“Son of a bitch,” Tony mumbled from across the car. “You fucked her.”
Shane’s gaze darted his direction. “What? No, I didn’t.”
“Then you want to,” Tony said emphatically.
Shane scoffed and shifted around so he could reach the Tic Tacs in his pocket. He needed one. Or
fifty. “Get your head out of the gutter.”
“I would if you didn’t have yours firmly up your ass. I saw the way you two were looking at each
other. She’s a possible suspect, man. To a pretty nasty murder, in case you forgot. If there’s something going on between the two of you, you better fucking lay it out on the table right now.”
Shane glared up at the building again and tried to figure out what he could say that would make a
lick of sense. No way Tony was backing down on this one. Not after the last time.
“Look, there’s nothing going on between us, okay? I met her when I went to Florida to find Lisa a
few months ago. That’s it.”
“That’s it? Really? ‘Cause it doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.”
Shane’s jaw flexed. He should just come clean. Tell Tony he’d been with Hailey last night. But if he
did, he’d get thrown off this case. And if Bryan Roarke’s murder had happened before he’d run into
Hailey…
“That’s it,” he said firmly. Decision made. “End of story.”
Tony eyed him a long beat. Then slowly shook his head. “I hope so. I really do. Because you know
what happened the last time you got involved with a woman wrapped up in a murder—”
“Yeah, I know,” Shane said quickly. He popped a handful of Tic Tacs and reached for the seat belt.
Like he needed Tony or anyone else reminding him of that fact. “Now you gonna tell me who was
on the phone and why it was so damn important you left in the middle of our interview or what?”
Tony started the ignition. “That was Ramos. They just went through the surveillance tapes from the
Roarke house.”
“And?”
“And they want us to take a look. They’ve got footage of what looks to be a woman breaking in
close to time of death.”
Shane’s eyes narrowed. “A woman? They sure?”
Tony turned onto the freeway heading south. “Pretty damn. Ramos said she looked blonde.”
“Fuck,” Shane muttered, glancing back out the front windshield at the sea of white.
“Not now,” Tony tossed back, switching lanes. “Not ever if you’re smart. And this time, Maxwell, I
sure the hell hope you’re smart. God knows I can’t handle you any other way.” Eleanor Schmidt
Roarke knew she wasn’t alone the second she stepped into the entryway of her Palm Beach mansion.
Only one person made that kind of noise in her house and got away with it.
Her daughter was back.
She followed the thump of Jay-Z pouring out of the back of the house and stopped in the doorway
to the industrial kitchen. Across the center island was strewn lunch meat and breads, bags of potato
chips and an open container of M&Ms Eleanor hadn’t even known she’d had in the house. Standing
near the sink with a horrified expression, Matilda, Eleanor’s housekeeper, was staring at the mess
and the size-two behind sticking out of the giant open refrigerator.
Nicole whipped around with half a cheesecake in her hands and stopped singing midsentence when
she saw her mother. Her dark ponytail bobbed behind her.
Eyes locked on her daughter, Eleanor reached over to the Bose CD player Matilda kept in the
kitchen so she could listen to her classical music, and switched it off. Silence fell over the room like
a heavy dark cloud.
“You’re back early,” Eleanor said.
A smug smile spread across Nicole’s face. “Miss me?”
Eleanor lifted one brow.
Matilda rushed over. “Miss Eleanor, I did not know—”
Eleanor held up a hand. “It’s all right, Matilda. My daughter and I have things to discuss. There are
packages in my car that need to come in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matilda scurried out of the room.
Nicole frowned when they were alone. “Don’t punish her because you’re pissed at me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. And watch your tone, young lady.” With a scowl, Eleanor flicked a
scattering of crumbs across the granite counter to clear a place for her Valentino handbag. “We had
an agreement, Nicole. You were to stay in Europe for a month.”
Nicole, defiant as ever, rounded the other side of the counter and reached for a knife from the block.
