“If We’re Going To Work Together, We Need To Forget Tonight Ever Happened.”

“Why’s that?” Joe asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Apparently only to you, Arianna. The way I see it, we reached out to each other. We kissed. We made love. It felt good. It felt great. Didn’t it feel great?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. We needed each other. We met those needs. We’re adults.” Joe was silent for several seconds, then finally said, “You can try to ignore it all you want. I choose not to.”

“Meaning what?”

“I’m not going to ignore it. Or forget it. It meant something to me. Didn’t it mean anything to you?”

How was she supposed to answer that? Damn him.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another passion-filled month at Silhouette Desire—where we guarantee powerful and provocative love stories you are sure to enjoy. We continue our fabulous DYNASTIES: THE DANFORTHS series with Kristi Gold’s Challenged by the Sheikh—her intensely ardent hero will put your senses on overload. More hot heroes are on the horizon when USA TODAY bestselling author Ann Major returns to Silhouette Desire with the dramatic story of The Bride Tamer.

Ever wonder what it would be like to be a man’s mistress—even just for pretend? Well, the heroine of Katherine Garbera’s Mistress Minded finds herself just in that predicament when she agrees to help out her sexy-as-sin boss in the next KING OF HEARTS title. Jennifer Greene brings us the second story in THE SCENT OF LAVENDER, her compelling series about the Campbell sisters, with Wild In the Moonlight—and this is one hero to go wild for! If it’s a heartbreaker you’re looking for, look no farther than Hold Me Tight by Cait London as she continues her HEARTBREAKERS miniseries with this tale of one sexy male specimen on the loose. And looking for a little Hot Contact himself is the hero of Susan Crosby’s latest book in her BEHIND CLOSED DOORS series; this sinfully seductive police investigator always gets his woman! Thank goodness.

And thank you for coming back to Silhouette Desire every month. Be sure to join us next month for New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson’s Best-Kept Lies, the highly anticipated conclusion to her wildly popular series THE MCCAFFERTYS.

Keep on reading!

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Hot Contact
Susan Crosby

SUSAN CROSBY

believes in the value of setting goals, but also in the magic of making wishes. A longtime reader of romance novels, Susan earned a B.A. in English while raising her sons. She lives in the central valley of California, the land of wine grapes, asparagus and almonds. Her checkered past includes jobs as a synchronized swimming instructor, personnel interviewer at a toy factory and trucking company manager, but her current occupation as a writer is her all-time favorite.

Susan enjoys writing about people who take a chance on love, sometimes against all odds. She loves warm, strong heroes; good-hearted, self-reliant heroines…and happy endings.

Readers are welcome to write to her at P.O. Box 1836, Lodi, CA 95241.

For Jerry, who patiently answers my questions and

makes me look smart!

And for Jack—because.

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

One

Joe Vicente strode into his office and stumbled over a body pierced with half a dozen daggers. He studied the giant of a man sprawled on the floor, then he did what any veteran homicide detective would do—he laughed. Small Corn Flakes boxes were stuck to the man’s chest, knife handles protruding from each box. Unnatural red blood dripped from the points of entry.

“You get it?” the body asked.

Joe got it. “Cereal killer. Good one, Reggie.” He walked backward toward his desk. “You going trick-or-treating on your way home?”

“Nah. I’m meeting the wife at the Blue Zoo for a Halloween party. Wanna come?”

“No, thanks. If I’m not there to pass out candy to the little monsters, they egg the house.”

Reggie straightened his costume as he stood. “I didn’t think kids did that anymore.”

“They do in my neighborhood.” Joe turned around and bumped into a descendent of Al Capone, wearing a pin-striped suit, black shirt, white tie and Fedora. Tony Mendes, the newest detective assigned to the elite Robbery-Homicide Division of the Los Angeles Police Department—and Joe’s partner.

Joe grinned. He couldn’t remember a Halloween in his seven years in RHD when anyone had dressed up. But then the Blue Zoo, the local cop watering hole, had just changed ownership, expanded and was making an effort to draw a bigger crowd.

Joe dropped his notebook onto his desk and spied Lieutenant Morgan heading his way.

“Interview room two, Vicente,” he said to Joe. “Now.”

The lieutenant’s tone of voice said Joe wasn’t being invited to a party.

He avoided eye contact with the other detectives as he followed Morgan. In the interview room he sat in the chair across the table from the lieutenant, slouched a little and crossed his ankles. His stomach caught fire, but he didn’t reach for the antacid tablets he chewed like candy, not in front of the boss.

Morgan leaned back, stone-faced. At six foot two, he was as tall as Joe but had ten years and thirty pounds on him. Morgan was a good supervisor. Fair. “Catch me up on the Leventhal case.”

“Dead ends. One after another.”

The lieutenant was quiet long enough to almost make Joe squirm. He knew the tactic, used the tactic. Shut up and the let other person bear the burden of the silence, forcing them to speak first.

“I’ve cleared you for four weeks’ vacation,” Morgan said, his gaze steady.

Shock rolled through Joe in tidal waves. He fought to maintain his equilibrium. Vacation, hell. He’d lost his cool too many times lately, but the last thing he needed was a vacation. Time on his hands? No way. “I know you’re not happy with my work—”

Morgan frowned. “It’s got nothing to do with your work, Joe. You’re a damn good cop. But you are this close to being reassigned. This close.” A piece of paper might have fit between his thumb and index finger. “That’s about a day from now.”

“I can’t go on vacation.”

“You need to get away from here. Right now. Before you get hurt, before someone else gets hurt. Never mind that you’ve worked the Leventhal case way too long. It should’ve been filed by now.”

“I can’t get the witnesses to cooperate. You know that.”

“Yeah, and you’re taking it out on everyone here. When you walked in just now, that’s the most civil any of us has seen you for months. You don’t think the captain hasn’t noticed? I’m saving your hide here. You start vacation tomorrow.”

Desperation slammed into him. His lungs froze. If he didn’t have work, he wouldn’t survive. The constant burning in his gut would only get worse. He didn’t want to think about what it would do to his insomnia.

“Two weeks,” Joe countered. Maybe he could tolerate two weeks.

“Four. And if anyone sees you at the site of the Leventhal shooting or hears you’re trying to contact a witness, you won’t have a desk to come back to.”

Joe knew Morgan was right. Something had to change. But staying away from the job wasn’t the solution. Legally they couldn’t force him to use his vacation time, either.

“You know I can’t leave town,” he said. It was as close to begging as he would get.

