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

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.”

“How many times do I have to tell you—I don’t have a chauvinistic bone in my body. I just don’t have much use for people in general.”

“Except when it suits your purposes.” Clare gave him an enigmatic glance. “One of these days you’re going to fall and fall hard, Tony. I just hope I’m lucky enough to be around to stomp on the pieces.”

EVE WAS AT HER DESK in the cubicle she would be sharing with Tony when she saw him come out of Clare’s office. He looked thinner than she remembered, but then, the last time she’d seen him had been, what? Nearly eight years ago?

At Ashley’s funeral.

He’d been so torn up with grief that day he hadn’t even noticed Eve. But then, he never had.

Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d noticed her before Ashley had come into their lives. They’d even shared a mild summer flirtation the year before Tony graduated from high school. But then Ashley had moved into the neighborhood and there’d been no room in his life for anyone else.

He’d been completely consumed by Ashley Dallas—and why not? She was everything a man could want in a woman. Beautiful, blond, smart. She was even nice, for God’s sake. Eve hadn’t been able to hate her, although there had been times when she’d wanted to. But Ashley had been flawless in every way. The quintessential woman. Eve hadn’t been able to compete with such perfection, and she suspected Ashley’s memory would be even more daunting.

The fact that Tony hadn’t even remembered her told Eve how truly pointless such a competition would be.

Their two desks were shoved up against each other, and when Tony sat down, he and Eve were face-to-face. He gazed at her across the expanse. “Look. What I said in there—it’s nothing personal. I just like working alone, that’s all.”

“I understand. Some people are like that. I’ve worked alone before, too,” she told him.

“Yeah? How’d you like it?”

She shrugged. “I guess I’m more of a people person. I like working with a partner.”

“That’s fine.” He stood, placing his hands on his desk and leaning slightly toward her. “So long as we understand each other. You stay out of my business, and I’ll stay out of yours. None of that bonding crap—”

“I get the message,” she interrupted. “Loud and clear. If I want someone to watch my back, I shouldn’t count on you. Right, Tony?”

He frowned. “I didn’t mean—”

“Then what did you mean?” She got up and stood facing him. “If you can’t trust your partner not to bail on you, you’re as good as dead out there. If that’s the way it’s going to be, let’s get it straight right here and now.”

Jeez, Tony thought. She was a lot tougher than she looked. Still, she was right. They might as well get a few things straight right from the start, even though he didn’t expect her to last.

“I’ve never bailed on a partner. You can ask any of the detectives in this division if they’d worry about me covering their backs. You’d get the same answer from all of them. They may not like me. They may not want to have to deal with me and my bullsh—my ways,” he amended with a begrudging shrug. “But they know, to a man—and woman—they can count on me when the going gets tough. And it will,” he added ominously.

She smiled faintly. “I’m hardly a rookie, you know. I’ve been on the force almost as long as you have.”

“How do you know how long I’ve been on the force?”

“Like the lieutenant said, your reputation precedes you.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze hooded and steely. She’d forgotten how blue his eyes were. Blue and almost breathtakingly intense.

Awareness tingled down her backbone. They’d been kids the last time he’d looked at her so intently, just before he’d kissed her. She’d been sixteen that summer and had never been kissed the way Tony Gallagher had kissed her, his mouth fusing to hers, his tongue entwining with hers.

Eve’s mother had died when she was thirteen, and her father, an insurance adjuster, had become overprotective, resisting the reality of his little girl growing up before his eyes. She hadn’t been allowed to date, but that hadn’t stopped Tony. He’d come over before her father got home from work, and they’d sit on the stoop together. Sometimes they’d even go inside.

How easily he’d forgotten her, Eve thought with a measure of regret, when all these years she’d thought about him a lot. He’d been her first infatuation, and she hadn’t gotten over him for a very long time.

“I’ll cover your back,” he said, still gazing at her across their desks. “You don’t have to worry about that. But my personal life is off-limits. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, I believe we do,” Eve said, hoping her voice didn’t reveal the regret she felt.

“COME ON IN, Eve, and close the door.”

Eve did as she was told, then took a seat across from the lieutenant’s desk. Clare Foxx was a very attractive woman, dark, sultry looking, with the kind of body even a much younger woman would envy. She was cool and professional, qualities Eve had always admired, but there was something about Clare that was almost formidable. Perhaps it was because she had been instrumental in Eve’s new assignment and was one of the few people who knew the real reason she had been sent here.

Clare sat back in her chair and studied Eve for a long, silent moment. Not since Eve had been summoned before the nuns at St. Anne’s had she felt such a need to squirm.

You’re a grown woman, she admonished herself. Thirty years old and a police officer. So act like one.

She squared her shoulders with an effort, meeting Clare’s gaze. “You wanted to see me?”

Clare nodded. “How did it go out there?”

“You mean with Tony…Detective Gallagher?” Eve shrugged. “Too early to tell. He’s…a bit hostile, isn’t he?”

Clare gave a short laugh. “You might say that.” She sat forward suddenly, folding her arms on her desk as she leaned toward Eve. “You’ve seen his disciplinary record. He’s had his share of rips, both civilian and departmental, not the least of which was that assault charge four years ago. And now this latest incident…”

“He was exonerated each time,” Eve said, maybe a shade too quickly.

Clare frowned. “Still, the media doesn’t print the exoneration, only the charges. Cops like Tony make the whole department look bad.”

“An active cop gets complaints,” Eve argued, even though she knew Clare had a point.

Clare gave her an annoyed glance. “You sound as if you’re defending his behavior. That’s not why you were brought in.”

“I was brought in to observe and evaluate. I can’t do that unless I keep an open mind. I’ll tell you exactly what I told my own commanding officer. I’m not going to railroad Tony Gallagher. If that’s what you want, then I may as well walk out that door right now.”

Anger flashed in Clare’s eyes, but her voice was surprisingly obliging. “Point taken,” she said tightly, then added, “You don’t have qualms about this assignment, do you? It could get a little sticky, if you aren’t careful.”

“I plan to be careful,” Eve said. “And, no, I don’t have any qualms. I know what has to be done.”

Clare nodded in approval. “A word of caution, however.” She got up and came around to lean against the desk, gripping the edge with her fingers. “Don’t let your hormones get in the way of doing your job.”

Eve was taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m talking about the effect Tony Gallagher has on women. He can be obnoxious, opinionated, frustrating as hell to deal with. But he can also get under your skin in a big way. When that happens, it’s damn near impossible to get him out.” Her gaze was very direct, knowing, and Eve stared at her in shock.

So she and Clare Foxx had something in common, after all. It wasn’t a notion that gave Eve any comfort.

“I appreciate the advice,” she murmured. “Is that all, Lieutenant?”

“For now.” Clare waited until Eve had gotten to the door, then she added, “Tony Gallagher is a disaster waiting to happen. That’s why you’re here, Barrett. To make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“I’ll do my best.” But when Eve opened the door and stepped into the hall, she saw almost at once that their cubicle was empty.

Sometime after she’d been summoned into Clare Foxx’s office, Tony Gallagher had decided to bail on her, after all.

