Secret Admirer

If he only knew what she was thinking…

Eve felt her face grow warm, and she tried to turn away. But Tony caught her hand, pulling her gently toward him.

She found herself standing between his legs, could feel the warmth of his bare skin. His muscles rippled, and something primitive rose inside Eve. Something even more basic than love.

He lifted his hand and brushed back the hair from her forehead. His touch was gentle and warm but his fingers trembled slightly, revealing a deeper, darker desire. His blue gaze was knowing, and bittersweet.

“What are we going to do about this?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, either, but if you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“I’m not…I didn’t mean to…”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he agreed. “That’s what I admire most about you. You don’t play games. You’re open and honest, about your feelings and everything else.”

No, she wanted to tell him. I’m not honest. Especially about my feelings. What if I told you I’d been in love with you for years?

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Chills run down your spine, your pulse pounds…and you can’t wait to turn the page! It’s just another month of outstanding romantic suspense from Harlequin Intrigue.

Last month, Amanda Stevens introduced you to a new brand of justice—GALLAGHER JUSTICE—in The Littlest Witness (#549). This month, Detective Tony Gallagher gets his very own Secret Admirer (#553) for Valentine’s Day. Cupid is also hard at work in B.J. Daniels’s Love at First Sight (#555), in which a sexy police officer has to pose as the husband of the only witness to a murder in order to protect her. Except he keeps forgetting their marriage is supposed to be a façade.

Caroline Burnes takes a break from her FEAR FAMILIAR series to bring you Texas Midnight (#554). Simmering passion and a remote location make for an explosive read from this bestselling author. But Familiar, the crime-solving black cat, will be back at Harlequin Intrigue soon in his thirteenth novel! Watch for Familiar Obsession (#570) in stores this June.

Finally, Rita Herron contributes to the ongoing Harlequin Intrigue amnesia promotion A MEMORY AWAY…with Forgotten Lullaby (#556). In this highly emotional story, not only do a man and woman commit their love to one another once, but they also overcome the odds to fall in love all over again.

Intense drama and powerful romance make for an extraspecial selection of titles this February. Enjoy!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Secret Admirer

Amanda Stevens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amanda Stevens has written over twenty novels of romantic suspense. Her books have appeared on several bestseller lists, and she has won Reviewer’s Choice and Career Achievement in Romantic/ Mystery awards from Romantic Times Magazine. She resides in Cypress, Texas, with her husband, her son and daughter, and their two cats.

Books by Amanda Stevens

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

373—STRANGER IN PARADISE

388—A BABY’S CRY

397—A MAN OF SECRETS

430—THE SECOND MRS. MALONE

453—THE HERO’S SON*

458—THE BROTHER’S WIFE*

462—THE LONG-LOST HEIR*

489—SOMEBODY’S BABY

511—LOVER, STRANGER

549—THE LITTLEST WITNESS**

553—SECRET ADMIRER**

HARLEQUIN BOOKS

2-in-1 Harlequin 50th Anniversary Collection

HER SECRET PAST

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Eve Barrett—She’s been sent undercover to investigate a cop she was once in love with.

Detective Tony Gallagher—A rash of murders leads straight to his past.

David MacKenzie—Tony’s attorney and best friend.

Vic D’Angelo—A cop with a grudge.

Clare Foxx—She was once Tony’s partner; now she’s his commanding officer. But is she also a woman scorned?

Ed Dawson—There’s no room in the superintendent’s squeaky-clean police force for a rogue cop like Tony.

Maria Mancini—She vowed revenge against Tony for shooting her son.

Fiona Gallagher—Tony’s sister knows what’s best for him.

Fisher—An informant who makes Tony nervous.

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 One

“Murderer!” the woman screamed at Tony Gallagher. “Look at him, you people! Take a good, long look! Ever stare into the eyes of a killer?”

In her mid-forties, with long black hair flapping about her face and shoulders and gold bangles dangling from both wrists as she gestured wildly, the distraught woman reminded Tony of a gypsy. He suspected she could be just as beguiling. Her shrieks attracted more than a fair amount of attention from people passing by on the street.

Traffic was heavy for early afternoon, and the skyscrapers lining State Street trapped exhaust fumes in the man-made canyons, adding to the thick, charged atmosphere outside Police Headquarters in Chicago.

Pointing a finger at Tony, the woman yelled to anyone who would listen, “See that man? That cop! He killed my baby! My Franco! Shot him in cold blood!”

Tony fished in his pocket for his sunglasses. All things considered, he would rather have been sailing on Lake Michigan this June afternoon, or stretched out on a beach somewhere. Facing a review board—and then a crazy woman—was not his idea of a great time, but he supposed the spectacle she created provided a certain amount of entertainment to some of the onlookers.

