скачать книгу бесплатно
She really wasn’t his type. But there was something about her that called to him on a primal level—or maybe it was just that Darlene and Aster’s teasing remarks in the diner had reminded him that it had been a very long time since he’d been with a woman.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t get here before I had to leave for work,” the woman said.
Her voice was as soft and seductive as her smile, and he almost didn’t hear the words he was so caught up in the enjoyment of the sounds rolling off of her tongue. Then he realized she was waiting for him to say something, and he forced his brain to wrestle control away from his suddenly overactive hormones to respond to her statement.
“Do we have an appointment?” he asked, starting to question his earlier conviction that they did not. Maybe Caroline had booked it after he’d called yesterday afternoon to tell her that he’d be in the office this morning.
“No,” she admitted. “But I was hoping you could squeeze me in, anyway.”
He glanced at his watch, as if he were considering the request. But the truth was, he was intrigued enough by the woman to want to listen to whatever she had to say. Especially if she continued to speak in that smoothly melodic tone that made him think of steamy nights and steamier sex.
Whoa. He immediately reined in the shockingly un-professional thought, surprised—and a little ashamed—at the purely visceral reaction he was having to this woman. It was Darlene’s fault, he rationalized again. He wouldn’t be having such inappropriate ideas if she hadn’t started him thinking about how long it had been since he’d had a woman in his bed.
“Why don’t you come in?” he offered, inserting his key into the lock.
She waited until he’d punched in the code to disarm the security system before she followed him through the door. He flipped on lights as he made his way toward his office at the end of the hall, conscious of her presence behind him, wondering what had brought her here so early in the morning.
Did she want him to check up on a spouse whom she suspected was unfaithful? He hadn’t seen a ring on her finger, but he knew that wasn’t conclusive evidence of anything. And while securing evidence of infidelity wasn’t one of his favorite assignments, it was, regrettably, a regular one. Still, he had to wonder at the stupidity of a man who could have a woman like this one in his bed and still look elsewhere for pleasure. Of course, it wasn’t his place to speculate or judge, only to do the job he was hired to do.
He settled in behind his desk and pushed the stack of unopened mail aside.
“I’d offer you coffee, but this—” he held up his foam cup “—is all I’ve got until my secretary gets in. Caroline’s very proprietary about the coffeepot.”
She lowered herself onto the edge of one of the visitor chairs facing his desk and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Scott took a long sip from his cup, hoping the infusion of caffeine would jump-start his brain and help keep it one step ahead of his hormones. “Why did you want to see me?”
“I need you to get my brother out of prison.”
The unexpected statement jolted him even more than her presence, followed quickly by a pang of disappointment.
“I’m sorry, Miss—”
“Juarez,” she said. “Alicia Juarez.”
He paused, wondering why the name sounded vaguely familiar even though he was certain he’d never met this woman before. He had no doubt that he would have remembered.
“Yes, well, Miss Juarez, you’re obviously at the wrong place. If you’re looking for a bail bondsman—”
“I’m not,” she insisted. “I need you.”
He wanted to smile. Unfortunately, as much as he enjoyed hearing those words come from her lush lips, he was sure she didn’t mean them the way he wanted her to mean them.
She huffed out an exasperated breath when he didn’t respond to her announcement. “I thought Mr. Hall was going to talk to you about this.”
Mr. Hall—now that name was definitely familiar. “Jordan sent you here?”
“He recommended you to me—” and it was clear from her tone now that she was wondering why “—and promised he would give you the background on Joe’s case.”
“I apologize for not making the connection sooner,” he said, as the scattered pieces finally clicked into place in his mind. “I only talked to Jordan last night and while he did mention you would be contacting me, I didn’t expect it would be first thing this morning before I’ve even had my first cup of coffee.”
“I did intend to make an appointment,” she told him. “But when I called yesterday, your secretary said you’d been out of the office and I should call back today. I thought, instead, I’d try to catch you in person on my way to work this morning.”
“And you did.”
She nodded. “Did Mr. Hall tell you about my brother?”
“Joe Juarez,” he said. “Convicted of stealing an engine prototype and its design plans from the racing team he worked for and sentenced to five years in prison.”
“He was set up.”
“Whether he was or wasn’t…” Scott said—and he had his doubts “…what do you think I can do?”
“Prove his innocence,” she responded immediately.
“The police already investigated the case, your brother had a trial, and the jury convicted on the evidence presented.”
“But he didn’t do it,” she insisted.
