Читать онлайн книгу "Forbidden Lover"

Forbidden Lover
Amanda Stevens


Get ready for a new brand of justice… Born to a legacy of lawman, three brothers sworn to serve and protect will safeguard the women they love.GALLAGHER JUSTICEThe feud between the Gallaghers and the O'Roarkes had raged for generations. And Detective Nick Gallagher would do whatever it took to keep his father's killer–a hated O'Roarke–in prison. Even commandeer the assistance of the beautiful Dr. Erin Casey–with or without her consent!Erin had almost forgotten her secret past–until Nick's demands put her in the spotlight. When threats forced her into Nick's protection, Erin knew time was running out. Even as his hard body and sky-blue eyes awoke her deepest passions, Erin tried to resist Nick's talk of the future. Because Nick would soon know he was falling for the daughter of his bitterest enemy…







The temptation of being too close

Erin sat staring into the fire, her features soft and fragile in the flickering light. She reminded Nick of a painting he’d once seen—pale, innocent, with an almost mystical aura. But unmistakably woman.

Another time, he would have leaned over and kissed her. He would have taken his time, tasting her delicate lips, loosening her hair until it fell wantonly down her back. He would have touched her all over, whispered what he wanted to do to her….

He let the fantasy spin away with no small regret, and turned his attention back to the darkness outside the cabin. A murderer was out there waiting, and since Nick had been the one to drag Erin into this mess, it was his duty to protect her, not to seduce her.

But Nick knew that one sometimes led almost inevitably to the other….


Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

This month, some of your favorite Harlequin Intrigue authors—and a first-timer—deliver a killer selection of books for you to enjoy.

Amanda Stevens closes the case in the final installment of her GALLAGHER JUSTICE miniseries with Nick Gallagher’s story, Forbidden Lover (#557). The Gallagher brothers were born to serve and protect, and three more sexy lawmen you’d be hard-pressed to find. If you missed the first two books, be sure to let us know!

In her twentieth 43 LIGHT STREET title, Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York scorches some paper with Never Too Late (#558), the steamy story of Scott O’Donnell and Mariana Reyes. Harlequin Intrigue is proud to bring you this terrific ongoing series and we thank you for making it one of our most popular features.

Also, this month, Patricia Rosemoor—Harlequin Intrigue’s most-published author—launches her very own miniseries, SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS. Sometimes it takes a family tragedy to bring siblings back together. But nothing is thicker than blood. Meet the Quarrels brothers in Heart of a Lawman (#559).

Finally, newcomer Karen Lawton Barrett contributes her first title to Harlequin Intrigue. We know you’ll love Hers To Remember (#560) for its emotional drama and highly charged suspense. Hang on to your seats when you read this A MEMORY AWAY…story!

Take home all four books for an exhilarating rush of romance.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue


Forbidden Lover

Amanda Stevens






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Amanda Stevens has written over twenty novels of romantic suspense. Her books have appeared on several bestseller lists, and she has won Reviewer’s Choice and Career Achievement in Romantic/ Mystery awards from Romantic Times Magazine. She resides in Cypress, Texas, with her husband, her son and daughter, and their two cats.


Books by Amanda Stevens

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

373—STRANGER IN PARADISE

388—A BABY’S CRY

397—A MAN OF SECRETS

430—THE SECOND MRS. MALONE

453—THE HERO’S SON* (#litres_trial_promo)

458—THE BROTHER’S WIFE* (#litres_trial_promo)

462—THE LONG-LOST HEIR* (#litres_trial_promo)

489—SOMEBODY’S BABY

511—LOVER, STRANGER

549—THE LITTLEST WITNESS** (#litres_trial_promo)

553—SECRET ADMIRER** (#litres_trial_promo)

557—FORBIDDEN LOVER** (#litres_trial_promo)

HARLEQUIN BOOKS

2-in-1 Harlequin 50th Anniversary Collection

HER SECRET PAST










CAST OF CHARACTERS


Dr. Erin Casey—She’s made a name for herself—but it isn’t the name she was given at birth.

Nick Gallagher—More than anything, the police detective wants the O’Roarke family to pay for its crimes.

Clive Avery—Why would a native Chicago policeman take a new job in the middle of nowhere?

Ed Dawson—The superintendent has never gotten over his stepdaughter’s murder.

Maggie Gallagher—Her blossoming relationship with Ed causes her family concern.

Sean Gallagher—Has Nick’s father’s body finally come home to rest?

Dylan O’Roarke—The attorney claims his client—his cousin—is innocent.

Dr. Russel Quay—He resents Erin’s appointment as head of the forensic anthropology lab.

Fisher—Does the shadowy informant know more than he reveals?




Contents


Chapter One (#u832564b9-c937-52e4-af34-8cc011056f2b)

Chapter Two (#ue2640f01-8d95-5d26-b4bb-1ff47d546e34)

Chapter Three (#u6e515c84-2926-5917-86b5-8dfa160b2382)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


The bones talked to her while she worked. As Dr. Erin Casey painstakingly examined the human cranium on her worktable, the story of a life began to unfold for her.

The skull was small and lightweight, which told her the remains were female, and the width of the hipbone concurred. Further examination revealed a small indentation on the pubic bone, indicating that the woman had given birth to at least two children.

The unidentified female was someone’s mother.

How old were her children? Did they still wonder what had happened to their mother? Did they sometimes lie in bed at night, missing her so badly they ached? Did they still dream about her?

Behind her goggles, Erin’s eyes closed briefly as an image of her own mother flitted through her mind. She’d been dead for nearly a year now, but sometimes the loss still seemed too much for Erin to bear. Sometimes the urge to talk to her mother was so strong, the need so great, that Erin would find herself lifting the phone to her ear, only to realize all over again that if she dialed her mother’s number, a stranger would undoubtedly pick up.

Madeline Casey had been everything to Erin—a devoted mother, a best friend, a trusted confidante. The two of them had been on their own from the time Erin was just a baby, moving from city to city for the first few years of her life, running, she now knew, from a past that had colored her life in ways she was only beginning to understand.

Perhaps that was why she’d accepted a faculty position at Hillsboro University, a small, private college in Chicago, the city where Erin had been born and where her mother had grown up. Erin had family here, but none of them would recognize her if they met her on the street or heard her name. She hadn’t seen any of them, including her father, since she was nine months old, nor they her. And Erin’s mother had long ago legally changed both their names, not so much for safety’s sake—though that had undoubtedly been a consideration—but in an effort to sever all ties with a family that had been morally and legally corrupt.

Erin felt no bitterness about the separation. She understood her mother’s motives all too well. The reason she’d moved back to Chicago had nothing to do with renewing ties with her father or his family. Far from it.

She’d come here solely because of her mother. From the moment the offer from Hillsboro had been presented to her, Erin had sensed her mother’s presence would be strong here. Madeline had grown up in Chicago, gone to school and fallen in love here. She’d married and given birth to two children here. When she’d moved away, she’d left a part of her heart behind, and in some strange way, Erin knew this was where she would finally find a sense of herself, here in the shadow of her mother’s past.

And, of course, the state-of-the-art laboratory of which Erin was in charge had played no small part in her decision. Funded almost entirely by a wealthy, anonymous donor, the Forensic Anthropology and Human Identification Laboratory, usually referred to as FAHIL, rivaled the one at the University of Tennessee, where Erin had received her doctorate in physical anthropology and where the famous “body farm” was located.

All in all, she considered her move to Chicago from the sometimes sweltering climate of Knoxville to be a wise one. The campus was small with the usual petty jealousies and academic backstabbing, but in the two months that Erin had been on staff, her reception had been fairly warm. She suspected the ease with which she had been accepted had more to do with the reputation she’d earned at the Anthropological Research Facility in Knoxville than with her personally.

As one of only a handful of board-certified forensic anthropologists nationwide, her presence at Hillsboro was something of a coup. Her name had quickly been added to the Chicago Police Department’s consultation list, as well as law enforcement agencies all over Illinois and the Midwest. Hillsboro’s board of trustees were very aware that a high-profile case could bring donors out of the woodwork.

Case 00-03, the unidentified mother on Erin’s worktable, was her third consultation with CPD, and though it didn’t promise to be high-profile, there was something about the woman’s remains that had captured Erin’s imagination.

The skeleton had been discovered less than a week ago, beneath an old house that was being torn down in Chinatown. Erin hadn’t been invited to examine the skeleton in situ, but instead, the remains had been dug up and transported in a black plastic bag to the pathology lab at the Chicago Technology Park. The pathologist on duty had quickly concluded there wasn’t enough tissue remaining on the bones for an autopsy to be of much use, so Erin had been called in.

Carefully, she took facial measurements, narrating her findings for the video camera that recorded every nuance of her examination. The notes would later be transcribed and included in the report she would give to the police.

The broad face, squared winglike cheekbones, and small low-bridged nasal bone were characteristics of the Mongoloid race. Since the skeleton had been found in Chinatown, Erin knew there was a very good chance the remains were Asian.

An Asian mother of at least two children.

The story continued to unfold.

