Wedlocked?! (4 page)

“Of what? The woman's dead.”

His eyes narrowed. “Maybe it's not her they're protecting. Someone killed her—that's pretty scary. Clint Lockhart has been known to have a nasty temper. He could have threatened anyone who might put the finger on him.”

The possibility had already occurred to Annie. “I haven't been able to find out where he went yet or why he left, but I will,” she said aloud. “It just won't be tonight. Besides, my cat's waiting to be fed.”

Cole stepped closer. “So we'll eat at your house.”

She was tempted to lean against his solid bulk for a few moments and draw strength from him, as she had so many times in the past. Instead she gave him
the lethal stare that usually worked quite well on persistent men. “I beg your pardon?”

“Give me your address,” Cole said, obviously unfazed by her show of hostility. “I'll pick up a pizza or some Chinese. You can go home and feed your cat, then we'll eat while we talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about that can't wait.” He wasn't going to invade her personal space. When this case was over, the only memories she wanted of him were impersonal ones. “I'll call you in the morning.” She got into her car, but, before she could pull the door shut, he grabbed it.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked as he closed it gently and leaned down to gaze at her through the open window.

“Not a damn thing.” Just myself, she thought as she stared down at his hand—so close—and resisted the ridiculous urge to cover it with her own.

“Prove it,” he persisted. “Where do you live?”

For a moment she withstood his gaze, ignoring the intense blue of his eyes and the sweep of his lashes. Did he think she was scared to be alone with him, that she couldn't resist the great Cole Cassidy? Annoyed, she rattled off directions, knowing as she did that she'd fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the world—blatant manipulation.

With a faint grin, he straightened and gave the VW a pat. “What do you want to eat?” he asked as she started the engine.

“It's your party. You pick.” Without giving him
time to reply, she shifted gears and roared off as quickly as her old bug would go.

 

By the time Cole had picked up a pizza and driven to the address Annie had given him, his gut was churning with impatience and annoyance—impatience that they were no closer to solving his mother's case; annoyance at himself for not being able to get his awareness of Annie under control.

It wasn't as if there could be anything between them. He'd blown that once and for all, so why didn't his libido get the message his common sense was sending? He usually had more pride than to go drooling after a woman who'd probably rather run him down with her rattletrap of a toy car than give him another chance.

Damn, but she'd looked good standing in the glow from his headlights, wearing a red-and-white striped top that hugged her breasts and the snug jeans she still favored. His blood flowed hot and fast as a memory of their lovemaking flashed through his mind—more vivid than any six-year-old image had a right to be. Cole was no monk and he'd been with a few women since Annie, but never had he felt the desire, the connection or the completeness he'd experienced with her.

Now he'd better get his feelings under control before her sharp eyes or her tracking skills zeroed in on his attraction to her. He needed her. His mother needed her. Whether or not she was the best private
investigator around, as Ryan insisted she was, there wasn't time to start over with someone else. Besides, his mother liked Annie. She'd said so, several times. All Cole had to do was keep it professional between them. How hard could that be?

On top of everything else, the pizza was getting cold. Resolutely he climbed out of his car and headed up the well-lit steps of her town house.

As Cole shifted the pizza box and his keys so he could ring the bell, he glanced around at the neatly trimmed grass and the scattering of trees. The complex was a lot nicer than her old apartment building with its crumbling stucco and cracked roof tiles. There was no one around and, except for the sound of an occasional car on the nearby street, the area was remarkably quiet. Compared to his own busy apartment in Denver, this place was like a cemetery.

When the door opened, Cole braced himself for another battle. Annie's reluctance to talk to him tonight hadn't escaped him; he'd just ignored it. They had a lot of ground to cover before the trial.

“Come in.” Her voice lacked enthusiasm as she stood aside, holding a cat the color of orange soda. As Cole walked by with the pizza, the creature's ears flattened and its glassy gold eyes never left him. Cole wondered what had ever happened to her old gray tabby.