“I appreciate your loyalty—”
“It’s more than loyalty,” she interrupted. “It’s the truth. I know my brother. He simply isn’t capable of doing something like this. And even if he was, he wouldn’t do anything that would even risk taking him away from his kids.”
Scott couldn’t deny that she was convinced of the fact. Unfortunately, his experience in law enforcement suggested an entirely different scenario: if Joe Juarez was in prison, that was most likely where he deserved to be.
“You don’t believe me,” she said softly.
“It’s not my job to believe or disbelieve,” he told her.
“How can you do your job if you don’t believe in your client?”
“Actually, I don’t do a lot of investigating anymore. Most of what I do is surveillance.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “But Mr. Hall said that you were the best person for the job.”
Scott bit back a sigh as he realized that whatever Jordan had said to this woman, she’d believed it—probably as easily and completely as she believed in her brother’s innocence. He silently cursed his cousin’s wife’s brother for dragging his name into this mess. And then he cursed himself, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to say no to this woman with the big, dark eyes that so clearly projected the hope and faith she was placing in him.
Still, he tried, because he really didn’t want to be responsible for dimming the light in those eyes. “I’m not sure I am the best person for the job.”
Her chin lifted, just a fraction, and her mouth set. “Are you saying you won’t help me?”
“I’m saying, I’m not sure that I can help you,” he corrected gently. “What if the only evidence to be found proves that your brother should be in jail?”
“I don’t believe that,” she said stubbornly.
“It’s a possibility you have to consider.”
“Then you have to consider the possibility that he was wrongly convicted.”
He had to respect her persistence. “Touchе, Miss Juarez.”
“Will you help me, Mr. Logan?”
Damn, he really wished he could say no. The business was successful enough that he could mostly pick and choose his assignments these days, and he usually chose to work with big, faceless corporations, where the only thing at stake was money. He certainly wouldn’t have chosen a client who looked at him with such trust and vulnerability in her eyes and her brother’s liberty at stake.
But she had chosen him, and he found that he couldn’t turn her away.
“I’ll try,” he finally responded to her question.
And the smile she gave him was so full of warmth and pleasure, it would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn’t already been sitting down.
“Mr. Hall said you would need a retainer,” she said, already pulling a checkbook out of her purse, as if she was determined to finalize their agreement before he changed his mind.
Scott nodded.
The firm’s standard contract asked for a retainer of ten thousand dollars, but he knew that Jordan had handled Joe Juarez’s case through Advocate Aid, which meant there was no way she had that kind of money at her disposal. He would have to severely slash his usual hourly rate and work fast to get this job done on a budget this woman could afford. “Is fifteen hundred agreeable?”
Her surprise was obvious and followed quickly by relief. She nodded. “That would be fine.”
Scott pulled up the contract on his computer, changing the retainer fee and hourly rate on the form with a few quick keystrokes while she wrote out the check.
“You know I can’t guarantee you the results you’re looking for,” he said, as he passed her the contract to review.
She nodded again. “I’m only asking you to do your job, Mr. Logan. The results will speak for themselves.”
He would do his job, and he knew that he would sincerely regret it if the results of his investigation destroyed her hopes for her brother’s freedom.
Alicia left the Children’s Connection at the end of her shift with a much lighter step than she’d started the day with. Her spirits had taken a decidedly upward turn when Scott Logan agreed to look into her brother’s conviction. Despite his initial reluctance, she instinctively trusted that he could find the necessary evidence to exonerate Joe.
For the first time in weeks, she felt as if there was hope, and Scott Logan was responsible for that.
Unfortunately, the P.I. was responsible for stirring other feelings inside her, too. Like the unmistakable warmth of sexual attraction that spread heat through her veins when he looked at her with deep brown eyes that reminded her of the sinful temptation of dark melted chocolate. Or maybe it was the obvious strength in his broad shoulders that appealed to her at this time in her life when she so desperately needed someone to lean on.
The thought brought a rueful smile to her lips as she pulled into the designated parking space outside her apartment building and shut off her engine.
She didn’t like to lean on anyone and wasn’t in the habit of doing so. But she could imagine herself leaning on Scott Logan—and enjoying it, despite a track record with men that was both pathetically short and sad.
She hadn’t been involved with anyone since her disastrous relationship with Ross Harmon more than three years earlier. And, truth be told, she hadn’t felt as if she was missing out on anything. Or maybe she’d been so devastated by Ross’s betrayal, and so angry with herself, that she’d accepted the denial of her own wants and needs as punishment for her error in judgment.
But no matter how attractive Scott Logan was—and he was, undoubtedly, very attractive—there were toomany other things going on in her life to even contemplate a relationship. And right now, she needed to pack up more of her clothes and personal effects to take to her brother’s house.
