Dark of the Night Page 5

  He shrugged and pushed the door open. “So let’s see if the man’s home.”

  “You can’t just go in there,” she hissed, wondering if she sounded as priggish as she felt.

  Jake’s grin was wicked. “But I already told you, I’m good at what I do.” He stepped across the threshold. “Coming?”

  She squared her shoulders, giving him what she hoped was a glacial look. “I am not.”

  “Fine.” He shrugged, and disappeared into the entry.

  She stood at the doorway, debating the wisdom of being anywhere in the same country as Jake Mahoney, then, with a sigh, followed him inside.

  “I thought you weren’t coming?” His whisper caressed her ear, sending spikes of something she wasn’t ready to identify shooting through her middle.

  “I thought someone ought to protect the man.”

  “Oh, and you’re just the woman to do it, princess.” There was an underlying meaning to his words that set her to shivering all over again.

  “Douglas?” She called loudly, shooting a narrow-eyed look in Jake’s direction. “Julia? Is anyone home?”

  “You know his wife as well?” He sounded amused.

  “Of course. What did you think? I was shacking up with Atlanta’s police chief?”

  He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be unheard of.”

  “Anything for the campaign, is that it? Well, you’ve got me figured all wrong, Mr. Mahoney. And I’ll thank you to quit jumping to unwarranted conclusions.”

  “Whoa there, princess. Didn’t mean to get you all riled up. It’s just that in my business we usually call a spade a spade.”

  “In your business, Mr. Mahoney, everything is a spade if it suits the story.”

  He touched his hand to an imaginary hat. “And in yours if it isn’t a spade, you’ll spin it into one.”

  “Touché.” She stopped in the hallway, suddenly aware that she was standing uninvited in the middle of Douglas Michaels’s house. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  “Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. We might as well continue with the tour since we’re in.”

  “Nothing’s sacred, right?” She tried but couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  “Plenty of things are sacred, Ms. O’Brien. But public officials aren’t on the list.” His tone saw hers and raised the ante. “Does he have a study?”

  “It’s over there.” The words came out before she had time to think better of them. “But you can’t go in without his permission.”

  “Riley, I’m in the man’s house. Besides, the door was unlocked. He’s bound to be here somewhere.”

  “Douglas?” She called again. The house remained stubbornly silent. “Maybe he’s out back.”

  “Or maybe he’s got the television on.” Jake moved to the door of the study, already reaching for the doorknob. “Michaels? You in there?”

  Riley took a step forward, only to collide with the muscular steel of Jake’s back.

  “Holy shit.” The expletive was whispered, and the tone in his voice made the hairs on her neck prickle to attention. She tried to step around him, but he held out an arm, effectively blocking her from entering. “Call 911.”

  She fumbled for her cell phone, her heart beating a staccato symphony against her ribs as she tried to peer over his shoulder. “What is it?”

  “Michaels is dead.”

  Chapter 4

  “OKAY. SO DO you want to tell me what this is all about?” Riley sat down on the front steps of Michaels’s house, watching as technicians loaded the plastic-clad body into the ambulance.

  They’d spent the last hour answering questions, or rather, Jake had. For the better part of that time Riley had been huddled over the bushes, reliving her lunch, the vivid image of Michaels’s splattered remains still making her stomach heave.

  “I don’t know any more about this than you do.” Jake leaned against a pillar, his eyes narrowed in thought.

  “Like hell.” Anger rocketed through her. “In less than eight hours, I’ve nearly been blown up, I’ve broken into a house, I’ve discovered a dead man, and I’m on a first name basis with a homicide detective. To add insult to injury, all of these truly wonderful events have been tied, in some capacity, to you. So don’t you dare tell me that you don’t know anything.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating things just a bit. I was here to see Michaels, just like you. And, your opinion of me not withstanding, I hardly think a visit from me would drive a man to suicide.”

  “I think you underestimate yourself.” She shot him a tight smile, anger still churning. The man made her crazy.

  “Well, no matter the cause, the fact remains that Michaels is dead, and we were the ones to find him. Not an easy thing even for someone with experience in homicide, and certainly not something someone like you should have to deal with.”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “I am not made of glass, and I assure you I’m handling all of this,” she waved a hand in the direction of the ambulance, “just fine.”

  “Easy, princess, I was only trying to make nice.”

  She ground her teeth together to swallow back her retort. Nice, her ass. The man was going for the jugular all the way. “All right. Let’s take it one step at a time, shall we?”

  He nodded, crossing his arms on his chest. The motion made his biceps tighten, and she found herself staring at the black hair on his forearms.

  Riley swallowed, forcing herself to abandon lascivious thoughts in favor of the dilemma at hand. “You told me you were here to interview the man. So, despite what you want me to believe, that means you had something on him, right?”

  “I was following a lead, yes.”

  “A man of many words.” She closed her eyes, counting to ten, then opened them again. He was grinning. Damn the man. He thought this was a game.

  “Look, reporter boy, whether you like it or not, I’m in the big fat middle of this. And while Douglas Michaels is nothing more than a quarry to you, he’s an acquaintance of mine, and I’ll thank you not to make light of what happened here. If you know something that might explain why a perfectly normal man would suddenly decide to end it all, I think you owe me that explanation.”

