For His Daughter

By Dani Sinclair

Father first protector always.

Nothing mattered more to Officer Lee Garvey than upholding the law except his little girl. When murder hit too close to home, Lee had to put aside his badge to solve the crime or lose his child. Only one woman could help. And she wouldn't give him the time of day .

Kayla Coughlin had her reasons for avoiding Lee. But seeing the tough–as–nails cop with his tiny daughter melted her defences. Suddenly the desire she'd fought to hide was flaring out of control. She had to help Lee find the real killer before Lee learned the secrets buried deep in her heart .

Welcome to Fool's Point
where danger and desire are just around the corner!

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460858134

Dani Sinclair

The Easter Bunny is supposed to bring candy. One year he brought a bouncing baby to Dani's parents instead. She'll let you make your own association here. Dani's parents claim they were elated, but she thinks it just took time for the shock to wear off. As the oldest of what turned out to be six brothers and one sister, Dani grew up amid noise and chaos. Mom thrived on it, Dad thought about immigrating to Australia. She would like to say she takes after her dad, preferring order and quiet in her life, but since she seems to find herself constantly surrounded by chaos that she's either created or somehow become embroiled in, she figures you could say she got the best of both of them. In high school, Dani met a man at the drugstore where she was working the soda fountain. Yes, they really did exist outside old movies. Dani went home and told her sister she'd met the man she was going to marry. Almost two years later, she did. Two sons came along eventually, and thirty-some years later she's kept her promise. She told her husband their lives would never be dull. There are times she's sure he'd like to consider immigrating to Australia as well. Reading and writing have always been part of her life. As a child she wrote plays and talked neighborhood children into performing for parents and anyone else she could coerce into sitting through them. The rest of the time she spent reading — walking every Saturday to the library to replenish her stack of fiction. In high school Dani finally began writing her own novel. The murder mystery featured a private investigator and a mysterious, beautiful woman. (Her first romance though she didn't know it back then.) Written in pen and pencil — no crayon she's happy to report — on all sorts of notebook paper — her study hall teachers thought her very studious — she finished the story after months of labor. Proudly, she gave it to her sister and best friend to read. Her sister was furious that Dani had killed off the female lead at the end. Her best friend pointed out the entire story took place in an impossible 24-hour period. Other than that, they both swore they liked it. Over the years, Dani continued to dabble in writing, particularly after she discovered science fiction. Unfortunately, good science fiction requires a solid scientific background. Not her strong suit. But the most inhibiting factor was that in the old days writing involved typewriters and carbon paper. For those of you too young to remember, typewriters didn't all plug into the wall, and none had anything resembling a "memory." They had messy ribbons and sticking keys and bells that went ding when you came to the end of the line. That's literal, not figurative. Carbon paper is a vile substance that requires patience, discipline, and strong spelling and accurate typing skills. Dani guarantees you, if man had not invented home computers, she'd still be living the stories in her head. Block and move, and spell check, now done with the click of a mouse button, was an incredible boon to writers the world over, she declares. So when her sister asked her to write her a romance novel while Dani was between jobs, it sounded like a snap. Ignorance is bliss. Dani says she wrote her first romance novel in something like one week. She was so pleased by the results, she followed it up with two more. Then she discovered a group of writers who met once a week to critique and offer support to one another. Shortly thereafter she discovered a local chapter of Romance Writers of America. Of the five writers who formed the initial critique group, the three who were able to persevere are now all published authors. Moreover, Dani is proud to add that all three have been nominated for RITA Awards. Dani concludes with: "Thanks to the loving support of my very own hero and the two sons we raised, I sold 13 books in five years. I'm proud to call myself a writer. And hopefully, I've given to others some of the pleasure I've derived from a lifetime of reading."

Book preview

Chapter One

Father’s Day, and she’d refused to let him see his daughter. Lee flexed his fingers, wanting nothing more than to flex them around his former wife’s elegant neck.

Not another dime, Fay. Not one.

Fay arched one tightly plucked eyebrow. Amusement showed in the nasty twist of her lips. Then I guess I’ll have to sue for total custody of Meredith.

His fingers curled into helpless fists at his side. No, he said viciously.

"Oh, I think so, Daddy. Her husky contralto laugh slashed like razors. After all, the divorce papers were uncontested. You did let me label you ‘unfaithful."’