Chapter Two

The second watch had already come on duty by the time Eve packed up her briefcase and purse and got ready to leave. Tony hadn’t come back to the station all afternoon, nor had he called in. Eve had no idea where he’d gone off to, but she wasn’t so dense that she couldn’t take a hint. He was avoiding her.

She drew a long breath, wondering again if she’d made the right decision in accepting this assignment. Not that she’d had much choice. When the request came down from the superintendent himself, you didn’t exactly refuse.

Still, if the brass had known about her past with Tony, would their enthusiasm for giving her this assignment have waned? Eve had considered telling them, but then figured it wouldn’t have made a difference, anyway. They knew she came from the same neighborhood, knew she and Tony had attended the same school. Their paths were bound to have crossed at some point, but as Eve’s commanding officer had pointed out, that made her an ideal candidate for the job. She could, in ways that counted, speak Tony Gallagher’s language. An acquaintance from the old neighborhood had a better shot at gaining his trust than a total stranger.

Of course, that theory had been blown all to hell, since Tony didn’t even remember her. Now Eve was glad she hadn’t told anyone about her crush on the neighborhood hunk, the few passionate kisses the two of them had sneaked behind her father’s back. How humiliating to have tried to make something out of what had turned out to be a big nothing.

“Hey, Barrett,” a masculine voice said from the doorway of her office. “Ready to hang it up?”

Eve glanced up, grimacing inwardly at the man who stood watching her. Vic D’Angelo was the stereotypical homicide detective—tall, good-looking and more than a little arrogant. He was tanned, toned and expensively coiffed, but his taste in clothing appeared heavily influenced by the years he’d spent watching reruns of Miami Vice.

In the two weeks Eve had been there, she’d learned to avoid D’Angelo whenever possible, just as she’d learned, in the two or three conversations they’d had, how much he despised Tony. “Cowboy,” he called him disparagingly.

“I was just about to take off,” Eve told him. She hooked the strap of her purse over her shoulder and came around the desk. D’Angelo made no move to let her by.

“A few of us are heading over to Durty Nellie’s for a couple of beers. Care to join us?”

He’d been trying for days to get Eve to have dinner or drinks with him. Of course, what he really wanted was a roll in the hay. Eve knew his type all too well, and what was worse, she suspected he was of the kiss-and-tell variety. He wouldn’t be able to resist boasting about his latest conquest, but it made no difference to Eve. She had no intention of going out with him, let alone sleeping with him.

As if reading her mind, he shrugged, his hand sweeping down his silk tie. “Suit yourself. It’s no skin off my teeth one way or another. But your new partner’s apt to be there. Might give you two a chance to connect, although, I have to tell you, Cowboy’s not exactly the friendly type. If you want to really connect…” His oily smile reminded Eve of a street pimp she’d arrested once while working vice.

She spared him a withering glance. “However charming your offer, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

“Ah, come on, Barrett. Just a couple of beers at Nellie’s. Give you a chance to get to know some of the other guys around here, too. Who knows? You might even get to like us.”

Eve hated to admit it, but he had a point. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be at this station, and the more she was accepted, the better she’d blend in. Being Tony Gallagher’s partner was already making things difficult for her. He was something of a pariah, though she suspected the image was one he cultivated more than he tried to live down.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.”

D’Angelo’s grin was so insolent, Eve almost backed out. “Since you don’t know where the place is, how about we ride together?” he suggested.

“Then I’d have to come back here and get my car.”

“Not necessarily. You could pick it up in the morning.” He let his gaze travel leisurely over her body, lingering on her legs as he released a long, appreciative breath.

When he finally glanced up, Eve gave him a cold glare. “You through?”

“You’re not as tough as you try to let on, Barrett.”

He stepped back to let her through the door. When Eve walked by him, his hand very deliberately grazed her derriere. She grabbed his fingers, bending the middle one back almost to his wrist, then releasing it so quickly he wouldn’t have known what had happened except for the excruciating pain. His eyebrows shot skyward.

“Goddammit!” he roared, his eyes blazing with fury. “Why, you little—”

“Careful,” she warned. “Next time it might be another appendage I feel like bending.”

He muttered another oath, but kept his distance as the two of them walked through the noisy confusion of the squad room.

DURTY NELLIE’S WAS a typical Irish pub that had become a regular hangout several years ago for cops who worked the South Side. Although it was located near the neighborhood where Eve had grown up, she’d never been inside.

She found a parking space near the garbage bins in the back, then hurried around to the front door before D’Angelo arrived in his flashy gold ’Vette. He was the type of guy who would circle the block several times until he found just the right space, so Eve figured she had a few minutes.

The decor inside was primarily green with wood trim, and cut glass that sparkled in the subdued lighting. There was a pool table in the back, along with a dartboard that was seeing some serious action.

The patrons—mostly cops and mostly guys—sat drinking at the long, polished bar or hunched over rickety tables shoved together to make the most of the cramped space. Neon signs over the bar advertised Guinness, Bushnell’s and Bailey’s Irish Cream, while overhead speakers blasted an old U2 song, one of Eve’s favorites.

Heads turned when she walked in, and eyes—appreciative and curious—took her measure. Most of the customers went right back to their drinking. Eve was still wearing her shield, although she’d locked her gun in her trunk. Even the ones who had never seen her before knew she was one of them and therefore commanded, even as a woman, a modicum of respect.

She spotted Tony standing at the end of the bar, leaning over a beer and a shot glass as another man stood talking to him. When the man turned toward the bar, lifting his mug, Eve caught a glimpse of his profile. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he might be Tony’s brother. Nick was a couple of years older than Tony. Eve hadn’t known him very well, but she remembered that of all the Gallaghers, his hair had been the blackest, his eyes the darkest blue. And his temper, even back then, had been legendary.

Taking a deep breath, Eve walked over to them. “Hi,” she said over the music. “Mind if I join you?”

Both men turned at her voice. Tony barely slanted her a glance before tossing back his drink. Nick leaned his elbow against the bar, giving her a slow examination. She wondered why his scrutiny didn’t offend her the way Vic D’Angelo’s had.

Extending her hand, she said, “I’m Tony’s new partner. Eve—”

Nick Gallagher cut her off. “Barrett, right? From the neighborhood.”

Eve’s mouth dropped. “You remember me?”

“Sure I remember you. You were, what? Fifteen, sixteen last time I saw you?”

Actually, Eve had been twenty, almost twenty-one, when she’d seen both Nick and Tony at Ashley’s funeral. But neither one of them had noticed her that day. She’d stayed at the back of the chapel during the service and hadn’t approached the family at the cemetery. Tony’s grief had been too much for her to bear. She’d slipped away quietly to grieve in her own way for what might have been.

Nick smiled down at her, a slow, sexy curving of his lips that might have sent Eve’s pulse racing into the stratosphere if Tony hadn’t been standing nearby. The Gallagher brothers were both sexy as hell, but Tony was…

Tony.

Both sets of blue eyes were on her now, and Eve felt her color heighten. Their perusal was very unnerving, especially the way Tony was almost glaring at her. He cocked his head, regarding her in a manner Eve couldn’t decipher.

Finally he said, “Evie? Hell, it is you.”

His voice held a note of incredulity, and Eve managed to shrug. “I wondered when you’d get around to recognizing me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” he demanded.

