanted to drive up to the center on Saturday and have a talk with Gail. Keeping the mother of twins healthy took precedence over tea and scones.

Callie’s thoughts drifted back to Max as she chose an assortment of wine and arranged the food on serving plates. The last time he’d been to this house had been a rainy night eight years ago, just three weeks after she and Tony had moved in. Looking back, she’d never been sure why Max had stopped by that night. He’d never done it before or since.

The room grew warm as the memories rushed in. Okay, if she kept this up, she was likely to hurl herself into Max’s arms again and he’d run off for another eight years.

It was only six-forty. If she hurried, she’d have time for a quick swim before he arrived. That should cool her off.

She slipped into a black bathing suit and was about to dive into the pool when her cell phone rang. The caller ID said Mary Hancock. The swim could wait a few more minutes.

“Hi, Mary.”

“I was visiting a friend in San Diego today, and I just heard about Bernie,” Mary said, her voice hoarse and broken. “The newscaster said he’d been murdered.”

“I’m sorry, Mary. I had no idea you didn’t know or I would have called you earlier.”

“They’re saying the Avenger killed him.”

“That’s speculation.”

“Not according to the news. The Avenger made a mistake. Bernie wasn’t involved in drugs. That was just a story concocted by his enemies. He explained it all to me.”

“I know it’s hard to believe something bad about friends, especially…”

“We were more than friends.”

Callie’s spirits sank. “How much more?”

“He’d asked me to marry him. I was thinking about saying yes.”

Marriage. That did come as a surprise, and not only because of the age difference. “How long have you known him?”

“Only about three months, but he was so thoughtful. And we had fun together.”

“You certainly seemed to.”

“Bernie’s collapse at my party may not have been an accident, Callie. Whoever shot him yesterday may have tried to kill him at my party.”

“I suppose that’s possible.” No reason to lie about that.

“I may have invited this Avenger person into my home.”

“You didn’t do it knowingly.”

“No, but it makes me sick to think he could be one of us. I plan to find out for sure.”

“I don’t think you should try to handle this yourself, Mary. Just cooperate with the police.”

“I’ll cooperate, all right. I don’t want Bernie’s killer going free.”

By the time she got off the phone with Mary, Callie really needed a swim. She dove in and tried to drive the images of murder from her mind with vigorous breast strokes. Instead, the troublesome thoughts merged and mingled with the old memories. Murder, mayhem and Max—a sure recipe for disaster.

The doorbell rang as she pulled herself from the pool. Her guest had arrived.

CHAPTER FOUR

MAX RANG CALLIE’S DOORBELL at exactly seven-ten. At seven-eleven, his heart was in his throat. Callie had said come as you are, but he hadn’t expected her to be quite this informal.

Water dripped from her hair onto her shoulders, and the black bathing suit hugged her tiny waist and accentuated her perky breasts. Max inhaled sharply and averted his gaze. “Am I early?”

“No. I took a quick swim, but it will only take me a few minutes to slip into something else,” she explained, drying the ends of her hair with a fluffy red beach towel. She led him into the kitchen, where a large golden retriever was lapping water from a green doggy bowl.

“This is Pickering,” she said, stooping to give the dog a few reassuring pats. “He rules the house.”

“Nice pad you got here, Pickering,” Max said, putting out his hand for the retriever to sniff.

“I put out a few choices for wine,” Callie said. “Why don’t you pick out one and open it while I change?”

“I can handle that.”

Once it was only him and Pickering in the kitchen, Max breathed a little easier. It was crazy to let Callie get to him like this, but she always had, and there was no reason to think tonight would be any different. He was tough. He’d handle it, as long as what she changed into covered more than the skimpy bathing suit had.

Concentrating on the wine, Max considered his choices. He was a beer man himself, but he selected a California Merlot, uncorked the bottle and poured the wine into the crystal decanter Callie had left on the counter. That done, he walked through the open back door and onto the deck with Pickering at his heels. The view was magnificent, an expanse of beach bordered by frothy waves lapping onto the sand.

The house was in an exclusive part of Courage Bay, expensive as all waterfront property was, but not as isolated or protected as Bernie Brusco’s home in Jacaranda Heights. There was no steep, rocky hillside leading up from the water’s edge, no natural barriers to keep someone on the beach from walking right up to the black privacy fence that separated Callie’s pool and house from the rest of the beach.

Thinking like a cop, he reminded himself. The truth was, this area was privately patrolled and had one of the lowest crime rates in the county.

He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him. One look at Callie and thoughts of crime and safety flew out of his mind. He was back to square one, turned on to the point that all he could do was stare.

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