- -
- 100%
- +
Nathan asked the question when Lindsay stopped walking.
“Yes. See you tomorrow.” She turned to leave, but Nathan stopped her with a touch on her arm.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to sleep now?”
The concern in his voice brought a slight ache, more like a yearning, to her stomach. “Whether I sleep or not isn’t really your concern.”
“Wow. Still the same prickly Lindsay.”
She wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly aware of the chill in the air. “I’m used to being independent, that’s all.”
“You really believe that?” Nathan gave her a long, considering look. “When we worked together on the police force, I could understand why you kept your distance. I figured you were worried that friendship would lead to something more.”
“Just because we kissed that one time—”
“Hey. It was more than a kiss.” When she wouldn’t look at him, he added, “Even if you won’t admit it.”
Dear Reader,
Two years ago I took my daughter on a trip to New York City for her twentieth birthday. We had a fabulous time—how could we help it? Lorelle fell in love with the city for the first time and I renewed a longtime obsession. I decided then that the next series of books I wrote was going to be set in this most exciting of locations.
But what would the stories be about? Walking by a row of brownstones in the Upper West Side where our hotel was located, I felt inspiration strike. I could almost see the copper plaque with the words “Fox & Fisher Detective Agency” hanging next to one of the painted wooden doors.
And my main characters? Anyone who is familiar with the music and life story of Shelby Lynn will understand the inspiration behind Lindsay Fox. And Nathan, my hero? Well, he was created by me, to be the special, wonderful man that Lindsay needs in her life (even though it takes her a very long time to recognize this).
I hope you enjoy Lindsay and Nathan’s adventures and that you return for The P.I. Contest and Receptionist Under Cover available in February and March 2010. I’m always happy to hear from readers so please contact me through my Web site, www.cjcarmichael.com. Stop by regularly for news about my books and to enter my surprise contests.
Happy reading!
C.J. Carmichael
Perfect Partners?
C.J. Carmichael
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hard to imagine a more glamorous life than being an accountant, isn’t it? Still, C.J. Carmichael gave up the thrills of income tax forms and double entry bookkeeping when she sold her first book in 1998. She has now written more than twenty-eight novels for Harlequin and invites you to learn more about her books, see photos of her hiking exploits and enter her surprise contests at www.cjcarmichael.com.
With love to my dad, who is dealing with an unexpected turn in the road with strength and courage.
Thanks to Barry Yzereef for entering a contest and allowing me to use his name in this story.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER ONE
Monday morning
THROUGH THE SEMI-TRANSLUCENT glass door, Nathan Fisher could make out the silhouette of the woman who had been his partner at the Twentieth Precinct of the NYPD two years ago. Lindsay Fox had her back to him, her hands assertively posed on her hips as she spoke to someone he couldn’t quite see.
When she’d packed up her desk at the precinct and cleared out her locker, he’d assumed he’d never see her again. She’d made it rather obvious that that would be best. Part of him had agreed. They were just too opposite to work well together—to do anything well together. But a lot of crap had happened since then. His life was in free fall and he no longer presumed to have all the answers.
Lindsay was smart, a woman of action, intuitive, with a keen sense of justice. These things had made her a good policewoman.
She was also impatient, thought rules applied to other people rather than her and had trouble accepting orders from her superiors.
These qualities had not made her a good policewoman, and Nathan supposed it wasn’t much of a surprise that she’d only lasted on the job for just over a year.
But there was one thing about Lindsay that defined her above all, in his mind. That quality was integrity—something he’d seen precious little of the last while.
It was why he was standing here, less than a week after his own career with the NYPD had been terminated.
Voices on the other side of the door grew louder. Nathan realized Lindsay was turning the handle, about to exit, so he slipped out of sight, down the corridor and around a corner. He didn’t want her to see him until he’d scored a proper interview first. That would make it difficult for her to not at least listen to what he had to say.
