Conspiracy to Murder Page 9

  “You guys go ahead. I promised Declan some help figuring out an invoice.”

  “No, it’s okay! I go home alone all the time,” Harley said. “You—”

  “Micah, you take the car,” Craig interrupted. “Pick me up in the morning. I’ll wait here with Kieran. Declan can drop us off or we’ll grab an Uber.”

  “I can grab an Uber, too. I’m really close, just by Grace Church,” Harley said.

  “No,” Craig insisted. “Let Micah take you, please. This whole mummy thing is…creepy.”

  “I’m not afraid of mummies.”

  “You should be. But only of the living ones,” Kieran said. “Living people who are pretending to be mummies. Or having other people dress up like mummies. Anyway, get home safely, okay?”

  Arguing would make her appear…argumentative, Harley thought.

  “Thanks,” she said simply. She turned away, aware that she was trembling slightly. It was a ride—a ride home. She wasn’t afraid of Micah. She was afraid of herself.

  She felt intensely attracted to the man. She’d sat at their table in the bar, wondering how she could be seated between two men with all the right stuff—and feel such an attraction to one and not the other.

  She knew nothing at all about Micah Fox, except that he was with the FBI, that he’d worked with Craig and that Craig seemed to like him. And that he’d also been a student of Henry’s.

  That was the sum total of her knowledge. Was it enough of a basis for…anything?

  Or had she spent the past year drifting, trying to develop an interest in someone, and not managing to find any kind of spark, any reason to pursue a relationship, even just a sexual one?

  But if this was sexual, did it matter?

  It did! He’d loved Henry, too. He was friends with Craig.

  What if she threw herself at him, and he turned her down?

  She was afraid her thoughts were making her blush, so she kissed her cousin and Kieran good-night and led the way, with Micah right behind her. She explained that it was ridiculous that he felt he had to drive her; it was maybe a mile away at most.

  “Yeah, but it’s late,” Micah said.

  She knew that the cars Craig used that belonged to the bureau could be parked just about anywhere. Except that parking wasn’t easy in Lower Manhattan—or pretty much anywhere in Manhattan!

  “You can drop me off in front of the building, and thank you again,” Harley told him.

  “I don’t think so.” He gave her a smile. “Sorry, even if you weren’t Craig’s cousin, it wouldn’t be my style.”

  “You’ll never find parking.”

  “Yes, I will. The academy also taught us how to summon our individual parking witches,” he said, his tone droll.

  She pursed her lips and sighed. “Great. Witches? I thought people had parking fairies.”

  “Not in the academy. Witches are scarier. They get rid of the other cars, frighten them off, you know?”

  He did have a parking witch—or damned good luck. She was surprised at how close he got to her building.

  He walked her there, and stepped inside with her. He saw the security guard and nodded in approval.

  And, of course, he could leave her right there. She was obviously safe; her building had keyed entry and security! The push of a button summoned the police in the event of any trouble.

  She found herself staring at him, waiting.

  “Good building,” he told her.

  “Thanks.”

  She hesitated. She wanted to kick herself. She was standing here so casually—surely she was standing casually; surely she could speak casually!—but she didn’t want to let him go. Something was alive inside her, something burning, hot, shaking, nervous…something that made her feel as if she was in her teens again. She’d done very little except study and work over the past year, trying to struggle up from the strange void Henry’s death had created.

  “Did you want to come up for…tea?” she finally ventured. “Or something stronger? And a view of Grace Church?” she asked. She had to sound like an idiot. “I’m keyed up tonight. I don’t know why. I keep thinking we should all be exhausted…”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “Sure, I’d love to come up.”

  “Oh! Um, great.” She turned and headed for the elevators, praying that her flushed face wouldn’t betray the way she suddenly longed to forget every propriety, every word, and just fall into his arms.

  Preferably naked!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “This place is incredible!” Micah said, looking around her loft. He glanced at her with a curious frown. “Did I miss something about you? You’re a trust fund baby?”

  She laughed. “I happen to have an uncle who isn’t living here right now. He was a snow bird, but these days he’s spending most of his time in Florida. He’s had the place for fifty years, and I’m pretty sure his dad had it before him. They were both in construction, so they did a great job with the space. However, only in NYC, Tokyo, Mexico City and a few other cities around the globe would this be considered a big space. You must’ve tried to rent in New York at some point.”

  He nodded, staring out the windows at Grace Church.

  “I went to Brown, and then to Columbia University, so I lived here for a while,” he told her. He grinned drily. “I think I lived in a closet.”

  “Ah, Columbia,” she murmured. “But you knew Henry at Brown, right?”

  “Yep. I knew Henry. I went on to Columbia, where I was a grad student. I didn’t particularly intend to be an Egyptologist, but I was considering anthropology or archeology. And then…”

  His voice trailed off. He shrugged and then turned to look at her again. “My senior year as an undergrad, a friend of mine was kidnapped. The FBI tracked down the kidnappers. My friend’s family was rich, and yes, they were going for a ransom. But…well, one of the guys admitted after they were caught that they hadn’t intended to let him live. I guess I kind of fell into a bit of hero worship for the FBI. So, I switched to criminology. I knew I wanted to do what those agents had done.”

