When Night Falls (7 page)

Despite the subsequent animosity, the shockingly intimate feel of his hands on her body lingered. She wouldn’t have guessed the stone man could be so gentle. Her father hadn’t been, not even at the end, when his body had been riddled with the cancer that claimed his life. A man’s man, he’d called himself. Not cruel, just not sensitive.

But Armstrong was different, a veritable study in contradictions.

I’ve been told I’m amazingly tender.

She wished she could forget the wicked promise, the dangerous curiosity he’d stoked. That had been his intent, she knew. To throw her off balance, distract her, gain the upper hand. The man was nothing if not clever.

He was also right behind her. The rearview mirror displayed the headlights of his sleek little sports car hot on her tail. She didn’t understand his insistence on following her home, figured he probably didn’t want anything happening to the one cop who might actually listen to him.

Jess gunned the engine to match the revving of her pulse and wheeled onto the entry street to her neighborhood.

Armstrong did the same.

An unwanted rush pulsed through her, and again she had the surprising urge to see just how far she could push him, just how far he’d follow.

Dangerous, she knew. After the night she’d had, in all luck she’d get pulled over—not the kind of publicity the department needed. She didn’t like leading Armstrong straight to her house, either, thought about taking a detour down to the station, but if he’d found out about her days on the street, finding out where she lived would be a piece of cake. He already had her unlisted phone number.

In all likelihood, he had her address, too.

Simultaneously frowning and wincing, Jess turned onto her street and activated her garage door opener as she approached her driveway. She’d always thought of her home as her sanctuary, but never more than now as she zipped up her driveway and eased into the semidarkened garage.

She sat a minute, engine running, not wanting to turn around. When finally she raised her eyes to the rearview mirror, she found Armstrong’s car blocking her driveway.

He emerged from the driver’s side and walked to the sidewalk.

Her heart took on a low staccato rhythm.

Jess lifted her hand to the garage door remote, but stilled when she realized Armstrong wasn’t coming any closer. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, watching her sitting in the garage. She could feel the heat of his gaze, though in the darkness he was nothing more than a shadow. Form and substance with no detail. She couldn’t see the expression in his intense eyes or the salt-and-pepper whiskers on his jaw, only that he still wore the funky knit cap.

And like before, she wondered how the hell the bohemian look made the man appear so damn sexy.

The rhythm of her pulse changed, thickened. Her breathing deepened. She was tempted to charge down the driveway and demand he get the hell on his way, but a little voice inside warned against getting that close to the man again.

There’d already been enough intimacies for one night.

Gritting her teeth, Jess jabbed the right button of the remote and smiled at the familiar hum. Armstrong didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t try to hurry up the driveway before she shut him out, didn’t turn to leave. Just stood there still as stone and watched.

The heavy door slid downward, stealing first Armstrong’s darkly handsome face, then the chest she’d had the dangerous desire to touch, his lean hips, taking last his long, black-jean clad legs.

Jess didn’t understand the stark sense of loss she found alone in the darkness of the garage.

But she knew it was for the best.

Her growing fascination with William Armstrong could only lead to trouble. He was a dangerous man, an island, a man with no time for anyone or anything that didn’t fit into his preconceived agenda. She would be a fool to let a misguided attraction override that knowledge.

Firsthand, she knew the pitfalls of living with a driven man. Not only did she have a daughter’s perspective, but she’d seen the toll on her mother. The disappointment, the loneliness, the knowledge that she didn’t come first, not even to the man who’d promised to love and cherish her all the days of his life. Jess loved her mother, but never understood why she settled for being second best. Jess wanted more than stolen moments. She wanted the sun, the moon, the stars.

She would settle for nothing less.

And Liam was more like the sky itself, vast and endless, seductive but dark, the kind of man a woman could lose herself in and never find her way back to where she began.

Jess went very still, then let out a humorless laugh. The sun, the moon, the stars? The sky itself?

“Give me a break,” she grumbled into the darkness, then swung open her door and headed for the house.

Clearly that bump on her head had muddled her more than she’d thought.

* * *

“Jessie, there you are! It’s about damn time—” Kirby stopped by her desk and looked closer. “What happened to you?”

Instinctively, she lifted a hand to the swollen, bruised corner of her mouth. The flesh had been stiff when she awoke, the sting sharp. “What makes you think something happened? Maybe I had a late-night rendezvous that got a little out of hand. You know,” she said dryly, “passion marks.”

Kirby laughed. “And you don’t think that would be something? Lady Daring letting someone close enough to bite would be more newsworthy than the latest football scandal.”

