Walking away is not an option

It was one night. And it might have stayed that way for Elizabeth Downey if her steamy evening with Hudson Vale hadn’t been the same night her estranged father was murdered. Now she and Hudson—a cop who had arrested her father—are the prime suspects.

Forced to work together to clear their names, Elizabeth and Hudson must deal with their wildly different approaches. Worse, the simmering attraction between them won’t go away. As they race to untangle a web of deceit, the stakes get higher. Because not only do their lives depend on finding the truth, but so does this passion that’s turning into so much more.…

“You have to leave.”

The urgency had returned to Liz’s voice. “We can’t be seen together.”

“We’ve already been seen together,” Hudson said. “Your security man downstairs knows I came to see you. The valet at the wedding saw us leave together. You think cops won’t figure that out?”

Her face fell. She returned to the living room and more or less collapsed onto the sofa. Hudson sat in the chair opposite her.

“Maybe you better tell me everything,” he said. “Why would you want to kill Franklin Mandalay?”

“Because he’s my father. And we’re estranged. He is manipulative and controlling and a liar. And I’m his sole heir.” With that, her eyes filled with tears. “I have no idea why I keep crying. He was not a very nice man.”

Mandalay was her father? Hudson’s head spun. “I knew there was something off about that night,” he murmured. Then, louder, he said, “Tell me everything. All of it, Liz. If I get even a whiff of deception from you I’m going straight to the police.”

Dear Reader,

Any writer will tell you that coming up with the title of a book can be an excruciating process. For me, I usually begin writing with some lame title in place. Then, as I get to know my story and my characters, other titles will come to mind. By the time I send the manuscript to my editor, I’ll probably have a title I’m happy with.

Oh, but it doesn’t end there. Editors have their own ideas about titles, and every title undergoes a great deal of scrutiny. Does it fit the story? Is it the right tone? Does it sound like a Harlequin Superromance title? Will it fit on the cover nicely? Although the title usually is something all parties can agree to, often it is not the author’s original title.

One-Night Alibi is one of those titles that come up once in a blue moon. I had it before I even started the book. I love it because it tells you exactly what the book is about. It’s sexy and it’s suspenseful-sounding. Happily, the editors agreed with me on this one! I hope it caught your attention, too!

All best,

Kara Lennox

One-Night Alibi

Kara Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kara Lennox has earned her living at various times as an art director, typesetter, textbook editor and reporter. She’s worked in a boutique, a health club and an ad agency. She’s been an antiques dealer, an artist and even a blackjack dealer. But no work has ever made her happier than writing romance novels. To date, she has written more than sixty books. Kara is a recent transplant to Southern California. When not writing, she indulges in an ever-changing array of hobbies. Her latest passions are bird-watching, long-distance bicycling, vintage jewelry and, by necessity, do-it-yourself home renovation. She loves to hear from readers. You can find her at www.karalennox.com.

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For Sally Slocum

Everyone should have such a wonderful mother-in-law

Contents

Prologue

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 Twenty

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

HUDSON VALE LIKED to brag that he never got sick. All the vitamin C in the Mountain Dew he drank kept him healthy as a horse. But today, he’d been made a liar. After sneezing his head off yesterday, he’d cut his shift early and gone home. A handful of extra vitamin C hadn’t done the trick; he’d awakened with the mother of all colds. His head hurt. His chest hurt. His throat hurt. He couldn’t breathe. And he had nothing resembling cold medicine in the house.

Like it or not, he had to drag himself out to his car, drive to the nearest convenience store and buy some Alka-Seltzer Plus.

Although it was October, Hudson didn’t bother with a jacket. He shoved his badge in the pocket of a pair of disreputable jeans because he never went anywhere without it. Breaking his usual pattern, he didn’t arm himself. In his current state of debilitation, he’d be more danger to bystanders than to anything he aimed at.

It was a brilliant, clear day outside, one of those rare instances when the humidity was low, the air crisp and fresh. Football season was in full swing, and citizens of the greater Houston area were focused on fall barbecues and tailgate parties.

Hudson climbed into his Datsun 280Z and headed for the local convenience store.

At this hour of a Sunday morning, most people were still in bed, sleeping off a wild Saturday night, or in church repenting for the same. But in an hour or two, the store would be filled with fishermen stocking up on bait and beer and charcoal briquettes, intent on wringing every ounce of recreation from the outstanding weather.

Hudson wished he could get out on the water today. But after sneezing four times in a row on the way to the store, he couldn’t think fondly of anything except his bed and a box of tissues.

As he got out of his car, he noticed a familiar-looking woman in a red miniskirt and white patent-leather boots talking on the pay phone outside. On seeing him, she turned to face the wall.

It wasn’t until he was inside the store, paying for his purchases, that he recalled her name. Jazz was a prostitute he’d arrested last year. Conroe had quite a few working girls, but most of them plied their trade near the strip clubs, liquor stores and pawn shops downtown or near the railroad tracks. They didn’t normally trawl the Lake Conroe Stop ’n’ Shop parking lot on a Sunday morning.

He might have tried to chat her up, find out why she was so far from her usual stomping grounds, but he was off duty and sick, and for once he was just going to stifle his innate curiosity and go on about his business.

That plan worked fine, until after he’d paid for his purchase and was heading out the door.

The first things he noticed were raised voices. Jazz was no longer alone; she was arguing with a middle-aged man in a baseball cap and sunglasses, his jacket collar pulled up to hide as much of his face as possible.

Classic “john” disguise.

Even so, Hudson was inclined to let it slide. He wasn’t in Vice anymore. It was just an argument in a parking lot, no crime.

Still, he couldn’t help wandering closer.

“You better do what you’re told,” the man growled. He was shoving something into Jazz’s hands.

“What the hell are you doing? Not here.” She glanced over, saw Hudson and went pale, though her hand did reflexively close over what Hudson could now see was a thick wad of folded bills.

“Hey, look at me when I’m talking to you.” The man grabbed her chin and swiveled her head, forcing her to face him.

Hudson sighed. He set the bag with his cold medicine on the hood of his car and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. In a matter of seconds, he had summoned backup.

Acutely aware of the fact he was unarmed, he approached the confrontation. “Excuse me, is there a problem here?”

“Mind your own business,” the man barked. Then he saw the badge Hudson had casually slipped out of his pocket.

That was when Jazz cut and run. She let go of the money in her hand, and several twenties fluttered to the ground.

“Hey!” The man took a couple of steps in the direction Jazz was fleeing, sprinting faster than a girl in four-inch heels ought to be able to run, but Hudson snagged the man’s arm.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to put your hands on this wall, here.”

“What for?” he asked haughtily.

“I’m arresting you for solicitation of a prostitute.”

“Are you out of your mind? Do you know who I am?”

Great. Another entitled rich guy who thought he deserved a pass because he wore a suit and had a family.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” With that he pushed the uncooperative suspect against the wall. “Now put your hands against the wall and spread ’em. Unless you want me to add resisting arrest to the charges. You have the right to remain silent...”

As Hudson continued the Miranda warning, the man finally complied, but not silently. “You are going to be very sorry. I’ll have your badge.”

“No, you won’t,” Hudson said in a bored voice. “You’ll be too busy hiring a lawyer and trying to hide your little indiscretions from your wife and your boss and your golf buddies.”

“I was not paying that girl for sex!”

“Those twenty-dollar bills all over the ground say differently. Oh, and by the way, you’re overpaying. In addition to being a dirtbag, you’re a sap.”

Hudson probably shouldn’t have added that last part. Baiting a suspect who was not cuffed was on that list of things cops learned not to do. But Hudson was really sick and really annoyed that he was probably going to have to spend his morning filling out a report.

Without warning, the man swiveled around and took a swing at Hudson. It was a clumsy punch, but the man had some heft, and a strength born of outrage on his side. His fist landed in Hudson’s solar plexus.

Then the idiot made a break for his car.

Hudson didn’t think—he just reacted. He lit out after the man, tackling him in the parking lot before he’d got ten steps. They both went down, hard.

A Montgomery County Sheriff’s Department squad car pulled into the parking lot just then and came to a stop mere feet from Hudson and his suspect, who was still struggling. Deputy Allison Kramer got out, shook her head, then held out a pair of cuffs.

“Need some of these?”

Hudson took them without comment, flipped the man onto his stomach and cuffed him, then hauled him to his feet with Allison’s help. The man’s face was now scraped and bloody, his nose possibly broken. He’d lost his hat and sunglasses in the scuffle.

“Holy crap,” Allison said.

“He bolted,” Hudson said in his defense, thinking she was reacting to the suspect’s condition.

“No, it’s not that. Do you know who this guy is?”

“Franklin Mandalay III,” the suspect replied haughtily. “Young lady, I want to file a formal charge of assault. I was minding my own business when this scruffy, disreputable individual attacked me. I was committing no crime. I had no weapon—”

“Save it,” Hudson said impatiently. “Allison, I’ll meet you at the station.”

But despite his best attempt at indifference to the name Franklin Mandalay, Hudson’s stomach felt queasy. If he had to get into a scuffle with a suspect, why did it have to be one of the most influential attorneys in Houston? Especially since his only witness had flown the coop.

CHAPTER ONE

HE ARRIVED LATE to the wedding reception, but that was par for the course for Hudson Vale. He would probably be late to his own wedding, in the unlikely event he ever got married.

A young valet with frizzy brown hair and big black glasses took the keys to his Z, whistling in appreciation. “Awesome. You restore it yourself?”

“Every square inch.”

Ordinarily, Hudson took pleasure when someone complimented his ride. But these days, it was hard to take pride in anything. He’d been officially stripped of the one thing he was really proud of. Without the gun and the badge, he was just another guy. No, not just another guy. Another suspect. Scum, in other words.

One week after his scuffle with Franklin Mandalay, Internal Affairs was still investigating.

Hudson headed for the massive front door of Daniel Logan’s River Oaks mansion, which looked like the manor house of an English village, not an oil billionaire’s home smack in the middle of Houston. He hadn’t really wanted to come to the wedding. He barely knew the bride, Daniel’s former assistant Jillian, and had only met her groom, Conner, once. But his friends at Project Justice had wangled him an invitation. They’d also made him promise to come, knowing he needed to get out of the house. Knowing he needed distraction.

Now he wished he hadn’t listened to them. He wasn’t fit company. He’d quickly pay his respects to the bride and groom, say hi to his friends, then make his escape, thereby convincing everyone he was doing okay.

Which he wasn’t.

The front door opened by itself, and a butler-type person gestured him inside a cavernous foyer every bit as opulent as Hudson had heard. A trickling fountain that would have been right at home in ancient Rome echoed against the marble floor and walls, and a stained-glass window cast colored bits of light like confetti over the far wall. From somewhere in the distance he heard faint strains of a country-and-western band, but this room was an oasis of quiet and dignity.

