“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

Her face was close. Close enough that he could see the tears that still clung to her long lashes. Her skin was a lovely mocha and her lips were pink and inviting. He leaned forward. She stilled.

He bent his head and kissed her. She tasted like spaghetti sauce and red wine, sweet with just a hint of sharpness. And when she pulled back quickly, he had to force himself to let her go, to not demand more.

Her dark eyes were big.

“I hadn’t planned on that,” he said, proving that adult men lied, too. Maybe he hadn’t exactly planned it, but for months, he’d been thinking about kissing Carmen.

She didn’t answer. She just looked as shaken as he felt. A few more strands of her silky hair had fallen down, and her lips were trembling.

Dead by

Wednesday

Beverly Long

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As a child, BEVERLY LONG used to take a flashlight to bed so that she could hide under the covers and read. Once a teenager, more often than not, the books she chose were romance novels. Now she gets to keep the light on as long as she wants, and there’s always a romance novel on her nightstand. With both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director, she now enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime.

Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com, or like her at www.facebook.com/BeverlyLong.Romance.

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To my good friends, who have always believed it was

possible. Your support made the difference.

Now, please pass the wine.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter One

Wednesday

Robert Hanson looked up from his computer screen when Lieutenant Fischer approached his desk. He wasn’t surprised or worried about the anger that flashed in his boss’s eyes. He knew what had put it there. Had heard the news before he’d gotten off the elevator. Even though it wasn’t his case, it had been enough to make him shove his half-eaten bagel back into the bag and toss his untouched orange juice into the nearest waste can.

“Got another dead kid,” his boss said.

Robert had really, really hoped that the pattern would break. For the past three weeks, there had been a new dead kid every Wednesday morning. This was week four. “I heard,” Robert said.

“Did you hear he was Alderman Franconi’s nephew? His sister’s kid.”

Robert shook his head. Franconi was tight with the mayor. The heat was going to be turned up high. Not that every detective on the force wasn’t already aware of the case and keeping his or her eyes open 24/7 looking for some kind of clue.

“Where’s Sawyer?” his boss asked.

“On his way. He’s dropping Liz and the baby off at Options for Caring Mothers.”

“Okay.” His boss started to walk away. Then stopped, turned and edged close to the metal desk. “Carmen Jimenez still work there?” he asked, his inquiry casual.

“I guess so,” Robert said, working hard to keep his tone neutral. He hadn’t seen Carmen since the wedding three months ago, where his best friend, Sawyer Montgomery, had married her best friend, Liz Mayfield. Robert had been the best man. Carmen had been the maid of honor. Her dress had been an emerald-green and it had wrapped around her body in a way that had made him break out in an instant sweat.

The groom had been calmer than he’d been.

Which was ridiculous because everybody knew that Robert Hanson never got rattled by a woman. He managed relationships. Not the other way around.

“Pretty woman,” Lieutenant Fischer said.

Robert raised an eyebrow. The lieutenant had been married for twenty years and had kids in high school.

“Just making conversation, Hanson. If it’s any consolation, probably nobody but Sawyer and me realized that it was taking everything you had to keep your tongue from hanging out. We just know you better than most.”

Robert shrugged and tried his best to look innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

Lieutenant Fischer let out a huff of air. “Of course you don’t. When Sawyer arrives, get your butts out to the scene. Blaze and Wasimole are still there. They could use some help talking to neighbors. Details are online in the case file.”

Robert shifted in his chair and reached for his computer keyboard. But he let his hands rest on the keys.

Visions of Carmen Jimenez weren’t that easy to push aside.

They’d danced, just once. It was expected, after all. And she’d felt perfect in his arms. And her scent had danced around him, making his head spin. He’d made small talk. Nice wedding, wasn’t it? Is your brother starting high school soon? Are you busy at work?

She responded, her voice soft and sexy, with just a bare hint of a Spanish accent. Very pretty. Yes, he is looking forward to playing in the band. Always lots to do.

And when the music had ended, he hadn’t wanted to let go. But she’d stepped away, murmured a quick thank-you and left him standing in the middle of the dance floor.

And later, when he’d tried to catch her eye, she’d looked away, and he wondered if it was deliberate. Toward the end of the evening, he hadn’t had to wonder anymore. He’d finally worked up the courage to ask her to dance again and when she’d seen him approaching, had practically run into the ladies’ restroom to avoid him.

He didn’t need it written on the damn marquee. She wasn’t interested. So he’d forgotten about her.

Right.

Well, he was working on it.

He tapped on his keyboard and brought up the case file. In their system, every entry was date-and time-stamped. Detectives Blaze and Wasimole, two veterans, had been on the scene within fifteen minutes of the call coming in at four o’clock this morning. Shortly after that, they’d entered a brief narrative into the electronic case file and updated it twice after that.

Victim had been discovered by a couple of sanitation workers. They hadn’t touched the body. That was good. More than fifteen residents of nearby apartment buildings had already been interviewed and nobody had seen anything. That was bad.

There were multiple stab wounds, and fingers on his right hand had been severed and removed from the scene.

That wasn’t a surprise.

The first victim had lost two fingers on his left hand. The second, two on the right. The third, two on his left hand.

Left, right. Left, right. There was a crazy symmetry about the handiwork but the end result was always the same. The kids were dead. Although it hadn’t come easy. Coroner had determined in the first three deaths that the mutilation had occurred prior to death, which meant that they’d suffered the pain, then the blood loss; and finally the bastard had killed them by suffocating them by covering their noses with duct tape and stuffing a red bandanna in their mouths.

The killer hadn’t bothered to remove the bandanna once the kids were dead.

Robert checked the notes. Yep. Victim had been found with his nostrils taped shut and a red bandanna stuffed in his mouth. He clicked on the pictures that had already been uploaded and started scanning them. They were gruesome and made his empty stomach twist.

When he heard Sawyer’s footsteps, he was grateful for the interruption. His partner shrugged off his heavy coat, pulled out his desk chair and sank into it.

“You look like hell,” Robert said.

“It’s amazing the trouble one little tooth can cause,” Sawyer said, his lazy drawl more pronounced than usual. “Catherine was up several times during the night. That doesn’t happen very often.”

“How’s Liz?” Robert asked.

“Fabulous,” Sawyer answered, sounding like a very happy man. “Although she wasn’t too crazy about me giving Catherine my leather belt to chew on. That is, until she saw how well it worked.”

“Southern tradition?” Robert asked.

Sawyer shook his head. “Midwest desperation.”

Robert stood up. “Well, we got another kind of tradition going on here and quite frankly, it sucks.” He pointed at his computer. Sawyer got up, rounded the desk, stood behind Robert, and quickly read through the information.

“Henry Wright,” Sawyer said, resting his eyes on the text that had been added just an hour or so ago once the body had been identified.

“Alderman Franconi’s nephew,” Robert added. That wasn’t in the notes.

“This is going to get interesting fast,” Sawyer said.

“I know the area,” Robert said. “Residential, mostly multiunit apartments. Some commercial.”

Sawyer picked up the gloves that he’d tossed on his desk. He pulled them on. “Let’s go knock on some doors. But take pity on me, for God’s sake, and stop and get some coffee on the way. It’s freezing out there.”

“It’s January in Chicago. What do you expect?”

“It would be nice if it got cold enough that all the killing stopped.”

“It’s cold,” Robert said, “but I don’t think hell has frozen over yet.”

The two men piled into their unmarked car, with Robert driving. He pulled out of the police lot and five minutes later, found street parking in front of their favorite coffee shop. Once inside, he waited patiently while Sawyer had to flash a picture of six-month-old Catherine after the woman behind the counter asked for an update on the little girl.

Robert was damn happy for his friend. Liz was a great woman, and given how much she and Sawyer were enjoying their adopted daughter, Robert figured they’d be adding to their family in no time.

He wasn’t jealous.

Hell, no. He had the kind of freedom that married men dreamed about.

Back in the car, he sipped his coffee, grateful for the warmth. It hadn’t been above twenty degrees for two weeks, which meant that the four inches of snow that had fallen three weeks ago lingered on. Most of the roads were clear, but the sidewalks that hadn’t been shoveled right away now had a thick layer of hard-packed snow, making walking dangerous.

