“Well, I have a first edition of Sir Richard Burton’s translation of the Kama Sutra. Some Victorian erotica. Oh, and I have a copy of Fanny Hill that was published on the black market in 1898. First edition.” A priceless book and one that had caused plenty of controversy over the years, but Julia knew in her heart it wasn’t the book that had angered the letter writer.
“Do you have a Web site with an inventory of books?” he asked.
“I’m working on it, but the site isn’t up yet.”
“If a book or author you carry is, indeed, the reason behind the letters, that means the letter writer has been in the shop or somehow knows your inventory.”
Gooseflesh raced up her arms at the thought.
“Have you received any strange phone calls? Any hang-ups? Unfamiliar cars parked outside?”
“I’m usually pretty observant, but the shop has been busy and it’s possible I just haven’t noticed.” She raised her gaze to his. “John, do you think this guy is dangerous?”
“I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you, Julia.”
No, she thought, he’d never been good at that, but then that had always been part of his appeal. “So what am I up against?”
“He’s stalking you. There are some strong emotions involved. That makes him dangerous.”
“How dangerous?”
“If his compulsion gets out of control, he could try to get to you.”
“How do I protect myself?”
“Don’t underestimate him. Be vigilant. Be alert. Take some measures to keep yourself safe.”
“Like what?”
“Commonsense stuff. Alarm system. Locks. Secure windows and doors. Keep someone with you at all times.”
“Oh, jeez . . . like that’s going to be practical.”
His gaze moved around the shop. “Do you mind if I take a look around?”
“Oh, um . . . sure. I can show you around, if you’d like.”
“Let’s start with the back door.”
Her heart was beating a little too fast as she led him down the aisle toward the rear of the shop. She was keenly aware of him behind her, the steady tread of his boots against the floor, the rustle of his leather jacket. The faint hint of his aftershave reminded her of pine forests and summer storms.
At the rear of the shop, she opened the door to the storage room, flipped on the light and stepped inside. “This is where I do most of the inventory work and boxing for shipping.” She motioned toward the exit door. It was a dented metal antique with a push bar and knob that rattled like old bones. “That door leads to an alley behind the building. It winds through a couple of courtyards and eventually cuts over to Bourbon Street.”
John walked to the door, squatted to inspect the lock and shook his head. “This lock wouldn’t keep out a determined four-year-old.”
“In the two years I’ve owned the shop, I’ve never had any problems.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t want that first time to happen.” He straightened, turned to her. “I can arrange to have a new lock installed tomorrow.”
“That would be great. Just . . . let me know how much I owe you.”
“Did I hear you mention that you have an alarm system?”
For the first time, Julia felt foolish, because she knew upgrading the old security alarm was something she should have done ages ago. “I do, but it’s not exactly state-of-the-art.”
John frowned at her. “Tell me your security system is not a four-and-a-half-pound Chihuahua.”
“It’s not.” She smiled. “It’s just . . . old.”
“How old?”
“Well, I’ve been meaning to upgrade.”
“I’ll find a reputable company and get them out here in the next day or so.” He pulled out the pad and made another note. “Any other windows in this place?”
“Just the display window at the front.”
He scribbled, then slid the pad into his jacket pocket. “Your father mentioned your apartment is upstairs.”
An uneasy quiver of nerves ran the length of her. “Oh, well . . .”
As if discerning her reluctance, he said, “I figure the sooner we get this done, the sooner your father will get off your back.”
“There’s an incentive.” But as she left the storage room and started toward the steps that led to the second level, she tried hard to remember if she’d cleared her desk . . .
The only sound came from their shoes against the wooden steps and the occasional creak as she took him up the narrow staircase to the landing outside her apartment door. At the top, she inserted her key into the lock and swung it open.
A quick sweep of the room told her she had, indeed, tidied things up that morning. “It’s small in square footage, but it makes up for it in character.”
“Nice place.”
Despite her apprehension, she felt a quick swell of pride. Her apartment wasn’t designer or roomy or elegant, but it was hers and she loved every square inch of it right down to the creaky cypress plank floor. The walls were heavily textured and painted an eye-pleasing terra cotta. The woodwork was painted fresh white. Bookshelves crowded with volumes of all shapes and sizes encompassed the wall to her left. The sofa was overstuffed, piled high with fussy pillows and designed for spending quality time with a book.
“One bedroom?” John crossed to her bedroom, paused in the doorway.
“Two actually, but I use the second one for an office.” She watched him stride to the window and check the lock. His gaze went briefly to the queen-size iron bed where she slept, and she was suddenly ridiculously grateful she’d taken the time to make it.
“The screws have nearly rusted off the lock.” He glanced back at her. “It wouldn’t take much for someone to climb up the fire escape, sidle along the ledge and pry it open.”
She walked over to see for herself. “This building is really old. Circa 1835. Most of it is original.”
“Original is good except for when it comes to locks.”
“Right.”
He made a note on the pad, then turned from the window and nearly ran into her. For an instant she found herself staring into the turbulent gray depths of his eyes. She saw a measure of surprise. A warning she didn’t quite understand. And a heady dose of male awareness that made her feel breathless and a little dizzy. She felt that same awareness flash through her body like a lightning strike on a hot night.
