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Standing outside in the rain with Claire last night, A.J. hadn’t been thinking like a cop…
He hadn’t been thinking of her as a witness who could break a case wide open for him, hadn’t been thinking of her as an heiress who was way out of his league. He hadn’t been thinking of her as a kid who was more than a decade younger than him and twice as innocent about the world.
He’d been thinking of Claire as a woman. A damn sexy, irresistible woman.
And she’d touched him. Those fingers had cupped his face and demanded he notice her.
He had.
Maybe not in the way she’d intended, but he noticed plenty. Clingy, wet silk, slender curves beneath his hands, dewy lips begging to be kissed. She’d asked him in every way without actually saying the words.
And he’d almost done it.
But common sense had prevailed. His training had prevailed.
So, no kiss. But he hadn’t been right since.
Police Business
Julie Miller
MILLS & BOON
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For Maxie Fireball Miller, my faithful writing companion. You make me get up and walk, you always tell me when the UPS man is here, you let me know when it’s time to go get the boy after school and you keep life interesting.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Julie Miller attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Ms. Miller believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.
Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
A. J. Rodriguez—A legend in undercover work at KCPD. This son of a custodian used to be the one causing trouble out on the streets. Now he’s the one taking the trouble right to the criminals’ doorsteps. No matter what side of the tracks they live on.
Claire Winthrop—A sheltered society princess who’d like nothing more than to break free of her wealthy father’s overprotective shadow to get a real job and have a real life. But witnessing a murder wasn’t the type of reality she was looking for.
Cain Winthrop—Self-made multimillionaire. His love for his hearing-impaired daughter might get her killed.
Deirdre Gunn-Winthrop—Cain’s second wife. She didn’t marry for love.
Gabriel Gunn—He’s ready to take over his stepfather’s business empire.
Gina Gunn—Claire’s stepsister. Is she on the fast track to earn her own cool million? Or is she after something else?
Marcus Tucker—Chief of Security for Winthrop Enterprises.
Amelia Ward—The office temp.
Peter Landers—An old friend on Winthrop’s board of directors.
Rob Hastings—Executive hotshot with an eye on the boss’s daughter.
Dominic Galvan—He always gets his man—or woman.
Antonio Rodriguez, Sr.—Former custodian at Winthrop Enterprises, whose murder is the only one his son, A.J., has never been able to solve.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Prologue
Detective A. J. Rodriguez sank low behind the steering wheel of his sleek, black Trans Am and peered over the restored leather dashboard into the neon glare and masking shadows of the drizzly Kansas City night.
He hated stakeouts. His coffee was cold, his bladder was full and his left shoulder ached from sitting still for so long in the damp, chilly air.
But he didn’t complain. He’d given up the luxury of whining about the challenges and discomforts of life almost two decades ago.
Instead, with his endless patience and chameleonlike ability to blend in with his surroundings, he knew he was well-suited to such a job. That patience was a testament to his father’s spirit and sacrifice, while his undercover expertise was a by-product of the years he’d wasted before coming to understand that Antonio Joseph Rodriguez, Sr. was a better man than any of the cool cats or hotshots on the street could ever hope to be.
A.J.’s father had been a better man than he could ever hope to be.
Static buzzed in the tiny earphone he wore beneath the black knit cap that masked his equally dark hair. His slow smile was the only movement giving any indication that his partner, Josh Taylor, was about to speak. “Hey, A.J. You got anything down at your end? This has got to be the slowest damn nightclub I’ve ever seen. I’ve only counted one couple going in during the past hour, and no one’s come out. You think it’s the band or the booze that sucks?”
“I’d say it’s the two hours we’ve been watching the door.”
“I’m supposed to be the comic relief, remember?” Since Josh was hiding out, too, his laugh was barely a whisper in A.J.’s ear. “Our informant said the meeting was at midnight. It’s nearly that now.”
“Give it time, amigo.”
