A Reason to Believe (18 page)

“Well, now that you know all of the facts,

Captain, I’m quite certain any misunderstandings

can be cleared up, can’t they?” Commissioner

Mitchell said, his voice persuasive. “Surely this

matter can be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Branson’s mouth tightened into a flat line, his

expression saying more clearly than any words he

wasn’t happy about being overruled. He chewed

the inside of his lip and moved to sit heavily

behind his desk.

“Given that Bennett was at the Reynolds

residence at Mrs. Reynolds’ request, there will not

be any disciplinary action taken in regards to his

actions. However—” Branson pinned Matt with a

narrow-eyed look, “—you should keep your

distance from this investigation while you’re on

leave, and I expect you to do so from here on out.”

Matt clenched his teeth. He wasn’t ten years old,

and he didn’t appreciate being spoken to as though

he was. He nodded once, the gesture terse.

“Fine. That will be all then.” Branson flipped

the folder on his desk closed with an angry swat.

He rose to shake Commissioner Mitchell’s hand,

ignoring Matt completely.

Clearly dismissed, Matt turned and strode from

the office. He stabbed his index finger at the down

button next to the elevator and ran his hand roughly

though his hair.

“That went well.” Kiernan came up beside him,

his hands in his jeans pockets, his arms holding his

jacket back, leaving the front of his shirt clearly on

display. He leaned his shoulder into the wall, a

smile on his face.

“You think?” Matt asked, his tone dry. “Nice

shirt, by the way.”

Kiernan’s dimples appeared. “Like it? I thought

it was appropriate.”

Karen Reynolds approached, her expression taut

with concern. “I’m afraid I may have made things

worse for you rather than better, Detective,” she

said, her brow furrowed. “He seems very angry. I

am sorry.”

“Mrs. Reynolds, the fact I still have my pension

tells you everything you need to know about your

contribution.” Matt held out his hand. “He had

every intention of firing me. Your argument is the

only thing that stopped him. Thank you for coming.

I know it can’t have been easy for you.”

She took his hand in both of hers. They were

cold even as her grip was firm. “I wish I could do

more.”

Commissioner Mitchell joined them, taking her

elbow gently, and Matt wondered how they knew

one another. The elevator doors slid open, and the

ride to the first floor was made in silence.

Sheila was sitting in one of the chairs in the first

floor hallway, and she jumped to her feet when

they appeared. “Matt, is everything…”

“Later, okay?” he said softly, glancing

meaningfully toward Karen Reynolds. Sheila shot

her a quick look, understanding, and fell into step

behind them. They walked out onto the sidewalk

beyond the main doors.

Karen paused and looked back at him. “I don’t

want you to find yourself in even more difficulty

because of me, but I was wondering…” She

studied Matt’s face, her eyes anxious.

“If there’s anything I can do, Mrs. Reynolds, I

will.”

Her expression could not be interpreted as a

smile, but she tried. She opened her clutch purse

and removed a thick piece of card stock, which she

placed in Matt’s hands. He turned it over to read

the front.

It was a small folder. On the cover was a lovely

picture of a beautiful little girl with wide

cornflower blue eyes and blond curls, holding a

stuffed unicorn with a rainbow-striped horn.

Beneath the photo were the words:
A Celebration

of the Life of Abigail Marie Reynolds, June 16,

2006 to December 25, 2012.
Matt studied the

picture, his heart sinking, and looked up into her

mother’s sad eyes.

“The service is at noon,” she said softly. “I

know Captain Branson told you to keep your

distance, but I was hoping… There will be so

many people there who are convinced her father…

I thought…” Her lower lip trembled.

Matt put his hand on her arm. “He told me to

stay away from the investigation, Mrs. Reynolds.

Not Abby’s memorial. Of course I’ll be there. I’ll

even stand with you and your family, if you’d

like.”

The tears that filled her eyes made his chest

ache, and when she hugged him, he held her close,

feeling the tremors moving through her. She felt

frail beneath his hands. The fact she’d done such a

masterful job of hiding it humbled him.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his cheek.

She

stepped

back,

utilizing

Commissioner

Mitchell’s handkerchief to wipe beneath her eyes.

She looked at Kiernan, who was watching her with

a wealth of compassion. “The invitation, such as it

is, is extended to you as well, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

“I’d be honored,” he said, his voice gentle.

“There will be lunch, at the house, after. I was

hoping we could talk about yesterday, and what

you learned…” She sounded as if her composure

was at its breaking point, and Kiernan took her

hand between both of his.

“Yes. We’ll talk. I promise.”

She nodded, then firmed her chin.

Mitchell shook their hands and led her to a

black limousine idling nearby. The back door

opened and Marc Reynolds emerged, reaching for

his wife’s hands as she approached him. He caught

Matt’s eyes and nodded somberly before helping

his wife into the car. Mitchell set off across the

parking lot as the limo slid away from the curb.

“So,” Kiernan said as they both watched the

long black car turn onto the road in front of the

police station. “How pissed off is Branson going

to be when you turn up at Abby’s funeral?”

“I don’t much give a shit.” Matt turned and

looked down into Kiernan’s eyes. “Apparently,

I’m a family friend.”

“So you are,” Kiernan agreed.