She hacked a quarter of the cheesecake and slid it onto a plate, then picked up a fork and took a
huge—very unladylike—bite. “I got bored. So sue me.”
Eleanor’s blood pressure inched up, but she drew slow breaths to keep it in check. The fact her
twenty-six-year-old daughter could shove whatever garbage she wanted into her mouth and still
stay a svelte size two while Eleanor worked out daily and watched every morsel that went into her
body so she could fit into her size-six slacks was just one of the many things she despised about
motherhood. “Trust me when I say things will be better for you if you are not here.”
“What does that mean?” Nicole asked around a second gigantic mouthful.
Had she actually raised this child? The girl had no social grace. Eleanor walked around the island,
plucked the plate and fork from her daughter’s hands and set them in the sink. “I understand your
father’s death has been very hard on you—”
“Oh, cut the crap, Mother.” Nicole wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s been as hard on
me as it’s been on you. There’s only the two of us in this room. You don’t need to play the grieving
widow. I know who you were with the night Daddy died.”
There went the blood pressure again. Eleanor calmly reached for a towel hanging on the rack and
straightened it. “You’re mistaken.”
“No, actually, I don’t think I am.” Nicole snatched the bag of M&Ms and shoved a handful in her
mouth. “In fact, that’s part of the reason I came back,” she said while chewing. “Does Hailey know?
About your new man?”
Eleanor turned slowly to face her daughter. Defiance and attitude. She’d gotten it all from her father. Both her daughters had. “My decisions are not yours or Hailey’s to approve. And furthermore,
young lady, when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it. You’ll return to Paris immediate-ly—”
“Like hell,” Nicole flipped back, chewing.
“—and you will not utter one word to the press about your unplanned trip home.”
“Oh, get a life, Mother. Do you think anyone cares I came back?”
“The entire world cares, Nicole. You’ve made sure of that fact.” She grabbed the candy from
Nicole’s hands and tossed it in the garbage. “Gallivanting around at all hours of the night with those
Hollywood deviants.”
Nicole rolled her eyes. “They’re my friends.”
“No one named Star or Lakesha is a friend of the Roarkes.”
“Well, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe they should be.”
“I will not let you speak to me that way—”
“Then how about this way.” Nicole crossed the room and grabbed a bag from the floor that had
been sitting next to the kitchen table. She pulled out the bronze and smacked it on the granite
counter. The same bronze Eleanor had been looking for the past three days. The girl had had it with
her the entire time. “Explain to me why Bryan called me yesterday in Paris and wanted to know
where that silly statue was Daddy gave us all for Christmas? When he’s never had any interest in it
before. When, and I remember this clearly, he thought that gift was a piece of crap the night Daddy
gave it to him.”
Eleanor stared at the famous bronze image of seduction without blinking. God, how she hated that
damn statue. And everything it represented.
“No answer?” Nicole asked. “Okay, then how about you explain to me why CNN reported this
morning that Bryan had been found dead in his house in Chicago? And why it is, Mother, you don’t
seem a bit surprised by that fact.”
Eleanor’s eyes slowly lifted to her daughter. And in that instant, she realized she’d underestimated
Nicole Roarke. They were very much alike, not only in appearance but in thought processes. Nicole
wasn’t the brainless bimbo the media made her out to be. She might not care who ran RR, but she
did care where her money came from. And since she’d already whittled down a good chunk of her
trust fund, it made sense she’d be paying closer attention to what went on at home than she ever had
in the past.
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not upset Bryan’s dead?”
“Are you?”
“What are you proposing?”
A slow smile spread across Nicole’s model-perfect face. “That depends on just what it is you’re
willing to give me. For keeping my mouth shut, that is.” She nodded at her bronze. “And for this.”
Eleanor glanced back at the bronze. She itched to reach for it, but that would show her desperation,
and if there was one thing she wasn’t willing to do, it was be desperate. She’d vowed never to be
that way again.
