Flash Point

“Now, that I don’t believe.”

“Trust me, it’s true.” While her looks had changed little over the years, her fashion sense had. And if she was at all memorable now it was due in large measure to her learning how to select the right clothes and making sure she wore the clothes instead of vice versa. That alone had been one of the nicer perks about the business of selling beauty, she thought.

“Now you’ve got me curious. Where was it that we met?”

“At your sister Meredith’s high school graduation. I was the scrawny girl with stringy blond hair who gave the valedictory address. Afterward, you were kind enough to compliment me on my speech and wished me good luck. As I said, I wasn’t particularly memorable.”

“But you were,” Peter insisted. “And I do remember you now, and the speech you gave. About ending one journey and beginning another, and about family and heritage. I especially remember you saying that genetics determined a person’s looks and even the number of brain cells, but it didn’t determine who a person was or who they would become. You challenged your classmates to become the person they wanted to be, to forge the future they wanted for themselves.”

Kelly flushed, both embarrassed and pleased that he could recall the heart of her speech. “You have a very good memory, Mr. Callaghan.”

“Please, it’s Peter,” he said with a smile. “And in order for me to be a good attorney, I have to have a good memory. But that’s not why I remembered your speech. I remembered it because I thought your remarks were quite profound for someone so young.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He nodded. “I assume from the fact that you’re working in New York that you followed your own advice. I understand from your conversation with my assistant that you’re a photographer now.”

“That’s right. Mostly magazine layouts, some print work and occasionally some portraits. I have to travel a lot and only returned from Europe a couple of days ago. It’s the reason you weren’t able to reach me,” she said, still regretting that she hadn’t been there for Sister Grace.

“It sounds like an exciting job.”

“I enjoy it and it pays the bills.” And it also kept her too busy to dwell on the fact that she had little in the way of a personal life. But then, after the disastrous mistake she’d made with Garrett, she hadn’t exactly opened herself to the possibility of a new relationship because she hadn’t trusted her judgment.

“I see you’ve been checking out my family’s rogues’ gallery.”

“A professional drawback,” she said, shoving thoughts about Garrett aside. “I find it hard to pass a photo without checking it out. This one of your family is very nice.”

“Thanks. It’s one of my favorites. And judging by how young we all look here, we’re long past due for another family portrait.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, looking from him to the photograph and back again. “It doesn’t look to me like you or Jack have changed all that much.”

“You’ve seen my brother recently?”

“Yesterday,” she told him, then wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Deciding she should explain, she continued, “I was a witness in a police matter and he was the detective assigned to the case.”

“Jack’s a homicide detective,” Peter pointed out.

“Yes, I know. I saw a man get shot.”

Peter winced. “Talk about an unpleasant welcome home. I’m sorry, Kelly.”

He didn’t know the half of it, she thought. Eager to change the subject, she said, “This really is a nice picture. If you do decide to take another family portrait, I’d recommend using the same photographer.”

“All right, I can take a hint. I won’t pry.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, grateful that he hadn’t pressed her.

“Unfortunately, the photographer who took that relocated to L.A. about five years ago. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in the job?”

“I appreciate the offer, but besides not having my equipment, I don’t expect to be here very long. You shouldn’t have problems finding someone else though. Even an amateur photographer would have an easy time of it, since you and your family are so photogenic.”

Peter groaned. “Whatever you do, don’t let Meredith hear you say that,” he said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “A few years ago, she was on this kick to become a model and nearly drove all of us crazy.”

Kelly saw no point in informing him that she already knew about his sister’s modeling aspirations since Meredith had paid her a visit in New York, positive that Kelly had some inside track. Meredith had been a female steamroller, she recalled. And despite the fact that the two of them had been acquaintances and not friends, she had made a few phone calls on Meredith’s behalf. But after Meredith had landed a few print ads, she’d disappeared almost as quickly as she’d appeared. “Is she still modeling?”

“Not at the moment. She’s all wrapped up in opening a boutique in the French Quarter. But with Meredith, one can never be sure. She’s my sister and I love her, but the woman has had nearly as many careers as I’ve had cases.”