She felt a pang of sadness as she stepped into her apartment and looked around. It wasn’t spacious or fancy, but it had been her home for the past three years. She’d moved in when she’d started her job at the fertility clinic linked to the Children’s Connection, taking over the lease from another nurse who was getting married because it was an easy—albeit intended temporary—solution to her housing dilemma.
She’d stayed because she’d genuinely liked the neighborhood and her neighbors. There were the Walkertons, a young couple with a four-month-old baby; the Racines—Harriet and Abe—who’d been married almost sixty years and, if Myrtle Grossman was to be believed, fighting all of that time; Marissa Alonzo, a single mother who juggled three jobs to support her three children; Ronald Tedeschi, an engineering student at PSU; and Ingrid Stavros, her seventy-year-old landlady who baked cookies for every tenant on his or her birthday.
Alicia ignored the tightness in her throat as she shoved the last of her clothes into her duffel bag. She’d been living at her brother’s house since his arrest, taking care of his children, and though she loved Joey and Lia more than anything, she really missed the eclectic group of tenants who had somehow become her extended family. And she missed her home—her private haven that was comfortable and familiar and entirely her own.
As she zipped up the bag, she pushed her petty regrets aside. She had no right to complain about giving up her home when her brother had lost everything.
Besides, if Scott Logan was as good as his reputation, she wouldn’t be gone for long.
He can’t find evidence that isn’t there, Jordan had warned her. But if there’s anything the cops missed, he’ll uncover it.
Alicia was counting on that. More importantly, Lia and Joey were counting on it.
Thinking of her niece and nephew, she hefted the stuffed bag onto her shoulder and headed back outside to her car. She waved to Myrtle Grossman across the street as she tried to recall if she’d taken anything out of the freezer for dinner that night. Steak, she remembered now. She’d planned to make a stir-fry—one of her nephew’s favorites and one of the few ways she knew to get him to eat vegetables.
She had her key in hand to unlock the trunk when she noticed something written in the dust on the back window. One of the neighborhood kids—probably Marissa’s eldest son, she guessed, although she’d never actually caught him in the act—seemed to think it was funny to write WASH ME on her vehicle when it was obvious that Alicia had neglected to do so.
But this time the message said: BACK OFF.
She felt a chill skate over her skin despite the late afternoon sun beating down on her.
It wasn’t just the words that were different, it was the style of lettering. Bigger and bolder.
Or was she wrong?
She’d been uneasy since Joe had gone to prison, jolting at noises in the night, jumping at shadows. She was overreacting, letting her imagination get away from her, envisioning dangers where there were none. No doubt this was another example of the same thing.
The message probably wasn’t even intended for her, but for the driver of whatever vehicle might find itself behind her on the road. And the logic of this reasoning soothed her skittish nerves.
Until she noticed the slashed tires.
Chapter Two
Scott arrived at Alicia’s apartment complex less than fifteen minutes after her call.
He recognized Detective Mel Rucynski from his years on the force and greeted his former colleague with a firm handshake.
“What are you doing here?” Rucynski asked.
“Alicia called me.”
“Alicia, huh?” Rucynski lifted his thick black eye-brows. “Well, your taste in women has definitely improved in the past couple of years.”
The cop’s suggestive tone made Scott realize he’d slipped in referring to Alicia by her first name, as he’d slipped throughout the day whenever thoughts of her came to mind. And although those thoughts had been anything but professional, focusing on her as a woman rather than a client—a woman with dark sparkling eyes, wide full lips, and temptingly round curves that he wanted to feel pressed against him—he didn’t want Rucynski to get the wrong idea about his relationship with Alicia.
“Actually, Miss Juarez is a client,” he said, reminding himself as well as Rucynski of that fact.
“A client, huh?” the cop asked doubtfully. “Well, if she has enough money to call you out to investigate a juvenile prank, she should have enough money to move out of this neighborhood.”
“What kind of prank?” Scott asked, ignoring the dig about his fees. A lot of his former colleagues assumed he’d made the jump to the private sector to fatten his wallet. And while he did take home a heftier paycheck now, it wasn’t money that had motivated the switch.
“Slashed tires.” Rucynski gestured to the parking lot behind him.
Scott looked over his former colleague’s shoulder and saw an ancient red Jetta in one of the few occupied slots. “Slashed tires” was something of an understatement, he thought, noting that the vehicle was actually resting on its rims because the tires had been so completely decimated.
“Looks like an unusually violent prank,” he noted.
