Kitabı oku: «The Cradle Will Fall»
CONFIDENTIAL MEMO
Badge No. 1113: Grace McCall-Fox
Rank: Sergeant
Skill/Expertise: Cool-headed while working under cover, and possesses an innate (and useful) ability to charm.
Reason Chosen for Assignment: Her serene, angelic appearance inspires trust in targeted suspects—but may also awaken the passion of her partner and ex-lover, the FBI special agent in charge of the case.
Mark Santini—Federal Bureau of Investigation
Rank: Special Agent
Skill/Expertise: Top hunter in the Bureau’s Crimes Against Children Unit, a cause near to his heart.
Reason Chosen for Assignment: Legendary for his captures of child abusers and killers, and for keeping himself closed to emotion. Will partnering with his old flame lead to a change of heart?
Dear Reader,
Once again, we invite you to experience the romantic excitement that is the hallmark of Silhouette Intimate Moments. And what better way to begin than with Downright Dangerous, the newest of THE PROTECTORS, the must-read miniseries by Beverly Barton? Bad-boy-turned-bodyguard Rafe Devlin is a hero guaranteed to win heroine Elsa Leone’s heart—and yours.
We have more miniseries excitement for you with Marie Ferrarella’s newest CAVANAUGH JUSTICE title, Dangerous Games, about a detective heroine joining forces with the hero to prove his younger brother’s innocence, and The Cradle Will Fall, Maggie Price’s newest LINE OF DUTY title, featuring ex-lovers brought back together to find a missing child. And that’s not all, of course. Reader favorite Jenna Mills returns with Crossfire, about a case of personal protection that’s very personal indeed. Nina Bruhns is back with a taste of Sweet Suspicion. This FBI agent hero doesn’t want to fall for the one witness who can make or break his case, but his heart just isn’t listening to his head. Finally, meet the Undercover Virgin who’s the heroine of Becky Barker’s newest novel. When a mission goes wrong and she’s on the run with the hero, she may stay under cover, but as for the rest…!
Enjoy them all, and be sure to come back next month for six more of the best and most exciting romance novels around, right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Editor
The Cradle Will Fall
Maggie Price
MAGGIE PRICE
turned to crime at the age of twenty-two. That’s when she went to work at the Oklahoma City Police Department. As a civilian crime analyst, she evaluated suspects methods of operation during the commission of robberies and sex crimes, and developed profiles on those suspects. During her tenure at OCPD, Maggie stood in lineups, snagged special assignments to homicide task forces, established procedures for evidence submittal, even posed as the wife of an undercover officer in the investigation of a fortune-teller.
While at OCPD, Maggie stored up enough tales of intrigue, murder and mayhem to keep her at the keyboard for years. The first of those tales won the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award for Romantic Suspense.
Maggie invites her readers to contact her at 5208 W. Reno, Suite 350, Oklahoma City, OK 73127-6317, or on the Web at http://members.aol.com/magprice.
To white knights…
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 1
At five minutes to five, Sergeant Grace McCall-Fox limped into the Oklahoma City PD’s Youth and Family Services squad room, feeling as old as her undercover disguise made her look. She had a jagged hole in her right support stocking, put there during the day’s last arrest when she used her knee to force an uncooperative juvie to kiss pavement while she cuffed him. One pocket on the tan wool coat she’d scored at a thrift store sale had gotten ripped in the struggle and small pebbles had somehow wedged into both toes of the prison-matron-looking lace-ups she’d borrowed from her grandmother’s closet. Her cheeks were chapped from the hours she’d spent trolling the frigid shopping mall parking lot; the gray streaks she’d sprayed on her raven-black hair had turned sticky the minute snow had begun falling. Her right arm ached from having been nearly jerked from its socket by several wannabe purse snatchers who thought they’d make easy prey of an elderly woman out doing her Christmas shopping.
Instead of a fragile senior citizen, they’d encountered a slim, petite, thirty-year-old cop who’d dropped them on their collective butts in one smooth move.
“McCall!”
The booming voice pulled Grace’s gaze across the squad room to the tall, gray-haired man leaning out an office door.
“Sir?”
