The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming) Page 14

  “Yes, I need to talk to her,” Reese was saying. “But every time I’ve phoned I’ve gotten her machine.”

  Travis fumed. Both he and Hank had made it clear that Reese wasn’t to contact Celeste again, yet the guy couldn’t care less.

  “I think she’s home but screening her calls,” Reese continued. “She’ll pick up for you, though, won’t she?”

  When Travis simply let that pass, Reese said, “I never leave messages on machines. It’s a matter of principle. So I’ve been sitting here looking at your card, and thinking that if you wouldn’t mind just asking her to phone me...”

  “Mr. Reese, the last I heard, Ms. Langley didn’t want to—”

  “No, you don’t understand. I’ve learned something about her brother’s death. Something very important.”

  Travis could feel adrenaline racing through his veins.

  He doubted Reese had learned anything that Hank and the rest of the detectives weren’t already on top of. But it was conceivable that all along he’d known something they didn’t.

  Even though he had an airtight alibi for the evening Steve Parker was murdered, that didn’t rule out the possibility he’d played a role in the killing.

  “Something very important,” Travis repeated evenly. “In that case, you should be talking to Detective Ballantyne. He’s in charge of the case, so why don’t I have him call you, and—”

  “No. I’m not going to discuss it with anyone except Celeste. Not initially. After I’ve talked to her, I’ll be ready for Ballantyne. But I’ve got to talk to her first.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want her to know it’s me who’s giving you people her brother’s murderer.”

  “Mr. Reese, you have my word that she’ll know you’re helping.”

  “I’m talking about more than helping,” he snapped. “Didn’t you hear me? I can give you the murderer.”

  “Well, that’s absolutely terrific. But having you talk to her first just isn’t the way we work. So—”

  “I talk to her first or I don’t talk to anyone. Your decision.” With that, he hung up.

  “What?” Hank said the instant Travis clicked off.

  “He says he knows who killed Steve Parker. But he wants to tell Celeste before he’ll talk to you. He wants her to call him.”

  “You have his number?” she asked.

  “Wait a minute. Let’s not forget this guy’s a nut bar. He might not know a thing.”

  “On the other hand, he might,” Hank said. “And there’s only one way to find out. I’ve got his number right here,” he added, digging his notebook from his pocket.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Travis muttered.

  But that hardly meant he liked the idea of Celeste phoning Reese. Both times she’d spoken to him before, he’d scared the devil out of her.

  “Let’s wait until morning,” he suggested. “We don’t want to seem too eager about giving in to him.”

  “We don’t want him having time to change his mind, either,” Hank pointed out.

  “Yeah...well...okay, but we’ll do the conference call routine again.”

  Once they had their two cell phones and the apartment’s line linked, Hank punched in the numbers that would add Reese to the mix.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Travis asked Celeste.

  She nodded, although she looked awfully nervous.

  When Reese answered on the first ring, an image of a vulture hovering over a phone popped into Travis’s mind.

  “Mr. Reese, it’s Celeste Langley,” she said. “Detective Quinn just called and asked me to phone you. I hope it’s not too late.”

  “No, not at all. I’m a night owl.”

  Or a night vulture, as the case may be.

  Reese said nothing more, so Hank gestured for Celeste to pick up the ball.

  “Detective Quinn said you wanted to talk to me about my brother’s case,” she prompted.

  “Yes, I do. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

  She shot Travis an anxious glance; he firmly shook his head. There was no way she was getting together with that weirdo.

  “I was thinking Joe Allen. On Forty-sixth. You know? Near Eighth?”

  “Ah...well, yes, I know where it is, but I got the impression that you only wanted to talk on the phone.”

  “No. Detective Quinn must have misunderstood.”

  “I guess he must have. But I’m afraid I’m not up to socializing. I’m still feeling pretty shaky about the murder, and—”

  “I understand. This won’t be socializing, though. And it really isn’t something we can discuss over the phone.”

  “But—”

  “Celeste, I know who killed your brother. And I want to see your face when I tell you.”

  She looked at Travis once more, a question in her eyes.

  He mouthed, I’m not sure. Reese was probably lying. But possibly, he wasn’t.

  “Well...that’s wonderful. Your knowing, I mean. It’ll be such a relief when the case is closed. Still, I think it would be more appropriate for—”

  “Joe Allen. Tomorrow at one. I’ve already made the reservation,” Reese added. Then the connection was broken.

  “Call him back,” Travis told her. “Tell him you won’t be there and see if you can—”

  “Hey,” Hank interrupted. “Let’s not be too hasty. None of us wants her face-to-face with Reese, but what if he really does know who our perp is?”

  “I’ll go,” Celeste said. “Hank’s right. I have to. He might really know.”

  “But...” Travis eyed her for a minute, then simply shook his head and didn’t bother with the rest.

  Her expression said he could argue against her decision till one tomorrow afternoon without changing her mind.

