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In front of them was a rather plain storefront with simple black lettering on the glass door. Annie Jones, Private Investigator, it read, followed by a local phone number. Her office was flanked by a dry cleaner on one side and a hobby shop on the other. Its grimy window was filled with a stack of faded cardboard boxes, the type plastic model kits come in, and dead flies. Neither business bordering hers looked especially prosperous.
Cole was trying to think of a comment—something neutral—when Annie got out of the car without a word and unlocked the front door of her office.
“Coming?” she demanded when he made no move to follow her.
Flushing, he grabbed his briefcase from behind the seat, locked the rental carefully and went inside. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but not the comfortable clutter that greeted him. With painful clarity, he pictured the tiny, cheerful apartment she’d had before—shabby, eclectic and welcoming. In some ways, Annie hadn’t changed.
“Have a seat,” she told him as she grabbed a stack of manila folders from a chair facing a scarred metal desk, and dumped them on top of a file cabinet. “I’ll just be a minute.” Sitting down behind the desk, she picked up the phone.
While she checked her voice mail, Cole cleared a spot in front of him for his briefcase and took the opportunity to look around. Modern computer equipment shared space with battered file cabinets and crammed bookcases. On the one bare wall were several framed citations. Cole figured he’d better wait to examine them more closely. On another wall was a calendar still turned to the month before. On the counter were two dirty coffee cups and an apothecary jar filled with lemon drops. Annie might be as organized as a surgical team, but neatness wasn’t any more of a priority now than it had ever been.
Cole wondered if he could work in the midst of such clutter. The top of his own desk in Denver was always bare except for his current project. His files and baskets were color-coordinated, his books shelved according to subject and cataloged on his computer.
Now he looked at the self-stick notes dotting the side of the computer monitor and sighed.
The closing of a drawer drew his attention back to the woman seated across from him. She’d taken out a yellow legal pad and uncapped a cheap pen.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” she said, her gaze boring into him as though she were about to interview a suspect. “Tell me everything you know about the case.”
For the first time in a long while, Annie could find no peace, no relaxation in the condominium she’d taken such pleasure in decorating the year before. Even her cat, rescued from a shelter to become Annie’s number one fan, failed to distract her from her thoughts tonight. It had been a long afternoon, going over the facts of Lily Cassidy’s case with Cole and planning her strategy to poke holes in the state’s theory of how and why the crime had been committed. All they needed for an acquittal was reasonable doubt.
“Not now, Sluggo,” Annie murmured distractedly when the cat jumped into her lap and began butting his wide head against her hand. Gently she deposited him back on the carpeted floor, barely aware of his sharp meow of protest. Devoted he might be, but the big orange tabby was also unused to being ignored. Annie knew she’d have to placate him later for the slight she’d dealt his pride.
No matter. There were too many thoughts chasing each other around in her head for her to be able to focus on her cat, the Celine Dion CD she’d put on her stereo, or the glass of Merlot she’d poured herself when she’d first gotten home.
It was obvious that Cole didn’t want her on the case, and just as obvious that both his mother and Ryan did. For the last reason, and because Annie knew what it was like to be wrongly accused, she’d ignored Cole’s lack of enthusiasm toward her over lunch and accepted the assignment. She hoped that neither she nor Lily Cassidy would live to regret it.
With a sigh, Annie opened the denim tote she used in lieu of a briefcase and removed the notes she’d made that afternoon. Once they’d gotten started, she and Cole had covered a lot of ground. His memory for detail was phenomenal. They’d worked well together, their thought processes operating in a similar fashion that eliminated lengthy explanations between them. Indeed, they’d each picked up on what the other had been trying to communicate with a speed that reminded Annie painfully of the way they’d meshed six years ago. Sometimes back then words hadn’t been necessary at all, just touch and taste—
Annie leaped to her feet, scattering papers and scaring the cat, who ran behind the couch. This was getting her nowhere! Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly through her mouth, she gathered up her notes and sat back down. Kicking off her shoe, she tucked her foot beneath her, sipped her wine and stared at her own barely legible handwriting.