“I need to see you,” Lieutenant David Kelson said. “Now,” he added, before stepping back into his office.
Grace dropped her vinyl decoy purse on her desk, pulled off her coat and gold wire-rims with nonprescription lenses. Thinking Kelson might want to review the plan on her current undercover op, she snagged the file, then wove her way around the scattering of city-issue metal desks, mostly vacant this late in the day.
Through the wedge of the open door she saw that Kelson was now seated at his desk, his attention focused on the paper in his hand.
Gripping the file, Grace smoothed a palm down the baggy gray dress she’d bought at the same time as her coat.
“Sir?” she asked.
Kelson glanced up. “Come in, McCall.” Like everyone, he used the shortened version of her hyphenated last name. “How’d things go today at the mall?”
“The team took down four juvie purse snatchers and three auto burglars. We’re hoping to nab more tomorrow.”
“That happens, it’ll be without you. The FBI has asked for your assistance on a case. Consider yourself on special assignment.”
“Yes, sir.” She arched a brow. “What sort of assignment?”
Kelson rose. “I’ll let the agent in charge brief you.” The drift of her lieutenant’s gaze across her shoulder gave her the first indication of another presence in the office. “I understand you two have worked together?”
“I’m looking forward to teaming with you again, Grace.”
She went utterly still at the sound of Mark Santini’s deep, rich voice coming from behind her. A voice from her past. A voice whose owner had continued to haunt her over the span of six years, even though she’d loved and married another man during that time.
Spine stiff, she forced herself to turn. And felt everything slip out of focus when her gaze met familiar eyes so deeply brown it was impossible to see a boundary between pupil and iris.
Oblivious that the earth had just tilted beneath her feet, Kelson retrieved his overcoat, then moved around the desk. “Sorry I can’t stick around, Agent Santini,” he said, offering Mark his hand. “Like I said, I’m due to meet my wife at a Christmas party.”
“No problem. I had hoped to get here earlier, but cutting through red tape to get that court order held me up. I’ll brief Sergeant McCall on the case so she and I can hit the ground running in the morning.”
“Use my office as long as you need.” The lieutenant turned to Grace. “Agent Santini has cleared your assignment through the chief’s office.” Kelson snagged the paper he’d been reading when she walked in, handed it to her. “Here’s a memo to you from the chief that makes your assignment official. Keep me updated.”
“Yes, sir.” Tucking the paper into the file folder, Grace watched her boss cross the office and walk out, closing the door behind him. Wishing she was also on the other side of that barrier, she pulled in a breath and glanced back at Mark. A good head taller than herself, he looked down at her, his gaze slowly traveling the length of her—from gray-sprayed hair to prison-matron shoes—with a few layovers.
“Elderly is an interesting look for you, Grace.”
“It fools a lot of juvie purse snatchers,” she said, and struggled for additional words that wouldn’t come.
Physically, Special Agent Mark Santini had changed some in six years. His hair, as thick and black as her own, was still combed straight back, but it was cut shorter now, and silver had begun to salt the temples. The planes and angles of his face were leaner, sharper, and circles under his eyes evidenced lost sleep, yet the man was still down-to-the-ground gorgeous. Always a consummate clotheshorse, his black silk suit was tailored and expensive. But the coat hung somewhat loose off his broad shoulders, and the pants were a little baggy, as though he’d lost weight. Instead of making him look gaunt, however, the effect created an approachable, relaxed appearance.
Grace was anything but relaxed as she clenched the file folder against her breasts. Mark stood so close she could have reached out and touched him. Touched the man who’d swept into her life with a startling magnetism that soon had her considering giving up her cozy, settled world. And even though she hadn’t, he had remained a ghostly presence that had nearly destroyed her relationship with Ryan Fox.
She had loved Ryan with all her heart. To the depths of her soul. Just the thought of the doubts he had suffered because of her reckless behavior over Mark had her heart shattering all over again.
She did her best to shove away the quick, instinctive tug of resentment that accompanied the thought. What had happened years ago had been her doing, not Mark’s. He had no idea she’d gone temporarily insane and made the decision to toss away her lifelong dream and meld her life with his. No idea that the history they’d shared had shaken the foundation of her subsequent marriage.
