Secret Admirer

Eve lifted her brows. “Smart? Discriminating?”

Over D’Angelo’s shoulder, she saw Tony grin. Their eyes met again in the mirror over the bar, and a thrill went through Eve. They’d shared something just then, she and Tony. Maybe it wasn’t exactly bonding, but it was close. And that it had come at Vic D’Angelo’s expense was particularly gratifying.

In the mirror, Eve saw Clare Foxx making her way through the crowd toward them. When she approached the bar, D’Angelo moved down to make room for her. “Lieutenant,” he said amiably.

“Vic,” Clare greeted him.

“Buy you a drink?”

“Boilermaker,” she said, glancing at Tony.

Clare had taken off her jacket, and the filmy gray blouse revealed a matching lace camisole underneath. She looked very sexy. Very available. Her cloying perfume was almost an overt invitation, and D’Angelo wasn’t about to pass it up. But Eve wasn’t at all sure the scent was for D’Angelo’s benefit.

When the shot glass and mug came, he handed her the former, saluting her with his own drink. “Here’s to fast cars and loose women.”

“Here’s to men with big…mouths,” Clare said, then tipped her head back and killed the whiskey.

D’Angelo handed her the beer chaser. “So what brings you down here, Lieutenant? I wouldn’t have thought this dump was exactly your style.”

Clare shrugged. “I don’t mind slumming once in a while.” She winked at Eve. “I just don’t like to make a habit of it. Isn’t that right, Tony?”

He glanced up. “Sure, Clare. Whatever you say.”

Eve got the distinct impression he hadn’t been listening to any of their conversation. His mind was a million miles away.

Clare was not a woman who liked to be ignored. She leaned toward Tony, touching a hand to his sleeve. “So how did the call go this afternoon?”

Before he could reply, Eve said quickly, “I told the lieutenant about the call you went out on earlier. The possible homicide down on Burley Street.”

His eyes narrowed. He had no idea what she was talking about. “Yeah. Right.”

“So how did it go?” Clare pressed. “When am I going to see your report?”

“Damnedest thing,” Tony said. “Turned out to be a false alarm.”

“A false alarm,” Clare said suspiciously.

“Yeah. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Right now, though, I need to make a phone call.”

Eve saw him move toward the back of the bar, stopping to talk with a man in an expensive-looking suit and a woman with flaming red hair.

Eve recognized the woman immediately. Fiona Gallagher had been several years behind Eve in school, but her distinctive red hair and flamboyant personality had made her well known and liked even in the higher echelons at St. Anne’s. Eve had always admired Fiona’s easygoing personality.

She excused herself from Clare and D’Angelo, who hardly seemed to notice her departure. They were talking in low tones, and Eve could have sworn she felt something akin to sexual vibrations emanating from the two of them. Had she been wrong about Clare’s intentions? Was something going on between her and D’Angelo?

Going into the ladies’ room, Eve washed and dried her hands, then ran a comb through her hair and touched up her lipstick. Staring at herself in the mirror, she tried to see what Tony saw when he looked at her. Straight, shoulder-length brown hair, hazel eyes, nice smile thanks to the braces. Nice figure, but nothing extraordinary.

She looked a little uptight, Eve decided, and wished she’d left her jacket in the car. Removing it now would be a little too obvious, so she settled for unbuttoning her beige blouse a couple of notches. Then, feeling ridiculous, she quickly redid the buttons.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Fiona Gallagher walked in. Now here was a woman who knew how to dress, Eve thought enviously, taking in Fiona’s slim black pants and white tailored shirt.

Fiona smiled at Eve’s reflection. “It’s Eve, isn’t it? Eve Barrett?”

Eve turned and smiled. “Hi, Fiona. It’s been a long time.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve changed so much.”

“You haven’t,” Eve blurted, then added quickly, “I meant that in a good way.”

Fiona laughed good-naturedly. “Even if you didn’t, it’s true. Not much you can change about this mop and all these freckles. Speaking of which, what happened to yours?”

Eve shrugged. “They’ve faded somewhat. I don’t get out in the sun much these days.”

“Whatever you’re doing is working,” Fiona said graciously. “You look great. No wonder Tony couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

“I doubt it’s for the reason you think.” Eve turned back to the mirror to redo her lipstick even though she’d just applied it. When she couldn’t get it quite right, she gave up and dropped the gold tube back into her purse. “He’s not exactly wild to have me as a partner.”

