Christmas Cover-up. Cassie Miles
You can’t even keep your own stepdaughter safe.”
“We had plenty of security at this event. Bodyguards. Four of the top cops in the city.”
“And a lot of good it did.” She jabbed an accusing finger. “You and Bob used to always get into trouble together. And your other cop buddy, Mike Blanco. Oh, I remember—you called yourselves the three amigos. The three stooges is more like it.”
Rue tightened her grip on her mother’s hand, hoping to rein her in. “It’s okay, Mom. Calm down.”
“I’m taking you home with me, Ruth Ann.”
Danny cleared his throat. “It’s best if she comes with me. I have better security at my house.”
“Why does she need security? Is she in danger?”
Before they could get into a discussion of profes sional hit men, Rue said, “I’m not going home with you, Mom. Or with Danny. I have my own place.”
“Half a duplex in the middle of town,” her mother said disparagingly. “Crime central.”
“Is it? I never saw anybody killed until I came out here to the suburbs.” She looked toward the homicide detective who stood near the door. “Are we done here?”
The detective nodded. “I’ll be in touch. We need to schedule a time for you to look through mug shots.”
It went without saying that she’d do anything to help their investigation. “I’ll call first thing in the morning.”
“There’s one more thing,” the detective said. “Don’t talk to the media. We need to control the flow of information.”
She nodded. “Do you have the keys to my van?”
“I’m sorry, Miss. Forensics is still going over your vehicle. There might be trace evidence.”
Swell. “That kind of leaves me stranded, Detective.”
Cody stepped forward. “I’ll give you a ride.”
My hero. Once again, he was coming to her rescue. “Thank you.”
She’d go home, get a good night’s sleep and try to forget that she’d had a front-row seat at a professional assassination. She wanted to banish the image of Bob Lindahl, bloody and dying, into the dark recesses of her mind where she locked away all her other bad memories—all those things that were better left unsaid.
Chapter Three
Rue leaned back against the smooth leather seat in Cody’s Mercedes sedan. Compared to the way she bounced along in her cake van, this was like riding on a thick, luxurious, heavenly cloud. If that were true, then Cody must be an angel. Yeah, right.
She wasn’t that naive. Though she hadn’t figured out why Cody was being so attentive to her, there had to be an ulterior motive.
Her gaze slid to the left, and she studied him. His dark-gray suit jacket fitted perfectly. On the cuff of his white shirt, she saw a monogram. These were expensive clothes, tailor-made. Definitely not the flowing robes of an angel.
And he was devilishly handsome. Shadows outlined his cheekbones and chiseled jawline. A lock of black hair fell across his forehead.
He adjusted one of the dials on the dashboard. “Warm enough for you? Should I turn up the heat?”
“It’s fine.” She’d slipped on her black suede jacket over her shirt and slacks. “Nice wheels.”
“Six years old and still running like a charm. One of my brothers is a mechanic.”
“One of them?” And he’d already mentioned a sister. “How many kids in your family?”
“Five. Three boys and two girls. And I’ve already got six, no, seven nephews and nieces. I’m the oldest.”
“Figures. You act like a big brother.”
“How’s that?”
“Bossy.”
“My brothers and sisters would probably agree with you,” he said. “How many siblings do you have?”
She’d need a calculator to figure out the complexities of her many blended families. There were stepbrothers and stepsisters and other children—like Danny’s new stepchildren. Did they count as relations? “Genetically, I’m my mother’s only child.”
“Lucky.”
Though his grin probably wasn’t meant to be sexy, the curve of his mouth elevated her core temperature. God help her, she wanted to kiss him.
To keep herself from grabbing his shoulders and planting a big wet one on his sexy mouth, she laced her fingers in her lap. “Just in case Danny is right and there’s a professional hit man after me, how’s this Mercedes in a high-speed chase?”
“Might be fun to find out.”
“You probably won’t get a chance tonight.” She glanced over her shoulder through the back window. A police cruiser was following them to her duplex in the heart of Denver. “We’ve got a cop escort.”
“When are they bringing your van?”
“Tomorrow.” Not having transportation was inconvenient but manageable. “It’s only five blocks from my house to the shop. I can walk.”
“Not alone.” His clipped tone indicated his disapproval. “That’s a real bad idea.”
“Oh, please. I’m not really in danger.”
“You don’t want to believe anything bad is going to happen,” he said. “Always hoping for the best. The eternal optimist.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being positive. What’s the alternative?”
“Thinking clearly.” At a stoplight, he turned toward her. “Seriously, Rue. Look at the facts.”
“Fine,” she said. “Even if that alleged professional hit man intends to come after me, how would he know where to find me? How would he know who I am?”
“You were wearing an apron with Ruth Ann’s Cakes written across the front. Kind of a big clue.”
“True, but—”
“You chased after him,” he pointed out. “You fired a gun at his car.”
“Okay, he might be ticked off, but—”
“We’re talking about a stone-cold killer. Somebody who placed a direct shot in the victim’s heart. Somebody you don’t take risks with.”
Unfortunately, everything he said made sense. He concluded with, “Therefore, you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“Maybe not.” But she couldn’t bring herself to stay at Danny’s house where she’d be an unwanted intruder with his new family. And her mother lived forty minutes away from her shop—time that Rue didn’t want to spend commuting back and forth.
She directed him the last few blocks through the older part of Denver near St. Luke’s Hospital. In this up-and-coming neighborhood, several of the old mansions had been refurbished as offices, apartments or condos. There was a pride in ownership. Many houses were already decorated with Christmas lights. The four-story condo building on the corner had a neon sleigh and reindeer above the entrance. She pointed out her home, and he parked.
The streetlight reflected off her front window. Two crab apple trees marked the property line between her one-story, blond-brick duplex and the house next door.
As soon as she stepped onto the curb, the two uniformed officers from the cruiser that had followed them came toward her. Their hands rested on the holsters clipped to their belts. “We’ll accompany you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But