“How are you, Grace?” His voice was all business, devoid of emotion.
“Fine,” she said, using the same impersonal tone. “And you?” Strange, she thought, that two people who had been such passionate lovers could transform into nothing more than polite acquaintances.
“Busy. Eternally busy.” He studied her with calm observation, his expression unreadable. “I was sorry to hear about your husband’s death. I sent a card. I hope you got it.”
“I did. Thank you.” She stood perfectly still, picturing the masses of flowers and mountains of cards that had filled their home after Ryan died in the line of duty.
Deliberately she shifted to settle the file folder in a nearby visitor chair. She used the moment, a much-needed moment, while her back was to Mark to steady herself. She had no desire to revisit that time three years ago when she’d lost so much.
Schooling her expression, she turned to face him. A whiff of the familiar spicy male tang of his aftershave reached her. A quick clutching in her belly came and went. Dammit, what man wore the same aftershave six years running?
Lifting a hand to her throat, she settled her fingers against the point where her pulse hammered as if she’d just chased down a fleeing felon. Her body was simply reacting to a known stimulus, she told herself. Nothing more.
Wanting to steer the subject away from herself, she said, “I don’t doubt you’re busy, considering all the positive publicity you’ve garnered for the Bureau the past couple of years. Clearing the Boston Baby case must have made you the star of the Crimes Against Children Unit.”
He slid one hand into the pocket of his trousers. As always, he looked as though he could emerge from a mass murder crime scene with an incredibly relaxed air. “Several other CACU agents also had a hand in solving that case. I’m just the one they chose to put out front at the press conferences.”
No kidding, Grace thought. She felt sure he’d been assigned the spot in the limelight on that case because he fit the profile of what the media thought an FBI Special Agent should look like: tall and athletic, with a coolly handsome face and dark hair. Perfectly groomed. Santini possessed the totally centered grace of a natural-born hunter, who looked dashing both on television and in print.
And in person, she admitted grudgingly. His compelling looks had attracted her like iron filings to a magnet when she’d first laid eyes on him six years ago. Then Mark had worked at the Bureau’s Oklahoma City office. She’d just been promoted to detective and had been assigned to the same multi-agency task force as he. The respect they developed for each other’s professional abilities quickly broadened to friendship, and they became lovers, drawn together by a passion that Grace had often sensed seemed stronger than both of them.
Soon after that, Mark snagged the transfer he’d coveted to the CACU, based at Quantico, Virginia. And then he was gone—a man with no roots, no ties, infinitely comfortable with his lone-wolf existence. How different her life with Ryan would have been if she’d stuck to her guns after declining Mark’s offer to move to Virginia with him.
Now here was Santini, intending to work with her again. He’d do whatever job he’d come to do, then be gone. And never once look back. Like before.
This time, though, experience had taught her the value of keeping her priorities straight.
She gave her watch a meaningful look. “Mark, if you could give me a quick rundown on your case, I’d appreciate it. I have family business to take care of this evening that I can’t put off.”
A look crossed his face, a quick shadow that disappeared in one hammer beat of her heart. “How is your family, Grace?”
“Everyone’s fine.” She paused, wondering if his reaction was displeasure over her refusal to drop everything and give him more time tonight. “Josh, Nate and Bran have all received promotions over the past two years. Morgan and Carrie are on the force now. Engaged to OCPD cops.”
His mouth curved. “Is there any member of the McCall clan who isn’t in law enforcement?”
“Mom and Gran are the holdouts.”
“They get points for marrying cops.”
“Yes.” Even as her lover, Mark had shared next to nothing about his past, saying only that his childhood had been wretched. He had never spoken of his parents. As far as she knew, he had no other family so there was no point in asking about the Santini clan. Still, things might have changed. She glanced at his left hand, saw he wore no ring. “What about you?”
He arched a dark brow. “I haven’t married a cop.”
And because she couldn’t stop herself, she countered, “Brenda wasn’t a cop.”
“Brenda.” He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to recall the blond, gorgeous, long-stemmed White House staffer Grace could still picture perfectly. “I haven’t married anyone. The job doesn’t allow much time for a personal life.”