She would have liked to ask Cole about his life in Denver. She was curious as heck about what he’d been doing for the last six years, but she wouldn’t admit it—not to him. No, the last thing she wanted to hear was how, up in Colorado, he’d found the perfect woman, or, even worse, a whole string of perfect women to keep him company.
He wasn’t wearing a ring, but she knew that didn’t mean anything. Would Ryan have mentioned whether Cole was married? No, there was no reason for that—just as there was no room for personal feelings here. Not anger, not bitterness and certainly not regret. No matter how she felt about Cole, she knew what it was like to face the endless stares and questions from people who’d already decided you were guilty, all the while wondering if your life would ever be the same.
It made not the slightest difference that the woman facing a similar ordeal was the mother of the man who’d walked out when Annie had needed him desperately, ripping out her heart as he went. How satisfying to be instrumental in getting Lily Cassidy off, and in knowing that from now on her son would owe Annie for something he could never hope to repay. When he thought of her, the feelings in his heart would be obligation and gratitude, however reluctantly given, and not the somewhat distant indifference he’d shown her today.
Two
“Where have you been?” Cole asked Annie as soon as the temp he’d hired had shown her into his borrowed office and departed, closing the door behind her. “I expected to hear from you before this.” He picked up the gold pen his father had given him upon graduation from law school and rolled it between his fingers.
Not his biological father, Cole reminded himself with a wry twist of his lips, just the man who’d raised him like a son. The man he’d believed to be his real father until just a few weeks ago.
“It’s only been two days,” Annie replied, dropping her purse and a denim bag on the floor next to an empty leather chair. “I had things to do.” Gone was the trim gray power suit she’d worn with a white blouse and button earrings at lunch the other day. Only her hair was the same, piled into a curly mass on top of her head.
Silver hoops dangled from her ears and sparkled when she turned her head. A blue sweater hugged her breasts and barely covered her midriff. Snug jeans, the fabric bleached nearly white and fraying around the pockets, and thick-soled sandals completed her outfit.
She followed the direction of Cole’s gaze. “My field uniform,” she said with a saucy little shimmy of her hips.
Cole nearly stepped on his tongue. Next to her, he felt overdressed and stodgy. Irritated, he straightened the knot of his tie. “Now that you’re here,” he said, tapping the folder in front of him, “I want to go over this paperwork with you.”
Instead of plopping obediently into a chair, Annie hooked her thumbs into her pockets and glanced around the small room. “Nice digs,” she murmured, turning back to face him. Lightly, she ran her finger over a jade panther that rested on the corner of his desk. That and a brass lamp with a Tiffany-style glass shade were Cole’s. He’d brought them from Denver. The only other items on the desk were the file he’d been studying, a legal pad and a phone with an intercom. Clutter was distracting. He thought of Annie’s office and shuddered.
“My soon-to-be brother-in-law loaned me the office space,” Cole said. “Parker’s engaged to my sister Hannah, and he’s been handling Dad’s divorce.”
Before Cole had moved in here, the room had been used for storage. Bookcases full of legal tomes covered two walls and a row of mismatched file cabinets lined a third. Cartons of printer paper were stacked in one corner. At least there was a small window behind him with a view of the sky and the busy street below.
“How long are you staying in Texas?” Annie asked.
“Until the trial’s over.” He lined the pen up next to the pad of paper. Behind him, the air conditioner hummed quietly. “Let’s get to work.” In the last two days, he’d been torn between worry over his mother and endless speculation about Annie. How much had she changed? Was she as confident as she appeared? Was she still passionate about her work? Had she ever given him a thought in the last six years? Did she hate him? Thanks to his future step-father, Cole might have to work with Annie, but he’d be damned if he’d let her know he still found her attractive.
Finally she sat down, crossed one leg over the other and fished a manila folder from her bag. “Did you know that Ryan’s wife was having an affair before she died?”
Interest surged through Cole. He knew his mother hadn’t murdered Sophia, which meant that someone else had—someone angry enough to press a pillow to her face until she stopped breathing. A spurned lover? An obsessed reject? From what Ryan had already told Cole, his estranged wife had certainly been capable of a secret involvement with someone else while she did her best to squeeze a bigger settlement from her husband.