It was dirty and grimy and very non-postcard-worthy. Even in the high-rent area known as the Magnificent Mile, things were looking a little shabby.

Ten minutes later, Robert left the car in a no-parking zone. Five feet away, the alley entrance was still blocked off with police tape. He looked around. When he’d been a kid, he’d lived just a few blocks from here. For a couple years, he and his mom and husband number three had shared an apartment in one of the low-income high-rise buildings. His mom still lived less than ten blocks away.

He’d spent a fair amount of time on these streets. The area still looked much the same. There were a couple small restaurants, a dry cleaner, a tanning salon and one of those paycheck advance places where the interest started doubling the minute your loan payment was late. There was a church a block down, and the neighborhood school was just around the corner.

Buses ran up and down these streets in the daytime, leaving the snow-packed sidewalks tinged with black exhaust.

Sawyer crushed his empty coffee cup. “Ready?” he asked, pulling the collar of his heavy coat tighter.

“Sure,” Robert said. He tossed his empty cup over his shoulder into the backseat.

It wasn’t hard to see where the body had been found. The hard-packed snow was an ugly combination of black soot and fresh blood. Detective Charlene Blaze was talking to one of the evidence techs, who was still scraping the snow for something. He didn’t see her partner, Milo Wasimole.

“Hey, Charlene,” Robert said. “How’s it going?”

She was a small woman, maybe mid-fifties. Her first grandchild had been born the previous week. Her face was red from the cold. “Okay, I guess. I lost feeling in my toes about a half hour ago.”

“Lieutenant Fischer asked us to swing by.”

She nodded. “Yeah, all hands on deck when an alderman’s nephew gets it,” she said, her tone sarcastic.

Robert understood. Hell, there were teenagers killed almost every night in Chicago. Most of the killings were gang-related. And nobody seemed to get all that excited about it.

But after week two, when it had become apparent that they might have a serial killer on their hands, the cases had started to get attention.

Week three, local newspapers had gotten hold of the story, noting the similarities in the killings. Two days later, they got television exposure, when the twenty-four-hour news channels picked it up. Then the dancing had started. Because nobody in the police department wanted it widely known that three kids were dead and they didn’t have a clue who was responsible.

“Press been here yet?” Robert asked.

Charlene nodded. “Oh, yeah. Can’t wait to see tomorrow’s headline.” She nodded goodbye to the evidence tech, who was putting away his things. “I know you guys already have your own caseload but I have to admit, I’m appreciative of every set of eyes I can get. This is getting really creepy. Based on what we know at this point, this was a good kid. Fourteen. Just made the eighth-grade honor roll. Played the trumpet in the middle-school band.”

Robert had read the files of the other three dead kids and knew they had similar stories. First victim had been thirteen. Second, fifteen. Third, fourteen. All male. All good students. All without known gang ties. “Any connection to the previous three victims?”

“No. All four lived in different parts of the city and went to different schools. We don’t have any reason to believe they knew each other or had common friends.”

Robert shook his head. “Nobody ever said it was going to be easy.” He pulled his gloves out of his pocket. “Sawyer and I’ll start knocking on some neighbors’ doors. Maybe we’ll get lucky and somebody saw something.”

* * *

CARMEN JIMENEZ SWAYED back and forth with six-month-old Catherine on her hip. “I can’t believe how big she’s getting,” she said to Liz, who was busy making coffee. “I saw her just a few weeks ago and she already looks different.”

“I know. I’m almost grateful that her regular babysitter got sick. It’s nice to bring her to work with me.” Liz pushed the button on the coffee machine.

“Did Sawyer get her room finished?” Carmen asked.

Liz smiled. “It’s gorgeous. I can’t believe he had the patience to stencil all those teddy bears. You should come see it. We’re getting pizza tonight. You and Raoul could join us.”

“Raoul has band practice tonight. Even so...” She stopped.

Liz frowned at her. “What’s wrong? You look really troubled.”

“Nothing,” Carmen denied automatically. Then remembered this was Liz, her best friend. “I was going to say that even so, he probably wouldn’t want to come with me. I haven’t said much, but I’m worried about Raoul.”

“What’s wrong with your brother?” Liz reached for Catherine and settled the little girl on her own hip.

“He’s not talking to me. By the time I get home from work, he’s already in his room. He comes out for dinner, shovels some food in, and retreats back to his cave. I’m lucky if I get a few one-word answers.”

“He’s an adolescent boy. That’s pretty normal behavior. Aren’t you almost thirty? That automatically makes you too old to understand anything.”

“I know. It’s just hard for me. It seems as if it was just weeks ago that he and his best friend Jacob were setting up a tent in our living room, laughing like a bunch of hyenas until the middle of the night.”

“I can see why you’d miss that,” Liz said with a smirk.

Carmen rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. But in the old days he couldn’t wait to tell me what had happened at school.” She swallowed. “He used to confide in me.”

Liz wrapped her free arm around her friend’s delicate shoulder. “That, my friend, is the difference between ten and fifteen. Give him a couple more years and he’ll start talking again. In the meantime, you need something else to focus on.”

“Maybe I’ll take up knitting,” Carmen said. “I couldn’t find my scarf this morning.”

Liz shook her head. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

Carmen sighed loudly. She and Liz had had this conversation. “I know what you were thinking.”

“I never thought I’d play matchmaker. Really, I didn’t. It’s just that I’m so happy. I want that for you.”

“I know. That’s the only thing that’s keeping me from tripping you on these stairs.” She leaned forward and kissed Catherine’s soft cheek. “Take care of your mother, darling. Her head is in the clouds.”

Liz shook her head. “Just think about it, please. Maybe try the online thing?”

“Sure. I’ll think about it. But right now, I have more pressing issues. I’m meeting my new client in fifteen minutes. Alexa Sage is sixteen, seven months along and lives at home with her parents, who have no idea that she’s pregnant.”

Liz nodded. “Winter clothes make it easier to hide a pregnancy, that’s for sure.” She took another step. “Will you come for pizza tonight? Please?”

“No need to beg. My middle name is carbohydrate. I’ll be there.” Carmen stopped at her office door, unlocked it, opened the door and immediately walked across the small space to pull open the heavy curtain on the lone window. Most days the sun offered some warmth but today, everything outside was gray. Wednesday. Hump day. By five o’clock tonight, the workweek would be more than half over. Although for the counselors who worked at Options for Caring Mothers, their workweeks didn’t tend to be so carefully defined. Babies came at all times of the day or night, and none of the staff wanted their teenage clients to be alone at that time.

Alexa Sage arrived five minutes later. She wore a big black coat and jeans tucked into black boots. Her short hair was a white-blond and her pale skin was clear and pretty, with nicely applied makeup. Her eyes were green and wary.

“It’s nice to meet you, Alexa,” Carmen said, motioning for the girl to take a chair. “I hope you didn’t get too cold getting here.”

“I took the bus,” she said. She sat but didn’t take off her coat.

“Better than walking,” Carmen said, keeping up the small talk. “I have a younger brother, and when I don’t have early-morning meetings, I drop him and his best friend off at school.”

“My mother doesn’t work. She takes my sister and me to school every day. Picks us up, too. That’s what Frank Sage wants.”

“Stepdad?” Carmen asked, noting the use of the first name.

“Nope. His blood is my blood. Let me tell you, that has kept me up a few nights. He doesn’t like it when I call him Frank. My mom thinks it’s disrespectful, too.”

“Do you say it to be disrespectful?”

“I say it because I can.”

Maybe that’s why she’d had sex. Because she could. And now she was in a heap of trouble. “How did you find out about Options for Caring Mothers?” Carmen asked.

“My counselor at school. She gave me an OCM brochure.”

That was how many of their referrals came. “I’m glad that happened,” Carmen said. “Did you tell her that you were pregnant?”

“I think the school nurse told her. I got sick a couple times at school. The nurse thought I had the flu and wanted to send me home. I had to tell her the truth.”

“But you haven’t told your parents?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Alexa chewed her lip. “My dad works in some little factory and he hates his job. He gets mad when my sister or I get a B. Says that if we’re not careful, we’re going to be trapped in some dead-end job. When he finds out that I’m going to quit school to take care of the baby, he’s not going to be happy.”