A plump young woman sat at an antique side table guarding the doorway leading to the rest of the house. She silently handed Hudson a pen adorned with a big white feather and pointed toward the guest book. The book was almost filled.

He smiled at the girl out of habit, because he always smiled at young women. She looked down and blushed. He wondered what her story was; had she been stuck behind the guest book because she was the awkward ugly duckling, or had she chosen this job because she wouldn’t then be forced to mingle?

Hudson felt a fleeting urge to ask her. But his insatiable curiosity about people—especially women—often got him into trouble he didn’t need.

Case in point: when he saw two people arguing in a parking lot, when he was sick and off duty, he could have looked the other way. But no, he just had to get involved. Not that he could see himself reacting any differently. He couldn’t stand to see a woman being bullied, and as a cop it was his job to uphold the law, on or off duty.

He bit his tongue and walked past the girl into a living room that could have housed a couple of Sherman tanks. A few people sat on plush white sofas and chairs in this serene room, talking in low tones, but live music beckoned from outdoors. A roving waiter with a tray of full champagne glasses offered Hudson his choice, but champagne wasn’t his deal, so he passed and headed through a Spanish-tiled solarium to the flagstone patio, where most of the guests had gathered to eat, drink and dance.

“Hudson! Over here!” A cool blonde in a pale turquoise dress waved madly at him.

Grateful not to have to wade through oceans of strangers trying to find someone he knew, he quickly made his way to an umbrella table where Dr. Claudia Ellison sat with her husband, Billy Cantu, a Houston cop.

Hudson hoped Claudia didn’t have matchmaking in mind for tonight.

She threw her arms around Hudson and kissed him on the cheek, a rather effusive show of affection from the normally reserved psychologist, but since his suspension she’d been trying extra hard to show him and everyone else that she was on his side.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“The cold’s gone.” He didn’t comment on anything else, because everything else sucked.

Billy stood and shook Hudson’s hand. “Glad you could make it.”

“I knew you’d want to see this place,” said Claudia. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“I guess. Listen, I’m going to find the bride and groom, pay my respects, then—”

Claudia put a melodramatic hand to her forehead. “No, you can’t leave so quickly. We haven’t even had a chance to catch up.”

“You don’t really want to know.”

“Of course I do.”

Billy pulled out a chair. “Have a beer. They got the biggest selection of microbrews I ever saw. Not that I’m really into designer beer, but this Dogfish Head Chicory Stout is pretty good stuff.”

“Look, y’all don’t have to be so nice. I’m not falling apart. I’ll get through this just like I’ve gotten through every other damn thing in my life, okay?”

Claudia waved away his diatribe with a careless hand. “Get over yourself. We’re not being any nicer than usual. Now sit down, shut up and drink heavily of free booze. Logan has limos lined up for anyone who overdoes it.”

Hudson was about to object again. That was when he saw her, the stunning brunette standing near the edge of the pool with a martini glass in her hand. She was tall, made taller still by silver stiletto heels. Her dress shimmered like liquid silver, clinging sinuously to her curves. Her black hair was piled on top of her head in an artfully casual way that had probably taken hours to achieve.

Hudson might not have paid her that much attention, except that she was looking right at him.

Without meaning to, he sank into the chair Billy had offered moments ago. Who is she? And why is she smiling at me like that?

“See something you like?” Billy asked.

Hudson forced himself to break the almost-hypnotic stare-off with the woman. Her eyes were a deep ocean-blue—he could tell even at this distance.

Claudia took an immediate interest in the object of his attention. “She’s a friend of Jillian’s, a sorority sister, I think. Can’t remember her name.”

Hudson stole another glance at her. She was on the move now. Walking. Toward him.

Billy punched him on the arm. “Dude, she’s coming over here.”

And she did. She came right to their table, striding boldly like a runway model. But she switched her gaze from Hudson to Claudia. “Hi, you’re Claudia, right? I remember you from the bridal shower. I’m...Liz.”

“Hi, Liz, it’s good to see you again.”

“Would you all mind if I joined you? My date seems to have gone missing.”

“Sure, here’s a chair,” Billy said, nearly spilling his special beer as he pulled out the fourth chair for her. A waiter stopped by to see who needed drinks, and Billy insisted he bring Hudson a Fishhead, or whatever the hell the beer was called.

Hudson would have objected. But the woman had so gobsmacked him, he’d been struck speechless.

“This is my husband, Billy,” Claudia said, “and our friend Hudson.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Hudson said with his best polite Southern-boy manners.

The brunette took a sip of her martini, then somehow fished the olive out with just her tongue in a way that was totally sexy and classy at the same time.

Hudson’s mouth went dry.

When the waiter brought his beer, he chugged down a third without even tasting it.

“You knew Jillian in college?” Claudia asked, trying to get the conversation rolling.

Hudson wasn’t that interested in conversation. He just wanted to look at Liz, though her voice was a pleasing blend of smooth honey over six miles of rough road.

“I did, but we weren’t good friends until more recently when we worked on a charity event together.”

So, Liz obviously came from high society. Ivy League college, sorority, charity events. She oozed class. So not his type. Or rather, not the type who gave a sheriff’s-department detective a second look. A suspended detective, accused somewhat convincingly of police brutality.

So why was she staring at him?

“Have we met?” he asked bluntly.

“I don’t think so. I’d remember.”

Then she’d probably seen his picture in the paper or on TV. His case had drawn much too much unwanted publicity. The Mandalay name had a lot of cachet in the Houston area.

Claudia gasped. “Oh, Billy, I love this song. Let’s dance.”

Hudson recognized a ploy to leave him and Liz alone, but he didn’t object. He’d just keep staring at her until she got tired of it. It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose. He’d probably never see her again after this night.

“How about it, Hudson. Want to dance?” Liz raised one eyebrow playfully.

“Me? Not much of a dancer.”

“Oh, come on. Anybody can dance.”

“Sure, right.” He let her drag him to his feet. What the hell. Didn’t matter, really, in the grand scheme of things, and holding her in his arms didn’t sound like such a bad deal. All he had to do was move his feet a little, or at least pretend to try to dance.

A parquet floor had been laid out over the flagstone patio for dancing in the shadow of the band, which had switched from country-western to big band. Hudson dredged up some long-ago memories of a ballroom dance class he’d taken to please an old girlfriend. He’d forgotten her name, but maybe he could at least remember how to get into hold.

He took Liz into his arms. As other couples twirled and dipped around him, he shuffled his feet back and forth.

Amazingly, she moved right along with him, graceful as a swan. In her tall heels she met him eye to eye. Now he could examine those amazing inky-blue eyes up close. Little gold flecks shimmered in the irises like rays of sunshine on the surface of the ocean, and a pleasurable tingle wiggled down his spine.

“Are you a friend of the bride, or the groom?” she asked.

“I know both of them, but only slightly. I guess Claudia got me the invitation. She thought I’d be interested in seeing the Logan place.”

“It’s pretty amazing. And if there’s one thing Jillian knows how to do, it’s throw a party. What do you do for a living?”

He knew the question would come up. “Cop. You?”

“Social worker.”

Not what he expected. If she worked at all, he’d been guessing something glamorous—fashion editor, commercial real estate. “Enjoy it?”

“Immensely. You?”

“Usually.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Most of the time I’m just too busy to be scared.”

“Ever been shot?”

“No. That sort of thing is very rare.”

“Ever shot anyone?”

“Also very rare. I’ve hardly ever unholstered my weapon, much less shot at someone.”

“Still, it’s got to be dangerous at times.”

“I imagine your job has its dangers, too. You probably deal with all segments of society. Lowlifes.”

“Well, pretty troubled people, anyway. I wouldn’t call them ‘lowlifes.’”

The song switched to a slow number. Hudson thought the dance would be over, but she made no move to leave the dance floor. He pulled her close, resting his cheek against her hair and inhaling the scents of something clean and fruity. This was ridiculously pleasant.

But odd.

An unwelcome thought appealed to him. “Are you trying to make your date jealous, by any chance?”

She laughed. “Hardly. I think he’s in the cabana banging one of the bridesmaids. It was just a casual date. I don’t care.”

“You need a ride home?” The words slipped out.

“I might.” She tickled the back of his neck with her fingertips.

Was this exotic creature coming on to him? He wasn’t exactly a troll; he knew some women found him attractive. Some liked the whole idea of dating a cop—it was a power thing. Others liked his surfer-boy looks, or they found out he had a house at the lake and a boat and thought he had money.

But not this kind of woman.

He asked himself if perhaps he was being played, but he couldn’t figure out her angle. Yeah, this encounter felt...off somehow. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to put an end to it.

He didn’t like games. But something compelled him to find out how this one would play out. He would call her bluff.

“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” he said. “We can leave whenever you want.”

She put her lips close to his ear and whispered, “I can go anytime. But first, I think you should see the garden.”

The song ended and they pulled apart. He had no interest in flowers, but the idea of strolling among fragrant roses with Liz was oddly appealing.

“I love gardens,” he lied. “Lead the way.”

She wobbled a bit on her high heels as they made their way around the enormous pool illuminated by dozens of floating candles. Maybe she’d had one too many martinis. He didn’t want to hook up with her if she was going to regret it. And really, he had no business getting entangled with anyone, let alone a mystery woman, when his life was such a mess...no matter how alluring she might be.

They were just going to look at flowers, he reasoned. They hadn’t reached the point of no return. Either of them could still bow out gracefully.

She took his hand, pulling him along, wanting to go faster in a suddenly childlike way. “It’s the most amazing garden. The Logans’ gardener, Hung Li, is a world-renowned rose cultivator. He has some prizewinning varieties that were developed right here.”

She escorted him off the patio through a fancy gate in a redwood fence. A charming path of flagstones meandered through what had to be an herb garden, given the scents of sage and lavender greeting Hudson’s nose.

“The Logans’ chef, Cora, uses as many homegrown fruits and vegetables as she can,” Liz continued as if she were a tour guide.

Stone benches were scattered here and there, along with pieces of huge marble columns strewn about, an echo of the ancient Rome theme inside the foyer. More statues, too.

He’d heard that Daniel acquired archaeological antiquities from private collectors all over the world, and he’d made provisions in his will for the items to be donated to appropriate museums in the items’ countries of origin.

It took some kind of ego to do that.

They passed an enormous greenhouse, where Hudson caught glimpses of hothouse tomatoes through the windows. Row upon row of empty garden space, waiting to be planted, surrounded them.

Finally they reached another fence, a quaint white-picket affair that called to mind a country garden in rural England. On the other side, a small plot fairly burst at the seams with roses. Houston’s mild winters meant you could have flowers year-round, if you worked at it. Apparently someone here did.

