Christmas Cover-up

He heard the rising panic in her voice and tried to reassure her. “It’s okay. You did everything you could.”

“Danny is going to be so disappointed in me. I didn’t even get the license plate on the getaway car.”

Her former stepfather. Danny Mason. He was the reason Cody had come to this party.

Shortly after Danny was elected mayor, Cody had received a manila envelope marked Personal and Confidential. Inside was a green shamrock tiepin, similar to the one his father had been wearing on the day he’d died. There was also a folded bumper sticker in red, white and blue that said, Danny Mason—Building a Better Denver. The implication? Danny knew something about his father’s murder. Cody intended to follow this lead.

Going to the police was a waste of time. They didn’t have the manpower to reopen a twenty-year-old case. Nor could Cody march up to the new mayor and start asking pointed questions.

When Rue had introduced herself, he’d seen his opportunity. If he got closer to her, he’d get closer to Danny.

Her eyebrows pinched in a frown. “The gunman did the strangest thing after he shot Bob. He dropped his weapon. Just left it there. Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know.”

The ambulance arrived and two paramedics raced toward her van. He gave her arm a squeeze and helped her to her feet. “I think we should have the EMTs take a look at you.”

“I didn’t hurt myself,” she protested. “I know how to handle a weapon. Danny taught me.”

Speaking of the devil, Danny Mason was coming toward them. In spite of the chill, the sleeves of his green shirt were rolled up to the elbow. He had the forearms of a bricklayer. Or a boxer. If Cody remembered correctly, Danny had once been a Golden Gloves middleweight contender, and he’d stayed in shape. His dark-red hair swept back from a concerned forehead. Though his focus was on Rue, his gaze darted, taking in every detail. He might be mayor, but his cop instincts were still in force.

As he folded Rue into an embrace, he scowled at Cody. “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

“We just met.” Cody wasn’t intimidated. “I intend to see more of your former stepdaughter.”

“Is that so?”

“Dinner on Saturday.” Cody named the most romantic restaurant he could think of. “Chez Mona.”

Rue turned her head toward him. “I’ve been dying to go there. They have a new chef.”

“I’ve met him.”

She wriggled out of Danny’s embrace and came back toward Cody. “If I could get Chez Mona to serve some of my pastries, my business would take off.”

“I can’t make any promises,” he said. “We’ll talk to the chef.”

“Hey,” Danny interrupted. Like all politicians, he hated being ignored. “This isn’t a dating service.”

“I know,” Rue said crisply. “I was almost killed.”

“That’s not the way I heard the story,” Danny said. “You chased after the shooter. Damn it, Rue. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I did what I thought was right.” She stood up straighter, stretching her height to maybe five feet, four inches. “It’s like you always used to tell me. Sometimes you have to use your weapon to fight the bad guys.”

She must have touched a nerve because Danny looked surprised. “Did I say that?”

“Frequently,” she assured him. “You always told me to aim at the midsection. The largest target.”

Though she looked as innocent as a newborn fawn, she didn’t seem to have any trouble standing up for herself. Cody was beginning to be intrigued by this sweet little cake-baker with a backbone of tempered steel.

A second ambulance parked at the end of the driveway as the first team finished loading Carlos the bodyguard into the rear and pulled away.

“Will Carlos be all right?” she asked.

“Should be.” Danny squinted after the ambulance. “One bullet to the thigh.”

“And Mr. Lindahl? Is he…”

“Dead,” Danny said. “It was fast. There was nothing you could have done to save him.”

“Three bullets in the chest,” Cody said. “Sounds like a professional hit.”

“Let’s leave the investigating up to the police,” Danny said coldly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on my stepdaughter. I’ll take it from here.”

Cody wouldn’t allow himself to be so easily brushed aside. Rue was his ticket to the inner circle, and he wasn’t going to let her get away. “It’s no problem,” he said as he took her arm. “I’ll be happy to escort you over to the ambulance so the EMTs can take a look at you.”

“Really,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering like a leaf in the wind.” He turned up the charm. With a smile calculated to melt butter, he leaned close and whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

Though he recognized suspicion in her gaze, she was too disoriented to object. She trusted him to walk toward the ambulance. Later, she might trust him enough to tell him the family secrets.