Next, Erin began to determine the woman’s age by studying the degree of fusion in the femur, the closure of the cranial sutures, and the—

“Dr. Casey?”

Absorbed in her work, Erin jumped at the unexpected sound of a human voice. The bones talked to her, but they never spoke out loud.

She glanced up. Gloria Maynard, her secretary, stood tentatively inside the lab door, her expression wary. She didn’t like coming down here. The shelved bones and skulls patiently awaiting identification made her nervous, but then death made a lot of people nervous. But not Erin. If anything, she took comfort in the knowledge that stripped of skin, tissue, and muscle, human beings were all pretty much the same underneath.

Including the tall, good-looking man who hovered outside in the hallway, just beyond the open door.

Erin frowned. She didn’t like strangers invading her private domain, for security reasons among others. “What’s going on?” she asked Gloria.

The secretary glanced over her shoulder. In spite of her discomfort, her eyes danced excitedly. “There’s a detective outside to see you. I told him to wait in your office, but he insisted on coming down here. He said he needed to talk to you about an urgent case—”

The man pushed past Gloria into the lab, as if too impatient to wait any longer. Erin didn’t much care for his attitude, but whoever he was, he certainly had excellent bone structure, she’d give him that. She automatically cataloged his features. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, lean hips. Moving to his face, she noted the high cheekbones, the well-defined brow, and the piercing blue eyes, so striking against his dark coloring.

His impatience emanated from every nerve ending in his body. He looked incapable of standing still. He wore a sport coat with charcoal trousers, and his hand swept restlessly down his striped tie as his gaze roamed every nook and cranny of the lab, undisturbed, he would have her think, by the rows of human skulls grinning silently from the shelves.

Satisfied with what he’d seen, his blue gaze came back to rest on Erin. Her stomach fluttered, not from attraction or sexual awareness she was quite sure, but from apprehension. Somehow she knew the man’s presence here in her lab did not bode well for her future peace of mind.

“So you’re the bone lady,” he said, in a voice deepened not so much by age—Erin judged him to be in his early thirties, possibly two or three years older than she—but by confidence and authority, a man who liked telling others what to do.

She bristled instantly. “No,” she told him coolly. “I’m not the bone lady, although I thank you for the compliment. That moniker belongs to another forensic anthropologist, one I admire very much.”

“Fair enough,” he said easily, although his gaze seemed to intensify on her. “But you are Dr. Casey, aren’t you? Dr. Erin Casey?”

“Yes.” She shoved her goggles to the top of her head, then peeled off her gloves and disposed of them in the waste receptacle before she ventured across the room toward him. “And you are…?”

“Detective Gallagher,” Gloria piped in, as if she had only now remembered his name. Her voice was higher than normal, and she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the man. “He’s with the Chicago PD.”

Detective Gallagher shot her a bemused glance. “Thanks, but I can take it from here.”

A blush sneaked up Gloria’s neck, fascinating Erin. Outspoken, flirtatious, occasionally obnoxious, Gloria Maynard was not the type to embarrass easily, but Detective Gallagher had definitely flustered her. She seemed torn between wanting to escape from the lab, and hanging around long enough to somehow get his phone number.

“What can I do for you, Detective Gallagher?” Erin asked him.

He took a few steps into the lab. “Could we speak in private?”

The blush on Gloria’s face deepened. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me,” she muttered, spinning on her heel and closing the door with a soft thud behind her. Erin was fairly certain that Gloria wasn’t used to being dismissed so curtly—at least not by a man. Her shiny black hair, short skirts, and tight sweaters usually drew lingering and longing stares from the male members of the faculty and student body alike. But Detective Gallagher didn’t even seem to take notice of her leaving. Erin warmed to him a little.

“We’re alone now,” she said, then felt her own face color at the suggestive way she’d phrased her observation. She pulled down her goggles and plunked them on her nose as she turned back to her worktable. “Mind if I work while we talk?”

“Not at all, as long as I have your attention.” Detective Gallagher walked around the table, so that they were facing each other. Erin drew on a fresh pair of latex gloves and handed him a pair. “Just in case you get curious.”

Reluctantly, he took the gloves. Erin had never understood the mindset of police officers who could work bloody crime and accident scenes so coolly and calmly, but then grew uneasy—some downright green—at the sight of skeletal remains. Detective Gallagher didn’t particularly strike her as the squeamish type, but he did seem to have a healthy respect for his surroundings.

At any rate, the bones spread over Erin’s worktable were nearly pristine. All that remained were the clues that would unravel the woman’s identity and cause of death.

“Do you know who she is yet?”

Erin glanced up in surprise. “How did you know it’s a she?”

He shrugged. “I’ve learned a few things over the years. So, who is she and what happened to her?” His tone was faintly challenging.

“I haven’t finished my examination,” Erin said almost irritably.

“Oh, come on.” His blue gaze taunted her. “Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Casey. According to Dr. Wyman, your abilities are nothing short of mystical.”

Erin had met Dr. Lawrence Wyman, the Cook County Medical Examiner, a couple of years ago at a conference in New York. They’d hit it off, spent several hours together, and since then had kept in touch by e-mail. He’d been ecstatic when he’d learned she was moving to Chicago.

“Did Dr. Wyman send you here?” Erin asked.

“Like I said, you come highly recommended.”

She frowned at his evasion. “What kind of case do you want me to consult on?”

He nodded toward the skeleton. “Tell me about her first.”

A test, Erin thought. He wanted to see for himself how good she was. Not that she needed to prove anything to him, but Erin began reciting in a monotone everything she had learned from the bones. “She gave birth to at least two children. Mongoloid, more than likely Asian. Height, around five feet. Weight, around 110, 115…” she trailed off, examining the muscle attachment markings on the tibia.

“Anything else?” Detective Gallagher quizzed her.

“She was a fairly accomplished athlete. A runner, I’d say.” Erin smiled slightly. “And of course, she was murdered.”

ERIN CASEY was a strange little woman, not at all what Nick had expected. He studied the framed diplomas, certifications and professional affiliations on her office wall with half his attention while the other half tried to reconcile his preconceived image of her with the actual person.

For one thing, she was a lot younger than he’d imagined. Dr. Wyman was in his sixties, but he’d spoken of Erin Casey with the reverence and respect usually reserved for one’s contemporaries and elders. He doubted she was even thirty, and her slight stature made her seem even younger. Nick was willing to bet she was often mistaken for a student on campus, although her intensity, her almost trancelike absorption in her work was far from juvenile. She was good at what she did. She was very, very good.

Not only had she determined that the subject on her worktable had been murdered, but also that she was likely a runner, an important detail because the habits of a victim could often lead back to the killer.

Nick needed that same resourcefulness and intuition, that same thoroughness, to tell him if the remains that had been discovered yesterday were also those of a murder victim. And, of course, he needed the identity of the dead man. But if he turned out to be who Nick suspected he was…

His thoughts broke apart and scattered. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about that. Not yet. First things first. Excavate the remains. Bring them here to Dr. Casey’s lab. Let her work her magic. And then Nick would take over from there.

He felt the rage building inside him again at the injustice that was about to be perpetrated by the legal system, but he couldn’t let his anger take control of him. Too much was at stake. A murderer was about to go free, but the discovery of the skeleton yesterday could change everything.

If Daniel O’Roarke’s death sentence for the brutal slaying eight years ago of a beautiful, young coed was overturned, he could never again be tried for her murder. But if he’d killed again…if the remains of his second victim suddenly turned up after eight long years of searching…he could be sent back to death row, this time for killing a cop.

The door of the office opened, and Nick felt his nerve endings jump slightly. He was edgy and he knew it, but he’d never worked on a case this important. This personal. And because of the potential for publicity—and danger—discretion was a primary concern. Could he trust Erin Casey?

Dr. Wyman seemed to think so. “The woman’s as honorable as she is brilliant. A very rare combination,” he’d mused wistfully.

The old man was probably half in love with her, Nick decided, as he gazed at Erin Casey with a new eye. He supposed she was attractive, in a scholarly, nondescript sort of way. She was tiny, probably not much over five feet, and Nick doubted she’d weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.

Her hair was dark blond, and she wore the long, wavy strands pulled back and twisted into a thick braid that thumped against her back when she walked. The wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose made her light-blue eyes appear huge and misty and gave her a dreamlike quality that seemed almost otherworldly. Her skin was smooth and pale, as if she spent most of her time bent over a worktable in her basement lab instead of out in the sunshine with the rest of the human race.

She looked freshly showered, having changed from the disposable scrubs into jeans and a yellow cotton shirt that had an ink stain on the front. Nick was willing to bet she hadn’t even noticed the stain, and if she had, she wouldn’t care anyway. Appearance was obviously not high on her priority list, and yet, she managed to convey a kind of absentminded sensuality that she would undoubtedly find surprising, and Nick found more than a little disturbing.

She sat down behind her desk and gazed up at him. “Have a seat, Detective Gallagher.”

He didn’t want to sit, but it would be rude not to, and besides, his pacing drove most people crazy. The only other chair in the room was stacked with books and papers, and she gave a careless, sweeping wave, which Nick took as permission to transfer the heap to the floor.

