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She pushed the chair away from the desk and stood. “There is nothing I’m not telling you.” Her gaze locked with his. “What is this really about, Monaghan? Are you suspecting me of something? Because if you are, I’d appreciate if you’d just come right out and say it.”
He didn’t respond, but, instead, watched her, searching for something that might convince him she was telling the truth.
“You don’t trust me, do you?” she challenged. “You think I have something to do with this? With Silver’s murder?”
“Well, you can’t deny that it does appear a little suspicious. Our victim’s got your name, your number, even your address. And obviously he was intent on calling you, judging by the exclamation mark beside your name.” He picked up the journal. “Then a couple days later he turns up dead.”
He flipped a few more pages in the journal, but there were no more references to Claudia or anyone else in the last two days of Silver’s life.
“You gotta admit,” he said, “you’d be coming to the same assumptions if the tables were turned.”
“Assumptions? So what kinds of ‘assumptions’ are you making then? That he contacted me, and over a plate of greasy eggs we had a disagreement about Frank? And because of that, I came over here last night and shot him? Is that it? Well, I think you’ll find some flaws with your theory, Detective Monaghan. For one, I was on shift last night.”
“I didn’t ask for an alibi. But since you mention it, the squad wasn’t on until midnight.”
She let out a sharp breath, a caustic smile pursing her lips. “So just because my name’s in his date book you’re going to view me as a suspect? Is that it? Well—” she crossed the office and snatched the journal from his grasp, snapping it shut and practically tossing it back at him “—you’ve really got your work cut out for you then, Detective, because there are a hell of a lot of names in there.”
She turned from him, as if to storm from the office, but Gavin caught her arm. When she tried to tug free, he tightened his grip and pulled her around.
“Claudia, listen to me.”
He waited for her gaze to meet his and was struck by the quiet fury that darkened them.
“Look, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot here.”
“Well, I’m not sure about the other units you’ve worked with, but accusations aren’t generally the best foundation for a partnership.”
“I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”
“No? It sounded like it to me.”
“I’m sorry. It’s my first case.” He tried to adopt a tone of sincerity, hoping to convince her. He couldn’t afford to lose her trust so soon, in spite of his own suspicions. “I just want to be sure I’m getting all the facts,” he said calmly.
“Truly, Gavin.” He was glad to hear her adopt a softer tone. “I have given you all the facts. I told you how I know Silver. I told you we had little contact in the past. And in spite of what his date book might imply, I never met with him two days ago. I’ll even go one step further and admit that yes, I was at Jimmy’s for breakfast that day. But I ate alone. I was going over my files to prepare for the arraignment hearing on the Brown case. I didn’t meet anyone at Jimmy’s. And I most certainly did not meet with James Silver.”
“All right. I believe you.”
Claudia looked exhausted, spent, even more than she had when he’d met her. She combed her fingers through her hair with obvious frustration as she closed her eyes and turned away from him. Releasing a long breath, she peered through the slats of the blinds and lifted a hand to her neck in an attempt to massage the stress that no doubt had settled there.
“Claudia, we’re both tired. Why don’t we call it a day? Get some sleep. We can box this stuff up, take it in, and look at it when we’re more awake. Less on edge.”
She nodded silently, her gaze fixed out the window.
Gavin tossed the two date books into the box, along with several other files he’d set aside, and folded the top closed. Claudia was still staring out the window when he came to her side and handed her her jacket.
“Thanks.” Even her voice sounded weary as she slipped her jacket on and tugged the bottom over her holster. “And I’m sorry for snapping. I need sleep.”
“No apology necessary.” He liked the smile that struggled to her lips, giving her mouth a wry but sensual curve. It was only a smile, Gavin reasoned; yet he felt himself respond—a low, warm tug deep in his gut—when he imagined what those lips might feel like against his.
But imagining was all he’d be doing when it came to Claudia, Gavin resolved as he turned from her to the box on Silver’s desk. Suspicions or no suspicions, she was definitely off-limits. He was hardly going to jeopardize his case, his entire career, for the sake of a woman. He’d never done it in the past, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now, no matter how alluring Detective Claudia Parrish was.
