Taylor bit her tongue. She’d seen how Lucas was looking at Mia. As if he’d just discovered a rare treasure that he thought he’d lost forever.
Mia had enough on her mind without sharing that little tidbit.
“Once we figure out who killed Tony, we can run him out of town,” Taylor assured her friend.
Mia forced a weary smile to her lips. “It’s late. Go home and feed your son.”
“Why don’t you come over?” Taylor impulsively offered. Justin loved having Mia come for dinner. It meant he could let the two women talk so he didn’t have to actually communicate in more than grunts and nods. “I’ll order a pizza and open a bottle of wine. I think we can both use it.”
Mia wrinkled her nose. “Thanks, sweetie, but I just want to go home and put up my aching feet.”
“Fine, party pooper.” Accepting she’d done everything she could to ease Mia’s stress, she turned to leave, only to come to a sharp halt as she recalled the message lying on her desk. “Oh, before I forget, Vicky Fontaine’s lawyer called again.”
“Christ.” Mia gave a shake of her head. The wealthy socialite had made her first offer to purchase George Ramon’s land just a few days after his death. Since then she’d called or had her lawyer call at least twice a week. “How many times do I have to tell them I’m not ready to sell?”
Taylor held up a hand. “I warned him you weren’t interested, but he claimed he has an offer you can’t refuse.”
“I don’t get it.” Mia made a sound of irritation. Not unusual when someone was discussing the older woman. Vicky Fontaine was the wife of a wealthy financier who could trace her ancestors back to one of the original French settlers in Louisiana. Something she droned on about with nauseating frequency. “Why the heck would she want twelve acres of swampland?”
That was a question that Taylor had asked herself more than once. Vicky owned a sprawling mansion south of Shreveport as well as a condo in New Orleans. She certainly wasn’t the type who would want a decaying cabin or bunch of wetland that was overrun with the junk George had collected over the years.
“Who knows?” Taylor said with a shrug. “It’s probably sitting on a fortune in oil. Or maybe Vicky wants to start an alligator farm. The coldhearted bitch would fit right in with the reptiles.”
“Just keep telling them no,” Mia told her. “I don’t have time to deal with them.”
“You got it.”
Mia gave a wave of her hand. “Now go.”
Taylor hesitated. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”
“Alone?” Mia gave a short, humorless laugh. “Have you looked outside?”
Curious, Taylor moved across the office to glance out the window. Darkness had already cloaked the parking lot in shadows, but the streetlights revealed a boring midsize car that she’d bet good money belonged to Detective Cooper and a silver Porsche Cayman that only Lucas could afford.
Turning back, she sent Mia a small smile. “Nice.”
“Nice?”
Taylor shrugged. “There are worse things than two handsome men stalking you.”
Mia arched a brow. “You think Detective Cooper is handsome?”
Well, crap.
Taylor hadn’t intended to share that little tidbit. So what if she’d felt a ridiculous tingle of awareness when the detective had strolled into the office? She’d sworn off men after her dickwad of a husband had walked out.
Even if they did have warm brown eyes and the sort of face that made a woman think of solid dependability and . . .
No, no, no.
“Don’t do anything I wish I was doing,” she forced herself to say in light tones, ignoring Mia’s speculative gaze as she headed out of the office.
She paused long enough to pull on a light jacket and grab her purse before she left, double checking the front door was locked, then heading toward her black Jeep.
Once in her vehicle, Taylor glanced toward the Porsche where Lucas was slouched in the driver’s seat, his focus locked on the office building. Clearly he wasn’t going anywhere until Mia left.
Detective Cooper, on the other hand, fired up his engine even as she backed up the Jeep and pulled out of the small lot. Taylor frowned, caught off guard when Detective Cooper’s headlights appeared in her rearview mirror, his car following her as she traveled over the bridge into Shreveport.
He remained on her tail as she turned into a small residential area just off Market Street. Once it’d been filled with middle-class families who took pride in mowing their yards on Saturday afternoons and repainting their shutters. Now it was fading into rental homes for college students and abandoned lots.
Thankfully the crime rate remained low, and her grandfather had built the house Taylor shared with her mother and Justin.
It wasn’t fancy, but it was constructed to last.
Pulling into the driveway, she automatically checked to make sure her son’s light was on in the upstairs window before stepping out of the Jeep. Once assured Justin had made it home from school, she climbed out of the vehicle and walked to the end of the driveway.
Within seconds the car following her pulled to a halt near the curb and Detective Cooper crawled out to meet her narrow-eyed glare.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.
The lawman offered a reassuring smile. Did he practice it in the mirror?
“I hoped we could have a chat.”
She ignored the tiny zing of pleasure at the sight of his clean-cut features and the dark eyes that seemed to study her with an interest she hadn’t experienced in years.
Dammit. What was wrong with her?
Aggravated by her unwelcomed response to the man, Taylor did what was familiar. She went on the attack.
“Shouldn’t you be keeping Mia safe?”
He stepped closer, almost as if he was trying to block the brisk breeze that was whipping down the street.