“Whose idea was that story?” Matt went on.

“Hers, or yours?”

“Hers.”

“And how did she know to come here?”

“That might have been me.”

Matt studied the handsome face. “I gather you

aren’t leaving?” He tried to keep the hopefulness

out of his voice, but was fairly certain he’d failed

when Kiernan’s smile softened.

“Aidan’s still working on it, but not today, no.”

Matt looked over at Sheila. “And how do you fit

into this?”

She held up her hands. “I’m just the driver. But I

am curious about what happened up there.”

“Well, that’s going to have to wait. I’ll call you

later, but now—” Matt looked at his watch. “The

funeral’s in an hour and twenty minutes. I’m

guessing we need to make a stop at the hotel for

Kiernan to change. You’ve got a shirt and tie in

your wardrobe, right?”

“Yes,” Kiernan scoffed. He then paused,

looking thoughtful. “I think. I know I’ve got a T-

shirt that looks like a tuxedo jacket.”

Matt gave him an exasperated look and held up

the folder. “It’s a funeral, Fitzpatrick. You can’t

wear…” He saw the humor lingering in the bright

eyes and shook his head

“You’re so easy,” Kiernan said with a light

laugh.

“I’ve never met anyone who makes jokes about

what to wear to a funeral,” Matt muttered.

Kiernan’s gaze was uncomplicated and his lips

curved in a slight smile. “Maybe what makes the

difference is I know funerals aren’t an ending, just

a beginning of something else.”

* * *

loading dock, just as Aidan had the night before. A

call to the front desk verified that while some of

the media had gotten bored and moved on, the

tabloids had taken up semi-permanent residence in

the lobby. The hotel manager met them at the

service elevator, full of apologies Kiernan brushed

away. Matt waited for him in the main area of the

suite while he went into the bedroom to change.

He was checking the scores on ESPN when

Kiernan reemerged. Matt turned and went still. It

was probably a good thing Kiernan was involved

in slipping his key and his wallet into his pocket,

because Matt doubted he’d been much good at

hiding his reaction.

Kiernan was completely transformed.

Matt had found him handsome from the first

moment he’d seen him, but this was different. His

dark hair was gelled back, tamed into

sophisticated lines that revealed how handsome

his fine-boned face actually was. His brows were

tapered, his lashes thick and black around eyes that

looked almost too large for his face. He was

wearing a white shirt and black tie under a leather

jacket, and his snug black trousers were worn low

on narrow hips, partnered with a thin leather belt

and black boots. He looked like something right off

of the cover of
GQ,
and Matt’s heart started to beat

in a hard, steady rhythm that pumped blood straight

to his groin.

“Ready?” Kiernan asked.

Matt nodded and stood, grateful for the bulky

lines of his overcoat. His reaction had been swift

and involuntary, and if he hadn’t been wearing a

coat, he was certain it would have been obvious.

Stunned by the swift erection, he kept his eyes

carefully averted as they walked back to his car.

Enclosed in the vehicle with Kiernan, Matt

found his attention continuously diverted to the

passenger seat. He tried to be subtle, but doubted

he succeeded and couldn’t seem to help himself.

Kiernan’s profile was elegant. His eyes, brilliant

blue in the stark snow-reflected light, were

beautiful. And the way he smelled…Matt had

always thought the right cologne on the right man

was intensely arousing. Kiernan’s cologne was

spicy and clean, and he found himself fantasizing

about pressing his face into the place where his

neck disappeared into his high collar. It was

damned distracting.

Still shaken by his reaction, Matt was careful

not to let his thigh touch the slender one next to his

as they took seats in the crowded church, making

an effort to ignore the alluring fragrance coming

from beside him. He’d always had a visceral

reaction to the scent of Brad’s cologne. The

fragrances were very different but his body’s

response wasn’t. He bit his lip, pushing back

against a rush of desire. This was hardly the time

or the place.

Soft murmuring faded when a blonde woman

seated next to Karen Reynolds in the front pew

rose to her feet. She was wearing an elegant black

suit, and she navigated her way gracefully around

dozens of floral arrangements. She climbed the

steps to the lectern and looked out into the

sanctuary.

“I’m Dana Richardson,” she said softly. “Abby

was my niece.”

Her eulogy was heartfelt. She spoke about

Abby’s dance recitals and her grades in school,

and what a bright and funny little girl she’d been.

Marc Reynolds was holding himself stiffly, as if he

was barely keeping himself together. Karen

Reynolds’ head was forward and she was holding

a handkerchief in front of her mouth, and Matt

could hardly bear to look at her. Her grief was

tangible.

After the aunt, a singer performed a lovely

version of “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart

Makes” from Abby’s favorite movie,
Cinderella.

It all felt so sad, so wrong. Matt had never been to

the funeral of a child before, and he hoped he

never had to go to another. When the minister took

his place, Matt listened to the homily, but it

seemed to be coming to him from a distance. He

knew the minister’s words were heartfelt, but what

could one actually say about the violent death of a

little girl? It all rang hollow in Matt’s ears,

sounded flat and inadequate.

The clergyman finished his sermon with a

prayer, and they bowed their heads. He felt

Kiernan shift next to him and glanced over to see