What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll bite?

Maybe I’m afraid you won’t.

Jess tried for a smile, but winced at the pull on her sore mouth. “Braxton’s band played Deep Ellum last night. How the hell did we miss that?”

Kirby shrugged. “Who says we missed anything? That punk doesn’t have the Armstrong girl. Mr. King-of-the-World is just grasping at straws.” He leaned closer, easing the thick hair from her face. “He do this to you? Is that what happened?”

“Did you even talk to Braxton?” she asked.

“Of course I talked to him. You will, too. Later today.”

“See to it that I do.” She stood. “You’re not looking so swell, either,” she commented, steering the conversation away from last night. She knew he’d find out but wanted to put off the lecture about partners working together and covering each other’s backs for as long as possible.

She didn’t want him to suspect her trip to Deep Ellum had been more personal than professional.

“Everything okay with Ms. Twenty-seven?” she asked. Kirby had long since quit telling Jess the names of the women he dated. That made them too real, she figured. Too personal.

He frowned. “It’s … complicated.”

“With you, it always is.” Her partner didn’t talk about it much, but Jess knew someone had all but shredded his heart. Gently, she touched his arm. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

“Talk about what? Why women always walk away? Why the grass is always greener?”

Rarely had she heard him sound so overtly bitter. “Kirby—”

“Don’t worry about it, Jess,” he said. “Everything’s cool. If nice guys always finish last, then maybe I shouldn’t be so nice anymore.”

“Who says nice guys finish last?” And for that matter, who said her partner was a nice guy, she thought wryly. He had an edge to him, that volatile streak women loved to try and tame.

“Just look at William Armstrong,” he drawled. “He either killed or ran off the mother of his child, then he trampled his way to the top of the business world, but has he ever had to pay the piper? Atone for his sins? Hell no. He’s come out on top, despite everything.”

“His daughter is missing, maybe kidnapped. I’d say that’s a pretty steep payment.”

Kirby cursed under his breath. “Now he’s even got you defending him. Maybe you’ll change your mind after you talk to his lover.”

Jess went very still. “What?”

“Follow me,” Kirby said, walking toward one of the meeting rooms. “She’s scared about being here, says there’s no telling what Armstrong will do to her if he finds out, but she’s got something to tell us.”

Jess swore softly and hurried to catch up with her partner. She had a bad, bad feeling all hell was about to go down.

Chapter 6

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H
istory Repeats Itself As Internet Mogul’s Daughter Turns Up Missing. Tragedy … Or Pattern?

Liam scanned the offensive article that just barely passed for journalism. He’d already called his lawyer. This time Heather’s father had gone too far.

A cold fist of rage worked its way through him. His daughter was missing. In trouble. But for some asinine reason, people seemed more interested in a spectacle, a scandal, than a child. Innocent until proven guilty had become nothing but a bad joke.

He threw down the article and strode across his office to a wall of windows overlooking the city. Twenty stories above street level, he had a sweeping view of the skyscrapers downtown, the snarled roads snaking between the congested buildings, the crowded suburbs beyond.

A sleek jet zipped through the intermittent clouds, easing toward the west. Liam tracked its progress against the cold gray sky, remembering all too vividly his trip only days before. When he’d kissed his daughter goodbye while she still slept. When he’d called all over town trying to find her. When his blood had turned to ice with the chilling awareness something terrible had happened to his baby girl.

“Damn it,” he growled, jerking his gaze from the western sky. She was out there somewhere. His little girl.

Teenage years are a scary time. She could be confused, trying to sort some things out.

The words grated at him, but he knew Detective Jessica Clark was wrong. Emily hadn’t run away, and it wasn’t too late. He knew that just as surely as he’d ever known anything. He could feel Emily in his heart, strong and sure and deep, where he’d cradled her since the moment he learned of her existence.

Liam drew a hand to his chest and rubbed. Each breath cut like a dagger. He swallowed against the tightening of his throat and again glanced toward downtown. He couldn’t make out details but picked out the area where he and Jessica had squared off the night before.

He still didn’t know what to make of Wallace Clark’s daughter. Fiercely independent, strong and courageous, she was clearly a woman of conviction, and yet he could still see the stabbing vulnerability in her eyes when he’d mentioned her troubled teenage years. Clearly, he’d prodded a wound that hadn’t healed. One that might never heal now that her exalted father had gone to his grave.

He didn’t know why the thought disturbed him so.

* * *

“He’s a hard man,” Marlena Dane said. She sat across from Kirby and Jess, her small, fine-boned hands clasped tightly.

