The Lady in Red & Dangerous Deception Read online

  Before she could step around him, however, he moved, lightning-quick, to block her path again. Her patience quickly reaching its limit, Sabrina stopped just short of plowing into his broad chest again and frowned up at him in growing irritation. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but I’ve got work to do and you’re in my way. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” he said easily. But he didn’t move. His mouth twitching with the promise of a smile, he stared down at her searchingly. “What do you mean, you’ve already been in there? Are you a cop?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m a reporter. Sabrina Jones, with the Daily Record. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  Stunned, Blake stared down at her in disbelief. This was Sabrina Jones? The pride of the Daily Record? The ruthless, go-for-the-throat investigative reporter who would do anything short of murder for a story? The way Tom had talked about her, Blake had pictured her as some type of Amazon with more guts than a Marine and a hide like leather. A pushy broad with a reputation for being as tenacious as a bulldog, she should have been tough, brash, and hard as nails.

  But the woman who stood before him was anything but hard. In fact, dressed in a gauzy summer dress that draped her slender figure in a cloud of pale pink and fell to just below her knees, her black hair a mass of curls that tumbled artlessly down her back, she looked as soft as cotton candy. A very delectable, feminine piece of cotton candy, he thought with a frown as his gaze slid over her with an ease that had his jaw clenching on an oath. She was short, her bones delicate, the curves revealed by the gently clinging material of her dress enticing. And she was wearing sandals.

  His eyes lingering on her toes, he found himself fighting a smile. This was his competition? This dainty woman who looked like she’d swoon at the sight of blood? Oh, she was a good writer, he admitted to himself. He’d read her stuff. She had a way with words. But so did he. And the day that he couldn’t write circles around this slip of femininity was the day he’d pack up his computer and find something else to do for a living.

  His green eyes starting to twinkle, he deliberately stepped in front of her again, blocking her way. “So you’re Sabrina Jones,” he drawled. “I’ve got to admit, you’re not what I expected.”

  Brought up short, her nose just inches from his broad chest, Sabrina glared at him in growing exasperation. “Look, cowboy, I don’t know who or what you are, but I’ve got work to do, and you’re in my way.”

  “Get used to it,” he said, grinning as he watched temper simmer in her brown eyes. “I plan to be in your way a lot more before all is said and done.”

  Her gaze narrowing dangerously, she arched a brow at him. “And how do you plan to do that, Mr….?”

  “Nickels,” he supplied, holding out his hand as he grinned down at her. “Blake Nickels. With the Times. Lynn Phillips had to take maternity leave early. I’m her replacement.”

  Sudden understanding dawning, Sabrina eyed his hand warily, amusement flirting with the edges of her mouth. The man had more than his share of cockiness. And charm. But if he thought he could best her in a war of words, he was sadly mistaken. Placing her hand in his for a perfunctory shake, she purred, “I can’t say I’ve ever read any of your work, Mr. Nickels. Should I be quaking in my shoes?”

  “If you know what’s good for you.”

  She laughed; she couldn’t help it. He certainly didn’t lack confidence. But then again, neither did she. “Sorry,” she said with a chuckle, “but I don’t scare that easily.”

  “Maybe you should. I’m good, Ms. Jones. Real good.”

  “And modest, too,” she tossed back, grinning.

  Undaunted, he only shrugged, devilment dancing in his eyes. “No brag, just fact. Check me out, sweetheart. You might be impressed.”

  “Maybe on a slow day when I’ve got nothing better to do,” she agreed sassily. Her gaze moving past him to the crime scene, she watched the ambulance crew that had arrived with the ME load Tanya Bishop’s body onto a stretcher and knew that the police were just about finished with their investigation of the crime scene. “Right now, I’ve got work to do. See you around, cowboy.”

  She darted around him before he could stop her and quickly ducked under the police tape strung between the trees in the front yard. Swearing, Blake started after her just as a tall, redheaded man in a rumpled suit stepped out of the house and caught sight of Sabrina bearing down on him. “Why did I know you’d be here, Jones?” he groaned. “Every time I turn around, there you are. Are you following me?”

