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  Trying not to actually look at any one person below the neck, I scanned the crowd. Blue uniforms darted in every direction in an attempt to round up the senior citizens without hurting anyone. Harried reporters and cameramen worked frantically to take it all in.

  “We will be heard!”

  The familiar voice propelling those emotion-filled words yanked my attention to the right. Mortification shot through me but I recovered quickly and moved toward my mother as covertly as I could so as not to draw attention.

  “Mother!” I snapped in a stage whisper.

  Margaret Mercer turned abruptly. “Jackie, what’re you doing here?”

  Somehow I managed to keep my gaze on hers and away from her white eighteen-hour support bra. Thank God she hadn’t taken it off. “We’ll talk about it later.” I draped the jacket around her shoulders and dragged her toward the street.

  “Wait!” She dug in her heels. “I can’t walk away from my friends. They need my support. I’m about to roast my bra. As soon as the bonfire gets going,” she added with a glance toward a group of cops wrestling one particular senior citizen to the ground. They’d already snagged the torch he carried.

  I grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look at me. “If you don’t go with me right now, Mother, you’ll go to jail for indecent exposure.”

  Her mouth formed a perfect O before she rallied her voice and demanded, “Well what’re we waiting for then?”

  She hurried down the remaining steps like a young chick a third her age. I rushed to get ahead and lead the way to the Jeep. I didn’t slow down or bother with breathing until we were both safely ensconced in the vehicle.

  Neither of us spoke as I drove to my childhood home on Cedar Street. I didn’t know why my mother kept the big old place. For sentimental reasons I supposed. I parked in the drive of the two-story Federalist style home and wilted, exhaling the tension liberating my mother had prompted. If we were both lucky our faces hadn’t gotten caught by any of the news cameras.

  “You coming in?”

  Margaret, Maggie as her friends called her, looked at me hopefully and I couldn’t deny her.

  “Sure.”

  I followed her up the walk and through the front door. I had to admit, she still had a hell of a figure for a woman just past seventy. I could only hope I would end up looking that good. Her dark hair had long ago grayed into that lovely shade which required no artificial dyes. Most women her age would trade a kidney for hair like that. Maggie Mercer had insisted it made her look old and promptly bleached it blond. Now she told everyone it was genetic, she didn’t go gray, she went blond.

  There was no denying the blond looked good with her green eyes. The same green eyes I had inherited. Maybe I should go blond. My mother sure appeared to have a lot more fun than me. The pics on Rob-Ho’s unofficial site flashed in my head. I’d sure gotten plenty of attention wearing that Marilyn Monroe style wig.

  “I’ll only be a minute, dear,” Maggie promised as she headed up the stairs. “Make yourself at home.”

  I watched her go then surveyed the entry hall where I’d descended the staircase to meet my prom date as a high school freshman. Mother had altered my dress so that it fit like a glove. And Sammy Wilcox had looked awestruck. I dated him my entire freshman year. Had thought I was madly in love. Enough so to end up on that bench in the locker room. But we’d gone our separate ways after that.

  While in college I met a handsome Med school student and the rest, as they say, is history. I dropped out of college to support us while he finished his schooling. Somehow I even managed to give birth and juggle being a mother while he focused solely on his medical career.

  Fat lot of good that had done me.

  I wandered into the family room and studied the framed photographs that covered every available surface. Dozens upon dozens of memories made with my father. God, I missed him.

  Respected attorney turned judge, Jack Mercer, had died just five years ago. A pang of regret sliced through me. If only I’d been able to clear the air on the subject of my ability to make it in my chosen profession and to take care of myself without a husband. But it hadn’t happened.

  I looked around the big room that still felt exactly like home though I hadn’t lived here in twenty-five years. Even when Simon and I had first divorced I refused to be a burden to my parents. I’d supported my husband during the first half of our marriage, I could support my son after it ended.

  My father was not to be thwarted though. Occasionally I would discover a deposit I had no memory of making in my checking account. It was his way of ensuring his daughter and grandson were taken care of.