  “Let me make something perfectly clear, your worshipfulness. ” He grated out the words. “I don’t owe you anything. If Michaels was a quarry, then you can damn well put odds on the fact that he deserved to be one. I report it as I see it, Ms. O’Brien. And if the fat lady sings, then I’m betting someone’s pinching her.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” She stared up at him, wondering if Michaels’s death had affected him more than she’d realized.

  He sighed, and sat down next to her, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. You make me crazy. So I said the first thing that came into my head.” It was the first time he’d spoken to her without a sarcastic edge, and she was surprised at how much it pleased her.

  “If it helps,” she shrugged, “you make me crazy too.”

  He smiled. “Well, at least that’s something.”

  “So you want to tell me what’s really going on?” They were back where they started, but at least there seemed to be a temporary truce of sorts.

  He tipped back his head, his look resigned. “I honestly don’t know much. A couple of weeks ago I got a call from an assistant D.A. named Hank Larsen. Said he’d stumbled onto something that involved Michaels.”

  “Something shady.” Riley frowned, trying to picture Michaels breaking the law.

  “Yeah. Something to do with fixing a trial. Larsen said he had evidence to prove it.”

  “But he didn’t?” Riley asked, confused.

  “I don’t know.” Jake shrugged. “He died before he could meet with me.”

  Riley’s eyes widened in surprise, her breathing suddenly becoming more difficult. “You think someone killed him?”

  “Well, officially his death was ruled an accident. His house burned down, with him conveniently in it.”

&
nbsp; “But you don’t believe it was an accident?” Things were rapidly spinning out of control, and even though she wasn’t directly involved, it scared her.

  “My business is based on the knowledge that everything isn’t always what it seems. So I have my doubts. Especially in light of Michaels’s death.”

  “But he killed himself.”

  He shrugged. “That’s certainly what it looks like.”

  “You’re a very cynical man, aren’t you?” She studied him through narrowed eyes, noticing for the first time the fine lines around his mouth and eyes.

  “Too many years in the newspaper business has a tendency to do that to a fellow, I guess.”

  Riley had the distinct feeling there was more to the story, but knew better than to ask. Their truce was fragile at best, and she found herself wanting it to last. There was something about Jake Mahoney that reached out to her.

  A kind of kinship. Which was a ridiculous notion when one considered the fact that they worked opposite sides of the street. Still, it was there, nevertheless, demanding that she pay attention. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the issues at hand.

  “So what you have are a lot of unanswered questions and nothing but dead ends.”

  “Literally.”

  She winced. “I didn’t mean—”

  He smiled, the gesture softening the harsh edges of his face. “I know. And you’re right. I’ve got more questions than answers, and not many places left to turn.”

  “So you quit?”

  “No way. In this business, you’ve got to pick your path and stick to it until you find your story—or until you’re positive there’s nothing to find.”

  “And then?”

  His smile broadened. “You pick another path.”

  “So basically you’re saying you dig in for the duration.”

  “Something like that. Investigating can be slow going. It’s a matter of asking and reasking questions until you get the right answer. Sometimes that can take a while. But eventually someone lets something slip. All it takes is one little chink and the mountain comes tumbling down.”

  “What about the bombing?” She turned to meet his gaze. “Do you think it’s tied into all this somehow?”

  “It doesn’t seem likely, but without definitive proof, I can’t rule it out completely.”

  “Another path?” She returned his smile, surprised to find she was enjoying their banter.

  He shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

  “Ms. O’Brien, Mr. Mahoney.” Detective Ferguson walked out onto the porch. “You all can go now if you’d like. I don’t have any more questions. And if I do,” he smiled, “I know where to find you.”

  Riley scrambled to her feet, suddenly feeling guilty. “Has anyone contacted Julia? And what about Grace?”

  “It’s all been taken care of. They’ve gone to her mother’s house. I sent a couple of detectives over to talk to them. We’ll try and get this,” the detective tipped his head toward the house, “all sorted out before they come home.”

  “There’s no need for them to see it like . . .” Riley trailed off, shivering, the image of blood-spattered walls making her physically ill again. Jake’s arm slid around her waist, warm and strong, and she leaned against him gratefully.

  “I’ll see that Ms. O’Brien gets home safely.”

  The detective nodded, his mind obviously already turning back to his case.

  Riley pulled in a breath, letting the motion soothe her rebelling stomach. She swallowed, relieved to be in control again, images of Michaels firmly banished from her mind. For now. “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, and she was surprised to hear it quiver.

  “Not a problem.” He dropped his arm, as if noticing their intimacy and rejecting the notion entirely. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

  She nodded, keeping her eyes on her shoes, feeling all of about twelve, and sorely missing the contact.

  “Shall I drive you home?”

  She shook her head, struggling to find her voice. Emotion threatened to overwhelm her, and she felt tears pricking the corner of her eyes. Now was not the time to fall apart. And she certainly didn’t need Jake Mahoney to baby-sit her. “No, I’ll be fine. I can see myself home, but thanks for the offer.”