The job, Grace thought, that he was bound to the way he would never be bound to a woman. Mark had made no secret that as far as he was concerned, his priorities lay with whatever case he was working at the time. Always the case. Because of that mind-set, she was relatively sure he considered what had happened between them water under the bridge, but for her it had meant much more.
Just then his pager chirped. He pulled it off his belt, checked the display, then pressed his fingers to his eyes.
“Problem?” Grace asked.
“A call about a child-abduction case I’m working in California,” he said, clipping the unit back on his belt. “My gut tells me it just turned into a homicide.”
“If you’re working it, why aren’t you there?”
“Because my boss called late last night to tell me the director wanted me here. I hopped a plane from California first thing this morning.” He lifted a shoulder. “You know how it is, Grace. In law enforcement, you do what you’re told. Go where you’re sent.”
“That’s why I spent the day cruising a mall parking lot in granny garb,” she commented, then wrapped her arms around her waist. “So, why don’t you brief me on the case that prompted the director of the FBI to send you back to Oklahoma City? And why you went to my chief and specifically requested I work with you?”
“The case is a political hot potato that involves a young woman’s death. Her father has a lot of power, and he’s throwing his weight around, so here I am.” Mark eased back the starched cuff of his shirt to check his watch. “Since I need to call California and you don’t have a lot of time right now, I’ll hold off briefing you until morning. There’s nothing we can do on the case tonight, anyway. As for your other question, I contacted OCPD because I learned long ago it smoothes things considerably to attach someone from local law enforcement to any investigation I work. The reason I requested you is simple. I need a local cop who’s not only good but smart. Someone I can trust not to muck up a sensitive case.”
“Nice to know you have such faith in my abilities.”
“I’ve always had faith in you, Grace. Personally and professionally.”
Since he had never opened up enough to tell her how he felt about her, that was news.
“We have a subpoena to serve at eight in the morning,” he added. “We need to get together earlier so I can bring you up to speed. You can meet me at my hotel at seven, or I’ll come by your place and pick you up. Your choice.”
Grace slicked the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. She was a great believer that the home team held the advantage. Considering that her stomach was grinding and her nerves had settled into perpetual vibration mode, meeting in the morning on her turf was preferable.
“My home.” She gave him the address, then retrieved her file folder off the chair. When she straightened and turned, Mark took a step toward her. Up close, the shadows under his eyes seemed more pronounced.
“I meant what I said, Grace.”
His voice had gone as soft as a whisper on the still air. A whisper that had her pulse thudding hard and thick at the base of her throat. “About?”
“I’m looking forward to working with you again.”
She drew in a deep breath. The longer she spent in his presence, the more her unease heightened. He’d hit the target when he said cops took on whatever assignment came their way—she had no choice but to work with him.
So she would do her job. Period. Even though time had not seemed to dull the physical attraction she felt for Mark, she couldn’t let that matter. Couldn’t let him get to her again. He would be here and gone. As soon as they dealt with his case, he’d be gone.
She had once been close to falling in love with Mark Santini. Had spent years dealing with the endless cycle of guilt tied inescapably to that relationship. She’d paid her dues and wasn’t going down the same road again. The man standing only inches away was past history, and she was a completely different woman—one who was making a determined effort to get on with her life.
She would do better tomorrow, she assured herself. The shock at seeing Mark again would have worn off and she’d be back on level ground. Right now she needed to get away from him, needed time to deal with the fragments of a hundred memories she’d locked away that were now rushing to the surface.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.
“Yes.”
Turning her back on him, she headed toward the door. As she moved, she felt his eyes on her, tracking her.
Time passed, she thought. When it did, events and people became larger than they were or smaller. She wanted to believe that this man who’d stepped so unexpectedly from her past into her present had become so small that he was next to invisible. A mere blip on her radar screen. Wanted to believe that Mark Santini was so inconsequential that his presence would have no effect on her future.
The way her heart was pounding had Grace very, very afraid that wouldn’t be the case.
