The Wharf

At least he had the decency to keep his eyes on her face this time, but it didn’t matter. Parts of her body tingled that didn’t have any business tingling under her proper skirt and blouse.

He finally dropped her hand, and she smoothed her palms across the front of her linen skirt. “I don’t know nearly enough about you, so I propose we get started. I made a reservation at Mezza Luna in North Beach, unless you have a preference for something else.”

He spread his arms, and the cotton of his T-shirt tightened across his chest. “I’m a little underdressed. I thought since we were old friends, we’d be going more casual.”

“You look fine.” And fine had a whole other meaning for the way his jeans hugged his muscular thighs and tight backside.

“I can run up and throw on a sports coat, even though the summer weather is finally starting to peek through the fog.”

“Mezza Luna isn’t that formal, but it’s a good place to conduct business. I like to feel like I’m dressing for work because this is my job.”

“If you’re sure they won’t kick me out.”

“I’m sure.” She pointed to the front doors of the hotel. “I called ahead for a taxi. It should be here in about five minutes.”

“I’m impressed you’re so organized after the night you had.”

She crossed her arms across her waist. “Speaking of which, where’s the doll?”

“Stashed in the closet. Are you sure you don’t want me to send it to the SFPD lab for analysis?”

“It’s not against the law to send someone a doll, is it?”

“No, but if we can link it to Walker...”

“Oh, I know it’s Walker. The ex-con told me Walker wanted to make my life a living hell, and the doll is his first shot.”

“He’s not going to have a second.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the taxi, which had just pulled up.

Somehow she believed it when he said it.

He opened the door of the taxi for her and she slid across the seat, giving the restaurant’s address to the driver.

It didn’t take him long to get there, speeding through the streets, dodging cable cars and buses and maneuvering around pedestrians. The taxi squealed to a stop in front of the restaurant, and Kacie insisted on paying.

“Tax write-off for me.”

Ryan took a detour to the men’s room, leaving Kacie to confront the unfriendly hostess, who acted as if she were guarding the gates of Fort Knox.

Kacie dug in her heels. “Our reservation is for 12:45, and I requested a specific table. I don’t think I should have to wait for that table.”

The hostess pursed her lips and tapped her pencil on her reservation book. “We have a very important person coming later, and he always likes that table.”

“Is there a problem with our reservation?” Ryan raised his brows at the hostess, his mouth turning up at one corner.

The hostess brightened up, flashing a set of white teeth and pulling back her angular shoulders. “Not at all, sir. I’ll seat you immediately.”

Her slim hips swaying in front of them, she led them to their table.

If Ryan thought that woman had any intention of kicking him out of the restaurant for dressing too casually, he hadn’t checked his reflection in the mirror.

Kacie pulled out her chair before Ryan could do it for her. He must have that effect on all women, not just her. She’d been silly to think his attention to her was anything more than his customary way of relating to women. Women loved him and he loved them back.

Good. She tugged on the lapels of her jacket. That made her job a lot easier.

Made lunch a lot easier, too. The hostess ensured that they had warm bread and cold water on their table in record time.

Kacie flicked open the menu, while munching on a piece of that bread drenched in olive oil.

“I’ve never been here before. Have you?” Ryan ran his finger down the sheet of daily specials.

“Once or twice. Everything’s good.”

“I think I’ll go with the fettuccine with clam sauce.”

“Excellent choice.” She dabbed her fingers on the napkin in her lap. “Do you want to get down to business?”

“Sure, but can we finish last night’s business first?”

Last night’s business when she’d been ready to turn down her sheets for him at the crook of his little finger?

“We had unfinished business?”

“The security guard. Did he ever get back to you? Did he ever talk to those teenage boys?”

“I didn’t hear from him, and there was a different clerk at the front desk this afternoon.”

A waiter approached their table and took their order. When he left, Kacie pulled out her mini-recorder.

“I hope you don’t mind if I tape our interview.”

“Nope.” He dug into the bread basket and dropped a piece on his plate. “You must have some fascinating recordings of Dan Walker.”