When he was finally seated, he could feel the impatience burning inside him again, mingling with the raw energy flowing almost like a drug through his veins. They had to get moving on this, he kept thinking over and over. There was no time to waste.

“Tell me about the remains you’ve found.” Her soft, southern accent was discordant with the topic of their conversation. Her voice came straight from the pages of Gone with the Wind. But there was nothing fragile or coy about Erin Casey.

“A hunter found the bones yesterday morning,” he told her. “In a remote, wooded area in Wisconsin.”

Her brows lifted slightly over the rim of her glasses. “Hardly CPD’s jurisdiction, is it?”

“No, but I know the county sheriff in that area. He called me when the remains were discovered.”

“Why?” Her blue eyes behind the glasses were gently probing.

Nick frowned at her persistence. “He doesn’t want any publicity until he has a handle on what he’s dealing with.”

“You mean until he learns whether the bones are forensic or archaeological?”

“Yes, but his concern is even more basic than that. It looks like a human skeleton, but who knows?” Nick shrugged. “Remember that case down south a few years ago where a man digging in a flower bed in his backyard uncovered several coffinlike boxes that contained what the local authorities thought were the skeletal remains of infants? The sheriff even went so far as to call in the FBI, thinking he had some kind of gruesome serial killer on his hands. Turned out the previous owners of the house had used that spot for their pet cemetery. The remains were a dog, two cats, and a canary. The media had a field day with that poor sheriff and his deputies.”

“Actually, I do remember that case,” Erin said. “I’m the one who examined the bones.”

“No kidding?” Nick had already known that, of course, but he thought it was a good way to make his point. “Anyway, my friend would like you to come up and take a look at the remains, see what you think.”

“Where is the skeleton now?”

“Exactly where it was found. We want you to oversee the excavation.”

“I see.” She was intrigued by the prospect, Nick could tell. Too often, remains were sent prematurely to the pathology lab or to the morgue before a proper excavation and search of the area were conducted.

“The sooner you excavate, the better,” she murmured, glancing at the calendar on her desk. “If it rains, crucial evidence could be washed away, but unfortunately, I’m completely tied up until Wednesday.”

Two days away, Nick calculated. And the weather service predicted a major rainstorm in the next twenty-four hours.

“Can’t you rearrange your schedule?” he urged. “The time factor could be critical here.”

“But you don’t even know whether the remains are human or not.”

He met her gaze. “They’re human.”

“But you just said—”

“I said the sheriff up there doesn’t want to come off looking like some kind of fool, which is true. He’s not sure the remains are human, but I am.”

“You’ve seen them?”

“I drove up yesterday as soon as he called me. We’re trying to keep this as quiet as possible, but in case word leaks out, a couple of deputies are patrolling the area. Just between you and me, though, I’m not sure how effective that precaution will be. They were all pretty spooked by the discovery, and I doubt any of them were willing to spend the night in those woods last night.”

“I understand.” She frowned at her calendar, as if mentally juggling her schedule. “But I’m afraid there’s no way I can get up there before tomorrow. I have classes the rest of the day, and…” her frown deepened momentarily “…an engagement tonight that I can’t possibly get out of…”

Her words trailed off, and Nick wondered if the engagement she couldn’t get out of tonight was a social one. Did she have a date? If so, she didn’t look all that keen on going, so what was the problem?

“I could wait around and drive you up as soon as you’re finished,” he suggested. “We could start the excavation at first light tomorrow.”

“If you’re in that much of a hurry, perhaps you should try someone else. Who did CPD use before I moved to Chicago?”

“Dr. Bernard Rosenbaum, but he’s laid up with a broken leg. Dr. Ernesto Gonzalez occasionally backs up Rosenbaum, but he lives over two hundred miles away, and besides, he’s working in Bosnia right now. There’s no one else available, Dr. Casey. And it’s going to rain tomorrow afternoon,” he stressed. “I need you up there as soon as possible.”

Something in his tone must have conveyed his urgency, because she looked up, letting her blue gaze rest on him for the longest moment before she nodded almost imperceptibly. “All right. I’ll see if I can rearrange my schedule. But you don’t have to wait around for me. Just leave me your number and I’ll call you tonight when I’m finished.”

He stood, fishing a card from his pocket and dropping it on her desk. “If it’s all the same with you, I think I’ll hang around campus for a while anyway.”

“That really isn’t necessary—”

“Look…” He shot a glance toward the door. “I’m a little concerned about security. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a look at your facility.”

“Security? For remains that haven’t yet been identified as human?”

When he said nothing, her gaze grew mildly reproachful. “There’s something you’re not telling me about this case.”

“I’ve told you everything I know about the remains.”

“Then why are you so concerned about security?”

“Security is my job. In case you haven’t thought about it before, you’ve got a murder victim lying in your lab downstairs. Someone out there isn’t going to be too thrilled when you ID her.”

She didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his words. “This building is equipped with a sophisticated security system, including highly sensitive motion detectors. A special lock was designed for the lab doors, and only a few of the FAHIL staff have been issued keys. The doors to the FAHIL facilities are kept locked at night, and the building has its own security guard. Does that sound satisfactory to you?”

Her thoroughness impressed him once more. “You would have made a very good detective, Dr. Casey.”

Again, she gave him a slight smile, but her tone was deadly serious. “But I am a detective. I’m a bone detective. I just don’t carry a gun.”

And if she did carry a gun, Nick had no doubt she would be a crack shot. He had a feeling there were very few things Dr. Erin Casey didn’t do well.

The possibilities, he decided, were pretty damn intriguing.

“DR. CASEY! Wait up!”

Erin, balancing her briefcase, an armload of books and papers, and a can of highly caffeinated soda, turned at the sound of her name. Ross Calvert, her research assistant, hurried up the sidewalk toward her.

“I’m glad I caught you, Dr. Casey,” Ross said breathlessly as he drew alongside her.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry, Ross, so whatever this is about, can it wait?” He looked instantly crestfallen, and Erin cursed herself for her curt tone. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I have that reception tonight at the dean’s house, and you know how much I hate those things.”

Ross nodded sympathetically, his normal good humor somewhat restored. He wore baggy black jeans, a black Primus T-shirt, and his dyed hair had been gelled into orangy-red spikes. The grunge look, including the eyebrow ring and chin stud, belied his keen intelligence. He was one of the sharpest research assistants Erin had ever had.

“You’ll be cool,” he said admiringly.

“I appreciate that, Ross. Now, what can I do for you?”

He hesitated, then said, “There was a man in the lab this afternoon working on Case 00-03 with you.” His gaze lifted suddenly, and his gray eyes had an oddly possessive glint.

Erin thought she understood. Case 00-03 was to be Ross’s solo project. Once Erin had cataloged her findings, he would then conduct his own examination, comparing his conclusions with hers. One always felt possessive of one’s first case, she reminisced nostalgically. “I was working on 00-03,” she told him. “Detective Gallagher was merely observing.”

“Detective Gallagher? He’s not the one who brought her to us. That cop’s name was Stoner.”

“Yes, that’s right. Detective Mike Stoner.”

“So, what did Gallagher want?”

It was Erin’s turn to hesitate, remembering Detective Gallagher’s almost excessive concern for security. “I think he wanted to look over the premises, make sure our security was up to snuff. Some of the remains we work on represent potential evidence in court cases,” she reminded him. “A lot of good detective work could go down the drain if they were tampered with.”

Ross didn’t look all that convinced. “I guess that explains what he was doing here, but what about the other guy?”

“The other guy?”

“There was another man standing just outside the building, pretending to read a book,” Ross told her. “He looked up when you came out, and he just stood there watching you walk away.”

Erin suppressed a shiver at the notion of someone—anyone—surreptitiously watching her. Among other concerns, her backside was definitely not her best asset.

“What did he look like?” she asked Ross.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. He was older, with sort of grayish hair. And he was big. Not fat, just…big. Muscular.”

“What did he do after I walked away?”

“He got in his car and drove off. But I don’t think he left the campus. I think he’s still hanging around here somewhere.”

Erin tried to shrug away his concern. “I’m sure it’s nothing for either one of us to worry about. He was probably just waiting for someone.”

“Maybe.” Ross gave her a doubtful smile. “Just thought I’d mention it, though. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Casey.”

“See you tomorrow, Ross.” Although she wasn’t so sure she would, if she left tonight with Detective Gallagher. Depending on how long the excavation took, she might not be back until day after tomorrow, but for some reason, she didn’t feel like mentioning that possibility to Ross. He worried too much.

As Erin watched him walk toward the parking lot, she remembered Detective Gallagher’s warning about security. In case you haven’t thought about it before, you’ve got a murder victim lying in your lab downstairs. Someone out there is going to be awfully unhappy when you ID her.

Did the strange man Ross had seen lurking about campus have something to do with Case 00-03?

Or was he somehow associated with Detective Gallagher?

Neither scenario was particularly comforting, and Erin suppressed another shiver as she turned to walk home. It was only September, but there was a bite in the wind off the lake that promised an early winter.

