“Is this your building?”

Nathan asked the question when Lindsay stopped walking.

“Yes. See you tomorrow.” She turned to leave, but Nathan stopped her with a touch on her arm.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to sleep now?”

The concern in his voice brought a slight ache, more like a yearning, to her stomach. “Whether I sleep or not isn’t really your concern.”

“Wow. Still the same prickly Lindsay.”

She wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly aware of the chill in the air. “I’m used to being independent, that’s all.”

“You really believe that?” Nathan gave her a long, considering look. “When we worked together on the police force, I could understand why you kept your distance. I figured you were worried that friendship would lead to something more.”

“Just because we kissed that one time—”

“Hey. It was more than a kiss.” When she wouldn’t look at him, he added, “Even if you won’t admit it.”

Dear Reader,

Two years ago I took my daughter on a trip to New York City for her twentieth birthday. We had a fabulous time—how could we help it? Lorelle fell in love with the city for the first time and I renewed a longtime obsession. I decided then that the next series of books I wrote was going to be set in this most exciting of locations.

But what would the stories be about? Walking by a row of brownstones in the Upper West Side where our hotel was located, I felt inspiration strike. I could almost see the copper plaque with the words “Fox & Fisher Detective Agency” hanging next to one of the painted wooden doors.

And my main characters? Anyone who is familiar with the music and life story of Shelby Lynn will understand the inspiration behind Lindsay Fox. And Nathan, my hero? Well, he was created by me, to be the special, wonderful man that Lindsay needs in her life (even though it takes her a very long time to recognize this).

I hope you enjoy Lindsay and Nathan’s adventures and that you return for The P.I. Contest and Receptionist Under Cover available in February and March 2010. I’m always happy to hear from readers so please contact me through my Web site, www.cjcarmichael.com. Stop by regularly for news about my books and to enter my surprise contests.

Happy reading!

C.J. Carmichael

Perfect Partners?
C.J. Carmichael

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hard to imagine a more glamorous life than being an accountant, isn’t it? Still, C.J. Carmichael gave up the thrills of income tax forms and double entry bookkeeping when she sold her first book in 1998. She has now written more than twenty-eight novels for Harlequin and invites you to learn more about her books, see photos of her hiking exploits and enter her surprise contests at www.cjcarmichael.com.

With love to my dad, who is dealing with an unexpected turn in the road with strength and courage.

Thanks to Barry Yzereef for entering a contest and allowing me to use his name in this story.

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER ONE

Monday morning

THROUGH THE SEMI-TRANSLUCENT glass door, Nathan Fisher could make out the silhouette of the woman who had been his partner at the Twentieth Precinct of the NYPD two years ago. Lindsay Fox had her back to him, her hands assertively posed on her hips as she spoke to someone he couldn’t quite see.

When she’d packed up her desk at the precinct and cleared out her locker, he’d assumed he’d never see her again. She’d made it rather obvious that that would be best. Part of him had agreed. They were just too opposite to work well together—to do anything well together. But a lot of crap had happened since then. His life was in free fall and he no longer presumed to have all the answers.

Lindsay was smart, a woman of action, intuitive, with a keen sense of justice. These things had made her a good policewoman.

She was also impatient, thought rules applied to other people rather than her and had trouble accepting orders from her superiors.

These qualities had not made her a good policewoman, and Nathan supposed it wasn’t much of a surprise that she’d only lasted on the job for just over a year.

But there was one thing about Lindsay that defined her above all, in his mind. That quality was integrity—something he’d seen precious little of the last while.

It was why he was standing here, less than a week after his own career with the NYPD had been terminated.

Voices on the other side of the door grew louder. Nathan realized Lindsay was turning the handle, about to exit, so he slipped out of sight, down the corridor and around a corner. He didn’t want her to see him until he’d scored a proper interview first. That would make it difficult for her to not at least listen to what he had to say.

He’d spent his weekend researching her business, her new career, and he was impressed. She had more clients than she could handle, and most of them were very satisfied with her services.

Fox Investigations, as far as he could tell, was a successful going concern. This location—on the second floor of an historic brownstone on West Seventy-ninth Street—was central and convenient to the subway. After one call to the rental agency, he’d learned that Lindsay was locked into a favorable five-year lease that included expansion possibilities.

From down the hallway, he heard the door open and Lindsay call out to her receptionist, “You can reach me on my cell if it’s an emergency.” The door closed and the sound of her footsteps on the wooden floor receded.

Nathan waited until she was gone before retracing his steps to her office. Carefully he reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the ad he’d seen in the Saturday paper.

Help Wanted: Professional investigator. Experience necessary, references required, no attitude.

He had to smile, reading it again. Especially at the no attitude part. Lindsay had her nerve making that request.

He pushed open the door to Fox Investigations and took stock of the professional, almost austere furnishings. The walls were pale gray, the furniture modern, functional…and cold. The only spot of color came from the receptionist, who was wearing an expensive-looking pink blouse. She was in her twenties—a petite, dark-haired woman who was quick to smile.

“I’m sorry, but do you have an appointment? I’m afraid you just missed Lindsay.”

Quite deliberately, I assure you, he thought. “That’s okay. I should have called first, but I was in the area and thought I’d take a chance.” He showed her the ad.

“You’re here about the job?” She put a hand to her mouth. “Sorry, I shouldn’t sound so surprised. Lindsay requested experience, but she wasn’t really expecting…not that you’re old. Heaven’s no. It’s just that we’ve been getting a lot of recent high school graduates, who aren’t at all right for the job.”

“No insult taken,” he assured her.

“I’m so glad. Sometimes I wonder why Lindsay gave me my job. I’ve never been a receptionist before,” she confided. “And this is just my second week.”

“I think you make a fabulous receptionist.” To hell with experience. Lindsay had made a smart choice, selecting someone so unguarded and warm. He glanced at the nameplate next to the computer. No matter how many gaffes Nadine Kimble made, the clients would love her. She was the perfect yang to Lindsay’s yin.

“That’s very nice of you to say.” Nadine clicked the mouse and opened a calendar on the computer screen. “Lindsay is booking interviews for Thursday. Right now you have your choice of time slots. Any preferences?”

“The earlier, the better.” Lindsay was a night owl. Best to catch her when her instincts were at their dullest.

“How is nine o’clock?” Nadine’s fine, dark brows rose in consternation. “I’m sorry but Lindsay doesn’t come into the office any earlier.”

“Nine is good.”

She studied him apprehensively, then seemed to come to a decision. “I should warn you. Lindsay can be a little…prickly. That’s why she put that stuff about ‘no attitude’ in the ad. She said we might as well weed out the wimps from the start.” Her gaze swept over him. “But I’m guessing you’re not one of those.”

“I’d like to think not.” He glanced around the offices one more time, trying to get a feel for the place. Trust Lindsay to keep the decorating elements to a bare minimum. She always had been all about the work.

Nadine seemed to sense that he was judging the place and finding it lacking. “Almost surgical, isn’t it? I’m trying to talk Lindsay into some plants. She’s agreed to silk, because they’re low maintenance, but I’m holding firm on real, growing plants.”

Good luck with that, he thought. Obstinacy was another of Lindsay’s stronger traits.

“Well, thanks for your help. I guess I’ll see you Thursday morning.” As he was about to leave, Nadine waved her hand anxiously.

“Oh, I forgot to ask your name.” She smiled sheepishly. “I told you I was new at this.”

He’d been hoping to capitalize on her inexperience, and leave without needing to resort to subterfuge, but now that he’d been asked, he gave her his second name and his mother’s maiden name. He had no doubt Lindsay wouldn’t let him in the front door if he was honest about his identity.

And he wanted in that front door.

He needed to keep a roof over his sister and nephew’s head someway. And his father’s legacy demanded redemption.

Thursday morning

WHEN SHE’D STARTED HER OWN investigative agency, Lindsay Fox had been tempted to combine her office and living space in the same building. Her sister, Meg, had talked her out of that plan.

“You need to make an attempt to separate your work from your private life,” she’d argued, and so Lindsay had acquiesced and rented a one bedroom in a different building…but on the same block.

She figured she had to have one of the easiest commutes in Manhattan, which came in very handy on the mornings when she was off to a slow start—like today.