“I do. A lot of times, it wasn’t until I listened to the recording that I got to understand the man, as much as you can understand a sociopath. He’s very distracting to talk to—he’s such a good actor.”

“And I’m not.” He spread his arms. “What you see is what you get.”

A total hunk with a protective streak a mile wide and a smile that could melt the insides of the snootiest, skinniest restaurant hostess in North Beach.

Kacie cleared her throat and set up her recording device. “That’s good to know.”

As she placed her finger on the record button, Ryan put his hand over hers like a caress. “Can I ask you a question before we get started?”

When he touched her like that, he could ask her anything. She flicked his hand off hers and pressed Record. “Go ahead.”

He glanced down at the red light blinking on the recorder. “Why my father’s story? Why are you interested in writing a book about a twenty-year-old cold case?”

“Because it is a cold case. Your father, an SFPD homicide detective, was suspected of being the Phone Book Killer, a serial killer he was investigating himself, but nobody ever proved it.”

“A lot of people said he proved it when he jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge and the murders stopped.”

“Damning evidence, but there are so many more who believe he was set up, and now all four of the sons he left behind are in some type of law enforcement. It’s a great story.” She shrugged her shoulders, stiff from her lies.

“You can count my two older brothers among those who believe in our father’s innocence. They’ve recently stumbled across some new evidence and have agreed to give it to me to pass along to you.”

Her water sloshed as she set down her glass. “Sean and Eric know I’m writing a book about the case?”

“Yeah. They’re okay with it. I told them your angle is that someone set up Joseph Brody.”

They wouldn’t be okay with it if they knew her true purpose...and her true identity.

“Great.” A smile stretched her lips. “And I’d love to see that new evidence. What do you remember about that time?”

“Not much. I was young and confused, and then I lost my dad, who was a larger-than-life figure for me.” His green eyes darkened as he took a sip of water. “Do you still have both of your parents?”

“Y-yes.”

He splayed his hands on the white tablecloth in front of him. “It’s hard to explain the loss of a parent, especially at a young age. You can’t begin to understand the hole it leaves.”

Oh, but she could.

“You’re right.”

“And then I lost my mom.” He studied his fingernails. “She turned to prescription drugs and alcohol, and Sean had to take over the parenting duties.”

“Your mom passed away.” She knew the whole painful Brody story.

“Not until I was an adult, but it was still tough. So many wasted years.”

Their food arrived, and Kacie turned off the recorder. Ryan’s soulful eyes and sensitive mouth were going to make this a lot harder than she’d anticipated.

The smell of garlic and fresh clams wafted from Ryan’s plate, putting her chopped salad to shame. She dug into her rabbit food as he twirled his fork into his creamy pasta.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before he pointed his fork at her salad. “Is that all you’re having?”

“It’s a big salad.”

“It’s a salad.” He held his fork out to her, tightly wrapped in fettuccine, the savory steam curling beneath her nose. “Try some of this.”

She tapped her plate. “Put it here.”

“Then you’ll have to twirl it up again. Here.” He hunched forward, the fork centimeters from her lips.

She opened her mouth and he placed the fork against her tongue. She sealed her lips around the tines and sucked the pasta into her mouth as he drew the fork out with a flourish.

Tingles raced up her inner thighs and circled her belly. She grabbed her napkin and pressed it against the lower half of her face while she chewed. This craziness had to stop.

“Good, huh?” He grinned, but his heavily lidded eyes looked more seductive than smiley.

“Very good.” She dropped the napkin from her still-warm face. “Now I will return to my regularly scheduled salad.”

“Just let me know if you want another...taste.”

She waved down the waiter. “More iced tea, please.”

She had to find some way to stay cool. Did all this sex appeal come naturally to Ryan Brody, or was he cranking up the charm for some ulterior motive? She’d already told him she planned to focus the book on proving his father’s innocence. He didn’t have to butter her up.

Her gaze dropped to his strong hands as he ripped a roll in two and smeared a pat of butter across one half. Although she wouldn’t mind if he buttered her up, down and sideways.

She’d never felt this way about a story resource before.

Holding up the roll, he asked, “Do you want the other half?”

