Loved You First Read online

“Nope.” Alex grinned while Bess watched them bounce the verbal ball as though they were champion tennis players. “Jesús got sick. I offered to get him some water. He didn’t object. I opened the freezer to get the poor guy some ice, and there it was. Two kilos. It’ll all be in my report.”

  “That’s lame, Alexi. You’ll never get a conviction.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Talk to the DA.”

  “I intend to.” Rachel shifted her briefcase and began to rub her belly in circular motions to soothe the baby, who seemed to be doing aerobics in her womb. “You had no probable cause.”

  “Sit down.”

  “I don’t want to sit down.”

  “The baby does.” He yanked over a chair and all but shoved her into it. “When are you going to knock this off?”

  It did feel better to sit. Indescribably better. But she wasn’t about to admit it. “The baby’s not due for two months. I have plenty of time. We were discussing…”

  “Rach.” He laid a hand on her cheek, very gently. A shouted curse wouldn’t have stopped her, but the small gesture did. “Don’t make me worry about you.”

  “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m having a baby. It’s not contagious. Now, about Domingo.”

  Alex gave a brief, pithy opinion on what could be done with Domingo. “Talk to the DA,” he repeated. “Sitting down.”

  “She looks pretty strong to me,” Bess commented. Two pair of eyes turned to her, one furious, the other thoughtful.

  “Thank you. The men in my life are coddlers,” Rachel explained. “Sweet, but annoying.”

  “Muldoon should take better care of you,” Alex insisted.

  “I don’t need Zack to take care of me. And the fact is, between him and Nick, I’m barely allowed to brush my own teeth.” She held out a hand to Bess. “Since my brother is too rude to introduce me, I’m Rachel Muldoon.”

  “Bess McNee. You’re a lawyer?”

  “That’s right. I work for the public defender’s office.”

  “Really?” Bess’s thoughts began to perk. “What’s it like to—”

  Alex held up a hand. “Don’t get her started. She’ll pick your brain clean before you know she’s had her fingers in it. Look, McNee—” he turned to Bess, determined not to be charmed by her easy smile “—we’re a little busy here.”

  “Of course you are. I’m sorry.” Obligingly she swung her huge purse onto her shoulder. “We’ll talk tonight. Nice to meet you, Rachel.”

  “Same here.” Rachel ran her tongue over her teeth, and both she and Alex watched Bess weave her way out of the squad room. “Well, that was rude.”

  “It’s the only way to handle her. Believe me.”

  “Hmm… She seems like an interesting woman. How did you meet her?”

  “Don’t ask.” He sat back down on his desk, irked that the scent of sunshine and sex still lingered in the air.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Holly, Judd’s pretty wife of eight months, was all but hopping out of her party shoes. “Wait until I tell everyone in the teachers’ lounge where I spent the evening.”

  “Take it easy, honey.” Judd tugged at the tie she’d insisted he wear. “It’s just a party.”

  “Just a party?” As the elevator rode up, she fussed with her honey-brown hair. “I don’t know about you two, but it isn’t every day I get to eat canapés with celebrities.”

  Ominously silent, Alex stayed hunched in his leather jacket. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. His first mistake had been mentioning the invitation to Judd. No matter how insouciant Judd pretended to be, he’d been bursting at the seams when he called his wife. Alex had been swept along in their enthusiasm.

  But he wasn’t going to stay. Holly’s sense of decorum might have insisted that she and Judd couldn’t attend without him, but he’d already decided just how he’d play it. He’d go in, maybe have a beer and a couple of crackers. Then he’d slip out again. He’d be damned if he’d spend this rare free evening playing soap-opera groupie.

  “Oh, my” was all Holly could say when the elevator doors opened.

  The walls of the private foyer were splashed with a mural of the city. Times Square, Rockefeller Center, Harlem, Little Italy, Broadway. People seemed to be rushing along the walls, just as they did the streets below. It was as if the woman who lived here didn’t want to miss one moment of the action.

  The wide door to the main apartment was open, and music, laughter and conversation were pouring out, along with the scents of hot food and burning candles.