She’d had another tough night. This was nothing new for a chronic insomniac, but that didn’t make the lack of sleep any easier to deal with. As long as she had time for a cup of coffee before her first appointment of the day, though, she’d be okay.

Heels clicking on the sidewalk, Lindsay took long strides toward her destination. The hazy sky and cool temperatures didn’t bother her—in truth, she hardly noticed that the sunshine and warmth of summer had faded. Today she was hoping to hire a new employee and she had ambivalent feelings about that. She was glad her business was thriving and growing…but she was also concerned about finding the right person for the job. Nadine had been a bit of a risk but she was working out surprisingly well. Could she be so lucky a second time?

Lindsay crossed from the north side of the street to the south. She passed a middle-aged couple who had stopped on the corner to kiss goodbye. As she squeezed past them amid a crowd of other pedestrians, the couple separated and headed in opposite directions. Lindsay turned to the brown brick building on her left, then went up a short flight of stairs to the front door.

Inside was a foyer with a bank of mailboxes on one wall and an elevator on another. Lindsay bypassed both and took the stairs. One flight up and she was in the short corridor that led to Fox Investigations. As soon as she stepped inside, she headed for the coffee station. Nadine was already there, filling a cup for her.

“Thanks, Nadine. That smells wonderful.” Her well-groomed receptionist was wearing a sea-green cashmere sweater and gray trousers, neither of which Lindsay recalled seeing before. This was her third week, and so far she had yet to repeat one outfit.

“How many interviews do we have lined up?” Lindsay asked.

“Um…let me check. I have the schedule here somewhere…”

As Nadine fussed with the computer programs that were still relatively new to her, Lindsay added cream and sugar to her coffee. Today she craved the caffeine even more than ever. Perhaps it was because of the chill in the fall morning. Or maybe it was the light pounding behind her ears. Not a hangover, quite, but close.

“Three interviews,” Nadine said finally.

“Only three?”

“Maybe it was that bit about ‘no attitude.’ Possibly some people found that a little intimidating.”

“If they did, then they don’t belong here.” Damn it, though, she did need to hire someone. And fast. Nadine was making inroads on the backlog of administrative tasks, but if she didn’t get a new investigator soon, she’d be forced to turn away clients.

She’d never expected her business to do so well, so quickly. Just two years she’d been operating and the cases kept coming, most of them referred from her sister’s legal firm, or from her contacts on the police force. Lindsay was determined not to drop the ball on a single case.

“Stanley Hodges is your first applicant and he’ll be here at nine o’clock,” Nadine said.

That gave her just ten minutes. Could she clear her brain-fog by then? She gulped more coffee. “Fine. Send him in when he arrives.”

She retreated to her office with her usual sense of pride and ownership. This was her business. She’d started it from nothing and it was actually thriving. Over the past few weeks Nadine had let her know that she found the decor rather severe. But Lindsay had chosen everything for its functionality. She loved the furniture’s straight lines and the tranquility of the gray color scheme.

Her own desk was glass and stainless steel. She wheeled up her chair and opened the slick, iMac computer to find her favorite news site. Kicking off her shoes, she scanned the local headlines. She’d just relax with her coffee and prepare her thoughts before—

A timid tap on her door interrupted her. She frowned. “Yes?”

Nadine opened the door with an apologetic smile. “Stanley Hodges is here. He’s early, but you said—”

“That’s fine.” Lindsay tamped down her annoyance as she glanced up from the computer screen. “Send him—”

Her throat closed as her mind disconnected from the present and rewound to the past. To the one, frustrating year she’d spent as a member of the New York Police Department.

The man entering her office was lean and muscular, with whiskey-colored hair and eyes a shade lighter than that. Two years ago she’d thought she’d said goodbye to him forever.

“Hey, partner. It’s been a while.”

For a wild moment her stomach dropped and her pulse quickened. Her ex-partner was looking good, but then he always had—if you liked the clean-cut type. Beyond his boy-next-door looks, however, the polite facade, the pressed khakis and button-down blue shirt, Nathan Fisher was a man with lightning reflexes, who kept his body in top physical condition.

For one year they’d spent pretty much all their working hours together. Since she’d quit the force, they hadn’t crossed paths once, by mutual preference.

So what was he doing here now? She gave herself a moment to regain her equilibrium. Calmly she rearranged the papers in front of her, then finally cleared her throat. “Stanley Hodges, I presume?”

One side of his mouth curved up. The cheeky bastard. He didn’t even apologize, just dropped a clipping onto her desk.

It was her ad from the newspaper.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Maybe the guys at the precinct had put him up to this. They’d all have a good chuckle at her expense later, over lunch.

But Nathan shook his head. “I quit the force. My last day was Friday, October 9, to be precise.”

“What? Why?” This just got stranger and stranger.

“Let’s just say I needed a change.”

“I don’t believe it.”

His eyes darkened. “You’re not the only one.”

This had to be bullshit. But maybe she should play along a little. “Okay. Say it’s true. What are you doing here? You can’t expect me to believe that you want to work for me.”

“I don’t want to work for you,” he agreed.

“Then—?”

“I want to be your partner.”

A four-letter expletive exploded from her mouth.

He wasn’t fazed. “Fisher and Fox Investigations. Sounds good, right?”

“Get out of here.” She pointed at the door. Yeah, right, Fisher and Fox. He was definitely yanking her chain.

“I’m serious, Lindsay. From past experience, you know our skills are complementary.”

She remembered one dark, rainy night, when it had been more than their skills that had been complementary. Hell. Why was she thinking about that? She had to get him out of here. Fast.

“When we were partners, you drove me crazy.”

“You may not always appreciate my style, but you need someone like me around. Bending the rules now and then is one thing, but you don’t bend them. You bulldoze them.” He scooped something from the floor, surprising her when he surfaced with her red pump.

“High heels with your jeans?” He cocked his head assessingly. “Never saw you as the type.”

She snatched the shoe from his hand. She’d bought the Jimmy Choo heels full price, with the last paycheck she’d received from the police department, and she was going to wear them until the three-inch heels were worn down to the ground.

“Either you’ve changed, or I didn’t know you as well as I thought.”

“It’s not a big deal. I happen to like nice shoes.”

“Not enough to wear them, apparently.”

She slipped the shoe onto her foot, then fumbled for the mate. “Every morning when I put on a pair of heels, I’m reminded that I don’t work for a big organization anymore. There is no chain of command. The buck stops with me.” She lifted her chin. “It’s a good feeling.”

Nathan nodded. “I respect that. In fact, I respect a lot of things about you. That’s why I’m here.”

Despite herself, she felt flattered. Hearing Nathan say that he respected her…well, that was something.

Leaving the force had not been an easy decision. As a kid she’d wanted so badly to become a policewoman. After graduating from college and moving to New York City, her goal had been to work for the famous—and sometimes infamous—NYPD. But when she’d finally finished the education and training necessary to entitle her to wear the dark blue uniform, she’d been bitterly disappointed at the reality.

Rather than helping people, she pushed pencils. Investigating a crime as a member of a police force was like wading through waist-deep muck. Regulations and procedures ate away most of her available work hours. She’d wanted to serve her community, to protect society’s weakest members. Instead, criminals thumbed their noses at her and the system as they got away with the same misdemeanors and petty crimes over and over and over.

And then there were the crimes that weren’t so petty…

“You and I want the same thing, Fox. Together we’ll be a force to reckon with.” He planted his hands on her desk and leaned forward. She caught a whiff of his soap, noticed the clean-blunt lines of his fingernails.

He was serious. The realization sent a zap of adrenaline through her bloodstream. She couldn’t help but be intrigued, even though she knew it was a bad idea.

“Why not start a firm of your own? Why partner up with me?”

“Starting a business takes time. You’ve got everything in place here. Plus, you’ve already made a name for yourself. I saw the story in the Daily last month. Impressive.”

She knew the case he was talking about. The Anderson file had started out as a simple missing-persons case. She’d been asked to locate a long-lost uncle who’d been a beneficiary in a multimillion dollar family estate. She’d ended up finding Curtis Anderson, a convicted sex offender on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.

What a buzz that had been. Who knew how many children’s lives would be safer now that Anderson was no longer on the prowl. Talk about job satisfaction.

