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Still, Lois was right. A good-looking man did cause talk, and Nick Gallagher was nothing if not good-looking. An image of him flashed through Erin’s mind, and she felt that same flutter of nerves in her stomach that she’d experienced upon meeting him. She told herself again it wasn’t attraction. She had some sort of sixth sense about the man. Some internal alarm warning her that he meant trouble.
Lois gave her a smug look. “I’ll lay you ten to one odds that man doesn’t live with his mother.”
No, Erin thought. For all she knew, he lived with his wife. Or his lover.
That notion gave her another odd feeling, making her stomach tremble even more, and she took a sip of her wine, trying to chase away the unfamiliar sensation.
“And I can tell you without a doubt, he’s no virgin,” Lois declared.
Erin gave her an amused glance. “Without a doubt? You know, of course, that implies a certain knowledge of the fact.”
Lois gave a sensual wince. “Don’t I wish. That dark hair with those blue eyes…that body…” She shuddered. “He’d be an incredible lover.”
Erin’s amusement evaporated, and she became annoyed with the conversation, although she couldn’t say why exactly. “Just because he’s good-looking—”
“It’s more than that,” Lois declared. “When you get to be my age, you have a certain instinct for men. It’s like a radar. You know almost immediately the ones who’ll remember your birthday, the ones who’ll be nice to your mother. The ones who’ll be good in bed,” she added with a sly smile.
“And you think Detective Gallagher would be nice to your mother?” Erin couldn’t help asking.
“Honey chile, my dear ole mother would drool all over him,” Lois drawled, mimicking Erin’s Southern accent.
“Would he remember your birthday?”
Lois gave that a moment’s consideration. “No,” she said finally. “He’s not the type of man who would remember a woman’s birthday. But he’d sure as hell know how to make it up to her.”
ERIN STEPPED OUT onto the portico of the dean’s house a few minutes later, breathing a sigh of relief that she’d finally made good her escape. Then she paused as her gaze lit on a man lurking on the sidewalk across the street. He stood beneath the limbs of a giant elm, his face filtered from the streetlight, and for a moment, Erin’s heart started to race. Had he followed her here? Had he been standing there all evening, waiting for her to come out? If so, why?
An image of the skeletal remains of Case 00-03, locked tight in her lab, flashed through Erin’s head, and panic bloomed inside her. Just as she turned to go back inside the house, the man stepped into the street, leaving the shadows behind, and Erin recognized him. She felt relief and anxiety all at once, and her heart continued to pound as she watched Detective Gallagher cross the street and head up the flower-lined walkway.
He’d be an incredible lover.
Erin cursed herself for lingering as long as she had over that conversation with Lois, because now she couldn’t get the woman’s observations concerning Detective Gallagher out of her head.
Honestly, Erin told herself irritably. Whether the man was Don Juan himself had no bearing on her dealings with him.
And I can tell you without a doubt, he’s no virgin.
Brilliant, Erin thought dryly. It didn’t exactly take a Nobel prize winner in genetic engineering to reach that conclusion. Anyone who had gazed into those baby blues would have deduced that much in two seconds flat, even a forensic anthropologist whose sexual exploits—and it was being extremely imaginative to use that term—were few and far between.
When he drew near her, his steps faltered for one split second before he approached her. “Dr. Casey?”
“Yes.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you.” His gaze swept over her, taking in her loose, flowing hair and the clingy fabric of her tunic and pants. The look on his face made Erin grow almost breathless.
“H-how did you know I’d be here?” she said, wincing inwardly at the stammer.
“Your secretary told me.”
Gloria again. Not only did the woman talk too much, she wasn’t above selling out her boss in order to gain the favor of an attractive man.
Well, who could blame her? a little voice jeered as Erin’s gaze slipped over Detective Gallagher in the dim light. He’d shed the sport coat and slacks he’d worn earlier in favor of jeans and a cotton T-shirt which melded very nicely to his muscular torso. Erin was beginning to appreciate a little more than just his bone structure, she realized. Perhaps she hadn’t given enough credit in the past to toned muscles and tanned skin.
