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The Ex
BEVERLY BARTON


You’ll be up all night with this addictive thriller from the New York Times bestselling author.What if, one by one, your exes were being murdered – and all the evidence pointed at you?Hotshot lawyer Quinn Cortez is infamous for his prowess in the courtroom – and the bedroom. But when his latest conquest – notorious party girl Lulu Vanderley – is found butchered, Cortez becomes the prime suspect.Suffering paralysing blackouts, and with no memory of his actions at the time of the murder, Cortez must fight to clear his name. Lulu's cousin Annabelle is willing to believe he is innocent – until more bodies are discovered, and all the clues lead back to him.To catch a killer, Cortez must explore the blackness within him, and confront the shocking truth…









Beverly Barton

THE EX










Copyright (#u64125e08-32ea-55f4-bd6a-ca8893004330)


Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain as Amnesia by HarperCollins 2011

This eBook edition published 2018

Copyright В© Beverly Barton 2006

Cover design В© Diane Meacham Design 2018

Cover photograph В© Shutterstock

Beverly Barton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9781847560018

Ebook Edition В© May 2018 ISBN: 9780007328949

Version: 2018-06-04




Dedication (#u64125e08-32ea-55f4-bd6a-ca8893004330)


For John Scognamiglio, editor extraordinaire, and Richard Curtis, agent par excellence. Thank you both for excellent professional guidance.

Also, with great appreciation to Michael Speltz, my research “partner in crime.”


Contents

Cover (#u6b63abe4-9522-5f56-959d-4d0e591ffffe)

Title Page (#uf6d95ad0-158e-5cc1-97b2-4cb67a0c6f88)

Copyright (#u38e0ef58-8c81-58df-973d-3b4dfa0f9ac6)

Dedication (#u8535f730-f5a9-5371-8e86-7aaed6ae9043)

Prologue (#u6a775574-df90-5ca2-9856-5099adbef6fe)

Chapter 1 (#udbbfe10e-421c-5481-988d-f73cf44e5ce4)

Chapter 2 (#ucd6a5701-5d85-54bb-bb19-6571aece04df)

Chapter 3 (#u80d31e0f-cfb2-587a-a885-3884411fa0da)

Chapter 4 (#u4a77859b-0e02-5a12-a8d4-f79bc4191998)

Chapter 5 (#u40373cab-1151-5c4f-90d6-bf25b6328dce)

Chapter 6 (#u9ddb8aa3-0a60-5009-8406-b2c07ec8515f)

Chapter 7 (#u8116f0fb-16c2-529b-af62-4494d67c351a)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Beverly Barton (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue (#u64125e08-32ea-55f4-bd6a-ca8893004330)


Lulu Vanderley was rich, blond and beautiful. Women envied her. Men wanted her. She had it all. Everything. Except…There was one thing she wanted that could never truly be hers. Quinn Cortez. And knowing she couldn’t have him made her want him all the more.

They’d been lovers for several months, ever since they’d met through mutual acquaintances in Vail. In the beginning, a hot affair had been enough for both of them. He’d made it clear from their very first date that he was a no-strings-attached kind of guy. And she’d been well aware of his love-’em-and-leave-’em reputation. But that was before she fell in love with the gorgeous hunk, before she decided that she wanted to become Mrs. Quinn Cortez. And as a general rule, Lulu got what Lulu wanted.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror and smiled devilishly. No man had ever been able to resist her. And that was one reason she and Quinn were perfect for each other. They were two peas in a pod—a couple of gorgeous, irresistible philanderers.

Tonight she would spring the trap, the age-old trap that had caught many a poor fool. Quinn wasn’t invulnerable. He was as susceptible as any man to feminine wiles and little white lies. She’d weep and swear she didn’t know how it could have happened. She’d told him the first time they had sex that she’d been on the pill for years and since he’d also used a condom every time, convincing him she was pregnant might not be easy. But all he had to do was talk to her doctor. Lulu was definitely six weeks along.

Running her hands over her tall, slender body, from waist to narrow hips, she studied her image. Her beauty had always gotten her whatever her family’s wealth wouldn’t buy. But neither could give her what she wanted most.

Quinn might be a womanizer, but he wasn’t a heartless cad. If he believed she was carrying his child, then there was a good chance he’d do the honorable thing and marry her.

And if he doesn’t, what will you do?

She’d get an abortion, of course. No way in hell did she want to get tied down with a squalling baby unless the little brat served some purpose.

The mantel clock struck the hour, reminding her that Quinn would be arriving soon. Her stomach tightened. Lulu laughed. It wasn’t like her to be nervous.

Everything was ready. A bottle of champagne was chilling. A second bottle. She’d already drunk three glasses from the first bottle in an effort to steel her nerves and lull herself into a tranquil haze. Not good for the baby, she supposed, but what the hell. The silk bed linens were turned down, soft music was playing and she was wearing her most alluring sheer black teddy.

Quinn had just won another high profile case, this time involving country singer Terry McBryar. The Nashville jury had come back with a not guilty verdict in the case against McBryar, who had been accused of murdering his manager. Of course, this victory was only one in a long line for Quinn Cortez, who was one of the nation’s most highly acclaimed trial lawyers.

The fact that Quinn had a reputation for being ruthless excited Lulu. She’d always been fascinated by bad boys.

When she had telephoned him earlier today to congratulate him on his big win, she’d heard reluctance in his voice the minute she invited him to drive over to Memphis this evening so they could celebrate together. But in the end, she had persuaded him. Telling him that she’d be waiting in her bedroom, wearing only a teddy, and eager to suck his dick had given him all the incentive he needed.

“I can get there by eight,” he’d told her. “Is your extra key in the usual place?”

“Right where it always is,” she’d said. “Just let yourself in. I’ll be waiting.”

Thinking about the night ahead, Lulu shivered with excitement. She’d had dozens of lovers, but none compared to Quinn. The guy was a real stud, in every sense of the word. She’d give him a blow job, then they’d drink champagne and cuddle by the fireplace here in her bedroom. After he was relaxed and mellow, she’d spring her big surprise.

Guess what, Quinn, you’re going to be a daddy.

Laughing, pleased with her almost foolproof plan to trap her man, Lulu twirled around the room.

She heard a noise. The front door opening? Her heartbeat accelerated. Quinn was here. He’d arrived early. He must have broken every speed limit between Nashville and Memphis. That had to mean he was eager to see her.

Hurriedly, she turned off all the lights and lit the candles she had arranged on top of the sleek, modern cherry dresser. Only the candlelight and the glow from the flickering blaze in the fireplace illuminated the room. The right ambience was so important.

“Quinn? Darling, I’m back here waiting for you.”

His footsteps tapped quietly over the hardwood floors in the foyer and down the hall.

“You got here early, didn’t you?” She licked her lips.

Why wasn’t he answering her?

She scratched her long fingernails over her nipples, hardening them instantly. “Come on back here, big boy. I’ve got what you need.”

She stood by the fireplace, primed and ready, eager for what lay ahead. When she saw him standing in the doorway, her heart caught in her throat. She did love this man, loved him to distraction. He stood there in the shadows, a tall, dark silhouette. Broad shouldered, lean hipped. Six one. And every inch a man.

She held open her arms. “Come to mama. Let me take good care of you.”

He took several steps toward her. His blue-black hair glistened in the firelight. God, he was handsome. Ruggedly handsome in that exotic way only men of mixed heritages were. Quinn was a delicious mixture of Mexican and Irish.

As he neared her, she thought how incredibly young and sexy he looked tonight. Even men looked better by candlelight. At forty, he possessed a body any twenty-year-old would envy. And she knew from personal experience that he had the stamina of a man half his age.

“Hello, Lulu,” he said, and she thought there was an odd tone to his voice. He didn’t sound quite like himself.

She took a tentative step toward him, closing the gap between them. When she looked up into his piercing black eyes, she gasped. “Quinn?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” he asked. “Another lover?”

“No, I wasn’t expecting anyone else.” She felt a sudden sense of unease. What was wrong with him? He was acting so strangely. And he looked odd.

Maybe it wasn’t him; maybe it was her. After all, she had drunk three glasses of champagne. Perhaps she was picking up on strange vibes where there were none.

He reached out and grasped her shoulders. She quivered.

“What’s wrong? You’re shivering,” he said.

She stared directly at him, studying his tense features, as his big hands bit painfully into her shoulders. Oh, God, how could this be? She didn’t understand what was going on.

“You’re acting as if you’re afraid of me.”

“I—I am.” She tried to pull away, but he held her in his strong grip. “Let go of me.” When she struggled against him, he pushed her backward, his dark eyes boring into her with unadulterated hatred. “I don’t understand—”

She felt addled, her thoughts fuzzy, her mind playing tricks on her.

As he shoved her backward, she somehow managed to escape his tenacious grasp. She had to get away from him. She turned and ran, intending to lock herself in the bathroom and use the telephone in there to call for help. But before she reached the bathroom door, he caught her by the wrist, whirled her around and flipped her over and onto the bed.

The satin sheets felt cold and clammy against her bare arms and legs. The dark shadow of the man hovering over her appeared menacing and dangerous. Why hadn’t she realized sooner that something wasn’t quite right?

Because you drank too much champagne.

He came down over her, bracing his knees on either side of her hips, trapping her beneath him. She opened her mouth in a silent scream, her voice paralyzed by fear.

Don’t panic. Maybe he just wants to play rough. Maybe he isn’t going to hurt you.

“You’re a fool, Lulu,” he said in that strange tone of voice. “And I feel sorry for foolish women.”

“What—what are you talking about? Please—”

“Do you know what I do to foolish women?”

He reached over and picked up one of the king-size pillows from the head of the bed. She tried to shove him off her, but without success. He was too big, too strong. He lifted his knee and pressed it against her belly, effectively holding her in place and enabling him to use both hands to maneuver the pillow.

“I kill foolish women,” he told her. “I kill them softly…tenderly…and put them out of their misery.”

“No!” She managed to scream once before he covered her face with the huge pillow. Oh, God, he really was going to kill her. Smother her.

Help me, please, dear God, help me.

She wriggled and squirmed, thrashing her head about, seeking air, but he kept the pillow securely in place. With what little strength she had left, she grasped his wrists, but the effort proved useless. Within seconds her hands loosened. Her arms dropped languidly to either side of her still body. Her chest ached. Swirling gray circles appeared in the blackness behind her pillow-covered eyes.

Lulu had one final coherent thought.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!




Chapter 1 (#u64125e08-32ea-55f4-bd6a-ca8893004330)


Jim Norton figured it was going to rain. His arthritic knees were giving him fits and had all afternoon. But what could an ex-jock, who’d had bones broken, muscles strained and ligaments torn, expect when he hit forty? His ex-wife had once dubbed him her six-million-dollar man because he had so many artificial body parts.

Jim groaned. The last thing he wanted on his mind tonight was Mary Lee. Their marriage had ended six years ago. It was past time he got over her.

“What are you grunting about?” Chad George asked. “Pissed because Inspector Purser assigned us this case right before you were scheduled to go on vacation?”

“Nah, nothing like that. I didn’t have any special plans. Mary Lee nixed my idea of taking Kevin camping for a week. I can always reschedule my time off. Besides, Purser knows when to send in the best the homicide division has to offer.”

“Gee, thanks, Jim. I had no idea you thought so highly of me.”

“Go fuck yourself, Boy George.”

Chad’s face turned beet red, a close match to his wavy auburn hair that he kept cut military short.

“I’m getting damn sick and tired of the jokes about my being pretty enough to be a girl,” Chad said. “What do I have to do to get you and the other guys to ease up on the ribbing— run my face through a windshield or let some knife-happy perp slice-and-dice my rosy cheeks?”

Jim chuckled. “The only reason we dish it out is because you can’t take it. Act like you don’t give a shit and it’ll stop soon enough.”

Chad harrumphed as he turned their black Ford Taurus onto Galloway Drive. “I’d like to believe that.”

“Believe it.”

Jim had been partnered with the darling of the department on a string of cases these past three months since Chad’s former partner, Bill Delmar, retired. Jim couldn’t fault the kid on his professionalism. But on a personal basis, newly promoted Sergeant Chad George could be a pain in the ass. He was often a bit too cocky and always a bit too sensitive. Hell, at twenty-eight, the guy should have wised-up. A police officer, especially one in the homicide department, wouldn’t last long if he didn’t learn to distance himself from the job just enough so that the intensity of murder and mayhem didn’t bleed over into every aspect of his life. It was no secret to anyone who knew him that Chad lived and breathed his job. Odds were he’d make lieutenant in a few years and just keep moving right on up. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he had his own personal angel—none other than Congressman Harte, who was Chad’s uncle-by-marriage.

Jim had been a lot like Chad at his age—minus the angel—but he figured there was no point in telling the boy to do as he said and not as he’d done. Ten years ago, Jim hadn’t listened to older and wiser men on the force who’d tried to warn him. If he had listened, maybe his former partner would still be alive. Maybe he and Mary Lee would still be married. And maybe he’d get to see his son whenever he was off duty and not just on alternate weekends and a couple of holidays a year.

“It’s not every day there’s a homicide in Chickasaw Gardens,” Chad said.

Jim glanced out the window, visually skimming over mansion after mansion in this old, well-established Memphis neighborhood, where homes often sold for somewhere between one and two million dollars. And in Tennessee, million-dollar houses were far from the norm for the average citizen.

“Who’d they send out from the Central Precinct?” Jim asked.

“A couple of one-man cars. Don’t know the officers’ names.”

Jim nodded.

Within minutes, they reached the address they’d been given when they were dispatched from downtown. Two white police cars, trimmed in red and blue, a black Chevy Trailblazer, an ambulance and a small group of curious neighbors blocked their path. Chad parked behind one of the two police vehicles. The minute they emerged from the sedan, they made their way up the sidewalk to the two-story brick traditional shaded by large oak trees. Curious stares and a hum of murmurs followed them. Jim scanned the area, left and right, forward and backward. He noted a sleek, silver Porsche convertible parked in the driveway.

A young uniformed officer stood outside the front door, nervous sweat dampening his face on this cool spring night. Chad approached, identified himself and Jim, and then turned to the crowd.

“Folks, I’m going to have to ask that y’all leave the yard. Your presence here could very well compromise our crime scene.”

A loud grumble rose from several in the group, but to-a-person they moved hurriedly out into the street.

Jim noted the embarrassed look on the young policeman’s face. His name tag read Jarnigan. “The medical examiner already here?” Jim thought he recognized Udell White’s SUV parked behind the police cars.

“Yes, sir. He arrived just a few minutes ago,” Officer Jarnigan replied, then swallowed hard.

Chad zeroed in on Jarnigan, who Jim figured was fresh out of John D. Holt police academy. If he was a rookie that would explain his nervousness. Sometimes it seemed like only yesterday that he had graduated from the Academy. He’d been young and stupid enough to think he could conquer the world. He should have known better. After all, his dream of turning pro had been dashed when an injury his senior year at the University of Tennessee had ended his football career. After his body had been refurbished through a series of operations, he had been able to function normally, at least enough to meet the force’s physical requirements. After losing out on a pro career and making a ton of personal and professional mistakes, Jim didn’t have big plans anymore. He just took each day one at a time.

“What other officer responded to the call?” Chad asked.

“Del Treacy. He’s inside with the ME.” Jarnigan’s voice trembled.

Jim gave Chad a back-off glance, then stepped up on the porch where Jarnigan stood, guarding the open front door, and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Take it easy, son. We’re all on the same team here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This your first murder case?”

“Yes, sir.” Jarnigan sighed deeply.

Jim turned to Chad. “Why don’t you go out there and get the names of the curious and find out if they know anything about what happened. I’ll take over here.”

Chad bristled. Too bad. Jim still outranked him. He probably should have sent Jarnigan to interview the bystanders instead of ordering his partner to do the job. But it was liable to be a long night and a little bit of Chad went a long way. He figured he’d better separate himself from the cocky kid as much as possible so he didn’t lose his cool with the department’s darling boy.

“Yeah, sure.” Chad grunted, then headed down the sidewalk.

Jim pulled out a notepad and pen from his inside coat pocket, then asked Jarnigan, “What time did y’all arrive on the scene?”

“Ten forty-seven.”

Jim made a note of the time, then jotted down the address, the approximate temperature and weather conditions. Sixty-three degrees. Cool, clear, stars in the sky. “Tell me what y’all found when you arrived.”

“Uh…er…the guy who’d called 911 met us at the door.” Jarnigan glanced over his shoulder. “Del’s got him inside. In the living room.”

“Go on.”

“He said he found the victim when he arrived. They…er…they had a late date. He said she was already dead when he got here.”

Jim nodded as he glanced around, taking note of the specifics of the old brick house. One door—a double door at the front. Four long, narrow windows. All four shut tight.

“I’m going inside,” Jim said. “You stay out here and help Sergeant George. And don’t let him intimidate you.”

