Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) (3 page)

“Okay, okay. You convinced me. Good luck with your search.”

“Thanks. Talk to you soon.”

As the line went dead, Kelly turned off her phone and leaned back in her father’s chair, trying to stifle a niggle of envy. Lauren had it all. Great career as one of St. Louis’s up-and-coming attorneys. Devoted husband. Happy family. A home filled with love to return to at the end of the day.

Annoyed at the flutter of jealousy, Kelly dropped to the floor and began to gather up her father’s papers. Sure, she’d like all those things too, but that didn’t mean she begrudged Lauren the blessings that had graced her life. Their situations were just different. After all, meeting the right man wasn’t easy when you worked out of your home in a solitary occupation. Few men like Cole Taylor crossed her threshold.

Kelly froze as an image of the tall, dark-haired detective flashed across her mind—then, with a shake of her head, she got up and tapped the file against the desk to settle the papers. Talk about pathetic. She must be really hard up if she was fantasizing about strangers. Cole Taylor was in her life for one reason, and one reason only—to dig deeper into her father’s death. There was no place for romance in that scenario.

Obviously, she was spending too much time alone at her easel.

As she set the file on the desk and prepared to tackle the next drawer, she was glad she’d committed to coffee next week. An hour or two with her friend would help fill in some of the gaps in her social life.

But much as she looked forward to seeing Lauren, it didn’t have quite the same appeal as a date with a handsome detective.

“Sorry I’m late.” Cole circled the table at the popular West County Sunday brunch spot and leaned down to give his new sister-in-law a hug. “Welcome back from Bermuda.” Straightening up, he shook Jake’s hand. “How was the honeymoon?”

Jake grinned at him, wiggled his eyebrows, and tugged his bride close. Liz blushed.

“Never mind.” Cole’s lips quirked into a smile as he slid into the empty chair and picked up a menu. “I get the picture.”

“So what have you been doing all morning?” Beside him, Alison rested an elbow on the table and propped her chin in her palm.

“Working.” He hid behind the oversized menu.

She pushed it down with one finger. “You couldn’t spare an hour to go to church with your family?”

Cole shot her an annoyed glance. Since he’d stopped attending services four years ago, she’d been relentless in her quest to prod him back onto the straight and narrow. She should have become an FBI interrogator instead of a Children’s Division social worker. She had the dogged determination for it.

“She’s right,” Jake chimed in. “It wouldn’t hurt you to darken the door of a church once in a while.”

“Like you’ve been so diligent.”

“I am now.”

“I wonder why?” He sent a pointed look toward Liz.

“Hey—it was his choice. I only dictate people’s fate from the bench,” his new wife protested.

Jake reached over and twined his fingers with hers. “Judge Michaels is correct. She did get me thinking about it, but I came to the decision on my own. To use a cliché, I saw the light.”

“Say . . .” Alison leaned forward, her expression speculative. “Maybe that’s the answer. If we match Cole up with a nice churchgoing woman, she might have a positive influence on him.”

Cole eyed the exit. Maybe he’d fake a phone call and pretend he was needed for a case.

“Yeah.” Mitch joined in the fun. “How about that redhead you were ogling at work a couple of weeks ago?”

“What redhead?” Alison’s head swiveled toward her fiancé.

“Let it go.” Cole shot his colleague a warning look.

“No way,” Alison protested, refocusing on him. “Now I’m intrigued. Who is this woman?”

“She’s part of a case.”

“She won’t be once it’s resolved.” Mitch swirled the orange juice in his glass, grinning. “And you must be interested. You’ve brought her up a dozen times in the past two weeks.”

Had he? Cole felt heat begin to creep up his neck.

Yeah, maybe.

“And I saw you googling her website the other day. Looking at watercolor paintings of woodland fairies.”

Alison’s mouth dropped open. “Woodland fairies!?”

Cole gritted his teeth. “I was doing research. She’s a commercial artist.”

“And a churchgoer. Didn’t you mention she and her father always attended services together?” Mitch added.