AFTER SHE AND GAVIN HAD closed up Silver’s office, Claudia drove them back to headquarters. Gavin’s car had been parked in a lot along the way, and she’d dropped him off before hauling the box of Silver’s files to Evidence Control. She hadn’t bothered to go back to the office after that, but went directly to the garage to get her own vehicle. It was noon by the time she steered her weather-beaten Volvo onto Shakespeare Street.
She parked halfway up the block, outside a yellow-brick three-story Victorian row house. Shouldering her briefcase, she took the marble steps to the massive oak doors and shoved one open.
From the first-floor apartment, she could hear Mrs. Cuchetta playing the baby grand piano she used for lessons, but as Claudia staggered up the stairs, exhausted, the thick walls of the old, converted row home swallowed the classical melody. And when Claudia finally closed her door behind her and threw the dead bolt, there was nothing but silence. Gratifying silence.
She dropped her keys onto the front hall table and stepped into the small but cozy apartment she’d called home for the past three years.
Shedding her jacket and holster and kicking off her shoes, she put some water on for tea.
On the corner of the kitchen bar, next to a mounting stack of bills, the answering machine blinked. She tossed a tea towel over it, covering the demanding red light. It hardly mattered; even before she’d finished pouring her tea, the phone rang.
“Faith, I just got in,” Claudia told her sister after being verbally censured for not returning her calls.
“Well, I wanted to be sure you were all right. October sixteenth and all.”
Claudia stirred sugar into her tea. Leave it to her little sister to remember anniversaries that weren’t even her own. Faith remembered everything to do with family; not at all like Claudia. The only things she managed to remember these days were the details of her cases. It hadn’t always been that way, of course. Before Frank’s death, before she’d immersed herself so completely in her work that it seemed there was nothing else, things had been different.
Now, faced with Faith’s concern, Claudia wondered if maybe she should never have told her sister. It might have been easier to let the secret die along with Frank, so that no one could remind her of the love she’d shared so briefly with him.
“Look,” Faith was saying. “Greg mentioned just this morning that it’s been a while since you’ve been out here. And you know it’s only a forty-minute drive. You’d think it was a forty-minute flight given the number of times we’ve seen you in the past year. So what do you say to dinner tonight? I know it’s short notice, but it wouldn’t be if you actually listened to your messages.”
Claudia didn’t respond. She yanked the tea towel off the answering machine, the red light blinking as insistently as ever. James Silver. What if he had tried to call her? With preparations for the Brown arraignment, she hadn’t checked her messages in days.
“Faith, I’ll have to get back to you on that. Maybe tomorrow? I’ve been up since yesterday morning. I’m exhausted. But I’ll call.”
There was a pause before Faith finally complied. Making Claudia promise to call, and assuring herself that her big sister was really okay, Faith at last hung up.
Claudia’s hand hovered over the answering machine for a moment before she at last pressed Play.
As predicted, three of the messages were from her sister. But there were five others—all hang-ups. Using her Caller ID, Claudia wrote down the number, and within a minute she’d confirmed her hunch. The Yellow Pages lay in her lap, open to the listings for private investigators.
James Silver had called her five times in the past three days. It didn’t surprise her that he hadn’t tried her at the office, not if her suspicions were correct. If Silver had been looking into Frank’s death again, then the Homicide office was the last place Silver would have risked calling. But why hadn’t he bothered to leave even one message? Maybe because he thought this too would be a risk?
Claudia stared at Silver’s ad for a long time, her mind staggering over the countless alternate scenarios that might have played out had he actually been able to reach her. Would he be dead now? Would they have uncovered something new about Frank’s death? Could she have intervened?
Switching off both the machine and the phone, Claudia moved to the living room couch and turned on the TV. But the aimless flicking through channels did nothing to divert her thoughts from Frank and Silver. If she knew one thing for certain, it was that Silver had been taking a second look at Frank’s death. It was the only explanation behind his attempt to reach her.
