The Killing Edge Read online

  “Do you really expect people to believe you’re a designer?” Chloe asked skeptically.

  “If they don’t, I’ll show them my portfolio.”

  “You have a portfolio?”

  Again that charming grin. “Yes, filled with designs I guarantee people will love.”

  “So in your spare time you really are a designer?” she asked. This time she added amusement to her skepticism.

  He laughed. “No, but I have a friend who’s good enough to break out, and I’m using her work, with her full agreement. Who knows? Maybe this will help her career. She’s been telling me for years that it isn’t what you know, it’s who you know, and I’ll be getting her work in front of some very important people. As for me, all I know comes from the cramming I’ve been doing.”

  “Make sure you’re up on your handbags and shoes,” Chloe warned. He frowned.

  “Shoes?”

  “I guess you never watched Sex and the City.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Chloe stood. “I think we should go shopping.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You need to know something about women’s accessories if you’re going to pass yourself off much longer. I’ll drive. I know where to go.”

  “You’re willing to take me shopping?”

  Chloe drew a deep breath. “We’re on the trail of the same mystery. Seeing as you’ve been willing to admit you need me, I’ll help you.”

  “You’re going on that shoot, right?” he asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “And you couldn’t be convinced to stay home?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then let’s go shopping.”

  Money wasn’t an issue for Luke. He had enough. No matter what he did for the rest of his life, he had enough. Money was useful for what you needed—or whatever game he needed to play to get what he needed. His tastes tended to be simple. A decent beer, preferably on tap, and Jamieson whiskey. Fresh local fish. Good cotton sheets. Dependable dive gear and a car that wouldn’t leave him stuck in the swamp. Clothes were fine, but he bought them for comfort and durability, not by label. The same with shoes.

  He couldn’t believe the price tags on sandals made from about five dollars’ worth of materials. This was a foreign world to him. At least a sports car offered a premium engine and high performance.

  He saw the point of leather handbags, sort of. At least they were leather and they would last. But the prices—sometimes thou sands of dollars just because they dangled a little insignia of some kind, from a metallic sheep to someone’s initials? “I don’t get it—I really don’t,” he admitted.

  “Frankly? Most of the time, neither do I.” Chloe shrugged. “Sometimes something’s ridiculous, but I really love it, so I buy it. And sometimes I’m in a thrift store and see something I really love, so I buy that. To me, if you love it and it fits well, who cares who made it? Sadly, I have a few very similar suits—I seem to go for the same thing over and over—for my real work, and some fun casual beach stuff, one good coat…though I do like sandals. But you can find super cute sandals in the bargain basements, too. The truth is, I don’t like shopping very much.”

  “Could have fooled me,” he assured her with a laugh.

  She smiled back at him. “Hey, just because I happen to know what’s out there…”

  She was so unusual, Luke thought. Maybe it was her eyes. Cat’s eyes. She had an amazing mouth, as well, with kissably full lips, and then there were those elegant cheekbones. He was only a man, after all, and she was simply stunning. A dead man would have responded where this woman was concerned. There had been a few moments earlier—bending down to fasten the buckles of a pair of sandals for her, his fingers brushing her flesh—when he’d felt his libido move into truly dangerous territory.

  But they were partners in an investigation, he reminded himself. Admittedly, now that they’d spent some time together, he realized that he liked her. Really liked her. But he sure as hell didn’t want to get sexually involved with someone he worked with, no matter how much he admired her.

  Sex had become something casual for him. Two people playing the game, leading to a hookup that was about having a good time, not commitment.

  And yet, there was something about being with her. Something nice.

  “I would never cast as persions,” he joked, to break the moment.

  “Well,” Chloe said, looking away, maybe feeling the same sense of attraction and just as uncomfortable with it, “if you’re going to carry off your charade, you need to know all this.”

  “If I’m going to stay awake, I wouldn’t mind some coffee.”

  “Lincoln Road. Books and Books,” she said. “We’re not far.”

  He knew Lincoln Road; he knew a lot of the shops they’d been in, too.

  He just hadn’t known shoes.

  Before they were seated, Chloe found some books she thought he should have. One was several hundred heavily illustrated pages just on shoes.

  He’d never imagined that anyone could write an entire book on shoes.

  Another was on contemporary fashion, a third on the history of fashion.

  “How were you planning to pull off this fashion-designer thing?” she asked curiously once they were seated at a table in the in-store café.

  He’d expected her to choose an herbal tea or some frothy coffee concoction, but instead she had opted for plain old coffee and he’d been the one to go with a latte.

  “I told you. I have a friend. Her name is Amy Anderson. She doesn’t have a lot of faith in her own talent, and she’s shy, so this is really helping both of us.”

  Chloe shook her head. “Aren’t you afraid of being found out?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “I can’t get found out—I’m not really doing anything,” she said.