“Be warned, Mother. Daddy’s lawyer called me, too. I know about this little game you’re all playing. So you’d better make it worth my while.” She leaned over the counter for emphasis. “Or I call
the next person on my list.”
Eleanor’s gaze darted up. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me.”
A smart man would know to leave well enough alone. A smart man would know not to push his
godforsaken luck. And a smart man would definitely realize when he was walking on quicksand.
But Shane Maxwell had never been particularly bright, at least not where women were concerned.
He’d had his fair share of relationships—all had crashed and burned for various reasons—and when
it came to commitment, he’d memorized one word in response: run. But there was something about
this woman he just couldn’t get out of his head. Or his chest. Whenever he thought about her, he got
this stab of regret right beneath his breastbone and heard this really irritating voice in his head that
screamed: coward.
It was that voice he hated most. The same one that had been dogging him for months. The one that
had pushed its way into his head when he’d had Hailey in his apartment last night. The one that was
telling him to flee now, that being here was a bad-ass idea. That only shitty things could come from
getting involved again.
He stared at the darkened windows of the Roarke Lake Geneva resort and flipped the Tic Tac box
open and closed in his pocket. The clock on the dash of his sedan read 11:42 P.M. She was probably
asleep. Or tucked in bed, watching The Tonight Show. Or naked in that big, soft bed with Billy Sullivan.
That last thought propelled him out of the car and across the iced-over sidewalk toward the hotel’s
front doors before his better judgment kicked in. The doors were locked, just like he expected, but
since he’d been sitting out in the cold for the last hour like a freakin’ stalker, he knew a janitor was
working the lobby. He stood there shivering in his Columbia jacket and last year’s scuffed Nikes as
he tapped on the glass and waited for the middle-aged man to turn off his vacuum and glance
Shane’s way.
When the guy finally did, Shane held up his badge and gestured toward the doors. The janitor ambled over and flicked the locks. “There a problem, Officer?”
Shane tucked his ID back in his jacket pocket and stepped into the lobby, blocking out the cold.
“No. I just need a few minutes with Ms. Roarke. A couple follow-up questions from earlier today.”
The man’s bushy salt-and-pepper brows drew together. “Right now? Can’t it wait ‘til morning?”
It should. Damn if Shane didn’t know why it couldn’t. “No, I—”
“I heard her tell her secretary ‘round five she didn’t want to be bothered tonight. Had dinner delivered from some fancy restaurant earlier. Must be nice to have money like that.”
Shane’s muscles flexed as he thought of Billy again. And the fresh bruises on Hailey’s face. Only
this time he saw the two of them sitting down to a nice, romantic, secluded dinner in her room. He
brushed past the janitor and headed toward the hall he’d been in this morning that led to the firstfloor suites. “She can spare a few damn minutes for me.”
“I can give her a call to let her know you’re here,” the janitor called after him.
“Don’t bother,” he tossed back. He wanted to surprise her. Hell, he wanted to surprise her good.
Then slam his fist into Billy’s face just for the fun of it.
He tamped down his temper as he reached the door to her suite. Then stood there just listening. No
sound came from the other side. He knocked and waited, and still nothing.
He headed back to the lobby. The janitor was nowhere to be seen. Growing more frustrated by the
minute, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his Tic Tacs. He popped a handful in his mouth,
then shoved the plastic box back into his pocket. His finger flicked the lid open and closed as he
thought about where she could be.
He really hoped she wasn’t locked in that bedroom suite with Sullivan and hadn’t heard him knocking. The fact she could be and had just ignored him sent that stabbing back to his chest. And that’s
when his ears registered the sound. A very faint bass pounding from somewhere in the building.
He strained to listen. It was coming from the other hallway off the main lobby.
He headed in that direction, listening as the bass grew louder, almost certain he recognized classic
Bon Jovi.
He passed a series of conference rooms, an open lounging area with couches still covered in plastic
wrap and glass walls that looked into what he suspected would soon be a spa. The music grew louder as he turned a long corner, then nearly tripped over his own feet at what he saw next.