All That’s Best of

Dark and Bright

    by 

Amber

This is i

T!!

The ori

ginal fi

c that

started i

t all!

Chapter One

A

corpse was never pretty.

Detective William Darcy had re-

signed himself to this fact years ago. A

corpse smelled. A corpse was discolored.

A corpse was cold. Despite all this, however, Darcy was

able to see the human being that a cadaver had once been.

He was able to understand that it wasn’t just a case number

being pushed across his desk. He was able to understand

that it had, at some point, been a son or daughter, a brother

or sister, a husband or wife. Most importantly, though,

Darcy understood that it wasn’t just a dead thing, but a

person.

The victim before him was no exception to the rule, but

Darcy could see she would have been beautiful had she still

been breathing. Her face, which should have been smooth

and white as fresh cream, was tinged that sickening grey-blue

color death paints everybody with. Her once plump, pink

lips had paled to a pasty, dull violet and her blonde hair,

which would have been glorious by firelight, was matted

with blood and brain.

He didn’t need a medical examiner to tell him that the

cause of death was a severe blow to the head. The stab wounds

scattered about her torso were another indication of what

killed her.

Darcy threw a glance over his shoulder at the book laying

open on the desk. It was the first thing he’d noticed when

he’d walked in. It never failed to amaze him what people

wrote down. He’d once locked a woman away with her own

diary because she’d described, in detail, the murders of each

of her three children and the slow poisoning death of their

father. Incriminating evidence indeed.

He let the forensics team go about their business, gath-

ering fibers and particles and taking a visual record of the

small, tidy bedroom that the girl had taken her last breath

in.

“This book been catalogued?” Darcy asked the nearest

member of the forensics team as he pulled latex gloves onto

his hands.

“Yeah. It was the first thing we checked.”

Darcy picked up the book and leafed through it as though

he were a customer in a bookstore.

The hand inside was neat and small and full of flowery

little curlicues. The book was unlined, but it didn’t seem

to matter. The rows of words were ruler straight. The book

opened to a page that had been written just twelve hours

before and seemed to prattle on about the evening she’d

spent with somebody named Elizabeth and Elizabeth’s date.

It might be the kind of diary that was full of fluff, but he

flipped back to the very beginning anyway. The first entry

was dated a mere two months before the last.

“I can’t help but think that there’s something Elizabeth

isn’t telling me. She used to talk to me all the time, but not

so much anymore.”

One of the forensics team approached with the victim’s

purse.

“It wasn’t in the apartment. The doorman said somebody

turned it into the desk. One of the uniforms just brought it

up,” she said.

Darcy scowled. His brain immediately jumped from point

A to point B. The killer might have taken the purse.

“Is there ID in there?”

The small redhead pulled open the little leather handbag

and fished around inside with her gloved hands. A few mo-

ments later, she pulled out a matching brown leather wallet.

The ID’s picture matched the dead girl.

Darcy nodded glumly and left to track down next of

kin.



Elizabeth thought about Jane while driving home. She

and Ben had gone out with Jane earlier then cut a fren-

zied, lust-fueled path to the incredibly comfortable bed in

Benjamin’s apartment.

It was nearly dawn as Elizabeth pulled her car into the

parking garage of her building. She locked the battered old

Jeep and started for the elevator. Punching the fifth floor

button a little harder than she intended, Elizabeth leaned

against the wall to wait for the old elevator to shudder to

a stop on the second then the third floor before depositing

Elizabeth’s exhausted body onto hers.

Stumbling out into the hallway, she turned left toward her

apartment. Catching a trace of Ben’s scent on her skin as she

walked down the corridor, Elizabeth inhaled a little deeper.

His cologne had mixed with the sweat he’d been covered

with while he’d pushed her over the edge time after time. It

made her body ache for him all over again.

Looking up as she rounded another corner, Elizabeth saw

a man outside her apartment. He was sliding a card into the

tiny crack between the doorjamb and the door.

“Hey,” she called, her voice betraying her exhaustion.

Mentally, she cursed herself for not thinking. This guy wasn’t

the first stranger who’d ever appeared on her doorstep, but

most of them left slugs embedded in her walls, not business

cards in the doorway.

The man turned and looked at her. His dark hair curled

haphazardly on the top of his head and the faint shadow on

his chin belied the fact that he’d not shaved recently. Hmm,

handsome, tall, proud, defiant posture.

“Cop?” She asked casually, elbowing passed him as took

the card out of the door. Nodding, she pursed her lips when

she saw that her assumption was correct. Opening her door,

she extended an invitation against her better judgment. Cops

generally brought nothing but trouble.



A short entry hall opened into a surprisingly light and airy

apartment that was decorated in shades of rose and bright red

with creamy accents. Against one wall was an upright piano.

The top of the piano was covered with photographs.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” He asked. He kept his voice

cool, detached.

“Yes,” She tossed her purse and keys into the rose-colored

overstuffed chair sitting against a wall in her living room.

“Miss Bennet, my name is William Darcy,” he started, but

she cut him off.

“I know who you are,” she said. “Homicide.”

He felt his eyebrows slip up in surprise.

“You just gave me your card, Detective. Jesus, how’d you

ever get promoted?”

He ignored her.

Just like most officers, this was the part of the job that

Darcy hated the above all. You never quite got the hang of

telling people that they had a loved one who they would

never see or speak with ever again. Everybody was different.

While they all grieved, some were more emotional than oth-

ers. Some were more levelheaded, preferring to keep their

grief quiet. Regardless of reaction, everybody hurt and Darcy

had held more strangers than one could imagine.

“You have a sister called Jane, correct?”

Confusion slid across Elizabeth’s face. Darcy caught the

moment and catalogued it for later reference. Whatever it was

that Elizabeth Bennet had expected him to say, it was obvi-

ously not supposed to have anything to do with her sister.

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied slowly.

He watched her sit down on the edge of the patterned sofa

and grip the arm.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “But-”

“He killed her, didn’t he? That bastard finally got to her.”

“Your sister is dead,” he confirmed. “Do you know who

might have done it?”

“That bastard killed her. That fucking bastard!” She cried,

her voice hitching on the word ‘killed.’ She seemed unfo-

cused for a moment, glaring at something only she could

see. Finally, she gazed up at him, her dark eyes not betray-

ing the anger that her voice was indicating. “I know exactly

who did it and I’m going directly over there and I’m going

to fucking kill him.”

She darted up from her seat and started for the door and

ran smack into Darcy’s chest as he stepped in front of her.

“Miss Bennet, you don’t want to do that.”

“Get out of my way,” she growled. Her voice had taken on

the scary edge of a predator. “You aren’t the first man who

has ever tried to stop me from killing somebody. The first

man walks a little funny and has a much higher voice than

he should.”

“Miss Bennet,” he began. “I understand that you’re upset.”

“You understand nothing! If you damn cops would have

kept him in jail where he belongs then he couldn’t have hurt

her! It’s your fault that she’s dead!”

It wasn’t the first time that Darcy had heard such a senti-

ment, but he’d never been confronted with such real hatred

before. The contempt that slithered from her voice unnerved

him, although he had gotten very good at not letting his outer

shell betray his inner emotions.

She tried to push passed him, but he grabbed her shoulders

and forced her to look him in the eye. What he saw there was

chilling and he knew that if he let her go, he’d be hauling her

into lock-up in a matter of hours. He’d seen predators after

the kill when their eyes were empty and devoid of humanity.

He couldn’t make out anything in the darkness of her eyes

and, somehow, that was much more frightening.

“Let go of me!” She demanded.

He kept his eyes on her, wary of her next move. Her eyes

slowly cleared, reason slipping back into them.

“I’m fine. You can let go now.”

He looked at her doubtfully.

“Let go of me, Detective Darcy.”

With trepidation, he did and she slipped back down to

the sofa. He watched her for a moment, wondering what to

do next. Usually he delivered the news, waited to see if he

was needed for simple human contact, then left as quickly

as was permitted. He didn’t think leaving Elizabeth Bennet

alone would be such a good idea.

“Is there somebody I can call for you?” He asked.

She stared up at him, her eyes narrow. “No. You can let

me shower and change and then you can drive me over to

that bastard’s house. I want to be there when you read that

bastard his rights.”

“Miss Bennet, I cannot allow that.”

“I don’t care what you allow, Darcy. Jane was my sister and

that bastard killed her. I will be there one way or another. I

suggest that you go with me or you’ll be responsible for an-

other preventable death no matter how justified it is.”

Darcy felt his teeth click together in frustration. He didn’t

like being told what to do or that he didn’t have a choice.

However, he could also tell she was serious about another

body becoming a case number in his inbox.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Elizabeth stood; taking off her shirt as she walked passed

him. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her breasts were full and

white. He tried to look anywhere but at her, but she made it

a point to brush his forearm with her breasts.

“C’mon, Darcy, you’re a big boy. You’ve seen tits before.

Now come into the bedroom and tell me about what hap-

pened to my sister. I can listen while I shower.”

Briefly, Darcy caught the scent of sex as she left him be-

hind.

“That isn’t protocol, Miss Bennet. I cannot share details

of this case with you.”

“Darcy, you’re a dick. I’m not asking for details, I’m asking

for conjecture. What do you think happened?”

He started to protest again, but she turned around, un-

doing her long, glossy brown locks as she did so. Her hair

slipped over her shoulders and hung just past her breasts.

“Dammit, Darcy,” she growled. “I’m trying to look at this

from a professional perspective. Maybe then I can get justice

for Jane.”

“Professional perspective?”

“Ever heard of Bennet, Inc.?”

Of course! That’s why her name was familiar.

“Yes,” he replied, wanting to examine her, but not daring

when she was half nude. The remark she’d made about some-

body stopping her from murder earlier was true and then

some. She had a reputation as being one of the toughest PI’s

in town and she seemed to revel in it. It was rumored that his

office spent a lot of time cleaning up Bennet, Inc.’s messes.

Even though, she was good. People said she would’ve

made a better cop than most, but she was kicked out of the

academy. Nobody seemed certain as to what prompted the

expulsion, but as a private detective, Elizabeth Bennet was

one of the best. And automatically, not at the top of William

Darcy’s list. PI’s left a bad taste in his mouth. Many of them

thought that they were above the law and therefore not to

be held accountable for their actions.

It would be best if he kept an eye on her so she wouldn’t

destroy his case.

“I was called about three hours ago to come in,” he began

but stopped with Elizabeth’s soft, slightly desperate ques-

tion. She had stepped into the bathroom, but now stood in

the doorway, her deceptively soft body wrapped in a thick

black towel.

“Did she die badly?”

He wanted to lie to her. Every part of his body wanted to

utter that happy lie that would give her comfort when she

went to sleep, but he couldn’t, partly because she knew to

ask that question, partly because he knew that she would

find out anyway.

“Tell me, please, Darcy,” she quietly demanded, her voice

a brittle sheet of glass.

He glanced down at the floor unable to look at her with

the truth. He nodded.

“Shit,” she spat. “I’ll get him for this.”

“Who? Who do you think did this?”

“I don’t think. I know. And I’m not telling until we’re in a

vehicle together and headed to his house.”

She disappeared behind the door and Darcy heard the

shower turn on. He pulled the diary out of his coat pocket

and returned to the living room to read about Jane Bennet

and the life she led.



Less than an hour later, Elizabeth was sitting beside

William Darcy in his brand new Thunderbird, one of the

new ones that looked like one of the old ones. It was a shiny,

inky midnight blue. Her first thought was that he was com-

pensating for something. She could’ve said it was personality,

but she was thinking a little below the belt.

The drive was silent. Much more comfortable with rage

and hatred, she hadn’t allowed herself to cry as she was.

Everything could boil just under the surface and she would

never once appear agitated. She was a master at deception,

which was why she was so damn good at her job.

Elizabeth had been the polar opposite of Jane’s sunny dis-

position for her entire life. She always expected the worst

from people and she generally got it.

Jane had been her balance. She had been there to keep

Elizabeth from slipping in to the black completely. She was

the light to Elizabeth’s dark and now she was gone.

Elizabeth wasn’t sure how she was going to survive. Her

mother and other sister had abandoned any hope of under-

standing her years ago. Her youngest sister, Catherine, was

wispy and delicate; a person that Elizabeth had never com-

prehended even remotely. Elizabeth often thought of her as

spineless and unworthy.

She felt tears threaten as she realized for the first time that

she was alone. There was nobody to watch out for her now.

“How are you doing?” Darcy asked, his voice tight as if

he needed conversation, but didn’t want to engage in one

with her.

“Fine,” she muttered, not looking at him. She kept her gaze

fixed on something distant out the window. Perhaps if she

stared at thin air long enough, she could bring Jane back.



The large brick house with a black front door. It was a bit

on the shabby side with parts of the chain-link fence quietly

rusting to death and the grass slightly overgrown.

“His house,” she growled, sounding inhuman. “I don’t

know how many times I had to retrieve her in the middle of

the night because he beat her.”

Darcy threw her a glance. Jane’s diary had mentioned

Elizabeth’s name on nearly every page, but did not indicate

that Jane had been involved with anybody, let alone anybody

violent.

For a split second after the engine was cut, there was a

deadly stillness in the car, and then Elizabeth bolted from

her seat, pulling her gun as she did so. She was to the gate

when Darcy followed suit.

“Miss Bennet!” He yelled. It didn’t occur to him that it

was 7:30 on a Saturday morning and that people might be

sleeping. “Elizabeth!”

She was making for the door and it didn’t look as though

it would slow her down. He was nearly on her heels, but he

couldn’t safely tackle her while she held her weapon.

With one precise hammer kick, the door splintered away

from the dead bolt and she was inside. He followed her in

and suddenly, she was quiet, predatory, and following police

procedure as if she’d been a star pupil. Her gun was held at

an angle, her back against the wall.

She paused for a moment to look at him, sighed inaudibly,

and mouthed “I’ll be good” as he assumed the same posture

on the opposite wall.

With a mutual understanding, Elizabeth rounded her cor-

ner, leaving Darcy to his considerable devices. He watched

her go; knowing there would be hell to pay with his boss.

He’d wonder about her talents in the field when he had time.

He might not approve of her methods, but he had to give her

the respect she deserved for staying alive and prosperous in

what was considered a man’s world.

His own corner, which seemed to lead to the inner parts

of the house. He quickly scanned the living room, noting the

ultra-expensive stereo equipment and entertainment system.

This man liked his gadgets.

He continued on, hoping that would find Elizabeth’s sus-

pect first, because he didn’t quite trust that she was willing to

wait for justice. The bathroom and dining room were empty,

as was the first bedroom he looked in.

In he second bedroom, however, he struck gold.

“Hands in the air! Police!” He called.

The blond man’s hands shot skyward. Darcy settled his

gaze on a sandy curl near the man’s neck, his gun aimed to

kill, not to maim. His trigger finger poised and his arm steady,

he allowed his eyes to accommodate the rest of the scene.

Beneath him lay a nude brunette, her arms above her head

and tied with slips of peach silk. It was obvious that she’d

been crying for a very long time. Her face was red and puffy,

but when Darcy got closer he could see that her bottom

lip was split and bruises were scattered about her body like

puzzle pieces. Her ankles had rubbed raw where she’d tried

to loosen her bindings.

“Get off the goddamned bed,” Darcy spat, disgusted.

Suddenly, Elizabeth was in the doorway. Looking at the

man, she walked over to Darcy and handed him her gun

then pulled her clinch piece too.

“I can’t trust myself not to kill him. You have to help me

out here.” Her voice could have frozen the ocean solid.

He took her guns, wanting to restrain her further. If she

could kick in a door with one attempt, she could easily kick

his head from his shoulders.

“Detective Darcy, this is Charles Bingley.”

Charles’ face was beet red with rage when his eyes fell on

Elizabeth.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He demanded. Even

in his anger, his eyes slithered over the PI’s form in a purely

male appreciation. “Not that I don’t relish an appearance

by the more fiery of the two Miss Bennets, but Jane’s easier

to break.”

Her fist landed against his jaw so quickly that Darcy barely

saw it move. The woman held captive in the bed smiled

slightly.

“You bitch! I just had my teeth capped! I think you’ve

broken my jaw!”

“Pity.”

She brought her knee up and buried it in the pliable flesh

of his stomach before he had time to brace his abdomen

for impact. He fell against the wall, air rushing out of his

lungs.

“Don’t ever say her name again. You were never good

enough to utter it in the first place.” Her voice was deadly.

“And now you’ve taken her away from me. For that, Bingley,

you’ll pay. One way or another.”

“Elizabeth.”

Darcy said it only once, very softly, but it got her raging

attention off of Bingley. She looked at him, blinking, but

never let down her guard.

“Cuff him.” He tossed his cuffs to her and an instant later

she had Bingley restrained while Darcy undid the bindings

of the girl in the bed.

The girl quickly wrapped herself in a sheet and began gath-

ering clothes that had been thrown about the room. Darcy

left; thinking that he’d seen enough naked people already

that day and it wasn’t even nine o’clock.

Chapter Two

J

ane was laughing, her blonde hair flying out like

golden whips as the air displaced itself around them.

Her giggles rolled into loud guffaws as the carnival

ride whipped them around faster and faster, jostling

their insides and making Elizabeth regret the much-beloved

funnel cake. Jane had told her it would be a bad idea.

The sky was a rich, brilliant blue and it wrapped them

in the warmth of summertime. Sunlight glittered through

the green leaves that dressed each tree and the sisters fairly

glowed at the promise of the day.

“I told you everything would be fine,” Jane screamed,

clutching Elizabeth’s hand. “Fine.”

And then Jane disappeared and so did the sun.

Elizabeth felt the cold envelope her and she watched the

leaves on the trees shrivel and die. For some reason she felt

like dying too.

Bingley’s face seeped into her vision like a stain, his grin

without mirth and filled with vile malice.

She sat bolt upright, her heart thudding dully in the back

of her throat. Jane was dead.

Glancing around the room, Elizabeth realized that she

was in William Darcy’s office. They had brought Bingley

in for questioning in regard to Jane’s death. Darcy had put

Elizabeth in his office and told her to stay where she was.

It infuriated her that he treated her as though she were a

child. He had tossed her into the room and expected her to

not do anything while he was in with Charles Bingley talk-

ing about her sister. She’d been locked in rooms with perps

before and Darcy acted as though she weren’t controlled

enough to even watch the interrogation.

Granted, she had a terrible temper and didn’t necessarily

have to obey Miranda rights, but she tried her best. She made

the attempt to think like a cop every once in a while, but

sometimes cops were too easy on the bad guys.

Elizabeth had the option to be hard on them with minimal

consequences and she often took advantage of that. And

many of the perps (mostly men) never said a word about the

abuse they endured under Elizabeth’s questioning technique;

something about being bested by a girl.

The office was larger than most of the detective offices she’d

been in during her career. The walls were a pale crème color

that seemed warm. The occasional framed award seemed to

have made its way to a place on the wall, but there were no

photographs anywhere, not even on the desk. There was a

solitary (and rather disturbing) sick looking plant snaking

brownish tendrils along the top of a grey metal file cabinet

as if it were staying alive just to spite the man who wasn’t

taking care of it.

His chair looked a lot more comfortable than the seat she

was in so she stood, popped the bones in her spine, and shuffled

over to his chair. From this angle the office seemed more spar-

tan. The walls she now faced were bare and there were stacks

of cardboard storage boxes in one corner. Each had a date on

it, but the dates didn’t seem to be recent leaving Elizabeth to

assume that Darcy’s housekeeping skills were sorely lacking.

She could look out the window of the office door and see

across the officers’ bullpen to the interrogation room where

Darcy was probably having tea with Bingley. Her eyes nar-

rowed, a deadly glare focused on the door across the way. She

figured that somebody by-the-book like Darcy was in that

room trying to coax the truth out of Bingley with empty

threats and descriptive comments on the brutality of Jane’s

murder. Which was fine if you were in a room with a person

who had a conscience, but Charles Bingley was an unfeeling,

manipulative bastard.

If Elizabeth had had her way, Bingley’s motivation would

have been a broken nose to accompany the sore jaw that he

now had. (Not broken, unfortunately.) That would have been

an acceptable means to get to the truth, but she knew that

Darcy would never have gone for it.

Darcy’s reputation was well known by cops and PI’s alike.

He was a stickler for rules and though he almost always got

his man, he had a knack for stepping on the toes of colleagues

with his rigid adherence. For all the outstanding traits that

made him an incomparable investigator, he didn’t seem to

be big on loyalty. He had made a lot of enemies that wanted

to see him bested.

She settled back into his chair, tossed her feet up on the

desk, careful to not muss what appeared to be highly orga-

nized chaos, and closed her eyes again for lack of anything

better to do. Elizabeth was exhausted. Not only had she

been awake the previous night, but also she’d not slept the

night before that. Now she was merely running on fumes

and exhaustion was finally catching up with her.



Darcy returned to his office; his mouth set in a grim line.

He had not really expected Elizabeth to still be there, sens-

ing that his command had angered her, so he was shocked

when he saw her through the window. She was slumped in

his chair like a child’s discarded rag doll.

He watched her a moment before going in. He’d only just

met her, but his instincts told him to be wary of her. Every

bone in his body warned him that she was the most danger-

ous woman he’d ever encountered.

She opened her eyes, her hand automatically going to

where her gun would have been if she had not left them in

Darcy’s trunk. When she saw who it was, she put her hand

down and started to vacate his chair.

“Did you book him?”

“Stay there, Miss Bennet. I’ve been sitting too long.”

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his

chest. Being locked in a room all morning with that smug

asshole Bingley did nothing but assure him that he was a

man incapable of dealing with smug assholes.

“As much as I would’ve loved to, I can’t book him for be-

ing scum.”

“What?” Elizabeth demanded. She was out of the chair

anyway and standing before him in a flash. She was tall

enough so that their eyes nearly met.

“He’s got an alibi. It’s the girl. She said that much to her

regret she was indeed with him all night. I can lock him up

for battery, but not for your sister’s murder.”

Elizabeth felt her entire body go numb. “You’re sure.

There’s no way it can be Bingley?”

Slowly, Darcy nodded. He half expected her to break now.

He could see her eyes swim with tears, but as she focused on

him, they cleared.

Ever practical, Elizabeth straightened. “Bingley pressing

charges against me for battery?”

Darcy shook his head. “I think he thinks it might ruin

his chance to fuck you.”

“He’s an optimist,” she said, the ghost of a smile appearing

for an instant at Darcy’s joke. “Am I free to go?”

“I’ll take you home. Your guns are in my car,” he added

when she threw him a curious glance.

“Fine.”

It was obvious that she didn’t have the energy to argue with

him and that he’d won by default. When they got to the car,

he opened the door for her and handed her in, although he

didn’t need to.

He watched her as she fought sleep all the way to her

apartment building and noticed the limp way her limbs hung

again reminding him of a rag doll. Instead of popping the

trunk, Darcy got out and unlocked it. Discreetly, he returned

her guns to her.

“Do you need me to go up with you?” He asked her, his

voice gentle, soothing. She took a deep breath and released

it slowly. “I think I can take it from here, Darcy.”

“All right.”

She started for the elevator but stopped halfway there.

Turning, she met his eyes.

“I will be in touch. I’ll find who did this and you don’t

really have any choice in the matter.”

Darcy nodded. He figured that he would not be seeing

the last of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

He got back into his car once she was on the elevator and

drove away.



Elizabeth had the grueling task of breaking the news of

her most beloved daughter’s death to Fran Bennet. Normally

unperturbed by anything, the second Bennet daughter, stared

at the telephone as though it were an enemy that could be

defeated by a sheer battle of wills.

She was woefully mistaken. The telephone would not place

the call itself.

Although she hadn’t seen her mother in almost two years,

Elizabeth wished more than anything at that moment that

Fran was there, living in the same city. She wasn’t though

and there was no point in dwelling on that fact.

The terrible news could only be delivered over the cold,

impersonal telephone line.

“Hello,” a cheery voice said after Elizabeth finally called

the number.

“Mama?” She asked.

“Catey? You sound a little stuffy, darling. Do you have a

cold?”

“Mama, it’s Liz.”

“Lizzy?” Fran asked, confused. Her middle daughter wasn’t

in the habit of calling her. “What do you want? Are you in

trouble?”

The strained relationship between Elizabeth and Fran had

existed for years. Fran blamed Tom Bennet, saying that she

was too much like him. Elizabeth, hurt by the comparison,

had shut her mother out of her life without so much as an

explanation because she thought the reasons were obvious.

“No, I’m not in trouble, but I do have some bad news.

Very bad news.”

There was a silence on the line and Elizabeth braced her-

self.

“Go ahead, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth ignored the childish pet name, as it was point-

less to argue. And irrelevant for arguing about pet names

seemed so pointless now.

“Mama, it’s about Jane,” Elizabeth choked on her sister’s

name. “It’s very bad.”

“Just say it, Lizzy. You have no head for tact. Use that tal-

ent,” Fran admonished.

The tears threatened and she couldn’t fight them any

longer. It was too much. “Jane’s been killed, Mama. She’s

gone.”

There was a pause before she heard Fran scream then the

wailing began. Quietly, Elizabeth hung up the telephone and

went to bed to cry herself to sleep.



Darcy came in from a court appearance to find Elizabeth

in his office. She looked different from the day before, her

skin more pale, her eyes more hollow. She was like a shell-

shocked soldier.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

When she just stared at him, he looked away sheepishly.

“Sorry. Stupid question.”

“Damn right,” she muttered. “But, no. I was on the tele-

phone all night with my mother and younger sister. As if it

weren’t bad enough that Jane is…gone those insipid women

are coming here.”

“They want to grieve,” Darcy pointed out. He took a sip

of coffee. “Did you want some?”

“Sure,” she replied her voice heavy with exhaustion, like an

old man who has taken his last stroll. “I know they want to

grieve and that’s fine. But now comes the part when Mama

begs me to quit working, find a nice man to settle down with.

She’s going to try use Jane to guilt me into quitting and if I

quit I’m no use to my sister.”

“You won’t quit. Whatever your mother tries to do to per-

suade you to leave my case alone, you won’t quit.”

He handed her a mug of coffee and she wrapped her hands

around it, inhaling the thick, black scent.

“How’d you know I take it black?”

“I’m a detective,” he muttered, “Jesus, how’d you ever stay

in business?”

“Touché,” she said, remembering her insult from yesterday.

“So, what have you got besides a whole lot of nothing?”

“The autopsy is scheduled for two o’clock today. The fo-

rensics team is sifting through their results. Right now, it’s

just a waiting game. Except for the purse.”

Elizabeth perked up. “Purse?”

“Jane’s purse was found outside of the apartment. The desk

clerk said somebody turned it in last night before the body

was discovered.”

“Who turned it in?”

“Apparently some little old lady. She said she found it in a

booth at a nearby diner.”

“You think he might have gone out for a cuppajoe after

murdering my sister? That’s big of him.”

Darcy shrugged. “Murder can work up a thirst.”

“We going to the diner?”

“Miss Bennet, if my commander finds out that you’re tag-

ging along with me on this, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Oh, I doubt that, Darcy,” she responded slyly.

“Really, how so?”

“Commander Fitzwilliam and I go way back. He owes me

a favor or two.”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed, anger emanating from them like

heat. “Miss Bennet, I do not appreciate you going over my

head. This is a police matter and you are not police. I under-

stand that you want to get justice for your sister and I want

that too, but you have no rank to pull here.”

“Tell me something, Detective,” Elizabeth began, her

eyes narrowing dangerously. “If your sister were murdered,

wouldn’t you move heaven and earth to find the perp?

Wouldn’t you want to see the bastard fry?”

He was silent for a moment, trying to put himself in her

place. He remembered why he became a cop, why he was sit-

ting behind this desk with a gun and a badge and files full of

the most horrible things that humans could do to one another.

He recalled the look on her face as she lay dying in his arms.

Darcy shook himself, forcing the memories away. It was

so much easier to pretend that it had happened to somebody

else, to pretend that it was a case that he had closed years

ago and didn’t lose sleep over.

“You’re right, Miss Bennet,” he conceded. “But there are

rules here. You can’t go running off half-cocked. I won’t

have you fucking up my case because you’re on a personal

mission.”

“Half-cocked? What a very sad thought,” she commented,

blatantly looking at Darcy’s groin. Then she leaned forward

and met his eyes. “But I have a condition of my own. I’ll

share what I have, but you can’t hold out. It’s an even game

of swap from now on.”

He considered it for a moment, studying the beautiful,

determined woman before him. It was obvious that she was

relentless and that she would be there regardless of what he

did. He had to admit, rather grudgingly, that she was good

at her job. Perhaps she could be of some use.

“Fine,” he yielded, feeling as though she’d physically beaten

him into submission.

Her dark eyes lit up and her lips split into a wide, brilliant

smile. “Shall we go to the diner?”

They left his office, Darcy resisting the urge to ask why his

commanding officer owed her a favor. She seemed like Rick’s

type, with the legs that didn’t stop and the chestnut curls, but

she had too much going on upstairs. Darcy knew that Rick

Fitzwilliam was a fan of stupid women because they didn’t

ask a lot of questions when he left them high and dry.

Elizabeth refused to ride along with him and gave him the

choice of meeting her at the diner or hitching along with her.

Aggravated by her constant demands, Darcy glared at her.

“Must you be such an unmitigated bitch?” He asked.

“And must you act like a childish prick?” She said, her voice

thick and sweet like honey.

He threw his hands up in the air and pulled himself into

the deathtrap she called a vehicle. She drove much the way

she seemed to live, fast and reckless. She seemed to forget

he was in the car as they glided onto a straightaway and she

turned up the radio. She was singing along (rather poorly, in

Darcy’s opinion) when her cell phone rang.

He watched in amazement as she pulled over, turned down

the radio, and answered the phone.

“Bennet,” she stated, her tone crisp and smooth.

After a few short, unemotional sentences, she ended the

call and put the phone back in her pocket. She proceeded to

slip back into traffic, but the radio’s volume remained low.

“Trouble?”

“Well, not for me,” she said simply. “That was one of my

investigators. He wanted to update me on the case he’s work-

ing on.”

“You’re a very hands-on sort of boss.”

Elizabeth snorted. “Not really. This guy just needs a little

extra incentive and he thinks keeping the boss in the loop

is big shit.”

Darcy shook his head, bewildered by her yet again. She

seemed like such a control freak that he couldn’t imagine that

she didn’t have all of her investigators checking in.

“This guy will never get anywhere in my company. He gets

all the crap jobs that can be handled in a week like cheating

spouses, missing dogs. I keep him around because I feel sorry

for him,” Elizabeth added, sensing his bafflement.

They pulled up in front of Sally’s Diner and Elizabeth cut

the engine.

“I don’t suppose that I can persuade you to let me do the

talking?” Darcy asked dryly.

“By all means. I think I’ll just have a look around.”

A half an hour later, they left the diner with less than

they’d gone in with. Sally, an ex-Marine, insisted than she

ran a clean joint and kept ruffians out. She’d pointed repeat-

edly to the sign behind the counter that reserved the right to

refuse service to anybody. She was absolutely no help.

“Well, I guess that means it’s time to start questioning

acquaintances,” Darcy said.

Briefly, Elizabeth’s eyes flared. Darcy caught the look.