“So, you’re planning on keeping your baby?”

The girl nodded.

“What about the father of the baby?”

This got a shrug. “He’s a junior, too, so we’re not, you know, getting married or anything, but he’s cool with it.”

“He hasn’t told his parents?”

“There’s only his mom. And no, we both agreed that we wouldn’t say anything to anybody.”

Alexa was mature, but was she mature enough to handle a child? “Have you considered adoption?” Carmen asked.

Alexa shook her head. “So that she can be raised by somebody like my parents? No, thanks.”

Carmen nodded. Not much to say to that, was there? “Have you had any prenatal care?”

Alexa nodded. “At the health department. Everything is fine. I’m twenty-eight weeks. The baby is due April 15.”

“How much longer do you think you can hide your pregnancy from your family?” Carmen asked.

“Probably not much longer. In a week, I have a family wedding. I’m not going to be able to wear a sweatshirt and baggy pants or my coat. I think the cat is going to be pretty much out of the bag.”

“You should tell your parents before then,” Carmen said.

“I know. That’s why I’m here. Frank doesn’t do so good with surprises. Goes a little crazy sometimes.”

“What kind of crazy?” Carmen asked. “Crazy yelling or crazy something else?”

“When my mother hit a post with the fender of our car, he slapped her so hard that he split her lip.”

Carmen felt sick.

“You were the counselor who helped my neighbor, Angelina. She said you were wonderful. I was hoping you could be there when I tell him.”

Chapter Two

Raoul almost dropped his trombone when a skinny man stepped out of the dry cleaner’s doorway, right into his path. His dark hair was slicked down on his head and pulled back into a short ponytail. His skin was really pale and he had gray eyes.

“Hi, there,” the man said.

He was about six inches taller than Raoul, which basically wasn’t all that tall. His shoulders were wide and he had on a really ugly plaid coat.

Raoul tried to step around him.

The man stepped with him, blocking his path.

“Hey, man,” Raoul said. He’d already had a really bad day and all he wanted was to go home.

“Is that how you treat your friends, Raoul?”

Friends? “Who are you? How do you know my name?” Raoul asked, feeling uncomfortable. He looked around. There were other people on the sidewalk, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him.

“I know a lot about you. Your brother Hector and I were friends. Real tight.”

Hector had been dead for eleven years. Whenever anybody said Hector’s name, his sister, Carmen, got a real funny look on her face and she got sad. Once, when he asked her about it, she said that she was just so sorry that Hector had died.

That made him feel even worse that he couldn’t remember Hector. He’d only been four when he’d died. He couldn’t tell Carmen the truth. That would probably make her even sadder.

“You really knew Hector?”

“Oh, yeah. One time, before he died, he told me that if anything ever happened to him, that I should watch out for you.”

Raoul didn’t know what to say to that and anyway, his throat felt tight.

“Your brother used to talk about you all the time. Said that having a kid brother was cool.”

Hector would have understood how hard it was to be the smallest kid in the class. He’d have known how humiliating it was to have someone jam your head into a toilet. He’d have known how ridiculous it felt to be tripped going down the hall and have your books fly everywhere.

He’d have known how much it hurt when everyone laughed.

“What’s your favorite song?” the man asked, giving Raoul’s shoulder a light punch.

Raoul didn’t want to talk music. Even though this guy had been a friend of Hector’s, he sort of gave him the creeps. “What’s your name?” he asked again.

The man shook his head. “We’ll talk soon, Raoul. I know what your brother wanted for you. I’m here to make sure you get it. Now, go home. Practice your music like a good boy.”

* * *

BY THE END of the day, the police knew just a little more than they had that morning. The boy had not been killed on site. No, somewhere else, and then brought into the alley. One of the neighbors said that he’d left the neighborhood bar and walked home, cutting through the alley shortly before two in the morning. He swore that the body hadn’t been there. If he was right, then the drop-off had occurred sometime between two and four, which was earlier than the other three killings. Those bodies had been found late in the day, and the coroner had estimated time of death to be late afternoon, early evening.

Was the killer getting more anxious?

That thought kept Robert and Sawyer and a half dozen other detectives knocking on doors, for six blocks in every direction, in the hopes that somebody had seen something. Maybe they’d also walked through the alley, maybe they’d seen a car idling nearby, maybe they’d heard something unusual.

It was the proverbial looking for a needle in a haystack, but dead kids got feet on the street.

Early evening, Robert and Sawyer returned to the parking lot behind their police station. They parked the department-issued cruiser and walked toward their own cars. “I’m starting to really hate Wednesdays,” Robert said.

Sawyer nodded. “Yeah, me, too. At least I have dinner to look forward to. I’m picking up pizza at Toni’s. Liz invited Carmen over to look at Catherine’s room. I painted it this weekend.”

All damn day Carmen Jimenez had been on his mind. “I’ve been thinking of doing some painting,” Robert said.

Sawyer smiled. “Yeah. But for some reason, I doubt you’re thinking pink.”

Robert shrugged. “What did you use? A gloss, semigloss or a flat?”

Sawyer waved a hand. “I have no idea. I used the paint in the can that Liz brought home from the paint store.”

“Oh, good grief. Now I’ve got to see this paint job. If you get the pizza, I’ll get a couple bottles of wine on my way. As long as you think it will be okay with Liz.”

“Liz adores you. Why, I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

Robert shoved his friend, then had to grab him to keep him from slipping on the snow, which was gathering a top layer of ice as the temperature continued to drop.

“Be careful,” Robert said.

“Be on time,” Sawyer said, getting into his car. “I’m hungry.”

Less than forty-five minutes later, Robert knocked on his partner’s door. He’d had time to run home, take a five-minute shower and grab a couple of bottles of wine off the rack in his kitchen.

While he was perfectly happy in his ultramodern high-rise, he had to admit that he loved Sawyer’s house. A month before Liz and Sawyer had gotten married, Liz and Catherine had moved into the eighty-year-old brownstone. Now the family occupied the first two floors and rented out the top floor to a single woman who spent most of the week traveling.

The house had good bones. Before meeting Liz, Sawyer had already refinished the oak floors, replaced all the lighting and hung artwork that reminded him of the Deep South. Liz had added feminine touches that had turned the wonderful structure into a home.

“Hi, Robert,” Liz said as she opened the door. She leaned forward for a kiss on the cheek. “Come in quickly. It’s freezing.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He could hear the soft murmur of voices from the living room. He heard Carmen laugh, and there wasn’t a cold bone in his body.

Liz peered at the wine. “Very nice,” she said. “The pizza is good but this may put it to shame.”

Robert set the wine on the entryway table, shrugged off his coat, stuffed his gloves in one pocket and handed it to Liz. She hung the coat in the hall closet. There was a royal-blue cape hanging there and he suspected it belonged to Carmen.

It was crazy but he liked seeing his coat next to hers.

He picked up the wine and followed Liz into the family room. Like any good cop, he took in the details quickly. Fireplace was lit. Soft jazz played in the background. Catherine lay on her back, on the very nice rug that had been one of Liz’s contributions to the house. Both plump little legs were moving, as if she were pedaling an invisible bicycle. Sawyer was stretched out next to her.

Carmen was sitting in the chair, leaning forward, looking at the baby. The light from the fireplace cast a soft glow around her. She wore a red sweater and black slacks. Her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders.

She was beautiful.

And when she turned, he saw that she wasn’t surprised to see him. Her face was composed, polite. And he should have felt much the same. After all, he’d known that she was going to be here. That was why he’d wheedled an invitation with some crazy excuse that he was interested in paint. Paint, for God’s sake. It was ridiculous.

And it was pretty damn ridiculous, too, that just looking at Carmen made him feel short of breath and a little unsteady on his feet.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he managed.

Sawyer sat up. “Cold beer in the fridge.”

Robert nodded. “I’ll stick with this,” he said, holding up the wine. He looked at Carmen. “Can I get you a glass?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Liz reached for the wine. “I’ll get some for both of you. I need to check the pizza anyway. We put it in the oven to keep it hot.” She took a step. “Have a seat, Robert,” she said gently.

