CHAPTER FIVE
Two nights later Jake stood and stretched. His back ached from sitting at the desk in his living room, where he’d been reading everything he could on the most current custody cases.
Lupus, curled on the rug near the window, growled low in his throat. His snow-white hair bristled at the sound of footsteps on the porch.
“Relax,” Jake chided the dog as he opened the door. “It’s only Ron.”
Ron Koski grinned, displaying slightly yellowed teeth. “Only Ron? Tough crowd, especially after what I went through for you.” He wiped his ratty old Nikes on the mat and stepped inside. A draft of cold winter air seeped in with him. “As a matter of fact, you owe me a beer. It’s definitely Miller time.”
“You’re on.”
Lupus curled up beside the fire, and Ron took a chair at the small table in Jake’s dining alcove.
“So, you got something on Fisher?” Jake called over his shoulder as he wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and yanked out two bottles.
“I don’t know if you’d call it ‘something.’ You know how slippery Fisher is.”
“Yeah, I know.” Probably better than most people, he thought, twisting off the caps and thinking of Daniel.
Returning to the dining alcove, he found Ron with one foot propped on another chair and a thick file spread on the table. “Here’s what I got on Fisher,” he said, accepting the offered bottle with a grin. “Mostly news clippings, a couple of police reports I managed to get from Brecken and some information from the surveillance job I did on him a few years ago.”
“I remember.” Jake pulled up a chair and eyed neatly typed reports, yellowed newspaper articles and snapshots. Robert Fisher always seemed to photograph well. A large man with thick, jet-black hair, intelligent brown eyes and a heavy-boned face, he cut an imposing figure—even in yellowed black-and-white clippings. Jake skimmed the report on Daniel’s suicide, and his stomach tightened. Daniel had been an investigator for the Portland police. He’d been assigned to the narcotics detail and had eventually followed a lead to Robert Fisher.
From what Jake learned later, Daniel had hoped to make a huge drug bust and expose Fisher, but it hadn’t worked out. Daniel had been found dead, from what appeared to be a self-inflicted overdose. Several kilos of cocaine, stolen from the police department’s evidence warehouse, had been found at his apartment along with a typed suicide note.
The ensuing scandal had rocked the very foundation of the police department.
Jake stared at the copy of the note included in Ron’s file, and hot rage burned in his gut. Daniel was clean. He’d never used drugs in his life. His body was clean—no needle marks. On top of all that, he wouldn’t have taken his own life.
There had been an investigation, of course, but it had been short and inconclusive and swept under the rug with the rest of the dirt that couldn’t be explained.
Jake had never bought the suicide theory. It just didn’t wash.
Ron ran a hand through his short blonde hair. “There’s no reason to dredge all this up again. It’s over, man.”
“Maybe not.” Jake flipped through the first few reports, his eyes scanned the sheets.
“What’re you on to?”
“Nothing as sordid as all this,” he replied, disgusted at the pile of dead ends that should have led to Fisher. “It’s a custody case. Fisher’s daughter.”
“What about her?”
“He’s making noise about wanting custody. His ex-wife doesn’t like the idea.”
“Don’t blame her.” He finished his beer, then took a final drag of his cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray. “Fisher doesn’t seem like the fatherly type,” he said in a cloud of blue smoke.
“He wasn’t. But for some reason he’s changed his mind.”
“Can he do that?”
Jake’s mouth turned into a thin, determined line. “Not if I can help it,” he said, sifting through the documents. The opportunity to thwart Robert Fisher was a stroke of luck, and the chance to help Kimberly made it all the more tantalizing.
He started to smile at the thought of her. Though he barely knew her, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind for the past couple of days.
“So, what’s she like?” Ron asked, lighting another cigarette and letting it burn neglected in the ashtray.
“Who?”
“Fisher’s ex.” Ron’s eyebrows elevated a fraction. “Young? Beautiful? Built?”
Jake’s gut tightened. “I suppose,” he evaded, refusing to think about Kimberly with the likes of Robert Fisher.