“Maybe that’s exactly what you need,” the lieutenant said, his voice not as gritty. “How long has it been since you went away? Since you went on a date, even? I know you’ve been through hell, but take the time and be grateful for it. Clear your head. Take back your life.”

“Or don’t come back?”

Morgan crossed his arms. “I want the case file and notes on my desk before you leave tonight.”

Joe was thirty-nine years old and an eighteen-year veteran of the LAPD. He knew a dismissal when he heard one. He also knew not to argue with the boss, especially one who thought he was doing you a favor.

“Who’ll take over on Leventhal?”

“Mendes.”

Joe tried not to wince. “He’s green.”

“As green as you were seven years ago. You solved your share of cases from the beginning.”

Joe stayed at his desk for an hour organizing his notes. No one would call him at home with questions, even if he didn’t include every detail he knew, but he covered all the bases regardless. Mendes knew most everything anyway.

Everyone but the lieutenant was gone by the time Joe put the folder on Morgan’s desk.

“Thanks,” he said. “See you after Thanksgiving.”

Joe nodded, started to leave then turned back. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. At least Morgan knew he hadn’t slacked off, that he’d continued to give his best to the job, even when he wasn’t coping well with the frustration of dead ends. And life.

“Call me with me a progress report now and then,” Morgan said.

“Yeah.” He left, the effort to walk almost more than he could manage. Now what? Go home and face the demanding trick-or-treaters? It would be easier to scrape dried, splattered eggs off his house.

Go to the Blue Zoo and forget himself in the booze and shoptalk? Given his mood, he’d probably end up in a fight.

He made his way to his car. On the passenger seat was an invitation he’d been carrying around for a couple of weeks. He picked it up. A costume party thrown by Scott Simons, his training officer after graduation from the academy. When Scott retired twelve years ago, he became a lawyer and had built a reputation for winning tough criminal cases. The Halloween party was at his house in Santa Monica and would start in an hour.

Costume and mask required. Joe drummed his fingers on his steering wheel. He wasn’t a costume kind of guy. But if he went to Scott’s party he would be among strangers mostly, hot-shot lawyers and a celebrity client or two. He’d be anonymous, but not alone. It was better than the alternatives, especially staying home and drinking himself into oblivion, which was the last thing his stomach needed.

Take back your life. Lieutenant Morgan’s words jabbed him.

He tossed the invitation onto the seat, started the engine and pulled out of his parking spot. He couldn’t believe he was asking himself this question, but where could he find a decent costume at six o’clock on Halloween night? Something a little more original than a George W. Bush mask. Something without a ruffled shirt or that required him to say, “Yeah, baby,” all night.

Surreal, Joe thought, shaking his head. Utterly surreal. He would’ve laughed—had it been the least bit funny.

The party was in full swing, the music loud and the party goers boisterous—exactly the kind of gathering that Arianna Alvarado loved. Crowds and noise were an invigorating change from her relatively quiet work life. She sipped her martini, appreciating the bite of the gin, then drew a green olive into her mouth and chewed it. “You’re sure he’s not coming?” she asked the man standing next to her.

“I told you it was a long shot at best,” Scott Simons answered. They stood in the foyer as Scott greeted arriving guests. “If he can’t wear jeans and boots, he’s not going to show.”

“Add a western shirt and a Stetson, and you’ve got a classic,” Arianna pointed out.

“But still a costume.”

Arianna shrugged her agreement. “He didn’t say no, though?”

“If he were coming, he would’ve called.”

Disappointment twisted a knot in her anticipation, choking it off.

Scott welcomed a couple dressed as pro wrestlers then pointed them toward the bar. “Why don’t you just call him at the P.D.?” he asked Arianna.

“It doesn’t suit my purposes.”

He turned to her, his brows raised, a smile flickering. “So you weren’t telling me the truth when you asked me to include him on the guest list. It’s personal, not business.”

“It’s business, in a personal way,” she offered, along with a smile. The business was her own.

“He likes beautiful women. He would like you a lot, Arianna.”

“Flatterer,” she said in return. She didn’t want Detective Joe Vicente of the LAPD to like her, however. The one time they’d met, last December, she’d felt a pull toward him that seemed reciprocated, but he hadn’t followed up on it. Neither had she. Mutual attraction. Mutual reluctance. She’d been glad then. He would’ve been hard to say no to, but she definitely would’ve said no.

“Have I told you how stunning you look in that flamenco costume?” Scott eyed the large red rose tucked behind her ear in her low-coiled hair. He winked. “I wouldn’t mind a private performance.”

She gave him a sultry look—or she hoped it was sultry, but she was wearing a mask, so she wasn’t sure he could tell. She knew he had no interest in a private performance; he had a beautiful wife whom he adored. But Arianna raised an arm anyway, assumed a classic dance pose and clicked her castanets above her head. Her ruffled skirt brushed her knees in front and her ankles in back. She’d wanted to draw Detective Vicente’s attention tonight. A wasted effort now.

With a laugh she tugged on Scott’s long white barrister’s wig then walked away, wandering out to the backyard bar by the pool, stopping here and there to talk with other guests as she went. She had the bartender add another toothpick full of olives to the drink she would baby all evening, then went in search of a quiet spot to consider her next move. How could she get Joe Vicente’s unofficial help?

She moved along a path around the pool, past the cabana and into a dense profusion of fragrant vegetation, following the sound of trickling water to its source—a rock waterfall in a hidden grotto, humid and verdant.

She stopped when she saw a man dressed in black standing next to the falls, lost in his own world, a tall, lean man with dark hair, wearing high boots, snug pants, loosely flowing shirt and a dashing hat, tipped forward rakishly. A mask hid half his face. Zorro. He carried himself well, his posture perfect, with a hint of the arrogance Zorro was known for. She expected him to draw his sword and slash a Z in the air at any moment.

Intrigued, Arianna straightened her satin mask and took a step toward him. Perhaps the evening wouldn’t be a complete waste, after all.

Joe’s nose twitched as a spicy scent assaulted him then radiated to the far reaches of his body, creating a sudden, intense heat. He searched for the fragrant flower source but saw instead a woman approaching him—tall and dark-haired, with a body better than dreams could usually conjure up. Her costume was exotic-looking. Skinny straps, low cut, fitting each amazing curve snugly and ending in ruffles that undulated with every step. Long legs, high heels. Red and black, satin and lace. A rose behind her ear. Red lips. A small beauty mark at the corner of her mouth. Black mask trimmed in lace. Dark, unfathomable eyes behind it.

She looked like sex, if it had a human name.

“Buenos noches,” she said with a perfect accent, her teeth white against the red lipstick.