And now you sound just like Lois, that same little voice taunted her.
Well, hell, Erin thought, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
“Are you ready to go?” His gaze flicked over her again, as if he still wasn’t quite convinced she was the woman he’d been expecting.
Erin knew she should be flattered, but for some reason she wasn’t. Had her appearance been that lacking earlier?
And so what if it had? Why should she care what Detective Gallagher, or anyone else, thought of her looks? Erin had never been a vain person. There had always been so many more interesting pursuits with which to occupy her time. She didn’t even like to shop. She’d ordered the outfit she had on tonight via the Internet, not having concerned herself for more than a minute with the fit, color, or fabric.
Judging by Detective Gallagher’s reaction, the selection was a success, and Erin felt herself growing even more agitated the longer he stared at her.
She pushed back her hair. “I’ll need to go home and change first. Then I’ll have to go by the lab and pick up my equipment.”
“Fine. I’ll drive you.”
Erin started to tell him she had her own car, but then she remembered that she’d walked the few blocks from her garage apartment to the dean’s house, not wanting to be bothered with parking on the narrow street. It had still been daylight then, but now that it was dark and growing cool, she didn’t relish walking home alone. She shrugged. “Thanks. I’d appreciate the ride.”
They started down the marble steps together, and he took her elbow. An old-fashioned, courtly gesture that Erin suspected had been drummed into him by his mother. But for some reason, his touch seemed intimate and knowing, as if he were all too aware of Erin’s reaction to him.
I’ve been in the lab too long, she thought almost in panic, if my insides turn to jelly by the mere touch of an attractive man.
But Ed Dawson’s touch hadn’t affected her that way, Erin reminded herself. Quite the contrary, the feel of his hand on hers had been almost repugnant, and his age had nothing to do with it. She’d always been attracted to older men, and Dawson had the same timeless appeal as Sean Connery. Yet Erin’s instincts had been wary of him from the first and she didn’t know why.
She wondered what Nick Gallagher thought of his mother dating the superintendent of the police department. Did that pave the way for him and his brothers to rise in the ranks?
Erin had an instinct for Nick Gallagher, too, and she didn’t think he was the type of person who would ride another’s coattails. He was restless, driven, almost dogmatic, she suspected, when battling for a cause he believed in. And God help anyone who got in his way.
She shivered as his grasp on her tightened almost imperceptibly when they reached the end of the walkway and he guided her toward his car. “This way.”
He dropped his hand from her elbow, and Erin experienced that same sense of relief and anxiety she’d felt earlier. What was it about him that kept her so off center? She hadn’t felt this way, at least not so quickly, even when she’d fallen madly in love with one of her professors her first year of college. The affair had been disastrous, naturally, because he’d been older and wiser and, she’d discovered too late, married.
A wave of shame washed over her at the memory, but Erin tried to shove it to the farthest recesses of her mind. No use crying over spilt milk, her mother had always told her.
Detective Gallagher opened the door of his car, and Erin slid inside, admiring the smell and feel of the leather seats. The sports car was an import, not one of the more expensive ones, but low-slung and fast just the same. He climbed in on the other side and started the powerful engine, glancing in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb.
The interior of the car was dark and close, the glow from the dash casting only the faintest of light on his features. He barely glanced at her, but seemed deeply preoccupied by his own thoughts. Was he thinking about the remains they would excavate in the morning? Was he wondering about the identity?
Was he keeping something from her? Erin wondered uneasily.
They spoke very little on the way to her place, and once he’d parked on the street near her garage apartment, Erin debated on whether she should invite him up. Better not, she decided, remembering her conversation with Lois. Best to keep their time together on a strictly business level.
“I’ll just be a moment,” she told him.
She opened her door, and the bright light seemed to catch them both by surprise. Their eyes met, and for the longest moment, Erin remained still, mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. Finally he said, “I appreciate the way you rearranged your schedule.”
She shrugged. “No problem. This is what I do.”
He smiled faintly. “A bone detective.”
The smile sent a shiver of awareness racing up her spine. “That’s right.”
“I hope you can work your magic for me, Dr. Casey.”
