She's Got the Look (25 page)

Silence descended. Her stomach heaved one more time.

And Rosemary promptly ruined the fruit tarts.

 

M
ELODY DIDN'T KNOW
whether or not she'd really wanted Nick to leave when she'd ordered him out Wednesday night. Not until he'd actually done it.

Then she'd realized she hadn't.

“He did what you asked him to, dummy,” she reminded herself later that night, when she was sitting in her living room, sipping a cup of hot tea and going through a box of tissues.

Yeah. He'd done what she'd asked. He hadn't been happy about it, and he'd told her he'd be back soon, when she'd had a chance to realize he'd looked into her past for a very good reason. And then he'd walked out the door, leaving his pizza—and her tangled emotions—behind him.

So why was she feeling so upset about it?

“It wasn't like him,” she told C.C., who was curled up on her lap. Oscar, on the other hand, was watching from the top of the entertainment center, where he liked to perch, pretending to be king of his domain. That cat always managed to get himself into the highest spots available…then couldn't get down.

“It wasn't like Nick to just go,” she said. With no arguments, no teasing. He'd simply looked at her as if she'd wounded him, made his parting comment, then walked out.

Over the next couple of hours, after she'd allowed herself to rage and fume and be embarrassed, she'd realized he had a point. She'd accused the man who'd made unbelievably fabulous love to her just twenty-four hours ago, on this sofa, of sleeping with her to get information on a case.

“Bull,” she muttered. He wouldn't have done that. He
hadn't
done that.

So now it wasn't anger at being used that kept her from picking up the phone and calling the man. It was pure embarrassment. Because he'd seen those pictures. He'd read those articles. He'd peeked into her psyche at a time when she'd been so out of her mind with anger and hurt that she hadn't been herself.

And maybe that's why he'd left without an argument. Perhaps seeing that side of her, the vindictive, vengeful woman who'd been humiliated in the media then thoroughly berated in court, had left him feeling less attracted to her.

“How could it not?” she whispered. C.C. just kept purring.

The cat was nice company, but she wasn't very talkative, and Mel
needed
someone to talk to. It was too late to call Paige, because her husband was a little tense about how much time she spent with the “girls.”

Another man who called women girls. Ugh.

Rosemary was having a family dinner and, while Melody was dying to find out how it was going, she didn't want to interrupt. She'd find out tomorrow whether or not her friend had been successful in creating some sort of friendship between her father and Dex.

“Tanya,” she whispered, wondering what route her friend was on this week. It was doubtful she'd be home, but she might still be reachable. Dialing Tanya's cell number, she crossed her fingers that the other woman wasn't in flight somewhere over Nebraska. Thankfully, Tanya answered on the third ring.

“Hey,” Melody said. “You at the gate?”

“On the ground in Milwaukee,” Tanya said, sounding weary. “Fog delay. So your timing is absolutely perfect.”

The two of them talked for a little while, small talk, really, so Melody could work up a way to tell Tanya about the whole having-sex-with-Nick thing, before moving on to the whole ordering-him-out-for-investigating-her thing. But before she could do either one, she realized Tanya wasn't her usual cheerful—if sarcastic—self. “Hey, you don't sound good.”

“Some drunk coacher stuck his hand up my skirt when I was handing him his pretzels.”

“Did you slug him?”

“
Accidentally
spilled a can of tomato juice all over his lap. That chilled his sorry ass out.”

Chuckling, Melody still realized Tanya was upset about more than an unruly passenger, which, to be honest, she dealt with on a regular basis. Though, how anyone would have the courage to put his hands on the woman, who was almost six feet of gorgeous, walking attitude, was beyond her. “That's not all, is it?”

“It's been a shitty month.
Couple
of months.”

Her friend hesitated. Feeling incredibly selfish that she hadn't been there for anyone else's troubles but her own, Mel said, “Go on, spill. What is it? Can I do anything?”

Tanya's voice was dry. “Got a gun?”