  He hadn’t been so happy with the way I’d elected to support myself. Had insisted that Uncle Hank, since he was about to retire from HPD, be my partner. I closed my eyes and tried to block the painful memories, but it didn’t work. My father had loved me, that much I knew with complete certainty. He’d treated me like an equal my entire life...until I’d started my PI business. Somehow everything had changed after that. He’d suddenly stopped having any confidence in me. Wanted Hank in on every decision.

  Admittedly I hadn’t reacted well and he’d never relented. We’d finally agreed to disagree. Then the heart attack had stolen him from me and now I would never know why he’d lost faith in me. How could he have raised me to be so independent; have believed in me all those years and then suddenly act as if I wasn’t capable of doing anything on my own?

  The divorce.

  What else could it have been? I’d racked my brain and no other reasonable explanation ever revealed itself.

  I plopped onto the sofa. How did things get so complicated? When I allowed myself to go down that road, I found doubt. Doubt in my ability to keep a husband, to control my destiny. To keep my father believing in me. Mother had assured me over and over that my father was only being protective...that it wasn’t about not trusting my ability. Maybe she was right. My emotions had been strained at the time. Maybe it was the breakdown of my marriage that had set off my father’s need to question my ability. I couldn’t say I hadn’t felt the same way to some extent. To this day I occasionally wondered what went wrong between Simon and me. Was I not sexy enough? Not attentive enough? Not smart enough? Not strong enough?

  Fury churned deep in my belly. Why was it when the divorce happened the women always felt like the guilty party? I hadn’t sent my husband into another woman’s arms. I was there for him. “Bastard,” I muttered.

  “There are few men like your father, Jackie.”

  I looked up as mother, fully robed thankfully, strolled Elizabeth Taylor style, into the room. She wore a dove white silk robe and matching slippers that sported a two-inch heel and were embellished with froths of fur. Her hair and make-up looked as if she’d just stepped out of the salon. Why hadn’t I inherited any of those elegant, sophisticated genes?

  “The rest of them are real shits like your ex.” She sat down beside me. The movement as graceful and delicate as a feather floating down onto the cushions. “Take my advice when it comes to men, baby.” She clasped my icy hand in her warm, caring ones. “Get a dog, they’re more loyal and they don’t live as long.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was late when I returned to the office, after five. I’d spent some time with Mom. I’d needed that kind of bonding. Someone to tell me the past wasn’t my fault and that there was still hope for a normal romantic relationship in my life.

  I didn’t exactly get that last part. Maggie Mercer, as much as she’d loved my dad, insisted that a dog was a much better solution nowadays. Loyalty and all that crap. Changing times, no good men to be found, et cetera. I had to admit that the idea of coming home to a loving, warm body every night had its appeal. But then a dog would entail feedings, doggie walks and trips to the vet.

  Clearly I was on the rebound from great sex tainted with major disappointment. Oh, yes, and ghosts from the past. That part bothered me the most of all. Was he really dead? The man in the photo I
remembered so very vividly, but whose name I didn’t know?

  Then I thought of Derrick Dawson and his ambition to work at my agency. The moment his name popped into my head tingly heat swirled beneath my belly button. Evidently my judgment couldn’t be trusted just now, not that it ever could where handsome men were concerned.

  I opted not to mention the strange message I’d received to my mother since she would only worry about me. I was a big girl. I could take care of myself.

  I parked and made my way through the rear entrance of the Mercer Agency.

  “You’ve got messages,” Hobbs said before I’d even reached my office door. He looked up at me and offered a smug smile.

  Uh-oh. I knew that look. I walked over to his desk and accepted the cluster of messages but didn’t read any of them. Something was going on with my assistant.

  He tapped the top message. “Betsy Wells,” he said with one of those you’re-not-going-to-believe-this looks. “She called to thank you for taking care of her bond. I didn’t bother mentioning that it was moi she should thank.”

  I nodded then frowned. “Betsy? As in the one who goes to church with my mother?” I patted the top of my head. “Wears the pink bonnet all the time?”

  Hobbs nodded. “The one and only.”

