Secret Admirer. Amanda Stevens

twilight when Tony had found the child, thrown away like yesterday’s useless garbage. She’d had on a pink dress, and her hair was in pigtails tied with pink ribbons. One of the ribbons was missing, and Tony had felt certain it had been taken by the killer as a souvenir or a trophy.

      When the bloodstained ribbon had later been found in a shoe box stuffed under Robert Betts’s bed, Tony had gone after the man’s throat. Clare had managed to pull him away, but not before Robert Betts claimed his rights had been violated. He’d filed assault charges against Tony, even though he hadn’t had a prayer of getting off once the DNA found on the ribbon had been matched to his seven-year-old daughter’s.

      In a way, the Julie Betts case was what had brought Tony back into Eve’s life. After Ashley’s funeral, when she’d seen how grief stricken Tony was, Eve had told herself that it was time to get over her schoolgirl crush and get on with her life. And she had. She’d graduated from college, gone to the academy and then concentrated on her career. She’d even had a serious relationship or two over the years.

      But then the prominence of the Betts case, the manhunt and subsequent notoriety Tony received after the arrest, had made Eve think about him more and more. She had almost gone to see him back then, to tell him that she understood why he had done what he had. After weeks of searching, it must have killed him to find that little girl’s body. Eve had a feeling he’d never gotten over it.

      To most people in the department, Tony Gallagher was a rogue, a loner who didn’t play by the rules. But Eve knew he was much more than that. He was a cop who cared too much. A cop—and a man—worth saving.

      But the question was, did he believe that about himself?

      Chapter Three

      The telephone awakened Eve from a deep sleep. She thought it was the alarm clock at first and reached out blindly to slap at the button. When the ringing persisted, she rolled over and grabbed the receiver.

      “This is Barrett,” she said groggily.

      “Eve? This is Clare. Foxx.”

      Eve sat up, glancing at the bedside clock. Just after four in the morning. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

      “We’ve got a situation, I’m afraid.”

      Something in her voice sent a thrill of alarm racing up Eve’s spine. “What is it?”

      “Bill Stringer’s daughter was found murdered in her apartment just under an hour ago.”

      “Oh, no.” Bill Stringer was Vic D’Angelo’s partner. Eve didn’t know the detective well, but her mind instantly flashed to the picture of the young woman he kept on his desk. “Her name’s Lucy,” he’d told Eve proudly one day when she’d inquired about the photo. Eve remembered Bill picking up the picture and staring down at it. “Her mother and I call her Lulu. She hates it, of course, now that she’s all grown-up.”

      Eve cradled the portable phone between her chin and ear as she began grabbing clothes from her closet.

      “I want you and Tony to catch this one,” Clare told her.

      Eve frowned into the phone. “Are you sure? I mean…it’s likely to get some attention.”

      “I want a woman on this,” Clare said firmly. “And I want the best. I owe that much to Bill.”

      Eve had no delusions. She fit only half of that criteria. Which meant Clare considered Tony Gallagher the best.

      So why was she trying to get rid of him?

      “What’s the address?” Eve threw her clothes on the bed as she picked up a pen and started scribbling.

      “One other thing,” Clare said, after they’d talked for a few more minutes. Her voice held a strange edge. “Is Tony with you?”

      The question shocked Eve. “No, of course not. Why would he be?”

      “I called him a few minutes ago and didn’t get an answer.” Still that odd tone. “Maybe you’d better go by and see if you can rouse him. I want both of you on the scene as soon as possible.”

      “I’m on my way.”

      THE BANGING INSIDE Tony’s head matched the banging outside his apartment. For a moment, he lay drifting on the fringes of sleep, not wanting to open his eyes, but the pounding, both within and without, tortured him awake. He turned over and squinted at the clock. A little after four. Who the hell was knocking on his door at this time of morning?

      “It damn well better be good,” he muttered, rolling out of bed. He reached for his clothes, then realized he was still wearing the pants and shirt he’d had on the night before. The shirt was unbuttoned, and somewhere along the way he’d lost his shoes and socks.

      He struggled to recall the events of last evening. He’d gone to the pub, had a few drinks. Nick had been there. David. Fiona. Eve. That asshole, D’Angelo. Clare.

      He’d waited outside for Eve, Tony seemed to recall, except…he couldn’t actually remember when she’d left. He couldn’t remember driving home, getting into bed.

      This was bad, he thought. Real bad.

      Reaching for his gun on the nightstand, he stumbled through the cluttered living room to the front door. The banging started again, and he yelled, “I’m coming, dammit.”

      He started to unlock the door but found the bolt hadn’t been turned. Any cluckhead off the street could have come in and slit his throat for the few bucks in his wallet.

      Drawing back the door a crack, he glanced into the hallway. Eve stood there, looking as fresh as a daisy in a white blouse and gray pants.

      “What the hell—”

      She pushed against the door, shoving it open and walking past him. “Where’ve you been? Clare’s been trying to reach you.”

      “Clare…” He felt as if he were lagging at least two laps behind, trying to catch up. “What’s going on?”

      He saw then that Eve wasn’t quite as pulled together as he’d first thought. Her hazel eyes were a little too bright, and her hair looked as if she’d combed it with her fingers. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, either, and her face was pale, blanched.

      “Bill Stringer’s daughter was found dead in her apartment about an hour ago. She was murdered.”

      The pounding in Tony’s ears suddenly grew louder, the pain in his head excruciating. He wiped a hand across his mouth, feeling the prickle of his whiskers. “Man,” he said. “Oh, man.”

      “We’re catching this one.”

      That didn’t sound right to Tony. What was Clare up to? “Why us?”

      “She said she wanted a woman on the case, and she wanted the best. The latter wasn’t referring to me, I’m willing to bet,” Eve said without rancor. “We need to get over there.”

      “Yeah. Sure. Just give me a minute.” Tony walked out of the room, feeling as if fireworks were exploding inside his head. This isn’t good. This isn’t good, his mind kept screaming.

      He unscrewed the cap off a bottle of aspirin and downed a couple without water. Stripping, he gave himself two minutes under an icy shower, standing with his hands propped against the tile wall as the water pummeled him back to semiconsciousness.

      Lucy Stringer had been murdered tonight. Tony closed his eyes, shuddering. He could see her pretty face, hear her voice complaining to him that her father still treated her like a kid. “He still thinks I’m about ten years old,” she’d grumbled at a Christmas party a couple years back. She’d pouted like a ten-year-old, but the look she’d slanted Tony was anything but childish. Lucy had liked to flirt, especially with cops, but everyone knew she was off-limits. Besides, she was a good kid. Never into any trouble that Tony was aware of.

      He