Chapter 2
Her face had been an open book, Mark mused the following morning as he steered his rental car through Oklahoma City’s snowy streets. Grace had been shocked to find him standing in her boss’s office. Stunned was more like it. Understandable, considering it had been nearly six years since they’d laid eyes on each other.
Since they’d been lovers.
He tightened his jaw as the wipers slapped a steady cadence back and forth, clearing two fans on the snow-covered windshield. What bothered him—what had eaten at him most of the night—was knowing that when they faced each other, she should have been the only one caught off guard. The only one wrestling with emotion. That hadn’t been the case. Hadn’t at all been what he had expected.
Dammit, he had known she would walk through the door of her lieutenant’s office at any minute. Had anticipated her arrival.
Yet the instant she stepped into view, he’d been hit with a jolt of electricity. He had spent a lifetime moderating his emotions, had built up a level of control so rigid that nothing or no one ever caught him off guard.
Grace McCall-Fox had. Big-time.
Knowing that just the sight of her had made his mouth go dry and his gut clench into knots did not sit well. Granted, she was the one woman—the only woman—for whom he had felt a pull of something far beyond physical attraction. While they were lovers he had chosen not to analyze the intense, mindless emotion that had drawn him to her. It had been a huge enough step for him to acknowledge that his relationship with Grace had been the first from which he couldn’t seem to make a clean break and walk away. So, when the transfer he’d coveted to the Bureau’s Crimes Against Children Unit came through, he’d asked her to move back east with him.
She’d said no. Understandable, seeing as how her world revolved around her large, rowdy family. Then there had been tradition to consider—almost every McCall had served on the Oklahoma City PD. Doing so had been Grace’s lifelong dream, one she found impossible to give up.
He had coolly accepted her decision. Made no effort to change her mind. Logically he knew his promotion to the CACU meant he would spend most of his time traveling, leaving Grace behind in an unfamiliar city. She’d have gotten the raw end of the deal, and he hadn’t blamed her for turning him down.
So, he had walled off the regret that had washed over him, just as he had taught himself to block out all other emotion. He had put the memory of Grace McCall into the far reaches of his mind and immersed himself in his work.
It was only natural she’d crept into his thoughts now and again over the years, but he and Grace had parted on good terms and what was done was done. He wasn’t the only one who had moved on, either. Grace had married a cop—then buried him three years later.
For himself, Mark had spent the past years building his reputation in the law enforcement community, along with unused leave time. He had no roots, no family, no woman waiting for him to return. It was the lifestyle he wanted. He traveled wherever the job took him, primarily from one crime scene to another. He worked case after case, dealing with an endless cycle of abused, kidnapped and murdered children. Child after child, body after body, one malicious crime after another.
The horror he encountered in his work never surprised him. He’d grown up knowing firsthand that the devil walked the face of the earth. Knew too well the terror suffered by a child at the mercy of a monster. Years later he had learned that most of the people in the small town where he’d grown up had known about the beatings he’d endured, but had chosen to look the other way. He’d joined the FBI, vowing to hunt down as many child-preying deviants as possible.
Without warning, the fatigue that now held him constantly in its grip shuddered through him. He tightened his gloved hands on the steering wheel and attempted to twitch the weariness out of his shoulders. What he needed was a good night’s sleep, but he’d long ago given up hope for that.
Over the past year—or was it two now?—he’d had a recurring dream that replayed the images of the bruised and battered victims in every case he’d worked while in the CACU. An unending parade of child after child. Monster after monster. The dream was like acid, slowly eating away the hours he slept each night.
Now, if he got any rest at all, it was fitful. He had forgotten the last time he’d slept through an entire night. Forgotten what is was like to eat a meal and not have the lining of his stomach ignite like a blowtorch. He had dropped weight. When he ate now, it was because he had to. He moved from crime scene to crime scene, hotel room to hotel room, lying awake and alone in strange beds, sweating from the dream that plagued him.
Exhaling a curse, he reached down deep inside for the strength to fight off the draining fatigue. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t back off. He had monsters to catch.
