Lady Killer (The Taken Book 3)

by Kathleen Creighton

  “Well,” she said, with a wry little smile as she faced forward again, “it would have explained a few things.”

  A gust of surprised laughter escaped him. “Like what?”

  There was a pause, but she didn’t look at him. Then she hitched in a breath and said, “Like why someone like you isn’t married.”

  He wanted her to look at him again. He wanted her eyes and mouth facing him across a chasm of inches, not feet. He wanted to be having this peculiar conversation with her in a place with soft light and soft places to sit and soft sweet music playing. But she walked beside him and lifted her face to the morning sun, and he had to content himself with watching it caress her skin and cast golden lights into her hair and with imagining his fingers and lips there instead.

  He managed to make a small, nonspecific sound, and before he could think of actual words to follow it with, she said, “So…this Holt is the one who called my lawyer?”

  “Uh…yeah,” he said, “that’s right.”

  “So…is Holt a reporter, too?” She said it warily, defensively, like someone bracing for a disappointment.

  And he, so eager not to give it to her, naturally bungled it completely. “Holt? No, no—not a reporter. Nothing like that.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s, uh…” For a horrible moment, his mind went blank. And then he said the first thing that came into it—from where he didn’t know, “He’s a traveling salesman.”

  She nodded and was silent while he mentally closed his eyes and berated himself for an idiot. Then she threw him that wry little smile and said, “Yeah, I can see why you’d be terrible at poker.”

  He was saved from having to answer that by the 120 or so pounds of canine joy that came hurtling across the yard just then to launch itself upon them from what seemed like every direction at once. There followed an interlude of complete chaos—Hilda barking and whining, wriggling and leaping; Daniel and Brooke both laughing and scolding and yelling, “Hilda! Stop that!” and “Hilda, get down! What’s the matter with you?”

  Tony wasn’t spared the dog’s attentions, either. Seemingly carried away by her own exuberance, Hilda gave his face an enthusiastic licking, then appeared to realize she might have overstepped her boundaries and, for a moment, seemed to hesitate, almost in apology. But when he gave her a reassuring hug and ruffled her fur, she responded with renewed fervor, her delight seemingly boundless. Tony hadn’t had a dog since he’d left home to go off to college, and the lump all this canine affection brought to his throat took him by surprise.

  “I guess she’s decided she likes me,” he said when the pandemonium had subsided enough to allow speech.

  “She’s a Great Pyrenees—they’re herding dogs, you know,” Daniel informed him. “She thinks you’re part of her flock now.”

  “Yeah?” Tony couldn’t seem to keep the goofy grin from sprawling across his face. Why did that seem like the greatest accolade he’d received since his Pulitzer?

  “Hey, Mom,” Daniel yelled. “We didn’t have breakfast. Can we have blueberry pancakes? Tony—did you have breakfast yet? Mom—can Tony eat breakfast with us?”

  What could he say?

  What could she say? Brooke watched her son go off with the big, tough-looking photojournalist in tow, like a little jaunty tugboat pulling a beat-up barge; and again, she didn’t know whether to laugh at the sight or cry.

  Why do I trust this man? How can I trust him? He lied about this…Holt Kincaid guy. And he’s right. He’s a terrible liar. But why? Why would he lie?

  And she had such a lousy track record, trusting men.

  “My mom makes the best blueberry pancakes in the whole world.” Daniel drew a forefinger across his plate to scoop up the last of the whipped topping mixed with blueberry juice and popped it in his mouth, then aimed a look of wide-eyed innocence at Tony. “Don’t you think?”

  “Daniel,” Brooke breathed.

  And Tony said obligingly, “Absolutely. The best.”

  “My mom’s a really good cook,” said Daniel, slyly avoiding Tony’s eyes.

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother. Come on, kiddo. Crisis time is over. This isn’t a holiday, so if you’re finished stuffing yourself, go get yourself ready for school.”

  “Aw, Mom…”

  “Daniel…”

  “But I’m not missing anything important, Mom, I don’t have any tests or anything. Honest. I can miss one day. Mrs. Hackley won’t care. I know she won’t.”