TWO HOURS LATER Rue stood alone at the window of a professionally decorated parlor and looked out at the cul-de-sac in front of Bob Lindahl’s house. It was almost five o’clock, and the sun had begun its descent behind the mountains. Streaks of gold colored the sky and glimmered on the faded lawn and shrubs. The bare branches of a honey locust danced in the winter breeze. If there hadn’t been five police cars and a television van parked farther down the street, this view might have been serene.

Most of the other cars were gone. The guests had been interviewed and sent home. The caterer and his crew had packed up and left. She hadn’t seen Cody Berringer leave, and she found herself hoping that he was still here.

Though she had no explanation for why he was so concerned about her, she liked his attention. Who wouldn’t? With his black hair and blue eyes, he was every woman’s dream date. Protecting her seemed to come naturally to him.

With her fingers, she twirled a long curl. Her hair hung loose past her shoulders. After the paramedics had checked her out, she’d run a brush through her hair and splashed water on her face. Though she’d taken off her burgundy apron, she still wore the bloodstained white blouse and black slacks.

Repeatedly, Rue had spoken to various homicide detectives and given her story so many times that the sequence of events was permanently imprinted in her brain. The image that stuck with her was Uncle Bob on his knees with his chest covered in blood.

Danny told her that one of the bullets had punctured his heart. A direct hit. He also told her that the gunman had gotten away without a trace—except for the murder weapon, which he so thoughtfully had left behind.

The door to the parlor opened and Danny stepped inside. He had his campaign manager with him. Jerome Samuels was an athletic-looking blond guy in his thirties whom she’d known since childhood. Politically savvy and ambitious, Jerome was looking forward to being appointed to an important position when Danny took the oath of office.

He gave her a calculated but friendly grin. “You ought to be able to leave in just a few minutes.”

“Good.”

“Here’s the deal,” Danny said. “I want you to come home with me, Rue.”

“Why?”

“Bob Lindahl’s murder looks like a professional hit, and you’re a witness.” Danny never sugarcoated the truth. “Somebody might come after you.”

“I can’t identify him. He wore sunglasses and the hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up. I didn’t even see his hair color.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Danny said. “I have plenty of security at my house.”

There was also a new wife and her young children from a previous marriage who wouldn’t be thrilled to have Rue as a guest. “I have to work,” she said.

“Someone else can do it.”

“No way. I make custom cakes. They’re unique.” Her business was brand-new, and she had a reputation to build. “I have to decorate these cakes myself.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Nothing new about that,” Jerome added.

Usually, she didn’t mind Jerome’s teasing, but he’d changed, taken on an air of self-importance that matched his designer suit and solid-gold wristwatch. Plus she was in no mood to be pushed around. “I’m going home to my house. And that’s final.”

“Think again,” Jerome advised.

“My mind is made up, Jerry.”

He hated being called Jerry. His full name—Jerome—had dignity. Jerry was a cartoon character. His upper lip curled in disgust. “You sound like your mother, Ruth Ann.”

Low blow. Her mother had called three times and was on her way here. “Not even close, Jerry. But you might want to brace yourself.”

“Why?”

“She’s on her way. Ought to be here any minute.”

She turned toward the window again and looked out as a familiar car pulled up and parked. The driver’s-side door flung open and a well-dressed woman burst out. “Speak of the devil. It’s Mom.”

“Your mother?” Danny’s voice sounded as if his lungs were being squeezed in a vise. He turned to Jerome. “See if you can stop her.”

Attempting to control Rue’s mother was like commanding a hurricane to turn the other way. She didn’t envy Jerome.

“She’s not going to listen to me,” he said.

He was well-acquainted with Leticia Grant-Harris-Mason-Lopez-Jones-Wyndemere. Adding to his woes, Rue said, “She’s married to a judge now. If she doesn’t get what she wants, she’ll take you to court.”

“Aw, hell,” Danny muttered. “Might as well get this over with. Come with me, Rue.”

