Perfect Partners? Page 7

  “The fish and chips were delicious. You don’t know what you missed.” She pulled her drink closer.

  “I’m sure.”

  “So tell me about Celia’s father.”

  Where to start? “He grew up in Brooklyn in a middleclass family. He managed to get a scholarship to Harvard and that was where he met Audrey. Thanks to some seed money from her father, he started a property-development business that was very successful until recently.”

  “Is he being hard-hit by the economic downturn?”

  “The same situation as a lot of businesspeople. He overextended himself. Last year his company was worth about sixty million. A lot of that value has eroded over the past eleven months or so.”

  “What’s he like personally?”

  “He was genial enough when Celia introduced us. His passion is hunting up at the family lodge in the Catskills.”

  “What kind of temperament does he have? Is he the kind of guy who likes to have the upper hand?”

  “What guy isn’t?” The news was playing on the TV screen by the bar, and Nathan noticed a familiar face. He motioned for Lindsay to turn around and look.

  “Is that Audrey Burchard?” she asked.

  “I think so. Look—there’s her town house.”

  He left the booth and Lindsay followed, joining him at the bar where they had a closer view. A local reporter had stalked Audrey Burchard as she stepped out of her car and tried to enter her home.

  Her daughter was with her, and they were both wearing the clothes they’d had on earlier. Nathan suspected they’d been caught returning from Audrey’s mandatory therapy session.

  “Have you spoken to your husband since you were released on bail?” the young male reporter asked, shoving his microphone toward her face.

  Using her purse as a shield, Audrey ignored the question and hurried up the walk. Celia unlocked the front door and hustled her mother inside. The reporter didn’t seem fazed when the door shut in his face. He just turned and directed his concluding remarks to the camera.

  “God, they’re relentless.” Lindsay’s mouth twisted bitterly. “I can’t stand the press. This family is going through hell. What business is that of anyone else?”

  “I guess when you’re charged with attempted murder, you become fair game.”

  “So you approve of reporters like that one?”

  “Approve is putting it strongly.” This was an emotional subject for her, obviously. He wondered why.

  “There is a difference between criminal activity and people who…snap.”

  “You think that’s what happened with Audrey?”

  “It must have been a psychological breakdown of some sort. The automatism defense is a stretch. But I can’t believe that she intended to shoot him, or I wouldn’t be on this case.”

  “You really pick and choose like that?”

  “I wouldn’t want to help a woman who had seriously tried to murder her husband. Being able to decide which cases I work on is one of the reasons I left the police force.”

  He nodded. He could respect that.

  They returned to the booth and Lindsay ordered another paralyzer with her dessert. Tonight it was chocolate cake. He shuddered at the volume of whipping cream that had been piled on top.

  “Want to share?” Lindsay offered.

  He thought she was probably mocking him, but he still declined. “You really eat like this every day?”

  “What else would I eat?”

  “You never cook at home? Or have dinner with your family?”

  At the mention of the word family her body tensed. “My sister and I aren’t Sunday-dinner sort of people.”

  She’d mentioned her sister before when they worked together. “She’s a defense attorney, right?”

  “That’s Meg.”

  “What about your parents?”

  Lindsay hesitated, then said, “Both are dead.”

  Her tone was flat, and her eyes, at first glance seemed dull and vacant. When he looked closer, though, he saw so much pain he could hardly catch his next breath.

  He and his sister had lost both their parents long ago. First their dad when they were kids, then five years ago, their mother. So he knew about the wrenching pain of loss. With most people he would have expressed his sympathy, maybe asked if they’d like to talk about it.

  But with Lindsay, he was at a loss. She acted so damn tough all the time. Only once had he managed to slip behind her barriers, to discover the real, passionate, caring woman within.

  And he highly doubted that would happen again.

  “I’m sorry about your folks,” he said, finally.

  “It happened a long time ago.”

  “When you were a child?”

  She was looking at the table as she nodded. Then she lifted her gaze. “You lost your father young, too, didn’t you?”

  He let her change the subject. “Yeah. He was a fireman. He died saving the life of a stranger when I was twelve.”

  “Your father was a hero.” Lindsay wasn’t often impressed, but he could tell she was now. There was a wistful quality to her voice, though, that he didn’t understand.

  He decided to keep talking. “Mom made a scrapbook for us kids, with all the articles and commendations that our father received. She was always reminding us of his sacrifice and encouraging us to live up to his example. It was a great legacy for a kid, but there were times I wished my dad had let that stranger die so he could have gone on being my father.”

  “Any kid would,” she said softly, letting him off the hook for being so selfish.

  “Yeah, well, now I’m almost glad that he wasn’t alive to see my name muddied by the very newspaper that hailed him a hero.”

  “He wouldn’t have thought any less of you for that. Anyone who knows you, would never have believed any of those ugly stories.”

  She speared a piece of the cake, then looked him in the eyes again. “Life can be really hard sometimes.”

  “Yes.” He’d told her a lot about himself, but he suspected her comment applied more to her own life than to his. He wanted her to tell him more.