Rosebushes climbed fences and trellises grew out of huge urns and directly from the ground. The garden overflowed with red and pink and white roses, peach ones, yellow ones, roses in colors Hudson had never seen before. Even in the falling dusk, the colors were so vivid they hurt his eyes.

Hudson would be the last person to expect the sight of a bunch of flowers to move him, but the explosion of color took his breath away.

Or perhaps it was the woman standing next to him, whose beauty outshone even the most stunning of these roses.

“See this one?” She pointed to a bright yellow rose with orange-tipped petals. “It’s called Texas Sunrise. And that one over there?” She pointed to a peculiarly shaded purplish-pink rose. “That’s the Houstonian.”

“You sound like you know a lot about roses.”

“Well, I know what I learned on the tour Mr. Li gave earlier.” She winked one long-lashed blue eye at him, and swear to God, he almost swooned.

“What’s that over there?” he asked, pointing to another small, fenced-in area that sported a very different look from the carefully cultivated and pruned roses. Flowering shrubs, trees and vines grew in untamed profusion. A small brass plaque on the gate read Hummingbird Garden.

Hudson quickly realized why. The moment they entered the space, small winged creatures could be spied zooming all about the place, sampling nectar from both flowers and the feeders. There must have been at least fifty of them. Some had bright red throats, the color visible only when they turned a certain direction.

“Good golly.” Liz barely breathed the words, she was in such awe. With that one decidedly unsophisticated expletive, the polish of wealth and privilege dropped away, revealing something of the little girl she must have been.

Tearing his eyes away from the sight of the tiny birds, Hudson chose to look at her instead. Liz’s mouth was open slightly, her eyes bright as her gaze darted around the secluded garden.

One of the little critters stopped midair about six inches from Liz’s face, seeming to look into her eyes in a curious way, then abruptly zoomed off.

She laughed in surprise and delight. “I’ve never seen so many at once.” She kept her voice low, so as not to disturb the hummers. “And I’ve never seen them this close. It’s like we stepped into a magic storybook.” She turned then to look at him, and she must have seen something of what he was thinking—that he’d never been so close to such a beautiful woman, and that her naked sense of wonder was surprisingly erotic.

Hudson felt privileged—as if he’d seen a side of her few ever saw.

Whatever she’d seen in his face, she must have liked it, because when he leaned in to steal a kiss, she didn’t object. She sipped a quick breath before their lips met.

She tasted of the martini she’d recently drunk, and he wondered idly how many she’d had. Only one or two drinks could lower inhibitions. He suspected Liz wasn’t the type who picked up strange men at weddings; then again, he didn’t know her at all.

Her lips also tasted of strawberry lip gloss, and when he ruffled her hair, he caught another whiff of that fruity scent—apple, maybe.

Unable to resist, he placed a series of light kisses along her jawline, then dipped his head to nuzzle her neck, pressing his nose against her soft skin.

Mangos. Her skin smelled like a ripe mango right off the tree, like the ones he’d had in Mexico. The woman was a veritable fruit basket of sensations. Even her breasts reminded him of ripe fruit, and he suddenly realized he had one of them in his hand. Her nipple peaked, pressing against his palm through the silky-thin material of her dress.

Liz moaned, soft and low.

Boisterous laughter drifted from the pool area, reminding Hudson that they were still in a public area, that anyone could happen upon them. He wouldn’t really care, but she might.

“I want to take you someplace more private,” he said, his lips close to her ear.

“Do you live alone?” she asked, not bothering to play coy.

“Yes. But my house is at Lake Conroe.” He didn’t want to drive all the way out there. An amorous mood sometimes had a way of evaporating during an hour on the road. “How about we find an empty room around here somewhere?” Surely some place in this monstrous house they could find a room with a lock and a bed or a sofa.

“Too many people around. Let’s go.” Without waiting for agreement, she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the hummingbird garden, the magical little creatures forgotten. Hudson hadn’t paid his respects to the bride and groom, but he doubted he would be missed.

He and Liz entered the house through a side door, making their way through a mudroom, then the huge granite-and-stainless-steel kitchen, which was bustling with activity. A champagne cork popped. A tray of hors d’oeuvres came out of the oven. No one paid two interlopers any attention.

Under other circumstances, Hudson would have wanted to gawk at the opulence of Daniel Logan’s home. But his attention was too firmly fixed on the siren who had, for some questionable reason, culled him out of the herd of men in attendance at the society wedding.

Maybe his luck was turning.

CHAPTER TWO

ELIZABETH DOWNEY HADN’T meant for this to happen. As she sat in the passenger seat of Hudson Vale’s classic 280Z, her gaze fixed on his firm profile as he deftly wove the sports car through traffic on I-45, she considered speaking up, changing the course of her actions. She could tell him she’d changed her mind. She had no doubt he would promptly turn around and take her back to the wedding or to her own apartment.

She’d never met Hudson until today, but she knew a lot about him. When she’d seen the headline about a Montgomery County sheriff’s detective allegedly beating Franklin Mandalay during a bogus arrest, she’d been consumed with curiosity—about the incident and about the cop who’d stood up to a powerful and wealthy attorney. She had learned everything she could about Hudson, even paying a private investigator to suss him out, find out his story.

There wasn’t much. Other than one incident during his rookie year when he’d been reprimanded for punching a wife-beater, Hudson Vale had an exemplary record. Prior to becoming a cop, he’d led a completely normal life. Two parents, a brother, middle-class suburbia. His dad had been a Houston cop, retired now. The Vale boys had gone to public school, then community college. The younger brother, Parker, was also a cop.

Hudson had never been arrested. He’d never been married. His only debt was a sizable mortgage on his house.

Elizabeth’s eyes had nearly popped out of her head when she’d spotted Hudson at the reception. She had stared at him rudely, she knew, but she’d had to be sure it was him. His photos certainly hadn’t done him justice. In two dimensions, he was uncommonly good-looking. In three, he made her skin tingle and her mouth water. He made her think of sinful things.

She’d just wanted to meet him, that was all. Share one harmless dance. Size him up. But within five minutes of meeting him, she knew one or two dances wouldn’t be enough. She sensed a lot going on behind those hazel eyes and the easy smile that faded when he thought no one was looking.

While his attention was on his driving, she took a leisurely inventory of his features. He had a strong jaw and a slightly hawkish nose—those were her first observations. His hair, worn a little long for cop standards, was wavy and streaked by the sun. It would probably curl if he let it get much longer.

His eyelashes were way longer than any man’s ought to be. His lips were full, and whenever a car slowed in front of them, he teased his lower lip with his teeth, a gesture that did strange, squiggly things to her insides.

She cracked the window, drawing a rush of fresh air onto her face.

“Want me to turn on the AC?” Hudson asked.

“No, this is fine.” She focused on his hand, which rested casually on the gearshift knob. He had a couple of healing scrapes on his knuckles. Souvenirs from his violent encounter?

They lapsed into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward.

Again, she thought about telling him she’d been hasty. She could stop this now. End the encounter. But the little she’d learned about Hudson only made her want to know more.

“What made you become a cop?” That was a legitimate thing for her to ask. Any new acquaintance might pose a similar question.

“My dad was a cop. I admired him—still do. My brother’s a cop. My uncle’s a cop. Guess it’s in the blood. What made you become a social worker?”

I knew it would drive my father crazy. “Long story.”

“We’re not on a tight schedule.”

“Like a lot of people, I didn’t know what I wanted, so I just gravitated toward classes that interested me. Ended up with a bachelor’s in sociology and a master’s in psychology. Social work was a good fit, and I like helping people.”

“How do you help people? I mean, what sort of social work do you do?”

“I work at a free clinic. People who come to us aren’t just physically sick, they’re often in very bad situations—bad relationships, substance abuse, prostitution. I counsel them on how to escape those situations and create better lives for themselves.”

Hudson nodded. “Hmm.”

She couldn’t be sure, but she sensed a slight note of disapproval. He could join the crowd. A lot of people thought she could have done better, and didn’t hesitate to tell her so. Others thought social work coddled criminals and the lazy.

Maybe she could have been a doctor or a lawyer. Certainly her father thought so. But she liked her career just fine.

“Don’t you get frustrated?” Hudson finally asked.

“How so?”

“Dealing with the dregs of society. Seeing the same people making the same mistakes over and over.”

“First off, I don’t think of them as dregs. More like, people who started life at a disadvantage, maybe made some bad choices.” It was true some people never learned. But she firmly believed she helped others.

“You must have a kind heart. Seems whenever I try to help people, I get the shit kicked out of me one way or another.”

“But you keep trying, right?”

“Sometimes I don’t know why. Have you ever tried to rescue a cat from a tree?”

“No, actually.”

“Damn thing will scratch you to shreds every time.”

She wanted to argue that people weren’t cats. They were basically good, if you gave them half a chance to be. But Hudson was clenching his jaw. She’d accidentally hit a nerve. Maybe she’d better back off. She wanted to know more about him, and antagonizing him probably wasn’t the best tactic.

Suddenly he looked at her and smiled. “Sorry. You have no idea what a rough couple of weeks it’s been.”

Actually, she did. And she should tell him. Honestly, she’d thought he would recognize her, or that someone would tell him who she was. But he couldn’t know, or he’d have never let her into his car.

She pushed the whole mess out of her mind. She was riding down the freeway in a cool car with a hot guy. She had nowhere to be, nothing else to do. For once in her life, she would stop worrying about all the consequences. She’d never indulged in a one-night stand before. Maybe it was time. She listened to a lot of the women she counseled talking about getting carried away, unable to control themselves enough to make sensible decisions. She’d always assumed she was above such behavior.

Maybe not.

Hudson’s house was at the end of a cul-de-sac on a double-sized wooded lot. Like many waterfront homes, it stood on stilts, with only the garage on the ground floor.

He pulled his car into the garage and parked it; they got out, but they had to go back outside and climb a set of wooden stairs to a wraparound porch.

She fell in love at first sight. The house was small, probably only two bedrooms, but a wall of windows looked out on the lake, making the living room seem huge. He flipped on some lights. The place was furnished simply with a couple of low sofas and two chairs, rattan, clean lines. The wood floors were covered with slightly threadbare rugs.

What she really loved about it was, it wasn’t a man cave. No huge TV or stereo system. No cast-off shoes littering the floor or spent pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table.

“Have a seat,” he said as he headed into the kitchen. “I’m going to get myself a Mountain Dew.” He stuck his head in the fridge. “I have other soft drinks, beer and, um, orange juice.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He popped the top on his own soft drink and took several swallows as he joined her in the living room. She’d chosen one end of a sofa, inviting him to make his move.