“Wait a minute,” Nick said. “You mean to tell me Eve is your new partner, and you didn’t even recognize her? For God’s sake, Tony, are you blind?”

“Well, she has changed,” Tony retorted, letting his gaze slip almost sheepishly over her features. “And it has been awhile.”

Eve smiled. “I don’t wear glasses anymore, and the braces are gone. Plus I’ve put on a few pounds.” She gave a fatalistic shrug.

“Yes, you have,” Nick agreed. “And in all the right places, from what I can see. You used to be almost scrawny, as I recall. And where did all your freckles go?”

“Oh, they’re still there, unfortunately. You just have to look closely.”

“Where? I don’t see even one.” Nick straightened from the bar and moved toward Eve, staring down into her face as if searching for her freckles took all of his investigative know-how.

Behind him, Tony muttered, “Oh, please—”

Nick gave him a sharp glance. “Am I cramping your style, Tony? Just say so, if I am.”

“You always do,” Tony muttered, motioning for the bartender. “But when has that ever stopped you before?”

Nick gave Eve a conspiratorial wink, then bent and brushed his lips against hers. “Nice seeing you again, Eve. And my condolences, by the way, for having to work with this punk.”

Caught off guard by the kiss, Eve stared after Nick for a moment before turning to meet Tony’s blue gaze. He didn’t look the least bit jealous, she noticed with a flicker of disappointment. Just faintly amused. “Watch out for him,” he advised.

“You’re warning me away from your own brother?”

“Damn right.” The bartender appeared, and Tony said, “Another boilermaker, Curly.”

The man didn’t have a single hair on his head. He glanced at Eve curiously. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“My first time,” she admitted.

“We’ll try to be gentle. What’ll you have?”

“How about a Guinness?”

“Good choice.”

Curly disappeared to get their drinks, and Eve perched on a bar stool. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” she said, knowing it was too late if he did.

Tony shrugged. “I guess you’d better. This crowd’s starting to look pretty hungry.”

She knew he was referring to the glances she’d gotten earlier, but she laughed it off. “I take it you don’t get many women in here.”

“Oh, we get enough. We just don’t get many who look like you.”

Eve’s stomach fluttered at his words. She wondered if he was flirting with her or if he was actually paying her a compliment. She was confident enough to appreciate her own attractiveness, but she was also a realist. She was attractive, but not beautiful. She had neither the face nor the figure to stop traffic—not like Ashley.

The bartender set their drinks before them, and after he left, Tony leaned toward her. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were in Clare’s office?”

“I thought it would come to you. When it didn’t…” Eve shrugged again. “It was a little embarrassing. No one likes to be forgotten.”

Tony’s gaze drifted over her face, stopping for one infinitesimal moment on her lips. Was he remembering that he’d given her her first kiss?

She’d been such an innocent. So naive and so impressionable. Tony had been the exact opposite. Wild, reckless, the neighborhood bad boy. But he could pour on the charm when he wanted to. Eve, fresh out of braces and glasses, didn’t stand a chance.

“You were always so quiet,” he said. “Always real shy, the best I remember. What made you decide to become a cop?”

She hesitated, not sure how to answer without giving too much of herself away. “In a way, I guess you’re the reason. You and your family,” she added quickly. “I don’t know if you remember or not, but my mother died when I was thirteen. Her death hit my father really hard. He’s never been particularly outgoing, so he didn’t have many friends and no family to lean on except me.”

She paused, taking a sip of her Guinness. “Your dad started dropping by sometimes on his way home from work. They’d sit out on the front stoop, and Detective Gallagher would talk to my father about his investigations, what was going on at the station. Just small talk, but it meant the world to my father. To both of us. Detective Gallagher made a very big impression on me. He was a really nice man.”

A shadow flickered in Tony’s eyes before he turned back to his drink. “Yeah, he was.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to him. Your family must have been devastated.”

Tony shrugged, but a pall had suddenly been cast over the evening. Eve had just been starting her senior year in college when she’d heard about Sean Gallagher’s disappearance. Coming as it had just weeks after Ashley Dallas’s murder, the news had been an even more stunning blow.

Eve didn’t have to struggle to recall the details. Even though she’d attended school out of state, she’d kept up with the case from the moment she’d heard of Ashley’s death. Ashley and Tony had attended an end-of-the-year party at college, along with some of their friends. For some reason, Ashley had ended up leaving the party alone, and her beaten and stabbed body had been discovered early the next morning.

The murder weapon, a switchblade, had been traced back to a man named Daniel O’Roarke. He had attended the party, also, and witnesses described an altercation he’d had with Tony. The two of them had never gotten along, primarily because their families had been sworn enemies for over seventy years.

Eve hadn’t known about any of that until it had all come out at Daniel’s trial. By that time, Sean Gallagher, who had been the lead investigator on the case, had disappeared without a trace. The consensus at the time was that Daniel, or someone in the O’Roarke family, had murdered Sean and disposed of his body, either to keep further evidence from coming to light against Daniel, or for revenge.

Eve couldn’t imagine what it had been like for the Gallaghers over the years. The not knowing had to be agonizing, she thought, watching Tony.

His gaze was downcast. He stared into his drink with a brooding frown, and Eve wondered if he was thinking about his father, or Ashley, or both. Her murder and Sean’s disappearance were inseparable, and Eve felt regret prickle through her. She wished she’d never mentioned Tony’s father. Because her words had reanimated Ashley’s ghost.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and Eve started. She saw Vic D’Angelo’s reflection in the mirror over the bar, and reluctantly she rotated her stool to face him.

“You wouldn’t be trying to horn in on my date, would you, Gallagher?”

Tony glanced up. “You wouldn’t be trying to hit on my partner, would you, Vic?”

“So what if I am?”

“I might not like it, that’s all.” Tony shrugged, but there was no mistaking the warning in his voice.

D’Angelo turned back to Eve, draping a casual arm over her shoulders. “How about we find us a table?” he said against her ear, but loudly enough for Tony to overhear. “Something a little more private.”

“Tony and I were in the middle of a discussion,” she said.

Tony, still leaning casually on the bar, said, “How about you and I take a little stroll outside, Vic?”

“Tony,” Eve said, trying to defuse the situation. “It’s okay. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but what are partners for?” He met her gaze, his eyes so intensely blue that Eve felt her pulse quicken. It had been a long time since he’d looked at her like that, but she still felt the impact, even after all these years.

D’Angelo said coldly, “Lighten up, Cowboy. Like the lady says, she can take care of herself.”

Eve glanced up at him. “And you should know, right, Vic?”

His gaze turned icy. “There’s a word for women like you,” he growled.

Eve lifted her brows. “Smart? Discriminating?”

Over D’Angelo’s shoulder, she saw Tony grin. Their eyes met again in the mirror over the bar, and a thrill went through Eve. They’d shared something just then, she and Tony. Maybe it wasn’t exactly bonding, but it was close. And that it had come at Vic D’Angelo’s expense was particularly gratifying.

In the mirror, Eve saw Clare Foxx making her way through the crowd toward them. When she approached the bar, D’Angelo moved down to make room for her. “Lieutenant,” he said amiably.

“Vic,” Clare greeted him.

“Buy you a drink?”

“Boilermaker,” she said, glancing at Tony.