“Does your cat like anchovies?” Cole asked.

Annie shut the door with a look of almost comical dismay. “You brought a pizza with anchovies?”

He remembered that she despised them, but he couldn't resist teasing her. She'd always been so gullible. “You don't care for them?” he asked, injecting as much surprise into his tone as he could manage.

“Never mind. I'm starving.” Annie set the cat on the back of a plaid chair. She took the box from Cole and carried it over to the dining room table where she'd already set out plates, napkins and two woven placements. Nothing in the room was familiar to him. Her old place had come furnished, but she'd gussied it up with little extra knickknacks and doodads she was always picking up at thrift shops and garage sales. At the time he'd thought it too cluttered, but now he had to admit this cozy room was a whole lot more appealing than his own sterile apartment.

“Maybe Sluggo would eat the anchovies from my share,” she muttered as she opened the box. For a moment she just stared and then she looked at him, her expression unreadable.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling a little silly for teasing her.

“You remembered.” Annie's eyes were wide as she glanced at him and then away, as if she didn't know where to look.

Puzzled, Cole studied the pizza and then his face went hot. He felt awkward as hell. Without thinking, he'd ordered the same combination they'd always
shared years before: ham with pineapple and black olives.

“I still like it,” he said defensively, even though he hadn't eaten that particular combination since their breakup. He preferred pepperoni, and that was what he'd meant to order.

Annie was the first to recover. “This sure beats those nasty little fish,” she remarked, gesturing for him to take a seat. “Do you want a soda or a beer?”

Cole shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. “A beer sounds good.”

When she went into the kitchen, he followed her curiously as he stripped off his tie. She opened the refrigerator, glancing over her shoulder.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked, dropping his cuff links into his pocket and rolling back his sleeves.

She'd done things with the kitchen too. A row of small copper pots filled with herbs sat on the windowsill. Apparently she still liked to cook with them. A collection of magnets, all cats, were scattered over the front of the fridge, which was white like the stove and the counters. A shallow basket filled with mail and papers rested next to a black-and-yellow cookie jar shaped like a bumblebee. Cole remembered the day she'd bought it.

The cabinets were whitewashed wood and the walls were covered with blue-and-white checkered paper. Ruffled curtains hung from the window over the sink—no sterile plastic blinds for her.

“I moved in about a year ago,” she replied, leaning against the counter with a bottle of beer in each hand and a guarded expression on her face. “Why?”

Cole shrugged and took the beer from her. “Just curious. It seems like a nice complex.”

She took two glasses from the cupboard. “It's quiet and it's not far from my office.” She led the way back to the dining area. “Do I need to reheat the pizza?”

“Not unless you're a whole lot less hungry than I am,” he drawled, pulling out a chair for her.

Annie sat down and served them each two slices while Cole poured their beer. The memories of other, more intimate evenings threatened to intrude on his mind and erode his composure. Times they'd eaten cold pizza in bed, or had it for breakfast the next morning because they never got around to it at all the night before.

He needed to forget the past and focus on the business between them. “I want to hear what progress you've made,” he said around his first bite.

It took Annie a moment to switch back to professional mode. She'd been hoping he might say something more about her condo. When she'd bought the unit it had been white and impersonal, but she'd worked hard to make it a home. She'd put up wall-paper, sewed curtains and chair pads, stenciled borders, and searched for just the right accessories to give the place warmth and individuality. Had he for
gotten the way they used to comb sales and secondhand stores, searching for items for her tiny apartment? Did he remember the decorating magazines she'd pored through or the day she'd found the cookie jar? Probably not.

His indifference to her efforts was disappointing. No doubt what she considered warm and cozy just looked messy to Cole, like her collection of Native American pottery in the living room, the pillows scattered on the couch or the candles she enjoyed burning. If memory served, his taste ran to chrome and leather. His kitchen counter was probably black granite. His borrowed office was devoid of personal touches. Even the carved jade cat was sleek and cold.

