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Authors: Elisabeth Naughton
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He should just come clean. Tell Tony he’d been with Hailey last night. But if he
did, he’d get thrown off this case. And if Bryan Roarke’s murder had happened before he’d run into
Hailey…
“That’s it,” he said firmly. Decision made. “End of story.”
Tony eyed him a long beat. Then slowly shook his head. “I hope so. I really do. Because you know
what happened the last time you got involved with a woman wrapped up in a murder—”
“Yeah, I know,” Shane said quickly. He popped a handful of Tic Tacs and reached for the seat belt.
Like he needed Tony or anyone else reminding him of that fact. “Now you gonna tell me who was
on the phone and why it was so damn important you left in the middle of our interview or what?”
Tony started the ignition. “That was Ramos. They just went through the surveillance tapes from the
Roarke house.”
“And?”
“And they want us to take a look. They’ve got footage of what looks to be a woman breaking in
close to time of death.”
Shane’s eyes narrowed. “A woman? They sure?”
Tony turned onto the freeway heading south. “Pretty damn. Ramos said she looked blonde.”
“Fuck,” Shane muttered, glancing back out the front windshield at the sea of white.
“Not now,” Tony tossed back, switching lanes. “Not ever if you’re smart. And this time, Maxwell, I
sure the hell hope you’re smart. God knows I can’t handle you any other way.” Eleanor Schmidt
Roarke knew she wasn’t alone the second she stepped into the entryway of her Palm Beach mansion.
Only one person made that kind of noise in her house and got away with it.
Her daughter was back.
She followed the thump of Jay-Z pouring out of the back of the house and stopped in the doorway
to the industrial kitchen. Across the center island was strewn lunch meat and breads, bags of potato
chips and an open container of M&Ms Eleanor hadn’t even known she’d had in the house. Standing
near the sink with a horrified expression, Matilda, Eleanor’s housekeeper, was staring at the mess
and the size-two behind sticking out of the giant open refrigerator.
Nicole whipped around with half a cheesecake in her hands and stopped singing midsentence when
she saw her mother. Her dark ponytail bobbed behind her.
Eyes locked on her daughter, Eleanor reached over to the Bose CD player Matilda kept in the
kitchen so she could listen to her classical music, and switched it off. Silence fell over the room like
a heavy dark cloud.
“You’re back early,” Eleanor said.
A smug smile spread across Nicole’s face. “Miss me?”
Eleanor lifted one brow.
Matilda rushed over. “Miss Eleanor, I did not know—”
Eleanor held up a hand. “It’s all right, Matilda. My daughter and I have things to discuss. There are
packages in my car that need to come in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matilda scurried out of the room.
Nicole frowned when they were alone. “Don’t punish her because you’re pissed at me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. And watch your tone, young lady.” With a scowl, Eleanor flicked a
scattering of crumbs across the granite counter to clear a place for her Valentino handbag. “We had
an agreement, Nicole. You were to stay in Europe for a month.”
Nicole, defiant as ever, rounded the other side of the counter and reached for a knife from the block.
She hacked a quarter of the cheesecake and slid it onto a plate, then picked up a fork and took a
huge—very unladylike—bite. “I got bored. So sue me.”
Eleanor’s blood pressure inched up, but she drew slow breaths to keep it in check. The fact her
twenty-six-year-old daughter could shove whatever garbage she wanted into her mouth and still
stay a svelte size two while Eleanor worked out daily and watched every morsel that went into her
body so she could fit into her size-six slacks was just one of the many things she despised about
motherhood. “Trust me when I say things will be better for you if you
did, he’d get thrown off this case. And if Bryan Roarke’s murder had happened before he’d run into
Hailey…
“That’s it,” he said firmly. Decision made. “End of story.”
Tony eyed him a long beat. Then slowly shook his head. “I hope so. I really do. Because you know
what happened the last time you got involved with a woman wrapped up in a murder—”
“Yeah, I know,” Shane said quickly. He popped a handful of Tic Tacs and reached for the seat belt.
Like he needed Tony or anyone else reminding him of that fact. “Now you gonna tell me who was
on the phone and why it was so damn important you left in the middle of our interview or what?”
Tony started the ignition. “That was Ramos. They just went through the surveillance tapes from the
Roarke house.”
“And?”
“And they want us to take a look. They’ve got footage of what looks to be a woman breaking in
close to time of death.”
Shane’s eyes narrowed. “A woman? They sure?”
Tony turned onto the freeway heading south. “Pretty damn. Ramos said she looked blonde.”
“Fuck,” Shane muttered, glancing back out the front windshield at the sea of white.
“Not now,” Tony tossed back, switching lanes. “Not ever if you’re smart. And this time, Maxwell, I
sure the hell hope you’re smart. God knows I can’t handle you any other way.” Eleanor Schmidt
Roarke knew she wasn’t alone the second she stepped into the entryway of her Palm Beach mansion.
Only one person made that kind of noise in her house and got away with it.
Her daughter was back.
She followed the thump of Jay-Z pouring out of the back of the house and stopped in the doorway
to the industrial kitchen. Across the center island was strewn lunch meat and breads, bags of potato
chips and an open container of M&Ms Eleanor hadn’t even known she’d had in the house. Standing
near the sink with a horrified expression, Matilda, Eleanor’s housekeeper, was staring at the mess
and the size-two behind sticking out of the giant open refrigerator.
Nicole whipped around with half a cheesecake in her hands and stopped singing midsentence when
she saw her mother. Her dark ponytail bobbed behind her.
Eyes locked on her daughter, Eleanor reached over to the Bose CD player Matilda kept in the
kitchen so she could listen to her classical music, and switched it off. Silence fell over the room like
a heavy dark cloud.
“You’re back early,” Eleanor said.
A smug smile spread across Nicole’s face. “Miss me?”
Eleanor lifted one brow.
Matilda rushed over. “Miss Eleanor, I did not know—”
Eleanor held up a hand. “It’s all right, Matilda. My daughter and I have things to discuss. There are
packages in my car that need to come in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Matilda scurried out of the room.
Nicole frowned when they were alone. “Don’t punish her because you’re pissed at me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. And watch your tone, young lady.” With a scowl, Eleanor flicked a
scattering of crumbs across the granite counter to clear a place for her Valentino handbag. “We had
an agreement, Nicole. You were to stay in Europe for a month.”
Nicole, defiant as ever, rounded the other side of the counter and reached for a knife from the block.
She hacked a quarter of the cheesecake and slid it onto a plate, then picked up a fork and took a
huge—very unladylike—bite. “I got bored. So sue me.”
Eleanor’s blood pressure inched up, but she drew slow breaths to keep it in check. The fact her
twenty-six-year-old daughter could shove whatever garbage she wanted into her mouth and still
stay a svelte size two while Eleanor worked out daily and watched every morsel that went into her
body so she could fit into her size-six slacks was just one of the many things she despised about
motherhood. “Trust me when I say things will be better for you if you
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