The days were getting shorter, too. The sun was already setting over the picturesque campus, casting long shadows between the ivy-covered buildings, and for the first time in years, the coming darkness made Erin more than a little uneasy.




Chapter Two


Dean Stanton was in rare form, Erin observed at the reception that night. A dour man with a much younger and more attractive wife, the head of Hillsboro University usually did well to string more than two or three sentences together without pausing to glower.

Tonight, however, he was almost ebullient, talking and laughing with the members of the board and faculty, going out of his way to make each and every one of them feel welcome.

There were several wealthy alumni in attendance as well, and Erin suspected their presence played heavily in the dean’s exhibition of good humor.

Plus, it was obvious he enjoyed showing off his house and his wife, and who could blame him? They were both gorgeous, the latter being tall, blond, and buxom, with her rather impressive attributes stunningly displayed in a low-cut, ice-blue cocktail dress.

And the house was every bit her equal. The lower level was huge, with one room flowing into the next through high, arching doorways. Silk rugs dotted the polished hardwood floors, and the paneled walls and heavy oak shelving were garnished with oil paintings and African artifacts. Ornate chandeliers spilled soft lighting throughout the rooms, and a magnificent free-standing staircase curved gracefully to a second-floor gallery where another group of people mingled with drinks.

Erin had always imagined her father’s home looking something like this—spacious and grand with evidence of the family’s ill-gotten gains nearly everywhere one looked.

Dean Stanton had earned his house the old-fashioned way. It came with his title. A definite perk for climbing the academic ladder, Erin decided.

She stood apart from the throng, sipping her wine and eyeing the gathering with a bored, critical eye. Schmoozing with the board of trustees and would-be donors was a part of her work she hated, but it was necessary in her field, where laboratories and research grants were often funded by private donations.

Erin caught Dean Stanton’s eye, and he motioned her over. He was talking to a particularly intense-looking group of people, and Erin grimaced inwardly as she made her way across the crowded room.

“I’d like you to meet the newest member of the Hillsboro family,” he said proudly, his gaze moving over Erin in an appreciative sweep. She suspected he’d been worried about what she might turn up here wearing tonight, but in spite of her distaste for such functions, she’d learned a long time ago how to play the game.

She wore a black, sleeveless tunic over matching pants and a fluid silk jersey that clung to her scant curves, filling them out in ways nature had forgotten to. Her high heels helped alleviate nature’s other slight, and just to remind herself that she hadn’t been entirely forsaken, she’d left her hair down. The thick, wavy tresses swung over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that made her feel sexy and wanton. A fleeting feeling, to be sure…

She felt Dean Stanton’s hand on her back, urging her into the spotlight, and Erin had to resist the temptation to pull back. He made the introductions, but the names all ran together in her head, and she hardly noticed any of the faces, except for the tall man who took her hand and held it for a shade longer than she would have liked.

He was impeccably dressed, with silver hair slicked back from his face and a dark tan that highlighted the coldest pair of gray eyes she’d ever encountered. There was something about those eyes, about the way he looked at her, that made Erin experience the same vague uneasiness she’d felt that afternoon after talking with Ross.

Could this man be the one Ross had seen watching her? He did look familiar, and even his name, Ed Dawson, rang a very faint bell.

Erin’s stomach fluttered in warning as she removed her hand from his. She heard Dean Stanton address him again, and she listened more alertly, trying to place where she might have seen him before.

“…consulting on cases all over the Midwest as well as Chicago,” Stanton was saying. He turned to Erin. “Why don’t you tell us about some of the cases you worked on down in Knoxville, Dr. Casey?”

Erin frowned briefly, not wanting to talk about her work except in the most general terms. “Most of my work is fairly routine. Not all that interesting to anyone other than myself.”

The silver-haired man’s brows lifted slightly. “You’re far too modest. I find what you do fascinating, Dr. Casey. I’d certainly like to hear more about your cases at some future date, particularly the ones connected with the Chicago Police Department.”

“Those cases are current,” she explained, “and may end up in court. I’m really not at liberty to discuss them.”

Dean Stanton scowled at her. “Your reticence is admirable, Dr. Casey, but if the superintendent of the Chicago Police Department wants an update on the criminal cases in which you’re currently involved, you would have no objection, surely.”

Superintendent of the Chicago Police Department? Of course! That’s why the man’s face and name seemed so familiar. Undoubtedly, Erin had seen Ed Dawson on television, or perhaps seen his picture in the newspaper.

She glanced at him apologetically. “I’m sorry. But I was just reminded this afternoon how vital it is to safeguard our forensic work.”

“No apology necessary,” Dawson said smoothly. “As Dean Stanton correctly pointed out, your discretion is admirable. A cocktail party is not the place for such a discussion.” The look he gave Dean Stanton was almost frigid, and Stanton, in turn, glared angrily at Erin. There was no mistaking who would get the blame for his faux pas.

Just then, a woman behind Ed Dawson turned and came to join them. She looked to be in her late fifties, probably around Dawson’s age, but she was still a very pretty woman, with a nice complexion and short, dark hair. The green silk dress she wore was exactly right for her age and her coloring, and the smile she flashed Erin was the first genuine show of friendliness she’d seen all evening.

Ed Dawson took her hand and pulled her forward. “I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine. This is Maggie Gallagher,” he said to the group, but his gaze remained on Erin. “She has three sons who are in the Detective Division. It’s possible you may cross paths with one of them in the future, Dr. Casey.”

Startled, Erin stared at the woman for a moment. Maggie Gallagher’s features, especially her blue eyes, were very like the detective’s Erin had met earlier that day. Were Dawson’s words prophetic, or did he know Nick Gallagher had already been to see her?

She gave Maggie a tentative smile. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Gallagher.”

“Call me Maggie,” the woman said warmly.

“And I’m Erin.”

“You look so young to be a doctor!”

“I’m a Ph.D.,” Erin explained.

“Dr. Casey is a forensic anthropologist,” Dawson said. “She consults with the Chicago Police Department, as well as other law enforcement organizations throughout the Midwest.”

Maggie Gallagher couldn’t quite hide her surprise. “A forensic anthropologist. That means you work with—”

“Bones,” Erin supplied. “Skeletal remains. I help with identification.”

“She does much more than that,” Dawson said, his expression almost grim. “A good forensic anthropologist can also determine cause and manner of death. Their expert testimony has helped us convict countless murderers who would have otherwise gone free.”

“My goodness.” Maggie looked dutifully impressed. “Are you here with your husband, Dr. Casey?”

“I’m not married.”

Maggie’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “I’ll be sure to tell my sons that I met you.”

Three sons in the police department, Erin mused. And by the looks of things, Maggie Gallagher and the superintendent were a little more than mere acquaintances. His hand rested possessively on her back, and when Maggie glanced up at him, the two exchanged a look that was unmistakable.

He bent down to say something to her, and Erin used the interlude to make her escape. Murmuring her excuses to Dean Stanton, she drifted away, melting once more into the crowd.

She wondered if she could slip away altogether and not be noticed. She still had to go by the lab and pack her equipment for the excavation, then call Detective Gallagher…

Lost in thought about the next day’s work, she jumped slightly when someone said her name. She turned, meeting Superintendent Dawson’s cool gaze, and again Erin felt a vague uneasiness. As head of the Chicago Police Department, he was a very important man. She wanted to believe her disquiet was a result of his title and position, but there was something else about him, a hardness in his eyes that could have been the result of his years on the police force, but somehow Erin suspected it was not.

She thought him a cold man, perhaps even cruel, and she had a hard time picturing a woman like Maggie Gallagher being drawn to him. But then again, he wasvery attractive. In some ways, charismatic, which could make him a very dangerous man.

“I hope you don’t mind my seeking you out like this,” he said.

“Of course not,” she lied.

“I wanted to tell you again how much I appreciate your discretion. I know Dean Stanton can be—shall we say—persuasive, and I admire the way you held your ground with him.”

Erin wished she could take pleasure in Dawson’s praise, but something told her he had an ulterior motive for his comments. “Discretion is part of my job,” she said with a light shrug. “Just as it is with yours.”

“Actually, your job is what I’d like to talk to you about.” He smiled down at her, but Erin couldn’t detect a single note of warmth or amusement in his eyes. “I don’t like uncleared cases, but unfortunately, our files are full of Jane and John Does, many of them homicides whose perpetrators were never apprehended because the victims couldn’t be identified. Your work is extremely important to CPD, Dr. Casey. Make no mistake about that.”

“I appreciate that,” Erin told him. “My work is very important to me, too.”

“Your dedication is obvious.” He hesitated, then said pensively, “I’m wondering if you might be interested in participating on a task force I’m putting together for our Missing Persons Bureau. Your input could be invaluable.”

An alarm sounded inside Erin, but she tried to keep her tone and expression neutral. “I’m flattered, but my work here at the university keeps me very busy.”

“I understand. But I’d like to come by your lab someday soon and discuss the project with you anyway. If you wouldn’t have any objection.”

