A Perfect Stranger

“You’re a gypsy, Darcy. Were then, still are now.”

“Old habits,” she said with a smile. “From the cart she selected two hoagies and two bottles of locally brewed beer. She knew he was watching her and, still smiling, continued to walk. “I have no idea what you’re thinking, unless it has to do with Umer Lugo’s death and why I haven’t mentioned it for the past thirty minutes.”

“My guess? You’ve been over it a dozen times already. You’re tapped out.”

She bumped her shoulder into his arm. “I’m also still irked at you for pointing it out the way you did.” Not to mention, she reflected, for a kiss she might never erase from her mind.

She held her pulse in check with a sip of cold beer, then felt it spike when he eased her around the side of an Italian restaurant and into the alley.

Setting bottles and wrappers aside, he ran a thumb over her lower lip. His eyes were unreadable as they stared into hers. “I could get distracted by you, Darcy.”

“Tell me about it. But that’s not good, is it? For either of us. I have gypsy tendencies, you don’t want to care. I’m not sure I see the point in pursuing something that has Shakespearean tragedy written all over it.”

The ghost of a smile appeared. “That doesn’t sound like the positive Darcy I met two nights ago.”

“Sometimes she reverts.”

“To Shannon?”

“To S.L. Hunt. That was the name on my Los Angeles byline. S.L. was… Well, I’ll be kind and call her a little too focused, a little too career-driven.”

“You wouldn’t say ambitious?”

“No, ambition was Shannon Stone’s arena. Stone is my mother’s family name. I adopted it when I did on-air weather reports in Oregon. It was a small town, and I was just starting out, and I thought Stone sounded more ruthless than Hunt. Then it occurred to me that ruthless might not play well on TV. When I relocated to northern California, I became Shannon Hunt.”

“You did on-air weather in northern California?”

“Actually, I anchored the six o’clock news. Bigger town, bigger market, and in the end, a good, strategic move.” She rested her head against the warm stone wall, let her mind drift. “I stayed for about a year, then got an offer from a Los Angeles media group and went with the better money. That’s when S.L. Hunt was born.”

His eyes swept over her face. “So you traded in live action for the printed word. Why?”

“I told you. Better money. I wasn’t in it for the glamour, Marlowe. I wanted to get ahead. Be someone. Make a difference. Well, maybe that part came later, but hey, I was in Hollywood. I was twenty-four, free to choose, and my boss liked me.”

“Yeah? How much ‘like’ are we talking here?”

“Lots. And her name was Michelle.” She lifted a hand to his hair. “None of this really matters, Marlowe. I’m Darcy now, not Shannon or S.L. Yes, I’m career-minded, but I’m not so fixated that I can’t see, think or feel anything else. These days I prefer different sights, better thoughts, more positive feelings.” As if to underscore those words, she angled her mouth toward his.

“Darcy…”

Undeterred, she moved her hips against him. “I’m pretty sure you started this.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Guess I did.”

Maybe the sparkle in her eyes challenged him. Or maybe she shifted her body just enough that temptation toppled resistance. All Darcy knew was that one minute she wanted to kiss him, and the next he was lowering his mouth to hers.

Something exploded inside her. Her body came alive. She ran her hands over his shoulders and around his neck, until her fingers fisted in his hair.

Pinpoints of light, like fireflies, raced through her head. When he took the kiss deeper, she met him halfway, let the greed inside her rule. She tasted and teased and, pushing them both to the edge, nipped his bottom lip.

She managed to drag her mouth away a heartbeat short of hopping up and wrapping her legs around him. But her eyes danced as she took one final satisfying bite.

“Clear enough answer for you, Marlowe?”

“Might be—if I could remember the question.”

Pressing the tip of her finger to his chin, Darcy indulged in one last, long kiss. Then she stepped out of temptation’s way and made herself take a deep breath.

“I have to tell you, Marlowe, I expected wow, not a fireworks display.”

Picking up the remains of their dinner, Marlowe dumped them in a nearby bin. “Not to diminish the moment, Darcy, but this isn’t why I stayed in Philadelphia.”

“Because I understand, I’ll keep my distance and simply ask what comes next. Case wise, that is.”

Grinning a little, he took her hand and drew her back onto the busy street. “I went through the list of contacts in Lugo’s e-mail with Val. There were approximately thirty names.”

“You think Maco—or whoever—would be on Lugo’s contact list?”

“No, but it’s a place to start. No one’s found his client list yet.”

“I assume the police have searched his office.”

“Office and home. My former client—his former partner—still vouches for him.”

As the number of shops and restaurants around them began to dwindle, Darcy pointed to a park entrance across the street. “Come on. We can check out the painters’ exhibit and the flea market. There’s also a band shell, a carousel and, if we’re lucky, a puppet show.”

When he didn’t respond, she sighed. “Enterprise to Captain Kirk. Are you still running swiped laptop info in that overactive brain of yours?”

He sent her a sideways glance. “For your information, it was Spock, not Kirk, who had the overactive brain.”

“You don’t give us Earthlings much credit, do you, Marlowe? The rise to captain in any field of endeavor takes a great deal of brainpower.” She regarded him in profile. “As a point of interest, how high did you rise in yours?”

“Lieutenant in the homicide division.”

There was a rough edge to his voice that intrigued her. Before she could question it, he gave a humorless laugh.

“Yeah, I was all about murder once. Gang related, random, premeditated, crimes of passion—you name it, I investigated it.”

She tread carefully. “In New York?”

“New York, Chicago, L.A. That’s where I met Val.”

“You met Val in Los Angeles?” For some reason, a chill danced along her spine. She shook it off. Almost. “When was that, exactly?”

He gave her another shrewd sideways look. “I know what you’re thinking, Darcy, but Val’s a good cop. Screwed-up, sure, but that’s a personal thing.”

“Uh-huh, and no cop has ever sold out for personal reasons— She stopped herself and shot him an apologetic look. “That was totally out of line. He’s your friend. You know him. I’m just looking for—well, anything, really. Give me another twenty-four hours, and I’ll start questioning the principles of my godmother.”

“Who’s out of the running because…?”