  But Lindsay just dug in and enjoyed her chocolate cake. And he knew there would be no more openings tonight.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AT HOME LINDSAY FOLLOWED the routine that was supposed to help her have a good night’s sleep. Fifteen minutes of relaxing yoga, followed by a warm bath, then crawling into bed with soft, soothing music on a timer in the background.

  She relaxed into her pillows, imagined she was floating on a cloud, hoping to drift off to sleep…

  But it didn’t work. Thirty minutes later, the relaxing music had faded to silence and she was still wide-awake. And the person she couldn’t put out of her mind?

  Damn, Nathan.

  Something had happened between them tonight at the Stool Pigeon. It wasn’t sexual, like when they’d made out in the patrol car. No, it was worse. They’d actually had a conversation, the intimate kind, the confiding kind, the “baring your soul to someone who really understands” kind.

  Meg would say this was a good thing. Her sister was always encouraging her to open herself up and to make new friends.

  But why risk it? She was a happy, successful person. She had everything she needed. Most important, every day she went to work and did her best to make the world a better place.

  There was no room in the equation for “opening up” and “making new friends.” The people who talked that way didn’t understand that tragedies aren’t things you forget. They are things you learn to grow around.

  Like saplings in a forest. On its own, a sapling might grow to be tall and bushy and graceful. But put it in a forest, where it had to compete for space and light and rain, and it became extra tall and thin and scraggly.

  She was like the tree that had grown up in the forest. And just because the forest had been chopped down, didn’t mean she could change her shape now.

  Lindsay punched her pillow. It was probably a silly analog
y, but the fact remained that she had to find a way of dealing with Nathan as a partner, and keeping a certain healthy distance at the same time.

  Giving up on sleep for the time being, Lindsay selected a disk from the first season DVDs for Battle-star Galactica and watched the episodes back-to-back, until she fell asleep just before five in the morning.

  When the alarm went off an hour earlier than usual, she cursed Nathan, Celia and Maurice Burchard thoroughly as she forced her body out of bed and into the shower.

  In the end she made it to the office fifteen minutes before the scheduled meeting. After a quick hi to Nadine, she went to check her e-mail.

  A stuffed red fox on her keyboard brought her up short.

  She’d seen this before, and she soon remembered where and when. Nathan had bought this at the toy store yesterday. She carried it out to the reception area. “Is Nathan here?”

  He emerged from his office right on cue. “I see you found the new firm mascot. What do you think?”

  “Fox agency.” Nadine giggled. “That’s cute.”

  “And cute is such a good adjective for what we do,” Lindsay grumbled, setting the toy next to Nadine’s African violet.

  “You need to relax,” Nathan advised. “Have you had any sleep? Your eyes look puffy. Maybe you should have some breakfast.”

  “I don’t need breakfast. I need caffeine.” She went to the coffee station, pulled out a clean mug, and was annoyed when her hand trembled under the weight of the full pot.

  Nathan took it from her. “Allow me.”

  His physical presence next to her was an extra frustration. Her chest tightened as she was all too aware of the broad shoulders under his dark blue shirt, the insightful depths of his eyes, the clean shampoo smell of his thick, brown hair…why had these things never affected her when they’d been on the force together?

  Well, actually, if she was being honest, they had affected her. One night, in particular….

  She moved away from Nathan as soon as her cup was full. “Let me know when Maurice arrives.” She needed a few moments alone, first.

  MAURICE BURCHARD ARRIVED twenty minutes later than the appointed time. Nadine had shown him into the boardroom and Lindsay greeted him there, recognizing the slight, balding man from the family photograph she’d seen previously at the Burchards’ home.

  While the man was as plain as his picture had suggested, with small features and the beginning of a paunch, he was well dressed and his gray eyes were sharp with intelligence.

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet with us, Mr. Burchard.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if my daughter hadn’t practically begged me.”

  That was blunt. Lindsay raised her eyebrows and glanced at Nathan who was just coming in the door. He and Maurice Burchard exchanged civil greetings, with none of the warmth she’d witnessed between Audrey and Nathan.

  Apparently Nathan had been more successful at winning over Celia’s mother than her father.

  “I’m not sure what you expect me to say,” Maurice began, without preamble once they were all seated around the table. “My wife shot me. I can’t tell you why. She’s never been violent before, but everyone has their trigger point.”

  “Wait a minute,” Lindsay said. “You really believe everyone is capable of violence?”

  “If you threaten what matters most to them…yeah, I do. In Audrey’s case that happened to be her marriage.”

  “Don’t you mean your marriage?” Lindsay corrected.

  “Actually, no. Marriage means something different to each party involved. Trust me when I say Audrey has no attachment to me as a person. It’s the institution of our marriage—and what it means to her social standing—that’s important to her.”

  None of this meshed with what Audrey and Celia had told them. Had both wife and daughter been deluded? Or was Maurice simply trying to make light of his decision to leave a twenty-five-year relationship?

  “Your wife doesn’t remember shooting you,” Lindsay said.

  His laugh was short and hard. “Trust me, I remember.”

  “Have you recovered fully from your injuries?” Nathan inquired.

