Dangerous Illusions (Code of Honor Book #1) Read online

  5

  “He’s either got a hot new case or he’s met a hot new woman.”

  As the mirth-tinged comment registered in his subconscious, Colin tuned back in to the conversation between his every-other-Saturday breakfast companions.

  Now that Rick Jordan had voiced his opinion, he was hiding his grin behind an oversized coffee mug. The woman beside him, however, was making no attempt to disguise her amusement . . . and didn’t hesitate to add her two cents.

  “My money’s on the latter.” Kristin Dane bit into the huge cinnamon roll she’d ordered as a side to her over-easy eggs and sausage. “He never zones out like this about a case.”

  Colin took a sip of his coffee, scrambling to formulate a response. It better be credible, or the two people who knew him best were going to give him a boatload of grief.

  “Maybe I’m just tired.” He tried for a casual tone. “I did work the late shift last night, you know. Plus, I interrupted my shut-eye to meet you two so-called friends.”

  “Yep. It’s a woman.” Kristin scooped up some hash browns.

  “Keep eating like that, you’ll lose your girlish figure.” Colin broke off a bite of omelet with his fork.

  “Deflection.” She swiped some icing off the roll. “More evidence to support my case, Mr. Detective.” She grinned at him and sucked the powdered-sugar goo off her finger.

  “I think she’s got you, Colin.” Rick doused his fries with more ketchup. “Better spill it or she’ll pester you for the rest of the meal.”

  Kristin elbowed him. “Don’t make it sound like I’m the only one interested. You started this.”

  “True.” Rick chomped on a fry. “You’re on, Colin.”

  “What’s with the burger for breakfast?” He stabbed a mushroom that had escaped his omelet.

  “I’ve been up since six. Ten o’clock is lunchtime for me. Quit stalling. We’re waiting with bated breath to hear about this woman.”

  “You guys are nuts.”

  Neither of them spoke—but their smirks said volumes.

  He was hosed. The more he tried to blow off his childhood friends, the more he’d dig himself into a hole. Because the truth was, he had been thinking about a hot new woman.

  Trish Bailey.

  And not just in the context of last night’s events.

  Safer to start with the case, though—and hope that satisfied them.

  “Rick had it pegged at the beginning. I have a hot new case.”

  “What kind of case?” Kristin narrowed her eyes, skepticism sparking in their depth.

  “Suspicious death.”

  “What’s hot about it?”

  The victim’s daughter.

  True—but not a tidbit he intended to share.

  “It has some . . . interesting . . . nuances.”

  “Such as?” Kristin leaned forward, cinnamon roll in hand, gaze sharp and probing.

  “I can’t discuss an in-progress case.”

  “Hmph.” With a disgruntled snort, she went back to eating.

  “You may have a new case—but I think you met a woman too.” Rick continued chowing down on fries.

  “What is this, a tag-team event?” Colin scowled at the two of them.

  “Touchy, touchy.” Rick raised an eyebrow.

  “No. Tired.” He faked a yawn. “If you keep hassling me, this is the last time I cut my z’s short to meet you two on a Saturday.”

  “Now he’s resorting to threats.” Kristin studied him. “No way you’d ever back out of the standing Saturday date with your two best friends in the world—unless a woman was involved. Romance can mess with your head.” She turned to Rick. “Maybe this has been going on a while and he’s been holding out on us.”

  “There is nothing going on, and I haven’t been holding out on you.” He wadded his paper napkin into a tight ball. “I only met her last . . .” A word unfit for polite company sizzled on his tongue before he clamped his lips together.

  Talk about a dumb slip.

  Kristin aimed her fork at him. “Aha. Now the truth comes out.”

  “I knew something was up.” Rick shoved a red onion back onto his burger. “He has that goofy, distracted expression guys get when some woman catches their eye.”

  Colin took a sip of juice. Offense might be a better defense. “Since when have you become such an expert on male-female relationships? Last I heard, you were spending all your free time communing with nature at that camp you run—unless you’ve been holding out on us?”