  Brooke leaned against the sink, arms folded, pancake turner in one hand, and regarded her son. My protector. Because she knew that was what was on his mind. He was afraid to go off and leave her alone. Afraid Lonnie might come back. The thought of Daniel facing down Lonnie made her go cold all over. “Daniel,” she said softly, “I’ll be all right. He’s not going to come back. Not today.”

  Her son stared at her, holding her gaze with his eyes fierce and dark, and she wondered if he was remembering, as she was, all the times she’d held him or sat beside his bed and soothed him with those words. Oh, Daniel, I hope not….

  “I can stay,” Tony said. Brooke jerked and looked at him, and so did Daniel. Tony shrugged and shifted half around in his chair so he was facing her, although it was to Daniel he spoke when he added, “Just in case your mom needs help. How would that be?”

  Daniel considered for a moment, then nodded judiciously. “Okay. I guess that would work.” He slipped off his chair and crossed the kitchen at a mature and dignified walk. Until he reached the doorway. Then he took off like a shot.

  Brooke gave a little squeak of laughter, closed her eyes and put her hand over her mouth. She waited until she heard Daniel’s bedroom door slam, then looked at Tony and said, “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” His eyes had a warm glow. Like honey, she thought. Not lion eyes, not this time. “He’s worried about you,” he said softly, tilting his head in the direction Daniel had gone.

  “He’s always been like that.” She sighed and turned to drop the pancake turner in the sink. “He’s very protective of me. I think he gets it from his father.”

  Behind her, Tony made a sound, incredulous and disbelieving. “How is that? The man was protective of you, so much so that he bought you a giant dog and a tranquilizer gun, and then he beat you?”

  She stood still, eyes closed, gripping the edge of the sink, fighting for control. Then she turned and said carefully, “It’s not that unusual, actually. Or contradictory. It’s probably two sides of the same coin.” Tony shook his head and looked away, squinting as if the sight of her had become painful.

  She went to sit in the chair Daniel had left vacant and leaned toward him, hands clasped on the tabletop. “I know you don’t understand.” Oh, and I want you to. Why is that, I wonder? “But the fact that Duncan was protective of me was one of the things that attracted me to him in the first place. I needed that.”

  “Protective is one thing. Abusive is another.” Tony’s eyes were hard and glittery, and his face had a set, bunched look that reminded her of a pit bull.

  “Yes,” Brooke said gently. “But sometimes they go together. It was all part of him thinking of me as his possession, I suppose, but at the time, I loved the attention, and the way he fussed over me. I was—” She sat back abruptly and cleared her throat. “You probably don’t want to hear this.”

  “Yeah, I do.” It was a low growl, and that reminded her of a pit bull, too.

  “Okay, then.” She lifted her head and faced him defiantly. “I hadn’t ever had that kind of attention—not from a man. My father was…indifferent, I guess, is the closest I can come to it. You see…I was adopted. There were two of us. I have a sister, a twin. Fraternal, although we’re nothing at all alike. My parents had a natural son—Cody. He was about ten years older than my sister and me.”

  She paused, and Tony said, “Was?”

  She nodded. Having tested herself and having felt nothing, she was glad to know the walls she’d built around that p
art of her life were still holding fast. “Yes. He died in the same car accident that killed my parents. I don’t think my dad ever wanted to adopt in the first place. He was happy with his only son. But he agreed to it to make my mom happy, because she wanted a little girl. He was never cruel to us or anything like that. He was just…distant. I don’t think he could help it, really, but at the time I thought there was something wrong with me, that it was my fault he didn’t love me. Or my sister. So I didn’t have a lot of confidence when it came to boys, you know?”

  Oh, God, do I sound pitiful? I don’t want to! I’m not!

  She wanted to tell him that. Tell him she wasn’t that needy creature anymore, that she didn’t need anyone protecting her, that she was capable of protecting herself. Why, she didn’t know, but it suddenly seemed so important that he know—and maybe even more important that she know—she wasn’t that person and wasn’t making the same mistake all over again.

