Complete Mia Kazmaroff Romantic Suspense Series, 1-4 Read online

  He pulled his gun out and dropped it in his lap as he watched the men climb into a pickup truck and drive away. As he stroked his gun in his lap, he reminded himself that there were other ways of getting the job done. There were always other ways.

  Chapter 9

  Had there ever been a more beautiful morning? Or had he just never looked around before today? Burton glanced at the scruffy little dog in the passenger seat with her nose pressed up against the window. He cracked the window and the dog scrambled up the arm rest to push her head outside.

  Yeah, that’s kinda how I feel, he thought with a wry grin. In love with my dead partner’s sister. Never in a million years would I ever have thought that sentence would pass through my mind, let alone be true.

  It had to be love. He wanted to touch her more than he wanted to take his next breath but that wasn’t all of it. Is it infatuation or love when you can’t wait to hear the next words out of her mouth? Or when the sound of her laughter makes you want to sing out loud?

  Oh, yeah. I may not be a smart man, he thought as he pulled onto Peachtree Road from Spring Street, but I know what love is when it hits me over the head with a two by four.

  The morning and the faded effects of the drug had brought out Mia’s business side, he thought ruefully. As soon as they were awake and fueled with coffee, she was outlining their tasks.

  Their separate tasks.

  He was to submit the paperwork that would make their partnership and their agency legit and she would collect Dave’s car from the impound lot. He offered to go with her but obviously the lack of a party drug in her system made their partnership seem less like a date to her and she’d insisted they’d get more done apart.

  The plan was to meet up again tomorrow morning in the downstairs office and hammer out an overall approach to the investigation. He sighed and glanced over at the dog again.

  Damn thing needs a name. Because who am I kidding? I got myself a dog.

  ***

  Mia paid the taxi and walked to the guard hut in the impound lot. She knew it would’ve made more sense to have Jack drive her here and she wasn’t sure exactly why she wasn’t comfortable with the idea.

  Probably because somewhere in the last twenty-four hours I started fantasizing about him putting his arms around me and drawing me in close against that big, hard…

  “Miss? You got paperwork?”

  Mia reddened and shook out the folded voucher for the car. “A blue Mustang,” she mumbled, although of course the paper would tell the man all he needed to know.

  Whatever it she was starting to feel for Jack Burton—and let’s don’t play games here, I find him way too hot to handle—had to be put somewhere in her mind safe and far away. While she trusted him completely to do his best in the investigation—it is, after all, what he does best—she knew too much about him through Dave as well as her own tactile explorations not to know he would be very bad news romantically.

  Besides, it would screw up our business model big time.

  She looked up when she saw Dave’s blue Mustang approach and instantly felt a searing pang of sorrow. Always before when she watched this car drive up it had been her brother behind the wheel. She steeled herself against the pain as it cascaded over her in waves.

  Miss you, Dave, she thought as she watched the attendant get out of the car. Miss you like fire.

  ***

  Diane made a point of ordering a decaf as she waited for him to show up. She’d already had too much caffeine before he called but that couldn’t be helped. She reran the tapes in her mind for the hundredth time to gauge what Jack’s mood had been like when he called her.

  He called me!

  She took a sip from her decaf macchiato and watched the customers as they entered the coffee shop. She’d made a point to face the door. She knew him so well, she could pick up on his mood from fifty yards away just by the way he walked. She’d done it enough times.

  It had taken her an hour to find just the right outfit to wear. She hadn’t wanted to look like she’d tried too hard. In fact, she wanted to appear as if she hadn’t changed her schedule at all to meet him. She debated wearing yoga pants but decided they weren’t forgiving enough so she went for a pair of dark shapewear shorts that passed for athletic wear. He’d always loved her ass. Today she’d make sure he remembered what he’d been missing.

  Even anticipating his entry, he was through the door and halfway to her table before she saw him. Surprised, she knocked over her coffee, spilling it onto her lap. She stood up and grabbed at the stack of napkins on the table but he was already wiping up the spill on the tabletop.

  “Hey, Diane, let me help you with that.”

  “Jack, it’s so good to see you,” she said breathlessly.

  He sat down.

  “Aren’t you going to have coffee?” she asked too brightly, reseating herself.

  “Nah, I’ve already had too much.”

  Why couldn’t I have just skipped it too? Always making things harder than they need to be…

  “I’m…glad you called, Jack.” When she looked at him to see what his mood was she was startled to see him smiling at her. Had she ever seen him this relaxed? The thought came to her so suddenly that it was impossible to stop the smile from forming on her lips.

  He wants to reconcile!

  “Look, Diane,” he said, “I’ll get right to the point. I know you’ve been calling a lot and you have some things you want to say to me—”

  “Yes, yes, Jack. Thank you. I really need to tell you how sorry I am about…everything.”

  He held up a hand to stop her and she felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Surely, if there was a chance in this world he could forgive her, it started with her apology?

  “I appreciate that, Diane. We all make mistakes and you were clearly miserable.”

  “No! No, it wasn’t that bad at all. I was just stupid and…and…” Now that she had his attention, all the rehearsed apologies, the eloquent statements of contrition were gone from her head. Saying I’m sorry is easy. Saying why I did it is a whole other thing.