  Kristin gave Rick a speculative perusal and dismissed that notion with a flip of her hand. “Nah. If there was romance in the picture, we’d have sniffed it out. He’s easy to read.”

  “Hey!” Rick shot her an indignant look.

  “Chill.” She gave him an affectionate nudge. “You’re transparent only to us—and it’s endearing. Right, Colin?”

  “What is this? Psychoanalyze your friends day? I thought we were here to eat.” He pierced another stray mushroom with the tines of his fork.

  “We come here to feed the bond, not our stomachs.” Kristin gathered some potato fragments into a neat pile on her plate, all levity gone. “I could eat a bagel in my condo. You could sleep in after a full night chasing down criminals. Rick could forgo the long trek in from the country. But every other Saturday for years we’ve shown up here. I’d hate for that to change.”

  “Why should it change?” Rick stopped eating his fries.

  “Life . . . and love . . . can alter things.” Worry was etched on her face.

  Colin couldn’t argue with her concern. He’d had the same thought through the years. No doubt they all had. They might joke with each other about being late bloomers, but someday—perhaps in the not-too-distant future—one of them would marry, changing the dynamic of the relationship that had sustained the three of them for more than two decades.

  Kristin seemed to think it might be him.

  But while he’d noticed Trish Bailey . . . while he’d felt a buzz in her presence no other woman had ever generated . . . while he was open to romance if the right woman came along . . . Kristin’s concern was premature.

  For all he knew, the woman he’d met last night would end up being a murder suspect.

  And if she was innocent . . . if that buzz intensified . . . romance wouldn’t fray the link he had with Rick and Kristin. They’d been through too much together, shared too many heartaches. The friendship they’d forged wasn’t going to falter.

  Colin put his hand in the center of the table. “We vowed a long time ago to stick together and be there for each other. Nothing’s changed for me. Nor will it. I’m still in.”

  Some of the trepidation faded from Kristin’s demeanor, and she laid her hand on top of his. “Me too.”

  “Make that three.” Rick added his hand. “Now let’s eat or the food will get cold.”

  “I’m with you.” Colin went back to his omelet. “But if it will ease your minds, I promise you’ll be the first to know if I ever have anything to report on the romance front.”

  “Thanks.” Kristin cut into her second egg. “Although we’ll probably figure it out first.”

  Given how they’d both pegged the cause of his distraction today with mind-blowing accuracy, her prediction was likely sound.

  Meaning he’d have to keep his guard up around them in the future.

  And while he’d honor his promise to let them know if he ever met a woman with potential, he was nowhere near that point.

  Even if Trish Bailey walked away from this experience blameless, she had a lot on her plate—including a hefty helping of grief. There wasn’t much chance she’d be in the market for a new relationship in the foreseeable future.

  For the remainder of the meal, the conversation ranged far and wide, as usual. There was laughter and discussion and teasing and sharing. All the things that made the Treehouse Gang important to him.

  But as they said their good-byes forty-five minutes later and went their separate ways, his thoughts
drifted back to Trish Bailey. He might not have any strong family connections, but he did have Rick and Kristin.

  Trish was battling trauma and grief alone in a hotel room.

  Car keys in one hand, he pulled out his cell phone with the other. The CSU owed him an update on the situation at Eileen Coulter’s house. Hopefully they could release the scene soon.

  Giving him an excuse to call the woman who seemed so in need of a friend.

  Matt was punctual, as usual.

  At ten thirty on the dot, he pushed through the revolving door into the lobby of the Hilton.

  Trish stayed in her seat off to the side, overnight bag at her feet, buying herself another few seconds. Accepting his offer of breakfast and a lift home during their phone conversation an hour and a half ago hadn’t been the smartest choice. Except they did need to talk . . . and having a friend by her side when she returned home was appealing.

  Unless Matt decided to ditch that friendship after she told him romance was a no-go.