  “If someone did kill Colleen, what do you think he’d do if he found you do work for the police? That you may be unofficial, but you’re looking for him?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “The agency knows exactly what I do for a living.”

  “Art therapy. Right. But these days, everything is available online. Your uncle’s position. What happened to you in the past.”

  She flushed, uneasy, looking away to the shoppers and Sunday strollers on the pedestrian pathway outside. Dog walkers. Old people, young ones. A group so excited about the movie they had just seen that their conversation was loud enough to slip through the doors of the café.

  “It’s not really fair. You know everything about me,” she said, turning back to face him. “But I don’t know a damn thing about you, except that you were either born somewhere in England, or you think faking an accent makes you cool.”

  “Ouch,” Luke protested. “Miss Marin, you are jaded. Me mum would be bro ken hearted. I was born in York, grew up in London and I lived in Italy for a couple of years during college. I’ve been in the States for over a decade now.”

  She smiled, almost laughed. They were casually holding their coffee cups, hands resting on the table. Close. Too close. He moved the barest fraction of an inch, and his fingers brushed hers. Pure electricity seemed to rip through him. God, it was such a little thing. Fingers touching fingers. He had to remember not to touch her.

  “And now you live here? In Miami?” she asked.

  “I’ve had what you might call roots in Miami for about seven years, yes.”

  “Why have I never met you or even heard about you?” she asked. The question was definitely accusatory.

  “I like to keep a low profile.”

  “But you know Stuckey.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’ve worked with the cops before.”

  “Yes.”

  “When? Oh—I get it. You’d have to kill me if you told me, or something like that.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing that hush-hush. I just prefer my anonymity, and Stuckey knows that. You can trust me, though. I am a licensed P.I., but most of the time the license is just a pie
ce of paper.”

  “You must be expensive. How do people like the Rodriguezes and the Gonzalezes afford you?”

  “I don’t charge them.”

  “Then how do you live?”

  He looked away for a moment. “I inherited money. And I have a guy who invests in low-risk opportunities for me.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  His look must have given more away than he’d intended, because he saw her blanch slightly. “I am not kidding, but it’s not a topic I like to discuss. Trust me. My funds are legal.”

  She stood and walked over to the counter. He was afraid he might have bitten back so strongly and quickly that she wanted nothing more to do with him, and he gritted down on his teeth, irritated with himself. He had accepted his own past, learned to live with it. Maybe the dream had put him more on edge than he’d realized. Whatever the cause, he was afraid his sharp reply would hurt him.

  He got up and followed her, touching her shoulder. Big mistake. Her skin was beautifully sun bronzed and sleek, the texture fascinating. He wanted to run his fingers along her shoulders, down her back.

  She whirled around and stared at him.

  He took a step back, but spoke sincerely. “I’m sorry. For give me.”

  She nodded, but her expression didn’t soften.

  “I lost someone, so now I have money. I’d rather have the someone. But it was a long time ago. And I am sorry I snapped at you.”

  “Of course. And I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.

  She was going to pay their bill, he realized, and started to reach for his wallet.

  “I’ve got it,” she said, and he could tell from her tone that they definitely weren’t staying longer.

  After a stop at the front register so he could pay for the books she’d picked out, they walked out to the car. As he opened her door, he asked, “You said you don’t know anything about me. Want to see where I live?”

  She stared at him, brows furrowed suspiciously.

  “Totally innocent, I swear,” he said. “Seeing as we’re going to be working together.”

  She shrugged. “Is it far?”

  “Not at all.”

  Geographically speaking, Miami Beach comprised several small islands and Key Biscayne, which some considered the beginning of the Florida Keys. As a result, they had to take a causeway back into Miami proper to take a causeway back out. Going via boat, Luke reflected, was definitely easier, especially because, with traffic, something that was relatively close could become, in effect, very far away.

  But they had an easy ride that day, even though Sunday afternoons brought sunbathers, Sea-Dooers, boaters, fishermen and more out to Key Biscayne. The aquarium was nearly across the street—albeit a big street—from where the Stirling was moored.

  Chloe looked at him. “We’re going to Jimbo’s?” she asked, referring to the legendary south Florida restaurant.

  He laughed. “Close.”

  He guided her along the dirt track that led past a few businesses, the beer-and-bait shop and finally to the dock where the Stirling was berthed.

  As they parked, Chloe looked at him, laughing. “I never knew this place was here.”

  “Probably won’t be for much longer,” he told her. “If they sell out, I’ll move on, but in the meantime, I like it.”

  “I think it’s great,” she assured him.

  He didn’t know why, but he was glad that she liked his little corner of heaven. And then he told himself that he was an idiot, because he was glad just to have her on the boat.

  Distance, he warned himself. They needed to get along so they could work effectively together, but he needed to keep his distance. She wasn’t the kind of woman a man could be casual about, she wasn’t a one-night stand or even a two-night stand, and definitely not…a friend with benefits.