“Buenos noches.” He guessed her age as thirty. She wasn’t wearing a ring.

“May I join you?” she asked.

He held out a hand to help her negotiate the final steps leading to the substantial rock ledge where he stood. Her breasts were covered only by a layer of smooth lace, her nipples pressing against the fabric. He managed to shift his focus to her face as she pulled her hand free.

“Thank you,” she said, then looked around. “This is beautiful, isn’t it? I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“You are. Thank you.”

She smiled.

Joe tried to place her. There was something familiar about her. Her voice? Her body? With that kind of self-assurance, an actress, he decided. Could he have seen her in a movie? Joe knew most of the criminal attorneys in the L.A. area. None of them looked like her. If she would take off her mask…

“So, you’re not wearing your cape, Zorro,” the woman said.

“It’s not a black-tie event.”

Her laugh was light and musical and seemed to have magic powers. The burn in his stomach cooled to a simmer. “Do you dance?” he asked.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“I mean as you’re dressed—flamenco.” He wanted to see her in motion, to smell her spicy perfume as her body heated up. It had been so long since he’d felt anything remotely close to lust, he almost didn’t recognize the signs—how his breathing turned shallow and his pulse pounded and his body went on alert, as if a caution sign had been placed in front of him, a sign he wanted to plow through. Caution be damned.

“I dance,” she said, confidence in the lift of her chin, the move emphasizing her slender neck.

He waited. She didn’t offer to perform. Tension hovered between them, although it was more anticipation than uneasiness.

“How do you know Scott?” she asked, breaking the silence.

He’d started to get swept into a fantasy. Her question brought him back to earth. “Professionally. You?”

“The same.”

That nagging sense of familiarity returned. Had Scott defended her? A case that generated media attention?

She gestured toward the path leading back to the pool area. “I think perhaps I interrupted you, after all,” she said, her expression as apologetic as her mask would allow. “I’ll go.”

“No.” He caught her by the hand then didn’t release her. He hadn’t realized how little he’d spoken. Obviously he had made her uncomfortable. “I had a rough day.” Week. Month. Year. “I thought I dreamed you up.”

Her dark gaze held him captive. “I’m quite real.”

“I can see that.” He didn’t know what else to say. She was like a beacon in the fog of his world. He wanted to follow the light, to let it shine on him, to brighten his existence. Pure selfishness, he admitted, since he had nothing to offer her or any woman except dead emotions, a screwed-up mind, an ulcer, probably, and the short fuse of a man long deprived of uninterrupted sleep. Plus a job in jeopardy. Oh, yeah. He had a lot going for him, all right.

Take back your life. Again the lieutenant’s words assaulted him. Suddenly he wanted his life back. No, not back, but better.

The woman continued to study him. He didn’t break eye contact. Couldn’t. Something about her demanded that he look deeply into her eyes, to allow her to look into his, not an easy feat with masks on. Finally she set her martini glass aside and took a step toward him.

“Dance?” she asked, soft and low, as music filtered in from hidden speakers.

He took her into his arms. Her body felt lithe and limber as they moved to the slow rhythm. He pulled the rose from her hair and dragged it across her cheek. Her eyes glittered darkly. He went hard with need.

One strap of her sexy dress slid off her shoulder and down her arm. He hooked a finger into the fallen strap and dragged it onto her shoulder. She didn’t protest nor did she encourage him toward more. He let his finger slide down the strap until it met fabric. Her breast cushioned his hand; he felt her breath stop then tugged her toward him, his gaze on hers, lowered his head, brought his mouth close—

“Well. I see you’ve met,” Scott Simons said into the magic moment.

Joe swore.

Two

The stranger’s single, explicit curse flattered Arianna, but before she could decide why, he took a step back from her. Regret and relief assaulted her simultaneously. She was aroused, more than she’d been in a long time, and she’d known him for ten minutes! She should be grateful that Scott had come along….

But she wasn’t.

“Everyone has unmasked,” Scott said, grinning as if something momentous was about to happen.

Arianna glanced at the man dressed as Zorro. Would he take off his mask? He seemed reluctant—or maybe he was still caught up in what they’d just experienced. She’d danced with him because she’d recognized something even his mask couldn’t hide—a kindred spirit. Battle weariness. Like her. So they’d distracted each other from whatever demons haunted them.

Arianna lifted her mask away. He seemed to stop breathing. She saw his eyes close for longer than a blink, then he took off his hat and untied his mask.

“Yes, we’ve met,” he said to Scott, but looking at her. “Ms. Alvarado. It’s nice to see you again.”

She wanted to punch Scott in the mouth. Anything to wipe that stupid grin off his face. “Detective,” she said calmly to the man she’d come to the party hoping to see. “How’ve you been?”

“Business, my ass,” Scott said before he left them alone.

“What was that supposed to mean?” Joe asked.

“Does anyone know why Scott says the things he does?” she replied, her fists clenched. She ran a few sentences through her head. Everything sounded inane. “Well,” she began.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “That was interesting.”

Her shoulders loosened. “‘Interesting’ tells me nothing.”

“Care to put your spin on it?”

She settled on honesty, especially since she had a favor to ask of him. “I don’t usually come on that strong.”

His brows lifted as if he didn’t quite believe her. He tucked her rose back in her hair. His fingertips grazed her ear then her neck, his gaze serious. “Thank you for the dance.”

She shivered. Annoyance came hard and fast. What was going on? She knew how to control her reaction but made no effort to. That attraction she’d felt last December was as strong as ever. “You’re welcome.”

She wanted to ask him why he’d come, since Scott had been adamant that Joe wouldn’t dress for Halloween. “I like your choice of costume,” she said.

“I can’t wait to take it off. How about you?”

She swallowed the innuendo that sprang to mind. “I’m comfortable in mine.” She couldn’t be alone with him for one more minute. She’d never been so unguardedly drawn to anyone, ever. If she wanted his help, she needed to stay businesslike, to act like the thirty-three-year-old professional woman she was, not some hormonal teenager. “Shall we head back to the party?”

“All right,” he said, although with surprise on his face. “I take it your firm has done work for Scott?”

“For a number of years.” She led the way down the path toward the pool. She’d been a private investigator for seven years. Her company, ARC Security & Investigations, did consulting and investigative work for many attorneys in the area, especially on high-profile cases.

“I met him eighteen years ago,” Joe said. “He was my training officer after I graduated from the academy. We stayed in touch for a long time.” They emerged from the trail. “Although I hadn’t seen him in a couple of years. He’s been busy.”