  * * *

  BEING ON LEAVE, and not exactly in the CO’s good books, Travis wasn’t about to go anywhere near Manhattan North Homicide. But he’d wanted a couple of things, so he’d asked Hank to pick them up.

  Hank dropped them off a little after eleven in the morning, which left plenty of time.

  “Everything else organized?” Travis asked, reaching for the bag.

  “Uh-huh. A couple of our guys will be having lunch in the restaurant. Two more will be in a car near the entrance. And I’m putting a uniform in the alley out back.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “Hey, no thanks necessary. I don’t want anything happening to her, either. But Reese isn’t likely to try much in a restaurant. You know that. And with any luck he can tell us who killed Parker.”

  “Yeah, maybe he can,” Travis agreed, although he really doubted it. The idea of him handing them their perp seemed just too improbable.

  “I’ll stop by again later,” Hank said as they walked over to where he’d double-parked. “I want to hear the details firsthand.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Travis waited until Hank had climbed into his car, before starting back to the apartment. When he got there, Celeste glanced curiously at the bag.

  “Just a couple of things for your meeting with Reese,” he said.

  She eyed him for a minute, then said, “You’re really worried about it, aren’t you.”

  Admitting she was right would only make her more anxious, so he merely said, “I just don’t want to take any chances, and we’re not going to. For starters, you won’t be meeting him at his location. I’ll be the one at Joe Allen. I’ll bring him to you.”

  “And I’ll be...?”

  “Down the block at another restaurant called Zia’s.”

  “What if he doesn’t go for the change of venue?”

  “Then he doesn’t get to talk to you.”

  “But—”

  “Celeste, I’m not
letting him have control. And if that means he takes a hike, then we do without whatever he has to say. But if he plays along, we want a place where keeping you under surveillance will be easy.”

  “Surveillance?”

  “Yeah, we’ll have some of our people at Zia’s. It’s small. Easy to see who’s doing what.”

  “Travis...do you actually think Reese might...” She paused, glancing over to where his gun was sitting.

  “You won’t need a gun,” he told her. And surely that was true.

  As Hank had said, even a nut bar like Reese wouldn’t likely try much in a restaurant. And if he did, their fellows would take care of him. Fast.

  Besides, Celeste had never used a gun. If she tried to, she’d be lucky to remember half of what he’d shown her the other night. And he knew of more than one instance where someone inexperienced had ended up with his gun being used against him.

  “You’ll be wearing a wire,” he continued. “So if there’s any trouble, I’ll hear it the moment it starts.”

  “A wire,” she repeated, looking surprised. And uneasy.

  “It’s just another precaution,” he told her. “As I said, we’re not taking any chances. So let’s get the transmitter taped to you.”

  “You mean taped to my skin?”

  When he nodded, she said, “Isn’t there some other way?”

  “Uh-uh. If it can shift around we either get static or lose the sound entirely.”

  She said nothing more, so he took the mike and a roll of tape from the bag and hunkered down in front of her, swallowing hard as he inhaled her perfume.

  “Okay,” he said as nonchalantly as he could. “If you just pull your sweater up a few inches...”

  She did, revealing an expanse of creamy skin.

  Swallowing hard again, he ripped a length of tape from the role.

  “That’s going to hurt when it comes off, isn’t it,” she murmured.

  He looked up. “Yeah, ’fraid so. But it won’t be too bad.”

  “No, I know. I’m just a chicken. I’ve always had sort of a...thing about pulling off tape. Even a tiny bandage. I realize it’s childish, but...”

  When she substituted a little shrug in place of the rest of her explanation, he almost asked if she thought she could manage this job herself. But he had to be sure it was done right, so he reached for the transmitter and rested it against her chest.

  Her skin felt as warm and smooth as sun-drenched silk; he had an almost overwhelming urge to caress it. Somehow, he forced himself to resist.

  He secured the top of the device with the strip of tape, trying not to breathe in any more of her perfume.

  “Hold that in place while I get another piece,” he said.

  After ripping off a second length of tape, he fixed the bottom of the transmitter to her rib cage.

  “That’s got it,” he said, standing up. “Now, all you have to do is clip the mike to your bra. About the center would be good.”

  He didn’t watch her fiddle under her sweater with the mike. Instead, he stared straight at the wall and took four times as long as necessary to tuck the receiver into his ear.

  “Okay, we’ll do a final volume-level test when you’re ready to go,” he said at last. “But right now I just want to make sure everything’s working okay.

  “I’ll go out into the hall and close the door. And you start speaking quietly. The way you would sitting in a restaurant.”

  “Where will you be then? When I’m actually in the restaurant, I mean.”

  “I’ll have to scope things out once we get there, but probably in the alley. On the street, the noise of the traffic could be a problem.”

  “Right,” Celeste murmured, not taking her eyes off him as he turned and started for the door.

  She had a suspicion that even if she tried to it would prove impossible.

  She’d barely been able to breathe while he’d taped on the transmitter, barely been able to keep her hands from cradling his face and drawing him to his feet...from drawing his mouth to hers.