  “I got here before you did,” she reminded him with a cheeky grin. “So what’s going on, Sam? From where I’m standing, this looks an awful lot like the McClintock murder.”

  His brows snapping together in a fierce glare, he gave her a hard look that had Back Off written all over it. “You start a rumor like that, Jones, and I’m going to hold you personally responsible. There’s nothing to indicate that the two murders are in any way connected.”

  Frowning, stuck in the position of playing catch-up and not liking it one little bit, Blake stepped forward. “Blake Nickels, with the Times,” he told the other man. “What’s this about another murder, detective? I’m new in town and this is the first I’ve heard about it.”

  Sam Kelly introduced himself, then explained, “Charlene McClintock, one of the city’s up-and-coming attorneys, was killed two weeks ago, but there’s no connection—”

  “Was there any sign of forced entry or signs of a struggle?” Sabrina cut in.

  “No, but—”

  “Does anything appear to be missing?”

  “Not that we can tell at this time,” he said patiently, “but we won’t know for sure until we can find a friend or neighbor to go through the place. You’re beating a dead horse here, Jones. Drop it.”

  Sabrina, well used to holding her own with Kelly, had no intention of doing any such thing. “I got it from one of the neighbors that Tanya Bishop was a legal secretary, Sam. That means two women, young and pretty and both involved in the legal profession, have been shot to death within a two-week period, apparently by someone they knew. Are you really going to stand there and tell me that they’re unrelated incidents? C’mon, Sam, get real!”

  “I’m not telling you anything more than I already have until the lab results come back and we have time to look into both murders further,” he said curtly. “Until then, I suggest you stick to the facts and not jump to any unwarranted conclusions. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to question the neighbors, then get back to the station.” With a nod to both of them, he stepped past the two reporters.

  Staring after him, Blake swore under his breath. So much for his first day on the job. He’d stood there flat-footed and listened to Sabrina ask questions he hadn’t even known to ask, and there hadn’t been a damn thing he could do about it. It wouldn’t, he promised himself, happen again.

  And the sooner Sabrina Jones knew that, the better. Glancing down at her, he found her watching him with brown eyes that were just a little too smug for his liking. Oh, she was something, he thought, fighting a reluctant grin. She thought she had him right where she wanted him, a distant second to her first place in a race in which she had the head start. She was all but crowing and she hadn’t even reached the finish line yet. The darn woman didn’t realize that he had her right where he wanted her.

  “I wouldn’t start celebrating just yet if I were you,” he warned dryly. “Just because I was unprepared this time doesn’t mean I will be again.”

  Not the least bit worried, she only cocked her head at him and teased playfully, “What’s the matter, Nickels? You don’t like coming in second to a woman? Get used to it, cowboy. I’m just hitting my stride.”

  That was the wrong thing to say to a man who thrived on a challenge. “Oh, really?” he drawled. “Well, just for the record, sweetheart, the fact that you’re a woman has nothing to do with anything. I don’t care if you’re purple—I don’t like eating your dust. Next time I’ll be ready for you.”
/>   It was an out-and-out warning, one that only a foolish woman would have ignored. And Sabrina was nobody’s fool. Blake Nickels might have been a little out of his depth this time, but as she watched him stalk off to his car, she had a feeling that he was going to be a force to be reckoned with. His eyes had held a sharp intelligence, and then there was that jaw of his—as hard and immovable as concrete, it had had determination written all over it. Not that she was worried, she quickly assured herself as she turned to her own car. This was her town, her beat. Blake Nickels was the new kid on the block. She knew her own abilities and could handle anything the man could dish out.

  She deliberately pushed him from her thoughts, but hours later, when she was back at her desk at the Daily Record working on her story about the city’s latest murder, it wasn’t poor Tanya Bishop’s lifeless body that stirred to life in her mind’s eye—it was the memory of Blake Nickels’ smile. Wicked, teasing, dangerous. No man had a right to look so good just by curling up the edge of his mouth, she decided, trying to work up a good case of irritation. A frown furrowing her brow, she tried to force her attention back to what was sure to be a front-page story, but just thinking about Blake and that grin of his made her lips twitch.