“I see him more on television than in the office these days, too,” she said, eyeing the crowd mingling around the pool. She didn’t want to ask her favor tonight at the party. She also didn’t dare leave him alone, since Scott might decide to tell him she’d specifically requested he be invited.

Now what? She couldn’t leave until he did. And she couldn’t wander away. Small talk?

“Do you know anyone else here?” she asked.

“No. Did you come alone?”

I wanted to see you. “Yes.”

“That surprises me.” He gestured to a couple of chaise lounges. “We should grab those while they’re empty. Can I get you a drink?”

She’d left hers behind at the waterfall, she realized. “Yes, please. Martini with a twist, extra olives.”

“I’ll be right back.”

She’d barely settled on a lounge when Scott sat down on the one next to hers.

“Did you know he was here?” she asked, watching Joe talk to the bartender.

Scott looked at her over his wineglass, then took a sip. “Yes.”

“Is that how you entertain yourself?”

“You’re a cool one, aren’t you, Arianna?” He settled a little more comfortably. “Controlled. Smart. I’d never seen you ruffled by anything until you found out I knew Joe.”

“It was a simple favor to ask, inviting him to the party,” she said, wishing she had her drink already, needing the prop.

“More than that, I think.”

She hesitated. Joe was walking toward them. “You won’t say anything.”

“I don’t know how this is going to play out.” He smiled, patted her knee and stood, making room for Joe, leaning to whisper in her ear, “You know he’s not engaged anymore, right?”

Arianna said nothing. She didn’t know he had been engaged. Was that the reason for the battle-weary look in his eyes? Had he broken it off or had his fiancée?

She thanked Joe as he passed her the drink then raised her brows at Scott, indicating he could move on.

Scott grinned. “So, how do you two know each other?”

“We met during Alexis Wells’s attempted murder last year,” Arianna said, aware of Joe taking a seat beside her and stretching out those long legs. His knee-high black Zorro boots made her smile. “Joe was the detective in charge of the case.”

“You worked together? The cop and the P.I.? Strange bedfellows.” He met Arianna’s gaze and smiled benignly.

“We shared information without insulting each other’s profession,” Joe said. “She’s a cut above in her field.”

“Yeah. Most P.I.s only get to eat what they kill,” Scott responded. “But not Arianna and her partners.”

“We work hard.” Her irritation grew. She’d always had a great business relationship with Scott. Why was he making things difficult for her now?

“Scott,” Joe said, his voice quiet but firm. “I like you. But if you continue to offend Ms. Alvarado, she’s going to leave. And I’m not going to like you anymore.”

A few seconds ticked by, then Scott lifted his glass to Joe. “To the thrill of the chase.”

Joe stared back.

“Thanks,” Arianna said when their host walked away.

Joe shrugged. “Sometimes he doesn’t know when to quit.”

“I’ve noticed.” She slid a green olive off the toothpick and sucked on it. “Pushing the right buttons is what makes him good in the courtroom, though.”

“But lousy as a friend sometimes.” Joe leaned toward her. “Would you like to get out of here? Go somewhere quiet?”

She was tempted. Entirely too tempted. But if she accepted his invitation she couldn’t move the relationship into a business one when she needed to. She had no intention of lying to him or stringing him along. She just didn’t want to ask her favor publicly—or in costume. It was too serious for that. The party had been a way to open a dialogue. “I’d love a rain check,” she said.

He studied her for a long time. She made herself breathe.

“Walk me to my car and I’ll give you my number,” he said, standing. “You can call me when the sun comes out.”

She smiled. “All right.”

Joe offered her a hand up. He was probably crazy to pursue her. He should at least wait until his life was back on track, yet he couldn’t help but feel she was part of the solution. Wishful thinking, maybe?

They made their way through the crowded house. He guided her slightly ahead of him with a touch to her lower back, just enough to feel the bones of her vertebrae against his fingertips now and then. She turned and looked at him once, her dark eyes again taking his measure in a way no woman in his memory had. She looked deeply, as she had by the waterfall, without blinking. Did he meet her standards or pass her test or whatever it was she was doing when she looked at him like that?

They reached his SUV. He got a business card out of his glove compartment, wrote his home and cell numbers on the back and passed it to her.

“Something on your mind?” he asked when she said nothing. He curled his fingers into his palms, resisting touching her. He wondered how long her hair was. A year ago it was just past her shoulders.

“You’re different from other detectives,” she said. “I noticed that before.”

“Different, how?”

“Quieter.”

“And not intimidated?”

She smiled. “Do I intimidate?”

“Competence is often intimidating.”

Arms folded, she leaned a hip and shoulder against his passenger door. “I think I’ve been complimented.”

“You have.”

“You impress me as well.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He moved closer, crowding her space a little.

She didn’t budge, not even when he slipped a finger under her strap as he had by the waterfall. He focused on the little beauty mark at the corner of her mouth. “This is very pretty,” he said, kissing the spot. He felt her lips part, heard a soft sound, more than a breath catching, less than surrender. He moved his mouth over hers lightly, brushing his lips against hers, pulling back, making her come to him.

A horn honked. Teenage boys shouted crude encouragement. The only encouragement Joe needed was Arianna’s. When he wouldn’t take the kiss any deeper she placed her hands along his face and held him still.

“You tease,” she said, her voice husky.

“Just making sure of my welcome.”

Her hesitation lasted all of two seconds. “The door’s open.”

He wanted to skim his hands over her incredible body, to feel the weight of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the firm fullness of her rear. He settled for a long, leisurely kiss that she kept trying to deepen and he kept thwarting. He knew he had to leave her wanting more or she wouldn’t call him, so he gave her enough to think about but not to satisfy. Gave himself a lot to think about, too, like what it would be like to make love, a foreign concept to him in the past six months.

He pulled back. She opened her eyes. Her skin was drawn taut over her cheekbones. He let his gaze wander lower as she watched. Her nipples were hard. She arched her back just enough that he noticed the unspoken invitation to touch. He declined, counting on there being another time and a better place.

“Adios,” he said, forcing himself to leave her. He walked around his car and got in, then didn’t look back until he was far enough away that she couldn’t see him glance in his rearview mirror.

She wasn’t staring after him, however, but was strolling back up to Scott’s house, her hips swaying, the ruffled hem intoxicating in its undulating rhythm. She didn’t glance in his direction.

After a moment he smiled. He’d met his match.

Three

Arianna tapped Joe’s business card against her thigh as she stared out her living room window at the typical hazy Southern California morning. She had his home number. Why procrastinate?

