Detective Daddy. Mallory KaneЧитать онлайн книгу.
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He’d resigned himself to doing his duty toward her and their child—nothing else. Just his duty
But now, someone had hurt her and could have hurt his baby. Something primal swelled up within him, adding to the mix of anger and that other emotion he couldn’t name.
“Rache,” he said, “I swear, I’m going to find out who did this. And until I do, I’m not letting you out of my sight. You and that baby are my responsibility, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone get close enough to hurt you again.”
Rachel’s brow wrinkled and she looked down at the water glass.
She hadn’t liked what she’d heard, and he knew why. His intention had been to reassure her, but it hadn’t come out exactly right. He’d sounded harsh and angry.
It appeared she didn’t believe him. She had to know he could take care of her. So why did he get the feeling she didn’t want him to?
About the Author
MALLORY KANE has two very good reasons for loving reading and writing. Her mother was a librarian, who taught her to love and respect books as a precious resource. Her father could hold listeners spellbound for hours with his stories. He was always her biggest fan.
Mallory loves romantic suspense with dangerous heroes and dauntless heroines, and enjoys tossing in a bit of her medical knowledge for an extra dose of intrigue. Mallory lives in Mississippi with her computer-genius husband and three exceptionally intelligent cats.
She enjoys hearing from readers. You can write her at [email protected] or via Mills & Boon.
Detective
Daddy
Mallory Kane
MILLS & BOON
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For the girls at the beach house.
Chapter One
Ashton John Kendall stormed through the squad room, ignoring the curious gazes of his fellow detectives. He headed straight toward the back, where the Crime Scene Investigations unit had their desks.
He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, after delivering the bad news to his family. God, that had been hard.
He could have talked to Rachel last night as well, but—no. He’d been too angry. Way too angry.
Problem was, eight hours of tossing and turning hadn’t lessened his fury one bit. Hell, he hadn’t even stopped at the coffee shop for his usual coffee and casual flirting with the blonde barista.
He rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. That was odd. Rachel wasn’t at her desk.
She was always here by this time. He glanced at his watch to be sure. Eight-thirty. During the weeks when they’d dated, he’d found out how obsessive she was about being on time. She liked to get any paperwork out of the way first thing before heading to the lab, so her schedule would be clear in the case of an emergency.
“Damn it, where is she?” he snapped to no one in particular.
“Good morning, Ash,” the transcriptionist sitting at a tiny computer table against the wall said.
He smiled at her and tried to tamp down his anger. “Hi, Vanessa. How’s your brother?” He and Vanessa had dated for a short while a couple of years ago. They’d had fun.
She beamed at his question. “He’s doing really well. He’s acting like his old self again.”
“I’m glad. A shame that he had to go through a triple bypass at thirty-three. Have you seen Rachel?”
Vanessa shook her head. “No. She’s been late a couple of days this past week. She should be in anytime now.”
Rachel Stevens late for work—and not once but several times?
Jack Bearden walked in with a steaming cup of coffee. “Morning,” he said. He, Rachel and Frank Marino were the senior criminalists for the Ninth District of the St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department.
“What about the lab? Could she be down there?” Ash asked Vanessa.
“Maybe, but I doubt it. You know how she likes to clear her desk first thing in the morning.”
Ash took a deep breath, working to control the anger that was building up again. “Tell Rachel I need to talk to her as soon as she—”
“Ash?”
He whirled around to see Rachel standing there, clutching a big leather purse. She looked pale. “Here I am,” she said, spreading her hands and offering a smile that looked pasted on.
Just seeing her ramped up his anger another notch. “Yeah, we need to talk,” he snapped.
Rachel ducked her head and slid past him to her desk. She laid down her purse and started to take off her raincoat, but apparently decided to leave it on. She slid her fingers around the back of her neck to free her ponytail.
“Have a seat,” she offered, pointing to a straight-back chair.
“Not—here,” he grated.
Rachel looked up, startled, as did Vanessa and Jack. Ash sucked in a breath and consciously relaxed his jaw. “Can we—?” He inclined his head in the general direction of the squad room.
She studied his face, her own still pale, her lips pressed tightly together. Then she nodded and stepped past him.
“Where?” she asked evenly.
“Room three.” Interrogation Room Three wouldn’t be occupied unless there had been a drug raid or a gang war during the night. Sure enough it was empty.
Ash held the door for her, then closed it behind him. Rachel sat down and folded her arms. She looked miserable—and guilty. As well she should.
But she also looked small and scared. A hollow feeling in the middle of his chest, which had been there ever since he’d cooled things between them, began to throb. He rubbed the spot with his knuckles. Maybe it was indigestion.
“Ash?” Rachel said tentatively. “Will this take long? Because I’ve got a lot to do this morning.”
He quelled the urge to stand over her as if she were a suspect. Instead he pulled out a chair across from her and sat, flattening his palms on the tabletop.
Rachel