Fiona sighed. “Don’t let him get to you. Sometimes I think he tries to see how far away he can push people, including his own family. It’s just a defense mechanism, though. A way to keep from getting hurt again.” For a moment, she looked as if she might have said more than she meant to. Then she shrugged. “He’s had some tough blows.”

Eve said quickly, “I know about Ashley. I remember how close they were.”

“It’ll soon be eight years since she died. Every year I keep thinking it’ll get better for Tony, but when the anniversary rolls around…” Fiona trailed off, then added softly, “Maybe one of these days the right person will come along and make him realize Ashley wasn’t the only woman in the world for him. Maybe she wasn’t even the right woman.”

“Maybe,” Eve said doubtfully.

“And maybe I talk too much,” Fiona acknowledged ruefully. “So come on.” She took Eve’s hand. “I’ll introduce you to the new man in my life. He’s pretty yummy, if I do say so myself.”

Eve gave her reflection one last glance as Fiona’s words echoed inside her head. Maybe she wasn’t even the right woman.

Right, Eve thought. And the winters in Chicago were always balmy.

TONY SAW FIONA COME OUT of the bathroom with Eve firmly in tow. Eve looked a little disconcerted, as if she didn’t quite know what had hit her. But that was Fiona’s MO all right. A regular little bulldozer when she had something up her sleeve.

She dragged Eve over to David, who was chalking his pool cue. “David MacKenzie, I’d like you to meet Eve Barrett. Tony’s new partner.”

David’s brows shot up as he glanced from Eve to Tony and then back again. “Nice to meet you, Eve. And my condolences.”

“Those were Nick’s words exactly,” Eve told him.

“Which goes to show how well we both know Tony.” David flashed her a charming grin, and Eve could immediately see why Fiona was so taken with him. David MacKenzie was indeed yummy. And he smelled wonderful. Expensive.

“Look, you two let someone else have the pool table, and let’s all grab a table,” Fiona instructed them. “I’m dying to catch up with Eve.”

“Catch up?” David gamely handed his cue to the next person in line.

“We all grew up in the same neighborhood,” Fiona explained. “Eve’s dad still lives only a few blocks over from Mom and Gram.”

Tony didn’t say a word until Fiona had laid claim to a table. “I think I left my drink at the bar.”

“I’ll get a fresh round,” David said magnanimously. “What’ll you ladies have?”

“Boilermaker.” Fiona shot Tony a defiant glance.

“She’ll have a beer,” Tony said darkly. When his sister started to protest, he snapped, “I’m not carrying you out of here again, Fiona.”

Instead of a retort, she actually blushed. “Make it a Guinness,” she told David.

He winked at her. “Don’t worry. I’d be happy to carry you out of here. Have a boilermaker if you like. Have two.”

“Are you trying to get her drunk, MacKenzie?” Tony asked grimly. “Because if you are—”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, Tony, lighten up. David’s your best friend. If you can’t trust him with your sister, who can you trust?”

“Yeah, Tony, if you can’t trust me with your sister, who can you trust?” David taunted with a grin as he turned to get the drinks.

“What the hell are you trying to do?” Fiona demanded the minute David was out of earshot. “Scare him off? I finally get him to notice me after all these years, and you pull that overprotective big brother routine on me? Just for that, I ought to get hammered,” she grumbled. “I ought to get falling down, sloppy, puking drunk so that you have to baby-sit me all night. It’d serve you right.”

Tony gave Eve a long-suffering look. “See what you got yourself into tonight?”

Eve shrugged. “Beats staying home.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he muttered.

Vic D’Angelo ambled over with two mugs of beer. He sat one before Eve and the other in front of Tony. “Compliments of the lieutenant.”

Eve glanced toward the bar. “Where is she?”

“Had to make an early night of it.” D’Angelo clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “To tell you the truth, this place is not exactly Clare’s style these days. She likes a little more class.”

Eve half expected Tony to knock D’Angelo’s hand off his shoulder, but instead he picked up the beer, took a long swallow, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He lifted the half-empty mug to D’Angelo. “Have a drink, D’Angelo. You don’t strike me as the type of guy who minds leftovers.”