“You’ve got more cases than you can handle,” Nathan continued. “A good reputation and an ideal location with an excellent long-term lease.”

She couldn’t believe how much he knew about her operation. But then Nathan had always been the sort of investigator who did his homework. He was never tempted to cut corners, the way she sometimes did.

Her instincts were good. Very rarely wrong. Still, occasionally, she had to admit, she’d been burned by her impetuousness. In the past, Nathan had saved her butt more than a few times. He’d also driven her nuts.

“You know I prefer to work alone.”

“You’re the one who put an ad in the paper. Besides, we don’t have to handle the same cases. We could work independently.”

Much as she hated to admit it, he was wearing her down. “I’ve put a lot of time and money into this business. Why should you just walk in and reap the benefits?”

“I’m prepared to buy my way in.”

“Promissory notes?”

“Cold, hard cash.”

She thought of all the things she could buy with an infusion of capital. The extra computer programs, a new camera—maybe even a van.

Then she imagined having to vet every decision with another person. Discuss approaches, divvy up new cases. She wrinkled her nose. “I like being the boss. You want in as an employee, that’s cool. But partnership is not an option.”

She waited for him to stalk out the door, certain that he would. But he just smiled. Slow and confident. Then he placed an envelope on her desk.

“I have more to contribute than money. Read that, Fox. Then let me know if you change your mind.”

CHAPTER TWO

LINDSAY WAITED FOR NATHAN to leave her office. Only once the door was firmly closed between them did she touch the manila envelope he’d left on her desk. Using a letter opener, she slit the top open and peered inside.

She’d almost expected to find the cold, hard cash he’d promised her.

Instead out slid a package of case notes. She flipped through the pages. Did he really expect to sway her with this?

The client’s name was Celia Burchard. Burchard. That sounded familiar. Lindsay leaned back in her chair, propped her feet on an overturned wastepaper basket and settled in to read.

Apparently Celia Burchard was looking to retain an investigator to assist in the defense of her mother who had been charged with the attempted murder of her husband.

Lindsay realized then where she’d heard the name before. The story had been all over the news media for most of August.

The case had caught Lindsay’s attention because of the twist on the abused-wife scenario. For once it wasn’t the husband who had attacked his wife, but the other way around.

The news quotient had been upped by the Burchards’ social status. Maurice Burchard was well-known as a Manhattan property developer and his wife was active in the arts community. The couple had a reputation for hosting amazing parties. To be invited to an event at the Burchards’ town house in the city, or their hunting lodge in the Catskills was the pinnacle of social success.

In some circles, anyway.

How had Nathan landed a client like this?

She turned a page, dismayed to see that her hand was shaking. Just a little, but the slight tremor was enough to worry her.

Aftershocks from Nathan Fisher’s visit?

She’d never imagined that she would see him again—she’d been pretty blunt when they’d said their goodbyes two years ago. Not that she’d meant what she’d said, but she’d thought a clean break would be the best—they usually were.

And now he wanted to be her partner again. What was up with that?

She knew that during their year together she’d driven him as crazy as he had driven her. He thought she was impulsive, relied on her intuition too much, didn’t follow the rules.

Yet, they had had their moments of brilliance, despite the clashing, or maybe because of the clashing. If she could put up with their different investigating styles, the possibilities were intriguing.

Nathan was a stickler for rules and procedures, but he had other, more impressive qualities. His work ethic, for one. His integrity for another. He was also smart, a wizard at gathering background research and meticulous about gathering facts and operating according to a defined plan.

Those qualities had made him a much better police officer than she had been. Which begged the biggest question of all.

Why had he quit the force?

He’d avoided the question when she’d asked. But it wouldn’t be difficult to find out the answer.

Lindsay called a friend who’d gone through basic training with her. Kate Cooper was still at the Twentieth Precinct, connected enough to give her the answers she wanted.

Kate answered the phone with a clipped “Cooper here,” then whistled when she found out who was on the line. “Fox—nice work on the Anderson case. I meant to call when I saw your name in the paper. Pretty impressive bringing down a piece of scum like that.”

“It felt good,” Lindsay admitted. “You want to give this kind of work a try? Quit the force and I’ll make room for you.”

Kate just laughed. “Got to admit I’m tempted. But do you have a health plan? Guaranteed pension?”

“What do you care about those things? You’re young and healthy.”

“Thank God, yes. But when it comes time to start a family…”

It was hard to think of coolheaded, tough Kate as a mother. “Have you met someone?”

“Not really met. More like reconnected. Remember Conner Lowery?”

“Sure.” Lowery was a detective at the NYPD and their paths had crossed a few times during her year at the precinct. He had Irish good looks and an easygoing temperament. Lindsay remembered him as competent and hardworking, though very charming.

“We’ve just moved in together.”

“Well…that’s great. I’m happy for you.” She tried to make it sound as if she really meant it, but commitment was something she ran from in her own life, so it took a leap of imagination to consider this good news.

“Thanks. We should get together for lunch or coffee. But right now I’m super busy—”

Lindsay could tell she was about to hang up. “One second. I have something else. A question. It’s about Nathan Fisher. Did he really quit?”

“You’re kidding, right? Everyone in the precinct—hell, in the city—knows about Nathan. It was so unfair what happened to him.”

“What?” Lindsay sat upright, her muscles tensing. “Tell me everything.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t heard about this. It’s been in all the papers.”

“I’ve been busy. I must have missed it.”

“Well, then. This story goes back several months. Nathan was on the street, busting up a drug deal and making an arrest when the perp pulled out a gun. Shots were exchanged, both guys were injured.”

This was sounding familiar. She had heard something about the story, but had never seen a name or a photograph. “That was Nathan?”

“Yeah. The punk shot him two times in the leg. Fortunately the wounds were minor. He could have been back at work within a few weeks. But the kid’s injuries were more serious and he happened to be the son of a high-powered attorney who made a huge stink, insisting his kid was innocent, that Nathan fired first, etc., etc….”

Lindsay felt the familiar burn of injustice. “Innocent, huh? So why was he packing a gun? Why did he resist arrest?”

“Exactly. Ask me, the punk is lucky not to be dead. And you know Nathan…he followed procedure to the nth degree. Still, Internal Affairs got all sticky during their investigation. At one point they even laid charges against him. Nathan was sidelined for several months and not one of the big brass said a word in his defense.”

“No balls,” Lindsay said with contempt. “God, one of their men takes bullets and still has to defend firing in return? It’s crazy.”

“Charges were dropped eventually, but Nathan was put through the wringer. Just last week his name was finally cleared. The next day, he handed in his resignation.”

“Good for him.” Lindsay felt like cheering.

“Yeah, who could blame him, right?”

“Hell. I can’t believe I didn’t know that was him.”

She was just too damn busy. And right now she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather share office space with than the woman she was talking to. “Are you sure you aren’t ready for a change in careers?”

Kate laughed. “Call me back when you can offer a full benefit package.”

“Well, thanks for the info, anyway. And good luck with Conner.” Lindsay replaced the phone, then stared at the file on her desk, not really seeing it, but instead remembering Nathan’s expression when he’d told her he’d left the force. He’d been calm, impassive, but now she knew that had all been an act. It had to have been.

Unlike her, Nathan had loved being a member of the NYPD. He’d been a natural at the job, clearly a superstar destined to go far. Until he’d had the bad luck to try and arrest a spoiled rich kid with an influential father.

She couldn’t imagine how bitter he must feel at having his career sidelined so unjustly. And it was so like him not to have said a word about this during their meeting. Or maybe he’d assumed she would have heard.

Lindsay made a note to start reading the newspaper more regularly.

MANY HOURS LATER, LINDSAY swirled the ice in her paralyzer and tried to believe it was a coincidence that Nathan Fisher had just walked into her local bar.

He was wearing dark jeans and a cream-colored pullover sweater, thick enough to keep a fisherman warm on a cold day at sea. As she watched, he brushed a hand through his hair, creating a stylish, messy look. Had he done that on purpose? He was scanning the crowd, searching for someone—she didn’t need to guess who.

She shrunk into the corner of her booth seat at the back of the Stool Pigeon. This was going to be tough. She had better prepare herself.

Since Kate had explained the story behind Nathan’s departure from the NYPD, she’d been battling the urge to call him and offer him the job.

