The Cop

This wasn’t going to be the only body. Nik was certain of that. Sirens sounded in the distance as he rose and moved into the doorway that opened onto the altar. Once more he fanned his gun, taking in the choir loft that ran along both the sides and the back of the church.

Nothing. Then he moved toward the body of the priest that lay behind the altar. This time he found a pulse—weak but steady. From what he could see, the blood was coming from a shoulder wound. Pulling off his shirt, he ripped it in half, then fashioned a pressure bandage. He’d just satisfied himself that he’d slowed the bleeding when the priest’s hand closed over his wrist.

“Pro…tect.”

Nik leaned closer. “Don’t try to talk, Father. An ambulance is on the way.”

“Protect…them.”

The words carried only a thread of sound. “Protect who?”

“Bride,” the priest breathed, tightening his grip on Nik’s wrist. “Ju…liana Ol…iver.”

The pricking sensation in Nik’s thumbs grew very sharp. “And the groom?”

“Paulo…” the priest gasped. “Carlucci. Grave danger.”

Dread formed a cold hard ball in Nik’s gut. He recognized the names—and if there was ever a pair of star-crossed lovers, Juliana Oliver and Paulo Carlucci had to be it. If his memory served him correctly, Juliana was young, still in her teens, and Paulo couldn’t be much more than that. Nik couldn’t imagine how they’d even met. The Oliver and Carlucci families had a bitter rivalry that went back over fifty years, to a time when both families had ties to organized crime. Since then, both the Olivers and the Carluccis had become rich and influential by running legitimate businesses, but the rivalry was just as bitter as it had been three generations back. They refused to even appear in public together.

Of course, San Francisco was reaping great benefits. If the Carluccis donated a pediatric wing to a hospital, the Olivers, not to be outdone, would build a new aquarium. Recently, the feud had been freshly stoked by a lucrative land deal—a still pristine stretch of beach along the California coastline that both families had bid on. For the past week, the papers had been hinting that the Olivers had clinched the deal.

“Help…them.” The priest’s eyes drifted shut. “Choir…loft.”

“Hang on, Father,” Nik murmured.

A sudden noise from the sacristy behind him had him raising his gun and whirling. The uniform in the doorway had his gun raised, too. He was young, a rookie, Nik surmised. They’d each lowered their weapons by the time the young man’s partner appeared in the doorway.

Nik spoke to the young officer. “I want you to stand in the walkway and keep everyone but EMTs out.”

“There’s another squad car—they’re coming in through the front of the church,” the older officer said.

Nik gave him a nod. “Come here. I need you to put pressure on the wound until the EMTs arrive.” Once he had the officer in position, Nik rose and started off the altar. He paused when he spotted a cell phone lying on the marble floor a few feet away. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “When the crime-scene guys arrive, tell them to bag this cell phone.” Then he hurried down the aisle. Two more uniforms waited for him in the vestibule. One was kneeling over a man’s body. Nik tried to ignore the sensation in his thumbs as he noted the gun in the man’s hand and the twisted position of the body. Moving quickly, he squatted down and confirmed what he already knew. The man lying to the side of the circular staircase was Roman Oliver.

“Alive or dead?” Even as he asked the question, he rested his fingers lightly against Roman’s throat. Relief shot through him when he detected the pulse.

“He’s breathing, but unconscious,” one uniform replied. “No bullet wound. But his gun’s been fired. Looks like he took a bad tumble down the stairs.”

“Either that or he fell over the railing,” the other cop said.

Even as his mind raced, Nik managed a nod. Roman Oliver was the bride’s older brother and even though he usually kept his temper under control, Nik had seen it flare on occasion. The dread in his gut grew colder. Not only had Roman been Kit’s best friend since college, but he’d helped Theo out when he’d first opened his own law office. And six years ago, Roman had saved his sister Philly’s life. She’d wanted to take Nik’s sailboat out by herself. Roman, who’d been with them at the cabin that weekend, had been the only one to object, and he’d insisted on going with her. When the sudden squall had come up and the boat had capsized, Roman had gotten her to shore.

All the Angelises figured they owed him for that.

