Deadly Fall

by Elle James

  “Into the cellar of their stool pigeon?” Dix offered.

  Andrew nodded. “Peg and Percy were never caught. Two days after their ship was confiscated, the San Franciscan who’d turned them in reported a robbery at his jewelry store and claimed it had to be Peg and Percy Malone. Every town along the coast was alerted, and a reward was offered, but the authorities never caught the infamous pair.”

  “Because they no longer existed.” Dix grinned. “Good for them. What happened to the jewels from the heist?”

  Andrew shrugged. “You read it. They hid it until such a time as they needed it.”

  “You think they ever needed it?” Dix’s eyes narrowed.

  “If they had tried to sell the jewelry, they risked being caught. With a baby to think about, they couldn’t take that risk.”

  “Are you sure that’s all that was in the safe?” Dix walked over to peer inside. “No fancy jewelry? No treasure?”

  Andrew paced across the room and back. “You think it’s possible someone broke into the house looking for the jewels?”

  “It’s a valid motive.”

  “You have to remember, this house wasn’t here when Peg and Percy hid their treasure. My grandfather built this house for his bride, Rowena.”

  “Could Rowena’s parents have given her the treasure to hide in the house?”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. They died when she was twelve.”

  “Taking their secret to their graves.” Dix sighed. “So somewhere in or around Cape Churn is a treasure.”

  “Theoretically.” Andrew placed all the documents and the journal into the safe and closed the door. “The treasure could be in the bay. If they arrived to Cape Churn in a boat, they could have scuttled the boat at the bottom of the bay.”

  Dix’s eyes widened. “Is that what those two guys in the café were doing with the maps?”

  Andrew nodded. “Seems they found what was supposed to be a fictional account of Peg and Percival’s escapades and they’re convinced the boat is at the bottom of the bay.”

  “Do you think that’s where they hid the treasure?”

  “I really hadn’t thought about it. As a kid, I thought the stories my grandfather told were really just stories to entertain me.”

  “And now?”

  He frowned. “Now I think he might have been telling them to me for a reason.”

  “He wanted you to know there was a treasure out there. If not for you to find, then for your heirs.” Dix tilted her head. “And you don’t want to get to it first?”

  “I have to admit, the twins sparked my curiosity. But what do I need with the money? I have all I can use.”

  “I contend that it’s not about the money. It’s about the legacy.”

  “If my great-grandparents had wanted that legacy to carry on, they would have told someone where the treasure was. They couldn’t unearth the treasure without risking exposing themselves. But their heirs could.”

  “But you said they died when Rowena was twelve. Then their secret would have died with them.”

  “True.”

  “Here, let me play devil’s advocate.” Dix leaned her bottom against the desk and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you let someone else find it, that’s a legacy you let pass you by that could have gone to Leigha or Leigha’s children.”

  Sweet heaven. When Dix crossed her arms, it plumped her breasts and drew Andrew’s attention to those two lovely mounds. He dragged his gaze up to her full, lush lips. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re beautiful when you’re so intense?” Andrew couldn’t resist tucking a strand of Dix’s hair behind her ear.

  She captured his finger in her hand.

  For a moment Andrew thought she might break his finger in two.

  “No one has ever told me I was beautiful.” Her brows descended and her gaze met his. But she didn’t let go of his hand.

  “Someone should have.”

  She shook her head slowly. “What were we talking about?”

  “Legacies.” He raised his other hand and brushed his thumb along her cheek, careful not to bump his stitches.

  “Legacies?” Her voice came out in little more than a whisper and her hand tightened on his.

  “What I don’t understand is why Fontaine sent me a beautiful bodyguard.” He tipped Dix’s face upward and slid his thumb across her lips.

  “I’m not beautiful,” she said, her voice so soft she could barely hear it herself.

  Andrew ignored her protest. “Did he not realize how distracting it could be?”

  Her lips puckered ever so slightly against his thumb, but she said, “We should concentrate on the issue at hand.”

  “If I weren’t such a messed-up bastard, I’d kiss you right now.”

  Dix shook her head and raised her hand to cup his scarred cheek. “We all have our scars.”

  He circled her waist with his injured hand and the back of her neck with the other, bringing her closer until her belly pressed against the hard ridge beneath his trousers. “Some more so than others.”

  She tipped her head and stared into his eyes. “Some have deeper scars on the inside. Scars that can’t be seen but still hurt.”

  Andrew bent to claim her lips in a long, slow kiss.

  She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and deepened the kiss, opening her mouth to him.

  He slid his tongue along the length of hers, caressing it with long, slow thrusts. She tasted of chocolate ice cream, sweet and too tempting to pass up.

  When he finally remembered to breathe, Andrew leaned his forehead against hers and whispered, “What happened to you, Dixie? What scars are hiding beneath that beautiful, tough exterior?”

  As the words left his mouth Andrew felt Dix’s body go from soft and receptive to stiff and resistant.