Despite his “by-the-book” mentality, Nathan was an excellent investigator and quick on his feet, too. She’d be lucky to have him on her team, the only hitch being that she wasn’t willing to take him—or anyone—on as partner.

Lindsay took a sip of her drink, then lifted her head for a second look. The pub was about half-full tonight. Several men were seated at the bar. The booth across from hers was empty, but an elderly couple sat in the booth ahead of that one. Four tables were lined up along the front window. A group of twentysomethings had pulled two of the tables together. They were mostly guys, with a couple of dolled-up girls along as sidekicks.

Though she didn’t know all their names, Lindsay recognized most of the faces. The local joint was tired, and small, but the clientele was loyal.

Or perhaps, like her, they simply lived nearby. It was nice not to worry about hailing a cab when you were finished drinking for the night.

“Cute place. I like the ambiance.”

Lindsay sighed with resignation as Nathan slid into the bench seat opposite from her. From their days of working together, she knew Nathan was into health food, a borderline vegetarian. This was the last sort of establishment he would choose to visit.

Of course he wasn’t here for the food.

The guy had definitely done his research if he knew enough to find her here. That fact alone was enough to make her want to hire him.

“What did you have for dinner?” His gaze dropped to the dish she’d pushed aside a few minutes ago. “It must have been delicious. That plate is almost clean enough to put back on the shelf.”

“Chicken potpie. You wouldn’t like it. It’s about a thousand calories, most of them saturated fat.”

Nathan flagged the server. “I’ll have what she had. Plus a mineral water if you have any.”

Wendy Pigeon, who co-owned the place with her husband, Mark, looked at him in disbelief, then back at Lindsay. “You have a date?”

“Definitely not. Nathan used to work with me when I was a cop. Don’t bother remembering his name. He won’t be back.”

Wendy removed Lindsay’s empty dish and replaced it with a slice of coconut cream pie. “Want another paralyzer?”

Lindsay took the last slurp from her glass, then nodded.

Once Wendy had returned to the kitchen, Nathan said, “You still drink those things?”

“Why not? They’re a great source of calcium.”

“If you want calcium, you should try soy milk. Those things are loaded with alcohol, sugar, fat and caffeine.”

She smirked. “That’s why I love them.”

He shook his head. “The way you eat amazes me, Fox.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged and proceeded to enjoy her first taste of pie. At least she tried.

Nathan was looking at her steadily, his arms folded on the table, his body leaning forward. Close up like this, she couldn’t help but be aware of his broad shoulders and solid muscles.

“We worked together for a year and I still don’t know anything about your personal life.” The power in his gaze lessened, was replaced with curiosity. “You never talked about family or friends. Never mentioned a boyfriend—ex, or otherwise.”

“I’m not much for chitchat. Especially at work.” She took another bite of the pie, trying again to appreciate the rich flavor and creamy texture.

“No. Clearly you have your friends for that.”

She grimaced at his reference to the fact that she’d been eating—worse yet, drinking—alone. “Hey, these people are my friends. Wendy and Mark.” She waved her pastry-and custard-covered fork in the direction of the bar. “Those losers watching the baseball game.”

“Right. Bosom buddies, I can tell.” He leaned into his seat and shook his head at her. “So how were the rest of the job interviews? Did you hire anyone?”

She considered lying. But he’d find out soon enough. “No,” she admitted. “But we’re running the ad again this week. I’m sure someone suitable will turn up.”

At least she could hope. She’d tried so hard to find potential in the two other applicants she’d met this afternoon. But one had been a disorganized mess, the other curt to the point of rudeness. Even good-hearted Nadine had agreed that neither one of them could possibly work.

“How about a one-month trial period?” Nathan suggested. “If either one of us isn’t happy, we’ll call it a learning experience and move on.”

It was a tempting offer. “You still talking about a partnership?”

“Of course.”

She shook her head, reluctantly. “I’ve gotten used to working on my own.” She took the last bite of pie, then dug into her leather bag for the envelope he’d given her earlier. “You might as well take this back.”

“The case didn’t interest you?”

“Hell, yes, it interested me. But it’s yours. I have no idea how you landed such a plum assignment, but with contacts like yours, why do you need me? You can set up your own business simply enough.”

“I’m not interested in working alone. You’re already established and I think our skills are complementary. Why not team up and make the most of them?”

He was making a strong case, but so far neither one of them had mentioned the other reason partnering up again might not be such a great idea. She studied the depths of his warm, brown eyes, and wondered if he’d forgotten about that night.

If he had, it was probably for the best.

“Why didn’t you tell me the real reason you left the force?”

His eyes became guarded, and his mouth tightened. “I figured you’d have read the papers.”

“I don’t make it past the front page very often. But I happened to be talking to Kate Cooper today and she filled me in. Those hypocrites. I can’t believe they hung you out to dry.”

“Politics. Lieutenant Rock said not to take it personally.” His laugh was short, and hard.

“And what did you say to that?”

“What do you think? I don’t often lose my cool—”

“I’ll say.”

He raised his eyebrows at the interruption. “But that day I did.” He allowed a small smile. “Felt damn good, too.”

“Maybe you’re human after all, Fisher.”

Wendy came out of the kitchen with a potpie for Nathan. She always wore her dark hair tied back, but one strand usually defied orders and needed to be tucked behind her ear at periodic intervals. Wendy did this now as she hesitated at their table.

“I recognize you,” Wendy said. “Your picture was in the paper. You’re the cop who shot that rich lawyer’s kid.”

Resignation, pain, anger…Lindsay wasn’t sure which emotion flashed over Nathan’s face, in the brief instant before he was able to compose himself.

“That’s me.”

“The press hung you out to dry, but we weren’t fooled.” She glanced at Mark, who was drying glasses behind the bar, but keeping an eye on them at the same time. “That kid deserved every ounce of trouble you gave him, and then some. So how did things end up for you? You get fired?”

“No, actually, my name was cleared last week. Then I quit.”

“Yeah? I didn’t see anything about that in the paper.”

“The story ran this Wednesday. A short article near the end of the section. I’m not surprised you missed it.”

Lindsay was appalled. “So they tar and feather you in the headlines, then exonerate you in the back pages? That stinks.”

Nathan heaved his big shoulders. “That’s life in the fast lane.”

“Hang on,” Wendy said. “I’m bringing you another mineral water. On the house.”

Lindsay smiled as she watched Wendy hurry back to the bar. “You sure won her over.”

Nathan poked his dinner with his fork, then lifted his gaze. “More important—have I won you over?”

Lindsay hesitated. Despite her reservations, he was wearing her down. “I’ll think about it,” she finally allowed.

“Think fast,” he said. “This is a time limited offer.”

AS NATHAN EASED THE DEAD BOLT into position, he heard his sister creep down the stairs.

“Quiet.” She held a finger to her lips. “Justin finally fell asleep.”

He nodded, slipped off his shoes, then made his way silently to the kitchen. Mary-Beth followed, going straight for the fridge.

“Are you hungry? I could whip up a stir-fry with the leftovers from dinner.”

“I’m starving,” he admitted. The chicken potpie at the dive Lindsay seemed to love had been inedible. He didn’t know how she kept her great figure on such a terrible diet. “But I can make my own dinner. You sit for a minute.”

“I don’t mind,” Mary-Beth tried to insist.

“Well, I do. I am the better cook, you know.” It was so not true. He was trying to goad her into retaliating. Maybe even coax a smile from her weary-looking face. But his younger sister just melted into her chair and sank her arms and head to the table.

“What comes after the terrible twos? Please tell me it’s the terrific threes.”

“I haven’t got a clue. But Justin isn’t that terrible, as a rule.”

“Not for you, he isn’t, but lately he fights me on everything. He doesn’t want the blue pajamas, he wants the red ones. He won’t drink his milk, he wants apple juice.” She sighed. “Sometimes I wish…”

She didn’t finish, but he could guess what she was longing for. She still hadn’t told him why she and her ex-husband, Logan, had broken up, but it was clear that she—and her son—missed the guy.

“So where were you out so late? Did you have a date?”

He snorted. “Right.” Since the shooting he hadn’t been in the mood for dating, or even hanging out with friends. Most of his buddies were on the force, anyway. And right now, all he wanted was distance from them.