I would have signed anything to get rid of you and you know it. The alcohol made him reckless. He knew better than to drink. Those beers, on an empty stomach, had gone straight to his head. Lee tried to steady the burning rage inside him.

Fay laughed victoriously. Of course you would have, darling. Too bad you didn’t know I was pregnant, huh?

Lee lost the battle for control. He grabbed her forearms in a crushing grip. You don’t care about Meredith. All you care about is money.

Green eyes snapped with fire. Take your hands off me. Her sensual teasing disappeared.

He shook her, wanting nothing more than to strangle the life from her gorgeous, manipulative body.

How much do you want, Fay?

I want it all, she spat at him, eyes glittering.

Fay?

The new voice stopped his angry response. For a moment, they stood there, a tableau of madness in the restaurant parking lot. Then sanity swept aside Lee’s anger and pushed back his alcohol-induced lunacy.

Lee turned to stare at the newcomer, recognizing her slender form even in the darkness.

Take your hands off her, Kayla Coughlin demanded.

Beyond Kayla stood an entire crowd of onlookers.

Lee dropped his hands, feeling suddenly light-headed. Shock at what Fay had almost driven him to couldn’t entirely numb his fury.

Get out of here, he snarled at her friend.

No.

The stubborn woman held her ground, tossing a swatch of hair from her eyes with a swing of her head. Her gaze bored into him accusingly, never leaving his face as she addressed her friend. Fay, are you okay?

Fay’s bright laughter trilled, overlaid with bitterness. Of course, I am. My darling ex-husband was just about to leave, weren’t you, Lee?

The alcohol made him dizzy. Or maybe that was rage. He turned back to the incredibly beautiful woman who had once been his wife. He lowered his voice to a bare whisper of fury. You won’t see one more dime, Fay.

For a moment, fear wiped away her beauty. Fay recovered quickly. Are you threatening me, darling? she asked in a voice deliberately pitched to carry clearly.

Believe it, he snarled quietly. If it takes every cent I have, I’ll prove what sort of creature you are. And I’ll get my daughter back.

She took a half step back from his cold fury.

Get away from her, Kayla demanded.

Lee didn’t look in her direction.

Don’t come near me! Fay cried, cringing.

She was playing to her audience as she always did. But Lee didn’t care anymore. Anger welled in him, pushing past his common sense.

I’ll do whatever it takes to get my daughter, he told her. And he meant every word.

A wave of dizziness rushed over him. Had he drunk more than two beers? He couldn’t remember. Everything felt blurry, out of focus. But one thing he recognized—he was making a fool of himself.

A hand gripped the sleeve of his bright green windbreaker. He looked at the slender fingers coiled about the material and found his own fingers clenched in a fist again.

Stay out of this, he warned Kayla. He’d faced down hardened criminals with that tone, but it obviously didn’t work on small, determined women. Kayla scowled right back at him.

You’re drunk, she accused.

He stared at her, feeling the first stirrings of shame. Pale blue loathing glared back at him.

Yes, I think I am, he said distinctly. It’s Father’s Day and I didn’t even get to see my daughter.

The contempt in her eyes died, changing to something else. Pity? He didn’t need or want her pity.

Embarrassment pushed his anger back to a manageable level. The small knot of people had drawn closer. Lee had just enough common sense left to realize how potentially destructive this scene had become.

He reeled away from the delicate hand that held him prisoner. Away from those disturbing eyes. He started back toward the restaurant. In a matter of minutes, he was going to be ill, and pride wouldn’t let him throw up in front of those pale blue eyes.

At least the rain had stopped.

Fay began to laugh at his back. The shrill sound mingled with the bile crawling up his throat. More than anything in the world, he’d like to strangle that sound from her swanlike throat.

Happy Father’s Day, darling, she called after him.

He fanned his anger in order to keep walking and cursed himself for a fool. And the world began fading to black.

THE PRESSING VEIL OF FOG lifted slowly. The devil himself pounded out a rhythm behind Lee’s eyes. If Lee moved, his head would roll right off his neck. If he didn’t move, the dryness in his throat would suck away every trace of moisture from his body. He’d probably turn to dust right here on the bed.

Bed.

He was in a bed, lying on his side.

No pillow? No blanket?

Lee lay quietly, absorbing those strange facts. His head throbbed viciously. His throat cracked with dryness.

So this was a hangover. He’d never managed to drink to this point before. His body chemistry had no tolerance for alcohol.

He opened his eyes carefully. An unfamiliar wall stared back at him.

Huh? With care, he shifted, his left arm brushing against another form.

He wasn’t alone in the bed?

Lee froze, trying to think. Trying to remember. The body next to his didn’t move, but something wet soaked the left side of his shirt. He was cold, he realized. And confused. He was also starting to feel apprehensive.

What had he done?

Lee blinked rapidly in an effort to clear his vision. Tacky, institutional-type prints hung on the opposite wall. He was in his motel room. Wasn’t he?

He swallowed a groan. Surely he hadn’t been so stupid—so drunk and stupid—that he’d picked up some woman last night. He took a deep, steadying breath and the smell of roses assailed his nostrils, threatening the uneasy tranquility of his stomach.

Lee tried to swallow past the unbearable dryness in his throat and shifted. His shoe bunched in the comforter.

Shoe? He’d gone to bed with a woman fully dressed?

Yep. Jeans, shirt, even his shoes. The only thing missing was his jacket.

Somewhere in the room, an air conditioner kicked to life with a loud grumble that set his heart pounding. The room was already cold. Almost frosty. The wet spot on his shirt clung to his skin uncomfortably. He shivered and shifted slightly, wincing at the pain in his head. His belt holster dug into his back.

Wrong. It felt wrong.

Too light, he decided. Empty.

Anxiety turned to fear. He rolled slowly to his left.

A familiar spill of red hair tumbled across the pillow on which her head rested. Even in profile, he saw the mocking curl of a smile at the edges of Fay’s scarlet-painted lips.

Horror thundered through him.

Lee jerked to a sitting position, instantly regretting the action. Lasers of pain blinded him. Nausea pushed against the back of his throat. He shut his eyes to counter the white-hot wash of agony in his head and tried desperately to remember.

He wouldn’t have slept with her. Not again. Never again.

What was he doing here? What was she doing here? All he could remember was a pair of accusing blue eyes. Kayla?

As from a dream, bits of memory surfaced. Father’s Day. Fay. Confrontation. A parking lot. A host of watchers and a rare surge of fury. What had he done?

Lee slitted his eyes to peer at his ex-wife, half expecting her to be watching him. It took him a minute to absorb the fact that Fay wouldn’t watch him ever again.

Oh, God, he’d killed her! Blood saturated the ivory nightgown, staining the bed with vivid color. Belatedly he realized he’d rolled into a puddle of congealing blood that had soaked the bedspread beneath them.

He whirled from the bed in a jerky motion that left him panting in pain and fear.

Think! Remember! Adrenaline pushed past the muzzy barrier in his mind. Okay, he despised her, but he would never actually have killed her.

He stood there, swaying slightly. If he hadn’t killed her, someone else had. Training finally overrode the terror pounding through his bloodstream. He dropped to a crouch beside the bed, sweeping the room with experienced eyes. Nothing. No one.

The silence was complete beyond the straining sounds of the air conditioner. Lee shivered again. The room was terribly cold. To mask the time of death?

Instinct told him he was alone with the corpse. He forced his mind to focus on details.

A dozen yellow roses, her favorite, in a vase on the table. A partially empty bottle of champagne in an ice bucket filled with slowly melting water. Two longstemmed glasses—one empty with lipstick traces, one halffull. The champagne would be imported from France, of course. That was the only type she drank. And the open candy box on the table would contain another favorite, chocolate-covered cherries.

His gaze landed on her corpse. Nausea surged insistently. Even from his crouched position he could see the bruises on her forearm. Bruises he knew he’d inflicted when he grabbed her—in front of at least a dozen witnesses.

Oh, God, what had he done?

He forced himself to stand and study her with detachment. Three shots to the chest. Close range. Yet, she was almost smiling. That sly, seductive smile that had once taunted him to madness.

Rigor mortis had set in. In fact, he was pretty sure it was wearing off. That meant she’d been dead for hours. He’d lain next to a corpse most of the night?

Lee wanted to vomit. He had to wait for the sensation to ebb, then slowly he climbed to his feet. His right foot kicked something heavy, sending it skittering under the bed. He spotted the missing pillow on the floor on the other side of the bed. Slowly, carefully watching where he put each foot, he came around the bottom of the bed.

Holes marred the pillowcase. Holes and powder bums. The pillow had been used as a silencer. No need to check what he’d just kicked under the bed. His hand went to his empty holster. He’d just kicked the murder weapon under the bed.

Lee tried to stop shaking. He wished he could think past the pounding in his head. Pain splintered his vision. None of this made sense. Even drunk, he wouldn’t shoot Fay and then walk around the bed and fall asleep next to her. Think!

The pillow implied premeditation. But he hadn’t been capable of that much thought last night. What had happened to him? Why did he feel so muzzy? Why couldn’t he remember?

Scared as he’d never been scared before, Lee rubbed his jaw, feeling the bristles of new growth. If he refused to accept that he’d shot Fay, he had to come up with another suspect.

And that someone had put him on the bed beside her?

Okay...maybe. Go with that assumption for now. It was better than those other thoughts.

Then what? The murderer dropped the gun onto the floor to make it look as if it had fallen from Lee’s fingers?

Why not? As long as the murderer wiped his own prints from anything he’d touched, he could leave and no one would know. To leave, he’d have to go out the main door or the sliding glass door on Fay’s side of the bed.

Lee shook all over, one step away from incipient panic.

Not good, Garvey, he told himself silently. Get a grip. You’ve got to keep thinking. Use your training.

He stepped forward until he could see the main door. The chain bolt was in place. No one had gone out that door. He staggered to the window and pulled back the heavy drape. Sunlight blinded him, piercing his battered head. It took several seconds for him to focus on the lock. A lock that was clearly in the locked position.

No. The word was a croak of sound tearing at his throat. He lurched for the bathroom, reaching for one of the glasses and fumbling the paper coating off the top. He filled it with tap water and gulped thirstily.

Fay was dead.

It looked very much like he’d killed her.

Lee clung to the countertop, trying not to vomit. Fear sent beads of panic racing through his bloodstream. Beads that grew and spread, urging him to run.

She wasn’t worth killing, he told his image.

That fine distinction made him want to laugh, but laughter would open the door to madness. He’d never killed anyone, not even in the line of duty. Please, God, he hadn’t started with his ex-wife.

What about Meredith?

Thoughts of his two-year-old daughter steadied him. He needed to get a grip. He had to find out what had happened here last night. He needed to remember!

The blood had soaked one side of his shirt, plastering it to his skin. Damning evidence. But nothing was as damning as his gun being the murder weapon and the fact that the doors were locked from the inside.

He must have killed her!

Lee grabbed a washcloth and bathed his face in cold water.

Are you going to run, Garvey? he asked his reflection. Pretty stupid. You’re a cop and you’ve got a daughter to think about.

Meredith. Where was his daughter?

Kayla, of course. Who else would Fay depend on to care for her child? The two women shared a bond he’d never understood.

Concentrate. Use your training and investigate.

Carefully he combed the crime scene. There was no other way in or out of the room. The bolt was still in place on the door from his side, securely locked. The sliding glass door leading to the patio was also definitely locked, although the metal bar wasn’t in place. Odd, but it didn’t solve his problem. The snap lock was down. Someone could have exited that way, but only if someone else remained inside to flick the lock back into place behind them.

And he was the only someone left alive in here.

Lee refused to dwell on that. Instead, he retrieved his gun from under the bed. Definitely the murder weapon. No point worrying about prints. If he hadn’t fired the gun, it was a cinch whoever had had left as many of Lee’s prints . intact as possible. Besides, the police-issue 9 mm was registered to him.

He knew police procedure. His fellow officers would listen to his story, and they’d carefully check the evidence, then they’d lock him up and throw away the key.

Cold horror stabbed his stomach with icy shards of panic.

He’d avoided looking at Fay as much as he could. Now Lee studied her body dispassionately. There was nothing to see beyond what he’d already noted. She hadn’t expected to die. In fact, she looked as though she expected a lover. Her eyes were closed and there was that damnable smile on her beautiful face. Long, perfectly manicured fingernails were boldly painted, neat and unbroken. She hadn’t fought anyone off. Her cream-colored nightgown was seductively arranged, disturbed only where the bullets had entered and blood had seeped out. The flowers, the champagne, the chocolates—the entire setting spoke of seduction. But who was the seduced and who was the seducer?

No way would I have touched you again. Not even if you promised me exclusive rights to Meredith.

Noises outside sent him spinning toward the door. He went into an automatic defensive crouch, the gun aimed with deadly accuracy as the door came open against the chain.

Housekeeper, a voice called out.

He wasn’t in her line of sight. Thankfully, neither was the body on the bed.