They left the parlor and went down the hallway to a grand foyer with marble floors, a sweeping staircase and an ornate crystal chandelier. A couple of the plainclothes detectives were talking to Cody Berringer. As soon as Cody spotted her, he moved to her side.

In spite of everything that was going on—the cops, the danger, the murder—Cody’s nearness ignited a happy little spark inside her. When he took her hand, the flicker became a warm glow.

The front door swung open and her mother stalked inside. Her blond-streaked hair swept back from her forehead. Her crimson silk blouse and black wool suit outlined a slender, expensively maintained figure. She went directly to Danny and confronted him. “I told Ruth Ann that it was a mistake to bake cakes for your party.”

“It should have been a good opportunity,” Danny said.

“Nothing good ever came from Bob Lindahl.” Her blue eyes scanned the opulent foyer. “Although I’ve got to admit that this house is impressive.”

Rue could almost hear the cash register in her mother’s head ringing up the cost of the chandelier and the oil paintings on the walls. Leticia had a sensible appreciation for the bottom line.

She held out her arms. “Oh, Ruth Ann. If anything had happened to you—” Her voice choked off. Her eyes welled. Tears? That was so out of character. Her mother never cried.

Leticia pulled her into a ferocious embrace that went on long enough for Rue to begin to feel a little uncomfortable. Then Leticia held her at arm’s length, studied her and frowned. “Is that blood on your sleeves?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Why are you still wearing that shirt?” She swung back toward Danny. “Couldn’t you find her some clean clothing?”

Cody stepped forward. “You’re right, Mrs. Wyndemere. Rue needs to get home and change clothes. She’s had one hell of a rough day.”

Leticia surveyed him from head to toe. “Who are you?”

“Cody Berringer.”

As he shook her hand, she said, “I’ve heard of you. You work at T&T. Taylor and Tomlinson.”

“That’s correct.”

“A very successful firm,” she said.

Rue wasn’t in the least bit surprised that her mother knew of Cody. Leticia had an encyclopedic knowledge of Denver’s social scene. It was part of her job as a wedding planner—a skill she’d developed when planning her own five marriages.

“And you’re Judge Wyndemere’s wife,” Cody said.

“Small world.” The barest hint of a smile touched her mother’s lips. “How do you know Ruth Ann?”

“We’re going to dinner on Saturday. At Chez Mona.”

Hoping to head off any questions about how long she’d been dating Cody, Rue said, “I’m tired. I’d like to leave now.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom. This is nobody’s fault. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The wrong place.” Leticia shot another glare at Danny. “What kind of mayor are you going to be? You can’t even keep your own stepdaughter safe.”

“We had plenty of security at this event. Bodyguards. Four of the top cops in the city.”

“And a lot of good it did.” She jabbed an accusing finger. “You and Bob used to always get into trouble together. And your other cop buddy, Mike Blanco. Oh, I remember—you called yourselves the three amigos. The three stooges is more like it.”

Rue tightened her grip on her mother’s hand, hoping to rein her in. “It’s okay, Mom. Calm down.”

“I’m taking you home with me, Ruth Ann.”

Danny cleared his throat. “It’s best if she comes with me. I have better security at my house.”

“Why does she need security? Is she in danger?”

Before they could get into a discussion of profes sional hit men, Rue said, “I’m not going home with you, Mom. Or with Danny. I have my own place.”

“Half a duplex in the middle of town,” her mother said disparagingly. “Crime central.”

“Is it? I never saw anybody killed until I came out here to the suburbs.” She looked toward the homicide detective who stood near the door. “Are we done here?”

The detective nodded. “I’ll be in touch. We need to schedule a time for you to look through mug shots.”

It went without saying that she’d do anything to help their investigation. “I’ll call first thing in the morning.”

“There’s one more thing,” the detective said. “Don’t talk to the media. We need to control the flow of information.”

She nodded. “Do you have the keys to my van?”

“I’m sorry, Miss. Forensics is still going over your vehicle. There might be trace evidence.”

Swell. “That kind of leaves me stranded, Detective.”

Cody stepped forward. “I’ll give you a ride.”

My hero. Once again, he was coming to her rescue. “Thank you.”