“Probably took him to the cleaners—if that’s possible.”
“Maybe, but I’m not sure about that.” Her car and some of her clothes were expensive, her house was little more than a cottage, vintage 1920 or so. And the documents he’d seen indicated she hadn’t stiffed Fisher for half of his vast property holdings or alimony. It appeared as if Kimberly had wanted out of the marriage—period. Unless she had a Swiss bank account or a stock portfolio hidden away somewhere, she seemed relatively middle-class.
Jake rolled his sleeves over his forearms, aware that he’d been lost in thought, and Ron was staring at him curiously. “She seems to think that Fisher was clean until Daniel started poking around.”
“No way.” Koski narrowed his eyes a fraction. “But it does seem that until then, he wasn’t in quite so deep. It’s been since Dan’s death that Fisher’s risen in the organization.”
“How do you figure that?”
Koski thought. “My guess is that someone killed Daniel and Fisher owed some big favors to keep his name out of it.” He glanced sharply at his friend. “I doubt that Fisher did the dirty work. He likes to keep his hands clean.”
Jake’s chest grew tight, and his mind wandered back to dangerous territory. “Doesn’t matter,” he said without much conviction. “Daniel’s dead.”
“And now you’re helping out Fisher’s wife.”
“Ex,” Jake reminded him. “There’s a big difference.”
Ron shrugged. “Have you met the kid?”
Jake nodded. “Five-year-old girl.”
“Too bad she’s caught up in all this.”
“Yeah,” Jake said, thinking of Lindsay’s laughing blue eyes and pixieish expression. She was beguiling, no doubt about it, but he wasn’t about to get too close to Robert Fisher’s child. Nor his ex-wife. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get to work.”
“Some of us already have been,” Ron said with a good-natured chuckle. “You know, when I talked to Brecken at the department, I got the feeling he wasn’t telling me everything.”
“He’s supposed to be discreet.”
Ron drew thoughtfully on his cigarette. “No, it was more than that,” he said. “I think he was being evasive.”
Jake’s head snapped up. “Meaning?”
Ron grinned. “I’ve known Brecken a long time. When he clams up, something’s going down. And I’ll bet you it has to do with our friend here.” He tapped a thick finger on the picture of Robert. “Ten to one, the police are on to him again.”
“You think he’s about to be nabbed?”
“Nah.” Ron stubbed out his cigarette. “I bet the police think they’re going to nail him again. There’s a big difference.”
Amen, Jake thought. Scowling, he sorted the information into stacks. It would take days to sift through everything, but he’d take the time. He owed it to himself and to Daniel. And to Kimberly, he told himself, surprised at the turn in his thoughts.
* * *
“You may kiss the bride!” The preacher’s words rang happily through the little chapel.
From the back pew Kimberly swallowed the lump in her throat. She watched Scott Donaldson lift the ivory-colored veil, uncovering Diane’s flushed face. Diane’s eyes were bright and blue, her cheeks rosy as she tilted her head back. Scott entwined his fingers in her blond, wreath-covered hair and lowered his head, taking her lips possessively with his.
A whisper of approval swept through the tiny chapel, and teary-eyed guests smiled.
Kimberly felt close to tears herself. It was obvious these people loved each other—Diane, nearly angelic in ivory silk, and Scott, tall and lean in his black tuxedo.
Jake sat at the far end of the pew in the back. He looked the part of the courtroom attorney in his stiff white shirt and dark tie.
His gaze shifted, and his steely eyes clashed with hers.
Then he smiled—a lazy, off-center grin that caused her heart to beat double-time.
The organist pounded on the keys, and the bridal march filled the chapel. The bride and groom strolled from the pulpit down a long wine-colored carpet and through the exterior doors. The guests followed suit.
Outside, mist gathered in the cool air, clinging to the blackened branches of the bare oak and maple trees that flanked the church.
