by Jeannie Watt
Eden laughed and started putting rings of purple onion on the sandwich, followed by capers and olives—possibly Niçoise. Nick drilled a hole in each corner of the faceplate outline, then lowered his drill and watched as she opened a jar of roasted red peppers. This sandwich had definite possibilities.
He positioned the chisel and gave it a tap with the hammer. It practically bounced off the door. Okay. A little harder.
“Is this an oak door?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “It could be anything under all those layers of paint. It is an older house.”
“Well, I guess that explains why there wasn’t already a dead bolt in it.” He hit the chisel harder and managed to get a toehold in the wood. He hit it again and it went deeper. He pushed down on the chisel, prying out the hunk of wood. It moved. A little. He pushed harder. It moved a little more. Then suddenly the chisel gave and flipped through the air, the heavy handle hitting him square between the eyes.
He staggered backward, more out of surprise than pain, his hand clamped to his face. “Son of a bitch!”
“Nick!” Eden dropped a spoon with a clatter. “Let me see.”
“No.” He waved her away. “I’m fine. Just…startled.” And embarrassed. He slowly lowered his hand, checked the palm for blood, just in case. Nothing. He was damned lucky not to have been hit by the business end.
“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing safety glasses?”
“Excellent point.” He didn’t have any safety glasses. What a professional he was. “I left them in the car.”
“Maybe you should go get them?” Eden asked as he pressed his hand to his forehead again. “After I get you some ice.”
“I don’t need ice.”
“You’re getting ice. Sit down.” She motioned to one of her chairs. Bemused, Nick sat down. “You can get the glasses later.”
She went to her freezer and pulled out a small package of frozen peas, which she handed to him. He took the bag and slapped it onto his face.
“Happy?” he asked.
“Very glad I’m not wiping up blood.”
“That makes two of us.” He looked at her from the eye that wasn’t covered by frozen peas. “This is a little embarrassing.”
She didn’t try to make him feel better. “It should be. You were almost taken out by your own tool.”
Kind of like shooting yourself in the foot, which Marcus had almost done once on the range.
“Stay there,” she said sternly as she went back to the counter, “and let the ice work for a couple minutes. I’ll finish the sandwich and we can eat, then you can get back to work.”
Nick nodded and closed his eyes. The cold bag felt good, the situation did not. He had the data, which he would look at tonight, but he felt crappy about stealing it.
No. He felt crappy because Eden charmed him and he didn’t want her to be involved in criminal activities. Even by association.
“I’m supposed to wrap this sandwich and let the flavors develop, but I think we’ll skip that part,” she said. He opened his eye to see her brandishing a giant knife. What was it about this woman and knives?
A moment later she set a plate in front of him with a healthy portion of the French tuna sandwich. “You might want to put this back in the freezer,” he said, handing her the bag of peas.
“Yes,” she said innocently. “You still have to get that hole in the door finished.”
Don’t play along. Don’t do it.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Maybe you’d like to help?”
She put a hand to her chest in mock horror. “I don’t want to get anywhere near you and a tool after that display.” Her expression grew more serious. “But maybe you should drill a few more holes.”
“That was my next official move,” he said, taking a giant bite of a most excellent sandwich. “I was trying to save a step.”
“And you’ll get your safety glasses? Just in case…”
“Of course.” A sudden thought struck him. He had shooting glasses in the SUV. Good to go. She wouldn’t notice Winchester written on the upper part of the lenses. He hoped. She was pretty sharp.
NICK FINISHED PUTTING the dead bolt in the back door without incident, and drilled a lot more holes before he attempted to chisel out the space for the mechanism in the front door. He also wore his safety glasses. Eden stayed back and allowed him to work, although she wasn’t above studying him from a distance.
When he finished installing the motion sensors and the window locks, it was almost two o’clock. He walked her through the process for arming and disarming the system.
“Is there a possibility of false alarms?”
“Yes. But always assume that it’s for real. Okay?”
“Oh, I will,” she said with feeling.
“Not a lot of point having a security system if you ignore the alarms the way you’d started to ignore the motion sensor light. And if that thing comes on—”
“It’s not a cat.”
“Not a cat,” he agreed, hooking his thumb in his tool belt. She did love a man in a tool belt. “Or a bear.”
He’d started to stack the boxes together to take with him when Eden said, “I can take care of that.”
“Part of the service.” He jammed a bunch of small boxes and plastic bags into one of the larger boxes. “None of my business,” he said when he was done, “but have you had any more visits from your ex?”
“No visits,” Eden said. Ian was finally part of her past. She walked with Nick as far as the door. “I’ll see you next Wednesday.”
“Wednesday.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly as he looked down at her, but there was something in his expression she couldn’t quite read. Something that looked just a bit like regret.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WELL, IT LOOKS like you went to all this trouble for nothing,” Marcus said dismissively, pushing the memory sticks across the coffee shop table in a way that made Nick want to pop him. He wouldn’t, though. Marcus was the reason he’d wasted the whole frigging day pretending to be a security expert—although the little worm had yet to fess up to rock throwing. But he would. Eventually. The guy was playing holier than thou, but he liked credit.
