The MacGregor Brides, Page 7

  pressed to the glass. "How much longer before he grabs her and takes her down?" Gwen wondered out loud.

  "Three more hits, tops."

  "Agreed. Ten seconds, at the outside, after she hits the ground, he'll be kissing her brainless."

  "Five seconds max," Julia declared. "He works fast."

  "How long before she realizes she's in love with him?"

  "Oh, nice shot, Laura! That's got to be cold, sliding down his neck. I'd say she might be able to delude herself until Christmas, but that's the cutoff."

  "I think she already knows." Gwen smiled wistfully. "She's just too stubborn to admit it."

  "What about him?"

  "Oh, he's hooked. Did you see the way he was looking at her? The way he always looks at her?"

  "Like he'd go on looking at her if Boston fell into the bay? Yeah."

  Gwen sighed. "Yeah. Oh, here it comes."

  The two of them grinned out the window as Royce spun around, as Laura took one step in retreat. "It's going to be a terrific kiss," Julia predicted.

  Outside, Laura stopped her backward progress and stood her ground. "I want that shovel."

  "You want the shovel? This shovel?" He winged it, distracting her enough to have her watching the flight. Then he tackled her, twisting at the last instant to cushion her fall as they tumbled to the snowy lawn.

  "Idiot." She flung out an arm, got a hefty handful of snow. Before she could rub it in his face, he flipped her. She lost her breath, shivered as snow slipped, cold and wet, down her collar. Then found her mouth much too busy for insults. He was kissing the cold out of her body, the thoughts out of her head, the strength out of her limbs. She attempted one muffled protest for form's sake, then wound her arms around him.

  She wondered the snow didn't melt from the lawn and form a lake, and the lake sizzle like a geyser.

  "If you think you can get around me that way…" she began when she could breathe again.

  "I did." He grinned, kissed her lightly. "Your nose is getting red."

  "How nice of you to mention it." This time she did rub snow in his face. Then, giggling wildly, she tried to wiggle away when he swore at her. "Now your whole face is red. Very attractive."

  He wrestled with her, pushed her face into the snow. She gave as good as she got, so that within three minutes of tussling both of them were drenched, covered with snow and breathless.

  "Let me up, you bully." Her voice shook with laughter as she shoved at him.

  "First an idiot, now a bully." He scooped up snow, molded it one-handed.

  Her eyes slid to the side, focused on the lopsided ball, then shifted back to his. "Do it and you'll pay." He tossed the ball, caught it neatly. "Well, now I'm shaking." Playfully he rubbed the snowball along her jaw, up her cheek. She lay still with chin angled and eyes slitted and waited for the worst.

  His grin faded slowly. Her pulse began to kick as the laughter died out of his eyes, as his gaze roamed over her face, as his fingers began to trace it.

  "Royce?"

  "Be quiet a minute." He said it absently, still running a fingertip along those ice-edged cheekbones. Then he lowered his mouth, skimmed his lips over them. She couldn't have spoken if her life hung in the balance.

  He wanted to believe it was because she was beautiful, because her face was exotic, unique, her body sleek and arousing. But he knew it wasn't desire that was working in him now. He understood passion, need, hungers. This was more. This was all. His mouth brushed hers once, lightly, as if testing some new flavor. Then again, and then it lingered. He'd never kissed her this way. No one had. She'd grown used to the greed, to the urgent demands, even craved them. But this depthless tenderness was new, and it destroyed her.

  Her hand slipped limply to the ground. Everything she was, everything she had, yielded to him, to them, to what they had created together.

  When he realized she was trembling, he eased back. Shaken, he began to brush the snow off her hair. "You're cold," he said briskly.

  "Small wonder."

  "Royce—"

  "You'd better get inside, dry off." He had to get the hell away from her, he thought, nearly panicked. He had to get a grip on himself. He rose quickly, hauled her to her feet. "You've got a yard of hair, and all of it's wet. I'll finish the driveway." Her stomach was churning into knots, and her head simply wouldn't stop spinning in slow circles. "Yes, all right." She wanted to get inside, wanted to sit down until she could feel her legs under her again. "I'll, ah, make that hot chocolate."

  "I'll take a rain check." He moved past her to retrieve the shovel. "Your driveway's nearly done anyway, and I've got things to do." They weren't going to talk about what had happened, she realized, then let out a quiet breath. Better not to talk about it until she figured out exactly what had happened. "Okay." She began backing up. "You're welcome to come inside and warm up yourself."