Clare had taken off her jacket, and the filmy gray blouse revealed a matching lace camisole underneath. She looked very sexy. Very available. Her cloying perfume was almost an overt invitation, and D’Angelo wasn’t about to pass it up. But Eve wasn’t at all sure the scent was for D’Angelo’s benefit.

When the shot glass and mug came, he handed her the former, saluting her with his own drink. “Here’s to fast cars and loose women.”

“Here’s to men with big…mouths,” Clare said, then tipped her head back and killed the whiskey.

D’Angelo handed her the beer chaser. “So what brings you down here, Lieutenant? I wouldn’t have thought this dump was exactly your style.”

Clare shrugged. “I don’t mind slumming once in a while.” She winked at Eve. “I just don’t like to make a habit of it. Isn’t that right, Tony?”

He glanced up. “Sure, Clare. Whatever you say.”

Eve got the distinct impression he hadn’t been listening to any of their conversation. His mind was a million miles away.

Clare was not a woman who liked to be ignored. She leaned toward Tony, touching a hand to his sleeve. “So how did the call go this afternoon?”

Before he could reply, Eve said quickly, “I told the lieutenant about the call you went out on earlier. The possible homicide down on Burley Street.”

His eyes narrowed. He had no idea what she was talking about. “Yeah. Right.”

“So how did it go?” Clare pressed. “When am I going to see your report?”

“Damnedest thing,” Tony said. “Turned out to be a false alarm.”

“A false alarm,” Clare said suspiciously.

“Yeah. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Right now, though, I need to make a phone call.”

Eve saw him move toward the back of the bar, stopping to talk with a man in an expensive-looking suit and a woman with flaming red hair.

Eve recognized the woman immediately. Fiona Gallagher had been several years behind Eve in school, but her distinctive red hair and flamboyant personality had made her well known and liked even in the higher echelons at St. Anne’s. Eve had always admired Fiona’s easygoing personality.

She excused herself from Clare and D’Angelo, who hardly seemed to notice her departure. They were talking in low tones, and Eve could have sworn she felt something akin to sexual vibrations emanating from the two of them. Had she been wrong about Clare’s intentions? Was something going on between her and D’Angelo?

Going into the ladies’ room, Eve washed and dried her hands, then ran a comb through her hair and touched up her lipstick. Staring at herself in the mirror, she tried to see what Tony saw when he looked at her. Straight, shoulder-length brown hair, hazel eyes, nice smile thanks to the braces. Nice figure, but nothing extraordinary.

She looked a little uptight, Eve decided, and wished she’d left her jacket in the car. Removing it now would be a little too obvious, so she settled for unbuttoning her beige blouse a couple of notches. Then, feeling ridiculous, she quickly redid the buttons.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Fiona Gallagher walked in. Now here was a woman who knew how to dress, Eve thought enviously, taking in Fiona’s slim black pants and white tailored shirt.

Fiona smiled at Eve’s reflection. “It’s Eve, isn’t it? Eve Barrett?”

Eve turned and smiled. “Hi, Fiona. It’s been a long time.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve changed so much.”

“You haven’t,” Eve blurted, then added quickly, “I meant that in a good way.”

Fiona laughed good-naturedly. “Even if you didn’t, it’s true. Not much you can change about this mop and all these freckles. Speaking of which, what happened to yours?”

Eve shrugged. “They’ve faded somewhat. I don’t get out in the sun much these days.”

“Whatever you’re doing is working,” Fiona said graciously. “You look great. No wonder Tony couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

“I doubt it’s for the reason you think.” Eve turned back to the mirror to redo her lipstick even though she’d just applied it. When she couldn’t get it quite right, she gave up and dropped the gold tube back into her purse. “He’s not exactly wild to have me as a partner.”

Fiona sighed. “Don’t let him get to you. Sometimes I think he tries to see how far away he can push people, including his own family. It’s just a defense mechanism, though. A way to keep from getting hurt again.” For a moment, she looked as if she might have said more than she meant to. Then she shrugged. “He’s had some tough blows.”

Eve said quickly, “I know about Ashley. I remember how close they were.”

“It’ll soon be eight years since she died. Every year I keep thinking it’ll get better for Tony, but when the anniversary rolls around…” Fiona trailed off, then added softly, “Maybe one of these days the right person will come along and make him realize Ashley wasn’t the only woman in the world for him. Maybe she wasn’t even the right woman.”

“Maybe,” Eve said doubtfully.

“And maybe I talk too much,” Fiona acknowledged ruefully. “So come on.” She took Eve’s hand. “I’ll introduce you to the new man in my life. He’s pretty yummy, if I do say so myself.”

Eve gave her reflection one last glance as Fiona’s words echoed inside her head. Maybe she wasn’t even the right woman.

Right, Eve thought. And the winters in Chicago were always balmy.

TONY SAW FIONA COME OUT of the bathroom with Eve firmly in tow. Eve looked a little disconcerted, as if she didn’t quite know what had hit her. But that was Fiona’s MO all right. A regular little bulldozer when she had something up her sleeve.

She dragged Eve over to David, who was chalking his pool cue. “David MacKenzie, I’d like you to meet Eve Barrett. Tony’s new partner.”

David’s brows shot up as he glanced from Eve to Tony and then back again. “Nice to meet you, Eve. And my condolences.”

“Those were Nick’s words exactly,” Eve told him.

“Which goes to show how well we both know Tony.” David flashed her a charming grin, and Eve could immediately see why Fiona was so taken with him. David MacKenzie was indeed yummy. And he smelled wonderful. Expensive.

“Look, you two let someone else have the pool table, and let’s all grab a table,” Fiona instructed them. “I’m dying to catch up with Eve.”

“Catch up?” David gamely handed his cue to the next person in line.

“We all grew up in the same neighborhood,” Fiona explained. “Eve’s dad still lives only a few blocks over from Mom and Gram.”

Tony didn’t say a word until Fiona had laid claim to a table. “I think I left my drink at the bar.”

“I’ll get a fresh round,” David said magnanimously. “What’ll you ladies have?”

“Boilermaker.” Fiona shot Tony a defiant glance.

“She’ll have a beer,” Tony said darkly. When his sister started to protest, he snapped, “I’m not carrying you out of here again, Fiona.”

Instead of a retort, she actually blushed. “Make it a Guinness,” she told David.

He winked at her. “Don’t worry. I’d be happy to carry you out of here. Have a boilermaker if you like. Have two.”

“Are you trying to get her drunk, MacKenzie?” Tony asked grimly. “Because if you are—”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, Tony, lighten up. David’s your best friend. If you can’t trust him with your sister, who can you trust?”

“Yeah, Tony, if you can’t trust me with your sister, who can you trust?” David taunted with a grin as he turned to get the drinks.

“What the hell are you trying to do?” Fiona demanded the minute David was out of earshot. “Scare him off? I finally get him to notice me after all these years, and you pull that overprotective big brother routine on me? Just for that, I ought to get hammered,” she grumbled. “I ought to get falling down, sloppy, puking drunk so that you have to baby-sit me all night. It’d serve you right.”

Tony gave Eve a long-suffering look. “See what you got yourself into tonight?”

Eve shrugged. “Beats staying home.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he muttered.