“No, Miss Bennet, that does not mean that you may visit

Charles Bingley.”

She only glowered.



People at F

ire

, the magazine where Jane worked as an

editor, were stunned to find out what had happened. Jane

Bennet was beloved here as well. Coworkers openly shed tears

for the “Golden Goddess” as her boss, George Wickham, had

called her when he’d made the announcement that Monday

morning.

Darcy scanned the crowd, watching the group mourn the

girl that everybody seemed to love.

That Sunday, he and Elizabeth had questioned all her

neighbors. They’d called people in her address book that

they thought might have been able to tell them something,

anything. But there was nothing extraordinary about Jane

Bennet except perhaps the number of people devastated by

her death.

He was standing off to the side, waiting to speak with

George about Jane, hoping that maybe he knew of one enemy.

Somebody who had a motive, somebody he could suspect.

All the love people had for Jane was seriously shortening his

suspect list.

Elizabeth had not come with him this morning so that

she could shuffle her caseload at the firm to accommodate

her new personal crusade. Secretly, he was grateful. He knew

how tough she’d had it yesterday when they were question-

ing neighbors. There had been a couple of times when he

thought she might crack.

People were milling about the office now, a low chatter

rolling over the crowd. It reeked of an unbelievable sadness.

The air was oppressive now with sorrow.

George Wickham, a middle-aged man with dark hair just

now going grey at the temples, approached Darcy and led

him to his office.

“I think that was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever

had to do in my life,” he stated, shaking his head.

Darcy took in the expensive suit and the thick gold and

diamond band on the man’s left hand. Both suggested wealth,

which therefore implied that George Wickham did indeed

have things easy.

“How well did you know Miss Bennet?”

“Very well,” George replied, a half-smile passing over his

lips. “She and my wife were close. Gretchen is going to be

destroyed.”

“So you were friends?”

“Yes, of course. Janey would stay at our country house for

a week every summer; my children called her Aunt Janey.”

“Do you know if she were in any kind of trouble?”

George mulled the question over then shook his head. “I

know that she spent a lot of time worrying about that de-

tective sister of hers. Janey was constantly checking on her,

making sure that she was still alive. Personally, I don’t think

she was worth the trouble.”

Darcy’s lip crept up slightly, familiar with the sentiment.

“Why would you say that?”

“What’s her name? Betsy? Beth?”

“Elizabeth,” Darcy supplied.

“Oh, right. Elizabeth,” George said, chewing the name like

it were a piece of distasteful meat. “That woman gave Jane

nothing but grief. Always getting into scrapes and whor-

ing around. I don’t know how many times Jane cried on

Gretchen’s shoulder over her sister.”

“Would Elizabeth have hurt Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked,

knowing the answer already.

“Never,” George replied. “She’s a monster, but she does

love Janey. Everybody loves Janey.” His eyes clouded for a

moment and he swallowed a sob.

“A monster, George? You are so off my Christmas card

list.”

Darcy twisted in his seat to find Elizabeth leaning casually

against the doorway. He felt a lump in his throat as he looked

at her and wondered how much she had heard.

As her cool gaze settled on him, he knew that she knew

what he’d asked.

“Miss Bennet,” George said, standing. He crossed over to

her and offered his hand, which Elizabeth ignored.

She brushed by him and took the seat next to Darcy’s. She

kept her eyes trained on his, trying to will an explanation

from him. Had he honestly considered her a suspect in her

own sister’s death?

George returned to his seat, measuring the tension be-

tween the two people in his office. It was clear that there was

a battle of wills going on and he would have laid money on

Elizabeth Bennet in a heartbeat.

Finally, Elizabeth broke her gaze with Darcy. Glancing at

George, she smiled sweetly.

“How’s Gretchen and the kids?”

“They’re going to take this pretty hard,” George replied.

“Mmm,” Elizabeth nodded, obviously doubting George’s

sincerity.

“Why are you here, Miss Bennet?” George asked.

“I’m here to check on you, George. I know how much Jane

loved your family.”

“Right,” he muttered. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m go-

ing to ask you both to leave now. There are a lot of people in

this office who are genuinely upset over Janey’s death and I

think it would be a good idea to call it a day.”

“You have such a good heart,” Elizabeth sneered. Her voice

was snide.

“Miss Bennet, please leave now,” George said, his eyes nar-

rowed. His voice was pleasant, but it was obviously not a

gentle request for her removed presence. Almost pure hatred

emanated from him like ripples in a pool.

“With pleasure, George.”

Elizabeth left the office without looking at Darcy, but

somehow he knew she wouldn’t be going far. He exchanged

cool pleasantries with George Wickham, noting that George

seemed more than unnerved by Elizabeth’s sudden appear-

ance, and went to find his victim’s vicious sister.

She was standing in the atrium downstairs, sunlight catch-

ing her hair as she blew a cloud of smoke from her lungs.

“That’ll kill you, you know,” Darcy muttered. He consid-

ered pointing out that she was standing beneath a no smoking

sign, but figured that she was already aware of it.

“I quit smoking years ago now I just smoke around ass-

holes.”

“What’s the back story there? I sensed a little bit of ani-

mosity.”

Elizabeth snorted. “You have a gift for understatement,

Detective.” She tossed the unfinished cigarette on the floor

and stamped it out, taking extra care to grind it into the

grout between the marble tiles.

He didn’t say anything and followed her when she headed

out.

“George Wickham is a cad. I slept with him once years ago

before he was married. Then he hired Jane to work here at

Fire. I had no particular regard for him, but he thought he

could use Jane to bully me into something more.”

“Funny. He didn’t even remember your name.”

“Right,” Elizabeth muttered skeptically. “Trust me,

Detective, George Wickham remembers more about me

than my name.”

“I bet your little black book would be a best-seller.

Something like Screwing Chicago’s Rich and Powerful,” he

added, casting her a sidelong glance.

“You’re a bloody joke a minute.”

“What did you come here for today?” He asked.

“I was playing a hunch.” She hesitates

“A hunch?”

Elizabeth stopped and faced him. “Yes, Darcy, a hunch.

Sometimes people like us get those.”

Suddenly, Darcy understood every domestic dispute case

he’d ever investigated as a uniform. He could see what would

make a man hit a woman. She stood before him, her chin

jutting out defiantly, and he knew that a challenge was be-

ing presented to him. She was daring him to take a shot at

her, taunting him into casting the first stone, looking for an

excuse to lash out.

Darcy took a step back and refused to rise to the bait.

“What was your hunch?”

“It’s probably nothing,” she pouted. It was obvious she

was upset that Darcy wouldn’t strike back and was itching

for a fight.

“Tell me.”

“I just wanted to see what George’s reaction to the news

was.”

“So it wasn’t a hunch; it was you baiting George

Wickham.”

“Whatever.” She turned and started for the parking ga-

rage.

“Miss Bennet!” Darcy called after her. “Miss Bennet!”

She stopped, letting him catch up with her, but she didn’t

turn around. When he was next to her, she started walking

again.

“I think you’re too close to work on this case objectively,”

he told her.

“You also think I could’ve killed my own sister,” she hissed

through clenched teeth.

“I don’t think that.”

“Then why ask George the question?”

“Because he opened an avenue and I needed to explore it.

It’s procedure and I’ve had cases where a sibling has been

murdered by another sibling before. It isn’t a crime that is

entirely out of the question.”

She stopped then and glared at him. “When I met you I

knew you were a pretentious asshole, but I also knew you

were a good cop. Good cops are usually pretty decent judges

of character. I would have figured that you would have been

too.”

“I don’t think you killed your sister,” he said again, his

voice tight. “I think that you are walking a fine line between

logic and emotion.”

“Fine,” she receded, “Are you going to the coroner’s office

now?”

Darcy looked at his watch. “Yes,” he said.

“I’ll meet you there.”

She was gone before he could protest.

0

Chapter Three

E

lizabeth knew that one of the hardest things she

ever had to do was right on the other side of the

grey metal door. It would be harder than watch-

ing her father walk down the path in front of their

house for the last time. It would be harder than telling her

mother she had enrolled in the police academy. It would be

harder than admitting that she’d made a mistake when she’d

abandoned the idea of being a police officer.

She’d already identified Jane’s body via a video monitor the

morning they’d brought in Bingley, but she’d been in shock

and running on adrenaline. She’d seen many dead people,

had sat in on a few autopsies, but she’d never been present

when it was somebody she knew.

“You don’t have to do this,” Darcy said.

She felt his hand on the small of her back as if he were

trying to guide her away from the door.

“You know I do,” she whispered. “She won’t be gone for

me until I see what he did to her.”

“Elizabeth…”

She dismissed his protests with a wave and put her hand

on the door. She took a deep breath and turned the knob.

He followed her in, and she heard his breath change. He

didn’t seem to be inhaling normally. She smiled to herself.

A tough cop like Darcy didn’t like the odor of curious de-

mise.

Turning slightly, Elizabeth watched the doctor hand Darcy

a surgical mask. He took it gratefully and slipped it over his

head.

“Thanks, Annie.”

“Not a problem, Will. I know that you hate it here.”

“It isn’t because of you,” Darcy replied. His voice was genial

and warm and his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

Elizabeth looked down at her shoes, feeling like an in-

truder.

“Miss Bennet?” Anne asked. Her large blue eyes were filled

with empathy. Elizabeth had seen the assistant medical ex-

aminer in the coroner’s office before, but had never talked

to her.

Anne DeBourgh wasn’t pretty in the classical sense of the

word. Her hair was a rather dull brown and pulled back se-

verely from her face in a tight ponytail. The skin of her face

was pale and make-up free, but she had a soft, ethereal glow

about her that made her seem sorely out of place among the

dead in this room.

“Hello, Dr. DeBourgh,” Elizabeth said. Her voice hadn’t

regained its full strength so she smiled a little to make up

for it.

“Please, call me Anne. Dr. DeBourgh is my father.”

Elizabeth’s smile widened a little. She liked this unassum-

ing woman with the pretty eyes and felt a kinship with her.

They had both chosen male dominated professions. Anne

DeBourgh obviously had a steel core inside that small, deli-

cate body.

“Thank you, Anne.”

Darcy took over at that moment, nudging past Elizabeth

gently. She sensed that he was trying to protect her from the

pending brutality. Every bone in her body wanted to be mad

at him for that. She was more comfortable with anger, but

she couldn’t be angry; Darcy hadn’t realized he’d done it.

Anne looked at Darcy then threw a glance in Elizabeth’s

direction, her hesitation evident.

“It’s okay, Anne. We’re working together on this case.”

Elizabeth felt her eyes squeeze shut tight when Anne went

to remove the sheet, and found she couldn’t open them. She

heard Darcy’s footsteps follow the doctor’s.

“The cause of death was obvious,” Anne said, suddenly

sounding cooly professional. “The knife you’re looking for

is your typical kitchen butcher knife, blade five to six inches

long, one and a half inches wide. The perp sliced her stomach

first. Poor thing was covered in blood. It was all over: abdo-

men, thighs, pelvis, and underneath the thighs. Looks like

she was sitting when it was done. I think you’re looking for

a southpaw because the gash was made from right to left.

“The stab wounds were clean, so the blade would have

been straight, not serrated. All four wounds were in front.

Three punctured the lungs, one damaged the heart. She has

defensive marks on her hands and forearms. We found those

after we cleaned her hands up.

“The trauma to the head looks like it was done with a shoe,

maybe steel-toed. I would wager that she was dead when her

skull was kicked in.

“Besides that, I’ve found some interesting things on the

body.”

“He was messy?” Darcy’s voice sounded slightly hopeful.

“A little sloppy,” Anne agreed. “I found some skin under-

neath her nails. It could be who were looking for.”

“Could be?” Elizabeth said, forcing her eyes open. The steel

door beneath her palms had gone from cool to slick with

sweat in an instant. She felt the metal’s chill through her

clothes, but the area beneath her hands felt like fire.

“I don’t have the lab results back yet. We’ll have to see if

they belong to Jane or if they’re somebody else’s. My guess

is that they could have gotten there when she was fighting

him or her off.”

Elizabeth was stunned. She hadn’t considered that the

person who had killed her sister was a female. She was defi-

nitely more comfortable with the idea of a man being the

murderous prick. She wasn’t sure why.

She’d killed people in her line of work. It wasn’t something

she was proud of, but if it came down to herself or a perp, the

perp would be the one going home in a body bag. Elizabeth

tried not to implement self-defense very often though; too

much damn paperwork.

“And here, look at this,” Anne was saying as Elizabeth

snapped back to reality. She held up one of Jane’s hands,

now sheet white. “If you look closely, you can see marks on

her wrist. She was tied up at some point. I found some silk

fibers embedded in her skin.”

The doctor bit her lip and took a deep breath. It was an-

other moment before she spoke.

“She has traces of latex in her vagina,” she said quietly.

“She was raped?” Elizabeth sagged against the wall, sud-

denly understanding that this was too much, too fast. It wasn’t

enough that he had killed her. He had to rape her to.

“Unlikely. Psychiatry isn’t my field, but in my experience

rapists generally don’t take the time to put on a condom. That

and the vaginal trauma wasn’t consistent with rape. ”

Jane was under that sheet. She wasn’t breathing. Her heart

wasn’t beating. There would be no more smiles. There would

be no more hugs. There would never be another night where

ten messages from her concerned big sister would be flashing

on her answering machine. No. It couldn’t be true because

Jane was passionate about so many things. How could that

passion just be turned off?

She felt the tears scald her eyes like acid and the room

began to run like a drenched watercolor painting. Then she

felt a firm grip gently lifting her chin and Darcy’s face swam

before her. Blinking away the stinging sensation in her eyes,

she focused on his full and perfect mouth. The mask had

been pulled down, hanging from his neck and he was star-

ing at her intently.

“Elizabeth. Please answer me. Was Jane seeing anybody?”

“I, I didn’t think so.”

“You don’t know for sure?”

“You would think she would have told me. Jane wasn’t like

me. She always let emotion get in the way of a good fuck.”

She noticed that Darcy’s bottom lip caught between his

teeth as she studied him, but his eyes held a smile that his

mouth tried repress. Just as quickly as it appeared it was gone

and he was back to business.

“Her diary didn’t say anything about a boyfriend. In fact,

she wrote mostly about you.”

“Not surprising,” she replied, dryly. “Sometimes Jane was

so worried about my life that I wondered what she did in

her own. She always focused on me and not herself when

we were together.”

Darcy glanced at Anne. “Is there anything else?”

“I found bruising that would lead me to believe that Miss

Bennet was tied up more than once. I also found rope fibers

on her ankles along with the silk fibers. Perhaps this was a

crime of passion. Started innocently enough with silk, ended

badly with coarse, industrial strength rope?”

The description of everything that had been done to Jane

told Elizabeth that her beloved sister had drowned in her own

blood and had been tortured before that in the most brutal

way. She felt the air escape her own lungs and wondered if

she could drown on pain and hatred. With her eyes closed

again in a desperate attempt to block the images invading her

brain, she swung around, feeling blindly for the door latch.

She fled with the bitter taste of bile rising in her throat.



“She’s got brass balls, that one,” Anne said. Her voice was

filled with admiration. She smiled as she turned to put Jane

Bennet’s corpse back in the coldbox.

“That she does,” Darcy agreed. “Thank you, Annie, for

being such a charming hostess.”

“Oh, Will dear, you know you’re welcome in my house

anytime.”

“I’ll see you next week for lunch, right?”

“Same bat-time, same bat-channel,” she replied, ushering

him out the door.

He waited for Elizabeth outside the bathroom. She came

out and glanced at him with tired, red eyes. Without a word

he led her to the water cooler, dropped her hand, pulled a cup

out of the dispenser on the wall, and filled it for her.

“You’re going to be okay, Elizabeth. I am amazed you were

able to stay in there as long as you did.”

“It’s my job.”

He gave her a gentle smile. “Not your job. It’s your con-

viction.”

She shrugged, her shoulders hanging limply.

“When did you eat last?”

“Yesterday evening.”

“Let go outside. We’ll get some air and, if you’re good,

maybe I’ll buy you something to eat.”

“I don’t think I can eat anything, Detective.” Her voice

was barely a notch above a whisper.

“You need to get something on your stomach. Don’t tell

me that you just went into the bathroom for no reason. Your

face was a nasty shade of green when you left that room.”

Much as his had been at his first autopsy, he recalled. The

smell of antiseptic death made him ill to this day. It was one

of the worst parts of the job, and he was thankful that Anne

knew him so well.

Elizabeth had handled it better than had when he’d gone

into to identify that body all those years ago. Today he’d

watched the color drain from her face like rain slipping down

a rooftop, but she’d held fast and strong and it was impres-

sive.

They were outside the building now. Even inside the city,

with all the noise and cars belching exhaust, it was clear and

bright, a late spring day in Chicago with the air sweeping in

from the lake making everything fresh.

Her cheeks instantly gained color and he was pleased.

There was a street vendor cart parked on the corner. He

took her by the elbow and pulled her over to it.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.” Her voice was dark and heavy.

“You must eat, Elizabeth.”

“Fries then.”

He ordered her fries and a dog for himself and paid the

vendor. Silently, they took seats on a nearby bench.

He studied her and was surprised when her lips twisted

into a tiny smile.

“Lame date, Detective.”

“What?”

“You always buy a girl refreshment after taking her to see

a corpse? Your dating skills need improvement.”

“Well, I’ll make a note of that when I take you down to the

drunk tank to be heckled on our second date,” he replied.

She laughed. It was a slow, tired sound that seemed brittle

once it hit the air. “I think I’ll have to pass on that then.”

“Your loss.” He shrugged casually.

She ate half of her fries and offered the rest to him. She

stared off into space while he watched and wondered what

was going through her mind.

She fascinated Darcy. He had never met anybody like

her before in his life. It was almost like she was in search of

something, but had no idea. She was strong as steel, but was

in desperate need of somebody to take care of her. He knew

that it had been Jane’s job. Who would take over now?

“I need to go,” Elizabeth said finally.

He walked her to her car, not sure how she was. She didn’t

speak, but the look on her face left a bad taste in his mouth.

The pale ghostly white had returned to her cheeks, and her

mouth had a grim determination to it. It was an unsettling

combination.

“Miss Bennet,” he started.

She held her keys just above the lock on her vehicle’s

door.

“Call me anything but that, Detective. Bennet’s fine. Just

drop the damn ‘miss.’” She sounded tired, used up.

He remembered having the same feelings that she’d just

experienced and his heart went out to her. He found himself

wanting to hold her and tell her that everything was going

to be all right. Most unnerving, though, was his urge to kiss

the scowl off her face.

He shook himself.

“You and the doctor seem friendly.”

Darcy frowned. “We went to college together.” He sud-

denly had a bad taste in his mouth, uncomfortable with her

taking notice of his ease around Anne.

“You ever date?” She folded her arms across her chest, ap-

parently forgetting that she’d been about to leave.

He found himself parroting her gesture and was more than

a little disconcerted by it. He immediately shoved his hands

in his pockets. “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”

“Testy. Must have been a bad breakup.” Her eyes nar-

rowed.

“We never dated, Miss Bennet.”

Her arms unfurled and for just a moment Darcy thought

her fists were going to pummel the hell out of him. “Dammit,

Darcy. I told you not to call me that.”

He threw his hands up in frustration. “Fine. If you need

me for anything, you know where to find me.”

Darcy didn’t wait until she was in her car, but turned and

stalked away. He had never met anybody who could change

his mood more quickly than Elizabeth Bennet. A moment

ago he had felt sorry for her and had wanted to comfort her,

now he just wanted to get away from her.

He wasn’t sure why talking about his relationship with

Anne seemed like a bad idea. He wasn’t sure why he had got-

ten upset over the notion that Elizabeth seemed so offhanded

in her comments to him about dating.

Most disturbing of all, though, was that he wasn’t even

sure why he cared.



Elizabeth climbed into the old Jeep feeling as though

she’d just gone toe to toe with Satan himself. She’d been

trapped in that room, frozen by terror and grief. She’d got-

ten ill, something that rarely happened to her. She’d been

coddled by a man that she didn’t want to think poorly of

her, and then, in a tiny fit of jealousy that she wasn’t ready

to consider, she had made him angry so that he did think

poorly of her.

And the day wasn’t over yet. She still had to go to the

airport to meet her mother and sister.

Choking back a sob of defeat, she started her vehicle and

headed for the one place where she knew she could forget

about things for a while.

She got caught in traffic while trying to exit the parking

lot. Elizabeth slammed her fist into the horn with a brutal

repetition that seemed to horrify other drivers around her.

They let her out before anybody else just to be rid of her.

She wondered how long Fran and Catherine would wait

for her before they ended up getting a cab to their hotel.

“Well, there’s the bonus. At least you don’t have to share

your apartment with them.”

She could just say that she got hung up on a lead. She

wouldn’t have to say anything else; any talk of her job and

both Fran and Catherine shut their ears to any more infor-

mation. Elizabeth had avoided many conversations over the

years using precisely that technique.

The second time traffic came to a stand still, she could see

her destination just down the block. What should have been

a five-minute trip had become an hour-long ordeal. Elizabeth,

frustrated more about life than the cars stopped in front of

her, began screaming at the top her lungs. She wailed until

her throat was raw.

Finally, she pulled into the parking garage of Reynolds,

LTD and slipped into a space reserved for some higher-up

that was probably taking a long lunch to boff his secretary. In

Elizabeth’s line of work she’d seen that infidelity was cheap

only if you had a bad divorce lawyer. Women were just as

bad as men were; both genders equally interested in sex with

people whom they hadn’t uttered vows to.

Quietly, she exited her Jeep and made her way to the pri-

vate executive elevator that went directly to the penthouse.

She slipped her key into the slot, letting it take her to the top

floor of the thirty-story building. When she exited, she was

in a plush foyer decorated in varying shades of blue, making

you feel as though you were standing in the sky, looking at

downtown Chicago.

She threw her leather jacket and keys onto a chair in the

living room and headed in the opposite direction. She left

her shirt in the doorway between the dining room and the

hallway and her pants were discarded near the end of the

hall. She left her shoes and socks neatly arranged at the

bedroom door.

The bedroom was light and airy and warm, just the op-

posite of Elizabeth at that moment. She hurled herself onto

the pearl white coverlet, letting the softness of the featherbed

envelope her. This was a place free of memories of Jane. She

had never been here, had never sat on any of the furniture

or drank wine from any of the Waterford goblets.

She didn’t realize that she’d drifted off to sleep until she

found herself wrapped in Ben’s powerful embrace, his voice

whispering soothing words into her hair. Her cheeks felt wet

and she cursed herself for being a simpering fool.

“Hey, wait a minute.” She pulled back and wiped her

cheeks. “How the hell am I supposed to seduce you when

you’re taking pity on me?”

“You scared me, Beth.” He ran a hand through his sandy

blond hair. “Obviously, I knew it was you. I’m glad you

own that leather jacket. Otherwise it might have been a bit

awkward for Sharon to come in for the drapes. She forgot

her key again.”

“You need to fire that flighty dame.”

Ben chuckled. “I can’t believe you actually used the word

‘dame.’”

She shrugged.

“Why were you crying? Must have been one hell of a night-

mare.” Concern flickered in his green eyes.

“I did have a nightmare. The last few days have been

tough.”

“Why didn’t you call me? You know how fabulous I am

at relieving stress.”

She gave him a faint smile. “That’s why I’m here now.”

She reached for the buttons of his shirt and undid them to

slip it back from his well-muscled chest. She lifted her face

for a kiss and was rewarded duly as the tip of Ben’s tongue

slid into her mouth, teasing her as he was prone to do.

“Beth,” he murmured as his hands ran up her back. “You

have me at a loss. Why is it you can get whatever you want

from me whenever you want?”

She dragged her teeth over one of his nipples and felt his

body’s unsteady reaction. “Because I do things like this,”

she whispered against his stomach, letting her breath tickle

his flesh.

Her hand encircled him, finding him ready for her. That

was one of Ben’s major selling points, his willingness to

please.

She trailed her tongue up his length. His body tensed

slightly with pleasure then relaxed when she kissed him be-

neath his belly button. She ran her hands up his chest then

covered his mouth with her own once again.

“I didn’t have to persuade you.”

“Darling, you never do.”

He rolled one of her taut pink nipples between his thumb

and forefinger and she saw the delight he took in hearing her

moan. She let him settle her back into the coverlet.

Ben tucked one finger into her wet, swelling folds, stroking

her tenderly. Moments later, he added another, petting her

with soft strokes while sucking gently at her breasts.

This was the forgetfulness that she had sought, Elizabeth

thought blissfully as she opened her legs further to accommo-

date his sweet touches. This was what she needed to remind

her who she was, to get her through the day.

Ben’s touches and kisses were honest and determined and

she was desperate for him to erase the day away for her.

He took a damp fingertip, traced her swollen nipple then

pulled it back into his mouth. He stroked her thighs, lifted

her bottom slightly, and slid into her drenched canal. Ben

pushed in halfway, knowing that she was more than ready

for him.

“You’re a bloody tease, Reynolds,” she scowled, looking at

him from half-closed lids.

He rotated his hips and gave her a half an inch more.

Elizabeth tried to raise her hips and blew out an angry

breath when he held her down. With practiced ease, he gave

her the rest in a slow, torturous fashion. He’d fill her, then

withdraw almost to the point of leaving her completely only

to impale her again with arduous repetition. Soon she was

squirming under his firm grasp.

“If you don’t,” she threatened as another loud moan burst

from her lips.

He released his grasp of her hips and she sprang up to meet

him, sheathing him fully.

Their bodies were hurled together by a force of passion

greater than both of them combined. Elizabeth, forgetting

everything at that moment but her own intense pleasure,

relished the force of the orgasm stealing her away. When it

was over, Ben rolled over to the side of her while she stared

up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath.

He put his hand on her belly, stroking her. She looked at

him gratefully.

“Why are you here, Beth?”

“My sister was murdered.”

She said it plainly as if she were telling him that it was

raining outside. Ben cupped her face in his large hand. She

kissed his palm and gave him the smallest smile.

He didn’t ask the particulars, for which she was relieved,

and when Elizabeth moved to make love to him again, Ben

didn’t deny her.

Chapter Four

E

lizabeth left while Ben slept. She had seen that look

in his eyes again when he’d kissed her good night.

It would be just another problem, one she didn’t

want to deal with. Not on top of everything else.

It was quite late when she finally entered her apartment.

What she wanted more than anything was a cup of tea and

a hot bath. She debated a few moments before playing the

messages that were flashing angrily on her answering ma-

chine. Elizabeth rolled her eyes heavenward and thanked the

powers that be that she’d had the foresight to not give her

mother her cell phone number.

“Elizabeth, it’s your mother. I hope you have a very good

excuse as to why you’ve stranded your baby sister and I at

this terrible airport.”

There were four more messages from Fran, all of them

using various guilt trip lingo that Elizabeth had learned to

ignore years ago. There was a message from her secretary and

a message from Charlotte Lucas, a fellow private investigator

and friend, who had just heard about Jane.

She was in the kitchen, intent on making her pot of tea and

ignoring the messages for the rest of the night, when William

Darcy’s voice filled the still air in her apartment.

“Bennet,” the message began. He emphasized her name

then paused. “Bennet, the forensics team has gotten back

with me with the findings from Jane’s apartment. I’ll be at

my office.”

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, since it was

closer than the phone in the living room, and punched in

the number to Darcy’s desk. She was slightly amused by how

quickly she’d come to memorize it.

“Detective Darcy.” His sounded gruff and tired.

“It’s Bennet.”

“I see you finally got my message.”

She ignored the pointedness of his comment. She didn’t

want to tell him where she’d been or remark that it was none

of his business.

“I did.”

“Care to meet me over at Jane’s?” His tone implied that he

was still irked at her.

She held her breath a moment. The wounds that Anne

had described would have left behind enormous amounts

of blood. Would she be able to deal with that visual when

she’d performed so spectacularly earlier? She wasn’t sure if

she could have another go with the peptic fireworks.

A brief image of Jane, smiling and beautiful, flooded her

mind, making the decision for her. She owed it to her sister

after all.

“I’ll be there.”

Elizabeth slipped into her bedroom to check herself in the

full-length mirror. Her violet oxford shirt’s collar was still

stiff, but there were harsh creases at the bottom. The crinkled

fabric of her black trousers wasn’t as noticeable. She tried

smoothing the material, but the blemishes stayed.

Finally giving up, Elizabeth shrugged. She didn’t really

have time to change, even though Ben’s scent clung to her

as it always did. It permeated her clothes and reminded her

how wonderful his skin had felt, slick and hot, beneath her

fingertips.

She decided against changing because she wasn’t ready

to relinquish that memory just yet. It was as though Ben’s

strong aroma was a talisman against the horror that she

knew was inevitable.

She left her room then, grabbing her keys and wallet, and

headed into the hallway. She locked her door and looked at

her watch. It was just after one in the morning.

“Elizabeth dear, is that you?”

She turned toward the sound of Rosalie Henry’s voice

across the hall. The old woman had lived in the building for

years and was the only person on the hall that would speak

to Elizabeth.

“Yes, Rosalie, it’s me. Did you need anything?”

Her elderly neighbor being awake at the late hour didn’t

shock her. Very often Rosalie slept during the day only to

rise in the early evening. She claimed it was a schedule that

she’d grown used to as a showgirl.

“If you could pick up some milk for me I would appreciate

it,” she chirped. “And a bottle of rum.”

Elizabeth smiled warmly in spite of Rosalie’s blindness.

“Of course, but I may not be back for awhile.”

“No bother. Just use your key and leave it.”

“Okay.” Elizabeth watched Rosalie slip back into the shad-

ows of her apartment and waited until she heard the lock

slide home.

Over the years Rosalie Henry had become a surrogate

grandmother of sorts to Elizabeth. There wasn’t a thing

they didn’t know about one another. Rosalie was aware of

Elizabeth’s penchant for rich, dangerous men and fast cars;

Elizabeth knew every detail of Rosalie’s past as an Atlantic

City showgirl.

She bit the inside of her cheek, tears biting at her eyes.

She had no idea what to tell Rosalie about Jane.



Darcy arrived at Jane’s apartment and let himself in.

Knowing the extent of the violence in the bedroom dimin-

ished the cheerfulness of the living room, but had he been

ignorant he would have thought it would be a pleasant place

to pass the time.

The living room was large with oversized furniture done in

various pale yellows. The carpet was a warm, thick eggshell

that made each step seem like a bounce.

He imagined Jane, with her long yellow locks, sitting in

this sunny room. A golden goddess in her gilded palace. There

was always a moment in a murder case when he wondered

what the victim had been like, wondered who they were.

There was more to Jane Bennet than her incredible sweet-

ness. There was definitely more. The trick was figuring out

how much more there was.

Like Elizabeth, Jane had an antique upright piano against

the far wall. It looked slightly out of place in the ultra-mod-

ern surroundings, but it seemed to illustrate a bond between

the siblings. And, like Elizabeth’s piano, Jane’s was topped

off with photographs.

One in particular struck Darcy. It was a picture of the

sisters. Jane was beaming from the paper, her face the very

model of golden perfection. She was dressed in a white silk

gown with a high waist that was tied off with a pale blue satin

ribbon, which matched the two pools of sky that made up her

eyes. A pearl on a thin golden chain dipped delicately at her

throat and her long blonde hair was set into tight, looping

braids that made up an intricate bun on the top of her head.