Flanked on one side by his best friend and attorney, David MacKenzie, and on the other side by his sister, Fiona, Tony started down the steps. The wind off the lake whipped Fiona’s red hair into a frenzy. She peeled the fiery strands from her face as she matched her steps to Tony’s and David’s. Shifting her briefcase to her other hand, she squeezed Tony’s arm encouragingly.

“Don’t let her get to you,” she murmured.

“We should have gone out the other way,” David said tightly.

“Why?” Tony demanded. He yanked at his tie, letting it drape around his neck like an untied noose. “I don’t have anything to hide. I was cleared in there, remember?”

“By the review board,” David said. “Not by public opinion.”

“Franco Mancini wounded two officers, one of them now permanently disabled. What was I supposed to do? Let him shoot me, too?”

David sighed, slipping on his own sunglasses—expensive ones, to complement his Italian-cut suit and gold watch. “No, of course not. You did the right thing. But with your record…” His words trailed off as they reached the bottom of the steps.

The woman suddenly lunged forward, and David slung up his briefcase to shield her from Tony. Two uniforms came rushing over to restrain her, but they couldn’t shut her up.

“You’ll pay for what you did to my Franco! So help me, you will!”

A murmur rippled through the crowd on the street, and Tony shuddered inwardly. This wasn’t the first time Maria Mancini had accosted him. Her son had been fatally wounded a few weeks ago in a shootout after a robbery attempt had gone bad. Tony had been off duty and had just happened by the convenience store when the shooting erupted. Not taking the time to call for backup, he’d drawn the gunman’s fire while one of the wounded officers pulled the other to safety. Then Tony had taken out the shooter.

Franco Mancini had been transported to the same trauma unit at University Hospital as the two fallen officers, but by the time Franco’s mother had arrived, it was too late. He’d died in surgery.

Somehow Maria had found out that Tony was the one who had shot her son. She’d come at him in the hospital like a dark-haired wraith, and it had taken four cops that night to pull her off.

Tony winced, remembering the sting of her scarlet nails on his face. The bite of her words. The fierceness of her anger and grief, which hadn’t abated during the three weeks he’d been suspended pending an investigation by the Internal Affairs Division.

Fiona’s grip tightened on his arm as they headed down the street toward her car. The sun reflected blindingly off a nearby office building. “You did do the right thing that night, Tony. You saved those officers’ lives. Ask their wives and kids if they think you’re a murderer.”

Fiona always wanted to put things right. She hated unfairness of any kind, but now that she was a practicing attorney, she was likely to get a dose of real life. Tony knew better than anyone how rampant injustice was in this world. Why else had Ashley died so young?

He frowned, not wanting to think about Ashley at all, but lately he couldn’t seem to help it. The anniversary of her murder was coming up, and that date always brought out the worst in him.

It was hitting him even harder this year, probably because the suspension had given him too much time for brooding. He’d been drinking too much, hadn’t been sleeping. Hell, he thought, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the car window, no wonder the people on the street had bought Maria Mancini’s accusations.

David went around and opened the door for Fiona, then rested his arm on the top of her new Audi. “Why don’t I meet you two at Nellie’s? We can have a beer to celebrate.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m back on active duty, remember? Gotta go check in.”

“So how’s the new lieutenant working out?”

Another sore subject. Rather than going to bat for him with IAD, Clare Foxx had rolled over, agreeing to Tony’s suspension without so much as a lifted eyebrow.

“Think of it as a paid vacation,” she’d told him, but they both knew what a suspension, whether warranted or not, could do to a cop’s reputation. What little reputation Tony had left.

He suspected the sadistic part of Clare had enjoyed watching him being raked over the coals in the media, and he couldn’t help wondering what new torture she had in mind for him today.

There’d been a time when Tony had felt closer to Clare Foxx than anyone alive. She’d been his first partner after he’d made detective, and for a while, he’d thought she might actually be able to help him exorcise the ghosts that had haunted him since Ashley’s death.

But their relationship—both professional and otherwise—had ended badly. While time and promotions had passed Tony over, Clare had learned to play the game extremely well. She’d caught herself an angel somewhere along the way, and now she was his superior—literally had control over his destiny. A position she relished, Tony figured.

If there was ever a reason for not sleeping with your partner, he thought dryly, Clare Foxx was it.

“I HEARD THE NEWS,” Clare said a little while later, as Tony sat in her office at district headquarters. “Congratulations.”

She was dressed in a black suit with a trim jacket and above-the-knee skirt. As she came around the desk and perched on the edge, Tony caught a flash of thigh.

Damn, he thought, staring in spite of himself. Clare had been working out. Nearly ten years older than Tony, she’d held her age well at forty-one. Hell, she looked good for any age, and she damn well knew it, too.