“She already has a watchdog,” he said, his lip twisting.
Clearly he wasn’t a big fan of Lucas St. Clair.
No doubt because it was the St. Clair name that had prompted the Shreveport authorities to get involved. The lawman could say whatever he wanted about helping out his uncle, but there was no way in hell the department would put a lot of tax dollars into solving the case of an unemployed druggie who’d managed to get gunned down on the streets of Houston.
Only the powerful St. Clairs and their terror of having any hint of scandal attached to their precious family could have forced them to start an all-out investigation.
“What do you want?”
He glanced over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable inside?”
“No.” There was no compromise in her tone. “My son is home.”
“Okay.” He stepped back. “We can talk in my car.”
She rolled her eyes. He obviously wasn’t going to go away until he’d asked his stupid questions.
“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” she muttered, stomping toward his car and yanking open the passenger door.
“I might have heard that a time or two,” he said in dry tones, rounding the hood to take a seat behind the steering wheel.
“No shit.” Taylor settled in her seat and slammed shut the door. She was relieved to discover the heater was running and the interior was surprisingly tidy. Not at all like the cop cars she’d seen on television. She glanced at the detective’s shadowed profile. “What do you want to know?”
“You’ve been friends with Ms. Ramon for some time?”
“Since we were six.”
He turned his head to meet her impatient gaze. “Then you would know anyone who might want to hurt her.”
“No one,” Taylor said in fierce tones. “Everyone loves Mia.”
“I appreciate your loyalty, Ms. Price—”
“Taylor,” she interrupted his soothing words. “I hate to be called Ms. Price.”
There was a short silence as he studied her with a searching intensity that made her wa
nt to squirm in her seat. Had he already run a background check on her? Probably. Which meant he knew she’d gotten pregnant in high school and promptly been abandoned by her husband.
For no reason at all, the knowledge bothered her.
“Taylor,” he at last said in soft tones. “Your friend might be in danger. It’s not unusual that she wouldn’t want to think she has enemies, but we all do. You would know them better than anyone.”
She bit her bottom lip, silently chastising herself. This was about Mia, not her hang-up with men.
“I suppose,” she muttered.
“I really am trying to help, Ms. . . .” He held up a hand of apology. “Taylor.”
Taylor forced herself to take time to truly consider his question.
“There are a few men in the landscaping business who aren’t thrilled by Mia’s success,” she admitted. “The ‘good ol’ boy’ system is still alive and well in this area. It hurts their tender pride to be beaten out of contracts by a young woman.”
Cooper nodded, reaching beneath his jacket to pull out his notebook. “Can you get me a list of names?” he asked.
“Yes, but I don’t think any of them would threaten her.”
“You’d be surprised,” the detective said.
Taylor hesitated before she gave a slow nod. He was right. It was always amazing what could make some people snap.
Still, it seemed a long shot.
“Fine. I’ll get you a list,” she promised.
“Anyone else?” he prompted. “Any ex-boyfriends?”
She released a short, humorless laugh. “Lucas St. Clair.”
He lifted a brow. “Are you implying—”
“No,” she hastily denied. “Lucas was a jackass when he walked out on Mia fifteen years ago, but he’s always been fiercely protective,” she told her companion. “He might break her heart but he would give his life for her.”
“War can change a man.”
Taylor tensed at the soft warning. It was true that Lucas had not only served in the Middle East, but had also been held prisoner by the Taliban for weeks.
That could unhinge anyone.
“Do you think he’s a danger?” she breathed.
“No.” The denial came without hesitation. “He just annoys the hell out of me. Any other exes?”
She squashed her instinctive urge to smile at his honesty. Detective Cooper was trained to lower people’s defenses. How else could he get the information he needed?
“None that were ever serious.”
“Any men who were hoping for more than she was willing to give?”
Taylor thought back to the various men who’d pressed Mia for dates. There were quite a few. Mia was a woman who attracted male attention.
But for the most part they accepted her refusals with good grace.
Although . . .
She furrowed her brow. “Mia does have a neighbor who shows up without invitation,” she told her companion. “She’s said a couple of times that she’s caught him peeking out his window when she was walking around her yard. Nothing threatening, but he gives her the creeps.”
Cooper pressed his pencil to his notepad. “Name?”
Taylor dredged the name out of the recesses of her tired brain. “Carl. Carl Greene.” She shrugged. “He’s the only one I can think of.”
“What about employees?”
“We have five full-time gardeners who’ve all worked with Mia for years.” She waited while he continued to write in his notebook. She didn’t bother to waste her breath telling the lawman that the employees all adored Mia. Taylor was beginning to suspect that Detective Cooper wouldn’t be happy until he’d interviewed each and every person who might be connected to her friend. “Our part-time workers change, but none of them have ever been violent.”
“Can you get me a list?”
She heaved an impatient sigh. “Yeah, I can get you a list. Anything else?”
“I’ll need a list of anyone who owes her money.”
Taylor widened her eyes. Okay. Now he was making sense.
