Not that it mattered too much. What he'd told the detective was true. Rosemary owned s.h.i.t. It was the fact that the b.i.t.c.h had cut him out-him, Local Area Police Commander, Darryl Watson-that had p.i.s.sed him off.

A shaft of fire spiraled through his gut. Ever since he'd found out about the will and its contents, his ulcer had been playing up something fierce. His wife of twenty years had written him out of her will. As if he was nothing, a n.o.body. The humiliation of it.

What was worse, until he'd stumbled across it in the bottom drawer of her desk, he hadn't suspected a thing.

They'd both made wills not long after they'd married. Although Rosemary had come to him with little more than the clothes on her back and a cowardly daughter in tow, he'd thought it important to make her feel she was an equal partner in their marriage-and she had been-at least in the early days.

Despite her disability, Rosemary Collins had been beautiful. Her navy-blue eyes were both mysterious and intriguing and hinted at secrets he yearned to uncover. Her rich, golden hair had cascaded like a thick swathe of silk down her back. He couldn't wait to feel it spread across his bare skin. Though confined to a wheelchair, her figure had been enviably slim. In contrast, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were full and round and bountiful, pressing teasingly against her shirtfront, pulling the fabric taut.

He hadn't been the only hot-blooded male in Watervale who'd l.u.s.ted over the newly arrived widow. The fact that she'd had all of the single male population and even some of the married ones walking around town with hard-ons had only increased her desirability.

He had to have her. He had to have her, so no one else could. It was as simple as that.

When they'd married a scant few months after her arrival, he'd been the happiest man in the world. Despite the inconvenience of the child that came with her, he'd spent countless hours enjoying the bounty of Rosemary's body-a task made even more enjoyable knowing how many others wished they were in his place.

In the early days, he'd paraded her around town for everyone to see and l.u.s.t after. He'd taken her to b.a.l.l.s and dinners and other social outings, always insisting she dress provocatively. He loved to see the agony and the envy in the glazed eyes of his colleagues as they looked on and hankered.

But, like all new toys, after awhile, the novelty wore off. The thrill of twisting the men of Watervale into hard knots of unfulfilled desire eventually lost its shine. Over time, Rosemary's looks faded and he became less and less enamored of her charms. It was about that time he began to notice Kate.

The child had been little more than an inconvenience in the early days of his marriage. Right from the beginning, he'd made sure she was banished to live on her own upstairs, away from her mother and the constant bids the girl made for her mother's attention and he'd barely noticed the kid in his everyday comings and goings.

But, as the years pa.s.sed and his desire for Rosemary waned, he noticed just how much the girl had grown-and how beautiful she'd become. She was the image of her mother. His interest in the girl became more focused. The more he studied her, the more he wanted her...

And now she'd returned.

Her arrival had taken him by surprise. He'd never expected her to come home, even when her mother stopped contacting her. It was the one thing he hadn't planned for. The fact that she had not only returned, but had gone to the police, created an added complication.

He'd had it all worked out. Over the preceding days, he'd carefully dropped subtle and not-so-subtle hints among his friends that things weren't so rosy at home. He'd cunningly let them know his wife's condition was deteriorating and his ability to care for her had become strained and even though he was loathe to do it, he couldn't help but contemplate the necessity of moving her into a nursing home.

His friends had responded exactly like he'd expected. They'd commiserated with his predicament and had congratulated him on his devotion to Rosemary for so many years. They knew it couldn't have been easy for him, caring for an invalid wife.

He'd made all the right noises and had accepted their murmured words of support with grat.i.tude and humility. He'd thanked them for their concern.

His plan had been brilliant. He'd continued to foster the impression that Rosemary's condition had worsened. And then, he'd made the announcement: He'd arranged for her to go on a holiday-a four-month cruise. It was probably the last holiday she'd have.