She choked out a laugh. “What?”

“Sorry. Bad joke given your week,” Tanya said. “I…hell, I guess I just realized sometime over this past summer that I'm twenty-seven years old and I have once again let myself be used by someone who didn't give a damn about me beyond being a great lay and being able to get good air fares.”

Whoa. An unconfident, sad-sounding Tanya? This was so off-the-wall. Tanya had balls. Bigger balls than most men. Not to mention more self-confidence than anyone Melody had ever known. And some guy had broken her heart? “I'll get a gun.”

Tanya laughed, finally sounding truly amused. “You got enough problems, girlfriend.”

“What's one more murder investigation among friends?” she asked, suddenly feeling better herself, too. “By the way, who, exactly, told you you're merely a
great
lay? Because I distinctly remember back in high school when Reggie Denton told the entire basketball team that you were a
fabulous
lay.”

Her friend chortled. “Yeah. Right before I broke his fuckin' arm.”

“There's my girl.”

Melody could hear an airport loudspeaker in the background announcing that the weather conditions were clearing. So Tanya probably needed to get back on the job.

“Maybe that's been my problem,” Tanya said, sounding distracted. Confused. “I used to break a guy's arm, now I go off and cry.”

Tanya had met a guy who'd left her in tears? Some things were beyond comprehension. “That's a problem, all right. If anyone knows, it's me. But eventually those tears do dry up.”

Tanya sighed, her relief audible. “I hope so. Thanks for calling, Mel. I needed to talk, I guess. Maybe more than I thought. I'll be home around this time tomorrow night and I'll buzz you. Let's plan on getting together soon, okay?”

“Anytime, sister.”

A call for boarding sounded in the background. Tanya said, “Don't kill anyone before then, okay?”

Grinning, Melody replied, “Don't throw any groping passengers out the emergency exit.”

“Deal.”

Hanging up, Mel realized she felt a whole lot better than she had a half hour ago. Amazing how her friends could always lift her spirits. She was glad she'd been able to repay the favor for Tanya tonight, who'd sounded more upset about this guy she'd been involved with than Melody would ever have expected.

Glancing at the clock and realizing it was after ten, she decided she was relaxed enough to go to bed. Things were looking okay. And they'd look better in the daytime.

But before she could get up and turn out the lights, the phone rang. The cordless phone was still in her lap, so she picked it up, a tiny spark of hope that it was Nick warring with a hint of concern about her prank caller. Just to be sure, she checked the caller ID before answering.

The number wasn't blocked, and it was local. Unfortunately, she didn't think it was Nick's. She answered cautiously. “Hello?”

“Ms. Tanner?”

Okay, not Nick, but not a heavy-breathing sicko, either. “Yes.”

“Ms. Tanner, you might not remember me, but we met recently at Rosemary Chilton's house. My name is Drake Manning.”

She almost dropped the phone. Good God, was this “let Melody's past come back to haunt her” month? Why on earth would yet another man she'd put on that stupid, awful list be calling her, especially at this time of night?

“Please excuse the hour,” he said smoothly, as if he'd read her mind. “I'm doing the late-night program this week because a colleague is on vacation. We're working on our coverage of Jonathan Rhodes, and, since I hear you were one of the last people to speak with him, I wondered if you would consider talking with me about it.”

Talk about the guy who'd stolen her underwear, then gotten himself shot while wearing them? Uh-uh, no way, never. She'd rather eat Oscar and C.C.'s cat food for a month than go on TV and humiliate herself again. Once in a lifetime was enough for anybody. “I don't think so, Mr. Manning.”

“Please, Ms. Tanner, it's not for public consumption.” He paused. “Jonathan was a friend of mine. I'd like to understand, if I could. I'd consider it a real favor if you'd meet with me. Just for coffee or something?”

She didn't want to. She almost wanted to warn the guy to stay a thousand yards away from her, given that three of the five men he'd been grouped with on her Men Most Wanted list had dropped dead in the past eight weeks. One with a little help.