  "I'm fine. I'll see you later."

  "Later." She backed into her car, eased herself around it and fled.

  She was out of breath when she got inside and busied herself stripping off her coat, unwinding the scarf from around her neck, pulling off her cap and headphones.

  It was too hot, she decided, and yanked off the vest she wore over a cashmere turtleneck. She sat on the landing to pull off her boots, yanked off the first of two pairs of socks.

  Still too hot, she thought. She'd gotten overheated. She felt feverish. Maybe she was coming down with something. Flu was going around, wasn't it? Flu was always going around. She'd probably picked up some germ. That was why she felt light-headed and over-warm, why her muscles ached and her limbs wanted to tremble.

  She'd take something for it. She'd fight it off.

  Then she lifted a hand, touched her fingers to lips that still pulsed from him, that still tasted of him. Closing her eyes, she laid her head on her knees and admitted the worst. She'd fallen without feeling the jolt, without having the sense to catch herself on the slide.

  She had just dropped headlong in love with Royce Cameron.

  Chapter 9

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  You did very well in court today." Diana smiled at her daughter as they worked together in the law library.

  "Thanks." Laura frowned over the wording of a brief, made a notation in the margin. "It felt good. I really appreciate you letting me do the direct on the coroner."

  "It's very basic testimony, but still tricky. You handled yourself well. The jury paid attention to you, and just as important, our client trusts you."

  Laura worked up a smile. "Only because you do. Amanda's your client."

  "You've been a tremendous help to me on this case." Diana scanned the stacks of books piled on the table. "But we're not there yet"

  "Are you worried?"

  "Concerned," Diana said. "I don't want her to spend a single day in prison, because I believe she was defending her life. And, Laura, I'm a little concerned about you."

  "Why? I'm fine."

  "Are you?"

  "Absolutely. I'm doing exactly what I've always wanted to do. My life is exciting and rich. It's two weeks before Christmas, and for the first time in history, I've actually finished my shopping. Mostly. What could be wrong?"

  "You don't mention Royce."

  "He's fine, too." Laura looked back down at the paperwork. "I just saw him last night. We went to dinner."

  "And?"

  "And it was fine. I enjoy going out with him. I do think it may be best to slow things down a little. We've moved awfully fast to this point, and with the holidays coming up, there's so much going on. It's a good time to step back a bit and evaluate." Diana let out a sigh. "You're so much like me, it's almost frightening."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Honey, you haven't once said how you feel about him. What you feel for him."

  "Certainly I did. I said I enjoy seeing him, we enjoy each other. He's a very interesting, complex man, and I…" She trailed off, undone by her mother's patient gaze. "And I'm in love with him. I've ruin
ed everything and fallen in love with him. It wasn't supposed to happen. I went into this relationship with my eyes open. I'm responsible for my own reactions, my own emotions. It's supposed to be a physical relationship between two people who like each other, respect each other."

  She cut herself off, squeezed her eyes tight. "I could kill Grandpa for getting me into this." Sympathetic, Diana covered her daughter's hand with hers. "Is it so bad to be in love with an interesting, complex man you like, you respect, you enjoy?"

  "It is when we set ground rules at the beginning."

  "Did you?"

  "Not in so many words. It was just understood. We're not looking for love and marriage and family. Royce was every bit as appalled as I was that Grandpa had this harebrained scheme in mind." She blew out a breath. "I'm all right, really. I'm irritated with myself, more than anything. And I can handle it. It's just a matter of slowing things down a little, of refocusing."

  "Of being too stubborn, or too afraid to risk your feelings."

  "Maybe." Laura acknowledged the possibility with a nod. "But I don't want to lose him, and I would if I complicated things. I'd rather have what I have than watch him walk away."

  "And you're sure he would."

  "I'm not sure of anything. But I've decided to keep things fairly status quo, perhaps with a little distance. Once I have a better perspective, I'll go from there. And distance shouldn't be a problem, with the amount of work I have and the holidays." She put some effort into making her lips curve up. "So, to circle back to the beginning, I'm absolutely fine." With his mood light and the small glossy bag in his hand, Caine strolled back to the offices. He'd slipped out to pick up a necklace he'd had designed for his wife. He could already picture her opening the Christmas gift, and himself slipping the collar of gold and colored stones around her throat.