“No sir. I mean, yes sir, I won’t.”

Jim entered the large marble-floored foyer and eyed the sweeping staircase leading to the second floor. A crystal chandelier glistened brightly overhead. A set of double pocket doors to the left were closed, but the matching set to the right were open, revealing the twenty-by-twenty living room. Hardwood floors. Fireplace. No fire. Intricately carved wooden mantel. Traditional decorating, probably created by an outrageously expensive interior designer.

A stocky, black-uniformed officer stood talking to a man wearing an expensive dark suit, a white shirt and a red tie. When Jim approached the entrance to the living room, both men glanced at him.

“Officer Treacy, I’m Lieutenant Norton. Homicide.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’s this you’ve got with you?”

The tall, broad-shouldered man turned all the way around and faced Jim. Wavy black hair and dark eyes, bronze skin and handsome Hispanic features. Good-looking devil, Jim thought. Not a pretty boy like Chad. Just damn impressive.

“I’m Quinn Cortez.” The man’s black eyes narrowed as his gaze met Jim’s. “I’m the one who found Ms. Vanderley’s body.”

The muscles in Quinn’s belly tightened as he studied the homicide detective. The guy looked vaguely familiar. Rugged features. Short brown hair. Somewhere between thirty-five and forty. Quinn never forgot a face. He’d said his name was Norton. His identity didn’t come to Quinn immediately, but it would. Lieutenant Norton was a couple inches taller than Quinn, well-muscled and lean, with a world-weary look in his pensive blue eyes that hinted of pain, both physical and emotional.

“The Quinn Cortez?” Norton asked, his hard face emotionless.

Quinn grunted. “Yeah, I’m the Quinn Cortez.”

“You just won that McBryar case over in Nashville,” Norton said. “What brought you to Memphis tonight?”

“Lulu—Ms. Vanderley called earlier and invited me. Our get-together was supposed to be a celebration.”

“Want to take me, step-by-step, through what happened from the minute you drove up in the driveway until the officers showed up?”

“Sure.” Quinn knew the routine. Being a criminal lawyer, he had cultivated friendships with as well as made enemies of numerous lawmen in a number of states, where pro hac vice rules allowed him to practice outside his home state of Texas.

“That your Porsche parked in the drive?” Norton asked.

Quinn nodded. Was Norton one of those men who would automatically dislike Quinn because he was rich and famous? He’d run into his share of green-with-envy yo-yos who had tried to give him a hard time, but they’d all learned they couldn’t intimidate Quinn Cortez, nor could they scare him. But he’d never been in a situation such as this, had never been a suspect in a murder case. And he knew as well as he knew his own name that since he had found Lulu’s body and the two of them had been lovers, he would immediately top the police’s persons-of-interest list.

“I got here around ten-thirty,” Quinn said. “I parked, got out, walked to the door and let myself in with the key Lulu kept hidden beneath the doormat.” When Norton squinted and frowned, Quinn nodded. “Yeah, I know it wasn’t very smart of her to keep a key in such an obvious place, but Lulu was like that. She enjoyed flirting with danger.”

“Did she now?”

“Hell, yes. Why else would she have lived the way she did? In case you don’t know anything about Lulu, let me tell you that the lady liked her thrills. She was into skydiving, mountain climbing, deep-sea diving and she had run through as many bad boys as possible since she turned fifteen.”

“You’ve known the lady that long—since she was fifteen?” Norton asked.

Quinn shook his head. “No, but she liked to brag, and her friends who’ve known her for years verified what otherwise I would have thought were tall tales.”

“So, Cortez, were you just one more bad boy to Ms. Vanderley or were you somebody special?”

Quinn shrugged. “I’ve never given it much thought, but I suppose I was just one more in a long line. Lulu and I are— were—a lot alike. Neither of us was into serious relationships.”

“You were lovers?” Norton asked.

“Yeah,” Quinn replied. “On and off. It wasn’t an exclusive relationship by any means.”

“Before tonight, when was the last time you saw Ms. Vanderley?”

“About six weeks ago. She drove up to Nashville and stayed a couple of days.”

“Hmm…Okay, pick up with when you arrived tonight and let yourself into the house.”

“I walked inside and called Lulu’s name, but she didn’t respond, so I went down the hall and straight to her bedroom. I assumed she was in there waiting for me.”

“The master bedroom is downstairs?”

“That’s right.”

“And was she in the bedroom?”

“Yes. She was lying on the bed, flat on her back, wearing a black teddy and…well, at first I thought she was asleep.” Quinn clenched his teeth. Lulu had looked lovely lying there, her eyes closed, her body resting in a languid pose. He’d bent down over her, intending to kiss her. But the minute he touched her shoulder and she didn’t even flinch, he’d known she wasn’t simply sleeping, even though she’d still felt warm to the touch. At that same time, he’d smelled the stench of death and had noticed, there in the dim candlelight, the waxy, translucent look of her skin. “She was dead. Probably an hour or less at the time I found her. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in and her body was still warm.”

“Hmm…”

Quinn could tell by the quiet, contemplative way the lieutenant was studying him that the guy would probably wind up hauling his ass down to headquarters for further questioning. There was only one way out of this mess and that was complete cooperation. Tell the police the truth and prove he hadn’t harmed a hair on Lulu’s pretty little head.

But could he prove he didn’t kill Lulu? He had no alibi for the time of her death—he’d been en route from Nashville and had stopped for a quick nap when he’d gotten so groggy he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He’d pulled off Interstate 40 somewhere between Nashville and Jackson and had slept for well over an hour and a half.

Norton glared at Quinn. “Considering you and Ms. Vanderley were lovers, you don’t seem too torn up about her death.”

“I’m not the emotional type. I don’t fall apart in a crisis. If I did, I wouldn’t be the Quinn Cortez. But I’m not a completely heartless bastard.” Quinn looked Norton right in the eyes. “I cared about Lulu, as a friend. And as a lover. If I could change what happened to her, I would. But all I can do—all any of us can do now—is determine how she died. And if she was murdered, find the person responsible.”

Norton eyed Quinn skeptically.

“And no, lieutenant, I didn’t kill her. I had absolutely no motive.”

Before Norton had a chance to respond, a man of probably fifty, with a receding hairline and a potbelly hanging over his belt, came into the room.

“That you, Jim?” the man asked.

Norton turned and nodded. “Yeah, it’s me. What have you got for us, Udell? Suicide? Accident? Murder?”

Jim Norton. Jim Norton. Quinn repeated the name several times and suddenly a light clicked on inside his brain. Jim Norton, a running back for UT twenty years ago. That’s where Quinn had seen Norton. Norton had been star-athlete Griffin Powell’s teammate and best friend. The entire South— and that included Texas—had kept track of the two men who’d been destined to turn pro. Oddly enough, considering both had had NFL star quality written all over them, neither man had played professional football.

“Murder,” the ME said. “Asphyxiation.”

Quinn had suspected as much. When he had found Lulu lying there so peacefully, he’d desperately wanted to believe she wasn’t dead, that he could somehow save her. His first impulse had been to perform CPR, but when he’d lifted her right arm to check for a pulse and seen her bloody hand, he’d known that he had arrived too late. If only he hadn’t stopped for that damn nap, he might have gotten here in time to prevent her death.

“There’s one other thing,” the ME said.

“What’s that?” Jim Norton asked.

“The index finger on her right hand was amputated Postmortem.”

Annabelle Austin Vanderley was at her best playing hostess. It was a role she’d been born and bred to perform, as had generations of women in her family. Tonight’s gala event—a buffet supper to raise funds for the Christopher Knox Threadgill Foundation—hosted society’s elite from Mississippi, Alabama and several other surrounding states. Tickets had been a thousand dollars each and all proceeds went directly into the foundation that Annabelle had established ten years ago, shortly after her fiancé, Chris Threadgill, had become the victim of a nearly fatal car crash that left him a paraplegic. The foundation was dedicated not only to research, but also to assisting paralysis victims and their families. Not everyone was as fortunate as Chris had been—to have been born into a wealthy family who could afford to provide him with the best possible care.

Almost two years had passed since Chris’s death and even now Annabelle found it difficult to accept that he was gone. She had made him the center of her life for many years, even though they had never married. His choice, not hers.

Annabelle strolled from room to room in her uncle Louis’s antebellum mansion, where the charity supper was being held, checking on everything from the string quartet playing in the front parlor to the caterers working feverishly in the kitchen. She was the consummate hostess, with the ability to multitask with the aplomb of a juggler balancing half a dozen balls in the air at once. But this event was only one of three she had overseen this month—the other two being a circus for underprivileged kids and a Winner Takes All charity event at one of Biloxi’s many gambling casinos.

At twenty-three, when she’d been planning her wedding to Chris, she had thought by the time she was thirty-four, she would be the mother of several children and the wife of either the governor or a senator. Chris had been destined to follow in his father’s and grandfather’s political footsteps. But instead of living her dream, she was still single, childless and filled her days—and as many nights as possible— with overseeing the various Austin and Vanderley philanthropic organizations.

“You look lovely tonight, Annabelle,” her cousin, Wythe Vanderley, said as he came up behind her and slipped his arm around her waist.

Annabelle froze to the spot. Then forcing a smile, she eased away from Wythe and turned to face him. “And you look handsome, as always.” Wythe was an attractive man, in an aristocratic way that drew women to him like moths to a flame. And most of those women—the ones who’d gotten too close to that flame—had been badly burned. Wythe was a scoundrel and despite their being first cousins, Annabelle disliked him intensely. He’d been a disappointment to Uncle Louis, who supported Wythe in grand style, as he did Wythe’s younger half sister, Lulu. To quote her aunt, Perdita Austin, “Neither of Louis’s children are worth a damn.”

“Lovely but cold Annabelle,” Wythe said softly so that no one passing them in the hallway could overhear. “The right man could thaw you out and melt that frigid heart of yours.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I have—”

Before Annabelle could escape her annoying cousin, he grasped her wrist to halt her. She glared at him, her look demanding he release her immediately.

“I’m volunteering for the job, you know,” he told her. “I’m just the man who could heat you—”

“Unless you want to make a spectacle of yourself, I suggest you release me,” Annabelle said with absolute conviction. “Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to slap that smug look off your silly face.”

He released her instantly, but leaned close and whispered, “One of these days, bitch, you’ll get yours.”

She offered him a deadly smile. “Maybe so, but I won’t get it from you.”

Annabelle rushed away as fast as she could walk without bringing undue attention to herself. If she didn’t adore Uncle Louis and feel tremendously sorry for him, she’d never come to this house again, never subject herself to her cousin’s harassment. As she made her way down the hall toward the dining room, intending to make sure everything was in order, she smiled and spoke to half a dozen acquaintances. Anna-belle knew everybody who was anybody and cultivated superficial friendships as easily as she performed her hostess duties.

When she entered the dining room, her uncle Louis’s butler, Hiram, spoke her name quietly as he came to her side. “Miss Annabelle…”

“Yes, Hiram, what is it?”

“Sheriff Brody’s at the front door, ma’am, and he’s asked to speak to you.”

“Sheriff Brody? Did he say what it’s about?” Had Wythe gotten in trouble again? Except for Uncle Louis’s wealth and political connections, Wythe would already be in prison for statutory rape. Everyone in the county knew Wythe Vanderley had a penchant for teenage girls. And a sick hunger for rough sex.

“No, ma’am, but it can’t be good. He said it’s about Miss Lulu and he wanted to speak only to you.”

How could something Lulu had done be of any concern to Sheriff Brody? Lulu had moved off to Memphis five years ago and was living in her mother’s old house there in Chickasaw Gardens, the house Uncle Louis had bought his ex-wife as part of their divorce settlement when Lulu was twelve.

“Show Sheriff Brody into Uncle Louis’s study, please, Hiram, and take him around the back way. Tell him I’ll join him as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Whatever had brought the sheriff to their door, Annabelle didn’t want their guests to be aware of the lawman’s presence. After making her rounds through the dining room to check that the champagne was ready for the midnight toasts due to begin shortly, Annabelle discreetly slipped away and hurried to her uncle’s study. The minute she entered the room, Sheriff Brody, a stocky, middle-aged man, removed his hat and walked toward her.

“Ms. Vanderley, I’m afraid I’ve come with some awfully bad news,” he said.

Annabelle’s heart caught in her throat. “Bad news about Lulu?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Has she been in an accident? Is she badly hurt?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you, but…your cousin Lulu is dead.”

Annabelle’s stomach knotted painfully. “Lulu’s dead? How? When?”

“Tonight,” Sheriff Brody said. “She was found dead in her bedroom. The Memphis police are treating her death as a homicide.”

“Are you saying someone murdered Lulu?”

“It appears so. I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Vanderley. You can contact the Memphis PD, if you’d like, either tonight or in the morning. The lead detective on the case is Lieutenant Norton.”

Annabelle shook hands with the sheriff and thanked him for coming personally to give her the terrible news about her cousin. As she turned and asked Hiram, who’d been waiting in the hallway, to escort the sheriff out, all Annabelle could think about was how on earth she was going to break the news to her uncle. Lulu was—had been—the apple of Uncle Louis’s eye. He doted on his younger child, who’d been born when he was fifty. With his health already so precarious, learning that the little girl he’d spoiled rotten and loved to distraction was now dead might easily kill him.




Chapter 2 (#u64125e08-32ea-55f4-bd6a-ca8893004330)


Sitting alone in a quiet tenth-floor office of the Criminal Justice Center on Poplar Avenue, drinking a cup of coffee and waiting for his lawyer, Quinn Cortez kept telling himself that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. After all, the police hadn’t arrested him. He hadn’t been charged with Lulu’s murder. Not yet.

Not yet? Not ever. You didn’t kill her. There is absolutely no evidence that you did. If the detectives suspect you—and they probably do—there is no way in hell they can prove you murdered Lulu.

Yeah, but there’s no way you can prove you didn’t.

Quinn’s head pounded as if a couple of giant hammers were being repeatedly thumped against each temple. He leaned his head back against the wall and using his forefingers, massaged the pressure points.

When he had awakened from the nap he’d taken when he’d pulled off the road on his trip from Nashville to Memphis, his head had been throbbing; and downing a couple of aspirins hadn’t helped. Finding Lulu dead and then dealing with the police had only increased the tension, which had reached migraine proportions. He’d been healthy as a horse all his life, but during the past eight or nine months he’d had several really bad headaches. First came the extreme grogginess that led to an odd blackout spell. The headaches came after he awakened, lasted for a while and then went away. He probably should have seen a doctor, but he’d kept putting it off, thinking each headache would be the last. After all, there hadn’t been all that many spells—only three, counting the one tonight.

Although he’d defended countless clients accused of murder, he’d never been on this end of a murder case. Never been a suspect. And he’d never discovered a dead body.

Poor Lulu. God in heaven, who could have killed her? And why? She might have been practically worthless as a human being, having never worked a day in her life or gone out of her way to help another living soul, but she certainly had never intentionally harmed anyone. She’d been a free spirit, living life for the sheer pleasure of it. She was a good-time girl, fun to be around, and a damn good lay.

Quinn winced. That’s no way to think of the dead, he reminded himself, then huffed out a pained chuckle. Who was he kidding? Lulu would love being described as a damn good lay. She prided herself on her sexual prowess. The woman had been a tiger in the bedroom.

I don’t know who killed you, honey, or why, but if the police can’t find your murderer, I will.

The door opened and Sergeant George poked his head in and said, “Your lawyer’s here.”

George had been a real pain in the ass, but Lieutenant Norton had conducted himself like the old pro he was. And it wasn’t a matter of good cop/bad cop. It was a basic difference in men.

Quinn eased his fingers down over his cheekbones, then let his hands drop to the tops of his thighs as he glanced up at the cocky, young policeman. His gut instincts told him that no matter what the circumstances were under which he might have met Chad George, he wouldn’t have liked the guy.

“We haven’t charged you with anything. And we weren’t interrogating you, just asking you a few questions,” the sergeant said. “You really didn’t need to call in a lawyer.”

“Oh yeah, I think I did.” Quinn rose to his full six-one height and looked the policeman in the eyes. George wasn’t a large man. Five ten, one sixty-five. And too damn pretty to be a man. Bet he got plenty of ribbing from the other officers about being so movie-star handsome. Like a young, redheaded Brat Pitt.

George’s lips lifted in a hint of a smile, then he stepped backward and out of the way as Kendall Wells charged past him. She ignored the sergeant as if he were invisible. And when she closed the door behind her, Quinn grinned, imagining the guy’s indignant reaction to not only being ignored, but also having the door practically slammed in his face. Bet Chad George wasn’t accustomed to women treating him that way. But then, Kendall was no ordinary woman.

“I hope you’ve kept your mouth shut,” Kendall said as she approached Quinn, her three-inch black heels tapping against the floor.

