Taking the time to pull a small notebook and pen from an inner pocket of his jacket, Sam Cooper laid them neatly on the table.
Precise. Careful. Meticulous.
“What’s your relationship to Anthony Hughes?” he at last asked.
Lucas frowned. “There is no relationship. I’ve never heard of—” He bit off his words as an ancient memory floated to the surface of his brain. “Wait. I went to prep school with a Tony Hughes. I don’t know if that’s the same guy.”
“Where was the school?”
Lucas shrugged. “Hale Academy in Shreveport.”
The detective’s face remained impassive, but something flashed through his eyes that told Lucas they were speaking about the same person.
“So Tony is your old high school friend?”
Lucas hesitated. In truth, the two couldn’t have been more opposite.
He was the son of Senator St. Clair. He’d lived in a fancy mansion on the edge of town with a nanny while his parents spent most of their time in DC. On the other hand, Tony was the youngest of five brothers who grew up in a shack that had barely been habitable. If Tony hadn’t been a six-foot-two behemoth who excelled at football he would never have been admitted into the exclusive private school.
And even that wouldn’t have made them more than classmates.
It was only their mutual friendship with Mia Ramon that’d thrown them together.
“Not really,” he said. “I haven’t seen him in fifteen years.”
Sam scribbled on his notepad, his gaze never leaving Lucas’s face. “You’re sure? He hasn’t tried to call or contact you?”
“I’m sure.” Lucas felt a stab of dread. “What’s going on? Is he in trouble?”
The detective instantly pounced. “Why would you say that?”
Lucas arched a brow. “Beyond the fact a homicide detective is asking me questions about him?”
“Yeah, beyond that.”
“It was no secret that Tony was doing drugs from the time he arrived at Hale,” he admitted, not bothering to add that Tony was also dealing to make enough money to support his deadbeat dad. It wouldn’t take much of a detective to dig up that old dirt. “He was kicked off the football team when he tested positive for weed our senior year. If some unknown donor hadn’t come up with his tuition he would have been forced to leave school.”
More scribbling on the pad. “Were you close growing up?”
“I didn’t really know him until he transferred to the academy.”
“But you were friends?”
“We both played football and occasionally hung out together.” Lucas made a sound of impatience. “Are you going to tell me what your interest in Tony is?”
“He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Lucas blinked at the blunt response. Somehow he’d already leapt to the conclusion that Tony had been arrested for murder. And that he was now desperately trying to call in favors from the powerful acquaintances he’d acquired during high school. With an effort, he readjusted his thinking. “An overdose?”
“He was shot three blocks from your office building.”
A stab of regret sliced through Lucas even as he lifted his brows in surprise. “Tony was in Houston?”
The detective gave a small nod. “He was.”
“Did he live here?”
Sam Cooper shrugged. “He was carrying a Louisiana driver’s license. We’re checking the address that was listed.”
The air pressure dropped as Teagan leaned forward, his expression hard with annoyance. Despite his years in the military, the younger man harbored a deep distrust of authority figures.
“Why are you here?”
The detective turned his head to meet Teagan’s glare. “Excuse me?”
“If you have a body, shouldn’t you be out looking for who made it dead?” Teagan demanded.
“I find it’s quicker to discover the killer when I know my victim.”
Lucas studied Sam Cooper. The authorities were clearly treating this as a targeted murder, not a random drive-by shooting.
Interesting.
“Then you came to the wrong guy,” Lucas informed the detective. There was no point in letting the man waste his time. He felt bad as hell that Tony was dead, but it had nothing to do with him. “Like I said, I haven’t seen or heard from Tony since high school.”
Sam Cooper ignored the unmistakable cue to bring the interview to an end. “Odd that he was shot so close to your building, don’t you think, Mr. St. Clair?”
“What do you mean ‘odd’?”
The detective shrugged. “You supposedly haven’t seen Tony Hughes in years, but he manages to get shot just a few blocks away.”
“Enough.” Lucas abruptly shoved himself to his feet, vaguely aware that Teagan was rising at the same time. “I’ve tried to be polite and answer your questions, but you’re starting to piss me off.” He held the detective’s steady gaze. “Are you trying to imply I have some connection to this crime?”
Sam Cooper remained sitting, remarkably nonchalant as both Lucas and Teagan glared down at him. Of course, they would have to be idiots to attack a member of the Houston Police Department in the middle of a bar. Plus he was probably carrying. Hard to detect beneath the sports jacket that should have been burned in the seventies.
“I think Tony Hughes was coming to see you,” Sam said in a calm voice.
Lucas scowled. “Why?”
“Because of this.” Reaching into his pocket, the detective pulled out a clear baggie and set it on the table.
Lucas leaned forward to study the wrinkled piece of paper that had his name and address scribbled on it.
“Where’d you get that?” he demanded.
“Tony had it in his front pocket.”
“Shit,” Lucas breathed in shock.
“Still no idea why he was in the neighborhood?”