It shimmered like a crown of spun gold.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, was a dark seduction next

to the fairy lightness of her sister. Her chestnut colored curls

dripped down her neck from a mass of hair secured by a

jet-black silk ribbon. Diamonds glittered like ice in the sun

at her ears and neck. Her frock was rich black velvet that

dipped dangerously low, teasing the eye with the promise

of the soft flesh barely concealed within. Her dark eyes

flashed, and, frozen in that moment, Darcy could tell that

she knew the photographer was thinking about more than

his zoom lens.

The pewter frame was a heavy ivy design with a smooth

rectangle centered above the photo, engraved with the words

of Lord Byron: “Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all

that’s best of dark and bright….” It was a perfect description of

the innocence and temptation that the picture presented. He

wondered aloud who had thought of putting that particular

quote one the frame. It was hard to believe that the two Miss

Bennets were of the same blood.

“I did,” Elizabeth said. “Jane hated Byron. She thought

he was drab.”

He started slightly, looking up from the portrait. She was

rumpled, as if she had just rolled out of bed. Darcy tried to

quiet the nagging question of whose bed, but it was tough

when her nipples pressed stubbornly against the thin mate-

rial of her blouse.

She strolled up casually and glanced down at the photo-

graph that he held. He relinquished it when she reached for

it. She smiled slightly.

“This was taken in Venice. We went with Ben and he took

us to this ball. I can’t remember the name of it, but it was

during Carnival. There were so many balls that week, but

this was our favorite. We didn’t go in costume.

“Ben had the photographer take this on one of the balco-

nies. It was so beautiful. There were a million stars in the sky

that night. There was water lapping at the steps. We were in

a palace that was built on one of the canals.

“Jane met a count that proposed marriage to her just mo-

ments after their introduction.” She laughed at the memory

then let the smile slip away as the present replaced the past.

“We lived the fairy tale for a week. Alas, you can see there

was no happily ever after.”

She brushed passed him to return the photo to its place

on the piano. Without thinking he inhaled deeply as her

body made contact with his. She smelled of cologne and

perspiration and sex. He felt a tiny spark of jealousy and

quickly squelched it.

“You have similar pianos,” he commented.

“I have my grandmother’s piano. Jane has Aunt Maeve’s.

They were twins. When they died, we took the pianos and

kept the photograph tradition going. Grandmama and Aunt

Maeve added new photos to the pianotop whenever there

was a special occasion. Granddad eventually built shelves for

them above the pianos to accommodate them all.

“Jane and I don’t have that many pictures, but she always

says give us time.” She stopped suddenly. “I mean said.”

“No, you didn’t, but that’s okay.”

Darcy felt the anger that she’d previously inspired fall away.

He decided that he didn’t want to be mad at her. She’d been

through too much. He studied her as she took a deep breath

and surveyed the room.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in this room.

I’ve always hated the yellow. Too damn bright.”

“It doesn’t seem like your style. It does seem like Jane’s

though.”

“You would have loved her.”

“I’m sure. It seems everybody did.”

“Except one person.” Bitterness was thick as it dripped into

the happy room. “What did the reports say?”

“It appears as if our murder weapon came from this apart-

ment. The largest knife is gone from the butcher block.”

Darcy was cautious of the look that had been in her eye

before she’d turned back to examine the collection of fam-

ily moments on the antique instrument. He suddenly felt as

though he should be very careful with her. It was too soon.

He should be working on this by himself. “Listen, Elizabeth,

perhaps this isn’t a good idea.”

She whirled on him, anger flaring in her eyes. “I’ll tell

you what wasn’t a good idea! It wasn’t a good idea to kill my

sister! It wasn’t a good idea to piss me off!”

“I’m worried about you.”

She took a step back as if she were suddenly frightened

of him.

“Don’t be,” she replied too quickly.

He nodded slightly, conceding to her to avoid the inevi-

table hurt feelings and flaring tempers that always seemed

to be simmering just beneath the surface when they encoun-

tered one another. “Can you face the crime scene?”

She hesitated a moment, blanching as she considered it. He

took in every nuance, aching to take away the pain.

“I would say that you don’t have to but I’d be wasting my

breath.”

“Yes, you would.”

He turned and heard her follow as they walked towards

Jane’s bedroom.



Elizabeth’s cell phone rang as the bedroom door

grew closer. She paused, wondering if she should answer it.

Glancing at the caller ID, she decided that it couldn’t hurt.

She was stalling. She knew it, but she didn’t care. Regardless

of what she said, she wasn’t ready to face the place where

she’d been robbed of the opportunity of ever being able to

laugh with Jane again.

“Hello,” she answered, letting her voice warm to Ben.

“You weren’t here when I woke up. Not very nice you,

Beth darling.”

“I couldn’t stay.” Not after seeing your heart in your eyes.

“You never can. Why do I keep letting you in?”

“You don’t. I have a key.”

“Very true,” Ben agreed. His breath gave a hitch. “Do you

need anything?”

Elizabeth bit her lip. She’d already gotten what she needed

from him, and knew that she could go back to him whenever

she pleased. She’d known ages ago that Ben was attached

to her, and, although she liked him a great deal, she could

do without him. She kept going back to him out of greed.

Quite frankly, Ben Reynolds was the best fuck Elizabeth

had ever had. Before Ben, Elizabeth had never screamed

herself hoarse during sex. After Ben, she’d had to invest in

throat lozenges.

“No.”

“When are the services?”

“Mama and Catherine are in town. I’ll have to let you

know because Mama commandeered making the arrange-

ments from me.”

“Doesn’t trust you?”

“Never did.”

“Don’t forget to call me, Beth. I want to be there.”

“I won’t, Ben. Talk to you later.”

She ended the call before Ben spilled his guts to her.

Elizabeth reminded herself that she didn’t need the added

complications of Ben being enamored of her.

Shoving the phone back in the pocket of her trousers, she

glanced up to find Darcy watching her. He had a curious

look on his face; he appeared to be struggling to keep his face

blank while his eyes flared with some unknown emotion.

“What?” She asked feeling disquieted by his gaze.

“Nothing,” he muttered and turned to enter the bed-

room.

Elizabeth forced her feet to take the thirteen remaining

steps that separated her from Jane’s bedroom. She watched

Darcy disappear through the French doors that served as

the entrance into the room. Taking several quick breaths to

steady her, Elizabeth hesitated slightly at the threshold. She

closed her eyes for a moment then talked herself into taking

that final step.

The walls of the room were covered in pale peach silk pat-

terned with tiny blossoms. The wall of windows was hung

with filmy drapes in crème chiffon. The carpet was as thick

as it was in the living room, but was a shade darker than the

peach that covered the walls.

“This room has always reminded me of every teenage girl’s

bedroom you’ve ever seen in old movies. It’s so frilly. Makes

me gag,” Elizabeth muttered, intentionally keeping her eyes

on Darcy’s back.

He hadn’t gone any deeper in the room. She wondered if

he had been waiting on her. In any case, she was thankful.

He was blocking a full view of the room.

Suddenly, he turned around, meeting her eyes and hold-

ing them.

“I don’t want to do this to you, not yet. It’s too soon.”

She started to protest, but thought better of it. She had just

taken twenty minutes to enter the bedroom, even though it

had seemed like much longer. Keeping her eyes steady with

his, she nodded.

“If you tell anybody that I admitted you were right I’ll

shoot you,” she warned.

“My lips are sealed.”

He walked towards her and put his hands on her shoulders.

Then he gently pushed her backward through the French

doors. When she was through, he winked at her, made his

own backward step into the bedroom, and closed the door.

He left Elizabeth to wait while he did what she couldn’t. On

the other side of that door, she knew Darcy was seeing Jane’s

death in his mind’s eye.



Before he focused on the task at hand, Darcy replayed

Elizabeth’s telephone conversation over in his head. Her voice

had been warm, but neutral. He guessed that the Ben she’d

talked to was the man she reeked of.

He had tried calling her several times after he’d gotten the

forensics report, but had debated with himself about actually

leaving a message. When he finally did, he felt slightly guilty,

knowing that he should investigate the scene by himself.

With every new pass his finger made over the numbers, Darcy

had wondered where the hell she’d gone. He fought with

himself to not call the cell phone number she’d given him

and was losing when the office telephone finally rang.

He noticed her voice was smoother now, more like thick,

velvety honey than thin, tinkling glass. He pondered what

could have affected such a change in so short a time.

When he first saw her, the thought that she seemed more

relaxed had crossed his mind. It was when he inhaled her,

expecting green apples, that he knew. The green apple scent

he expected was faint, but the smell of another man was

nearly overpowering.

Jealousy flared inside him like a white-hot flame before

he shoved it aside.

He could admit that he was attracted to her. Like most of

the men in Chicago, he mused. But he couldn’t allow himself

to act on it. She was, for better or worse, his partner on this

case. And she was proving to be a pain in his ass.

He forced the thoughts of her rumpled, used appearance

and musky scent aside to glance around the crime scene.

The room didn’t look frilly now. It had been the stage for a

brutal, tragic play.

The set pieces were being dismantled and it was a tomb

for the drama of the dead. The bed, which had been a

twist of creamy satin sheets the night he’d first come here,

was bare. The sheets had been taken to the lab for DNA

testing.

The vanity looked untouched. Perfume bottles and lip-

sticks were still neatly aligned, belying the violence that had

permeated the room. However, a few feet in front of the mir-

rored table was the now brown bloodstain that had drenched

the carpet. She had bled so very much. The blemish had

spread from her body and surrounded her. Darcy was glad

Elizabeth couldn’t see this.

He closed his eyes, trying to picture what happened that

night. Had Jane’s lover taken the kinky play just a bit too

far? Had they made love once or twice before he went mad

and destroyed the girl that everybody loved? Or did he have

every intention of killing her from the very beginning?

He surveyed the room, moving about as he committed

every detail to memory. He slipped passed the stained carpet

and stood next to the vanity. She’d fallen away from the chair.

She’d had rope burns on her ankles. She would have had to

been tied to something.

He bent to examine the area around the heavy white pine

bench. Flecks of blood were splattered on the legs of the

chair. They had probably been made while she struggled in

the pool of blood. Splashes of blood had been found on the

chest of drawers too.

There were tiny, almost invisible, abrasions on the legs

of the seat closest to the bloodstain. She had struggled like

hell to get away.

Just to make sure that they hadn’t missed anything, Darcy

began pulling open drawers. They were neatly arranged;

sweaters, exercise clothing, a lingerie drawer that housed

things that would leave any man with a pulse drooling. He

went to close the drawer and felt a slight, subtle difference

in its weight. He opened it again to make sure that it wasn’t

his imagination. It wasn’t.

Carefully, he pushed aside Jane Bennet’s silk, satin, and

lace to notice that the drawer was more shallow than the

other drawers in the chest, even though it was the same size.

He gave the bottom a quick rap. It was hollow.

In one swift motion, Darcy pulled the drawer from the

chest. He heard whatever was concealed within the false

bottom knocking about even as he tried to limit the move-

ment of the drawer.

Elizabeth was standing at the piano, staring at photo-

graphs as he exited the room. She looked up when she heard

him. He saw confusion flicker across her face.

“I found something,” he barked.

Elizabeth snapped to attention and led him into the kitch-

en where Darcy gingerly laid the drawer on the spacious

countertop. They stared at it silently for a few moments.

“What’s going on?” Her voice was quiet and full of un-

certainty.

“This has a compartment in it. I’m guessing your sister had

some secrets of her own after all.” He glanced at her then

leaned forward to inspect the hiding place.

He examined it closely, looking for any sign of a mecha-

nism that would open it. His long fingers touched every

molecule as they glided over the smooth wood planes.

After what seemed like hours, Darcy finally found an ab-

normality in the handle of the drawer. He tinkered with it,

deciding that the mechanism was a push latch and released

it. The bottom of the drawer popped up revealing a pair of

black kid gloves, a program to a performance of Aida, and

a familiar blue book.

“Another diary,” Darcy said. “Jane kept a second diary.”

He looked back at Elizabeth, who just stared at the drawer

before her and the book lying in the bottom of it. She looked

scared. No, not scared. Terrified.

“There anything in this diary that concerns you that you

don’t want me knowing?” He asked. He kept his voice cool

and even, hoping that whatever secrets she had were hers

and hers alone.

“I didn’t even know about it,” she whispered.

He made a move to pick it up, but she rushed him, placing

her body between him and the book.

“Could you be the star of both Jane Bennet’s diaries,

Elizabeth?” The question sounded more vicious to his ears

than he intended.

Her eyes narrowed into a fierce glare. “I don’t have any-

thing to hide, Detective. You don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me.”

“If you open that book and there are things in there that

I don’t know about…” Her voice trailed off as she threw

a terrified glance at the blue book. “Jane will be different.

Somebody I don’t know.”

She sounded so lost that he couldn’t help pulling her into

his arms. He felt her body collapse against his as if her bones

were suddenly gone. Her fingers spread over his chest then

gathered bunches of his cashmere sweater into white-knuck-

led fists. He found himself stroking her hair.

“It’s okay, Elizabeth,” he said, his lips very close to her ear.

“She’ll always be the sister you loved. Nothing can change

that.”

Much too quickly, she regained herself and pushed away

from him. She took a deep breath, looking at him squarely.

“You take the book. You read the book. You don’t tell me a

damn thing about the book. Understand?”

“What if it gives us a lead?”

Her shoulders sagged. “Fuck.”

“You can’t avoid this unless you stop working on the case,”

he said quietly. Now, with the feel of her in his arms so fresh,

he knew that her walking away would be the best thing for

them both, but, God, he didn’t want her to go.

“You know that isn’t going to happen. Stop trying to get

me to leave your damn case alone.”

He couldn’t keep the relieved grin off his face. “As you

wish.”

Chapter Five

“S

ometimes I wonder if it’s wrong that I keep this

part of myself secret. Then I think about everybody

having secrets. I’m not the only person in the world

who doesn’t reveal everything.

Lord knows, Liz doesn’t tell me about half the shit she’s in-

volved in. She probably thinks it would disturb my sensibili-

ties. Wouldn’t she be shocked to know that I’m not that easily

disturbed?

Most everybody thinks that Jane Bennet is this sweet and

innocent girl who always has a smile on her face. People rarely

realize that even the most complacent people have dark sides.

Most don’t realize that I have a dark side. That’s fine, if not a

little annoying.

I’m not saying I’m bad all the time. Mostly, I am the good

girl that people see. Mostly. Every now and again, though, I

must let loose. Hell, if I didn’t my head would explode from the

saccharine sweetness that I exude on a daily basis.

People think that Liz is the dark, bad girl in the Bennet family.

For the most part they’re right, but if they only knew that Jane

Bennet had a wild streak too, I’m sure they would be shocked

right out of their fucking pants.”

Darcy put the book down. It was very unlike, as Jane had

put it, “the saccharine sweet” tone of the other diary. The

first entry told him that she was weary of being perceived

as the “nice” Miss Bennet. He even detected a little bit of a

grudge against the “bad” Miss Bennet.

He’d followed Elizabeth back to her apartment and saw

that she went to bed. She’d instructed him to see himself

out, but he stayed, sitting on the couch in the living room.

He’d opened the diary for lack of anything better to do.

Darcy rarely slept.

It was nearly six o’clock in the morning. The sun was

streaking the sky with brilliant orange-red. It looked like it

was going to be a beautiful day.

There was a soft knock on the door and Darcy was on his

feet and looking out the peephole. A little old woman stood

beyond the door, staring at it expectantly.

Slowly, he opened the door.

“May I help you?” He asked. He noted the surprise on her

face when he spoke.

“I just wondered if Liz picked up my milk.”

“She didn’t have any milk when we came in.”

“Oh.” Her mouth twisted for a moment. “I suppose that’s

okay. I was just getting ready to go to bed and thought I’d

check in with her. Name’s Rosalie Henry, by the by.”

“William Darcy.” He extended his hand, confused when

she didn’t take it. He then noticed the white cane she was

holding and scooped her hand into his to shake it.

“Oh, aren’t you the charmer. I can’t believe Liz would have

finally brought home a sweet one.”

“She doesn’t know I’m here.”

Concern swept over the woman’s wrinkled face. “Is Lizzy

all right?”

“She’s fine. She’s asleep right now. I just stuck around to

make sure she gets the rest she needs. With everything that’s

happened lately, she’s wiped out.”

Rosalie’s mouth pursed into a thin line. “Of course. You tell

my girl if she needs anything she knows where to find me.”

“I will, Mrs. Henry.”

“Rosalie, darlin’. Mrs. Henry hated the fact that I lived

with her son in sin for so many years.”

The woman turned and shuffled back across the hall, and

disappeared, leaving Darcy smiling after her.

He stood there for a few moments, contemplating the

woman and the well-established relationship she seemed

to have with the complex Elizabeth Bennet. Every time he

thought he was figuring her out, he learned something new

that surprised him. He never would have suspected that the

tough as nails woman he’d seen fight him every step of the

way would have a soft spot for a blind elderly neighbor.

Darcy closed the door and locked it. Wanting to check

on Elizabeth before he returned to the couch, he went up

the hall then made the left turn that led to Elizabeth’s bed-

room door and opened the it gently, not wanting to wake

her. When he’d put her to bed, she’d looked as if she hadn’t

slept in days.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim shadows

in the room. The heavy blue calico curtains had been drawn

when the sun was peeking over the horizon. It was up now

and would have spilled happily into the bedroom and, with

the walls being a pale crème the room would have been like

a fireball.

She was lying in bed, the covers pushed down around her

hips. She had removed her tank top and panties, leaving her

nude, and he felt a little guilty taking in the soft curves of

her breasts and the creamy expanse of her belly. He knew

that he shouldn’t be there, watching her. It was a violation

of her, but he didn’t care.

It would be wise for him to turn around and walk away, to

stop thinking about possessing her body. It would be better

for them both if he could let it go, but, as he watched her,

he knew he couldn’t.

Suddenly, he understood the power she had. She was the

dangerous woman that men heard about but rarely encoun-

tered. She was the woman that screamed sex and violence

simply by existing. She could weaken a man’s will and steel

his resolve all at the same time.

He felt the ache in his trousers as he leaned against the

doorjamb, appreciating the exquisite torture she was inflict-

ing upon him just by simply being who she was.

She whimpered and he was at her bedside in a flash, pull-

ing the covers up around her and tucking them around her

body. Her eyes opened and she blinked away the sleep.

“Darcy? What are you doing here?” She asked lazily as she

stretched, pulling his carefully tucked blankets loose and

away from her breasts. Unabashed, she lie there not bother-

ing to hide beneath the sheets.

“I didn’t think you should be alone.” He looked at his

hands.

“Isn’t that sweet of you?” She reached up and touched his

cheek, sending bolts of lightening through him.

He leaned back, moving away from her to maintain his

control.

“Just practical.”

“Mmm,” she murmured. “That’s my boy. Forever practi-

cal.”

“You should go back to sleep. You’ve only been in here for

about an hour.”

Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “Just like you to send

me to bed.”

He half-smiled at her. “You need your rest, dear Elizabeth,

if you’re going to kick bad-guy ass.”

She returned his smile and caught his hand in hers. She

gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve got my alarm set. Why don’t you go use one of the

other bedrooms? You need your rest too,” she added, her

thumb rubbing the back of his hand unconsciously.

“Anything you say, Elizabeth.” He caught himself before

he bent to kiss her. He stood up, gave her another smile, and

walked out the door.



She was sitting in her home office, pissed off and glaring at

her computer screen when Darcy appeared in the doorway. He

smiled at her and started in, opening his mouth to greet her.

Quickly, she held her hand up, motioning him to stop then

put a finger to her lips. Pointing to the chair across the desk

from her, she smiled back at him as he sat down.

“Well, I want that too, Mikey,” Elizabeth purred, using a

trick that she’d learned years ago to make her voice sound

younger.

Darcy’s brow wrinkled in confusion so she turned her head

and pointed to the headset she was wearing. His face grew

dark, a scowl wrinkling his forehead.

She shook her head and scribbled ‘working on a case’ on

the notepad she had in front of her then pushed it across the

heavy maple desk. Her mouth curled on one side as he read

it and considered the words.

When she had gotten out of bed that morning, she’d looked

into the two other bedrooms in her apartment. Neither bed

had been disturbed, but she saw why when she reached the

living room.

He had fallen asleep on the couch while reading Jane’s

other diary. It was lying on his chest. She’d gotten him a

blanket and was careful not to disturb him when she placed

it lightly over his body.

For a moment, she had watched him sleep and felt a little

territorial. She hadn’t wanted him to wake up simply because

0

she hadn’t wanted to share him with the rest of the world. She

was glad that he had stayed and happy that he was sleeping

on her couch.

Elizabeth chuckled silently at the pervert whispering in

her ear.

“Baby, I can’t wait to touch your sweet, little-girl ass.”

“Oh, Mike,” she breathed then bit her lip to keep from

laughing.

She’d been investigating Mike the Pedophile for a month

and a half. He’d raped a young girl that he’d met online.

She’d been so embarrassed that she’d washed away the evi-

dence afterward. The police wouldn’t touch the case without

physical proof of the assault. Elizabeth, on the other hand,

was quite willing to rise to the challenge.

“I want to feel your hands on me,” she said, keeping her

eyes on Darcy. “I can’t wait to feel your kisses on my body.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and she grinned.

“Oh, shit!” She yelped. “Mom’s home! I’ve got to go!”

She disconnected before Mike the Pedophile could utter

another disgusting syllable in her ear.

“How can you do that?”

“Oh, years of practice. I lost any inhibitions I had ages

ago.”

He shook his head. “What are you trapping him for?”

“He raped a thirteen-year-old girl that he met online.”

He grimaced. “Are you actually going to meet him?”

“Do you think I’d actually miss the opportunity to man-

handle him? Wait till he realizes that I’m not fourteen and

that I can kick his ass with one hand tied behind my back.”

“You will take back-up?”

“I’ll have Jack with me.”

He leaned forward in the chair. “Who’s Jack?”

“My partner.” Elizabeth picked up her teacup and took a

long, slow sip. “I trust Jack with my life.”

Elizabeth stood up, pulling her robe tighter around her,

feeling strange that this man was in her apartment, looking

as if he belonged there. She started for the door, not bothering

to tell him she wasn’t coming back into the room. Suddenly,

she wished that he would leave without being asked.

She was standing in the kitchen, pouring another cup of

tea when she sensed him in the doorway. Turning, she tried

to keep her insides steady while she looked at him over the

rim of the china cup.

“Jack,” she began, offering him an undeserved explanation,

“was my mentor when I first decided on private investigation.

He hired me into his firm, taught me the ropes. He gave me

the company when he retired. He made me the best.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, looking unconvinced,

and Elizabeth felt sweat curl at the base of her spine. She

forced herself to sip her tea and not look at the taut muscles

that rippled under the rolled sleeves of his blue shirt.

Why in the hell do I feel I need to reassure him that I’ll be

fine?

“Detective, Jack is almost like a father to me. He would

never, never let anything happen to me.”

“You said he was retired.”

“Okay, semi-retired. He keeps me honest.” She gave him

a brilliant grin.

He nodded slowly, the words seeming to put his mind

at ease.

The air suddenly felt like it was bowing under the weight

of the awkward tension in the room. She sipped her tea at a

steady pace, wishing that she’d had the foresight to go get

the newspaper so she would have something to do.

“Um, I have to go into my office today. There were a

few other cases that I have to see to personally. I’ve gotten

Pedophile Mike out of the way, but, well, the others require

me to be elsewhere.”

“Okay,” he replied. He straightened then stretched his long

body as he turned around.

Elizabeth followed him to the Catch-All chair against the

wall and watched him slip into his suit jacket.

“Oh, uh, Rosalie asked about her milk this morning. I told

her you were asleep.”

“You met Rosalie.” Elizabeth smiled wide, pride filling her

heart. “Isn’t she wonderful? I’ll have to run to the market

before I go in and make sure she has milk.”

“She seems to like you very much. I might even say she

loves you.”

Elizabeth threw back the tea that was left in her cup. “Well,

she’s the only neighbor that still talks to me. I suppose you

can qualify that as love.”

Darcy snorted as he fished his keys out of his pocket. He

started for the door and she trailed behind, appreciating the

way his body moved when he walked.

“I’ll call you if I learn anything new.”

“I know you will, Detective.”

She slipped in beside him to open the door, and, when

he brushed by her, she admitted to some deep, buried place

in her mind that she was sorely disappointed that he hadn’t

kissed her goodbye.

Chapter Six

A

fter the door was closed on William Darcy,

Elizabeth leaned against it, partially re-

lieved that he was gone. She felt terrible

for lying to him. She wasn’t expected in

her office. Whatever cases she needed to attend could be

worked on from home.

She reconsidered. Actually, I didn’t lie. I’m in denial.

Fran Bennet-Bauer, the woman Elizabeth had spent most

of her adult life trying to avoid, had already left three mes-

sages on her machine. Each was a mini-tirade more angry

that the last. Unable to bear another insinuating remark

about where she might have been, Elizabeth returned to her

office and dialed the hotel.

The telephone rang several times before Catherine’s quiet,

sleepy voice was heard on the other end.

“Catherine, it’s Elizabeth.”

“Lizzy! Mama’s been calling for ages.”

“I know. I just got all ten million messages.” Elizabeth

dryly replied.

“Hold on. I think she’s in the parlor.”

Elizabeth snorted at the thought of her mother, who’d

been a factory worker most of her life, staying in a fancy hotel

suite. Fran had finally made good. A few years back she’d met

and married a man who was the opposite of everything Tom

Bennet had been; a man who was wealthy, secure, and happy.

Elizabeth still had trouble recalling her stepfather’s name.

She cringed as Fran’s shrill voice sliced into her eardrum

like a chain saw through sheet metal.

“So lovely of you to finally call, Elizabeth.”

“Sorry, Mama. I was working.”

“Working? Your sister is lying cold as stone and you’re

working?”

The middle Bennet daughter had resigned herself years

before that she would never understand her mother. The two

women clashed at every turn. Fran could say black. Elizabeth

would say white. It wasn’t to make things difficult (perhaps

it was just a little), but Elizabeth honestly believed she was

right.

Thom Bennet had promised to come back for her, but it

never came to pass regardless of the hours that a small child

spent wishing. She had been eight the last time she’d seen

her father. It was around that time she started to lose faith

in people.

Though she was loathe to admit it because she was still

angry with him, Elizabeth was truly her father’s daughter.

Despite her protests when compared with him, Elizabeth

knew that the comparisons were accurate. She was as moody,

as calculated, and as brilliant as he had been.

“I’m more use to Jane if I can find who did this to her,”

she replied evenly.

“What a convenient excuse.”

Elizabeth was suddenly acutely aware of just how alone

she was with Jane gone. She knew that after the funeral, she

would not have a single reason to talk to her mother ever

again. The woman was nothing but a pain in the ass and

Elizabeth wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life apologiz-

ing for not being the one to be murdered.

“Think whatever you want, Mother. May I have the details

of the service?”

Fran delivered the arrangements as though she were giving

directions to the market.

Elizabeth decided to try one last act of courtesy. “Mama,

would you like to go to lunch?”

“No. Seth will be here this afternoon. Would it trouble

you too much to see your baby sister?”

Elizabeth’s brow crinkled as she tried to recall who Seth

was. She nodded. Her stepfather.

“Why must you act like that? God, I lost Jane too! Do you

think that just because the wrong daughter died it gives you

the right to be a horrible bitch?” She could feel the stunned

silence on the other end of the line and felt her mouth crawl

into a smile of sheer satisfaction.

“That was uncalled for, Lizzy.”

“Was it? I’m doubtful. Of the three daughters you have,

Fran, you have never given a damn about me just as I have

never really cared about you. Just think, after this is all over,

you’ll never have to see my face again.”

“How dare you.”

“No, Mother, how dare you! You accuse me of wasting time

loafing around Chicago while my sister lies dead in a coldbox.

You accuse me of not caring when she is the only person in

this family who loved me unconditionally. Jane was my stal-

wart companion for years. You deserted me ages ago.”

“If that’s the way you want it, Lizzy, then there’s nothing

more to say.”

“No, there isn’t.”

Elizabeth heard the click of the telephone receiver, but

stayed on the line.

“Catherine, you should have hung up the telephone,” she

said.

“Liz, can we go get a coffee? I want to talk.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I’ll pick you up out front.”



Catherine Bennet, the youngest of Fran and Thom’s

three girls, hated to see people fight. Very much like Jane

in that sense, she tried to get people to cooperate whenever

she sensed strife. However, Catherine was also a realist. She

knew that just asking people to get along did not forge a

bond.

Like Elizabeth, Catherine knew that there would be no

relationship between mother and daughter after Jane’s fu-

neral. That wasn’t going to stop her though. Stronger than

she looked and smarter than she let on, Catherine was de-

termined to make a place in Elizabeth’s life.

Elizabeth’s Jeep slowed in front of the hotel and Catherine

met it at the curb. She climbed in, letting her jacket fall to

the floorboard.

“Mama insisted that I wear a jacket. The woman thinks I

have the constitution of a field mouse.” Catherine grinned

at Elizabeth’s smirk. “I’m glad you came, Liz.”

“Well, how could I avoid it? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“You don’t have to play nice. Mama isn’t around.”

“I’m too tired.”

For the first time, Catherine noticed the dark circles be-

neath her sister’s eyes and the gauntness of her cheekbones.

She had never seen Elizabeth look defeated. Proud, defiant

Elizabeth Bennet was the woman who slew the monsters and

pummeled the bad guys into oblivion.

“Mama had no right to be so cruel,” Catherine muttered.

“Fran has been cruel for years, Cate.”

“I know.”

Elizabeth threw her a glance and Catherine looked away.

“Want some coffee?” She asked.

Catherine nodded.

A few minutes later they were sitting at a table in a shop.

Catherine held her coffee mug in her hands, appreciating

the warmth seeping into her fingers while Elizabeth let her

tea steep. The café was crowded with an intellectual crowd.

The couple sitting at the table next to them was heatedly

discussing politics. The woman at the counter had blue hair

and several piercings.

“I would have never pegged you for the café type, Liz.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises.”

“Is Ben coming to the service tomorrow?”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed as she stirred her tea.

“Jane told me about Ben. Liz, from the look of it you’re

going to need him there.”

“It’s going to be hard enough dealing with Fran.” Elizabeth’s

eyes filled with tears and she looked away, trying to brush

them aside with the back of her hand.

Catherine reached across the table and gathered her sis-

ter’s hand in her own. “I know that you think I’m a flake,

Elizabeth. We’ve both lived with misconceptions about each

other. I used to think you were a female Humphrey Bogart.

You know, like from The Maltese Falcon, but now you look

broken to me. I’m your sister and I love you.

“We both know there’s no reason for you to speak to Mama

after Jane’s funeral, but there isn’t any reason for you not to

speak to me. I am quite determined to force you to be my

friend if I have to.”

A weak smile shadowed Elizabeth’s lips for a moment then

was gone. “Misconceptions indeed. I never thought you had

a spine or cognizant thought in your head.”