  “I’m sure you made a great choice. I know how Craig feels. Of course, my whole family worries about him, but we all believe he made a great decision.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes, though, the bitter truth is that you lose, too. Things don’t always work out the way you want them to.”

  “You didn’t lose with Henry. You were never in the fight,” Harley said quietly.

  He nodded. “Yeah? Thanks. Well, I suppose I should get going.”

  “I’m still wide-awake. Um…can I get you something to drink? I was going to make tea. Oh, it’s not decaffeinated. I mean, that’s never made much of a difference to me, but…”

  “Caffeine. Sounds good.”

  “Okay.”

  She turned in her little kitchen area and put the kettle on. He perched on one of the bar stools. Facing her, he also faced the kitchen. Spinning around on any of the stools, you’d still have the great view of Grace Church. She waited for the water to boil, aware that he watched her as she got out mugs and tea bags.

  She needed to let him go. And she needed to let go of her interest in him—emotional and physical!

  “How’s it going with Officer Friendly?” she asked.

  “McGrady?” he asked. “He’s kind of irrelevant. The powers that be have gotten the NYC office put in charge,” he told her. “Henry’s death may not be related to what happened at the opening ceremony, but on the other hand, it might have been. That makes this not just national but international, and luckily the FBI does work out of an office in Cairo. It was my first avenue of investigation last year when I heard about Henry. I wasn’t officially on the case, but I went to Cairo. I knew our guys would be sympathetic. This might be a terribl
e thing to say, but I think Detective McGrady might’ve been disappointed that he wound up with a live victim. He wanted a murder case.”

  “You still have to deal with him, though?”

  “Yes, but he’s not really interested now. Rydell’s a good guy, and he keeps apologizing for his partner. We haven’t made any complaints. We’re trying to keep it all copacetic.”

  “Where would someone get nicotine for a poisoning like that? I gather the linens were soaked in it and only the fact that they got them off her so fast saved Vivian’s life, right?”

  “Right.”

  The kettle whistled, and Harley poured the water into two mugs. Their fingers nearly touched as she pushed his toward him, as they both dipped their tea bags in the hot water. She flushed, catching his eyes on her.

  She really, really needed to let him go.

  That or…

  Give in. Spit out the truth that she was incredibly attracted to him. Totally inappropriate under the circumstances, but they were adults, after all. It could just be sex; she could handle that. And they could try to figure out what was going on between them after this case was solved.

  “We have people looking into large purchases of nicotine, but—”

  “Insecticide,” Harley interrupted, thinking of the most obvious place to buy commercial nicotine.

  He sipped his tea and nodded. “I forgot. Research for an investigation agency is what you’ve been doing.”

  “Part-time. I’ve been trying to sort out what to do with my career. And this job pays well.” She shrugged. “Only a few of the cases I’ve worked on have actually been criminal. Mostly civil suits. A lot of my time’s been spent monitoring bad behavior. People trying to get a relative to leave money to one person or another, husbands and wives behaving poorly and, very sadly, in one case that did become criminal—stopping a blood relative from preying on a young boy. The job’s been interesting, but I haven’t been sure what I want to do, which way I want to go. But since I met Kieran, I’ve come to like the psychology part. I think I’d like to get into profiling.”

  “You certainly have the right degrees.”

  “It all looks good on paper. I’d have to see how I do in practice.”

  “Want to practice?” he asked her.

  “What do you mean?”

  He was suddenly very serious. “Think of all the people you know who were involved with the Amenmose expedition and exhibit. Who would have a reason to kill Henry? Was money ever an issue?”

  “Not that I know of—other than the fact that an archeologist’s prestige means more money the next time he or she wants to go out on a project. But I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

  Harley realized she was leaning against the counter. He was seated in one of the stools, so that meant she was leaning closer and closer to him. Their fingers, wrapped around their mugs, were only inches away.

  It was hardly champagne and strawberries.

  It was…

  She needed to move back.

  “Ye olde process of elimination,” he murmured, apparently unaware of their closeness. “So, who can you eliminate?”

  “Everyone!” Harley said.

  He shook his head. “That won’t work. You most probably know the killer.”

  “Any of the students would benefit from prestige. It would make a radical difference as far as their careers in Egyptology, archeology and anthropology are concerned,” Harley said. “It was impressive to work with a man like Henry, but to take his place would be even more impressive. Still…”

  “Process of elimination,” he repeated, then abruptly stood up.

  “I have to leave.”

  “Oh. Okay. If you have to.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  But he was still standing there. He smiled suddenly. “Yeah, I have to go,” he said again.

  “You really don’t.”

  His smile deepened. “I do.”

  “Because I’m Craig’s cousin?”