“No.” A chill inched down Lucas’s spine. Why the hell had Tony been looking for him after fifteen years? And who would shoot him on the street? Questions that needed answers, but not until he shook off the tenacious lawman. It was never a good idea to chat with a homicide detective when he had a connection to the dead body. “And we’re about to take this to my lawyer’s office.”
“About damned time,” Teagan muttered.
Sam Cooper lifted his hand, trying to look harmless. “I just have one more question for now.”
“What?”
The detective reached into his pocket to pull out another baggie. This one held a photo of a dark-haired woman with the words—“Kill her or else”—scrawled across her face.
“Do you recognize this woman?”
Lucas reached to snatch the baggie off the table, holding the picture toward the muted light. He barely heard Teagan’s low curse or the detective’s protest at his rough handling of evidence.
Even at a distance he’d easily recognized the image of a stunning young woman.
Oh, her features had matured from the soft prettiness of youth into elegant lines. And her body had filled out with curves that made his mouth water.
But he’d recognize the thickly lashed dark eyes and soft, kissable mouth anywhere.
His stomach was fisted with a stark sense of horror that wrenched the air from his lungs.
“Mia,” he rasped.
“Mia?” With a surge, the detective was on his feet, snatching the baggie from Lucas’s fingers. “Last name?”
“Ramon. Mia Ramon,” Lucas said even as he was turning away from the table.
On some level he understood that he wasn’t thinking clearly. Shock did that to a man. But his primitive instincts didn’t give a shit. All he knew was that Mia was in danger.
Nothing else mattered.
“Wait,” Detective Cooper commanded as Lucas headed toward the door. “Where are you going?”
Lucas’s long strides never faltered. Not even when he sensed Teagan moving to walk at his side.
“What can I do?” his friend asked.
Tha
t simple.
No aggravating demands for an explanation. Just a sincere desire to help.
“Tell the guys I’m headed to Shreveport,” he said, his subconscious making a list of tasks that had to be finished before he could leave Houston. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Chapter Two
Despite the chilly temperatures, the humidity in the air was the stuff of nightmares. Only in Louisiana could a person shiver with cold at the same time they were sweating like a dog.
Entering the recently constructed brick building on the northern fringe of Bossier City, Mia barely resisted the urge to peel off the fitted black jacket that matched her A-line skirt. It wasn’t just the fact that the expensive material was sticking to her skin. She always felt like a fraud in designer clothes.
At heart, she was a jeans and sweatshirt kind of gal.
Unfortunately her corporate accounts expected the owner of Ramon Landscaping and Nursery to look like a professional. Especially when they were expecting a normal, middle-aged Caucasian male to show up for the contract signing, not a thirty-two-year-old woman with lush curves that regularly made men turn to watch her walk past.
She’d already decided she would return to her small house just a mile down the road during lunch so she could change. For now she was in dire need of a hefty dose of caffeine and a few minutes’ peace.
To say her morning had been stressful was like saying a tsunami was a little wave.
With impeccable timing, Taylor Price rose from behind the reception desk to study her with open concern.
The woman had been Mia’s best friend throughout high school, and when Mia finally managed to stabilize her business to the point she could afford a full-time secretary, she’d pleaded with Taylor to leave her job as a waitress to help her.
Mia might have a talent for creating a thriving business with satisfied customers and five full-time gardeners, plus another five part-time workers during the summer months, but she desperately needed someone to keep her organized.
Taylor had been an answer to her prayers. The single mother of a sixteen-year-old son had taken charge of the office, along with keeping the employees on task with a brisk efficiency.
Now she watched as Mia lifted a hand to pull out the pins that held her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, releasing the glossy black strands to fall in a smooth curtain down her back.
“Crap,” Taylor muttered, studying Mia’s strained expression. “You didn’t get the contract.”
Mia managed a weary smile. She’d worked for weeks to convince Fox Construction to accept her bid. Getting the contract meant that her crew would be in charge of landscaping the new subdivision being built near Wallace Lake.
“It’s signed, sealed, and will be delivered by Monday.”
“Sweet.” Taylor tilted her head to one side. Despite having a teenage son, she looked like she was barely out of high school. She was as slim as a reed, with honey-brown hair that she kept cut short and green eyes that could sparkle with amusement or flash with fury. She’d gotten pregnant by a local bad boy who’d taken off the second Justin was born, but that had never slowed her down. She worked, coached her son’s baseball team, and took care of her aging mother. Not to mention keeping Mia somewhere in the vicinity of sane. “So why do you look like you lost your puppy?”
Mia rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness. “I’m sweating, my feet hurt, the owner of Fox Construction couldn’t take his eyes off my boobs despite the fact they were covered in two layers of clothing. And some idiot nearly ran me off the road.” She shook her head, her pulse still unsteady from the memory of the large SUV that’d swerved into her lane, clipping her bumper. It was a miracle she’d avoided going into a ditch. “I swear, trained monkeys could drive better than most people.”
Taylor took efficient control. “What do you want first? Coffee? Or a maple cream donut?”