Catherine’s eyebrow arched up. “We’re being heartfelt here,

Liz. Probably not a good time to insult me.”

The elder Miss Bennet had the grace to look sheepish.

“Sorry. Honesty has always been my best suit.”

“I plan on moving to Chicago after Jane’s funeral. I have a

feeling I’ll be more use here than if I return to Florida with

Mama and Seth.”

“Seth. How long has he been married to Fran now?”

“Four years.”

“Have I met him?”

“Yes! Liz, you came to our house for Christmas two years

ago.”

“Oh! That’s Seth! He’s sort of a dork.”

Catherine giggled in agreement.

“Well, if you plan on staying in Chicago, what are you

going to do about school?”

“I graduated a year and a half ago. I’ve been teaching math

at a private school.”

Elizabeth looked down into her cup. “I should’ve made

an effort to get to know you better. I feel like I missed out

on something good.”

“The best is yet to come, Liz. Jane would want us to go on.”

She let Elizabeth nod slowly. “I’m going to tell Mama that I’m

moving up here tomorrow, after the service at the graveside.

She and Seth were planning on leaving right after.”

“Do you need a place to stay?”

“I have to go home to turn in my resignation, start a job

search up here, and pack. I’d say it’s going to be three weeks

or so before I’m close to ready to move.”

“Well, when you’re ready, you can stay with me. I have

plenty of room.”

“Thanks, Liz. I’d like that.”

The girls finished their drinks and, as they left the café,

they locked arms and drew strength from one another.



Elizabeth glared at the black suit. It was wrinkled

and hanging limply from its wooden hanger. And making

Elizabeth madder then hell.

“When I take you off tomorrow, I’m going to burn you,”

she hissed. “I’m never going to wear you again.”

Fran had insisted that Catherine and Elizabeth be

dressed all in black. Rather than engaging in another row

with her mother, Elizabeth agreed and made her way into

the depths of her closet to retrieve her only completely

black suit.

She was not a fan of the totally black look. Not a fan

because it reminded her of death. Like the last time she’d

worn the suit.

It had been to Maggie Ftizwilliam’s funeral. Richard’s wife

had died of breast cancer before they’d even been married a

year. He’d never quite recovered from the loss.

“And I’m going to dance as you burn.” She gave the suit one

final glare, deciding that she would press it in the morning,

before leaving her bedroom.

It was nearly seven in the evening and Elizabeth was more

tired than she had ever been in her life, but there was one

thing left to do. She went across the hall and knocked on

Rosalie’s door.

The old woman answered smiling. “Thank you for the

milk, Liz.”

“It was nothing. Did you find the rum?”

“Of course, darlin’.”

Rosalie moved aside to let Elizabeth into her apartment.

Elizabeth blinked her eyes a few times to adjust to the dim-

ness of Rosalie’s home. Rosalie only had one lamp in the

living room. She kept it on at all times as a security measure.

Occasionally, Elizabeth entered to complete darkness and

was charged with changing the bulb. She always made sure

she had extra bulbs in her own apartment.

“Who was your friend this morning?” Rosalie asked, head-

ing for her favorite chair in the living room.

Elizabeth followed. “He’s a cop.”

Rosalie snorted in disbelief while trying to stile a laugh.

“All those men and the only one you’ve ever brought home

ends up being a cop. There’s a bit of irony for you.”

“I didn’t bring him home. He wanted to see that I got some

sleep. We’ve been working on a case.”

“A case? What are you doing working on a police case?”

“Rose, uh,” Elizabeth settled into the chair next her friend.

“It’s bad, Rosie, very bad.”

Rosalie’s face grew dark just from the tone of Elizabeth’s

voice, and Elizabeth winced a little as Rosalie’s grip tightened

on her hand. It was one thing to say she was working on a

case, but it was something entirely different to say that her

sister was dead.

“A few days ago Detective Darcy showed up on my door-

step. He was here to tell me that something had happened

to Jane.” Elizabeth took a deep breath to steady herself and

bit back a sob. “Rosie, she was killed.”

Rosalie sucked in a sharp breath as tears sprang into her

eyes. Her grip on Elizabeth’s hand tightened, again.

“What happened?”

“Somebody killed her in her apartment. I don’t really want

to talk about it anymore.”

Rosalie nodded, obviously too stunned to speak.

“The funeral is tomorrow. I really need you to be there. Can

you be there?” Elizabeth hated that she sounded so needy.

“Your mother going to be there?”

“Yes.”

“I would never throw you to the wolves like that. Of course,

I’ll be there, my girl.”

Elizabeth nodded, sniffling as she did so. Tears welled to

drown her eyes. “I’ll come for you a little after nine tomor-

row morning.”

“All right.”

Rosalie stood, still holding Elizabeth’s hand. She bent

forward and dropped a soft kiss on the younger woman’s

forehead then gave her a gentle smile.

“It’ll work out. Everything happens for a reason. We can’t

see that right now because we loved Jane, but we will. You’ll

see.”

“Thank you, Rosie.” Elizabeth whispered.

“You don’t think anything of it.” She started shuffling to-

ward the door, her subtle indication to Elizabeth that she

needed some time to digest this shattering information.

Elizabeth followed obediently, pausing when Rosalie

grabbed her hand.

“I love you, Liz.”

“I know,” she replied and left her neighbor alone with her

thoughts.



“A

secret

is

exciting

, don’t you think? I love keeping them. It’s

a powerful feeling to know that you are the only person, or at

least one of a very few, privy to certain information.

I, for one, have many secrets and most of them are mine.

Granted, I have things on Elizabeth that would make your blood

run cold, but I would never rat her out. She is my sister, after

all. My secrets, though, are exciting…and unexpected.

I’ll share one with you. Maybe later there’ll be more, but for

now I’ll just share the one.

I, Jane Bennet, everybody’s good girl, everybody’s best friend,

am fucking the hell out of my boss, George Wickham, on a

regular basis. Wouldn’t George’s former lover, Elizabeth, be

shocked? What would Gretchen say if she knew that I have had

her husband in their bed?

Isn’t being bad absolutely delicious?”

Darcy closed the diary and leaned back against the head-

board. Jane’s diary was enlightening indeed. Not only had

she been involved with Charles Bingley, and apparently rel-

ished his violent tendencies and Elizabeth’s continual rescue

efforts, but she’d also been having an affair with Wickham

for over a year.

Having been immersed in Jane’s dark little world of se-

crets and white lies all day, Darcy could now honestly say

that he was no longer impressed by her shining reputation.

She seemed blasé about the people she was hurting, even

though the people she was hurting weren’t aware of it. Every

page expanded on her resentment toward Elizabeth, which

definitely wasn’t sitting well with him.

He mulled over what he should tell Elizabeth and knew

that he couldn’t tell her anything until after the funeral. He

let himself imagine her, broken and angry, as she stared at

the coffin that held Jane. Then his thoughts floated to his

arms wrapping around her in comfort.

Before the fantasy could progress, Darcy snapped back

to reality. He wouldn’t torture himself with the teasing pos-

sibility of what she tasted like, or how it would feel to slip

his hand between her thighs.

Sighing, he squeezed his eyes shut as if that alone could

remove the images of her that stained his mind. He stood

quickly and made his way downstairs to the bar in his study

to pour himself the first of several bourbon and branches

and settled into his favorite leather chair.

When the sun set and darkness filled the room, Darcy

stared off into the inky night, fighting the passion that was

suddenly consuming him and the bitterness of the circum-

stance that kept him from acting on that passion.

Finally, exhausted and drunk, he rambled off to bed as

the first bits of dawn streaked the sky over Lake Michigan.

Vaguely aware that Jane’s funeral was in less than five hours,

Darcy fought his lumbering hands as he tried to set his

alarm.

He had to be there to comfort Elizabeth. And to solve a

murder.

Chapter Seven

T

oo fucking comfortable, Elizabeth thought as she

entered the Brock and Fonner funeral home. The

colors were meant to soothe. Pale greens, mauves,

and blues were fanned about the place like swatches

of silk set aside for grand ladies. There were creamy, over-

stuffed sofas scattered around like children’s toys and dark

maple end tables with hotel bibles and magazines and fancy

lamps.

If she hadn’t known better Elizabeth might have been

fooled into thinking she was in a lawyer’s office or a preten-

tious home, but she wasn’t. She knew exactly where she was.

Rosalie held fast to her arm, moving with the grace she’d

acquired all those years ago in Atlantic City. Still as tall as

Elizabeth, Rosalie carried her head high, a silent dare to the

woman she was protecting her friend from.

“Steady, Liz.”

“Thanks.” Elizabeth smiled at Rosalie, marveling at how

amazing she was at seventy-eight.

The older woman had insisted on wearing a light blue

suit to spite Fran. Her long silver hair was pulled up into a

chignon.

Classy, she’s damn classy.

“Miss Bennet!”

Elizabeth froze at the familiar voice that called. Next to

her Rosalie’s body stiffened, preparing for battle.

“Miss Bennet, I offer my deepest sympathy,” Bill Collins

said, his watery eyes locking on Elizabeth’s.

“Thank you, Bill.”

“Hi, ma’am. I’m Bill Collins. Miss Bennet is my boss. I’m

an investigator.” He grabbed Rosalie’s hand and pumped

away.

Elizabeth cringed, knowing from experience that Collins’s

hand would be moist with sweat.

“This is my neighbor, Rosalie.”

“Any friend of Miss Bennet’s is a friend of mine.” He

grinned, showing every single yellow-tinted tooth in his

mouth.

“Bill, Rosalie can’t see you.”

Immediately embarrassed, and in his typical over dramatic

fashion, Collins began apologizing profusely. He apologized

for smiling, for startling her--though he hadn’t--when he

grabbed her hand, and for her blindness in general.

“It’s all right, son. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Bill, if you’ll excuse us,” Elizabeth interjected, wanting to

be away from the annoying man.

“Of course, Miss Bennet. Just remember, if you need any-

thing, I’m your man.”

Elizabeth tried to choke back a disgusted smile as the

ridiculous thought of him being her anything flip-flopped

through her mind. She watched him fumble toward Charlotte

Lucas and shook her head. The man fawned over Charlotte

every chance he got, but then, Bill Collins fawned over most

any female in the vain attempt to be noticed.

“Another man? Beth, I’m appalled.”

“Please, Ben.”

Elizabeth dropped Rosalie’s arm and turned toward her

lover. “I’m damn glad you’re here.”

He wrapped his arms around her and Elizabeth sighed

against his body. Having Ben’s arms around her made her

feel strong. She had almost not bothered to call him, but was

glad she did. He was familiar, solid.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m always here for you.”

“I know.”

“How are you doing, Rosalie?” Ben asked.

“As well as can be expected.”

Ben hooked both ladies arms and led them down the hall.

When they reached the doorway, he paused, then kissed

Elizabeth’s cheek again.

“We’ll be right here,” he told her.

“I don’t want to go in there.”

“Liz, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” said Rosalie.

“My family, such as it is, is in there. Jane would kick my

ass if I bailed on this.”

“We could go in.” Ben looked down at Rosalie, who was

nodding.

Elizabeth kept her eyes on Rosalie. “You know I consider

you family, but Fran would have a fit.” She looked back up

at Ben, placing her hand on his arm. “I’ll go on and see you

in a bit.”

He smiled gently and turned, guiding Rosalie back up

the hall. She watched them disappear around a corner then

touched the door handle tentatively.

“Elizabeth.”

She jumped and faced William Darcy. “What?”

“You’ve been standing there for fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t want to go in there. I’m stalling.”

“So I gathered.”

He put a hand on her shoulder and she felt warmth flash

through her body like hot oil. Elizabeth closed her eyes, not

wanting to move away from him, but knowing that she

needed to go into that room.

“Is there something you wanted?”

He cleared his throat and the weight of his hand was gone

from her shoulder.

“After the service. Are you expected anywhere?”

“No, not really.”

“We need to talk. I’ve got new information.”

“From the diary?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.” She opened her eyes and faced him. The tears

threatened again, but she fought. She wouldn’t cry out here

in the hall.

“I’ll pick you up at your apartment.”

She nodded, suddenly needing to be away from his dark

eyes and perfectly molded mouth. Elizabeth opened the door

and slipped into the room, feeling bitterly unhappy when

she heard the soft click of the latch behind her.

Her mother, sister, and stepfather were standing with a

tall man who had thick silver hair on top of his long, square

head. His eyes were a deep sapphire blue that was clear to

Elizabeth even from this distance.

“Lizzy,” Fran said simply.

Elizabeth crossed the room, taking the place next to

Catherine. She let her younger sister take her hand as she

carefully avoided looking at the casket that was only a few

feet in front of her.

Fran had made the wise decision to keep the lid down after

hearing the extent of Jane’s injuries. Instead Jane was smiling

out from an enlarged portrait on an easel next to the coffin.

Elizabeth closed her eyes as the man in the well-tailored

suit droned on about the order of the service. He left a few

minutes later and Fran gave Elizabeth a quick, cool hug then

excused herself to get a cup of coffee. Seth nodded at his

stepdaughter and followed his wife.

“Mama is on auto-pilot,” Catherine sighed, settling into the

sofa that was waiting like a warm hug for the family.

“Yeah.” Elizabeth flopped down next to her and they both

stared at the somehow garish picture of their sister.

“Jane would be mortified that Mother used that picture.”

Catherine snorted. “You remember what she said when

they picked them up from the studio?”

“That she looked like sunshine on a stick.”

“I think that’s why Jane hated that picture so much. She

hated that everybody thought she was sweetness and light.”

“I noticed little things this past year, Cate. It never oc-

curred to me to pay them mind, but now I wonder why I

didn’t. She dated this asshole named Charles, who treated

her like an object. She kept going back for more. And she

seemed a little withdrawn. Why didn’t I notice it?”

“Because you had no reason to. None of us did.”

“She was into something. I just have no idea what.”

Catherine leaned her head against Elizabeth’s shoulder.

“You’ll find out. You will.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

“You will. It’s as simple as that.”

Elizabeth kissed Catherine’s tow-head. “Well, then, who

am I to disappoint?”



Darcy saw Rosalie sitting with a young man in one of

the anterooms. She was the only person he’d recognized and,

hoping not to be too conspicuous as the investigating officer,

he made his way to her.

“Rosalie?” He asked. “It’s William Darcy.”

“Oh, hello, son.” A sweet smile glided over her face and

was gone. “Have a seat.”

Darcy slid into the chair at Rosalie’s right. “I saw Elizabeth.

She didn’t look well.”

“No. She told me only yesterday what happened. The poor

thing is going to drive herself mad.”

“Rosie, you know her better than any of us here. Including

me. She isn’t going to stop until she finds out who did this.

Even if it kills her.” The man’s voice hitched on the last two

words. He looked in the direction of the door Elizabeth had

slipped through. “Regardless of how we feel.”

“Ben,” Rosalie whispered.

“Ben?” Darcy found himself asking. Jane’s first diary had

been filled with sweet details of how good for Elizabeth he

was. The second diary barely mentioned him. All Darcy knew

was this was the man he’d smelled on Elizabeth in Jane’s

apartment. This was the man who was causing his vision to

suddenly go black with jealousy.

“Pardon? I don’t think I caught your name.”

“William Darcy.”

“Oh, the detective. She’s mentioned you, calls you iras-

cible.”

“Does she?” Darcy bit his lip. “I suppose she would.”

Rosalie leaned forward and took Darcy’s hand. “I have a

feeling it’s meant affectionately. Liz calls me the old bag.”

He shook his head, trying not to picture Elizabeth in Ben’s

arms, in Ben’s bed. It didn’t work.

“Excuse me,” he muttered and went out to get some air.

On the porch, Darcy tried to keep his breathing even while

he pushed away thoughts of Elizabeth and Ben together. The

cool, fresh spring air slid into his lungs, pulling him out of

his dark, jealous thoughts.

Letting his gaze drink in the immaculate grounds of the

Brock and Fonner funeral home, Darcy watched one of the

assistant funeral directors dictate the order of the cars in

the procession. He had parked on the street and would trail

behind the line. He felt sorry for people out driving today.

Miss Jane Bennet was having a glorious turnout.

Another car pulled into the lot. It was a shiny silver

Mercedes. It came to a stop next to the assistant director,

who bent down to talk with the driver. A few moments later,

the driver stepped out of the car and walked around.

George Wickham was playing devoted husband to his

obviously very distraught wife. Gretchen Wickham hung

heavily on George’s arm, her pale face tinted with a bit of

green. Her strawberry blonde hair flew away from her head

in curly wisps. She seemed small and frail, especially in the

pale green dress that made her look like a child. Darcy knew

she and George had two children, but it was hard to believe

that somebody so tiny could have given birth.

George led Gretchen up the steps. He paused when he

saw Darcy.

“Gretchen, this is Detective Darcy. He’s working on Janey’s

case.”

The woman lifted her heavily lashed aqua eyes to his face.

The hope in them was almost tangible. “Do you have any

leads?”

“Nothing solid right now, Mrs. Wickham.” Darcy hoped

his poker face was firmly in place. It wouldn’t do to make

the woman hysterical and cause a scene at the funeral by

accusing her husband.

“I hope you fry him. My children don’t understand where

Aunt Janey has gone. I barely understand it myself.”

“It’s tough,” Darcy agreed. He looked at George, weighing

what he knew of the man. He believed him capable of deceit;

everybody was after all, but murder?

“Gretch, let’s go inside.” George put his hand on the small

of her back, guiding his wife into the funeral parlor.

Darcy remained on the porch, watching mourners pass

by him and wondered if any of them was the person who

had caused the grief in the first place. After awhile, he went

back inside and took a seat in the back of the room, feeling

bad for the family and desperate as he watched Ben keep a

solid arm around Elizabeth.

Chapter Eight

T

he funeral ended with yet another prayer and

Elizabeth felt crushed by the weight of the words,

even though the solemn oaths were empty to her.

Now Elizabeth only had memories.

She had insisted that she be the last one to leave the service.

After a cool good-bye to her mother and stepfather and a

warm kiss for Catherine, Elizabeth had stood staring at the

heavy rosewood casket. Finally, with a single tear, she leaned

forward to touch the glossy wood.

“Bye, Jane. I love you.”

A warm breeze slipped about her body and wrapped

around her before drifting away again and she smiled at the

soul-touching hug that had been sent by her Jane. The sun-

shine was bright and, for just a moment, Elizabeth suspected

that she would be okay.

Ben supported her on one side while Rosalie walked on

the other under the pretense of needing Elizabeth’s eyes. For

the first time in her life, Elizabeth was feeling completely

helpless.

She barely had the strength to look at Collins when he

popped up before her again.

“Miss Bennet, is there anything I can do?”

She tried to smile, but only felt as if her lips were twisting

grotesquely. She didn’t even have the heart to dismiss him

like normal. “No, Bill. I think I’m going to go home and

take a nap. I’ll be in the office in a couple of days. You just

keep working hard till then and we’ll talk later.”

Collins smiled his wet, juicy smile and slunk away like a

whipped puppy. Elizabeth stared after him, too exhausted

to think about him any further. She let Ben wrap his arm

around her waist and guide her to the car. Rosalie was walk-

ing carefully, gently holding his other arm.

“You did well,” she said, her voice dripping with love. “I was

quite proud to be able to call myself your friend today.”

“Thank you for being here, Rosie.”

They reached Ben’s dark green BMW and Elizabeth stood

silently as Ben helped Rosalie into the back seat. Normally,

Elizabeth loved the car, especially when they were on the

open road and the top was down, but today she’d paid it

hardly any mind.

It was late afternoon, but it seemed like the middle of

the night. She felt as though she’d been awake for years.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew the day wasn’t

over yet. She still had to meet with Darcy, even though she

desperately only wanted to make love to him…

What? Where the hell did that come from?

Ben. She was thinking of Ben and how she just wanted

to sleep with him in her own bed. Something she’d never

allowed before. Then she remembered Rosalie laughing about

the first man she brought home being a cop.

Ah, but what a cop.

Elizabeth shook the strange thoughts of Darcy from her

head and turned for one final look at Jane’s grave. There was

a single figure standing next to Jane’s casket. She put her

hand to her forehead, using it to block the sun. The glint of

sandy blond locks caught in the light and Elizabeth felt her

blood turn to ice.

Her exhaustion suddenly forgotten, she broke into a run,

focused on the monster beside the grave. She plowed into

him and they rolled several feet, both of them screaming

and clawing.

“You psycho! What the hell?” Charles Bingley demanded.

“Why are you here? Why the fuck are you here?”

“I came for the same reason everybody else did. I came to

say good-bye,” he growled. “Now get off me!”

Instead, Elizabeth kneed him in the stomach.

Bingley’s breath burst out of him and his eyes narrowed

dangerously. His hands came up and locked on her bicep,

squeezing until she yelped. He rolled them again and was

on top of her.

“I’m not going to let you throw your fucking fist at me

again, you whore. No woman hits me and gets away with

it. I punished your sister, but that whore gave as good as

she got.”

Elizabeth bucked, trying to shift their weight so she could

gain the advantage, but he slammed his groin against her,

grinding just enough to be obscene.

“Jane liked it when I did this. And this.” He struck her

across the face, sending her into a momentary blackness.

Somewhere, through the grinding pain, Elizabeth heard

Ben’s voice as though he were very far away. “Don’t touch

her!”

A moment later, she felt Bingley being lifted off her body.

As Bingley’s form was yanked into the air, Ben landed a

right hook to Bingley’s stomach. Elizabeth pulled herself

halfway up while Bingley folded back to the ground in a

huffing heap.

“You lie. Jane never would have enjoyed your disgusting

habits,” Elizabeth hissed. “You talk about her like that again

and I’ll kill you.”

“Then get that snub-nosed .38 out, bitch, because your

precious sister loved the deed extra nasty. She couldn’t get

enough of my fists or my cock. We had such a good laugh

every time you came running to save her.”

Elizabeth felt her stomach begin to churn but she vowed

that she wouldn’t be sick in front of this pile of shit. A good

laugh? That wasn’t possible, but then Jane never asked

Elizabeth to save her. She may have called from Bingley’s

house, but Jane never once asked for help. Elizabeth had seen

battered women, knew that they had very little self-worth,

but Jane didn’t fit the profile.

“She moaned and shrieked when I bruised that perfect skin.

She loved seeing you try to protect her,” he said again. “The

bruises on her body turned her on, made her wet, and I’m

the one she picked to scratch that itch, darling.”

He started to stand, and Elizabeth felt as though she was

looking through a scrap of gauze as Ben kicked Bingley

squarely in the face and blood gushed in a heavy, red cas-

cade from his nose. He swooned then fell back, uncon-

scious.

Elizabeth felt Ben’s warm, strong hand on her shoulder

and she felt as if her whole body were on fire as he helped

her the rest of the way up.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Elizabeth shook her head, tears stinging and streaking

down her cheeks. It had to be a lie. Jane would never, could

never…. She imagined her brain wobbling about in her head

as it continued to swing back and forth in an uncontrollable

urge to deny Bingley’s words.

She fell against Ben because she had no strength left.

Forgetting that she was proud and strong and invincible,

Elizabeth realized there was no way to be the person she used

to be. Not when the only person she’d ever completely loved

and trusted wasn’t true. Jane had been a liar.

Jane had been a liar.



Darcy leaned against the wall next to Elizabeth’s door,

waiting. Perhaps she’d forgotten and went home with Ben.

Perhaps they were at his home right now and she was in his

arms and he was kissing her delicious neck.

Jesus, man, get a grip. She’s nothing special.

He sighed and took the diary out of his breast pocket.

He had to present his evidence to Elizabeth, but he had to

do it as gently as possible. Despite her strong face, he knew

that she couldn’t take much more. In fact, he debated on

whether he even needed to tell her. No. She would suspect

the moment Wickham’s name came up. It would have only

come from the diary. He sighed and ran his hand through

his hair, trying to decide what to do next.

“I will never write anything down,” he muttered. Staring

at the small blue book, he shook his head. “You were a closet

bitch, Jane Bennet.”

Then he heard voices, and tucked the book back into his

pocket.

“We need to put her to bed, Ben. I have my key.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

“She’ll have your head when she wakes up, but I wouldn’t

leave her either.”

Three figures rounded the corner and Darcy was shocked

to see Elizabeth folded into Ben’s arms like a broken doll.

Her eyes were swollen, red, and closed, and a bruise blos-

somed across her cheek. He straightened and walked forward,

fighting every muscle in his body that screamed for him to

grab her up from Ben.

“What happened?”

“Charles Bingley,” Ben hissed.

“He did this to her?”

“Yes, but his tongue did more damage to her than his fists

did.”

Elizabeth’s head rose, her eyes opening. An embarrassed

flush crept up her cheeks as she examined each of them in turn,

then she buried her face in Ben’s neck like a shy child.

Darcy suddenly had the unmistakable taste of bile in the

back of his throat. He swallowed hard and forced away the

urge to kiss the bruise away. “Miss Bennet, you need your

rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Detective, you’re not going anywhere.”

She lifted her head again, pushing away from her lover, and

Ben hesitated before he gently set her down. She stepped away

from him and met Darcy’s eyes. Her chin lifted as if she were

planning to defy every exhausted fiber of her being.

With a glance over her shoulder at Ben and Rosalie, she

reached into her purse and pulled out her keys. Struggling

briefly, she managed to get the key in the lock, and then, with

her small victory, she pushed the door open.

“Ben, I have work to do, so you can go home.”

“I will not accept this, Elizabeth!”

Darcy managed to tear his eyes from her to focus on the

anger emanating from Ben’s stiff posture. The man shook

with the force of his frustration, and Darcy dropped his

eyes. If he loved Elizabeth, he’d be shaking at her casual

command too.

She turned around. “You really have no choice but to

accept this.”

“Dammit, why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“It isn’t being stubborn, Ben. It’s getting to the bottom of

a life that has been full of lies.”

Elizabeth’s voice wavered on the last word, drawing Darcy’s

attention. What had happened? What had Bingley said?

Elizabeth leveled a dark look at Ben. “I am tired, Ben. I

am sick and tired and I don’t want to argue with anybody

right now so please don’t make me. I am doing what I need

to do.”

Ben started toward her, but she stepped back into her apart-

ment. “I’ll close this door in your face and I’ll be damned if

I open it back up for you. Now go.”

“Liz!” Roaslie’s voice sliced the air like a knife. “You’re

being unreasonable.”

“No! I’m not! Do you realize what I’ve been living this

entire time? Do you know what that’s like? I have lost the

one person I could count on, but then I find out that she

didn’t even really exist!” A brittle, bitter laugh broke into the

air. “You can not begin to imagine.”

The harshness of her voice cut through Darcy, burning him

as though he was a dry piece of wood thrown into a smol-

dering pit. He risked a glance at her only to find Elizabeth

gazing at him.

“I’m going to change and then we’ll go.”

The door closed and the latch clicked, a small warning

to let her be.

“You can’t be serious about letting her work,” Ben said.

His green eyes were filled with a multitude of emotions that

Darcy couldn’t begin to decipher. There was worry and the

remnants of a tired anger, as though he’d had this conversa-

tion with Elizabeth many times over. The man looked as

though he knew he was fighting a battle he would never

win.

Darcy almost felt sorry for him. “I can only do what she

allows me to do.” He chuckled softly at the thought of her

bossing him around.

“You think this is funny? You need to do your fucking job

so she doesn’t drive herself crazy!”

Darcy bit his lip as his eyes narrowed. Ben was walking

a thin line and Darcy was losing patience. He felt his fists

ball reflexively.

Rosalie stepped forward and put a gentle hand on Ben’s

shoulder. He glanced down at her. The elegant woman in

the blue suit was shaking her head like an admonishing

schoolmarm.

“Liz has never done anything we’ve asked of her, Ben. You

know that.” A small smile drifted over her lined face. “If

anything, she’ll do something because she’s been asked not

to. Let her go. Let her do what she needs to do.”

Ben sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Fine. Tell

her… Tell her whatever the hell you want to tell her.”

Darcy fumed as Ben spun on his heel, leaving him and

Rosalie alone in the hall.

“He loves her a great deal, you know.” Rosalie opened her

purse to fish around for her keys. She found them then let her

hand touch each of the locks. Sliding the key home, she paused.

“He’s been through a lot with Liz, and sometimes I wonder why

he endures her abuse.” She undid the lock and slipped the keys

back into her bag. “That’s the power of love I suppose.”

Darcy watched as Rosalie took a step into her apartment,

her well-cut blue suit shimmering like water.

“Detective?”

“Yes?”

She turned her head toward him. “You take good care of

my girl. I’d hate to have to take you down.”

He grunted and smiled for her sightless eyes. “I’d hate for

that to happen too, Rosalie.”

She closed the door behind her, leaving Darcy alone again,

waiting.



She just wanted to get away from it all. She didn’t want

to think about what Bingley had said or about Ben’s concern.

She didn’t want to look at the pictures in her apartment that

portrayed a sweet, solid elder sister. She didn’t want to be

Elizabeth Bennet anymore.

Darcy’s flashy Thunderbird ate up pavement like a great

cat on a hunt. There was no hint of the cerulean sky that

had held the sun. Instead, black held them close, so dark that

stars weren’t even winking at them. Despite the coolness of

the night air, Elizabeth had asked him to put the top down,

and he had agreed. But the ever-practical William Darcy

had turned the heat on.

She had told him to take her someplace where there was

no evidence of Jane. So, when they pulled up to an incredibly

sumptuous house on the shore of Lake Michigan, Elizabeth

chuckled.

“Where are we?”

“My house.”

“Your house? How the hell do you afford a house like this

on a detective’s salary? On a cop’s salary?”

“My family was loaded. They’re all dead, so now I’m load-

ed.” His voice was dry.

“That was nice of them to die off like that,” she said, catch-

ing his bemused expression.

“Tell me about it.” He unlocked the front door. “I’ve been

able to upgrade my bigscreen without a single ounce of guilt.

Want a drink?”

“Oh, God, please! Bourbon, neat.”

He flipped lights on as they snaked their way through

the house. It was a typical hunting lodge; lots of wood and

plaids and stone.

Elizabeth slipped into the comfort of a soft leather couch

as Darcy went behind the bar. She heard ice tinkle into a

glass and the hiss of a carbonated beverage. A few moments

later, he was standing in front of her, holding out a glass. She

accepted it and sipped at the warm whiskey while he nursed

his own fizzing, amber-colored drink.

“Will you tell me what he said?” Darcy asked. He settled

into a chair to her left.

Elizabeth looked at him. His suit was rumpled and his

curly hair was puffed up from the breezy ride to the house.

She imagined that he must look like that when he got out

of bed.

“Not right now, okay?”

“Okay.”

She stared at her tennis shoe, trying to coax the pain from

behind her eyes. It had been present since the first time she’d

met the detective, but she’d managed to ignore it. Till now.

It had snowballed until it felt as though her eyes were go-

ing to shoot across the room. Eventually, the whiskey would

dull the pain, but she would have to cope until she was

drunk enough.

“You know, Detective, sometimes I wouldn’t peg you for

a cop. Other times you just reek of the badge.”

“I suppose that isn’t a compliment.”

She shook her head and chuckled. “I suppose you’re

right.”