  At last he spotted her, lifted a hand in greeting, and crossed the lobby toward the chair she’d claimed.

  Gripping the handle of her bag, she rose.

  “Trish.” He grasped her upper arms and searched her face, furrowing his brow. “You look exhausted. Did you get any sleep?”

  “Some.” An overstatement. The few minutes she’d clocked here and there added up to less than an hour of shut-eye.

  He pulled her close, into a hug she didn’t return, the overnight bag bumping her leg.

  If he noticed her unenthusiastic greeting, he didn’t comment on it as he released her. “Have you heard from the police yet?”

  “No. The detective said he’d let me know when I could get back into the house. Sometime this morning, he thought.”

  “Have you checked out of the hotel already?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get some breakfast. How does Schneithorst’s sound?”

  “Fine.” Better than fine. It was half a block away, making for a short drive, and the breakfast horde tended to be on the boisterous side. Letting him down in the midst of a high-spirited Saturday crowd would be far less difficult than if they were alone, in a more intimate setting.

  Ten minutes later, after being shown to the corner table Matt requested, Trish gave the menu a quick skim and set it aside.

  “That was fast.” He continued to peruse the offerings.

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  “You need to eat.” He set his own menu down.

  “I’ll have some eggs and toast.” More than she wanted, but she did need to put some food in her stomach.

  A waitress appeared, filled their coffee cups, took their orders, and hustled off.

  “I know there are a lot of details that need to be addressed. Tell me what I can do to help.” Matt covered her hand with his.

  She gently tugged it free and picked up her mug. “I’ve already called the home health service. That was the most immediate need. And I spoke with Reverend Howard about the arrangements for the memorial service.” She took a sip of the coffee. “I can handle this on my own, Matt.”

  “But you don’t have to.” His eyes warmed, and he leaned close. “I’m here for you.”

  Just tell him, Trish.

  The coffee in the mug began to ripple, and she set it back on the table, wrapping her cold fingers around the soothing warmth. “I need to talk with you about that.”

  “Okay.”

  “I was going to bring this up last night, and then . . .” Her voice choked. Don’t go there. Stay in the moment. Concentrate on what you need to say to him. “The thing is, I like you a lot. Mom thought the world of you, as I’m sure you know. That’s why she was trying to push us together these past few weeks, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I noticed.” One side of his mouth rose a fraction. “But let the record show the gentleman was willing to be pushed.”

  He wasn’t making this easy.

  “I appreciate that. But I don’t think dating is the best idea. There’s not any . . . we don’t have a . . . I’m not ready to go there again. Especially now.”

  Coward.

  The scold from her conscience echoed in her mind as she gripped the mug. She hadn’t lied . . . but neither had she told the full truth. Dating wasn’t the best idea because there was no zing, and she needed to be honest about that instead of leaving the door open.

  “I can understand that. A lot’s happened in the past twelve hours—not to mention all the stress you’ve been under with your job and your mom’s health issues and the tragic accident.” Matt touched her hand again. “I like you a lot too, Trish . . . and I think, once your life settles down, there might be potential. I’m willing to wait.”

  He was forcing her hand.

  She’d have to lay it on the line—ready or not.

  “I wish I could say I felt the same, but the truth is . . .” Her phone began to trill from deep within her purse. “Sorry. Let me get this. It might be the police.”

  She groped for the cell, scanning the screen as she pulled it out.

  “It’s the detective. Give me a minute.” She pressed the talk button.

  After returning her greeting, Colin Flynn wasted no time on chitchat. “I wanted to let you know you’re free to return to your house. Our people have cleared out. Are you at the hotel?”

  “No.” She slid a glance toward her companion, who was stirring some cream into the refill the waitress had poured for him. “I checked out about half an hour ago.”

  “Do you need a ride to the house?”

  She blinked. “Are you still on duty?”

  “No, but I’m . . . not far away.”

