Hot Contact

I wanted to see you. “Yes.”

“That surprises me.” He gestured to a couple of chaise lounges. “We should grab those while they’re empty. Can I get you a drink?”

She’d left hers behind at the waterfall, she realized. “Yes, please. Martini with a twist, extra olives.”

“I’ll be right back.”

She’d barely settled on a lounge when Scott sat down on the one next to hers.

“Did you know he was here?” she asked, watching Joe talk to the bartender.

Scott looked at her over his wineglass, then took a sip. “Yes.”

“Is that how you entertain yourself?”

“You’re a cool one, aren’t you, Arianna?” He settled a little more comfortably. “Controlled. Smart. I’d never seen you ruffled by anything until you found out I knew Joe.”

“It was a simple favor to ask, inviting him to the party,” she said, wishing she had her drink already, needing the prop.

“More than that, I think.”

She hesitated. Joe was walking toward them. “You won’t say anything.”

“I don’t know how this is going to play out.” He smiled, patted her knee and stood, making room for Joe, leaning to whisper in her ear, “You know he’s not engaged anymore, right?”

Arianna said nothing. She didn’t know he had been engaged. Was that the reason for the battle-weary look in his eyes? Had he broken it off or had his fiancée?

She thanked Joe as he passed her the drink then raised her brows at Scott, indicating he could move on.

Scott grinned. “So, how do you two know each other?”

“We met during Alexis Wells’s attempted murder last year,” Arianna said, aware of Joe taking a seat beside her and stretching out those long legs. His knee-high black Zorro boots made her smile. “Joe was the detective in charge of the case.”

“You worked together? The cop and the P.I.? Strange bedfellows.” He met Arianna’s gaze and smiled benignly.

“We shared information without insulting each other’s profession,” Joe said. “She’s a cut above in her field.”

“Yeah. Most P.I.s only get to eat what they kill,” Scott responded. “But not Arianna and her partners.”

“We work hard.” Her irritation grew. She’d always had a great business relationship with Scott. Why was he making things difficult for her now?

“Scott,” Joe said, his voice quiet but firm. “I like you. But if you continue to offend Ms. Alvarado, she’s going to leave. And I’m not going to like you anymore.”

A few seconds ticked by, then Scott lifted his glass to Joe. “To the thrill of the chase.”

Joe stared back.

“Thanks,” Arianna said when their host walked away.

Joe shrugged. “Sometimes he doesn’t know when to quit.”

“I’ve noticed.” She slid a green olive off the toothpick and sucked on it. “Pushing the right buttons is what makes him good in the courtroom, though.”

“But lousy as a friend sometimes.” Joe leaned toward her. “Would you like to get out of here? Go somewhere quiet?”

She was tempted. Entirely too tempted. But if she accepted his invitation she couldn’t move the relationship into a business one when she needed to. She had no intention of lying to him or stringing him along. She just didn’t want to ask her favor publicly—or in costume. It was too serious for that. The party had been a way to open a dialogue. “I’d love a rain check,” she said.

He studied her for a long time. She made herself breathe.

“Walk me to my car and I’ll give you my number,” he said, standing. “You can call me when the sun comes out.”

She smiled. “All right.”

Joe offered her a hand up. He was probably crazy to pursue her. He should at least wait until his life was back on track, yet he couldn’t help but feel she was part of the solution. Wishful thinking, maybe?

They made their way through the crowded house. He guided her slightly ahead of him with a touch to her lower back, just enough to feel the bones of her vertebrae against his fingertips now and then. She turned and looked at him once, her dark eyes again taking his measure in a way no woman in his memory had. She looked deeply, as she had by the waterfall, without blinking. Did he meet her standards or pass her test or whatever it was she was doing when she looked at him like that?

They reached his SUV. He got a business card out of his glove compartment, wrote his home and cell numbers on the back and passed it to her.

“Something on your mind?” he asked when she said nothing. He curled his fingers into his palms, resisting touching her. He wondered how long her hair was. A year ago it was just past her shoulders.

“You’re different from other detectives,” she said. “I noticed that before.”