He’d spent his weekend researching her business, her new career, and he was impressed. She had more clients than she could handle, and most of them were very satisfied with her services.
Fox Investigations, as far as he could tell, was a successful going concern. This location—on the second floor of an historic brownstone on West Seventy-ninth Street—was central and convenient to the subway. After one call to the rental agency, he’d learned that Lindsay was locked into a favorable five-year lease that included expansion possibilities.
From down the hallway, he heard the door open and Lindsay call out to her receptionist, “You can reach me on my cell if it’s an emergency.” The door closed and the sound of her footsteps on the wooden floor receded.
Nathan waited until she was gone before retracing his steps to her office. Carefully he reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the ad he’d seen in the Saturday paper.
Help Wanted: Professional investigator. Experience necessary, references required, no attitude.
He had to smile, reading it again. Especially at the no attitude part. Lindsay had her nerve making that request.
He pushed open the door to Fox Investigations and took stock of the professional, almost austere furnishings. The walls were pale gray, the furniture modern, functional…and cold. The only spot of color came from the receptionist, who was wearing an expensive-looking pink blouse. She was in her twenties—a petite, dark-haired woman who was quick to smile.
“I’m sorry, but do you have an appointment? I’m afraid you just missed Lindsay.”
Quite deliberately, I assure you, he thought. “That’s okay. I should have called first, but I was in the area and thought I’d take a chance.” He showed her the ad.
“You’re here about the job?” She put a hand to her mouth. “Sorry, I shouldn’t sound so surprised. Lindsay requested experience, but she wasn’t really expecting…not that you’re old. Heaven’s no. It’s just that we’ve been getting a lot of recent high school graduates, who aren’t at all right for the job.”
“No insult taken,” he assured her.
“I’m so glad. Sometimes I wonder why Lindsay gave me my job. I’ve never been a receptionist before,” she confided. “And this is just my second week.”
“I think you make a fabulous receptionist.” To hell with experience. Lindsay had made a smart choice, selecting someone so unguarded and warm. He glanced at the nameplate next to the computer. No matter how many gaffes Nadine Kimble made, the clients would love her. She was the perfect yang to Lindsay’s yin.
“That’s very nice of you to say.” Nadine clicked the mouse and opened a calendar on the computer screen. “Lindsay is booking interviews for Thursday. Right now you have your choice of time slots. Any preferences?”
“The earlier, the better.” Lindsay was a night owl. Best to catch her when her instincts were at their dullest.
“How is nine o’clock?” Nadine’s fine, dark brows rose in consternation. “I’m sorry but Lindsay doesn’t come into the office any earlier.”
“Nine is good.”
She studied him apprehensively, then seemed to come to a decision. “I should warn you. Lindsay can be a little…prickly. That’s why she put that stuff about ‘no attitude’ in the ad. She said we might as well weed out the wimps from the start.” Her gaze swept over him. “But I’m guessing you’re not one of those.”
“I’d like to think not.” He glanced around the offices one more time, trying to get a feel for the place. Trust Lindsay to keep the decorating elements to a bare minimum. She always had been all about the work.
Nadine seemed to sense that he was judging the place and finding it lacking. “Almost surgical, isn’t it? I’m trying to talk Lindsay into some plants. She’s agreed to silk, because they’re low maintenance, but I’m holding firm on real, growing plants.”
Good luck with that, he thought. Obstinacy was another of Lindsay’s stronger traits.
“Well, thanks for your help. I guess I’ll see you Thursday morning.” As he was about to leave, Nadine waved her hand anxiously.
“Oh, I forgot to ask your name.” She smiled sheepishly. “I told you I was new at this.”
He’d been hoping to capitalize on her inexperience, and leave without needing to resort to subterfuge, but now that he’d been asked, he gave her his second name and his mother’s maiden name. He had no doubt Lindsay wouldn’t let him in the front door if he was honest about his identity.
And he wanted in that front door.