Huffing out a breath, Cole surveyed the table. “Okay. I came for brunch, not the third degree. Alison, since you started this, I’ll address my comments to you. If and when I decide to return to church, I promise you’ll be the first to know. Until then, to put it as diplomatically as I can, back off.”

His sister stared at him, sniffed, and went back to perusing her menu. “Fine. I was just trying to encourage you to do the right thing. From now on, you’re on your own.”

“Is that a promise?”

She made a face at him. “I guess that means you’re not going to tell us about this woman, either.”

“Nope.” He took a drink of his water.

“That’s okay.” She tucked her arm in her fiancé’s and gave Cole a smug smile. “I’ll get it out of Mitch later.”

Across the table, Jake stifled a chuckle behind his napkin. Liz didn’t even try to hide her amusement.

Cole pinned Mitch with an intent look. The other man gave him a sheepish shrug. Meaning the tough, former Navy SEAL was putty in his intended’s hands.

Good to know. From now on, he’d pick and choose his words carefully around his future brother-in-law.

They ordered, and the talk shifted to Bermuda, then to Mitch and Alison’s wedding plans. Cole let the conversation flow around him, tuning out much of it, focusing on his food once his order was delivered. The topic depressed him. He’d never worried much about finding the right woman and getting married. It was just one of those things he assumed would happen eventually. Though he had to admit the women he’d been dating for the past few years didn’t fit his criteria for a life partner.

As for his relationship with God—he doubted a reconciliation was in the cards.

All at once, the bite of eggs Benedict in his mouth lost its flavor, and he took a swig of orange juice to wash it down. Then he set his fork on the table and shoved his plate aside.

“What’s with you?” Mitch gestured to his food. “You usually scarf down every bite of that dish.”

The conversation stopped as everyone checked out his half-eaten meal. Once again, his neck warmed.

“Are you sick?” Alison frowned at him.

“No. Full.”

“You sure everything’s okay?” Jake narrowed his eyes.

Exasperated by the attention, Cole opened his mouth to express his annoyance.

And then he thought of Kelly Warren, who had no family left to bug her. Or care about her.

He closed his mouth.

Alison lifted an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to tell us to butt out?”

“No. I appreciate your concern.”

She glanced at Jake, then back at him. “Is this for real?”

“Yeah. I know you guys have my best interest at heart.”

Alison set her own fork down and gave him her full attention. “Cole Taylor, the diplomat. This is a new one. To what can we attribute your remarkable new sensitivity and tact?”

“Could it have something to do with Kelly Warren?” Mitch grinned at him.

“Who’s Kelly Warren?” Alison asked.

“The redhead.”

“Ah.” Alison gave a sage nod. “Interesting.”

It took every ounce of Cole’s self-control to maintain a cool, nonchalant demeanor. “You all are jumping to too many conclusions. I’ve only seen the woman twice.”

“Twice? She came in again?” Mitch’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

Great. He’d walked right into that one.

Feigning indifference, he lifted one shoulder and picked up his coffee. “I delivered the bad news about my case review in person. She was on my route home.”

“Very considerate.” Mitch hid his grin by opening his mouth and shoving in a forkful of food.

Cole shot him a dirty look over the rim of his cup.

“I’d like to meet this woman,” Alison said.

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Why not? Don’t you ever want to get married?”

Cole choked on the sip of coffee he’d just taken. At least the coughing gave him a few seconds to regroup. “Alison, I know you have romance on the brain now that you’re engaged, but not everyone is panting to rush down the aisle.”

“You’re thirty-six Cole. I’d hardly call that rushing.”

“Very funny.”

Liz, who’d been watching the whole exchange with amusement, finally took pity on him. “I have a suggestion. Since this is supposed to be a brunch, not a barbecue, why don’t we stop grilling Cole and talk about Thanksgiving plans instead?”

As the conversation shifted yet again, Cole telegraphed a silent thank-you to his new sister-in-law. She responded with a wink.