  Oh, God, I’m not…am I? Am I drawn to this man because he makes me feel safe?

  There were things she wanted to say to him…ask him. But he sat so silently, his big body still as stone, looking at her with eyes that weren’t soft any longer but burning like fire. Lion’s eyes again. A strange shivering awareness poured through her body, rolling over her just beneath her skin, raising goose bumps and tightening her breasts until her nipples hurt. It was scary and at the same time exciting, and she didn’t know how long it might have lasted or how it might have ended, because Daniel came dashing back into the kitchen, with his backpack slung over his shoulder, and just like that the spell was broken.

  “Mom, you have to take me to school, because I missed the bus,” said Daniel, stating the obvious.

  Tony shoved back his chair and stood up. “I left in kind of a hurry this morning. I’m going to need to go pick up some stuff at the motel, so I can drop him at school, if you want.”

  “Cool,” said Daniel. Then, remembering, he added, “Mom? Are you gonna be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him, and Tony added his assurances that he’d be right back.

  Brooke stood on the back porch steps, hugging herself, and watched her son get into a car with a man she’d known all of a few days. And again, she asked herself, Why do I trust this man?

  And then, Do I trust this man?

  Something was bothering her, an uneasiness that hadn’t been there before. What is it? Something’s not right. But I can’t think what it is!

  She gave Hilda’s head an absentminded pat and went back into the kitchen. And it was while she was clearing away the last of breakfast from the table, and replaying that strangely intense conversation with Tony in her mind, that it came to her.

  He didn’t ask.

  All her life, whenever anyone learned she was adopted, and that she had a twin sister, they always, always asked questions, showed curiosity. At the very least, interest.

  Tony was a naturally curious person, in addition to being a journalist. He asked questions about everything. Was curious about everything. Interested in everything.

  But he hadn’t asked a single question when she’d told him she was adopted. That she had a twin. He hadn’t shown any sign of curiosity or interest in knowing more about it.

  How odd, she thought. It’s almost as if he already knew.

  Chapter 7

  Walking into the motel room he’d been sharing with Holt for the past several days, Tony experienced what he thought of as a reverse epiphany—not a burst of light and knowledge, but an enveloping shroud of shadowy self-doubt.

  What was he thinking? Just because his belly was full of the best blueberry pancakes he’d ever eaten in his life, his ego pumped up with the hero worship of a fatherless boy, and his libido in a state of itchy alert brought on by the unexpected embrace of the most beautiful woman he’d met in a long, long time, that was no excuse for completely losing his functioning mind.

  “What are we doing?” he said to Holt, who was bent over his laptop, peering intently at the screen. “Why are we trusting this woman? Okay, I know we decided to proceed on the assumption she did not kill her ex. But what if we’re wrong and all the evidence that says she did is right?”

  Holt glanced up at him and said mildly, “Afraid you’re losing your perspective?”

  Tony snorted. “Like I ever had any. I told you at the beginning, she’s my best friend’s long-lost baby sister, I want her to be innocent. Then there’s the fact that I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. And I’m a photographer, man—I mean, I’ve seen some beautiful woman, you know?”

  Holt’s smile was sardonic. “Come on.”

  “That’s right, I forgot. You’ve never seen her.” He picked up the camera he’d been doing most of his shooting with and popped out the flash card. From the front pocket of his accessory case, he took a card reader, inserted the card and handed the whole thing to Holt. “Here—that thing’s got a USB port, right? Plug this in. Maybe you’ll see what I’m dealing with.”

  Holt took the card reader with a shrug and plugged it into his laptop, and a few moments later both men watched in silence—a silence that bordered on reverence—as a slide show of images flashed across the computer screen. Presently, Holt cleared his throat and said, “Okay. Just because she’s…”

  “Gorgeous…”

  “Okay, that works—gorgeous, yeah. That doesn’t make her an evil person.”

  “What? I never said that.”

  “Then why,” Holt said blandly, “are you holding it against her?”

