Part 4 (1/2)
Chase called out from the stairwell, ”Hey, Munro! There's someone downstairs to see you.”
Riley stood and wove his way through the clutter of desks and cardboard boxes that bulged with old files and police briefs and caught up with his partner at the top of the stairs. ”Who is it?”
”Don't know. One of the uniforms called out to me on the way up.”
Riley slipped past him and jogged the rest of the way down. Striding into the foyer, he pulled up short. His gut clenched like he'd been kicked by a bull and suddenly nerves jammed his throat.
Kate Collins stood off to one side, staring out the small window beside the doorway. Her mouth was taut. Her arms were folded across her chest.
Even the glamor of her outfit-a pale blue turtleneck made of some kind of soft, fluffy wool and the same pair of charcoal-gray pants she'd worn when they'd first met-couldn't disguise the tension in her body.
He stepped forward and held out his hand. ”Miss Collins. We meet again.”
She hesitated, and he noticed an infinitesimal clouding of her eyes. His heart skipped a beat and then her hand, warm and fragile, was in his. He tried not to notice how good it felt.
”Detective Munro, thank you for seeing me.”
The control was back. Her voice was firm, cool, polite. She gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes and abruptly released his hand.
”What can I do for you, Miss Collins?”
She looked around at the a.s.sortment of people who crowded the waiting room. A constable stood behind the reception desk, attending to enquiries. Her gaze returned to Riley's.
”Is there somewhere a little more private we can talk?”
”Of course, come upstairs.”
He indicated for her to precede him. The heavy winter coat she'd worn when he'd last seen her was absent and as she began to climb the stairs ahead of him, his gaze came to rest on her nicely rounded b.u.t.t.
The faint scent of her perfume wafted down to him, rich and exotic, like a bowl of crushed frangipani flowers and cinnamon. He shook his head. What the h.e.l.l was he doing, thinking such ridiculous thoughts? It was bulls.h.i.+t. She was a client, a member of the public who had come to him for help. He'd best remember that.
She hesitated at the top of the stairs.
”Go straight ahead, first room on the right. Same place where we talked on Friday afternoon. It should be vacant.”
Riley bounded up the last remaining stairs and entered the interview room a few seconds behind her. She stood staring at the blank white walls, her arms once again crossed in front of her.
”Take a seat,” he said. ”Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee? A can of c.o.ke?”
She gave a slight shake of her head and sat down gingerly on one of the gray, molded plastic chairs. She s.h.i.+fted as if to rest her elbows on the scarred wooden table, and then halted as her gaze absorbed its grimy surface.
Years of dirt, sweat, secrets and fear permeated the cheap wood. He didn't blame her for not wanting to make contact with it.
Taking a seat opposite, he tugged out the notebook and pen that habitually lived in the pocket of his s.h.i.+rt and scrawled the date and time on a fresh page and then braced himself for the impact of her eyes.
Throughout the long, night hours of his weekend, they'd burned themselves onto his retinas and he was leery of falling victim to their cobalt spell again. If he wanted to get to the bottom of it, he needed to keep his wits about him. She might be the most gorgeous woman he'd ever been this close to, but that didn't mean he'd let that attraction he felt interfere with his job.
He was a professional. He knew how to keep his distance-even if his c.o.c.k didn't want to. The thought soured his mood and put him on the offensive.
”You lied to me, Blondie. ”I've spoken to Darryl. You never called him and your mother's alive and well and enjoying a well-earned holiday. I've closed the file.” His voice was harsher than he'd intended and he felt like s.h.i.+t when her eyes filled with desperation.
”No, no! You can't do that! I have to find her! I have to know where she is!”
With grim determination, he forged on. ”I just told you where she is. I'm beginning to think your stepfather was right. Perhaps you do have a thing about stirring up trouble. I guess coming in here with your puppy-dog eyes and sad story was one way to do it, but it p.i.s.ses me off to have my time wasted. There are a lot more important things I could be doing with it.”
”What? Like trying to dodge cow s.h.i.+t? That was what you were doing before I turned up, wasn't it?”
Her sarcasm surprised him. His lips tugged upwards before he got a grip on himself. She didn't look the least bit contrite about her language. In fact, sparks now shot out of her eyes and twin spots of anger colored her cheeks.
He hadn't expected her to come out fighting. He'd just flayed her character like a cat o' nine tails and yet she was ready to stand up to him again. He tamped down the flash of admiration and continued. ”Falsely reporting criminal activity is an offence, Miss Collins. I could have you arrested.”
She held out her wrists, surprising him once again. Their eyes met and held for weightless seconds. His gut knotted from the impact. Blood flooded to his groin.
He pushed his chair back and it almost toppled over. ”I'm going to get a drink,” he managed to croak. Dragging his gaze away, he stumbled from the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
Riley leaned against the wall outside the interview room, his breath coming fast. Christ, what the h.e.l.l was wrong with him? She was just a woman. A woman seeking help. He was there to ”protect and serve.” That's what he'd sworn to do. Yet all he'd done was argue and insult her and all because of his inability to control his body's response whenever he got anywhere near her.
Disgust flooded through him. It wasn't her fault he found her attractive. She'd done nothing to encourage his attention-at least that kind of attention.
So, she'd lied to him about calling Darryl. He wasn't entirely comfortable with Watson's story, either. Watson's wife, his wheelchair-bound wife hadn't been heard from for at least a month and her husband hadn't sounded the least bit concerned. The cost of the calls be d.a.m.ned, Riley didn't know any husband who would think zero communication for as much as four months was a good thing.
Not a husband who cared.
He pushed away from the wall and strode toward the vending machine nearby. He selected c.o.ke twice and waited for them to tumble one at a time into the metal basket. From the look of Miss Collins, he suspected she drank Diet c.o.ke, but he knew better than to hand her one of those. He had learned something from his sisters.
With his body now firmly under control, he squared his shoulders and headed back to the interview room.
”So, let's go back to the start, shall we?” the detective said as he sauntered back into the room with two c.o.kes. Kate swallowed a sigh. She didn't know what game he was playing, but she was sick and tired of it. Every minute they wasted boded ill for her mother and Kate still didn't have a clue where the woman was. Was it possible her mother had gone on a holiday? She clung to the tiny flame of hope that flared to life inside her.
”You talked to Darryl,” she said as calmly as she could manage.
His eyes probed hers. ”Yes, I called him this morning.”
So, he had believed some of her story. That was a start.
”What did he say about my mother?”
The detective returned to his chair and opened his can of c.o.ke. The crack of the aluminium tab as the soda met the air was loud in the silent room. She waited him out, while he chugged down half of its contents. The c.o.ke he'd pushed in her direction remained untouched between them on the table.
He set his drink back down. A strong, tanned hand reached up to wipe moisture from his mouth. Dark brown eyes, keen with intelligence, a.s.sessed her. She refused to squirm. She'd done nothing wrong. All she wanted was his help.
Snagging his notebook, he picked up his pen off the table. His gaze flicked to her. ”I already told you. Darryl said she's gone on a holiday, just like I suggested to you on Friday. She's sailing around the world on a cruise s.h.i.+p.”
Confusion filled her mind, followed quickly by denial. ”A cruise? No way. He's lying. My mother hates the ocean. There's no way she'd go on a cruise. She can't even swim.”