Mia glanced toward the reception desk across the simply designed room with white tiled floors and walls painted a soft apricot. Currently it was decorated with a large Christmas tree set in one corner and festive holly that was draped from the drop ceiling.
Behind the office building she’d constructed long sheds where she stored the equipment her landscaping company needed, and next door was a lot where she’d built rows of greenhouses. But in here, she’d demanded a hint of feminine charm.
It was her eye for design that had taken her business from just another lawn-mowing company to a full-service landscaping business worth millions.
This morning, however, her attention was laser-focused on the full coffeemaker and lovely pink box from her favorite bakery.
“You are a saint,” Mia murmured.
“True.” Taylor reached out to give her a light push. “Go into your office and put your feet up.”
Mia didn’t have to be told twice.
Coffee. Donuts. A few minutes’ peace . . .
Priceless.
Entering her office, which was decorated in the same apricot and white as the reception room, only without the Christmas decorations, she tossed aside her briefcase and eased herself into the chair behind her desk.
Taking in a deep breath, she released it with a slow exhale, already feeling the knots in the pit of her stomach unraveling. Minutes later Taylor bustled in, setting a large mug of black coffee and a massive donut on the desk.
“Ah. Bless you,” Mia said, reaching for the coffee. “Any problems while I was gone?”
Taylor shrugged. “When isn’t there a problem?”
True. There were enough moving parts in her business it was inevitable there would be daily disasters.
“Hit me.”
“Not until you finish your donut.”
“Okay, Mother.” Mia rolled her eyes, but she picked up the donut and took a bite. When Taylor put on her bossy pants it was easier to do as she commanded. Savoring the sinfully decadent pastry, Mia at last wiped the sticky maple from her fingers and took another sip of her coffee. “Done,” she said as she leaned back in her chair.
Taylor reached for the crumpled napkin, throwing it in the trash before starting the daily list of glitches.
“First up, the garage called and said they had to order a part for the flatbed.”
Mia nodded. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. The flatbed truck was nearly twelve years old. Unfortunately, they needed it to haul the larger pieces of equipment and a new one wasn’t in the budget until after the holidays.
“How long?” she demanded.
“Next week.”
“Call the rental company and tell them we’ll need the truck until next Friday. What else?”
“Sonny stopped by to say that the Richardsons didn’t pay him yesterday. They claimed they sent a check last week.”
Sonny had actually worked with her father mowing lawns and trimming hedges for the rich. Now he was her most trusted employee.
“How far are they behind?” she asked.
“Three months.”
Mia made a mental note. The Richardsons owned two small strip malls that were struggling to survive in the depressed economy. She’d tried to be patient. They’d once been a big deal around town and it was possible they’d be able to refinance their business to avoid bankruptcy. But enough was enough.
They would either come up with a payment plan or she would have to cancel their contract.
“Tell him I’ll deal with them,” she promised. “Next.”
“We added three new orders for Christmas decorations.”
“That’s not a problem. That’s fantastic news.”
Taylor planted her hands on her hips. “It was a brilliant idea, sweetie, but next year we’re going to have to hire more help.”
Mia smiled. It’d been her brainchild to offer a new service that would install Christmas lights and even decorate homes for a substantial fee. And it had been a startling success. The perfect Christmas was in high demand in the suburban “upwardly mobile” fancy homes. Thankfully, these hom
e owners had more money than time. Which meant a lucrative profit for Mia.
“See who’s willing to put in some overtime, and make sure you schedule the work when I can oversee the project,” she said.
Taylor frowned. “Mia—”
“No lectures,” Mia interrupted. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that she worked too hard.
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Stubborn bitch.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing that can’t—” The chime from the front door interrupted the secretary’s words. “Hold on.” Leaning back, she peered out the open door, her lips pursing in a silent whistle. “Well, hello, tall and dark and why-aren’t-you-in my bed,” she murmured.
Mia chuckled. “You really have to stop ogling the customers.”
“Hey, I might have forgotten what my hoo-ha is used for, but that doesn’t mean I’m dead.”
“Good Lord,” Mia muttered, even as she ruefully acknowledged her friend wasn’t the only one who hadn’t used her hoo-ha for far too long. “Maybe you should see what he wants.”
Taylor ridiculously waggled her brows. “I can do that.” About to step forward, the secretary halted, her smile fading. “You know, he looks familiar.”
“Who doesn’t? This town is too small to—”
“Shit.”
Mia blinked in surprise. Her friend was usually unflappable. So who the hell could make her hands clench into tight fists and her face flush with fury?
“Taylor?” She rose from her chair. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t believe that bastard would show his face here.”
“Who?” Mia demanded.
Usually only Taylor’s ex-husband could make her look like she was contemplating murder.
Not surprising. The bastard periodically showed up in town, hoping for an easy handout from his ex-wife. Mia had tried to convince her friend to slam the door in his miserable face, but Taylor insisted that she never wanted her son to realize his father was a total schmuck.
She would endure the visit for Justin’s sake, even as she was no doubt wishing she could castrate the jackass.
But while Mia tried to imagine who could be worse than Danny Price, the stranger strolled into her office.