“I heard rumors,” Cole admitted. “Have you found out who the lucky man was?”
To his disappointment, Annie shook her head. “Not yet, but I will.”
“What have you been doing all this time?” he demanded, frustrated.
She gave him a level stare. “Working. How about you? Established a foolproof defense yet?”
Her sarcastic tone made him realize that the two of them sniping at each other wasn’t going to help his mother’s case. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m worried.” He glanced at the thick file he’d been reading before she came in. “I’ve been going over the police report from the crime scene,” he added. “The only physical evidence that ties Mom to the scene was the ruby bracelet they found next to the body. It was a gift from Ryan. Someone else had to have deliberately planted it in Sophia’s hotel room. Mom was never there.”
“Are you sure of that?” Annie asked.
Cole fought down his protective urges. “She says she wasn’t. That’s good enough for me.”
“But not necessarily good enough to convince a jury,” Annie pointed out. “Why would anyone want to frame her?”
“To divert attention, I suppose,” he replied. “Because Mom was at the hotel that night and she knew Sophia. Anyone could have seen her there.”
Annie twirled a lock of her hair, and he noticed that she wore a ring shaped like a butterfly. Her nails were short, neat and free of polish. “What about the bracelet?” she asked. “Did the police talk to anyone who thought they remembered her wearing it that night?”
Cole thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. Good point.”
Annie made a note. “I’ll check it out. Why was Lily at the hotel that night?”
He sat back and steepled his hands, the leather of his chair creaking in protest like an old saddle. “She attended a charity banquet at the hotel and, unfortunately for her, she decided to stay the night.”
Annie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “What’s her alibi for the time when Sophia was killed?” she asked.
“She was in her own room,” Cole admitted with a sigh. “Alone.”
“No room service? No phone calls?” Annie probed with a wave of her hand.
He shook his head regretfully. “She was resting.”
Annie appeared to be studying the scenic print behind his head. He tried to stay focused on the discussion and not notice how full her lips were, puckered as if for a kiss. Did she have a boyfriend?
“I think our best bet would be to find out who Sophia was involved with,” she said as he tried hard to concentrate. “I’m not usually a fan of putting the victim on trial, but it wouldn’t hurt to alter a jury’s image of her as the wronged wife.”
Cole couldn’t fault Annie’s reasoning. From the beginning, publicity surrounding the case had played up its sensational aspects. Anything connected to the wealthy Fortune family was big news in Texas. “Good idea. Where do we start?”
Annie leaned back and studied him pointedly. The movement thrust out her breasts. Memories had his fingers curling in reaction behind the desk. “We?” she echoed.
“She’s my mother,” he replied a little more forcefully than necessary. “I’m not just some attorney trying to better his win–loss record.”
“Precisely. You’re biased.”
“And you’re not?” he countered.
“I haven’t formed an opinion of her guilt or innocence yet, if that’s what you mean,” she said loftily.
Cole ignored the quick surge of temper. “Why did you take this case?” he asked instead.
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Ryan Fortune has been very supportive,” she said finally. “I owe him.”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “Is that the only reason?”
She shifted in her chair and uncrossed her legs. “What are you implying?”
“You can’t ignore the fact that you and I have a history,” Cole said with great reluctance. He hadn’t meant to bring it up, but maybe it would be better to clear the air now, before they got deeper into the investigation.
Annie was surprised he would mention their unfortunate past. “Ancient history.” She bristled at the idea that he might think she’d let anything personal influence the way she handled a case. “It certainly has no bearing on this investigation.” She didn’t like the way he was studying her, but she refused to allow him to put her on the defensive. Instead she leaned down to stuff the folder back into her bag, then got to her feet.
“I’ll keep you posted.” Before she could reach the door, Cole had circled his desk and blocked her path. She could smell his cologne. Thank heaven he’d changed brands and the new scent, something clean and sharp, wasn’t another painful reminder of the past they’d shared.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, easing his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks and propping his shoulder against the door. “Can we start over?” He was so close she could see the faint stubble of his beard, could feel his breath on her cheek.