Quinn inspected his lawyer from head to toe. Ms. Wells was a looker. Tall, slender, leggy and though not classically pretty, attractive nonetheless. She dressed in the best her money could buy. Tailored suits. Simple gold jewelry. Her bright red, sculptured nails made a statement that said although she was feminine, she could also be dangerous, possibly lethal.

He’d known Kendall for a number of years. They’d worked together on one of her first cases after she joined Hamilton, Jeffreys and Lloyd, which was now Hamilton, Jeffreys, Lloyd and Wells. At forty-four, she didn’t look a day over thirty-five. By keeping her body toned and the gray in her hair covered with a dark rinse, she managed to fool those who didn’t know her true age. But Quinn knew. He knew a lot about Kendall. They’d been lovers briefly and she liked to talk— mostly about herself—in the afterglow of lovemaking. Even though he hadn’t seen her in nearly five years, she’d been the first person he’d thought of when he decided he needed a top-notch Memphis lawyer right away.

“You’re looking good,” Quinn said.

Kendall smiled. “You look like hell.”

He rubbed his head. “I’ve got a killer headache.”

“Discovering a lover’s dead body would give anybody a headache.”

Quinn narrowed his gaze and looked directly at Kendall. “I didn’t kill Lulu.”

“That’s good to know.”

Inclining his head toward the closed door, Quinn asked, “Do they think I did it?”

“Probably. The boyfriend or the husband is always a suspect. You know that.”

“I told them the basic facts of my having a late date with Lulu, driving in from Nashville, showing up at her house and finding her dead in her bedroom. But when Sergeant George starting implying I might have had a reason to want to kill Lulu, I called a halt to the questioning.”

“And telephoned me. Smart boy.”

“Mrs. Cortez didn’t raise no fools.”

“Did you have a reason to want to see Lulu Vanderley dead?”

Quinn lifted his brows and glowered at his lawyer. “Playing devil’s advocate a little early in the game, aren’t you, counselor?”

Kendall shrugged. “They’ll pin this on you if there’s any way they can. You’re a big fish. A headline maker. Just think what it could do for not only George’s and Norton’s careers but the DA’s. I know Steven Campbell. He’s as ambitious as they come. He’d love nothing better than to convict the Quinn Cortez of murder.”

“I had absolutely no reason to kill Lulu. We were friends…lovers.”

“Nothing serious between you two?”

“Now when have I ever had a serious relationship with a woman?”

“Hmm…” Kendall looked him over from head to toe. “What about Lulu, did she want more than you were willing to give?”

Quinn shook his head. “Not that I know of. She drove up to Nashville and spent a couple of days with me about six weeks ago. I hadn’t seen her since. She called this afternoon to congratulate me on winning the McBryar case and invited me to Memphis for a personal celebration.”

“What about other boyfriends? Do you know if she was seeing someone else—someone who might have been the jealous type?”

“We didn’t discuss other lovers when we were together.”

“I sure hope she had a jealous boyfriend. That would at least take some of the focus off you.”

“Look, honey, we can talk particulars later. I’d like to get out of here. Tonight.”

“That can be arranged. If they want to ask you more questions, we can come back in the morning. This early in the investigation, they apparently don’t have any reason to hold you.” Kendall slipped her arm through his. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

“I’ll check into the Peabody or—”

“You’ll stay with me.”

Quinn gave her an inquisitive look. The last he’d heard, Kendall had gotten married about four years ago.

“We’re separated,” she said as if reading his mind. “The divorce will be final next month.”

“Sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, me, too.” She shrugged. “He was a nice man. Widower. A couple of teenage kids. I thought it was what I wanted, but it wasn’t. I should have stuck to my own kind.”

“And that would be?”

“No-good heartbreakers like you, Quinn.”

* * *

“Annabelle?” Wythe Vanderley’s voice vibrated with anticipation. “Hiram said you wanted to see me immediately. Dare I hope you’ve changed your mind about—”

Annabelle whirled around and glared at her loathsome cousin. “For God’s sake, don’t say anything else.”

He stared at her, speculation in his gaze. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

When he approached her, she held up a restraining hand. He stopped immediately.

“Sheriff Brody just left. He came personally to deliver some bad news…about”—she swallowed fresh tears—“about Lulu.”

Wythe’s face turned pale. “What’s happened? Has she been in a car wreck? Damn, how many times have I warned her not to drive so fast.”

“It wasn’t a car wreck.”

“What is it? What? Is she in the hospital? Do we need to—”

“Lulu was murdered,” Annabelle forced the words, hating the very sound of them. Saying them aloud made the unbearable truth more real.

“Murdered?” Wythe shook his head. “No, that’s not possible. Who’d want to hurt Lulu? Everybody loved her. You know that.” Pale and trembling like a leaf in the wind, Wythe stared at Annabelle, a dazed look in his eyes.

“Pull yourself together. Right now. I can’t have you falling apart. I need you to help me tell Uncle Louis.”

“Daddy? Oh, Lord, this will kill him.”

“What I want you to do is telephone Dr. Martin and tell him what’s happened. Ask him to come over to the house immediately,” Annabelle said. “I have duties to attend to, but as soon as Dr. Martin arrives, the three of us will take Uncle Louis aside and tell him.”

“You know I was never jealous of her.” Wythe smiled, the expression on his face pathetic. “I was fifteen when she came along and I should have hated her, but I didn’t. I adored the little puss from the first moment I saw her. Even knowing Daddy loved her far more than he ever did me didn’t change the way I felt about her.”

Annabelle did not want to hear this. Not now. Not ever. She had no time—and no stomach—for any of Wythe’s confessions. And she felt he was on the verge of one.

“Use the phone in here to call Dr. Martin.” As Annabelle walked past her cousin on her way to the door, she paused momentarily and offered him a sympathetic glance. The caring, nurturing part of her wanted to reach out and hug him, offer him comfort. But she could not bring herself to touch Wythe, not knowing what she did about him.

Once outside in the hallway, she hurried down the corridor, her head held high, her eyes dry. And all the while her heart was aching. Poor Lulu. No matter how wild and crazy she’d been, no matter how useless her life or how many times she’d disappointed her father, she didn’t deserve to die. The murder of a Memphis socialite, the daughter of a Mississippi multimillionaire and the reigning emperor of the Vanderley empire, would be front-page news by morning. Once she told Uncle Louis about Lulu, she’d make plans to drive to Memphis first thing in the morning. She would take charge, do her duty and represent the family. She intended to make it her mission to see that Lulu’s murderer was found and punished.

Quinn parked his Porsche in the two-car garage alongside Kendall’s BMW. She waited for him to retrieve his overnight bag from the trunk, then held the door open for him to enter through the kitchen of her South Bluff home, a downtown terraced house. As he followed her into the great room, he noted that the decorating style reflected the lady herself. Sleek, smart and modern. Nothing homey about the place. Lots of glass and mostly basic black-and-white, with a few tans and creams thrown in for good measure.

He was a man who noticed details, had built his career on his shrewd intuition as much as his intelligence. The house told him clearly that Kendall slept here, occasionally ate here and probably had sex here, but this place wasn’t her home. The woman didn’t have a home anymore than Quinn did. They were, by nature and nurture, vagabond loners.

He owned a penthouse in Houston, a vacation home in Jamaica and a time-share in Vail. But he didn’t have a home. Not even the ranch he’d bought in the hill country adjoining his old friend Johnny Mack Cahill’s property was really home.

He’d never needed a home. He’d been too busy building a career and getting filthy rich to be bothered with matters as mundane and unimportant as a home. But that had been in the past. He now had everything he’d ever wanted. And more. So why did he feel so empty? And so alone?

Kendall paused by the counter separating the state-of-the-art, stainless-steel kitchen from the great room. “I could fix us some hot tea or if you prefer, I can make you a stiff drink.”

“How about some hot tea and a couple more aspirins.” He rubbed his left temple with his forefinger.

“Hot tea and aspirins coming right up.” She nodded toward the hallway opening to the right of the great room. “I have two guest bedrooms. Take your pick. They both have their own private bath.”

Quinn nodded. “I’m not picky. Not tonight. I’m just grateful you offered me a place to stay. At a time like this, a little tea and sympathy is appreciated.”

She looked at him suspiciously, as if doubtful about his sincerity. “I’ll give you all the tea you want, but no sympathy.”

Quinn heaved a deep sigh, then chuckled mirthlessly. “I meant that literally, honey, not metaphorically. I didn’t think you’d brought me home with you so you could have your way with me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve changed.”

He shrugged. “Not really. Not much. But all I want from you is a cup of tea, a couple of aspirins…and maybe a little genuine sympathy. I haven’t been on the wrong side of the law since I was a teenager. I don’t like the feel of it— being a suspect in a murder case. And even though Lulu and I weren’t in a serious relationship, I did care about her.”

“As much as you can care about a woman. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Did I hurt you…back when we—”

Kendall laughed. “God, what an ego. No, you didn’t hurt me. And before you jump to any other erroneous conclusions— I have not been pining away for you all these years. It’s just that I know you. Correction, I knew you.”

“I never realized how much you disliked me,” Quinn said.

“I didn’t dislike you back then and I don’t dislike you now,” she told him. “Hell, Quinn, if I disliked you so damn much, do you think I’d have come when you called, that I’d have invited you to stay here with me if—”

She stopped midsentence as she watched him drop his overnight bag on the floor and walk toward her. When he was within a foot of her, he reached out and caressed her face with his fingertips. “It’s not me, is it? It’s your ex. The guy must have done a real number on you.”

Kendall sighed, then turned and moved away from Quinn. With her back to him, as she reached up in a cabinet for the box of tea bags, she said, “His name was Dr. Jonathan Miles. I was madly in love with him. The sex was great. His kids were holy terrors and both of them hated me. We thought that would change. It didn’t. In the end, he chose his kids. Can’t blame him. After all, he was still in love with his wife—his dead wife—and they were her kids.”

“You’re well rid of him, honey. The man didn’t deserve you.”

“No, he didn’t.” Kendall blew out a deep breath, then filled a kettle with water and placed it on the eye of her ceramic-top range. She glanced at Quinn and offered him a weak smile. “Why don’t you pick out a bedroom, freshen up and by then I’ll have the tea ready. I don’t figure you’ll get much sleep tonight.”

He nodded, then headed down the hall. No, he probably wouldn’t get any sleep tonight. He didn’t want to close his eyes because he knew what he’d see. Lulu’s lifeless body lying there on her bed. Beautiful and sexy, even in death. And her bloody hand, one digit missing. Why would anyone cut off her index finger?

Annabelle waited for Dr. Martin on the far side of her uncle’s bedroom, Wythe at her side. He’d been remarkably well-behaved, keeping his own emotions in check and actually putting his father’s needs first. She supposed in his own selfish way, Wythe did love Uncle Louis.

“No, please, please, tell me it isn’t true,” Louis Vanderley moaned as the sedative his personal physician had given him began to take effect. “My little Lulu. My precious baby girl. She can’t be dead.”

“Just lie back and relax, Louis,” Dr. Martin said.

“Annabelle?” her uncle called for her.

She went to his bedside. Dr. Martin looked at her sympathetically, then moved aside. Annabelle leaned over and took her uncle’s hand.

“I’m right here,” she told him.

“Go to Memphis. Find out what happened. Our Lulu can’t be dead.”

She squeezed his age-spotted hand. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning. And I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

“Someone has lied to us,” Louis said, his voice a mere whisper. “Lulu isn’t dead.”

Annabelle leaned over and kissed her uncle’s forehead. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. She eased the satin coverlet up and over his chest. Uncle Louis was her father’s elder brother. Her father had been the youngest of four, fifteen years his elder brother’s junior. There had been two sisters born between them. Meta Anne, who’d passed away only a few years ago, an unmarried, childless career woman who’d devoted herself to helping Louis oversee the vast Vanderley empire. And Annabelle, the sister who’d died in the forties with infantile paralysis at the age of three. That Annabelle, as well as the present Annabelle Vanderley, had been named in honor of a great-great-grandmother who’d come from France as the bride of Edward Vanderley in 1855.

“Rest, dearest.” Annabelle adored her uncle Louis, who’d been a second father to her since her own father had died of a heart attack seven years ago. “I’ll find out what happened to Lulu. I promise.”

Dr. Martin stopped her on her way out of the room. “Annabelle?”

“Yes?”

“He’s seventy-eight, in poor health and has received a terrible shock,” Dr. Martin said.

“Are you trying to tell us that he might die?” Wythe asked.

“Hush.” Annabelle glanced at her uncle, who seemed to be asleep, then glowered at Wythe. “He might hear you.”

“He’s out cold,” Wythe told her.

“All I’m saying is to prepare yourselves,” Dr. Martin said. “Louis could well survive this, but…Well, it will depend on his will to live, at least in part. I’ve seen it happen before, patients who give up the will to live and die in a few weeks or a few months.”

“I’ll give him something to live for,” Annabelle said. “Once he accepts that Lulu is dead, he’ll want to see her killer punished. That alone will keep him going.”

Dr. Martin shook his head. “Revenge can be a strong motivator. Just be careful that it doesn’t turn on him. And on you.”

“I wasn’t referring to revenge. What I want—what Uncle Louis will want—is justice.”

Quinn lay in the bed, the back of his head resting in his cupped hands, his fingers entwined. A cup of tea, a couple more aspirins and a sympathetic ear had partially eased his headache but hadn’t helped him fall asleep. In a few short hours, he would have to return to police headquarters and answer more questions. Be grilled about Lulu’s death.

God, how he wanted to turn back the clock and—and do what? Decline Lulu’s offer to come to Memphis? Arrive at Lulu’s house in time to stop her killer?

He flopped over and glanced at the digital bedside clock. Four forty-three.

Lulu had loved life about as much as anybody he’d ever known. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t try, at least once. At twenty-seven, she’d had her whole life ahead of her. Marriage, kids, divorces and more marriages and divorces. Quinn laughed quietly to himself, remembering Lulu and the fun times they’d had. She’d been his female equivalent. Unkind people called her a whore. Those who knew her well thought of her as a free spirit. She enjoyed men in the same way he enjoyed women. Their rules of encounter were pretty much the same. No holds barred. Everyone was fair game. No commitments. No promises. Sex for the sake of sex. And love was never involved. Love was for fools. And Lulu had no more been a fool than Quinn. She knew the score.

Had she gotten herself involved with someone who had refused to play the game by her rules? Had someone decided that if they couldn’t have Lulu exclusively, then no one could have her?

If the police concentrated all their efforts on proving he killed Lulu, then the real killer might escape. He couldn’t let that happen. He would not only find a way to prove his innocence, but he’d also move heaven and earth to bring Lulu’s murderer to justice.




Chapter 3 (#u64125e08-32ea-55f4-bd6a-ca8893004330)


Mary Lee Norton cried out with release when her climax exploded inside her. She was a screamer. Something he liked in a woman. He never wondered with Mary Lee whether or not he’d satisfied her. He’d heard that women in their mid to late-thirties were in their sexual prime and from his experience with older women, he’d found that to be true. It was certainly true of his partner’s ex-wife. The woman had an insatiable hunger for sex.

Chad grasped her hips and tossed her off him and over onto her back, then delved deep and hard, seeking his own release. Within a couple of minutes, he came. Groaning with the headiness of satisfaction, he slid off her damp body and onto the bed. She cuddled against him and kissed his shoulder.

“You’re good, sugar pie,” she whispered in a husky, Southern drawl that hinted she was a heavy smoker.

Turning to her, he smiled as he noted the faint lines that edged her hazel eyes. At thirty-seven, she was still a looker, but give her a few more years and a couple of decades of smoking and sun worship would catch up with her. By the time she was forty-five, she’d need a face-lift. Of course, what she looked liked a few years down the road was no concern of his. Mary Lee was a temporary fixture in his life, a brief liaison that had to end before Jim Norton found out his partner was bonking his ex-wife.

“Am I as good as your ex?” he asked and could have kicked his own ass for letting his insecurity show.

Usually Chad was confident. Some said overconfident. And about most things he was. After all, why shouldn’t he be? He was highly intelligent, good-looking, the ladies loved him and he was moving up fast in the department. But ever since he’d been paired with Jim Norton, he’d had a few moments of self-doubt. Without consciously doing anything to cause the effect, Jim intimidated the hell out of other guys. Even Chad. And why that was, he didn’t know for sure. After all, Norton was nothing more than an ex-jock who’d nearly ruined his life and his career before Chad had graduated from college.

Mary Lee curled herself around Chad like a purring kitten and laughed as she ran her fingernails up and down his chest. “Comparing you to Jim is like comparing apples to oranges, sugar.”

He grabbed her by the nape of her neck, trapping a few strands of her short black hair between his fingers. “Are you screwing him, too? Everybody knows that he’s still got a thing for you.”

“So I’ve been told, but you can’t prove it by me.” She stared right at Chad. “I’ve made the offer more than once since our divorce, but he hasn’t accepted.”

“He must be nuts to turn you down.”