“No, thanks.” She pushed her plate away, dabbed water droplets from the tablecloth with her napkin and repositioned her recorder on the table.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He polished off the rest of his meal, including the rest of her roll, and then perused the dessert menu. “Do you want to share a dessert?”

“I’m good.”

He ordered a coffee instead and leaned back in his chair as he stirred in a swirl of cream. “Fire away. Ask me anything you want about my father’s case. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll ask my older brothers.”

Kacie flipped open her notebook, which contained sheets of printed-out questions. She dived in.

“The Phone Book Killer case was unusual from the get-go, wasn’t it? After the first two victims, the killer started communicating with your father, one of the detectives on the case, claiming he was selecting his victims out of the phone book.”

“That’s right. Serial killers have been known to contact the police to brag and taunt, and the Phone Book Killer singled out my dad. Of course, that’s one of the aspects of the case that caused some doubt about my father. Why him?”

“Good question.” She drummed her fingers against the tablecloth. “Then he kidnapped your brother. Was that some kind of warning?”

“According to Sean, that’s what my father thought. It was the killer’s message that he could get to any member of my family.”

“But your brother wasn’t harmed, which became another oddity of the case.”

Ryan raised his shoulders and let them drop. “People say Joey Brody staged the kidnapping to divert suspicion from himself.”

“Then the evidence from your father started to pile up—missing days from work, plaster found in the trunk of his car, the same type of plaster used in casts, which the Phone Book Killer was wearing to disarm his victims.”

“Too pat. Too easy.” He massaged the back of his neck. “In hindsight, it smells like a setup.”

As she reeled off the elements of the case against Joey Brody, Ryan had an answer for every one of them. He had emphasized that his older brothers believed without a doubt in their father’s innocence, and Ryan’s hot defense of Joey Brody put him firmly in that camp.

Of course they were all in that camp. Admitting your father had blood on his hands had to be hard.

After another hour of question and answer, where they saw the restaurant clear out and received several visits from their waiter with more coffee and iced tea in hand, Kacie clicked off the recorder.

“I really appreciate your openness. It can’t be easy. Y-your dad sounds like he was a great cop.”

And Daniel Walker had been a great football player.

He shrugged. “Life is full of trials and tribulations. How about you? You look like you’ve had it pretty easy—smart, attractive, successful.”

Straightening her shoulders, she folded her hands on top of the notebook. “I’ve been lucky. I have a wonderful family. Great parents, two older sisters.”

“I hope you appreciate that.”

Anxious to hide the emotion that had overcome her, she swiped her recorder from the table and ducked down to stuff it into her bag. “Oh, I do, but you’re right.” She popped back up with her phone and wallet in hand. “We all have our...disappointments in life.”

A loud voice carried across the mostly empty restaurant. “Kacie Manning, right?”

She jerked her head up and zeroed in on a pudgy man with a black goatee making his way toward their table. “Do I know you?”

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Ray Lopez. I’m a reporter with a local TV show.”

Great. That’s all I need.

“Good to meet you, Ray.” She gestured toward Ryan. “This is Ryan Brody. Chief Brody.”

“Oh, hey. No introductions necessary. I know who Chief Brody is. I’m like this—” he held up two fingers pressed together “—with Sean and Eric. Eric’s fiancée, Christina, and I go way back.”

Ryan shook Lopez’s hand, sizing him up with one glance. “Sure, I know who you are.”

Kacie’s gaze bounced from Lopez to Ryan. Sounded as if Ryan wished he didn’t know Lopez.

“I’m a big fan of yours, Kacie. Is it true you’re doing a book on Joey Brody?”

“You know, I’d rather not discuss that.” She swirled the ice in her water glass and took a sip.

“Say no more.” Lopez raised his hands. “It’s just that I’ve been trying to get exclusives for years with the Brodys. Guess I’m the wrong sex or something.”

Ryan tossed his napkin onto the table. “Excuse me?”

“Just a little joke, Brody. I’d rather work with Kacie Manning than with me, too.” He winked and sauntered back to the hostess stand.