Despite recent setbacks, he was still confident the plan would work. The day after she was due to return to Watervale, he planned to make it known the holiday hadn't been able to slow the downward turn of her health and he'd had no choice but to settle her into a nursing home in Sydney. He'd make it clear it was what she wanted and that it was for the best.

No one would question his decision and if the truth were known, no one would even care. In recent years, Rosemary had kept more and more to herself. The few women she'd fostered friendships with had either faded away or had been the wives of his police colleagues. He was more than confident there would be no questions asked from that quarter.

Watervale would continue as normal. In time, Rosemary Watson would be forgotten. Eventually, it would almost be like she'd ceased to exist.

It was only with the return of her daughter that his plan had begun to fray at the edges.

Darryl drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, allowing the tension to ease from his shoulders. He was d.a.m.ned if he'd let his stepdaughter ruin everything. He would do whatever it took to see his plan through, including thwarting the overeager detective.

Pretending to get confused over his wife's departure date had been a stroke of genius. It was further proof he had nothing to hide. The detective would know an officer of Darryl's experience would make sure he had a watertight alibi, if it came to that.

It would stand to reason that if he had something to hide, he'd have the date of Rosemary's departure fixed firmly in his mind. Appearing confused about something so important as the date her cruise departed-in effect, the last time he'd seen her-was not an expected way to maintain his cover, if in fact, that was what the detective a.s.sumed Darryl had been doing.

Detective Munro.

Darryl frowned in thought. He'd discovered the man had transferred from a command in Sydney. That, in itself, was suspicious. The fact he had family in the nearby area didn't cut it. No one as young as Munro elected to be transferred to a backwater like Watervale without being prompted from someone higher up.

There was more to Munro's transfer than he was letting on. Darryl would bet on it and he never wagered on something he knew he wouldn't win.

It was just the way he was.

CHAPTER 7.

Kate secured the sash of her thick terry housecoat around her waist and picked up the cup of hot soup. She sank into the motel room's solitary armchair and tried to focus on the evening news that blared from the television a few feet away.

She took a bite of her microwave dinner and sighed. Not exactly gourmet dining, but she hadn't felt like socializing and the room service menu had been unilaterally uninspiring. In a town the size of Watervale, word was probably already out that she'd returned. No doubt her disappearance a decade ago had conjured up wild stories and people would be keen to see her for themselves.

Not that she cared what anyone thought. All she wanted was to find her mother and return to her life in London. She might have told Detective Munro she suspected her mother had met with foul play, but for all of her suspicions, she hadn't given up hope Rosemary was still alive and that there was a reasonable explanation for her lack of communication.

A sharp rap at the door caught her attention. Her pulse jumped. The only person who knew where she was staying was the detective. Unless he'd told someone-someone like Darryl.

Fear clawed at her throat. Darryl knew she was in town and he knew why. He also knew she'd gone to the police. Anger lit up inside her: The detective had ratted her out.

Stupid, so stupid for her to have thought she could trust him. He was a cop. They were all the same. Part of an impenetrable boys' club. She knew that. She'd always known it. She'd fallen for his knock-out smile and the understanding she thought she'd glimpsed in the dark depths of his sparkling brown eyes.

The knock came again, this time more insistent. Adrenaline surged through her. She refused to be a victim again. Hunting around for a weapon, she came up with nothing but a four-inch stiletto. It would have to do. She'd aim it straight for Darryl's eyes.

Plastering herself against the wall nearest the door, she moved the curtain an inch and peeked out through the dirty window. The dim fluorescent light outside her door barely breached the inky blackness. She caught a glimpse of worn jeans and a blue chambray shirt and the air left her body in a rush.

It was him. Poster-boy.

And then her insides knotted up for an entirely different reason.

Riley knew she was in there. He'd seen the slight movement by the window right after he'd knocked. Besides, the room was lit up, the TV was on and a small white rental car was parked right outside the room. If she'd wanted to pretend she wasn't in, she'd have to make a better effort than that.

"Miss Collins, it's Riley Munro. I know you're in there. Please open the door. We need to talk."