Pushing that thought aside, Nik forced himself to think like a cop. As the next in line to take over the Oliver business interests, he figured that Roman wouldn’t have been happy about his sister’s wedding. In fact, he might have done anything to prevent it.

Still crouched down, he glanced around the area. The space beneath and behind the circular staircase was shrouded in shadows, and it wasn’t until his gaze swept the area a second time that he spotted the purse lying beneath the first step. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out plastic gloves and slipped them on. Then he lifted the purse and dumped the contents out. Neat was his first thought. In his experience most women carried an enormous amount of junk around in their purses. This one contained only a cell phone, a wallet, a day planner, a lipstick and a pen. When he flipped open the wallet, he found the driver’s license in a clear plastic frame. His stomach clenched. Sadie Oliver, Roman’s other sister.

Searching his memory, Nik pulled up details. If he remembered correctly, Sadie was about four years Roman’s junior. He’d never met her, but there’d been a shot of all three of the Oliver siblings in the paper recently. Like her brother and sister, Sadie was tall, and she had long dark hair. She’d graduated from Harvard Law School recently and come home to work at Oliver Enterprises. So Sadie, Roman and Juliana had all been here in the church when the shooting had started. That wasn’t good.

After slipping the items back into the purse, Nik rose, and drew out his gun again. He had a very bad feeling about what he was going to find in the choir loft. Signaling to one cop to follow him, he spoke to the other officer. “Don’t let anyone else in except the EMTs. There’s a dead man in the sacristy and the priest’s been shot. Call the crime lab and tell them to get a team here ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” the uniform said as he pulled out his cell.

At the top of the stairs, Nik stopped. The choir loft was empty but there was a closed door ten feet from where he was standing. He motioned the uniformed officer to one side and he took the other. As soon as they were both in position, he threw open the door and went in low, while his companion went in high.

The room was small, ten by ten, and it was empty. Except for the wedding bouquet—and the bloodstains on two walls.

J.C. WASN’T SURE how much longer she could stay hidden in the depths of the closet. Even as a child, she’d hated to wait for anything. Plus, she was absolutely starving. She always got ravenously hungry whenever she was nervous or scared. Surely the police should have arrived by now.

She thought she’d heard a siren, but that had been a while ago. And it could have been wishful thinking. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been hiding. She’d tried to say a rosary—something she hadn’t done in years. How long had that taken? Five minutes? Ten? She wanted to check on Father Mike but she wouldn’t do him much good if Snake Eyes was still out there.

It was too dark to check her watch. If she could just hear something…Whatever the priest’s vestments were made of, they certainly blocked out sound. The police could be out there right now, and she wouldn’t know it.

What J.C. did know was that her fear of the snake-eyed man was gradually being replaced by her fear of being confined in a small space. And Father Mike’s closet gave new meaning to the word confined. She felt as if she were buried in robes and the incense lingering on them had grown cloying. Keep calm, she told herself. But she could feel her heart beating faster and faster.

As the urge to bolt began to grow, J.C. imagined Snake Eyes looking for her—searching the rectory, then returning to the sacristy. At any moment he could fling open the cupboard and start plowing through the garments. She was nothing more than a sitting duck.

Well, there was no sense in making it easy for him.

Slowly, she burrowed her way toward the front of the cupboard, holding her breath each time one vestment rubbed against another. When she reached the door, she discovered that in her rush to hide herself, she hadn’t closed it completely. Pressing her face to the narrow opening, she peered through it and fear bubbled through her again.

A man stood over the body of the dead man. He had his back to her, but she knew he wasn’t Snake Eyes. This man was taller, broader. Snake Eyes’s hair had been slicked back close to his head because of the ski mask. This man’s dark hair was dark, curly and unruly. But she could sense just as much danger emanating from him as she had from the killer.