“Now, that I don’t believe,” Kelly informed him.

“All right. Maybe I’m exaggerating. But my sister has a short attention span. I’ll let her know you’re in town though, because I’m sure she’ll want to see you. Where are you staying?”

“The Regent Hotel.” But Kelly didn’t really expect Meredith to come by to see her. Why should she? The two of them may have attended the same school, but that was the only thing they’d had in common. Meredith’s family had been able to afford the private school tuition. Whereas, she had been there by means of a scholarship. But even without the monetary differences, her living situation and her ability to see things that others couldn’t had set her apart from Meredith and the rest of her classmates. She remembered all too well that on those few occasions when she’d let something slip, the other girls had been freaked out.

“I’ll make myself a note to give Meredith a call and tell her you’re here.”

“Actually, Peter, it’s probably not worth mentioning. I mean, I don’t expect to be here long. In fact, once we’re finished our business, I’ll be heading back to New York.”

“And if I let you leave without telling Meredith you’re in town, she’ll kill me,” he said as he put down his pen and stuck a sticky note to his phone. “Besides, if I know my sister, she’ll convince you to extend your visit for a day or two.”

She wouldn’t count on it, Kelly thought silently.

“But be forewarned. Meredith’s like a puppy with a bone where this boutique of hers is concerned. She’ll probably drive you nuts talking about it. I know I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to know about women’s fashions and accessories and marketing.”

“You don’t approve of her opening a boutique?” Kelly asked.

“I’m all for it—if that’s what Meredith wants and it makes her happy. It would be nice to have her stick around this time,” he said. “But then, that’s enough about my sister. I’m sure you want to get this business with Sister Grace’s will out of the way. So if you’ll have a seat, I’ll get a copy and go over the particulars with you.”

As surreal as it seemed to be chatting with Peter Callaghan like he was an old friend, the reminder of why she was in his office in the first place was sobering. Kelly sat down in the chair across from his desk. “I was surprised to learn that Sister Grace even had a will. I just assumed whatever she had would go to her order or to the church.”

“Most of it did. But Sister Grace came to my father a few years ago and asked him to draw up a will with some specific bequests. As you probably know, my parents were very fond of her,” Peter began. “And although I didn’t know her as well as they did, l did like her. I’m sure she’ll be missed by a great many people.”

“Yes, she will,” Kelly murmured. And she already missed the nun more than she’d ever dreamed she would miss anyone.

“The terms of her will are pretty straightforward. Sister Grace had very little in the way of assets. She left directions that any personal savings she had at the time of her death be given to the Catholic church and earmarked for use in the education of children.”

Which is what she would have expected of Sister Grace, since the nun had put a great deal of stock in the importance of education. She’d called it the great equalizer.

“With the exception of a few items that she left to other nuns in her order, Sister Grace left the remainder of her personal possessions to you. I’m afraid their value is more of a sentimental nature than a monetary one.”

“I understand.”

Peter opened the file folder on his desk and pulled out an official-looking document. “I’ll dispense with reading the entire will and just skip to the part that pertains to your bequests, if that’s all right with you.”

“That’s fine,” she told him.

“To my former student and beloved friend, Kelly Santos, I leave my rosary given to me by my own mother when I took my vows. I also leave to her my watercolor titled Serenity, which has brought me much pleasure…”

As though in a daze, Kelly sat in silence while Peter read from the will. The pain and emptiness she’d felt upon learning of Sister Grace’s death washed over her anew. Only years of learning to discipline her emotions stopped her from blubbering like a baby in front of the attorney.

“…Finally, I leave to Kelly Santos all my correspondence and journals to do with as she wishes. It is my hope that she will remember me with fondness when she reads them and that through my words she will someday discover the bonds of family that she so richly deserves.” Peter put down the document and looked across the desk at her. “You were obviously very special to her.”

“She was very special to me, too,” Kelly told him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Kelly.”

Not trusting herself to speak, Kelly nodded.