“Jim’s unforgiving,” she said. “I’m warning you, if you ever do anything to get on his shit list, you’ll be on it for life. He doesn’t forgive and he doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

“So, what’d you do that was so unforgivable?”

Mary Lee pulled away from him, reached over on the nightstand and picked up a pack of cigarettes. He watched her as she lit the cigarette and took a couple of draws off it. After blowing out a puff of smoke, she grinned at him. “I got tired of being ignored, of him working all the time. I looked elsewhere.”

“And Jim found out.”

“Jim caught us in the act. He came home unexpectedly and found our son’s T-ball coach scoring a home run with me.”

“What’d he do? Beat the hell out of the T-ball coach?”

“You’d think that’s what a rough and rugged guy like Jim would do, wouldn’t you?” She shook her head, then puffed on the cigarette. “He just stood there in the doorway for a couple of minutes. Didn’t say a word. Then he turned around and walked away, right out of the house, and got back into his car and drove off.”

“I’d never peg Jim for—”

She put her index finger over his lips to silence him. “You don’t know the man at all, do you? He left so he wouldn’t kill us. He wanted me dead just as much as the guy I’d been fucking. And I figure there was about a minute there when our lives hung by a thread. But Jim has incredible self-control. That’s why he could walk away.”

“Hmm…”

“Surely you’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you? Jim Norton believes in the old adage about revenge being a dish best served cold.”

A shiver zinged up Chad’s spine. Yeah, he’d heard the rumors. And if he believed them, like others in the department did, then he knew what Norton was capable of doing. He sensed that Mary Lee admired her ex-husband, maybe still even cared about him. And he also sensed that if she were totally honest about which man was the best—at sex or anything else—she’d choose Lieutenant James Norton over him or any other guy.

Needing to erase such thoughts from his mind and bring back the casual mood, Chad jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, keeping his hand over the sagging condom clinging to his penis. He paused in the doorway and glanced back at his partner’s ex-wife. “I’ve got to shower and shave, then get downtown and meet Jim. We’re questioning a murder suspect this morning and I don’t want to be late.”

“Go ahead.” She waved him off as she got out of bed. “Want me to put on a pot of coffee?”

Standing there in his bedroom, naked, tousled and sated, Mary Lee Norton got a rise out of him. A partial rise anyway. If he had time, he’d toss her back into bed and— Another time, he told himself. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have Mary Lee anytime he wanted her. The lady was definitely hot-to-trot.

“I’ll grab a cup at headquarters,” he told her as he removed the used condom and dumped it in the wastebasket. “But feel free to fix yourself a pot and hang around as long as you’d like.”

She didn’t respond, so he had no idea what she’d do. By the time he had showered, shaved and dressed, he found the house empty. Mary Lee had left a note attached to the refrigerator with a magnet.

You’re as good as he is, just different.

She’d scrawled her initials beneath the succinct note.

Chad grinned. He’d be seeing the lady again. Soon. And he’d make damn sure and certain her ex-husband didn’t find out.

Quinn nibbled on the high protein bar Kendall had provided along with a cup of coffee. The coffee was good— black and strong, the way he liked it. The protein bar tasted like cardboard coated with cheap chocolate. He preferred his breakfast protein in the form of steak and eggs. At home and when out of town on a case, his routine seldom varied. He was accustomed to having his needs met by a small contingent of well-paid employees, who traveled with him. After the McBryar acquittal yesterday, he’d sent his entourage back to Houston, expecting full well to be on a plane back home no later than Monday morning. Those plans had been made when he’d thought he would be spending the weekend with Lulu.

“I’ve got some low-fat wheat bread,” Kendall said. “I could fix you some toast.”

He glanced at Kendall, who sat on the bar stool next to him at the kitchen counter. How was it possible that she looked so awake and refreshed at seven-twenty in the morning, when it had been nearly three when they’d finally gone to bed. Her tan suit fit her to perfection and matched her heels and the clutch purse lying at the end of the counter alongside her burgundy leather briefcase. Everything about her was perfect, from her stylish short hair to her subtle makeup.

“Don’t bother. I’m not hungry.” He laid the bland protein bar atop his napkin and lifted the coffee cup to his lips.

“Did you get any sleep?” Kendall asked.

“Some,” he lied. He hadn’t slept at all. Only dozed a couple of times.

“Do I need to remind you to think like a lawyer this morning when you’re questioned and not like a suspect in a murder case?”

“Be calm, in control and logical,” he replied. “Don’t get emotional. And remember when to let my lawyer talk for me.”

“Good boy.”

“Honey, I’ve never been a good boy in my entire life.” Quinn Cortez had been a lot of things, to a lot of people, but being a good boy wasn’t one of them. As far as he was concerned, goodness was overrated. He preferred being rich, being powerful and being a winner. Maybe he’d sacrificed some important things along the way on his road to success, but he had to admit that if he had it to do all over again, he wouldn’t change a thing.

Not unless he could go all the way back to the beginning when Rico Cortez had married Sheila Quinn because he’d gotten her pregnant, then conveniently disappeared a few month’s after his son’s birth.

Kendall laughed. “I happen to like your cockiness, but how about downplaying it just a little this morning. And for God’s sake, act a little broken-up about Lulu Vanderley’s death, will you?”

“It won’t be an act,” Quinn said. “Not entirely. I’m not all broken-up, but…I want to make sure whoever killed Lulu is caught and punished.”

“Finding the real murderer will get you off the hook.”

“I want to see to it that her murderer pays for what he did. And not just for selfish reasons, but because Lulu didn’t deserve to die.” Quinn slammed his half-full cup down on the counter, splashing the black liquid onto his hand. He reacted to the heat instantly, raised his hand and rubbed it across his mouth.

“You really liked her, didn’t you?” Kendall reached over and patted Quinn’s arm.

He cut his eyes toward her. “Do you find that amazing— that I’d actually like a woman who’s my lover?”

“No.” Kendall gazed at him contemplatively. “What I find amazing is that you’d actually like a woman, any woman.”

“What the hell do you mean by that? I love women. All women. You should know that, honey. Ask anybody who knows me and they’ll tell you that Quinn Cortez is a ladies’ man.”

“You may love women—all women—but you don’t like them as a general rule. If you liked women, you wouldn’t treat them the way you do.”

“I’ve never had any complaints.” The flip response shot out of his mouth instantly.

“I’m sure no woman has ever complained about your prowess as a lover,” Kendall told him. “But what about all the hearts you’ve broken? Don’t you think there are dozens of women out there who would love to see the great Quinn Cortez brought to his knees and begging for mercy.”

“I thought you said that I didn’t hurt you, back when we—”

“This isn’t about me. It’s about your reputation. Don’t you realize that if Lulu told just one person that she wanted more from you than a passionate fling, the police could build a case around that fact—that she was clinging to you and you couldn’t shake her without killing her?”

“Lulu never once said she wanted more from our relationship.”

“She didn’t say that to you, but can you be one hundred percent sure she never implied to anyone else that she was in love with you or wanted a committed relationship?”

Quinn slid off the bar stool and stood. “I can’t be certain of what she might or might not have told someone else. But I’m telling you that Lulu wasn’t looking for a permanent relationship with me or anybody.”

“I hope her family and friends will verify that fact.” Kendall bit off a chunk of protein bar, chewed and washed it down with coffee.

“Lulu’s family…” Quinn groaned. “I’d forgotten all about them. She has an elderly father and a half brother over in Mississippi somewhere. The old man still runs the Vanderley empire, with the help of a cousin. I can’t recall the cousin’s name. Abigail or Adelaide or something like that. I can hear Lulu saying, �Abi…Adel—Annabelle…’ That’s it, Annabelle. She’d say, �Annabelle is a real saint, a true martyr. I love her like a sister, but God, she’s such a bore.’ I suppose the Memphis police notified—”

Kendall stood, put her arms around Quinn and hugged him. “Don’t consider it a weakness to allow Lieutenant Norton and Sergeant George to see this I-actually-do-give-a-damn side of your personality.”

Quinn stepped back and looked directly at Kendall. “You think they’re going to charge me with Lulu’s murder, don’t you?”

“I think that if they don’t find another suspect and they can come up with the least bit of evidence against you, no matter how circumstantial, they just might try to pin this on you.”

On the way to the Criminal Justice Center, Jim Norton sipped on a container of black coffee as he maneuvered his seen-better-days Chevy truck along Poplar Avenue. He’d downed a cup of the high octane brew before he left his apartment in the Exchange Building, right after wolfing down a bowl of corn flakes. The alarm clock had gone off at six-thirty, but he’d hit the snooze button twice. He’d gotten all of maybe four hours sleep. He’d tried to get in touch with his ex-wife last night without any luck. He didn’t really give a damn where Mary Lee was or who she was with, but he sure as hell wanted to know where his son was. Spending the night with a friend again? Whenever Mary Lee needed to scratch an itch, she’d send Kevin to a friend’s for the night.

He could complain. He had in the past. But Mary Lee had pointed out to him that he was lucky she didn’t have sole custody. “What if you didn’t even have visitation rights?” she had asked him when he’d suggested she let him keep Kevin whenever she had a date. “All things considered, you’re lucky I let you see Kevin as much as I do. After all, if I hadn’t agreed to your getting some visitation rights—”

He’d just call her again later this morning—or at least try to—to make sure she hadn’t forgotten that he was supposed to pick up Kevin this evening and keep him until Monday morning. He’d made plans for them to spend tomorrow with his sister Susan’s family. Kevin enjoyed spending time with his three cousins, twin boys only a year older than he and a girl two years younger. Jim liked the idea of his son seeing what a real family was like. That’s what he’d wanted for Kevin—that all-American, mom-and-apple-pie life he and Susan had had as kids. But both he and Mary Lee had fucked up big time. And now, thanks to them, Kevin would never have what Jim had wanted most for his son.

He could blame it all on Mary Lee. And sometimes, especially when he’d had too much to drink, he did blame it all on her. But when completely sober and in the cold light of day, he knew he had to accept his share of the blame. Way back when he’d been a young hotshot with great ambition, he had neglected his wife and son. His arrogance and cockiness had gotten his partner killed, had put him in the hospital and had landed him in a heap of trouble with the department. By the time he’d healed physically and emotionally, he’d already lost his wife, even if they didn’t divorce until nearly three years later.

After pulling into his parking place and releasing his safety belt, Jim removed his cell phone from its holder and hit the button that instantly dialed his ex’s home phone number. Much to his surprise, she answered on the fifth ring.

“Mary Lee?”

“Yeah. Who were you expecting, the Queen of Sheba?”

“I tried calling last night.”

“I had a date.”

“Stayed out kind of late didn’t you?”

She laughed. “I stayed out all night. Just got in.”

If she thought telling him she’d spent the night with some guy would bother him, she was wrong. He had actually given a damn that she screwed another guy only one time. The time he’d caught her in the act. After that, she could have done it with every guy in Memphis for all he cared. He just hated that Kevin’s mother had gained a reputation as a…as a what? A slut who’d spread her legs for just about any guy?

Mary Lee had always been a little wild and God knew she hadn’t been a virgin when they got married, but he hadn’t cared. He’d been crazy about her. Hog-wild crazy. And she’d loved him, too. He knew she had.

“I just wanted to remind you that I’ll be picking Kevin up at six-thirty this evening,” Jim said. Now wasn’t the time to get into it with Mary Lee about Kevin spending too many nights at other people’s houses.

“He’ll be ready. He’s been looking forward to seeing you.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“Jim?”

“Huh?”

“I saw in this morning’s Commercial Appeal where you and your partner are working the Lulu Vanderley murder.”

“Yeah.”

“Lulu Vanderley was somebody real important, wasn’t she? If you solve this one and bring her killer in, it sure won’t hurt your career, will it?”

“I don’t worry as much about my career as I used to,” he told her.

“You don’t worry as much or care as much about a lot of things.”

“That’s the way life is.” He took a deep breath. “Tell Kevin I’ll see him at six-thirty.”

Before giving Mary Lee a chance to say anything else, Jim hung up. One of these days he’d be able to have a conversation with his ex and not think about what might have been. “If only” was a game for idiots.

Annabelle emerged from her white Cadillac, hoisted her leather bag over her shoulder and took a deep, calming breath. On the drive over from Austinville, she’d made a dozen phone calls, using her On-Star system, which made phoning while driving an easy, risk-free task. She’d spoken to the president and two vice presidents at Vanderley, Inc., and helped their top PR person word a press release about Lulu’s murder. She’d also spoken to her uncle twice and it had broken her heart to hear the sound of his weak, trembling voice. Knowing that Dr. Martin had arranged for nurses to be at Uncle Louis’s side twenty-four/seven gave her some comfort.

Before leaving early this morning, she’d fielded numerous calls from local, state and even national newspapers and televisions stations. Her cousin’s murder was front-page news throughout the state of Mississippi and most of the South. Even now, a good twelve hours after hearing the news from Sheriff Brody, Annabelle was having difficulty believing it was true. Accepting the death of a family member was always difficult—she’d gone through the agony with her aunt Meta Anne’s and both her parents’ deaths and again when she lost Chris. When someone young died, someone only twenty-seven as Lulu had been, the loss seemed all the greater because you felt that the person hadn’t gotten a chance to live a full life. She’d felt that way when Chris died two years ago. He had been the center of her world for so long that shortly after the funeral, she’d fallen apart completely. But in typical Annabelle style, she hadn’t allowed herself to wallow in self-pity for very long. She’d pulled herself up by the proverbial bootstraps, dusted off her bruised and bloody emotions and thrown herself back into work. Thank God for work. It had been her salvation more than once over the years.

As she approached the Poplar Avenue entrance to the Criminal Justice Center, she recited the directions she’d been given over the telephone by the helpful police officer she’d spoken to an hour ago while she’d been en route. With her mind on other matters—finding the homicide division of the police department within this huge complex, as well as thinking about what she’d be told concerning Lulu’s murder— Annabelle failed to notice the small crowd gathering around her. Suddenly, someone shouted her name. She jerked her head up and searched for the speaker.

“Ms. Vanderley? Annabelle Vanderley?” A short, wiry man with a camera in hand moved toward her.

“Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want?”

“You are Lulu Vanderley’s cousin, Annabelle, aren’t you?” a small, slender blonde holding a microphone in her hand asked as she zeroed in on Annabelle.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions,” another reporter joined in the fray.

“I have no comment,” Annabelle told them. “The spokesperson for Vanderley, Inc. will make a statement at noon today at our headquarters in Jackson, Mississippi.”

“Is it true that Lulu was killed by her latest lover?”

“Was she raped and then killed?”

“How was she killed? Was she shot? Strangled? Stabbed?”

The questions bombarded her as the reporters drew closer and closer, shoving microphones and cameras in her face.

“Please, leave me alone.” She tried to move past the throng that seemed to be multiplying by the minute, but she was surrounded. Try as she might, she couldn’t find an escape route.

As if from out of nowhere a tall, broad-shouldered man cut a path through Annabelle’s tormentors, slid his arm around her waist and all but shoved the reporters aside. When they complained, he paused, faced them and snarled. With her breath caught in her throat, Annabelle took a good look at her rescuer. The fierce expression on his face would have backed down the devil himself. The reporters continued to grumble, but didn’t make the slightest move in her direction.

Whoever this man was—her protector—he took her breath away.

“You heard the lady. Leave her alone,” he said, his voice baritone deep and rich.

Annabelle sighed with relief as she offered her white knight an appreciative smile. Who is he? she wondered. Could he possibly be a plainclothes police officer?

She studied him hurriedly, taking in his appearance. He was a devastatingly attractive man with wavy jet black hair and large dark brown eyes. Handsome, but not pretty. Suave yet rugged. He was dressed in an expensive navy blue suit. Tailor-made, unless she missed her guess, which meant he was rich. So he probably wasn’t a policeman. She doubted the base pay, even for a detective, was more than forty or fifty thousand a year. This man’s suit had probably cost several thousand.

He kept his arm around her waist, her body pressed against his side. Annabelle’s heart beat faster and her stomach fluttered. Sheer nerves, she told herself.

“Thank you so much, Mr.—”

“Cortez. Quinn Cortez.”

“I appreciate your coming to my rescue, Mr. Cortez.” Her gaze locked with his as they stared into each other’s eyes. He was looking at her as if he wanted to say something.

“These people can be real jerks,” he told her. “You’ve just lost your cousin—”

“How did you…Oh, you probably read about Lulu in the newspaper.”

A tall, dark-haired woman came through the crowd and walked straight up to Quinn. “I’m sure Ms. Vanderley will be fine now,” the woman said. “We have an appointment”— she tapped her gold wristwatch—“in five minutes. You don’t want to be late.”

He didn’t budge and made no move to release his protective hold on Annabelle.

“Please, don’t let me keep you from an important appointment,” Annabelle said. “I’ll be fine now. Surely they won’t follow me.”

His gaze caressed her, creating a fluttering sensation along her nerve endings. “Let me see you safely inside.”