He sat across from her, set his can on a coaster on the coffee table and propped his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “You can relax, you know. I’m not going to jump you.”

She realized she was sitting stiffly, her back straight as a fence post. Leaning back against the cushion, she crossed her legs. “Really? I thought that’s what we came here for.”

“Thought we’d talk first.”

Uh-oh. She didn’t like the sound of that. And he suddenly looked a lot more like a cop conducting an interrogation than a potential boyfriend eager to make a conquest.

She tucked one foot under her leg. She could brazen this out.

“Why were you staring at me? At the wedding?” he asked.

“’Cause you’re cute.”

“A woman like you must have ‘cute’ guys lining up to have sex with you. You don’t need to pick up a strange one at a wedding.”

“You must think I’m pretty shallow, that I’d just settle for any cute guy to satisfy my raging libido.”

“You don’t seem shallow,” he admitted.

Maybe she ought to be afraid. He was accused of police brutality. Some really violent guys became cops so they could have a socially acceptable outlet for their...urges. He’d been accused of beating suspects twice...enough to form a pattern.

Maybe the P.I. she’d hired hadn’t done a thorough enough job. Maybe Hudson Vale wasn’t as nice a guy as he appeared on paper.

Then she had to laugh at herself, silently at least. The Logans’ valet had witnessed them together. Even if Hudson had violent urges, she doubted he was stupid enough to assault her when they’d been seen leaving the wedding arm in arm.

Anyway, how could a man who was charmed by a bunch of hummingbirds be anything but a good guy?

“Something just seems a little bit off, that’s all,” he said almost apologetically. “I’ve learned over the years not to ignore my instincts. I thought at first you were trying to make someone jealous.”

“I’m not, trust me. My date was just a date. In fact, it was a fix-up,” she admitted. “When he went after one of the bridesmaids I was totally relieved.”

“Now I know you’re fibbing. You can get your own dates.”

“I guess I can. I got you.” Of course he was suspicious of her. He was a cop, one who’d faced off against a powerful, ruthless man who would stoop to any means to prove Hudson had assaulted him for no reason. “But is it so hard to believe I saw something I liked and went for it? I’m sure I’m not the first woman to make a play for you.”

“No. But definitely the only one who looks like a supermodel.”

“Now who’s full of bull?” But she smiled. She liked it that he thought she was pretty. She knew she was reasonably attractive. And she was tall. But supermodel was a real stretch.

“It’s like I won the lottery or something.”

“The lottery? How much did you have to drink at that wedding?”

“I only had half a beer, or I wouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel. You were the one guzzling a martini when I first saw you.”

“I do not guzzle. And if you’re implying I was drunk, you’re wrong. No false courage needed.” She matched his steamy look with one of her own.

He drained the last of his Mountain Dew, then crushed the can in one hand.

The macho show of strength made her heart flutter faster than the hummingbirds’ wings they’d so recently witnessed. He cavalierly threw the can over his shoulder. It sailed through the pass-through into the kitchen and sounded as if it landed in the sink. Then he came out of his chair, skirted around the coffee table and landed next to her.

“Hi, there.”

“H-hi.”

“Wanna make out?”

She very much did. She’d predicted Hudson would be a stand-up guy, but the boyish charm was a surprise, and it melted her jaded heart. She couldn’t resist him, especially because he wasn’t pushing her straight to the bedroom. The hungry look in his eyes told her he wanted her, but he didn’t pressure her. His attitude was refreshing.

Elizabeth looped one arm around his neck, drawing him closer. He exuded warmth and an electric tension that her body responded to. Her skin prickled with heightened awareness, her chest tightened and she felt hot between her legs, hot and tickly, as if she was being brushed with rose petals. All from him touching her shoulder.

They took their time getting to that next kiss. She looked into his eyes, wishing she could dive right inside him, his delicious warmth enveloping her like a safe blanket. She parted her lips slightly, needing more oxygen. They shared the same air for several heartbeats before he finally closed that small gap between them and claimed her mouth with his.

He tasted like citrus, and she realized it must be the Mountain Dew. But the electric tingle of his mouth, the firm brush of lips on lips, tongue on tongue sizzled through her body. She would never be able to think about that beverage again without associating it with Hudson.

He shifted her onto his lap. His erection pressed against her thigh, and he adjusted her slightly so it nudged between her legs. His groan was more like a growl of pleasure.

They kissed for a long time. She learned everything there was to know about his mouth and what it could do to her, unable to stop herself from imagining how it would feel to have his talented tongue employed elsewhere on her body. She wanted him to lick her from head to toe like a giant Popsicle, and then she wanted to do the same to him.

He smelled good, like soap and leather, citrus and sunshine. His skin tasted incredible. She ran her tongue along his jawline, exploring the slightly sandpapery texture. He teased her ear with his tongue, which caused her to go very still so she could concentrate on every sensation. When he nipped her earlobe with his teeth she was sure she would spontaneously combust.

He hadn’t even touched her breasts, but she was ready to skip over the rest of the foreplay and get him inside her. She was afraid she would climax before they were joined, and while that wouldn’t be all bad, their first time she wanted them to come together.

Their first time. The thought set her back on her heels. As if there would be more. She knew how impossible that was, but she was already fantasizing about seeing him again.

“Condoms?” she asked between kisses, because that was the only word her sex-fogged brain could manage.

“Bedroom.”

She clamored off his lap and grabbed his hand, pulling him off the sofa. Like eager children, they raced toward the back of the house.

He didn’t turn on any lights, so she received only a few fleeting impressions of his bedroom—bigger than expected, with a king-size bed on a platform. Some kind of dresser or chest in the corner. A ceiling fan overhead; that would be nice in the summer.

The bed was made, another unbachelorlike detail she filed away. Unless he’d planned to make a conquest at the wedding and had cleaned up in anticipation, she could conclude that Hudson was a good housekeeper, and that he didn’t need a lot of stuff around him to make him happy.

Hudson yanked back the covers, raising the faint scent of vanilla.

He didn’t press her onto the mattress immediately; instead he took her in his arms and kissed her again, deftly lowering the zipper at the back of her dress. He smoothed the silky fabric off her shoulders and it slithered down her body and pooled at her feet.

Feeling uncharacteristically shy, she was glad to be in semidarkness. She didn’t fixate on her body like some of her friends. She was lucky to be naturally slender, so she didn’t fight her weight, but she didn’t spend hours at the gym or taking Pilates classes. She wasn’t ripped and toned. In fact, she might be considered too thin, and the push-up bra she’d bought to help her A-cups fill out the dress was a bit of false advertising. When he unhooked and removed it, she had to resist the urge to cover her breasts with her arms.

He inhaled sharply. “I’m going to turn on the light.”

“No.” The single word sounded abrupt, so she softened it by caressing his arm and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. He’d taken his tie off in the car. Though he’d worn his lightweight suit well, she bet he looked unbelievable in a pair of faded jeans.

“No?”

“I like the dark. Moonlight is...romantic.”

“Whatever you say.” He slid two fingers of each hand inside the elastic of her panties and slowly slid them down her legs. She shivered, though she was anything but cold: her entire body burned from blushing.

She wasn’t like this. She’d always been careful in relationships, careful about sex, watching for hints that a man was becoming too obsessed with her. She’d been the object of one man’s obsession, and that was enough to cure her.

But this...encounter didn’t feel dangerous or sleazy to her. It felt just right. Even if they never saw each other again after tonight—and, fantasies aside, they couldn’t—she wouldn’t feel bad about this. They’d come together with no pretensions, no false promises or cajoling on either of their parts. Only the rather peculiar circumstances that had brought them together stopped her from enjoying herself without hesitation, and she’d managed to stuff those reservations to the back of her mind.

Hudson peeled off his clothes with a grace and economy of motion that was a turn-on all by itself. What little light that came into the room from a sliding glass door played over the curves and angles of his body, revealing the hint of a muscled biceps here, a rippled abdomen there.

And the evidence of his desire, jutting forward without apology. Elizabeth’s mouth went dry.

He came at her like a big, lazy tomcat with anticipation in his gaze, eyeing a mouse. Her own anticipation was about to leap out of her body, a tangible thing. Touch me. Touch me.

He put his hands at her waist and tried to span her in his grasp. “You’re tiny,” he said with a sense of wonder.

She’d never thought of herself as tiny. Skinny, maybe. But her height had sometimes made her feel like a giant. Now that she’d shucked her shoes, Hudson stood at least a few inches taller.

“You’re just big,” she countered, and they both knew she wasn’t just talking about his muscular shoulders.

He grinned, proving no man was immune to a woman praising his equipment. “I’m glad you approve.”

“Let’s see if I approve of how you use it.” Elizabeth wasn’t normally one for saucy quips, especially during sex, but something about him brought out her playfulness. She slowly sank onto the bed, pulling him with her.

He kissed her in earnest now, wrapping her in his arms and rolling on his back so she lay atop him. His erection pressed against her abdomen, and the heat between her legs threatened combustion. Her womb ached for him to complete her.

She spread her legs and straddled him, rubbing herself against his erection.

He growled again. “Oh, man. You’re making me crazy, you know.”

Enough foreplay. They could fondle and tease and seduce later, perhaps during round two. She could only hope she would be lucky enough to get to round two. Right now, she needed to finish this or she was going to implode.

Hudson reached for a drawer in the nightstand and fumbled a bit in the dark. She heard the rustle of plastic. Once he got the condom out of its wrapper she took it from him.

“Turn around while you put that on me,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“I want to look at your bottom.”

She laughed. So outrageous. And she did as requested, turning around to face the foot of the bed, sitting on his ribs as she smoothed the latex over his swollen member. He was hard as a hunk of rebar and three times as thick.

While she worked, taking her time, enjoying every moment, he put his hands on her bottom. “I knew it. You have the cutest little ass I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re impertinent,” she said in her best schoolmarm voice. But she wasn’t immune to praise, either. His approval warmed her blood in a way mere strokes and caresses couldn’t.

She turned back around to face him. Their eyes met. The moment seemed suddenly hugely significant. They were about to join their bodies and become one for the first time.

The only time, she reminded herself sternly.

“Do you want to be on top?” he asked.

She wasn’t used to being asked for a preference. If she stayed on top, she could maintain better control. But control wasn’t what she was after tonight. She wanted him to conquer her...at least for the moment.

She shifted her position yet again, sliding up next to him. She put her mouth right next to his ear. “I want you to take me.”

He needed no further urging. In one second he was on top, the conquering hero. She opened her legs and welcomed him.

She’d thought he’d just thrust inside her, but he took his time, letting her get used to the feel of him filling her up, stretching her in a way that wasn’t painful, yet she was very aware of his size and power. If he ever wanted to hurt her, he certainly could. And she knew he could be violent.