“We have the items she mentioned here and can turn them over to you now if you wish. Or if you’d prefer, I can arrange to have everything shipped to you in New York.”

Kelly swallowed past the lump of emotion in her throat. “I’d like to have the rosary now. And if it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it if you would just ship the rest of the items to me in New York. I’ll reimburse you for any shipping charges involved.”

“I’ll see to it.” He buzzed his assistant, gave her instructions about the shipping and had the rosary brought to his office. “May I?” he asked, indicating the plain satin pouch that contained the rosary.

“Of course.”

Peter opened the pouch and emptied the prayer beads into his palm. The clear crystal beads and pewter crucifix glimmered beneath the light of the desk lamp. “Very pretty.”

Kelly thought of all the times she’d seen Sister Grace fingering the beads of that rosary. And when Peter started to return it to the pouch, she said, “Please, I’d like to see it.”

Peter dropped the rosary into her open palm.

Kelly closed her fingers around the beads. And without warning, the world seemed to spin out from beneath her. Suddenly she was no longer sitting in Peter’s law office. Instead, she was in an empty church—no, a chapel—she realized as she looked around at her surroundings.

And then she saw Sister Grace. Kelly’s heart stopped as she realized the rosary had connected her to the nun. And there was Sister Grace, kneeling in the pew, her head bowed and her rosary beads in her hands.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst all women, and blessed art—” Sister Grace stopped mid-prayer and started to turn around.

“No! Don’t turn around, Sister,” a woman’s voice said from behind her.

A flicker of anger raced through her blood. “What are you doing here?” the nun demanded.

“This is a church, Sister. I thought everyone was welcome.”

“This is a chapel and the evening services are over,” the nun countered. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I want to pray. Since God has seen fit to throw this nasty little surprise at me and mess up my life, I thought maybe if I prayed real hard, He’d make the problem go away. What do you think, Sister? Will God listen to my prayers?”

“God hears all of our prayers.”

“Ah, but the question is does He answer them?”

“He answers them. But the answer isn’t necessarily the one we want,” Sister Grace replied.

“I guess that means you haven’t changed your mind about giving me her name.”

“I’ve told you, your information is wrong. I can’t help you.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say. And since I can’t risk having you warn her about me, I’m afraid I have no choice but to make sure that you keep quiet.”

And before Sister Grace could move, the woman plunged a needle into her neck.

“Kelly? Kelly, are you all right?”

Kelly dropped the rosary. She felt the world spinning beneath her once more. And then someone was gripping her by the shoulders, calling her name. She blinked, tried to regain her balance. Finally when she was able to focus, she saw Peter standing in front of her, a worried expression on his face.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she told him. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” he informed her. He picked up the rosary, returned it to the pouch and handed it to her. “You want to tell me what happened just now?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, unsure of what she had said, what she had done.

“One minute you were holding that rosary and the next minute you seemed to…to zone out.

“I can’t explain it. And you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” After stuffing the pouch with the rosary into her bag she stood, eager to leave. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Kelly, are you sure you’re all right? You’re as white as a ghost.”

“I’m okay. Really,” she assured him. “Thank you for everything, Peter,” she said, and after shaking his hand, she raced out of the office.

Once she stepped outside into the cool November air, Kelly attempted to hail a taxi while she digested what she had just learned.

Sister Grace hadn’t died of a heart attack. Someone had murdered her.

Anger churned in Kelly’s stomach as she recalled the nun’s last moments and her fear. Somehow, some way, she had to find out who was responsible. She owed Sister Grace that much.

Five

After being briefed that no arrest had yet been made in connection with the city’s latest murder victim, and the police department’s only lead was a self-proclaimed psychic, District Attorney Alexander Kusak sighed as he climbed the steps of City Hall. Just what he needed, he thought and wondered for the thousandth time what had ever possessed him to take this job.