But half an hour later, the earlier conversation about Kelly Warren—and his faith—came back to him as he maneuvered his car through a surge of traffic exiting from a church parking lot. Though he’d never admit it to his siblings, there
were
some gaps in his life. He had no significant other, and his relationship with God was toast.

Neither had bothered him a whole lot until recently. But all at once, he had a yearning for the companionship of a woman who would be more than a fun date. An intelligent woman of character and substance and courage.

A woman like Kelly Warren.

And as he merged onto the highway and accelerated into the traffic, he also felt the first stirring of a need to reconnect with his faith. A subtle longing to feel again the absolute trust and confidence in God that had once been the foundation of his life.

Too bad he had no idea how to achieve either of those goals.

“Cole? I got your message. What’s up?”

Angling away from the copy machine, Cole took in Alan Carlson’s sun-bleached blond hair and dark tan. “Wow. Did you spend every minute on the beach?”

His colleague grinned. “Not quite. But you can’t go to a place like the Dominican Republic and not take advantage of all that white sand.”

“I hear you. Maybe I’ll get down there one of these days. I could use a break.”

“It’s hard to go wrong with beaches, biking, and bikinis.”

“I didn’t know you took your bike.”

“I didn’t. I rented one. Let me tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve pedaled up a mountain on a mule trail in the Caribbean.”

Cole grinned. “No thanks. But as long as you had fun . . .”

“The whole trip was great.” The man’s smile faded a notch. “But it would have been better with Cindy.”

“Yeah.” Cole didn’t know what else to say. Alan and his wife of three years had separated six months ago, surprising everyone in the department. He and Cindy had always seemed like a decent match. But the hours and risks of this business took a toll on marriages, and not all of them survived. Last he’d heard, Cindy had gone back to her hometown of Chicago. “Any chance the two of you might get back together?”

“Maybe. I’m working on it, and we’re still in touch. So what can I do for you?”

Cole gathered up the papers he’d been copying while he responded. “It’s nothing urgent, but once you clean out your in-box and email, I’d like to talk to you about the John Warren case.”

As Cole turned toward him, the other man frowned. “The suicide? About five months ago?”

“Yeah.”

“We closed that one.”

“I know. But his daughter came in while you were gone. When you have a minute, I can fill you in.”

“How about now?” One side of Alan’s mouth hitched up. “I’m not anxious to dig into my in-box anyway.”

“I hear you.” Cole flashed him a sympathetic grin. “Let me make a quick detour to my desk, then we can try and find an empty conference room.”

Five minutes later Cole flipped on the lights in the second room they tried, shut the door, and claimed one of the comfortable chairs. Alan sat beside him.

“So what’s the story?” Alan leaned back, crossed an ankle over his knee, and linked his fingers over his stomach.

“About two weeks ago, Warren’s daughter got a birthday present from her father. There was a message inside. Top left.” He handed the copy of the packing slip to Alan and waited while the man read it. “Notice the order date.”

Alan scanned it. Pursed his lips. “That’s pretty close to the day he committed suicide.”

“Very close. The day before.”

The man frowned. “That’s a little weird.”

“His daughter thought so too. That’s why she brought it in. I reviewed the case notes, and I can’t argue with your conclusions. Every piece of evidence pointed to suicide. The only thing missing was a farewell note.”

Alan steepled his index fingers. “I recall the daughter being very distraught. She did bring up the lack of a note, but I told her not everyone leaves one. It didn’t help. She refused to accept our conclusion.”

“She still isn’t buying it. Her conviction, plus this message”—he tapped the copy of the packing slip—“make me wonder if we should take a second look.”

The other man shrugged. “I’m not opposed to that, assuming we have something to look at. I already talked to everyone she suggested, the autopsy was conclusive, and the CSU didn’t find a thing.”

“I know. I went over all that with her. I suggested she comb through her father’s house and see if she could find anything that might trigger some new ideas.”

Alan’s expression grew skeptical. “That’s a little like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“True. But it was all I could come up with.”

“Have you heard back from her since?”

“No. She said she’d follow up on my recommendation, but she also said it’s been hard for her to go back to the house.”

