was her wide eyes as they’d look up at him that had imprinted themselves on his memory. That and the press of her body against his. Soft in the right places, firm in the rest.
But he’d been a senior at the time and she was just a freshman, utterly wild by reputation, even then. He’d wanted none of that, none of Aurora. What had driven him at the time was a desire for escape. All he had wanted then was to finish high school and to get the hell out of the town, away from his family. More specifically, away from his parents.
And now here he was, back again. Looking to right what he knew in his soul was a horrible wrong.
Funny how life turned out. He would have bet anything of the fortune he’d managed to accrue that he would never set foot back in Aurora again, no matter what.
But then, having his younger brother accused of murder had never been factored into that initial scenario.
“Lorrayne,” he called as he got out of the cherry-red convertible. If she heard him, the woman gave no indication as she continued to hurry toward the front entrance. Cole lengthened his stride as he tried to catch up. She was small, but from what he could see, she was all leg. He raised his voice another decibel. “Lorrayne Cavanaugh.”
Lorrayne.
No one ever called her Lorrayne anymore unless it was official business—or someone in the family trying to get under her skin.
With an impatient sigh, Rayne abruptly stopped and swung around to see who was calling after her. And narrowly avoided colliding into a man who smelled good enough to eat.
Chapter 2
It took Rayne less than a second to recognize him. The man she was looking up at was older now—ten years, if she recalled correctly—and perhaps even better looking now, if that were possible. But it was Cole Garrison, all right. She’d stake her next month’s pay on it.
She would have known him even if conversation at the breakfast table hadn’t found its way to the subject of his brother’s arrest for suspicion of murder. There was just no mistaking those chiseled cheekbones, that artistically perfect cleft chin, those deep blue eyes or that mane of deep black hair that, though tamer and shorter now, still reminded her of the mane of a proud lion prowling over a domain he considered to be singularly his own.
The thing she didn’t understand was what Cole was doing here, calling out to her. She didn’t even think he knew her name. Undoubtedly he was here to see his brother, but why was he trying to get her attention?
And how had he even known it was her? She’d only been thrown into his speech class that one semester when she was fifteen. That was ten years ago and she’d gone through a hell of a lot of changes since then. When she looked back at photographs from that period, she hardly resembled her younger self.
Well, whatever his reasons were, Rayne thought as she watched him cross through the parking lot, she was about to find out.
“You might not remember me—” His voice, deep, low, rumbled over her like a warming breeze in April.
“I remember you.” A hint of a smile curved her lips. “Cole Garrison, right?”
Her eyes swept over the tan camel-hair coat he wore. It was a complete departure from the black windbreaker he used to favor. He was dressed like a businessman, not like the brooding heartthrob half the female population of Aurora High had mooned over. Time caught up to all of them, she supposed.
“Nice coat,” she commented. Looking back, she realized that it was probably an inane thing to say, but she wasn’t at her best when caught off guard in a social situation.
This wasn’t a social situation, Rayne reminded herself. The man was clearly here about his brother. But again, what did that have to do with her?
“Thanks.” Surprising her, he took hold of her arm, giving every impression that he wanted to lead her off to the side. “Have you got a minute?”
She glanced down at his hand, her inference clear. She didn’t like being led around, even by men who looked as if they could start up a dead woman’s heart with one well-timed kiss.
Cole released her arm.
She remained standing where she was. “You want to see me.” It wasn’t quite a question as it was an astonished statement.
“Yes.”
Her eyes never left his. “Not your brother.”
He’d learned the value of planning things out. He wouldn’t have been where he was if he hadn’t. There were arrangements to be made. “I’ll see him after I talk to you.”
She shifted to the side, allowing several uniformed policemen to pass and enter the building. “Why?”
“Because I hear that you’re not satisfied.”
Rayne blinked, drawing a complete blank. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not satisfied that Eric committed the murder. That he did what they arrested him for.”
The pieces pulled themselves together. For a second there, when he’d said satisfied, her mind had leaped to an entirely different set of circumstances. Because she wasn’t satisfied. Her life was good now, far better than it had been for many turbulent, troubled years, and her family was the best she could ever hope for, having stuck by her when even archangels would have bailed. But she was haunted by the feeling that there was something more out there.
She wasn’t sure just what, only that it was something. And even though it had no shape, no name, not even a vague definition, that feeling called out to her.
Rayne was quick to rally together her thoughts. “I’m really not the one you should be talking to,” she pointed out. “I’m not handling the case. I wasn’t even the first officer on the scene.”
That had been Richard Longwell, a patrolman she’d been through the academy with. They still maintained a friendship, although distant now since she had surpassed him by becoming the youngest detective on the force. It had driven an unspoken wedge between them.
The case belonged to Webber and Rollins, both of whom were very territorial when it came to their cases. “I can point out the detectives—” she began to offer, turning toward the entrance.
He cut her off. “No.”
“No?” She was lost again. The man persisted in not making any sense.
This time, Cole moved so that his body blocked her immediate exit. He didn’t want to talk to the first officer on the scene or the detective handling the case, at least not yet. Because facing them alone, he would be given the polite but disdainful treatment accorded to all family members. As far as the police saw him, he was the brother of a murderer. No matter what kind of a picture was painted for the public at large, once the police had a suspect, the burden of proof was on the accused’s side. The accused had to prove he was innocent.
Cole needed someone involved, but not in the middle of it. He needed someone at least partially sympathetic to his cause. Which had brought him to a former hippie/wild child.
“No,” he repeated firmly. “I want to talk