Suddenly one of the newspaper reporters shouted out, “Ms. Vanderley, how well do you know Mr. Cortez? Obviously you don’t think he had anything to do with your cousin’s murder, right?”

What had the reporter said? Why would he think Mr. Cortez had any connection to Lulu’s murder?

Annabelle broke eye contact with Quinn and looked right at the reporter. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you and your cousin both have a romantic relationship with Mr. Cortez?” the same reporter asked.

When Annabelle glared at him, puzzled by his question, he added, “Seeing how chummy you are with Mr. Cortez and how he came rushing to your rescue, are we to assume that you two are close…friends?”

“I never—” Annabelle realized she wasn’t handling this media attack very well. Speechlessness and shock wouldn’t work in her favor.

“Ignore them,” Quinn whispered in her ear as he urged her into movement.

Escape was the best plan of action, so she allowed him to guide her toward the entrance.

“You didn’t kill Lulu, did you, Ms. Vanderley, when you found out she was sleeping with Quinn Cortez?” The blond reporter held out her microphone as she trailed behind Annabelle, Quinn and the dark-haired woman.

Annabelle turned and faced the reporter. “Go away. Leave me alone. I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t care.”

“You don’t care that your cousin was murdered or that Mr. Cortez might have been involved?” Someone in the crowd shouted the question.

“Let’s go inside and get away from them,” Quinn said. “Then I’ll explain what’s going on.”

“Explain now.” She jerked away from him.

“Don’t give them a chance to exploit you and me and Lulu,” Quinn warned.

She stood still as a statue and glared at him. “Were you and Lulu…were you—”

He spoke softly, saying the words for her ears only. “Lulu and I were lovers. We had a date last night. I’m the person who found her body.”




Chapter 4 (#u64125e08-32ea-55f4-bd6a-ca8893004330)


Although stunned by Quinn Cortez’s confession, Annabelle managed to maintain her composure. Just barely. Odd how discovering her rescuer was one of Lulu’s numerous lovers actually bothered her. And the fact that he’d been the one who had discovered Lulu’s body concerned her. Hadn’t the reporters implied that Mr. Cortez might have been somehow involved in the crime?

Was she murdered by a lover?

When one of the reporters asked that specific question, she hadn’t paid much attention. But staring Quinn Cortez in the eyes, that question suddenly became of paramount importance.

“You—you discovered Lulu’s body?”

“Please, Ms. Vanderley, you don’t want to do this here, in front of the reporters,” Quinn said.

She nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

When he gripped her elbow, she instinctively jerked away from him, but when he and his female companion flanked her in a protective manner, she followed them straight into the building. The last thing she wanted was to give the reporters a show.

“They’ll follow us,” the woman said. “You two go on ahead and I’ll deal with them.”

“Thanks, honey.” Quinn bestowed a devastating smile on his companion. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

The woman eyed him speculatively. “Don’t get sidetracked.” She looked pointedly at Annabelle.

“I won’t.” Quinn grabbed Annabelle’s elbow and ushered her forward. “Let’s go now, while we can, and let Kendall handle things here.”

“Kendall?”

“Kendall Wells, my friend and lawyer.”

Lawyer? Did this man need a lawyer? Was he guilty of a crime? Was he a suspect in Lulu’s murder?

Despite her uncertainty, Annabelle didn’t protest his assistance in their escape from the media and willingly allowed him to lead her into the building and through the metal detectors. Neither spoke a word until they were securely inside the building and safe from prying eyes. When they reached the two banks of elevators across from each other, she pulled away from him, tilted her chin and narrowed her gaze. He faced her with the same devastating smile he’d used on his friend and lawyer. She punched one of the elevator UP buttons.

“You and Lulu were lovers?” she asked as they waited.

“Yes, we were.”

“You had a date with her last night and you found…you discovered her body.”

“That’s right.”

When the elevator doors to their right swung open, Anna-belle entered, punched the tenth-floor button and turned to Quinn, who was still at her side.

“Do the police suspect you were involved?”

“Probably. In any murder investigation, the victim’s closest relatives and friends are usually suspects, at least in the beginning.”

“You say that as if you—”

“I’m a lawyer,” he told her. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me. I’m famous. Or perhaps I’m infamous.” He grunted sarcastically.

When she stared at him, a tight knot of apprehension clutched her stomach muscles. “Lulu often chose influential, powerful men as her friends. And usually those men were quite a bit older than she was.”

“I’m thirty-nine. I suppose twelve years makes me somewhat older. But I know for a fact that she enjoyed her share of guys her age and younger.”

“You seem to know more about my cousin than I do.”

“You two weren’t close,” Quinn said. “At least not since you were kids.”

“She told you about me?”

He nodded. “Your name came up once or twice. Apparently she never mentioned me to you.”

“As you said, we haven’t been close in a very long time. Lulu and I chose very different paths in life.”

“You say that in a very superior manner, Ms. Vanderley. I take it that you didn’t approve of your cousin’s hedonistic lifestyle.”

The elevator doors opened on the tenth floor. Annabelle hadn’t even thought about the fact that they were both headed for the same floor, that they probably had the same destination.

Instead of responding to his comment, she asked, “Are you being interrogated concerning Lulu’s murder this morning, Mr. Cortez?”

After stepping out of the elevator, he placed his hand so that he could keep the doors from closing on her. “I’m being interviewed.”

“What’s the difference?” She stepped out of the elevator, taking every precaution to make certain her body didn’t so much as graze his.

Ignoring her question, he said, “I want you to know something, Ms. Vanderley.”

“What’s that, Mr. Cortez?”

Staring at each other, eye to eye, tension vibrated between them. Subconsciously, Annabelle held her breath in anticipation.

“I didn’t kill Lulu,” he said.

Annabelle swallowed. Why was it that she so desperately wanted to believe him? What possible difference could it make to her whether this man was innocent or guilty?

“I don’t think there’s any reason for us to continue this conversation or for us to see or speak to each other again,” Annabelle told him. “So I’ll take this opportunity to thank you again for coming to my rescue with those reporters, but—”

“I want to find out who killed Lulu just as much as you do. Lulu and I weren’t family, but we were friends. Close friends.”

“The way you and Ms. Wells are friends?”

Annabelle groaned mentally. Why had she asked him such a personal question?

His lips twitched. “Yes, the way Kendall and I were once close friends.”

There, I guess that answers your question, doesn’t it? He and his lawyer are more than friends. And he didn’t mind telling you.

“Finding another suspect would certainly be to your advantage, wouldn’t it?” She wanted to get away from this man as quickly as possible. He had the strangest effect on her and she didn’t like it. I believe it’s called charm, she told herself. No doubt this man has been charming women all his life. She shouldn’t flatter herself by believing she was different from countless others he had charmed or that she was in any way important to him. Except…? Except as Lulu’s cousin and the official representative for the Vanderley family, it would work to his advantage if she liked him, if he could persuade her to trust him.

This man could be Lulu’s killer. Never forget that fact.

“Whatever my motives are, you and I want the same thing,” he told her, his dark eyes roaming over her with disturbing familiarity. “If we were to work together—”

“Ms. Vanderley, is this man bothering you?” The masculine voice came from behind her.

Whipping around, she faced a beautiful young man with short auburn hair and a deadly serious expression on his flawless face. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a prettier man in her entire life.

“No, Mr. Cortez wasn’t bothering me,” she said. “We were just…talking.”

“I wasn’t aware that you two were acquainted.” The young man looked right at Quinn.

“We aren’t,” she said. “I mean we weren’t until a few minutes ago when Mr. Cortez rescued me from a marauding band of reporters.”

Giving Quinn a harsh look, the other man held out his hand to Annabelle as he focused all his attention on her. “I’m Sergeant Chad George, ma’am. My partner and I are the detectives in charge of the investigation into your cousin’s death.”

“Her death? I was told she was murdered.”

“Yes, ma’am, she was,” Chad said. “Allow me to offer you my condolences.”

“On behalf of the Memphis police department?” Quinn asked. “Or are you offering Ms. Vanderley your personal condolences, sergeant?”

Annabelle sensed a hostile tension between the two men as they glowered at each other. And she had the oddest sensation that, for the moment, she was the prize in this particular battle of wills.

“Both,” Chad said sharply, then softened his voice when he spoke again. “Ms. Vanderley, if there’s anything I can do for you…”

“I would like to speak to you and your partner and anyone else involved in this case. I will be representing my family in this matter and expect to be kept informed about anything and everything involving my cousin’s murder.”

“Certainly. Lieutenant Norton and I have an appointment with Mr. Cortez”—Chad glanced at his wristwatch—“right now, so allow me to escort you to the director’s office. He’s expecting you and can answer some of your questions. Then when Norton and I are free, we’ll be glad to do whatever we can for you.”

Annabelle gave Quinn Cortez a sidelong glance. “Is Mr. Cortez a suspect?”

Silence.

Annabelle glanced back and forth from one man to the other. “Knowing if Mr. Cortez is a suspect falls under keeping me informed about anything and everything to do with Lulu’s murder.”

Chad cleared his throat, then said hurriedly, “Mr. Cortez discovered the body. We will be questioning him again this morning, with his attorney present.”

As if on cue, Kendall Wells stepped off the elevator directly behind them. “What have we here, a little informal powwow?” she said as she approached her client. “You’ve been behaving yourself, haven’t you, Quinn?”

“Don’t I always?” he replied.

His lawyer gave him a censoring glance, then zeroed in on the sergeant. “We’re here on time and ready for the interview. Let’s get this over with so Mr. Cortez can—”

“We’ll be ready for y’all shortly,” Chad snapped his response, then turned to Annabelle, all smiles and concern. “Ms. Vanderley, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to Director Danley’s office.” He took her arm and tugged gently.

Annabelle went with him, all the while fighting the urge to look back at Quinn Cortez.

“Don’t make us cool our heels too long,” Ms. Wells called after them.

Sergeant George mumbled under his breath. “I apologize for someone not meeting you outside and escorting you in. It’s unfortunate that you had to be subjected to meeting Quinn Cortez, especially this morning, so soon after…Well, I am sorry.”

“Exactly who is Quinn Cortez and why did he think I should have heard of him?”

Chad harrumphed. “The man’s an egomaniac. He thinks the whole world knows who he is because he’s a criminal defense lawyer who has gotten quite a few murderers off scot-free. He just won a big case over in Nashville. The Terry McBryar case.”

“Oh, yes, I seem to recall hearing something about that trial on the news. Wasn’t McBryar’s lawyer some hotshot from Texas?” Annabelle gasped as she remembered what one newscaster had said about McBryar’s lawyer, whose name she’d forgotten.

He not only has a reputation as a dangerously formidable opponent in the courtroom, but also as a real lady-killer in his personal life.

She wasn’t sure why that comment had stuck with her when she had forgotten the man’s name and had no memory of seeing him on the newscast. The words dangerously formidable and lady-killer repeated themselves again and again in Annabelle’s mind.

“A far as I’m concerned, Cortez is scum,” Chad told her. “He’s an immoral moneygrubber. A real shyster.”

“Are you saying you believe the man has no conscience? If that’s the case, then he’s capable of murder, isn’t he? Is that what you think—you think he killed Lulu?”

Chad coughed, then cleared his throat. She glanced at him and noted a slight pink flush to his cheeks.

“Here we are.” He paused in front of the closed door to the Director of Police’s office.

She realized that Chad George had no intention of answering her question about Quinn Cortez. Why was that? Couldn’t he give her a simple yes or no response?

“Director Danley, Ms. Annabelle Vanderley has arrived,” he announced through the closed door.

A deep, gruff voice responded. “Don’t keep the lady waiting. Go get her and show her in. We’ve got enough trouble with the press as it is. The last thing we want—” When he opened the door and saw Annabelle standing at the sergeant’s side, the director quieted immediately. “Ms. Vanderley?”

She nodded.

“Please, come into my office.” Danley cast Chad a scurrilous glare. “Don’t you have somewhere to be right now, sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.” The younger man all but clicked his heels before he turned and walked away, leaving Annabelle with Director Danley.

Jim Norton rubbed the palm of his hand across his face as he studied Quinn Cortez. The Quinn Cortez. There had been a time when he’d been The Jimmy Norton, renowned UT running back and teammate of the even more renowned quarterback, Griffin Powell. Jim understood what it was like to have your reputation precede you and to often follow you around like a ghost from the past, a ghost from which you couldn’t escape.

He’d listened carefully to everything Cortez had said and he’d interpreted the way in which the man had responded to questions. He’d also studied his body language as he’d sat there, cool as a cucumber, for the past hour. Jim’s gut instincts told him that Cortez didn’t kill Lulu. First and foremost, the man had no motive. At least none they knew of. And secondly, Jim had been impressed with the way Cortez had dealt with Chad George’s hostility and rudeness. His partner seemed damned and determined to make Cortez confess to the crime. Jim had come close to asking Chad to step outside a couple times before he crossed the line with his unprofessional interrogation. His reaction to Cortez wasn’t the norm for Chad, who often acted on emotion rather than logic, but always conducted himself in a professional manner.

Jim followed the rules, never broke them—not in a long time—and bent them only when absolutely necessary. Dealing with a lawyer as smart as Cortez put an extra burden on the Memphis police department and the bottom line with Jim was making sure neither he nor Chad did anything that even hinted of illegality.

Been there. Done that. Wouldn’t repeat that mistake.

“Are we about through here?” Kendall Wells asked as she rose from her chair and snapped shut her briefcase.

“Maybe,” Chad said.

“Yes, we’re though,” Jim corrected his partner. “And we want to thank Mr. Cortez for being so cooperative.”

“Then my client is free to go?”

“Certainly.”

“Free to return to Houston?” she asked.

Jim grunted. “At this point, I’d rather not make what I’m going to say official…”

Ms. Wells sighed loudly. “He’s free to walk out of the Criminal Justice Center, but not free to leave Memphis. Is that it?”

“We don’t have all the facts in this case. Not yet,” Jim said. “Once we have the autopsy report and we’ve interviewed—”

“I won’t leave Memphis.” Cortez stood. “I’ll be available if you need anything else from me. But don’t mistake my cooperation for acquiescence. If y’all don’t find Lulu’s killer in a big hurry, the public and the Vanderley family are going to bring a great deal of pressure down on Director Danley. I don’t intend to stand idly by and do nothing until y’all arrest me for a murder I didn’t commit.”

“What’s the matter, Cortez? If you’re so damn innocent, why are you afraid we’ll pin the murder on you?” Chad came out of the corner where he’d been standing quietly for the past ten minutes. “We’d have to have some really good evidence before we did that. You must be scared shitless that we’ll find that evidence.”

Cortez glared at Chad, a killer stare that Jim figured had made many a man quake in his boots. Chad took a step back, but didn’t break eye contact with Cortez.

“Lieutenant Norton, I advise you to rein in your partner.” Cortez eased his gaze from Chad to Jim.

“We’re out of here.” Kendall Wells patted Cortez on the back.

“We’ll be in touch,” Jim said.

Just as Cortez passed by Chad, Jim heard Cortez warn his partner in a soft whisper, “Annabelle Vanderley is off-limits to you.”

Before Chad could respond, Cortez and his lawyer were out the door. Jim clamped his hand down on Chad’s shoulder. “What was that all about?”

Chad shrugged. “God damn son of a bitch. He’s the one who’d better steer clear of Ms. Vanderley.”

Jim rubbed the back of his neck, then shook his head. “What did I miss? What’s going on with you, Cortez and Annabelle Vanderley?”

“Nothing. It’s just that Cortez played white knight to her outside earlier when some reporters were harassing her. We should have sent someone to meet her and escort her inside to protect her from—”

“Someone meaning you?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“I take it that this Ms. Vanderley is quite attractive and that fact didn’t escape either you or Cortez.” Jim tightened his hold on Chad’s shoulder. “So help me God, if you instigate a personal pissing contest between you and Cortez, I’ll—”

“I didn’t start anything. He—”

“I don’t give a damn who started what. Just make sure you don’t get involved. Steer clear of Cortez except on official business. Do I make myself clear?”

“I swear I’ll steer clear of Cortez until we have some evidence against him. And I’m telling you, there’s bound to be evidence. He may be smart, but he’s not nearly as smart as he thinks he is. If he killed her—and I say he did—then he slipped up somehow and all we’ve got to do is figure out how.”

Quinn had wanted to stick around and speak to Annabelle Vanderley again. But he’d thought better of the idea— actually Kendall had warned him in no uncertain terms to stay away from Lulu’s cousin. And she was right. What good would it do either him or Annabelle if he sought her out again simply because she intrigued him. Lulu had talked about her cousin several times and he always sensed that she both loved and hated Annabelle. From what Lulu had told him— that her cousin was plain, placid and prudish—he hadn’t expected the woman to practically take his breath away the moment he saw her.