A moment later, the wooden panel eased open and Kate stared back at him, motionless. Her eyes were huge in her pale face. Within seconds, he'd taken in her shower-damp hair and housecoat.

Housecoat? Christ, it was only a little after six. Who went to bed at that hour?

She lifted her chin and crossed her arms in front of her. The defensive movement lifted her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, deepening the shadow between them. Riley's body tightened and he fought to maintain his neutral expression.

"What are you doing here?"

Her words sounded brave, but he caught the tremor in her voice. The light glanced off a shiny black sandal in her hand. It had a vicious-looking heel. He frowned.

"Who were you expecting?"

Her hand fell to her side, but she didn't release her grip on the shoe. He lifted his hands in surrender. "I come in peace, I swear."

Mistrust darkened her eyes. She bit her lip and indecision colored her cheeks. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a breath, her easy beauty suddenly confining his oxygen.

Then she turned abruptly and took a seat in an armchair that had seen better days. In fact, the whole room had seen better days. Riley's gaze wandered over the cracked paintwork and faded carpet. She seemed so out of place, surrounded by its dinginess. Like a rare orchid in a bed of geraniums.

He closed the door and sat on the edge of the only bed. It was still made up, although the cushions had been pushed to the floor. At least he hadn't pulled her out of bed.

The thought dropped a tumbler-full of erotic images into his mind. Long, sleek limbs...full, soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s and those luscious lips. His c.o.c.k stirred. He clenched his jaw on a groan.

"What are you doing here, Detective?"

Her voice had gained strength, dragging him from his lurid thoughts. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and then sighed and dropped his hand to his side. "I stopped by your stepfather's house this afternoon."

"I know."

"Of course you do. You were there." It was only when he'd spied the rental car outside her room that he'd realized it was the car he'd seen outside Watson's.

She held his gaze for a moment and then turned her face away. "You saw me."

"Yes, though you managed to surprise me. I thought you hated the man."

She turned back to face him. "You misunderstood me, Detective. I don't just hate him; I despise him."

The venom in her voice was palpable. After his run-in with Watson, he could almost understand her animosity. Still, she'd left home ten years ago. Surely that was long enough to get over some silly teenage disagreement?

"Did you speak with him?" he asked.

A shudder ran through her body. Her arms came around once again to tighten across her chest. Riley kept his gaze studiously averted from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"No. I stayed in the car."

He cleared his throat. "I talked to Darryl. Nice house. Someone has a fine eye for detail. The place looks like something out of House and Garden." He eyeballed her. "I'm curious; what was it like growing up there?"

Her expression closed. He could almost see her shutting down. Her eyes lost their sparkle, lips compressed and color fled from her cheeks. He was left facing an emotionless mask. Something indefinable tugged at his gut. Bracing himself, he waited for her to answer.

She stared blindly at the television. When she finally spoke, her voice was raw. "I ran away when I was fourteen. How do you think it was?"

He studied the pain on her face, wanting to look away, but needing to gauge its legitimacy. Watson was a selfish, egotistical pig, but that didn't make him a murderer. And yet, that was exactly what Kate wanted Riley to believe. He needed to find out why.

"I've been meaning to ask you about that," he replied.

She swung around to face him and her eyes flashed fire. "My leaving has nothing to do with it. My mother knew Darryl and I didn't get on. I called her from a payphone a couple of weeks after I left. I told her I had to get away. She was upset, but she understood. That was it. I got on with my life and we stayed in regular contact. Her disappearance has nothing to do with me. I don't know how many times I have to tell you: It's Darryl you ought to be looking at."

"That's part of the problem, Blondie. You keep insisting he's responsible and yet there's not a shred of evidence that points to him. In fact, there's not a shred of evidence your mother's met with foul play."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "I saw a brochure on the coffee table at Darryl's house. Princess Cruises. The same cruise line your mother booked with. I rang the travel agency. They confirmed the booking. The only thing that's out of order is the fact that the ship's purser told me she didn't board."