Jess waited for her to continue, all the while studying the woman she’d found touching William Armstrong just the day before. The woman who’d once shared his bed. Maybe still did.

Marlena’s tailored pale pink suit looked just as elegant as the one she’d worn the day before, but the way she wore her hair twisted behind her head lent her a pinched look. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes anxious. So far she’d responded better to Kirby than Jess.

“He’s not a man you want to cross,” she said. “When William decides you’re the enemy, you better take cover.”

Kirby jotted something in his notebook, then glanced at Marlena. His compassionate smile almost hid the glitter in his eyes. “Take cover? What do you mean by that? Does he become violent?”

The woman laughed. “Violent? Liam? Heavens, no. He doesn’t need violence. If you get too close, or even just when he decides he’s had enough of you, he simply cuts you out, no questions asked.”

“Is that what he did to you, Ms. Dane? Cut you out?” The questions slipped out before Jess could stop them. Others she held at bay. Like why Marlena was really here. To help Emily? Or hurt Liam?

The woman frowned. “This isn’t about me.”

Jess had her answer. “Of course it’s not about you,” she said professionally. “It’s about a missing young girl.”

“She’s only missing because she chooses to be,” Marlena blurted.

“So you think she ran away?” Kirby asked.

“William couldn’t accept her relationship with that Braxton boy. He was always breathing down her neck, taking her car keys and such so she couldn’t see Adam. Poor Emily was heartbroken.”

Jess jotted a few notes. She had grown up with such a father, knew how restrictive that kind of parenting could feel. More like a glove than a blanket.

“From what you’re saying, Emily didn’t appreciate his protective nature, but did she understand it?”

“She’s not here anymore, is she?”

Jess started to reply, but a knock interrupted her words, and one of the secretaries popped her head in the door. “Detective Long? I’ve got a call for you.”

Kirby didn’t move. “Take a message.”

“I tried, but the guy says he really needs to talk to you.”

Kirby grumbled something unintelligible as he rose. “I’ll be right back,” he said, then strode from the room.

Jess looked at Liam’s former lover and tried to ignore the sharp blade of dislike. “About Emily—”

“Not now,” Marlena said, leaning closer. “I know I haven’t told you anything you don’t already know about William’s overbearing nature, but there is something …
 
something I didn’t want to say in front of your partner.”

Jess went on full alert. “Go on, then.”

The woman glanced at her diamond-laden fingers, hesitated, then lifted her gaze to Jess. Uncertainty lurked in the pale blue of her eyes. “I’ve never known another man like William Armstrong. He’s got that edge to him, you know? The kind a woman is drawn to, even though she knows how far she’ll fall if she steps too close.”

Jess lifted a hand to her mouth, trying not to remember the feel of his arms around her the night before, the gentle way he’d tended her wounds. “And?”

“He’s dangerous. Deceptive. I just thought you should know.”

“That’s why you think Emily ran away?”

“In all likelihood, but I’m not telling you this because of Emily. I’m telling you this because of you.”

Jess sat a little straighter. “Me?”

“I saw the way you looked at him yesterday—saw the way he looked at you.”

Heat surged through Jess, as though the beam of a searchlight had just discovered her streaking through a dark alley. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s okay,” Marlena said. “I understand. I fought it, too. That’s why I’m here. I hate to see another woman get tangled with a man like him.”

“I’m not another woman,” Jess corrected. “I’m a detective investigating his daughter’s disappearance.”

Marlena shook her head, loosening a strand of pale blond hair. “I’m afraid what you’re really doing is wasting your time, another William Armstrong specialty.”

Jess put down her pen. “In what way?”

“Don’t let that wounded facade of his fool you, Detective. Don’t get sucked in. He knows why Emily is gone. He’s the one who has to live with himself day in and day out.”

“Sounds like you’re saying Liam chases everyone off except the one person who does the most damage.” She fought the regret welling within her. “Himself.”

Marlena tucked the stray hair behind her ear. “Be careful, Detective. If you get too close, you’ll be next.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the serious-looking secretary said. Her name plate read Louise Hatcher. “Mr. Armstrong is in conference right now and he doesn’t wish to be disturbed. You’ll just have to wait.”

“Tell him Detective Clark is here. He’ll want to see
me.”

Skepticism shadowed Louise’s expression. After Marlena Dane’s assassination of Armstrong’s character, Jess found the secretary’s loyalty refreshing. Of course, she also detected a hint of fear mixed in with the respect. Regardless, she hadn’t made it all the way to the lion’s den to let this woman stand in her way.