  “What? I’m not. That’s just…”

  Holt ejected the card and reader and handed it back to him. “Look, you’ve been out there every day for the past…what? Three days? Spending time with the lady. You haven’t had these doubts about her before, so…what’s up? What’s changed?”

  “Nothing,” said Tony, with all the conviction of a kid standing in front of a broken window with a slingshot in his pocket.

  Holt gave him a narrow look, then grinned. “Ah—I see. Getting a little too close for comfort, are we? Looking for a reason to bail out while you still can?”

  “No! What are you talking about? Nothing of the kind, man. She’s my buddy’s baby sister, she’s in a jam, and I’m trying to help her out—that’s all. End of story.” He paused, then added, with an uncomfortable shrug, “Anything else would be creepy.”

  “Yeah, yeah…” Holt was on his feet, shrugging into a leather jacket. “Having been a commitment-phobe all my life, believe me, I know one when I see one. Anyway—beside the point. It’s not just a matter of taking Brooke Grant on faith. We know there’s something off about those deputies, Doyle in particular. If this were a court of law and we were the jury, we’d have all kinds of grounds for reasonable doubt. You ask me, I think the kid’s got reason to be worried, and I think it’s a good idea you plan on staying out there with them for the time being.”

  “You know something I don’t?” Tony asked, going still inside.

  Holt nodded, looking grim as he pocketed his wallet and tucked his weapon into its holster in the small of his back. “Finally got hold of Sam. She contacted a friend in DEA. Seems they, in cooperation with ICE, have been looking at our local sheriff’s department for a while now.” He reached for the doorknob, then turned. “I’m heading into Austin now to talk with the agents. I don’t know what, if anything, this has to do with the murder of Duncan Grant, but you watch your back, understand?” He went out, muttering under his breath.

  “You betcha,” Tony said to the closing door. He wasn’t absolutely certain, but what it sounded like the detective had said there at the last was, “Just what I need…get my clients’ best friend killed…”

  He hauled in a breath to quiet his accelerating pulse and began to pack.

  Driving back to Brooke’s, he tried to direct his thoughts toward the ramifications of a whole sheriff’s department engaged in corruption and illegal activities of various kinds, and what that might mean as far as Brooke’s an
d Daniel’s—and his own—personal safety was concerned. But, like a badly trained horse, his mind kept wanting to go somewhere else.

  Commitment-phobe? Me?

  Ridiculous, he told himself. This woman is my best friend’s baby sister, and she’s in trouble. Taking advantage of her would be unforgivable.

  And his mind whispered in Brooke’s voice, It would have explained…why someone like you isn’t married.

  Look, he told himself, I have perfectly good reasons for avoiding permanence in relationships, number one being a job that takes me to the far corners of the earth most of the time.

  And his mind replied, You grew up mostly without a dad for the same reason, didn’t you?

  Yes, he told himself, through mentally clenched teeth, but that doesn’t make me a commitment-phobe. I intend to settle down someday…at the right time…with the right person. I will.

  Lost in the dismal swamp of his thoughts, he almost missed the turnoff to Brooke’s driveway. Did miss it, in fact, and had to back up a few yards to make the turn. As he was doing that, he noticed a man working with a horse in the pasture across the road. The man was wearing jeans and a blue work shirt and a straw cowboy hat, and looked Hispanic. Being the son of a cowboy, and with some considerable experience with horses himself, Tony paused to watch the man in action. He was admiring the trainer’s skill and patience when the fellow looked up and noticed he had an audience. Tony nodded and waved. The horse trainer quickly ducked his head to hide his face and turned away. Coiling his rope to make a short lead, he led the mare at a brisk trot back toward the barn and corrals, which were just visible on the other side of a stand of live oaks.

  Huh, Tony thought as he turned into Brooke’s lane. Friendly fellow.

  Brooke came out to meet him when he parked in what had become his usual spot, beside her pickup truck. She looked flushed and eager, as if she’d been waiting for him. Watching for him.

  Inside his chest he felt a little tremor of gladness at the thought. Gladness…and some unease.