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She sat perpendicular to him, her gaze focused on an open folder and a stack of photos. She fingered one as she talked. When she crossed her legs, several inches of creamy, smooth thigh peeked from beneath the hem of her black skirt.
Matt swallowed, more than enjoying the view. Heat warmed his neck, and he reached to loosen his tie, but caught himself, lowering his hand to his side. When Lindsey’s slender fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt, he lifted his gaze to hers.
Ice-blue daggers made it clear his appreciation hadn’t been welcomed. She hung up the phone and stood. Tall. Slender. Mesmerizing.
“Was there something I could help you with?”
Her palpable annoyance snapped Matt’s attention from his inappropriate focus on Lindsey Tarlington, the woman, to Lindsey Tarlington, the daughter.
“I’m Matt Alessandro. Tony’s son.”
With just those few words, all color drained from her cheeks. She sank back onto her chair. “Did you send me the copy?”
“No.” Matt entered the cubicle, stepping so close he could feel her body heat as she stared up at him, wide-eyed. “But I’d like to help you find out who did.”
THE MAN MAY AS WELL have sucked the air out of Lindsey’s lungs.
He bore a shocking resemblance to his father—the unkempt mahogany hair, the clean-shaven, angular jaw, the hazel eyes more brown than green.
She blinked, willing him to disappear like an unwanted apparition, but he remained. In the flesh. In her office.
“You have no business here.” Anxious trembling built inside her. She fought to remain still, to hide the raw emotion that had threatened to smother her since her discovery the night before.
“My father didn’t kill your mother.”
His words reignited the familiar, aching loss. Memories assailed her. News vans covering every inch of the curb in front of her home. Reporters stalking her at school. Her father shoving her onto a plane to stay with family far away.
Her mother. Missing. Vanished as if she’d never existed at all.
Emotion welled in Lindsey’s throat. She had to get Alessandro’s son out of her office—out of her sight. “Please leave. I’ve turned the matter over to the police.”
He stood his ground, unflinching. Determination flashed in his piercing glare, as if he saw right through her brave facade. “Don’t you make a living helping people discover the truth?”
Lindsey’s gaze locked with his. Two could play this game. “I do. But my services aren’t needed in a case like this. We already know the truth.”
A shadow passed across Matt Alessandro’s face. A flicker of sympathy teased at her heart, but she shoved it away. He might have lost his father, but murderers deserved whatever they got—and his father had been a cold-blooded killer.
He stepped closer, now seriously invading her personal space. She pushed the chair back with her knees and stood, surprised to discover he stood a full half head taller than her five feet eight inches.
“I find it difficult to believe someone with your reputation for sniffing out the facts would believe your late-night delivery means nothing.”
Lindsey shrugged, hoping the move belied the doubt simmering in her gut. “Maybe it’s someone’s sick idea of a joke. Maybe someone who knew your father in jail decided to drop off one of his souvenirs.”
Matt winced, but quickly recovered, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
She continued. “The police are all the help I need in the matter, Mr. Alessandro. Thanks for stopping by.”
She turned her back, concentrating on shuffling the folders on her credenza.
“Then I’d like to hire your firm.”
Lindsey breathed in sharply. The man could not take a hint. She turned on her heel, leveling a look that had chased off many unwanted clients—and men—before him. “I’m not interested in your business. Thank you.”
Her clipped tone wavered, and she mentally berated herself. She had no desire to let the man see he’d rattled her.
Alessandro pulled a business card from the inside pocket of his tweed sport coat. He pressed the card to her desk, not allowing her the option of refusing.
“When you’re ready to talk, give me a call. I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to question who sent you that copy. I’m also sure deep down you question the convenience of my father’s stabbing.”
His intense stare bore through every defensive wall she’d erected. Lindsey flattened one hand against the back of her chair to steady herself.
“The real killer’s still out there, Ms. Tarlington. I’d think you’d be more than a little concerned about that.”
She stood her ground as he spun on his heel, crossed the small office, and pushed open the exit door. When he had safely gone, she conceded to the trembling in her knees, sinking onto the worn leather seat of her chair.
Lindsey tentatively touched the edge of his card, dragging it to the center of her desk.
Matt Alessandro.