No. She wouldn’t think about that now. The man she was getting to know wouldn’t hurt someone smaller and weaker than him just because he could. Some cops were off on a power trip, but she was sure he wasn’t that kind of cop no matter what the newspaper had said.

“You okay?”

“Never better.”

“You went far away there for just a minute.”

“I’m right here.”

“You’d tell me if it was too much, right?” Even as he said this, he started to move. Every nerve ending in her vagina screamed with the pleasure of it, and it was all Elizabeth could do not to scream. Incredible.

She wanted to draw out the pleasure, but she found she had no self-control. She let the ecstasy overwhelm her, and she held nothing back, nearly weeping with the intensity.

“Oh, man.” Hudson was obviously trying to hold back, but he couldn’t, either. “Oh, yeah. Here it comes.”

Still in the throes of her own climax, she watched his face as he came. His pleasure was a beautiful thing to behold. He gave himself over to it totally. She couldn’t imagine him looking any happier if he really had won the lottery.

It was over quickly, yet Elizabeth couldn’t imagine sex being any more perfect. As he lay on top of her, breathing hard, his skin slightly damp with perspiration, a glow of contentment settled on her.

“I usually can last longer,” he assured her when he could talk.

She laughed. “Men and their egos. I wasn’t timing you.”

“I just wanted it to be good for you.”

“It was, trust me.”

“Give me a few minutes to recover. I think with you I could have a go every half hour all night long.”

“You’re quite the optimist.”

“It’s just that you’re so pretty and sexy.”

“I...well, I probably should be going.” She didn’t want to go, and since tomorrow was Sunday, she had nowhere to be and no one would miss her. Still, she didn’t want to overstay her welcome.

“What? No way. I mean, of course I’ll take you home if you really want to go, but I’m not one of those guys who makes a conquest, then can’t get rid of her fast enough. I want you to spend the night, to get to know you better...and not just in bed.” He shifted, separating their bodies. She missed him already. “I make killer banana pancakes.”

“I have to work tomorrow.” It was a lie. But she did have to make the break clean and decisive. This could not be the start of something, much as she wanted it to be.

When he found out who she was—and he would—he was going to be one pissed-off dude.

“Still, you don’t have to run off. It’s early yet.”

He was right about that. It wasn’t yet ten o’clock. Though the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave, she couldn’t make herself get out of bed and put her clothes on.

“I’ll stay awhile.”

She snuggled up against him, still feeling the effects of her sexual haze. How sweet it would be if she could fall asleep here with her head on his shoulder, lulled by the rhythm of his deep breathing. Not that she could. Not with what she was keeping from him.

He, on the other hand, fell asleep almost instantly, which made her smile. Men were so predictable. She knew it was a physiological reaction, but it was amusing how he could be revved up in a frenzy one minute and a minute later sawing logs.

After a short while, she surprised herself by falling asleep, too.

When she woke sometime later, she was slightly disoriented. Hudson had an old-fashioned clock radio on his nightstand. Once she got her eyes to focus, she discovered it was almost 2:00 a.m.

She couldn’t stay until morning. There was no way she could hide her identity from him—it was getting harder and harder to be deceitful.

She was hunting around in the dark for her dress when she heard a strange noise outside. That was what had awakened her, she realized.

The wind? An animal, perhaps a raccoon? There were a lot of trees around, and critters liked to hang out near lakes.

She listened. There it was again. Footsteps. Someone was on the balcony. And it sounded as if they were trying to jimmy a window somewhere else in the house.

She sat up and shook Hudson. “Hudson!” she hissed. “Wake up. Someone is trying to break in.”

CHAPTER THREE

HUDSON WOKE INSTANTLY, sat up and listened. He heard it immediately—the sound of a window rattling from the other bedroom. And it wasn’t the wind.

He leaped out of bed and grabbed his pants, jumping into them commando style. His gun was in the safe in the closet, damn it. He’d seen no need to take it with him to a wedding, and he would never leave it where a burglar could steal it. Too many stolen guns were on the street.

“Go into the bathroom,” he said in the take-charge voice he used when he intended to be obeyed. “Take your cell phone and lock the door in case you have to call for help.” He slid open the door of his closet and quickly worked the combination, then grabbed his backup weapon, a sturdy Glock.

He noiselessly opened the sliding glass door that led out to the balcony, which completely encircled the house. As he stepped out onto the wooden decking in his bare feet, he realized Liz was right behind him. And damned if she didn’t have his Louisville Slugger gripped in both her hands. She’d obviously thrown on the first item of clothing she’d found, which happened to be his dress shirt. She’d buttoned only one button.

Some other time that would be really charming.

He wasn’t going to waste time and breath trying to get her to obey orders. She obviously wasn’t the hide-in-the-bathroom type of woman.

“Just stay behind me,” he whispered. He walked to the corner of the house and peered around it.

Sure enough, a guy in a ski mask was halfway through his window.

The ski mask told him a lot. This wasn’t a simple burglary. The intruder knew the house was occupied, and he didn’t want to be identified. The other thing that told him a lot was the gun in the guy’s hand.

Hudson raised his weapon. “Police! Freeze!”

The guy didn’t follow orders. He pulled himself out of the window, pointed his gun straight at Hudson and squeezed off a shot.

Liz screamed.

Fortunately, Hudson pulled back around the corner, and the shot wasn’t too well aimed to begin with. He heard the bullet whiz past his head and sail off into the trees behind the house.

Hudson would have been well within his rights to shoot the guy, but he didn’t return fire. Maybe it was because he was already in so much trouble; if he added deadly force to the mix, even justified, his career was over. Or maybe it was simply because he didn’t want to take the life of some scrawny drug addict.

If the burglar had raised his gun again, Hudson would have shot him. But he didn’t. He turned and vaulted over the balcony railing. It was a long drop, but the guy landed on his feet. Hudson watched him hightail it out to the street and away like a jackrabbit on fire.

“Are you okay?” Liz asked, coming up behind him.

“He missed me by a mile. Not even sure he was really trying to hit me, though he ought to know better than to draw down on an armed cop.”

“Maybe he didn’t know you were a cop.”

“I identified myself.” The more he thought about it, the more disturbed he became.

He’d never had any crime problems here before. His house wasn’t an attractive target for burglars; he didn’t have any fancy electronics or silver or jewelry. And if a burglar were simply choosing a house at random, there were plenty of unoccupied vacation cabins around.

“We should call the police,” Liz said.

“I am the police.”

“Well, yeah, but shouldn’t you report this? Maybe he’s still in the area.”

“You kidding? The way that guy was running, he’s halfway to Louisiana by now.”

“What about evidence? Fingerprints and such.”

“They wouldn’t send out CSI for an attempted burglary.”

“Attempted murder more like it,” Liz argued. “He could have killed you.”

“He wore gloves. He didn’t leave behind any evidence.”

“What about his tattoo? Did you see that?”

Now that he thought about it, Hudson did remember seeing a tattoo on the man’s forearm. Something like a big fish. Now, that could be useful.

“I’ll call it in tomorrow,” he said, “but it’s the kind of almost-crime that makes most cops shrug.” Not to mention, he didn’t want to have any contact with his fellow cops right now. Most of the guys he worked with didn’t believe he’d beaten up Franklin Mandalay for no reason. They knew him better than that. But he couldn’t take their well-meaning pity.

Hudson took the bat out of Liz’s hands. “You could have been killed. Next time I tell you to hide in the bathroom, hide in the bathroom. And by the way, that’s a fetching outfit you have on.”

He couldn’t be sure, because it was too dark, but he thought he saw the hint of a blush as she turned and went back inside.

“I wasn’t going to let you go out there alone.”

“I’m a cop. You’re not. But...thank you.” He tossed the bat aside, put the gun in the drawer of his nightstand, handy in case the guy came back. When he refocused his attention on Liz, she was shrugging her way out of his shirt.

Hudson went instantly hard, ready to go again. Judging from the look on Liz’s face, she was ready, too.

“Oh. My,” she said when he shucked his pants. “I’ve heard adrenaline sharpens one’s libido, but here I have some rather convincing proof.”

“Adrenaline’s got nothing to do with it, sugar. It’s all you.” He playfully wrestled her down to the bed and kissed her—hard and fast, then slow and soft.

“Liz,” he said before the lovemaking got so involved that he lost any ability to think or speak. “There’s something you probably should know about me.”

“I know all I need to know.”

“Maybe not. I was suspended last week. A guy I arrested claims I beat him up for no good reason. Unless Internal Affairs clears me—and really, I have no way to prove the guy’s lying—I might be out of a job.”

“You’re telling me this now...because...?”

“Because I want to see you again. But I figured you ought to know the worst before you decide if that’s gonna happen.”

For a moment she looked unbearably sad. Had he disappointed her that thoroughly? But what she said next surprised him.

“I already knew.”

“What?”

“I saw it on TV. That’s why I was staring at you at the wedding. I recognized you.”

“Oh.” He rolled away from her, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. “Please don’t tell me you’re turned on by the idea that I’m violent.”

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s not that at all.”

“Then what’s this about?” Some women were attracted to notoriety, even the negative kind. “You like bad boys? ’Cause I’m not one.”

“I know you’re not. I confess I was a bit curious, but after spending a very short time with you, I was sure you couldn’t have done what you’re accused of.”

“Really? That seems a little naive.” All those doubts he had about why she’d come on to him reared their ugly heads. He should have listened to his gut when it told him something was off-kilter. His gut was always right. “Did Mandalay send you? Or his lawyer?”

She sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts. “Good God, no.”

“That would be a good ploy. Send the pretty girl to seduce the sucker. Set up a fake burglary. Maybe coax the disgraced cop into yet another violent act, conveniently witnessed by said pretty girl—”

“You can’t think I had anything to do with that.”

“I don’t know what to think. Most women would have cowered behind a locked door. But you were right behind me, where you could clearly see everything that happened.”

“I’m not most women.”

He wished she didn’t look so damn fetching wrapped in a sheet. Even while he suspected she might be trying to finish trashing his career, he wanted her with an acuteness that stole his breath away.

Hudson scrubbed his face with one hand. Maybe he’d made a mistake. “Okay. Okay, I’m probably wrong.”

“Maybe I should go home now.”

“Liz, you don’t have to leave.”

“Oh, I think I do. Don’t stir yourself. I’ll call a cab.”

“No, I’ll take you home.” Maybe she’d cool off on the drive to her home. Maybe he could undo what might have been the worst mistake of his life. “Just let me jump in the shower. I won’t be five minutes.” He needed a shower in the worst way. A cold one.