  “Oh, my,” Holly said again, dragging her husband along as she stepped inside.

  From behind them, Alex scanned the room. It was huge, and it was packed with people. Draped in silk or cotton, clad in business suits and lush gowns, they stood elbow to elbow on the hardwood floor, lounged hip to hip on the sapphire cushions of the enormous circular conversation pit, sat knee to knee on the steps of a bronze circular staircase that led to an open loft where still more people leaned against a railing decked with naked cherubs.

  Two huge windows let the lights of the city in. More partygoers sat on the pillow-plumped window seats, balancing plates and glasses on their laps.

  Paintings were scattered over the ivory-toned walls. Vivid, frenetic modern art, mind-bending surrealism. There was enough color to make his head swim. Yet, through the crowd and the clashing tones, he saw her. Dancing seductively with a distinguished-looking man in a gray pinstriped suit.

  She wore an excuse for a dress, the color of crushed purple grapes. He wondered, irritated, if she owned anything that covered those legs. This number certainly didn’t. Nor did it cover much territory at all, the way it dipped to the waist in the back, skimmed above mid-thigh and left her shoulders bare, but for skinny, glittery straps. Multihued gemstones fell in a rope from her earlobes to those nicely sloped shoulders. Her feet were bare.

  She looked, Alex thought as his stomach muscles twisted themselves into nasty knots, outrageously alluring.

  “Oh, Lord, there’s Jade. Oh, and Storm and Vicki. Dr. Carstairs, too.” Holly’s fingers dug into her husband’s arm. “It’s Amelia.”

  “Who?”

  “‘Secret Sins,’ dummy.” She gave Judd a playful punch. “The whole cast’s here.”

  “That’s not all.” Because he remembered in time he was supposed to be jaded, Judd stopped himself from pointing and inclined his head. “That’s Lawrence D. Strater dancing with our hostess. The L.D. Strater, of Strater Industries. The Fortune 500’s darling. The mayor’s over in that corner, talking with Hannah Loy, the grand old lady of Broadway.” His excitement began to hum in his voice as he continued to scan the room. “Man, there are enough luminaries in this room to light every borough in New York.”

  But Alex hadn’t noticed. Furthermore, he didn’t give a damn. His attention was focused on Bess. She’d stopped dancing, and had leaned up to whisper something in her partner’s ear that made him laugh before he kissed her. Smack on the lips.

  She kissed him back, too, her hands lightly intimate at his waist, before she turned and spotted the new arrivals. She waved, made her excuses, then scooted and dodged her way through the crowd toward them.

  “You made it.” She gave both Alex and Judd a friendly peck on the cheek before holding out both hands to Holly. “Nice to meet you.”

  “My wife, Holly, this is Bess McNee.”

  “Thanks for asking us.” Holly caught herself starting to stutter, as she had the first time she faced a classroom of ten-year-olds. She flushed.

  “My pleasure.” Bess gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s get you something to eat and drink.” She gestured toward a long table by the wall. Instead of the useless finger food and fancy, unrecognizable dishes Alex had expected, it was laden with big pots of spaghetti, mountains of garlic bread, and generous trays of antipasti.

  “It’s Italian night,” she explained, grabbing a plate and heaping
it high. “There’s plenty of wine and beer, and a full bar.” She handed the plate to Holly and began to dish up another. “The desserts are on the other side of the room. They’re unbelievable.” As she passed Judd a plate, she noted the gleam in Holly’s eyes. “Would you like to meet some of the cast?”

  “Oh, I…” The hell with sophistication. “Yes. I’d love it.”

  “Great. Excuse us. Help yourself, Alexi.”

  “This is really something,” Judd said over a mouthful of spaghetti.

  “Something,” Alex agreed. Deciding to make the best of it, he fixed himself a plate.

  He wasn’t going to stay. But the food was great. In any case, he didn’t have anything else to do. It didn’t hurt to hang around and rub elbows with the fast and famous while he was helping himself to a good hot meal. It certainly made a change from his daily routine of wading through misery and bitterness.

  After washing down spaghetti with some good red wine, he found himself a spot on a window seat where he could sit back and watch the show.

