comment, flipped the man onto his stomach and cuffed him, then hauled him to his feet with Allison’s help. The man’s face was now scraped and bloody, his nose possibly broken. He’d lost his hat and sunglasses in the scuffle.
“Holy crap,” Allison said.
“He bolted,” Hudson said in his defense, thinking she was reacting to the suspect’s condition.
“No, it’s not that. Do you know who this guy is?”
“Franklin Mandalay III,” the suspect replied haughtily. “Young lady, I want to file a formal charge of assault. I was minding my own business when this scruffy, disreputable individual attacked me. I was committing no crime. I had no weapon—”
“Save it,” Hudson said impatiently. “Allison, I’ll meet you at the station.”
But despite his best attempt at indifference to the name Franklin Mandalay, Hudson’s stomach felt queasy. If he had to get into a scuffle with a suspect, why did it have to be one of the most influential attorneys in Houston? Especially since his only witness had flown the coop.
CHAPTER ONE
HE ARRIVED LATE to the wedding reception, but that was par for the course for Hudson Vale. He would probably be late to his own wedding, in the unlikely event he ever got married.
A young valet with frizzy brown hair and big black glasses took the keys to his Z, whistling in appreciation. “Awesome. You restore it yourself?”
“Every square inch.”
Ordinarily, Hudson took pleasure when someone complimented his ride. But these days, it was hard to take pride in anything. He’d been officially stripped of the one thing he was really proud of. Without the gun and the badge, he was just another guy. No, not just another guy. Another suspect. Scum, in other words.
One week after his scuffle with Franklin Mandalay, Internal Affairs was still investigating.
Hudson headed for the massive front door of Daniel Logan’s River Oaks mansion, which looked like the manor house of an English village, not an oil billionaire’s home smack in the middle of Houston. He hadn’t really wanted to come to the wedding. He barely knew the bride, Daniel’s former assistant Jillian, and had only met her groom, Conner, once. But his friends at Project Justice had wangled him an invitation. They’d also made him promise to come, knowing he needed to get out of the house. Knowing he needed distraction.
Now he wished he hadn’t listened to them. He wasn’t fit company. He’d quickly pay his respects to the bride and groom, say hi to his friends, then make his escape, thereby convincing everyone he was doing okay.
Which he wasn’t.
The front door opened by itself, and a butler-type person gestured him inside a cavernous foyer every bit as opulent as Hudson had heard. A trickling fountain that would have been right at home in ancient Rome echoed against the marble floor and walls, and a stained-glass window cast colored bits of light like confetti over the far wall. From somewhere in the distance he heard faint strains of a country-and-western band, but this room was an oasis of quiet and dignity.
A plump young woman sat at an antique side table guarding the doorway leading to the rest of the house. She silently handed Hudson a pen adorned with a big white feather and pointed toward the guest book. The book was almost filled.
He smiled at the girl out of habit, because he always smiled at young women. She looked down and blushed. He wondered what her story was; had she been stuck behind the guest book because she was the awkward ugly duckling, or had she chosen this job because she wouldn’t then be forced to mingle?
Hudson felt a fleeting urge to ask her. But his insatiable curiosity about people—especially women—often got him into trouble he didn’t need.
Case in point: when he saw two people arguing in a parking lot, when he was sick and off duty, he could have looked the other way. But no, he just had to get involved. Not that he could see himself reacting any differently. He couldn’t stand to see a woman being bullied, and as a cop it was his job to uphold the law, on or off duty.
He bit his tongue and walked past the girl into a living room that could have housed a couple of Sherman tanks. A few people sat on plush white sofas and chairs in this serene room, talking in low tones, but live music beckoned from outdoors. A roving waiter with a tray of full champagne glasses offered Hudson his choice, but champagne wasn’t his deal, so he passed and headed through a Spanish-tiled solarium to the flagstone patio, where most of the guests had gathered to eat, drink and dance.
“Hudson! Over here!” A cool blonde in a pale turquoise dress waved madly at him.
Grateful not to have to wade through oceans of strangers trying to find someone he knew, he quickly made his way to an umbrella table where Dr. Claudia Ellison sat with her husband, Billy Cantu, a Houston cop.
Hudson hoped Claudia didn’t have matchmaking in mind for tonight.
She threw her arms around Hudson and kissed him on the cheek, a rather effusive show of affection from the normally reserved psychologist, but since his suspension she’d been trying extra hard to show him and everyone else that she was on his side.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“The cold’s gone.” He didn’t comment on anything else, because everything else sucked.
Billy stood and shook Hudson’s hand. “Glad you could make it.”
“I knew you’d want to see this place,” said Claudia. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“I guess. Listen, I’m going to find the bride and groom, pay my respects, then—”
Claudia put a melodramatic hand to her forehead. “No, you can’t leave so quickly. We haven’t even had a chance to catch up.”
“You don’t really want to know.”
“Of course I do.”
Billy pulled out a chair. “Have a beer. They got the biggest selection of microbrews I ever saw. Not that I’m really into designer beer, but this Dogfish Head Chicory Stout is pretty good stuff.”
“Look, y’all don’t have to be so nice. I’m not falling apart. I’ll get through this just like I’ve gotten through every other damn thing in my life, okay?”
Claudia waved away his diatribe with a careless hand. “Get over yourself. We’re not being any nicer than usual. Now sit down, shut up and drink heavily of free booze. Logan has limos lined up for anyone who overdoes it.”
Hudson was about to object again. That was when he saw her, the stunning brunette standing near the edge of the pool with a martini glass in her hand. She was tall, made taller still by silver stiletto heels. Her dress shimmered like liquid silver, clinging sinuously to her curves. Her black hair was piled on top of her head in an artfully casual way that had probably taken hours to achieve.
Hudson might not have paid her that much attention, except that she was looking right at him.
Without meaning to, he sank into the chair Billy had offered moments ago. Who is she? And why is she smiling at me like that?
“See