“What they did to you wasn’t right, but you can’t be bitter, Nathan. The bullet wounds have healed…you need to let the mental wounds heal, too. Start living your life, again, having fun.”

Nathan nodded, as if he agreed. But as close as he was to his sister, he’d never expect her to understand. Their dad had been a hero. A real, genuine hero. All his life, Nathan had wanted to live up to that standard. And what had happened?

His name had been maligned in the headlines of the very paper that had once lauded his father as a hero. Columns that had praised his old man for sacrificing his life to save a stranger had accused Nathan of being a bigot and a coward, shooting without cause based on the color of a kid’s skin.

He pulled ingredients from the fridge and began chopping. “You’re a fine one to talk about fun. When’s the last time you went on a date?” His sister was a pretty woman and she’d moved out of her husband’s house six months ago. It was time she started living her life again, too.

“It’s different for me. I have Justin.”

“He’s a great kid, but you need more.”

“Eventually I will,” she agreed. “It’s still too soon for me. Logan and I were together for six years.”

So what happened? He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to probe. He sprayed olive oil into a sauté pan and waited for it to heat.

“At least I have a job that I love,” Mary-Beth continued, referring to her new teaching position at Columbia University. “Have you thought about what you want to do next?”

“I’m going to be a professional investigator. Like Magnum P.I.,” he joked, citing the old TV series that his sister had confessed to watching late at night when she’d been breast-feeding Justin.

Finally a smile cracked his sister’s face. “That sounds great, Nathan. As long as you skip the mustache.”

She rose from her chair, stretched and yawned. “Early start tomorrow. I’d better get some sleep.”

“G’ night, sis.” After she’d given him a hug, he turned back to his cooking, tossing the chopped vegetables and tofu into the hot oil.

Being treated like a criminal had definitely taken the fun out of life. Leaving the force had felt like his only option. But it had also marked the end of a lifelong dream. Since he’d been a young boy, he’d always wanted to be a cop. Now he needed another dream.

He still wanted to go after the bad guys. But from now on, he was going to pick the caliber of people he would work with.

People like Lindsay Fox.

Maybe she cut corners more than he liked, but she was bright and committed. Best of all, she wasn’t out for personal glory, didn’t take on cases just for some easy money. She cared about making the world a better place. She cared about justice.

Nathan added spices into the stir-fry and gave it a final toss before sitting down at the table. Eating straight from the pan, he thought about the glimpse into Lindsay’s life he’d had today.

When he’d seen her ad in the paper, he’d done his research. As well as checking out her clients and her business, he’d dug into her personal life. He knew that she was still single, that she ended most of her days at that greasy pub, knocking back several paralyzers before making her way to her apartment just one block from the office.

Though she was strikingly attractive, with pale blond hair, translucent skin and hauntingly beautiful blue eyes, she didn’t date much. It seemed her socializing, if you wanted to call it that, centered around the pub he’d visited tonight.

What kind of life was that for a woman who was just thirty years old? From personal experience, he knew the woman was passionate. So why wasn’t she involved with anyone?

Ghosts lay in her past, he was sure of that. If they ended up working together again—and he was pretty determined that they would—maybe he would finally find out.

A week later

BALANCING HER LEATHER CASE in one hand, and cell phone in the other, Lindsay dodged pedestrians, strollers and dogs, as she made her way down Columbus Street. She’d spent the morning on routine surveillance for an insurance claim, and was now heading back to the office, while attempting to return a call to her sister. Finally Meg’s assistant patched her through.

“Lindsay?”

“Hey, Meg. Busy day. You called?”

“Yeah, I have another job for you. It’s an out-of-town assignment, should take about a week. You interested in an all-expense-paid trip to Florida?”

Lindsay glanced up at the pewter-colored sky. “Florida sounds like heaven, but I’m too swamped to get away.”

“I thought you were hiring an extra investigator?”

“I’m trying. My most hopeful candidate was a university grad with work experience as a waiter. Smart kid, but I just don’t have the time to train someone from scratch.”

She purposefully didn’t mention Nathan. She hadn’t heard from him since that night at the pub and she was having second thoughts, and third thoughts, against working with him again.

Lindsay came to a street corner and checked for traffic before hurrying across.

“Look, I’m almost at the office,” she continued. “Can I call you back later when I have time to talk?”

“I’m in court the rest of the week. How about we catch up on the weekend?”

“Sounds good.” Lindsay snapped her phone shut, then rounded the corner to Seventy-ninth Street. Two minutes later she was back at the office. Nadine was typing madly, but paused to give her an update.

“The billings are on your desk to be signed, your phone messages are here—” she passed over a stack of paper “—and Nathan has moved into the office across from yours.”

With phone messages in hand, Lindsay was already striding toward her office, when the last part of Nadine’s statement sank in.

“Nathan has moved in?”

Nadine nodded. “Is that okay? He said it was okay.”

Lindsay pivoted, then charged into what should have been an empty office. Sure enough Nathan had made himself at home behind the sleek new desk. He was on the phone, but he smiled and waved at her to come in.

“What the hell is going on here?”

He motioned for her to be quiet. “I’m almost finished.”

“By all means, take your time,” she muttered as she stubbed her toe on a cardboard box sitting on the floor by the empty chair meant for clients. A tan-colored leather briefcase was on the floor beside it.

“Okay. That’s interesting. I’ll follow up right away,” Nathan promised the person on the other end of the line. Then he hung up.

He was wearing a white shirt today, emphasizing the golden tone of his skin, the rich mocha of his eyes. When he stood to greet her, the solid bulk of his thighs was clearly visible beneath the dark denim of his jeans.

“Hey, partner,” he said. “I wondered when you were going to come and welcome me.”

“Welcome you? Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m here for that one-month probation thing we talked about at the bar last week. If things go well—and I’m sure they will—when the month is over you’ll let me buy into the business as a full-fledged partner.”

“I remember talking about a one-month probation. But you know darned well we came to no agreement.”

He shrugged. “Look, if it doesn’t work we go our separate ways. Nothing lost on either side.” He gave her a moment to digest that, then added, “You’d better grab some paper and a pen. We have a meeting with Celia Burchard in about five minutes.”

CHAPTER THREE

LINDSAY STARED AT NATHAN good and hard, but he just smiled with the confidence of someone who knew they were holding a winning hand. She couldn’t deny that she was happy to see him here. She didn’t want to turn down another case like the one her sister had just offered her. Nathan was the best—if not the only—solution to her problem.

“This is pretty audacious,” she finally allowed. “Bordering on insane. But okay. You have a deal.”

She held out a hand and they shook on it. The second his skin touched hers, though, she was reminded of the one reason this might not be a good idea after all.

Well, it was too late for a change of heart. Nadine was at the door, introducing the new client.

Celia Burchard was an exceptionally pretty woman, in her midtwenties, dressed as if she’d just stepped off a beach in sundress and flip-flops, with only a cotton sweater to protect her from the October weather. Glossy hair spilled like honey over shoulders still tanned from the summer.

“Nathan, thank you for agreeing to help me.” Her gaze slid to Lindsay. “I’m sorry, you’re busy. Do you want me to wait out in the hall?”

“This is Lindsay Fox. She’ll be working on your case, too. Come in.” Nathan moved from behind his desk to give the woman a hug.

Immediately Lindsay could tell these two had a history. It wasn’t just the hug. It was the way they looked at one another. She made a note to ask Nathan about it later. For now, she put on a professional smile of welcome.

Celia still hung back by the door. “I have to admit I’m a little nervous.”

“Understandable,” Nathan said. “You’ve been through a lot lately. Why don’t we move to the conference room. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

Lindsay didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. He was acting as if he’d worked here for weeks, or months.

Did he even know where the conference room was?

She waited for him to hesitate or shoot her a questioning look, but instead he headed confidently to the hall on the other side of Nadine’s desk and opened the door to the left.

“Would you please bring in coffee, Nadine?” he asked, before ushering Celia inside.

Lindsay thought her receptionist might be put out at this request from someone who hadn’t even been added to the payroll, yet, but she seemed only too pleased to spring to her feet and oblige. A minute later, Nadine returned with a tray of coffees and water.

She glanced around the room, and noticing the sun streaming in from the window at an uncomfortable angle, she went to adjust the blind. When Lindsay went over to help, Nadine murmured, “I’m glad you changed your mind about Nathan.”