D’Angelo’s face contorted with anger. For a moment, Eve thought he might do something stupid, like start a fight, but then he pulled off a cocky grin and raked Eve with a smoldering glare. “We’ll see who ends up with the leftovers, Cowboy.”

Eve shivered and Fiona gasped. “The nerve of him! Did you see the way he looked at Eve?”

Tony said, very deliberately, “Excuse me.”

Fiona grabbed his hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He lifted a brow. “To the bathroom. Is that okay with you?”

“Just…don’t start any trouble.”

“A nice guy like me?” He gave Eve a glance before he disappeared.

David brought the drinks right after Tony left. “Where’s he off to?”

“Don’t ask,” Fiona mumbled.

“Here,” David said, handing her a shot glass and a mug. “I brought you a boilermaker. Kill it quick, before he comes back.”

Fiona giggled. “There’s nothing I like better than pulling one over on Tony.”

“You and me both,” David agreed, distributing the remaining drinks. “How about you, Eve? Sure you don’t want something stronger than beer? Might make working with Tony a little easier on the nerves.”

David was a nice guy, and Fiona was a lot of fun, but Eve suddenly felt uncomfortable sitting at the same table with them. It wasn’t just because the makings of a romance were stirring, either. Like Clare and D’Angelo, Fiona and David were sending off unmistakable vibes, but that wasn’t the source of Eve’s uneasiness. It was her urge to defend Tony that worried her. Her desire to plant herself firmly and squarely in his corner.

And considering her assignment, that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

TONY WAITED FOR EVE outside. He leaned against his car and watched the night people come and go—the drunks, the lovers, a homeless man shuffling down the sidewalk.

He was tired tonight, almost indescribably weary, though he couldn’t say why exactly. Was it the approaching anniversary that was still bothering him?

Eight years was a long time. Was he still in love with Ashley’s memory, or was it the guilt that still haunted him this time of year? The knowledge that, if not for him, she might still be alive?

He closed his eyes, letting the breeze drift over him. Sometimes he had a hard time remembering what Ashley had looked like alive, but he’d never forgotten what she’d looked like in death. Her face pale. Her eyes open and staring. Her beautiful body covered in blood.

He used to see her face in almost every murder victim he saw, but not so much anymore. Not since he’d seen little Julie Betts lying in that Dumpster. Her murder had affected him in a way so profound he couldn’t begin to explain it, and after that case, he’d started working alone. He found he couldn’t deal with a partner after seeing something like that. He couldn’t handle the camaraderie and sometimes sick cop humor that others used to deal with the nightmares. For Tony it wasn’t that easy. He couldn’t forget any of them. Ashley. Julie. They all haunted his sleep, because he hadn’t been able to save them.

“Tony?”

He opened his eyes and saw Eve standing before him.

“You okay?” she asked anxiously.

He drew in a breath. “Just needed to get some fresh air.”

She nodded. “I understand. It was pretty stuffy in there.”

“Not used to bars?” he asked her.

She smiled ironically. “How could you tell?”

“Just a wild guess.” He straightened from the car and stared down at her. Somehow she seemed smaller out here in the darkness. More vulnerable, although he’d seen the way she handled Vic. “Why did you tell Clare I went out on a call this afternoon?”

“Because I didn’t know where you’d gone,” Eve said. “I had to tell her something. She was looking for you.”

“So you covered for me.”

She shrugged.

“Why?” he asked softly. “Why would you do that for me?” After the conversation they’d had earlier, why would she put herself on the line for him like that?

She looked up at him, her gaze earnest. “It’s like you said inside there. What are partners for?”

He ran his hand through his dark, spiky hair. “Look, I appreciate what you did. But I still don’t—”

“You don’t want a partner. I know.”

“I work best alone, that’s all.”

“Maybe you just never had the right partner before. Did you ever think of that?” Her gaze looked faintly challenging.

He stared down at her for a moment, thinking in spite of himself that she just might be right. She might be the one partner, the one woman, who could stick it out with him, but he didn’t think it was a chance he was willing to take. The stakes were too damned high, and he’d gambled and lost too many times in the past. Better just to go it alone.

“I’m not your enemy, Tony,” she said softly.

“I never thought you were.”

“Then why not give me a chance?”