  “I wanted you to know I don’t blame you,” he said.

  She stared at him, her words stuck in her throat. He didn’t look angry or resentful. He looked…over it.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “It didn’t work out and if it’s anyone’s fault for that, then it’s probably mine.”

  That wasn’t good. If he was accepting blame for her infidelity, he was cutting her loose once and for all.

  “I’d like to part as friends but I needed to tell you I’m sorry to your face,” he said.

  “Friends.”

  His eyes were calm, his brow was clear. He was no longer tortured about what had happened between them. That was clear.

  He had met someone. That was even clearer.

  “If that’s possible,” he said.

  “Yes,” Diane said, her voice a low whisper. “I’d like that.”

  “Great. Very good. Thanks, Diane.”

  She watched his fingers drum on the table and she realized he was about to leave. All the excitement of the morning, getting ready, wondering why he called, all the nerves and hope about a new beginning were well behind her now. All that was left was to watch him walk away for good, to delete his number from her phone, and to let him move on.

  She reached out and grabbed the hand that was tapping the table and he didn’t pull away. “I was so sorry to hear about Dave,” she said impulsively, desperate for any reason to keep him a little longer. He frowned and looked over her shoulder as if working to assemble difficult words together. She knew he hated Dave and so the pause surprised her.

  “Speaking of Dave,” he said, still looking over her shoulder. “Turns out he died under suspicious circumstances.”

  She watched him turn his gaze back to her. And this time the friendliness was gone.

  “What does that mean?” she asked, releasing his hand before he pulled it away.

  “Means it
looks like someone killed him.”

  Why is he telling me this? Diane picked up another napkin and began to wipe the completely dry table. “Carol told me his death was ruled accidental.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “How awful.” What did he want her to say? Where was this going? But she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she knew exactly where it was going.

  “You spend much time with Dave alone?”

  And there it was.

  “If you are referring to the rumor that Dave and I had something beyond a purely nominal relationship…”

  “It doesn’t matter about you and me, Diane,” he said, his eyes now cold and direct. “I just need to know.”

  “So you can…so you…am I a suspect?” She knew her mouth was hanging open and she didn’t care. Going from a meeting with the man you were still in love to being told, not only that that’s not possible, but that he thought you might have killed his partner was pretty much the top contender for the worst morning in her life so far.

  “I’m just asking a question, Diane.”

  “You’re just asking did I kill Dave?” She knew her voice was getting shrill, but at this point she didn’t really care. From the look on Jack’s face, it seemed he did.

  “Can you keep your voice down?”

  “If you chose a public place to accuse me of killing your partner in hopes it would keep me from making a scene, you are more addle headed than I thought!” She stood up, knocking her chair over backwards in the process. As she felt the indignation and anger welling up in her chest, it occurred to her that stomping out on him felt good. It certainly beat sipping cold decaf after getting dumped.

  “Screw you, Jack,” she hissed as she grabbed her bag. She took a step away and then turned to him. “Just like I screwed Dave,” she added.

  It wasn’t until she was all the way to the parking lot that she began to regret her parting shot.

  ***

  Mia hit redial on Maxwell’s private number for the tenth time that day. The fact that it went straight to voice mail told her all she needed to know. Maybe she should call Carol? Maybe she should invite herself over for dinner and be there waiting for him when Maxwell came home for dinner?

  She tossed her phone down on the couch in Dave’s apartment—I guess I need to start thinking of it as my apartment—and stripped her clothes off in the middle of the living room leaving them on a pile on the floor. She enjoyed the feeling of walking naked across the room to the bathroom. There were no windows this high up that mattered, unless the Tom had a helicopter as well as a high-powered lens. She showered quickly, then dried off and pulled on a pair of light-weight sweatpants and a long sleeve tee shirt.

  When she settled down onto the couch and looked at her cell phone, she saw she had no calls.

  Why is Maxwell ignoring me? She opened the fast food bag she’d picked up on the way home from her visit with her mother and pulled out a hamburger wrapped in wax paper. She didn’t have to worry about leaving the sandwich on the coffee table tonight, she mused. No hungry puppy to guard against. When she thought of the dog, she automatically thought of Burton.

  He’d made it clear this morning he would prefer to spend the day together.

  Boy, that’s a turn-around, she thought as she bit into her sandwich. But she was pretty sure they were getting more done separately than double-teaming. She was sure he and Dave used to split up when they worked a case.

  Dave. The drive to her mother’s in his car had been difficult on every level. First, Mia was bombarded by a strong fragrance—front and back seats—that she was sure she’d smelled before but couldn’t place. Second, she was picking up on a vibe that felt like the one when she touched the poisoned drinking glass. She couldn’t tell whether it was because it was the same woman in both cases, or just the same emotion. Detecting the nuances in her gift was still, largely, beyond her abilities, although she was working on it harder than she’d ever been motivated to do before.

  And of course, the third and worst of all the sensations of driving Dave’s car was the overwhelming feeling of his presence. So much so, that at one point, she thought she might even see him—like she was sometimes able to do with her father when she touched his beloved remote control.