“No problem.” Annie refused to retreat. Instead she looked into his eyes, at the twin reflections of herself in the blackness of his pupils, as awareness—stronger than a sigh but fainter than a whisper—shimmered between them.
Cole was the first to step away, leaving her to wonder if he felt it too. He gave his silk tie, the exact same blue as his irises, an unnecessary tug, but his expression remained unchanged.
Annie realized she’d die if he suspected she still found him attractive. She felt like a dog that had been kicked and kept crawling back to its master no matter how many times it was hurt.
“Let’s start by pooling our information,” Cole suggested briskly, sliding the folder around so it was facing the chair she’d just vacated. “Here’s the police report.”
Curious, Annie sat back down and did her best to concentrate on the form in front of her. “How odd,” she murmured when she’d scanned the report of the crime scene.
Cole perched on the corner of the desk. “What do you mean?”
“As usual, there was a lot of physical evidence to sift through—fingerprints, hair, fibers.” She glanced over the report. “I know this forensics team,” she said, tapping the paper for emphasis. “If there had been anything else in that hotel room to link your mother to the victim, no matter how minuscule, they should have found it.” She looked again. “They have several unidentified fingerprints, but none of Lily’s.” Perhaps Lily was telling the truth.
“Of course they don’t have her prints. She wasn’t there,” Cole insisted. “Maybe something will match up to the real killer.”
Annie ignored his comment. “What else do you have?” she asked, pulling a bag of lemon drops from her bag and holding them out. Did he remember how he used to buy them for her?
Declining her offer, he sat back down and shuffled through more papers. “Witness statements. A copy of the hotel registry. The autopsy report.” He frowned. “The police believe the only two acquaintances of Sophia’s who were at the hotel the night of the murder were Lily and the ranch employee who drove her there, Roy Dirkson.”
“What do we know about Dirkson?” Annie asked eagerly.
Cole kept reading. “He’s in the clear. He was seen having a beer in the bar after he dropped Mom at the hotel, and he swears he left right after that. A couple of witnesses corroborated his statement. I suppose he could have circled around and come back to the hotel later, but, judging by how soon he got to the ranch, he’s probably telling the truth.”
“His arrival time is documented too?” Annie asked.
“By Ryan himself. Dirkson reported to him when he arrived.”
Sucking on the lemon drop, she made a note on the pad she’d pulled out. “I’ll talk to Dirkson again before we eliminate him,” she decided.
Cole’s brows lifted. “It can’t hurt, but what reason could he possibly have had to kill her?” he asked skeptically.
“From what I’ve learned so far about dear Sophia,” Annie felt compelled to explain, “her taste in men was eclectic. Dirkson’s worth a look.” She’d be darned if she was going to justify every step she took to Cole.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Only that Sophia’s hotel room showed definite signs of a struggle, and Mom had no scratches or bruising on her arms or face when they questioned her,” he replied.
Annie made another note and drew a star next to it. “How do the police explain that? Sophia must have fought back.”
He shrugged. “They don’t even try. I’ll have Tiffany make copies of all this for you.” He pressed a button on his intercom.
When his secretary opened the door and he rose to hand her the file, Annie took the opportunity to study him from beneath her lashes. His suit was impeccably tailored, his black shoes as shiny as tinted windows. He had always liked to dress well.
If she didn’t put the past where it belonged, this case was only going to be more difficult. As it was, Lily had already been tried and found guilty in the press, which had painted her as a gold digger, a home-wrecker and worse. The obvious holes in the case wouldn’t matter to those people who’d already convicted her in their minds—people from whom a pool of jurors would be selected.
Annie realized that Cole had resumed his seat and was watching her. “How do you like Denver?” she asked to fill the silence while they waited for his secretary to come back with the copies.
“It’s a nice city,” he said noncommittally. “The winters took some getting used to, but it’s home for me now. I’ve made friends. I’ve settled in.”
No mention of a wife or a family. All Annie could think to do was nod. The gap of six years yawned between them like a chasm with no bridge.