For eight months, they’d had nothing but time, it seemed. Somebody was running drugs out of the Jazz Note, the umpteenth incarnation of a nightclub to occupy the same building in the tony arts and entertainment district of KC known as Westport. And while the club’s current owner seemed legit, KCPD hadn’t been able to pinpoint anyone who frequented the place often enough to make it a profitable distribution hub. The investigation had grown cold.
Until one of the patrons had been found stabbed to death in the men’s room. Not just any patron. But Mort Firth, a two-bit dealer from the seedy KC neighborhood known as no-man’s-land, who’d been infringing on someone else’s territory. Suddenly, a case that had been the drug squad’s purview for so long had been reassigned to homicide. And A.J. and Josh had been called in to investigate.
Mort had been the third small-time dealer taken out in a murder that wasn’t gang-related in as many years. A.J.’s streetwise gut told him that the perp was no vigilante cleaning up the streets of KC. This was something bigger. An unknown scourge was moving in and killing off the competition.
Slowly, subtly taking over.
And it was up to KCPD to stop it. A.J. spared a glance at his watch. Straight-up midnight. Their informant, Edgar Vaughn—Mort’s former business associate—said that turf negotiations were going to take place at midnight at the Jazz Note between a dealer nicknamed Slick and an unknown suspect. All A.J. and Josh had to do was follow Edgar’s dealer inside the club and find out whom he met with. One picture—and maybe a fingerprint and some eaves-dropping—would be worth a thousand words when it came to breaking open the case.
The low-pitched hum of a well-tuned engine passed by and A.J. lifted his gaze in appreciation as much as curiosity. A pricey steel-gray sedan pulled into an empty parking space across from the Jazz Note. The car itself was polished enough to fit in with the neighborhood’s cruise-by clientele of affluent baby boomers, yet nondescript enough to avoid drawing too much attention from the locals.
But the guy who climbed out didn’t fit either category. His dark, pin-striped suit and the silver tie he adjusted as he scanned his surroundings weren’t casual enough for the club. And no way was he one of the working class residents of the area.
Slick. A.J. scooted up in his seat, his blood pumping quicker in even-paced anticipation. “Josh.”
“I see him.”
He didn’t need Edgar to step from an alleyway and follow the dealer in for A.J. to know their man had arrived. With a brief glance up and down the empty street, he got out of the car, straightened his black leather jacket over the bulge of the guns at either side of his waist and strolled toward the front door of the Jazz Note.
“I’ll come in through the alley entrance and try to spot him from that direction.” Josh was moving, too.
Once through the club’s glass door, A.J. paid the cover charge and slipped inside. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark interior, though the heavy scents of smoke and alcohol were a little harder to get used to. He let the lazy beat of the electric bass onstage set the rhythm of his movements as he followed the suspect at a discreet distance. First, an uneventful trip to the men’s room. Then to the bar.
Slick ordered a double scotch. Neat. His furtive glances over the rim of his glass before he bolted the amber liquid were a dead giveaway to A.J.’s trained eye. The man was nervous. Probably had never been to the Jazz Note before. Maybe had never even met his contact.
His nervous energy put A.J. on guard as he tailed Slick to an empty booth away from the stage.
A.J. found a seat at a table nearby and ordered a beer. With a wink and a decent tip for the waitress, he took an obligatory sip and tapped his foot in time with the soulful, driving music. Josh stood at the end of the bar, using the mirror behind the bartender to keep their man in sight.
A half hour later, the crowd began to thin out.
Slick was on his third scotch. And the mystery guest he was supposed to meet hadn’t showed.
“Edgar’s heading for the door.” Josh’s voice whispered over the radio. “You think we’ve been set up?”
A.J. had memorized the face of every person in the club, from the teenager bussing tables to the blind, balding maestro working magic at the piano. Something deep in his bones was trying to tell him that this didn’t feel right. That there weren’t enough people here for a club that played music this hot. It was as if he were watching a play, and each patron and employee was an actor carefully placed around the stage.