But he already knew the answer. Tom Callaghan had been the reason. The man had taken the badass punk, with a chip on his shoulder, under his wing. Mr. Callaghan had made him believe he could be someone who could make a difference. And most of the time, he admitted, he felt that he did make a difference. He just wished that taking the job hadn’t come with the price of his privacy and, in particular, revealing his past. A past that included having a drunk and a whore for parents. Although he’d made something of himself and his life that he was proud of, having all that garbage dug up during the campaign last year had opened old wounds. It had also caused him to see himself through other’s eyes—through Meredith’s eyes. He hadn’t liked what he’d seen. It was the reason he had pushed Meredith away. And she’d done what he’d expected—she’d run off. Again. Only now she’d come back and was making noises like she intended to stay.

Alex started down the nearly deserted hallway toward his office. And when he stepped through the doors and spied all the empty desks, he headed for Edna’s station. “Where is everybody, Eddie?”

Edna Boudreaux, the stalwart office manager he’d inherited when he’d taken the office last year, glanced up from the reports on her desk. The woman did a hell of a job. She’d run the office for the retired D.A. for more than twenty years. Alex had been only too happy to keep her on since she knew anyone and everyone, and could cut through bureaucratic red tape faster than a hot knife through butter. He’d also never met a more dedicated employee. But damn if he didn’t feel like a punk running from the law again whenever she looked up at him with that “what have you been up to” expression on her face.

The way she was looking at him now.

“It’s lunchtime, Mr. Kusak. They’re at lunch. As am I,” she advised him, referring to the sandwich and pickle slices that sat next to the reports. “And I really do wish you would dispense with that ridiculous nickname. My name is Edna or Mrs. Boudreaux. Not Eddie.”

Alex sat on the corner of her desk, helped himself to one of her pickle slices. “Come on, Eddie. Didn’t the late Mr. Boudreaux ever call you anything but Edna?”

She waited a moment, then said, “He called me Buttercup.”

Alex bit back a grin. With her tidy bun, granny glasses and prim suits, he couldn’t imagine Mrs. Boudreaux as anyone’s Buttercup. “I think I like Eddie better.”

“So you’ve said, Mr. Kusak.”

Alex sighed. Even after working side by side for nearly a year, the lady refused to call him by his first name. As she’d informed him when he’d first suggested she do so, she’d never called the former D.A. anything but “Mr. Newman” in the entire twenty years she’d worked for him. She saw no reason to resort to any such familiarity now. And though he doubted she’d admit it, he had a feeling he was growing on her. “You know, Eddie, one of these days you’re going to slip and call me ‘Alex,’ and when that happens our secret’s going to be out.”

“And what secret would that be, Mr. Kusak?”

“Why that we’re madly in love with each other.”

“If you’re finished talking nonsense, why don’t you tell me what it is you wanted.”

Alex flashed her a grin. “I need to get a brief typed,” he began, and proceeded to explain what was needed. As he spoke, he loosened his tie. Despite eight years in the D.A.’s office, first as an assistant and now as the district attorney, he still hated wearing the things. He might have come a long way from his days on the opposite side of the law, but he’d never gotten used to being trussed up like a turkey with a scrap of cloth choking him. “Do you think you can get it finished for me to take to court in say, forty minutes?”

Mrs. Boudreaux lifted her gaze from his mangled tie and Alex didn’t miss the disapproving set of her mouth. Although she said nothing, he was sure she was comparing him to his predecessor, who’d been a dapper dresser known for his bow ties. “I’ll have it ready.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Eddie. I could kiss you.”

“I’d suggest you save your kisses for the young lady in your office,” she told him dryly.

“Does the lady have a name?”

“Miss Callaghan,” she informed him.

His body went on full alert at the mention of Meredith’s name. She’d been driving him crazy from the time she’d been in a training bra and he’d been a juvenile delinquent on a fast track to trouble. “Did she say, uh, what she wanted?”

“Since she doesn’t know that I saw her sneak in there while I was getting my sandwich from the kitchen, I didn’t bother to ask.”

“You going soft on me, Eddie?”

She shrugged. “The girl looked so pleased with herself because she thought she’d gotten by me that I didn’t have the heart to ruin it for her.”