“What a jerk.” Kacie rolled her eyes.

“He’s been kind of a local fixture here the past few years.”

“Does he really know your brothers?”

“Yeah, but Sean just tolerates him and Eric can’t stand him.” Ryan made a move for the check, which had been perched on the edge of their table for an hour. “Let me get this.”

She beat him to it, snatching it up and pressing it to her chest. “Tax write-off, remember?”

As she snapped her plastic down on the tray, Ryan tapped her phone on the table. “You have a couple of messages.”

“I heard them come through earlier.” She picked up the phone. “Didn’t want to disturb our flow.”

“Yeah, we do have a flow, don’t we?”

The hostess with the mostest had extricated herself from Lopez, who’d since left the restaurant. She parked herself next to Ryan’s chair, batting her fake eyelashes. “Is there anything else we can do for you today?”

“No, thanks. Sorry we took up this table all afternoon.”

“No problem.” She waved her perfectly manicured nails. “I could see you were hard at work over here. If you like to play as hard as you work, a friend of mine is having a party tonight at a private club. I could get you in as my...guest.”

Kacie clenched her teeth as she tapped her phone to view her messages. He could do whatever he wanted while he was here, including partying with pretty people, as long as he made himself available to her for their interviews and a few field trips.

But she didn’t even hear his response as she read over her second message. The blood drained from her face and her head felt like a balloon ready to float away.

“Kacie?”

She glanced up from the display to meet Ryan’s eyes, wide and questioning.

“Are you okay?”

The hostess backed up from the table. “I’ll let you two finish your business.”

Kacie dragged in a breath and released it through dry lips. “It’s my contact from last night. He wants to meet again tonight.”

“The ex-con?” He snapped his fingers for the phone. “No way.”

She raised her brows. When had she appointed him her master scheduler? She handed him the phone anyway, realizing she’d have a hard time saying no to this man.

He peered at the display and read it aloud. “‘Meet me same place as last night, same time. More info. DB.’”

He handed the phone back to her. “You recognize that number?”

“It’s the same one he used before and the same initials.” She pressed her damp palms against her napkin, still crumpled in her lap. “Maybe he knows about that doll. Maybe he saw who gave it to the homeless guy.”

“Maybe you should ignore him.”

“I can’t. He’s warning me about Walker.”

“Or he’s doing Walker’s bidding. You ever think of that?”

“Yes. I’m not stupid.”

“Oh, I know that, but you’re not thinking clearly right now. You are not going to traipse down to the wharf alone at eleven o’clock at night.”

“I have to go. He might have important information about Walker’s next move against me, maybe something I can give to the police this time.”

Ryan held up his hands. “You weren’t listening. I said you weren’t going there alone.”

A little thrill raced down her back. She couldn’t help it. “He’ll never talk if he sees you there.”

“Who said he’s going to see me?”

She waved her hand to indicate his imposing form. “Little hard for someone like you to blend in.”

“I have my ways.”

She added a tip to the bill and scribbled her signature. As she tucked the receipt in the side pocket of her purse, she said, “As long as you stay out of sight. I don’t want you spoiling my meeting.”

“How about saving your life?” He pushed back from the table and stepped around it to pull her chair out for her. “Is that okay with you?”

She nodded as silly schoolgirl butterflies took flight in her belly.

This was exactly the effect Daniel Walker wanted to have on her—wrap her around his little finger, tell her sweet little lies.

What could Ryan Brody’s motive possibly be? To make sure she wrote a favorable book about his father? She’d already told him she planned to do so. Did he doubt her?

She’d have to watch herself with this man, in more ways than one. Because she couldn’t let a sexy grin and a pair of strong arms deter her from exacting her revenge on his father.

Her mom deserved justice.

Chapter Four

Ryan slung the towel over his shoulder, his gaze riveted on the pool area where three teenagers roughhoused in the water. They had to be the same ones from the night before.

He pushed through the glass door separating the weight room and the swimming area, and the humidity of the pool deck seeped into his flesh. The soles of his running shoes squished the wet tiles as he crossed to the edge of the pool. He squatted beside it and called out, “Hey.”