“I’m not sure I had a choice.” Lindsay gave the cord such a hard tug that the blinds crashed down to the sill. Nathan and Celia turned, startled.

“Sorry about that.” Nadine left the room, and Lindsay took a seat across from Nathan and Celia, who had selected chairs next to one another.

What a cute couple they made. But if they were indeed dating, she was going to kill Nathan for not coming clean about the relationship from the beginning.

Celia glanced around, taking in the ultramodern table and steel chairs, then focusing on the black-framed photographs hanging on the steel-colored walls.

She squinted at the artwork. “Are those close-ups of paper clips?”

“Yes,” Lindsay said, admiring them anew.

“Interesting. If you ever decide to go with a warmer look you should visit my mother’s art gallery. I’d be happy to make some suggestions.”

Ouch. Lindsay wasn’t sure what hurt more. Celia’s critique of her artistic taste, or Nathan’s amused smile. She supposed she should be glad Nadine, at least, had left the room and wasn’t here to add her own indictment.

“Should we start?” She glanced at Nathan, who nodded.

“Celia, why don’t you summarize the situation so we can bring Lindsay up to speed?”

“It’s all such a horrible mess, I hardly know where to begin.”

Lindsay tapped her pen impatiently on her notebook. “Why don’t you start with the day your mother shot your father in the butt, and we’ll go from there.”

Celia’s eyes widened at her blunt tone. “It’s not that easy, okay? You have no idea how awful it is to see my own parents on the cover of newspapers and trashy magazines. To have the world talking about my personal family business.”

“I do sympathize.” Far more than Celia could ever guess. “But unfortunately we have no control over the media, if that’s what you’re after.”

“I don’t expect you to stop them. I just want the truth. The police seem happy to take Dad’s story at face value. They hardly investigated at all. And Mom’s preliminary hearing was a joke. It’s so unfair. I don’t understand how Dad can let them put her through this.”

“He was shot, right? Presumably that was upsetting.”

“The bullet only grazed his rear end. He’s fine. He should have told the police it was an accident.”

“Was it?”

“It must have been.”

“But your dad says it wasn’t. And your mom?”

“She can’t remember.”

How convenient, Lindsay thought. She glanced at Nathan, who remained quiet. He seemed content for her to handle the questions for now. She turned back to Celia. “You’re sure she doesn’t remember?”

“Are you suggesting my mother is lying?” Affronted, Celia turned to Nathan, who covered her hand supportively.

Lindsay found this annoying. It wasn’t their job to counsel distraught clients. They were investigators, for God’s sake.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Lindsay replied levelly. “Just asking if you’re sure.”

“My mother can’t remember. It isn’t an act—she never lies. She’s been released on bail with the condition that she receive counseling. I think the judge is hoping that her memory will eventually return. But…”

“Yes?” Nathan encouraged her.

“I don’t think it will. And that worries me because she’s so busy blaming herself for what happened, she isn’t even trying to protect herself.”

“You’re not worried she might shoot your father again now that she’s out on bail?” Lindsay asked.

“No! I’m telling you it was all an accident. She never intended to hurt him.”

“Why doesn’t your father believe that?”

“I don’t know.” Celia turned to Nathan. “Why is she being so mean?”

Lindsay glanced at Nathan, reacting to his quickly truncated smile with a roll of her eyes. If he wanted to coddle this woman, that was his business. She had little patience for emotionally needy clients.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Nathan suggested, gently easing his hand away from Celia’s. “The morning of August 18. It was shortly after breakfast. Your parents were alone at their lodge in the Catskills when your father told your mom he wanted a divorce. I know it’s painful, Celia, but can you describe what happened next?”

“I only know what Dad has told us. They argued and, according to him, Mom picked up the shotgun he uses for hunting pheasants and started threatening him.”

“The gun was just sitting there?” Lindsay asked.

“Apparently Dad had been planning a hunting expedition for later that day and he’d had his gun out of the cabinet where it was usually locked.”

“Isn’t early morning the best time for hunting pheasants?” Lindsay asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Celia asked, turning again to Nathan for support.

He just patted her hand. “She’s being thorough, Celia. That’s all.”

Lindsay ignored the sidebars. “Was the gun loaded?”

“Obviously, since my father was shot.”

“Did your mother load it, or was it loaded when she picked it up?” Lindsay asked more specifically.

“It was loaded. I think. Anyway, it went off—accidentally. Mom sort of lost consciousness for a while and when she came to, Dad asked her to phone for help because he’d been shot. I guess there was quite a bit of blood, even though his injury was minor.”

“You don’t seem very upset about the fact that your father was shot.”

“Well, I’m sorry it happened. But Dad wasn’t the one who ended up getting arrested and being charged with a crime he didn’t commit.”

Lindsay could see that Celia was becoming overwrought again. She sighed and gave the woman a moment to collect herself. Celia drank some coffee and whispered something to Nathan. He said something back, his tone low and reassuring.

Where did he get the patience?

But then, Celia was an awfully pretty girl.

Finally Lindsay could wait no longer. “If your mother accepts your father’s version of that day’s events, why can’t you?”

“I know my mother. Nathan’s met her, too. Can you imagine Audrey shooting anyone?” she asked him.

“Not easily,” he admitted. “But even good people make mistakes.”

“Mistakes, yes, but shooting your husband?”

“These weren’t normal circumstances,” Lindsay reminded her. “People change when they’re under duress. How long were your parents married?”

“Twenty-five years.”

“That’s a lot of time to have invested in a relationship. When your father told her he wanted a divorce she must have been devastated. Trust me, divorce never brings out the best in people.”

“But that’s something else I can’t understand. My parents were happy together. Really, they were.”

“Children are often the last to know about these things,” Nathan pointed out gently.

“Maybe. I could probably accept that I simply wasn’t aware of the problems in their relationship. But I will never be able to accept that my mother would deliberately shoot my father. She was scared of his guns. Wouldn’t even touch them.”

“Why isn’t your mother here with you?” Lindsay wondered.

“She didn’t want me to hire an investigator,” Celia said. “But her lawyer thinks it’s a good idea. And since I knew Nathan…”

“Right,” Lindsay said. She’d already decided to take on this case, but she wanted to make sure the parameters were wide-open. “We will need to question both of your parents. Do you think they’ll cooperate with us?”

“I’ll make sure they do.”

“Good. I think that wraps things up nicely,” she said crisply.

Nathan offered to walk Celia to her car, and once they’d left, Lindsay reflected on the meeting. Celia seemed like a sweet, somewhat naive person, someone whose life had been uncomplicated until events completely beyond her control had shattered everything from the foundation up.

Celia may have found her unsympathetic during the meeting, but the truth was Lindsay had related with her more than the other woman could have ever guessed.

But Celia wasn’t paying them for sympathy. She wanted the truth.

The facts of the shooting seemed incontrovertible. Though they often had visitors, Audrey and Maurice had been alone at the lodge that weekend—which was to be expected. If Maurice had planned to tell Audrey he wanted out of the marriage, he’d want privacy. Maurice couldn’t very well have shot himself in the butt with a shotgun—not even a grazing shot. So Audrey must have done it.

The problem with the scenario, however, was that it didn’t fit with the personalities of the people involved. Unless Celia’s assessment of her parents and their troubles was all wrong.

Celia was far from an objective bystander, after all.

Finally Lindsay stood and stretched.

Damn Nathan for knowing her so well. He’d guessed she’d be intrigued by this case, and she was.

CHAPTER FOUR

NATHAN CAME BY LINDSAY’S office after seeing Celia out. She’d already started working on another case.

“You look busy.”

“Try swamped.” She put a hand on a stack of case files that were all of pressing importance.

“Want to pass some of those on to me?”

Lindsay selected a couple files that required a lot of research—his specialty—freeing her up for the fieldwork she loved. She handed them to him.

“See? Doesn’t that feel better already?”

She had to admit that it did.

And then he was gone, before she had a chance to talk to him about the Burchard case, or question him about Celia.

The day was busy and she didn’t see Nathan again. Fieldwork kept her occupied until after eight in the evening, and by the time she made it to the Stool Pigeon for dinner and a few wind-down drinks, she was exhausted.