“I wasn’t planning on joining the force. I was originally

going to be a pilot.”

She looked at him and saw the light in his eyes.

“There’s really nothing like being up there, surrounded

by clouds, and looking down over the earth. Flying is free-

dom.”

“Do you still fly?” She asked as she leaned her head back

and closed her eyes. His deep voice settled into her bones

0

like boat floating to the bottom of the sea. She felt a shiver

pass through her.

“Every chance I get. Not to sound pretentious, but I own

a Cessna Skyhawk.”

“You have your own plane? That’s weird.” She looked at

him, wondering what was going through his mind.

Darcy shrugged. He took another sip of his drink and

leaned back in the chair, letting his long legs stretch out

in front of him. His arm draped over the arm of the chair

and the light caught in the cut glass tumbler as he absently

twisted his wrist around.

She found that she couldn’t take her eyes off him as his

eyelids dipped closed. His form, dark and valiant, against

this room reminded her of a sovereign casually changing

peoples’ lives with a nod of his head. He was mesmerizing

and beautiful, terrible and alluring. He commanded atten-

tion with that mouth and those eyes.

She swallowed and brushed her forehead with the back of

her hand, suddenly feeling very warm.

The silence settled between them and she looked around

the room, hoping to lure him back into a conversation.

There was a table behind the couch with photographs scat-

tered over its surface. A few showed a younger and obvi-

ously less jaded William Darcy. In some pictures, where

he was very young, he was with adults who were probably

his parents, but most of the photos showed him with a

wisp of a blonde girl who looked at him with eyes full of

adoration.

“Who’s this?”

Darcy opened his eyes, looking at her then at the photo.

He visibly stiffened. When he spoke his voice was tight.

“That’s Georgiana, my sister.”

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him. He stood suddenly

and made his way to the bar, though his drink was only half

gone. Once behind the heavy maple counter, he threw back

the rest of the liquor and poured a hefty amount of straight

scotch into the glass.

“Wanna tell me about it?” She asked.

“Not particularly.”

“So, we’re at an impasse.”

“It would appear so.”

Elizabeth stood and stretched her arms toward the sky.

With her drink in hand, she slipped over to the large glass

doors in the far wall and out into the night, hoping that the

clean, damp lake air would deliver a respite from the sud-

denly heavy mood inside.



The moment where her long body had come off the couch

and extended toward the sky, Darcy felt his heart in his

throat. Every muscle under her tight white baby tee was

visible. Her flannel pants clung low on her hips and he had

a glimpse of her creamy belly.

He finished freshening his drink and glanced over at the

table that held the family moments. Smiles and hugs and

trophies that were celebrated by all the Darcys. Shards of

the past that he didn’t want to recall because the pain still

felt so very fresh.

Taking a deep breath, he threw one last look toward the ta-

ble then moved to join Elizabeth outside. The air off the lake

was slightly chilly as he approached the open door. Having

a second thought, he moved to the other chair, grabbed a

fleece blanket, and went outside.

He found her standing on the eastern portion of the deck,

which faced the lake full on. She was sipping the bourbon

thoughtfully, while watching the water slap against the rocks

on the shore. The glow from the lights inside fell over her,

but the newly-risen moon, full and brilliant, caught her face

in its silvery grasp.

She put the glass down on the table next to her and turned

to him as he approached.

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You couldn’t have known that it isn’t a pleasant subject.”

He put his own drink down and unfurled the blanket. For

just a moment, his arms encircled her to drape the cover over

her shoulders. “Wouldn’t do for you to get sick.”

“You are such a puzzle, Detective,” she mused, giving him

a gentle smile.

Darcy stepped back and leaned against the rail. “I want

to tell you about what happened to my sister.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t want you to feel that

you have to tell me.”

“Too late,” he muttered, “But it isn’t because I feel guilty.

My sister was a freshman in college. I was preparing to start

my own charter flight company. My parents had already

passed away and it was just Gigi and me against the world.”

He took a long sip and rolled his shoulders to relieve the

sudden tension that flared (which it always did when talk-

ing about his sister), then faced her, his hip pressing against

the rail.

“It was a week before Thanksgiving and I got a telephone

call from the dean saying that Gigi had been missing for two

days. They found her body three days after Thanksgiving.

She’d been raped and beaten to death.”

Elizabeth, her blanket dropping from her shoulders, stepped

to him and tightened her arms around him. Automatically,

he returned her embrace. They stood silently, holding each

other. Darcy had never felt more at home in somebody’s arms

in his life and was sorely disappointed when she pulled back.

Back, he noted, but not away.

Her thumb ran over his cheek. “You didn’t realize that

you were crying did you?”

He shook his head. At that moment, he wanted nothing

more than to bury his face in her hair and smell her green

apple scent. The moonlight, the air, the embrace. Everything

was leading to an inevitable moment.

“Detective, are you taking Jane’s case personally? Did they

find the perp in your sister’s case?”

“I found the perp in Gigi’s case. I tossed aside my plans

and went into the force. Gigi’s case went cold during that

time, but I pieced together every tiny clue I had and agonized

over it in my spare time. Eventually, I found him and put

him on death row.”

“But it doesn’t bring her back.” She held him again, her

hands leaving warm paths on his back where she stroked.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her cheek was against his heart and he prayed that she

wouldn’t pay any mind to its rapid beat.

“He told me that Jane got off on the beatings he gave

her.”

Darcy’s eyes closed as he began to shake with rage. He

was positive that Bingley had been as cruel as possible in

delivering such news.

“Darcy?” She pulled away then and the question in her eyes

was something he desperately didn’t want to answer.

“That bastard. Are you okay?”

“No, but I will be.”

“I’m sure that he wasn’t a gentleman when informing

you.”

“The word ‘gentleman’ doesn’t belong in the same sentence

with Bingley. It was almost worth it to see his nose get shat-

tered though.”

He returned to his position on the rail. “Your boy-

friend?”

“It was a good thing Ben was there. I was distracted and

Bingley almost bested me twice. Karma, I guess.”

The magic was gone. The inevitable moment was only a

dream.

Her lips curved into a half-smile as she studied him. She

pulled the blanket back up over her shoulders and joined

him on the rail.

“What did you do with Bingley?”

“Left him for dead.”

Darcy nodded. “If his file comes across my desk, I’ll just

pitch it.”

“Good to have an in with the cops.”

Chuckling, he turned around to look at the lake. In all

the times he’d seen this view, in all the million hours spent

gazing at the cool blue that had been the one constant in

his life, Darcy had never before noticed how very small it

made him feel.

“Sometimes I wonder why I keep doing it? I caught the

freak that stole my sister. It should have been over a long

time ago.”

Elizabeth was still facing the house, but she took a step

closer to him so that their bodies were pressed together. He

knew then that it was human contact that they both craved,

the need to know that there was another human being feeling

the same pain. He inched closer to her, relishing the strength

he could draw from her.

“It’s never over. A long time ago I was in the academy. Did

you know that?”

He answered her with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, well, most people know, but are polite enough not

bring it up at dinner parties. Anyway, I worked on a case

while still taking classes. It was a special case and they needed

me specifically. I still live moments of that job in my head.”

She sighed wistfully, fiddling with the corner of the blanket.

She looked up at him. “So, you see, Detective, it’s never over.

Every new murder that is pushed across your desk is one more

way to avenge your sister. One more way to make it up to

her because you couldn’t save her.”

“You’re too insightful for your own good, Elizabeth.”

“What was in the diary? About what Bingley said, I

mean.”

“You don’t need….” He stopped as he looked down at her.

“What am I saying? Of course you need to.”

“How sad that you know me so well.” She forced a some-

what playful smile hooked her arm through his so that they

were pressed even closer together.

“You’re just predictable.” What a lie.

“I’ll make a note to change my repertoire.”

“Don’t go changin’ ‘cause of me.” He was surprised to hear

a bad Southern accent slip out of his mouth.

She giggled and shook her head. “Quit stalling. It won’t

make it any easier.”

He let his gaze return to the lake. “The diary indicated that

Jane did, uh, use Bingley for her pleasure many times.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “How could she do

this to me? I thought she loved me.”

“She did love you.”

She spun away from him and anger flashed in her eyes.

“How could she? How could she love me? You don’t lie to

people you love. I never lied to her. She knew everything

about me.”

“You must have had some secrets you kept from her.”

“Nothing about my life! Jobs, yes, but never anything about

me. She knew everything.” Her voice cracked against the

reality of the last word. She croaked out a whisper. “And I

knew nothing.”

He had to tell her about Wickham. He had to tell before

things got worse.

“There’s something else, Elizabeth.” He faced her and put

his hands on her shoulders. “It isn’t any better than what

Bingley said.”

“What is it?”

“There’s no easy way to tell you. I’m going to just say it,

okay?”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes.

“She was having an affair with Wickham.”

She flinched and swayed. “Why? Jane loved Gretchen.

Why would she want to hurt her like that?”

“I don’t think Gretchen knows.”

“A married man? Wickham? That’s beneath her.” She stared

up at him, her eyes glittering with tears in the pale light.

“Who was she?”

“I don’t know.” He gathered her into his arms again, rock-

ing slightly. “I don’t know who she was, but she was your

sister and she still loved you. Maybe she was spinning out of

control and she wanted to protect you from her fall.”

“I would have fought all the demons in hell for her.”

He pulled her closer. He doubted that Jane would’ve

done the same for Elizabeth. “I have no doubt that you

would’ve.”

“I don’t know who I am.” She cuddled into his chest, suck-

ing in sharp breath with each silent sob that wracked her

body.

His heart was twisting in his chest with every hitch her

body gave. She was more delicate than he had ever thought

she could be. Her world had changed in the space of a few

hours and, selfishly, he was glad that he was the one there to

comfort her. He was glad that Ben was far away in the city.

“You’re the same strong, amazing woman that you’ve al-

ways been, Elizabeth. Jane’s lies will only change you if you

let them.”

He felt her nod slowly, but he could tell she didn’t really

believe it. He released her and took a step back to wipe her

cheeks with a corner of the blanket.

“You are more to me than a victim’s sister. You have become

my friend. I will see you though this. I will be there when

you need me. I will remind you who you are.” He gave her

a soft, kind smile then pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

“Don’t stay out here too long. It will get cold soon.”

Darcy took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. “I’ll

be inside.”

“Thank you,” she whispered and he disappeared.



Elizabeth sat down next to her whiskey and finished it

off. She was shaking. Every molecule, every atom was rat-

tling around inside her. It was all too much to take in and,

frankly, she didn’t want to think anymore.

Better to just look at the dried leaves leftover from au-

tumn as they tumbled about, trapped on the deck. Better

to watch the lights from inside catch in her glass and make

tiny rainbows on the blanket. Better to just go to sleep and

dream of another reality.

Read the diary.

The thought bounced around in her head like a rubber

ball. It hit over and over again while she fought to catch it

and contain it. Her reality was broken and battered. Why

would she want to go through that torture?

Because you have to. Because you have to know how many

lies she told.

Jane and Bingley? Jane and Wickham? What the hell was

going on? Wickham?

He was Jane’s boss. He was Elizabeth’s old lover. He was a

prick. Elizabeth knew this for a fact. He had been obsessed

with her, especially after she refused to play his disturbing

games in the bedroom.

Beginning to see a pattern here, Liz?

Jane seemed to be choosing lovers who played it close to

the edge, perhaps even stepped over the edge. If Bingley

couldn’t have killed her…

Elizabeth shot up out of the seat, dragging the blanket

behind her. Darcy was sitting in the same chair he’d been

in earlier, drinking another scotch, and reading.

“Is that the diary?” She asked.

“Nope. I don’t have that here.” He held up the book.

“This is England: A Relatively Dry History Told In Boring

Language.”

“Funny,” she muttered. “Wickham your prime suspect?”

He shook his head. “You’re like a dog with a bone,

Elizabeth.”

“Dammit, answer me. Is he?”

“Yes. He left a condom in her trash. There were traces of

his skin beneath her nails.”

“Fuck. Wickham? George? I just can’t believe it. He’s a prick

and he does have strange ideas on how to get off, but could

he have really killed Jane?”

“I would have thought you would have convicted him al-

ready.”

“I learned my lesson the last time.”

He nodded thoughtfully and stood. “It’s getting late. We

should go to bed. Let me show you to the guest room.”

“It probably would be better to get a fresh start in the

morning. You can show me what you have then.”

They climbed the steps and Darcy led her down the hall.

“Which is your room?” Elizabeth asked. “And where’s the

bathroom?”

“My room is at the opposite end of the hall.” He opened

the door and she followed him into a spacious room with

white walls and a pine floor.

She stood, taking in the incredible paintings of the lake

at sunset and in the fall. The colors were brilliant and she

might have guessed unnatural if she hadn’t seen the lake that

off blue-green a million times.

“Who painted these? These are amazing.”

“I did.”

She looked at him, feeling like an idiot because she couldn’t

seem to close her mouth. “You did?”

He blushed as he nodded, his embarrassment obvious, and

Elizabeth almost fainted dead away at the charm of it.

“Uh, there’s a bathroom if you want to take a shower. There

are robes in here too,” he said, leading her to the bathroom

door.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a man who has many

guests.”

“What can I say? I am a man about town. I’ll see you in

the morning.” He gave her a smile and closed the door as

he walked out.

She settled into the thick comforter on top of the bed. She

thought about the shower even as she felt her eyes close and

the welcoming oblivion of sleep.

Chapter Nine

E

lizabeth’s eyes were nailed shut. She considered

opening them, but thought better of it and just

lay there in the stillness instead. It was one of

her favorite morning rituals, slowly easing herself

awake, picking sounds out of the air and letting them rumble

through her, no matter how tiny it was.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, she managed

to pry her eyes open with her thumb and forefinger. She

didn’t panic at the unfamiliar surroundings. She was used

to sleeping in places that weren’t necessarily her own, so she

stared up at the ceiling, occasionally examining her periphery.

According to the clock on the bedside table, it was just a few

minutes after seven. The morning was already bright.

Like dye in a bowl of water, the day’s previous events

spooled out into her mind and she sighed. She knew that

she had fallen asleep on top of the comforter and, in her ex-

haustion, had probably not moved a muscle during the night.

However, she was covered with the same fleece blanket she

had been wrapped in the previous night.

“That big softie,” she murmured, running her hand over

the fluffy cloth.

With the same amount of effort a man puts into hauling

a block of limestone with a rope, Elizabeth managed to pull

her body up and throw her legs over the side of the bed. Her

eyes immediately fell upon a painting of an Adirondack chair

with a book and a blanket. The lake spread far behind in a

sapphire blue that was rich and brilliant.

“I can’t believe he paints. And he’s good.”

She stood, smoothing out her clothes then casually glanced

at the mirror over the bureau. She winced. Her long hair

was full of tangles and the bruise on her cheek was an inky

blue-violet. In the pit of her stomach a ball of rage shook

her. She wished that she could see the mess that was Bingley.

Even a million bruises would have been worth it to see That

Bastard suffer.

She looked at the bathroom door and considered what a

shower might do for her sagging spirits. Hot water running

over her never failed to not only cleanse her mind, but scrub

her soul as well. And right now she was in sore need of both.

As she entered the enormous bathroom, she wondered if

that was how it felt to walk into heaven. Her heart melted

at the site of the huge green bathtub, and she let her fingers

trail lovingly over the porcelain, taking in its innate coolness.

It was sunken into a pine platform with steps leading up

into it. The fixtures were a bright, shiny brass. A matching

shower stall stood a few feet away, but Elizabeth eyed the

tub like it was a mirage.

Screw the shower. She started the bathwater, its temperature

as near to boiling as she could get, then moved about the

room, searching for treasures stowed away for guests.

How many women have been in this glorious room? How

many of those “guests” has he been in here with? Elizabeth

thought as she opened a cabinet filled with an exotic selection

of expensive bath salts and bubbles. Surely a man as mascu-

line as Darcy did not keep Hawaiian ginger bath bubbles for

himself and he couldn’t have kept his sister’s toiletries after all

these years. Steam rolled in wet clouds around the room.

Peeling off her clothes, she spread them out on a wicker

chair.

“Maybe some of the wrinkles will fall out and I’ll not look

like something he picked up off the street last night,” she

said to the empty room. She examined the rest of her body

in the slightly foggy full-length mirror, looking for other

injuries. There was a nasty bruise across her chest and along

her thigh. There was a cut on her arm. She sighed, rubbing

the tension in her neck, and mounted the steps to sink a toe

into the water. The warmth traveled up her leg as she sank

deeper into the tub; a gentle, comforting caress that held her.

Like Darcy’s arms.

She recalled what it was like when he’d held her the night

before. His arms were like a vice and, for the first time in

her life, she’d felt safe enough to trust somebody with her

entire being.

What? No. I don’t trust anybody that much. But, shit, he

does have fabulous arms! She thought about how they looked

beneath his dress shirts. They may have been camouflaged

under that ribbon of civility, but she could sense their power,

their strength. She knew that he could keep the world at bay,

but also touch her with a caress like a baby’s breath.

For a single guilty moment, Elizabeth thought about Ben.

It was fleeting, though, and her mind returned to Darcy. She

wanted to think about something pleasant and warm. And,

she had not wanted to run when he put his arms around

her.

She smiled as she slipped into the water until it touched

the tip of her chin. Somehow she knew that Darcy would be

in her life even after they solved Jane’s case. She was getting

used to the constant surprises and she loved trading barbs

with him. They were friends, but it didn’t hurt that the man

was fucking beautiful beyond belief.

As thoughts of his body slid around in her mind, she

felt her breath catch in her throat. She wondered what his

hard chest looked like beneath those dark suits and starched

shirts. Her fingers suddenly longed to touch his flesh in an

effort to investigate the possibility of prompting kisses for

her own skin.

She swallowed a moan and rolled her head around. Her

whisper seemed to fill the room. “Wow.”

Leaning against the warmed porcelain, Elizabeth felt that

familiar sensation she got deep inside when she wanted Ben

in the most primal of ways, but this had nothing to do with

Ben and everything to do with the man who was sleeping

just down the hall. For the first time in her life, however,

Elizabeth let herself acknowledge the possible complications

of pursuing the man she now wanted.

There was no doubt she could have him. Elizabeth had

never been denied the company of a man in her life. Now,

though, with all that was going on--all that had brought

them together, but kept them apart--she knew that wanting

to feel his body against hers would only be a fantasy.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander

into Darcy’s bed. After all, fantasies had no consequences.



The Chicago Tribune rattled in Darcy’s hands as he

sipped his third cup of coffee. Elizabeth was up. She was

lying naked and soapy in the steaming waters of his bathtub.

He sighed and shook his head trying to push his new favorite

image from his mind’s eye.

After putting her to bed he’d returned downstairs and

finished his drink and his book, then checked on her before

going to bed. It looked as if she had just fallen backward

and let the bed catch her. Her feet hung off the side and

she was on top of the coverlet instead of beneath it. He

had retrieved the blanket she’d been using and covered her

after he’d pulled her completely onto the bed. She didn’t

even twitch.

Sleep never came easy for him. He had rarely slept more

than two hours at a time since Georgiana had been killed.

And last night proved impossible. Knowing that Elizabeth

was sleeping just down the hall was very close to torture, as

he imagined her lying nude in the bed with her hair fanning

out in waves of chocolate silk.

He was surprised that she was up so early. She would’ve

had less than five hours of sleep and he knew that it couldn’t

have been enough. His shoulders shook in a quiet, ironic

laugh. Worried about her lack of sleep while contemplating

his own was suddenly very funny.

A few minutes later, he poured another cup of coffee and

dug for the sports page to read about the Cubs latest game

and silently pray for a World Series win come fall when she

padded quietly into the kitchen.

She was obviously not expecting him to be there, wear-

ing the fluffy pale blue robe that had once belonged to an

ex-girlfriend. He wasn’t sure until the moment Elizabeth

walked in the room why he’d kept it, but he was glad he had.

Knowing she wouldn’t see him immediately, he rattled the

paper and cleared his throat.

Elizabeth jumped. One damp lock of dark hair smacked

her in the face and her eyes narrowed while a blush crept up

her cheeks, though the sweet red was soon hiding under the

ugly bluish-purple mar left by Bingley.

He was thankful his waist was below the table. Then he

wondered why she was the one blushing.

“I should tie a bell around your neck,” she muttered, ap-

proaching the table. The robe was open from the throat and

exposed enough of the flesh beneath for him to see another

terrible bruise near her collarbone.

“Wouldn’t work. I wasn’t moving,” he replied, trying not

to stare at the bruise that marred her lovely skin.

She stuck her tongue out at him. He smirked.

“I put water on for tea when I heard you moving around

this morning. It’s probably still warm. I’m afraid though that

the only tea I have is chamomile.”

“My favorite. Where are the cups?”

“Second cupboard. There’s cream in the fridge or milk, if

you prefer, and sugar is next to the rangetop.”

Elizabeth found her way about with ease and he thought of

watching her move about his kitchen like this every morning.

She prepared her tea with a just a splash of cream and two

lumps of sugar. When it was ready, she wrapped her hands

around the mug and joined him at the table.

“So, what are we doing today? Arresting George? Filing

assault charges on Bingley?”

“You’re in a better mood.”

“Well, I slept and had a bath in that incredible tub. Do

you rent that thing out? Because if you do, I’m thinking

about moving in.”

He bit his lip to avoid the ugly scene that might occur if

he begged her to do just that. “Well, you’d have to share it

with Phil. He’s the plumber and he takes great pride in his

work. He’s also an asscrack kind of man.”

In a very charming, girlish gesture, she wrinkled her nose

and shook her head. “In that case, I think I’ll stick with

what I have.”

Finally feeling confident enough to stand, he set the sports

page down and pushed away from the table.

“I hope you’re hungry. I didn’t eat at all yesterday.” He

walked over to the island and pulled out some cookware,

intent on cooking a massive meal.

“You cook too?” She had pulled a section of the paper

toward her but now she looked up at him. He could feel her

eyes on him as he pulled eggs, milk, and real butter out of

the refrigerator.

He chuckled at the stupefied awe in her voice. “Yes, I

cook too.”

“What do I have to do to get you to marry me?” She asked,

leaning her head on her fist and looking at him with enor-

mous mooneyes.

He shook his head, biting his lip again to avoid her tempt-

ing offer, and snorted out a laugh. He went about preparing a

breakfast of orange crepes, sausage, and honied oatmeal while

she sipped her tea and read the news and the arts & leisure

sections. After awhile, he noticed she was watching him.

“Why are you staring at me, Elizabeth?” He was glad his

voice didn’t sound as self-conscious as he felt.

“I’m not staring. I’m observing.” Her bottom lip popped

out in a most adorable pout.

“No, you’re staring. And now you’re pouting because I

called you out.”

She stood and walked to the island, leaning down on her

elbows to prop her head on her hands. Her mouth screwed

up thoughtfully as she kept her eyes on him.

He flipped a crepe and took a large gulp of his coffee before

acknowledging her. “Elizabeth, what’s up?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “I think I need

to read the diary.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“No. You can’t read the diary. It’s evidence and I can’t let

you have evidence.”

“Why you bloody prick!”

He rolled his eyes. Sometimes, no, most of the time she

could act like such a brat.

“Listen, you aren’t even officially on this case. I’m risking

my job, and my neck every time I give you a new piece of

information. Don’t you think that if I could, I would let

you?”

“No,” she muttered, tracing the grout in the tiled island

with her long, slender finger.

He sighed. “You’re right, but that’s because I care about

you. As your friend, I don’t think it would be helpful for you

to read Jane’s diary. As the investigating officer, it would be

illegal to allow it.”

“Darcy.” She stood up straight. Her hair had dried into

long ringlets. “You know I have to read it.”

“Elizabeth.” He shook his head as he turned the sausage.

“You know I can’t let you.”

They stood silently. He knew that she was pissed, and he

was relieved that the argument he planned to use had ef-

fectively roadblocked her ability to read the hurtful diary. It

was true, legally she wasn’t supposed to read it, but he knew

if she persisted, he would give into her demands. Looking at

her tousled hair and bruised cheek, which made him want

to kill Bingley himself, he knew how impossible it would be

to deny her anything.

“Hungry?” He asked, thinking of something other than

the meal he’d prepared.

“Famished.”

He loaded their plates with food and carried them to the

table as she poured another cup of tea.

She took a bite, savoring the subtle citrus flavor of the

crepes. “Jesus, how’d you learn to cook like this?”

“My mother was a chef.”

“Oh, she raised you good!” She winked at him.

Darcy took a bite of sausage, concentrating on the flavor

bursting in his mouth to distract him from her charm. He

looked around the kitchen, hoping to remain distracted.

The sun was flowing in and bouncing off the white tilework

like an acrobat. The stainless steel appliances seemed to

glow like precious jewels. The aroma of their breakfast

hung heavy in the room like the perfume of an elderly

aunt.

“Darcy, hey! Pay attention.”

He looked back at her. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

“No kidding. I asked if you were going to the Policeman’s

Ball this weekend.”

“Uh, I might. I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you there. I promised Ben that I’d

go with him, though if he isn’t speaking to me, I wouldn’t

be surprised.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Darcy set his fork

down. His appetite was suddenly gone. “You did treat him

rather badly last night.”

Elizabeth nodded. “He didn’t deserve it. That poor

wretch.”

“Well, we should get to work, don’t you think?” He consid-

ered the gravel deep in his chest as it rumbled about, bruising

his heart.

She popped the last bit of crepe into her mouth and

grinned at him. “That was fabulous!”

“Thanks. I’ll load the dishwasher. You go get dressed.”

She pulled herself up from her seat and graced him with a

genuine smile that nearly choked him. Then Elizabeth bent

toward him and, like he had done the night before, laid a

kiss on his forehead.

“You’re my friend, too. Thank you.”

His chest was tight when she left the room.



Dressed in the clothes she’d had on the previous evening,

Elizabeth sighed as she entered the den. She was barefoot and

her feet were cold, but she absolutely could not put on a dirty

pair of socks. She would have had to bathe all over again.

Gingerly, she stepped over the hardwood planks as Darcy

looked up from his desk.

“Where are your socks?”

“They’re dirty. I can’t put them back on.”

She frowned at the amused smile that spread over his

gorgeous mouth.

“Picky, picky.”

“Not picky.” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes as she tiptoed

across the floor to stand next to him. She leaned down, her

cheek next to his. “Just concerned about the impression I

might leave on a certain officer of the law if he catches me

wearing yesterday’s stinky socks.”

Darcy smirked and rolled his eyes. “You’ve already made

quite an impression, Elizabeth. I don’t think you have to

worry about that.”

She huffed in exasperation and sat down on the edge of

the desk. “Fine. You wouldn’t happen to have a pair of socks

I could borrow. These floors are freezing.”

He chuckled and stood, disappearing a few moments

later.

Elizabeth looked around the den, which Darcy appar-

ently used as his office. There were piles of books on fo-

rensics and criminal psychology. There was a huge bul-

letin board on one wall that was divided into sections and

had colored index cards tacked to every inch. She stepped

closer to examine them and saw cards relating to Jane’s

case. Other cards were details of other cases that he was

working on. Scanning the board, she noted the total in

progress was six.

“He must be a machine,” she whispered. She left the board

and took the seat across the desk from Darcy’s chair, glancing

over his desk. There, in the sea of loose paper and manila

folders, something blue peeked out.

She leaned forward to gain a better view. It was exact-

ly what she thought. Jane’s diary. Reaching over the desk,

Elizabeth nearly had it in her hand.

“That’s the first diary,” Darcy said. He walked past her to

his chair and tossed the balled socks toward her. They hit

her hand away from the book. “The one full of fluff about

you and dear, old Ben.”

“So you say,” she muttered. “You told me that you didn’t

have the diary here.”

“Not the one you meant.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine.” Darcy opened a drawer and produced a book identi-

cal to the one lying on the desktop. He shoved it across to

her as she pulled on his socks. “You want to read the book

so damn bad then read it. I can’t truly stop you.”

“What about it being evidence?”

“What’s a little thing like the law mean to you when it’s

something you want?” His voice held just a trace of bitter-

ness.

“Where did this sudden hostility come from?”

He stood up, his chair flying back against the wall obvi-

ously harder than he intended.

“I’m trying to protect you from what’s in that book. You

aren’t going to like the Jane who wrote that. I don’t like

the Jane that wrote it. She’s not the golden girl that every-

body thought she was and this book just illustrates that.” He

paused to take a deep breath. “You’re relentless, and I just

realized that I can’t protect you from yourself.”

She went to him, not able to help herself as she took his

face in her hands. Tears bit at her eyes, but she refused to let a

single one fall. This man before her baffled her. She hated that

she wanted his approval, but she wanted it all the same.

“Detective, you needn’t protect me.”

“Elizabeth, you really aren’t going to like what’s in there.”

Sighing, she leaned back, dropping her hands. “I know. I’ll

make you a deal. I won’t read it now, but eventually, Detective,

when this is all over, I’m going to have to know the truth.

Eventually I’m going to see who my sister really was.”

He nodded. “Right now, though, what do you say we haul

us in a suspect to question?”

She looked down at her clothes then eyed him doubt-

fully.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take you home so you can change first.

Um, and you can keep the socks.”

She rolled her eyes and went to find her shoes.

When they were on the road, heading toward the city,

Elizabeth twisted beneath her seatbelt to examine Darcy.

“What?” He asked. His voice was tight and edgy like it had

been when she was staring at him in the kitchen.

“You’re a puzzle to me.”

His forehead wrinkled and he shook his head. His eyes

were hidden behind black sunglasses, but she would’ve lain

money down that they held an amused light.

“And God forbid that there be something in your life that

you can’t figure out. Right, Elizabeth?”

Her face twisted into a scowl and her bottom lip popped

out in a pout. She had never been above pouting to get her

way. Girls were girls for a reason. Why not use those powers

for personal gain?

“Who says I can’t figure you out? Give me time, Detective.

I’ll have you mapped out like a guide to the homes of

Hollywood stars.”

“You may not like what you find.” His voice was congenial,

but held just a hint of menace.

Elizabeth felt her insides leap at the thought of a bad boy

trapped in that delicious shell of a man. She grinned instead

of leaping on him. “Oh, I have a feeling that there’s very little

about you that I would dislike.”

She settled back in her seat and let the silence fill the air.

After all her years as a student of human nature, she was

stunned to realize that here was a man unlike any other man

she’d ever encountered. Detective William Darcy frightened

her, excited her, and puzzled her all at the same time.

They pulled into her parking garage and he slid the

Thunderbird into the parking space, letting the engine idle.

“Aren’t you going to come up?”

“Do you need help getting undressed?”

Elizabeth felt her stomach lurch at the graveled tone of

his voice. Her cheeks went hot with a blush and she looked

away in embarrassment. She never blushed. It the dimness of

the garage, she could barely make out any of his features and

his eyes were still concealed behind the dark glasses. There

was something primal about his voice that made her body

ache. Quickly, Elizabeth gained what composure she could

and swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I think I can manage, but it seems silly for you to sit

down here.”

“Does it?” He shut the car off, but made no effort to

move.

“What’s going on with you?” Her voice sounded very small

in her ears.

“Nothing.” Exhaustion was buried deep within his

words.