How could he not have remembered her? Tony thought suddenly. She looked so pretty, standing there in the light from the bar. Like a woman who could make him forget—at least for a while. But then, the morning after always came sooner or later. That was the hell of it. “Give me one good reason why I should,” he said almost gruffly.

“Because there may come a time when you’re going to need someone to cover your back,” she told him. “And because I’d like to be that someone, if you’d let me. You can trust me, Tony, whether you believe it or not.”

Maybe he could trust her, Tony thought, his gaze riveted on her face. But maybe he shouldn’t. For both their sakes.

IT WAS ALMOST TEN O’CLOCK when Eve got home that night. Early by most people’s standards, but she was usually in bed by this time, reading a book or watching TV until she got sleepy.

She was turning into something of a recluse at the tender age of twenty-nine. If she wasn’t careful, she’d wind up talking to herself.

“It’s not as bad as all that,” she muttered, picking up the remote control.

Flipping through the channels, she located a news broadcast, then lay back against the pillows, listening but not watching until she heard Tony’s name mentioned. She already knew what had happened at the review board earlier that day, but she shot up in bed anyway.

He’d been caught on camera coming out of Police Headquarters with Fiona and David MacKenzie on either side of him. In a voice-over, the reporter summarized the events that had led to the hearing and Tony’s exoneration.

“In spite of the outcome of today’s hearing, Franco Mancini’s mother still holds Detective Tony Gallagher and the Chicago Police Department responsible for her son’s death. When interviewed later in the day, Maria Mancini, accompanied by her attorney, did not rule out the possibility of a lawsuit.”

The scene switched to a dark-haired woman standing in front of a microphone, flanked on one side by a man in a suit—her attorney, no doubt—and on the other side by a group of angry-looking family members. Maria’s own eyes reflected more than just anger. There was something disturbing simmering in those dark depths. Rage. Hatred. Maybe even a glimmer of madness.

Eve suppressed a shiver as she watched the woman speak. “If we do bring suit, it won’t be for the money,” Maria insisted tearfully. “I want justice for my boy.”

The news flashed to another story, and Eve clicked off the TV, a dark premonition sweeping over her. Maria Mancini was trouble. Eve had no doubt about that. Being named in a lawsuit against the police department was the last thing Tony needed. He was already in hot water with the brass. Hotter than he knew.

His file lay on her nightstand, and Eve picked it up, thumbing through the reports and complaints, although she’d already studied them at length. But even before this assignment, she’d known that he’d been hit with an assault charge four years ago, just after he’d made detective. He’d struck a suspect, but to Eve’s mind, the circumstances had been extenuating.

If Eve had been the cop who had found the evidence underneath Robert Betts’s bed, she wasn’t sure how she would have reacted. But she certainly didn’t blame Tony for losing control. He’d been the one who had found the little girl’s body, and before that, he’d scoured the streets and neighborhoods night and day, searching for the missing child, hoping and praying he wouldn’t be too late, but knowing all the while that he was.

The Betts case had come early in Tony’s career. Twenty-seven was young to have made detective, let alone to be working homicide, but his phenomenal instincts—not to mention the Gallagher name—had catapulted him to prominence. He’d soon developed into one of the division’s hottest and most watched detectives, but even so, Eve doubted he would have been assigned to work such a high-profile investigation if it hadn’t been for his partner. Clare Foxx had been a well-known and respected detective at the time, but it had been Tony who had finally broken the case.

Eve had still been working vice at that time, but she and the rest of the department, along with the entire city, had followed the investigation, hoping and praying just like the cops who searched for the child that little Julie Betts would somehow turn up alive. The team of detectives had spent hundreds of hours on the case, combing every square inch around the victim’s home and school, following up on one flimsy lead after another. Tony had taken it upon himself to widen the search, using his off-duty time to scour gutters and trash bins. And then he’d found her.

Eve closed her eyes, knowing the words in the report by heart, but picturing in her mind how it all must have gone down that day.

It had been twilight when Tony had found the child, thrown away like yesterday’s useless garbage. She’d had on a pink dress, and her hair was in pigtails tied with pink ribbons. One of the ribbons was missing, and Tony had felt certain it had been taken by the killer as a souvenir or a trophy.

