Deadly Force. Beverly LongЧитать онлайн книгу.
But now it was time to deal with unfinished business.
Sucking in a deep breath, she knocked on the door. Her heart was hammering in her chest, making it hard to breathe normally. She waited, then knocked again. Then a third time. She watched the curtains in the windows, looking for some telltale sign that he was home but unwilling to answer the door, but there was nothing.
She sank down on a step. She wasn’t leaving. She owed Tessa this much at least.
SAM VERNELLI HAD BEEN working twelve-hour days for the past month and today had been no exception. However, because it was Friday, he’d agreed to go get burgers and beers with Cruz. His partner and best friend was still reeling from the fact that six months ago his wife had accepted a big promotion and moved to Texas, walking away from their six-year marriage.
Fridays had been date night for Meg and Cruz Montoya. And for the first several months after she left, Cruz got so damn drunk every Friday that he was still hungover Monday. Lately, he’d been better, but Sam knew he was a foothold away from slipping back into the mud.
Tonight, he and Cruz had both stopped at two beers. It might be the weekend, but they had an especially heavy caseload and they planned on working until at least noon Saturday.
Now, as he drove down his quiet street, all he wanted was a shower, a bed and at least eight hours of sleep. He slowed the car and eased it into an empty spot less than thirty yards from his house. He was grateful—sometimes by this time of night on-street parking was scarce. He could park in the alley, but that would mean beaching his car in front of his garage, which meant that he’d be blocking in Dolores. The woman had been a great tenant for the past three years since she and her adult son had rented both the third floor and his garage, but she also had the most annoying habit of going to the grocery store before the sun had fully crested the horizon.
He killed his lights. Just about to reach for the door handle, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Streetlights made it easy enough to see that someone was sitting on his front steps.
It was a woman. Short, dark hair. Slim build. He couldn’t see her face because her head was down, as she huddled over her bent knees. No coat, short sleeves. It was barely fifty degrees out—she had to be cold if she’d been there any length of time. There was a big purse or some kind of bag on the steps next to her.
She was no doubt waiting for Tom Ames. Dolores had mentioned he had a new girlfriend and this woman looked to be about the right age. But because he’d been a cop for a long time, he didn’t see a need to be stupid. He quietly opened the door. He cut through his neighbor’s yard, got to the alley and approached his property from the rear. It wasn’t until he circled the entire house, making sure that nothing looked out of place, or that others weren’t waiting in the shadows, that he approached the woman.
“Hello,” he said and couldn’t help smiling when she jerked up and practically leaped off the steps. She was young, strikingly pretty, and while not exceptionally tall, she wore a skirt short enough that he still had a nice view of sexy legs.
Not a bad image to take to bed with him. And the next time he saw Tom Ames, he was going to yank his chain about leaving his girlfriend cooling her heels, or in this case, her tennis shoes on his front porch.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
She chewed on her bottom lip and Sam sensed the tension in her body. He moved slightly so that he could watch her for sudden movement and watch the street, as well. She stared at him, not blinking. He wasn’t sure she was breathing.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his tone still friendly.
The woman sucked in a deep breath and Sam was human enough that he appreciated the rise and fall of her full breasts under her lightweight shirt. But he was also very tired. “Look,” he said, “let’s cut to the chase. What are you—”
“Waiting. For. You.”
Her voice was low, sexy, and he caught a sense of determined purpose in her carefully spaced cadence.
“Sweetheart, that’s a nice thought, but you’re a little young for me,” he said. He felt bad when she flinched, but quite honestly, he didn’t have the time or energy to play games.
“My name is Claire Fontaine.”
The edges of Sam’s vision went black. Tessa’s little sister. On his porch. What the hell? It had been eleven years since he’d seen her. He did the math and realized that she was twenty-four. Days before this woman had turned thirteen, Tessa had dragged him to the post office, insisting that her little sister’s gift needed to be there on her birthday. Three weeks later, he’d met Claire Fontaine when he’d gone to Tessa’s funeral in Nebraska.
She’d been a skinny, dark-haired, dark-eyed teenager with a mouthful of braces who’d mostly stayed in her room. He hadn’t paid much attention to her. He’d been too busy looking out the living-room window, staring at nothing, wondering how he was supposed to go on without Tessa.
Now that she’d given her name, he could see some resemblance to that young girl in the stunning woman who stood before him. The same dark eyes and dark hair, although it was shorter now, curling around her face. Slim, not skinny and there were definitely curves in all the right places.
“What…Why…” He stopped and took a breath. His interrogation tactics were generally better than this. No doubt about it. The woman had knocked him off-stride. “What are you doing in Chicago?” he asked, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.
“Working.”
The Fontaines had let another daughter move to Chicago? He could hardly believe that. “Where?”
“In advertising,” she said, answering, yet not answering the question.
For some crazy reason, he felt stupid. As if he somehow should have sensed that Tessa’s sister was close. In so many ways, he still felt connected to Tessa. He’d loved her and had been so sure they’d be together forever. And then she’d been killed and everything had changed.
He’d barely been back from the funeral when the cops investigating Tessa’s murder had started looking in his direction. He’d been stricken with grief and suddenly facing the prospect of life in prison. It had been the most horrible time of his life.
And it was all because of this woman.
Claire Fontaine had told the police that she’d overheard Sam and Tessa arguing on the phone. Sam had threatened her sister, telling her she was going to pay for something she’d done. Just that quick, he’d become suspect number one. And because he’d found Tessa and gathered her cold body in his arms, his DNA had been everywhere.
Even as a dumb kid, he’d known he was in big trouble.
Even so, he hadn’t done much to help himself. He’d been too busy crashing and burning and would have either died, too, or spent twenty to life in the joint if his parents hadn’t stepped in. They’d spent money they didn’t have and hired a big-name defense attorney who found plenty of holes in how the police had handled the investigation. Ultimately, the state’s attorney had either realized that Sam was innocent or had figured he didn’t have enough to take the case the whole way. For whatever reason, the man had declined to press charges.
Sam had started piecing his life back together. It hadn’t been pretty and it hadn’t been easy and even after he’d officially been discounted as a suspect, it had taken years before he’d been confident that he could go on. Now, in the seconds it had taken for her to say her name, the memories threatened to take him under.
What the hell was she doing here? “It seems to me that I’d be the last person you’d look up,” he said.
She considered him. The light wasn’t quite good enough to tell for sure, but he thought he caught the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. He refused to feel bad. She was the one who’d come from nowhere.
“How could you have become a cop?” Her voice was rich with