“Okay.” She bit her lip. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”



It had been better when she wasn’t flirting with him. He

could put aside his desires and his needs when it was clear

that she was just trying to solve a case. He knew that the

better he got to know her, the more comfortable she would

become and, considering her past, flirting was like second

nature and it meant absolutely nothing. Perhaps he could

just fuck her and get it out of his system, but somehow he

didn’t think so.

Elizabeth was walking a dangerous line and she wasn’t

even aware of it. He didn’t feel safe with her now. Not after

the way she had brushed his cheek with her hand. Not after

the way she had looked so completely at home in his kitchen

with her damp hair and peek-a-boo robe.

Darcy felt his whole body tighten as he recalled her pad-

ding into his kitchen. He shuddered at the thought of throw-

ing her on the table and claiming every inch of her as his

own. Closing his eyes, he chastised himself.

Drop it, Darcy. Jesus, man! Get a grip!

His inner struggle did not stop when she returned a few

moments later. They were silent all the way to the precinct.



Richard Fitzwilliam had no illusions about who

Elizabeth really was. They had known each other for years

and she could trust him to always supply her with the ab-

solute truth. He never let her walk away doubting what to

do next because he always gave her a clear, whole picture of

what she was going through.

She chose to bow out of watching Darcy interrogate

Wickham, as she had her doubts about Darcy’s technique

and her own ability to manage her inevitable anger. Instead,

she slipped away to the vice squad’s bullpen intent on visit-

ing her friend. Faint traces of sweat, sex and stale coffee

undercut the air and she tried not to inhale the scent. It was

a reminder of all the whores and pimps that had stopped in

on their way to lock-up.

“Now, normally pretty girls like you cost a little more, but

I’d have to say your exorbitant price would be worth it.”

Elizabeth turned around and stared into Richard’s hand-

some face. It was a little more lined than the last time she’d

seen him and perhaps his expression was a bit darker, but

he was still the same gorgeous man who’d befriended her

years ago. She stepped into his open arms as she grinned and

embraced him warmly.

He pulled her into his office and closed the door behind

him effectively shutting out the cacophony created by the

catcalls and the hollers of the cops and offenders in the bull-

pen.

“Heard about your sister, Liz. My condolences.”

“Thank you, Richie.”

“How are you holding up?”

Elizabeth’s face tightened. Despite their many estrange-

ments, they had never felt a moment’s bitterness toward one

another. They were simply the kind of friends who were

friends when the need arose. Richard had always been dear

to her and she found it impossible to lie to him.

“Not so good,” she whispered after a long pause. “First,

Jane is murdered then I find that she wasn’t the person I

believed her to be.”

Richard’s lips pressed into a thin line as he regarded her,

concern filling his light grey eyes. “Will Darcy is on her

case, isn’t he?”

She nodded and dabbed at her eyes with the tissue he’d

handed her.

“He’s good, Liz. Very good.” He leaned back in his seat

and tossed his long, denim covered legs onto the desk. “As

good as you.”

“Don’t start, Richard.”

“You should’ve been a cop.”

Elizabeth threw a tired glance up at the ceiling. “We both

know I do more good where I’m at now.”

“You have less rules, you mean.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. They’d had this

conversation so many times over the years. It was hard not

to be irritated by it.

“Are you bothering Detective Darcy?” He asked.

“I wouldn’t say I’m bothering him.” She thought it best not

to mention that she’d slept at his house the previous night.

Richard didn’t mean that kind of bothering anyway.

“Liz, I know you.”

She shrugged, knowing that was the only answer he re-

quired. He chuckled.

“He madly in love with you yet?”

“I’m a pain in his ass. Why would he be in love with me?”

The incident in the car slipped into her mind and she felt lust

roll through her stomach like thunder.

Richard’s eyebrow climbed into its are-you-kidding-me

arch. “He’s a live male, isn’t he?”

“You never fell for my charms,” Elizabeth pointed out, not

wanting to discuss William Darcy any further.

“That’s because I’m a robot.”

Smiling, Elizabeth leaned forward. “I always knew there

was something fishy about you.”

He stuck his tongue out at her, a gesture that she’d always

loved. Despite being ten years older than they’d been at their

first meeting, Richard still looked like an overgrown fifteen

year old. His sandy curls, while hinting that they might

eventually grey, never minded the comb and he still had a

smattering of freckles across his cheeks.

“You seeing anybody?” She asked, knowing what the an-

swer would be. Before he could reply, her eyes narrowed.

“Dammit! You need somebody, Richie! You can’t spend the

rest of your life alone. Maggie wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to answer! I have started see-

ing somebody, but it isn’t anything serious yet. We’ve only

had a few dates.”

Her mouth twisted as she considered him. “Real dates or

have you become an Internet pervert?”

“Jesus, Liz. She’s a real girl, okay?”

“All right. You know, though, if she doesn’t allow you to

have casual sex with me that she’s entirely the wrong girl

for you.”

He laughed as he shook his head. “Well, of course! That’s

a given.”

She stood, looking at her watch. “I have to go bother

the irascible detective some more. He should be about done

interrogating our suspect.”

“Our suspect? Where should I send the gravy boat?”

Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at him and opened the

door to his office. Then, buttoning a few buttons she had

undone as she walked out, she smirked at him intent on

setting the bullpen ablaze. “Thanks, Richie. It’s been plea-

surable as always.”

The room exploded with laughter and whoops as Elizabeth

gave a throaty laugh. She turned toward the bullpen, smiling,

then took a step and froze.

There, across the room, with a dark, dangerous expression

on his face stood Darcy.

Chapter Ten

D

arcy wasn’t sure he could keep the bile

down.

He spun quickly on his heel and darted

into the nearest restroom, hoping that she

hadn’t followed. He couldn’t look at her right now. He

couldn’t barely think.

How could she? What kind of woman flaunted sex like

that?

How could he want such a woman?

As he leaned over the porcelain bowl, he felt himself purge

all of his desire, all of the mindless lust that had built up over

the last few days. Jesus, had it really only been days? It seemed

like a lifetime of want.

He would just be another conquest for the gorgeous tramp

that was probably waiting for him in the hall. He would be

some random man that she decided was good enough for a

fuck for one night, good enough to become another notch in

the bedpost, another condom wrapper in the scrap book.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and flushed

the toilet before stepping out of the stall.

“You okay, Darce?” Inspector Howard asked as he carried

his newspaper into another stall.

“Yeah. Fine. It’s just that sludge you assholes down here in

vice call coffee. Doesn’t agree with my sensitive stomach.”

“That’s because you assholes in Homicide are pussies.”

Howard replied and closed the door behind him.

Darcy ran cold water in the sink for a long time, letting it

pour over his fingers until they were numb. He splashed the

water over his face and didn’t bother drying it.

Cautiously, he opened the door. Elizabeth Bennet was

nowhere in sight. He thanked whatever god might be lis-

tening and added how nice it would be if she had gone to

look for him in the next state or, perhaps, taken her search

to the moon.

By the time he got back upstairs, Darcy was nearly com-

mitted to becoming a Baptist.



She hadn’t needed to come, but she’d insisted. Elizabeth

complained that if she didn’t focus on something else besides

death for a while, her head would explode. She had told him

she had promised him she would show up on his arm and

be happy to be there.

Ben was elated.

He went up to retrieve her from the apartment. When he

saw her, his breath sighed out of his lungs in a single gush. He

had never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life. In

a very feminine gesture, Elizabeth twirled for inspection.

She was dressed in a silk gown the color of the night sky

as it slipped away to dawn. The halter-style top was clasped

behind her neck with a simple diamond brooch while the

chiffon over silk skirt flared like a bell to the floor. Deep

blue sapphires sparkled at her ears and the sapphire and

diamond bracelet Ben had bought for her glittered over her

gloved wrist.

“God, Beth,” he whispered, his lips brushing her shoulder.

“Oh, keep that up and you’re so getting laid tonight,” she

laughed.

“We could skip dinner if you’d like.”

“And waste the three hours I spent getting ready? Are you

mad?”

He chuckled and offered his elbow. They made their way

to the limousine in silence. Ben was not quite sure what to

say.

She did that to him often, struck him dumb. He never

knew what to expect from the incredibly brilliant woman

at his side. The week they’d spent in Europe she’d been the

truly attentive girlfriend, but when they’d gotten back she

didn’t call him for a month.

They had an awful row then amazing make-up sex.

Ben knew that she didn’t love him, but he held out hope.

He held tightly because Elizabeth kept coming back. She

hadn’t taken another lover since their first date. She hadn’t

said no to his gifts or his adoration.

That had to mean something, right?

He handed her into the waiting car then slid in beside

her, catching her green apple scent as she leaned back into

the soft leather.

“A girl could get used to this.”

She smiled and his heart threatened to shoot from his

chest. He slipped his fingers through hers to raise her hand

to his lips.

“I’d offer it forever if I thought you’d take it.”

“I know you would,” she replied quietly.

“Beth, you mean the world to me.”

He regretted the words as soon as he said them. She turned

her head away to look out the tinted window.

“Forget I said that,” he whispered, his heart breaking.

“I don’t want to forget you said it. Ben, you know me about

as well as anybody. Do you really think in the long run I’d

make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“You could at least think about it.”

He had thought about it. Everyday for months he had

thought about it. He had thought about things like putting

an obscene diamond on her finger; seeing her dressed in a

white silk gown and smiling as she walked down the aisle to

him; watching her belly swell with their child.

Indeed, he had thought about it so much it made his

head ache.

“You don’t understand, Beth. I love you.”

“I know you do, Ben, but you know that right now, espe-

cially now, I can’t even think about love. I hate to hurt you

because I do care about you. I love being with you. You’re

fun and sweet and incredibly sexy.”

“Don’t do that, Beth. Don’t distract me with sex.”

She shook her head and pulled her hand from his.

“That’s what this started out as though. It was just sex.

We had so much fun in the beginning. Why did that have

to change?”

“You can’t go around just fucking for the rest of your life.

Eventually, you’ll need somebody.” Ben felt the anger slide

into his voice like molasses over the lip of a pitcher. Then he

sighed. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Then let’s not. Let’s put aside all this heavy shit and just

enjoy each other tonight. Can we do that?”

He looked at her and surrendered once again to the woman

who ruled his heart. He would walk into the ballroom with

this stunning woman on his arm. Men would envy him as

she stayed by his side and feigned the inevitable adoring

glances. He would dance with her held tightly to his body

and know that it was only a prelude to the seduction she had

in mind for later.

Ben let himself be disgusted with her for a moment then

pulled her into his half embrace, his arm wrapping around

her slim shoulders. As pathetic as it was, he was willing to

take the tiny bit of her he could get.



Jasper Thickett had built Stone Birch Castle over a cen-

tury before. It was a large, slightly menacing structure located

nearly forty-five minutes from downtown Chicago. It sat

in the middle seventy-five acres of woods, a retreat for old

money and dark secrets though it didn’t start out that way.

Jasper had made his fortune with a shipping company that

had dominated Great Lakes’ trade for generations. He had

commissioned the castle for his young English bride, Sarah-

Agatha, as a wedding gift.

Elizabeth knew this because she’d investigated Jasper and

Sarah-Agatha’s great-great grandson, Maxwell Thickett. His

wife, Jessica, had suspected Maxwell of taking out a contract

on her life.

It was always intriguing to Elizabeth to know that she

was usually the only person in the room who truly knew

what was going on. Maxwell, still worth millions thanks

to Jasper, would be hosting the Officer’s Ball at Stone Birch

Castle along with his new wife, Alexis.

Maxwell had divorced Jessica after his own investigation

revealed her plot to kill him. What was that saying about

love and war?

The ballroom of the great house was sumptuous, an incred-

ible blend of gaudy and glory that would rival any foreign

aristocracy. The redwood dance floor was polished to such

a gleam that it glowed beneath the cut Waterford crystal

chandeliers. The carpet surrounding the dance floor was a

deep, plush burnished plum that seemed to capture the tiny

0

rainbows from above for just a moment before releasing them.

A full orchestra sat in a bandstand to one side of the floor

while a podium had been set up at the front of the room.

Linen-topped tables seemed to stretch for miles, each deco-

rated with glorious vases of cream and plum roses.

“Mr. Benjamin Reynolds and Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Ben

said to the attendant who in turn gave him a card with their

table number on it.

As they made their way into the throng of people, she

became aware of all the eyes on them. She was used to being

examined by men. Hell, she had welcomed it for years, but

she’d never known Ben to eat up attention.

Like he was doing right now.

Women were gawking at him, which was not unusual with

his sandy hair and stunning green eyes. He graced as many

as he could with his charming, brilliant grin.

Elizabeth felt her hand tighten on his arm and he looked

at her as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“Jealous?” He asked bitterly.

“Could we not do this here?”

Before he could reply their host and hostess appeared.

Maxwell grabbed Ben’s hand and shook vigorously then

threw a glance at Elizabeth before taking her hand, which

he kissed gently on the back.

Maxwell was well aware of Elizabeth’s investigation, but

he understood that it had been business and held no hard

feelings. She suspected that he thought it best to bury the

hatchet in case she’d found other dirt that he didn’t want

brought to light. Blackmail wasn’t in Elizabeth’s nature, but

Maxwell needn’t know that.

“Ben! Elizabeth! I’m so glad you made it!” Maxwell ex-

claimed. He pulled the younger, blonder Jessica forth. “Have

you met Alexis?”

Never very good at small talk, Elizabeth unconsciously

moved closer to Ben, not paying any attention to the conversa-

tion going on. A few moments later, he slipped a glass of cham-

pagne into her hand. She glanced at him gratefully, but he

was still talking with Maxwell. A look at Alexis and Elizabeth

knew that Maxwell’s wife was just as disinterested.

She sighed and sipped her champagne. She didn’t want to

fight with him, not over something as trivial as feelings. It

was ridiculous for him to be angry with her over something

that she couldn’t control.

Suddenly, she felt lips against her ear as Ben came at her

from behind.

“What?”

“I asked if you would forgive me for being a childish prick?”

Ben slipped his hands to her hips and Elizabeth felt a million

envious eyes from both sexes fall on them.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because you look sad and I don’t want you to look sad

because of me.”

“A bit presumptuous, aren’t you? Perhaps I’m sad because

killer bees fizzled out or that Pauly Shore will never be taken

seriously as an actor.”

His lips caressed her ear again. “Nice try, but I know you

don’t want to fight with me.”

She turned in his arms then and cupped his face between

her hands. “Don’t think for a moment that I don’t give a

damn about you because I do. I have to. Not many men

would sacrifice the time it requires to so thoroughly get me

out of this gown.”

He chuckled. “So, even being a childish prick, I’m still

getting laid tonight?”

“Oh, I don’t know, buddy. You’re going to have to suck up

a helluva lot more than that.”



Darcy saw Elizabeth the moment he walked into the

room. He wasn’t alone. It would have been nearly impos-

sible to ignore the glamorous couple snuggling in the crush

of people.

He felt a stab of raging jealousy as Ben kissed the tip of

Elizabeth’s nose. Shaking his head as he recalled her cavalier

exit in Vice, Darcy made his way to the bar.

“Bourbon and branch,” he ordered.

“She’s a pain in the ass. I’ve heard you’ve barely been able

to get rid of the gorgeous Miss Elizabeth Bennet since the

sister died.”

Darcy looked up from the circle his finger was tracing

on the polished redwood bar to see Lieutenant Richard

Fitzwilliam grinning at him over his own drink.

“You’ve heard correctly then,” he replied stiffly.

“She’s a pain in the ass, but she would’ve made one helluva

cop.”

“She mentioned that she knew you and that you owed her

a favor.”

Fitzwilliam sniggered as the bartender handed Darcy his

drink. They strolled without a destination among the crowd

of partygoers. Darcy tried to convince himself that he didn’t

care what had happened between Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam.

She hadn’t gotten under his skin. He could care less about a

beautiful tramp and her endless stream of men.

“I’ve known Liz since before she dropped out of the

Academy.”

“She dropped out? I heard she was expelled.” Suddenly, his

curiosity was wildly out of control.

“The old expulsion story? Please. She only allows that tale

to be told because it adds to her mystique. A woman like

Liz is too calculated, too careful to just let people think she

failed.”

“You seem to know her well,” Darcy remarked dryly. Well

enough for an office fuck in the middle of the day.

“Let’s just say we go way back.” Fitzwilliam threw back the

last of his drink. “Still a damn shame about the sister.”

“Miss Bennet is determined to find out who did it.”

“I’m sure she is. She’s rather like a pit bull that way.” He

smiled as if at some distant memory. “Liz has never let proto-

col stand in her way. We know that she’ll pester the shit out

of you. Don’t worry about working this case with her. You

could probably use her help. There won’t be any questions.

Everything’s been taken care of.”

The enigmatic approval to work with Elizabeth hung in

the air as Fitzwilliam took his leave.



She and Ben had been seated at a table with two very droll

couples whom Elizabeth wished repeatedly would suddenly

be victims of a freak bus accident. It was the only satisfactory

demise she could think of.

The bland conversation between the middle-aged women,

who seemed to have chosen the same untalented plastic sur-

geon for their facelifts, kept primarily to which trophy wives

were screwing their pool boys/gardeners.

Noting that Ben was following the conversation between

the men with mild interest, Elizabeth slipped her hand be-

neath the table and ran her index finger along his inseam.

He tried to bat her hand away, but she persisted. Finally he

surrendered, fighting to maintain his composure.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Maxwell said from the raised po-

dium at the front of the room. “I want to thank you all for at-

tending tonight. You know that this evening is an important

night for those in law enforcement in our fair city. Not only

do we recognize our incredible officers; it is a chance for you

to make contributions to their retirement fund. Open those

checkbooks, people!” Maxwell demanded. “Now, please

join me in welcoming our revered Superintendent of Police,

Gordon Casey.”

Polite applause echoed throughout the room as the police

chief made his way from the head table. The Super, as those

on the Force called him, was a tall man with broad shoulders

and big hands. His skin was a rich caramel that was striking

against his salt and pepper hair. He had a thick mustache

that was a shade lighter and deep hazel eyes.

Elizabeth had always thought well of him. He had integ-

rity, which was rare, and he was fair. She had heard that he

was planning to retire soon, but knew that he would never

quit working. There were rumors that he would take up

teaching a couple of classes at the Academy. To be in his

class would almost be a reason to go back.

“We’re here tonight to honor the men and women who put

themselves out there everyday to make a difference on our

streets,” Casey began.

She scoffed silently. She was out on those streets too and

knew crime paid better than it ever had before. For every

one criminal that was locked up three new ones popped up.

It was a plague. She also knew, however, that Casey really

believed that his officers were changing the world for the

better.

The speech went on with Casey remarking how the police

force had changed since he’d been a rookie.

Bored again, Elizabeth used the seating arrangement to

her advantage. She and Ben had been seated facing the po-

dium while the other four guests had to twist in their seats

to give the chief his due. She spread her hand along Ben’s

inner thigh, massaging gently.

He leaned close to her ear. “Stop it.”

“No,” she replied in a husky whisper. She scooted her chair

closer to his and felt his arm slip about her shoulders. His

fingers caressed her bare skin, sending an ache through her

body.

“If you don’t stop you’re going to force me to do something

drastic. Perhaps right here on this very table.”

“Wouldn’t that shock the hell out of Martie and Stan and

Edmund and Cherrie?” She grinned at him.

“I’m sure it would,” he said, his voice low and strained.

“But I would rather appreciate your talents later when I have

you to myself. So, Beth, please don’t force me to drag you

to a broom closet.”

She stopped the massage, but did not remove her hand

keeping it firm on his inner thigh. After the looks he had

received earlier that evening from randy young trophy wives,

she was feeling territorial. She might not love him, but that

didn’t mean she was willing to share him.

The awards progressed at a snail’s pace. Every officer

thanked their families for support and various deities for

keeping them safe. Unable to fight her boredom, Elizabeth

leaned her head against Ben’s shoulder. Two dances after the

ceremony and she would be able to persuade him to leave

with minimal pleading.

“The award for Officer of the Year goes to Detective

William Darcy,” Superintendent Casey announced.

Elizabeth’s head flew up to see if he had actually shown

to accept the honor. She scanned the crowd and found him

seated at a table with Anne and a few other people she’d seen

in passing at the police station.

“Your irascible detective is quite the hero.” Ben remarked.

Elizabeth nodded as her eyes followed his every movement,

relishing the way he swaggered to the podium dressed in his

full uniform, which made the angles of his broad shoulders

seem sharper. She noticed that despite his casual posture, his

eyes were full of embarrassment and she recalled vaguely that

he’d won the same award the year before.

“Thank you for this,” he said as the plaque was placed

into his hands. A smile crinkled his eyes and his ever-pres-

ent stubble seemed to have vanished. “And I would like to

remind you this award has term limits.”

Charmed, the crowd laughed.

“I just have one other thing to add.” His eyes settled on her.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years on the force

it’s this: never take a girl to the morgue on a first date.”

Elizabeth felt a blush sweep across her cheeks then re-

membered that Ben sat next to her. She kissed his cheek as

she watched Darcy make his way back to his seat where he

fell easily into conversation with Anne. Moments later, he

glanced up and locked on her eyes with his own. She was

surprised to find anger smoldering there and she recalled how

he had disappeared after seeing her come out of Richard’s

office.

“Darling, let’s dance,” Ben said. He stood and offered his

hand.

Still looking at Darcy, Elizabeth took it. “Yes, let’s.”



They were gliding around the floor; her body looking as

though she’d been made to fit into his arms as strains of some

unnamed melody dripped lazily from the bandstand. Just as

it had been all night, Elizabeth Bennet and Ben Reynolds

captivated the people in the room. And, Darcy didn’t care.

Not when his pulse pounded viscously in his ears as he

watched them. He had never seen her look so stunning, but

he didn’t want her. Not after everybody else had had her.

Other couples floated around the dance floor like a per-

fectly choreographed scene in a movie; lords and ladies in all

their finery like reminders of bygone days.

Before he could stop himself, his feet were propelling him

toward her of their own volition, and he saw only her until

he was standing next to Ben. Drawing himself up, he tapped

Ben gently on the shoulder. Darcy wanted suddenly to con-

front her about what he had seen, why she had done it, why

she kept doing it.

“May I cut in?” He asked, surprised by how cordial his

voice sounded.

Ben paused briefly then brushed her cheek with his lips

before handing her off to Darcy with a smile.

“Congratulations on your award,” she said. Her voice

sounded small.

“Thank you.”

His hand settled on the small of her back, feeling the

bare skin beneath his fingertips. He was determined not to

enjoy it.

Tentatively, she brought her hand to his cheek. “You look

strange without the five o’clock shadow.”

“Well, sometimes I feel the need to look pretty,” he replied,

his voice wry.

“I daresay you’re one of the most handsome men in the

room.”

“I bet you say that to all the guys when you have an itch

to scratch.”

Confusion passed over her face as her hand dropped.

“What?”

“Oh, come on, Liz. Surely, we can hike up that skirt of

yours and fuck right here. You are the soul of discretion

after all.”

She stopped moving and stared up at him, her eyes filled

with hurt and anger. “How dare you. You prick.” Her voice

was barely above a whisper. “You vicious prick.”

Elizabeth tried to push away from him, but he held fast.

He wasn’t done. His hot, blinding anger at her, at himself

for wanting her needed to explode. He wanted to hurt her as

she’d hurt him. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know she’d

hurt him.

She should have known. She’s played so many men. She

should have known.

“I would have thought that quality would be endearing to

you, Miss Bennet. Oh, but then you aren’t your sister.”

Her hand came up fast, but he still saw it out of the corner

of his eye. Even with the soft satin cushion of her glove, the

force of the impact made stars flash behind his eyes.

“You’re a fucking monster, Detective. A monster.” Her icy,

quiet voice sounded enormous in the suddenly quiet room.

She stood, staring and shaking, for a brief moment then

spun in a blur of chiffon and silk to run to Ben, who was

standing at the edge of the floor.

Darcy sighed. He couldn’t have agreed with her more.

Chapter Eleven

“E

lizabeth, it’s Darcy. Pick up the phone.” He let

a beat pass. “I know you’re there. Pick up the

damn phone. I’m sorry, okay? I’m so fucking

sorry. I was angry and therefore stupid. Pick up.

Okay, but I’m going to keep calling.”

Resigned he hung up and poured the last of his bourbon

and branch down his throat. It had been four days since

he’d said those horrible words to her. Four days worth of

groveling to her answering machine. Four days stolen from

his other investigations because he could only think about

making things with her better.

He looked out over the lake and thought about George

Wickham. During the interrogation Wickham had openly

wept when he’d been called out regarding his affair with Jane.

Even his high-powered attorney showed a slight disdain.

Wickham admitted to being with Jane the night she died,

before Gabriel Finley could stop his client. It almost seemed

cut and dry.

“I loved Jane. We had sex that night, but I didn’t kill her,”

he’d cried.

Darcy had hammered at him for an hour before Finley

finally declared enough. They couldn’t charge Wickham. At

this point the evidence was merely circumstantial. A search

of his home had not produced a murder weapon. Bruises

and semen weren’t enough to indict. Darcy couldn’t charge

Wickham for having sex with Jane.

He had, however, advised Wickham to not leave town.

Wickham had moved into the Four Seasons since his indis-

cretion with Jane could no longer be kept from Gretchen.

Look at what Wickham gave up for love.

The man had sacrificed his home, his family, and possibly

his career because he’d loved a woman. Darcy believed that

Wickham did love Jane. He also knew, however, that some-

times love could be deadly.

As deadly as passion.

With a sigh, Darcy looked down at the phone on the railing

and willed it to ring. She hadn’t taken a single call. He’d tried

calling her home, her office, and her cell phone. Nothing.

“You have really fucked up.” He muttered.

His doorbell chimed and looked at his watch. It was nearly

midnight. His heart began to pound. Maybe she had decided

she needed to confront him face to face. He had a much bet-

ter chance to convince her how sorry he was then.

Racing to the door, Darcy forced himself to open it slow-

ly.

“You idiot.”

“Lieutenant,” Darcy said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to tell you what an asshole you are.”

Fitzwilliam walked in casually as Darcy moved aside and

threw a glance around the foyer. He whistled.

“They weren’t kidding when they said you were a rich

boy.”

“What do you want, Fitzwilliam?”

The blonde man smirked at the absence of his title. He

sauntered passed Darcy to the living room and sat down on

the couch. Darcy followed.

“Make yourself at home, Fitzwilliam.” He shook his head

as the lieutenant threw his feet up on the coffee table.

Producing a pack of cigarettes, he held it toward Darcy.

“Cigarette?”

Darcy rolled his eyes and pulled one out. “What the

hell.”

“What the hell,” Fitzwilliam agreed. He lit his cigarette

and tossed the lighter to Darcy, who retrieved an ashtray

from the bar. “She’s difficult. I’ll give you that, but, man,

you stepped over the line.”

“I know.” Darcy exhaled a thin stream of smoke and

watched it swirl away into the air.

“She’s pretty much resigned to never speaking to you again.

Normally, I wouldn’t blame her, but I haven’t interfered in

her life nearly enough lately.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Darcy caught his mean-

ing loud and clear. “When you’re one of her lovers.”

Fitzwilliam laughed, his eyes glinting with something like

sympathy. He took a drag and thought for a moment. “I’ve

never slept with Liz, you moron.”

“The other day…”

“This isn’t how you conduct an investigation is it? Nab your

suspect before you have all the facts.”

“It looked pretty cut and dry, Fitzwilliam.”

“Liz was playing. She knew the boys in the bullpen would

go apeshit after her stunt. In case you hadn’t noticed she’s

bound to attract attention. Occasionally, she has a little fun

being gorgeous.”

Darcy groaned and leaned back in his seat. “She’ll never

talk to me again.”

“Probably not, flyboy. Unless you corner her. I know Liz

better than anybody. You would be the one guy who could

handle her. Despite being a goddess, she’s just like the rest

of us. She’s just looking for something real.”

“What make’s you think I could handle her?”

Fitzwilliam laughed again, stubbing out his cigarette.

“You’re kidding, right? Oh, lord, you’re not.” He shook his

head. “When you look at Liz you see her for who she is. You

see all of her. You see her truth.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because that’s what she sees when she looks at you.”



Elizabeth sat in her office staring at a case file but think-

ing of his eyes. They had been so angry, so full of rage. She

had also thought she’s seen just the tiniest bit of hurt buried

deep within, but that couldn’t be could it? How could he

be hurt when he was the one who had said vile and horrible

things to her?

Inexcusable! It was monstrous behavior!

It was, but didn’t she deserve it? Her reputation as a man-

eater spread far and wide, but should she be punished because

she enjoyed sex?

Absolutely not! He’s probably fucked just as many women in

his life as I’ve fucked men!

She leaned back in her chair and tossed her reading glasses

onto the desk. The conflict in her mind was causing pres-

sure to build behind her eyes. Standing just a bit too quickly,

Elizabeth’s hand jerked from the weight in it. An instant later

she was covered in cold tea.

“Oh, hell!”

She went to the armoire in the corner to retrieve some

clothes. She kept all sorts of clothing in case of a sudden

undercover job or a quick change between work and a social

obligation. Sighing in frustration, Elizabeth realized that she

had forgotten to replace the last suit she had taken out. She

rummaged around. There was no business attire to be had.

She pulled off her jacket and blouse and was lifting her

camisole when she heard a soft, timid tap at the door. It

opened before she could respond.

“Miss Bennet?”

Pulling her jacket over her drenched, nearly transparent

camisole, she spun to face the entrance and Bill Collins.

His face was bright red and his eyes were drilling a hole

into the floor.

“Christ, Bill! What do you want? Why didn’t Shelly an-

nounce you?”

“I think she’s at lunch, Miss Bennet.”

Unconsciously, Elizabeth looked at her watch, allowing the

cotton jacket to slip down the wet silk. It exposed the full

curve of her breast. She was not prone to embarrassment, but

that didn’t mean she was willing to allow herself a place in

Collins’s creepy fantasies. She pulled the jacket into place.

“Leave, Bill. I’ll come to your office after I’ve changed.”

Looking guilty, Collins blushed and nodded. “Yes,

ma’am.”

He disappeared behind the door and she returned to sur-

veying her clothing choices. She didn’t have any appointments

with clients that afternoon, so jeans and a pullover would

have to do. For once, Elizabeth wished she had thought to

put a bra in the closet. It was one thing to go without under-

clothes casually, but if a client walked in and she happened

to be cold…. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound

of the door opening again.

“Dammit, Bill, do you want me to fire you?” She hissed.

She considered turning around just to shame him, but de-

cided against it. Bill was a hapless fool and didn’t deserve

her wrath.

“You could try to fire me, but taxpayers might have some-

thing to say about it,” Darcy said dryly.

She spun around, forgetting the jacket and her jaw

clenched as his eyes made a blatant, animalistic sweep of

her form, pausing just a moment too long on her breast. She

felt her temperature rise and was momentarily unsure if it

was lust or anger. Then, indignant, she crossed her arms over

her. He had accused her of being a whore and then looked

at her as if she were one. It was ridiculous!

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“You wouldn’t answer your phone.”

“I don’t want to talk to you!”

Darcy took a step forward and Elizabeth bristled. She

pulled herself up to her full height, which put her nose to

his chin. Her hands were suddenly planted on her hips, the

wet, clinging camisole forgotten.