His tone implied that he certainly didn’t expect her to object, but she did. Apart from her heavy schedule at Hillsboro, Erin had no intention of getting involved in a police department task force. She would consult on cases within the safe confines of the university, but she would not risk questions about her background. Erin had always been very careful about keeping a low profile, even on cases that had caught the attention of the media. Now that she had returned to Chicago, it was more important than ever that she adhere to those rules. If her father were to ever find out she was here…

Who are you kidding? a little voice taunted Erin. Her presence in Chicago would make no difference to her father whatsoever. He’d gladly given away his rights to her when she was a baby, hadn’t he? Relinquished all claims, legal and otherwise, in order to retain sole custody of the son he’d cherished, the only child he’d ever wanted.

She glanced up at Dawson, and it almost seemed, by the flicker in his gray eyes, that he knew what she’d been thinking. Had he somehow found out her real name, her true identity? Erin doubted it. If he knew she was from an infamous Chicago crime family, he wouldn’t be asking her to sit on a police task force, would he?

“I’ll have my secretary call you in a day or two,” he advised. “And I must warn you, Dr. Casey, I usually don’t take no for an answer.”

And I must warn you, Erin thought in annoyance, I don’t take orders very well, not even from the superintendent of the Chicago Police Department.

“DR. CASEY, isn’t it? Mary Alice Stanton.” The dean’s wife blocked Erin’s path to the front door, where she had hoped to quietly slip out unnoticed. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. Phil’s been raving about your credentials ever since you accepted the position here at Hillsboro.”

Erin shook hands with the woman. “That’s nice to hear,” she murmured, although she couldn’t imagine Dean Stanton raving about anyone or anything. And after her less than sterling performance with Ed Dawson, whatever admiration Dean Stanton might have been harboring for her would have quickly evaporated.

On closer examination, the dean’s wife was a little older than Erin had first thought, probably around thirty. They were contemporaries, but for the life of her, Erin couldn’t think of a single thing to say to the woman. Mary Alice was beautiful, sexy and glamorous, and judging by the revealing dress she wore, she knew it. There was nothing wrong in that. Erin admired confidence. But women like Mary Alice Stanton, and like Erin’s secretary, Gloria, always made her feel inadequate, and it wasn’t a feeling she liked.

“I couldn’t help noticing that you were having a private conversation with Superintendent Dawson,” Mary Alice observed. “He’s a very interesting man, isn’t he? And so attractive!”

“Yes, he is,” Erin agreed, though not enthusiastically.

Mary Alice appeared not to notice. Her eyes glowed with admiration. “He and my husband have been friends for years, and I went to college with his stepdaughter. That’s how Phil and I met.”

Erin wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond to that, so she merely smiled.

Mary Alice lowered her voice intimately. “You may have heard what happened to her.”

“The stepdaughter?”

She nodded sadly, but there was a strange glow in her eyes, almost as if she relished retelling the story. “Her name was Ashley Dallas. She was murdered eight years ago at a college party. Not Hillsboro,” she quickly added, as if to assuage any fears the information may have generated in Erin. “A man was convicted of her murder, and he’s been on death row for several years. Now, however, there’s a possibility he may be released.”

Something akin to a premonition swept over Erin. She felt chill bumps up and down her bare arms. “Why?”

Mary Alice shrugged. “Some unfortunate legal technicality. It was discovered a few months ago that evidence was deliberately withheld from the police investigation, and the man’s lawyers have pressed for a mistrial or a new trial or something. There was a real brouhaha in the papers about it a few months ago, and some of his groupies organized a protest march at police headquarters. According to the newspaper accounts, the scene got pretty violent.”

“I haven’t heard anything about it.” Erin rarely had time for reading newspapers or even watching the news on television, which quite often made her feel hopelessly out of the loop. She supposed she was the quintessential scientist, cooped up in her lab and shut off from the rest of the world.

“I’m surprised, given the level of publicity it’s received,” Mary Alice said. “But then, I guess you haven’t been in town all that long, and things have recently died down a bit.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but just then, Russell Quay, another anthropology professor and member of the FAHIL staff, hurried over and tapped her on the shoulder.

Mary Alice turned, automatically plastering a smile on her lovely face. “Russell! I haven’t seen you all evening. Where’ve you been hiding, you handsome devil, you?”

The diminutive professor beamed up at her, obviously smitten, and when Mary Alice bent to say something to him, putting her “attributes” at his eye level, Erin thought he might faint dead away.

After a moment, Mary Alice excused herself, and her admirer turned anxiously to follow her with his gaze. Behind his thick, bottlelike glasses, his eyes looked dazed and slightly guilty, like a kid who’d purloined his father’s Penthouse.

“Dr. Quay?”

He turned, startled, as if he hadn’t seen Erin standing there. His face flushed a deep, mottled red, and he muttered something under his breath, quickly whirling away to run headlong into a uniformed server carrying a heavy, silver tray of canapés. Somehow the young woman managed to keep her balance, and after a bit of two-stepping, Russell darted around her and disappeared into the crowd.

“The poor man is obviously sexually deprived,” Lois Childers, an archaeology professor, commented wryly as she ambled up beside Erin. “That’s the kind you have to watch out for, you know. Their frustrations sometimes manifest themselves in very disturbing ways.”

“You sound as if you’ve had some experience,” Erin remarked mildly. Lois was a tall woman, in her early forties, with handsome features and a raspy, sexy voice deepened even more so by her chain smoking. Her auburn hair was shoulder length and blunt cut in a Cleopatra style that highlighted her angular cheekbones. Tonight she wore a gold brocade suit that made her seem positively regal as she gazed upon the proceedings with airy disdain.

“I’ve known my share of head cases,” she blithely admitted. “I’d watch out for Russell if I were you.”

Erin glanced at her in surprise. “Why?”

Lois shrugged. “He thought he would be the one put in charge of FAHIL. Dean Stanton gave him every indication that he would be, then suddenly—” she snapped her fingers “—here you are.”

“I didn’t know,” Erin said, although it was hardly a surprise. Universities were as competitive as multinational corporations. Her appointment was bound to cause some hostility. “I don’t know Dr. Quay all that well, but he doesn’t seem threatening.”

“Well, hell,” Lois said, eyeing Erin over the rim of her wineglass. “Neither do many serial killers.” She paused. “I’ll lay you two to one odds that the little general is still a virgin. His mommy keeps him on too tight a leash.”

“His mommy?”

Lois snorted. “Didn’t you know? Russell still lives with his mother. He asked me to dinner once and the old bag had to come along with us. Do you remember the mother in Throw Momma from the Train?” When Erin admitted she did, Lois nodded grimly. “Well, then, you’ve got the picture.”

“You’ve dated Russell Quay?” Erin hadn’t meant to sound so incredulous, but a more unlikely couple she couldn’t imagine.

“Well, hell,” Lois said. “I’m not getting any younger, and besides, in case you haven’t noticed, the pickings on campus aren’t exactly prime. We can’t all have tall, dark, handsome detectives traipsing through our offices.”

Erin froze. How had Lois known about Detective Gallagher?

Almost casually, she said, “So, who have you been talking to?”

Lois smiled mysteriously. “I have my sources.”

“This is serious, Lois. If there’s a leak at FAHIL—” Lois rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Lighten up, Erin. A good-looking man causes talk. I saw him coming out of your office and I asked Gloria who he was. She obviously had the hots for him herself.”

Gloria Maynard hadn’t exactly overwhelmed Erin with her competence and trustworthiness, and now to hear that she’d been talking about a visitor to the lab, even to Lois, did not bode well for their future working relationship. Erin would have to speak to her secretary at once, warn her to be especially discreet where FAHIL was concerned.

Still, Lois was right. A good-looking man did cause talk, and Nick Gallagher was nothing if not good-looking. An image of him flashed through Erin’s mind, and she felt that same flutter of nerves in her stomach that she’d experienced upon meeting him. She told herself again it wasn’t attraction. She had some sort of sixth sense about the man. Some internal alarm warning her that he meant trouble.

Lois gave her a smug look. “I’ll lay you ten to one odds that man doesn’t live with his mother.”

No, Erin thought. For all she knew, he lived with his wife. Or his lover.

That notion gave her another odd feeling, making her stomach tremble even more, and she took a sip of her wine, trying to chase away the unfamiliar sensation.

“And I can tell you without a doubt, he’s no virgin,” Lois declared.

Erin gave her an amused glance. “Without a doubt? You know, of course, that implies a certain knowledge of the fact.”

Lois gave a sensual wince. “Don’t I wish. That dark hair with those blue eyes…that body…” She shuddered. “He’d be an incredible lover.”

Erin’s amusement evaporated, and she became annoyed with the conversation, although she couldn’t say why exactly. “Just because he’s good-looking—”

“It’s more than that,” Lois declared. “When you get to be my age, you have a certain instinct for men. It’s like a radar. You know almost immediately the ones who’ll remember your birthday, the ones who’ll be nice to your mother. The ones who’ll be good in bed,” she added with a sly smile.

“And you think Detective Gallagher would be nice to your mother?” Erin couldn’t help asking.