  “Thank you.” The warmth of his kindness chased some of the chill from her heart. “But I already have a ride.”

  A couple of silent beats ticked by. “Parker?”

  “Yes.” Of course he’d assume that. She’d told him last night she didn’t have any close friends here, and Matt had said he’d be in touch this morning.

  “It’s probably best if you have someone with you when you return.”

  “That’s what I thought too.” But she’d rather it be the man on the other end of the line.

  “I’ll be in touch as soon as we have results from the medical examiner’s office. In the meantime, if you have any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to call. I have my cell with me 24/7.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Another brief hesitation.

  Could he be as reluctant as she to hang up?

  Trish squeezed the cell, as if holding on tight could keep him from breaking the connection.

  It didn’t work.

  “I’ll let you go. Take care.”

  The line went dead.

  Slowly she slid the phone back into her purse.

  “All clear at the house?” Matt moved his mug aside as the waitress set his food in front of him.

  “Yes.” She stared at the plate of eggs the woman deposited in front of her, trying not to gag.

  “I don’t have anything urgent on my schedule today, so I can stay as long as you need me to once we get there.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” She tore off a corner of her toast. She needed to finish the conversation Colin had interrupted, since Matt had apparently been hearing her words but not her intent.

  “I don’t mind.” He set an empty creamer on the table. “And in case you’re thinking I have a thick skull, I understand where you were heading before the call interrupted us. I get that romance isn’t high on your agenda at the moment. Maybe it won’t ever be—with me. All I ask is that you don’t jump to a hasty conclusion. Nothing in your life has been normal for two years. You might change your mind down the road. In the interim, I’ll settle for your friendship.”

  So he had been listening.

  Best of all, he was taking this better than she’d expected.

  However . . . waiting wasn’t going to change how she felt, and it wasn’t fair
to give him false hopes.

  “I appreciate the offer of friendship. It would be comforting to know I have someone to call on if I get overwhelmed. But that’s all it will ever be, Matt. I know that—and I don’t want to string you along.”

  Some emotion—anger, perhaps?—flashed in his eyes, replaced so fast by acceptance and resignation she wondered if she’d imagined it. “Message received. I won’t push.”

  A weight lifted from her shoulders. “Thanks for understanding.”

  “Hey . . . that’s what friends are for, right?” He managed a smile and motioned toward her plate. “Now eat some breakfast.”

  She picked up her fork and tackled the eggs. With Matt’s situation resolved, she might be able to choke down a few bites. And she did need the energy. The next few hours would be hard—as would the days ahead.

  Especially if the autopsy report showed her mother’s death was, indeed, due to a mistake with medication.

  6

  Writing reports was about as exciting as cleaning toilets . . . or doing taxes . . . or grocery shopping.

  As Colin’s eyes glazed over and the words on the computer screen blurred, he heaved a sigh. He needed a break from the boring task. Any excuse would do. A new case to work on . . . a suspect to interview . . . a lead to track down.

  Too bad none of those were imminent.

  He’d have to settle for checking email.

  Straightening up from his slouch, he clicked on the icon and scanned his new messages. The one from the ME’s office, with “Coulter Tox” in the subject line, jumped out at him.

  Wow.

  Two weeks for toxicology results had to be a record.

  Either there had been nothing in the initial tests to indicate the cardiac arrest listed as cause of death in the autopsy was suspicious—or a red flag had gone up fast.

  For Trish Bailey’s sake, he hoped it was the former.

  Leaning forward, he clicked on the email and skimmed through it.

  Full report attached. Bottom line: E. Coulter was taking digoxin, a drug often used to treat abnormal heart rhythms. Too much can cause ventricular tachycardia . . . which can lead to ventricular fibrillation . . . which can cause sudden death. The deceased had almost triple the amount that should have been in her system based on her prescription and the half-life of the drug—more than a therapeutic dose, but not necessarily lethal. However, it was in the potentially toxic range, given her medical issues and age. Call with questions.