Lulu had been gorgeous. All Barbie doll leggy, bosomy and blond. And as spoiled rotten as her daddy’s millions could make her. She’d been Quinn’s type—an easy lay who wouldn’t complicate his life.

Annabelle possessed a cool, reserved elegance. A Grace Kelly beauty that hinted of hidden fires burning deep inside and saved for one lucky man.

Was that it, the reason she fascinated him so much? Did he see Annabelle as a challenge? God knew he hadn’t found a woman challenging in…Hell, he couldn’t remember when.

After the police interview, Quinn had driven back to Kendall’s, fixed a fresh pot of coffee and considered his options. Kendall had given him a key and told him to make himself at home, for the time being. He appreciated her hospitality, but if he was going to be stuck in Memphis for a while, he’d need his own place.

Setting his coffee mug aside, Quinn punched the preset number on his cell phone and waited for Marcy to answer, which she did on the third ring.

“Hello.”

“Marcy, I need you to round up Aaron and Jace and y’all get the first flight out of Houston to Memphis.”

“What’s going on? I thought you planned to get some R&R before even thinking about taking another case.”

Marcy had been Quinn’s personal assistant for nearly ten years. Their association had lasted longer than a lot of marriages. He relied on her, trusted her and paid her an ungodly salary to be at his beck and call twenty-four/seven. In all their years together, she’d never let him down, which was more than he could say for most of the women in his life, past and present. And that was the reason he’d never allowed their association to change from the friendship level to something more intimate. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been tempted. Marcy was a doll. Cute as a button. All of five one and a hundred pounds soaking wet. But he wouldn’t do anything to risk losing her. Lovers were a dime a dozen; a great personal assistant was irreplaceable.

“Lulu Vanderley was murdered last night before I arrived at her house,” Quinn said. “I discovered her body.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, my sentiments exactly.”

“So, unless you’re phoning from the police station, I take it they haven’t arrested you.”

“Not yet, but I’m suspect numero uno.”

“You were told not to leave town, huh?”

“It was more of a request than a demand.”

“I’ll have to find Aaron and Jace. Might be tomorrow before they can fly in, but I can be there by this evening if you want—”

“Just wait and the three of you fly in together tomorrow. But you could do something for me from there. Two things actually.”

“Name them.”

“Check out renting us a place here in Memphis. Something I can lease by the month. I could be stuck here a week or two or if they try to pin this thing on me—”

“I’ll take care of it. What else?”

“Get me Griffin Powell’s home phone number.”

“Ask me to move the Smoky Mountains to Hawaii.”

Quinn chuckled. “I know it’ll take a minor miracle, but you’re good at pulling off the impossible.”

“Flattery will get you what you want,” she told him. “And maybe performing another minor miracle will get me a raise.”

“You’re overpaid already.”

“I wish.” She paused for a couple of seconds, then said, “Quinn?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“I know you didn’t kill Lulu Vanderley.”

“You’re one in a million, kiddo.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t,” he said. “Besides, if I do, you’ll remind me.”

“Got that damn straight.”

“Get me Powell’s number as soon as possible,” Quinn said. “He’s the best money can buy and—”

“You always buy the best.”

“You know me too well.” Quinn grunted. “I want my own private investigator to assist the Memphis police in their job of finding Lulu’s killer. Unless they come up with something damn quick, they may not look any further than me.”




Chapter 5 (#u64125e08-32ea-55f4-bd6a-ca8893004330)


He could hear her footsteps coming closer and closer. Any minute now she would open the door to his room and come inside, just as she always did whenever he had displeased her. He tried so hard to be good, to make her happy, but it seemed that he couldn’t do anything right. Everything he said and did was wrong. Even the way he looked angered her.

“You’re much too handsome,” she had told him repeatedly, from as far back as he could remember. “You’re going to break a lot of hearts if I don’t stop you.”

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

“You’ve always been a liar. If I don’t punish you for your sins, God will. You’ll burn in hell if I can’t beat the evil out of you.”

Sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor, he trembled as he watched the doorknob turn. He had locked the door once, but when she’d removed the hinges and taken the door off the frame, she had been wild with anger. His punishment had been severe. She’d broken his arm that time. And when he’d hidden in the closet, she’d whipped him so severely that he still bore the scars on his buttocks.

The door opened. His heart beat like crazy, thumping so loudly that it deafened him to the sound of her voice. He couldn’t understand what she was saying as she stood there hovering over him, a stern look on her face. He knew she was screaming, outraged by what he’d done.

He dared a quick glance up at her, his gaze focused not on her face, but on the erect index finger she pointed directly at him. Whenever she scolded him, she used her index finger to emphasize her point. God, how he hated that judgmental finger.

Suddenly, she stopped ranting. He held his breath, knowing what would come next. She lifted her hand and brought it down across his face, slapping him so hard that he reeled backward. He lay there, feeling completely helpless as she pointed her finger at him again and continued berating him. Cuddling into a small protective ball, he lay there waiting for the next blow. He didn’t have long to wait. She removed the thick leather belt from around her waist, folded it in two and then snapped it. He cried out with fear.

He hated that belt, the instrument of his torment. She wore it with every pair of jeans she owned. A brown leather belt with a wide brass buckle.

She kept talking, but still he couldn’t hear her, only the drone of her agitated voice. But he knew what she was telling him to do. With trembling hands, he slid his pajama bottoms down his hips and trembling legs, then kicked them off. He dared another glance up at her. She smiled at him.

Oh, God, help me. Don’t let her beat me again.

She motioned for him to roll over, which he did. The first blow to his backside stung something awful. Those first few blows were always the worst. After about a dozen strikes over his flesh, the pain was so bad that it began to become a part of him.

Tears welled up in his eyes.

Begging and pleading wouldn’t do any good. He’d tried that over and over again.

I love you, Mommy. I want to obey you. I’ll try harder. I promise I’ll be good.

She hit him repeatedly, so many times that he finally lost count. The pain surged through him as blood oozed from the stripes covering his bare buttocks.

“It’s my duty to punish you, to save you from yourself and your evil ways.”

Tears trickled down his cheeks.

“You know I’m doing this for your own good, don’t you?” When he couldn’t manage a reply, she reached down, grabbed him and shook him. “You’ve been a very bad boy, Quinn.”

The scream inside him ripped him apart.

His eyelids flew open as he shot straight up in bed. It wasn’t real. Not anymore. It was a nightmare. That’s all. He’d been asleep, taking a nap, and as so often happened, his subconscious forced him to relive those horrific days from his childhood. With his heart thundering and sweat glistening on his skin, he took several deep breaths.

That same nightmare or one very similar plagued him relentlessly. No matter what he did, he couldn’t escape. No matter how many miles or years he’d put between the two of them, she would never release him completely. She’d be a part of him until the day he died.

But she can’t hurt you, he told himself. She can never hurt you again.

Griffin Powell didn’t go into the office on the weekends, and unless he was personally working on a case, he didn’t do anything work-related on Saturday and Sunday. After all, a man had to make time for a social life. He’d spent most of the afternoon working out in the gym he had designed to fit into the basement of his Knoxville home. Keeping physically fit was one of his top priorities. After wiping the perspiration from his face, he hung the small white towel around his neck and headed for the shower, but before he reached the bathroom adjacent to the exercise room, Sanders appeared at the foot of the stairs.

Sanders had been Griffin’s assistant for a number of years, ever since he’d been at Griffin’s side on his personal journey to hell and back. They shared a comradery only those who’ve depended upon each other to stay alive truly understood.

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I’ve taken two phone calls that were made to your private number.”

Griffin cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.

“One was from Quinn Cortez. He wants you to investigate a murder case. It seems he discovered his lover’s dead body last night and as of right now, he is a person of interest to the Memphis police department.”

“Quinn Cortez, huh? The Quinn Cortez.” Griffin’s lips lifted with amused interest. “I’ll call him after I take a shower.”

“There was a second telephone call.”

“Someone more interesting than Quinn Cortez?”

“This person’s call makes Mr. Cortez’s call even more interesting.”

“And this person is?

“Annabelle Vanderley.”

“Annabelle? Why didn’t you put her through to me immediately?”

Griffin recalled the one and only time he’d met the lady. And she was a lady, down to the very marrow in her bones. Born and bred to Mississippi royalty, the descendant of two wealthy, prestigious families—the Vanderleys and the Austins. They’d been introduced by a mutual friend at a charity function in Chattanooga three years ago and he’d found Ms. Vanderley vastly intriguing. He’d made subtle overtures, which she’d ignored. He was unaccustomed to being rejected, so out of curiosity, he had asked their mutual friend for details of Annabelle’s personal life. Once he’d been told she had a crippled fiancé to whom she was devoted, he hadn’t ask anything else. Encroaching on another man’s territory wasn’t Griffin’s style.

“I wasn’t aware you knew the lady,” Sanders said, his face expressionless.

“We met briefly several years ago.”

“And she made a favorable impression.”

Griffin nodded. “What did Annabelle want?”

“She also wants to hire you to investigate a murder case. It seems her cousin was murdered in Memphis last night and—”

“Damn! Annabelle’s cousin and Quinn Cortez’s lover are one in the same, right?”

Sanders nodded his slick bald head. His keen brown eyes studied Griffin. “What do you intend to do? You’ll have to turn one of them down. Mr. Cortez’s call did come in first, if that helps you decide what to do.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You have met Ms. Vanderley, so perhaps—”

“Telephone each of them, on my behalf. Naturally, don’t mention anything about one of them to the other. And arrange for a suite for me at the Peabody. If we can get the suite set up today, I’ll fly to Memphis this evening and meet with Ms. Vanderley and Mr. Cortez tonight. Let’s say around eight o’clock.”

“You plan to speak with both of them at the same meeting?”

“It’ll save time.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Sanders turned and headed up the stairs, Griffin called to him, “See what kind of background check we can come up with on both of them by tonight.”

Sanders didn’t reply verbally, but Griffin knew he’d heard him. They had worked side by side for so many years that they were practically psychically linked. When a man saved another man’s life, it bonded them in a way nothing else could.

Vanderley Inc. kept an executive apartment in Memphis since a great deal of their business was conducted in this city. Heading up the Vanderley family’s numerous philanthropic organizations, Annabelle came to Memphis several times a year, the last time less than three months ago. At that time, it had been over a year since she’d seen Lulu and nearly six months since they’d spoken over the phone. Only at her insistence had Lulu agreed to meet her for dinner that evening. As usual, they wound up in an argument. And as usual, it was about the same things—money, Uncle Louis and Wythe.

Annabelle snapped open her overnight bag that she had placed on the suitcase rack at the foot of her bed. She had no idea how long she’d be in Memphis, how many days or perhaps even weeks it would take the police to find Lulu’s killer and formally charge him with her murder. If she needed more clothes, she’d send home for them. Or she’d just buy something off the rack at a department store. Whenever she stayed in any of the apartments Vanderley Inc. maintained in various cities, one of the first things she did was unpack and put everything in its place. Being neat was simply a part of who she was. She despised clutter.

After taking her toiletries into the bathroom, she arranged them carefully on the vanity and inadvertently caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She stared at her reflection for a moment. When they were children, she and Lulu had been close, despite Lulu being nearly seven years younger. Family and friends had thought it sweet that Annabelle had been like a big sister to her young cousin. More than one person had mentioned how much the girls resembled each other, both blue-eyed blondes with strong Vanderley features. But that had been before Lulu reached puberty and blossomed into a model-thin, bosomy, leggy version of her mother, who’d been Uncle Louis’s third wife and twenty-five years his junior.

Annabelle glanced away from the mirror and returned to the bedroom. No one would have noticed anything more than a vague resemblance between the cousins in the past fifteen years. Lulu had been considered the family beauty; Annabelle had been thought of as the brains. It wasn’t that she envied her cousin—quite the contrary—but there had been times when she’d wondered what it would be like not to feel the heavy weight of family responsibilities she bore on her shoulders. Lulu had been irresponsible and frivolous, but Annabelle knew only too well that her cousin’s life had been far from perfect.

Just as she zipped her overnight bag closed, the telephone rang. Rounding the bed, she lifted the receiver from the base on the bedside table. “Hello.”

“Ms. Vanderley.”

“Yes.” She didn’t recognize the man’s voice.

“This is Sanders, Mr. Powell’s assistant. I’m calling on his behalf.”

“Yes, Mr. Sanders—”

“Just Sanders, ma’am.”

“What’s your message from Mr. Powell?”

“He’ll be in Memphis tonight and would like to meet with you at the Peabody at eight. Shall I let him know to expect you?”

“Yes, of course. And please, tell Mr. Powell thank you.”

“For what, ma’am?”

Slightly flustered by the man’s comment, Annabelle said, “Uh…hmm…well, I assumed that if he’s coming to Memphis, he plans to work for me.”

“Possibly, but I couldn’t say for certain.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Good day, Ms. Vanderley.”

The dial tone droned in her ear. She replaced the receiver. Odd man, she thought. Such strange comments. But surely if Griffin Powell was coming to Memphis this evening, he intended to take her case. Why else would he make the trip?

She remembered meeting Mr. Powell several years ago at a charity function in Chattanooga. More than likely anyone who ever met the man, never forgot him. Like Quinn Cortez, Griffin Powell possessed enormous animal magnetism, albeit a more subtle charisma. If she hadn’t been engaged and totally devoted to her fiancé when she met Mr. Powell, she might have accepted his overtures, but at that time Chris had still been the center of her universe.

Suddenly, her mind was filled with images of three different men. Chris, her first love, who would always be a part of her. She liked to remember the way they had been before the accident, the two of them young and in love and looking forward to a lifetime together. But more and more lately, thoughts of Chris during the last few years of his life haunted her. Helpless. Melancholy. Begging her to make a new life for herself and yet clinging to her at the same time. And now memories of Chris became overlaid by images of two men she barely knew—men who, each in his own way—had made a strong impression on her. Big, blond Griffin Powell. A reserved, secretive man who reminded her of the old saying about still waters running deep. And then there was Quinn Cortez—dark and dangerous.

Annabelle shivered. Had Quinn Cortez killed Lulu? Had the man who had come to her rescue this morning murdered her cousin last night?

If the police had any proof whatsoever that he had killed Lulu, they would have arrested him. Right? Of course they would have. He’d been Lulu’s lover, the person who discovered her body, so naturally he headed their list of possible suspects.

Stop thinking about Quinn Cortez. If he’s an innocent man, then he is of no interest to you. Your only concern must be making sure Lulu’s murderer is caught and punished.

Uncle Louis was counting on her. He trusted her to do what he was physically and emotionally unable to do. Staying the course until the family could achieve closure on this matter could well be the only thing that would keep her uncle alive. After all, he’d said more than once that Lulu was his only reason for living. Not Wythe. Never Wythe. No father could be proud of a son like Wythe. Spineless, bloodsucking leech. That’s what Uncle Louis had once called him.

The telephone rang again. Annabelle sighed. Now who? Please God, don’t let it be a phone call from home about Uncle Louis.

Her hand trembled slightly as she picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

“Annabelle, darling girl, it’s Aunt Perdita. I just spoke to Hiram and he told me what happened and where I could get in touch with you.”

“Oh, Aunt Perdita, I’m sorry I didn’t try to contact you, but—”

“No apologies necessary. I understand. What I want to know is if you need me to come to Memphis tonight. If you do, I can skip this damn wedding and try to catch a flight out right away.”

“Wedding?”

“Joyce and Whit Morris’s daughter, Cynthia. You’d forgotten, hadn’t you, dear? No mind. It’s a tediously dull affair. But since I was once engaged to Whit’s brother, that makes me practically Cynthia’s aunt and—”

“No, please, don’t miss the wedding.”

“I’ll be there no later than tomorrow night. I’ll book reservations right away for the first flight from Louisville to Memphis, hopefully in the morning.”

“There’s really no need for you to come. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Really, dear? Are you sure?”

Her aunt Perdita knew her better than anyone, perhaps because she had shared confidences with her mother’s younger sister, had told her things she’d never told another living soul. Aunt Perdita was the only other person who knew that she’d been unfaithful to Chris, that she’d had two brief affairs during their eight-and-a-half-year engagement.

“I’m numb right now, Aunt Perdita,” Annabelle admitted. “I’m just going through the motions. Hopefully, the police will find Lulu’s killer very soon and I can return home, at least until the trial starts.”

“Do they have any idea who killed her or why?”

“Not really.”

“No suspects.”

“No.” Not unless she counted Quinn Cortez and for some unfathomable reason, Annabelle didn’t want to think of him as a suspect.

“If you’re sure you’re all right—”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll phone you in the morning. And if you need me, I’ll come running. I know how alone you are.”

Annabelle said good-bye, then headed for the kitchen, which was kept fully stocked. She hadn’t eaten a bite since the cup of coffee and cheese Danish she’d had before leaving home early this morning. As if on cue, her stomach growled when she opened the refrigerator.