Dumb question. Because of last night, that’s why. Because of the kiss. The almost-as-good-as-sex kiss. How could she ask him to help her now? He would think she kissed him to get him interested, to lure him so that he would cooperate. Nothing was further from the truth. She’d gotten carried away—rare for her.

She was also hesitating because she hadn’t yet recovered from last night’s nightmare, the one that had been haunting her for weeks. The one that had spurred her toward Joe Vicente.

Arianna turned from the window and sat at her piano, a shiny, black baby grand that dominated her apartment living room. She tapped out a few random notes, then eased into scales. When her fingers were limber, she played a piece she’d composed, a complex, demanding song still being refined.

After playing the final chord, she sat up straight, set her hands on her thighs and enjoyed the quiet for a moment. Then she talked to herself.

Okay, stall over. Bite the bullet.

She grabbed the portable phone and dialed. He answered on the third ring.

“Good morning, it’s Arianna Alvarado,” she said, as businesslike as possible.

“Good morning back,” he replied, a sound suspiciously like laughter in his voice. “And thank you for being specific. It could’ve been embarrassing if I had you confused with the other Arianna.”

Oh, he knew how he affected her. “The sun hasn’t broken through,” she said, forging ahead, “but I’m inviting you to lunch anyway.”

“Don’t trust yourself to have dinner with me?”

The underlying sensuality in his voice appealed to her way too much. She started pacing. “Yes.”

“Yes, you don’t trust yourself?”

“Yes, I trust myself, but I’m inviting you to lunch.”

“Sorry, but I’m headed to my parents’ house. I expect to be there all afternoon.”

Her heart slammed into her chest. Even better. She could meet his father. Talk to him. “Can I meet you there?” she asked.

A long silence, then, “At my parents’ house?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t usually bring a woman home until the tenth date.”

Like your ex-fiancée? “Will you make an exception?”

Silence again. “Sure, why not?” He gave her the address and directions.

“I have to make a stop first,” she said. “Can I bring lunch with me?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“Is there anything I shouldn’t bring? Allergic to shellfish or anything?”

“No allergies here.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” She hung up then went in search of something to wear to meet his parents. His father. A man she’d never met, a man whose name she didn’t know until a month ago, but whom she’d hated for twenty-five years.

Arianna pulled into a circular driveway of an impressive Spanish Colonial mansion and parked near the garage. She bypassed the front door to jog down a side path into the backyard where she saw several linen-covered round tables with umbrellas set up near the large, tiled swimming pool. The view of the Hollywood Hills was incredible.

She spotted her mother twining elegant leaf garlands around the umbrella poles. Arianna forgot what today’s event was. A fashion show, perhaps? Something to raise money for a worthy cause, probably. That was what her mother did for a living ever since she’d married Estebán Clemente, international movie mogul, when Arianna was twelve.

Estebán had changed their lives in immeasurable ways. But one topic was never brought up for discussion—Arianna’s father.

“Mom!” she called.

Paloma Alvarado Clemente never hurried. She carried herself with grace and dignity, her skin and make-up flawless, her striking silver and black hair styled in a fashionable bob. She wore brightly colored designer clothing, and jewelry that clinked and clanked—a striking silver necklace and bracelets crafted by artisans from her native Mexico.

Paloma waited for Arianna now, a serene smile on her face, her arms opening wide to gather her daughter close. Her perfume wrapped Arianna in memories. She nestled for a few seconds longer than usual.

“Everything looks beautiful, Mom. What’s the big event?”

“A luncheon for my book club.”

Arianna leaned back. “I didn’t know you were in a book club.”

Her mother brushed the hair from Arianna’s face and smiled. “We started it a few months ago. It’s mostly an excuse to eat and gossip. We take turns hosting.”

“And you’re doing your own decorating? I’m impressed.”

“That’s part of the rules. I didn’t iron the tablecloths myself,” Paloma added in a whisper.

“A small cheat, Mom.”

Paloma walked them to a table where she continued winding the leaf garland up the umbrella pole. Taller than her mother, Arianna took over as it reached the top then taped it there.

“You are looking demure today, mija,” Paloma said, eyeing Arianna’s jeans and white blouse.

“Good. That’s the look I was going for.”

“Are you undercover?”

“No.” Well, sort of, she thought. “I’m meeting someone.”

“Someone special?” her mother asked.

“Mike Vicente.” Her heart pounded as she said the name.

“No.” Paloma’s face went ashen. She clasped her daughter’s hands. “You cannot. Arianna, you cannot. I forbid it.”

Arianna squeezed back. “I have to know, Mom.”

“Why? What good can come from this now, after all these years?”

“My good.” See how important this is to me, Mom. “I need to find out what happened to my father.”

“If they didn’t know then, how can they know now?”

“A lot has changed. They’re using DNA to solve old cases now.”

Her mother shook her head.

“I’ve been having nightmares. Dad’s trying to tell me something.”

“Even if I believed in such things, why would he wait until now?”

Arianna willed her mother to understand. “Because something is different now. The truth is waiting. He wants me to find it.”

“Mija, I am begging you to leave it alone.”

“Madre, I can’t.” She forced the words out. “I can’t rest until I know. I had hoped for your support, but I’ll go ahead without it.”

“I cannot endorse this. I cannot.”

Arianna pulled her mother into a powerful hug. “I love you, Mom. I’ll keep in touch.”

After a few moments her mother hugged her back, her embrace fierce, as if she could stop her daughter from leaving. Finally she let go. “Vaya con Dios, mija.”

“You, too, Mom.” Arianna swallowed the lump in her throat and jogged back to her car. Her next conversation wouldn’t be any easier.

From his parents’ bedroom Joe could see the street, and every car that passed by. He didn’t know what Arianna drove, but he imagined it was dark and sleek, like her. Something quiet and powerful. But maybe she would surprise him—again.

Her asking to meet his parents had almost left him speechless. After so many years as a detective he was accustomed to the routinely unpredictable nature of his work—things were often not as they seemed—but his relationships had been fairly predictable…if he didn’t count Jane returning his engagement ring. That had caught him by surprise.

A dark blue BMW pulled up in front of the house. No surprise, after all. The trunk popped open, then she climbed out of the car, looking casual in jeans and a white top. Her shiny almost-black hair was down, the length just past her shoulders, which answered his question of last night. He missed the flamenco costume.

She shaded her eyes and looked at the house. He hurried down the stairs to meet her at her car, where she was unloading an ice chest.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, passing him the chest.