  Seeing a hologram—or whatever it was—was nothing like a visit from the real person. It was just a sad, life-size video reflecting how badly you wanted to see the person again. Mia dropped her sandwich on the coffee table, her appetite killed. She waited as her eyes filled with tears and when she finally closed them, they streamed down her cheeks.

  When her phone rang, she was tempted to ignore it, so perversely enjoyable was it to abandon herself to her pain.

  It was Jack.

  “Hey,” she said, clearing her throat and hoping he’d speak to give her time to get a grip.

  “What’s wrong?”

  No such luck.

  “Nothing. Tell me about your day.”

  He blew out a breath and she had a vision of him getting comfortable on the sofa at his place, probably with the little dog on his lap, his legs on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles.

  “Well, I got us registered,” he said.

  “Yay.”

  “And I talked to Diane.”

  Mia sat up. “You did? That’s great. Did she sound guilty?”

  He grunted. “Not particularly. Honestly, I probably could’ve picked a better time.”

  “How so?”

  “It doesn’t matter. How about you? You get Dave’s car?”

  “I did. And I’m picking up the same perfume in it that I got from his bedroom.”

  “Interesting.”

  “And Maxwell’s screening my calls. Have you heard if they’ve reopened the case?”

  “They have. Sort of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Look, Mia, we don’t really want to be investigating at the same time they are, you know? We’ll get in the way or they’ll think we’re getting in the way.”

  “Who’s on the case?”

  “A new guy. I’ve never met him.”

  Mia wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that the case was reopened—especially if it meant she and Jack would be blocked from investigating. “How’s the puppy?”

  “I named her.”

  “Finally. Well?”

  “Daisy.”

  “As in the rifle?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Well, at least you’ve faced the facts of your custodial arrangement.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, it felt good to actually buy her a food bowl with her name on it instead of using the one I make tapenade in.”

  “You put her name on her bowl already?”

  “I was speaking metaphorically.”

  “Naturally you were. Well, not a terribly unproductive day, I guess,” Mia said, yawning.

  “You sounded a little down when you first picked up.”

  “No biggie.”

  “I could come over if you want.”

  Mia’s eyes widened as she realized that she did want. Very much. She missed his easy presence in the condo, double securing the locks, making tea in the kitchen, handing her the remote control instead of insisting on having it himself.

  “Not necessary,” she said, yawning again. “I’m calling it an early night. But you and Daisy will be here first thing in the morning, right? I made appointments for us to talk to both Carol Maxwell and Heather tomorrow.”

  “Wow, you have been busy. What’s that, Daisy? Oh, okay. Daisy says sleep tight.”

  “Same to you, Jack,” Mia said, with a smile in her voice as she disconnected. She finished her sandwich, and turned on the TV. After thirty minutes, she clicked it off and found her thoughts straying to Jack Burton again.

  From the way Dave described him, never in a million years would she have thought of Burton as a generous person tuned in to other people’s pain or feelings. Has he changed? Was it Dave’s death that changed him? Or had Dave been wr
ong about him?

  She was sorry she hadn’t pushed Jack more on his conversation with his ex-wife. Mia hoped he wasn’t going to rule her out. He obviously had issues with her. She went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and resolved to talk to Diane Burton herself. When she finally settled down on the couch again, pulling a blanket up to her chin, she realized the day’s efforts—mostly emotional—had drained her. Praying she’d be able to shut off her mind, she closed her eyes and tried to make sleep claim her, with the sounds of midtown and the Connector a faint purr in the background outside the condo.

  When she awakened, the Connector had gone silent and there was only the hushed, furtive sound of footsteps creeping up behind the couch where she lay.

  Chapter 10

  Mia bolted upright, flinging the blanket from her as he launched himself onto the couch, grabbing for her face. Trying to scream behind the wide meaty hand clapped to her mouth and nose, Mia’s senses were overwhelmed by the smell and feel of her assailant.

  He was dark and large. He smelled like he’d rolled in garbage before he came. One hand suffocated her while the other bunched her hands together, nearly crushing the bones in her wrists. She fell back onto the couch, gasping, and felt him straddle her, his hips high up on her chest.

  “Shut up, bitch!” he whispered hoarsely, shaking her face with his hand. The pain as he gripped her shot straight up into her brain and the darkened living room began to ease into total blackness. “Open yo eyes! Open ‘em now!”

  He shook her again but she felt his grip loosen. She fought to stay awake. He eased his weight off her chest but kept her pinned on the couch.

  “You hear me, girl?”

  Mia opened her eyes and saw that he was masked. She wouldn’t be able to identify him. If she lived through the night…

  “Do you hear me?” he repeated louder, his voice thick with menace.

  She nodded.

  “You gonna leave it alone. You hear me? Leave it alone or next time I slit your throat. You get me?”

  She nodded again. There was going to be a next time. She just had to live through the first time. The feel of his hand across her mouth erupted into a panoply of images, most of them too disjointed and unrelated to understand. The hand that held her had killed before, had killed recently. Her panic began to flutter in her chest like a trapped bird threatening to bash its skull against her rib cage.