“Honey chile, my dear ole mother would drool all over him,” Lois drawled, mimicking Erin’s Southern accent.

“Would he remember your birthday?”

Lois gave that a moment’s consideration. “No,” she said finally. “He’s not the type of man who would remember a woman’s birthday. But he’d sure as hell know how to make it up to her.”

ERIN STEPPED OUT onto the portico of the dean’s house a few minutes later, breathing a sigh of relief that she’d finally made good her escape. Then she paused as her gaze lit on a man lurking on the sidewalk across the street. He stood beneath the limbs of a giant elm, his face filtered from the streetlight, and for a moment, Erin’s heart started to race. Had he followed her here? Had he been standing there all evening, waiting for her to come out? If so, why?

An image of the skeletal remains of Case 00-03, locked tight in her lab, flashed through Erin’s head, and panic bloomed inside her. Just as she turned to go back inside the house, the man stepped into the street, leaving the shadows behind, and Erin recognized him. She felt relief and anxiety all at once, and her heart continued to pound as she watched Detective Gallagher cross the street and head up the flower-lined walkway.

He’d be an incredible lover.

Erin cursed herself for lingering as long as she had over that conversation with Lois, because now she couldn’t get the woman’s observations concerning Detective Gallagher out of her head.

Honestly, Erin told herself irritably. Whether the man was Don Juan himself had no bearing on her dealings with him.

And I can tell you without a doubt, he’s no virgin.

Brilliant, Erin thought dryly. It didn’t exactly take a Nobel prize winner in genetic engineering to reach that conclusion. Anyone who had gazed into those baby blues would have deduced that much in two seconds flat, even a forensic anthropologist whose sexual exploits—and it was being extremely imaginative to use that term—were few and far between.

When he drew near her, his steps faltered for one split second before he approached her. “Dr. Casey?”

“Yes.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you.” His gaze swept over her, taking in her loose, flowing hair and the clingy fabric of her tunic and pants. The look on his face made Erin grow almost breathless.

“H-how did you know I’d be here?” she said, wincing inwardly at the stammer.

“Your secretary told me.”

Gloria again. Not only did the woman talk too much, she wasn’t above selling out her boss in order to gain the favor of an attractive man.

Well, who could blame her? a little voice jeered as Erin’s gaze slipped over Detective Gallagher in the dim light. He’d shed the sport coat and slacks he’d worn earlier in favor of jeans and a cotton T-shirt which melded very nicely to his muscular torso. Erin was beginning to appreciate a little more than just his bone structure, she realized. Perhaps she hadn’t given enough credit in the past to toned muscles and tanned skin.

And now you sound just like Lois, that same little voice taunted her.

Well, hell, Erin thought, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

“Are you ready to go?” His gaze flicked over her again, as if he still wasn’t quite convinced she was the woman he’d been expecting.

Erin knew she should be flattered, but for some reason she wasn’t. Had her appearance been that lacking earlier?

And so what if it had? Why should she care what Detective Gallagher, or anyone else, thought of her looks? Erin had never been a vain person. There had always been so many more interesting pursuits with which to occupy her time. She didn’t even like to shop. She’d ordered the outfit she had on tonight via the Internet, not having concerned herself for more than a minute with the fit, color, or fabric.

Judging by Detective Gallagher’s reaction, the selection was a success, and Erin felt herself growing even more agitated the longer he stared at her.

She pushed back her hair. “I’ll need to go home and change first. Then I’ll have to go by the lab and pick up my equipment.”

“Fine. I’ll drive you.”

Erin started to tell him she had her own car, but then she remembered that she’d walked the few blocks from her garage apartment to the dean’s house, not wanting to be bothered with parking on the narrow street. It had still been daylight then, but now that it was dark and growing cool, she didn’t relish walking home alone. She shrugged. “Thanks. I’d appreciate the ride.”

They started down the marble steps together, and he took her elbow. An old-fashioned, courtly gesture that Erin suspected had been drummed into him by his mother. But for some reason, his touch seemed intimate and knowing, as if he were all too aware of Erin’s reaction to him.

I’ve been in the lab too long, she thought almost in panic, if my insides turn to jelly by the mere touch of an attractive man.

But Ed Dawson’s touch hadn’t affected her that way, Erin reminded herself. Quite the contrary, the feel of his hand on hers had been almost repugnant, and his age had nothing to do with it. She’d always been attracted to older men, and Dawson had the same timeless appeal as Sean Connery. Yet Erin’s instincts had been wary of him from the first and she didn’t know why.

She wondered what Nick Gallagher thought of his mother dating the superintendent of the police department. Did that pave the way for him and his brothers to rise in the ranks?

Erin had an instinct for Nick Gallagher, too, and she didn’t think he was the type of person who would ride another’s coattails. He was restless, driven, almost dogmatic, she suspected, when battling for a cause he believed in. And God help anyone who got in his way.

She shivered as his grasp on her tightened almost imperceptibly when they reached the end of the walkway and he guided her toward his car. “This way.”

He dropped his hand from her elbow, and Erin experienced that same sense of relief and anxiety she’d felt earlier. What was it about him that kept her so off center? She hadn’t felt this way, at least not so quickly, even when she’d fallen madly in love with one of her professors her first year of college. The affair had been disastrous, naturally, because he’d been older and wiser and, she’d discovered too late, married.

A wave of shame washed over her at the memory, but Erin tried to shove it to the farthest recesses of her mind. No use crying over spilt milk, her mother had always told her.

Detective Gallagher opened the door of his car, and Erin slid inside, admiring the smell and feel of the leather seats. The sports car was an import, not one of the more expensive ones, but low-slung and fast just the same. He climbed in on the other side and started the powerful engine, glancing in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb.

The interior of the car was dark and close, the glow from the dash casting only the faintest of light on his features. He barely glanced at her, but seemed deeply preoccupied by his own thoughts. Was he thinking about the remains they would excavate in the morning? Was he wondering about the identity?

Was he keeping something from her? Erin wondered uneasily.

They spoke very little on the way to her place, and once he’d parked on the street near her garage apartment, Erin debated on whether she should invite him up. Better not, she decided, remembering her conversation with Lois. Best to keep their time together on a strictly business level.

“I’ll just be a moment,” she told him.

She opened her door, and the bright light seemed to catch them both by surprise. Their eyes met, and for the longest moment, Erin remained still, mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. Finally he said, “I appreciate the way you rearranged your schedule.”

She shrugged. “No problem. This is what I do.”

He smiled faintly. “A bone detective.”

The smile sent a shiver of awareness racing up her spine. “That’s right.”

“I hope you can work your magic for me, Dr. Casey.”

She lifted a brow. “Don’t you mean for your friend? The county sheriff you mentioned?”

His blue gaze flickered. “Yeah. Sure. If you can identify those remains, you’ll be doing us both a big favor.”

“I’ll identify the remains,” Erin told him confidently. She climbed out of the car and glanced back at him. “But I still believe there’s a lot more to this case than you’ve told me.”

His smile vanished. “I’ve told you everything you need to know,” he said coolly. “You do your job, Dr. Casey, and I’ll do mine.”




Chapter Three


You do your job, Dr. Casey, and I’ll do mine.

Erin couldn’t say she appreciated his attitude, but she wasn’t surprised by it. She’d worked with police officers before who grudgingly enlisted her help and were all too quick to draw the line between her duties and theirs. Homicide detectives were an especially turfconscious breed.

Changing quickly into jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, Erin packed a small overnight bag, put out plenty of food and water for her cat, Macavity, and then locked up her apartment. Detective Gallagher was leaning against his car waiting for her as she ran down the stairs. He opened his trunk and stored her bag, then they both climbed back into the car.

For a long, tense moment, neither of them said anything. His earlier rejoinder seemed to have dampened whatever camaraderie might have been forming between them. Erin saw him drum his fingertips impatiently on the steering wheel, and then hesitantly he turned to her. “Look, I’m sorry about before. What I said earlier.”

She shrugged. “No problem.”

“No, I was out of line and I apologize. It’s just that…” He trailed off, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I’m under some pressure right now.”

“I understand, Detective Gallagher.” Actually, she was impressed that he was even willing to apologize. It had been her experience that most police officers, especially detectives, weren’t.

He flashed her another look. “Call me Nick.”

“Then please call me Erin.”

He gave her a quick smile that almost stopped her heart. “Nice Irish name. My grandmother would approve.”

“You’re Irish, too,” she said needlessly, but his smile had addled her a bit. She’d never been so aware of a man’s presence before. She didn’t quite know how to handle it.

Nick didn’t seem to have the same problem. He said easily, “My father’s parents were both born in Dublin. You should hear my grandmother. Sometimes her brogue is still so thick you can barely understand her, especially when she gets mad. The fact that none of her grandchildren went to Notre Dame has been a sore spot with her for years now.”

Erin smiled, but didn’t comment. According to her mother, her paternal grandfather had also immigrated to America from Ireland, over seventy years ago, where he had almost immediately set about to build himself an empire. He had been a bootlegger to start, an Irish Al Capone, and then after the repeal of prohibition, the family import-export business had diversified into other illegal activities, including arms trading.