He checked the notepad on which he’d jotted the address Grace had given him, drove two more blocks and made a right turn. Dammit, he should be in California, working the kidnap case that he’d correctly guessed had turned into a homicide last night when the little girl’s body had been found. Or maybe he was needed worse in New Orleans where three preteen boys had disappeared in the past month. Then there was the small town in Alaska where a killer currently preyed on young female victims.
Mark felt another tremor of fatigue. Each one of those cases had first priority; in each, time was critical. Just wanting—needing—to be somewhere else aggravated his frustration and exhaustion.
And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t totally sure he felt up to dealing with Sergeant Grace McCall-Fox. Not after the way he’d reacted to her yesterday. He was pointedly aware that her elderly lady look had done nothing to quell the jolt he’d felt when she walked into the office. No one had to remind him about the truly fascinating body concealed beneath that baggy gray dress. Or point out it had been years since he’d felt that kind of warmth surge in his blood. He’d reacted to Grace’s presence yesterday the same way he had the day he met her. Instant attraction. A burning, immediate desire to get his hands on her. Searing lust.
Now, though, he didn’t feel either physically or emotionally up to dealing with that kind of response. Chances were, he’d made a huge mistake by requesting to use Grace as his contact with the OCPD. What was done was done, however, and there was no changing that.
He spotted the address, then pulled the car up to the curb in front of a two-story house painted a cool blue with gleaming white trim. Through the veil of snow, the small porch with slender ivy-wrapped columns looked inviting, with a white wicker table and chair snugged into one corner. A garland of evergreen framed the front door; a wreath adorned with a gigantic plaid bow and loaded with shiny red balls hung in its center. Four cars crowded the driveway, including an OCPD black-and-white. With so many cops in the McCall family, Mark didn’t even hazard a guess on who had driven the cruiser there.
Instead of climbing out of the rental car, he left its engine idling while he gazed at the house and conjured up a picture of Grace.
He had always found a certain fascination with her face—those carved cheekbones that rose high and taut against skin the color of gold dust, her thinly bridged nose and angular chin. Then there was her mouth—full and rich and moist. A mouth that had taken him over the edge to heaven countless times.
That was it, he reasoned, and closed his eyes against a remembered kick of lust. His response to her yesterday had been totally physical. She was, after all, a beautiful woman with whom he’d engaged in uncountable bouts of hot, steamy sex. He hadn’t been with a woman at all for some time, so it was only natural he would respond to one who had once had the power to stir his blood with just a look. A touch. A moan that slid, raw and ragged, up her throat.
“Christ,” he muttered when a quiet ache of longing for that part of his past rose inside him. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but whatever it was, he damn well didn’t need it.
He snapped off the ignition, jerked off one glove and scrubbed a hand over his face. Judging from what he knew right now about the case he and Grace would be working, he probably wouldn’t be in town long enough to do anything about this unexpected stirring in his blood. They would deal with what needed to be done, then, as always, he would move on. Which he figured was best for everyone involved.
Mark snagged a file folder off the passenger seat and stepped out of the car into the swirling snow. The frigid air stung his cheeks, scraped his throat like little bits of ice. The cold wind blew back the flaps of his black wool coat; frozen crystals crunched beneath his shoes as he made his way up the walk and ascended the small flight of stairs.
Stamping his feet on the welcome mat, he rang the bell. When the door swung open, it took him a second to realize the sandy-haired uniformed cop whose broad shoulders nearly blocked the entire doorway was Brandon McCall.
“Well, well, the Great Santini. I hate like hell to admit it, but it’s damn good to see you.”
Mark grinned. Of Grace’s three brothers, he had taken a special liking to Bran. “Damn good to see you, too, McCall. As much as I hate to admit it.”
Chuckling, Bran swung the door open wider and Mark stepped inside. He was instantly hit with the warm aroma of cinnamon and baking bread.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?” Bran asked.
“Like heaven.” Mark tucked the file folder under one arm and pulled off his gloves. He realized with a start that his mouth had begun to water, a sensation he barely remembered. Too bad his stomach could no longer deal with anything but the blandest food.
“I about fell over when Grace mentioned you were in town.” Bran took a sip of coffee from the thick-handled mug he carried. “Didn’t think I’d ever lay eyes on your ugly face again.”
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