  She pushed away from him and scrubbed a hand over her face. “Mr. Stratford, that should not have happened.”

  “But it did.”

  “And it won’t happen again.”

  “No?” He reached for her.

  She moved away. “Look, we’re better off keeping our relationship on a professional level.” Then in her coldest, most distant voice, she said, “It’s been a long day. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to check on Leigha before I call it a night.”

  With those parting words, she left the study and walked up the stairs, her back straight, her head held high.

  Andrew watched her until she disappeared. Then he sat at his desk and called himself every kind of fool in the book.

  No matter how tempting her lips or how perfect the curves of her body felt against his.

  You don’t kiss the help.

  Chapter 11

  Dix held herself together all the way up the sweeping staircase, counting each step as she went to take her thoughts off the man in the study below. But each riser represented one step farther away from what she really wanted. And that was to run back down and throw herself into Andrew’s arms and kiss him again like they might not see another tomorrow.

  But she wasn’t there to kiss the client. And she had too many hang-ups with her past to let herself dare to fall for a guy. Every time she thought she could settle down, she got that itchy feeling to move. The longer she stayed in one place, the more she wanted to leave. Ever since she’d been held captive, she couldn’t stand to be confined. She’d barely spent any time in her apartment in Vegas. If she wasn’t out on the street running, she was hiking in the hills or working out at the gym.

  No. Just no.

  She couldn’t wish herself on anyone.

  Stick to the job. Leave the emotions out of it.

  Dix checked on Leigha. The little girl lay curled into the blankets, still wearing her sundress.

  In keeping with her need for co
ntinuous motion, she strode to the child’s dresser, rummaged around quietly and found a soft jersey nightgown. As carefully as possible, she undressed Leigha and slipped the nightgown over her head. Dix went to the bathroom, wet a cloth with warm water and returned to wash Leigha’s face and hands. When she was done, she pulled the blanket up to the little girl’s chin and bent to press a kiss to her forehead.

  A smile curled the corners of Leigha’s mouth and she tucked a hand beneath her cheek and slept on.

  If only it were that simple to fall asleep. Dix turned to find Andrew standing in the doorway, his gaze on her.

  “She should be okay for the night. I’ll leave my door open and listen for sounds,” Dix said.

  “Thank you for taking care of her.”

  “It’s not difficult. She’s a wonderful person. Anyone would do the same.”

  Andrew’s mouth tightened. “Not everyone.”

  Dix’s gut burned.

  He was right.

  Jeannette had tried to kill her own daughter. And Dix thought she was messed up. Jeannette had been one deranged woman. Too bad she’d let her crazy loose on her daughter. How much had that damaged the child?

  Dix shook her head. The three of them were so much alike in many ways. Each damaged by the actions of others. Each of them suffering some form of PTSD. Yeah, Dix didn’t need to add to the Stratford family’s problems with ones of her own.

  She strode toward the door.

  Andrew didn’t move until the last minute, turning sideways to let her through.

  Just when she thought she might make good her escape, he touched her arm and stopped her.

  “Dix?”

  She froze, unable to move. If she were honest with herself, she was unwilling to move, afraid that she would do something she would regret like throw herself into his arms. Flames ignited where his hand touched her bare skin and spread through her body like wildfire. She stared at that hand, willing it to release her.

  “I’m sorry if I took advantage of you,” he said. “But I’m not sorry I kissed you.”

  Her belly clenched and heat pooled at her core. “Damn you,” she said between her teeth. “Why couldn’t you leave it?” That unnamed “it” hung between them like something physical and alive.

  “Tell me you didn’t feel it and I’ll leave you alone.”

  She dropped her chin to her chest to keep from looking at him. Her gaze fell to his scarred hand and she remembered the way the grafted skin felt against the back of her neck. Smooth, cool and so tender. “I didn’t feel anything.” She lied to him. To herself.

  He raised his hand, cupped her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to see him. “Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t feel anything,” he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek, tingling against her lips and smelling of chocolate ice cream.

  She fell into his ice-blue gaze, her resolve crumbling with every breath. Dix, the MMA fighter, Army Ranger and all-around tough gal, melted into goo as she stared into Andrew’s eyes.

  That urge to move hit her like a freight train. She popped up on her toes, grabbed his cheeks between her hands and kissed him hard, and then she ran. Down the stairs, through the study and out into the garden, her eyes burning from holding back the tears. Since her capture, she’d refused to cry. Ever. Nothing could be as bad as being tortured by the enemy, never knowing if you’d live to see another day. Nothing.

  Not even this heart-pounding, gut-wrenching certainty that she could never love again. As a person, as a partner, she was too broken to allow someone else into her world for any length of time.

  A few minutes stretched into fifteen as Dix stood in the chilled night air, her skin bathed blue in the moonlight, her face turned to the sky. She counted over three hundred stars before her pulse returned to normal and she could face going back into the house and its constrictive walls.

