Shattered Vows. Maggie Price
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taste inside him. Still, he had damn well wanted his mouth on hers again. On a lot more places than just her mouth.
Picturing her leaning near him under the car’s hood, he had to grit his teeth against the instant tightening in his gut. With their mouths nearly brushing, he had watched her face flush. Saw her green eyes go smoky. Her response during those heat-driven moments had told him her desire equaled his. The white-hot chemistry that had brought them together—and fueled their elopement—was still a churning eddy inside them both. That he’d wanted to dive back into the eddy told him his defenses were not as impenetrable as he’d thought.
That little slice of reality had convinced him it was best to let her go before they tangled themselves up again. He would sign the papers tonight. Then Tory could get on with her own life and he could regain his balance in his.
Nate leaned in. “Look, everyone in the family has been walking on eggshells over the subject of you and Tory. Since you brought it up, I figure that opens the door to me asking you a question.”
“Which is?”
“What the hell is the deal?”
“What deal?”
“Why did you walk out? And don’t tell me you don’t care about her. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
Bran had no intention of examining emotions he’d clamped a lid on months ago. “We have certain issues.”
“There’s headline news,” Nate said drolly. “You don’t want to tell me, fine. But you know how good Grace is at zeroing in on relationship stuff, and more than once she’s said—”
“Wait a minute. Have you and Grace been having regular conversations about Tory and me?”
“I wouldn’t call them regular,” Nate said with a shrug.
“What the hell do you call them?”
“Occasional. And we’re not the only ones who’ve been talking. The sisters had a big powwow at Mom and Dad’s. Josh was in on it, too.”
Bran’s eyes slitted. “Little brother sat in on a gossip session about my marriage?”
“To be fair, he was there because he heard Mom was making spaghetti. So he just got dragged into the discussion.”
“Well, great.” Bran jabbed an index finger in Nate’s direction. “How would you like it if the sisters had powwows about your relationships?”
Grinning, Nate winked at a petite, blond waitress who zipped by with a tray loaded with food. “I don’t have relationships, remember? I have encounters. Anyway, Grace thinks you walked because Tory’s so independent. I figure the big problem you’ve got is that she’s so different from Patience.”
Bran’s jaw set. “You don’t think I knew that when I married Tory?”
“Maybe you thought you did. But for a guy used to being totally in charge and calling all the shots, I suspect you didn’t know what hit you.”
Bran’s teeth threatened to grind together. Only to himself would he admit that Nate was right—not until after he and Tory eloped and the sexual haze began to lift had he seen the immense contrast between his late wife and his present one. And he’d also understood that a gap the size of the Grand Canyon separated his and Tory’s basic needs.
Because the idea of pounding on his brother sounded like a good way to work off his frustration, he aimed a feral smile across the booth. “Speaking of getting hit, I’m ready to adjourn to the alley.”
Just then, Nate’s radio crackled to life. A patrol cop’s disembodied voice notified dispatch of a Signal Seven at an address across town. Dead body, Bran’s cop brain automatically translated.
“You’ll have to give me a rain check on the alley,” Nate said, scooping up the radio.
“Too bad,” Bran muttered while Nate advised dispatch that Homicide was en route to the scene. “I suppose everybody will get together for another damn powwow after the divorce is final,” Bran said as he and Nate rose in unison and pulled on their coats.
Nate slapped his shoulder. “Knowing our sisters, it’s inevitable.”
“Yeah.”
The instant they stepped out into the brutally cold night, Bran’s cell phone rang. He snagged it off the waistband of his slacks, flipped it open and frowned when it continued to ring. It took him a second to realize Nate’s cell also had an incoming call.
“McCall,” Bran said into his phone. He and Nate turned slightly away so they could each hear their respective callers.
“This is Captain Everett,” Bran’s boss said, his voice booming.
“Yes, sir—”
“A black and white is at your wife’s house. She’s not home. Do you know where she is?”
Bran froze. “Yes. Why?”
“Garcia’s husband was murdered. Shot.”
Bran’s pulse kicked. Susan Garcia was one of the patrol cops involved in the credit-union shootout. Shifting, he glanced at Nate, saw his brother’s grim expression as he listened to whoever was on the other end of his call. Bran figured Garcia’s husband was the victim at the scene Nate had just been called to.
“What happened?” Bran asked.
“Miguel Garcia sold high-dollar cars,” Everett began. “A guy came into the dealership late this afternoon asking for him and requesting to test drive a Jaguar. Garcia went with him, but never came back. His boss went out looking for him. He just now found Garcia, dead in the Jag.”
Bran swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. “Anybody get a look at the customer?”
“We’ve got a vague description. Could be Heath. Could be a lot of guys.”
“Tory’s at the downtown library. I’m less than five minutes away.”
“Get there fast, McCall. Zelewski’s wife is also missing.”
Zelewski. Bran pictured the patrol cop who’d arrived at the credit union a minute behind him. “His wife sells real estate, right?”
“Yes. We’ve got cops checking all her listings now. Let me know when you locate your wife,” Everett said, then ended the call.
“Looks like Heath hit Garcia’s husband.” Bran barked the words at Nate while punching in Tory’s cell number. “Maybe Zelewski’s wife, too.”
“Going after cops’ families,” Nate added as he and Bran dashed to the diner’s parking lot. “You said Tory’s at the library. Do you know where at the library?”
“No, but I’m damn sure going to find her.”
“We’ll find her.” Nate held up his keys to indicate he would drive. “My partner can get started working the homicide scene.”
Bran climbed into Nate’s car while he listened to Tory’s cell phone ring. Closing his eyes, he sent up a silent prayer that he wasn’t too late.
Her miniature camera tucked back inside her leather tote bag, Tory slipped out of the library learning center into the freezing night. As surveillance jobs went, this one had been a cinch. A professor’s wife suspected her husband was spending his evenings at the library working on more than just a research paper. The wife was right. Over the past four nights, Tory had witnessed the professor and a nubile grad student disappear into a series of cozy study rooms. It was unfortunate for the professor—and a plus for Tory—that the doors on the rooms were equipped with grates through which the small lens of her camera fit.
It was another plus that Oklahoma City’s new downtown library learning center had an espresso bar.
Taking a sip of the steaming mocha café latte she’d purchased on