She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed a hand across her weary face. As if the copy of her mother’s identification hadn’t been enough, now the killer’s son had reached out.
She gathered the case files from the desktop and shoved them into her briefcase. She plucked Alessandro’s card from where it lay then dropped it into her trash can.
Snapping off her desk lamp, she steeled herself, wanting nothing to do with the man’s soapy scent still lingering in her small cubicle.
“Patty.” Lindsey paused at the office manager’s desk as she headed toward the door. “I’m going out. You can reach me on my cell if anyone needs me.”
Lindsey cast a glance toward her two partners, heads bent low over their own case files, working the phones. She should be doing the same, but right now she needed to put space between herself, Matt Alessandro’s visit and her memories. The more space, the better.
She pushed out into the fresh, spring air, shoving the lingering guilt from her mind.
Ten minutes later she turned her car onto the tree-lined street, sighing with relief as her family home eased into view. The cherry blossoms displayed their full blooms, and the heavy buds on her favorite, old dogwood hinted at additional flowering beauty to come.
Lindsey breathed deeply of the sweet air filtering through her lowered car window. Spring in South Jersey. This had been her favorite time of year as a child, but on that April night years before, her world had tilted on its axis and never quite righted itself. In time, she’d learned to welcome the warmer days, but she never got over the irrational dread that accompanied the change of season each year.
A lone figure walked down her center sidewalk and away from the house as she eased her Volkswagen into the drive. Lindsey’s stomach tightened. She slammed the car into Park and scrambled from her driver’s seat. “Can I help you?”
Her voice rang out surely, in direct opposition to the rapid beating of her heart. What was he doing? Could it be the man who’d left the envelope?
The figure tensed then waved, keeping his head low as he turned away from her. Close-cropped silver hair hugged the lower half of his skull, as if his baldness hadn’t quite yet won the battle. His shoulders remained hunched, the result of either years of poor posture or the ravages of time.
Loose papers fluttered in his hand as he continued down the block, turning up the next-door neighbor’s front walk.
A harmless, elderly man passing out flyers.
Embarrassment and relief flooded through Lindsey. She couldn’t take any more excitement today. Thank goodness her case count was low right now. The agency had been hired to find a few birth parents and one long-lost heir. Nothing more. Surely she could clear her head enough to manage that.
She plucked her briefcase from the floor behind her seat then slammed the car door. A sheet of paper sat tucked in the screen door handle, catching her eye as she crossed the front yard. She yanked it free, letting her gaze drop to the simple wording touting affordable lawn care. Glancing around at her overgrown garden and shrubs, she could understand why he’d picked her house.
She folded the flyer in half and slipped it into her briefcase. Professional help wasn’t such a bad idea, actually. Her mother had always loved working in the garden. Somehow, Lindsey could never quite muster the same enthusiasm.
She jammed the key in the lock, twisting the doorknob open. A small white envelope sat wedged against the door frame. She pushed the inner door open, yet her feet remained glued in place, her eyes locked on the mysterious object. Her pulse kicked up a notch.
Maybe it was from someone else—someone other than whoever had left the copy last night. She squatted, reaching for the envelope. Heavier than last night’s, it appeared to be similar, a plain number ten, this one unsealed.
Lindsey stood, easing the flap of the envelope open by the edge, doing her best not to leave her own prints. Gold glimmered inside the envelope. A ring, delicate and old, small gems set in the shape of a heart. She flashed on an image of a family picnic, sitting holding hands with her mother, lovingly touching the heirloom ruby ring.
This ring.
Lindsey’s heart squeezed. Someone knew. Somewhere out there, someone knew exactly what had happened to her mother and was reaching out. Perhaps that same someone knew where her body had been dumped.
Matt Alessandro had been correct. Lindsey had spent her entire adult life wondering why her mother had been murdered. The trial had yielded nothing but professions of innocence from Matt’s father, even though the jury had found him guilty.
Lindsey needed more. She yearned to find out exactly what had happened, and why. To do that, she had to find out who had left this ring and the photocopied license last night.
She stepped through the door, determined to find a suitable plastic bag to protect the ring and any prints. Focused on the envelope in her hand and the glimmer of gold inside, she thought her mind was playing tricks when a shadow fell across her own on the threshold.