“We do have customers who are well behind on their payments,” she admitted. “Some of them owe several thousand dollars. I’ve told Mia we should hand them over to a collection agency, but she insists on dealing with them personally, even when the client becomes downright nasty.” She wrinkled her nose, recalling the times she’d heard the raised voices and occasional threats coming from Mia’s office. “I’ll get you the names.”
His lips twitched, as if sensing she finally accepted he might be capable of doing his job. “Thank you.”
Tilting her head to the side, she studied his solid features. “Do you think you’ll find Tony’s killer by investigating Mia?”
“It’s one angle,” he murmured in dismissive tones.
And that was all he was going to give her. Period.
She pointedly reached to open the door. She still had dinner to make for a hungry sixteen-year-old boy and her mother, who would be waiting for Taylor to give her an insulin shot.
“Any other questions?”
He tucked away his notebook, briefly holding her gaze.
“I’ll be in touch.”
“Awesome.”
Crawling out of the car, Taylor slammed the door shut.
She didn’t want Detective Cooper to be “in touch.” Not when he reminded her that she was still a woman with the sort of needs that weren’t going to be fulfilled by a homicide detective whose only interest in her was catching a killer.
* * *
Mia had intended to linger in her office. It seemed like poetic justice to make Lucas sit in his car waiting for her.
For hours. Days. Years . . .
But by six o’clock, Mia accepted that she was being ridiculous.
Why punish herself by sitting in her office? Especially when she was in dire need of a hot bath and a very large glass of wine?
It wasn’t like forcing Lucas to sit in a hundred-thousand-dollar car for a few hours was actually going to make up for being dumped like yesterday’s news. The damned Porsche probably made him coffee, gave him a pedicure, and turned into a Transformer when he was bored.
Powering down her computer, she did a walk-through of the office to make sure everything was locked up tight before switching on the alarm and leaving the building. Then, crossing straight to the silver sports car, she waited for Lucas to lower his window.
“I’m heading home,” she abruptly announced.
The overhead security lights revealed the twitch of his lips. “Okay.”
She glared at him, her heart squeezing at the sight of his fiercely handsome face. Would there ever come a day when she could look at this man and not feel as if she was being struck by lightning?
“There’s no need to follow me.”
“Okay.”
She clenched her teeth. He might be gorgeous, but he was annoying as hell. A good thing to remember.
Turning on her heel, she crossed the cement lot, climbed into her car, and started the engine. Then, without a glance toward the sleek Porsche, she pulled onto the street and headed the short distance to her home, which was tucked at the end of a quiet street.
It wasn’t much.
The small house was covered by a weird white stucco that’d been in fashion during the fifties, with a narrow, covered porch. Inside, there was a living room that was barely large enough to fit a couch and TV, two bedrooms that shared one bath, and an eat-in kitchen. But she’d used the bulk of the unexpected money she’d inherited from her father as a down payment on the new office building for Ramon Landscaping and Nursery. What she had left over she’d used as a down payment on the house.
It was certainly a step up from the shabby Shreveport apartment she’d lived in since leaving home at eighteen. Plus it was within walking distance of work.
Pulling into the driveway, she crawled out of the car and muttered a curse as the Porsche pulled in behind her. Not that she’d expected anything else.
She wait
ed as Lucas slid out of the car with a grace that always made her feel like an awkward klutz.
“I told you there was no need. . . .” Her words trailed away in disbelief as he boldly moved forward and snatched her key chain from her hand. “Hey. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Stupid question. Even an idiot could see that he was using her key to open the front door and step inside. She hustled to join him in the living room as he flipped on the lights.
“Making sure the house is clear,” he told her.
“Clear of what?”
“Anything. Wait here,” he commanded, heading toward the nearest bedroom.
“Obnoxious ass,” she muttered, tossing her purse on the couch and kicking off her heels.
“I heard that,” he called back.
“Good.”
She stepped to the middle of the room, watching as he peeked under the bed and in the closet before checking the lock was secure on the window.
He repeated the process in the next bedroom, making her cringe as he hesitated at the end of the bed where she’d tossed her lace nightgown. So sue her. She might be a tomboy, but she liked girly negligees.
At last done with his intrusion into her privacy, he moved back through the living room and into the kitchen. She followed behind him, sliding off her jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair that matched the three others set around the wooden table.
She might have been worried about him if she hadn’t already noticed the gun he had visibly holstered around his waist.
Clearly he wasn’t the same man—the one who believed the pen was mightier than the sword—that she’d known when they were young.
He crossed the tiled floor to enter the attached pantry where she kept her washer and dryer, peering out the window of the door that offered a view of her spacious backyard and the empty field beyond the rickety shed.
Her neighbors were cramped on either side of the house, but the open view behind her gave a sense of space that appealed to Mia.
Finished with his self-imposed task, Lucas returned to the kitchen and leaned against the white-painted cabinets.
Slowly he allowed his gaze to roam up and down her rigid body. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
“No.”
Expecting some smart-ass comment, Mia was caught off guard when he shoved away from the counter and gently brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek.