First Do No Evil: Blood Secrets, Book 1

  Dedication

  For my mother, who was truly an angel on earth. And for my dear friends Tessa Dare, Leigh LaValle and Courtney Milan. Without these women, there would be no book.

  Acknowledgments

  I am deeply grateful for the love of my father, my children, Shannon, Erik, and Sarah, and my husband Bill. Thank you for not putting me out of the car when I wouldn’t shut up about the color of Danny’s eyes. Thank you to Cindy Gerard and Carla Neggers for your valuable input and generous support. Thank you to my beta readers, Elyssa Papa, Sally Mendenhal, Jeanne Dotterweich and Janine Allen; and to those who checked my medical scenes, Dr. Carey Cuprisin and Dr. William Crowley. Thank you, Bernie Sanden, for charting the constellations for Danny and Sky. Finally, a huge thank you to my agent Nalini Akolekar and my editor Lindsey Faber for taking a chance on my story.

  Chapter One

  Dr. Skylar Novak had awakened today with a premonition of happiness. And all morning long she’d carried with her the hope, no, the determination, that her premonition would come true. Despite the fact that today was Halloween, the toughest day of the year for her, her spirits were running high. She’d decided to look to the future, not the past, and after all, the future did look promising. She still had her clinic, her brother, Garth, and now she had Edmond, and at long last, a real chance at happiness.

  Unable to sleep, she’d made her Saturday morning rounds early and found herself running ahead of schedule—an unprecedented event, certain to please both her brother and Edmond. Taking care not to lose her footing on the ice-encrusted sidewalk, she rounded the corner onto Monticello Street. A gust of cold, clean air, doused with that unmistakable Flagstaff perfume—juniper, and sun and freshly fallen snow—hit her in the face, making her glad she’d decided to walk the short distance from the hospital to the diner.

  To the tourists, Flagstaff was a quaint little mountain town filled with colorful shops and reasonably priced motels. To the college students, Flagstaff was a place to pursue a first-class education while enjoying unlimited access to an outdoor Mecca.

  Sky, on the other hand, had been born here, raised here…and she’d probably die here.

  She turned right, picked her way up the final hill, and arrived at her destination: Jolene’s coffee shop. A hand-lettered sign in the window read, Best of Flagstaff Nominee Eight Years Running!

  Jolene’s—the Susan Lucci of breakfast establishments. For a moment, her lips curled up at the edges, then, per her routine, Sky did a three-sixty, assessing her environment, determining the quickest escape route and threat level. After her father’s murder, she’d trained herself to be more alert to her surroundings, particularly when venturing out alone. Jolene’s, tucked away on a side street just shy of downtown, was less frequented than the eateries on Santa Fe, Flagstaff’s main drag. At not quite seven in the morning, this block still slumbered.

  Security code: green.

  A yellowed cardboard clock hung inside the glass-paneled door of Jolene’s. Its red plastic hands indicated the diner would open at seven. Sky tried the door. Locked. The wind lashed out, and she jammed her hands in her pockets. Her gloves and sunglasses lay forgotten on the kitchen counter at home.

  Inside the diner, Nevaeh Flores bustled about, wiping counters, laying placemats and filling sugar jars, her back to the door. Despite the early hour, the girl had a swing in her step, evincing a naïve optimism characteristic of many of the young women Sky cared for at the family medicine clinic, and poignantly appropriate for someone whose mother had named her heaven—spelled backwards. Perhaps naïve optimism was an inherited trait.

  Just yesterday, Sky had reluctantly turned over the care of nineteen-year-old Nevaeh, now five months pregnant, to an obstetrician. She rapped on the glass, but Nevaeh danced her way behind the counter without looking up. Shivering, Sky turned and reassessed the street. A baby-blue classic Mustang crept up the icy road and skidded to a stop at the curb in front of Jolene’s. Her throat constricted as she watched a big man exit the vehicle. Easily a foot taller than her, he must’ve been well over six feet. The man approached, head down, gray hoodie pulled forward over his face. No bulge in his lightweight sweats or jacket to suggest a weapon, but he held his arms a bit too far from his body, indicating to her that he might be carrying a sidearm.

  Her heart rate jacked with each menacing crack of boot against ice. The man’s shoulders were broad, his waist and hips narrow. She could see the outline of densely muscled thighs working beneath his sweats. He reached the doorway and crunched to a halt beside her.

  Security code: orange.

  Hold your head up. Look him in the eyes. Don’t act like a victim.

  His chin came up. Her eyes lifted to his, and a warm brown gaze short-circuited her security system. She was struck by an unreasoned, instinctive urge to trust this man.

  He spoke first. “Brrr chill.”

  Such a childlike expression from such a dangerous looking source. Before she could stop it, her laugh broke free.

  Two vertical lines creased the space between the man’s thick sable brows. “What?”

  In order to quell her laughter, she concentrated on the dim scar that traveled the length of the man’s nasal filtrum before coursing into his off-center upper lip. The effect of that slight asymmetry, those full, battle-scarred lips set against otherwise perfect, intensely masculine angles was undeniably sensuous. The word devastating came to mind. He should be a poster boy for cleft-lip repairs. Her shoulders stopped vibrating, but she didn’t trust herself to speak, not quite yet.

  “It’s fuckin’ freezing,” he said.

  “Now that’s more what I’d expect from an outlaw like you.” Oh. That was inappropriate. But judging by the way every feature on his face worked its way into a rebel-without-a-cause grin, he hadn’t exactly taken offense at the remark.

  “Well, all right then. No more Mr. Nice Guy. Doesn’t fit anyway. Buy you a coffee?”

  “Thanks, but no.”

  “Not into outlaws?”

  “Uh…” She rattled the doorknob helplessly.

  “One cup. C’mon, flirt and run’s a crime. Don’t make me arrest you.”

  Now this was just plain awkward. She couldn’t figure any way out but honesty. “You’re right. I was flirting—and I never flirt—and I absolutely should not have flirted with you just now. It’s my bad. I apologize.”

  “I refuse to accept.” Reaching inside his jacket, the man pulled out his wallet and flicked it open, revealing a gold badge. “What’s it gonna be,” he asked, a slow grin spreading across his face, “coffee or cuffs?”

  So he was one of the good guys—a detective. Like the ones who’d worked her father’s case with such dedication. Good to know her instincts had been right. But that didn’t change the fact that she was engaged. “You don’t understand. I’m meeting someone—my brother—and my fiancé.”

  “You’re engaged to your brother?”

  “No, I…” Impossible as it seemed in the subfreezing temperature, heat crept up her neck and across her face. “Stop teasing. I said I was sorry.” She lifted her frigid hands to cool her cheeks.

  The detective’s fingers slid around her left wrist, pulling her hand close for inspection. “The cheap bastard didn’t spring for a rock?”

  Allowing herself a mere moment to enjoy the unexpected rush of pleasure that resulted from his fingertips grazing her skin, she tugged her hand free. “Oh, the bastard’s quite generous, the ring’s at home…this is all so new…and…”

  “How new?”

  “Edmond proposed last week.” She bit her lower lip. She shouldn’t be explaining herself to this man, good guy or no, but his interrogation tech
nique was difficult to resist. His boldness was tempered with just the right touch of humor and there was a friendly encouragement in his tone.

  Leaning in, he reached one arm out and settled his palm on the glass, half-caging her between his body and the door. His head bent low. “Edmond, I take it, is not an outlaw.”

  She felt his breath warm her neck, drank in his scent—pine trees and salt. Low in her belly, muscles softened and ached. He was too close. Mashing her back against the door until its rigid contours poked her spine, she pushed him away. “I wish they’d open up.”

  He clutched his heart. “Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.”

  “I only meant I’m cold…you know, brrr chill,” she said, hoping he hadn’t noticed the unsettled tone in her voice.

  “Sorry. I’ve got the manners of a polecat.” He knocked on the window and called out, “Nevaeh!”

  “I already tried that. I’m afraid her earbud’s connected to her iPod.”

  When he whistled a short riff from “Dem Bones”, Sky’s shoulders relaxed, and she found herself laughing for the second time in the space of five minutes. Skylar Novak…first flirting, and now laughing. Maybe for an encore she could mud-wrestle the guy. “You know Nevaeh?”

  “Since she was knee high. This Edwin—”

  “Edmond.”

  “Proposed just last week, and you’re not sporting ice, checking out your left hand until you’re blind? You sure you’re a girl?”

  “Not very PC, are you?”

  Shrugging, he pushed his sleeve back and checked his watch. “It’s oh-seven-hundred, why didn’t you and Edmond come together? No ring. No Edmond. I think maybe you’re shining me on.”

  “The ring is a bit ostentatious for the office is all.”

  “I’d insist you wear the ring.” His gaze wandered from her mouth to her eyes. “If you were mine.”

  She looked past him, focused on the distant San Francisco Peaks, their frosted tips gleaming in the sunlight. “I don’t belong to any man.”

  “So there’s still a chance for me.”

  Rolling her shoulders back, she stuck her chin up. Even though she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, she felt disloyal to Edmond. “I love my fiancé, and I plan on making him happy.”

  “If there is an Edmond…”

  She crossed her heart.

  “If there is an Edmond, you’re not in love with him.”

  At that, the hairs on the back of her neck bristled in Edmond’s defense. “Try to keep up. I just said—”

  “You just said you loved him, not that you’re in love with him. I bet you love your brother, too, and your cat. But that won’t make for wedded bliss. You said you want to make Edmond happy, not that he makes you happy. You left the ring at home and—”

  “I haven’t got a cat. And you’ve overstepped the rules of polite conversation.”

  “Nope, that was you, way back at the outlaw remark.”

  He had a point, and she didn’t have a comeback, so she kept quiet. The diner would open soon. All she had to do was wait this out.

  “Look, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure we’re having a moment here. And…” He paused and turned his palms up. “Please, correct me if I’m wrong, but when you’re having a moment, those rules you mentioned are suspended…momentarily. When you’re having a moment you gotta grab it by the balls, or else something wonderful might pass you by.”

  Straightening her back, she met his eyes. “All right, rules suspended. Let me be clear. Edmond is real and true, the truest thing in my life. He makes me believe in the possibility of happiness…even for someone like me. He’s my best friend, and I’d be lost without him.”

  Kicking a chunk of ice with the toe of his boot, he dropped his eyes and said, “Fuckin’ shame. That coffee-or-cuffs line was one of my better efforts.”

  At last, Nevaeh unlatched the door.

  Sky blew out a relieved breath. “Nice meeting you, detective.”

  “Danny.” He opened the door, motioned for her to go first.

  “I’m Skylar,” she said, taking a step toward the door.

  “Sky. That suits you.”

  Wondering what he could possibly mean by that remark, she hesitated. And that brief, indecisive pause seemed all the invitation Danny needed to grab the moment by the balls. Allowing the door to swing closed in front of them again he said, “Your eyes are sort of a soaring blue. Your skin looks like you woke up this morning and washed your face in a mountain stream.” His fingers found a lock of her unruly brown hair. “Your hair ripples like that stream. Smells like meadow flowers…and wind and stars.”

  Her heart thumped in her chest, as any woman’s would when confronted with such lovely lies from such a lovely man, but as she pushed past him into the beckoning safety of Jolene’s, she mustered a retort. “Look, I’m no expert, detective, and please, correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me congratulations are in order. Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve just topped your own bullshit.”

  Hard to say for sure, but out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him wink.

  Chapter Two

  Edmond was real and true, the truest thing in Sky’s life, and right now the lucky sonofabitch had his hand on the cusp of her ass. Detective Sergeant Daniel Benson angled his head for a better view of said ass. Edmond’s palm rested oh so casually at the flare of Sky’s left cheek, high enough on her back to get away with it in public. But Danny knew those fingers were just itching to uncurl and sneak into ass territory. A smooth move, and one that if executed properly could hardly be protested, public venue or no.

  Seconds passed and the fingers remained in their innocent posture. Wait for it. Wait for it. Now. The hand twitched, the fingers unfurled, and just at that moment, Sky reached her own hand behind her back, laced her fingers through Edmond’s and squeezed. Lucky sonofabitch.