  Up the stairs and into her room, she moved quietly, grabbing clean underwear and her soft sleep T-shirt. Then ducked into the bathroom.

  During her years in the military she’d honed her bathing skills to make her movements swift and efficient in the shower. She made mental images of her problems, imagining them washing down the drain with the shampoo and soapsuds. When she rinsed clean she almost felt normal. Except for the hollowness in her chest.

  She’d get over it. Having survived a lot worse, Dix knew she could get over anything, given enough time.

  When she stepped into the hall, soft sobs caught her attention. They emanated from Leigha’s room.

  Wishing she’d brought a pair of shorts, Dix tiptoed down the corridor to Leigha’s room.

  The little girl lay on her side, curled in the fetal position, her hand on her face, tears slipping down her cheeks.

  Dix could hear the shower going in the master suite through the open connecting door. Quickly, she slipped between the sheets and gathered the girl in her arms. “Shh, baby. Everything is going to be all right.”

  Leigha’s sobs subsided as she snuggled against Dix. Soon she lay quiet and still, her breathing deep and restful.

  For a long time Dix stared at the ceiling, her lips tingling and places farther south burning inside. All the while, the man who’d stirred the embers settled in the king-size bed in the connecting room, a short distance away.

  What would he think if she walked into his room and slipped between the sheets of his bed?

  She closed her eyes and tried not to let her thoughts stray in that direction. The last thing she needed was to sleepwalk into Andrew Stratford’s room and climb into bed with him. She would be completely powerless to resist her body’s desire.

  * * *

  Andrew lay for hours, staring out the window at the star-filled sky. He knew the minute Dix had returned to the house because he couldn’t rest until she was safe inside the walls. He’d gone down to the kitchen on the pretext of getting a glass of water, when, in fact, he’d known he could see the garden from the kitchen window. He watched like a voyeur as Dix stood staring at the sky, her skin and the white dress turned a mystical blue in the moonlight.

  He’d wanted to join her there, pull her into his arms and kiss away her doubts. But who was he to woo the woman? He was scarred, damaged and ugly.

  Dix deserved a man who didn’t frighten children with his face. A man who had a lot more to show for his life than a bank account and a huge mansion that was too big for a family. Like she said, it might as well be a hotel. And he also came with strings attached. Whoever loved him had to love his daughter, too. She’d also have to understand that no matter what, Leigha was his number one priority.

  What would a former Army Ranger and MMA fighter want with a broken-down stockbroker, a mansion on the edge of nowhere and a little girl?

  Yeah, that was Andrew’s life and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d earned his scars saving his daughter, and he’d do it all over again. Leigha was worth every bit of the pain he’d suffered through skin grafting. Physically, she’d come out of the incident with a mild case of smoke inhalation, which was better than he could have expected. Inside, she’d take a little longer to heal.

  They had all their lives to heal together.

  Eventually, Andrew fell into a fitful sleep where fires burned. This time, not only was Leigha’s life at stake, Dix was trapped behind a wall of flame. Her pretty white dress caught fire and she writhed in pain. Only she didn’t scream or cry. She looked at him and told him to save Leigha. Just save Leigha.

  No.

  He couldn’t let Dix die in the fire. Burning to death would be the most painful way to die. Having burned his hand, he knew the amount of pain flames could inflict on a body. He couldn’t leave her to die like that.

  But first he had to find Leigha and get her to safety. He searched the room, even looking beneath the bed. Instead of Leigha, he found Jeannette, laughi
ng at his desperation. She flung a flaming blanket at him. It covered his head and he couldn’t see his way out of the flames.

  “Andrew,” someone called.

  He struggled to open his eyes. If only he could see, he’d follow whoever was calling to him out of the fire. But no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t open.

  “Andrew. You’re dreaming. Wake up.” A hand touched his shoulder and stroked down his arm. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

  He grabbed the hand in his and held on, pulling himself out of the flames and into his bedroom. With what felt like a mighty effort, he forced his eyes open and stared up into the moss green eyes of the woman who’d sacrificed herself in the dream fire so that he could save his daughter.

  “No,” he said, his voice hoarse. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled her against him, holding her tight. She was safe. Thank God, she was safe.

  “It’s okay,” she said, stroking his hair, talking in a soothing tone. “You were dreaming.”

  As he surfaced from the lingering effect of the dream, he realized she wore only a T-shirt.

  She stood between his legs, her skin pressed against his.

  His pulse, still racing from the terror of the dream, continued to pound through his veins now for an entirely different reason.

  He ran his uninjured hand up her back and down to the swell of her bottom. Her curves were soft, but the muscles firm beneath her skin.

  “Are you awake now?” she whispered.

  “Sweetheart, I’m so awake, my body is on fire.” He gripped her hips, careful not to disturb his stitches, and set her away from him. “You’d better go now. If you stay any longer, I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself.”

  Dix stood still, staring into his eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.