“Different, how?”

“Quieter.”

“And not intimidated?”

She smiled. “Do I intimidate?”

“Competence is often intimidating.”

Arms folded, she leaned a hip and shoulder against his passenger door. “I think I’ve been complimented.”

“You have.”

“You impress me as well.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He moved closer, crowding her space a little.

She didn’t budge, not even when he slipped a finger under her strap as he had by the waterfall. He focused on the little beauty mark at the corner of her mouth. “This is very pretty,” he said, kissing the spot. He felt her lips part, heard a soft sound, more than a breath catching, less than surrender. He moved his mouth over hers lightly, brushing his lips against hers, pulling back, making her come to him.

A horn honked. Teenage boys shouted crude encouragement. The only encouragement Joe needed was Arianna’s. When he wouldn’t take the kiss any deeper she placed her hands along his face and held him still.

“You tease,” she said, her voice husky.

“Just making sure of my welcome.”

Her hesitation lasted all of two seconds. “The door’s open.”

He wanted to skim his hands over her incredible body, to feel the weight of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the firm fullness of her rear. He settled for a long, leisurely kiss that she kept trying to deepen and he kept thwarting. He knew he had to leave her wanting more or she wouldn’t call him, so he gave her enough to think about but not to satisfy. Gave himself a lot to think about, too, like what it would be like to make love, a foreign concept to him in the past six months.

He pulled back. She opened her eyes. Her skin was drawn taut over her cheekbones. He let his gaze wander lower as she watched. Her nipples were hard. She arched her back just enough that he noticed the unspoken invitation to touch. He declined, counting on there being another time and a better place.

“Adios,” he said, forcing himself to leave her. He walked around his car and got in, then didn’t look back until he was far enough away that she couldn’t see him glance in his rearview mirror.

She wasn’t staring after him, however, but was strolling back up to Scott’s house, her hips swaying, the ruffled hem intoxicating in its undulating rhythm. She didn’t glance in his direction.

After a moment he smiled. He’d met his match.

Three

Arianna tapped Joe’s business card against her thigh as she stared out her living room window at the typical hazy Southern California morning. She had his home number. Why procrastinate?

Dumb question. Because of last night, that’s why. Because of the kiss. The almost-as-good-as-sex kiss. How could she ask him to help her now? He would think she kissed him to get him interested, to lure him so that he would cooperate. Nothing was further from the truth. She’d gotten carried away—rare for her.

She was also hesitating because she hadn’t yet recovered from last night’s nightmare, the one that had been haunting her for weeks. The one that had spurred her toward Joe Vicente.

Arianna turned from the window and sat at her piano, a shiny, black baby grand that dominated her apartment living room. She tapped out a few random notes, then eased into scales. When her fingers were limber, she played a piece she’d composed, a complex, demanding song still being refined.

After playing the final chord, she sat up straight, set her hands on her thighs and enjoyed the quiet for a moment. Then she talked to herself.

Okay, stall over. Bite the bullet.

She grabbed the portable phone and dialed. He answered on the third ring.

“Good morning, it’s Arianna Alvarado,” she said, as businesslike as possible.

“Good morning back,” he replied, a sound suspiciously like laughter in his voice. “And thank you for being specific. It could’ve been embarrassing if I had you confused with the other Arianna.”

Oh, he knew how he affected her. “The sun hasn’t broken through,” she said, forging ahead, “but I’m inviting you to lunch anyway.”

“Don’t trust yourself to have dinner with me?”

The underlying sensuality in his voice appealed to her way too much. She started pacing. “Yes.”

“Yes, you don’t trust yourself?”

“Yes, I trust myself, but I’m inviting you to lunch.”

“Sorry, but I’m headed to my parents’ house. I expect to be there all afternoon.”

Her heart slammed into her chest. Even better. She could meet his father. Talk to him. “Can I meet you there?” she asked.

A long silence, then, “At my parents’ house?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t usually bring a woman home until the tenth date.”

Like your ex-fiancée? “Will you make an exception?”

Silence again. “Sure, why not?” He gave her the address and directions.