  Knowing how expert his kisses were, how good they made her feel, she’d had to muster all the determination she could to keep her cool.

  Cool? She slowly shook her head as the word echoed in her mind. There was absolutely nothing cool about her when she was as close to Travis Quinn as she’d just been.

  The voice of common sense that kept warning her not to rush into anything, to wait and see how she felt about him after this was all over, was becoming so faint she could barely hear it over the sound of her heartbeat.

  * * *

  TRAVIS LEFT Celeste sitting at a table in Zia’s and started down the block toward Joe Allen—telling himself, once again, that she’d be fine.

  He’d seen the detectives parked outside, watching the street. And the ones inside, who’d be keeping a close eye on her.

  Yes, his listening in on her conversation was going to be blatant overkill. But he just didn’t want to take the slightest risk. If anything happened to her...

  “Nothing will,” he said under his breath.

  He reached Joe Allen at a quarter to one, checked with the maître d’ to make sure Reese hadn’t arrived early, then waited outside the restaurant.

  At five to, a taxi pulled up and Reese climbed out. The moment Travis spotted him, his gut tightened. If Reese did anything to try to harm Celeste, he’d kill him.

  “Mr. Reese,” he said as the man turned away from the cab.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “There’s been a slight change of plans. Ms. Langley would rather eat somewhere else.”

  “Then why didn’t she say so last night?”

  Travis shrugged. “She’s waiting for you. At a restaurant right down the block,” he added, gesturing in its direction.

  “This is a private lunch,” Reese snapped. “You’re not invited.”

  “I’ve already eaten. So I’ll just show you where—”

  “I don’t need a guide. What’s the place called?”

  “Zia’s.”

  Reese wheeled away and started off.

  Travis watched him for a few seconds, willing his blood pressure to drop back to normal, then headed rapidly in the opposite direction. He rounded the corner of Eighth and began to jog.

  Earlier, when he’d checked to make sure that Pazzia’s back door was unlocked, he’d introduced himself to the uniform posted in the alley. So this time he merely nodded to the guy, then stuck the receiver in his ear—just in time to hear Reese say, “Ms. Langley, I’m Evan Reese.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said amid the noise of a chair scraping across the floor.

  Travis wasn’t sure whether she actually sounded nervous or it was only his imagination.

  “You don’t like Joe Allen?” Reese asked.

  “Oh, no, it isn’t that. I just knew I’d feel more relaxed here. It’s one of my favorite places. I come in all the time, and I thought, since it was just down the street, you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I don’t. This looks fine.”

  “Good. I know it was presumptuous of me, but I’m not very comfortable about meeting strangers, so I decided... I’m babbling, aren’t I. That’s one of the dumb things I do when I first meet someone.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We won’t be strangers for long.”

  There was a silence, then she said, “I could hardly sleep after we talked last night. Just couldn’t stop thinking that once you tell the police who killed Steve they’ll be able to wrap up the case. But it was thoughtful of you to want to tell me first. So...the suspense is killing me.”

  He could picture the gorgeous smile she was giving Reese, and the image made him clench his hands. He didn’t want the woman he loved having to force smiles for a cr
eep like that.

  The woman he loved.

  The realization he’d gotten to that stage hit him like a proverbial bolt from the blue.

  Oh, he’d been aware, for days now, that he didn’t want them to end when this was over. Aware he wanted enough time to find out how they’d be together under normal circumstances. But the fact that, without even noticing, he’d crossed the emotional line and fallen in love with her...

  How could he possibly have let that happen?

  He ordered himself to put the question out of his mind for the moment, because Reese had started speaking again.

  “Before we get to who killed your brother,” he was saying, “there’s something else I want to discuss.”

  Travis clenched his fists. He was already sensing that Reese had no intention of playing straight.

  “Oh?” Celeste said. “What?”

  “I was very close to him. I mean, I know all about transference between a patient and his psychiatrist, but I’m talking more than that.

  “There was something unique between us. A bond. An incredibly strong thread of communality.

  “Now that he’s gone, I feel as if there’s an emptiness in my life that I have to fill. And I keep thinking...

  “Remember what we discussed on the phone that first time? The cosmic connection between us? You, an editor. Me, a writer. You, Steve’s sister. Me, having a special relationship with him.

  “It’s like the ‘six degrees of separation’ thing. But with you and me there was only one degree. Your brother.

  “With him gone there shouldn’t even be one. I guess there already isn’t, since we’re here together. And...Celeste, I want to be your friend. I want—”

  “Mr. Reese?”

  “Evan. Please call me Evan.”

  “Evan, then,” she said slowly, definitely sounding nervous now.

  Come on, Travis silently urged her. You’re doing fine.

  “As I explained last night,” she continued, “I’m still pretty shaky, emotionally speaking. So it really would be better if...if we left talking about any relationship between us for another time.”

  “I see,” Reese said icily.