The accountant squinted slightly as he studied Nick’s face. “How’d you get that bruise between your eyes?”
“Long story,” Nick said. And kind of a funny one, really. Or it would be with time. Maybe it hadn’t been a totally wasted day. He’d eaten an excellent sandwich and spent some time with a woman he found interesting. A woman he really shouldn’t find interesting, but did.
He tapped a memory stick with one finger. “Nothing at all?”
Marcus leaned back in his chair. “I was able to access her bank account, but no. Nothing.”
Nick felt a twinge of relief even as the logical part of his brain told him all that meant was records weren’t on Eden’s home computer and her personal bank account wasn’t involved in a crime. It didn’t mean her brother was clean.
He leaned back in his chair, mirroring Marcus. “Did you throw the rock through Eden’s window?”
Marcus simply sneered at him. “What are you going to do now?”
Nick held up the memory sticks before pocketing them. “I want to either cross these guys off the list or be in a position to squeeze Tremont hard.”
“If Justin Tremont doesn’t end up being your ‘in,’ what are you going to do?” the accountant asked.
Nick didn’t want to think about that. If Tremont was clean, then he’d be very happy in some regards and at a total dead as far as the investigation went.
Cully would go unavenged, unless something broke, and the drugs would continue to move through the Tahoe Summit.
EDEN DROPPED HER meals off a little earlier than usual that Sunday. Patty had had nothing on her prep list from Justin, so she’d been able to help cook and portion out the dinners.
The Stewart house was Eden’s first stop, and she parked next to
the giant stucco garage and let herself in with a key. The Stewarts kept a huge freezer and two fridges in the garage—a lot of cold storage for a family that didn’t cook. But Eden was more than happy to fill those fridges in exchange for a healthy paycheck.
The Ballard house was not far away and Eden usually preferred delivering there, since Tina was almost always home Sunday evening and liked to chat, sometimes over a glass of wine.
Eden was so early in her delivery today, though, that only the two boys, Jed and Joshua, were home. Jed answered the back door when she knocked and actually smiled at her.
“Hey, scuzz,” he called to his brother. “Come and help.”
Joshua came through the arched kitchen doorway and obligingly took the box he shoved at him.
“There are two coolers in the back of the van,” Eden said.
“Ready for the big shindig?” Josh asked, tipping back a bottle of beer.
“I can’t believe you’re old enough to drink,” she said as she unloaded the box. He’d been sixteen when she’d started cooking for them. “And yes, I’m ready.”
Jed came in with a cooler and, knowing the drill, started unloading. Eden wondered if Rosemary would grow up this quickly. She hoped not.
Once both coolers were empty, Jed hauled one out to the car for her. Eden couldn’t help but notice that he was a lot more personable when his mother wasn’t around.
Teens were rugged. She knew. She’d helped raise Justin.
“Guess I’ll see you next week.”
“And the Tuesday after that,” Eden said.
“Because no one throws parties on a Tuesday,” Jed said with a touch of gentle sarcasm.
It was still daylight when Eden got home, but even so, she had to admit she felt a lot safer going into the house with the alarm system in place. She also hadn’t realized how often the old motion sensors had come on until she’d spent an uninterrupted evening.
In fact, she began to wonder if the lights even worked, and went outside to test them herself. She skulked behind the bushes Justin had trimmed back for her, and sure enough, the lights came on. Her home was secure.
Her newfound sense of security lasted one more night. On the third evening she was experimenting with a puree made of roasted vegetables when the alarm went off, scaring the bejeezus out of her. She debated about calling the police, except that it was still daylight. No doors or windows were compromised and her neighbor across the alley was outside, taking her laundry, which was whipping wildly in the wind, off the line.
False alarm. Eden reset the system. Glitches were to be expected. She was simply glad it hadn’t happened at night. Then she would have called the police and it would probably have been a false alarm. She would have felt like a fool.
The alarm went off a second time when she was in the shower, trying to beat the lightning storm approaching. Never shower in a lightning storm was one of her father’s few rules—a sure sign he’d cared.... Regardless, it was a rule Eden followed.
She traipsed to the control box, giant towel wrapped around her, and found the circumstances the same as before. Nothing appeared compromised and there were kids out on the street riding bikes, papers and leaves blowing around them as the storm brewed.
A storm shouldn’t affect the system. One more false alarm and Nick would have to investigate. Eden had a feeling she would not be able to convince herself all was well if the alarm went off in the dead of the night.
NICK WAS SPRAWLED in front of his TV, watching Cops and wondering about the best way to get at the Tremont records when his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but as soon as he answered, he recognized the voice.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Eden said with a touch of annoyance, “but I’ve had three false alarms this evening and I’m getting a little tired of it.”
Shit. He let his head fall back against the sofa. “You’re sure they’re false?”
