by Elle James
“My grandfather told me she died of a broken heart. But my father said she died of a very aggressive breast cancer. By the time they found it, it had metastasized and spread throughout her body. She only lived two weeks after the diagnosis. My father flew out to be with her the last few days of her life. I remember him coming home looking much older and sad.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Andrew shrugged. “Now they’re both gone.”
“What about your parents?”
“Still alive. Still working for large corporations, living the fast-paced life in New York.”
“What did they think about you having a daughter?”
His jaw hardened. “They asked for DNA results.”
Dix drew in a long breath and let it out. After her conversation about the same thing, she understood Andrew’s aversion to finding out if Leigha was really his.
Now that Dix had spent some time with the little girl, she understood. She’d hate to see her go into a state-run foster care system that was already overloaded with children. Andrew had sufficient money and a good home for her. Why tempt fate by checking her lineage? She had a father who loved her enough to provide a beautiful home and anything she could possibly want.
Before she knew it, they’d pulled through the gate of Stratford House and she’d gotten more out of Andrew Stratford that evening than she’d ever thought possible.
One thing was very clear: he would do anything for Leigha. Including risk his life for her. He had the scars to prove it.
Andrew parked the SUV and came around to the passenger side.
Dix had loosened the buckle around Leigha, but she stood back for Andrew to carry the child into the house.
Before he reached in for Leigha, he handed the key to the house to Dix.
Reminding herself she had the duty to protect, Dix glanced around the exterior of the mansion. Andrew had left the light burning on the front porch. Everything appeared too peaceful and untouched.
Dix unlocked the front door. As soon as she did, she could hear Brewer barking from somewhere in the house. They’d left him running loose. He would have been waiting at the door.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. “Take Leigha back to the car,” she ordered.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew held Leigha close.
“Something isn’t right,” she said softly. “I need you to take Leigha back to the car and get inside. Let me check the house before you bring her in.”
Andrew hesitated. “Maybe you should stay with Leigha and let me check the house. Or let me call the sheriff.”
“Let’s not waste time arguing about this. I have a gun. I’m trained on how to use it and I’m experienced in urban warfare.” She slipped her hand beneath her skirt and pulled out the handgun. “Go.”
She waited for him to leave the front porch and then she pushed open the front door with the tip of her gun, standing to the side to avoid being the target of whoever might be on the other side.
Dix looked first then slipped through the doorway. Staying away from the moonlight shining through the windows, she moved from room to room, working her way to the back of the house to the kitchen. The back door stood ajar, as if someone had left in a hurry. From a quick inspection, Dix couldn’t see any sign of a forced entry. She closed the door and locked it.
Brewer barked again, the sound coming from behind the basement door. Dix twisted the knob, pushed open the door and switched on the light over the stairs. Having been in the basement before, she wasn’t sure she trusted the lights to stay on. Retreating to the kitchen, she pulled the rechargeable flashlight out of its charger on the wall by the back door. Armed with the flashlight and the gun, she inched her way down the stairs.
When she reached the bottom, she flipped the switch and illuminated the floor of the basement.
Brewer was tied to a beam in the middle of the basement, with a length of thin rope. He jumped and strained at the lead, his tail wagging.
For the moment Dix left him tied as he was while she made a complete search of the basement. When she was certain they were alone, she untied the dog.
He jumped up on her, planting sloppy kisses on her chin.
Her hands full of flashlight and a gun, Dix couldn’t fend off the dog. When he’d greeted her to his own satisfaction, he raced up the steps to the kitchen.
Dix hurried up after him. One by one, she and Brewer searched the rooms until she was certain no one else was in the house.
Finally, she exited the front door and waved to Andrew. “All clear. Let’s get Leigha in her bed. Then you can tell me what the hell’s going on.”
He got out of the car, gathered his daughter and carried her up the steps. Andrew brushed past her and hurried up the staircase.
Dix secured the front door and climbed the stairs.
He’d laid Leigha on her bed, pulled off her shoes and tucked the blankets around her. For a moment he stared down at his daughter, and then he bent and kissed her forehead.
When he straightened, his gaze met Dix’s. “Let’s talk,” he said and led the way out of the bedroom.
Brewer started to follow.
Andrew pointed to the bedroom. “Stay.”
The dog didn’t cross the threshold of Leigha’s room. After a moment he turned back and trotted toward Leigha’s bed.
Her heartbeat fluttering, Dix followed Andrew to the first floor.
“Where do you want to talk?” Dix asked.
“On the back porch. I need some air.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Dix asked. “What if the intruder is out there? He could have a gun.”
“I refuse to be confined to my house,” he said. “If someone wanted me dead badly enough to shoot me, he’d have done it already.” Andrew gripped her arm and guided her through what appeared to be a study toward a French door that led out onto a large patio with a view of the ocean.
“Here, let me have that.” He took the flashlight from her and switched off the beam. Then he glanced at the gun in her hand. “Do you have to carry that?”