He needed to keep a roof over his sister and nephew’s head someway. And his father’s legacy demanded redemption.
Thursday morning
WHEN SHE’D STARTED HER OWN investigative agency, Lindsay Fox had been tempted to combine her office and living space in the same building. Her sister, Meg, had talked her out of that plan.
“You need to make an attempt to separate your work from your private life,” she’d argued, and so Lindsay had acquiesced and rented a one bedroom in a different building…but on the same block.
She figured she had to have one of the easiest commutes in Manhattan, which came in very handy on the mornings when she was off to a slow start—like today.
She’d had another tough night. This was nothing new for a chronic insomniac, but that didn’t make the lack of sleep any easier to deal with. As long as she had time for a cup of coffee before her first appointment of the day, though, she’d be okay.
Heels clicking on the sidewalk, Lindsay took long strides toward her destination. The hazy sky and cool temperatures didn’t bother her—in truth, she hardly noticed that the sunshine and warmth of summer had faded. Today she was hoping to hire a new employee and she had ambivalent feelings about that. She was glad her business was thriving and growing…but she was also concerned about finding the right person for the job. Nadine had been a bit of a risk but she was working out surprisingly well. Could she be so lucky a second time?
Lindsay crossed from the north side of the street to the south. She passed a middle-aged couple who had stopped on the corner to kiss goodbye. As she squeezed past them amid a crowd of other pedestrians, the couple separated and headed in opposite directions. Lindsay turned to the brown brick building on her left, then went up a short flight of stairs to the front door.
Inside was a foyer with a bank of mailboxes on one wall and an elevator on another. Lindsay bypassed both and took the stairs. One flight up and she was in the short corridor that led to Fox Investigations. As soon as she stepped inside, she headed for the coffee station. Nadine was already there, filling a cup for her.
“Thanks, Nadine. That smells wonderful.” Her well-groomed receptionist was wearing a sea-green cashmere sweater and gray trousers, neither of which Lindsay recalled seeing before. This was her third week, and so far she had yet to repeat one outfit.
“How many interviews do we have lined up?” Lindsay asked.
“Um…let me check. I have the schedule here somewhere…”
As Nadine fussed with the computer programs that were still relatively new to her, Lindsay added cream and sugar to her coffee. Today she craved the caffeine even more than ever. Perhaps it was because of the chill in the fall morning. Or maybe it was the light pounding behind her ears. Not a hangover, quite, but close.
“Three interviews,” Nadine said finally.
“Only three?”
“Maybe it was that bit about ‘no attitude.’ Possibly some people found that a little intimidating.”
“If they did, then they don’t belong here.” Damn it, though, she did need to hire someone. And fast. Nadine was making inroads on the backlog of administrative tasks, but if she didn’t get a new investigator soon, she’d be forced to turn away clients.
She’d never expected her business to do so well, so quickly. Just two years she’d been operating and the cases kept coming, most of them referred from her sister’s legal firm, or from her contacts on the police force. Lindsay was determined not to drop the ball on a single case.
“Stanley Hodges is your first applicant and he’ll be here at nine o’clock,” Nadine said.
That gave her just ten minutes. Could she clear her brain-fog by then? She gulped more coffee. “Fine. Send him in when he arrives.”
She retreated to her office with her usual sense of pride and ownership. This was her business. She’d started it from nothing and it was actually thriving. Over the past few weeks Nadine had let her know that she found the decor rather severe. But Lindsay had chosen everything for its functionality. She loved the furniture’s straight lines and the tranquility of the gray color scheme.
Her own desk was glass and stainless steel. She wheeled up her chair and opened the slick, iMac computer to find her favorite news site. Kicking off her shoes, she scanned the local headlines. She’d just relax with her coffee and prepare her thoughts before—
A timid tap on her door interrupted her. She frowned. “Yes?”