  He turned away for a moment, grimacing. He really didn’t have to worry. She was damn good at keeping her distance, even when they touched suddenly or their eyes met. Chemistry might be a great thing, but it wasn’t something they should explore.

  She admired his boat, and he had to admit he was surprised that she seemed to know all about the year and model, and that she asked knowledgeable questions about the motor.

  “You still need to rent a boat from Brad, if you want to look respectable, or if you want to look the part, I should say,” she told him.

  “No problem. I don’t think the Stirling is right for the part, anyway. And I don’t want strangers aboard, so…”

  “You should get in touch with Brad sometime during the next few days, figure out just what you want. There’s a little place down in the Keys off the Overseas Highway—US1—where we usually get together and start out from. You’ll really like the island, too. There’s a lot of full-time staff, even though it’s small. I’m sure you know that—there are hundreds of islands down there. The agency developed this one years ago. It’s as much a resort for the execs and the models as it is a full-time locale for photo shoots. There’s a staff of five just for the water sports, and the main hotel and the bungalows have something like twenty housekeepers, another twenty in food services, a dozen security guys…five managers… I’ll forget someone, I’m sure. Some of the retired managers even have vacation homes of their own down there. The island is small, but it feels large, if that makes any sense.”

  He nodded. Small but big. Not a bad description.

  She moved suddenly. “I—I should get home. I have some things I want to do around the house.”

  “Sure.”

  The drive back was slower going, but once they were off the key, they reached her gate in ten minutes.

  Just before he got out, he asked her, “So, can you help me get to Rene?”

  “I can try, at least. Pick me up at seven tomorrow night. We’ll head over to the mansion.”

  He thanked her, and then there was an awkward moment as they just stared at each another. Damn. It was undeniable. There was something palpable between them.

  “Thank you for the help,” he said.

  She nodded. “You’re welcome. See you tomorrow night.”

  He watched her unlock the gate and drive inside, glad to see that everything seemed to be secure. He had a feeling that A.D.A. Leo Marin was extremely careful—and given his job, that was a smart move.

  As she stopped to lock the gate behind her, Luke got in his car and drove away, thinking at first that he would just head home, but then he picked up his phone and dialed Stuckey instead.

  “Hey. What are you doing?” he asked when the cop answered his phone.

  “Enjoying a few hours off,” Stuckey said, then groaned. “At least, I was.”

  “You can still enjoy yourself. I just want you to take a drive with me.”

  “Where?” Stuckey asked suspiciously.

  Luke told him.

  Stuckey groaned again, louder this time.

  “It’s important to me,” Luke said.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “It was ten years ago. What do you think you’re going to find?” Stuckey demanded.

  “I don’t know. I just feel as if it’s important for me to see it. Come on. Meet me there, and I’ll buy you a beer.”

  “You’d better buy me two,” Stuckey warned.

  Luke grinned. Stuckey was in.

  They agreed on a time to meet—Luke’s stomach reminded him that it was well past lunchtime and he needed something to eat first—and he reached the house first. It was farther north than he had been the night before, but not by much.

  The place was off the main road, but again, not by much. Other homes stood to either side, but their high walls and lush foliage hid them, so when he drove up, it was almost as if he were at the ends of the earth.

  The sun was just beginning its descent when he parked and stood in front of the scene of the crime. There were large iron gates and beyond them a lawn that was seriously over grown. The paint was peeling, but not ten years’ worth of peeling. Ap
parently, someone did enough maintenance to keep from being fined by the city, but nothing more. A For Sale sign lay haphazardly on its side just inside the gate, as if someone had long ago given up making any real effort to unload the place.

  He stared at it and told himself it was just a house. But at the moment, caught in the waning light of afternoon, the windows were like dark eye sockets, looking out at him with brooding menace. He found himself surprised that some filmmaker hadn’t picked up the place for a horror movie. However beautiful this mansion might once have been, it carried an aura of evil about it now.

  He heard Stuckey’s car arrive, saw Stuckey muttering to himself as he parked and stepped out. He was dangling keys and complaining, “I really don’t know what you think you’re going to find. They had one of those companies come in and clean up the blood. The mansion belongs to the Varacaro family. Their daughter was killed here, and they never stepped foot in the place again after the massacre, just moved with their other kids to their place in Rio de Janeiro. They’ve had it for sale forever. No one’s ever made a bid on the place, but the Varacaros don’t really care. They have oil money. Nice people. Sad. They have two younger girls, almost grown up now, I guess. And three sons. Any way, the taxes are like pocket change to them, so…here.” Stuckey handed Luke the keys, separating the one that opened the gate, and a minute later the two of them walked onto the grounds.

  “You got a flash light?” Stuckey asked. “It gets dark fast under all these old trees once the sun starts to go down.”

  Luke patted his pocket. “Yeah. I got a flash light.”

  The driveway was long and expansive. Luke imagined the night ten years ago when the police had come racing up. “The gate was open that night?”