She was about to heed the warning and step back when he reached out to steady her. The unexpected contact jolted her. She could feel the heat of his fingertips through her jacket. The beat of his pulse against her bicep. The zing of nerves that had nothing to do with cryptic letters and everything to do with the way he was looking at her.
Unable to hold his gaze, she let her eyes skim down his face, past the straight slash of his nose, the chiseled lips, to the crescent scar on his chin he’d gotten when he was fifteen. She remembered that day perfectly. He’d jumped into the swimming pool, but didn’t clear the diving board. He’d bled like a sieve and had to get six stitches. But he’d been incredibly brave. And she thought maybe that was the day she’d lost her nine-year-old heart to him . . .
Gently, he pushed her to arm’s length. “I need to check the fire escape door,” he said, then stepped around her and headed toward the kitchen.
Julia stood her ground in the bedroom and assured herself the wild skitter of her pulse had nothing to do with attraction. She’d gotten over him years ago. She was just uneasy about the letters. Besides, she didn’t like people poking around her apartment. Any other reason was too ludicrous to consider. Schoolgirl crushes didn’t last twenty years.
John Merrick might be a sight to behold with those stormy gray eyes and that chiseled mouth, but Julia was a hell of a lot smarter than the naïve teenager she’d been a lifetime ago. Experience had taught her caution when it came to men, and she’d learned how to steer clear of the ones who spelled trouble. John hit the danger zone in that category, and Julia had never been attracted to danger
. She liked her life safe and predictable, just the way it was.
“This is your office?”
His voice snapped her out of her reverie to see him push open the door to the bedroom she’d transformed into her work area. She didn’t want him in there, but couldn’t think of a viable excuse without making him suspicious, so she held her ground in the doorway while he crossed to the single window and checked the lock.
“This one’s rusted, too.” He pulled the pad from his pocket and made a note. “You probably ought to have the windows wired to the alarm, too. It’ll cost more, but it’s worth it in terms of security.”
His eyes skimmed the crowded bookcases while he spoke. Julia knew it was silly, but she felt like a secretive teenager whose parent was inspecting her room for contraband.
“Nice collection of books,” he said.
“Thank you. It’s taken me a while to accumulate.” Pride swelled as she skimmed over the leather spines and embossed titles. “These are the ones I could never bring myself to sell.”
His gaze swept from the books to her. “I’m glad you’ve found your place in the world,” he said quietly. “Some people never do.”
She sensed an inference to his own failed career and didn’t know what to say. “There were times when I thought the shop was a pipe dream. Times when other people in my life thought the same thing.”
“You pursued it anyway.”
“You can’t please everyone. But then you already know that, don’t you?”
He stared at her for so long she wanted to squirm. Julia had always been good at reading facial expressions and body language. But John’s face was so utterly inscrutable, she hadn’t a clue what he was thinking or feeling.
Shaking himself as if from a dream, he stepped back. “I’ll check the kitchen and get out of your hair.”
Before she could say anything, he’d turned away and disappeared into the hall.
His heart was still pounding when he reached the galley-style kitchen. He stood there for a moment, trying hard to convince himself it wasn’t attraction that had arced between them just a moment earlier. He might have screwed up his career, but he wasn’t stupid enough to get involved in a situation simply because his hormones thought it was a good idea. Hormones rarely steered a man in the right direction.
Julia Wainwright might have a body made for sin, but there was no way in hell he was going to concede to some primal instinct to mate and get tangled up with her, physically or otherwise. With the shooting weighing heavily on his mind and his life in upheaval, he was in no condition to act on some animal impulse.
Determined to finish the security inspection and get the hell out of there before he did something stupid, he strode to the fire escape door and tugged it open. The lock appeared to be as old as the building. The striker plate was bolted to wood that was rotted in places and warped with age. One hard kick and the door would give.
“Terrific,” he muttered.
The fire escape stairs led to a narrow courtyard littered with empty clay pots, a single upended garbage can and a crumbling old fountain that had long since seen its glory days. Deserted and poorly lit, it was the perfect place for an ambush . . .
“So, do I pass home security 101?”
He closed the door and turned to her. She was standing a few feet away, watching him with those gypsy eyes. She’d taken her shoes off, and he could see that her toe-nails were painted an intriguing shade of burgundy, that her feet were every bit as sexy as the rest of her. And he found himself wishing the kitchen wasn’t quite so small . . .
“You get points for locking the doors,” he said. “Not that any of these locks would hold.”
“That’s a comfort.”
He thought about the courtyard. “You don’t use the back door, do you?”
“Only when I’m in a hurry and need to cut over to Bourbon Street.”
“Points off for that.” He frowned at her. “I don’t want you using the alley at all. At least until the letters stop.”
She bit her lip. “What if they don’t stop?”