“Always.” Joe noticed she wasn’t making eye contact, unusual for her. The first time he met her he’d noticed how much eye contact she made, then noted it again last night. She started to walk past him, a grocery bag in hand. “Arianna.”

“Hmm?”

Distracted wasn’t the right word for her demeanor. She seemed nervous. Or anxious, maybe. “Hi. How are you?” he asked.

“Good, thanks. How are you?” She kept walking up the pathway to the house, a small, neat structure that his parents had owned since before he was born. “What a sweet house.”

Joe tried to see it through her eyes. Freshly painted, the yard well tended, mums in bloom. He’d put in long hours to get it looking good after a few years of neglect.

He followed Arianna into the house, also newly painted and spotless, although the furnishings were dated. “Kitchen’s to your right,” he said.

She walked into the room and set her bag on the counter. “Where are your parents?” she asked, looking around.

He put the ice chest next to the bag. “My mother passed away five months ago. My father just moved to a smaller place.”

She stared speechlessly at him for several seconds then crossed her arms and looked at the floor. After what seemed like an hour she said, “I’m so sorry about your mother.”

“Thank you. She put up a long, hard fight. Lung cancer,” he added. “The house just sold. I’m doing an inventory of the contents so that I can figure out what to do with everything.” What’s going on? he wanted to ask. She was so subdued he didn’t know what kind of conversation to have with her. He figured she would give him hell about implying there would be four for lunch. “Do you want to eat now?”

She roused herself enough to smile. “Sure. Anyone in the neighborhood you’d like to invite? There’s enough here to feed ten, I think. Great bread. Marinated shrimp, barbecued chicken, several deli salads.”

His stomach burned at the thought. Even bland food lit a fire. “I don’t mind having leftovers.” He took some plates from the cupboard and silverware from the drawer while she set out the containers.

“Do you want the bread heated?” she asked, holding up a loaf of something. If it wasn’t sourdough or white sandwich bread he could only hazard a guess. This was brown, flat and oblong.

“Whatever you prefer.” He figured she was a warm bread kind of person. If she heated it, she meant to stay and have a conversation. If she didn’t heat it, she planned a quick escape after the meal.

She moved to the stove and turned it on. He relaxed. Maybe he was reading something into her actions that wasn’t there. She was normally confident and direct, but not today. Could she actually be nervous about being alone with him? Was that why she’d jumped at the chance of meeting him at his parents’ house?

“I guess I should’ve told you my parents wouldn’t be here,” he said.

“That would’ve been nice.” A brittle smile accompanied the razor-sharp tone.

He got it. She was mad. That he could handle.

“I didn’t mean to mislead you, Arianna.”

“You said you were going to be at your parents’ house. You could easily have corrected my assumption that they would be here, but you didn’t.” Her eyes gave off sparks.

“I was too curious. Why would you want to meet my parents?” When she didn’t answer, he moved to stand next to her. “What’s going on?”

After a few seconds she faced him. “My father was murdered twenty-five years ago.”

Like it was yesterday, he decided, seeing the pain in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Arianna. You must have been very young.”

“Eight. Your father was the lead detective in charge of his case.”

Surprise zapped him in the midsection, then he realized she must have known that fact before the party last night. He’d been set up. Used. “Is that why you wanted to meet him?”

“I want to know why he didn’t find my father’s killer.”

Four

Arianna saw him retreat, not only physically by taking a step back, but his expression cooled, too.

“Some cases don’t get solved. It’s a sad fact of life,” he said, crossing his arms. “So are you the reason I got an invitation to the party last night?”

She owed him the truth. “I saw a picture of you and Scott in his den last month when I had dinner there, and I asked about your relationship. Then I started having nightmares about my father.” She brushed some crumbs off the counter with her hand, hoping he wouldn’t see how much the dreams affected her. “For the first time since I was a little girl I got out the scrapbook I’d made after he died. I hadn’t remembered the lead detective’s name, Mike Vicente. It seemed too much of a coincidence, but I did some checking and found out he was your father.”

“Then you asked Scott to invite me to the party so you could set me up.”

She shook her head. “I wanted to talk to you. Away from your office.”

“What made you think I wouldn’t have talked to you? Met with you, away from the office? Did you figure you had to play the sex card to get my attention? I assure you, I’m not that base.”

“The attraction was real and unplanned,” she admitted. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“It complicated everything.”

“You seemed to deal with that complication just fine. Nice dance, Arianna. Great kiss. I bought it.”

His anger was justified, but it still stung. “I didn’t know it was you by the waterfall. I had no idea.” She couldn’t tell if he believed her. His expression didn’t change. “As for the kiss, I was as swept away as you were. The last thing I needed was—was…” She spread her hands wide, not able to come up with the right word.

“Chemistry?”

“Yes. I don’t know if you’ve heard but I haven’t exactly endeared myself to the LAPD through the years.” Which was putting it mildly, she thought.

“I heard rumors,” he said, then shrugged. “I asked around a little after we met.”

“I have a lot of resentment.”

“I gather that. At least now I know why.”

She’d wondered. She’d thought maybe that was why he hadn’t tried to contact her after they met last year. But that was before she knew he’d been engaged. “I figured you might have. But there’s no denying we made some kind of connection when we met. I also figured if you got to know and like me, you would be more willing to do me a favor.”

He shoved his hands in his back pockets. “What kind of favor?”

“I want to see my father’s file. I had hoped you’d find a way to get it to me.”

“All you have to do is request it.”

“No. It’s unsolved. I’ve been denied access.”

“That makes no sense. If the case is twenty-five years old, what would it matter? Certainly you’re entitled under the Freedom of Information Act.”

“My relationship with the LAPD is bad enough already. Pushing legalities would only hurt me in the future when I need information for a case. All I want is to see the file. And find the killer,” she added, the most important issue.

“Why do you think you could?”

“It’s a hunch. I’m a good investigator, and I’m not bound by a cop’s rules.”

She could see him thinking it through.

“Was your father involved in a crime?” he asked.

“My father was a thirteen-year veteran of the Los Angeles Police Department. He died in the line of duty.” A situation that still made her both angry and proud. He’d been her knight in shining armor—but he’d been taken from her.

Joe hardly missed a beat. He rested his palms on the counter and leaned toward her, his gaze locked with hers. “Then you know that my father and everyone else at the department did everything they could to find the killer and bring him to justice. Everything.”

She didn’t break eye contact. “And yet they didn’t solve it. Tell me, Joe. If it was your father who had been murdered and justice hadn’t been served, wouldn’t you be doing everything in your power to find the killer?”

He was quiet long enough that she began to hope.