She put a hand to her purse. “Are you going to make me pull my badge?”

The woman stiffened. “No, no. Of course not.” When she reached for her phone, Jess made a split second decision and headed for the double doors to the right of Louise’s immaculately neat desk. She was in no mood for protocol.

“You can’t go in there!” the secretary screeched, but before Jess could reach for the knob, the door swung open, and Armstrong strode out. His features were tired and tight, but hope lit his fierce blue eyes.

Jess almost thought he didn’t see her. He just kept right on coming. “What is it?” he asked, taking her shoulders in his strong hands. “Have you found her?”

Her heart sank. She hadn’t thought about what her presence might signal to him, and now, even though she had no real news to deliver, she felt like she was about to yank the carpet from beneath his feet.

“No,” she said gently. “I’m afraid that’s not why I’m here.”

The light drained from his eyes, the energy from his body, but his hands remained on her arms.

“Oh, Mr. Armstrong,” Louise said, moving closer. “I’m so sorry.”

He stiffened. “Let me know the second Vega calls,” he growled, then took Jess’s hand and pulled her into his office. The door closed securely behind them.

Jess readied herself for a battle, but Armstrong released her and strode across the plush carpet to the wall of windows overlooking the city. There he simply stood, feet shoulder-width apart, back tensed, head bowed.

And Jess realized what had happened. William Armstrong was a strong, private man. The second his secretary expressed sympathy, moved to comfort him, he’d shut her out, just like Marlena had predicted. He didn’t want his employee to see him wrestle with Jess and the disappointment she represented.

That was why he stood with his back to her.

Jess tamped down the insane urge to go to him, to lay her hand against his tense back and ease his burden. She could only imagine the hell he was going through.

Uncomfortable watching the private moment, she did a quick survey of his office. The massive room fit him. She could easily see the man in the leather chair behind the distressed mahogany desk, his long legs propped against the credenza. A desktop computer and a laptop sat on the surface; both were on. Several files lay open. A wood-grain pen lay atop what looked to be a contract.

Jess moved closer, drawn by a large picture frame to the far side of the desk.

“She’s not here, Detective.”

She spun toward the deceptively soft voice and found William Armstrong had abandoned his post at the window and stood mere inches behind her. He looked edgy, restless, like he hadn’t slept in days. He wasn’t wearing a suit, only khakis and a black golf shirt. His salt-and-pepper whiskers were thicker and darker than the night before.

The diamond earring was gone.

“Pardon?” she asked, battling the unwanted rush of his nearness.

“The way you’re studying my office, me, I just thought I’d save you some time and let you know Emily’s not here.”

Frustration tightened through her. Disappointment. The second Armstrong felt threatened, he attacked. “And you’re not wearing your earring, either, but pointing out the obvious doesn’t accomplish anything, does it?”

“Quite the contrary, Detective. Sometimes the obvious is the most overlooked. Most denied. I’ve always found it useful to call a spade a spade.”

Awareness flashed through her. The man had more facets than a prism. So far, she’d met at least three—the warrior, the businessman and the father. From Marlena, she knew there was also a lover. “Who’d have guessed you’re a philosopher, too. So is that how you keep your opponents off balance? Change your skin as often as most people blink?”

“Are you calling me a snake?”

She smiled sweetly. “Just asking a question.”

He gave her a smile of his own, but his was sharp, cutting. “Tsk, tsk,” he chided. “Feeling nasty this morning, aren’t we?”

“Just curious.”

“Well, now. You know what they say about curiosity.” His deceptively soft voice seeped through her. He did it on purpose, she knew, to rile her. Refusing to take the bait, she glanced around the office, this time noting the wet bar and stereo system to the right. She wondered what kind of music a man like William Armstrong listened to. Pulsing rock and roll? Mournful blues? Sensuous jazz…

“I was surprised to find you here,” she commented, battling the distracting curiosity, “thought you’d be at home or in a back alley somewhere.”

He took a step toward her. “And why did you think that? Didn’t you read the paper this morning? Isn’t this exactly where coldhearted William Armstrong should be? At his office, making another buck, while his child is God only knows where?”

The taunt stung. The fact everyone she knew believed what he’d said replaced the sting with an ache.

“An attitude like that isn’t going to help,” she said.

He held her gaze a moment, then shoved a hand through his hair. She could almost pinpoint the moment the change came over him, the shadow, like a solar eclipse at high speed.

“What do you want me to say?” he rasped. “That the walls of the house were closing in on me? That everywhere I turned, I saw Emily? In every sound, every creak, I heard her laughter?”