She lifted a brow. “Don’t you mean for your friend? The county sheriff you mentioned?”
His blue gaze flickered. “Yeah. Sure. If you can identify those remains, you’ll be doing us both a big favor.”
“I’ll identify the remains,” Erin told him confidently. She climbed out of the car and glanced back at him. “But I still believe there’s a lot more to this case than you’ve told me.”
His smile vanished. “I’ve told you everything you need to know,” he said coolly. “You do your job, Dr. Casey, and I’ll do mine.”
Chapter Three
You do your job, Dr. Casey, and I’ll do mine.
Erin couldn’t say she appreciated his attitude, but she wasn’t surprised by it. She’d worked with police officers before who grudgingly enlisted her help and were all too quick to draw the line between her duties and theirs. Homicide detectives were an especially turfconscious breed.
Changing quickly into jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, Erin packed a small overnight bag, put out plenty of food and water for her cat, Macavity, and then locked up her apartment. Detective Gallagher was leaning against his car waiting for her as she ran down the stairs. He opened his trunk and stored her bag, then they both climbed back into the car.
For a long, tense moment, neither of them said anything. His earlier rejoinder seemed to have dampened whatever camaraderie might have been forming between them. Erin saw him drum his fingertips impatiently on the steering wheel, and then hesitantly he turned to her. “Look, I’m sorry about before. What I said earlier.”
She shrugged. “No problem.”
“No, I was out of line and I apologize. It’s just that…” He trailed off, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I’m under some pressure right now.”
“I understand, Detective Gallagher.” Actually, she was impressed that he was even willing to apologize. It had been her experience that most police officers, especially detectives, weren’t.
He flashed her another look. “Call me Nick.”
“Then please call me Erin.”
He gave her a quick smile that almost stopped her heart. “Nice Irish name. My grandmother would approve.”
“You’re Irish, too,” she said needlessly, but his smile had addled her a bit. She’d never been so aware of a man’s presence before. She didn’t quite know how to handle it.
Nick didn’t seem to have the same problem. He said easily, “My father’s parents were both born in Dublin. You should hear my grandmother. Sometimes her brogue is still so thick you can barely understand her, especially when she gets mad. The fact that none of her grandchildren went to Notre Dame has been a sore spot with her for years now.”
Erin smiled, but didn’t comment. According to her mother, her paternal grandfather had also immigrated to America from Ireland, over seventy years ago, where he had almost immediately set about to build himself an empire. He had been a bootlegger to start, an Irish Al Capone, and then after the repeal of prohibition, the family import-export business had diversified into other illegal activities, including arms trading.
His sons—one of them being Erin’s father—had followed in his footsteps, which was why Erin’s mother had struck the bargain with him that she had. If she couldn’t save both her children from his evil influence, she could at least save one. So she took Erin—the child her father had agreed to give up—and fled Chicago, while Erin’s brother remained behind.
In all these years, Erin had never heard a word from her father. When she was younger and her mother had told her about their past, she’d been too frightened to want any contact. Then, in high school, when she’d gone through a brief period of rebellion, she’d convinced herself that her father’s complete absence from her life was because he didn’t know where she and her mother had gone off to, nor did he know their new names. If she could just talk to him, let him know where she was, why then, of course he’d welcome her back into his life with open arms.
Her mother had figured out what Erin was up to and had warned her that any connection with her father whatsoever could be dangerous to both of them. Something in her mother’s tone, the fear in her eyes had made a believer out of Erin. She hadn’t been so much worried for herself as she had been for her mother. What if her father did decide he wanted Erin back? What would he do to her mother?
Erin had never tried to get in touch with him again, and as far as she knew, neither had her mother, although there had been times when Erin had wondered. Her mother had grown so sad during the years before she died. Melancholy and guilt-ridden, she would cry softly in her room late at night, when she thought Erin was asleep, but when Erin had tried to talk to her about it, her mother would grow very remote.
And now she was gone, and Erin would never know the deep, dark secret that had troubled her mother’s last years.
She sensed Nick watching her, and she turned, meeting his eyes in the dim light. His gaze was dark, intense, curious. He was wondering about her. Speculating about what made her tick. Erin had the same curiosity about him.