“I have to make a stop first,” she said. “Can I bring lunch with me?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“Is there anything I shouldn’t bring? Allergic to shellfish or anything?”

“No allergies here.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” She hung up then went in search of something to wear to meet his parents. His father. A man she’d never met, a man whose name she didn’t know until a month ago, but whom she’d hated for twenty-five years.

Arianna pulled into a circular driveway of an impressive Spanish Colonial mansion and parked near the garage. She bypassed the front door to jog down a side path into the backyard where she saw several linen-covered round tables with umbrellas set up near the large, tiled swimming pool. The view of the Hollywood Hills was incredible.

She spotted her mother twining elegant leaf garlands around the umbrella poles. Arianna forgot what today’s event was. A fashion show, perhaps? Something to raise money for a worthy cause, probably. That was what her mother did for a living ever since she’d married Estebán Clemente, international movie mogul, when Arianna was twelve.

Estebán had changed their lives in immeasurable ways. But one topic was never brought up for discussion—Arianna’s father.

“Mom!” she called.

Paloma Alvarado Clemente never hurried. She carried herself with grace and dignity, her skin and make-up flawless, her striking silver and black hair styled in a fashionable bob. She wore brightly colored designer clothing, and jewelry that clinked and clanked—a striking silver necklace and bracelets crafted by artisans from her native Mexico.

Paloma waited for Arianna now, a serene smile on her face, her arms opening wide to gather her daughter close. Her perfume wrapped Arianna in memories. She nestled for a few seconds longer than usual.

“Everything looks beautiful, Mom. What’s the big event?”

“A luncheon for my book club.”

Arianna leaned back. “I didn’t know you were in a book club.”

Her mother brushed the hair from Arianna’s face and smiled. “We started it a few months ago. It’s mostly an excuse to eat and gossip. We take turns hosting.”

“And you’re doing your own decorating? I’m impressed.”

“That’s part of the rules. I didn’t iron the tablecloths myself,” Paloma added in a whisper.

“A small cheat, Mom.”

Paloma walked them to a table where she continued winding the leaf garland up the umbrella pole. Taller than her mother, Arianna took over as it reached the top then taped it there.

“You are looking demure today, mija,” Paloma said, eyeing Arianna’s jeans and white blouse.

“Good. That’s the look I was going for.”

“Are you undercover?”

“No.” Well, sort of, she thought. “I’m meeting someone.”

“Someone special?” her mother asked.

“Mike Vicente.” Her heart pounded as she said the name.

“No.” Paloma’s face went ashen. She clasped her daughter’s hands. “You cannot. Arianna, you cannot. I forbid it.”

Arianna squeezed back. “I have to know, Mom.”

“Why? What good can come from this now, after all these years?”

“My good.” See how important this is to me, Mom. “I need to find out what happened to my father.”

“If they didn’t know then, how can they know now?”

“A lot has changed. They’re using DNA to solve old cases now.”

Her mother shook her head.

“I’ve been having nightmares. Dad’s trying to tell me something.”

“Even if I believed in such things, why would he wait until now?”

Arianna willed her mother to understand. “Because something is different now. The truth is waiting. He wants me to find it.”

“Mija, I am begging you to leave it alone.”

“Madre, I can’t.” She forced the words out. “I can’t rest until I know. I had hoped for your support, but I’ll go ahead without it.”

“I cannot endorse this. I cannot.”

Arianna pulled her mother into a powerful hug. “I love you, Mom. I’ll keep in touch.”

After a few moments her mother hugged her back, her embrace fierce, as if she could stop her daughter from leaving. Finally she let go. “Vaya con Dios, mija.”

“You, too, Mom.” Arianna swallowed the lump in her throat and jogged back to her car. Her next conversation wouldn’t be any easier.

From his parents’ bedroom Joe could see the street, and every car that passed by. He didn’t know what Arianna drove, but he imagined it was dark and sleek, like her. Something quiet and powerful. But maybe she would surprise him—again.