Still, she didn’t expect to sleep well that night. Celia Burchard’s story was far different from her own, but the woman’s distress had sparked memories, nonetheless.

At home, Lindsay watched reruns on TV, finally falling asleep around two in the morning. A few hours later she awoke suddenly with sadness pressing like a sandbag on her chest.

The light from the hallway provided enough illumination for her to make her way to the bathroom. Not bothering to switch on the wall sconces by the mirror, she splashed cool water over her face.

The dream was always the same. She was a child again, eight years old in a sun-filled playroom. Then she heard a woman scream. A man yell.

The scene shifts and suddenly she was standing in a different room, darker, streaks of red everywhere. At first glance it seems like paint.

Her father is in this room, too, about ten feet away. He’s staring right at her, and she can’t look at anything but him. Slowly understanding seeps through her. Something terrible has happened. The red stuff isn’t paint.

Then she hears another scream and she wakes up.

The dream ends there, always ends there.

Once it had been a nightly occurrence. Now a month sometimes could pass without an episode, until, eventually, the dream found her again. Usually there was a trigger. Lindsay had no doubt what it was this time.

The new case, Celia Burchard’s parents, there were just too many parallels.

Wearily, she sank to the cotton mat by the tub. Waves of hot air pulsed from the nearby heat register and she waited for the warmth to sink in. Over the years she’d learned not to fight the sadness that came to her in her dreams but rather to go with it. Only once she’d touched bottom was it possible to drift upward again.

With her head in her hands, she let the sorrow soak through every fiber of her being. Once she’d felt the depths of it, the utter loss and emptiness, she summoned a different memory, a happy one.

She was six, recently enrolled in school, and she’d entered the kitchen, unexpectedly, only to find her parents were standing by the sink, kissing. They pulled apart with an embarrassed laugh when they saw her. Her mother offered her a cookie.

Long ago Lindsay had concluded that her memories of her childhood were unreliable, as a whole. But this one she knew was true and she clung to it.

Her parents had been happy, once.

Her father had loved her mother. Once.

Lindsay reached for a towel to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated on her face. Through the fabric she felt the cheekbones she’d inherited from her mother. The strong nose and firm jaw of her dad.

As Nathan had said, life went on. In one form or another.

Slowly she got back onto her feet, then went to her closet and changed into jeans and a sweater. No sense trying to sleep again, at least not until she’d sufficiently distracted herself. Work was always good for that.

On her way out of the room, she touched a finger to the photo of her mother that she kept on her bureau. Her Mom’s smile calmed her, reminding her that not everything from her past had been terrible.

She grabbed her handbag from the rack by the front door, locked up, then headed down the stairs to the street. Though her neighborhood was primarily residential, it was never completely quiet, not even in the dead of night. The noise of the traffic was reassuring as she made her way down the block. A young couple, arms linked, passed by on the opposite side of the street. They were talking passionately about something, oblivious to her existence a mere twenty feet away.

She felt a touch of envy for their closeness and also curiosity. What could matter so much at two o’clock on a Thursday morning? She stopped to fish her keys from her purse, then made her way through the main door, up the stairs, to the office. She flicked on a few select lights, just enough so she wouldn’t bang her shin on any of the furniture.

As she passed by Nadine’s desk she noticed an African violet next to the phone. That was new. Touching one of the leaves confirmed her guess—it wasn’t silk.

Nadine meant well, but real plants needed watering and fertilizer and constant attention. Sooner, rather than later, they all died—at least every plant she’d ever owned did.

Tomorrow she’d talk to Nadine and remind her of the company policy toward green stuff.

In her office Lindsay switched on the desk lamp. Light pooled on the last file she’d been working on. Paperwork wasn’t a fun part of the job—that was one of the reasons she’d hired Nadine. But no receptionist was ever going to be able to take over the job of writing her reports for her.

That afternoon she’d shot some video footage for a Workers’ Compensation case and now she sat down to compose the report. She turned on her computer, and while she waited for the programs to load, she reviewed the footage on her camcorder.

As she watched, she shook her head ruefully. The claimant had made this case painfully easy, as he’d actually had the audacity to drive to his local gym for a workout, clearly not hampered by the injury he claimed made it impossible for him to drive a truck.

Setting aside the camera, she started typing.

“The following investigation was conducted by Lindsay Fox, of Fox Investigations, on October 17, 2009, in New York City.

“On this date I observed Lyle P. Cuthbert leave his house at quarter to nine, driving his 2005 Ford Taurus. I followed Mr. Cuthbert to—”

A noise from the reception area stopped Lindsay cold. She froze as she heard the distinctive scrape of a lock turning in a dead bolt. Good God, someone was breaking in.

There wasn’t enough time to call for help. She fumbled with her key ring, then unlocked the bottom drawer where she kept her gun. The weight of the Glock in her hand was reassuring as she quietly crept away from her desk, to stand in the dark shadows behind the door.

“Lindsay?”

“Bloody hell.” It was Nathan. She let her arms fall to her sides as the adrenaline filtered out of her body.

A moment later he appeared in the doorway. His gaze went immediately to the gun. “I scared you. Sorry about that.”

He was wearing black jeans and a long sleeved gray T-shirt. Combined with the day’s growth on his cheeks and chin and his inscrutable eyes, he could have been auditioning for a role as a cat burglar.

“What the hell are you doing here at this hour? And how did you get in?”

“Nadine gave me a key. I work here now. Remember?”

“One month,” she reminded him. “Then we reassess.”

His gaze held hers. “It’s going to work out.”

“How can you be so confident?”

“I just am.” His gaze dropped to her gun again. “Are you going to put that away? You’re making me nervous.”

She went to her desk and locked the gun back in the bottom drawer. Standing up, she brushed aside some hair that had fallen over her eye. She noticed Nathan watching her, his expression intent.

“You still haven’t told me why you came to the office so late,” she said.

“I was up with my sick nephew for a few hours, so my sister could get some rest. By the time Justin finally settled down, I wasn’t tired anymore.”

She remembered that he had a sister, but she’d thought she was married. “Does your sister live with you now?”

“Yeah. It’s a temporary thing. She split up with her husband a few months ago. By the way, I’ve set up a meeting tomorrow with Audrey Burchard. That’s why I’m here—to collect my notes and prepare some questions. I’m assuming you want to come to the interview?”

She was very interested in meeting Celia’s mother and judging for herself whether the woman really was telling the truth about what she remembered. “What time?”

“Celia arranged for us to drop in at the town house on Park Avenue at ten in the morning.”

“I’ll have to do some juggling with my schedule. Want to take a cab from here?”

“That’ll work.”

Lindsay glanced at her watch. It was almost three. One good thing about this late night encounter with Nathan—it had put all thoughts of her nightmare out of her mind. “I think I’ll head home and get a few hours’ sleep.”

He nodded. “I just need to grab that file. I made a copy for you, too.”

“Great. I’ll read it at home.” Lindsay closed up her office, then met Nathan at the front door. He had two manila folders in his hand and he passed her one.

“Thanks.” She was glad to see that he was still as methodical and conscientious as ever. They exited the office and she locked up behind them. Nathan followed her down the corridor and the stairs, until they were back on the street.

Nathan kept walking with her as she headed toward her apartment, even though the subway entrance was in the opposite direction.

“So what were you doing at the office so late?” he asked.

“I often work at night. I like the quiet.”

“Still a night owl, huh?”

Suddenly she was reminded of one night when they’d been working late together. They’d been in an unmarked car, waiting outside an apartment building for the suspect they were tailing to make his move.

They’d been listening to the radio and talking. The music was soft and romantic and a mood had settled over her, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She’d felt safe and warm and extremely aware of the attractive man beside her.

Until that moment, Nathan had never made an inappropriate comment or move, never given any indication that he might find her attractive, too.

But that night she’d thought she saw an admiring light in his eyes. When she held his gaze, he’d shifted subtly in her direction. She must have moved toward him, too, because the next thing she knew they were kissing.

There’d been an immediate spark between them, and soon the spark was a roaring blaze. They’d necked like teenagers, making love with their clothes on, and they might have gone even further, if Nathan hadn’t noticed the suspect leaving the apartment building. With their guy on the move, the moment between them was terminated with surgical precision.