But something in his voice, the note of genuine regret maybe, made her take pity on him. He'd had to cover his ass on the air, but in the early hours after the murder, Drake Manning had clearly been mourning a friend.

“All right, Mr. Manning,” she said. “Coffee it is.”

S
OMETHING WAS
seriously wrong with Dex. Nick had figured that out the minute the two of them had met at the station Thursday morning for a meeting with the police commissioner on the Jonathan Rhodes case. The other detective was always quiet and circumspect, but today he'd been damn near brooding. When Draco, another detective on their floor, had asked Dex to confirm the name of a witness, Dex had almost snapped his head off. Totally out of character for Mr. Laid-Back.

Even figuring he already knew what the problem was, Nick had asked his partner if anything was wrong. Dex had mumbled something that could have been “nothing” or could have been “everything” and hadn't said another word.

On any other day, Nick would have tried to find out more. To at least see if there was anything he could do to help his friend. It was doubtful, since the dark expression on Dex's face was instantly recognizable to any other man who'd gotten himself all torn up in the guts about a woman, as Dex obviously had. And the only woman in his life was Rosemary.

If she'd broken up with him because of the difference in their social stature, Nick was going to tell her where she could go, regardless of whether she was Melody's best friend.

Melody.
She was the reason he hadn't hassled Dex too much about his dark mood. Because he'd been unable to get her off his mind since he'd left her apartment the evening before, still wondering where exactly he'd made such a wrong turn. Was it in making love to her when he'd known he was going to have to pry into her past? Was it telling her what he'd learned? Should he have asked her first, giving her a chance to explain things her own way?

Whatever he
should
have done, he couldn't change what he
had
done. Or how she'd reacted to it.

He'd investigated and she'd erupted.

“You've got to talk to me sometime,” he muttered as he looked up at her apartment window Thursday night. It was nearly ten, and though he wondered if her neighbors were looking outside, recognizing his car and figuring there was a stalker or a criminal staking out their street, he couldn't make himself drive away.

He hadn't sat outside her building like this for a few nights. But for some reason, today, an unidentified worry was gnawing at him. He didn't believe in superstition or ESP or any of that crap, unlike a lot of people in this town. But he did believe in intuition. Cop's instinct, whatever. And something had been telling him all day that Melody needed him. So after putting in an extra long day at the station and grabbing a late dinner with some of the guys, he'd cruised down her street before heading home.

Her apartment was nearly dark. She could already be in bed, asleep. And he was probably just being paranoid. Still, something made him sit here, in the quiet stillness of the night, for a minute more, hoping the feeling of uneasiness would dissipate.

It wasn't until he saw her emerge from the front door of her building that he realized he'd been totally busted. Cringing, he gave her a sheepish wave as she stalked over to the car looking like an avenging angel. Which was incredibly sexy.

“Unless you're staking out another drug dealer on this street, you've got some explaining to do,” she said as she opened the passenger door and leaned inside.

“I was on my way home and I wanted to—”

“Wanted to what, spy on me?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. This had been a very bad idea. “Look, I'm sorry. I had this feeling.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Stupid, I know. But I felt like maybe you needed me.”

She said nothing for a second, staring at him across the darkness of his car, hopefully assessing his words. Or trying to figure out what to say. Then, with a determined look she said, “I don't plan on
needing
anyone ever again, Nick.”

His gut knotted up.

“I'm tired of people thinking they have the right to take care of me, or know what's best for my life.”

“I wasn't—”

She cut him off. “But, I
am
ready to speak to you again.”

Locking his car, he followed her inside and up the stairs to her apartment. Once inside, he stepped out of the way, watching her lock the doorknob and throw the bolt. With the light from a small lamp and the television playing mutely on the other side of the room, he got a better glimpse of her face. Beautiful, of course, but she also looked tired. Tense. “You okay?”

