She's Got the Look (27 page)

Knowing he was waiting for an answer, she admitted, “I was the stupid one who mistook the need for a normal life for love. I married him for all the wrong reasons, when I should have been letting myself grow up and be a normal twenty-one-year-old.”

“So you wanted love. It's not a crime. What he did…now
that's
a crime.” His voice grew more quiet, and even more intense. “You've been carrying the weight of your failed marriage on your shoulders, Mel, when you should have heaped it on that bastard's head. Along with about a ton of bricks.”

She couldn't say anything. His words bounced around in her mind, making so much sense yet seeming so simple. Her
logical
mind suspected her ex-husband was simply incapable of fidelity. That no woman would have been able to hold his attention. Her emotional side, however? Well…it hadn't quite caught up.

Still, maybe Nick was right. Maybe it was time she stopped letting her marriage color every other experience in her life.

Yes, she'd been stupid to fall in love with an ass—or at least the life she thought that ass was offering her. But the rest of it…well, the rest of the blame was Bill's. From his first affair to his last brag session about his famous wife, he'd used her, exploited her and taken her for granted. Until she'd had enough and had gotten out. All on her own.

Well, maybe with a little help from a can of paint and a news helicopter. And some firemen.

But she'd really done it. She'd had the strength to walk away from something she knew was wrong. So how could she now claim to not have the strength to walk
toward
something she knew could be very, very right?

Especially when she already knew it was very, very
good.

“You going to stare into that glass like it holds all the secrets of the universe? Or are you going to admit I'm right?” he asked softly.

She tore her gaze from the sparkling burgundy depths of her glass and looked over at the man sitting beside her. So big. So strong. So intuitive.

So utterly desirable.

Oh, Lord, she wanted him again. Wanted him desperately. Whether she was good enough to hold him—to keep him—suddenly didn't seem to matter anymore. Later…she'd think about what he'd said about her marriage later. For now, she just wanted him.

She was about to tell him so—and ask him to stay the night—when she realized he was no longer looking at her. Instead, he was staring toward the muted television, his head tilted to the side and a puzzled expression on his face.

Melody followed his stare. “Oh, great,
him,
” she muttered.

Drake Manning was doing his smarmy thing in front of the camera. Funny how completely unattractive she now found him, the man who she'd thought was so handsome six years ago. Not just because every hormone in her body seemed to have Nick's name stamped on it, but also because Drake was one slimy character.

She figured now probably wasn't the best time to tell Nick she'd met the reporter for coffee this morning. She had a feeling that could kill the suddenly intimate mood.

Besides, coffee had been a wasted exercise, since Manning had been more interested in staring at Melody's chest than he had been in his late friend, Jonathan Rhodes. The Channel 9 anchor had been decidedly gross. And Paige was right, his hair simply didn't move. It would have stayed perfectly coiffed if he'd been sucked up in a wind tunnel.

“Let's turn it off,” she said, turning away from the television.

Nick wasn't even looking at her. “There's something wrong with him. Where's your remote?”

Curious now, Melody retrieved the remote control from between the cushions of the couch and hit the volume button. She quickly saw what had gotten Nick's attention—Drake Manning
didn't
look well. His face was pale and sweaty under the lights of the television studio. He was reading the news, but his breaths were audible, choppy, magnified by his microphone.

“Looks like he's coming down with something,” Melody said, wondering when they were going to take pity on the guy and fade to commercial.

Nick said nothing, still staring intently at the screen.

Listening to the television anchorman go on about an upcoming historical festival, even Melody grew more curious. Because his voice was growing weak, then loud, shaky, then firm. “Where the heck is an obnoxious used-car commercial when you need one? Why is this guy still on?”

“I have no idea,” Nick said. He leaned forward, dropping his elbows onto his knees, still focused entirely on the television.

“And now, we're going to…going to…” Drake Manning's eyes widened and his head dropped forward. Something in his lap or at his feet had obviously caught his attention.

Looking up into the camera again, he stammered something. Then, to her surprise—and probably the surprise of the entire TV viewing audience—the anchorman stood up from behind his desk.

When he stood, he became a lot more visible. A
whole
lot. Way, way,
way
more visible.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, seeing where Manning's hands were situated.
Exactly
where they were situated. She scrunched her face up in distaste. “Is
that
what they do behind the news desk these days?”

