Cold Case, Hot Bodies. Jule McBride
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crying, then the whole story had tumbled out. She’d lost her father in Ireland, and her mum had been left behind, trying to work land that could no longer grow potatoes, much less anything else.
Nathaniel had comforted her, and she’d cried harder, then his lips had settled on hers, nibbling at the beauty mark beside her mouth, and within the hour, they’d made love. Ever since, she’d been his mistress, and his alone. He’d arranged for her to keep accountancy books for Angelo Donato, at Angel’s Cloud, earning far more than she had making shirts, and for her to live on the upper floor of a building behind the bawdy house, removed from the rowdy clientele. She’d benefitted from being Nathaniel’s lover in other ways, too. He’d given her jewels, and most important, brought over her mum who’d died due to natural causes on American soil. He’d given her a son, too. Twenty-three years ago her reputation may have been lost, but she’d fallen in love.
“Can you stay tonight, darling?” she whispered.
When he didn’t respond immediately, Gem imagined trouble was brewing on the home front. Long before she’d met him, he’d been carousing in Five Points, searching for the love his wife withheld. He was an honorable man, though, and did as Isme wished by maintaining separate bedrooms and attending public functions together. Isme had borne him one son, just like Gem, a boy the same age as Mark, named Dirk. The young man was reputed to be wild, even dangerous, and Gem suspected it was due to the loveless bond that had created him.
Suddenly feeling furious with herself, she shook her head in self-admonishment. “Never mind. I’ve no claim on you. I shouldn’t ask—”
He tilted back her head, to look into her eyes. “We have a son…”
She craved more of him, though. He rarely shared a bed with Isme, but they did share a home. A real home. He could come and go in sunlight, not under a cloak of darkness. Why can’t you let this be enough? she thought. Nathaniel escaped to her bed at every opportunity. He loved her. He adored their son. But she wanted times to be different! Codes of morality to change…wanted their passion to have full rein.
Something broken came into his voice. “How could you believe I’d leave you on our son’s wedding night? Damn it, Gem. You’re the one I love.”
“Kiss me,” she whispered, the depth of their passion drawing them together. Like the current of a river, it ran between them—reliable and unstoppable, so when his lips found hers once more, an arrow seemed to pierce her heart. He would leave in only a few hours! His tongue thrust deeper. She met the thrust, pushing back. The carriage was flying, bouncing on cobbles, throwing her into his arms. His hands raced down her sides, flesh seeking flesh. He moaned when his fingers stroked the smooth skin of her thighs. Grasping a garter, he opened it. As he pulled down the stocking, she gasped.
“Let’s recreate the night we made our son,” he murmured.
He was rocking her against his hips now, making her feverish. She shuddered from the heat in the wandering caresses of his hands. When he squeezed her thighs, she thought passion had seized him, but no…he was alarmed! Abruptly, he broke the kiss, and she craned to stare through the carriage window, but she saw only the black winter’s night.
“What was that?” she whispered, hearing a rattle as she fumbled with her clothes, in case they needed to get out of the carriage.
“The wheel,” Nathaniel returned hoarsely.
The carriage was wobbing, but the horses continued to run. If the carriage overturned, she hoped no reporters would find them…a town father with a woman associated with Angel’s Cloud. Nathaniel drew back the curtain and leaned his head through the window to shout. “Something’s wrong with—”
Before he could finish, the wheel spun away. The rear of the carriage dropped and the driver screamed. Gem thought he’d been thrown. The horses reared, rising on their hind legs, then hooves came down hard, clattering on cobbles as the animals galloped, dragging the carriage. Gem’s head slammed into the seat. She could hear metal dragging on stone, then through the window, she saw sparks from the friction.
“Oh, God,” Nathaniel muttered hoarsely. He was trying to grasp her waist, but his hands couldn’t find purchase. Neither could hers. They were being tossed like weeds in wind. Pounding hooves raced on, and as the sound diminished, she realized the horses had broken free. The carriage was flying on its own momentum, careening toward the river.
Nathaniel reached past her for the door handle. “Somebody’s tampered with the carriage. Jump!”
Had their carriage been sabotaged? If so, who had done it? And why? His words were in her ears as she realized the carriage was rushing down the riverbank. She tried to jump, as he’d commanded, but her dress caught, holding her back. Just as they plunged, she heard the fabric ripping, and as her dress gave away, Nathaniel pulled her through the open door, into the dark currents.
He was her hero. Her only love. He was trying to save her, but the water was too cold, and she was sure they were going to die. Not on our son’s wedding day, her mind shrieked in protest as her fingers laced with Nathaniel’s. Stay with me, my love, she thought, but then she felt his fingers slip away.
1
Five Points, 2007
“CAN YOU BELIEVE somebody called and complained about me and Sheila Carella?” Dario Donato asked as he strode through Police Plaza toward the courthouse, his long, jeans’-clad legs eating up the pavement. Realizing he was a half hour late for court, he uttered a soft curse. It was the wrong day to have to help his landlord dad straighten out legal matters about a rental property. Clapping a hand on his chest, over his heart, as if wounded, he said, “I mean, who would do something like this to me, Pat?”
“A taxpayer?” his partner suggested as he ran a hand over his buzz-cut red hair. “Or maybe you just pissed off the Fates. Anyway, the chief wants you to lay low until the complaint blows over. Pick up a couple cold cases.”
“Budweiser or Rolling Rock?”
“You know those aren’t the kind of cold cases he means.”
No, Dario was supposed to rot behind a desk while an arsonist got away, and all because he hadn’t kept his pants zipped. “You know we’re going to wind up arresting a land developer on the arson case,” he mused. Ever since plans had been underway to develop Manhattan’s riverfront, properties near the water had started going up in smoke, then the land was sold for a relative pittance. Relative for Manhattan, anyway.
“I’m thinking Ralph Stone or Chuckie Haswell,” said Pat.
They were the biggest players. Trump was too smart to get his hands dirty with arson. Dario nodded. “Seriously, are we on for a cold case later? Now I’m talking brewskies again.”
“Tomorrow’s good, but tonight I’ve got a date with Karen.”
“Ah. The girl next door.”
“Not every woman can live up to Sheila Carella.”
“She does set a high bar.”
Dario had met Sheila a month ago, when he’d busted her for unpaid parking tickets. She had big hair, bigger breasts, and always wore fishnet stockings with miniskirts and spike heels. She was kinky as hell, too, and liked to play all kinds of sex games, which meant things had been going extremely well. At least until Dario had taken her home to meet his folks. Not that he’d expected Sheila to blend seamlessly, but his mother, Bianca, had kept crossing herself and whispering, “When’s my only boy going to grow up and meet a nice girl he can marry?” It didn’t help that Dario knew she lit candles each morning at mass, in front of whatever saint presided over philandering sons. On the night of Sheila’s visit, Dario’s sister, Eliana, had kept rolling her eyes and mouthing, “It’s her brains you like, right?” Fortunately, Sheila’s main concern had been her lipstick, so she hadn’t noticed. Or else Dario’s dad’s meatballs and red sauce had distracted her. Beppe Donato was one of the best cooks in Little Italy.
“I like Sheila,”