Vic D’Angelo ambled over with two mugs of beer. He sat one before Eve and the other in front of Tony. “Compliments of the lieutenant.”

Eve glanced toward the bar. “Where is she?”

“Had to make an early night of it.” D’Angelo clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “To tell you the truth, this place is not exactly Clare’s style these days. She likes a little more class.”

Eve half expected Tony to knock D’Angelo’s hand off his shoulder, but instead he picked up the beer, took a long swallow, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He lifted the half-empty mug to D’Angelo. “Have a drink, D’Angelo. You don’t strike me as the type of guy who minds leftovers.”

D’Angelo’s face contorted with anger. For a moment, Eve thought he might do something stupid, like start a fight, but then he pulled off a cocky grin and raked Eve with a smoldering glare. “We’ll see who ends up with the leftovers, Cowboy.”

Eve shivered and Fiona gasped. “The nerve of him! Did you see the way he looked at Eve?”

Tony said, very deliberately, “Excuse me.”

Fiona grabbed his hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He lifted a brow. “To the bathroom. Is that okay with you?”

“Just…don’t start any trouble.”

“A nice guy like me?” He gave Eve a glance before he disappeared.

David brought the drinks right after Tony left. “Where’s he off to?”

“Don’t ask,” Fiona mumbled.

“Here,” David said, handing her a shot glass and a mug. “I brought you a boilermaker. Kill it quick, before he comes back.”

Fiona giggled. “There’s nothing I like better than pulling one over on Tony.”

“You and me both,” David agreed, distributing the remaining drinks. “How about you, Eve? Sure you don’t want something stronger than beer? Might make working with Tony a little easier on the nerves.”

David was a nice guy, and Fiona was a lot of fun, but Eve suddenly felt uncomfortable sitting at the same table with them. It wasn’t just because the makings of a romance were stirring, either. Like Clare and D’Angelo, Fiona and David were sending off unmistakable vibes, but that wasn’t the source of Eve’s uneasiness. It was her urge to defend Tony that worried her. Her desire to plant herself firmly and squarely in his corner.

And considering her assignment, that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

TONY WAITED FOR EVE outside. He leaned against his car and watched the night people come and go—the drunks, the lovers, a homeless man shuffling down the sidewalk.

He was tired tonight, almost indescribably weary, though he couldn’t say why exactly. Was it the approaching anniversary that was still bothering him?

Eight years was a long time. Was he still in love with Ashley’s memory, or was it the guilt that still haunted him this time of year? The knowledge that, if not for him, she might still be alive?

He closed his eyes, letting the breeze drift over him. Sometimes he had a hard time remembering what Ashley had looked like alive, but he’d never forgotten what she’d looked like in death. Her face pale. Her eyes open and staring. Her beautiful body covered in blood.

He used to see her face in almost every murder victim he saw, but not so much anymore. Not since he’d seen little Julie Betts lying in that Dumpster. Her murder had affected him in a way so profound he couldn’t begin to explain it, and after that case, he’d started working alone. He found he couldn’t deal with a partner after seeing something like that. He couldn’t handle the camaraderie and sometimes sick cop humor that others used to deal with the nightmares. For Tony it wasn’t that easy. He couldn’t forget any of them. Ashley. Julie. They all haunted his sleep, because he hadn’t been able to save them.

“Tony?”

He opened his eyes and saw Eve standing before him.

“You okay?” she asked anxiously.

He drew in a breath. “Just needed to get some fresh air.”

She nodded. “I understand. It was pretty stuffy in there.”

“Not used to bars?” he asked her.

She smiled ironically. “How could you tell?”

“Just a wild guess.” He straightened from the car and stared down at her. Somehow she seemed smaller out here in the darkness. More vulnerable, although he’d seen the way she handled Vic. “Why did you tell Clare I went out on a call this afternoon?”

“Because I didn’t know where you’d gone,” Eve said. “I had to tell her something. She was looking for you.”

“So you covered for me.”

She shrugged.

“Why?” he asked softly. “Why would you do that for me?” After the conversation they’d had earlier, why would she put herself on the line for him like that?

She looked up at him, her gaze earnest. “It’s like you said inside there. What are partners for?”

He ran his hand through his dark, spiky hair. “Look, I appreciate what you did. But I still don’t—”

“You don’t want a partner. I know.”

“I work best alone, that’s all.”

“Maybe you just never had the right partner before. Did you ever think of that?” Her gaze looked faintly challenging.

He stared down at her for a moment, thinking in spite of himself that she just might be right. She might be the one partner, the one woman, who could stick it out with him, but he didn’t think it was a chance he was willing to take. The stakes were too damned high, and he’d gambled and lost too many times in the past. Better just to go it alone.

“I’m not your enemy, Tony,” she said softly.

“I never thought you were.”

“Then why not give me a chance?”

How could he not have remembered her? Tony thought suddenly. She looked so pretty, standing there in the light from the bar. Like a woman who could make him forget—at least for a while. But then, the morning after always came sooner or later. That was the hell of it. “Give me one good reason why I should,” he said almost gruffly.

“Because there may come a time when you’re going to need someone to cover your back,” she told him. “And because I’d like to be that someone, if you’d let me. You can trust me, Tony, whether you believe it or not.”

Maybe he could trust her, Tony thought, his gaze riveted on her face. But maybe he shouldn’t. For both their sakes.

IT WAS ALMOST TEN O’CLOCK when Eve got home that night. Early by most people’s standards, but she was usually in bed by this time, reading a book or watching TV until she got sleepy.

She was turning into something of a recluse at the tender age of twenty-nine. If she wasn’t careful, she’d wind up talking to herself.

“It’s not as bad as all that,” she muttered, picking up the remote control.

Flipping through the channels, she located a news broadcast, then lay back against the pillows, listening but not watching until she heard Tony’s name mentioned. She already knew what had happened at the review board earlier that day, but she shot up in bed anyway.

He’d been caught on camera coming out of Police Headquarters with Fiona and David MacKenzie on either side of him. In a voice-over, the reporter summarized the events that had led to the hearing and Tony’s exoneration.

“In spite of the outcome of today’s hearing, Franco Mancini’s mother still holds Detective Tony Gallagher and the Chicago Police Department responsible for her son’s death. When interviewed later in the day, Maria Mancini, accompanied by her attorney, did not rule out the possibility of a lawsuit.”

The scene switched to a dark-haired woman standing in front of a microphone, flanked on one side by a man in a suit—her attorney, no doubt—and on the other side by a group of angry-looking family members. Maria’s own eyes reflected more than just anger. There was something disturbing simmering in those dark depths. Rage. Hatred. Maybe even a glimmer of madness.

Eve suppressed a shiver as she watched the woman speak. “If we do bring suit, it won’t be for the money,” Maria insisted tearfully. “I want justice for my boy.”

The news flashed to another story, and Eve clicked off the TV, a dark premonition sweeping over her. Maria Mancini was trouble. Eve had no doubt about that. Being named in a lawsuit against the police department was the last thing Tony needed. He was already in hot water with the brass. Hotter than he knew.

His file lay on her nightstand, and Eve picked it up, thumbing through the reports and complaints, although she’d already studied them at length. But even before this assignment, she’d known that he’d been hit with an assault charge four years ago, just after he’d made detective. He’d struck a suspect, but to Eve’s mind, the circumstances had been extenuating.