“I think our man’s been set up.” Suffused with an instantly wary energy that didn’t change his outward appearance, A.J. shoved aside his warm beer. He used a subtle nod at the buxom waitress for a fresh drink as an opportunity to scan the room one more time. What he was looking for, he wasn’t sure. Trouble. Someone else keeping a curious eye on their man. He tossed a five onto the table and whispered into his microphone. “You follow Edgar. I’ll stick with Slick.”
In the minutes that followed, the band played its last number and started to pack up. Odd. The lights didn’t come up. There was no announcement about the last call for drinks—as if someone didn’t want the few remaining patrons to move. Slick checked his watch and made a call on his cell phone that was more about cursing than conversation.
After hanging up, Slick downed the last swallow of scotch and shot to his feet. He grabbed his forehead and swayed a couple of steps as the booze hit him hard. Great. He’d fished his keys out of his pocket. Drunk drivers were about as high on A.J.’s list as drug dealers. As Slick staggered past him, he wondered if the waitress or bartender would say something. He wondered if he could stop Slick somehow without giving away his presence.
Hell. A.J. blinked and cast the thoughts aside. This wasn’t about a personal agenda. He had a job to do.
By the time Slick had stumbled through the front door, A.J. was close on his heels. He lingered out of sight beneath the awning over the Jazz Note’s door and kept his man in sight. “He’s outside, Josh. Our boy’s been stood up.”
“I see him.” Josh would be hiding somewhere in the shadows as well. “Edgar grabbed a cab about five minutes ago. He seemed pretty eager to get of here.”
“I don’t blame him. Something’s going down.”
Figure it out, A.J. Figure it out. He scanned every inch of the street, studied empty storefronts, read license plates, shook his head at the drunken man cursing the car that nearly ran him down in the middle of the street.
Slick dropped his keys to the pavement before squeezing them in his grip and unlocking the car door.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Talk to me, A.J.” A.J. left the shadows. He reached for his gun, feeling the threat in the air like a hand at his throat. “We’re gonna lose our guy.”
“A.J.?”
“This is a hit.”
Slick fell in behind the wheel and slammed the door.
“A.J.!”
A light sparked beneath the hood of Slick’s car and the silver sedan exploded in a thunderous crash that slammed A.J. to the sidewalk and rained down a cloud of flying debris and rolling flames.
Chapter One
“Daddy…”
No. Though that had been the pet name Claire Winthrop had called her father all twenty-three years of her life, it wasn’t professional enough for the request she intended to make.
Hearing the ding of the elevator only as a metallic buzz, she watched the lights marking each floor blink on and off above the doors as she rode up to the executive suites on the top floor of Kansas City’s Winthrop Enterprises Building.
She rehearsed the beginning of her well-planned speech, trying to keep the excitement she felt from blurring the careful articulation of her voice. “Dad. The Forsythe School asked if I would be interested in working for them full-time next semester. As a middle school counselor. They’re pleased with my volunteer work with the adolescents.”
Opening her hand, Claire smiled at the proof of her success in her palm. A gold smiley-face pin with Forsythe etched into the back. It was probably gold-plated. Well, maybe just gold-colored since it had been a gift from the students themselves. But it was every bit as precious as her mother’s pearls she wore around her neck.
Claire fastened the pin onto the lapel of her pink silk suit. Her father hadn’t been able to attend the school awards banquet that night; but then, he was such a busy man. That was the excuse she used, at any rate, to take the sting out of his dismissal of her need to work. She lifted her chin again, to watch the floor numbers fly by. She was proud of her paraprofessional and tutoring work with special needs preteens and teenagers. Thrilled to discover she had a knack for listening.
She almost laughed at that one. But her father wouldn’t see the ironic humor. So she went back to practicing what he did understand—facts and numbers and a concise presentation.
Clenching her hands into fists to keep them still at her sides, she continued. “I would need to go back to school to earn my graduate degree, Dad. And take a test to be licensed for therapist’s certification. But they’re willing to pay for my classes. This is an opportunity for me to make a career for myself.”