  He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “Because you’re you. I don’t know what it is… I guess we can’t define attraction, but… Anyway, I’m being presumptuous, but—”

  “No, actually, you’re not,” Harley broke in. She wondered how you could feel someone so completely when you weren’t even touching that person.

  “We have to give it time and thought.”

  “I wasn’t thinking everlasting commitment. I’m not FBI, but I can help a great deal and we’re going to…be together. Differently. I—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Micah said.

  “Yes, okay. I guess I know what you mean. I believe… I believe we’ll see each other tomorrow and the next day, and if…”

  “Yes,” Micah said. Then, neither spoke; they looked at each other.

  “We’re adults,” Harley whispered.

  “Yes, and so… I’m heading out.”

  He walked to the door. Harley followed him, ready to lock up when he left. She stayed a short distance behind him. She felt as if her flesh and blood, muscle and bone, had come alive, as if neurons or atoms or other chemical entities were flashing through her system with tiny sparks of red-hot fire. He had to leave; otherwise, she’d embarrass herself.

  But she didn’t really care.

  Still, he was right. They needed time. Just because they could hook up didn’t mean they should forget that there were consequences to any deed, even if neither had any expectations.

  At the door, he turned to her.

  It could have all ended there—as it should have.

  She could’ve stayed where she was.

  But she didn’t. She walked forward, her eyes on his, until she was touching him, and when she did, he backed into the door. At the same time, his arms came around her.

  She touched his face. Stroked his cheek, felt the power in his arms as he drew her close. She let herself shudder with a delicious abandon as she felt the heat of his body, the texture and strength in his muscles. And then she felt his mouth, crushing hers, and she returned the kiss with equal open-mouthed passion. They stood in the doorway, fumbling with each other’s clothing. Micah pulled away for a second, removing his holster and Glock from the back of his waistband, setting them down on the occasional table.

  Then he paused, breathing heavily. “Wait. Is there…someone else? Is there that kind of reason?”

  She shook her head. “No. No one else. There hasn’t been anyone else in well over a year.” She felt her cheeks turn a dozen shades of red. “But it’s all right. I’m on the pill.”

  He drew her back into his arms for a very long, very wet, hot kiss.

  Then they moved through the apartment, half disrobing themselves, half helping each other.

  They stood in the center of the loft, next to the plate glass windows looking out on the night, on the gothic structure of Grace Church. They both hesitated a minute.

  Not that anything was wrong; rather she felt blessed.

  The light that came in and bathed them together was beautiful and romantic. Micah smiled and said, “I have this great image of me sweeping you into my arms and carrying you up the stairway…but it’s winding and it’s iron and…”

  Harley laughed. She turned and ran up the winding stairway to the loft. He quickly joined her.

  The loft seemed to be aglow with light in the most glorious colors—pastels with bursts of darker blue and mauve, probably from some vehicle moving down on the street. They found each other’s mouths again, kissed forever, and then Harley rolled over and straddled him. They twined their fingers together and looked at each other again, and she couldn’t help wondering if it was possible to not really know someone—but to believe that you did.

  You could be fooling yourself! a voice nagged.

  But she didn�
�t care. She’d been spending the year since Henry’s death biding time, waiting…

  For what, she hadn’t known.

  Until now? Until this? And maybe it was just sex…

  But at this point in her life, that was fine, too!

  She felt his hands moving over her body, touching and teasing, exploring and giving. They turned on the bed, facing each other, laughing, kissing, their lips roaming, intimate. They shared kisses that caused sensation to soar, cries to escape into the night…

  Then at last they were together, moving with the brilliant colors of the night. She caught his eyes and they were beautiful.

  His hands were electric, his movement fierce and erotic, and it seemed that they’d joined in something wonderful that captured the pulse and beat of the city…agonizing in its wonder, lasting too long, and yet over too quickly.

  She lay beside him, breathing desperately. She could hear her own heartbeat as if it shook the very foundations of the building.

  And she felt his knuckles, gentle on her cheek. He pulled her to him. She prayed her heartbeat would slow…

  “What are you thinking?” he asked her quietly.

  For some reason, she couldn’t resist being honest.

  “That you’re very, very good. Or that everyone else in my life of the boyfriend variety has been bad. Disappointing, anyway. I mean, as a lover…”

  He laughed. “I’m going to take the ‘very, very good.’” He hesitated, drawing a line gently from her face to her collarbone. “Why?” he asked.

  “Why are you good at this?” she murmured, perfectly aware that wasn’t what he meant.

  “Why have you been…alone?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “I haven’t been alone. My world is very rich with family and friends. I’m lucky. I’ve been out there. I’ve even waited tables a few times at Finnegan’s when they were short on people. And I actually like working for Fillmore Investigations. I’m not out on the street much. I like to think I’m kind of a little like Sherlock Holmes. Field agents with the company bring me information and I figure things out from the bits and pieces. I often talk to Kieran, and discuss my people with her, put them in hypothetical situations.”