She’d go home, get a good night’s sleep and try to forget that she’d had a front-row seat at a professional assassination. She wanted to banish the image of Bob Lindahl, bloody and dying, into the dark recesses of her mind where she locked away all her other bad memories—all those things that were better left unsaid.

Chapter Three

Rue leaned back against the smooth leather seat in Cody’s Mercedes sedan. Compared to the way she bounced along in her cake van, this was like riding on a thick, luxurious, heavenly cloud. If that were true, then Cody must be an angel. Yeah, right.

She wasn’t that naive. Though she hadn’t figured out why Cody was being so attentive to her, there had to be an ulterior motive.

Her gaze slid to the left, and she studied him. His dark-gray suit jacket fitted perfectly. On the cuff of his white shirt, she saw a monogram. These were expensive clothes, tailor-made. Definitely not the flowing robes of an angel.

And he was devilishly handsome. Shadows outlined his cheekbones and chiseled jawline. A lock of black hair fell across his forehead.

He adjusted one of the dials on the dashboard. “Warm enough for you? Should I turn up the heat?”

“It’s fine.” She’d slipped on her black suede jacket over her shirt and slacks. “Nice wheels.”

“Six years old and still running like a charm. One of my brothers is a mechanic.”

“One of them?” And he’d already mentioned a sister. “How many kids in your family?”

“Five. Three boys and two girls. And I’ve already got six, no, seven nephews and nieces. I’m the oldest.”

“Figures. You act like a big brother.”

“How’s that?”

“Bossy.”

“My brothers and sisters would probably agree with you,” he said. “How many siblings do you have?”

She’d need a calculator to figure out the complexities of her many blended families. There were stepbrothers and stepsisters and other children—like Danny’s new stepchildren. Did they count as relations? “Genetically, I’m my mother’s only child.”

“Lucky.”

Though his grin probably wasn’t meant to be sexy, the curve of his mouth elevated her core temperature. God help her, she wanted to kiss him.

To keep herself from grabbing his shoulders and planting a big wet one on his sexy mouth, she laced her fingers in her lap. “Just in case Danny is right and there’s a professional hit man after me, how’s this Mercedes in a high-speed chase?”

“Might be fun to find out.”

“You probably won’t get a chance tonight.” She glanced over her shoulder through the back window. A police cruiser was following them to her duplex in the heart of Denver. “We’ve got a cop escort.”

“When are they bringing your van?”

“Tomorrow.” Not having transportation was inconvenient but manageable. “It’s only five blocks from my house to the shop. I can walk.”

“Not alone.” His clipped tone indicated his disapproval. “That’s a real bad idea.”

“Oh, please. I’m not really in danger.”

“You don’t want to believe anything bad is going to happen,” he said. “Always hoping for the best. The eternal optimist.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being positive. What’s the alternative?”

“Thinking clearly.” At a stoplight, he turned toward her. “Seriously, Rue. Look at the facts.”

“Fine,” she said. “Even if that alleged professional hit man intends to come after me, how would he know where to find me? How would he know who I am?”

“You were wearing an apron with Ruth Ann’s Cakes written across the front. Kind of a big clue.”

“True, but—”

“You chased after him,” he pointed out. “You fired a gun at his car.”

“Okay, he might be ticked off, but—”

“We’re talking about a stone-cold killer. Somebody who placed a direct shot in the victim’s heart. Somebody you don’t take risks with.”

Unfortunately, everything he said made sense. He concluded with, “Therefore, you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“Maybe not.” But she couldn’t bring herself to stay at Danny’s house where she’d be an unwanted intruder with his new family. And her mother lived forty minutes away from her shop—time that Rue didn’t want to spend commuting back and forth.

She directed him the last few blocks through the older part of Denver near St. Luke’s Hospital. In this up-and-coming neighborhood, several of the old mansions had been refurbished as offices, apartments or condos. There was a pride in ownership. Many houses were already decorated with Christmas lights. The four-story condo building on the corner had a neon sleigh and reindeer above the entrance. She pointed out her home, and he parked.

The streetlight reflected off her front window. Two crab apple trees marked the property line between her one-story, blond-brick duplex and the house next door.