She removed an apple and a bottle of Perrier. For dinner tonight, she’d either order in or make reservations at a nearby restaurant for six o’clock. She had an eight o’clock appointment at the Peabody with Griffin Powell and didn’t want to be late. She suspected the man appreciated punctuality. Something they had in common.

After settling onto the living room sofa, she turned on the television to the history channel, then opened the bottled water and took a sip.

I know how alone you are. Her aunt’s words reverberated in her mind.

As Annabelle munched on the Granny Smith apple, she told herself that Aunt Perdita was wrong. She wasn’t alone or lonely. She had servants who lived in at the home she’d inherited from her parents. She had a secretary, a personal assistant and dozens of friends. Her social calendar was full. And if she wanted to date, she could have her pick of eligible men.

Her solitary life was by choice. She enjoyed her freedom. And she wasn’t interested in getting married just for the sake of marrying. If she couldn’t love someone as much as she’d loved Chris, she had no intention of settling for anything less.

* * *

The moment Kendall Wells entered her house, she smelled the delicious aroma of food. Smiling to herself, she tossed aside her jacket and briefcase, then undid the top two buttons on her silk blouse. Quinn Cortez was in her kitchen. That meant he was cooking. Remembering their brief affair, she sighed when she recalled that not only was the man extremely talented in the bedroom, but he was also a master in the kitchen. If he hadn’t decided there was more money in being a lawyer, Quinn could have been a chef.

Kendall paused and sucked in a deep breath as she watched Quinn. Wearing a large white apron—one of hers— around his waist, he stood over the stove, stirring some kind of sauce in an stainless-steel pan with one hand and sipping on a glass of red wine that he held in the other hand. What a man! Exotically alluring with his rich bronze skin, his wavy black hair and eyes so dark and fathomless that looking into them was like being sucked into a sensual black hole. Once a woman dived in, she would be forever lost.

“Welcome home.” He offered her one of his cream-your-panties smiles. God, the man was lethal, even in small doses.

Scratch that thought, she told herself. Considering the fact that Quinn was a suspect in a murder case, she didn’t want to associate the word lethal with him, not even in her thoughts.

Think about something other than how much you’d like to drag the man off into your bedroom and keep him there all weekend. And for goodness sake, don’t even consider the possibility that he might be a murderer. You know Quinn better than that.

Or at least she thought she did.

“Something sure smells good,” she said.

“Nothing fancy. I found some things in the freezer and in the pantry. So how does stuffed pork chops, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, twice baked potatoes and a pear salad sound to you?”

“You found the makings for all that in my kitchen?”

He nodded. “Take off your shoes, sit down and let me pour you a glass of wine. You look tired. What’s kept you so busy on a Saturday?”

Kendall stepped out of her shoes, then sat on the sofa in the great room and waited for Quinn to bring her the wine before she said anything. “Sit down here with me.” She patted the sofa cushions.

With his own wineglass refilled and in hand, he sat beside her. “Your working on a Saturday has something to do with me, doesn’t it?”

“I have a bad feeling about this case,” she told him. “Sergeant George is an ambitious young man. If he could pin this murder wrap on you, arrest you and the DA could win a conviction, it could make both his career and the DA’s. The media would have a field day if one of the most famous criminal lawyers in the country was arrested for Lulu Vanderley’s murder.”

After taking a couple of sips of wine, Quinn set his glass on a coaster atop the coffee table, then reached over and circled the back of Kendall’s neck with his big hand. As he caressed tenderly, she sighed. His touch was like magic—erotic magic.

“If the worst happens and I’m arrested, you’ll make a name for yourself by getting me acquitted.”

“Do you have that much faith in me?”

He took her glass from her hand and put the crystal flute to her lips. She took a sip, all the while keeping her gaze riveted to his. His black eyes were mesmerizing. God damn it, she thought she was over him, that she’d dealt with any leftover romantic feelings she had for him. Undoubtedly, she’d been wrong. Right this minute, she wanted Quinn as much as ever. Maybe more.

“I have all the faith in the world in you, honey.” He set her glass down on a second coaster, alongside his. “Besides, I’m innocent. I did not kill Lulu.”

“I believe you,” she told him, her heart beating erratically as he inched his fingers up her neck and into her hair. When he cupped the back of her head and pulled her toward him, she gasped, knowing full well that when he kissed her, she’d give in completely.

“Kendall, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of you…” He waited, not kissing her, only staring deeply into her eyes. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you, but”—he heaved a deep sigh—“we both know that mixing business with pleasure is a stupid move.”

Kendall shoved him away and jumped to her feet. Standing over him, breathless with sexual frustration, she cursed under her breath. “Damn you, Quinn.”

“Honey, I’m sorry if—”

“I thought I could handle this—being your lawyer, having you staying here with me. But it appears that I’m not as immune to you as I thought I was. It seems that once Quinn Cortez is in your system, it’s not so easy to get rid of him.”

Quinn stood, but made no attempt to touch her. “I’m getting a place of my own, just in case I’m stuck in Memphis for more than a few days. The gang’s coming in tomorrow. I’ll be out of your hair then. Once this thing is over…”

He grinned and that killer smile was her undoing. Killer smile? Lethal? Stop using that type of terminology when you think about Quinn. What was wrong with her? She’d always known Quinn’s sex appeal was lethal, that he possessed a killer smile. Those words had never bothered her before now. But that was before Quinn became a murder suspect. Before the thought had crossed her mind that he might have actually killed Lulu Vanderley.

“Kendall, honey, are you all right?”

“Huh?” Had her doubts translated into a facial expression that concerned him? God, she hoped not.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” She shook her head to dislodge such idiotic thoughts. “No, this isn’t your fault. I’ve probably been sending out mixed signals. So let’s forget all this nonsense and go back to safe ground. We’re friends and nothing more for the duration. We’re not saying no to each other, just not now. Not yet.”

“Agreed,” Quinn said, then nodded toward the kitchen. “Dinner is ready and it would be a shame to let it go to waste. What say we eat, then you can go with me to the Peabody to meet with Griffin Powell. I have an eight o’clock appointment with him tonight.”

“Griffin Powell? You’re hiring Griffin Powell?”

Quinn headed for the kitchen. “Refill the wineglasses, while I put dinner on the table. Eating in here in the breakfast room is okay with me if it is with you.”

“You contacted Griffin Powell and plan to hire him to do what—investigate Lulu Vanderley’s murder?” Kendall followed him into the kitchen area.

“I don’t intend to take any chances, in case the police don’t cover all the bases. We both know that they could concentrate all their efforts on finding evidence against me. I want a private investigator who’s on my payroll, somebody who’ll be working to find the real killer, to prove me innocent.”

“Damn it, Quinn, I’m your lawyer. You shouldn’t be doing anything without running it by me first.”

“I’m taking you with me to meet with Powell tonight. That’s running it by you, isn’t it?”

“And if I disagree with you?”

“About Powell?”

“About anything?”

“Honey, you’re a very good lawyer. I trust you. But we both know that I’m the best damn criminal lawyer there is. As much as I trust your judgment, I trust my own more.”

“Then maybe you’d better defend yourself if you wind up going to trial.”

Quinn zeroed in on her, his gaze freezing her to the spot. She held her breath as he came toward her, grasped her by the shoulders and held her tightly in place.

“Don’t do this. You’re pissed at me because…well, because you’re all hot and bothered, because you want me, because we want each other, but we agreed jumping into bed together might not be a good idea.”

She glared at him.

“I need you, Kendall. Together, we’ll make an unbeatable team.”

Clenching her teeth, she grunted, admitting to herself that he was right. “Okay, this situation with Lulu’s murder could wind up meaning your life is on the line, so I’m not going to argue with you. Besides, I should have known we’d have to play this game by your rules.”

He smiled. “It’s the only way I play.”




Chapter 6 (#u64125e08-32ea-55f4-bd6a-ca8893004330)


Griffin Powell opened the door to his suite and met Annabelle with a cordial semismile. His lips curved upward ever so slightly, but not enough to be a true smile. He was just as she remembered him from their one and only meeting and she found him just as overpoweringly mesmeric now as then. A large, broad-shouldered man, with platinum-blond hair and a pair of dark blue eyes that seemed blank and lifeless one moment, then pensive and calculating the next.

“Please, come in, Ms. Vanderley.”

“Thank you.” She walked into the suite as he stepped aside to allow her entrance. When he followed her into the lounge area, she turned and faced him. “I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to meet with me. I hope I can persuade you to take this case.”

“Won’t you have a seat?” He indicated the sofa with a hand gesture. “Would you care for something to drink?”

Annabelle sat on the sofa, folded her hands and placed them in her lap as she slid one ankle demurely behind the other. She had learned at an early age, at her grandmother Austin’s knee, the proper way for a young lady to sit. “I wouldn’t care for anything to drink, but thank you.”

Griffin sat across from her, on the gold brocade wing chair, and dropped his clasped hands between his knees as he leaned forward and looked directly at her.

“I’m very sorry about your cousin. It’s tragic when someone dies so young, but even more so when murder is involved.”

She offered him a weak, agreeable nod. “Yes, you’re right. Lulu would have turned twenty-eight in a couple of months. I’m still finding it difficult to believe that she’s really gone. And my uncle Louis—Lulu’s father—is taking her death very hard. He’s an old man, with numerous health problems. I believe the only thing that will keep him alive now is finding out who killed his daughter.”

“And that’s where I come in?”

“Yes. I want to hire you to investigate Lulu’s murder.”

“Isn’t that a job for the Memphis police department?”

“Yes. Certainly. But I don’t want any stone unturned, no avenue not taken. The police don’t have any real suspects and it’s been nearly twenty-four hours. Don’t they say that the first twenty-four hours is crucial to solving a crime?”

“Do they?” Griffin cocked an inquisitive eyebrow.

Not quite sure how to interpret his comment, she chose to ignore it. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to harm Lulu. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. Everyone who knew her liked her on some level. She had an electric type of personality and—”

“Did you like her?”

“I beg you pardon?”

“Did you like your cousin Lulu?”

Annabelle caught herself before she automatically said yes and gave her reply some thought. “I loved Lulu because we were cousins and very close when we were young. And I did like her, at least part of the time. She could be selfish and irresponsible and I certainly didn’t approve of the kind of life she lived. Does that answer your question?”

He nodded. “You’re aware that the media seems to be putting out their own scenarios concerning Lulu’s death,” Griffin said. “Their favorite appears to be that it’s possible her latest lover killed her. How do you feel about that?”

“I’ve been ignoring the media as much as possible, but I’m well aware that not only is that scenario a favorite with the press, but also with the police.”

“You know the identity of your cousin’s latest lover, the man who discovered her body, don’t you?”

“Yes…I…uh…I met Mr. Cortez this morning, at the police station.”

“Did you? So what do you think? Could he have killed your cousin?”

Annabelle didn’t know how to answer these unexpected questions. How could she tell Griffin Powell that she did not want to believe Quinn Cortez was capable of murder because he had struck a personal chord deep inside her, that her reaction to Lulu’s lover had been that of a woman relating to a highly desirable man? The very thought of her response to Mr. Cortez’s protective gestures made her feel cheap and sleazy. It was so out of character for her.

“I don’t know Mr. Cortez well enough to have an opinion,” she said.

“Hmm…”

“If you agree to take this case, naturally I’ll want you to investigate Mr. Cortez, even though I’m certain the police will put him under a microscope.”

“Yes, I’m sure they will, since he was her lover and he discovered the body. They will want to rule out any possibility that he killed her before they look further and that’s the reason he has—” A repetitive knock on the door interrupted Griffin midsentence. “If you’ll excuse me.” He stood and walked to the door.

Annabelle turned halfway around and focused her gaze on Griffin as he opened the door. Her heart caught in her throat when she instantly recognized the couple who entered the suite. Kendall Wells, followed by Quinn Cortez.

What are they doing here?

“Please, come inside and meet my other guest,” Griffin said.

Kendall Wells stopped instantly the moment she saw Annabelle. Quinn Cortez paused, did a double-take, then glared at Griffin.

“I see you already have a guest,” Quinn said. “Did I get the time wrong? Was our appointment for later?”

“No, you’re here right on time,” Griffin replied. “Ms. Vanderley was a few minutes early.”

“What’s she doing here?” Kendall asked.

Annabelle’s gaze connected with Quinn’s. An odd sensation hit her in the pit of her stomach. His gaze was not friendly; it even bordered on hostile, but she couldn’t look away.

“It seems that Ms. Vanderley is in need of a private investigator, just as Mr. Cortez is,” Griffin explained. “Imagine my surprise when I realized that both of my prospective clients want the same murder investigated.”

“I see,” Kendall said. “So you decided to meet with both Ms. Vanderley and Mr. Cortez and see who’s willing to bid the highest for your services.”

“Humph.” The sound that came from Griffin was a combination of amused chuckle and disgusted irritation.

“I think you insulted Mr. Griffin,” Quinn told Kendall. “Perhaps you should apologize.”

“If I’m wrong, I’ll say I’m sorry.” Kendall shot Quinn a withering glare, then focused on Griffin with glowering intensity. “Am I wrong?”

“You’re wrong,” Griffin told her, a cold, indifferent expression on his face. “I set up this meeting to see if Ms. Vanderley and Mr. Cortez would be willing to work together to find Lulu Vanderley’s murderer.”

“You what?” Kendall glanced back and forth from Quinn to Annabelle, then said to Griffin, “You’re suggesting that they both hire you and the two of them join forces to track down Lulu’s murderer. Is that correct?”

“No, I—I don’t think that would work,” Annabelle said. The last thing she wanted was to spend anymore time with Quinn Cortez than she already had.

“Why wouldn’t it work?” Kendall asked. “I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

“But only if Ms. Vanderley believes I’m innocent,” Quinn said as he walked toward the sofa. Stopping when he was less than two feet away from Annabelle, he looked right at her. “And you’re not sure, are you? You believe there’s a possibility that I killed your cousin.”

Aaron shoved the naked girl over and positioned her so that she had to catch herself from falling by bracing her open palms flat against the bed. While she gasped and shivered, he ran his hand over her sleek butt, then lifted his penis and rammed it into her. Damn, what a feeling. Grasping her hips, he maneuvered her back and forth, quickly increasing the speed and the pressure. Their naked flesh slapped together and that friction combined with her feminine moisture created a smacking sound. Despite the fact that this was their third time tonight, he was on the verge of coming. But hell, he was twenty-six and hadn’t been with a woman in weeks. He’d built up a lot of steam and it was going to take awhile to blow it off.

The louder her grunts and groans, the more excited he became, the closer to losing it. He slid his arm around her, eased his hand between her legs and fingered her clitoris. Within a couple of minutes, she keened deep in her throat, then cried out when her climax hit. That was all it took to send him over the edge.

In the aftermath, sweaty and panting, they fell across the bed. As he lay there looking up at the dark ceiling, he sighed. He’d met Gala in a downtown bar this evening and they’d hit it off from the first hello. It had taken him all of thirty minutes to talk her into coming back to his apartment with him. They’d practically ripped off each other’s clothes the minute they got here and he’d humped her on the sofa the first time. The second time had been an hour later and he’d taken the missionary position, with her lying under him in bed.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

“I don’t think I have anything,” he told her as he worked the condom off his deflated penis and dropped it on a magazine lying on the floor beside the bed. “I’ve been out of town and haven’t had a chance to restock.”

Gala cuddled up against him. “Do you really work for Quinn Cortez?”

“Yeah, I really do.” He reached down and pulled the sheet and blanket up and over them, covering him to just above his waist and her to the top of her tits.

“And you were with him in Nashville during the Terry McBryar case?”

“Every day he was there, I was there. I told you, I’m part of his personal staff.”

“What’s it like being that close to a man like Quinn Cortez?” She curled several strands of his chest hair around her index finger. “I mean the guy’s like famous and all.”

Gala wasn’t the first woman he’d impressed by telling her that he worked for Quinn and she sure wouldn’t be the last. He’d told Quinn about using his name to get chicks and his boss had just laughed and said, “If it gets you laid, go for it.” Quinn was that kind of guy. When it came to scoring with a woman, nothing was off-limits. All was fair in love and war. And Quinn always won at both. Aaron figured there wasn’t a woman alive Quinn couldn’t conquer. And the man never lost when it came to courtroom warfare.

Gala propped herself up with her elbow and gazed down at Aaron. “You know, you look like him a little. Same black hair and brown eyes. You’re Hispanic, too, aren’t you?”

“You guessed it, sweetie. Me and Quinn are like two peas in a pod.”

He wasn’t Hispanic—not even half—and any resemblance to Quinn was purely superficial. They were about the same height at six one and they had similar coloring, although without a tan, Aaron was several shades lighter than Quinn. He owed his ethnic heritage to his maternal grandmother, a Navajo who still lived on the reservation. But since he’d probably never see Gala again, why spoil the image of him she had in her mind?

A loud, aggressive pounding at the door brought Aaron up out of bed and sent Gala scooting toward the bathroom, picking up some of their discarded clothing as she went.

