Deadly Kisses Read Online Free PDF Page B

profitable career to perform legal services for the poor and inopportune. Her unhappiness had followed, for he had turned his back on a sizable income and worked eighty-hour weeks instead. Finally, there was her betrayal. She had simply left him, walking out on their marriage. Too late, he wished he had never taken that damn employment, or that he had begged her to return.
    But he hadn’t. And four years of separation had limped by, until the night Francesca Cahill had come into his life.
    He smiled, but his sadness increased. He wondered what would have happened if Leigh Anne had never returned to him. He still cared deeply for Francesca and he always would. Once, they had been on the verge of falling in love, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. Now he was committed to his wife and children—and Francesca was committed to his half brother. His smile vanished. Hart would break her heart. He knew it the way he knew that Leigh Anne wanted him to leave. He had not a single doubt, and the day Hart hurt her, he would break him.
    A sharp knocking sounded on the front door.
    Bragg was relieved, as he hated thinking about Francesca with Hart. It was terribly late, so the call could only be police business—an emergency. Bragg grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and hurried down the narrow hall of the modest Victorian brownstone he leased.
    A roundsman stood there with a lantern, his expression alert. Bragg was already shrugging on his jacket. “What is it?” He did not know the young officer who faced him.
    â€œSir, there has been a murder. Inspector Newman thinks you might want to meet him at HQ, immediately.”
    He was tense, and glad of the distraction. This could only be dire, indeed. “Who is the victim?” He stepped outside, closing the front door behind him. The early June night was cool, but not unpleasant.
    â€œA woman. Her name is Miss Daisy Jones, sir.”
    An instant passed as he assimilated this stunning fact—Hart’s mistress had been murdered. “Newman is at headquarters? He is not at the murder scene?”
    â€œNo, sir. There are some officers at the scene, but he has several witnesses to speak with, sir. He asked me to tell you that he is interviewing Calder Hart and Miss Cahill as we speak.”
    Bragg tripped. For one moment, he was in disbelief. Hart was at HQ—with Francesca. And he simply knew that no good could come of this case.
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    F RANCESCA SAT BESIDE H ART at the long, scarred wood table in the conference room of police headquarters. The room was on the second floor, just a door down from Bragg’s office. Inspector Newman, a rotund and pleasant man with graying hair with whom Francesca had worked many times, sat facing them, holding a notepad, and wearing his most professional demeanor. Francesca knew that was on her account, as he was very aware of her close relationship with Bragg.
    Francesca had already heard Hart’s story on the short ride from Daisy’s to Mulberry Street, when they had had a chance to speak. Now she watched him closely, carefully listening to his every word. She could not help herself, for she had learned on her numerous past investigations to check and recheck every detail. Witnesses often confused facts and events; perpetrators often deliberately misled the police. Of course, she was not suspicious of Hart and she expected him to keep his facts straight, and although his expression was deadpan, his tone calm, shewas certain now that he was very distressed by the evening’s events.
    â€œI left the train depot a few minutes before 7:00 p.m. As I was not expected, I took a cab home. Traffic was heavy and it was a good hour before I reached the house. An hour later I found a note from Daisy on my desk.”
    Which meant he had found her note at 9:00 p.m., approximately, Francesca thought.
    â€œAnd what did her note say?” Newman asked.
    â€œShe wished to speak with me the moment I