When the bloodstained ribbon had later been found in a shoe box stuffed under Robert Betts’s bed, Tony had gone after the man’s throat. Clare had managed to pull him away, but not before Robert Betts claimed his rights had been violated. He’d filed assault charges against Tony, even though he hadn’t had a prayer of getting off once the DNA found on the ribbon had been matched to his seven-year-old daughter’s.

In a way, the Julie Betts case was what had brought Tony back into Eve’s life. After Ashley’s funeral, when she’d seen how grief stricken Tony was, Eve had told herself that it was time to get over her schoolgirl crush and get on with her life. And she had. She’d graduated from college, gone to the academy and then concentrated on her career. She’d even had a serious relationship or two over the years.

But then the prominence of the Betts case, the manhunt and subsequent notoriety Tony received after the arrest, had made Eve think about him more and more. She had almost gone to see him back then, to tell him that she understood why he had done what he had. After weeks of searching, it must have killed him to find that little girl’s body. Eve had a feeling he’d never gotten over it.

To most people in the department, Tony Gallagher was a rogue, a loner who didn’t play by the rules. But Eve knew he was much more than that. He was a cop who cared too much. A cop—and a man—worth saving.

But the question was, did he believe that about himself?

Chapter Three

The telephone awakened Eve from a deep sleep. She thought it was the alarm clock at first and reached out blindly to slap at the button. When the ringing persisted, she rolled over and grabbed the receiver.

“This is Barrett,” she said groggily.

“Eve? This is Clare. Foxx.”

Eve sat up, glancing at the bedside clock. Just after four in the morning. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“We’ve got a situation, I’m afraid.”

Something in her voice sent a thrill of alarm racing up Eve’s spine. “What is it?”

“Bill Stringer’s daughter was found murdered in her apartment just under an hour ago.”

“Oh, no.” Bill Stringer was Vic D’Angelo’s partner. Eve didn’t know the detective well, but her mind instantly flashed to the picture of the young woman he kept on his desk. “Her name’s Lucy,” he’d told Eve proudly one day when she’d inquired about the photo. Eve remembered Bill picking up the picture and staring down at it. “Her mother and I call her Lulu. She hates it, of course, now that she’s all grown-up.”

Eve cradled the portable phone between her chin and ear as she began grabbing clothes from her closet.

“I want you and Tony to catch this one,” Clare told her.

Eve frowned into the phone. “Are you sure? I mean…it’s likely to get some attention.”

“I want a woman on this,” Clare said firmly. “And I want the best. I owe that much to Bill.”

Eve had no delusions. She fit only half of that criteria. Which meant Clare considered Tony Gallagher the best.

So why was she trying to get rid of him?

“What’s the address?” Eve threw her clothes on the bed as she picked up a pen and started scribbling.

“One other thing,” Clare said, after they’d talked for a few more minutes. Her voice held a strange edge. “Is Tony with you?”

The question shocked Eve. “No, of course not. Why would he be?”

“I called him a few minutes ago and didn’t get an answer.” Still that odd tone. “Maybe you’d better go by and see if you can rouse him. I want both of you on the scene as soon as possible.”

“I’m on my way.”

THE BANGING INSIDE Tony’s head matched the banging outside his apartment. For a moment, he lay drifting on the fringes of sleep, not wanting to open his eyes, but the pounding, both within and without, tortured him awake. He turned over and squinted at the clock. A little after four. Who the hell was knocking on his door at this time of morning?

“It damn well better be good,” he muttered, rolling out of bed. He reached for his clothes, then realized he was still wearing the pants and shirt he’d had on the night before. The shirt was unbuttoned, and somewhere along the way he’d lost his shoes and socks.

He struggled to recall the events of last evening. He’d gone to the pub, had a few drinks. Nick had been there. David. Fiona. Eve. That asshole, D’Angelo. Clare.

He’d waited outside for Eve, Tony seemed to recall, except…he couldn’t actually remember when she’d left. He couldn’t remember driving home, getting into bed.

This was bad, he thought. Real bad.

Reaching for his gun on the nightstand, he stumbled through the cluttered living room to the front door. The banging started again, and he yelled, “I’m coming, dammit.”

He started to unlock the door but found the bolt hadn’t been turned. Any cluckhead off the street could have come in and slit his throat for the few bucks in his wallet.