Because he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep, he didn’t answer. “I made a list of repairs and other work you need to have done. I’ll contact a locksmith tomorrow and have them replace your locks. I should be able to get an alarm company out here in the next day or so.” He thought of the fishing trip he’d had planned, realized he could make the calls in the morning and be at the cabin by afternoon . . .
“So, just how hard do I need to be looking over my shoulder, John?” she asked.
He met her gaze levelly. “Just be aware, Julia. Your surroundings. The people around you. You need to take this guy seriously.”
She pursed her lips. “Okay. I can do that.”
He knew it was stupid, but he was feeling territorial and a little protective of her. He wanted to believe it was because he’d known her since she was a chubby kid with braces. Because her father had asked him to look after her. Because she was an innocent in a world full of wolves. But if John wanted to be perfectly and bluntly honest about it, he knew that hard edge of territoriality had more to do with the way that suit swept over curves even a saint would have a hard time resisting.
He sure as hell never claimed to be a saint.
But he was smart enough to know that things would work out better for both of them if he put her in somebody else’s hands. He was in no frame of mind to keep anyone safe from anything. He needed some time alone to get his head together and decide what he was going to do with the rest of his life.
He was pulling his notepad from his jacket pocket to make a note about the alarm when the lights flickered and went out. “What the hell happened to the lights?” he growled.
“It’s a fuse. Happens sometimes.”
“Don’t tell me. It’s original to the building.”
“I don’t think they had elec—”
John made a sound of exasperation. “Jesus, Julia, I don’t have to mention that this could be a small security problem, do I?”
“Don’t start yelling at me. I have no control over what my landlord does or does not do.”
“Yeah, well, if your landlord won’t repair the electrical for you, maybe he’ll do it for the city inspector.” He moved toward the sink, where dim light slanted in through the window, only to knock his shin hard against something heavy and sharp. “Son of a—”
“Oh, sorry. I forgot about that bookcase. I’m refinishing—”
Cursing, he rubbed the bump that had come up on his shin. “How the hell do you get your electricity back on?”
“The fuse box is in the storage room. I just need to grab my flashlight and a new fuse and go downstairs to screw it in.”
Annoyed, John shoved the bookcase out of the way with a tad too much force. He could hear Julia moving around a few feet away. The sound of a drawer opening. The shuffle of paper. A resonant click sounded, and then a beam of yellow light cut through the darkness.
When she shone the beam between them to illuminate their faces, a teasing smile curved her lips. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”
Not amused, he held out his hand for the flashlight. “I have no desire to break my friggin’ leg on some damn bookcase. I can’t believe you put up with this crap.”
“This building is historical,” she said a little defensively. “Mrs. Langston, my landlord, is trying to preserve as much of it as possible.”
“Preserve her wallet maybe.”
She shoved the flashlight at him. “Be careful on the steps. I wouldn’t want you to fall and break your neck.”
“Funny.” John took the flashlight, crossed the living room and opened the door into the hall. The wooden steps creaked as they descended the stairs. He could hear Julia behind him. Beyond, the shop was as silent as a tomb. Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets, and he could hear the hard ping of raindrops against the roof. At the bottom of the stairs he opened the door to the storage room.
“Where’s
the fuse box?” he asked.
“To your right.”
John shone the light to his right in time to see Julia step up to a rusty metal electrical box mounted on the wall. “Don’t tell me,” he said dryly. “It’s an antique.”
“Some people have no appreciation for the ancient.”
“Especially when it’s a pain in the ass.”
“This will just take a second.”
John held the flashlight while she worked off her jacket, draped it over a metal chair, then opened the metal box mounted on the wall and unscrewed the spent fuse. He tried to hold the beam steady on the box, but his attention kept drifting back to her. To the way that sweater flowed over curves he had no right to be noticing at a time like this.
“Do you mind?”
Realizing he’d let the beam stray, John jerked the light back to the box. “Sometime today,” he growled.
An instant later the lights flicked on. Julia turned to him, her expression triumphant. “Good as new.”
“If you don’t mind a fire hazard.”
He spotted her jacket draped over a nearby chair back, and for the first time he had an unencumbered view of her without it. He saw silk flowing over lush curves, the outline of lace and the hint of large nipples puckered with cold . . .
Disgusted with himself, he stepped back, figured now would be as good a time as any to make his exit. He turned off the flashlight and handed it to her. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow and let you know when the locksmith and alarm people will be out.”
“Great. I’ll be here all day.”
He left the storage room and entered the main portion of the shop. Aware that he’d broken a sweat, that he was walking too fast, he headed toward the door. He could hear Julia behind him, but he didn’t slow down. He didn’t want her to ask him to stay for coffee. He didn’t feel like making small talk or reminiscing about old times. He didn’t like the way he was reacting to her, didn’t want to get caught up in the way she looked or the way his body jumped to attention every time he looked at her.
But he knew if she asked him to stay, he would . . .
He reached the door. Vaguely, he was aware that Julia had gone behind the counter. That she was humming a tune, and he could still smell the sweetness of her perfume. He twisted the knob, tugged open the door. The cold, wet air registered at about the same time as the realization that the door hadn’t been locked.
A Whisper in the Dark Page 5