  A laugh choked out of me. “What’d she do? Commit a violent act against a housefly?” My multi-talented assistant took care of the bail bonding as often as I did. Strangely enough I was sorry I’d missed that one. Betsy Wells? She was like the personification of the kindly grandmother everyone pictured on the porch in a rocking chair.

  “Jasper took the last beer,” Hobbs explained. “Must have really miffed her because she shot him.”

  I did a double take. “Run that one by me again.”

  “She shot her husband for taking the last beer in the house,” Hobbs said slowly and loudly as if I was hearing impaired. I winced. Thankfully his voice lowered as he added, “But he’s okay. She didn’t hit anything vital.” Hobbs lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Not that there’s that many working vital parts left at his age. Anyway, he was the one who called to have her bond posted.”

  I just shook my head. I was too beat to cipher the messages in my hand or the strange behavior of our local senior citizens. Considering the half naked mob I’d encountered on the courthouse steps maybe someone needed to look into what the pharmaceutical industry was up to besides jacking up prices. “I’ll take care of these in the morning,” I said, waving the notes in my hand.

  “Maybe you’d like the new investigator to take care of those.”

  My head snapped up. Hobbs wore a victorious grin. “What?”

  He glanced past me. I turned to my office and sure enough there sat Dawson. At least the back of the head and the navy jacket looked familiar.

  “He’s here to tell me he couldn’t handle Big Hoss, right?” Some rogue brain cell from the intuitive side of my gray matter protested, letting me know I wasn’t getting off that easily.

  My impertinent assistant shrugged. “You’ll have to ask that question for yourself.”

  “I’ll do that.” I marched into my office and didn’t slow until I’d put my desk between me and the man who stood the moment I entered the room. Considering he showed no outward signs of physical altercation and looked as laid back as he had that morning, I concluded he had failed in his mission.

  “We had a deal, Mr. Dawson,” I said firmly as I tossed my messages onto my desk and my bag onto the floor. “I appreciate your determination but I need an investigator I know can meet the challenges of the work we do here at the Mercer Agency.”

  “I understand.” He tipped his head in acknowledgement of my tirade. “As you say, we had a deal.” He eased closer to my desk, scarcely two steps and I was mesmerized by the fluid movements. He offered a document to me. “I kept up my end.”

  I stared at the paper for several seconds before my brain assimilated what my eyes saw. Body receipt. Hoss Aiken. Today’s date. All in a nice big, bold font typed by the processing sergeant. Probably the same one who hadn’t smiled at me that morning.

  A traitorous surge of admiration went through me before I could beat it back. “Mr. Dawson—”

  “Just Dawson,” he countered.

  Oddly there was a vulnerability in those blue eyes that I hadn’t noticed that morning. Maybe this job meant more to him than I’d first thought.

  And maybe I’m the biggest sucker on the globe. This guy had trouble flashing like a neon sign from those baby blues. He was too damned good-looking. Too sexy. Too young. Trouble with a capital T followed by a long line of exclamation points. But somehow I couldn’t deny that every female chromosome in my body went on alert whenever he was near. There was just something about the guy.

  And I had made a deal with him. I’d been so sure he would fail I’d wagered it all and lost the farm in the process. Talk about cocky and I didn’t even have any balls.

  I was about to break my own first rule: keep my work life totally separate from my sex life. For ten years I had adhered to that distinct division better than most politicians managed their first year in office.

  “All right, Dawson.” I swallowed, even his name stuck in my throat in that way that told me in no uncertain terms that I was dangerously attracted to the guy. “You get the job. But,” I qualified, forcing a firmer tone and using his own offer against him, “if I’m not fully satisfied with your performance you’re gone. No questions asked.” Already I felt myself clinging to the desperate hope that he would screw up...otherwise I surely would.

  He smiled. My knees pulled a Judas on me by giving way and making me sway ever so slightly. “I’ve never failed to satisfy a woman in my life,” he let me know. The smile widened to a grin. “Trust me.”

  Oh yeah. Trouble, indeed.