Too many Rs. Claire puffed out a nervous breath and raked her chin-length swath of hair away from her temples. Just as quickly, she smoothed the straight, champagne-colored strands back into place, covering up the tiny speech processors most people mistook for hearing aids that were hooked behind her ears.
She was always self-conscious when she spoke out loud, knowing her dull R sounds and practiced consonants were a dead giveaway to her hearing loss. But her father didn’t like to sign. He claimed the visual expression only pointed out the shortcomings he already felt so responsible for. And while she could read lips, he needed to hear the actual words in order to communicate clearly with her. Speaking like a normal person would go a long way toward convincing him that she was ready to do more than volunteer part-time at the school.
Claire stretched her neck in the swan-like arch that fifteen years of dance lessons had given her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, straightening her petite body to its utmost height and easing the tension that had gathered in her muscles.
She could do this. She would do this.
Cain Winthrop might want his daughter to stay at home, host quiet dinner parties and stay out of the limelight until some handsome young man whisked her away to stay at his home to host quiet dinner parties and stay out of the limelight, but Claire had different plans in mind. She had the money, brains and desire to pursue any career she wanted—or ramrod the success of any charity. She could make a difference in the lives of people who needed someone to make a difference.
If her father would let her.
If he’d trust her to make smart decisions.
If he’d believe she could be safe in the world without his well-meaning protection shadowing her every step of the way.
But she had a lot of years of love and ingrained habits to overcome. Cain Winthrop was used to doing things his way. Running his business empire his way. Taking care of his daughter and stepchildren his way.
Claire intended to change that. Just a little. It was time to make a place for herself in the world.
Her way.
Feeling the gentle roll of her stomach that told her the elevator was slowing its ascent, Claire opened her eyes and watched the number 26 light up. She took a deep breath, clutched her purse beneath her arm and fixed a smile on her face. “Okay, Dad.” She crossed her fingers and added a prayer. “Please listen.”
The doors slid open onto the shadows of the twenty-sixth floor. The receptionist’s desk stood empty and the waiting area was dark. Claire stepped out and turned along the plush carpet toward her father’s suite of offices.
Even with the sharp bite of spring air outside to lure him to the family’s cabin and the promise of fishing on Truman Lake, she knew her father would keep late hours until the weekend. She’d purposely waited until after her school dinner to pay him this surprise visit, allowing the office plenty of time to clear out so that they were less likely to get interrupted.
With a fortified sense of purpose, Claire walked past her stepbrother Gabriel’s empty office and its dark interior. She strode past the senior vice-president’s office and saw that Peter Landers had gone as well. Her stepsister Gina’s office was dark. The corporate attorney’s office, dark.
A chilling sense of unease tried to work its way beneath her resolve. She’d never cared much for dark places. She was already at a disadvantage, knowing she couldn’t hear anything or anyone sneaking up on her. Not being able to see an approaching danger, either, could make her doubly paranoid if she allowed her fear to take hold.
As a young girl, trying to adjust to the cochlear implants inside her head, those bumps in the night that startled other children had been real terrors for her as distorted electronic sounds she hadn’t learned to identify shrieked into her ears. It didn’t help that the last actual sounds she’d heard had been her own screams of pain and loss as she battled the tropical fever virus that took 97% of her hearing and killed her mother.
Claire breathed easier as she rounded the corner and a soft glow of light greeted her with reassuring warmth. Beyond a private waiting area, she spotted the boardroom and her father’s offices, all lit up. His faithful executive assistant, Valerie Justice, must still be working late as well, judging by the brightness flooding through her open doorway. Valerie wouldn’t mind giving father and daughter some time alone. For twenty-odd years, she’d been nothing but discreet when it came to taking care of not just the family business, but the family itself.
Here, too, the carpeting gave way to the polished mahogany flooring her father had imported from Venezuela. The decor changed as well, as solid walls gave way to alternating black steel and clear glass panels, giving her glimpses of the interior of each room. A black leather seating group sat in the middle of a central waiting area, adorned by tropical plants, exotic animal prints and a custom-built aquarium nearly twelve feet long that divided the sofa, chairs and coffee table from the circle of private rooms.