“If you want me to protect you and your daughter, I might need it.” Her hand tightened on the grip.
He stared at her for a moment, his gaze slipping over her bare shoulders and down to the gun in her hand and lower. “Seems a little incongruous. You, looking beautiful in that white dress, carrying a gun that could kill a man.”
Dix tilted her chin upward. “Don’t judge a woman by her clothes.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Oh, I know that now. You can take down a full-grown man. I have the bruises to prove it.” He waved toward the door. “Ladies with guns go first.”
She stepped through the door, calling back over her shoulder, “I’m no lady.”
His chuckle warmed her. “From where I’m standing, you’re one-hundred-percent female.”
Dix stood on the patio, peering into the shadows, wondering who had been in the house and had gone to the trouble of tying Brewer to a post.
A hand touched her shoulder. “Is everything all right?” Andrew asked. “What made you think something wasn’t right?”
“My first clue was that Brewer didn’t greet us at the door. I could hear him barking from the other side of the house.”
“He could have gotten himself caught in a room and couldn’t get out.”
She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stared up at Andrew. “I found him in the basement, tied to a post.”
Chapter 10
Andrew’s heartbeat stopped for a full three seconds and then rushed to catch up, thundering against his ribs. “I didn’t leave him that way,” he said.
“I didn’t think you did. Does Mrs. Purdy ever tie Brewer in the basement?”
“Never.”
&
nbsp; “That’s what I thought.” She shook her head and descended two of the stone steps leading down to the garden and then sat on the top one. “The dog was in the basement tied up, and the back door was open, no sign of forced entry on any of the exterior doors. And, as far as I could tell, nothing appeared disturbed.” She set the gun down beside her.
Andrew dropped to sit on the step, his thoughts roiling through his mind, searching for a reason. “Why?”
“Someone came into your house while you were gone and didn’t take anything that I could tell.” She shrugged. “If you have a safe or a stash of jewelry, you might want to check those.”
“Hold that thought.” He rose and reentered the study. He kept important papers and valuables locked in a wall safe behind a portrait of Leigha. He stepped behind his desk and slid the portrait to the side, exposing the safe.
“That portrait of Leigha is completely captivating,” Dix said from behind him.
“I commissioned Kayla Davies, Gabe McGregor’s wife, to paint it.”
“It’s nothing less than breathtaking,” Dix whispered as she lifted her skirt up her thigh to slide her pistol into the holster.
Andrew swallowed hard and fought to remember what she’d just said, when all he could think about was that smooth, sexy thigh. She’d mentioned something about the painting. “I love the artist’s work,” he said, twisting the tumbler on the lock. “Only I think Leigha appears too sad.”
“The painting captures her. When I first met Leigha, I got that sense from her. She seemed sad.”
Andrew’s fingers twisted too hard and missed the number he was aiming for. Dix had hit the problem on the head. Leigha seemed too sad for a girl of six. “I’ve given her everything she needs. I just don’t know how to make her happier.” He started the pattern all over, his heart pinching inside his chest. He’d brought Leigha to Stratford House to give her the home she deserved, but he didn’t know how to make the house a home to the little girl.
“I’m not a parent, so I don’t know everything. But I would think most kids just want to be loved and to feel safe.”
Andrew turned to the last number, grabbed the handle and pushed it down. The door swung open. “Yeah, well, I love the girl, and I have you now to help her with the safe part.”
“Safe isn’t all about having a bodyguard. It’s about knowing the ones you love aren’t going to disappear on you. Or, in her case, aren’t going to leave her or try to kill her.”
Andrew grabbed a stack of documents and turned toward Dix. Even though her skirt was down around her knees, he couldn’t get the image of her thigh out of his mind. “You mean she might think I’ll leave her or try to kill her?”
“I doubt she’d think you’d try to kill her after saving her from the fire. But she might be afraid to love you for fear of losing you.”
“So she calls me Mr. Stratford, even though she knows I’m her father,” he said.
“Maybe.” Dix touched his arm. “Or maybe she’s waiting for you to give her permission to call you Daddy. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.” She took the stack of papers and laid them on the desk. “Forget it. I’m not a psychologist. I’m just a grunt who shoots guns and fights. I can’t even analyze my way out of my own hang-ups.” Her shoulders slumped and she straightened the pile on the desk, her hands shaking slightly.
This was the first sign of weakness Andrew had seen in Dix. Up until then, she’d been ready to charge into any situation, take on any challenge and kick butt. This chink in her armor made him look at her differently. What did he know about this woman other than what it said on her dossier?
She squared her shoulders and looked back at the safe. “Can you tell if anything is missing?”
Andrew tore his gaze from her and glanced into the safe. “I don’t know. I never did an inventory on the contents. Most of my stocks and bond certificates I keep in a safe-deposit box in a Portland bank. I don’t have any jewelry, other than a pair of diamond cuff links my parents gave me at my college graduation.”
“So what is all of this?” She waved to the items on the desk.