Diane and Scott received guests on the chapel steps. Kimberly stood in line, waiting, and saw Jake, detached from the crowd, hands in his pockets, on the brick path leading to an ancient cemetery. He was studying her intensely, not bothering to hide the fact that he was staring. One cocky black brow rising in expectation as she moved closer. Kimberly met his gaze, forcing a thin smile and hoped to God that her accelerated pulse wasn’t visible in the hollow of her throat.
Storm clouds gathered overhead, and the wind picked up, catching in her skirt. Kimberly barely noticed, her attention was solely on Jake.
Suddenly she felt Diane’s hand on hers and forced her gaze back to the laughing eyes of her friend. “Congratulations,” Kimberly whispered, hugging her. “It was a wonderful ceremony.”
“Can you forgive me for bailing out on you?” Diane teased.
“No, but I’ve learned to live with that.” Kimberly felt her cheeks dimple. “But if there’s any way I can talk you and Scott into staying . . .”
The groom, overhearing her, laughed. “Not a prayer.”
“What can I say?” Diane rolled her eyes. “L.A. born and bred.”
Kimberly sighed. “Well, if you ever get tired of the warm weather, sunshine and beaches . . .”
“Don’t count on it,” Scott said with a chuckle.
“So, how’re things with you?” Diane asked, her smile replaced by sudden concern.
“Same as ever.”
“And Jake?” She motioned to the path where Jake was standing.
“He’s very concerned,” Kimberly allowed. “I think he’ll do a good job.”
“I know he will,” Diane said, squeezing her arm. Then she smiled again. “And admit it, he’s not too hard on the eyes.”
“Who isn’t? Me?” Scott asked, picking up on the tail end of the conversation.
“Only you, darling,” Diane deadpanned.
“Come on, you’ve got to meet Frankie and Paul. . . .”
The thunder rumbled over the hills, and Kimberly moved on, allowing other guests access to the bride and groom.
Kimberly glanced back to the path, but Jake had moved, had walked farther up the cracked old bricks to the cemetery. He stood, shoulder propped against the rough bark of an ancient cedar, his face trained toward the sea of weathered white tombstones. Hesitating only a second, she took off up the path, gathering her skirts in one hand so that they wouldn’t drag in the pools of standing water and mud.
His back to her, Jake shoved a hand through his hair. The wind played havoc with the branches overhead and tossed his hair back across his face.
Kimberly stopped behind him. “The rest of the party’s going on inside,” she said.
“What?” He turned quickly, and his expression was grim, his eyes dark and remote, as if he were caught in some private hell.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude—”
“You didn’t.” He forced a smile. His lips, thin and sensual, curved wryly, and his eyes glinted with silvery interest. Lightning sizzled across the dark sky.
“It’s not safe out here.” With a large hand on her shoulder, he drew her away from the protection of the leafy branches of the cedar tree until they stood beneath a weathered arbor, where rose vines, now only skeletal brambles, still clung to the latticework.
“Maybe we should go inside,” she whispered, suddenly breathless. She was all too aware of the warm palm against her shoulder, the tips of his fingers leaving hot impressions on her bare skin.
He glanced to the heavens as thunder rumbled again and electricity charged the air. It was late afternoon, but the day had turned suddenly dark as midnight. Rain started to fall, thick drops splattering against the ground. Instinctively he held her closer. One arm slid around her waist, offering the slight protection of his jacket. She was pressed against his body, hard and lean, and the scent of aftershave mingled with the fresh, rain-washed air.
His expression grew tender. Absurdly protective, and his eyes turned to quicksilver. Intuitively she knew he was about to kiss her, and she swallowed hard. Her hammering heart nearly fell to the rain-spattered bricks, and her breath was lost somewhere between her throat and lungs. She could see her own reflection in his eyes as he lowered his head, pulling her to him, crushing her against him. His lips slanted over hers for such possession, she couldn’t think, could do nothing but feel—the strength of him, the warmth of his mouth on hers, the sensual touch of his hands splayed across her back.
Her pulse skyrocketed. She closed her eyes and kissed him back. A few solitary raindrops slid down her neck to tingle already electrified skin.
Her lips parted willingly, and he kissed them, causing a shudder to pass through her. Her knees went weak.