He was wearing a tank top that fit snugly over nearly bronze-colored skin. As he began to move slowly around the dead man, she caught her first glimpse of his face and for a moment she stared, fascinated. He reminded her of the Greek gods she’d had to study in a required mythology class. Unlike most of her peers who’d complained noisily about the class, she’d been fascinated with the stories. This man reminded her of Adonis. Of course, Adonis hadn’t been a god—just the human lover of two very powerful goddesses, Persephone and Aphrodite, who’d fought over him constantly. She’d found the story intriguing, but personally, she’d yet to meet a man worth fighting another woman for.

J.C. gave herself a mental shake. This man might not be Snake Eyes, but he might very well be the man who’d fired those other shots she’d heard. He was certainly tough enough looking. His nose wasn’t quite straight, and taking in the sharp slash of cheekbone and the strong line of his jaw, she thought of a warrior—the kind of man who would lead armies into war…and win. This didn’t at all explain why she had the oddest urge to touch his face—to feel the planes and angles beneath her hands.

What was up with that, she thought with a frown. Warriors had never been her type.

But then when it came to men, she really hadn’t had much experience determining her type. The kind of men her dad and stepmom wanted her to date might as well be clones of each other, successful young metro males with the right kind of family backgrounds. She found them almost as boring as the temperamental prima donnas she’d met when she’d trained at the American Culinary Institute.

The man in front of her had circled the body so that he was standing with his back to her again, and she caught herself noticing the way his threadbare jeans molded his butt. Good Lord, she wanted to touch that, too.

Whoa! J.C. reined in her thoughts again. A vivid imagination had always plagued her as a child, but she’d never reacted in quite this physical a way to a man before. Just looking at him made her palms itch.

For the first time, she noticed the gun and her throat went dry. It was tucked into the waistband of his jeans, right above his exceptional-looking—

Stop it, she scolded herself. She could very well be looking at a killer. A ruthless, cold-blooded killer.

In that very instant, he whirled on her and she found herself looking down the barrel of a very big gun.

“Open the door slowly and keep your hands where I can see them. Don’t make me shoot you.”

3

“WHO IN THE HELL are you?” Nik asked as the tiny redhead stepped out of the cupboard.

“Who are you?” she countered.

“I’m a cop, so I get to ask the questions.” She was such a little pip-squeak that he couldn’t imagine that she’d played a part in the carnage in the church, but his thumbs had prickled again the moment he’d stepped back into the sacristy. And it didn’t sit well with him that it had taken him so long to sense her presence in that cupboard.

“Who are you?” he demanded a second time.

“I’m the caterer. Now it’s your turn.”

Nik narrowed his eyes. For a little bit of a thing she had guts. Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed it, but the church was getting crowded. The EMTs were dealing with Father Mike and Roman. He’d arranged for both of them to be transported to the new St. Jude’s Trauma Center, and he’d sent the first crime-scene team to the choir loft because he’d wanted a few minutes alone with this body. He’d called his captain, and D.C. Parker would want a full report as soon as he disentangled himself from some big charity ball he was attending.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“You know, you don’t look like a cop. Those clothes are a bit casual even for a dress-down Friday. Do policemen even have casual-dress days?” She lowered one of her hands and held it out to him, palm up. “Show me some ID.”

Nik swept his gaze over her. “If you’re not going to tell me your name, maybe I’ll just call you Pipsqueak.”

It gave him some satisfaction when she narrowed her eyes and her foot began to tap. She couldn’t be more than five foot two, but her stance radiated enough attitude for a woman twice her size. She had her hair twisted up on her head, but a few red curls had escaped. Her ruffled front white shirt was tucked into black pants that showcased surprisingly long legs. His gaze lingered on them a moment before he shifted his attention back to her face. That was when he noticed the eyes. They were green and direct, and for a moment he saw nothing else.

“Well? How about it? You do carry ID, don’t you?”

Annoyance and something else moved through Nik as he forced himself to blink and break eye contact. Then he gave her his cop smile, the one his partner Dinah said looked like a sneer. “Dream on, Pipsqueak. Let me make this as clear as possible. I not only ask the questions, I give the orders. Turn around, put your hands flat against the door of the cupboard, and spread your legs.”