Three faces turned toward him, a sullen look already forming around the mouth of one of them.

He was the one who answered. “Yeah?”

“Were you guys in here last night? In the hot tub?”

The three of them exchanged quick glances, and another teen spoke up, an earnest look on his face. “Yes, sir. We were in the hot tub late last night.”

“Did you happen to see a woman out here?”

“Yeah, she went into the pool.”

“She was smokin’ hot for a cougar.” The first boy to have spoken up stuck his tongue out of his mouth and flicked it up and down.

Ryan’s hands, resting on his knees, curled into fists.

“Shut up, man.” The Boy Scout punched his friend in the shoulder, then turned his attention back to Ryan. “Why are you asking? Did something happen?”

Flexing his fingers, Ryan dropped one knee to the deck. “Someone played a trick on her in the sauna.”

The sullen one lost the attitude and the smirk and said, “She was still in the pool when we left.”

The other two teens nodded in agreement. “She was swimming laps when we bolted.”

“Did you see anyone else out here? In the gym?” Ryan pushed to his feet.

“No, sir.”

“All right. Thanks.” Ryan exited the pool area, mopping his face with the towel.

He believed them. According to the security guard, those boys were probably messing around in the business center at the time Kacie was in the sauna. Besides, would they play a trick like that on a smokin’-hot cougar?

They got half of that right. Kacie was smokin’ hot, but she was no cougar—at least not for him.

He filled up his water bottle from the gym’s dispenser and then tossed his towel in the bin. She’d shot him down when he asked her to join him for dinner that night, but they planned to get together before her meeting with DB to give him another crack at finding the guy in the law-enforcement database.

As far as he could tell, Kacie had spent the afternoon holed up in her hotel room—working, she said. He smacked the elevator button with the flat of his palm. That woman ran hot, very hot, and cold.

Women. He sure loved ’em, but he couldn’t even pretend to understand ’em.

He’d spent his afternoon dropping that doll off at the local precinct, touching base with his brother’s fellow officers and then tracking down his younger brother.

He knew Judd was going to be out of town again, but he’d managed to catch him for about an hour before he headed to the airport, this time to work for the Saudi royal family. His P.I. brother had been getting higher-end gigs lately, a step up from spying on errant spouses.

Ryan shook his head as he slipped his key card into his door. He’d barely recognized Judd with his suit sleeves covering his tattooed arms, his long hair slicked back.

Once again, Judd had offered up his apartment to Ryan, but Ryan had passed. Judd was careless with his business and his women. Ryan didn’t want any surprises in the form of irate females dropping in—either ones Judd had spied on for their husbands or ones he’d loved and left.

That was the excuse he had given Judd, anyway. If he took his brother up on his offer, he’d have to check out of this hotel. And Kacie Manning was in this hotel, one floor below him. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He showered, changed and ate a burger at the restaurant in the lobby. Then he showed up at Kacie’s door, five minutes early.

She’d stacked the remnants of her own room-service meal on the credenza. Papers and notebooks littered the desk around her laptop. She’d swapped her business attire for a pair of black jeans and a dark green top that accented the copper highlights in her hair and an expanse of soft, creamy skin above the neckline.

Wedging her fist on one curvy hip, she tapped the toes of her bare foot. “You’re early—again.”

“Am I?” Had he betrayed his eagerness to see her?

“I was just going to clean up.” She flicked her fingers toward the abandoned dishes.

“Let me.” He hoisted the tray and carried it toward the door.

She scooted around him to pull the door open and then leaned against it while he pushed the tray against the wall in the hallway.

He rose, dusting his hands together. “I ran into those teenagers at the pool today.”

“Really?” She let the door slam. “Did they fess up to anything?”

“Just that they thought you were smokin’ hot.” He would leave out the cougar part.

Color rushed into her cheeks, and she snorted. “Must’ve been all that steam from the hot tub obscuring their vision. So, they didn’t see anyone else out there?”

“No.” He tilted his head and hitched his thumbs in his pockets. Was she fishing for a compliment or did she really not understand the impact of that body on a red-blooded American male?