He lowered his arms, shaking all over and not just from the coldness of the room. Later, he growled. His voice didn’t even sound like his own.

The door closed.

Lee tried to contain the erupting fear. He had to get out of here. What time was it?

Almost nine-thirty, according to the clock on the nightstand. The maid would be back. He probably had an hour.

To do what?

His eyes scanned the room once more. He couldn’t move the body. Couldn’t disguise the crime scene. He could either pick up the phone and call it in, or he could leave. Run and keep on running.

And where would that leave Meredith?

He took two steps in the direction of the telephone and stopped. Once he made that call, the investigation would be out of his hands. He’d be at the mercy of the local police. This was a very small town. They’d have to bring in the state boys for something as big as murder.

For the first time, he understood why his former partner had taken off two years ago when he found himself framed for murder. Joe hadn’t trusted his fellow officers to prove his innocence, so he’d set out to do it himself—and he’d succeeded. Lee knew he was going to have to try to do the same. No sane cop would believe he hadn’t murdered his ex-wife.

He wasn’t even sure he hadn’t.

He looked at Fay’s body and her perfectly sculpted features. Cold and lifeless in death, just as they’d been in life. His fingers tightened around the gun.

Had he killed her?

His gaze went from the door to the curtained patio.

Who else could have done it?

The conclusion was inescapable. He’d gotten drunk. He’d come here and he’d killed her. Then he’d passed out on the bed.

Lee very nearly lost his battle with his stomach.

Methodically he continued to wipe every surface in the room that he might have touched. If he hadn’t killed Fay, he was destroying evidence that might save him. And if he had killed her, he was making it harder on his fellow cops to prove their case.

The blood-soaked shirt clung to his skin. Slowly he peeled it off and wiped the blood from his skin. The motel generously provided plastic bags to store wet swimsuits. His shirt and the towel just fit inside.

He found Fay’s handbag hanging in the closet, along with several articles of clothing. Another oddity. Fay had always been careless with her personal belongings. And why would she have several sexy nightgowns and other outfits hanging in a motel closet?

He discarded the reason that immediately sprang to mind. She had never been faithful, but he couldn’t picture her turning tricks for money.

He pocketed her key ring, but found nothing else that might be of help inside her handbag. He left her purse gaping open and carefully wiped his prints. At the last minute, he opened her billfold and removed her cash, stuffing it into his pocket. He doubted anyone would buy the robbery theory, but a good lawyer might be able to make a reasonable-doubt case from it. He should also take her jewelry. Fay wore only diamonds and gold and a real burglar would remove them. But Lee couldn’t bring himself to touch the corpse.

He did, however, remove the two hairs laying on the bed beside her. His hairs. And no doubt there’d be other trace evidence of his presence here, but he couldn’t erase everything. He simply needed to muddy the evidence as much as possible.

At the sliding glass door, he paused to look around. He’d nearly left his windbreaker on the corner of the dresser. He started to put the jacket on to cover his bare chest and hesitated. There might still be blood on his back. He couldn’t take a chance of getting it on the inside of his jacket. His shirt and pants would be easy enough to dispose of, but the bright green windbreaker was more memorable. Any number of people might remember that he’d been wearing it last night. Particularly Kayla.

He used the washcloth to unlock the sliding glass door, pulling it closed behind him with more force than he’d intended. He looked

Reviews for For His Daughter

[jjmcgaffey · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Mmmm. Not wonderful. Actually, the mystery/adventure is fine - that works, it's not quite _reasonable_ but I can manage the suspension of disbelief. The romance is much less good. Actually, there's just one line that drove me nuts - they've got wild attraction, she's keeping away from him because he's Faye's (ex) husband - suddenly she stops and says to herself 'You are _not_ falling in love with him!'. First mention of 'love' - lots of attraction, but there was not even a previous mention that she doesn't sleep around or anything like that. An egregious reference to the standard romance trope of great sex/strong attraction (especially to the wrong person) = true love. After that comment, the romance proceeded as normal - attraction, attraction, attraction, sex, crisis, love admitted. But that one comment had destroyed it for me - made it too clearly a genre trope. Pity, it's a reasonably good mystery, but as a romance...no. I had Dani Sinclair on my 'good authors' list - I'm afraid I'm going to have to take her off. The last several of hers I've read have varied from poor to good, rather than from good to very good as I'd expected. Sigh.