Smiling, she tucked a wisp of long dark hair behind her ear, revealing a tiny diamond stud in her lobe. She wore a gold chain around her throat, and she played with the necklace as she talked, twisting it around her fingers.

She was a beautiful woman, but her eyes gave away her age and occupation. Dark, piercing, they were a little too hard and cynical, with deep crinkles at the corners that weren’t from laughing.

Clare was a good cop, had been a good partner until she and Tony had gone and made it personal. Until it went bad. Then she’d become like every other woman he’d ever known. She’d wanted a piece of him he wasn’t willing to give. Not anymore. Not since Ashley—

“So,” Clare said, giving him a slow once-over, “now that the review board has exonerated you, what does Dr. Metzer say? You ready for active duty?”

No matter what the rank, it was routine procedure for a cop who had been involved in a shooting to be checked out by a staff psychologist. “Sure. My head’s screwed back on straight. For the time being,” he couldn’t resist adding.

Clare glanced at him sharply. “That’s what I’m afraid of. You’ve been skirting the edge for so long, one of these days you’re going to go native on us. Even Dr. Metzer won’t be able to bring you back.”

“Don’t sell Metzer short. Look what he did for you.”

Her cheeks colored, not from embarrassment but from anger. “I don’t have to take that from you, Tony. I’m your commanding officer, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Not likely to forget that,” he muttered. “So what have you got for me?” Might as well plunge right back in, get his feet wet his first day back.

“It’s not going to be as easy as all that,” she said, heading back around her desk to sit. She picked up a report and studied it for a long, tense moment. Her glasses were lying on the desk but she ignored them. “Things are going to change around here, Tony.”

He stretched his legs in front of him. “Meaning?”

“Just because we were…partners in the past doesn’t mean you’re going to get a free ride.”

“I never thought I would.” He met her gaze.

She seemed momentarily flustered. Glancing back down at the report, she said, “Superintendent Dawson is putting pressure on all the bureaus to clean up their acts, but especially on Investigative Services. No more tune-ups, attitude adjustments, whatever euphemism you guys are calling it on the street these days.”

“You know me better. I’ve never gone in for that.” Although he wouldn’t be human if he hadn’t been tempted a time or two to work over a suspect, especially the ones who murdered children. He remembered the Betts case—then again, he didn’t want to remember the Betts case. He’d been the one to find the child’s body in the Dumpster behind an abandoned apartment building in Chinatown. The little girl’s battered face and staring eyes had haunted him for months, years. But the smirk on her old man’s face when Tony had gone to search his apartment had haunted him even longer.

Yeah, he could easily have done a little attitude adjustment on that psycho, but he hadn’t. He might not always play by the rules, but he knew the dangers in losing control. If he ever came that close again that would be the day he’d hang it up. Walk away. Spend the rest of his life scrubbing toilets or some damn thing if he had to.

Clare’s gaze softened, as if she’d decided to cut him some slack. Or maybe she was remembering little Julie Betts, too. Clare had been the one to pull Tony away from Robert Betts when they’d gone to make the arrest.

“I know you don’t go that far—not even close—but you are something of a Dirty Harry, Tony, you can’t deny that. You should have called for backup the other night, and you know it.”

“I was more concerned with saving two lives. Three, if I could have.” He hadn’t wanted Franco Mancini to die. Tony had tried to persuade the man to throw down his weapon and surrender, but Franco, eyes glazed from whatever drug he’d been popping or snorting, had just kept on shooting.

Tony rubbed his forehead, where a migraine was starting to throb. The light in Clare’s office was suddenly almost blinding.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Clare frowned, and the compassion she might have felt moments earlier vanished. She said coldly, “You’ve got a woman threatening you because of your actions that night.”

He shrugged. It wasn’t the first time, and he doubted it would be the last. Still, if he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit he wasn’t exactly comfortable with Maria Mancini’s vendetta against him. The woman looked pretty edgy herself.

“One of these days,” Clare warned with a hint of maliciousness, “someone is going to make good on their threats against you.”

He wondered if she was talking about Maria Mancini or herself. If memory served, Clare had made a few ugly promises of her own the night Tony had split. The scene had been nasty and brutal, not something he wanted to replay even in his head.

As if she were recalling that night herself, she lifted her chin, glaring at him. “You’ve pretty much been allowed to go your own way around here because, frankly, none of the other detectives want to be assigned with you. But like I said, things are changing. As of today, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

Alarmed, Tony straightened in his chair. “I thought we had an agreement. I work best alone.”

She smiled. “That agreement was with your old lieutenant. Any promises you and I made to each other have long since become null and void. Isn’t that right?”

Her tone and her gaze challenged him, and Tony said, “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you? You like making me suffer.”

“You’re such an easy target. You and all your pent-up angst.”