The smell of the pizza commanded her attention and made her mouth water. Before she told him who she'd talked to, she took a big bite and forced herself to chew it slowly while he watched with obvious impatience. Silently she demolished the entire slice, licking her fingers one by one before she picked up her beer. After she took a few sips, she leaned back in her chair and sighed.

“I needed that,” she admitted, patting her stomach. “Thanks for bringing it.”

“When did you eat last?” Cole growled. For a moment, familiarity shimmered between them like a ghost. When she'd been a rookie cop and he a young attorney, he'd nagged her all the time about skipping
meals. They used to laugh about how he was always feeding her.

Appetite suddenly gone, she shoved her plate aside and reached for her bag. “I ate earlier,” she said, pulling out her notes. “What I need now is to find Clint Lockhart. There are a few questions that want answers, and I think he's the one to give them to me.”

Cole was regarding her over the rim of his glass. “Lockhart's not someone to fool with,” he replied. “If he had anything to do with Sophia's death and he thinks you're after him, it could be very dangerous.”

Annie shrugged and nibbled at a piece of ham she'd plucked off the pizza. She had to get some answers. Eliminating Lockhart as a suspect would help. “I can take care of myself. That's what I get paid for.”

“We're
paying
you to help clear my mother, not get yourself killed,” Cole snapped, voice rising. From the couch where he'd curled up, Sluggo lifted his head.

“Who said anything about getting killed?” Annie scoffed. “Lockhart was seen arguing with Sophia. They had a connection of some kind, and we probably know what it was. I want to make sure he wasn't still involved with her when she died.”

“He has an alibi,” Cole reminded her, putting aside his own plate and propping his elbows on the table. With his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled
up, he looked devilishly attractive. “The police ruled Lockhart out as a suspect.”

“But we haven't,” Annie replied, flushing when she realized she'd included Cole in her statement. They weren't a team—not professionally and certainly not personally. She worked alone. “It's another piece of the puzzle.”

“I want to be there when you question him.” Cole's voice was flat, determined.

“No way,” Annie exclaimed. “He'll clam up. I'll handle him myself.”

Cole leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “And just how are you going to do this ‘handling'?”

The thinly veiled insult sent Annie's temper soaring. Shoving back her chair, she got to her feet. “Just what gives you the right to question how I do my job? You aren't the one paying my fee.”

For a moment, Cole looked furious. Then he got up too. Looming over her, he said in a low, intense voice, “I don't want you hurt. Is that so hard to understand?”

Annie stared as emotions she thought she'd dealt with bubbled up inside her. She'd never had the chance to confront him. But if he wanted a scene now, she would give him one. “You hurt me more than anyone else in my whole life.” Her voice shook with raw feeling. “So you'll have to understand if I don't put a lot of faith in your concern.”

Cole stepped back as if she'd slapped him and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “I'm sorry.” His voice
was a rasp. Instantly Annie regretted exposing herself the way she had. If only she could take back the impetuous words.

“Forget it.” She grabbed their dirty plates and headed for the kitchen, assuming he was no more interested in eating the cooling pizza than she was. She didn't know he'd followed her until she heard him whisper her name. Setting down the dishes, she kept her back to him.

“I'd like you to leave.” She held her voice steady through sheer force of will.

“Annie,” he said again, cupping her shoulders with his hands. “Look at me.”

She stiffened, chin up, willing it not to wobble. Finally he let her go. He'd always liked to touch, she remembered—holding her hand, lacing fingers with hers, stroking her cheek, draping an arm across her shoulders. He'd said he liked feeling the connection. Now her eyes filled with tears that she blinked fiercely away.

When he'd left her, pride had been the only thing stopping her from begging him to believe in her. When she'd been cleared of all charges, it was pride that kept her from contacting him with the proof of her innocence. And when she quit the force, scared to death of striking out on her own but determined to succeed, pride had refused to let her give up.