Her asking to meet his parents had almost left him speechless. After so many years as a detective he was accustomed to the routinely unpredictable nature of his work—things were often not as they seemed—but his relationships had been fairly predictable…if he didn’t count Jane returning his engagement ring. That had caught him by surprise.

A dark blue BMW pulled up in front of the house. No surprise, after all. The trunk popped open, then she climbed out of the car, looking casual in jeans and a white top. Her shiny almost-black hair was down, the length just past her shoulders, which answered his question of last night. He missed the flamenco costume.

She shaded her eyes and looked at the house. He hurried down the stairs to meet her at her car, where she was unloading an ice chest.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, passing him the chest.

“Always.” Joe noticed she wasn’t making eye contact, unusual for her. The first time he met her he’d noticed how much eye contact she made, then noted it again last night. She started to walk past him, a grocery bag in hand. “Arianna.”

“Hmm?”

Distracted wasn’t the right word for her demeanor. She seemed nervous. Or anxious, maybe. “Hi. How are you?” he asked.

“Good, thanks. How are you?” She kept walking up the pathway to the house, a small, neat structure that his parents had owned since before he was born. “What a sweet house.”

Joe tried to see it through her eyes. Freshly painted, the yard well tended, mums in bloom. He’d put in long hours to get it looking good after a few years of neglect.

He followed Arianna into the house, also newly painted and spotless, although the furnishings were dated. “Kitchen’s to your right,” he said.

She walked into the room and set her bag on the counter. “Where are your parents?” she asked, looking around.

He put the ice chest next to the bag. “My mother passed away five months ago. My father just moved to a smaller place.”

She stared speechlessly at him for several seconds then crossed her arms and looked at the floor. After what seemed like an hour she said, “I’m so sorry about your mother.”

“Thank you. She put up a long, hard fight. Lung cancer,” he added. “The house just sold. I’m doing an inventory of the contents so that I can figure out what to do with everything.” What’s going on? he wanted to ask. She was so subdued he didn’t know what kind of conversation to have with her. He figured she would give him hell about implying there would be four for lunch. “Do you want to eat now?”

She roused herself enough to smile. “Sure. Anyone in the neighborhood you’d like to invite? There’s enough here to feed ten, I think. Great bread. Marinated shrimp, barbecued chicken, several deli salads.”

His stomach burned at the thought. Even bland food lit a fire. “I don’t mind having leftovers.” He took some plates from the cupboard and silverware from the drawer while she set out the containers.

“Do you want the bread heated?” she asked, holding up a loaf of something. If it wasn’t sourdough or white sandwich bread he could only hazard a guess. This was brown, flat and oblong.

“Whatever you prefer.” He figured she was a warm bread kind of person. If she heated it, she meant to stay and have a conversation. If she didn’t heat it, she planned a quick escape after the meal.

She moved to the stove and turned it on. He relaxed. Maybe he was reading something into her actions that wasn’t there. She was normally confident and direct, but not today. Could she actually be nervous about being alone with him? Was that why she’d jumped at the chance of meeting him at his parents’ house?

“I guess I should’ve told you my parents wouldn’t be here,” he said.

“That would’ve been nice.” A brittle smile accompanied the razor-sharp tone.

He got it. She was mad. That he could handle.

“I didn’t mean to mislead you, Arianna.”

“You said you were going to be at your parents’ house. You could easily have corrected my assumption that they would be here, but you didn’t.” Her eyes gave off sparks.

“I was too curious. Why would you want to meet my parents?” When she didn’t answer, he moved to stand next to her. “What’s going on?”

After a few seconds she faced him. “My father was murdered twenty-five years ago.”

Like it was yesterday, he decided, seeing the pain in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Arianna. You must have been very young.”

“Eight. Your father was the lead detective in charge of his case.”

Surprise zapped him in the midsection, then he realized she must have known that fact before the party last night. He’d been set up. Used. “Is that why you wanted to meet him?”

“I want to know why he didn’t find my father’s killer.”

Four

Arianna saw him retreat, not only physically by taking a step back, but his expression cooled, too.

“Some cases don’t get solved. It’s a sad fact of life,” he said, crossing his arms. “So are you the reason I got an invitation to the party last night?”