  Everything suddenly felt awkward, as if they were poised somewhere between being strangers and friends. She found herself wishing for the latter, but knew it was impossible. “So I guess this is it. I’m not sure what one says to someone in your line of work.” She looked up, her breath catching at the look in his eyes. “Happy hunting?”

  His lips curled into a lazy grin, the gesture spreading across his face to his eyes. “Why thank you, ma’am.” He doffed an imaginary hat. “Truth is, I always get my man.”

  She smiled despite herself. “I’ll bet you do, at that.”

  They stood for a moment, gazes locked, saying things that couldn’t be said with words. Promises that couldn’t—wouldn’t—be kept. Then, with a nod, he spun on his heel and walked away. She watched him, his gait confident and sure. He didn’t look back. Didn’t have to. He knew she was watching him. Probably knew she wanted him.

  But Riley found that she didn’t care, because the fact was, he wanted her too.

  And even though they weren’t about to act on the knowledge, it was something to hold on to in the dark of the night.

  “What the hell were you doing at Douglas Michaels’s house?” Leon Bronowsky bellowed. Her father’s right-hand man was also his oldest friend, and Riley knew that his bark was much worse than his bite, his anger caused by his concern for her.

  “I had a meeting scheduled. We’re on a committee together. Daddy knew about it.” She shot her father a look, but he made a play of pouring his scotch, pretending that he didn’t hear. So much for his help. “It wasn’t like I planned to find the man, Leon. Believe me, if I’d had a choice in the matter, I wouldn’t have been within a hundred miles of the place.”

  Leon blew out a long breath and steepled his fingers, elbows resting on the arms of his chair. “I suppose in some twisted sort of way it’s providential. A police chief’s suicide trumps a little bombing any day.”

  “You sound so callous, Leon. A man died, for God’s sake.” Carter sipped his drink, eyeing his old friend over the edge of the glass.

  Leon raised a hand in defense. “I’m not trying to make light of a tragedy, but at the same time, I can’t help but see it as a temporary godsend.”

  “Temporary?” Riley and her father spoke almost in unison.

  “Absolutely,” Leon said. “Once they clue into the connection between you, Jake Mahoney, the bombing, and the Michaels death, there will no doubt be rampant speculation.”

  Riley frowned. “There’s nothing to speculate about. There’s absolutely no connection between me and anything that happened. Best I can tell, it’s just a matter of having abysmally bad timing.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Carter leaned against the living room mantelpiece, the perfect picture of the politician. “Leon is right. For the moment, Michaels’s story is enough. But as soon as they catch wind of your involvement, all bets will be off.”

  “Meaning they’ll try and make something of nothing.” This was the part of politics Riley hated, and in particular this was why she hated the press.

  “I’m afraid it’s inevitable,” Leon said. “Once they do start to circle ’round you, the trick will be to parlay it into some sort of favorable sound bite.”

  “It’s not just about sound bites.” Carter drained his glass in a single swallow, his eyes narrowed with worry. “Riley’s been through a tremendous ordeal, and I, for one, won’t stand by and see her hounded by the press because of it.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything you can do to stop it, Carter.” Leon sipped his whiskey, his look resigned. Riley hated it when they talked about her like she wasn’t present.

  “I won’t tolerate it,” Carter continued. “We were part of a media circus when Riley’s
sister died. And I don’t want her to go through something like that again.”

  “Daddy, it’s all right.” Riley spoke soothingly, more than aware of her father’s propensity for loosing his cool. “I don’t remember much about Caroline’s death, honestly. And as far as this is concerned, it’s part of the territory.”

  “You were almost incinerated today.” Carter waved his glass in the air, the gesture punctuating his words. “That’s hardly within the norm.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Daddy, and you know it. Anything that happens to you or to me is public fodder. I don’t have to like it, but I do at least accept it. And in the case of something as big as a car bombing, I’d be shocked if the press wasn’t interested.”

  “Especially when you add finding a dead man to the list.” Leon reached for the decanter to pour another drink.

  “Well, technically, I didn’t walk in on him. Jake Mahoney did.”

  Her father met Leon’s gaze, his hand tightening around the smooth crystal of his glass. “And that’s another bone of contention. What the hell is the man doing, following you around?”

  “I don’t think he was following her, Carter.” Leon spoke soothingly, but her father ignored him, his attention fixed firmly on Riley.

  “Is there something I need to know about this man?”

  Anger flashed through her. “Daddy, if there was, it would not be any of your business.”

  “So there is something.” His eyes narrowed speculatively.

  “No. I’d never met the man until today. And quite honestly, what I saw wasn’t all that appealing.” She pictured his probing blue-black eyes and the strong line of his jaw, willing her words to be the truth, knowing they were not. She was lying to her father, and she was lying to herself. Jake Mahoney was attractive on all sorts of levels.

  “What do we know about him?” Carter turned to Leon, his gaze now shrewd.

  “Nothing that should be cause for alarm. According to my sources, he’s a good reporter. Divorced. Worked for the AJC seven years, on the homicide beat for five. Word on the street is that he’s tenacious as hell.”