She nodded. “It's been a long day.” Heading toward the kitchen, she asked, “I'm going to make some tea. Want a cup?”

Tea. Gag. “Got any coffee?” He regretted the request one second after the words left his lips because he suddenly remembered what her coffee tasted like.

“Just decaf.”

Decaffeinated brown flavored water couldn't taste much worse than regular brown flavored water he supposed. “It'll do.”

Once inside, he sat down in the living room, picking up one of her cats—the one named after the bologna—and scratched him behind his ears. Melody returned from the kitchen and sat down on the other side of the couch.

“So, are you speaking to me again?” he asked softly, still eyeing the cat.

Even in the soft lighting of the room, her tension was visible, but she admitted, “I know why you felt you needed to look into my divorce. I understand that much.”

“Good.”

Anger made her voice tight. “But I don't understand why you had to be so damned secretive about it.”

She had a valid point. He'd been feeling like a first-class heel about that all day. “I'm sorry. I should have trusted you enough to ask you. You could have told me what I needed to know.”

“Like I was going to tell you all the ugly details?” she said, looking skeptical. “I doubt that would have happened.”

“Well, maybe subconsciously that's why I didn't ask.”

She fell silent, watching him pet the cat, a pensive expression on her face. Finally, in a low voice, she asked, “So, how much do you know?”

He continued running his fingers through Oscar's soft hair, knowing better than to look at Melody, to show any sign of sympathy. She'd hate that. “I know you were married to a big slimeball who tried to get your underwear during your divorce.”

Her expression softened.

“And I know that just because I found out you have a temper doesn't mean you and I can't keep…going forward.”

“Going forward? Is that what you call it?” Confusion rang clearly in her voice. “We're playing around with this tension, pretending we can have some kind of sexual relationship, when on the side you're investigating me and I'm wondering how I ever had the nerve to get naked and crazy with you.”

“Naked and crazy?” That sounded good to him. If only she hadn't sounded so dismayed when she'd said it. “Was that such a bad thing?”

She rose to her feet, striding to the kitchen. “You said you didn't want to be a name I scratched off your list. Well, dammit, I sure don't want to be nothing but an investigation to you.”

Nick lifted the cat off his lap and immediately followed her. He had to clear up that notion immediately. “Lady, you are a lot of things to me, but
just
an investigation definitely isn't one of them.” Taking her by the upper arm, he held her still, determined to make her believe him. He wondered if she could hear the crazy, wild beating of his heart, and if she knew what it meant. He also wondered if he was brave enough to tell her.

His pulse was beating as out of control as his thoughts for one reason: he was afraid. Because right now, Melody could order him out of her life for good…and he feared that more than anything he'd ever experienced on the streets of Savannah.

He might not know
what
they'd started, but they'd started something. And damned if he was ready to let it end. Not when, for the first time in as long as he could remember, his life was feeling so incredibly right.

“Melody, don't shut me out. I'm sorry I had to pry into your past. I'm a shit and a bastard and you have every right to tell me to go to hell.” She opened her mouth as if to do just that, so he quickly continued, “But I swear to you, I didn't
want
to invade your privacy. I never would have done it if I didn't think there was at least a slight possibility that your ex-husband could be tied up in this somehow. I would have let you tell me on your own time, in your own way.”

“By painting it on a billboard?” she snapped.

He tried to keep a grin from tickling his lips but couldn't quite manage it. “Damn, girl, you give good revenge. But somebody needs to teach you about covert operations.”

“Don't you dare laugh at me!”

“Not laughing at you, honey.” No, he wasn't laughing at her. He was about to go on…to tell her how much he admired her strength, particularly because of the way she'd moved here and gone on with her life, despite a divorce settlement that had, even to a novice like him, seemed incredibly unfair. But before he could do it, the phone rang.

“It's late,” he said, immediately on alert.

She looked at him, then at the phone, which continued to ring. Then she let out a slow, steady breath. “It's probably my friend Tanya. She's supposed to be getting home around this time tonight.”