He sat. And felt like an awkward sixteen-year-old at his first prom. His shirt felt too tight and his heart was racing in his chest.

The only noise in the room was Catherine’s happy squeals. Carmen stared at the fire. He stared at the antique umbrella stand in the corner of the room.

Sawyer looked from Carmen to him and back again. Finally, his friend sprang to his feet. He reached for Catherine and cupped her in the crook of his elbow. “Liz probably needs my help in the kitchen,” he said as he left the room.

Now there was just silence.

Sawyer had probably been gone for less than a minute when Carmen turned her head. “I don’t think Liz really needs his help.”

He relaxed. “Maybe if we were having grits and chicken-fried steak.”

“Ugh,” she said with a smile that made her even prettier. “I’d suddenly have to run an errand.”

“I’d drive you,” he said. “Although to be fair, the man makes a great gumbo. He brought some into work one day, and it made me nostalgic for my last trip to the French Quarter.”

“I think I’d love New Orleans,” she said. “Maybe someday.”

The kitchen door swung open, and Liz emerged holding two wineglasses. “Follow me,” she said, leading them to the dining room. There was a huge pizza in the middle of the table with a big bowl of salad next to it. Sawyer was clipping Catherine’s high-chair tray on.

They sat, and Catherine immediately started squealing and pounding her plump fists on the high-chair tray. Liz smiled apologetically. “Sorry. This is the kind of ambience we have now.”

Robert dished out a slice of pizza and handed it to Carmen. “No problem. Table manners like her father.”

They were done with their pizza and cutting into the cheesecake that Carmen had picked up at the bakery after work when Robert’s phone buzzed with an incoming text message. He glanced at it, shook his head and turned his phone upside down on the table. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“Bad news?” Liz asked.

“A reporter from the newspaper,” he explained. “She’s evidently not getting enough of a story from Blaze and Wasimole, so she tracked me down. I imagine she got the number from one of the people we talked to today. We generally leave a card in case they think of something that might be helpful.”

“These killings are the only thing the local talk show hosts were discussing today,” Liz said. “It’s getting very scary.”

It was horrible, thought Carmen. With Raoul being about the same age as the other victims, it made her sick to hear people talking about the stories. Her heart ached for the terrible loss that the families had suffered, for the pain the boys had endured. “I didn’t know if I should say anything to Raoul,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to scare him unnecessarily but I also didn’t want him to be naive.”

“Where did you land on it?” Robert asked.

“I left the newspaper on the table one morning, folded so that he could easily see the headline. He read the story and that gave me the opportunity I was waiting for. I tried to gently suggest that it was important to be careful, to always be watching.”

“What did he say?” Liz asked.

Carmen rolled her eyes. “He said, and I quote, ‘Sis. There are three million people in the city of Chicago. Eight million if you count the suburbs. I don’t think anybody is looking for me.’ I didn’t push it. I’m crazy enough about other things, like brushed teeth and pants that stay up around his waist.”

“Raoul’s such a smart kid. You didn’t need to say anything else,” Liz said. “He gets it.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to get this guy,” Sawyer said, his tone confident. “He’s going to make a mistake. In fact, he already has.”

“What’s that?” Liz asked.

“He mutilates and suffocates his victims. That’s been reported in the press. What hasn’t been reported is that the victims have all been found with red handkerchiefs in their mouths. We’ve been successful in keeping that out of the press. But that shows an arrogance on his part—that he’s so confident that he won’t be caught that he can afford to leave clues at the scene. Arrogance makes criminals sloppy.”

“Can you trace the handkerchiefs?” Carmen asked.

“We’ve tried. No luck so far,” Robert said. “They’re sold in a bunch of stores. But something will break, soon. It has to.” He leaned across the table and tickled Catherine’s belly. “Right, darling?”

She giggled, breaking the tension at the table.

Carmen felt more relaxed than she had in months. That wasn’t how she’d expected the evening to go. She’d gotten to Liz’s house and her friend had quickly pulled her aside. Sawyer just told me he invited Robert, too. Are you okay with that?

Heck no, she wasn’t okay with that. She’d met Robert Hanson just weeks before Catherine was born, when Catherine’s mother was kidnapped by a gang leader who wanted to steal the baby. Robert had been a little brash, maybe even a little cocky, but he’d been helpful to both Liz and Sawyer.

And she had tried to ignore that whenever he was close, it seemed a little harder to focus. She’d done pretty well with that until the wedding and then the dance.

Robert Hanson knew how to hold a woman. For a big man, his touch had been light and his steps graceful.

But she’d known that he was a man who knew what to do. And her skills were rusty. Real rusty. She was twenty-nine years old and hadn’t been on a date in thirteen years.

No worries, she’d assured her friend. After all, they’d had one little dance. She remembered it but he’d probably forgotten it the next day. She told herself it was silly to think for even one minute that the evening would be the least bit awkward.

But when the door opened and she heard his voice in the foyer, her senses had become more acute. She felt her skin get warm and knew it had nothing to do with Sawyer’s nice fireplace.

And she’d tried to remember that it was just a DWF night. Dinner With Friends. They’d have a little pizza, some wine, a few laughs.

And she’d prayed that the butterflies in her stomach would get the message.

She’d worried for nothing. Robert Hanson, in his usual charming way, had made the night perfect.

Now that they’d finished with their cheesecake, Robert pushed back his chair and began to gather up the dirty plates. Liz started to get up. “I’ve got this,” he said. “I’m anxious to see the paint job that your husband did. I must admit, he’s never impressed me as being all that artistic.”

Sawyer wadded up his cloth napkin and threw it at Robert. “If I get tired of wrestling with the bad guys, maybe I’ll start my own painting business.”

“Not a chance, Michelangelo,” Robert said. “You’re not leaving me on my own.”

Liz shook her head. “Like either of you would ever stop being cops. Come with me.”

They followed Liz back to Catherine’s room. It had been painted a pale mint-green. Waist-high was a border of dancing teddy bears in yellows and pinks.

“It’s adorable,” Carmen said. “Very impressive. Can I hire you? My kitchen desperately needs paint.”

Sawyer smiled and shook his head. “I don’t want to see another stir stick for quite some time. Robert, you seemed to know a lot about painting earlier.”

“I work cheap,” Robert said, his tone casual.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Carmen said, grateful to get out of the conversation so easily. The idea of sexy Robert Hanson in her kitchen, face smeared with paint, looking all adorable, had the butterflies double-timing it. Her stomach lining was getting scratched. “I should probably get going,” she added.

Sawyer and Robert grabbed coats out of the closet and Carmen hugged her friend. “Thank you so much. Everything was delicious. Remember, I’m going to be late tomorrow.”

“Be careful, okay?” Liz replied, her tone serious.

Both Sawyer and Robert immediately stopped their conversation. “What’s going on, honey?” Sawyer asked, moving close to his wife.

“Carmen has a new client. Unfortunately, the girl hasn’t told her parents that she’s pregnant. She’s afraid to. Dad evidently has a history of a violent temper. Anyway, she asked Carmen to be there when she breaks the news.”

Robert took a step forward. “He’s coming to OCM?”

“No,” Carmen said. “That won’t work. The minute she tells him that she wants to meet him at a pregnancy counseling center, he’s going to have a pretty good idea of what’s going on.”

“You’re not going to this guy’s house?” Robert asked, his tone challenging.

Carmen shook her head. “No. I’m not that crazy,” she said, trying to make light of it. She saw that it wasn’t working. “Frank Sage evidently stops for coffee every morning at a little place on the corner of Taylor and Minx. His daughter and I are going to meet there and uh, break the news. It’s a public place where he’ll probably feel inclined to behave. It was the best plan I could come up with.”

Robert was frowning at her. “You do this kind of thing often?”

“Not often, but I’ve had cases where we’ve had to quickly remove a young girl from a situation when her parents or her boyfriend or somebody else couldn’t handle the news of the pregnancy. We need to protect our clients and their babies.”

“You think that’s what’s going to happen here?” Robert asked.

“I don’t know. I should be able to tell. If I have any reason to believe that he’s going to harm my client physically, I’ll take the necessary steps.”

Liz stepped in and wrapped an arm around Carmen’s shoulder. “She’s little but she’s tough. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “Be careful driving home.”