  Ignoring his overconfident assurances I gestured to his chair. “We still have a few things to clarify.”

  He dropped back into the upholstered chair, a maddening look of triumph in his expression. “Shoot.”

  Don’t tempt me, was my first thought. But a deal was a deal. “I need to know why you assaulted your superior.” Before he could protest, I explained, “It’s important that we start out here with a clean slate. Anything less than complete honesty is unacceptable.”

  He crossed one leg over the other, propping an ankle on his knee and flared his hands in a sign of openness. “All right. No secrets. My lieutenant was banging my fiancé. I punched his lights out when I caught them in my bed. That’s why he was so eager to keep the incident off the record.”

  Damn. I hadn’t expected that. “That’s tough.”

  “Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “I guess she was kind of like your ex. Unreliable in the commitment department.”

  I tensed, resisted the urge to leap to conclusions. “What do you know about my ex?” Dawson was a former detective. It wasn’t actually surprising that he’d checked me out. What was totally unnerving, however, was that he had the brass balls to bring it up. Balls appeared to be part of the underlying theme for today. Bob, my mother, my assistant and this new hireling took obvious pleasure in flaunting theirs.

  “I know a lot about you.” That smile curled those carnal lips once more sending a new flush of warmth across my cheeks and an insistent throb between my legs. “I’ve read everything I could find on you and how you made this agency what it is. A few flicks of the keys on Google is all it takes.”

  I blinked, startled. Told myself that he merely admired and respected me. “That’s why you wanted to work here?”

  “I wanted to work with the best.” He paused a moment to give impact to his next words. “You’re the best, Jackie.”

  It was his eyes more than what he said...a kind of sizzle reached all the way across my desk and burned right through me as if I’d touched a frayed electrical wire. I rocketed to my feet almost stumbling over my treasured Birkin on the floor where I’d foolishly left it when I sat down. For the first time since my divorce the urge to run was almos
t overpowering.

  “Well.” I grabbed up the handful of messages I’d abandoned and shuffled through the stack with feigned interest. “I should finish up here. I have plans tonight.” I refused to look at him. He was far too perceptive to risk him recognizing the lie.

  The chair creaked as he pushed to his feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  I made an agreeable sound, still mulling over the yellow slips in my hands. God knows I couldn’t read half the words. I needed those damned glasses Hobbs had out there on his desk. I hated getting old.

  “I guess I’ll be going.”

  Dammit. He kept standing there. Waiting for me to look up...to acknowledge him somehow. Finally, I forced myself to do the necessary. I looked up, organized my lips into a passable smile. “Have a nice evening. Hobbs will get you settled and answer any other questions you have in the morning.”

  Dawson nodded, those keen eyes studying me as if I were a newly discovered substance under a microscope and he couldn’t wait to patent me. I blocked the intrusion, barely deflecting the full reach of that penetrating stare.

  “Good night, Jackie,” he said after what felt like forever.

  He turned around and took his sweet time swaggering out of my office, ensuring my rapt attention fastened on his gorgeous ass. Like it wasn’t bad enough that I was still smoldering from the way he said my name. This was such a monumental mistake. One I could already feel myself regretting and I hadn’t done anything yet but lust after the guy.

  Hobbs and Dawson exchanged parting comments before the newest member of the Mercer Agency staff exited the premises. I let go the breath I’d been holding then.

  Hobbs sauntered into my office, rubbing his hands together with unrepentant glee. “So, does he start tomorrow?”

  I glowered at him. “You tell me how Dawson managed to bring in Big Hoss without getting a scratch on him.” I had a feeling Hobbs had intervened on Dawson’s behalf somehow.

  Offended, my assistant braced his fussily manicured hands on the back of the chair Dawson had vacated and assumed the properly injured posture. “I can’t believe you would accuse me of such a thing,” he said as if he’d been cast as a doomed character in a play by Shakespeare. “I have no idea how he managed the feat.” He frowned petulantly. “I even asked one of my contacts at CP. He swears Big Hoss followed Dawson to the cell like an obedient puppy.”