A pair of hands shoved her forward before she could react, before the reality of what was happening could register. She toppled over, striking the side of her skull against the marble top of a table. Pain exploded as she fell to the cool floor. Everything faded—sound, light, thought.
Lindsey’s world turned to black.
Chapter Two
Matt had always had a bit of a temper. He could admit it. Hell, he came by it honestly, yet not from his dad. From his mother. The woman was a hothead the likes of which South Philly would probably never see again.
Be that as it may, right now every deep breathing trick he knew did nothing to calm the frustration ignited by his visit to Lindsey Tarlington.
How could she stare at him like an ice princess and pretend she didn’t care about the package she’d been left? She had to care. Had to.
How could she not?
By all accounts, Lindsey had dedicated her life to helping others solve mysteries. Her mother’s disappearance had been one of the biggest mysteries to ever hit the region.
Of course, Lindsey believed his father had been the murderer. Matt believed anything but. Now, he had only to convince her to listen to him.
The light at the intersection ahead changed from yellow to red. He slowed his SUV to a stop and glared at the notes tossed on the seat beside him.
He knew where the woman lived. That’s probably where she’d gone. The little blond guard at the office hadn’t offered any information when he’d called back other than that Lindsey had left shortly after their meeting.
He knew he’d gotten to her. The facts plain didn’t add up. He was no detective, but he wasn’t stupid. And, neither was Lindsey Tarlington.
He pulled a U-turn when the light turned green, headed back toward the other side of town.
Matt glanced down at the address scribbled on a scrap of paper. Fifty-two Elm. How very suburban.
His father’s conviction had shattered his mother’s dream of escaping the city to move across the river to New Jersey.
Bitter anger rekindled in Matt’s gut, like a slow-burning ember he could never quite put out. He blinked, willing the heat to go away. It wasn’t Lindsey Tarlington’s fault he and his family had lost everything trying to defend his father. It was the system’s fault. The system he now worked to keep fair.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of the house. A bright blue compact car sat in the drive.
He eased out of his truck, straightening to his full height. His father had not killed Camille Tarlington. The killer had gone free and, for some reason, had chosen to wait seventeen years to resurface. Matt intended to find out why—and who.
He climbed the center steps, rapping the brass knocker loudly against the weathered wooden door.
Something sounded inside, and he pressed his ear to the cool surface, trying to make out the noise.
Not a voice, but a moan. A whimper.
“Ms. Tarlington.”
The noise sounded again, this time even more faint.
Matt tried the doorknob and it turned, unlocked. He pushed open the door, stepping inside as he did so.
Lindsey lay facedown, her black hair splayed across the marble foyer.
He dropped to his knees, sliding to a stop next to her motionless body. He checked for a pulse. Solid.
“Ms. Tarlington.” He brushed several silken strands from her colorless face.
Matt’s gut caught, twisting hard. Had the killer done this? He glanced around the foyer, from archway to archway, all leading to other areas of the large house where the attacker might still lurk.
He should search. He should get Lindsey out of the house. He should do more than just hold her, but at the moment, his instincts told him that’s exactly what she needed. His instincts also told him whoever had done this was long gone.
Matt pulled his cell phone from his pocket, punching in 9-1-1 then quickly giving the address and details to the dispatcher. With his free hand, he reached for Lindsey’s, intertwining her slender, soft fingers with his own.
Protectiveness hummed to life deep within him—a determination to find whoever had done this and make sure he never had the chance again.
Lindsey’s lush black lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks and she moaned, the sound nothing more than a soft cry. Matt pressed his lips close to her ear, inhaling her soft floral scent. “Stay still. Help’s coming.”
“Shoved me.” The words slipped over her lips, like the murmurings of a sleepwalker.
“Don’t try to talk.” Matt squeezed her hand tighter, willing her to hang on.
Her eyes flashed open like huge saucers of sky, frightened, slowly focusing on his face.
“It’s Matt Alessandro. You’re safe now.”
“You shoved me.”
Lindsey’s accusation slammed him like an oncoming freight train. “No.” He shook his head as he uttered the one-word response, stunned she could think him capable.
A shadow of doubt glazed her stare, and reality settled in, chilling Matt to the core.
Lindsey Tarlington eyed him as if he were a killer’s son, but then, why wouldn’t she?
In her eyes, he was.