He didn’t wait for her to agree. He scooted off the bed and trotted to the bathroom. He’d be done by the time she was dressed.

He scrubbed down quickly, then dried off and brushed his teeth. He’d be damned if he’d force her to deal with his morning breath. In the unlikely event she let him get close enough that she could smell his breath.

A quick swipe of deodorant, and all that was left was to throw on some clothes. He exited the bathroom.

“Liz?”

Nothing. He checked the kitchen, living room and second bathroom.

Her things were gone.

She was gone.

* * *

“I COULDN’T DO IT.”

“What the hell? Couldn’t find him? Couldn’t pull the trigger?”

“He had a woman with him.”

“So?”

“You think I should have plugged her, too? Or left her behind as a witness?”

“You were wearing a ski mask. She wouldn’t have recognized you. It would have been written off as a burglary gone bad.”

“I don’t leave loose ends like that. And I don’t kill women. Nuh-uh. You didn’t say anything about a woman.”

“Christ, do I have to do everything myself? You realize if I go down, so do you. Hudson Vale got a good look at Jazz. If he finds her before we do, it’s all over. She’ll sell us out like day-old fish. It will all come out—do you understand me? We’ll all go down.”

“We’ll get him another day.”

“Time’s running out.” The man paused, thinking hard. “You know, never mind. I shouldn’t have asked a boy to do a man’s job.”

“Oh, go screw yourself. You think it’s so goddamned easy to kill someone, you do it.”

The man hung up. It was remarkably easy to kill someone. Establish an unshakable alibi. Pay in cash. Leave no evidence behind, including no body.

His muscleman had outlived his usefulness. He was going to have to take care of him. Tonight, before the idiot got drunk and blathered to someone what he’d been up to. Then he’d take care of the others. He’d find Jazz and finish her off. Himself.

* * *

ELIZABETH FELT AWFUL for the teenage girl huddled in her office. Tonda Pickens was in a terrible situation, no doubt about it.

“If Jackson finds out I’m pregnant,” she said tearfully, “he’ll kill me. He will.”

The fear was not ungrounded. When a woman was pregnant, she was much more likely to become the victim of violence from the very person who was supposed to love and protect her. Plus, in Tonda’s case, her boyfriend-slash-pimp had hit her before.

“What about going home to your mother?” Elizabeth asked. “You haven’t talked to her in a while. Maybe the fact you’re having her grandchild would improve her attitude.”

“Hah, you kidding? This is what she did to me for just kissing a boy.” She lifted her hair off one side of her face, revealing a jagged scar. “I can’t even imagine what she’d do if she found out Jackson and me...” She looked out the window, swallowing convulsively. “I have to get rid of it. I got no choice.”

“Yes, you do have a choice.” Elizabeth wouldn’t counsel a nineteen-year-old prostitute to have a baby and keep it. But neither would she advise her to “get rid of it.” Her job was to lay out all the options and let the girl make her own decision. It was the only way, because Tonda was the one who had to live with the physical and emotional consequences. “You do not have to go back to Jackson or your mother. There are shelters for women in your situation. Safe havens.”

“If you’re talking about one of those homes for unwed mothers where they make you pray and then make you give up the baby for adoption, no way. I won’t carry a baby nine months and give it away. I’ve seen girls do that. It racks ’em up bad.”

Elizabeth had, indeed, been thinking about a place similar to what Tonda described. It was a godsend for some girls, but not suitable for everyone.

“There are a number of places you could go. We could look into them together, find the one that suits you.”

“What if I wanted...to keep the baby?” Tonda asked cautiously.

“If that’s what you want to do, you have that right. No one can make you give it up. I won’t lie to you—it won’t be easy. If you want to keep the baby, you’ll have to find some way to provide for it and yourself. Jackson would be legally obligated to pay child support, but I’m guessing that forcing him to do that would be a challenge?”

“I’d rather not even tell him.”

Elizabeth would rather she didn’t, either. What kind of father figure would a pimp be?

“I shoulda been more careful.”

“You’re not the first person to make a mistake, or the last. It happens. The thing to focus on now is making good decisions going forward.”

Tonda placed a hand on her abdomen. “I know I said I wouldn’t go for adoption, but what if I changed my mind? Could I find a good home for the baby?”

“We can certainly try. If you do a private adoption, you get to approve the adoptive parents. Just say the word, and I’ll get you into a women’s shelter—a temporary place until we can figure something out. But you don’t have to go back to Jackson.”

Tonda shook her head. “No. I’m not showing yet. Jackson won’t know. I have to think. Maybe I’ll call Mama. Give her some time to get used to the idea before I see her in person.”

Elizabeth hated to let Tonda go home to her unhealthy situation. If she was still prostituting herself, she risked illness not just for herself, but the baby. But they’d discussed that already. Tonda wouldn’t be pushed into anything—she had to make the decision herself.

“Just remember one thing, Tonda. No one has the right to hit you. Whether it’s Jackson or your mother or a customer, if tempers start to flare, get out. Call the police. Call someone. Don’t just think you have to put up with it because you have no choice. There are always choices.”

Tonda nodded. “Thanks. I won’t let anybody hit me, don’t worry. I have more to worry about than just myself now.”

That was a mature attitude, and Elizabeth was glad to see it. She walked Tonda to the door of the clinic. “You take care, Tonda.”

“I will. Thank you, Ms. Downey.” She gave Elizabeth a quick hug—something she’d never done before. The gesture warmed Elizabeth’s heart. Tonda shouldered her backpack, which had a picture of a kitten on it, and pushed the door open.

Although Elizabeth tried to maintain a professional distance from her clients, she’d always had a soft spot in her heart for Tonda, who’d been coming to the clinic for almost a year now.

As the door closed behind Tonda, Elizabeth turned. That was when she saw two people standing in the lobby, watching her. The clinic manager, Gloria Kirby, stood awkwardly beside them. She motioned for Elizabeth to join them.

“Elizabeth,” Gloria said, “these are detectives with the Montgomery County Sheriff’s Department. They’d like a word with you.”

What? “Oh, no, did something happen to one of my clients?”

The two cops regarded her gravely. One of them was a fortyish man, tall, thin and pale with a shaved head. The other was a humorless-looking Hispanic woman, who could have been twenty-five or forty-five, with her hair pulled back in a severe knot.

“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” the man said.

“Sure.” She led them to her office, which was hardly more than a glorified closet, furnished with a battered wooden desk, an ancient metal file cabinet and two mismatched armchairs. She thought about offering them refreshments. She kept a cooler with water and soft drinks behind her desk and a stash of peanut-butter crackers in a bottom drawer. Often her clients arrived hungry.

But these two cops didn’t look as if they wanted to eat or drink. She sat down behind her desk, and each of them took a chair.

“What can I help you with?” she asked, her stomach tying itself into knots.

They both looked uneasy. “I’m Detective Sanchez,” the woman said, “and this is Detective Knightly.”

“Ms. Downey,” Knightly said, smoothly taking over, “can you tell us where you were Saturday night?”

This did not sound good. It was how the cops began every interview with someone suspected of a crime, at least if she could believe what she saw on TV.

“I was at a friend’s wedding,” she said.

“Until about what time?”

“I’m not sure. Seven? Eight?”

“And then where did you go?”

I went home with a man I just met and had mind-blowing sex. She was so not saying that. “I went home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.” Lying to cops was getting to be a habit with her.

The two cops exchanged a glance. The woman, Sanchez, took notes.

“C’mon, why are you asking me this?” Elizabeth prodded. “What’s going on?”

“It’s about your father,” Sanchez said. “We found him...well, there’s no easy way to say this. We found him in Lake Conroe.”

“Oh. Oh, Jesus.” Every drop of blood drained from Elizabeth’s head, and she was glad she was already sitting down. “Dead? He was dead?”

“Yes,” Sanchez confirmed. “The M.E. puts his time of death sometime between the hours of 11:00 p.m. Saturday night and 5:00 a.m.”

“My father was murdered?” she asked, just to be sure that she hadn’t misheard something. The reality of those words tasted strangely sour in her mouth. She’d always assumed she’d be indifferent to the man’s death. But hearing the news, she felt an odd sting of sadness.

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Sanchez said in a perfunctory way. “His housekeeper told us you were his next of kin.”

She nodded. “What should I do now? Do I need to identify him? Maybe there’s a mistake.” She grabbed on to that thin thread of hope. She wasn’t ready for her father to be dead just yet.

“We identified him through his fingerprints,” Knightly said.

“Oh.” Elizabeth swallowed back tears. Why was she crying? Her father had been a thorn in her side for years now. She hadn’t even spoken to him in months.

“Can anyone verify when you arrived home?” Sanchez asked. Back to business.

She hoped not. “I doubt it. I live in a big building—people come and go a lot.” She paused, then realized where the questions were leading. “You think I had something to do with my father’s murder?”

“These questions are just routine,” Knightly quickly said. “We always check on the whereabouts of family members of any murder victim.”

Any grief Elizabeth might have felt was quickly pushed aside in favor of fear. This was not routine. Anyone close to her or her father—including Mrs. Ames, the housekeeper—knew he and Elizabeth were estranged. She had even taken her mother’s maiden name so that people wouldn’t associate her with him. And now she was a suspect.

And if she gave them Hudson’s name? The one man more likely than she to be the killer. Dear Lord. That was going to look very, very bad.

She shrugged helplessly. Had she used her cell phone that night? No. Her phone had been out of juice, and she’d used Hudson’s landline to call a cab.

“When you went home,” Sanchez asked, “did you make any phone calls, check your email?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I went to bed with a book.”

“It’s all right,” Knightly said soothingly. “I’m sure there’ll be no problem. Again, we’re sorry for your loss.”

Sanchez didn’t look so sure. She snapped her notebook closed. “I guess that’s all for now. Don’t leave town.”

Elizabeth sighed quietly in relief. Maybe this would all blow over. They’d find who did this, and they wouldn’t scrutinize her any further.

Sanchez stood, but Knightly remained seated, looking troubled. “Ms. Downey, do you know anyone who would want to hurt your father?”

“Detective, my father was a high-powered attorney who made his money by taking advantage of people in vulnerable situations. I imagine many of the people he dealt with hated him. I suggest you look there for a suspect.”

“We’ll do that. Again, sorry for your loss.”

Elizabeth didn’t take another full breath until the detectives were gone. Of all the lousy times for Franklin Mandalay to get himself murdered, why had he done it on the night the two prime suspects had been together?

CHAPTER FOUR

DETECTIVE CARLA SANCHEZ said nothing to her partner until they were back in their silver LTD.

“You went awful easy on her,” Carla said as she slid her key into the ignition and started the engine. She turned the AC on full blast and angled one of the vents on her face. Hot day for October. She wished she’d taken off her jacket, like Knightly had.