Groaning, he lifted his head. His heavy-lidded gaze delved deep into her. “Oh, God, Kimberly,” he whispered against her hair. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No, don’t.” She couldn’t stand an apology. Not now. She didn’t want to think about a kiss filled with so much passion that her fingers still trembled in its aftermath. She forced a smile. “A few nights ago, you helped me.”
His mouth quirked. “So it’s payback time?”
“You looked like you could use a friend.”
“Thank you.” The sadness in his eyes disappeared. “I do. Is this how you treat all your friends, Ms. Bennett?” he asked.
Laughing, she shook her head. “Only very special friends.”
Thunder cracked again, and the rain began in earnest, slanting persistently downward. Jake grabbed her hand and started back to the reception hall just off the chapel. Half-running to keep up with him, her skirt bunched in one hand, she dashed down the brick path to the reception hall.
Inside, the party was in full swing. Most of the guests had already convened in the softly lighted room. Candles, their flames quivering, graced long linen-clad tables, and flowers filled the hall with the delicate fragrances of rose and carnation. Floor-to-ceiling windows glowed with the reflection of the candlelight as bejeweled guests clustered in small groups.
Jake poured them each some champagne. She watched the raindrops bead in his hair. She couldn’t deny the physical attraction she felt for him and wondered what she could do about it. She wasn’t in the market for a man, and this man, the man representing her, was the last person she could get involved with. Whatever happened, it was important that she keep his objectivity in the custody case.
He offered her a glass. “To Diane and Scott?” he said, holding his glass aloft.
Kimberly nodded, glad he hadn’t said “To us.” There could be no “us.” She clinked the rim of her tall glass to his, then stared through the paned windows to the murky Willamette River as it rolled slowly northward.
The door burst open, and Diane and Scott stepped into the room. Laughing gaily, they shook rain from their hair and suffered good-naturedly through the rites of the newly married. Together they managed to slice the three-tiered cake, feed each other a gooey, frosting-laden piece and, with arms entwined, drink champagne from the engraved silver cups.
“Barbaric ritual, isn’t it?” Jake joked.
Kimberly laughed, relaxing a little as Diane tossed her bouquet of roses, baby’s breath and carnations high into the air. The beribboned flowers landed squarely in a young girl’s hands, and she squealed in delight.
“You should have tried to catch it,” Jake said. “It’s lucky.”
“Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it,” Kimberly replied.
“Uh-oh, that sounds a little cynical, Ms. Bennett.”
“Just judging from experience.”
“So, don’t tell me you’ve given up on the institution of marriage.”
“Not for everyone,” she replied. “Just for me.” She eyed him over the rim of her champagne glass. “And what about you?”
“Once is more than enough,” he agreed.
“No need to have a wife serve your every whim—wash your floors, scratch your back, clean your Porsche?”
His eyes flashed. “You applying for the job?”
“No.”
“Good, ’cause I don’t have a Porsche. But I think you deserve a consolation prize.”
“For what?”
“Not catching the bouquet. Here . . .” Reaching with his free hand, he plucked a long-stemmed white rose from a basket overflowing with blue and white flowers. “For you,” he said, his voice husky, his eyes bright.
“Don’t you think Diane will mind?”
“Diane owes me.”
“Funny, that’s what she says about you.”
“Ha! But I’m paying off my debt.” His eyes glinted. “Besides, I think Diane’s too wrapped up in Scott to notice one flower.”
Kimberly accepted the fragile flower.
From a corner near a broad bank of windows, tuxedoed musicians tuned up. As the soft notes of the anniversary waltz filled the room, Mr. and Mrs. Scott Donaldson danced together for the first time as man and wife.
“Shall we join them?” Jake asked, cocking his head toward the dance floor. Flickering candlelight reflected in his sable-brown hair.
She glanced at her watch. “I really should be going . . .” But she felt the glass being lifted from her fingers, and then she was swung gracefully onto the shiny patina of the dance floor, joining Scott and Diane and a few of the braver guests.