She and Robert left. She saw a red SUV parked behind her car. She assumed it was Robert’s. “Well, good night,” she said when they got to her car.

“It’s pretty late,” he said. “How about I follow you?”

Was Robert Hanson asking to be invited in? The idea was absurd. And terribly exciting. She felt sixteen again. “I drive all the time at night,” she said.

“That doesn’t make it a good thing. Please let me do this.”

Liz had always said that both Sawyer and Robert were real gentlemen. “Okay. Do you need my address?” she asked. “In case you lose me at a light?”

He shook his head and smiled. “I won’t lose you.”

And he didn’t. She drove a sedate thirty-eight miles an hour and he stayed a couple car lengths behind her. The whole time she worried about what she should say if he asked to come in. When she parked at her apartment building, she still didn’t have an answer.

He pulled up next to her.

“What floor?” he asked.

“Second. That window is my kitchen,” she said, pointing at the end of the building closest to them.

“Okay. Flip the light twice and I’ll know you’re in safe. Have a good night, Carmen.”

“Uh...sure. Thanks.” She practically ran into the building. She got inside her apartment and pressed herself up against the hard wall. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she didn’t think it was from the physical exertion.

Then she remembered to flip the light twice.

Robert Hanson wasn’t interested in coming inside, and she was a fool to think so.

Chapter Three

Thursday

Carmen was just slipping on her shoes the next morning when she heard Raoul’s door slam. “You’re up early,” she said, ruffling his hair as he walked past her.

He didn’t answer. Just went to the cupboard and pulled out a box of cereal. He poured a big bowl, added milk, grabbed a spoon from the drawer and stood at the counter. “I have band practice this morning,” he said with his mouth full.

She ignored the poor manners. Lately, Raoul hadn’t offered much conversation; she wasn’t inclined to shut him down. “Practice before and after school?”

“Winter concert is next Thursday,” Raoul said. “Mr. Raker said we better improve fast or we’re going to be an embarrassment to ourselves and our families.”

Carmen smiled. Mr. Raker could get a little over-the-top sometimes. “You’ll pull it off. I know you will.”

“I guess.” He chewed. “Hey, Carmen. Did Hector have a lot of friends in high school?”

Hector. He’d been two years older and in every way possible, her hero. And then he’d made a few bad decisions that changed the course of his life. All their lives, really.

And then he’d died.

“I guess,” she said. Raoul never talked about Hector. “Why do you ask?”

He stared at her and put his half-eaten cereal down. “He was my brother. Can’t I ask about my brother?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s just...you surprised me, that’s all. What would you like to know?”

He grabbed his coat. “Never mind,” he said. “I have to go. It’s Mrs. Minelli’s turn to drive. She’s probably already here.”

“Raoul,” she said.

A slamming door was her answer.

“Say hi to Jacob,” she said, her voice trailing off at the end. She sank down on one of her kitchen chairs. Over the years, she’d had a few clients who were as young as fourteen or fifteen, but girls were different. They communicated. Boys just shut down.

It was driving her crazy.

She turned the lights off, grabbed her coat and patted her pockets to make sure she had gloves. She normally drove to work, but she knew that parking near the coffee shop would be hard to find. It was easier to take a cab.

When she was just a few blocks away, she texted Alexa’s cell phone. Are you there?

The response came almost immediately. No. Five minutes.

Carmen checked her watch. Alexa’s father stopped in on his way to work. Same time, every day. He was due in ten minutes.

The cab stopped, and she handed over a ten and got out. She considered waiting outside for Alexa but across the street, the flashing sign on the bank indicated it was ten degrees.

And in Chicago, the wind never stopped blowing. Which made the windchill about twenty below.

She opened the coffee shop door, took her place in line and studied her choices. When it was her turn, she ordered a large hot chocolate and a glass of water. Then she turned to find a table.

And saw him.

Robert Hanson.

He smiled at her and held up his own cup. “Morning, Carmen. They make a great cup of coffee here, don’t they?”

He looked fresh and handsome and as delicious as one of the scones in the front display case. “This is not your coffee shop,” she hissed.

“I drink coffee all day long, all over the city. Why not here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, there’s no need for you to be here. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Good. Then you can just ignore that I’m here.”

Robert Hanson was six-two and two hundred pounds of muscle. His eyes were a brilliant blue, his bone structure was strong and his thick light brown hair looked as if a woman had just run her fingers through it.

He was hard to ignore.

“Do not interfere,” she said.

“As long as Dad behaves, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Carmen shook her head and took the table in the corner. She turned her chair so that she could see the door but not Robert. She concentrated on taking deep breaths. When she felt she had it under control, she took small sips of her hot chocolate.

Alexa came in, wearing the same big, dark coat. The young girl got a cup of coffee and headed for Carmen. “I’m sorry I’m late. He should be here really soon.”

“No problem.” Carmen decided that now wasn’t the time to lecture on the evils of pregnancy and caffeine. “When he arrives, make eye contact and motion him over to the table. Then I’ll introduce myself and let him know that you have something that you’d like to tell him. Just be calm. It’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know my dad,” Alexa said. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t had much sleep.

Carmen reached over to pat the girl’s hand but stopped when the teen stiffened in her chair. Carmen turned and immediately saw the resemblance between daughter and father. Their coloring was the same; the nose, too. Frank Sage was a big man, probably at least six feet. He wore gray work pants and a big black coat that hinted at a well-fed stomach. His blond hair was thinning on top.

He was frowning at his daughter.

Alexa motioned and the man hesitated. Then he walked across the room, bumping into a chair on the way.

“Alexa, what are you doing here?” he asked. He had a deep voice, somewhat raspy, likely from years of cigarettes. Carmen could smell smoke on his jacket.

“Hi, Dad,” Alexa said.

Carmen stood up. She did not like him towering over her. She extended her hand. He stared at it. “Mr. Sage, I’m Carmen Jimenez. I am a counselor and I’ve been working with your daughter.”

When it didn’t appear that he was going to return the shake, Carmen dropped her arm. “Will you please have a seat?” she asked.

The man hesitated, then sat on the edge of his chair. “A counselor? Working with my daughter,” he repeated. “What the hell is this about, Alexa?”

Carmen sat down. “Alexa has something that she wants to tell you, Mr. Sage. And this is difficult for her. It may also be difficult for you to hear. All I’m asking is that you hear her out, give her a chance.”

The man nodded. His eyes were narrowed.

“Dad.” Alexa stopped and licked her lips. “I’m pregnant.”

The man’s face turned red. He shook his head. “No,” he said, staring at his daughter.

Alexa nodded. “I’m going to have a baby around April 15.”

“No,” he repeated, his voice louder, as if by proclaiming it so, he could simply get the problem to disappear.

Alexa’s face turned pink and she looked quickly around the coffee shop. A few people in line were staring in their direction. “Please, Dad. Carmen is a counselor at Options for Caring Mothers, a pregnancy counseling center. She’s helping me.”

The man swiveled in his chair, looked at Carmen, then stood up fast, catching the edge of the table. Cups and water glasses flew. Carmen felt the hot splash of liquid on her face and heard Alexa yelp. She looked up to see Frank Sage’s big red face coming toward her.

* * *

ROBERT WRENCHED THE man’s arm behind his back, put pressure on the back of his knees with a well-placed foot, and in seconds, had him facedown on the tile floor.

He looked around the room. “My name is Detective Robert Hanson. I’m a police officer with the Chicago Police Department. I need all of you to remain calm and to stay in your seats. I repeat, remain calm and stay in your seats.”

He turned to look at Carmen. She was standing up. Her mouth was open and she looked shell-shocked. There was hot chocolate on her blouse, and some had splashed on her face and hair. He tightened his grip on Sage’s arm, pulling it just a little higher. “Are you okay?” he asked her.

She nodded and turned to look at the girl who had also stood up. “Alexa?” She wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulder.

“I told you,” the young girl said, her tone soft. She was looking at her dad.

There was a disgusting combination of hot chocolate, coffee and water pooling on the table. The uneven slate floor was causing a small trickle to drip off the side.

A helpful server walked by and offered Carmen a towel. Robert shook his head. “Leave it,” he said. He wanted pictures.