“I don’t think she did it,” Knightly said. “Her reaction seemed pretty genuine. Those were real tears.”

“Some people can cry on cue. Especially beautiful women who manipulate people to get their way. Especially if they think they’re going to jail.”

Knightly seemed to mull this over. He opened his notebook and glanced at his notes. “She does have a helluva motive.”

“Yeah, like about seventeen million of them.”

“Do we know for sure she inherits?”

“She’s his only child. Only close relative.”

“Who cut herself off from him and hasn’t accepted a dime from him in seven years. That doesn’t sound like someone motivated by money.”

“You’re letting your gonads sway you. Just because she’s pretty and bats her eyelashes at you doesn’t mean she can’t pull the trigger on a gun.”

Knightly nodded. “Point taken. It’s too early to rule out anyone. But we do have other suspects.”

“You mean Hudson.”

“I know he was your partner, but we have to talk to him.”

“I know.” Carla and Hudson had been partners for a couple of years, and she knew him pretty well. He was smart, and he closed a lot of cases, but he was way too casual about rules like dress codes and properly filling out paperwork. And he was constantly on the prowl for women.

Okay, prowl wasn’t the right word. He was just...aware. He flirted with every female he encountered and made conquests where he could.

Carla was one of those conquests.

After their one night together, he’d been ready to move on. She’d acted as though it was no big deal, but he’d hurt her feelings more than she would ever admit.

Yeah, she knew him pretty well, and though she pretended reluctance, she actually relished the thought of seeing him wiggle helplessly like a worm on a fishhook.

“I hate to even consider a fellow cop,” Knightly said, “but we have to. Two weeks before Mandalay’s death, Vale beat him up. The incident became very public and Mandalay was pressing charges. They go away with him dead.”

“I won’t argue with you.”

Carla well remembered when she’d first met Hudson Vale. She’d been still in uniform. He’d been a green recruit. She’d thought he was the most charming man she’d ever met, not to mention sexy. Drinks after work had led to a crazy backseat encounter. But after that, he hadn’t looked at her twice. She’d watched as he’d moved on to conquest after conquest—that blonde skank from Dispatch, then a stacked redheaded lawyer, then others.

Carla had no longer interested him.

She’d learned to work with him, even considered him a friend. But she hadn’t forgotten.

“We might as well go question him now,” Knightly said.

“Not if you’re going soft on him. I don’t want anyone accusing us of taking it easy on him just because he’s one of us.” She tried not to smile.

“Not soft, but I hope he has an alibi.” Knightly opened his window. “Damn, Sanchez, you got it like a meat locker in here. You know that air-conditioning dries out my contacts, right?”

“Not too many people have an alibi for the middle of the night. I mean, most people go home and go to sleep, and who can verify that?”

“Huh. When was the last time you think Hudson Vale spent a Saturday night alone? Sleeping?”

“Good point,” Carla conceded. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“Exactly,” Knightly agreed.

* * *

HUDSON WASN’T USED to having so much leisure time. His first two weeks on suspension, he’d painted his house, sealed his deck, washed his car twice and made repairs to the dock.

Yesterday, Sunday, he’d been in a blue funk. Between thinking about the burglar he’d almost shot, and the abrupt disappearance of Liz early that morning, he hadn’t summoned enough energy to do more than stare out at a great blue heron fishing along the lakeshore.

That Monday morning, he’d started in on gardening.

Not really his thing. Usually he trimmed a few bushes, kept the lawn mowed, raked leaves in the fall, and that was it.

A car had turned down his street; Hudson recognized the growl of a powerful engine, and knew almost before he turned his head that a police vehicle was coming his way. A silver LTD. Were they coming to arrest him?

Hudson’s stomach whooshed even as he straightened and arranged his face into a neutral expression. He’d known this might happen. His word against that of a powerful, rich attorney, and the only witness to the incident, Jazz the prostitute, couldn’t be found.

He relaxed slightly when he recognized his partner, Carla Sanchez, get out of the passenger side. He and Carla weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy with each other. They would never be drinking buddies or confidants. But she was smart, and he felt certain she had his back.

He tensed when he saw whom she was with. Todd Knightly, Mr. Rules-and-Regulations. Were they partners now? Did that mean Knightly was working Major Crimes?

Hudson tried to read their faces. Sanchez had her best poker face on. She wasn’t giving him a clue. Knightly had a determined glint in his eye, but also appeared slightly worried.

“Mornin’,” Hudson greeted them in his best good-old-boy demeanor. He stood up and brushed the dirt from the knees of his jeans, expecting Sanchez to make some crack about his disreputable appearance. She was always giving him grief about the way he dressed. She thought his loud Hawaiian shirts were juvenile.

She said nothing.

Last he heard, Carla hadn’t believed Mandalay’s story about an unprovoked assault. Had something changed her mind?

“I’m guessing,” he said, “this isn’t a social call.”

Knightly didn’t engage in any small talk. He never did. When he was on duty, he was all work, all the time. “Vale, where were you Saturday night between 10:00 p.m. and 5:00 a.m. Sunday morning?”

The question actually brought to mind a series of very pleasant memories. “I was here. At home.” Though the evening hadn’t ended as he’d wished, he couldn’t help a slight smile as he recalled the beautiful siren who had shared his bed two nights ago.

“Alone?” Knightly said.

“As a matter of fact, no.”

Knightly cut his eyes toward Carla and nodded, as if saying, I told you so. He took out his notebook. “Can you give me the name and contact information of the person or persons you were with?”

“Come on, what is this?” Hudson asked impatiently.

“Just cooperate, for once,” Carla said.

Perspiration broke out on Hudson’s forehead. Something was really wrong here. “Liz. Her name was Liz.”

“Last name?”

Hudson rubbed his chin. “Ah, there’s the problem. I didn’t get a last name.”

“Typical,” Sanchez muttered.

Knightly ignored her. “How can we find this woman?”

“She’s a friend of a friend. Of a friend. I’m sure I can track her down if there’s a need. But might I ask why there’s a need? Last I heard, I was off duty Saturday night. A guy is allowed to have a little fun, isn’t he?”

“Franklin Mandalay.” Knightly watched Hudson carefully, as if expecting some kind of reaction.

“Jeez, what’s that bastard accused me of now?”

“He didn’t accuse you of anything,” Sanchez said. “He’s dead. From a bullet through the heart.”

“Dead?” He waited for someone to burst out laughing. Nobody did. “Holy crap, you’re serious.”

“He was found in the lake,” Sanchez said.

Hudson immediately went into detective mode. “Time of death?”

“This isn’t your case,” Knightly said. “We’ll ask the questions. You provide the answers.”

Hudson sighed. Knightly had been watching too many episodes of Dragnet. “You can’t honestly think I had anything to do with it.”

“You had a beef with him,” Sanchez said. “His body was found less than two miles from your house. And you don’t have an alibi.”

“I do have an alibi.”

“Whose name you’ve conveniently forgotten. Do you take so many women to bed that—”

“Her name is Liz.” Wow, Sanchez was certainly in a mood. So much for having his back. “I met her at a party. We came back here. She stayed until about four, then she had to leave because she worked in the morning.” That was sort of the truth.

“What kind of car did she drive?” Knightly asked, all business.

Sanchez, on the other hand, was getting personal. Years ago, long before they’d been partners, they’d slept together. Once. She’d wanted more; he’d realized it was a mistake. She’d been angry at the time but claimed to have put the matter behind her. Still, she never missed an opportunity to rag on him for his “indiscriminate sleeping habits,” as she called them.

“We took my car,” Hudson explained. “And she took a taxi home. Look, I’ll ask around, track her down. Give me a day or two. If I can’t find her, break out the rubber hoses and the hot lights and have at me.”

“In a day or two you could be on the other side of the world,” Sanchez said.

Knightly shook his head. “He isn’t going to run, Carla, or he would have done it already. He had to have known he’d be a suspect.”

“I didn’t know anything until five minutes ago,” Hudson couldn’t help but point out.

Knightly took off his mirrored sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Vale, we have to clear you from the suspect list. You understand that, right? People are going to ask questions, and we’ll have to have good, solid evidence that you couldn’t have done this. Give us a real alibi and we’ll get our job done.”

Hudson nodded. “I totally get that. And I will find the mystery woman. So unless you’re prepared to arrest me on the spot, y’all best back off and let me get to work.”

Knightly considered him for a few more seconds. “All right. Two days.” He turned and strode back to the car, jerking the driver’s door open.

“Hey, Sanchez,” Hudson said softly as his former partner turned away. “How long did it take for them to promote Knightly into my job?”

She lowered her voice. “The transfer to Major Crimes was already in the works. I requested to work with him. He might be a little humorless, but he’s a good cop. He knows the law. He follows protocol.”

Hudson knew he’d just been put down. But now was not the time or place to argue.

“You better go, before Mr. Rules-and-Regulations reports you for consorting with a suspect.”

“If I were you, I’d forget about Knightly and focus on finding the girl. If she exists.”

Hudson’s jaw dropped as Sanchez slid into the passenger seat. Did his own partner actually think he might have killed a man? Did she actually prefer working with that pompous ass?

Knightly had about a year’s seniority over Hudson. In fact, when Hudson had first made detective—assigned to juvie and missing persons—Knightly had shown him the ropes with a sort of big-brother attitude that was only slightly annoying. Hudson had assumed he was well-meaning.

But after a few months, Hudson had realized that Knightly relished his superior attitude. He had the state and local penal codes memorized word for word and wouldn’t hesitate to complain to the lieutenant if he thought any of his colleagues weren’t following the rules. He always wore a suit with razor-creased pants. He was always perfectly clean-shaven, his head freshly shaved every day to minimize the impact of his receding hairline.

When a position opened up on the Major Crimes squad, both Knightly and Hudson were considered. When Hudson got the nod, Knightly congratulated him and appeared to be a good sport, but Hudson always suspected Knightly felt cheated.

Hudson took a deep breath to steady himself. He couldn’t afford to let emotion cloud his thinking. This had gone way beyond salvaging his career. He was now a murder suspect.

His story about a woman with no last name who’d disappeared into the night with no trace did sound fishy. Hudson wouldn’t have bought it if some other suspect had told it to him during an investigation.

But she was real. He simply had to find her and get her to make a statement to the police. It might be embarrassing for her. But even as little as he knew about her, he believed she would do the right thing. She wouldn’t let him swing in the wind to save herself a little embarrassment. Or a lot of embarrassment if she turned out to be in a relationship. Which, he realized, he really hoped she wasn’t...and not just to make his alibi stronger.