“If that's the case,” Nick said, his voice dry, “it's no wonder they can smile through tragic stories.”

Before she could even accept the fact that a well-respected Savannah celebrity was grabbing his groin on live television, Melody's mouth dropped open and her words dried up in her mouth. Because
now
Drake Manning was stumbling out from behind his desk, one hand clutching at his chest.

People on the set of the television news show scrambled into the picture, the weather guy leaping out from the front of his blue screen and yelling for someone to call 911.

Only the cameraman seemed to maintain his journalistic sleaziness…er, standard…and remained focused on the star of the Channel 9 news team. The camera shot held steady, fully capturing the view of Drake Manning falling to the floor, landing flat on his back.

Melody gasped. Nick grunted. They both stared, as did most of Savannah probably. Who could possibly have turned away from the sight of the famous local newscaster lying sprawled on the floor of his studio? His arms were wide, his eyes open. And, most shockingly, his trousers were, uh…tented.

Noticeably
tented.
Astoundingly
tented.

“Nick, is that…”

“Yeah, it is,” Nick said, already reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. “I've got to say,” he added while he dialed a number and waited for his call to connect, “I think now I understand why Drake Manning was so popular with the ladies.”

Yeah. Judging by the enormous bulge in the crotch of Drake Manning's pants, so did Melody.

I
F IT HADN'T BEEN
for the recent deaths of three men on Melody's infamous list, Nick might have at first thought Drake Manning had simply dropped dead of a massive coronary on the job. He wouldn't be the first hard-living fortysomething man to do so. The visible erection notwithstanding, the guy
did
have a heart condition.

But somehow, from the moment he'd arrived at the hospital where they'd taken Manning Thursday night and learned the famous newscaster hadn't survived, he'd had a feeling the death had been anything but natural. So after calling Dex to meet him, Nick had gone back to the potential crime scene to see what he could find out.

“Do you really think the M.E.'s going to find something that will turn this from a normal heart attack into a murder?” asked Jerry Gates, a detective from the First squad. The guy was looking into Manning's death, since the Channel 9 studios were in his precinct. Fortunately, though, he'd been receptive to Nick and Dex's presence because of the possible connection to the Rhodes case.

“Yeah, I do,” Nick said, rubbing wearily at the corners of his eyes. They'd been here at the studio all night, and it was nearly seven. He'd been up for twenty-four hours and since he'd slept like crap the night before that, he was dragging. He needed coffee, pronto.

They'd spent much of the night talking to Drake Manning's co-workers. The more they did so, the more convinced Nick became that the man had been a victim of more than merely a weak heart. One of the crew members had allegedly seen Manning arguing loudly with a woman in the parking lot shortly before the broadcast. The news director had also admitted Manning had problems with some of his co-workers, who disliked his ambition. And his womanizing.

“Manning and Rhodes were in bed together on some business deal, huh?” Then, snickering, Gates added, “Considering the way he looked right before he keeled over, he wanted to be in bed with
somebody.
”

Cop humor. Gruesome, but necessary for surviving the darker side of the job.

“Yeah, we've stumbled across a few mentions of Manning in some of Jonathan Rhodes's files,” Nick said, not wanting to get into any specifics on any
other
connection between the two men.

Like Melody's list.

Melody. He glanced at his watch, realizing it was probably still too early to call her. He'd promised to stay in touch as he'd bolted from her apartment the night before but he hadn't had a minute to do so.

“The lab found something in Manning's drink.”

Nick looked up as Dex entered the office, where he and Gates had been interviewing every employee who'd been in the building during the eleven-o'clock program. “Let me guess,” Nick said. “A male sexual performance drug?”

Dex nodded. “Yeah. Judging by the amount in the few ounces of liquid left in the cup, someone put a supersize dose of the stuff in there.”

“Talk about embarrassing…OD'ing on the little blue pill.” Gates looked back and forth between them. “Is it possible the guy had a hot date last night and was just overzealous with his medication?”

Nick immediately shook his head. “The man had a heart attack last year. No doctor would have prescribed something like that. And even if he got it illegally, Manning wouldn't have been stupid enough to take that big a dose.”

Dex nodded, looking somber. “Somebody slipped it to him.”

Gates didn't argue the point—it was the only thing that made sense. No matter how much he wanted to get laid, no man would be foolish enough to take massive doses of a drug that affected his most valued body part.