Claire repeated the words inside her head, squelching the urge to sign them as well. Dad. I’ve been offered a wonderful chance to—
A bone-deep thud shook the floor beneath her feet and Claire halted in her tracks. She felt another vibration through the soles of her Manolo Blahniks and saw the water in the aquarium ripple against the side of the tank.
“What the…?”
Missouri hadn’t had a big earthquake since the late 1800s, and there wasn’t enough wind outside to make the steel-and-limestone building sway.
She glanced over her shoulder at the tunnel of darkness that filled the hallway behind her. Had a cleaning crew come in? Knocked over a bucket? Slammed a door? Was the security guard making his rounds early?
Had one of those unknown terrors just gone bump in the night?
Claire opened her mouth and turned to call out to her father. But she snapped it shut just as quickly and retreated into the shadows as a tall, black-haired stranger stepped into view beyond the open doorway to her father’s office. The man’s black suit and tie made him appear as little more than a silhouette against the cream-colored walls inside.
But there was no mistaking the gun he held in his black-gloved hands, or the methodic precision with which he unscrewed the long, tubular silencer from its steel tip and slipped both items into the holster beneath his jacket.
Oh, my God.
He’d shot someone!
Claire swung her gaze over to Valerie’s office and back to her father’s. The assistant hadn’t run out to check on the noises. But with a silencer, maybe Valerie hadn’t heard the shots.
Technically, Claire hadn’t heard anything, either. The vibrations she’d felt could have been the concussions of the gun. Or a body hitting the floor. Or the bashing in of someone’s head. Someone being shoved against the wall. A fight—
Stop it!
Tears pricked Claire’s eyes. The breath stopped in her chest. But she forced herself to think rationally, to be aware of the danger at hand. Clutching at the pearls around her neck, she fought to dispel the image of her father, dead in his chair.
Nonchalantly standing there in her father’s office, the man in black stared down at his handiwork with cold, dark eyes. “I’ll come back for the body.”
Claire could read the promise on his lips clear across the waiting room. Body? Someone was dead. The man in black had just killed…
“Daddy?” she whispered the unthinkable thought, squeezing her fist so tightly that her necklace snapped.
A sharp gasp was the only curse she allowed herself as the clasp broke and pearls fell into her hand. She twisted to keep her elbow close to her body to catch the falling strand in the crook of her arm. Tiny knots kept most of the beads together in one string, but she contorted herself to catch two, three…but a fourth hit the floor, bounced off the hard wood and rolled away into the darkness.
To Claire’s ears, there was no sound.
But in her mind, the bounce was deafening.
She whipped her head up to the lighted doorway. How loud was a single pearl? How good was the man in black’s hearing?
How dead would she be if she were caught?
Concern for her father dimmed, and fear for herself blazed through her veins in full force.
Claire dropped to her haunches and crawled toward the aquarium, her instincts warning her to duck behind its thick mahogany base. Or maybe it was the pounding of her racing heart that made her suddenly too light-headed to stand. Daddy! She cried the word inside her head, knowing he wasn’t there to help. She shoved the remains of the traitorous necklace inside her jacket pocket and tucked her legs beneath her, making herself as small as a child, hiding before the man turned and spotted her.
If it wasn’t already too late.
Claire blinked and the tears spilled over to run down her cheeks. But she held her breath and disappeared from view between the jungle-size plants and their low, sheltering branches. She counted the seconds off silently in her head until her lungs burned and forced her to inhale.
With fresh oxygen came a fresh thought. He hadn’t found her. He hadn’t snatched her up by the hair or arm, or put a bullet through her head. She hadn’t felt his footsteps through the floor or smelled him walking past, either.
Feeling safe for the moment, something new—something harder, tougher, angrier—slipped past her fear and grief, clearing her head.
With a bold sense of purpose, Claire scooted to the end of the aquarium and peeked through the camouflage of leaves. From this angle she could see the man with the gun. Above the partition that blocked his lower body from view, she memorized the shape of his face, the cut of his hair and every acne-pocked scar on his deeply tanned cheeks.