Kate gasped. "Sh-she's not on the ship? Is that what you're saying?"

Riley nodded. "Apparently not. Darryl says he drove her down to Sydney to embark. Took her right to the wharf, or so he says, but I had the purser check the manifests. Twice. Your mother didn't board."

"What if Darryl's lying? What if he didn't take her down there at all? What if he's lying about the whole thing?"

"Okay, but he's gone to a lot of trouble. The brochure in the house, the travel agent. They both support his story."

Kate's eyes narrowed. "You don't know him like I do. He's cunning. He's sly. He knows how to cover his tracks."

"Why would he do that? What reason would he have to do away with your mother? They've been together for twenty years. Why now?"

She turned away from him, veiling her eyes behind a thick blanket of lashes. Her arms once again were folded across her chest.

He stood and crowded her with his body, refusing to allow her to withdraw from him again. He needed to know what she was hiding.

"Talk to me, Kate."

She moved away from him and backed up against the door. Her eyes were frantic. "I don't know! I don't know! I don't know why he'd hurt her. All I know is that he has! H-he must have! She would have called me, emailed me-done something! There's only one reason why she wouldn't-and that's if she couldn't. Either he has her locked up somewhere or-or worse and she can't get to a phone or her computer. It's the only thing that makes sense."

Tears spilled onto her cheeks and she brushed them away, her movements jerky. He steeled himself against the desperation in her voice and pressed on.

"Give me a name. Tell me who else I can talk to. I need to talk to someone who knows them, both of them, as well as you do."

"You still don't believe me, do you?" Her voice rang with accusation. He looked away.

"I don't know what to believe, but you're not exactly what I'd call an impartial witness. You've already admitted you have issues with Darryl. You won't tell me what they are; you won't tell me why you left; and you won't tell me why the h.e.l.l you think Darryl has hurt your mother."

He made an effort to slow his breathing down. "Look at it from my point of view. You turn up after a ten-year absence and start pointing fingers at one of our finest law enforcement officers. An officer who has been married to the same woman for twenty years. An officer with a perfectly unblemished record, not even so much as a parking ticket and certainly no evidence of any domestic violence."

He shook his head. "There's nothing to indicate anything's out of the ordinary in your mother's life except your say so...and the basis for your accusations is so flimsy it's almost laughable. She stopped contacting you. So what? It's not a crime to want some time away, time to yourself. If I'd spent more than half of my life in a wheelchair, I'd probably want to get away from everything, too."

Seeing the tension in her body and the mutinous expression on her face, Riley sighed and tiredly ran a hand through his hair. "Look, believe it or not, I'm trying to help you. I know I'm not saying the things you want to hear, but that's my job. I investigate facts, not fantasy. For some reason, you have a beef against your stepfather. Fine. You wouldn't be the first. s.h.i.t happens. I've met the man and he's not exactly overflowing with goodness and virtue. But that just makes him a lousy person. It doesn't make him a kill-"

"My mother had a housekeeper," she interrupted. "Mrs Fitzgerald. I'm sure you understand, there are a lot of things that are impossible to do when you can't walk."

She spoke slowly, tiredly. Her shoulders slumped forward. Riley could barely look at the bleak despair that clouded her eyes.

"Okay. That's good." He reached for his notepad and pen. "Let's hope she's still working for them. She could shed some light on your mother's whereabouts. Do you know where she lives?"

"She used to live on Carol Avenue. I'm not sure if she's still there."

He took down the details. "It's a starting point, anyway. I'll chase it up tomorrow."

Tucking the notepad and pen back into his shirt pocket, his gaze drifted around the room and lit on an expensive-looking laptop. A colorful pattern of geometric shapes chased each other around the screen. He looked back at her.

"Darryl said your mother spent a lot of time on the Internet. There was a computer on the desk in the living room when I visited. Do you know what brand she had?"