Dex crossed his arms and frowned. “From what the makeup girl said, Manning's cup was sitting on a counter in a public room when she arrived. There were probably twenty people in the building at that time.”

“It could have been anybody,” Gates said. “Maybe even from wherever he got the drink to begin with.”

Right. Meaning they had a long day of work ahead of them.

Gates left the office, heading for the men's room, leaving Nick and Dex alone. His partner was wearing the same dark expression he'd had yesterday, so apparently whatever had put him in such a rotten mood hadn't gotten any better. Nick wasn't going to ask his partner what was wrong. Dex knew him well enough to know he could talk to him about anything if he needed to.

“I need to tell you something,” Dex said, his tone serious.

Okay, apparently he needed to.

“I obviously didn't realize we were going to catch this one today. I've got a flight booked to Pennsylvania late this afternoon and I'll be flying back tomorrow morning. I already put in for the time off.”

Nick's eyebrows shot up. Apparently something serious was going on at home. “I'm sorry, is there anything I can do? Is it your family?”

A half smile tilted the other man's mouth. “I guess you could say that.” The smile faded. “Rosemary's pregnant.”

Nick froze, not sure he'd heard his friend right. “Oh, man, for real?”

“Yeah.”

Nick thought about it for a long minute. Once upon a time he'd been exactly where Dex was. Only his situation hadn't turned out so well. “You're sure the baby's…”

“It's mine,” Dex replied, unhesitating.

Nick nodded. “You dealing okay?”

Dex shoved his hands into his pockets, looking more unsure than he ever had about anything in the two years Nick had known the man. “I don't know. I love her.”

“I know you do.”

Shaking his head, Dex began to pace across the office. “I just hadn't expected this.”

“But now it's happened. So the question is, how do you feel about it?” Nick asked quietly.

“Happy. Scared. Pissed off. Overwhelmed. Excited.”

That about summed it up, Nick supposed. “How about Rosemary? What's she thinking?”

For the first time, Dex averted his gaze, staring at the floor. “I haven't talked to her since she told me Wednesday night.”

Eyes narrowing, Nick asked, “Why the hell not?”

Dex shook his head. “It wasn't an ideal situation. Her family was there when she blurted it out to all of us then threw up all over the dining-room table.”

Nick bit his bottom lip to prevent a chuckle.

Dex didn't seem to notice. “I think her father would be very happy if I got kidnapped and thrown aboard a Russian trawler, never to be heard from again.”

“Tough shit.”

Dex finally looked up.

“I mean it, man, what her family thinks doesn't matter. It's what you and Rosemary want that's important.” Shaking his head, he continued, “You do what is best for you two and your kid. What her father wants or doesn't want is his problem, not yours.”

Remembering the shotgun wedding he'd endured—and the way it had thrust him in a completely different direction than he'd ever envisioned for his life—Nick had a strong feeling of empathy for his friend. “Whatever you do, Dex, do it for the right reasons, not because it's what somebody else wants you to do.”

Dex nodded once. “I will. And actually, I already know what I'm going to do. That's why I have to go to Pennsylvania.”

Before Nick could ask anything more—like why, exactly, his friend was leaving the state when his girlfriend had just told him she was going to have his baby—Gates returned from the men's room. Dex immediately shut down. Not unexpected—his partner wasn't the type to discuss his personal life in front of a near-stranger. So Nick was left to wonder why Dex had to go home this weekend.

If he found out Melody was pregnant, the last place he'd want to go would be Joyful.

Whoa, man, that had been a random thought. He'd only known the woman a few weeks, and he was already thinking about stuff like families and babies? Insane. Utterly out of character. But completely true.

What that meant, he had no idea. Funny though, that Joyful had crossed his mind now, considering he was supposed to be heading there tomorrow for Johnny and Emma's engagement party. He wondered if Melody would want to take a ride with him across the state. And wondered if it was too early in their relationship to ask.

“To hell with it,” he muttered. “I'm asking anyway.”

Looking at his watch again and seeing it was after seven, he decided to try to get in touch with her before things got crazy with people arriving for work at the TV station. “I'm going to go make a call,” he murmured, giving Dex one more nod of support.

His partner acknowledged the gesture with a nod of his own.

Figuring Mel probably hadn't gotten much sleep and could very well have sat up all night waiting for a word, Nick left the room to phone her. When she answered on the first ring, he figured he'd made the right choice.