  And that worried her. Blake Nickels was full of charm and devilment, and she wouldn’t, couldn’t, like him. She didn’t care if he was the next best thing to sliced bread, he was the opposition, the competition, a male chauvinist who didn’t like standing around with his hands in his pockets while she asked all the questions. Given the chance, he’d snitch a story right out from under her nose if she relaxed her guard for so much as a second.

  If that wasn’t reason enough to avoid him like the plague, the fact that she found herself thinking about him when she had a hot story to write was. She wasn’t looking for a man to distract her, or do anything else with her. The women in her family didn’t handle relationships well. Between the two of them, her mother and grandmother had been married eight times, and Sabrina had decided at an early age that she wasn’t going to follow in their footsteps. Then, three years ago, she’d met Jeff Harper.

  She winced at the memory. All her fine resolves had gone up in smoke the first time he’d kissed her. In spite of the fact that they’d had absolutely nothing in common, she’d fallen for him like a ton of bricks. When he’d asked her to marry him, she’d convinced herself that she wasn’t like her mother or grandmother—she could make a relationship work. She’d then spent the next two years trying to do just that, and they’d both been miserable. When they’d inevitably agreed to divorce last summer, it had been a relief.

  In spite of that, she didn’t regret her marriage. She’d learned the hard way that she, too, like the rest of the women in her family, had a defective gene when it came to commitment. Unlike her mother and grandmother, however, she didn’t have to go through one divorce after another to learn her lesson. Once was enough. She wasn’t cut out to be anything but single, and that was just fine with her. As long as she remembered that—and she didn’t plan to forget it—she and Blake Nickels would get along just fine.

  Caught up in trying to find a possible link between Tanya Bishop and Charlene McClintock’s murders, as well as cover the more interesting stories that came across her police scanner, she was actually able to forget that the Times even had a new reporter. Then, just as she was about to grab something for lunch the next day, news of a bank robbery in progress had her rushing over to the southside location. It was just the kind of breaking story she loved, and normally, she was the first reporter on the scene. Not this time, though. Blake Nickels was already there, standing in the bank parking lot interviewing a witness, and the rat was obviously watching for her. The second she pulled into the lot, he looked up and waved.

  Grinning broadly, he pushed his cowboy hat to the back of his head. “Hey, Jones, what took you so long?” he teased. “You having a slow day, or what?”

  Heat flushed her cheeks, the grin that tugged at her mouth impossible to hide. “Put a sock in it, Nickels,” she tossed back, trying and failing to maintain a frown. “I know this might come as something of a surprise to you, but some of us actually cover more than one crime a day.”

  “No kidding? So where were you when I was covering that assault on a nun at Main Plaza this morning?”

  “Interviewing a string of restaurant owners who were conned by a homeless lady on the northside. So what have you got to say about that?”

  His eyes dancing, he shrugged. “How about I’ll show you my notes if you show me yours?”

  She wanted the story on the nun, but Fitz, her boss, would have her hide if she so much as shared the time of day with a Times reporter. “Not on your life, cowboy,” she replied, and turned away to snag a policeman who’d just walked out of the bank.

  Turning down Blake’s offer, she quickly discovered to her chagrin, proved to be a mistake. Oh, the police were willing to give her the details of the heist and a brief description of the robber, who had escaped with fifty thousand dollars and was last seen racing west on Loop 410 in a white van. But there was only one witness—the teller—and after she’d given the police a statement, the only reporter she’d agree to talk to was Blake.

  Unable to believe she’d heard her correctly, Sabrina said, “What do you mean you won’t give your story to anyone but Blake Nickels? You talked to the police.”

  “Oh, I had to tell them,” the pretty blonde said airily. “But Blake asked for an exclusive, and I said okay.” All innocence, she smiled sweetly. “So you see, I can’t go back on my word. It just wouldn’t be ethical, now would it?”