Robert leaned close to the man’s ear. He spoke quietly. “If you didn’t hear it the first time, my name is Detective Robert Hanson, with the Chicago Police Department. I’m going to let you get up, Mr. Sage. But if you make one wrong move toward your daughter, Ms. Jimenez, me or anybody else in this room, you’re going to be in even bigger trouble than you are now. Do you understand?”

He waited until the big man nodded. Then he loosened his grip and let the man get to his knees. He kicked a chair toward him. “Sit there,” he ordered.

The man did as he was instructed. His face was red and his eyes were wild, but he didn’t try anything. He did not look at Alexa or Carmen.

Robert moved behind him. Quietly but distinctly, he read him his Miranda rights.

The man let him finish and then immediately said, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

He’d had his arms up, coming toward Carmen, and if Robert hadn’t been there to stop him, Carmen’s injuries would have been far worse than some splashes with a hot drink. It was taking everything he had not to punch the son of a bitch.

“You caused hot liquid to land on Ms. Jimenez. That’s battery, Mr. Sage. And by virtue of your size, your proximity and your aggressive posture, I’m adding criminal threatening to the list of charges.”

Frank Sage said nothing. Then he looked at his daughter. “I didn’t mean to upset the table. I caught it with my legs. And I wouldn’t have hurt her. I was...surprised. You surprised me. This wasn’t the way it should have happened. Not with some stranger here.”

Alexa stared at her hands.

Carmen stepped forward. “No closer,” Robert said.

She nodded and sat down. “I believe Mr. Sage when he says that he didn’t purposefully lift the table. And I’m sure we did catch him by surprise this morning with some very difficult news. If Mr. Sage feels that he can now have a reasonable conversation, I think we should forget the last five minutes and move forward. Alexa has a lot of decisions she needs to make and she needs her father’s help.” She motioned for Alexa to take her seat again.

No, Robert wanted to yell. In his head, he could still see Sage lunging over the table, his big hands ready to wring Carmen’s neck.

“Please,” Carmen said, looking at him. “Robert?”

Damn. Like he was going to be able to deny her anything. He squatted next to Frank Sage. “You’re lucky. She’s a nice person. I’m not that nice, in case you were wondering.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Sage. “Take this, as a little reminder that I’m going to be watching you.”

He stepped back and watched while Carmen used the towel to sop up enough of the liquid to keep more from hitting the floor. Then, the three of them conversed for a few minutes. She talked and Alexa and Sage listened. Then it was Alexa’s turn. Sage said very little. After a few minutes, Carmen stood up. She extended a hand to Sage. He hesitated, then extended his own arm, giving her hand a quick shake. Then he left without a backward glance at the two women.

Alexa stood up next, hugged Carmen, said something that made Carmen smile and then left. Carmen finally looked at him.

She was sitting at a dirty table, a large splotch of brown liquid on her pink shirt, with more on her face and in her hair, and he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

He moved over to the table. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked.

She looked down at her shirt. “Oh, yeah. This is the look I was going for.” With two fingers, she rubbed at the sticky substance on her face. “By the way,” she said, “thank you. I mean it. I know I wasn’t very gracious about you being here but you were a big help.”

He nodded. “What’s next for Alexa and her parents?”

“They’re going to tell her mom tonight. Alexa didn’t want to tell her first because she was afraid that her father would be mad at her mom, thinking that she’d been hiding information from him. This way, he’ll see how surprised his wife is by the news. Then they’ll have to start talking about next steps. Alexa is determined to have this baby and take care of it. She probably could do it by herself, but it would be a whole lot easier if she had her parents’ help.”

“And where do you come in?”

“I’ll continue to work with her throughout the remainder of the pregnancy and then after delivery, too. There are resources available to both her and her baby that I can help her with.”

“Sage didn’t look happy.”

“He’s not. Hopefully he’ll work himself into the stage of acceptance. If he can’t, then I’ll help Alexa with finding a new place to live. I’m not going to let her live with somebody who can’t get over his anger.”

“I don’t want you to ever go to their house,” he said.

She narrowed her dark brown eyes. “Detective, I’m must have heard that wrong because it sounded as if you were telling me how to do my job.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car. I assume you’re going to want to go home and change.”

She nodded. “Yes, but no car. I took a cab.”

He frowned at her. “I’m not going to let you stand around in a wet shirt when it’s freezing, waiting for a cab. I’ll drive you home.”

He could tell she wanted to argue, but her shirt was probably uncomfortable enough that it changed her mind. “If it’s no trouble.”

Carmen Jimenez had been causing him trouble since the first day that he’d seen her. She’d been standing outside OCM, waiting while bomb specialists removed an explosive device that had been left on her boss’s desk. He’d taken one look and his world had changed. His sleep was disturbed, he rarely got through a day without thinking of her and his sex life had taken a turn down a dead-end road. He still dated, made himself pretend that he was having fun, but he hadn’t slept with anybody since that morning.

And she had barely given him the time of day.

If Sawyer or their boss knew that he was such a fool, Robert would never hear the end of it.

“No trouble,” he said.

* * *

ROBERT DROVE WITH an ease and competence that impressed Carmen. She’d grown up in the city and had been driving in it for years, but all the traffic still made her nervous. Raoul had been hinting that he was going to get to take driver’s education soon and that he’d need lots of practice hours. The thought of it made her ill. But she would do it. She would do anything for Raoul.

She pulled her cell phone from her purse, intending to check in with Liz. There was a missed call and a voice mail. She didn’t recognize the number.

She listened to the voice mail and felt sick. She played it again. Then let her phone drop back into her purse.

“What’s wrong?” Robert asked, checking his rearview mirror.

There was no reason to tell him. She’d been handling things on her own for a long time. She’d handle this, too.

“Carmen?” he said, his voice soft. “Was that Sage?”

She was so tired of being strong and so damn worried about Raoul. “That was Raoul’s homeroom teacher. She wanted me to know that Raoul is failing two of his classes. He rarely turns in homework and on the last essay test, over half of his answers were wrong.”

Robert nodded. “Is he a pretty good student, usually?”

“He’s always made the honor roll. Oh, my gosh, I’ve never gotten a call like this. Never dreamed I’d get one.”

“So talk to him. You’re good at that,” Robert said with an encouraging smile.

Carmen chewed on the corner of her lip. “It’s not just the grades. There’s something else going on but I have no idea what it is. He’s changing. Right in front of my eyes. He won’t talk to me. It’s as if he doesn’t even like me.”

Robert slipped the car into a parking place in front of her apartment, shut it off and turned toward her. “Look, take it from somebody who used to be a boy,” he said with a smile. “It’s tough being a freshman in high school. He likes you. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

“That’s what Liz says.”

“She’s right.”

Carmen shook her head. “I know Raoul better than I know anybody. It’s been just the two of us for a long time. Our older brother, Hector, died when I was eighteen and Raoul was barely four. About a year later, our parents were killed in a car accident. I raised Raoul from that point.”

“You were really just a kid yourself. That was a big responsibility you took on.”

“I guess. It never entered my mind to do anything different. I was in college by then. We both did our homework at the kitchen table,” she said, smiling at the memory.

“Good bonding time,” Robert said.

She nodded. “I know him as well as I know myself. That’s how I know that there’s something else going on here. I just have to figure it out before it’s too late.” She swallowed hard. “Hector was shot by a rival gang member. He had just turned twenty.” She closed her eyes for just a second, then opened them and looked at him. “I can’t lose another brother. I just can’t.”

“You lost a great deal in a short period of time. Yet you went on, made a good life for yourself and your brother. It could not have been easy.”

He seemed so sincere in his praise. She hadn’t told him to impress him. She’d just wanted him to understand.

“I’ll figure something out,” she said, trying to change the subject.

“I could talk to him,” Robert said.

It was a nice offer but it wouldn’t work. “He doesn’t know you. He’s not going to trust you.”

Robert shrugged. “Okay. So I get to know him. Invite me over for dinner tonight. I’ll pick something up on my way—maybe Chinese?”

“That’s impossible,” she blurted out.

“Okay. No Chinese. Italian? Although we just had pizza,” Robert said.