“I can’t help you,” he said at last, pushing away from the counter.

Hope died. “Why not?”

“A hot file like that—a cop whose line-of-duty death was never solved? That would require approval from some brass before I could pull it from Records. Plus, it would look like I was working, which I can’t be, because I’m on vacation.”

“When you get back from vacation, then.”

“I’m off for four weeks starting today. If you can wait that long I’ll give it a try.”

She decided to press. “Would you let me talk to your father?”

“That’s not possible.” He picked up two of the food containers and carried them to the kitchen table.

“Why not?”

“I’ve given you my answer, Arianna. If things were different I would try to help you.”

Her throat burned. He was her only chance of getting a look at the file, short of hiring a lawyer and making an issue out of it, which would totally destroy whatever small amount of credibility she had with the department. Not to mention that she needed the nightmares to end.

She looked blankly at all the food she’d brought. She couldn’t stay there any longer.

Arianna extended her hand. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

He took her hand then didn’t let go until she met his gaze. Sympathy brought out specks of gold in his green eyes, but he didn’t try to stop her. She was grateful for that.

She kept her emotions in check as she pulled away from the curb. Now what? Where could she go? Not back to her mother’s house. Not to her own apartment, either. Too quiet. To the office, then, where she spent most of her life, anyway.

She had to come up with plan B.

An hour later Joe tossed his inventory log onto the dining room table and headed to the backyard, in need of fresh air. He stalked the grounds, hunting for nonexistent weeds, then sat next to an orange tree and rested his back against the trunk. He plucked a blade of grass, then another. One more.

He didn’t know why he’d expected anything different. Of course Arianna wasn’t interested. He was a cop, LAPD at that—just like her father, a man who had died in the line of duty. And his own father hadn’t found the killer.

That was just the beginning. Her income was probably three times his—or more. She had fit in at Scott’s party, as sophisticated as the rest of his guests. Joe hadn’t, which is why he’d discovered the waterfall in the first place. He had decided he’d made a mistake by going to the party and so had looked for a place to hang out until he could politely leave.

Then Arianna had appeared in the misty, mysterious place like a wish fulfilled, her spicy perfume alerting him to her presence, her sexy body jolting him back to life after a long sleep, her dark eyes entreating him to trust and hope. Was it all a game? She said it wasn’t, that the attraction was real and unplanned and complicated. He would’ve believed her, believed she was honest, if she hadn’t misled him last night. What was the truth?

He’d been lied to before, most recently by his own fiancée. He hadn’t learned to play those games and didn’t know how to spot the players.

Arianna hadn’t shown herself to be any different. She’d walked out as soon as she learned he couldn’t be of any use to her.

So much for trying to get back his life. And a date. It was too bad his interest had been piqued to the degree it had.

“Joe?”

He swung around. Arianna stepped through the side gate and into the yard.

“I didn’t mean to just barge in, but I rang the bell several times. Your car was still out front, so I took a chance you were out here.”

Damn, she was one sexy woman. Curvy, fluid, graceful and…competent.

“No problem,” he said, standing to greet her. Stay this time….

“I apologize for walking out on you,” she said.

He liked her directness and that she looked him in the eye. He even liked that she didn’t offer an excuse. She was in search of the truth. He couldn’t fault her for using whatever method it took to find that truth.

“Forget it,” he said. “Are you hungry? I seem to have some extra food on hand.”

After a moment she smiled. “I’m starving.”

Keep it light, he told himself. “That’s the real reason you came back.”

“Absolutely. The only reason.”

As they moved toward the house, he resisted resting his hand on her lower back as he had the night before, but her perfume whispered to him, urging him closer. He’d already danced with her. Kissed her. Held her against his body. He wanted to sweep her into his arms right now, but she wasn’t a woman who could be rushed. He already knew that about her.

He also knew if he played his cards right, she might stay for dinner.

Arianna appreciated attractive men as much as the next woman—she just didn’t trust them. There were exceptions. Her partners in her firm, Nate Caldwell and Sam Remington, were both attractive and trustworthy. And she sensed that Joe Vicente was a man she could trust. Maybe too much.

She let her gaze wander over him as he stored the leftovers in the otherwise empty refrigerator. He had the body type people called rangy—lean and loose-limbed. He moved slowly and spoke thoughtfully. A deliberate man, she decided. Someone who didn’t make mistakes often, either in words or action. Important qualities in a detective. She wondered if his father was the same way.

She also wondered why Joe was protecting him.

Arianna hadn’t realized her gaze was lingering on Joe’s rear end until he turned around and caught her staring. In truth, although it was a very nice feature of his anatomy, she’d been lost in her own thoughts, not drooling. He couldn’t have known that, however, and the last thing she wanted was to get involved, even just physically, with a man as wounded as he seemed to be.

Surprisingly, he didn’t tease her. Instead he sat across from her at the kitchen table and said nothing, apparently letting her decide what would happen next.

She should probably go. She was keeping him from his task.

“Is this hard for you?” she asked instead. “Emptying your parents’ house?”

“I grew up here. It’s home.”

“Do you have to sell it?”

“Yeah. Why’d you come back, Arianna?”

She’d been waiting for that question. He was a detective. He would want motive. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I started to drive to my office, but I got stuck in traffic, and I realized I didn’t want to go there. I thought about how abrupt and rude I’d been, leaving like I did.”

“You were disappointed.”

“Greatly. But that’s my problem, not yours. My mother didn’t want me to pursue it. Maybe I shouldn’t.” Making and keeping eye contact was ingrained in her. He matched her skill. She wasn’t sure what he saw when he looked at her, but she couldn’t shake how worn-out he looked. Protective instincts she’d never acknowledged before slammed into her, throwing her off balance. “Look, do you need help?”

His brows went up. “Help? With what?”

“With doing your inventory. Are you getting things ready for a garage sale?”

“I’m taking what I want to keep and deciding what to donate and what to toss.”

She couldn’t figure him out. Last night he’d taken charge, his good-night kiss even more memorable because of his complete command of the moment. Today he seemed to be holding back, waiting for her to make a move.

Fine. Good. She didn’t want him to pursue her, anyway, right? She didn’t need that kind of complication. She’d been careful not to become involved with a cop, not even once. She could resist him.

“Are you offering to help?” Joe asked.

“I’d be happy to.” The words spilled out unchecked. To cover her astonishment, she pushed away from the table and glanced at her watch. “I have to be home by six o’clock.”

“Four hours is more than enough time,” he said, also standing.

“I have a date,” she added, almost wincing at the defensive tone in her voice.