His sons—one of them being Erin’s father—had followed in his footsteps, which was why Erin’s mother had struck the bargain with him that she had. If she couldn’t save both her children from his evil influence, she could at least save one. So she took Erin—the child her father had agreed to give up—and fled Chicago, while Erin’s brother remained behind.

In all these years, Erin had never heard a word from her father. When she was younger and her mother had told her about their past, she’d been too frightened to want any contact. Then, in high school, when she’d gone through a brief period of rebellion, she’d convinced herself that her father’s complete absence from her life was because he didn’t know where she and her mother had gone off to, nor did he know their new names. If she could just talk to him, let him know where she was, why then, of course he’d welcome her back into his life with open arms.

Her mother had figured out what Erin was up to and had warned her that any connection with her father whatsoever could be dangerous to both of them. Something in her mother’s tone, the fear in her eyes had made a believer out of Erin. She hadn’t been so much worried for herself as she had been for her mother. What if her father did decide he wanted Erin back? What would he do to her mother?

Erin had never tried to get in touch with him again, and as far as she knew, neither had her mother, although there had been times when Erin had wondered. Her mother had grown so sad during the years before she died. Melancholy and guilt-ridden, she would cry softly in her room late at night, when she thought Erin was asleep, but when Erin had tried to talk to her about it, her mother would grow very remote.

And now she was gone, and Erin would never know the deep, dark secret that had troubled her mother’s last years.

She sensed Nick watching her, and she turned, meeting his eyes in the dim light. His gaze was dark, intense, curious. He was wondering about her. Speculating about what made her tick. Erin had the same curiosity about him.

“You’re wondering why someone would decide to become a bone detective,” she said.

His brows lifted slightly before he returned his gaze to the road. “I think I get why you’re so good at what you do. You have ESP.”

In truth, he wasn’t far off the mark. Erin’s ability to read bones did at times border on the uncanny, but she’d always been good at putting together puzzles. One of her strongest virtues was patience, another diligence. She would labor over remains long after everyone else was either satisfied with the conclusions or had given up.

“I love what I do. There’s nothing supernatural about it,” she told him.

He glanced at her again. “Which brings me back to my original question. Why did you become a forensic anthropologist?”

“The short answer?” Erin shrugged. “I’d always been interested in archaeology, and after the Indiana Jones movies came out, I decided, like a few thousand other students, that was what I wanted to do. Travel the world looking for rare, priceless artifacts that could either save or destroy mankind.”

The look he gave her was surprised. “You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”

“Some people might take that as an insult,” she said dryly. “But since it’s the truth, I won’t allow myself to be too offended.”

He grinned suddenly, the smile igniting a spark in his eyes that was very, very attractive. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“No?” Her tone remained light, in spite of her racing pulse. “Let me guess. You were expecting a cross between Quincy and Jessica Fletcher. Am I right?”

“You’re perceptive,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”

“You don’t exactly fit my image of a homicide detective, either,” she told him. “Where’s your rumpled trench coat?”

The amusement faded from his expression. “Unfortunately, in real life, we’re not like Columbo. We don’t always get our man. Some of them tend to slip through the legal cracks. Even cold-blooded murderers.”

Something in his voice, an edge of suppressed rage, made Erin shiver. She stared at his profile for a moment, wondering why the remains discovered yesterday were so important to him. He could pretend all he wanted that he was doing a favor for a friend by enlisting her help, but Erin knew better. There was a lot more to this case than Nick Gallagher was willing to tell her, and she wondered uneasily if she was getting into something she might wish she hadn’t.

“So you wanted to be Indiana Jones,” he said after a moment, but the lightness had completely vanished from his tone and his expression. “Why the switch to anthropology?”

“Archaeology is a subdiscipline of anthropology. I didn’t really switch, I just changed my focus.” She smiled a little. “Actually, I discovered that digging trenches, millimeter by millimeter, in search of a pottery shard wasn’t quite as glamorous as Harrison Ford had led me to believe, though it can be fascinating at times. I became more interested in physical anthropology, and one of my professors, who was also a forensic anthropologist, told my class a story once about a woman’s daughter who had been missing for more than twenty years. When the child’s remains were finally discovered and identified, the woman wrote Dr. Ellis a long letter, thanking him for bringing her daughter back home to her. For the first time in more than twenty years, the woman finally had peace. She no longer searched faces in malls or on crowded streets, wondering if one of them might be her daughter’s.” Erin paused. “I knew from that moment on, that’s what I wanted to do, too.”

“You’re lucky then. Some people never figure out what it is they want in life.”

She looked at him in surprise. “You don’t like being a detective?”

He shrugged. “I guess I never gave it much thought. It was expected of me. I come from a long line of cops. My father, my grandfather. Both my brothers.” He shrugged again. “It’s in my genes, I guess.”

Erin didn’t like to think about genes, about what propensities could be handed down from one generation to the next. Intellectually, she knew that environment played a huge part in the development of personality traits, and she thanked her mother for giving her a safe, sheltered childhood away from her father’s influence.

But she knew, too, that more and more was being discovered about heredity all the time, and that some experts now believed the tendency toward violent and criminal behavior could be passed on to a child from his or her parents. Whether Erin liked it or not, she also carried her father’s genes inside her, and she knew that that knowledge had played no insignificant role in her decision to become a forensic anthropologist. By giving back to society, she could somehow counteract the darkness that might be lurking inside her.

But that wasn’t a story for a police detective. She suspected Nick Gallagher wasn’t a man who trusted easily, and if they were going to work together on this case, it was essential they at least have faith in each other’s abilities.

He pulled into a space in the faculty parking lot near the George Augustine Building of Natural Sciences. The FAHIL lab and offices were in a new wing, a little over a year old, which jutted out from the original structure, giving it an ungainly look that was at odds with the quaint setting of the campus.

Nick and Erin got out of the car and walked up the steps to the front entrance. Erin removed her keys from her briefcase, but the door was unlocked. She glanced up at Nick, who was scowling.

“I thought you said this place was always kept locked.”

“The lab is, unless I’m inside working. But the cleaning crew has to have access to the main building, plus, the faculty offices are in here, as well as some classrooms.”

She led him down the deserted corridor, their footsteps echoing hollowly against the tile floor. The hallways in the original portion of the building were like a maze, and it had taken Erin several days to get her bearings when she first came here. She headed unfailingly now, however, to the door that would grant them access to the new wing.

It was unlocked, too, and before Erin could step inside, Nick moved in front of her.

Erin said quickly. “Someone’s probably working late. One of the staff—”

He silenced her with a look as he glided, ghostlike, along the dim corridor. Erin, shivering by this time, didn’t know what else to do but follow. The hair at the back of her neck rose as they crept along the hallway, Nick pausing now and then to check locked doors.

“How can we get to the lab from here?” he asked softly.

“We can’t. We have to take the elevator up to the third floor, where the FAHIL offices are located. There’s another elevator there that leads straight to the basement.”

He gave her a sharp look. “There’s no outside door to the lab?”

“There’s an emergency exit that’s kept locked,” she said. “It can be opened from the inside, and that’s where deliveries are handled. But someone has to be in the lab to disengage the lock.”

“There’s an alarm on the door, I assume.”

“Of course. The other entrance to the lab is from the hallway.”

“Who has a key?”

“I told you. Only the FAHIL staff.”

“What about Gloria Maynard?”

“Gloria?” For some reason, the fact that he remembered her secretary’s name annoyed Erin. So he hadn’t been quite as immune to the woman’s charms as he’d let on. “She doesn’t have a key to the lab, but I’ve let her use mine from time to time.”

He gave her a look, but Erin merely shrugged. “I’ve occasionally sent her down there to fetch something I needed for a class or consultation,” she explained. “She doesn’t particularly like going down there, so it doesn’t happen all that often.”

They were at the elevators now, and Erin pressed the button. As the car descended toward them, Nick pulled her back, shielding her with his body as the doors slid open.

“Look, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” she said as she moved around him and entered the elevator. “Obviously, someone is still here working.”

Nick didn’t say anything as he stepped into the elevator beside her. But his profile was rigidly set as he faced forward, and she wondered suddenly if he had a gun underneath his jacket.

Erin pushed the button for the third floor and the doors slid closed. The car gave a little lurch, scrambling her stomach, then slowly ascended.

When they got off on the third floor, Erin glanced around, uneasy in spite of herself. She’d never before noticed how dark the hallway was. There was one light at the far end, near the stairwell, but from the elevator down to her office, the corridor was dim and shadowy.

She’d worked late a lot of nights and never minded the poor lighting before. So why now, with a rugged police detective by her side, did gooseflesh prickle along her arms and neck as she and Nick walked down the hallway to her office?

Gloria’s office was directly past the elevator, in an open lobby area that serviced the entire FAHIL staff. Erin’s office was at the far end of the hallway, and as they approached her door, she became more and more apprehensive. What if her office had been broken into? What if sensitive files had been taken, cases compromised?