  The pair waited near the door until another man joined them. Sky’s brother, no doubt. The brother’s skin was darker than Sky’s, almost swarthy, and his hair was lighter, a pale gold. Where Sky’s features were delicate, his were rugged, and he carried a deep dimple in his chin. The guy looked like a young Kirk Douglas.

  The threesome turned and walked toward a booth opposite the counter where Danny had claimed a stool. When his eyes tangled with Sky’s, she smiled politely. He snapped his gaze to the Flagstaff Gazette and flipped the pages until his mind absorbed a headline: Breast Cancer Vaccine Brings New Hope.

  When he’d first heard about this vaccine on NPR, he’d made a mental note to discuss it with Katie’s pediatrician. But he hadn’t yet made the call. Maybe this vaccine wasn’t for kids, but he intended to find out. Since his wife’s suicide, a whole slew of medical breakthroughs had become available to teenagers, and he kept up with all of them. Although Grace’s sister would gladly have tended to her niece’s routine doctor visits, he preferred to handle such matters himself. Katie was his responsibility. Katie was his life.

  Alongside the vaccine article, a photo showed the inventor, Garth Novak, MD, PhD, shaking hands with the governor. Novak was a local yokel, and the town of Flagstaff was understandably proud. He studied the photo in the paper and glanced back at the man sitting across from Edmond. Sky’s brother was none other than Dr. Garth Novak. Duly impressed, he checked the reverse side of the page to make sure there was nothing important on the back. Just an ad. He ripped the article out for later review and turned his focus to a group of pastries crowded beneath a glass cover. But before he could size up the scones, a chime drew his attention. Looking up, he saw a man in a hockey mask looming in the diner’s entry.

  Danny’s hand snuck to his gun side and, in an automatic gesture, patted air. A chill crawled down his spine as his fingers curled around the empty space usually occupied by his pistol. The man shoved the hockey mask up onto his hair and took a seat in a back booth. Danny exhaled, releasing the tension that coiled in his trigger finger. Not a man at all, just a kid. Halloween. Still, he regretted not having his Glock.
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  He could hear the captain now: Gentlemen, I can’t require you to carry off-duty. But the bad guys don’t work shift. I also can’t require you to wipe your asses, but I sure as shit hope you do. Keep your weapons on you. It’s just good hygiene.

  Truth be told, some of the guys on the force would be hard-pressed to choose between their Glocks and their dicks, but Danny wasn’t one of them. Guns didn’t make him feel potent. They made him feel separate, and for what he’d been chasing this morning, it had just seemed wrong to bring it along. Stupid. He should’ve had his pistol. He was sworn to protect, and any jackfool can tell you trouble always happens when you’re least prepared.

  Permeating the air, a sweet, heavy aroma awakened his nostrils, and made his mouth water. Nevaeh set a platter of bacon and French toast, a jar of molasses, and a tumbler of strawberry milk in front of him.

  “You can thank me later,” she said, using a pencil to shove a riot of blonde curls behind her ear.

  “I’ll thank you now. That’s what I call service. How did you…?”

  “That’s nothing. I know what you like by now, don’t I? No thanks needed for that.” Nevaeh wrinkled her pixie nose, reached beneath the counter and set a bunny-bottle of Nesquik strawberry syrup in front of him. “I bought this special for you. No one else orders strawberry milk, and Cookie quit stocking it. I picked this up last time I was at Safeway. You owe me $2.79, by the way.”

  He pulled a ten spot out of his wallet and stuffed it in the pocket of Nevaeh’s apron. “Yeah, but I just sat down. If you’d quit interrupting, I was going to ask how you got it ready so fast, how you knew I was coming in.”

  “Dionne Warwick’s my second cousin twice removed.”

  Drizzling his French toast with molasses, he smacked his lips. “No kidding?”

  “Yeah. That and the fact that you banged on the door and hollered, ‘Nevaeh’.”

  “You heard me? You left me standing out in the cold, freezing my— You left me freezing out in the cold? How about I report that little infraction to your mother, pipsqueak.”