If Eve had been the cop who had found the evidence underneath Robert Betts’s bed, she wasn’t sure how she would have reacted. But she certainly didn’t blame Tony for losing control. He’d been the one who had found the little girl’s body, and before that, he’d scoured the streets and neighborhoods night and day, searching for the missing child, hoping and praying he wouldn’t be too late, but knowing all the while that he was.

The Betts case had come early in Tony’s career. Twenty-seven was young to have made detective, let alone to be working homicide, but his phenomenal instincts—not to mention the Gallagher name—had catapulted him to prominence. He’d soon developed into one of the division’s hottest and most watched detectives, but even so, Eve doubted he would have been assigned to work such a high-profile investigation if it hadn’t been for his partner. Clare Foxx had been a well-known and respected detective at the time, but it had been Tony who had finally broken the case.

Eve had still been working vice at that time, but she and the rest of the department, along with the entire city, had followed the investigation, hoping and praying just like the cops who searched for the child that little Julie Betts would somehow turn up alive. The team of detectives had spent hundreds of hours on the case, combing every square inch around the victim’s home and school, following up on one flimsy lead after another. Tony had taken it upon himself to widen the search, using his off-duty time to scour gutters and trash bins. And then he’d found her.

Eve closed her eyes, knowing the words in the report by heart, but picturing in her mind how it all must have gone down that day.

It had been twilight when Tony had found the child, thrown away like yesterday’s useless garbage. She’d had on a pink dress, and her hair was in pigtails tied with pink ribbons. One of the ribbons was missing, and Tony had felt certain it had been taken by the killer as a souvenir or a trophy.

When the bloodstained ribbon had later been found in a shoe box stuffed under Robert Betts’s bed, Tony had gone after the man’s throat. Clare had managed to pull him away, but not before Robert Betts claimed his rights had been violated. He’d filed assault charges against Tony, even though he hadn’t had a prayer of getting off once the DNA found on the ribbon had been matched to his seven-year-old daughter’s.

In a way, the Julie Betts case was what had brought Tony back into Eve’s life. After Ashley’s funeral, when she’d seen how grief stricken Tony was, Eve had told herself that it was time to get over her schoolgirl crush and get on with her life. And she had. She’d graduated from college, gone to the academy and then concentrated on her career. She’d even had a serious relationship or two over the years.

But then the prominence of the Betts case, the manhunt and subsequent notoriety Tony received after the arrest, had made Eve think about him more and more. She had almost gone to see him back then, to tell him that she understood why he had done what he had. After weeks of searching, it must have killed him to find that little girl’s body. Eve had a feeling he’d never gotten over it.

To most people in the department, Tony Gallagher was a rogue, a loner who didn’t play by the rules. But Eve knew he was much more than that. He was a cop who cared too much. A cop—and a man—worth saving.

But the question was, did he believe that about himself?

Chapter Three

The telephone awakened Eve from a deep sleep. She thought it was the alarm clock at first and reached out blindly to slap at the button. When the ringing persisted, she rolled over and grabbed the receiver.

“This is Barrett,” she said groggily.

“Eve? This is Clare. Foxx.”

Eve sat up, glancing at the bedside clock. Just after four in the morning. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“We’ve got a situation, I’m afraid.”

Something in her voice sent a thrill of alarm racing up Eve’s spine. “What is it?”

“Bill Stringer’s daughter was found murdered in her apartment just under an hour ago.”

“Oh, no.” Bill Stringer was Vic D’Angelo’s partner. Eve didn’t know the detective well, but her mind instantly flashed to the picture of the young woman he kept on his desk. “Her name’s Lucy,” he’d told Eve proudly one day when she’d inquired about the photo. Eve remembered Bill picking up the picture and staring down at it. “Her mother and I call her Lulu. She hates it, of course, now that she’s all grown-up.”

Eve cradled the portable phone between her chin and ear as she began grabbing clothes from her closet.

“I want you and Tony to catch this one,” Clare told her.

Eve frowned into the phone. “Are you sure? I mean…it’s likely to get some attention.”

“I want a woman on this,” Clare said firmly. “And I want the best. I owe that much to Bill.”

Eve had no delusions. She fit only half of that criteria. Which meant Clare considered Tony Gallagher the best.

So why was she trying to get rid of him?

“What’s the address?” Eve threw her clothes on the bed as she picked up a pen and started scribbling.

“One other thing,” Clare said, after they’d talked for a few more minutes. Her voice held a strange edge. “Is Tony with you?”

The question shocked Eve. “No, of course not. Why would he be?”

“I called him a few minutes ago and didn’t get an answer.” Still that odd tone. “Maybe you’d better go by and see if you can rouse him. I want both of you on the scene as soon as possible.”

“I’m on my way.”

THE BANGING INSIDE Tony’s head matched the banging outside his apartment. For a moment, he lay drifting on the fringes of sleep, not wanting to open his eyes, but the pounding, both within and without, tortured him awake. He turned over and squinted at the clock. A little after four. Who the hell was knocking on his door at this time of morning?

“It damn well better be good,” he muttered, rolling out of bed. He reached for his clothes, then realized he was still wearing the pants and shirt he’d had on the night before. The shirt was unbuttoned, and somewhere along the way he’d lost his shoes and socks.

He struggled to recall the events of last evening. He’d gone to the pub, had a few drinks. Nick had been there. David. Fiona. Eve. That asshole, D’Angelo. Clare.

He’d waited outside for Eve, Tony seemed to recall, except…he couldn’t actually remember when she’d left. He couldn’t remember driving home, getting into bed.

This was bad, he thought. Real bad.

Reaching for his gun on the nightstand, he stumbled through the cluttered living room to the front door. The banging started again, and he yelled, “I’m coming, dammit.”

He started to unlock the door but found the bolt hadn’t been turned. Any cluckhead off the street could have come in and slit his throat for the few bucks in his wallet.

Drawing back the door a crack, he glanced into the hallway. Eve stood there, looking as fresh as a daisy in a white blouse and gray pants.

“What the hell—”

She pushed against the door, shoving it open and walking past him. “Where’ve you been? Clare’s been trying to reach you.”

“Clare…” He felt as if he were lagging at least two laps behind, trying to catch up. “What’s going on?”

He saw then that Eve wasn’t quite as pulled together as he’d first thought. Her hazel eyes were a little too bright, and her hair looked as if she’d combed it with her fingers. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, either, and her face was pale, blanched.

“Bill Stringer’s daughter was found dead in her apartment about an hour ago. She was murdered.”

The pounding in Tony’s ears suddenly grew louder, the pain in his head excruciating. He wiped a hand across his mouth, feeling the prickle of his whiskers. “Man,” he said. “Oh, man.”

“We’re catching this one.”

That didn’t sound right to Tony. What was Clare up to? “Why us?”

“She said she wanted a woman on the case, and she wanted the best. The latter wasn’t referring to me, I’m willing to bet,” Eve said without rancor. “We need to get over there.”

“Yeah. Sure. Just give me a minute.” Tony walked out of the room, feeling as if fireworks were exploding inside his head. This isn’t good. This isn’t good, his mind kept screaming.