  Indignant, Sabrina just barely bit back a scathing retort. If the bubblehead of a teller wanted to talk ethics, she never would have let Blake talk her into an exclusive in the first place. And for a darn bank robbery, of all things! She’d never heard of anything so ridiculous in her life. She only wished she’d thought of it.

  Frustrated, steam all but coming out of her ears, she forced a smile. “I appreciate your ethics, Ms. Walker, but your boss might not be too pleased when he hears that you’re only talking to one reporter. The bank just lost a substantial amount of money that probably won’t be recovered—unless word gets out about the robbery and a possible reward.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “Think about it. If you change your mind before my deadline, give me a call.”

  The woman took her card, but Sabrina knew better than to hold out hope that she would use it. You only had to see her staring after Blake like he was the greatest thing since Elvis to know that she was thoroughly smitten. And for some reason she couldn’t explain, that irritated Sabrina to no end.

  As her gaze followed the teller’s to where Blake stood fifty yards away, finishing an interview with one of the first officers on the scene, she told herself he wasn’t going to get away with it. He could sweet-talk every woman he saw for all she cared—some people would stoop to any level to get a story—but he wasn’t going to stop her from doing her job! Not if she had anything to say about it. Her jaw set, she started toward him.

  Thanking the investigating officer, Roger Martinez, for his help, Blake was jotting down notes in the small notebook he never went anywhere without when he looked up to see Sabrina bearing down on him like a ruffled hen with her tail feathers in a twist. So, he thought as a slow grin skimmed his mouth, she’d found out about the exclusive. Now the fur was really going to fly.

  “Hey, Jones,” he greeted her as she drew near. “You look a little out of sorts. Something wrong?”

  Color flying high in her cheeks, she gave him a withering look. “You’re damn right something’s wrong! You’re a yellow-bellied, toad-eating weasel. How dare you!”

  Grinning, he chuckled. “Honey, when you get to know me better, you’ll find out that I’ll dare just about anything. I take it you’ve been talking to Jennifer Walker.”

  “If you want to call it that. She wouldn’t tell me a darn thing, and you know it. Because s
he promised you an exclusive.”

  Enjoying himself, Blake grinned. “And all I had to do was ask.” Leaning closer, his eyes dancing with mischief, he confided, “I think she likes me.”

  For a moment, he could have sworn he heard her grinding her teeth. “Then the woman has no taste,” she snapped in a low voice that didn’t carry any further than his ears. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Why? Because I thought of it before you did? C’mon, Sabrina, admit it. The only reason you’re in a snit is because I outfoxed you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she fibbed. “This story is a matter of police record, and I’ll get it with or without that blond bimbo teller’s cooperation—”

  Making no effort to hide his amusement, he cocked a teasing brow at her. “Blond bimbo? Do I detect a little jealousy here? Why, Jones, I didn’t know you cared.”

  Sabrina’s lips twitched. Lord, he was outrageous! She’d always liked a man with a quick wit, and if she didn’t watch herself with him, she was going to find herself charmed into liking him. And that could be nothing but a disaster.

  Somehow managing to look down her nose at him in spite of the fact that he towered over her, she studied him consideringly. “Don’t let it go to your head, cowboy. The only thing I care about is the story, and you’re throwing up roadblocks. Now, I wonder why that is? You running scared, Nickels, or what?”

  “Of you?” He chuckled. “I don’t think so. I read your story in this morning’s paper, sweetheart.” Not batting an eye, he quoted word-for-word from her front-page story on the Bishop murder in the morning edition of the Daily Record. “‘Tanya Bishop was dressed to meet a lover. A lover who may have killed her.’” Clicking his tongue at her in teasing disapproval, he grinned. “Naughty, naughty, Jones. Of course she was dressed for bed—she was killed during the middle of the night—but that doesn’t mean she was expecting a lover. And what’s this may business? The last I heard, a good reporter stuck to the facts and nothing but the facts, not supposition.”