  “You didn’t see me wince when I sat down, did you? Yeah, I recovered, but that’s not the point. If I hadn’t turned my back on her—I really thought she was bluffing when she pointed that gun at me—that shot might have hit my stomach or my chest. My injuries could have been much more serious. Maybe even life threatening.”

  “Life threatening.” Lindsay pretended to ponder the phrase. “So, you believe your wife intended to kill you that morning?”

  “Hell, yes. If you’d seen the fury in her eyes, you’d have thought so, too.”

  “Excuse me, didn’t you just say you turned your back on her because you didn’t think the threat was serious? But now you’re saying the hatred in her eyes made you certain she was trying to kill you. Which is correct, Mr. Burchard?”

  “Both are. Damn, you’re worse than a lawyer at twisting words. When she first pointed the gun at me I laughed, told her not to be silly. Then I heard the shot, felt the pain. Before I hit the ground, I turned to look at her. That’s when I saw the hatred in her eyes.”

  Quick recovery, or the truth? Lindsay wasn’t sure. “At what point did your wife lose consciousness?”

  “Right after she fired the gun.”

  “And how long was she out?”

  “About fifteen minutes. When she came to, I had to beg her to telephone for medical help.”

  “But if her intent had been to kill you, why didn’t she just shoot you again?”

  “I don’t know why she didn’t finish me off that day. Maybe she lost her nerve. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried it again. That’s why I can’t lie about what happened the way my daughter wants me to. There are some transgressions a man can’t forgive.”

  Lindsay thought about the charming woman she and Nathan had met with yesterday. “You believe your life is still in danger? That your wife might attempt to shoot you again?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I realize I’m not the sympathetic figure here, since I asked for a divorce. But I don’t deserve to die. And I’d rather my daughter’s mother didn’t turn out to be a murderer, either.”

  For ten more minutes Nathan and Lindsay posed questions to Celia’s father, but he remained firm about his version of the facts.

  Finally he informed them that he had another appointment waiting at his office. “There’s nothing more I can tell you, anyway,” he said. Even as he was leaving the room he was pulling out his cell phone, his mind already on other matters.

  A moment later, he returned with a grimace. “Battery’s dead. Mind if I make a couple quick calls?”

  “Sure,” Lindsay said. “We’ll leave so you can use the phone here in private.”

  “Thanks.”

  She and Nathan went out to the hall. She shook her head with a grimace. Clearly they weren’t going to find any help for Audrey’s case from this man.

  True to his word, Maurice was only on the line for a couple of minutes. Once he’d left, Lindsay went back into the conference room with Nathan following.

  She pressed a button and checked the call display, very aware of Nathan looking over her shoulder. Burchard had made two calls from their offices. One was to his daughter. The second was a place called the Orange Tree.

  “What does that sound like to you?” Nathan asked.

  “Who knows…could be anything. Hang on.” She dialed the number, and a minute later was being asked if she’d like to make a reservation.

  So the Orange Tree was a restaurant. “My friend just made a reservation. I’d like a table for the same time.”

  “Are you referring to Mr. Burchard?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So instead of two people tonight at nine o’clock, there will be three?”

  Lindsay smiled with satisfaction. “Actually, no. I’ve just changed my mind. I’d like a table for two for eight-thirty. And I’ll b
et you don’t hear this often, but we’d like to sit near the kitchen.”

  As soon as she hung up, Nathan raised his eyebrows.

  “I have nothing against taking you out to dinner, but—”

  “You aren’t taking me to dinner. This is work.”

  “I gathered. But what do you hope to accomplish by watching Maurice Burchard eat his evening meal?”

  “Nothing. I’m more interested in finding out who he’s eating with.”

  “It’s probably just a boring business meeting.”

  “My gut tells me no.”

  Nathan studied her eyes for a moment, and she felt the same awareness she’d experienced earlier, when he was pouring her coffee. She tried to step away, but her back was already pressed against the credenza.

  “Okay,” Nathan finally said. “I’m willing to go with your gut. Especially since this place probably serves decent food.”

  “Are you slamming the Stool Pigeon?”

  He looked amused. “I’m just saying I’m looking forward to dinner.”

  “You’re making it sound like a date.”

  “Maybe it should be.”

  There was something new in his eyes now when he looked at her. She knew it was because of their conversation last night. Or maybe he was remembering that night in the rain when they’d kissed—more than kissed, to be honest. She struggled to stay cool and composed.

  “We have work to do.” She tried to slip past him, but he moved at the same time, putting them face-to-face. Rather than meet his gaze, which she found uncomfortable, she glanced at her watch and tried to recall the next item on her agenda. She needed a good reason for a fast exit.

  But Nathan was between her and the door and he didn’t seem to be in a rush to end this conversation.

  “Lindsay, I’m enjoying working with you again. Although I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the feelings I have for you aren’t all professional ones.”

  “Stop. Please.”

  “Do you ever think about that night in the patrol car—”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  “Back then, a romantic affair was inappropriate. We both realized that. But we don’t have a superior officer, anymore. There are no rules and regulations defining the nature of our relationship.”