He unscrewed the cap off a bottle of aspirin and downed a couple without water. Stripping, he gave himself two minutes under an icy shower, standing with his hands propped against the tile wall as the water pummeled him back to semiconsciousness.

Lucy Stringer had been murdered tonight. Tony closed his eyes, shuddering. He could see her pretty face, hear her voice complaining to him that her father still treated her like a kid. “He still thinks I’m about ten years old,” she’d grumbled at a Christmas party a couple years back. She’d pouted like a ten-year-old, but the look she’d slanted Tony was anything but childish. Lucy had liked to flirt, especially with cops, but everyone knew she was off-limits. Besides, she was a good kid. Never into any trouble that Tony was aware of.

He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her. At that Christmas party? No, more recently than that.

She sometimes came to the pub. She’d been there a few nights ago, hadn’t she? Or was it last night?

Tony struggled to remember, catching glimpses of her in his mind at the pool table, at the bar, in the corner talking to someone…but who?

Or was all this his imagination, induced by a killer hangover?

Bad word choice, he realized with a grimace, climbing out of the shower. He dried off, pulled on a pair of jeans, then picked up his shirt, shoes, gun and wallet, and carried them all out to the living room.

Eve glanced at him in surprise.

“You’re driving,” he said, and walked past her out the door.

TONY FINISHED DRESSING while Eve drove them to the address Clare had given to her earlier. Eve knew the area fairly well, but she was still surprised to find that Lucy Stringer’s apartment was only a few blocks from Tony’s.

She glanced at him as she turned down the street. He looked like death warmed over, she thought, and grimaced at her word choice. He’d taken a quick shower, but he hadn’t bothered to shave, and the stubble on his lower face was dark and thick, the shadows under his eyes almost purplish. He wore jeans and a faded CPD T-shirt, as usual not exactly the image a detective should cultivate, but then, Eve suspected his manner of dress was yet another way Tony tried to keep people at a distance.

Lucy had rented a garage apartment in a nice, middle-class neighborhood. The street was lined with police cars, and a Crime Scene Unit was pulled to the curb in front of the walkway. Eve maneuvered into a space, and she and Tony got out. As they walked across the damp grass, she could hear the faint sounds of traffic a few blocks over on the freeway, almost drowned out by the static transmission of a patrol unit radio.

She clipped her shield to her waistband as they walked by the two young patrolmen manning the yellow-ribboned perimeter. At the top of the stairs, she and Tony paused and gazed around. A mail slot had been cut in the front door, and the metal plate had already been dusted for prints.

Inside the apartment, the tiny rooms spilled over with people. The decor was typical college girl—cluttered, worn, eclectic. The only items of value that Eve could immediately discern were a computer and a stereo, and neither had been touched.

Through the open doorway, she glimpsed the dead girl lying on the bed, fully clothed, her eyes open, her arms and legs sprawled in an unnatural pose. Looking on while a Crime Scene Unit tech videotaped and narrated the setting was Vic D’Angelo.

When he saw Eve and Tony in the doorway, a curtain of rage descended over his features. Head down like a charging bull, he lunged toward Tony. Eve quickly stepped between them.

“What the hell is he doing here? I don’t want him here.”

“You don’t have anything to say about it,” Tony offered unhelpfully. “And by the way, what the hell are you doing here?”

D’Angelo was clearly in a state. Lucy Stringer had been his partner’s daughter. He’d probably known her for years, maybe even since she was a little girl. Eve realized if she didn’t do something to diffuse the situation and quick, both D’Angelo and Tony might end up with suspensions.

“We’re following the lieutenant’s orders,” Eve told him, then took his arm. “Come on. Let’s walk outside for a minute.”

He looked as if he wanted to balk, then shrugged, a shudder ripping through his body. He wore the same black shirt and tight pants he’d had on earlier, and Eve wondered if he’d even been to bed, or if he’d been in someone else’s bed when he’d gotten the call.

She guided him outside, past the crime scene tape and down the street a few steps where they could talk in private.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “What am I going to tell Bill?”

“I know this is rough,” she said softly. “You and Bill Stringer have been partners for a long time, haven’t you?”

He closed his eyes briefly. “I know the whole family. His wife used to have me over for Sunday dinners. Lucy was always there, helping out in the kitchen. She was a real sweet kid. Used to have a crush on me.”

He’d have liked that, Eve thought. A pretty young coed thinking of him as the studly detective.

“I don’t know what I’m going to tell Bill,” he said again.

“He probably already knows. I think Clare was going over there herself.”

“Clare?” The name seemed to register only faintly with him.

“The lieutenant.”

“Clare,” he said, and drew a long breath. “She called you and Cowboy?”

Eve nodded. “We’re catching this one.” At the belligerent look on his face, she reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Tony’s a good detective. The best. You know that as well as I do. His instincts are nothing short of phenomenal.”

For a moment, D’Angelo looked as if he might fly into a fury again, but then he gave a brief shrug. “I guess I don’t have any complaints with his investigations.”

“What do you have a complaint with?”

He glanced down at her, scowling. “He’s not the kind of man you need to get involved with, Eve.”

He’d never called her by her first name before. That alone surprised Eve. “He’s my partner. Who says we’re involved?”

“He’s dangerous. Ask Clare about him.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Eve said, although she didn’t. She didn’t like thinking that she and Tony had already become the subject of department speculation. “I can take care of myself.”

He gave her a hint of the old smirk. “Yeah. I kind of figured that out.” Glancing toward the street, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “So what am I supposed to do now?”

“Why don’t you go over to Bill’s? He could probably use a friend.”

D’Angelo’s gaze turned bleak as he stared at the flashing lights on top of the patrol cars. “I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I can face him right now.”

Something in his tone sent a shiver coursing through Eve. “Then go home,” she said softly. “Get some rest. We’ve got a lot of hard work ahead of us.”

He nodded absently and started down the street. Eve didn’t see his car, but it had to be parked around here somewhere. He was halfway down the block before she realized she hadn’t asked him how he’d known about Lucy Stringer.

Had Clare called him, too?

WHEN EVE WALKED BACK into the room, she saw Tony glance up at her, but then he went right back to work. His face was an inscrutable mask as he bent over the dead woman, cataloging the stab wounds and the bruises marring an otherwise flawless face.

There was a lot of blood. The sheets were stained almost completely red.

A wave of nausea rolled over Eve, but she fought it back.

“Landlady found her,” Tony said, without looking up. “She’d gotten up to take her heart medication and saw lights on in the apartment. Said she was afraid Lucy might have been sick so she came over here to check.”

“Where is the landlady?” Eve asked.

“Downstairs. Roswell says she’s not in very good shape,” he said, referring to one of the uniforms. “Why don’t you go talk to her? I’ll finish up in here.”

Eve was absurdly grateful. She hated to admit how anxious she was to get out of that bedroom. She’d never thought she was cut out for homicide, and now she knew the truth of it. Turning, she strode from the room, inhaling gulps of fresh air as she clambered down the stairs.

The landlady, Betty Jarvis, was an older woman, in her late sixties or early seventies. She sat at her kitchen table, intermittently twisting a damp tissue in her hands and lifting it to wipe at her red-rimmed eyes. This wasn’t going to be much fun, either, Eve thought.