She swiped the tears from her cheeks and squinted harder, noting the movements of his long, thin lips. He was talking again. Having a conversation. Though the second person remained hidden from view behind a steel panel, she could interpret his pauses and nods.
At this distance, she couldn’t hear the words. But then, Claire didn’t need to.
“That’s number four on your list,” the man said.
Four dead bodies? He’d killed others? Why? Inching closer, she pressed her shoulder into the aquarium’s base and eavesdropped with her eyes. Who was he?
The man in black frowned. His eyes narrowed as he tilted his chin. “You don’t tell me when or where I do the job. When you hire me, all you have to know is that the job will get done.” He smiled. It was a cold, evil thinning of his lips that twisted Claire’s stomach into knots. “Think of it as insurance for both of us. You know that the people in your way have been disposed of. And I know you won’t turn me in if someone figures out that you’re the one behind all this.”
Another pause. Who was he talking to? Who would want her father dead? Where was Valerie? Claire read the argument on his lips.
“Relax. I’m too good at my job for anyone to find me, much less find out who hired me.” He buttoned his suit coat over his gun. “The last two will be eliminated once I feel the timing is right. In the meantime, I’ll expect another deposit into my account for this one. By ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Or you’ll find your name on my list. No charge.”
His partner must have said something that displeased the man in black. His thready smile became an ugly frown.
“I’m worth every penny you’re paying me. I never miss.” When he leaned toward his unseen partner in crime, Claire backed away, as if the cold-blooded threat in his eyes was intended for her. “If I say I’ll kill someone, they’ll be dead. And I won’t leave a trace.”
Claire’s breath rushed out in a gasp deep enough to stir the leaves of the ficus beside her. Quickly, she slapped her hand over her mouth. Had she made a noise? Had he heard her?
Though he didn’t react as if he suspected he was being watched, when he turned to exit her father’s office, Claire curled into a tiny ball and prayed to God that the aquarium, plants and shadows would keep her hidden from view as he walked past.
The man in black strolled by, his heavy size shaking the floor beneath her knees with every step. She bowed her golden hair out of sight so that she felt, rather than saw, the second person—lighter in weight—hurry behind the hired killer at a faster pace.
Claire held her breath, closed her eyes and prayed. She couldn’t make out the sounds of the elevator at this distance. So she hid there, hunching beside the aquarium, letting terror and grief hold her still long after the vibrations of the footsteps through the floorboards had faded. She waited until her thighs and knees began to cramp. Waited until she sensed that she had been alone for several minutes.
Then she slowly pushed to her feet. Her purse dropped into her shaky grasp as she stared down the long hallway into the darkness. Before fear made her foolish, before grief sent her into shock, Claire turned. On numb feet, she stumbled toward her father’s office, praying for some sort of miracle every step of the way.
“Daddy?”
The steel door frame was as cold beneath her fingertips as the blood flowing through her veins.
Her father’s chair was empty. She stepped inside and summoned her courage to walk around Cain Winthrop’s immaculate desk and take a peek. Claire gripped the edge of the mahogany top, nearly collapsing with relief.
Then shock and compassion pushed aside the traitorous emotion. She wiped away her tears and knelt down as she fully absorbed the awful truth. There was a body on the floor, with two neat bullet holes piercing the heart and forehead.
Her father wasn’t dead.
But Valerie Justice was.
“BUT, DAD, I’m telling you—I saw Valerie murdered!” Claire thrust her right index finger beneath her left palm, furiously signing the word for murder as she spoke. “That man shot her in your office. He had a gun. A silencer. I saw him.”
“Slow down, sweetheart. You’re slurring your words. I thought you said you saw a murder.”
Still breathless from fear, the fastest drive of her life across the city and her run up the front steps of her family’s Mission Hills home, Claire’s frustrated sigh left her light-headed. She shrugged free of Cain Winthrop’s placating grip on her shoulders and signed an emphatic statement. “I did.”
