Public Secrets

didn’t think. She didn’t need to. With a cry of pleasure, she raced into his arms. Before he could speak again, her mouth was on his.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” She pulled back, laughed, and began to dust him off. “I’ve got flour all over you.”
“I’m sure I can find a dozen things to do.” Bev wiped her hands on a cloth and slipped out the door.
“You said you couldn’t come,” Emma began.
“I had a change in schedule.” He drew her close again, wanting another taste. Desire rippled through him as her mouth moved warm under his. “Merry Christmas.”
“How long can you stay?”
“A couple of days.” He glanced over toward the stove. “What’s that noise?”
“Oh, my cookies.” She dashed over to turn off the timer and rescue them. “I was thinking of you when I made these. And wishing you weren’t so far away.” Turning, tray in hand, she looked at him. “I’ll go back with you if you want.”
“You know I want.” He ran a hand down her braid. “I also know that you need time with your family. I’ll be waiting for you when you get home.”
“I love you.” The words went through her heart to her mind so quickly it stunned her. The tray clattered as she dropped it on the rangetop.
“Say it again.”
His eyes were so dark and intense she lifted a hand to his cheek to soothe. “I love you, Michael. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get it out.”
Saying nothing, he pulled her close and held her. For a moment, everything he’d ever wanted was within the circle of his arms.

“I knew when I saw you in New York, at my showing. As soon as I saw you, I knew.” With a combination of relief and pleasure she turned her face into his throat. “It scared me. It seems I’ve been scared for years. Then when you walked in the door just now, it all fell into place.”
“You won’t be able to shake me off now.”
“Good.” She tilted her head up to his. “How about a cookie?”

H E MADE EXCUSES . Michael didn’t enjoy lying to Emma, but he felt it best that the business that had brought him to London remain his for a while longer. He found his British counterparts polite and tidy. He also discovered that British red tape was every bit as convoluted as American.
It took him two hours to be told he would have to come back the next day for a look at the files.
It was time well spent. Emma was thrilled at the opportunity to show him London, steering him from the Tower to Piccadilly, to the changing of the guards to Westminster Abbey. Though he’d been easily persuaded to stay in the McAvoys’ home, he’d kept his hotel room. After the frantic tour, they spent hours in bed.
The files were little help to him. A standard investigation had ultimately ruled death by misadventure. Forensics had turned up no prints other than Jane’s, her former maid’s, and those of the dealer who had found the body. Both his and the maid’s alibis were airtight. The neighbors had nothing good to say about the deceased, but they hadn’t seen anything or anyone on the night of her death.
Michael skimmed through the police photographs. And people called him a slob, he mused as he studied the filth in which Jane had lived and died. Frustrated that the scene had long since been cleaned out, he went over the pictures again with a magnifying glass.
Inspector Carlson, who had been in charge of the Palmer investigation, looked on patiently.
“It was a bit of a sty,” he pointed out. “To be frank, I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Or smelled anything like it. The old girl had cooked for a couple of days.”
“No prints but hers on the syringe?”

“No. She did the job herself.” Carlson removed his horn-rims to polish the lenses. “We debated suicide, but it simply didn’t fit. As it says in the report, it appears that she obtained the heroin, was too strung out to remember to cut it down, and took a quick last ride.”
“Where’d she get the horse? This guy Hitch?”
The inspector pursed his lips. “He’s small-time. Doesn’t have the connections to deal anything that pure.”
“If not him, then who?”
“We’ve never been able to ascertain. We assumed she’d made the buy herself. She was a bit of a celebrity in her day and had a number of connections.”
“You’ve seen the letter she sent to my department.”
“That’s why we’re willing to reopen the case, Detective. If indeed we’ve had a murder here that connects with a murder in your country, you’ll have