“What about you?” he asked unexpectedly. “I was surprised to hear you left the force. Being a cop meant so much to you.”
Not as much as you did, she thought sadly. Even though she knew he was only making small talk, she considered her reply carefully. “It meant a great deal to my father that I followed in his footsteps,” she said after a moment. “When I was cleared, I realized that being a cop had been his dream, but it was no longer mine.” There was no way to explain how she’d felt, abandoned by Cole, ostracized by her fellow officers and gagged by the code of silence, the blue wall, from doing any more than declaring her own innocence. If her partner hadn’t finally deigned to clear her of being on the take, Annie’s career and her reputation would have been destroyed.
Because of her unwillingness to implicate her partner and Cole’s subsequent lack of faith in her, he had assumed she was guilty. Perhaps it had been unrealistic of her to expect him to believe in her innocence without question, but, if the tables had been turned, she knew she would never have doubted him.
“I was sorry to hear about your father,” he said quietly, bringing her back to the present. “I thought about writing later, but it didn’t seem like a good idea.”
Annie didn’t respond. What more was there to say? Instead she changed the subject. “I’ll want to talk to your mother.”
Instantly, his expression grew wary. “Why? She’s already discussed this ad nauseam with the police, the prosecutor and with me. Is it necessary for you to drag her through it all again?”
“I like to do my own interviews.” Annie struggled for patience. Was he going to oppose her every step of the way? What was he afraid of? “I may find something that’s been overlooked.”
“I can answer any questions you have,” he insisted as his secretary slipped back in and handed him two sets of papers, one of which he gave Annie.
She knew from past experience that he could be bulldog stubborn when he wanted to be. She waited until the door closed again. “When did your mother notice the bracelet was missing?” she asked.
It was his turn to hesitate. Frowning, he referred to the file in front of him. “After a horseback ride at the ranch. It’s all in here. She’d been having some trouble with the clasp. When she realized she’d lost the bracelet, she assumed it fell off somewhere out on the range, that it was gone forever.”
“And did Ryan corroborate her story?” Annie persisted.
His frown deepened. “Ryan wasn’t aware it was missing,” he finally admitted.
“And why not?” It was important Annie put the pieces together, and the bracelet was the most damning piece of evidence the other side had.
Cole sat back in his chair and glared as though she were the enemy. “I don’t know why not.”
She got to her feet. “That’s precisely why I need to talk to your mother. If someone did frame her, they had to have that bracelet with them at the time of the murder. How many people knew she was going to be at the hotel for the banquet?”
“I have no idea. Her room was comped and any number of hotel employees could have known.” He pulled a calendar out of his drawer and flipped through it. “Let me call and set up a time for us to see her.”
“No. Give me her number. I’ll call her and I’ll go talk to her.” Annie refused to let him run her investigation. When he raked a hand through his black hair and she saw the worry in his eyes, she relented slightly. “I know what I’m doing,” she said. “Let me do my job.”
Cole appeared about to argue when his intercom buzzed. Muttering a soft curse, he picked up his phone. After a moment, he held it out to Annie. “It’s Mom,” he said, resignation in his voice. “She wants to see you.”
“So you’re the same Annie Jones my son used to know before he moved to Denver,” Lily said just as Annie was about to take a sip from the tall, sweating glass of iced tea brought by the housekeeper Lily had introduced as Rosita.
The two women were sitting in the shade of the inner courtyard at Ryan’s sprawling ranch house, surrounded by well-tended pots of flowering vines and exotic grasses. Nearby a fountain gurgled softly. The day was warm, but Lily’s comment sent a sudden chill through Annie, and she set her glass down abruptly.
“That’s right,” she replied, grateful her voice was just as steady as Lily’s gaze. “Cole and I were lovers six years ago. It ended badly.” Perhaps her candor would head off any more questions.
The older woman seemed to relax, as if she’d been expecting evasion, even lies, and was relieved to hear the truth.
“You don’t have to tell me anything more,” she said as she selected a cookie from the silver tray. Her engagement ring, studded with precious stones, flashed a rainbow of colors in the sunlight. “I haven’t said anything about it to my son, but I thought I remembered your name.”