She sat down at the table and took the woman’s hand in hers. “I’m Detective Barrett. I know this is going to be difficult for you, but I’ve got to ask you some questions.”

IT WAS ALMOST TWO HOURS before Eve and Tony hooked back up. She’d finished her interview with Mrs. Jarvis, and Tony had already talked to the immediate neighbors, as well as the patrol officers who had first responded to the call.

They stood in the living room of Lucy’s apartment as her body was lifted onto a stretcher and carried down to the coroner’s van. Once the body was removed, the apartment took on an air of abandonment, a hushed quality that sent a shiver up Eve’s backbone.

The CSU team was finishing up in the other rooms of the apartment, checking sink traps and trash cans. Other than the bedroom, where the victim had been found, the bathroom would take the longest. The tile and porcelain could be an especially fertile ground for trace evidence.

Eve glanced around, seeing signs of the crime almost everywhere. The bloody bedclothes had been bagged, sealed, labeled and placed near the door, along with several other paper packets of evidence. The stack would grow as the CSU techs continued their work. Hopefully, something inside one of the bags would lead them to the killer.

Tony came over to stand beside her. “Thanks for getting rid of D’Angelo earlier.”

“No problem. I didn’t think this was the time or place to air personal problems.”

Tony gave her a strange, probing look. “No, you’re right. You did good.”

“Thanks.” Maybe not much of a compliment to anyone else, but it was a start, Eve thought.

“So did you find out anything from the landlady?”

Eve shrugged. “Maybe. She and Lucy were pretty tight, it seems. Lucy was like a surrogate granddaughter or something. Mrs. Jarvis liked to keep an eye on her.”

“Spy on her, you mean,” Tony said, frowning.

“No, I don’t think it was that way.” Eve paused. “I think she genuinely cared about Lucy, and from everything I’ve been able to gather, that wasn’t unusual. Lucy was a personable young woman.”

Something flashed in Tony’s eyes, an emotion Eve couldn’t define, but he said nothing.

“Mrs. Jarvis thought there was a possibility that Lucy may have had a new boyfriend.”

“That seems to fit.”

Eve knew he was referring to the setup of the crime scene—no tool marks at the front door, no sign of a struggle. It appeared Lucy Stringer had known her killer.

“Does she know who he is?” Tony asked.

Eve shook her head. “No. She never even saw him, but she said Lucy had been acting a little strangely the last few days. Secretive. And she hadn’t been getting home until all hours.”

“What’s ‘all hours’?”

“Three and four o’clock in the morning, according to Mrs. Jarvis. She thinks Lucy may have brought him home with her a time or two.”

“Did she see a car?”

Again Eve shook her head. “No. And she said she checked, too, but there was never a vehicle, besides Lucy’s, parked at the curb or in the driveway. She thinks maybe he rode with Lucy, and then either called a cab or walked home.”

“Which means he could live nearby,” Tony said, without expression.

Eve had thought about that, too. “Maybe Lucy gave him a lift the next day.”

“Maybe. We’ll need to find out the guy’s name, which means talking to Lucy’s friends and family. People she went to school with.”

“Mrs. Jarvis knew a couple of Lucy’s girlfriends. I’ve got their names in my notebook. There’s another thing.” When Tony glanced at her, Eve said, “A couple of weeks ago, Lucy received an anonymous love letter. She showed it to Mrs. Jarvis.”

“Was the letter signed?”

“Unfortunately, no, and Mrs. Jarvis’s memory is hazy on the content. But she remembers teasing Lucy about having a secret admirer, and then a few days later, Lucy received flowers. Pink roses, and the card wasn’t signed.”

“She have any idea where Lucy might have kept the letter and the card?”

“No, but she thinks Lucy’s new boyfriend was the same person who sent her the letter and the flowers. Maybe that was why Lucy was so secretive about him. She didn’t want his identity known.”

“Married?”

“That was my first thought,” Eve agreed. “But it could be someone prominent or older. Someone Lucy knew Mrs. Jarvis wouldn’t approve of.”

Tony nodded, distracted. “We’d better get the reports written up,” he said. “Then we can start the legwork.”

They started down the apartment stairs just as the coroner’s van pulled away from the curb and headed down the street. Some of the patrol cars had already dispersed, but a few officers remained, guarding the crime scene until CSU finished up.

Silently, Eve and Tony walked down the street to her car. But instead of opening the door and climbing in, Tony sat down on the curb. He dropped his head to his knees.

Startled, Eve hesitated, then sat down beside him. “Hey, you okay?”

He glanced up at her, his gaze dark and haunted, his expression almost tortured. Without thinking, Eve reached out and touched his arm. He jerked, as if burned, and for a moment she thought he meant to fling aside her hand. But instead he grabbed her fingers, clutching them as though they were his lifeline.

“Didn’t you see it?” His voice was like nothing she’d ever heard before.

Eve stared at him in shock. “See what?”

“I can’t believe I never noticed it before. I can’t believe I never saw it.”

An icy chill rolled through Eve. “See what?” she repeated.

Tony’s eyes closed briefly and he shuddered. “She looked enough like Ashley to be her sister.”

A LITTLE WHILE LATER they sat behind their desks, face-to-face, typing their reports into their computers. Tony glanced up at Eve, but she didn’t return his look. She’d been avoiding eye contact ever since they’d left the scene, and he couldn’t really blame her. He must have sounded pretty freaked back there. What the hell had possessed him to make such an asinine comment? Lucy Stringer looked nothing like Ashley. Nothing.

Oh, sure, they’d both been blondes, both tall and fair. Lucy had been a pretty girl, but nothing spectacular.

What, then, had made him think even for an instant that she looked like Ashley?

Because of the wounds.

The revelation hit him like a bolt of lightning, and for a moment the last meal he’d had—whenever that had been—bubbled up in his stomach, threatening.

He hit the save button and stood. “I’ll catch you later.”

Eve glanced up in alarm. “Where are you going? The lieutenant will want to see our reports.”

“I’ve got to check on something,” he muttered, then turned on his heel and exited the office.

In the men’s room, he ran cold water in the sink, scrubbing at his face almost brutally, as if he could somehow wash away the terrible premonition taking hold somewhere inside him.

Seven stab wounds. There had been seven vicious stab wounds on Lucy’s body.

Just like on Ashley’s.

THE REST OF THE DAY was devoted to searching Lucy Stringer’s apartment from top to bottom, canvassing her neighborhood, interviewing neighbors, friends, relatives, anyone who might give them a lead.

They split up after lunch, Tony going to the morgue to oversee the autopsy and Eve to talk to Mrs. Jarvis yet again. They were to meet back at the station by five o’clock for a briefing with Clare, which was to become their regular pattern over the next few days.

At the end of the second day, Clare drummed her fingers impatiently on the desk as Tony and Eve filled her in on the progress of the investigation.

“Look,” she said, when the two of them had finished. “It’s been thirty-six hours. I don’t want this to become a mystery.”

“We don’t want that, either,” Eve said, knowing that the lieutenant was referring to the status of a case once forty-eight hours had passed and it remained unsolved. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“I’m bringing Sutton and Wilson in on this. The two of you can brief them when we finish.”

Tony said nothing, but Eve could feel the tension emanating between him and Clare.

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