“Either that or I have a persistent home invader who doesn’t set off motion sensor lights and isn’t particularly bothered by alarms.”
“Okay. I’ll be right over.” Just as soon as he had time to do some research.
Forty minutes later, he parked in front of her house, cursing Marcus. Rock through the window. And for nothing.
The wind caught his truck door as he opened it, and he was barely able to hold on to it. Nasty storm blowing in, which he hoped was the solution to his problem. If it wasn’t, then he was going to have to conjure up some BS about contacting the company rep, etc.
Eden opened the door before he reached the top step, grasping the lapels of a lavender satin robe as she ducked her head against the wind.
“No tool belt?” she said as he stepped inside and she slammed the door shut.
He lifted the small canvas toolbox. “More comfortable,” he said with a half smile before inspecting the control panel as if he had any idea what he was doing.
He checked the wiring connections, which were both good, tested the backup batteries with the gauge he’d bought on the way over.
“And?” Eden asked, still clutching the robe, which he could see now wasn’t sleepwear, but rather a kimono.
He looked down at her and raised his eyebrows in a candid expression. “Honestly? I’m new at this. I think it might have something to do with the wind hitting the windows and rattling the connections on the sensors.”
“So when the wind blows I’ll have false alarms? If so, then I need to rethink this.”
“I’m going to try to adjust the sensors.” Which he did, following the instructions on the system troubleshooting site. “I’m going to refund some of your money for this.”
“Really?”
“Like I said, I’m new and you shouldn’t pay for my mistakes.”
“As near as I can tell, I didn’t pay you much more than the cost of the components.”
“I get a good deal from my supplier.”
She gave a soft snort. “Must be a really good deal.”
After he was done “adjusting”—and he had found a couple loose connections—he turned on the system, tested it, then let it settle into working mode. For a moment he and Eden stood there; she was focused on the panel and he was focused on her. She gave him a quick sideways glance.
“Do you want a beer while you wait?”
“Wait for what?”
She finally let go of the front of the kimono and he saw why she’d been holding it—so as not to distract him from his job. “Wait to see if there’s another false alarm. Either that or I’m calling you when it happens again.”
“Yeah?” he said, dropping his screwdriver into the canvas bag.
“I appreciate you putting it in for me, but I did pay for a service, and being a businessperson myself, I expect to get what I pay for.”
No arguing with that. “I’d love a beer.”
“Light or dark?”
He perked up. “You have both?”
She made a face at him. “Of course.”
“Dark.”
She waved at the sofa. “Have a seat.”
Nick sat and looked around the living room. He actually knew this house pretty well now. Eden favored silky fabrics and muted colors. Kind of at odds with her personality.
She came back into the living room, the kimono swishing around her legs as she walked, and handed him one of two opened oatmeal stouts before sitting down beside him. She put her feet up on the coffee table and took a long draw of her beer.
Nick started laughing.
“What?” she asked, dabbing at her damp lips with her fingertips.
“Nothing. It’s just…” He smiled, realizing that he seemed to smile a lot around her. A lot more than he had around anyone, except maybe Daphne, in the past few years.
“It’s just…?” Eden echoed, gesturing with her beer to encourage him.
“You’re this small, feminine—”
“Don’t you dare say perky.”
He shook his head, seeing the spark in her very blue eyes. “W
asn’t going to say perky.”
She focused on the dark television screen on the opposite side of the room. “Everyone does.”
“Calls you perky?”
“I think I first heard the phrase in the fourth grade. And it snowballed from there.”
He set his bottle on his thigh, keeping his fingers wrapped around the neck. “There’s nothing wrong with perky.”
She turned, leaning one shoulder into the sofa cushions as she looked him square in the eye. “Would you like to be called that?”
“No.”
She rolled back to her original position, presenting him once again with her profile. “Well, there you go.”
He shook his head and took a drink of his beer. “What I was about to say was that I like your style. Feet on the coffee table, cold beer, remote at the ready.”
“Justin taught me well,” she said in an offhand way, unknowingly splashing cold water on an otherwise enjoyable conversation. “Besides, I believe in being comfortable.”
Nick could see that. Everything in her house was homey and inviting. The way her kimono was draped at the moment was rather inviting, too, in a very different way. It’d been so long since he’d been with a woman. First because of the grief, and then because he’d buried himself in his cases and had no time. It wasn’t until he’d opened his big fat mouth that he’d found himself with time on his hands.
“You’re not at home much, are you?” he said.
“Not lately. I’m kind of swamped without my sister and would be totally in the weeds if it wasn’t for Patty and a couple reliable temps.”
“What about your brother?”
She took a drink of her beer, leaving small beads of moisture on her lower lip. “One of the chefs at the hotel where Justin works got injured in a motorcycle accident, and he’s filling in.”
“Must have put a crimp in the cake business,” Nick said, focusing back on his bottle.
“He’s not in a position to say no, if he wants to keep working at the hotel—which he does, since he gets a lot of contacts through the casino and he has an in with one of the wedding chapels up there.”