Later, they’d both acted as if it had never happened.

And, three weeks after that, Lindsay had handed in her resignation.

“Is this your building?” Nathan asked when she stopped walking.

“Yes. See you tomorrow.” She turned to leave, but Nathan stopped her with a touch on her arm.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to sleep now?”

The concern in his voice, brought a slight ache to her stomach. More like a yearning than a pain. “Whether I sleep, or not, isn’t really your concern.”

“Wow. Still, the same prickly Lindsay.”

She wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly aware of the chill in the air. “I’m just used to being independent, that’s all.”

“You really believe that?” Nathan gave her a long, considering look, then shook his head. “When we worked together on the police force, I could understand why you kept your distance. I figured you were worried that friendship would lead to something more.”

“Just because we kissed that one time—”

“Hey. It was more than a kiss.” When she wouldn’t look at him, he added, “Even if you won’t admit it.”

“That kiss was a mistake. I thought you agreed with me about that.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You never mentioned anything…”

“I wanted to. You were the one who froze me out. Next thing I knew, you’d handed in your resignation. I felt guilty about that.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have. My resignation had nothing to do with you.”

Nathan was silent for a minute. Then he nodded. “Good.”

“I started my agency because I wanted to do work that was meaningful to me. But now you’ve got me questioning your motives for being here.”

“Hey, don’t flatter yourself. You’re not exactly irresistible. And for the record, I take my work just as seriously as you do.”

“Yes.” She’d gone too far suggesting that he might have had ulterior motives for seeking her out. She ought to know better than to make too much out of one necking session.

Still, she couldn’t silence the nagging feeling that this partnership—which seemed so perfect in so many ways—might turn out to be her biggest mistake.

MORNING CAME TOO EARLY. It always did for Lindsay. There were few sounds she hated more than the buzzing of her alarm clock, though Nathan Fisher’s voice might become one of them.

She lifted her head from the pillow, then sank back as a familiar pain made her wince. She’d mixed herself another drink last night before going to bed. The extra alcohol had helped her sleep, but now she was paying the price.

She groped for the pain relievers she kept at the side of her bed, swallowed two, then hit the snooze button. Thirty minutes later, she was running late, but at least her head was back to a normal size.

As she dressed, she mentally reviewed her plans for the day. First up was the meeting with Audrey Burchard, but she needed to reschedule some appointments first.

The air was smoggy and humid, and Lindsay inhaled the familiar scent with resignation as she hurried out her front door. Bad air was the price you paid to live in this city, but frankly, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She passed at least twenty people during the short walk to her office and not one of them tried to make eye contact with her.

How great was that?

Nadine handed her a cup of fresh coffee as soon as she stepped into the office. Lindsay accepted thankfully, knocking back several sips despite the hot temperature. Nathan was in the reception room, too, waiting in the sitting area reserved for clients, reading the New York Daily News.

“Ready to go?” he asked her.

Lindsay remembered his annoying ability to always, always, always be on time. “I’m well aware of our meeting with Audrey Burchard, thanks, Nathan. Just give me a minute.”

She passed a list of names and numbers to Nadine. “Would you reschedule these appointments for me, please?”

“You bet.”

Lindsay’s gaze snagged on the African violet. “When I get back, we need to talk.”

“Oh.” Nadine looked sheepish and slightly worried. Perhaps she’d hoped Lindsay wouldn’t even notice the plant. Not that it was a big deal. Still, she had a feeling that if she didn’t put a stop to it now, Nadine would fill the place with big, green, growing things that needed daily care and attention.

SITTING IN THE BACKSEAT of the cab with Nathan, Lindsay was reminded of the hours they’d spent together in their patrol car. It didn’t feel as if two years had gone by since they’d last worked together. It felt like yesterday.

“Tell me about the shooting,” she said. She was having trouble dealing with her anger on this. There were lots of cops she’d worked with who cut corners. Most, in fact.

But she’d been Nathan’s partner for a year and she’d never seen him take the easy way once.

“I’d rather not.”

So it was still a sore point with him. She glanced out the window as the taxi rounded the corner, then headed toward the Museum of Natural History. When the light changed, the driver sped past the museum into Central Park. They would cut through the park and emerge on the East Side in plenty of time for their ten-o’clock meeting.

“Does Celia still live with her parents?”

“You mean, her mother—her dad moved out after the shooting. Yeah, she does, but if you’re worried about her interfering with our interview, don’t. I already suggested it was a good idea if she wasn’t home when we arrive.”

She gave a short nod of approval, then gave him a closer look. “So what’s up with the two of you? Are you dating?”

Nathan looked annoyed. “We used to date. Not any longer.”

Lindsay was hit with emotions she didn’t like or understand. Mild jealousy that he and Celia had once been a couple. Relief that they no longer were.

Good Lord, what was the matter with her?

“You’re not worried about your ability to be objective?”

“Hell, Lindsay, why the inquest? If I didn’t think I could be impartial, I wouldn’t have accepted the case.”

“That’s good enough for me,” she said. After what he’d gone through the past few months, the last thing he needed was someone questioning his integrity. Quickly, she changed the subject. “I read the file on Mrs. Burchard last night. Thanks for pulling together all that information.”

“I’m glad it helped.”

“I knew Maurice Burchard was a big-time property developer, but it’s interesting that Audrey also has money of her own.”

“Probably more than her husband, since the economic downturn. Her father is a very successful art dealer. He owns several galleries that are operated by various family members, including Audrey and Celia. I believe they both have an ownership stake, as well.”

“So whatever the divorce might have meant to Audrey, it wouldn’t have threatened her financially.”

“Not at all. In fact, from a monetary perspective, the divorce would be far more challenging for Maurice. I checked the property tax records today and both the town house and the Catskills lodge are in Audrey’s name.”

“Is she dependent on him in other ways?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen. She’s an elegant and polite lady, but underneath the veneer, I would say she is extremely strong and determined.”

Good for Audrey Burchard. But not necessarily good for her case. “In situations like this I always wonder about possible abuse, either mental or physical. You had the advantage of knowing them on a personal level. Did their relationship appear healthy?”

“Who can really tell from the outside? Healthy enough. The few occasions I saw them they seemed happy.”

“It wasn’t a facade?”

“Why don’t you judge for yourself?”

The taxi was already gliding up to the Burchard residence on Park Avenue. Before Nathan could pull out his wallet, Lindsay covered the fare, then stepped carefully to the street, avoiding a pile of dried leaves in the gutter. Past the sidewalk, wide stone stairs led to an impressive set of chestnut doors.

Audrey met them there—a platinum-haired woman with a dynamite smile, dressed in an elegant suit of ivory silk, accented with bold silver jewelry.

“Nathan! It’s so nice to see you again. Please come in. And this is your partner?”

Nathan made the appropriate introductions, then fielded questions from Audrey about his sister and nephew.

He and Audrey obviously had a warm, intimate relationship and she wondered anew about Nathan and Celia’s history. If he said the relationship was over, she believed him. But how serious had it been in the first place?

Audrey Burchard led them through an ostentatious foyer to a library with a collection of nineteenth-century oil paintings and glass-fronted cases of leather-bound books.

Though this was one of the most expensive homes she’d ever been inside, Lindsay wasn’t impressed until she tasted the coffee which was served by a woman in her fifties, who entered and exited the room with the discretion of a soft summer breeze.

“This is seriously good coffee.”

“Thank you. It’s my husband’s favorite Ethiopian blend. It’s ridiculously expensive.”

But they hadn’t come here to discuss coffee. Lindsay sat back in the sofa, and tried not to be distracted by either the fabulous wealth around her, or her silly, nagging resentment of Nathan’s relationship with this woman’s daughter.

Perhaps it was because she’d become used to working on her own, but Nathan’s presence seemed to change everything for her. Focusing on work had never been a problem before. Now, the sound of his voice, his physical appearance, even the scent of his shampoo, were all intensely distracting.

It was damned annoying.

Lindsay trained her eyes on the woman they’d come to interview. In person Audrey Burchard exuded energy and power. Her demeanor was not just of confidence, but of one used to taking control of situations and managing outcomes. Her silver hair was very short, showcasing pretty ears and diamond studs as big as the nail on Lindsay’s pinkie. Her green eyes were clear and sharply focused.

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