But when she tried her door, it was locked tight, and she let out a breath of relief. Inserting the key, she opened the door and reached inside to turn on the light, her gaze automatically scanning the interior.

Nothing was amiss. Her file cabinets were all secured, as were her desk drawers. She’d cleaned off the surface of her desk earlier, years of practice making her meticulous in putting away her work before she left for the day.

“Everything seems okay in here,” Nick said, gazing around. He turned back around to face her. “Let’s go have a look in the lab.”

She nodded. “I have to get my equipment together anyway, but I’m sure we’ll find it locked up tight, just like my office.”

He cut her another look, one that said, so far, he wasn’t all that impressed with Hillsboro’s security.

Erin frowned, feeling defensive but trying to subdue it. No use getting off on more of an adversarial footing with him than she already had. Still, if there was one area of her life where she felt secure, it was her work. She knew what she was doing, and she didn’t much care for someone challenging her competence.

After locking her office, they got in the service elevator, which took them directly to the basement level. The hallway there was dim and shadowy, too, and as Erin disengaged the alarm and motion detectors, she silently vowed to have maintenance install better lighting as soon as possible.

She unlocked the door to the lab, and both she and Nick walked inside. Hesitating for one split second before turning on the lights, she gave him time to absorb the ambiance of the lab in darkness. The safety lights did little more than cast shadows and highlight the shelves of skulls, and Erin had heard Gloria Maynard declare more than once that you would not catch her dead in this place after dark. Erin always got a silent chuckle out of the irony.

She glanced up at Nick, sensing more than seeing his tension in the murky light. She heard him mutter something beneath his breath, and she said quite casually, “Excuse me?”

“Unless you want to tell ghost stories, you can turn on the light now.”

Erin flipped the switch, giving him an amused glance. “Not spooked, are you, detective?”

He flinched slightly when the overhead lights came on, then cut her a dry look. “Let me guess. Halloween is your favorite holiday. What do you do—decorate the skulls?”

Erin’s amusement vanished. “I wouldn’t do that,” she said simply. “I respect the remains that I work on, and I never lose sight of the fact that they were once someone’s brother or daughter or mother.”

Nick’s gaze on her was intense. He seemed to understand exactly what she meant, and for the longest moment, he remained silent. Then he glanced away and said in a subdued tone, “I think I’ve come to the right place.”

NICK EXAMINED the outside door. “This can only be opened from in here, you say?”

Erin walked over to join him. “Yes. It was originally intended for an emergency exit, but we also use it for deliveries. It opens up into an alley.”

“How about if I go out this way and have a look around?”

Erin shrugged. “Sure. You may as well bring your car around, and we can load the equipment from here.” She entered the code, then gave him the all-clear signal. He shoved open the heavy door almost reluctantly, glancing back as it closed between them. He didn’t like leaving her inside the lab alone, even though he knew she was comfortable with her surroundings and probably safer inside those walls than most any other place in Chicago. Still, he’d seen another side of Dr. Erin Casey tonight, and it was hard to dispel the image of all that flowing hair, that clingy outfit. It was hard to think of her as anything other than a woman now.

He shook his head, as if to clear his mind, and climbed the steps to street level. The alley was a dead end, bordered on one side by the FAHIL building and on the other by an eight-foot concrete wall. There was only one way in and one way out, and depending on the size of the delivery vehicle, he could imagine a driver having a hard time reversing all the way to the end.

The lab, by the very nature of the work performed there, was a little creepy, and Nick had been unsettled by the thought of bringing the skeletal remains of someone he’d known—someone he’d loved—here to be coldly and clinically examined by a stranger.

Erin had set his mind to rest. She was the right person for the job. Passionate, discreet, thoroughly professional, there was nothing about her with which he could quarrel. He hoped a judge and jury would feel the same way, because depending on her findings, Nick would try his damnedest to build an ironclad case against Daniel O’Roarke for the murder of Sean Gallagher, Nick’s father.

Eight years ago, O’Roarke had been arrested for the brutal slaying of Ashley Dallas, the beautiful, young stepdaughter of Police Superintendent Ed Dawson, and the woman Nick’s younger brother, Tony, had been in love with. Nick’s father had been the lead detective on the case, assigned by Dawson himself because Sean Gallagher had been the best on the force. Sean had made the arrest, then a few weeks later, he disappeared. His body was never found, but there’d never been any doubt in Nick’s mind that Daniel O’Roarke, out on bail awaiting trial, had killed Sean for revenge.

The MO was typical of the O’Roarkes, who had been mortal enemies of the Gallaghers ever since William Gallagher, Nick’s grandfather, and James O’Roarke had emigrated from Ireland together over seventy years ago. William had become a cop, James a criminal, but they’d had one thing in common—their love for Nick’s grandmother, Colleen. She’d been engaged to James, but had married William when she’d learned of James’s illicit activities. The rivalry between the two men had become even more fierce after that, and the bitterness had been passed down through the generations.

The O’Roarkes, with their shady alliances and illegal dealings, were an anathema to everything the Gallaghers stood for, and after Sean disappeared, Nick had begun his own personal crusade against them.

Daniel O’Roarke had eventually been convicted of Ashley Dallas’s murder and given the death penalty. Over the years, an army of powerful lawyers, hired by Daniel’s father, Richard, had tried one appeal after another. Nothing had worked until a few months ago, when new information had come to light which suggested that both Sean Gallagher and Ed Dawson had suppressed evidence in the case that might have, if not cleared Daniel, at least created reasonable doubt.

Armed with this potentially explosive information, the O’Roarke attorneys had petitioned the court to overturn Daniel’s conviction, in which case, Daniel would walk out of prison a free man. And because of the O’Roarkes’ money and influence, not to mention their willingness to use extortion when necessary, Daniel’s freedom appeared to not only be a possibility but a probability.

For weeks now Nick had had to live with the image of his father’s murderer plastered across the news broadcasts. He’d had to listen to the impassioned pleas of starlets and zealots, begging the courts to set Daniel O’Roarke free. O’Roarke even had a web site in his honor, created and maintained by one of his most ardent admirers, a young woman who claimed she and O’Roarke were in love.

Not once did any of these people stop to consider the victims’ families, Nick thought bitterly. Not once did they stop to think what it would be like to have your father’s murderer roaming free, willing and able to kill again. Not once did they stop to contemplate that even if information had been withheld from the official police report, the evidence against O’Roarke had still been sufficiently overwhelming to convince a jury of his guilt.

Never before had Nick felt so enraged by the judicial system, nor so helpless. But then, like divine intervention, Roy Glass, the sheriff in Webber County, Wisconsin, had called and told him about the discovery of a skeleton in the woods near the fishing cabin from which Nick’s father had disappeared. If the remains turned out to be Sean’s and if Nick could prove his father had been murdered, then he would begin very systematically to build another case against Daniel O’Roarke.

After eight long years of waiting, there would finally be justice for Sean Gallagher. And for Nick.

UNLIKE VISITORS to the lab, Erin was never frightened by her surroundings. She usually became so absorbed in her work that she never stopped to think about the potential “chill” factor, but ever since her conversation with Nick earlier that day, she’d felt an unprecedented sense of unease she couldn’t seem to shake.

Tonight, after finding the building unlocked, the feeling had deepened, and as Erin stood in the deserted lab, a shiver skimmed along her arms.

Probably served her right, she decided, for trying to scare poor Detective Gallagher earlier. Not that he appeared to be a man who frightened easily, but he had been uncomfortable with the lights off and he hadn’t tried to pretend otherwise. Erin liked that about him. He didn’t exhibit any of the forced machismo she’d seen so often in police officers. But then, he didn’t have to. He exuded an innate strength and sense of self that needed no false bolstering. He was one of the most interesting men she’d ever met.

Telling herself she didn’t have time to stand around all night analyzing Detective Gallagher’s manly qualities, she set about gathering up the equipment she would need for the excavation, including her Marshall-town trowel.

Busy with her work, the noise that came from somewhere behind her barely registered at first, but then, like a midday shadow, the realization that she wasn’t alone came creeping over her, and the hair on the back of her neck rose in warning.

She didn’t immediately turn, but stood for a moment, trying to analyze the noise—what it had been, where it had come from. The walls and doors in the lab where thick, but every once in a while, when everything was dead silent, like now, noises from the outside would filter in. Erin could sometimes even hear the faint, telltale clang of the elevator as it descended from the third floor.

Initially, she’d chalked those sounds up to imagination, but then almost inevitably someone would appear at the lab door—one of the staff, Gloria, a visitor. Erin had gotten used to this early warning system, and had decided that she had either been blessed with exceptional hearing, which she’d never appreciated before, or the vents in the lab were situated in such a way as to magnify sound from the hallway. If the latter was the case, no one else seemed to notice, but that was probably because she was the one most often alone in the lab—




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/amanda-stevens/forbidden-lover/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.



Если текст книги отсутствует, перейдите по ссылке

Возможные причины отсутствия книги:
1. Книга снята с продаж по просьбе правообладателя
2. Книга ещё не поступила в продажу и пока недоступна для чтения