  She was, he thought, going to be very happy.

  When he caught sight of the man starting up the steps to MacGregor and MacGregor, Caine's mood darkened instantly. Royce Cameron, he thought, the man who was playing fast and loose with his baby girl.

  "Cameron."

  Royce glanced around, and his own mood, not too cheery to begin with, dropped several levels. Damn MacGregors were everywhere.

  "Mr. MacGregor."

  "Office hours are nine to five," he said coolly. "Laura's assisting on a very important case. If you want to see her, you'd best wait until she's done for the day."

  "I didn't come to see Laura. I came to see your wife."

  Caine's eyes went sharp and hot. "Oh, really? And do you have an appointment?"

  "No, but I think she'll want to see me. It's a legal matter, Mr. MacGregor, not a personal one."

  "Diana's caseload is already overburdened. But I've got a few minutes to spare." For the first time, Royce smiled. "Mr. MacGregor, if I had a legal problem, you'd be the very last lawyer in Boston I'd come to. You'd like nothing better than to see me locked away for ten to twenty, preferably in solitary."

  "Not at all. I was thinking more along the lines of hard labor in a maximum-security facility." But because Caine appreciated a man who knew the lay of the land, he opened the door.

  He led the way into the reception area, with its antiques and polished woods. "File this under Christmas, Mollie," he asked the woman manning the desk.

  "Oh, Mr. MacGregor, it's the choker, isn't it? Can I peek?"

  "Just make sure my wife doesn't see it, then buzz her, will you, and see if she has a moment for Mr. Cameron?"

  "Right away." But she was already slipping the velvet box out of the bag and opening the lid. "Oh." She pressed a hand against the starched jacket she wore. "Oh, it's the most beautiful necklace I've ever seen. She's going to love it." Distracted, Caine eased a hip on the desk and took another look himself. "You think?"

  "Any woman who found this under the Christmas tree would know she's adored. Just look how the sunlight catches these stones." Baffled, Royce watched the dignified former attorney general of the United States grin down at a piece of jewelry the way a giddy boy grinned at a jar full of lightning bugs. And it struck him that this was a man completely besotted by a woman he'd been married to for a quarter of a century.

  How did that happen? Royce wondered. How did it last? How did two people possibly live together for a lifetime and still love?

  "No comment, Cameron?"

  Royce jerked himself back and took a look at the necklace. It was exotic, deeply colored stones glinting against thick gold. He imagined it would suit Diana MacGregor perfectly. And undoubtedly her daughter, as well.

  He shifted, felt remarkably foolish. "It's impressive," he said. "I don't know much about glitters."

  "Women do." Caine winked at Mollie. "Right?"

  "You bet we do." She slipped the bag into her bottom drawer and turned a small key. "I'll just buzz Mrs. MacGregor now, Mr. Cameron. If you'd like to have a seat."

  "He can come up with me. Ring my office if and when Diana's free, Mollie." Caine's wolfish grin spread as he turned to Royce. "Suit you?"

  "Sure." Deliberately cocky, he shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans as he followed Caine up straight, uncarpeted stairs with a brass-and-wood rail that gleamed with a mirror shine.

  The place smelled rich, was all he could think. Subtle scents, thick rugs, leather, polish. The wainscoting in the hall they walked down had to be mahogany. But, more, it had the feel of a home, rather than a place of business. It impressed him that anyone could accomplish that, or bothered to even try.

  Caine stepped inside his office, his turf. Wanting to set the tone, his tone, he sat behind his desk. "Have a seat, Cameron. Want anything? Coffee?"

  Royce chose a wing-backed leather chair in deep navy. "I haven't been a cop for while now, but I remember how to set up an interrogation. I'm probably as good at it as you are."

  "I've been at it a lot longer. Let's just cut straight to the heart of the matter, shall we? What are your intentions as to my daughter?"

  "I don't have any. No intentions, no plans, no designs."

  "You've been seeing her for nearly three months now."

  "That's right. I'd imagine she's dated a number of other men."

  But this was the only man Caine had ever worried about. "Her social life didn't begin with you. Laura is a beautiful, outgoing young woman. A wealthy young woman," he added, keeping his eyes level on Royce's. The flash of heat, the snap of insult, pleased him enormously.

  "You don't want to go in that direction."

  "It's an undeniable fact."