“Well, what do you know? You are a buttercup after all.”

She straightened her shoulders, gave him that prim look, but Alex thought he saw a bit more color in her cheeks. “Mr. Kusak, if you expect me to get this brief typed, I suggest you let me get to it.”

Alex eased off the edge of her desk and started for his office.

“Oh and one more thing, Mr. Kusak.”

“Yes?”

“You might want to suggest to Miss Callaghan that the next time she wants to get by someone unnoticed that she’d be wise to leave the red trench coat at home.”

“I’ll do that,” Alex told her, and opened the door to his office. He stepped inside. And there she was—sitting behind his desk wearing that scarlet-red trench coat and a pair of killer black heels that she had propped up on his desk.

“Hello, Mr. District Attorney.”

“Hello, Meredith,” he said with a calmness he was far from feeling. Some men had a weakness for booze. Others for drugs or gambling or even sex. For him, his weakness had always been Meredith Callaghan. She was like a fever in his blood, impossible to cure and equally fatal. “You want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

She gave him a pout and tossed her strawberry-blond hair so that it fell across her shoulders. “I didn’t realize I needed a reason to visit an old friend.”

They’d been a great deal more than friends and therein lay the problem, Alex thought as he felt his body responding to her already. “I don’t have time to chitchat now. I’m due back in court in less than an hour.”

“I didn’t come by to chitchat,” she sniffed. “I came by to remind you about my mother’s birthday dinner tonight. She’s expecting you.”

“Jack already reminded me. I’ll be there.”

“Good,” she said, giving him another one of those slow smiles that tied him up in knots.

When she made no attempt to leave, he said, “Now that you’ve delivered the message, I’d appreciate it if you’d get your feet off my desk and your pretty little rear end out of my chair. I need to get back to work.”

She beamed at him. “You think my rear end’s pretty?”

“I think the coat’s pretty.”

“You should see what I have on underneath it.”

Alex bit back a groan, because he knew every damn inch of her body. “No thanks.” He managed the words out of a throat that had gone dry with lust. “Now, move it.”

“Not until you tell me why you haven’t returned any of my calls. I’ve left you at least a dozen messages over the past two weeks.” She’d actually left only three, but he didn’t bother correcting her. “And that Simon Legree secretary of yours keeps telling me you’re unavailable.”

“Because I’m not available. I’m busy,” he told her, and began thumbing through the mail stacked in his “in” box.

“Bull! You’ve been avoiding me, Alex Kusak, and you know it.” She swung her legs off of the desk and came to her feet. “I’ve been back in town for three months now and we haven’t been alone together for five minutes.”

“With good reason,” he admitted. Giving up any pretense of reading the mail, he dumped the envelopes back into the tray. “You and I both know what happens whenever we’re alone together.”

She came over to him, draped her arms around his neck, and looking up at him out of those big green eyes, she whispered against his lips, “I know what I want to happen.”

Alex could feel himself growing hard as she pressed herself against him. He breathed in her scent, something wild and exotic like her. He wanted her so bad he ached. It had always been that way with Meredith—ever since that first time on her eighteenth birthday. Even now, he couldn’t believe he’d fallen for the lame story she’d given him that night about having a problem and needing to talk to him. He’d left the society bash inside her parents’ home and gone with her to the gazebo to talk. And then she’d told him the problem—that the one thing she wanted for her birthday only he could give her. She’d wanted him to make love to her. It was wrong. He’d known it was wrong. But he’d found her impossible to resist. They’d been off-and-on lovers for years, and because they hadn’t wanted to freak out family and friends, they’d kept the secret between them. She’d matched him sexually in every way, and since neither of them had been looking for a long-term commitment, the relationship had suited them both just fine.

And then a couple of years ago, something had changed. He still wasn’t sure if it was he or Meredith. Whatever there was between them had become more than friendship, more than just good sex. He cared about her, maybe too much.

“Want me to tell you what I’d like to do?” she whispered in his ear. She nipped his lobe with her teeth.