“I can understand that. It was just her and her father, and they were very close.” A touch of desolation scored his features, highlighting a gauntness in his face that hadn’t been there prior to his separation. “It’s hard to lose someone you love.”

“Yeah.” It was a shame about him and Cindy. Alan was obviously taking the split hard. “I got that impression from Ms. Warren.”

Alan cleared his throat, pulled the packing slip toward him, and examined it again. “On the surface, this doesn’t make sense. But we know Warren had those pills in his possession. It’s possible he wanted to have them on hand in case things got really bad, then decided they
had
gotten really bad as he thought about facing all that surgery and chemo and radiation.”

“That scenario occurred to me too, but Kelly Warren isn’t buying it.” He lifted one shoulder. “You have to admire her persistence.”

“It might be stubbornness.”

Cole didn’t think so. But the facts of the case, not their opinion of Kelly, were all that mattered.

He stood and picked up the sheet of paper. “You want to take one more look at the case file anyway?”

“Sure.” Alan rose too. “And I’ll follow up with her. Sorry you got pulled into this. I can take over from here.”

Cole frowned. Alan
was
the case detective. It made sense for him to step back in. Yet he didn’t want to let this one go—for reasons that had as much to do with a pair of fabulous green eyes and appealing lips as seeing that justice was done.

“Cole? Is there a problem?”

At Alan’s prompt, he turned toward the door. “No. I’ll put this back in the case file. I’m happy to assist if you need a hand too.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I doubt it will come to that.”

As they parted in the hall and Cole started back to his office, he reread the message on the packing slip. His own review of the file had unearthed no discrepancies. Alan was unlikely to find any, either.

Which meant John Warren’s note would remain an unsolved puzzle.

And unless Kelly found something of interest in her father’s things, the resolution of the case wasn’t going to change, either.

No matter how adamantly she believed the police’s conclusion was wrong.

The following Saturday, true to her word, Kelly pushed through the door of the Perfect Blend on a gust of blustery wind and wedged herself into the crowded coffee shop. Lauren waved at her from a tiny round table against the far wall, and she lifted her hand in response, then wove through the occupied tables toward her friend.

“I love this place!” Lauren rose to give her a hug, then waved her hand to encompass the colorful contemporary canvases that lined the walls. “Great artwork. How come I’ve never heard of it?”

Kelly slipped into her seat. “It’s only been around six months. I started coming here after Dad died. It was too hard to go back to the Starbucks where we used to meet.” She swallowed and summoned up a smile. She was
not
going to break down today. “Anyway, this place is now part of my regular routine. They have fabulous scones, and their cinnamon rolls are to die for.”

“Perfect. I’m ready for a splurge.” Lauren fished her wallet out of her purse. “My treat today in honor of this rare get-together.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Warmth stole over Kelly’s cheeks. Her friend was forever telling her to learn to be as gracious a receiver as she was a giver, but she hadn’t quite mastered that yet. “Thank you.”

“Better.” Lauren smiled and stood. “Let me guess. White chocolate mocha.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“Consistent.”

“More like boring. But thanks for putting a better spin on it.” Kelly shrugged her coat off her shoulders. “Good luck fighting the crowd.” She inclined her head toward the order line. “It’s like this every Saturday, and weekdays aren’t much better.”

“Sounds like you’ve become a regular on days other than Saturday too.”

“Yep. If I didn’t go to a coffee shop two or three times a week, I’d turn into a hermit. That’s one of the few downsides to working out of your house.” She did another scan of the packed café. “I’m surprised you found a table.”

“I almost didn’t. They were all taken when I got here, but as soon as the guy at this one started to shut down his computer, I staked a claim. I don’t think he appreciated me hovering over his shoulder, but I learned long ago to go after what I want. Just ask Shaun.” Lauren grinned and tapped the table. “Guard it with your life.”