  "Do you think I give a damn about her portfolio?" Royce's temper snapped, shoving him to his feet. "Do you think a man could be with her for five minutes and think of anything but her? I don't care what you think of me, but you ought to think better of her."

  "I do." Relaxing now, Caine leaned back in his chair. "And now I know you do, as well."

  "You son of a bitch."

  "As you say, what we think of each other doesn't really matter. I love my daughter. I also trust her judgment in most cases, and have always found her to be a good judge of character. She sees something in you, and I'm going to try to accept that. But hurt her…" He leaned forward again with eyes that gleamed.

  "Cause her one moment's unhappiness, and I'll come down on you like the wrath of God." When his phone rang, he answered without taking his eyes from Royce's. "Yes, Mollie. Thanks." He hung up, inclined his head. "My wife will see you now. Her office is across the hall."

  Because he didn't trust himself to speak, knew whatever came out of his mouth at that moment would be bitter and vile, Royce turned on his heel and walked out

  "Control," Caine murmured, and felt a first twinge of sympathy for the man. "Admirable."

  "Royce." Diana opened the door herself, and her smile was a telling contrast to her husband's frost. "How nice to see you. Please come in and sit down. Would you like some coffee?"

  "No, I don't want anything." He set his teeth. "I don't want anything." Fury, Diana mused, barely leashed.
She flicked a glance at the office across the hall and controlled a sigh. "All right, then, what can I do for you?"

  "Nothing. I don't want anything from any of you, and I never did. I've got some information you may be able to use on the Holloway case."

  "Oh? Please, sit down."

  "I don't want to sit," Royce snapped out. "I just want to get this over with and get the hell out of here." He stopped himself, forced himself to take one long, calming breath. "I'm sorry."

  "It's all right. I imagine Laura's father was difficult"

  "I don't think we'd better discuss Laura's father. Or Laura, or anyone named MacGregor just now."

  "Then why don't we discuss Amanda Holloway?"

  "I don't know her, I never met her. I knew her husband slightly when we both worked out of the same house. Precinct," he elaborated.

  "Did you work with him directly?"

  "Only once. We took a call together. I hate this," he said, and finally sat. "Look, cops back each other, because when you go through the door together you've got to know the one going in with you is with you. All the way.

  "We took a call, domestic dispute. The worst. Guy had been pounding on his wife, kids were screaming. I restrained the man, Holloway took the woman. Her face was bashed up, bleeding, and she'd gone over. I mean, she was going after her husband now. She wasn't going to take it anymore. I remember her screaming that when Holloway took hold of her.

  "He hurt her," Royce continued. "I had the man on the floor, cuffing him, and I heard the woman cry out. I saw Holloway yank her arm back, it's a wonder he didn't snap a bone, and he shoved her back against the wall. I told him to ease off, and he said something like

  'The bitch is asking for it.' That her husband had a right to teach her a lesson. And he slapped her, backhanded her. I had to leave the husband on the floor to drag Holloway off the woman."

  Royce paused a moment, tried to gather his thoughts. "He had a rep as a good, solid cop. The men liked him. He did the job. I told myself he'd just snapped that day, just lost his grip for a minute. But I kept seeing the way he looked when he hit that woman, and I knew he'd gotten off on it. And I knew if I hadn't been there, he'd have done worse. So I reported the incident to the lieutenant."

  "Would that be Lieutenant Masterson?"

  "Yeah."

  "There's no mention of an incident such as you described on Holloway's record."

  "Because the lieutenant ordered me to forget it Holloway had been defending himself against a violently hysterical woman. Bottom line, he brushed it off, and a few weeks later I was transferred. I was ticked off enough to do a little digging. In the six-month period before I transferred, three 911 calls were logged in from Holloway's house. Domestic dispute. Officers responded. No charges filed, and the reports were buried."

  "They closed ranks," Diana murmured.

  "Yeah. And Holloway moved up them, beating on his wife whenever he felt the urge."

  "You'll testify to the incident you were witness to?"

  "If I have to. It doesn't change the fact that she whacked him. You're going to go for diminished capacity, and this doesn't add that much to the medical records that she was abused continually over the course of years."

  "It speaks to the character of the man, the despair of the woman and the complicity of the police. She'd called for help, and no one helped. She did what she could to survive. There was no one else to take her part."

  "You have. Laura has."

  "Yes, and now you have. Why?"