He groaned. “Spare me Metzer’s psychobabble. Who are you putting me with? Davis? Sanchez?” He’d give either of them a week at the most.

“She’s new. Transferred from the North Side a couple of weeks ago.”

She? Oh, hell… “The North Side? That’s your old stomping ground, isn’t it? You two pals or something?”

Clare hesitated. “I may have seen her around a few times. She worked vice.”

“What happened? She get tired of wearing spike heels and leather hot pants?”

“It wore a little thin after a while,” a soft voice said from the doorway behind him. “I didn’t mind it on Saturday nights, but every night of the week got to be a real drag. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Tony glanced around as his new partner walked into the office. Clare gave him a derisive smile. “Tony, I’d like you to meet Eve Barrett. Detective Eve Barrett. I’m sure Detective Gallagher’s reputation precedes him,” she said dryly.

Eve held out her hand, and Tony grudgingly stood. “You don’t have to do that,” she said quickly. “Stand, I mean.”

“So it’s that way, is it?” he muttered, almost under his breath.

She shrugged. “I don’t want to have to stand every time you come into a room.”

He gave Clare a withering look, as if to say what the hell did I do to deserve this?

“Not that I don’t appreciate the thought,” Eve continued. “But we’re going to be working together as equals. I’d like for you to treat me as you would any other partner.”

He could almost see Clare smirking, but Tony wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of glancing her way. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, checking Eve Barrett out in spite of himself. She wore a conservative business suit, not unlike Clare’s, but the skirt was just a little shorter, showing legs that were a little younger and firmer but, to Tony’s mind, no more shapely. They both had great legs. Hell, he’d hit the leg jackpot in here, he thought with perverse appreciation.

Eve Barrett was thin, toned, an all-American girl with her shiny, shoulder-length brown hair and scrubbed complexion. In spite of the shield she wore clipped to the waistband of her skirt, and the faint bulge where her shoulder holster rested beneath her jacket, she looked all of twenty years old. Tony wondered how she’d ever ended up in vice. He couldn’t imagine anyone looking less like a hooker.

Except, of course, for those legs…

He had a sudden vision of her in the aforementioned hot pants and spike heels, and something unwelcome stirred inside him.

As if she were reading his mind, her hazel eyes narrowed on him. “You don’t have a problem working with a female partner, do you, Detective?”

He shrugged. “No. I just don’t want a partner period.”

Something flashed in her eyes. Anger, he hoped, but it sure as hell looked like hurt. Jeez…

She gave him a cool smile. “Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we…Tony?”

The way she said his name…her voice…

For a moment, recognition teased at the fringes of his mind. Had they met before? She looked a little familiar, but surely he would have remembered that body. Those incredible legs.

“Why don’t you wait outside, Eve? I’d like to have a word with Tony before you two hook up.”

“Sure.”

Eve gave Tony a tentative smile before she turned and left the room. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught a whiff of her perfume as she walked by him. The fragrance was light, flowery—not at all like the heavy musk Clare had always been partial to. The floral scent was more like the perfume Ashley had worn.

Ashley…

Yes, something about Eve Barrett reminded him of Ashley, but he couldn’t say what, exactly. It wasn’t their looks. Ashley had been tall, willowy, blond. Drop-dead gorgeous. Eve was shorter, thin but more athletic looking. Attractive but not beautiful. Not even close.

Still, there was something about her that had momentarily taken Tony’s mind off his headache. Looking back at Clare, however, the pain hit him right between the eyes.

She gave him a slow smile. “So, what do you think? Can you work with her without driving her crazy?”

Was that really what Clare wanted to know? “I’d say she has potential.”

The smile disappeared from Clare’s red lips. “Consider this a trial. A probation of sorts. If you screw up…”

His brows rose. “Yeah?”

“Not even the Gallagher name will save you this time.”

Had it ever? Both his brothers were cops, just as his father had been before he’d disappeared almost eight years ago while investigating Ashley’s murder. Tony’s family had a long tradition in Chicago law enforcement, but he wasn’t so sure that history had ever helped him out of a jam. In fact, maybe the pressure of trying to live up to the name—and not succeeding—had been his downfall.

Or maybe he was just a screwup, Tony conceded with an inward shrug. The black sheep of the family. At least Fiona still had hope for him.

“So how old is she, anyway?” Tony nodded toward the door. “She looks like a kid. How long was she in vice?”

“A while,” Clare said evasively. “She graduated from the academy a year after you did. Top of her class, I might add. You didn’t graduate top of your class, did you, Tony?”

No, but damn close. Clare might be surprised. Then again, he doubted there was much about him that would surprise her. She’d once made it her business to find out everything she could about him—and now he knew why.

Payback was hell.

“She’s a good detective, so cut her some slack, will you? None of your usual male chauvinist bull.”