“Things that meant something to my grandfather.” Andrew sifted through the collection. There was a ledger his grandfather had kept to note expenses pertaining to the house, a bundle of letters tied with a string and a few large envelopes.
Dix lifted the bundle of letters that had yellowed with age. “The postmarks on these go all the way back to the 1930s.”
“They do?” Andrew slipped the string off the bundle and took one of the letters.
Taking a couple of them off the top, Dix pulled them from their envelopes. “These letters all begin with My Dearest Thom and end with All my love, Rowena.”
“Thomas Stratford was my grandfather’s name. Rowena was my grandmother.”
Dix smiled. “These are love letters between them. How sweet.”
Andrew dug into the pile again and found a small leather-bound book. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface and opened it. Each page had a date written on one corner and an account of what had happened on that date.
Third night at sea and thus far we’ve not run into the coast guard or any other privateers in the waters. The sea has been fairly calm with the wind out of the Northwest. Luckily, we’ve had no storms or fog with which to contend. At our current rate, it won’t take long to get to San Francisco with our cargo.
Dix leaned over his shoulder. “What have you got?”
Her nearness made him warm all over. “I believe it’s a captain’s log for a boat or ship.” Andrew turned the book over and opened it to the inside cover, searching for the name of the author. None existed. He opened to another page and read.
My love and I had to abandon our vessel at the dock when revenuers descended on our decks. Thankfully, we were in town at the time. Fortunately, our first mate was able to escape and find us, giving us sufficient warning. We were able to get away, but had to leave behind all of our belongings. Our cargo was declared contraband and was confiscated. We had invested every penny we owned in those barrels and now we are destitute. True, we are without means, but not without our wits and love.
Andrew shook his head. He knew this story. His grandfather had told him the adventures of a certain pair of rumrunners who’d dodged the law so often they’d made quite the reputation for themselves. The book must have been where he’d gotten the stories.
He turned the page and read on.
After hiding in the roughest neighborhoods of the city and being constantly on the lookout for revenuers and lawmen, we got word our buyer had been the one to inform the police of our illicit activities. Not only had he turned us in, he was secretly given our cargo as payment for the tip. We will have our revenge!
“Turn the page. I want to know what happened next.” Dix leaned over his arm, her body warm next to his.
Andrew’s pulse quickened and his groin tightened. The woman had no idea what she was doing to him. In that dress, her bare arm touching his, she was stirring up so much lust inside him, he could hardly breathe, much less focus.
“Finished reading that page?” she asked.
He nodded.
She turned the page for him, her fingers brushing against his. His nerve endings lit like Fourth of July fireworks, sparking desire throughout his body. His vision blurred. Thankfully, Dix read the next passage aloud.
“Today, revenge is ours. We have recovered, in worth, all that has been taken from us. Now the race is on to escape SF before we are discovered, and make our way north. I have never met a more ingenious woman, or one who is as willing to embark on a dangerous mission as my love. She amazes me at her resilience and cunning. I have met my match and am blessed to call her my wife.”
Andrew flipped to the next page but he was happy to let Dix continue to read the words in her throaty voice.
“It has been many months since my last entry. I thought I had lost this journal in our struggle toward a new life and a new home. Alas, I found it buried among the few items retained from our past. We have made many sacrifices and started over—new names and a new home, in a beautiful town that has welcomed us with open arms. We live by the sea, which will always be a part of us, even if we don’t traverse its waters anymore.
My love is expecting a child and I cannot begin to describe how full is my heart. I know there is much to do to ensure a stable life for the baby and for my love, but I have work at the local mill and I’m climbing the ranks quickly. I hope to own a business of my own someday. Our secrets, with our treasure, are safely stowed until such a day as they might be needed. For now, we are happy and have all we could wish for...each other.”
Again, turning the page, Andrew was disappointed to find the rest of the book empty. He could have gone all night listening to Dix.
“That’s it?” Dix exclaimed. “I want to know what happened to them.”
Andrew closed the book and laid it on top of the other documents, not ready to move away but sure it was the right thing to do. “I know what became of them.”
Dix touched his arm again, sending a pulse of electric shocks through his system. “You know?”
He drew in a steadying breath and let it out before answering. “Yes.”
“You mean you know who they are?”
“I’m pretty sure.” Though the journal had no name written on it or inside, he knew who’d written it. “My grandfather used to tell me stories of a daring pair of rumrunners who risked it all to make their fortune.”
“Who were they?”
He smiled. “My great-grandparents. To the people of Cape Churn they were known as Margaret and Percival Mason. I suspect the journal was a family secret passed from their daughter, Rowena, to my grandfather, her husband, Thomas.”
“A more modern-day Wild West?”
“Exactly. It was during the Prohibition era. You see, before Margaret and Percival came to Cape Churn, it would appear they had built a reputation as notorious rumrunners Peg and Percy Malone. On their last run from British Columbia to San Francisco, the man to whom they were to sell their whiskey double-crossed them. He turned them into the law. Their ship was confiscated and the rum disappeared.”