“Nick?”

“Yeah. I didn't wake you, did I?”

“I don't think I slept at all. I saw on another channel this morning that Drake Manning didn't make it. They said it was a heart attack…is that true?”

Leaning one shoulder against the corridor wall, he wondered how much to reveal to Melody. He wished he could reassure her—could tell her that Manning had indeed died of natural causes. But he couldn't lie. “It was a heart attack…but we're not sure what caused it. It looks like he was drugged. We're not sure if that caused the heart attack or not.”

Her sigh was audible. “Drugged by something that made him, uh…”

“Yeah.”

Another sigh. “That's gross.”

“Pathetic,” he agreed.

“Sounds like a woman thing.”

“How so?”

“I mean, it sounds like something a woman would do. Killing a guy like that…well, I think I'd be looking at any woman he's recently used and abused. Or maybe his ex-wife.”

She was right, and Nick had been thinking along the same lines. Funny how quickly she'd leaped to the same conclusion. “It looks like I'm going to be here a while longer. We're talking to everyone who spoke to him yesterday.”

“Oh.”

That tiny sound made him pause. Because something—his intuition—told him she
hadn't
simply been making it out of disappointment that he wouldn't be back over anytime soon.

“What's wrong?”

“I was going to tell you last night when we saw him on the news, but you left so fast.”

He rubbed his weary eyes, almost knowing what she was going to say next. “Tell me what?”

Clearing her throat, Melody explained, “I met Drake Manning for coffee yesterday morning.”

Wonderful. Absolutely perfect. Just what he needed to hear.

She hurried on. “He called me and asked me to meet him because he wanted to talk about Jonathan Rhodes. They were good friends.”

Yeah, good friends. Slime one and slime two. “What time was it?”

“About ten. It was really nothing. We met at a coffee shop around the corner, sat outside for a half hour, then I left to go take team photos for a local high school football squad.”

Sounded innocent enough. Not that his lieutenant was going to believe that when he found out. “You sat outside the whole time? With lots of people around?”

“Absolutely.”

“Was he by any chance drinking juice out of a foam cup?”

“Uh-uh. Coffee out of a ceramic mug.”

Okay. That was better. But he was still going to have to tread very carefully. He was now officially sleeping with a woman who might somehow be involved with two murders.

No, he didn't for a moment suspect Melody had anything to do with the deaths of Drake Manning or Jonathan Rhodes. Any more than he thought she'd shoved a meatball down Charles Pulowski's throat or held that golfer in Atlanta at gunpoint and made him stick his dick in a wall.

But four deaths in two months…two in one week. That was one hell of a coincidence.

“I'm going to have to come by later to take your statement,” he said wearily.

Her voice subdued, she replied, “That's fine.”

God, he hated to leave things on that note. So cool and impersonal. If he'd turned the damn television off last night, he might right now be waking up in Melody's arms after an incredible night of sensual pleasures.

He had to close his eyes at the very thought of it. Nick wanted her so much it hurt. He wanted to slowly remove her clothes, to kiss every inch of her beautiful, soft body. To stroke away every unpleasant thought and love her until the rest of the world didn't exist.

As if she read his mind, she asked, “After you take my statement, are you going off duty? I mean, am I only going to be seeing Detective Walker today?” Clearing her throat, she added softly, “Or am I going to be seeing the man I wanted so much to make love with last night?”

The cop in him said to back off. To cool their relationship to a purely professional one. Not just for the sake of the case, but possibly for Melody's own good.

If somebody was out there knocking off guys to get at her—either to frame her, or to claim her—the last thing he needed was to let his emotions get any more entangled with the woman. She needed him to be clearheaded and professional. Not emotional and berserk with the need to protect her.

But it wasn't the cop who answered. It was the man. “As soon as I'm off duty, I plan to take you to bed and not let you up until we're both on the verge of starvation.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said, sounding relieved. With a soft laugh, she added, “I think I'll go now and stock a cooler full of food to put in my bedroom.”

Finally feeling the tension ease out of him, Nick laughed as well, wondering how he'd ever thought his life was pretty good before Melody had been in it. Because every time he spoke with her, every time he looked up and saw her smiling face, he realized she was doing the impossible. The woman was working her way into his heart. Making him wonder if there really were second chances for people who'd been as unlucky in love as both he and Melody Tanner had been.