  Bess dropped down beside him, clinked her glass against his. “Best seat in the house.”

  “Some house.”

  “Yeah, I like it. I’ll show you the rest later, if you want.” She broke off a tiny piece of the pastry on his plate and sampled it. “Great stuff.”

  “Yeah. You got a little…here.” Before his good sense could take over, he rubbed a bit of the rich cream from her lip. Watching her, he licked it from the pad of his thumb. And tasted her. “It’s not bad.”

  For a moment she wondered if the circuits in her brain had crossed. Something certainly had sent out a spark. She managed a small sound of agreement as she flicked her tongue to the corner of her mouth. And tasted him.

  “Your, ah, partner’s wife. Holly.” Small talk, any talk, had always come easily to her. She wasn’t sure why she was laboring now.

  “What about her?”

  “Who? Oh, right. Holly. She’s nice. I can’t imagine what it would be like to teach fifth-graders.”

  “I’m sure you’ll ask her.”

  “I already did.” At ease again, she smiled at him. Something about that sarcastic edge to his voice made her relax and enjoy. “Come on, Alexi. We may be in different professions, but both of them require a certain amount of curiosity about human nature. Aren’t you sitting here right now wondering about all of these people, and what they’re doing at my party?”

  “Not as much as I’m wondering what I’m doing at your party.” He swirled the wine in his glass before sipping. When he drank, his eyes stayed on hers. Watchful.

  She liked that. She liked that very much, the way he could sit so still, energy humming from every pore, while he watched. While he waited. Bess was willing to admit that one of her biggest failings was being unable to wait for anything.

  “You were curious,” she told him.

  “Some.”

  Her skirt hitched up another inch when she curled her legs up on the seat. “I’d be happy to tell you whatever you want to know, in exchange for your help. You see that guy over there, the gorgeous one with the blonde hanging on his biceps?”

  Alex scanned, homed in. “Yeah. I wouldn’t say he was gorgeous.”

  “You’re not a woman. That’s my detective, Storm Warfield, the black sheep of the snooty, disgustingly rich Warfield clan, the rebel, the volatile brother of the long-suffering Elana Warfield Stafford Carstairs. He’s recently pulled himself out of the destructive affair with the wicked, wily Vicki. The blonde crawling up his chest. They’re an item off-camera, but on, Storm is madly in love with the tragedy-prone and ethereal Jade, who is, of course, torn between her feelings for him and her misplaced loyalty to the maniacally clever and dastardly Brock Carstairs—half brother to Elana’s stalwart husband Dr. Maxwell Carstairs. Max was once married to Jade’s formerly conniving but now repentant sister, Flame, who was killed in a Peruvian earthquake soon after the birth of her son—who may or may not be her husband’s child. Naturally, the body was never recovered.”

  “Either I’ve had too much wine, or you’re making me dizzy.”

  Bess smiled and gave him a companionable pat on the thigh that sent his blood pressure soaring. “It’s really not that complicated, once you know the players. But I want you for Storm.”

  Alex sent the actor a considering look. “I don’t think he’s my type.”

  “Your professional expertise, Detective. I need an informal technical advisor. My producer’d be happy to compensate you for your time—particularly since we’ve been number one in the ratings for the past nine months.” Someone called her name, and Bess sent a quick wave. “Looks like it’s going to start to thin out. Listen, can you hang around until I’ve finished playing hostess?”

  She popped up and was gone before he could answer. After a moment, Alex set the rest of the dessert aside and rose. If he was going to see the party through, he might as well enjoy himself.

  As she saw to the rest of her guests, Bess kept an eye on him. Once he decided to relax, she noted, he made the most of it. It didn’t surprise her that he knew how to flirt, or that several women in the room made a point of wandering in his direction. Not even Lori—no pushover in the men department—was unaffected.

  “So, that’s the one who busted you?” Lori asked her, popping a plump olive into her mouth.

  “What do you think?”

  Lori chewed, savored, swallowed. “Yum-yum.”

  With a laugh, Bess chose a wedge of cheese. “I assume that’s a comment on the man, not my buffet.”