Nadine opened the door with an apologetic smile. “Stanley Hodges is here. He’s early, but you said—”
“That’s fine.” Lindsay tamped down her annoyance as she glanced up from the computer screen. “Send him—”
Her throat closed as her mind disconnected from the present and rewound to the past. To the one, frustrating year she’d spent as a member of the New York Police Department.
The man entering her office was lean and muscular, with whiskey-colored hair and eyes a shade lighter than that. Two years ago she’d thought she’d said goodbye to him forever.
“Hey, partner. It’s been a while.”
For a wild moment her stomach dropped and her pulse quickened. Her ex-partner was looking good, but then he always had—if you liked the clean-cut type. Beyond his boy-next-door looks, however, the polite facade, the pressed khakis and button-down blue shirt, Nathan Fisher was a man with lightning reflexes, who kept his body in top physical condition.
For one year they’d spent pretty much all their working hours together. Since she’d quit the force, they hadn’t crossed paths once, by mutual preference.
So what was he doing here now? She gave herself a moment to regain her equilibrium. Calmly she rearranged the papers in front of her, then finally cleared her throat. “Stanley Hodges, I presume?”
One side of his mouth curved up. The cheeky bastard. He didn’t even apologize, just dropped a clipping onto her desk.
It was her ad from the newspaper.
“Is this some sort of joke?” Maybe the guys at the precinct had put him up to this. They’d all have a good chuckle at her expense later, over lunch.
But Nathan shook his head. “I quit the force. My last day was Friday, October 9, to be precise.”
“What? Why?” This just got stranger and stranger.
“Let’s just say I needed a change.”
“I don’t believe it.”
His eyes darkened. “You’re not the only one.”
This had to be bullshit. But maybe she should play along a little. “Okay. Say it’s true. What are you doing here? You can’t expect me to believe that you want to work for me.”
“I don’t want to work for you,” he agreed.
“Then—?”
“I want to be your partner.”
A four-letter expletive exploded from her mouth.
He wasn’t fazed. “Fisher and Fox Investigations. Sounds good, right?”
“Get out of here.” She pointed at the door. Yeah, right, Fisher and Fox. He was definitely yanking her chain.
“I’m serious, Lindsay. From past experience, you know our skills are complementary.”
She remembered one dark, rainy night, when it had been more than their skills that had been complementary. Hell. Why was she thinking about that? She had to get him out of here. Fast.
“When we were partners, you drove me crazy.”
“You may not always appreciate my style, but you need someone like me around. Bending the rules now and then is one thing, but you don’t bend them. You bulldoze them.” He scooped something from the floor, surprising her when he surfaced with her red pump.
“High heels with your jeans?” He cocked his head assessingly. “Never saw you as the type.”
She snatched the shoe from his hand. She’d bought the Jimmy Choo heels full price, with the last paycheck she’d received from the police department, and she was going to wear them until the three-inch heels were worn down to the ground.
“Either you’ve changed, or I didn’t know you as well as I thought.”
“It’s not a big deal. I happen to like nice shoes.”
“Not enough to wear them, apparently.”
She slipped the shoe onto her foot, then fumbled for the mate. “Every morning when I put on a pair of heels, I’m reminded that I don’t work for a big organization anymore. There is no chain of command. The buck stops with me.” She lifted her chin. “It’s a good feeling.”
Nathan nodded. “I respect that. In fact, I respect a lot of things about you. That’s why I’m here.”
Despite herself, she felt flattered. Hearing Nathan say that he respected her…well, that was something.
Leaving the force had not been an easy decision. As a kid she’d wanted so badly to become a policewoman. After graduating from college and moving to New York City, her goal had been to work for the famous—and sometimes infamous—NYPD. But when she’d finally finished the education and training necessary to entitle her to wear the dark blue uniform, she’d been bitterly disappointed at the reality.