She owed him the truth. “I saw a picture of you and Scott in his den last month when I had dinner there, and I asked about your relationship. Then I started having nightmares about my father.” She brushed some crumbs off the counter with her hand, hoping he wouldn’t see how much the dreams affected her. “For the first time since I was a little girl I got out the scrapbook I’d made after he died. I hadn’t remembered the lead detective’s name, Mike Vicente. It seemed too much of a coincidence, but I did some checking and found out he was your father.”

“Then you asked Scott to invite me to the party so you could set me up.”

She shook her head. “I wanted to talk to you. Away from your office.”

“What made you think I wouldn’t have talked to you? Met with you, away from the office? Did you figure you had to play the sex card to get my attention? I assure you, I’m not that base.”

“The attraction was real and unplanned,” she admitted. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“It complicated everything.”

“You seemed to deal with that complication just fine. Nice dance, Arianna. Great kiss. I bought it.”

His anger was justified, but it still stung. “I didn’t know it was you by the waterfall. I had no idea.” She couldn’t tell if he believed her. His expression didn’t change. “As for the kiss, I was as swept away as you were. The last thing I needed was—was…” She spread her hands wide, not able to come up with the right word.

“Chemistry?”

“Yes. I don’t know if you’ve heard but I haven’t exactly endeared myself to the LAPD through the years.” Which was putting it mildly, she thought.

“I heard rumors,” he said, then shrugged. “I asked around a little after we met.”

“I have a lot of resentment.”

“I gather that. At least now I know why.”

She’d wondered. She’d thought maybe that was why he hadn’t tried to contact her after they met last year. But that was before she knew he’d been engaged. “I figured you might have. But there’s no denying we made some kind of connection when we met. I also figured if you got to know and like me, you would be more willing to do me a favor.”

He shoved his hands in his back pockets. “What kind of favor?”

“I want to see my father’s file. I had hoped you’d find a way to get it to me.”

“All you have to do is request it.”

“No. It’s unsolved. I’ve been denied access.”

“That makes no sense. If the case is twenty-five years old, what would it matter? Certainly you’re entitled under the Freedom of Information Act.”

“My relationship with the LAPD is bad enough already. Pushing legalities would only hurt me in the future when I need information for a case. All I want is to see the file. And find the killer,” she added, the most important issue.

“Why do you think you could?”

“It’s a hunch. I’m a good investigator, and I’m not bound by a cop’s rules.”

She could see him thinking it through.

“Was your father involved in a crime?” he asked.

“My father was a thirteen-year veteran of the Los Angeles Police Department. He died in the line of duty.” A situation that still made her both angry and proud. He’d been her knight in shining armor—but he’d been taken from her.

Joe hardly missed a beat. He rested his palms on the counter and leaned toward her, his gaze locked with hers. “Then you know that my father and everyone else at the department did everything they could to find the killer and bring him to justice. Everything.”

She didn’t break eye contact. “And yet they didn’t solve it. Tell me, Joe. If it was your father who had been murdered and justice hadn’t been served, wouldn’t you be doing everything in your power to find the killer?”

He was quiet long enough that she began to hope.

“I can’t help you,” he said at last, pushing away from the counter.

Hope died. “Why not?”

“A hot file like that—a cop whose line-of-duty death was never solved? That would require approval from some brass before I could pull it from Records. Plus, it would look like I was working, which I can’t be, because I’m on vacation.”

“When you get back from vacation, then.”

“I’m off for four weeks starting today. If you can wait that long I’ll give it a try.”

She decided to press. “Would you let me talk to your father?”

“That’s not possible.” He picked up two of the food containers and carried them to the kitchen table.

“Why not?”

“I’ve given you my answer, Arianna. If things were different I would try to help you.”

Her throat burned. He was her only chance of getting a look at the file, short of hiring a lawyer and making an issue out of it, which would totally destroy whatever small amount of credibility she had with the department. Not to mention that she needed the nightmares to end.

She looked blankly at all the food she’d brought. She couldn’t stay there any longer.