  “You bet. And the best part is, he’s not an actor.”

  “Still sore?” Bess murmured.

  Lori shrugged, but her gaze cut over to Steven Marshall, alias Brock Carstairs. “I never give him, or his weenie little brain, a thought. No sensible woman would spend her life competing with an actor’s ego for attention.”

  “Sense has nothing to do with it.”

  Lori looked away, because it hurt, more than she could bear to admit, to watch Steven while he was so busy ignoring her. “This from the queen of the bungled relationships.”

  “I don’t bungle them, I enjoy them.”

  “I hasten to remind you that two of your former fiancés are in this room.”

  “It’s a big party. Besides, I wasn’t engaged to Lawrence.”

  “He gave you a ring with a rock the size of a Buick.”

  “A token of his esteem,” Bess said blithely. “I never agreed to marry him. And Charlie and I…” She waved to Charles Stutman, esteemed playwright. “We were only engaged for a few months. We both agreed Gabrielle was perfect for him and parted the closest of friends.”

  “It was the first time I’d heard of a woman being best man at her former fiancé’s wedding,” Lori admitted. “I don’t know how you do it. You don’t angst over men, and they never toss blame your way when things fall apart.”

  “Because I end up being a pal.” Bess’s lips curved. For the briefest of moments, there was something wistful in the smile. “Not always a position a woman craves, but it seems to suit me.”

  “Going to be pals with the cop?”

  Once again Bess found herself searching the remaining guests for Alex. She found him, dancing slow and close with a sultry brunette. “It would help if he’d bring himself to like me a little. I think it’s going to take some work.”

  “I’ve never known you to fail. I’ve got to go. See you Monday.”

  “Okay.” Bess was astute enough to glance over in Steven’s direction as Lori left. She was also clear-sighted enough to see the expression of misery in his eyes as he watched Lori walk to the elevator.

  People were much too hard on themselves, she thought with a sigh. Love, she was certain, was a complicated and painful process only if you wanted it to be. And she should know, she mused as she took another sip of wine. She had slipped painlessly in and out of love for years.

  As she set the glass aside, Alex caught her eye. There was a quick, surprising tre
mor around her heart. But it was gone quickly as someone swept her up into a dance.

  CHAPTER 3

  “How often do you have one of these things?” Alex asked when he took Bess up on her offer of a last cup of cappuccino in her now empty and horribly cluttered apartment.

  “Oh, when the mood strikes.” The after-party wreckage didn’t concern her. She and the cleaning team she’d hired would shovel it out sooner or later. Besides, she enjoyed this—the mess and debris, the spilled wine, the lingering scents. It was a testament to the fact that she, and a good many others, had enjoyed themselves.

  “Want some cold spaghetti?” she asked him.

  “No.”

  “I do.” She unfolded herself from the corner section of the pit and wandered over to the buffet. “I didn’t get a chance to eat much earlier—just what I could steal off other people’s plates.” She came back to stretch out on the cushions and twine pasta on her fork. “What did you think of Bonnie?”

  “Who?”

  “Bonnie. The brunette you were dancing with. The one who stuck her phone number in your pocket.”

  Remembering, Alex patted his shirt pocket. “Right. Bonnie. Very nice.”

  “Mmm…she is.” As she agreed, Bess twined more pasta. She propped her feet on the coffee table, where they continued to keep the beat of the low-volume rock playing on the stereo. “I appreciate your staying.”

  “I’ve got some time.”

  “I still appreciate it. Let me run this by you, okay?” She continued to eat, rapidly working her way through a large plate full of food. “Jade’s got a split personality due to an early-childhood trauma, which I won’t go into.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Don’t be snide—millions of viewers are panting for more. Anyway, Jade’s alter ego, Josie, is the hooker—or will be, once we start taping that story line. Storm’s nuts about Jade. It’s difficult for him, as he’s a very passionate sort of guy, and she’s fragile at the moment.”

  “Because of Brock.”

  “You catch on. Anyway, he’s wildly in love and miserably frustrated, and he’s got a hot case to solve. The Millbrook Maniac.”