Liz was a friend of Jillian’s. He didn’t have Jillian’s number, but Claudia would have it. Or someone at Project Justice, where she worked, would know how to get in touch with her. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Claudia, but only reached her voice mail, which meant she was probably in a session. He told her succinctly what he was looking for, confident his problems would soon be solved.

Thirty minutes later she returned his call. By then, he was sitting on his deck with a can of Mountain Dew in his hand, trying his best to let the view of the lake calm his nerves.

“I can give you Jillian’s number, but it won’t do you much good,” Claudia said. “She’s on her honeymoon.”

Crap. He could still try to call her. Maybe she would answer. It wasn’t cool to bother someone on their honeymoon, but getting Liz’s contact information would take only a couple of seconds.

Claudia already knew what he was thinking. “Even if you called her, it’s doubtful she’d pick up. They went to Patagonia.”

Double crap. “The only thing I really know about her is that she’s a social worker, and she works at a clinic of some kind. I guess I could call every clinic in the city and ask for her.” But if that was his only recourse—

“You should talk to Mitch.”

“Delacroix? The computer hacker at Project Justice?”

“We don’t call him that. He’s a computer data analyst. Tell him everything you know about Liz. Anything at all you remember. I bet he can find her for you in less than an hour. You’ve helped out Project Justice in the past. Now let them help you.”

* * *

IT TOOK LESS than an hour. In fact, it only took about seven minutes. With some prodding, Hudson had remembered that Liz had said free clinic. That narrowed down the possibilities considerably. With a little bit of fancy online footwork, Mitch had come up with three urban clinics in the Houston area with employees named Elizabeth.

Hudson decided to visit them in person, rather than try to get Liz on the phone. As skittish as she was—and as angry as she’d been with him when she’d fled his house—she might refuse his call or try to make him think she was the wrong Elizabeth. It would be easier to confront her in person and convince her she needed to come forward with her statement.

With addresses for the three clinics in hand, Hudson set out to find his alibi. It took a few minutes for him to realize that the tightness in his chest had little to do with his thorny predicament, and almost everything to do with the fact he couldn’t wait to see Liz again. He only wished his excuse for tracking her down wasn’t what it was.

Houston City Clinic was the first stop. It was a depressing storefront office crowded between a run-down bodega on one side and a pawn shop on the other. Hudson had a hard time picturing Liz spending every day at a place like this. It would say something about her character if she wanted to help people that badly.

He walked through the crowded waiting room, filled with snuffling adults, screaming toddlers and feverish babies and thanked God for the great health coverage he got through the sheriff’s department.

At least, for a while longer.

“Excuse me,” he asked the harried receptionist, “I’d like to see Elizabeth, please.”

“If you mean Dr. Eliza Eldridge, that’s you and everybody else in here.” She looked him up and down. He’d put on some decent-looking khaki pants and a polo shirt, wanting to appear his best when he encountered Liz again. He supposed he looked a little too well-heeled to be patronizing a free clinic, but people could fall into unfortunate circumstances anytime.

Or maybe the receptionist had simply pegged him as a cop. Some people had a sixth sense when it came to spotting law enforcement.

“Take a number,” the woman said.

“Maybe you can help me.”

“No cutting in line,” she said without looking up. “Take a number.”

“I just want to ask a question. Is Dr. Eldridge a tall brunette with dark blue eyes?”

“She’s five foot two with brown eyes and a ’fro.”

“Then I have the wrong Elizabeth. Thank you for your time.”

She didn’t look up.

One down, two to go.

The second clinic was in a better neighborhood. But it shared the same air of hopelessness as the first. “Elizabeth” was easy to find; she actually worked at the front desk, according to a nameplate. She wasn’t Liz, either.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a friendly smile.

“Are you Elizabeth?” he asked, just to be sure. Liz had said she was a social worker, not a receptionist, but he had to be thorough.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“No other Elizabeths work here?”

“No, just me,” the pretty Latina woman said, still smiling. “You aren’t a bill collector, are you? ’Cause I made my car payment yesterday.”

He smiled back. “No, nothing like that. Just trying to find an old friend.”

“Good luck.”

One to go. His heart lifted as he turned into the parking lot of the third clinic, Los Amigos Family Clinic. Despite the sadly depressed condition of the neighborhood overall, this clinic was clean and bright, and the entire block on which it sat was free from trash and graffiti. The small, freestanding building was painted in bright colors, and the windows were clean. A sign in the window advertised Free Flu Shots.

Inside was bright and fresh, too. There was still a crowd of people waiting for care, but they didn’t seem quite as desperate as the patients at the other clinics.

The receptionist sat behind a glass partition. Hudson rang the bell, and the frosted-glass door slid open. A young man in a nicely pressed shirt greeted him with a polite smile. “Help you?”

“I’d like to see Elizabeth, please.”

“I’m so sorry—Ms. Downey had to cancel her appointments today. She had a death in her family.”

“Oh, no, that’s terrible.” Hudson’s heart went out to Liz. He wanted to be there for her, to comfort her, give her a shoulder to cry on. Which was ridiculous, because he barely knew her. “Just to be clear, is this Elizabeth tall with dark hair and dark blue eyes?”

The young man nodded. “That’s her. Can I give her a message?”

“I don’t suppose you could give me a phone number, could you?”

“Ah, no. We can’t give out our employees’ personal—”

“Yeah, no, I get it. That’s okay.” He had a last name now. Downey. If nothing else, Mitch could find a phone number and home address. For that matter, he could tell Sanchez, and she could track Liz down. But he’d much rather talk to Liz first.

“Thanks.” As he exited the clinic, he was already redialing Mitch.

* * *

AFTERNOON WAS WANING as Hudson approached the front door of the posh apartment building in Houston’s downtown historic district. Who knew there were 28 Elizabeth Downeys living in the Houston area? Mitch was able to eliminate most of them based on identifying factors like race and age, but there were four who had shielded their privacy enough that he couldn’t rule them out. Mitch had offered to hack into Department of Public Safety records and peek at their driver’s-license pictures, but Hudson couldn’t condone Mitch breaking the law on his behalf.

He’d find her. In fact, he was almost positive he had. This building just looked like someplace Liz would live—a redbrick 1800s building right off Market Square. Secure—but not behind the walls of some sanitized gated community where no one knew their neighbors.

Now he just had the security desk to contend with.

“I’m here to see Elizabeth Downey,” he told the official-looking man who watched all who came and went through the lobby. He didn’t wear a uniform, just a nicely pressed suit, but Hudson had no doubt the man could stop anyone who tried to gain entrance to the elevators or stairs without his okay. At least he’d try.

“Your name?” the guard asked as he picked up the phone from the antique desk.

He considered lying, but Elizabeth would probably refuse entrance to someone she didn’t know. “Hudson Vale.” God, he hoped she was home.

The man spoke softly into the phone. Though Hudson was standing right next to the desk, he couldn’t understand what was said. That was a talent. The guard cast a suspicious eye at Hudson, then concluded the conversation and hung up.

“Fifth floor. Apartment 524.”

Relief flooded through Hudson’s whole body. She was here. And she’d agreed to see him. It had taken him half a day, but he’d found her.

Belatedly, he wished he’d brought flowers. She was undoubtedly still angry with him for the accusations he’d thrown at her Saturday night. That had been stupid of him.

The elevator couldn’t move fast enough to suit him. When he finally alighted on the fifth floor, he practically sprinted down the hall until he found her apartment number. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he knocked. Decisively. Twice.

The woman who opened the door was hardly recognizable as the sultry vixen who’d taken his breath away Saturday night, seducing him so shamelessly. She stood before him in sweats and an old Bryn Mawr College T-shirt, her face pale and devoid of makeup, her hair pulled back untidily in an elastic band.

She was still achingly beautiful.

“Liz.” Somehow, that was the only word that would come out of his mouth.

She turned, leaving the door open, and he followed her into her apartment. It was an expensive-looking space, open and airy. The walls were painted in soft pastels; the furnishings looked classy but not formal or pretentious. The only item that looked out of place was a huge bouquet of orchids on the dining-room table, wilted and turning brown. Everything else was clean and well-maintained.

“I can explain,” she finally said.

“There’s no need.” He felt a little off-balance. She was the one apologizing? “I don’t blame you for bailing out on me. I said some awful thing, things I didn’t mean. If I’d bothered to use half a brain before I spouted off...”

She looked at him curiously, as if an apology wasn’t what she expected, either.

He closed the door. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her expression changed rapidly from guilt to suspicion. What had he done now?

“I stopped at your clinic first,” he explained, figuring she didn’t appreciate his intrusion into her privacy. “Someone there told me you’d had a death in your family.”

“Dear God, you still don’t know.”

“Uh...guess I don’t. Pretty clueless here. Liz, I don’t mean to intrude on your grief. But I’m in a difficult situation here, and you’re the only one who can help me. Believe me, I wouldn’t have bothered you otherwise. I mean, I did want to see you again. And I’m kind of glad I had an excuse to track you down—”

“I can’t help you. You have to leave.” She strode toward her front door, obviously expecting him to vacate.

“What? I haven’t even told you what the problem is.”

“I already know. You want me to vouch for your whereabouts on Saturday night.”

“Well, yeah. How do you know about that?” Then he slapped his own forehead. “Duh. It’s probably been in the news.” He hadn’t turned on a TV in days. “Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again, or if you don’t want the whole world to know you picked up some strange guy at a wedding. But there’s no need for anyone to know. Just talk to a couple of detectives. Tell them you were with me, that I couldn’t possibly have killed Mandalay.”

She paused at the door, her hand hovering over the knob. Finally she turned and looked at him with something approaching honest regret. “I would help you if I could. I’m not embarrassed. It’s just that using me as an alibi won’t do you much good. Because if there’s one person in the world who had a better reason than you to kill Franklin Mandalay, it’s me.”

Oh, God. This did not sound good. “Maybe I better sit down.”

“No, no, you have to leave.” The urgency had returned to her voice. “We can’t be seen together.”

“We’ve already been seen together. Your security man downstairs knows I came to see you. The valet at the wedding saw us leave together. You think cops won’t figure that out?”

Her face fell. She returned to the living room and more or less collapsed onto that comfy-looking sofa. Hudson sat in the chair opposite her.

“Maybe you better tell me everything,” Hudson said. “Why would you want to kill Franklin Mandalay?”

“Because he’s my father. And we’re estranged. He is manipulative and controlling and a liar. And I’m his sole heir.” With that, her eyes filled with tears. “Jesus, I have no idea why I keep crying. He was not a very nice man.”

Mandalay was her father? Hudson’s head was spinning like a gyroscope. “I knew there was something off about that night,” he murmured. Then, louder, he said, “Tell me everything. All of it, Liz. If I get even a whiff of deception from you I’m going straight to the police.”