He was deliberately misunderstanding her. “I’m sure you have better things to do than have dinner with a paranoid twenty-nine-year-old and a snarling teenage boy.” When Liz had first started dating Sawyer, she’d confided that Robert was a bit of playboy.

“You’re not paranoid, and unless he’s rabid, I can take a little snarling from a fifteen-year-old.”

“I don’t know why you’d want to do this,” Carmen said, shaking her head.

“Come on. It’s my version of community service,” he said easily. “You’re not going to deny me the opportunity for that, are you?”

Chapter Four

From Carmen’s apartment, Robert drove directly back to the police station. When he got there, he saw that Alderman Franconi was in Lieutenant Fischer’s office. The door was closed, but the blinds were open just enough that Robert and every other person in the squad room understood that Alderman Franconi wasn’t happy.

He made eye contact with Sawyer, who was sipping on a cup of coffee and eating some kind of pastry. He had a newspaper spread out on his desk. The headline said it all. Police Frustrated with Lack of Progress.

Frustrated? Oh, yeah.

As was the alderman, who spent another three minutes in the lieutenant’s face before turning and leaving. When he walked through the squad room, he didn’t look at or talk to anyone. Once he was out of the room, all heads turned toward the lieutenant’s office. The man was standing in the door, not looking any worse for wear. It would take more than a frustrated alderman to rattle him.

“Well,” Lieutenant Fischer said, his tone dry. “As you may have gathered, Alderman Franconi wants us to find the killer and string him up at Daley Plaza. Or we’ll all be looking for new work.”

Nobody reacted to the last line. It was this particular alderman’s style to threaten jobs. He did it when the crowd control at the summer festivals didn’t go well. He was certainly going to do it now. The alderman was a jerk about most things. He did have a dead nephew, however, so everybody was more inclined to cut him some slack.

Robert didn’t have to have family to understand family. It had just been his mom and him, with a progression of husbands and live-ins over the years. His mom had been married five times, no, make that six. He sometimes forgot number four. That one had lasted less than six months. One had continued on for five years but Robert was convinced that was because the man was an over-the-road trucker and gone most of the time. That was actually the one guy he’d liked.

The weird thing was, his mother wasn’t a bad person. People generally liked her. She was the life of the party. Had a good sense of humor, knew how to tell a joke. She drank too much, perhaps. But she was a pleasant drunk, not a mean one. She mostly made bad choices. Because she couldn’t stand being without a man, couldn’t stand being alone. And so whatever loser came along got credit for having testosterone, and was immediately a viable prospect.

Robert had been three when his biological dad had been killed in a car accident. His mother, who had been a beautiful woman with her blond hair and green eyes, had remarried within the year, although Robert didn’t even remember that guy.

Now, if he felt inclined to ever look back, which he did not, the only way he could keep the parade straight in his head was to go to the pictures that his mother had stuffed in a shoe box. Every year, on his birthday, she’d taken a picture. And the man of the hour had always been in one of the shots.

None of them had been inclined to adopt him, or maybe his mother had never wanted that. He wasn’t sure. From a very early age, before he even knew what the word meant, he’d considered them boarders in his home. There but not important. Certainly not family.

Her latest husband was retired military. He wore black shoes that always had a nice shine and he grew orchids in the small garden behind their house. His name was Norman. She called him Normie.

The man didn’t say much when Robert visited. But then again, getting a word in edgewise was a feat when his mother was revved up. As Sawyer would say, she could talk the ears off a chicken.

Robert sat down at his desk and was surprised to see two pink message slips in Tasha’s scrawling handwriting. Hardly anybody left messages anymore. They either knew him well enough to call his cell phone or they left a voice mail on his office line.

These were both personal. One from Mandy, the other from Janine. They both had his cell number.

But then again, he hadn’t been answering any of their calls for the past couple of weeks. He looked up when a shadow crossed in front of his desk. Tasha, an unlit cigarette hanging from her mouth, was buttoning her coat. Every morning at exactly ten o’clock, their department clerk went outside to smoke. It didn’t matter how hot or how cold. “Who’s the lucky one tonight?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“When in doubt,” Tasha said, “use FIFO. First in, first out. Janine gets the nod. Your phone was ringing when I got here this morning. If you ask me, she’s a bit needy.”

He folded the slips and put them under his stapler. “I’ll give them both a call later.”

Tasha frowned at him. She leaned over and laid the back of her hand against his forehead. “Are you sick?”

“I’m fine. Busy.” Robert yanked open a file drawer so hard that it jarred the pencil holder on his desk.

Sawyer folded his paper and frowned at him. “Everything okay?” he asked. Then his expression changed. “Damn. Something happened at the coffee shop, didn’t it?” He pushed his chair back and started to stand up.

“I handled it,” Robert said, motioning for Sawyer to sit back down. “Everybody is okay, but I don’t like the dad. Frank Sage is a big guy and I think he’s used to intimidating people with his size.”

“I’ve known you for a long time, Robert, and I’ve never seen you intimidated by anything.”

Good thing Sawyer had no idea how nervous he’d been last night, when suddenly it was just him and Carmen sitting in Sawyer’s living room. He’d felt as if his tongue had grown until it was too big for his mouth. Then she’d broken the tension and everything had been fine.

Better than fine. It had been one of the nicest nights that he’d spent in a long time. And he hadn’t wanted it to end. When it had and he’d offered to follow her back to her apartment, he’d been afraid that she might have been offended.

She’d been on her own for a long time, successfully supporting her brother and herself. He understood feminism. Other than Sawyer, his two best other partners had been women. Both highly skilled and competent as hell.

And Carmen Jimenez was likely every bit as smart as they had been. But she didn’t have the same training and she sure as heck wasn’t packing a gun. A lone female, traveling at night, was a target.

It had just made sense for him to offer to follow her home. What hadn’t made sense was that for the entire drive he’d debated whether he should ask to come in. In the end, he’d decided against it. Maybe it had been the memory of her running into the bathroom to avoid dancing with him. Maybe it had been that the night had been so nice that he didn’t want to take the chance of spoiling it with a refusal.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t figured out what to do about Carmen. He’d spent months trying to forget how she’d felt in his arms but he hadn’t been able to. What the hell did that mean?

So, he’d made sure she got inside safely and he’d gone home. He’d gone to bed thinking about her, had dreamed about her, and when he’d gotten out of bed at the crack of dawn, he’d known that he was going to be waiting in that coffee shop.

Good instincts. That’s what his boss had written on his last performance appraisal. Robert liked to think that he listened to his gut. And his gut had been telling him to be there.

Those instincts had been front and center when he’d pushed for the invitation to have dinner tonight with Carmen and Raoul. And he’d been happy when she’d finally said yes, insisting that she would cook.

But for some reason, he didn’t feel inclined to share that information with Sawyer. “What’s the plan today?” Robert asked.

“More knocking on doors. Somebody saw something.”

“Maybe not. The body was found early Wednesday morning. It was below zero on Tuesday night. There probably weren’t that many people out and about after midnight, not like they would have been on a summer evening.”

“Well, we have to hope somebody was taking their dog out, or maybe they made an emergency run for cigarettes. We need a witness,” Sawyer said.

They needed something. Right now, Robert would settle for some old-fashioned luck.

* * *

WHEN RAOUL UNLOCKED the apartment door, he could smell the sauce. Something else, too. Something chocolate.

“Raoul,” his sister greeted him. She pinched his cheek as he walked past. “How was band practice?”

“Okay,” Raoul said, leaning his trombone case up against the counter. “Some girl who plays the flute had a meltdown. We had to stay late to make up the time.”

“No problem. I’m running behind, too.”

“Something smells good,” he said. He started to reach for the brownie pan.

She stuck out her wooden spoon and tapped his hand. “You have to wait. It’s for dessert.”

“You never make dessert.”

She shrugged. “We’re having company.”

They never had company. Well, almost never. Sometimes Old Lady Curtiss from down the hall ate with them. She smelled like lilacs and cough medicine.

“An acquaintance I met through work,” Carmen said.

“Who?”

She turned her back to him and stirred the sauce. “His name is Robert Hanson.”

A man? The only man at OCM was Jamison, his sister’s boss. “What does he do there?”