“I see.”

She heard the smile in his voice. She hadn’t been this rattled since…she couldn’t remember when. A woman in her profession couldn’t afford to be.

But then, this wasn’t business.

In the attic, Joe watched Arianna wrap a framed photograph in newspaper and pack it carefully in a box, as if it were her treasure, not his. What he’d heard about her when he’d inquired around the department last year was that she was tough, smart and unsentimental, facts he’d observed for himself when she’d provided him with information on the Wells case last year. Their involvement had been brief and businesslike, with a hint of male/female awareness making the meeting interesting. But he’d also been engaged to Jane. In all the complications of his life since then he’d forgotten about Arianna.

He wondered now how he could have. Anyone who thought her unsentimental hadn’t seen her expression when she ordered him to go do something else so she could pack his mother’s clothes. She’d even shut the closet door before he returned so he wouldn’t see the empty space. He would remember her kindness.

Joe glanced at his watch. She would have to leave soon. For her date. He didn’t know why he’d assumed she wasn’t involved with anyone. Maybe because last night she’d come to the party alone, and danced with him, and kissed him back.

But last night she’d come to the party for a purpose—to meet him. She wouldn’t have brought a boyfriend along. It would’ve been business to her.

She was a damned challenging woman. And he liked predictable.

“What’s in those boxes?” she asked, pointing to the last ones, tucked under the eaves.

He closed the lid on the trunk he’d been rummaging through, deciding he needed to keep everything in it. Relics of past generations.

Joe dragged the four unmarked boxes into the center of the room and opened one. His heart began to pound. He opened the second box, then he looked at Arianna. “Files,” he said. “My father’s old case files.”

Her eyes widened. She sat up straight but said nothing. Was she waiting for him to offer her the files? Of course she was.

“You’re welcome to stay and look through them,” he said.

“Don’t you need to ask your father’s permission?”

He hesitated, then shook his head.

She pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket and dialed. “Jordan, hi, it’s me. Look, I’m sorry to do this but I need to cancel our plans for tonight…. No, not work, but something important. Can I call you tomorrow?… Terrific. Thanks. Bye.”

Joe could measure her excitement not by her voice or her face, both of which she controlled remarkably, but by her hands, which shook. He shoved one box toward her.

She said nothing. She didn’t have to.

He worried they were opening a Pandora’s box.

The sounds of manila folders and paper being shuffled replaced conversation. Tension filled the air like smoke from a smoldering fire, thick and acrid, making it hard to breathe. Joe admitted to himself that he was as anxious as Arianna to find the file, to know what happened. How she had become that important to him that fast wasn’t something he wanted to examine very closely, but he felt her anticipation—and her dread—as strongly as if it were coming from inside him.

“They’re not in any order,” she said after flipping through the first few files. “They should be in order, either alphabetically or by date, wouldn’t you think?”

“Yeah.” The neatly typed labels mocked them. They should have represented organization, the ability to put your hands on the right folder any time. Instead, twenty years of files were tossed haphazardly into boxes as if one had no more relevance than another.

Or as if someone had searched through them, not returning them to their proper order.

“I found it,” Arianna said, but without excitement or urgency. Silence roared through the tiny attic space. She held up a file, opened it. “Empty.”

Empty—worse than the potential Pandora’s box. No truths revealed. No illusions shattered. No answers for a daughter who desperately needed them—and maybe a son, too, who wanted to know how a cop killing could go unsolved.

Five

Arianna resisted the urge to scream. Instead she drew on her martial arts and yoga training by controlling her breathing and visualizing the sun setting into the ocean.

“The files are jumbled,” Joe said into her growing calm. “Maybe the papers got mixed with another file.”

“Maybe.”

“Let’s take the boxes to the dining room.” He scooped up one box and hauled it down the pull-down attic stairs then shouted back up to her. “Pass me the others, okay?”

That got her moving. Fifteen minutes later they were settled in the dining room, the old maple table stacked with folders.

She examined her father’s file. The tag was typed with his name, Mateo Alvarado, the date of his murder and another series of numbers. She thumbed through some other folders. “Look at this,” she said, pointing. “My father’s tag has an extra set of numbers typed on it. As far as I can tell, it’s the only one.”

Joe made a quick check of the stack nearest him. “None of these, either. Just name and date.”

Arianna puzzled over it for a few seconds then opened the empty folder again. Closed it. Opened it. “Wouldn’t a homicide investigation produce a lot of paperwork?”

“Sure. Crime-scene analyses, witness reports, forensics. In the case of a cop within his own department? There would be extra interviews and copies of media coverage. Why?”

“Look at the folder. The crease is still sharp-edged, as if nothing was ever placed in there at all.”

He met her gaze. “I don’t know what that could mean.”

“It’s odd, though, right?”

“Yeah. Even for an open-and-shut-case, it would be odd.” He turned his attention back to the folders in front of him. “So we’ll go through all the files page by page. If it’s there, we’ll find it.”

“Why wouldn’t it be there?” she asked, dragging a file closer.

“I don’t know. Maybe my dad started as the primary but the case was given to someone else and he turned over his notes.”

“Can you call and ask him?”

“No.”

His casual tone irritated her, but she knew she couldn’t push him. She did wonder what the big deal was.

“I heard a rumor you were in the army,” he said.

Arianna allowed the change of subject. “For eight years.”

“You must’ve joined right out of high school.”

“A week after graduation.”

“Why?”

Why? She wondered how to explain it so that he understood. “Do you know who my stepfather is?”

“No idea.”

“Estebán Clemente.”

That got his attention. “The movie guy?” He frowned. “You weren’t…escaping him, were you?”

His reaction took her by surprise. “Not in the way you mean. He is a loving man, although strict. Very strict.”

She saw his shoulders loosen. “How did your mother meet him?”

“After my father died, she started taking me to auditions for television commercials, something I’d wanted to do forever but which my father had forbidden. I landed a few spots and some print ads, as well, enough to keep me busy.”

“Weren’t you only eight years old?”

She nodded.

“Was it something you wanted or your mother wanted?”

“I wanted it. I did well, too. Then when I had just turned twelve I auditioned for a movie that Estebán was producing. I was cast in a small part. Maria Sanchez, rebel teenager,” she said, remembering the role fondly. “Estebán came to the set on a day I was working. He met my mother, and it was instant fireworks.” She put a file aside and grabbed another. “A couple of months later they were married, and the first thing he did was lay down the law. No more auditions. He said it was a bad business for children and he wouldn’t allow it. My mother supported him, of course. I was angry for years. Years.”

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