Rather than helping people, she pushed pencils. Investigating a crime as a member of a police force was like wading through waist-deep muck. Regulations and procedures ate away most of her available work hours. She’d wanted to serve her community, to protect society’s weakest members. Instead, criminals thumbed their noses at her and the system as they got away with the same misdemeanors and petty crimes over and over and over.
And then there were the crimes that weren’t so petty…
“You and I want the same thing, Fox. Together we’ll be a force to reckon with.” He planted his hands on her desk and leaned forward. She caught a whiff of his soap, noticed the clean-blunt lines of his fingernails.
He was serious. The realization sent a zap of adrenaline through her bloodstream. She couldn’t help but be intrigued, even though she knew it was a bad idea.
“Why not start a firm of your own? Why partner up with me?”
“Starting a business takes time. You’ve got everything in place here. Plus, you’ve already made a name for yourself. I saw the story in the Daily last month. Impressive.”
She knew the case he was talking about. The Anderson file had started out as a simple missing-persons case. She’d been asked to locate a long-lost uncle who’d been a beneficiary in a multimillion dollar family estate. She’d ended up finding Curtis Anderson, a convicted sex offender on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.
What a buzz that had been. Who knew how many children’s lives would be safer now that Anderson was no longer on the prowl. Talk about job satisfaction.
“You’ve got more cases than you can handle,” Nathan continued. “A good reputation and an ideal location with an excellent long-term lease.”
She couldn’t believe how much he knew about her operation. But then Nathan had always been the sort of investigator who did his homework. He was never tempted to cut corners, the way she sometimes did.
Her instincts were good. Very rarely wrong. Still, occasionally, she had to admit, she’d been burned by her impetuousness. In the past, Nathan had saved her butt more than a few times. He’d also driven her nuts.
“You know I prefer to work alone.”
“You’re the one who put an ad in the paper. Besides, we don’t have to handle the same cases. We could work independently.”
Much as she hated to admit it, he was wearing her down. “I’ve put a lot of time and money into this business. Why should you just walk in and reap the benefits?”
“I’m prepared to buy my way in.”
“Promissory notes?”
“Cold, hard cash.”
She thought of all the things she could buy with an infusion of capital. The extra computer programs, a new camera—maybe even a van.
Then she imagined having to vet every decision with another person. Discuss approaches, divvy up new cases. She wrinkled her nose. “I like being the boss. You want in as an employee, that’s cool. But partnership is not an option.”
She waited for him to stalk out the door, certain that he would. But he just smiled. Slow and confident. Then he placed an envelope on her desk.
“I have more to contribute than money. Read that, Fox. Then let me know if you change your mind.”
CHAPTER TWO
LINDSAY WAITED FOR NATHAN to leave her office. Only once the door was firmly closed between them did she touch the manila envelope he’d left on her desk. Using a letter opener, she slit the top open and peered inside.
She’d almost expected to find the cold, hard cash he’d promised her.
Instead out slid a package of case notes. She flipped through the pages. Did he really expect to sway her with this?
The client’s name was Celia Burchard. Burchard. That sounded familiar. Lindsay leaned back in her chair, propped her feet on an overturned wastepaper basket and settled in to read.
Apparently Celia Burchard was looking to retain an investigator to assist in the defense of her mother who had been charged with the attempted murder of her husband.
Lindsay realized then where she’d heard the name before. The story had been all over the news media for most of August.
The case had caught Lindsay’s attention because of the twist on the abused-wife scenario. For once it wasn’t the husband who had attacked his wife, but the other way around.
The news quotient had been upped by the Burchards’ social status. Maurice Burchard was well-known as a Manhattan property developer and his wife was active in the arts community. The couple had a reputation for hosting amazing parties. To be invited to an event at the Burchards’ town house in the city, or their hunting lodge in the Catskills was the pinnacle of social success.
In some circles, anyway.
How had Nathan landed a client like this?
She turned a page, dismayed to see that her hand was shaking. Just a little, but the slight tremor was enough to worry her.
Aftershocks from Nathan Fisher’s visit?