There was a beat before she did what he asked, and he couldn’t prevent the ripple of admiration that moved through him. He’d always been a bit of a sucker for a woman with guts. Nik was halfway through patting her down when he realized that he’d made a huge mistake. He had actually begun to enjoy the feel of those tight little muscles and soft curves beneath his palms. Dammit, he was a professional. This was a crime scene that needed his full attention.

The moment he straightened, she whirled to face him. In that second when their bodies brushed against each other, a blast of heat shot through him. What in hell—?

He took a quick step back, but he could tell by the way her green eyes darkened that she’d felt it, too.

“Who the hell are you?” he muttered, half to himself.

She lifted her chin. “I told you. I’m the caterer.”

“Detective Angelis?”

Nik recognized the voice of the young officer he’d left with Father Mike, but he kept his gaze on the redhead.

“Now, you know my name. What’s yours?”

“I’m J.C. Riley. I made the 911 call, and I want—”

He held up a hand to cut her off. “What is it, officer?”

“Sir, they’re about to take the priest away.”

Nik tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans, then grasped the redhead around the waist, lifted and plunked her on the counter. “Stay put.”

Following the officer out to the altar, he saw that the EMTs had loaded the priest onto a stretcher and that two officers were taping the area where the body had been. Another two crime-scene investigators stood on the altar steps. So much for his desire to quietly walk through the crime scene and think before his captain arrived.

Nik addressed his question to the medics. “How is he?”

“Unconscious, but stable. The bleeding has stopped.”

That was good news. “And the man in the vestibule?”

“Still unconscious. They won’t know how seriously he’s injured until they run tests.”

“I saw who shot Father Mike.”

Nik whirled and nearly brushed right up against the redhead again. He scowled at her. “I told you to stay put.”

She narrowed her eyes. “If you’re a cop, shouldn’t you be asking me some more questions? I certainly have some for you. Are the bride and the groom all right? I heard some shots from farther away—maybe from up in that choir loft. And what about Roman Oliver?”

Nik frowned. “What’s your connection to Roman Oliver?”

Before he could stop her, she slipped past him and nearly made it to the gurney the priest was on. Grabbing her arm firmly, he said, “Look, lady—”

“Is Roman Oliver dead, too?”

Nik clamped down on his temper. “No. He’ll be taken to the hospital. In the meantime, this is a crime scene, and since you think it’s my job to ask questions, try answering the one I just asked. What is your connection to Roman Oliver?”

“None. But I thought I recognized him. His picture’s been in the paper lately because of that big land deal. He came in the back way a short time after the groom arrived. At least, I assumed it was the groom. And someone used the name Roman while the fight was going on.”

“Fight?” Nik asked.

“Yeah. It was a doozey. I didn’t see it, but I could hear it from the dining room in the rectory. That’s where I was setting up the cake and the champagne. What about the bride and groom and the other woman, the blonde? Are they okay?”

Nik could feel his head beginning to spin. “The blonde?”

“She came in with the bride. She was carrying one of those big dress bags so I figured her for the maid of honor. I assumed the brunette was the bride because she was carrying the flowers and had a little crown of them on her head. Definitely bridal.”

“You’re sure that it was a blonde who came in with the bride?” The photo he’d seen of Sadie Oliver in the newspaper had been taken from a distance, but she’d had dark hair.

“I’m positive.”

“How tall was she?”

“Short. About my height. Are they all right? I think some of the shots came from the choir loft. Have you checked up there?”

When she tried to step past him again, Nik tightened his grip on her arm.

“I saw the groom running along the choir loft right after the first shots. Is he all right?”

Frowning, Nik pulled her into the sacristy. When the two crime-scene officers followed, he said, “When you’re finished with the body, see if you can find the bullets.” He gestured toward the shattered mirror and the splintered doorjamb. Then he glanced around and spotted a door that opened off the sacristy. It was small and narrow, its only purpose being to provide access to a staircase he assumed led to one of the lofts that edged the sides of the church.

But it had exactly what he was looking for. Slipping his handcuffs out of his back pocket, he fastened one of the bracelets around the redhead’s wrist and latched the other one around the pipe of the radiator in the stairwell.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Looks like I’ve done it, Pipsqueak.” So far, he hadn’t expected one move she’d made so it was giving him more than a little satisfaction to have surprised her.