But why? What had prompted him to relaunch his investigation into Frank’s death?
Claudia set down the remote control and reached under the couch. She groped for the orange pressboard binder that had been hidden there, unopened, for at least six months. Sliding it out, she brushed the thin layer of dust from its cover.
CC# 2L5915.
It was one thing to remove a case file, or any portion of it, from headquarters. The breach of security was done on occasion by detectives and overlooked by their supervisors. But to duplicate an entire file, from cover to cover—all the reports from officers and supervisors alike, from the Chief Medical Examiner’s office and the various crime labs, interview transcripts, detective’s personal notes, even crime-scene and evidence photos—was completely against department policy. Not to mention punishable by suspension, Claudia thought, as she eased the thick binder into her lap.
For Claudia, copying the file had been worth the risk. Ten months ago she had believed that Frank couldn’t have killed himself, and that everything in the reports must have been a cover-up.
She probably should have destroyed the file once she’d submitted to the consensus that Frank had taken his own life.
Yet, now Claudia was grateful she had kept it. After all, maybe questions remained to be asked and answers to be found. Obviously Silver had believed so. But had there actually been new information? Or had he simply been grasping at the same old straws he’d had the last time they’d spoken?
Claudia opened the file, trying to avoid the pages of photos. She was unsuccessful. The four-by-six color images brought back that unforgettable night as though it had been only yesterday. She relived the disbelief and the horror. And then the utter emptiness she’d felt when she held Frank’s hand for the last time.
She remembered crying, and then Lori trying to console her. It wasn’t until Claudia had caught sight of the picture on Frank’s mantel—a photo of the two of them receiving their bronze stars—that Claudia had finally pulled herself together that night. For Frank, she’d kept up appearances. For him, she’d never once let on that he’d been anything but a partner to her.
Claudia stared at the open binder in her lap. The crime-scene photos blurred with her tears. Frank couldn’t have killed himself, she thought for the millionth time. The Frank she had known, the man she’d loved…he hadn’t been a coward or a quitter. And yet, what else could she believe now that all the reports were in?
God, but she missed him.
She missed his voice and his laughter. She missed the excitement of working a case with him, having him by her side and knowing she was with the best detective on the force. And she missed the little things about Frank—the familiar gestures and wisecracks that could bring laughter to any gray day, his knowing smile when he’d look up from his desk to where she sat across from him, the light that would touch his eyes when she’d open her apartment door and find him standing on the landing, and the way his hand had felt in hers—rough, warm and secure. She missed the feel of his body against hers, and she missed the way he’d whisper his love for her and tell her they would always be together.
But in spite of her longing for him, Claudia wasn’t certain she could ever forgive Frank for giving up. With the file open in her lap, she closed her eyes and settled her head against the top of the couch. Maybe that was the real reason she hadn’t gotten rid of the case file—maybe she felt that by hanging on to it she still held a piece of Frank. And maybe she would never be able to let him go. He lived in her heart, along with her anger and her resentment. No one could ever come close to touching her the way Frank had.
Inexplicably, Gavin Monaghan entered Claudia’s thoughts. She’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a glimmer of attraction there. It was certainly the first time she’d felt anything like it since Frank. And she hadn’t been the only one who’d toyed with such thoughts—she’d seen the way Gavin had looked at her when they were in Silver’s office.
She remembered the effect his smile had had on her when she’d dropped him off at his car and apologized again for her behavior in Silver’s office. He’d had every right to question her. If the roles had been reversed, she would have demanded the same from him. He’d accepted her apology and given her a smile. Her entire body had responded to that smile with a quick shiver of excitement.
Claudia closed her eyes. She had to push Gavin Monaghan from her thoughts. It was ridiculous to think she was attracted to a man she barely knew. She was, Claudia rationalized, only because he’d done a couple of little things that had reminded her of Frank. That was all.
Besides, how could she possibly have feelings for anyone when her heart still belonged to Frank?