“You expecting somebody?” she called to him from the bathroom.

“Nope.” He’d deliberately unplugged his phone after they’d done it the first time and turned off his cell, too. He didn’t want anything interrupting what he’d hoped would be an all-night love-a-thon.

“Whoever it is, get rid of them.” She winked at him before she shut the door.

Aaron grabbed his jeans off the floor, shimmied hurriedly into them and headed out of the bedroom. The knocking grew more intense.

“Hey, man, if you’re in there, open the damn door,” Jace Morgan shouted.

What the hell was Jace doing here? After returning to Houston, Jace, Marcy and he had gone their separate ways, as they always did after the end of a business trip. Quinn’s personal staff worked like a well-oiled machine when together, despite the difference in their personalities; but the minute a case ended, they didn’t make contact again until Quinn called them together. He usually gave them at least a week’s downtime after a big case. And the Terry McBryar case had been one of the biggest. He expected to get a really nice bonus, something else Quinn did after winning a case. He was the kind of guy who took care of his people.

“Hold your horses,” Aaron said as he raced through the living room. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Marcy Sims with Jace. He knew instantly that something was up. “What’s wrong?”

Not waiting for an invitation, Marcy swept past him and into his apartment. “Quinn’s in trouble. He wants us in Nashville by tomorrow.”

“What kind of trouble?” Aaron asked.

“That Lulu Vanderley he was going to Nashville to see got herself murdered last night.” Jace closed the door and came inside behind Marcy.

“You’re shitting me?”

“Quinn found her body,” Marcy said. “So you know what that means.”

“He’s a suspect,” Aaron replied.

“He didn’t do it. He didn’t kill her,” Jace said emphatically. “The boss would never murder anybody.”

“Yeah, you’re right, he wouldn’t,” Aaron agreed. “But I’ll bet there are a lot of people who’re getting a big laugh out of this. The most famous criminal lawyer in the country, who’s gotten dozens of accused murderers acquitted, might get charged with murder himself.”

“They can’t arrest Quinn for murder.” Jace’s cheeks flushed with emotion. “We gotta do whatever we can to help him.”

Sometimes Aaron found it amusing the way Jace hero-worshiped Quinn. But then the kid owed Quinn a lot, didn’t he, even more than he and Marcy did? They were all three misfits, kids who’d been in trouble, heading for a life of crime. Marcy had been abused by her father and wound up on the streets, ready to turn tricks at sixteen. A cheerleader-type blonde with big brown eyes, she could have made a fortune as a prostitute. Her salvation had been that the first guy she’d approached on her first night on the job turned out to be Quinn Cortez, a real crusader for kids in trouble. He’d gotten her placed in a good foster home, helped her attend junior college and then hired her as his personal assistant.

Aaron’s story wasn’t much different, except he’d wound up at the Judge Harwood Brown Boys’ Ranch, a place built and run by Quinn and several other guys who’d been boys in trouble themselves way back when and had been saved by old Judge Brown. When Aaron turned eighteen, Quinn had encouraged him to go to college, but he’d known college wasn’t for him. He wasn’t stupid, but he was no Einstein either. He made Quinn understand that he didn’t have the smarts for college. He’d been working for Quinn as his chauffeur and all-around gofer ever since. The pay was good, the benefits great.

Jace, another Judge Harwood Brown Boys’ Ranch alumnus, had been working for Quinn for the past year. He was a pretty kid, with hazel eyes and curly sandy brown hair that he kept short to control the curls, but Jace’s story wasn’t a pretty one. He’d admitted that he had been molested by a priest when he was twelve, which had screwed him up pretty bad. And it didn’t help that he’d grown up without a dad and had lost his mother, too, only a couple of years ago.

“I’ve booked us flights for tomorrow morning,” Marcy said. “And I’ve lined up a four-bedroom house and a rental car. I’m hoping the police will clear this up pretty quickly and we can all head home in a few days, but—”

“Aaron, who was at the door?” Wearing only his rumpled shirt, Gala stopped dead still in the doorway between the bedroom and living room. “Oops. Sorry.”

“We…er…we were just leaving.” Marcy started backing toward the door.

“Don’t leave on my account,” Gala said. “Stick around. I was just going to order pizza.”

Marcy looked directly at Aaron. “Jace will pick you up at eight-thirty in the morning. Be ready.”

“No problem,” Aaron told her.

“Quinn’s counting on us, man,” Jace said, eyeing Gala disapprovingly. “We can’t let him down.”

“I get it, okay,” Aaron said. “I’ll be ready to go at eight-thirty in the morning.”

As much as Aaron admired and respected Quinn, he wasn’t in love with the guy like Marcy was nor did he worship the man the way Jace did. But he’d cut off his right arm before he’d let Quinn down.

“Let’s look at this rationally,” Griffin Powell said. “I can’t take on each of you individually as clients for obvious reasons, even if I assigned one of my employees to handle the case for one of you. However, if you two could work together, you could hire me jointly. After all, I assume you both want the same thing—to discover the identity of Lulu Vanderley’s murderer and see him brought to justice.”

Annabelle nodded.

“Yes, that’s what I want.” Quinn thought Powell had brass balls for even recommending such an odd proposition. Selling Annabelle on this unholy alliance wouldn’t be easy.

“I believe one of us should simply hire another agency,” Annabelle said.

“Griffin Powell is the best.” Quinn looked her square in the eyes. “I hire only the best.”

“Are you suggesting that I look elsewhere?”

“Yes, I am. Unless you’re willing to work with me.”

She stared at him quizzically and he caught a glint of something peculiar in those cool blue eyes. Did the lady want to be persuaded? Was that it? Did the thought of their working together intrigue her as much as it did him?

You’re a fool, Cortez. The very last thing you need in your life right now is a personal relationship with Lulu’s cousin, a woman who thinks it’s possible you might have killed Lulu.

“I believe we have a stalemate,” Kendall said. “Apparently neither Quinn nor Ms. Vanderley is willing to accept second best.”

“I’m flattered,” Griffin said. “But I think you should know that unless I can take you both on as clients who have consented to work together, I won’t take this case.”

“What!” Annabelle whipped around and glared at Griffin. “You can’t mean that.”

“If you knew me better, you’d know that I always mean what I say.”

“And say what you mean.” Quinn made an instant decision, one that surprised him as much as it did everyone else in the room. He motioned to Kendall. “Let’s go. I withdraw my bid to hire you, Mr. Powell. Feel free to take on Ms. Vanderley as your client.”

“What the hell—” Kendall gasped when Quinn grabbed her arm and led her toward the door.

“Wait!” Annabelle rose from the sofa. “Please, Mr. Cortez, don’t go.”

Quinn stopped, but kept his back to Annabelle and Griffin.

“What are you pulling?” Kendall spoke to Quinn so softly that only he could hear her.

“Why should I stay?” Quinn asked Annabelle.

“Mr. Powell is right—we do want the same thing. If you can accept the fact that I don’t trust you completely, then I believe we might be able to work together.”

“Hmm…” Kendall grinned at Quinn before he turned around to face Annabelle.

“You don’t know me well enough to trust me. Not yet,” Quinn said. “I’m willing to wait and earn your trust. I didn’t kill Lulu and I want to find her murderer as much as you do.”

Annabelle looked at Griffin. “Let’s set up some ground rules.”

“All right,” Griffin said, then glanced at Quinn. He nodded.

“First and foremost, Mr. Cortez and I share all the information,” Annabelle said. “You will be working for both of us, so what you tell one of us, you tell both of us. No secrets. No hidden agenda.” She glanced at Quinn. “And we share all the expenses, fifty-fifty. Are you in agreement, Mr. Cortez?”

“Yes, I’m in agreement. And since we’ll be working closely together, don’t you think you should call me Quinn?”

“If that’s what you want.” “It’s what I want.”

“Fine. And you may call me Ms. Vanderley…because that’s what I want.”




Chapter 7 (#ulink_513fdc15-9a1f-5696-a54a-1ff24a04f113)


Jim had taken Sunday off, despite his boss’s recommendation that he not take any downtime right in the middle of a high profile case.

“Look, Ted, I’ve made plans with my son that are important to both of us. It’s not as if I get a chance to be with Kevin very often. Besides, Chad’s on top of everything. If he’s going to get all the glory for breaking this case wide open, then let him do the work.”

Inspector Ted Purser, who was the head of homicide, had grumbled a little, but in the end he’d allowed Jim to take the day off. Ted knew as well as Jim did—as well as everyone in the department—that Chad George was on his way up. By hook or crook. And it was also a well-known fact that Jimmy Norton was on a one-way street to nowhere. He’d be lucky if he could hang on to his job long enough to draw his pension.

On his own, Chad was bound to screw up. Not because he was stupid. Quite the contrary. The guy was highly intelligent. Nah, he’d screw up because he was an inexperienced homicide detective who was too damn cocky to realize he had a lot to learn. It was Jim’s opinion that Chad was a know-it-all who needed taking down a peg or two. Not that he’d intentionally do anything to bring that about himself. Nah, he figured all he had to do was wait around and sooner or later Chad would shoot himself in the foot. Figuratively, of course.

Jim chuckled softly.

“What’s so funny, Dad?” Kevin asked.

Jim glanced over at his eleven-year-old son sitting in the passenger seat of his battered, old truck and grinned. Kevin was the one good thing that had come out of his marriage to Mary Lee. He might regret all the wasted years he’d spent hung up on a woman who hadn’t loved him enough to stick with him through the bad times and had repeatedly betrayed their marriage vows, but he’d never regret fathering Kevin. On the really rough days, when nothing in his world seemed right, all Jim had to do was think of Kevin and he remembered he had a very good reason for living.

“Just thinking about my partner,” Jim told his son.

“Chad George?”

“Yeah, you’ve met Chad. I introduced you to him a couple of months ago.”

“I know Sergeant George.”

Jim picked up on something in his son’s voice before he glanced at him and noticed Kevin had his head hung low and was staring at the floorboard.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it something about Chad? Did he say or do anything that—”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Who told you not to tell me?”

“Mom did.”

Don’t lose your cool. The last thing Kevin needs is to feel he’s caught between you and Mary Lee, even if he is. Whatever she told him not to tell you, don’t press him about it.

Jim kept the truck on Highway 78, heading straight toward Holly Springs where his sister and her family lived. He’d planned this trip so they would arrive at Susan’s just about the time church let out and right before Sunday dinner. He needed to concentrate on the positive—on sharing a family day with his son. Grilling Kevin about Mary Lee’s secrets would ruin not only their day together, but also injure their already fragile relationship. Even though he couldn’t prove it, he knew his ex-wife worked at undermining his relationship with Kevin. And she did it just because she could, wanting to hurt Jim and not caring that their son was the one who’d be harmed the most.

“Dad?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t care who Mom dates, do you?”

“No, I don’t care,” Jim said. And he didn’t. Not now, although for years after their divorce he’d been jealous of every man she’d dated. But that was when he’d still been in love with her.

“Then I don’t understand why Mom doesn’t want you to know that she’s dating Sergeant George.”

Jim grasped the steering wheel with white-knuckled tension. Mary Lee and Chad? Goddamn son of a bitch. He couldn’t help wondering which one of them had instigated their affair. Six of one and half dozen of the other. Them’s the odds. Mary Lee would love for him to find out she’d been screwing his young partner. She actually thought he still cared. And Chad—God how he must love fucking Jim’s ex-wife. At least four other officers had told Jim to watch his back where Chad was concerned.

“Your mom’s dating Chad, huh?”

“Yeah, for about a couple of weeks now. But it’s no big deal, right? I mean, you don’t care, do you?”

“Your mother and I are divorced,” Jim said. “We both have the right to date anybody we want to. It’s fine with me if Mary Lee is dating Chad.”

Dating? Maybe they were dating—dinner, movies, dancing, that sort of thing. But Jim figured their dates were spent in bed, doing the horizontal. That was the only kind of relationship Mary Lee was any good at. And he hated like hell that he could remember so vividly just how good she’d been.

* * *

Annabelle had expected to spend a quiet day at the apartment, catching up on work-related e-mails and making plans for Lulu’s funeral. Although the plans couldn’t proceed until the autopsy had been completed and Lulu’s body released, Annabelle didn’t want to leave things until the last minute. The family expected her to handle all the details and see to it that Louisa Margaret Vanderley’s funeral would impress everyone in attendance. The Vanderleys always arrived and departed this life in grand style. It was a family tradition.

Annabelle had slept later this morning than she intended. She was, by nature, a creature of habit and hated to alter her sleep schedule. But she’d tossed and turned half the night, not able to rest until sometime after four. If only she could have turned off her thoughts and disconnected her mind. Thoughts of Lulu tormented her. She wondered if she had tried harder to maintain a close relationship with Lulu, would her cousin still be alive? If she had looked after Lulu a little more closely, would it have made any difference? Don’t be silly. You couldn’t have done anything to prevent what happened.

For most of her life, Annabelle had been a caretaker. Perhaps she’d been born an old soul with the need to nurture everyone around her. She’d always had a deep-rooted need to please others, to keep everyone happy. Being a spoiled only child could have turned her into a self-centered, demanding bitch, but instead being the center of her parents’ universe had placed a heavy burden on her young shoulders. She’d actually believed that it was her duty to make her parents happy, and by the time she reached adulthood that feeling had transmitted itself to everyone around her.

“You care so deeply about everyone and everything,” Aunt Perdita had once told her. “Your devotion to Christopher is quite admirable, my dear child, but you must occasionally think of yourself. You’re a healthy young woman, with a woman’s needs. And what you need is a man.”

Her aunt had been half right about her needing a man. She had needed the man she loved to be whole again, for Chris to be as he’d once been—her friend and lover. But that had been an impossible dream. Her darling Chris had been a paraplegic for nine years before his death, completely paralyzed from the waist down and unable to function sexually. And two very brief and completely secret affairs had shown her that sex for the sake of sex was not what she wanted or needed.

There had been times when she’d wished she could be more like Lulu, who could so easily go from man to man with no regrets. She doubted that Lulu’s conscience had ever bothered her. What must that be like? Annabelle wondered.

After setting her cup of chocolate caramel coffee beside her laptop on the desk, Annabelle pulled out the chair. When the telephone rang, she jumped. Her nerves were shot. Not only had memories of Lulu as well as concerns about her cousin’s death and all that entailed kept her awake, but so had thoughts about Quinn Cortez. Ever since agreeing to become partners with the man in hiring Griffin Powell, she’d had a million and one second thoughts.

On the third ring, Annabelle lifted the receiver from the base on the desk. “Hello.”

“Ms. Vanderley?” a man’s voice asked.

“Yes, this is she.”

“This is Sergeant George, ma’am. I was wondering if I could come by and talk to you?”

“I—er—when?”

“Right now, if that’s convenient. I can be there in no time.”

“Do you have information about—”

“No, not really. Sorry. There’s nothing new,” he said. “But if you could spare the time, I’d like to go over a few things with you.”

“Yes, of course. I take it that you’re nearby.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then come right over. I want to do whatever I can to help the police.”

“Thank you.”

The minute she hung up the receiver, Annabelle dashed into the bedroom and stripped out of her comfy fleece sweatshirt and pants. Her wardrobe was limited since she’d brought only a couple changes of clothes, but thank goodness she’d brought along a pair of jeans. After dressing hurriedly in jeans, white shirt and slip-on loafers, she had just applied pink blush and lipstick when her guest arrived. Taking a deep breath, she rushed through the apartment.

Flinging open the door, she gasped when she saw the man standing there. Not Sergeant George. Definitely not the handsome young police officer.

“Mr. Cortez, what are you doing here?”

Wearing faded blue jeans, a beige turtleneck sweater and a brown leather jacket, he didn’t look like a wealthy lawyer. But even in casual attire, he possessed an aura of power and strength. And danger.

“I thought we needed to talk,” he said. “After we settled things with Griffin Powell last night, you rushed off in quite a hurry before we had a chance to discuss the situation.”

Go away. Leave me alone. I don’t want to see you or talk to you or think about you.

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” she said. “Not until Mr. Powell has some information for us.”

“May I come in?” he asked.

“I don’t see the need. Besides, I’m expecting company any minute now.”

“This shouldn’t take long. What if I come in and stay until your company shows up? Then I’ll leave.”

He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. It was that plain and simple. Short of slamming the door in his face—which is probably what she should do—her only alternative was to give him what he wanted.

“Very well, Mr. Cortez, you may come in for a few minutes.”

As he entered the apartment, he paused and their gazes locked. “I thought we agreed last night that you’d call me Quinn.”

Heat suffused her, warming her from head to toe. “Please, come in, Quinn.”

“Thank you, Ms. Vanderley.”

When he smiled at her, the bottom dropped out of her stomach. Dear God, had she gone so long without a man that she had become little more than a bitch in heat? What was wrong with her? She never—not ever!—reacted this way to a man.




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