Still unsure, he nevertheless stepped out of her way, letting her pass. Reaching for the cordless receiver hanging in a cradle on the wall, she pulled it to her ear. “Hello? Hello?”

His whole body grew tense as he saw Melody's slim jaw tighten. Even from a few feet away, he could see the way her chest began to heave.

“Hang up,” he snapped.

She ignored him. “Look, you twisted creep,” she snarled into the phone, “you'd better stop calling me. You got the last bit of blood from this stone. I have nothing more for you to take, Bill, so go to hell and leave me alone.”

Once she'd slammed the phone down, she glared at Nick, heat and anger snapping almost physically between them. “You want to investigate my son-of-a-bitch ex-husband? How about figuring out how he keeps getting my personal phone number even though I've had it changed twice since I moved here.”

Nick clenched his back teeth, not wanting her to see his sudden fury. “Have you gotten a lot of these lately?”

“A couple. I don't like to answer when the caller ID is blocked, but I never know if it could be a potential client who got my home number from a friend.” Melody's sudden burst of angry bravado appeared to abandon her, because she crossed her arms in front of her chest, running her hands up and down as if to warm herself. “He doesn't say anything, just breathes deeply. Or sometimes he makes little moaning sounds, as if he wants me to imagine him
doing
something to himself…while I'm on the other end of the line.” She sounded revolted.

“The sick bastard,” Nick said tightly, striding over and putting his hands on her shoulders. Unable to help himself, he pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest. He twined one hand in her thick hair while the other pressed against the small of her back.

Making small, gentle circles with the tips of his fingers, he murmured soft, comforting things, until he felt the tension slowly ease out of her body. “I'll take care of him, Melody,” he whispered. “I'll make sure he leaves you alone.”

And he meant it. No matter what else happened, he was going to see to it that Melody never shed another tear, never had another moment's pain, because of the SOB she'd married.

“I don't need you to take care of me,” she said, pulling away and running a weary hand over her eyes. “But if you want to help me figure out how to get him to leave me alone, I guess I'd better tell you a little more about who we're dealing with.”

 

D
RAKE
M
ANNING WASN'T
feeling well. It was quarter to eleven, he was about to go on the air for the late news, and all he could think about was getting it done and going home.

He
hated
this schedule. A man of routine, he liked his regular noon and six-in-the-evening slots. The next time the eleven-o'clock anchor wanted to go on vacation, they could just get one of the beat reporters to take over the desk. Like Angie. Heck, maybe if he put her up for the job, she'd stop glaring daggers at him for dumping her again.

“Are you okay, Mr. Manning? You're looking pale, even with the foundation.”

Forcing his annoyance away, he met the stare of Marla, the station's cute young makeup girl, in the lighted mirror of the greenroom. “No, actually, I'm not quite up to par,” he admitted, giving her the kind of self-deprecating smile that made his TV viewers want to welcome him into their homes every single day of the week. And made him look much younger than his forty-four years. “I stopped and grabbed a late dinner on my way in tonight. Mexican food doesn't seem to agree with me these days.”

She gave him a worried frown, bending to put a motherly hand on his forehead. Which gave him a nice shot of her cleavage down the loose neckline of her blouse. “You feel warm.”

He was definitely feeling warm. Particularly because Marla—who he'd always flirted with but never seriously pursued since she seemed happily married—was now brushing those nice round tits of hers against his shoulder.

Hmm…maybe she
wasn't
so happily married.

“You're so kind,” he murmured, lifting a hand and patting her fingers, which rested on his shoulder. “Such a good person.”

“Oh,
thank
you, Mr. Manning.”

Her expression was almost adoring. Why had he never noticed that before?

“A little more spray, sweetheart, all right?” he said softly, not wanting a single hair out of place when he was on the air. And wanting a nice shot of her ass as she bent over to grab the hairspray off the counter.