“He’s a police officer. A detective. You might remember him from Liz and Sawyer’s wedding. He was the best man.”

“Oh, yeah. He gave a funny speech at the reception.”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Why is a cop coming for dinner?” He walked around to the other side of the stove so that he could see her face.

“Because I asked him to. He’s been helpful with a situation at work and I thought it would be nice if I fixed him dinner.” She looked at her watch, then at the clock on the wall. “Shoot. I’ve got to get dressed. He’ll be here any minute.” She thrust the spoon in his hand. “Keep stirring.”

She left the room as Raoul dropped the spoon in the sauce and watched it sink to the bottom.

* * *

ROBERT JUGGLED WINE, bread and a bouquet of fresh flowers as he walked up the apartment stairs. He stood outside the door and tried to remember that he’d probably gone to dinner at some woman’s house at least a hundred times before.

But Carmen wasn’t just some woman. She was Liz Montgomery’s best friend, for one thing. She was totally hot for another. And when she smiled, it seemed as if the world suddenly became a better place.

Damn. He should take up writing greeting cards.

He’d worried that he might be late. His mother had called just as he’d walked into the florist. He’d stepped outside the small shop and stood in the cold so that he could have some privacy. It had been a short conversation. She’d apologized for bothering him, he assured her it was no bother, and then she’d dropped what might have been a zinger if he hadn’t been waiting for the call for some time. Normie is leaving.

He’d promised to stop over the following night. That had seemed to make her happy. It was a pattern of behavior they’d perfected over the years.

He’d hung up, bought his flowers and here he was. He glanced at his watch. One minute early.

He kicked the bottom of the door with the toe of his shoe, then stepped back so that he could be seen through the peephole. He smiled and held up the loot. The door opened. A young Hispanic boy, dark and fine-boned like his sister, stood there. He was holding a fat orange cat.

“I’m Robert,” he said. “You must be Raoul.”

The boy didn’t say yes or no. He simply stepped aside and motioned him in. “Carmen’s changing her clothes.”

“No problem. Where should I put this?”

Raoul pointed to the counter. The cat squirmed in his arms and he immediately bent down and placed her gently on the floor.

Robert bent down to scratch her head but she skirted away. Okay. The cat and the kid had the same sort of attitude.

Robert watched the boy walk over to the stove, immediately noting the limp, as though his right leg might be just a bit shorter than his left.

“I hear you play the trombone.” Robert leaned against the counter.

“That’s right,” Raoul said. The kid took tongs and dug a spoon out of the sauce.

“Where do you go to school?”

“Mahoney High.”

“Really? That’s pretty far from here. How come you don’t go to a neighborhood school?”

“Because I won’t let him.”

Robert whirled around. Carmen stood in the doorway. She wore a white sweater and a black skirt. It wasn’t short, but tight enough to be very interesting. Her hair was piled up on top of her head in a haphazard sort of fashion.

He was struck again by how small she was. She couldn’t have been more than five-three and a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Not his type at all.

Why was his heart pounding as if he was at the end of a 5K?

“Mahoney High School,” she said, as she walked over to the stove and sniffed the sauce, “graduates more than eighty percent of the students who start there as freshman. That’s almost twice as good as some of the neighborhood schools.”

“Did you go there?” Robert asked, handing her the wine.

She shook her head. “No. I did the neighborhood thing.”

“Looks like you turned out okay.”

She shrugged. “Looks can be deceiving.”

He started to make some quip about liking bad girls, but in deference to Raoul, he kept it to himself. “Should I slice the bread?” he asked.

She nodded, handed him a knife and pointed toward a wooden cutting board on the counter. “The flowers are beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”

Her tone was almost wary, and he wondered if he’d gone too far. “It’s January,” he said. “We should grasp on to every sign of spring we can.”

She smiled. “You’re right. At lunch today, Liz and I sneaked out and bought spring soap. We put some in every bathroom at OCM.”

“Spring soap?” he repeated. He put the bread that he’d sliced into the basket that she passed to him.

“Yeah, you know. There are winter soaps, like cranberry-apple or peppermint-spice. Spring soaps are totally different. When you wash your hands, you can almost image that you’re somewhere tropical.”

“I never gave that much thought before,” he said.

She laughed. “Perhaps you could buy some for the police station?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I want to be known as the spring soap guy.”

“Perhaps not,” she admitted. She drained the pasta and motioned for Raoul to set the table.

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” he said.

“Lucy is low-energy but high-strung,” Carmen explained. “We got her from a shelter. She spends a lot of time hiding under the bed.” She set a big bowl of spaghetti on the table. “Let’s eat.”

“Food’s great,” he said ten minutes later, meaning every word of it.

“Spaghetti is easy,” Carmen said, pulling at the neckline of her sweater.

She was cute when she blushed. Robert smiled at her and then shifted his attention to Raoul. “So band keeps you pretty busy?”

“I guess.”

“Your friends play instruments, too?”

“My best friend, Jacob, plays the drums.”

Robert took another bite and took his time chewing. “Mahoney’s got a good football team. They went to state tournaments last year.”

“Yeah,” Raoul said. For the first time, Robert heard the bitterness. “If you’re an athlete, you’ve got it made.”

“No special treatment for the band?”

That just got him a look. Didn’t mean anything, but Robert filed the information away. “What’s the gang situation like there?”

Raoul shrugged. “I’m sort of busy with my classes. I wouldn’t know.”

“I was just curious. I know they mix it up every once in a while in that neighborhood. I suppose drugs are a problem?”

“Not for me.”

“Have you ever had anyone try to sell you something?” Carmen asked.

Raoul shook his head. “Trombone players don’t get a lot of attention from the drug dealers.” He stood up. “I’ve got a lot of homework.” He carried his plate over to the sink and rinsed it.

“How are your classes going?” Carmen said.

“Fine.” Raoul grabbed his backpack off the kitchen counter and walked out of the kitchen. Seconds later, a door at the back of the apartment slammed.

Carmen sat at the table and put her head in her hands. Robert scooted his chair closer. He reached a hand out and with one finger, gently stroked the back of her hand.

Carmen lifted her face. “He’s lying to me. He’s never done that before. Something is wrong. Very wrong.” There were tears in her eyes.

“Kids lie,” he said. “It doesn’t mean he’s in trouble. Maybe he’s embarrassed about his grades and intends to bring them up.”

She shook her head.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “We have cops in all the high schools. I’ll talk to the ones who are at Mahoney High School. I’ll see if they recognize his name. Okay?”

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

Her face was close. Close enough that he could see the tears that still clung to her long lashes. Her skin was a lovely mocha and her lips were pink and inviting. He leaned forward. She stilled.

He bent his head and kissed her. She tasted like spaghetti sauce and red wine, sweet with just a hint of sharpness. And when she pulled back quickly, he had to force himself to let her go, to not demand more.

Her dark eyes were big.

“I hadn’t planned on that,” he said, proving that adult men lied, too. Maybe he hadn’t exactly planned it, but for months he’d been thinking about kissing Carmen.

She didn’t answer. She just looked as shaken as he felt. A few more strands of her silky hair had fallen down and her lips were trembling.

“Look,” he said, “I—”

“I know you were just comforting me,” she said.

He started to protest but realized that she was rationalizing the action. In her own way, she was as skittish as her cat. If she thought that he was romantically interested in her, her first instinct might be to run and hide, too. Carmen Jimenez might be twenty-nine, but he suspected she hadn’t had the experiences of other twenty-nine-year-old women. She’d been too busy raising her brother.

For the first time, he felt better about what had happened at Liz and Sawyer’s wedding. Maybe it hadn’t been him that Carmen had objected to? Maybe it had just been her lack of experience and her generally shy demeanor that had sent her scurrying into the ladies’ room.

This was going to require very careful handling.

If it made her happy to think the kiss had been about comfort, so be it. “Did it work?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Really, I just needed a minute.”

“No problem. I’ll call you tomorrow once I’ve talked to the cops at Raoul’s school.” He got up, gave her a little wave and opened the door. “Thanks again for dinner. It was great.”

When he got to his car, he didn’t even turn on the heat. He was plenty hot enough. One kiss and he’d been about to implode.

Very careful handling indeed.

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