He pushed the door closed and reached behind him, lock-

ing them in. Three easy strides later, he was standing directly

before her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and shoved

lightly, effectively knocking her back into her seat.

The anger on her face slipped away to shock then quickly

flared back into anger. She started to stand, but he leaned

down and shook his head.

“I, however, want to talk to you, Elizabeth.”

Her mouth opened then shut as she gazed up at him.

“Since we met, you have gotten every single thing you’ve

wanted from me. You beat up Bingley without a thought as to

how I was going to explain it if I had to, when you shouldn’t

have even been there in the first place. You’ve questioned

suspects, you’ve handled evidence, and you’ve meddled in

my investigation in every way possible.”

“You could have said no anytime,” she muttered like a

petulant child.

“I did say no!” He narrowed his gaze at her. “You just never

seem to hear it.”

Her lip popped out into its familiar pout and he rolled his

eyes. “Get over it, Elizabeth. I’m done with the pout.”

She glared at him, but her bottom lip disappeared.

He straightened his body, but remained standing before her

chair. “Lieutenant Fitzwilliam came to see me last night.”

“Damn him,” she spat.

“He came to my house to tell me I was an asshole. He told

me that he’d never slept with you. Not that day you came

waltzing out of his office or any other.”

Elizabeth looked down at her hands, which she had folded

in her lap. She looked so young, so hurt that he suddenly

wished she would just punch him. “Oh.”

“I needed you to know that I didn’t mean what I said dur-

ing that dance. I wanted to hurt you because you hurt me.”

She stood and this time he did not push her back

down.

“That is no excuse for the horrible things you said to me.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “If I hurt you it was

unintentional and you should have told me about it. You

should not have attacked me.” Her eyes were shiny with tears

she was obviously struggling against.

“No, I shouldn’t have. I was wrong and I deserve to be

punished for it, but I refuse to lose you until you agree to

listen to me.”

“Lose me?” The tears tumbled out of her eyes. “Did you

ever have me?”

“I wanted you,” he said. “I want you.”

His thumbs stroked her cheeks, pushing the tears away

as he brought her face towards his. He feathered the tip of

her nose with a kiss.

“I could say it was the first moment I saw you, but that

wouldn’t be the truth. It was a little later than that, when you

revealed that you never wear a bra.” He let a casual glance

fall to her camisole. “It was lust at first.”

She drew in a breath to steady herself and Darcy could

see the fear in her eyes. He shook his head.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Elizabeth.”

“I can’t help it, Detective. You scare the hell out of me.”

He dropped his hands and took a step back. This was all

wrong. He shouldn’t have taken Fitzwilliam’s advice to heart.

The lieutenant was probably playing him for a fool anyway.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know that.” He turned, but

was stopped short when she grabbed his hand.

“Don’t you even want to know why you scare me?”

“I’m not sure that I do.”

She squeezed his hand and he looked at her over his shoulder.

Elizabeth gave him a tentative smile and he faced her again.

“My whole life I’ve been independent. My mother never

understood me or cared to. Jane tried to make up for that,

but she couldn’t. At best, she was just an ideal elder sister. I

don’t even know Cate.

“I didn’t trust anybody but Jane after my father left us. It

just didn’t seem like a wise thing to do.”

She looked at her hand in his and turned his palm to-

ward the sky. She traced the lines of it with her index finger.

Sighing, he watched her internal debate play over the beauti-

ful features of her face. Closing the distance between them,

she looked up at him.

“I was wise until I met you.”

It was almost like a blow to the stomach. Her palm became

like fire in his hand and he stepped away for fear he’d be

overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings. Suddenly, he

realized that he was powerless to stop it. He gave in, feeling

incredible relief as he surrendered to his most basic self.

Elizabeth bit her lip, not noticing the subtle change in

Darcy. “I am angry at you, but that will pass. I know why

you were angry. I’m too pragmatic to hold it against you.”

“What about Ben?” Asked the last bit of him that cared.

“What about him?”

“I’m not willing to share you.”

“I’m not willing to be shared.”

He felt the hunger for her fill him and the ache that had be-

come so familiar since that first night surged forward, propel-

ling him to where she stood. His arms ensnared her, crushing

her body to his even as their mouths collided. Their tongues

crashed together in a frenzy of tasting and claiming.

She pulled back, breathless. Her mouth was swollen from

the kiss, making her look even more delicious. The remnants

of Bingley’s bruise remained and he touched it delicately.

“Where was this Saturday night?”

“Cleverly concealed under a pound of make-up.”

“I could kill him.”

“Not necessary,” she remarked, her hand skimming the

cloth of his navy blue tee shirt. “In fact, I propose we don’t

speak about him anymore.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

He felt fire roll through his body as her hands slipped

beneath his shirt to lift it away. She flicked her tongue across

his chest, her eyes on his while she did so.

“Mmm, yummy.” Leaning into him, her tongue gave his

ear a quick lash. “All over.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Unable to help him-

self, his hands reached for her breasts, stroking them through

the stained silk. She sighed at the contact and leaned into

his grasp, letting her arms snake up his body to lock around

his neck.

He squeezed the soft, pliable flesh in his palms gently,

catching the moan that floated up from her depths as he

captured her mouth with his again. His teeth nipped at her

lip, pulling at it as he broke away from her.

Slow down. Enjoy her. He wanted to be able to look back

on this and remember everything. One thing his job had

taught him was to never take a single thing for granted.

There might not be a tomorrow with her, so he committed

every angle of her face to memory. The taste of her on his

tongue; the green apple scent clutching at him; the feel of

her silken skin; all were stored away in his mind and backed-

up by his heart.

With a gentleness that seemed to surprise her, Darcy took

her face in his hands, caressing her lips once again with his

thumbs. A smile slid across his mouth as she playfully bit at

him. Lightly, he brushed kisses across her forehead, her eyes,

and her cheeks. His blood was on fire with the taste of her

intoxicating him.

As he kissed her, he reached behind her head and loosened

the barrette that held her curls away from her face. His fingers

swept through the soft mass, pulling the ringlets apart until

they tumbled down her back.

He released her and took a step back. For a moment, he

relished her ravaged appearance, knowing that he was respon-

sible for the drugged look in her eyes. She stared up at him

and licked her lips as if she’d been sweetly surprised.

“You taste like coffee.” She half-grinned.

“I’ll tell you what you taste like later.”

With that he grabbed the front of the camisole with both

hands and gave it a yank. The silk shredded like paper and he

tossed it aside. Before she could complain about the ruined

lingerie, his mouth was engulfing her breast. His tongue

danced delicately around her pink, swollen nipple, licking her

as though she were an ice cream cone. He rolled her nipple

with his tongue, catching it in his teeth as his fingers slid up

and down the length of her torso.

She clawed at him as he suckled her, her fingernails digging

into the flesh of his back, causing exquisite jolts of pain to

course through his boiling blood. Her moans grew louder as

he found the zipper of her skirt and undid it.

He paused for a moment to watch it slide down her body

like water. It landed in a violet heap at her bare feet. He

chuckled inwardly, realizing that she hadn’t been wearing

shoes.

Now that she was completely nude, Darcy surveyed her.

“You ever wear underwear just for the hell of it?”

“What’s the point?”

He smirked. “Truly.”

Grabbing her hips, he maneuvered her to the edge of her

desk and she didn’t hide her surprise.

“Did you think I would wait to claim you? Did you think

I could wait another moment to fuck you senseless?” he

growled. “Because then you would be wrong. I’m taking

what’s mine, Elizabeth, and I’m taking it now.”

Her only response was a nod.

He pushed her down onto the desk, not minding the

mountain of paperwork that fell to the floor. All he knew

was that she was his. For this moment, Elizabeth belonged

to him.

He kissed her again, a brutal, territorial kiss that left no

doubt about who was claiming whom. His mouth trailed

down her jawbone, leaving a wake of devastation down her

neck. Her body shivered with each caress.

Catching her nipple with a quick bite, his fingers skimmed

the swelling flesh between her thighs. She cried out and he

felt the strain in his jeans grow excruciatingly painful. He

moaned in agony.

She opened her eyes and unlocked her vice-like grip on

his shoulders. Her fingers skimmed down his chest and con-

tinued on a determined path down his abdomen. She locked

on his eyes as she unfastened his jeans.

“You wondered about my missing underwear. And where

are yours, Detective Darcy?”

“Honestly, I forgot them when I dressed this morning.”

She chuckled, her whole body taking part in the laugh.

He leaned toward her and lifted her thigh slightly, holding

her eyes as the humor faded from them. Desire and want

lurked in the chocolate brown depths. It was all for him.

Darcy bent and her body convulsed as his fingers and

mouth simultaneously danced around her swollen flesh. He

nibbled at the insides of her thighs and wallowed in each

escalated moan she expelled. His body temperature rose by

several degrees as glittering rivulets trickled from her sex.

He dipped his mouth to the liquid, kissing her there, and

drinking deep. Her breath burst out of her in short, fast

explosions.

“Please,” she begged. “Now, William. I need you to fuck

me now.”

The sound of his name on her lips caused him to tumble

over the edge. He went blind with lust as he pushed into her

hot, slick flesh. She closed around him, holding him inside

her. He leaned on one arm to support his body and, with his

free hand, he stroked her bruised cheek and watched her eyes

close as the sensation of him crashed over her. She bit her lip,

which he found charming in the height of their pleasure.

Burrowing deeper into her, he pressed a soft, sweet kiss

to her lips. His tongue stroked the inside of her mouth as he

slid in and out of her with smooth, easy movement. He felt

her hands travel up his back, nails skimming along his flesh

and his kiss deepened.

He realized as he drowned in her that she was the closest

he’d come to something good in a very long time. He had

been surrounded by death and mourning for so long that,

in many ways, he’d forgotten what it was like to be involved

with the living. He’d forgotten that life held pleasures to be

enjoyed and that heartache was only one small part of life.

For the first time in years, Darcy felt connected, grounded,

alive.

When he pulled back, their eyes locked and his pace quick-

ened. His hand continued to stroke her cheek.

Breathless and not a little frightened by the intensity in

which she was responding to him, Elizabeth matched his

rhythm and mirrored his hand, feeling the ever-present bit of

stubble on his face. She sensed that something more was hap-

pening to him, felt his emotions pour over her and through

her. His emotions combined with the attack her body was

undergoing overwhelmed her.

Their bodies, covered with sweat and violent with culmi-

nating passion, crashed together brutally. His hand slid from

her cheek to grasp her hip as he pulled her body down him

until she could go no further.

Filled with him, Elizabeth felt herself soar towards her

orgasm. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held him

inside as he emptied into her.

Elizabeth let him pull her up into a warm embrace. Taking

in his appearance, she felt her heart fill with worry. There

were heavy, dark circles beneath his deep brown eyes and

she scolded herself for just realizing that his complexion was

paler than normal. Her hand touched his cheek then fell to

his hard muscled chest.

“William,” she began.

He kissed her. She relished it for a moment then pulled

away.

“Pay attention, Detective. When was the last time you

slept?”

Despite the fact that he’d just made love to her like a

man gone mad, he shrugged like a child caught in a lie.

Laughing, she kissed his mouth lightly and disengaged her

body from his.

She led him to the armoire, pulled out a blanket, and

walked him to the sofa. “Lie down,” she whispered gently.

Darcy slid down into the welcoming comfort of the couch

and settled onto his back. He took in her nude form with

hungry eyes and she shook her head.

“Sleep now, play later.”

He held open his arms in invitation. She maneuvered until

her body was squarely on top of his and cuddled into him,

pulling the blanket over them.

“For some reason, the maintenance people insist on turning

the A/C on as early as possible. It can freeze you out.” She

dropped a kiss on his broad chest. “Now sleep. You are not

to wake up until I climb off of you.”

He nodded and she felt her body locked into a tight em-

brace. She was smiling when she fell asleep.



Darcy woke first. For one horrifying moment, he was sure

that making love to her had been a cruel, vivid dream, but

he slowly became aware of her weight against him, pressing

sweetly into his body.

Her fingers curled absently the small bit of hair on his

chest while her hair blanketed his arm. She had snuggled

into the cover as they slept, stealing the majority of it away,

but he found that he couldn’t care. Just the thought of her

made him warm, but her nearness set him ablaze.

He stared at her sleeping form and knew in that one mo-

ment he could never let her go. She belonged to him now.

He knew that he would fight for her. He would kill for her.

It was as simple as that.

She whimpered in her sleep, her face hidden against the

back of the couch. Her cry escalated and Darcy shook her

gently.

“Elizabeth, wake up.”

“No. Please? No!” She pleaded. “Don’t say that!”

“Wake up, Liz.” He shook her harder.

She jolted from her dream and raised her head to glance

up the expanse of his chest. Her face was red. There were

tear tracks staining her cheeks, making her bruise almost

invisible.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Bad dream.”

“Tell me.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Gonna start shutting me out already?”

Elizabeth rolled her reddened eyes. She started to get up,

but he held her tightly.

“Don’t. Not yet.”

“William, I don’t want to be the logical one here. I’m not

very good at it, but don’t you realize the mistake we just

made?”

He shut his eyes tight and opened his arms.

A mistake?

He felt a kiss feather his chest followed by one at his throat.

A few moments later, her lips met his in a sweet reminder

that made him ache.

He looked at her, seeing the regret.

“I’m sorry. If you were a mistake, you were the best one

I ever made. Surely, though, you see that this is a bad idea.

We’re a bad idea.”

“I’m tired of analyzing it. I’ve done nothing but lecture

myself about staying away from you. I’ve lost count of the

times I’ve tried to convince myself why I shouldn’t touch you,

why I shouldn’t kiss you.

“There isn’t a good enough reason anymore. I want you and

that’s all I need to know.” He skimmed his hand down her

back and patted her ass as he took her mouth. “You fit my

body like you were born to fuck me,” he whispered against

her lips. “And that’s all you need to know.”

He watched the recognition in her eyes melt into desire as

her birthright swelled between her thighs. She maneuvered

slightly and slid down him, slowly grinding her hips against

his, her hands spread over his muscled abdomen.

Darcy covered her breasts with his palms as she rocked

above him. He pinched, squeezed, and teased without mercy.

His hips gave the occasional thrust as she rode, impaling her

pleasantly.

“Look at me, Elizabeth.”

“William.” His name floated out on a cry.

They crashed over the edge together and she collapsed

on top of him, kissing his mouth and eyes in a flurry of

sweetness.

“I take it back,” she whispered, nibbling his lip. “We’re not

wrong. This isn’t a bad idea or a mistake.”

“You think?” He smiled at her then smoothed the hair

away from her face.

“Don’t be a smartass. It’s unbecoming.”

“Tell me about your nightmare.”

“Why? Can’t we just stay here and be? Why do we have

to talk?”

“You sound like a man.”

“I do wear the pants in a relationship,” she replied thought-

fully.

“I think I rather prefer you without pants.” He grinned, but

it faded quickly. “Now spill. It’ll help if you talk.”

Elizabeth stared at Darcy doubtfully. She traced a line on

his chest with her forefinger and pressed a kiss to the warm,

hard flesh there. He caught her chin before she could distract

him further.

“If it’s torture you’re after, my dear, I warn you I would take

special delight in exacting my skills upon you.”

He carefully but swiftly rolled them onto the floor, ef-

fectively pinning her body beneath his. Stripping her of the

blanket, Darcy sprinkled her white belly with kisses. She

giggled and moved to run her fingers through his hair, but

he grabbed her hands and held them at her sides.

Slowly, he drew a nipple into his mouth and suckled with

long, deliberate movements. He could feel her pleasure swell

and when she was at the cusp he pulled away.

“Elizabeth, tell me about the nightmare.”

Her eyes flew open and she immediately glared at him,

her passion forgotten. He could easily tell by the irritation

in her eyes that she would have loved to hit him, but she was

utterly powerless against his firm grip.

“That was mean, Detective!”

He bent toward her other breast. “Would you care for a

repeat performance?”

“And have you be that cruel again? I don’t think so.” She

sighed, resigned to her fate. “The nightmare was about

Jane.”

Darcy nodded. He had suspected as much. With a quick

brush of his lips, he released her and was a little surprised

when, after she retrieved her blanket, she sat on the floor

next to him and pulled his arms around her as she snuggled

close to his chest.

“If you’re going to make me tell you, you’re going to protect

me from the big bad.” She looked into his eyes, searching

for assurance.

“I will.”

“I’ve dreamt about her every night since it happened.

Sometimes they’re good dreams, but, mostly they’re hor-

rible. Like tonight.”

A shudder claimed her body and she tucked her chin in.

“We were in that cheery living room of hers and we were

having tea. I was blindfolded, but it didn’t seem like a big

deal because Jane said she had a surprise for me.

“We were talking and he voice seemed weird. A little dis-

torted, a little breathy. It confused me so I took off the mask.

She was….” Her voice trailed off and the palm against his

chest balled into a tight fist.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It was just a dream.”

“She was sitting there with all her wounds and her dam-

aged head and she was drinking tea! The thing was, though,

that Bingley was also there…doing things to her and she was

enjoying it.

“Finally, she looked up at me and told me it was my fault

she was dead. It was my fault she couldn’t enjoy Wickham

or That Bastard anymore.”

He gathered her up, pulling her onto his lap and took her

by the chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.

“You know that’s not true. None of the blame falls on you.

Jane had a dangerous lifestyle and it backfired on her. End

of story.”

“But, Will.”

“No, that’s it. I will not allow you to blame yourself for

you sister’s death. It is not your fault.”

He cut off any further protest with a searing kiss that made

them both forget Jane Bennet even existed.

Chapter Twelve

H

er spacious apartment in downtown Chicago

seemed different now, smaller somehow.

Elizabeth tossed her purse and keys into the

Catch-All Chair like she’d done a thousand

times before, but even that familiar gesture seemed some-

how different.

It seemed intimate and revealing because Detective

William Darcy was standing behind her. She had wanted

him to come home with her. She had desperately wanted

him to.

In all her affairs with the wealthy, the powerful, and the

terminally handsome, none, not even Ben, had been invited

to stay in her apartment. Jane had once called it her fortress

of solitude and had teased Elizabeth that she was definitely

no Superman.

Now, though, there was a wealthy, powerful, terminally

handsome man in her fortress and she had absolutely no

intention of letting him escape. She wanted to feel his body

against hers, flesh on flesh, in her own bed. She wanted to

see his face when she woke up in the morning.

Deep inside her heart, in a place that she was just realizing

existed, Elizabeth knew that this man, this gorgeous, tender

man, was different from the rest. She’d had men who had

shocked her body into violent, passionate reactions, but no

other lover had ever set her soul to a slow burn like Darcy

did.

With that realization, she sighed and smiled when his

fingers smoothed her hair down her back. She hit the button

on her answering machine out of habit.

“Make yourself at home,” she said while the machine read-

ied the messages. Suddenly, the voice boomed through the

apartment and Elizabeth attacked the volume. Usually, she

was in the kitchen making tea while she listened.

“Miss Bennet, hey, it’s Bill Collins. I tried stopping by your

office because you never showed up like you said you would.

I think you had already left because your door was locked.

I tried your cell phone, but there was no answer. I guess I’ll

update you on the Bryer case tomorrow, unless you call me

tonight. You have the number.”

“Dedicated to the job,” Darcy remarked, wrapping his

arms around her waist and scrubbing her jawbone with his

stubble.

Feeling that primal ache begin to roll through her, she

leaned against him, his heat warming her through her re-

placement tank top and jeans. “Bill’s just a bit special. Jack

calls him an incompetent fool. I prefer to think of him as sort

of a court jester who handles the cases you can’t fuck up.”

He gave an amused snort as the second message came on.

“Beth, it’s Ben. I just wanted to let you know that I man-

aged to get out of Tabitha’s do this Saturday. If you want to

go to the lake and let me do incredibly naughty things to that

luscious body of yours in the hot tub, next to the fire, or hell,

even in a bed, let me know. I’ll talk to you later, pet.”

The machine reset while Elizabeth tried to gauge Darcy’s

reaction. His body had become progressively stiffer and his

grip on her had become tighter during Ben’s teasing mes-

sage. In the last few hours, Darcy had made it abundantly

clear that he was not Ben Reynolds’ biggest fan. She cursed

Ben’s bad timing.

She put her hands over the back of his, stroking them

gently and he loosened his grip. His body, though, did not

relax. Elizabeth turned, giving him a sheepish grin.

“Beth?” Darcy asked, his eyes trying hard to be amused.

“He’s always called me that. His way of making me softer,

I think.”

“Trying to make you softer robs him of knowing what

makes you who you are. You’re a contradiction of terms.

You’re silk and steel, sweetheart. Ben doesn’t know you.”

“He knows me. He just doesn’t accept me.”

Darcy shrugged then arched his brow. “You going to

go?”

She graced him with a teasing smile, enjoying his jealousy.

“Not unless I have a reason to stay.”

“Consider this your reason,” he growled. His lips brushed

hers so lightly that she wasn’t even sure he had kissed her

then she was pulled tightly against him, his mouth covering

hers savagely.

She broke away what seemed like an hour later. His eyes

were heavy-lidded and his mouth was swollen.

“That’s a fucking incredible reason.” She pulled out of his

embrace and started for the kitchen to make tea.

She let him follow and again he stood in the doorway as

if he belonged there. This time there was no strained silence,

just an undercurrent of primal need that they shared. She

swished her hips a little more than usual as she put the water

to boil and filled a tea ball with tealeaves. Knowing that he

was watching her sent her pulse racing.

Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. “Want to order a

pizza and watch TV with me?” The idea of a simple evening

in with this incredible man filled her with excitement she

was hard-pressed to disguise.

He grinned and she thought her heart would burst.

“Anchovies?” He asked, ducking when she threw a sopping

wet dishrag at him.



When the sausage, mushroom, and green pepper pizza

arrived, Darcy commandeered her cell phone and put it with

his pager, both of which he powered off. He then switched off

the ringers on the phones so the answering machine would

save them from the outside world. As a precaution--and be-

cause he wasn’t exactly keen on the chance of hearing Ben’s

voice again--he turned the volume down.

He was moderately surprised when she didn’t argue, but

quickly understood that, like him, she wasn’t quite ready to

acknowledge there was a world that included other people.

Darcy would have liked to locked her away from the world

and never share her with anybody again, but he knew he

couldn’t. This time was precious and meant to be taken as

such.

Now, a few hours later, the pizza was mostly gone and

had been relegated to the floor of Elizabeth’s bedroom. Her

television sat in an armoire on the wall opposite the bed,

where they snuggled together, watching a cheesy old horror

movie.

She was half-lying on him; one hand between her cheek

and his chest, the other spread over his waist as her arm

wrapped around him. She had discovered, to his chagrin, he

was ticklish and she would occasionally surprise him with

an attack.

“I like when you laugh,” she said shyly. “It sounds like

music.”

He closed his eyes. Nothing could have been more perfect

than being with her like this. After all the fantasies and the

self-checking, Darcy knew, with her in his arms, that he was

lost. His heart, as guarded as it had been, was now completely

hers and he didn’t care at all.

Combing her heavy curls with his fingers, he appreciated

their weight in his palm. He slowly, lovingly stroked the arm

that lay over him with his thumb.

The final credits began to slip up the screen and Darcy,

not wanting to move, but unwilling to wear out his welcome,

attempted to get up. She only held him tighter.

“Going somewhere?” Her voice was thick with sleep.

“Unless I have a better offer.”

“You’ll never have a better offer than me.”

“Mighty sure of yourself, aren’t you, Elizabeth?”

She propped her body up on his chest and met his gaze

squarely. “I am more sure about us than I have ever been

about anything in my life.”

He took a deep breath, trying to stay steady at the weight

of her words.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good. I have plans for you, William Darcy, and they

would be so much more effective if you were present.

His mouth hitched into a crooked smirk as she set about

undressing him.



Elizabeth awoke in the middle of the night, tangled up

in warm flesh and sweat-drenched sheets. The man holding

her prisoner was as warm as an oven.

Carefully, she removed her body from the wrecked bed

and let her gaze settle about his naked, sleeping form. He

was definitely going to be her undoing, after years of cau-

tious, casual relationships. If he was to be her fate then so be

0

it. She would go without argument. She smiled then headed

for the master bath.

While taking care of business, she contemplated her white

stock bathtub. It was a generous size, but nothing like the

five-person tub at Darcy’s. She let her mind wander to activi-

ties they could share in that tub and found herself marveling

at it all.

“I’ve discovered something.”

Elizabeth blinked and snapped back to reality with a jolt

of desire. Darcy stood, naked and raw, in the doorway star-

ing at her heatedly.

“Um, do you mind?”

“After all the things I’ve done to your body tonight you’re

concerned about me seeing you piss?”

She rolled her eyes and finished up. Arching her brow, she

gave her hips an extra swish as she walked by him to wash

her hands.

“What did you discover?” When he didn’t answer she

cleared her throat. “Quit looking at my ass. What did you

discover?”

“Two things actually. The first is that I don’t think I can

sleep without you.”

“Not a problem. You didn’t sleep before me.” She grinned

at him as he approached, but yelped when he delivered a

light slap to her rear.

“The other thing is that I’m not fond of not knowing where

you are.”

“Oh, lord, possessive already! That’s a terribly unbecoming

trait, Detective.”

Elizabeth dried her hands and turned to face him as she

leaned against the sink, flinching slightly as the cool ceramic

grazed her backside. Seeing that her teasing wasn’t being

taken as such, she held open her arms and smiled, encourag-

ing him to step into her embrace. When his body was pressed

against hers, she snaked her arms around his neck.

“William, I’m sorry. I’m only teasing. This is all incredibly

new to me. I know you need reassurance so let me say this:

you are handsome, and talented, and I have never been this

mad for any man ever.”

He nodded, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ve never

been this mad for any man either.”

She pushed him back, sighing in amused irritation. “You

do an incredible impression of a straight man, William.”

“Well, Elizabeth, I think you’re man enough for me.”

She shook her head, trying to look annoyed, but failing

and started to walk past him. Suddenly, she stopped, dis-

tracted by something.

“What the hell happened to your arm?” She asked, grab-

bing his left limb and pulling it to her.

There was a long, angry red cut crusted over with blood.

It wasn’t very deep, but a few more millimeters and stitches

would have been required. Elizabeth quickly gathered cotton

and peroxide. Inspecting it, she discovered that it ran from

bicep to wrist on the top of his arm.

“I have no idea. Your nails?”

“Doubt that.” She held her hand up, displaying nails that

were too short to have inflicted the kind of damage that had

been done.

“It almost looks intentional.”

Darcy nodded. “Did you try to kill me while I was sleep-

ing?”

“Please. It took me an hour to escape to pee. And if I

wanted to kill you, I would have just shot you and dumped

my gun in the lake.”

“Good to know,” he replied thoughtfully.

Elizabeth leaned closer after cleaning the wound, inspect-

ing it by sight and running her finger over it gently. She had

seen, touched, and felt every inch of this man’s body tonight.

These incredible arms had held her as if she were precious.

And she was utterly distraught at the idea of him being a

mortal man and not a god.

She was beginning to suspect that she wanted him around

a lot, but she remembered that he was a cop and that de-

manded a dedication above and beyond the call of duty. It

was the duty part that bothered her the most because some-

times duty called for sacrifice. As if to remedy the potential

jinx she might have lain at his door, Elizabeth brushed her

lips delicately over his wound and whispered so softly that

he didn’t hear the words: “Be careful.”

“Let’s go check the sheets. Maybe you ruined the springs

in my mattress.”

“I wasn’t the only one in there, lady!”

“No, but you were bouncing up and down like a kid on a

bed in a hotel room while his parents are sucking down Mai

Tais in the lounge.”

“You’re so colorful,” Darcy replied dryly. “Besides, I didn’t

hear you complaining.”

“Who’s complaining?”

Going back into the bedroom, she reached his side--

funny how she already thought of it as his--of the bed and

removed the flat sheet and the blanket. As she suspected,

there was a brownish dried bloodstain on the pale cream

sheet.

Touching it carefully, she threw another glance at his arm.

Her fingers traveled lightly over the ruined fabric.

“The stain doesn’t match up. I think this blood is just run

off from your arm, which means you were probably lying on

your back.” She shook her head, taking the scene in. “There’s

absolutely nothing here for you to have gotten cut on.” Her

mouth twisted and her brow furrowed into what Jane had

always called the ‘think face.’ “Do you sleepwalk?”

“I haven’t since I was a kid.”

Elizabeth wrapped the flat sheet around her body. “Put

your jeans on.”

There was no denying her disappointment when he pulled

his jeans up over his hips and fastened them, but she wanted

to remove the temptation of his body as she walked out into

the apartment and began searching for clues. She sensed his

confusion.

“I’m trying to figure out what happened to your arm.”

“Why is it such a big deal? Haven’t you ever gotten some

random cut?”

“That doesn’t look random to me, William.”

She checked everything in her apartment, but nothing

else had blood on it. There were no knives missing that he

might have picked up if he’d been sleepwalking. Her doors

were locked, her apartment empty but for them.

“I don’t get it,” she muttered.

“Lizzy, it’s just a cut. It’s no big deal.” He pushed a loose

curl from its resting place on her forehead.

“What did you just call me?”

His shrank back in uncertainty. “Lizzy?”

“Daddy used to call me that.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s okay. I like how it sounds when you say it.

Mother, on the other hand, so very not allowed.” Her breath

puffed out in frustration. “I can’t figure this out.”

“Why do you need to?”

“I don’t like knowing you can be hurt.”

He touched her face then and she saw such tenderness in

his eyes that she couldn’t breathe.

“Come on, Lizzy. Let’s go back to bed.”

“But your arm.”

“My arm will still be attached to my body in the morning.

You can rest assured that nothing will happen to it.”

“How?”

“Because, sweetheart, they’ll be wrapped around you.”

Chapter Thirteen

N

ever one to just jump out of bed and face the

day, Elizabeth took her time when reentering

the waking world. She began by slowly allow-

ing herself to hear things then she would

ease her eyes open. It was a ritual that she’d done every morn-

ing of her life, but today was slightly different. Today held

the promise of something wonderful.

He hadn’t lied. His arms were still around her, holding

her close to his chest. She relished the steady rhythm of his

breathing, delighting in the closeness of his body. She stared

at his flesh and noticed two spots of pink, puckered skin on

his shoulder. She wondered how she managed to miss the

remnants of those bullet holes last night, but then recalled

she hadn’t exactly been fully aware.

Unable to resist, she stretched and feathered the old

wounds with kisses. True to his sleepless roots, his eyes flew

open and he stared down at her.

“It’ll take awhile before this doesn’t feel like a dream.” He

planted a kiss on her forehead and trailed his fingers down

her spine.

“I’ve made my own discoveries, Detective.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I find myself thoroughly delighted by waking up in your

arms.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about being disap-

pointed any time soon. I may never let you go. Any other

discoveries?”

“Yes,” she whispered against his throat, “I’ve found that,

for some reason, I seem to be ecstatic when you’re inside

me.”

Darcy rolled them over so that he was hovering above

her body.

“Well, then, madam, I suppose I should take it upon myself

to stiffly enforce that which brings you pleasure.” He punctu-

ated his loaded words with one singular move that instantly

whet Elizabeth’s appetite.