As Lauren maneuvered through the tables toward the line, Kelly settled back in her seat. Her friend was dressed casually today, in jeans, heeled boots, a crisp white shirt, and a leather jacket. Simple but stylish. With her chic shorter hairstyle, perfect makeup, and great figure, she was a head-turner. Even the stocky gray-haired guy behind her in line was giving her the once-over through his bottle-thick glasses.

Kelly set her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her palm. She dressed nicely when she had to, but she’d always preferred comfort over glamour. Give her a pair of well-broken-in jeans, a soft cotton shirt, comfortable flats, and a fleece jacket any day. Was it any wonder Lauren had attracted the attention of a hunky guy like Shaun while she was still single?

The line inched forward, and after Lauren paid the bill, she picked up two plates. The one she slid in front of Kelly a few moments later contained a cinnamon roll.

“I didn’t order this.”

“No, but you were lusting after it.” Lauren deposited a plate with a blueberry scone in her own place as she took her seat. “Are you sure it’s safe, though? I’ve witnessed one of your peanut allergy attacks, and it’s not an experience I want to repeat.”

Kelly leaned close to the roll and inhaled the cinnamon aroma. Bliss. “Absolutely. I had a long talk with the owner the first time I came here. He assured me they don’t use any peanut products.”

“Lauren!”

At the summons from the barista, her friend started to rise. But Kelly laid a hand on her arm. “At least let me pick up the drinks. What did you order for yourself?”

“A caramel hot chocolate.”

Kelly grinned as she stood. “We
are
being decadent today, aren’t we?”

“I can make up for the calories next week.” Lauren flashed an unrepentant grin. “I’m celebrating our girls’ morning out.”

Smiling, Kelly wove through the tables, glad Lauren had insisted on this get-together. A couple of hours with her best friend was exactly what she needed to lift her spirits after the so-far fruitless search of her father’s house.

As she joined the group clustered around the drink stand, she worked her way to the front. Four drinks were awaiting pickup, and she tried to decipher the hieroglyphics the counter clerks has scribbled on the sides of the cups. The hot chocolate was fairly easy to single out. She had less success identifying her own beverage.

Just as she was about to ask one of the baristas for help, the stooped, gray-haired guy with glasses who had been behind Lauren in line joined her at the pickup station, drink in hand, looking as confused as she felt.

“Did you order a mocha?”

At his querulous question, she turned to him. “Yes.”

He gave her a sheepish grin, his mustache twitching. “I think this is yours.” He hefted the cup in his hand. “I must have picked up the wrong drink. It’s hard to figure out which is which. Would you like this one, or should I ask them to make you a new one?”

“I don’t have a germ phobia.” She smiled at him and reached for the cup. “This one is fine.”

He tugged his bulky coat around him and rubbed his gloved hands together as he leaned closer to peer at the remaining cups on the stand. “There it is. An Americano.” He picked up the cup. “Sorry for the confusion, miss. Have a nice day.”

She watched him as he limped away, his gait suggesting an injury or a gimpy leg. It was cold out, but that guy was
really
ready for winter. Sometimes people got chilled more easily as they aged, though. She’d seen it happen with her father.

After weaving back through the crowd, she set the drinks on the table and retook her seat.

“Who was your admirer?” Lauren shot her a teasing glance as she dug into her scone.

“
You
were the one he was admiring. I was watching him while he waited in line behind you.” Kelly used the edge of her fork to cut off a generous bite of her roll. “He might be old, but those skinny jeans of yours were making him feel young again.” Kelly grinned as she slid the fork into her mouth and closed her eyes. “Ah. Nirvana!”

“This is a great scone too.” Lauren took a sip of her hot chocolate through the whipped cream.

Kelly grinned. “Your mustache is almost as impressive as your admirer’s was.”

“Very funny.” Lauren picked up her napkin and wiped off the white film above her upper lip. “I never did get the hang of drinking through whipped cream–but I hate those plastic lids. So fill me in on all your news. Any exciting commissions recently?”

“I’ve got a contract for a dozen more greeting cards. Flower-themed. And the Department of Conservation wants me to do four seasonal covers for the magazine next year. Up-close nature scenes.”