She whirled, quick as lightning, and poked a finger into his chest. “This is police brutality. I’m going to report you to your superior.”

“You’ll have an opportunity to do that.” A hell of a lot sooner than he’d like, Nik thought. A quick glance at his watch told Nik that Captain D.C. Parker would be arriving soon, and he still wanted to walk through the scene.

“Better still, I’m going to scream.”

Did she ever shut up? He met her eyes, and for an instant he felt that same odd sense of awareness he’d experienced before. This close, her eyes reminded him of a swiftly moving stream, the kind that warned of rapids ahead, the kind a man could easily get sucked into and drown.

Suddenly, he was aware of just how close she was. One more step and their bodies would be in full contact again. One more step and he could…

No. Nik slammed the brakes on the direction his thoughts were taking. What in hell was happening to him? He was a cop, and she was a material witness to a crime that involved his brother’s best friend. That’s what he should be concentrating on.

It took more effort than he liked to take a step back instead of forward, but once in motion, he moved all the way to the doorway. That way he could keep his eye on what the officers were doing in the next room. Then he took out his cell and settled the little debate he’d been having with himself since he’d recognized Roman Oliver. He was going to break a rule and give his brother Kit a call. He needed a second set of eyes, and Roman needed someone on his side—at least until they sorted everything out.

IT WASN’T UNTIL Detective Angelis reached the doorway that J.C. finally allowed herself to breathe. The sudden influx of air burned her lungs. In a second or two her brain cells would start working again. She hoped. She watched the detective punch a number into his cell. It really wasn’t a good idea to look at him, but she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away.

“Hey, bro, this is Nik.”

Time for a reality check, Jude Catherine. This was Detective Nik Angelis. He was investigating a case. A case she was involved in. And someone had tried to kill her. She had worrisome things to occupy her mind. Still, it was hard to forget the effect that the man seemed to have on her senses. A moment ago when he’d been standing so close to her, he’d very nearly kissed her. If he had—

Just the thought of that possibility had heat pooling in her center. J.C. reminded herself to take another breath. She’d never in her whole life reacted this…this…viscerally to a man. And he hadn’t even kissed her. Yet.

She definitely had to get a grip. Nik Angelis was a stranger, and while he might be handsome, he was also annoying. He’d called her “Pips-queak,” for heaven’s sake! More importantly, there was a dead body not fifteen feet away in the next room. Father Mike and Roman Oliver were going to the hospital. And what about the others? Nik Angelis hadn’t answered any of her questions about them. Were they dead? Then there was the man with the snake eyes…

And to top it all off, she was starving. If only she’d thought to stuff some of those almonds in her pockets. Then she remembered the candles…

J.C. took two quick steps before the handcuffs brought her up short.

Nik glanced at her as he pocketed his phone. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She lifted her chin. “I left candles burning in the dining room. Someone ought to check on them. And could you ask them to bring me back something to eat?”

“This isn’t a restaurant and I’m not a waiter.”

“If you were, you wouldn’t make much in the way of tips with that attitude.”

The smile he flashed was completely and unexpectedly charming. “You’d be surprised, Pipsqueak.”

On second thought, she decided he’d probably make great tips. The man had the eye-candy thing going for him, plus a kind of animal magnetism. “Look, you’d better check on the candles if you don’t want the whole place to burn down.”

He moved to the door and signaled one of the officers. “Take someone with you and check out the rectory. There are some candles burning in the dining room.”

“And bring me some almonds,” J.C. called.

The officer glanced at Nik and he nodded. Then he leaned against the doorjamb and studied her for a moment. “Ms. Riley, let’s start from the beginning. Tell me what you’re doing here and what you saw.”

“I’m here because I was catering the wedding reception.”

That’s your van in the parking lot? ‘Have an Affair with J.C.?’”

“Yes. And you’re Detective Nik Angelis.”

“Of the San Francisco Police Department.”

There was a beat of silence, and J.C. found herself thinking that here they were—not even really on a first-name basis—and they’d very nearly kissed.