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Authors: Toni Anderson
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at the thin veil of gray sky through half-naked
branches. “That’s right,” Marsh replied, hearing the unspoken question, Walter
Maxwell who turned up dead twenty-four hours later?
“I think we need to get a statement
from you, sir.”
He was a ballsy bastard, Marsh gave
him that.
“You clear it with Director Lovine
and I’ll be happy to tell you everything I know.” Like hell .
Marsh usually resented the power
and influence that came with his family name and fortune, but right now it
saved him from dealing with a ton of bullshit that would not help solve this
case. Director Brett Lovine and he had grown up together in the best schools.
Though he rarely used his personal connections for his own benefit he wasn’t
going to get embroiled in some screwed-up conspiracy theory while the real
killer murdered more women.
Josephine tapped her fingers
against a wooden slat of the bench, scraping at the flaky paint. There were no
rings on her fingers; her nails were scrubbed clean and short. Wanting to calm
her agitation, he placed his hand over hers and was shocked by the coldness of
her flesh.
“Maybe in the meantime you could
actually start looking for the UNSUB?” Marsh cut the connection and reached
over to take Josephine’s other hand from where it clasped the strap of her bag.
Electricity bounced crazily in his stomach from the contact. She resisted for a
moment, but then she seemed to give up. She sagged against his shoulder as he
rubbed her fingers between his palms until they started to warm.
Her skin was smooth as silk and
despite the drugs she’d spiked him with that night six months ago, he
remembered other parts were even softer. Desire shot through him. An answering
awareness lit her eyes, but there were tears there too. Her eyes shone with a
cauldron of emotions. Physical awareness, yes, but sadness and grief also.
Elizabeth Ward’s disappearance had led to both her father and Marion Harper,
the woman who’d raised her, being murdered by mobsters trying to track them
down. He squeezed her fingers. No wonder she was messed up.
“My, my, what do we have here?” A
deep Southern drawl rasped off Pru Duvall’s lips.
Marsh grimaced and looked up at the
wannabe First Lady. What was she doing on this side of Manhattan? As far as he
knew, the Duvalls had an apartment in the exclusive echelons of Gramercy Park.
“You are a fast worker, Special
Agent in Charge , Marshall Hayes.” Pru raked her eyes up and down
Josephine’s figure. “I see you like them young, skinny and blonde.”
Josephine’s muscles vibrated like a
strung bow. He let go of her hands, which fisted into bony knots, and placed
his palm on her knee.
“Mrs. Duvall, what a pleasure.”
Marsh didn’t bother to stand. “Let me introduce a very good friend of mine,
Miss Josephine Maxwell.”
Pru Duvall smiled tightly at
Josephine, who stared mutinously back at the older woman.
“Ahh, now I recognize you, my dear.
You’re the victim of that awful person who’s running around Manhattan with a
knife.”
Flicking her blonde hair over one
shoulder, Josephine pushed his hand from her knee and stood, hoisting her bag
over her shoulder. “I’m nobody’s victim.”
Turning her back on Pru— bad move —she
stared down at him, the light in her eyes forged from hellfire. “Coming?”
The alarm and frustration of the
last twelve hours were wiped out by admiration for her indomitable spirit.
Without a word to Pru, he stood and followed Josephine down the path out of the
park, knowing that if she truly wanted him to, he’d follow her anywhere.
***
“Where are we
going?” Marsh’s gruff question irritated the hell out of her. She didn’t know
what to do with the feelings he evoked by racing to her rescue and then holding
her hand while sitting on a park bench in Washington Square.
The terror that had gripped her
after she’d left the apartment had knocked her off balance. And she wasn’t
happy about the fact that when
branches. “That’s right,” Marsh replied, hearing the unspoken question, Walter
Maxwell who turned up dead twenty-four hours later?
“I think we need to get a statement
from you, sir.”
He was a ballsy bastard, Marsh gave
him that.
“You clear it with Director Lovine
and I’ll be happy to tell you everything I know.” Like hell .
Marsh usually resented the power
and influence that came with his family name and fortune, but right now it
saved him from dealing with a ton of bullshit that would not help solve this
case. Director Brett Lovine and he had grown up together in the best schools.
Though he rarely used his personal connections for his own benefit he wasn’t
going to get embroiled in some screwed-up conspiracy theory while the real
killer murdered more women.
Josephine tapped her fingers
against a wooden slat of the bench, scraping at the flaky paint. There were no
rings on her fingers; her nails were scrubbed clean and short. Wanting to calm
her agitation, he placed his hand over hers and was shocked by the coldness of
her flesh.
“Maybe in the meantime you could
actually start looking for the UNSUB?” Marsh cut the connection and reached
over to take Josephine’s other hand from where it clasped the strap of her bag.
Electricity bounced crazily in his stomach from the contact. She resisted for a
moment, but then she seemed to give up. She sagged against his shoulder as he
rubbed her fingers between his palms until they started to warm.
Her skin was smooth as silk and
despite the drugs she’d spiked him with that night six months ago, he
remembered other parts were even softer. Desire shot through him. An answering
awareness lit her eyes, but there were tears there too. Her eyes shone with a
cauldron of emotions. Physical awareness, yes, but sadness and grief also.
Elizabeth Ward’s disappearance had led to both her father and Marion Harper,
the woman who’d raised her, being murdered by mobsters trying to track them
down. He squeezed her fingers. No wonder she was messed up.
“My, my, what do we have here?” A
deep Southern drawl rasped off Pru Duvall’s lips.
Marsh grimaced and looked up at the
wannabe First Lady. What was she doing on this side of Manhattan? As far as he
knew, the Duvalls had an apartment in the exclusive echelons of Gramercy Park.
“You are a fast worker, Special
Agent in Charge , Marshall Hayes.” Pru raked her eyes up and down
Josephine’s figure. “I see you like them young, skinny and blonde.”
Josephine’s muscles vibrated like a
strung bow. He let go of her hands, which fisted into bony knots, and placed
his palm on her knee.
“Mrs. Duvall, what a pleasure.”
Marsh didn’t bother to stand. “Let me introduce a very good friend of mine,
Miss Josephine Maxwell.”
Pru Duvall smiled tightly at
Josephine, who stared mutinously back at the older woman.
“Ahh, now I recognize you, my dear.
You’re the victim of that awful person who’s running around Manhattan with a
knife.”
Flicking her blonde hair over one
shoulder, Josephine pushed his hand from her knee and stood, hoisting her bag
over her shoulder. “I’m nobody’s victim.”
Turning her back on Pru— bad move —she
stared down at him, the light in her eyes forged from hellfire. “Coming?”
The alarm and frustration of the
last twelve hours were wiped out by admiration for her indomitable spirit.
Without a word to Pru, he stood and followed Josephine down the path out of the
park, knowing that if she truly wanted him to, he’d follow her anywhere.
***
“Where are we
going?” Marsh’s gruff question irritated the hell out of her. She didn’t know
what to do with the feelings he evoked by racing to her rescue and then holding
her hand while sitting on a park bench in Washington Square.
The terror that had gripped her
after she’d left the apartment had knocked her off balance. And she wasn’t
happy about the fact that when
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