As soon as she stepped onto the curb, the two uniformed officers from the cruiser that had followed them came toward her. Their hands rested on the holsters clipped to their belts. “We’ll accompany you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But you don’t have to kick the door down or anything. I have a key.”

Surrounded by two of Denver’s finest and tall, broad-shouldered Cody Berringer, Rue should have felt safe. But she sensed danger. Could almost smell it. It was like something left too long on the burner.

The exterior of her house looked the same as when she’d left this morning at dawn to work on the cakes for Danny’s party. She’d cranked open the miniblinds on the front window so her houseplants would get some sun, and they were still open. No lights shone from the inside.

On the porch, she realized she wouldn’t need her key. The red-painted door was ajar. Her home had been broken into. Her premonition of danger became reality.

A jolt of fear hyped up her senses. Behind the trunk of the crab apple tree, she saw a hiding place for a man with a gun. The wind through the shrubs whispered a warning. The rush of traffic from Eighteenth Street sounded like an approaching army.

The two officers reacted immediately. One on each side, they rushed her to their patrol cruiser and shoved her into the backseat. Cody was beside her.

“What’s happening?” Her voice trembled.

“They’re making sure you’re safe,” Cody said as he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Calling for backup before they enter the house.”

She clung to the unraveling threads of her self-control. Already today, she’d fallen apart in this man’s arms. Not again. Damn it, not again. She wanted to touch him, but not like this. Not in fear. “This isn’t fair. Why is this happening to me?”

“You said it yourself, Rue. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Police sirens converged on her neighborhood. Her home! Two more patrol cars pulled up at the curb. The officers poured out, guns drawn. It was like watching an action-adventure movie from inside the screen.

She swallowed her fear. “I guess this settles it. I won’t be staying at my house tonight.”

“Where will you go?”

No idea. There were friends she could call. And people who worked at her shop. But the break-in meant somebody really was after her, and she didn’t want to put a friend in danger. “I could get a motel room.”

Very gently, he touched her chin and turned her face toward him. “Come home with me.”

Her first instinct was to throw herself into his arms and shower him with grateful kisses. But the sane part of her mind objected. She barely knew Cody. “I couldn’t.”

“I live in a high-rise with a twenty-four-hour-a-day doorman and surveillance cameras. And I have an extra bedroom. And it’s not far from here.”

She didn’t understand his motivations. He’d already gone well beyond polite support. He was acting as if he really cared about her. “Why are you being so nice?”

“Call it the Christmas spirit.”

“Thank you.” She might regret this later, but right now, staying with Cody sounded like the best alternative. “And when this is over, I’m going to bake you such a huge cake. Big enough for your whole family.”

“Not the low-fat recipe,” he said.

“Pure cream and butter and imported chocolate.”

On the street, a swarm of uniforms approached her front door. She saw an officer escort the people who lived in the other half of the duplex, a young African-American couple, to safety. She owed them a cake, too.

If she dumped enough sugar and flour on this situation, it would have to get better.

AS HE UNLOCKED the door to his seventeenth-floor condo, Cody wondered if he’d gone too far in offering to let her stay at his place. Asking her for a date had been an expedient means to an end—getting close to Danny. That should have been enough. Instead, he’d waited until she was done with her police interviews. Then he’d driven her home. Now she was here at his condo. Step by step, he was proceeding down a path that wasn’t part of his agenda.

The honest truth—something he tried to consider as little as possible—was that he liked being with her. She was quirky and made unexpected moves. Her lack of polish was refreshing.

She dropped her overnight bag and walked across the carpet into the sunken living room, then skipped up the stair to the wall of windows overlooking the lights of Denver and the mountains beyond.

“The penthouse,” she said. “Classy.”

In spite of everything that had happened to her in the past hours, she beamed a wide grin. Most women would be fearful and traumatized, but not Rue.

“You’re handling this well,” he said.

“No point in dwelling on something that can’t be fixed.”

“Your house was trashed. And you’re not scared?”

“When you grow up like I did, moving around and changing families, you learn how to keep your problems to yourself.”

She sure as hell didn’t look like a woman of mystery, but she was an enigma. He wanted to know her secrets and to find out what made her tick.