“You’re wondering why someone would decide to become a bone detective,” she said.
His brows lifted slightly before he returned his gaze to the road. “I think I get why you’re so good at what you do. You have ESP.”
In truth, he wasn’t far off the mark. Erin’s ability to read bones did at times border on the uncanny, but she’d always been good at putting together puzzles. One of her strongest virtues was patience, another diligence. She would labor over remains long after everyone else was either satisfied with the conclusions or had given up.
“I love what I do. There’s nothing supernatural about it,” she told him.
He glanced at her again. “Which brings me back to my original question. Why did you become a forensic anthropologist?”
“The short answer?” Erin shrugged. “I’d always been interested in archaeology, and after the Indiana Jones movies came out, I decided, like a few thousand other students, that was what I wanted to do. Travel the world looking for rare, priceless artifacts that could either save or destroy mankind.”
The look he gave her was surprised. “You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”
“Some people might take that as an insult,” she said dryly. “But since it’s the truth, I won’t allow myself to be too offended.”
He grinned suddenly, the smile igniting a spark in his eyes that was very, very attractive. “You’re not at all what I expected.”
“No?” Her tone remained light, in spite of her racing pulse. “Let me guess. You were expecting a cross between Quincy and Jessica Fletcher. Am I right?”
“You’re perceptive,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”
“You don’t exactly fit my image of a homicide detective, either,” she told him. “Where’s your rumpled trench coat?”
The amusement faded from his expression. “Unfortunately, in real life, we’re not like Columbo. We don’t always get our man. Some of them tend to slip through the legal cracks. Even cold-blooded murderers.”
Something in his voice, an edge of suppressed rage, made Erin shiver. She stared at his profile for a moment, wondering why the remains discovered yesterday were so important to him. He could pretend all he wanted that he was doing a favor for a friend by enlisting her help, but Erin knew better. There was a lot more to this case than Nick Gallagher was willing to tell her, and she wondered uneasily if she was getting into something she might wish she hadn’t.
“So you wanted to be Indiana Jones,” he said after a moment, but the lightness had completely vanished from his tone and his expression. “Why the switch to anthropology?”
“Archaeology is a subdiscipline of anthropology. I didn’t really switch, I just changed my focus.” She smiled a little. “Actually, I discovered that digging trenches, millimeter by millimeter, in search of a pottery shard wasn’t quite as glamorous as Harrison Ford had led me to believe, though it can be fascinating at times. I became more interested in physical anthropology, and one of my professors, who was also a forensic anthropologist, told my class a story once about a woman’s daughter who had been missing for more than twenty years. When the child’s remains were finally discovered and identified, the woman wrote Dr. Ellis a long letter, thanking him for bringing her daughter back home to her. For the first time in more than twenty years, the woman finally had peace. She no longer searched faces in malls or on crowded streets, wondering if one of them might be her daughter’s.” Erin paused. “I knew from that moment on, that’s what I wanted to do, too.”
“You’re lucky then. Some people never figure out what it is they want in life.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You don’t like being a detective?”
He shrugged. “I guess I never gave it much thought. It was expected of me. I come from a long line of cops. My father, my grandfather. Both my brothers.” He shrugged again. “It’s in my genes, I guess.”
Erin didn’t like to think about genes, about what propensities could be handed down from one generation to the next. Intellectually, she knew that environment played a huge part in the development of personality traits, and she thanked her mother for giving her a safe, sheltered childhood away from her father’s influence.
But she knew, too, that more and more was being discovered about heredity all the time, and that some experts now believed the tendency toward violent and criminal behavior could be passed on to a child from his or her parents. Whether Erin liked it or not, she also carried her father’s genes inside her, and she knew that that knowledge had played no insignificant role in her decision to become a forensic anthropologist. By giving back to society, she could somehow counteract the darkness that might be lurking inside her.
But that wasn’t a story for a police detective. She suspected Nick Gallagher wasn’t a man who trusted easily, and if they were going to work together on this case, it was essential they at least have faith in each other’s abilities.