CHAPTER FOUR
GAVIN BROUGHT HIS FIST against the upper panel of the door at the top of the stairs. It had taken him a good fifteen minutes to find the three-story row house in Fells Point that corresponded with the home address he had for Claudia. And he would have thought that those fifteen minutes should have cooled his temper. He’d been wrong.
He raised his hand a second time, the resounding thud echoing down the narrow stairwell. It was enough to wake the dead. Certainly enough to cause the tenant on the first floor to stop playing the piano and listen.
Where the hell was she?
Gavin took a deep breath, hoping to quell his impatience, and was about to knock a third time when he heard movement from inside. There was the slide of a dead bolt and the scrape of a chain before Claudia opened the door.
She wore the same suit he’d seen on her earlier, only now the pants and turtleneck were creased. Her hair was a tousle of blond curls and she lifted a hand in an attempt to arrange them.
“Did I wake you?”
She rolled her eyes, puffy with sleep. “What do you think? I hardly slept in two nights.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Can I come in?”
She held his stare, as though debating the wisdom of allowing work into her home. Finally she stepped aside.
The apartment had the same charm as the building’s facade, Gavin noted as he brushed past her into the tiled foyer. With the day’s light dying behind the half-drawn blinds, the living room beyond the arched portal lay in shadow. Even so, there was an immediate homey feel to it, a lived-in sense that evaded his own row house across the city. And there was an underlying scent that permeated the apartment, very similar to the one he’d smelled on Claudia earlier, one that was rapidly becoming enticing.
But he wasn’t here to be enticed.
Claudia began switching on lights in the adjoining kitchen and the living room. He watched her scan the apartment as if checking that everything was in order.
“Sorry for the mess,” she stated, even though there wasn’t one—only her jacket and holster slung over the back of a chair, and a few newspapers strewn about the room. Even the kitchen was spotless in comparison to his own. A toppling stack of mail was the only sign of disarray.
“Why are you here, Gavin?”
“I tried to call.” He curbed the impatience in his voice.
“I had the phone turned off.”
“And your pager?”
“It’s in my briefcase. I mustn’t have heard it.”
Again she lifted a hand to her mussed hair. “Can I get you something to drink?”
He’d definitely woken her from a sound sleep; her voice held that sleepy quality, deep and a little raspy.
And undeniably seductive, Gavin thought.
“No, I’m fine.” He watched her move behind the breakfast bar to the fridge and take out a bottle of water.
“So what is this about?” she asked, twisting open the bottle and taking a long drink.
“I’m looking for the journals.”
“The journals?” she repeated.
“You know, Silver’s date books.”
“Looking for them? Why? They’re in Evidence Control. I told you I was going to submit the box after I dropped you off this morning.”
“I thought maybe you’d brought them home instead,” he offered, still struggling to contain impatience and anger, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Why would you think that?”
Confusion tightened her face then, and Gavin could only wonder if it was genuine. She set the bottle on the counter, the force sending a few droplets of water spraying onto the thin fabric of her shirt.
“Because they’re not in Evidence Control, Claudia.”
Her expression tightened another notch. “What do you mean they’re not in Evidence Control?”
“Exactly that. I went down there, figuring I’d take a closer look at the journals myself, and when I searched the box there was no sign of them.”
In his years with IAD, he’d done his share of staring corrupt cops in the eye. He’d watched them attempt to lie their way out of a variety of situations. But none of them could come close to Claudia’s convincing performance. She stepped around the counter, the look of disbelief deepening, creasing fine lines at the corners of her eyes and furrowing a small series of ridges along her forehead.
When he’d rummaged through the box and discovered the journals missing, the flare of suspicion had been immediate. There had been no doubt then that Claudia had disposed of them in order to eliminate evidence of her connection with Silver, not to mention her possible motive for wanting him dead.
But now, seeing her standing before him, her eyes and voice heavy with sleep, and that soft femininity and allure accentuated by the warmth of her own surroundings…Gavin wished the surprise on her face was real.
“Where are they, Claudia?” he asked, unable to drop the accusation in his tone.