She hadn’t danced in years, but Jake made following the strains of the waltz easy. His strong arms wrapped comfortably around her waist, and his body, hard and lean, pressed intimately against hers.
He gazed down at her, his eyes sparkling from the candlelight, his breath whispering through her hair.
Though the room was filled with guests, she didn’t notice anyone or anything but Jake and the central power of his embrace. He pulled her even closer, so close that her breasts were crushed against his chest and her thighs pressed intimately against his. One of his hands splayed possessively across the small of her back.
The fragrance of rose and carnations filled her nostrils as she closed her eyes to sway still closer to him. Though a thousand voices in her mind screamed “beware,” she didn’t heed one of them.
His gaze, dark with passion, drove deep into hers, and she shivered, not from cold, but from the tingle of electricity that swept up her spine.
This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. She was feeling like a teenager again, thrilling to this man’s touch when he was the last man in the world she should be attracted to.
The dance ended and she stepped out of his arms. “I really have to go,” she said, reaffirming the notion to herself.
“The party’s just begun, and I think we could have fun,” he persuaded.
She was tempted, but knew in her heart she couldn’t get entangled with him. “Really. I have to get back. Arlene’s got Lindsay and she’s probably already waiting for me.” Forcing a smile and still holding the single white rose, she turned to leave before she did something brash like change her mind and stay with him.
His brow knit in frustration, Jake stared after her, watching her escape—for that’s what it seemed to be. Her mahogany-colored hair billowed away from her face, and her silky gown shimmered as she dashed through the door.
Just like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, he thought furiously, his fists clenched as he shoved them into his pockets.
He wanted to follow her. There was something about her that challenged him—something that touched him in a way he’d never been touched before. “You’re imagining it,” he told himself as the band started playing a lively pop tune.
He stared through the windows, saw her sidestep the puddles of the parking lot, her slim legs moving quickly, the wind catching in her hair. A jagged flash of lightning illuminated her face—a beautiful face that was fierce with determination one second, only to melt into sensual invitation the next.
He wondered if there was another man in her life, but discarded the idea. He’d felt her respond when he’d kissed her so impulsively. That was a decided mistake. Kissing Robert Fisher’s ex-wife, for God’s sake. What’s gotten into you, McGowan?
She drove out of the lot, and another car, a white station wagon, pulled away from the curb at the same time. Jake had caught only a glance of the driver when Diane nudged him on the shoulder.
“So—I see you’re getting along well with your new client?” She tried to hide a smile and failed. Her blue eyes danced, and Jake felt as if he’d been conned.
A waiter carrying a silver tray passed by, and Jake reached for another glass of champagne. “Don’t tell me this is another one of your feeble attempts at matchmaking, Dr. Welby.”
“It’s Donaldson now—remember that,” she warned. “And it didn’t look so feeble to me. Besides, she needs your help.”
“Both of you keep saying that.”
Diane’s eyes lost their mischievous sparkle, and she grew serious. “I shouldn’t have to explain to you about the fear of losing a child.”
Jake stiffened as if to protect himself.
“And you could help her, you know, and get back at Robert Fisher at the same time. Kill two birds with one stone.”
Jake’s head snapped up. “You told her about Daniel?”
Diane shook her head. “Of course not. It’s not my business.” Her blue eyes clouded, and she touched the side of his face. “But I wish there were a way you could lay him to rest.”
“I will,” Jake bit out as Diane, spying Scott across the room, threaded her way back to her groom.
Eventually, he supposed, he’d have to tell Kimberly about his relationship with Daniel. And he’d have to do it before he lost his head and got involved with her.
He took a long swallow of champagne and stared out the window, wondering what to do about her. If he were scrupulous, he’d lay his cards on the table, tell her everything that was going on, admit that he was Daniel Steven’s half-brother and that he didn’t want to get involved emotionally with any woman—especially a woman who had a child and had once been married to Robert Fisher. He’d also have to tell her that he wanted her.
Unfortunately it seemed lately that scruples weren’t his long suit.