She bit her lip, savoring the exquisite feel of his pulsing

within her body, which responded to his invasion as though

it no longer needed her brain to guide it. He filled her, his

pace gentle and slow, unlike the violent, furious mating that

had occurred the previous evening.

Hands resting on his hips, Elizabeth lifted her head and

caught his mouth in a sweet kiss that belied her hunger for

him. This man had stripped away more pretenses in the last

eighteen hours than anybody had in the last eighteen years.

Even Jane had never seen an unguarded Elizabeth. She felt

like an exposed nerve. She could no longer think, she could

only react. It felt like freedom.

“Will, tell me that this is real,” she moaned as he pushed

deeper inside. “Tell me that I’m yours.”

“I’d never allow you to belong to anyone else,” he groaned,

trailing kisses down her throat then catching a swollen nipple

between his teeth. He bit into the flesh. “Better than pinch-

ing you to see if you’re dreaming, I’d say.”

She locked her eyes on his as he spilled into her, forcing

her body into shock. He kissed her and wrapped his arms

around her as he rolled off, stroking her to soothe her rat-

tling body.

“I’m amazed by how much I want you,” she whispered. “I

have never wanted any man like I want you.”

“You have me,” he said against her lips. “You have me.”

Exhausted by the overwhelming emotions, Elizabeth

didn’t even question it when her eyes grew heavy and she

drifted back into sleep.



As carefully as he could, Darcy got out of the bed and

pulled his jeans on. He was hungry and, despite his need to

stay near Elizabeth, the need to fill his stomach was more

basic than sex and nearly as vital as breathing. With a sigh, he

realized that he’d only had a stale biscuit a day or so ago and

the pizza from last night. Since before their reconciliation,

his diet consisted mainly of bourbon and branch.

A half-smile tugging at the corner of his lip, he gave her

one last, longing glance then quietly wound his way to the

kitchen. He glanced at the answering machine, noticing it’s

flashing red light. Absently, he nodded in satisfaction, hoping

that Ben had called while Darcy was fucking the hell out

of her. It was a sweet triumph indeed over the man who he

saw as competition.

He opened the refrigerator door and was shocked by the

sparse stock inside. There was a Chinese take out box that

didn’t even look new and carton of fresh half and half. A

stick of margarine with toast crumbs imbedded in it and a

carrot completed the pathetic inventory. Darcy shook his

head, wishing briefly that he’d abducted her and spirited her

off to his house. There was food at his house.

Rummaging about in the cupboards was nearly as de-

pressing. He thought about retrieving a piece of pizza from

the box on the floor in her bedroom, but decided against

it.

Slipping back to the bedroom, he pulled on his tee shirt.

He picked up his shoes, but before he could sit in the chair

to pull them on, Elizabeth gasped in her sleep and he was

at her side.

“Sweetheart, wake up.”

When her eyes opened upon him he gathered her into his

embrace. His eyes closed as her fingers slipped up into his

hair and twisted through his curls.

“You’re dressed,” she murmured.

“I’m starving and that single carrot you have in your fridge

just isn’t terribly appealing.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I was going down to the market to pick up something for

breakfast. I would have been back before you woke up.”

“You were going to come back?”

“I can’t have you getting scrawny, darling. Wouldn’t do

with all the physical activity I have planned for your future.”

His kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Take

a shower, make some tea, and when I get back, we’ll spend

the rest of the day together.”

“We have work to do.”

“Not today. Just let it be for one more day and then to-

morrow we’ll let the grim realities of our lives intrude once

more.”

She sighed and nodded. “Just twenty minutes?”

“Just twenty minutes.”



After an hour, Elizabeth started to get a little worried.

She had watched him leave then lay in bed and stared up

at the ceiling, trying to digest the enormity of the events

that had transpired in the last hours. Finally, she got out of

bed. She checked her email, shot off a couple of memos to

Shelly, and made some tea. After her requisite two cups and

admitting to herself that she was stalling in a vain effort

to tempt Darcy into the shower, Elizabeth was resigned to

bathing alone.

When she stepped out of the shower, she walked naked

into her bedroom, glaring at the clock. Forty-five minutes

had passed.

He knew nobody in the building save Rosalie. Perhaps

he was having trouble with Gavin the Doorman. She called

down to the desk, but Gavin hadn’t seen anybody matching

Darcy’s description coming or going.

Dressing quickly, Elizabeth headed for the garage and

found his car still in the space next to hers.

Fear became a bitter taste in the back of her throat. She

had no doubts about his feelings for her. She hadn’t scared

him away. A man didn’t look at a woman like he looked at

her if he was afraid of what was happening to him.

Panic was starting to seep in. She knew that Rosalie would

probably be asleep, but she had to make sure. Darting into

her apartment, she grabbed her keys and let herself into the

older woman’s home.

It was dark and cool and there was no sign of Rosalie or

Darcy. Going deeper into the apartment, Elizabeth listened

carefully, her years of training taking over despite the worry

she was feeling. Next to Rosalie’s room, she paused.

Rosalie’s soft snoring bounced around the bedroom like a

child’s ball. Having no further provocation, Elizabeth left as

quietly as she came and returned to her apartment to wonder

at Darcy’s whereabouts.



His eyes were open, but it was still dark. A wave of nausea

crashed over him as he realized his face was wet.

What the fuck happened?

Tentatively, he touched his tongue to the moisture and

the thick, metallic taste of blood clung to the dryness in his

mouth. He coughed against the sensation and felt his chest

explode in pain. There was at least one bruised, perhaps

broken, rib beneath the surface.

He struggled to remember what had happened. He had

promised Elizabeth breakfast and had left her in bed to put

his shoes on and grab his wallet. He had opened the door.

Had he made it down the hall before everything had gone

black? It unnerved him to think he couldn’t be sure.

Elizabeth. Elizabeth! Where the hell was she? He offered

up a prayer that she was still safe in her apartment.

Hands and feet bound tightly to a stiff wooden chair,

Darcy was at a loss. Slowly, he blinked his eyes, or, rather,

he tried. One eye seemed to be matted shut, possibly with

blood, though Darcy’s head felt as though it might have

oozed cerebral tissue.

He willed his good eye to cooperate, satisfied when his

vision finally cleared. Looking around carefully to keep his

sight clear, Darcy surmised that he was in either an interior

room or a basement. The single dim light directly above him

gave the walls a dingy, fuzzy grey appearance, except in front

of him. Straight ahead, the wall was dark and glossy.

Focusing his concentration, he studied the polished wall

and jumped when a bit of it flared to life. A television! No,

not just one. It was an entire wall of dark screens.

There was no sound, just images flickering. It was a moment

before he realized he was watching Elizabeth take a shower.

Blind rage bubbled up from the darkest, most primal pits

inside him. He fought against the ropes, but it was futile.

Various scenes of Elizabeth sleeping, making tea, sitting

at the computer, talking on the phone, and doing a million

other menial things flashed before him in living color. He

gasped when he saw Jane, smiling and laughing, playing

a game of cards with Elizabeth in the dining room over

margaritas. Whoever had wired her life had been watching

her for months.

Suddenly, all but the center screen went black. It dis-

solved from images of Elizabeth reading a book to Darcy

and Elizabeth wrecking a perfectly good bed. Audio filled

the room and he heard his own voice grinding out com-

mands and endearments to the beautiful woman beneath

him. When he heard her whisper his name with a voice made

raw by emotion, he dug his nails into his palms.

“Who are you?” The rage was unmistakable as it bounced

off the cinderblock walls. “I’ll kill you for this!”

The audio suddenly died and the hum of a PA system

whispered menacingly into Darcy’s ears.

“I think you are in no position to bargain, Detective.” The

voice was garbled by electronics, giving it a tinny, inhuman

quality. “You see, I’m the one Elizabeth loves. I’m the one

she’s destined for.”

Darcy openly scoffed. “Do you think a woman like

Elizabeth believes in destiny? She’s practical, friend.”

“In her heart she knows. You see it’s me she dreams of. I

visit her every night. You didn’t have the brains to heed my

warning, but my love knew.”

He looked down at the cut on his arm, a sick realization

blooming inside like mold. The wound was an angry red

and he could feel it begin to swell beneath the rough fibers

of the rope.

“Have you touched her?” Darcy asked, the question thick

with violence.

“No. She will come to me when she is ready. I will take my

love then, but I’ll have to punish her for letting you spoil her

body. She was pure and chaste until she met you, Detective.”

Like hell, thought Darcy.

A vile snicker fluttered in through the speakers. “Oh,

Detective. She’s looking for you. Should I show her where

you are?”



Elizabeth felt sick. Despite her near-certainty that Darcy

had real feelings for her, a small, niggling doubt remained

that he’d just wanted a fuck and now he was done. She tried

to lock the thought away, but it remained and Elizabeth

couldn’t even find it in herself to be amused at the irony of

finding a man she enjoyed who wanted to toss her away.

Frantic with worry, she grabbed the telephone and punched

in her last hope.

“Fitzwilliam,” a cheery Richard nearly sang.

Oh, god. I’m freaked out and he’s just gotten laid.

“Richie, it’s me.”

“Liz?” His tone changed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Have you seen William?” She knew that with the simple

use of Darcy’s first name, Richard would understand every-

thing. He would know that they had made up, that they had

gone to another level.

She didn’t realize how much she’d had invested in Richard

until he softly said no. Her heart crumbled and blew away

like dust kicked up on a dirt road. Hope drained away.

“Liz? You still there?”

“Something’s wrong. He wouldn’t just leave me. He

couldn’t, right? I mean, he’s not made like that.” The panic

in her words terrified her and somewhere in what was left

of her practical mind, she knew she was scaring the hell out

of Richard too.

“No, Liz. We talked about you. If he left, he would have

to have been dragged away.” She gasped. The words didn’t

comfort like they were meant to.

The call-waiting clicked.

“Richie, there’s another call. It might be him. Hold on.”

She tapped a button on the handset. “William?”

“No,” said a cold, mechanical voice. “But he’s here, in this

building. With me, my love.”

“What?”

“I’ve captured the man who soiled you last night. I thought

about disciplining him alone, but I think it will be a suit-

able punishment for you if you watch. We’re here in the

basement. Hurry, my love, I don’t like to be kept waiting.

Oh, and don’t tell that cop on the other line or you’ll miss

the punishment.”

The connection was broken. She stood still as a statue for

a moment before returning to Richard.

“See you next Sunday, Richard. Sorry to have bothered

you.”

She hung up the phone, dashed into her office to retrieve

her guns, and rushed out the door. With a deep breath and

a little cry of frustration, she slammed her palm against the

thick wooden door and held it there for a few moments to

make sure the sticky note was firmly in place.



Richard barely paused long enough to cradle to phone.

He was flying through the bullpen and down the stairs,

knowing they were faster than the creaking, ancient eleva-

tor in the turn-of-the-century precinct building.

‘See you Sunday, Richard’.

The words echoed in his head like a child beating on a

drum again and again. The ache rolling through his stomach

seemed to end up in his fist and, damn, did he want to hit

something. Hard.

‘See you Sunday, Richard.’

The last time Elizabeth had uttered that phrase he’d almost

lost her. She had known that those six syllables would make

him run, make him rush the very gates of Hell to keep her

a part of his world. He’d lost Maggie because his enemy

couldn’t be fought. He’d be damned before he let Elizabeth

down the same way.

With that thought in his head and her disguised plea ham-

mering madly against his heart, Richard Fitzwiilam sprinted

to his car and sped toward her building.

Chapter Fourteen

T

here were four ways into the basement. One was a

key operated service elevator. Another was through

a loading dock in the back of the building. The

other two were through doorways that were usu-

ally locked.

Few residents had keys to these doors. Elizabeth was one

of them. As a fan of stuff, she had an abundance of it, but

not nearly enough room for it. So the little extra rent for she

paid was worth it. Even more so now.

She decided to use the door visible to the most traffic and

made sure to wave to Avery, the maintenance man. Avery

blushed and grinned at her, which looked odd on a man of

his enormous build. However, he’d never been able to hide

his crush on her.

The staircase, Elizabeth felt, should have been dark, narrow,

and creaking under her weight. Instead the bright crayon

blue steps tumbled down before her beneath clear, white

humming fluorescents. The concrete floor below gleamed

with unwalked paths on the thick sealant.

For the first time in her adult life, Elizabeth found herself

regretting her abnormal lifestyle. If she had been a normal

girl, she would be upstairs in her apartment on a Thursday

morning. She would be getting ready (more likely, though,

already late) for a nice, safe job behind a desk with a boss

she hated and a water cooler to gossip around.

“You don’t even gossip,” she muttered. “And you would be

bored off your ass.”

As if somebody else had said it, Elizabeth nodded then

caught herself. “You bloody fool. Quit that.” She shook her

head, deciding that she was making her own conversation

due to nerves and not because she’d gone insane in the last

thirty minutes.

Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, she fought

her hands not to reach for any of the guns stashed on her

person. She gnawed at her lip as she began to descend the

stairs cautiously. What had the mechanical voice called her?

‘My love.’ Who the fuck was this goddamn psycho?

She considered past lovers that might hold a grudge, but

none came to mind. Except George. George hated her. And

he had been fucking Jane, using her to get off because she

allowed him to play out his kinky little fantasies. George

Wickham. The last time Elizabeth had gone to him for a toss

in the sheets, he had begged her to let him hit her. Elizabeth

had misunderstood his meaning, thinking that a slap on the

bum wasn’t such a big deal, and was completely surprised

when George’s fist landed hard against the soft flesh of her

belly.

She left him after that, with a serious case of blue balls, but

she hardly cared. That was the last time she ever let George

near her without being armed.

“My love, you came.” The voice seemed to come from all

around her and she struggled not to visibly flinch.

“I’m not your love, you sick fucking freak.”

“Now, now,” he chided. “You wouldn’t want to anger me.

I do have the detective down here and I remind you that he

is at my mercy.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, you fucking asshole.”

She hated this. Talking into thin air, conversing with a

faceless voice that seemed to know her.

“Oh, my love, I thought you were smarter than that. George

Wickham is hardly a man to be reckoned with. I am such

a man, but you haven’t realized that yet. You will, though,

my love. You will.”

“Are you going to ask me to join the Dark Side there, chief?”

She asked, unable to control the fear that led her to be flip-

pant and casual. Jane had always laughed at Elizabeth’s abil-

ity to overcompensate one emotion for another.

“The last door on the left, my love.”

She broke into a run without even thinking about it. If

this had been a job, she would have been cautious, calculat-

ing, but it wasn’t a job. It was life or death—Darcy’s life or

death. A normal job fed off adrenaline and planning. This

was fear and anger and nothing like anything she’d ever

experienced before.

There was no fucking way she was going to lose Darcy.

No fucking way.



For a moment, Richard forgot to breathe. His mind was

racing so fast that he almost didn’t stop the car in time.

Traffic. Shit.

It was almost noon in downtown Chicago. Why couldn’t

these drones walk to lunch like normal people? Did they all

have to drive? Was it necessary to hop in a taxi for a two-

minute drive?

He flipped on his lights, letting the siren wail, and gave

a small smile of satisfaction as the sea of cars grudgingly

opened before him. Sometimes it was good to be a cop.

Sometimes it wasn’t.

A large semi was turning where it ought not to be turning.

Richard wasn’t a beat cop. He didn’t have a ticket book. He

didn’t have time for this.

‘See you next Sunday, Richard.’

Laying into his horn and gunning his engine, Richard did

the best he could while trying to maintain his sanity.



Darcy heard the conversation between Elizabeth and

the thing that was tormenting them. He would have cracked

a smile about the dark side comment if he hadn’t known that

Elizabeth was terrified. He could hear it in her voice. It made

him ache all over. His empty stomach churned; he could feel

the acid crawl up and burn the back of his throat.

“Please, Lizzy, go back. I’ll get out of this. Please go back.”

The words became his mantra. They echoed through his

mind again and again and he tried to make them true de-

spite knowing that she’d die before losing face in front of

this madman.

His face was tight with dried blood and the light above

him was flickering which made his vision nearly nonexis-

tent. Trying to keep his breath steady, knowing that to panic

would distract him. His wrists twisted against the rope and

tried to loosen his bindings. He would worry about his feet

once his hands were free.

“Last door on the left, my love.”

Darcy tasted blood in his mouth as he bit into his lip.

When he got out of here, he would kill that bastard.



The last door on the left.

Slowly, Elizabeth put her hand on the doorknob. What

if her lover was already dead? What if his corpse was just

on the other side of that door? What if? What if? What if?

She hated that phrase, even more so now that it wouldn’t

leave her alone. Screwing up her courage and that drive that

refused to be beaten, she turned the knob and grabbed her

gun while kicking the door into the wall.

The room was empty.

“What kind of game is this? Show me Darcy’s alive and

I’ll think about letting you live, you fucknut.”

“Please, my love, such vulgar language. Is that really neces-

sary? Deposit all your weapons in this room including that

.22 tucked into the back of your jeans and the .38.”

“How the hell?” She whispered.

“I know so much more than you think, my love.”

“Quit calling me that!”

“The guns,” the voice coldly uttered. “Or he dies.”

Closing her eyes, trying to keep her head clear, Elizabeth

checked the safeties on her weapons and leaned down to

slide them into the room. She was trained in hand-to-hand

and was pretty good against a man who outweighed her

by fifty pounds. Her mind worked quickly against the

possibility that she might have to disarm him then take

him out.

Where the fuck was Richard?

“The guns are gone. What now, Great and Powerful Oz?”

“Charming, my love. Simply charming.”

“I’m a goddamn riot. What now?”

“He’s in the third room on the right.”

She was running back up the hall instantly. She didn’t even

consider what was on the other side of the door. The tiniest

bit of rational self left was screaming that emotion was go-

ing to get her killed, but she ignored it. She wasn’t sure she

wanted to live if Darcy was already dead.

The door seemed to open without any effort on her part,

though she had kicked it in and she stepped inside, imme-

diately surrounded by blackness.

“Lizzy, behind you!”

She heard Darcy’s voice, but there was no time to turn

around before the air was knocked from her lungs. She

crashed hard to the concrete ground and recognized the un-

mistakable sound of a gun being cocked. Pain shot through

her as she rolled over to look up at her assailant and she knew

there were at least two broken ribs in her chest.

“Look at what you made me do! I didn’t want to hurt you,

but if you’re going to misbehave I will gladly dole out the

punishment.”

The figure was backlit by the hall light and she couldn’t

make out any distinct features, but he was just a bit taller

than her and couldn’t have outweighed her by more that

twenty pounds. She wasn’t sure she could fight, but she was

more than willing to give it a shot.

Suddenly, noise filled the room. Moans and the sound of

skin slapping against skin. Cries of lust and passion, pain and

pleasure. It flooded the room like alcohol in a drunk. With

rationality begging her not to, she looked toward the source

and felt vomit race up and out of her mouth.

There, on a bank of television screens, were mixed images

of Jane and That Bastard, and Jane and George. Perverse,

twisted images of pleasure and agony. Beatings, mock rapes,

and before she could look away, she saw a flash of Jane with

another nameless man as That Bastard watched. She vomited

again, her eyes stinging with tears.

“You see? You see why I had to punish her? She would have

ruined you with her perversion.”

“Lizzy.”

She heard Darcy call her name, but it was too late. She

knew that voice. She knew. He would pay with his life.

Nothing less was acceptable.

Elizabeth struggled to stand. It took her several minutes,

the stab wounds that caused Jane to drown in her own blood

and the crushed skull became her fuel, her reason for living

at that very moment.

“Collins, you killed my sister.”

“No, my love, I punished her. Her sinful life would have

tainted you.” Bill Collins stepped into the room, closing the

door behind him. “Don’t you see? She would have ruined

it for us.”

“There is no ‘us,’ you fucking asshole. There was never an

us. Jane wouldn’t have ruined anything.” The calmness in her

voice frightened her. It was soft and cold like a cloud in the

winter sky. “You’ll die for making that assumption.”

“Elizabeth! Don’t do it!” Darcy yelled.

Her eyes, now adjusted to the dim light, sized Collins up

once again. She lunged toward him and pain sang through-

out her body, catching her off guard. He managed to land

a neat left hook on her jaw and her vision swam as she felt

her lip explode.

“My love, don’t make me do this.” Collins produced a

remote and the images flickered to new ones of her doing all

sorts of things in her apartment. In the center of the wall, on

the largest screen, she was making love to William.

She managed to stand and walk over to his chair. Half

his face was crusted over with dried blood and he gave her a

sardonic grin when he turned to stare up at her.

“You thought the morgue was a bad first date?”

“Shut up!” Collins cried. His voice sounded vaguely child-

like, but there was more than a hint of deadly malice. “You

aren’t good enough to talk to her! She is mine! Everything

was fine until you came along!”

“Collins, what the hell ever gave you the idea that I be-

longed to you?”

“You called me special. You’ve always called me special.”

If she hadn’t been so sore, she probably would have laughed.

She almost did anyway because, if she was going to die, she

might as well die laughing.

“Now this man, this thing has tainted you and he must

be punished.” Collins lifted the gun. He was nearly six feet

from Darcy. He didn’t even need to be a good shot to cause

serious damage.

“Bill, don’t do this. You don’t want to hurt anybody else.”

The desperation made her voice tremble. She gave Darcy

a look and knew he understood that it was best if he said

absolutely nothing. “We can work this out.”

“I want you to love me. I know you do. You called me

special.”

“Bill, listen to me. If you hurt him, there’s no future. No

future for you. No future for me. You want to have a future,

don’t you?”

Collins nodded. The gun shook slightly in his hand as per-

spiration seeped onto his brow. His dark, stringy hair stuck

to his forehead in spots, becoming weighed down with sweat

and oil. A sickly smile found its way over his thin lips when

she suggested a future and she nearly wretched again.

Elizabeth knew men well enough to know that she was

Collins’s weakness. If she could talk to him, if she could

carefully persuade him, then she and Darcy would have a

chance. If only Richard would show up.

“Bill,” she whispered, the pain of her broken ribs making

it hard to talk. “Bill, put the gun down. Please. For the

future.”

Slowly, the gun drifted back down to his side.

“Miss Bennet, I love you. I just love you.”

She fought to keep the vomit down and felt goosebumps

prickle onto her skin. Elizabeth had never been so repulsed

in her life and though she was treading on delicate ground,

couldn’t look at him for a moment longer. Instead, she turned

to Darcy and tried to examine the cut on his forehead.

It was stupid, she realized. Collins was still armed. And,

in that single moment, he turned and met with the filmed

images of her and Darcy in her bed. Collins’s rage was palat-

able and he turned with the gun raised.

The sound of the shot seemed to bounce off the concrete

walls even as the bullet screamed through the air like a jet.

She was in midair and felt her side explode just a millisecond

before everything went black.



The moment the gun fired, Darcy knew what was going

to happen. He saw Elizabeth dive in front of him and knew

he was going to lose her. He wanted nothing more than for

Collins to squeeze off another round.

He felt her blood spray him as her body slammed into

him, knocking the chair backwards. And he saw rather than

heard the door fly open just an instant before his head hit

the ground.

Amazingly, he didn’t black out, though he wished he

would have. She lay on top of him, unmoving. Darcy couldn’t

even tell if she was breathing, but it was hard to listen while

Fitzwilliam emptied his gun into Collins. The detective heard

glass shatter and could only assume that the murderer’s body

had been blown into the wall of televisions by the lieutenant’s

rapid fire.

A moment later, Darcy felt Elizabeth being lifted away.

He watched Fitzwilliam lay her down carefully.

The commanding officer looked at him and smiled reas-

suringly.

Elizabeth was still alive.

“I’ve already called 911. She’s a clever girl, our Liz.”

“Yes, she is,” Darcy whispered.

Fitzwilliam quickly undid Darcy’s bonds and gave them

space as Darcy gathered Elizabeth into his arms, cradling

her gently. Her breath was shallow, but she was breathing.

Her color was ghostly, but she was alive.

A few moments later the paramedics arrived and quickly

loaded her onto a gurney.

He let Fitzwilliam stay with Bill Collins’s corpse. William

Darcy was never leaving her side again.

Chapter Fifteen

S

he was sleeping and Darcy felt his stomach roll

angrily within his body. He suddenly realized that

he was still hungry. Knowing the last time he went

for something to eat almost killed him, he tried to

push aside his hunger and just sit there at her bedside, holding

her hand, but his empty stomach wouldn’t be appeased with

mere visual consumption of Elizabeth’s bruised and battered

face. Reluctantly, Darcy released her hand. He brushed a

featherlight kiss across her cheek and turned to make his way

to the cafeteria. Just outside her door, he met Ben.

“Darcy,” Ben said slowly as if he tasted something slightly

rotten. “I was here last night, but they wouldn’t let me in to

see her. Is she any better?”

“She woke up this morning for a few moments.” Darcy

kept his voice cool. Despite his hunger, he was unwilling to

leave her door to allow Ben to pass.

“We’re you going somewhere?” Ben asked.

“The cafeteria.”

Ben considered the idea for a moment. “I could go for a

coffee.”

Not wanting to spend time with Elizabeth’s lover, but un-

willing to give him a moment alone with her, Darcy agreed

to the lesser of the two evils and the two men walked to the

elevator in silence. They didn’t speak as they entered the

dining room and made their selections. They chose a table

toward the back, away from other tables.

Ben’s coffee was rich and black and very fresh unlike the

sludge that Darcy had been drinking since they’d released

him from the emergency room. Darcy inhaled appreciatively

as he automatically devoured the French fries on his plate.

“I envy you,” Ben said suddenly.

Darcy looked at Ben instead of the burger that was sud-

denly in his hands. “What?”

“I envy you. Of course, I hate you too, but, mostly, it’s just

jealousy.” Ben took a slow sip of his coffee. “I remember the

moment I first saw her, you know.

“I was at a party at Jane’s. The girl I was seeing knew Jane

and I was bored to tears. Jane’s friends were all literary types

and I didn’t give a shit about a single conversation that was

going on.

“I was standing next to my date. I don’t even remember her

name now. Anyway, Beth walked in and she was the most

incredible woman I had ever seen. It wasn’t that she was

beautiful. She was, of course, but that wasn’t it. She glinted.

It was like she was on fire inside.”

“I’ve noticed that too,” Darcy replied quietly.

“I pretended to seduce her that night, but it was me who

was seduced. I made love to her until I couldn’t breathe. I

fell in love with her the moment I saw her.” Ben’s woeful eyes

flashed for moment. “I’ve hated her for it ever since.”

Darcy’s brow crinkled. “What?”

“I knew that loving her would never be easy. There was

no way she would make it easy. Elizabeth isn’t the kind of

woman who accepts love without a fight. She’s known for

ages that I’m in love with her, but she would never let herself

love me because she can’t.

“I tried again and again to make her go away, but there

was always a part of me that held out hope. That hope flared

with every phone call, every sighting of her clothes strewn

throughout my apartment. That hope is dead.”

Darcy pushed his half-eaten plate aside, intent on Ben. His

unbelievably sad expression made him seem no more than a

boy of fourteen. Darcy appreciated the irony of sadness being

a cure for aging and shook his head in empathy.

“I don’t understand.”

A bitter smile passed over Ben’s mouth. “Why would you?

You’re so busy looking at her that you don’t see what you’ve

done to her.”

“What I’ve done?”

“She’s in love with you, man!” Ben almost yelled. “As much

as Elizabeth Bennet can love anybody.” Ben leaned back in

his chair, glaring at Darcy. “I’ve seen the way she looks at

you. At the funeral, at the police fundraiser. When she looks

at you, Darcy, she’s alive. Her eyes swallow you whole and

you’re the only thing she sees.

“It’s the same way you look at her.”

Darcy swallowed the lump in his throat. He wouldn’t

deny his own feelings. He’d grappled with them long enough

to know it was useless to try. Could Ben be right? Could

Elizabeth love him as he loved her?

“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Darcy,” Ben growled. “I love her

so much it hurts and I’m willing to walk away from her, but

only if I know that the man she loves is going to be there for

her. I want her to be happy.”

“I want that too.”

Ben leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes like a soldier

finally afforded a moment’s peace. His shoulders heaved a

great, silent sigh and Darcy could almost touch the relief

pouring from him.

“Tell Beth whatever you want,” he mumbled as he stood

to leave.

Darcy grabbed his arm as he went by. Ben didn’t look at

him and sympathy for Ben, the man he’d been insanely jeal-

ous of not twenty minutes before, overwhelmed him.

“I’ll tell her that you love her.”

“Give her a kiss for me?” His voice was broken, ragged

and Darcy knew that Ben knew the rest of Elizabeth’s kisses

would be from Darcy alone.

“Of course.”

He let his hand drop from Ben’s arm and he didn’t watch

as the man who had been Elizabeth’s lover walked away.



She finally came to fully a few hours after Ben had left

the hospital. Fitzwilliam had just walked in the room as her

eyes opened and Darcy cursed his timing.

“What the hell happened? The last thing I remember is

trying to talk Collins into not shooting William.”

“And you did a bang up job there, Liz,” Richard said. He

bent over the bed and brushed a kiss across her forehead.

“Is that sarcasm?” Elizabeth asked.

“Sweetheart, you took a bullet.” Darcy wrapped his fingers

carefully around hers. “You saved my life.”

He watched the memory surface. Her face fell.

“Collins killed Jane. Richie, Collins killed Jane.”

“I know, Liz.” Richard looked at Darcy in silent com-

munication. “I need a cup of coffee.” He slipped out of the

room.

Elizabeth turned to Darcy, her eyes searching. “What hap-

pened? I remember getting hit, but then everything else is

black.”

“The bullet hit your side, just under your lung. You knocked

us both back to the floor and Fitzwilliam arrived and he

killed Collins.”

“He’s dead?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Lizzy, there’s something else.”

She nodded, holding his eyes with her own.

“Ben was here. He said he loves you, and he wants you to

be happy so he’s walking away.” He couldn’t hide his satisfac-

tion from her and smiled softly.

“Any other man wouldn’t have said anything. You’re en-

tirely too honorable, Detective.”

He chuckled as he pushed a lock of hair from her forehead.

She was chaos and danger. From the moment he met her,

deep down her knew his life would never be the same. He

knew that she would change him, make him a man he never

expected he’d be.

“Elizabeth, if you knew what I was thinking you wouldn’t

call me honorable.”

Her face crinkled. “Oh, yuck. No, Detective, I’d probably

call you a pervert.”

Darcy shook his head then kissed the hand he held in

his own.

“We’re going to have to start being more careful about

getting shot,” he told her.

“I’ll say. Next time I get shot, it’ll be for a good reason.”

Suddenly, tears sprang into her eyes and tumbled over her

swollen and bruised cheeks. “Though, you’re probably the

best reason.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t know what I went through my

mind in that moment that I thought I lost you.”

“Probably the same thing that went through mine when I

thought you might have already been dead.”

A silent understanding passed between them and Darcy

knew that she was his as much as he was hers. He kissed

her then, a slow, sweet kiss that erased all the pain, all the

doubt, and the fear that had been their companion since the

nightmare began.

It was done. All he wanted now was to take her home,

to his home, their home, and live life instead of living with

ghosts.

Finis

.