Despite squeezing her eyes shut, a tear escaped and trickled down her cheek.
“Don’t cry, dammit,” Nikolai snarled. “I know I screwed up. I should never have left her alone. Now you know why any sort of relationship between us is impossible. I have a demanding job. I can’t guarantee I’d be here for you when you need me.”
Summer swiped at the tears on her face with her hand. Resentment burned in her gut. Who’d asked him to baby-sit her anyway? Everyone kept forgetting she was an adult, and it was time for them to remember. She jerked upright, standing rigidly to attention. “I don’t need a babysitter. What I need, what I want, is a lover. I thought you were my lover. Obviously, I was wrong.” She stormed to the door and took great pleasure in slamming the door on the way out.
Chapter Fourteen
The impact of wood against frame reverberated like thunder, and Nikolai could have sworn the house shuddered.
He’d done it.
He’d driven off Summer.
So why didn’t he feel good about returning to the friends-and-neighbor slot? Because he—
Damn! He wasn’t gonna think about entering emotional territory. That was what tripped him every bloody time. No point repeating mistakes.
He hauled his body off the chair and limped to the kitchen doorway. His progress to his bedroom was slow and laborious, his boots leaving a trail of dried mud as witness to his journey. He’d clean up when he had more energy. The reality of failing to tackle the assault course tomorrow darted to mind, but he shied from the possibility and continued his journey to his bedroom. Once there, he dropped to the bed with a pained groan to remove his boots. More caked mud dropped onto the gleaming wooden floor he’d rescued from under a layer of brown carpet.
His thoughts wandered back to Summer, and the look on her face right before she stormed from his house. He’d hurt her just as he’d distressed Laura by his frequent absences. Trouble was, he loved his job and wasn’t trained for anything else.
“Get over it, Tarei.” He yanked off his shirt and struggled from his army fatigue trousers. The deed was done. Summer and he were no longer an item, and that was the way he wanted it.
Summer hadn’t spoken to Nikolai for three days. She rose at the ring of the alarm clock each morning, dragged her weary body from bed and went to work. The days passed like the slow trickle of syrup on a winter’s day. Despite trying to keep busy, her mind kept wandering back to Nikolai and the pleasure they’d experienced together.
Her mouth firmed as she watched the big, bad SAS man limp from his house and climb into a battered sedan driven by his mate, Jake.
Stubborn, infuriating male.
She glared through the closed window, confident in the knowledge he wouldn’t know she was spying. The limp had returned. He shouldn’t try to work at present or he’d end up with a permanent hobble. The scar that sliced past his kneecap signified the extent of the damage.
The man needed a keeper.
A babysitter.
Ten minutes later, she rushed out the door and locked it before heading for her Mazda. It was good to have the old girl back from the garage. She checked her watch, let out a yelp and ran the remaining distance to her car.
Luck was with her as the traffic was lighter than normal on the run up the motorway to central Auckland. She rushed into the staff meeting room at two minutes to the hour.
“Just made it,” Angel said.
Summer slid into the empty chair beside her friend and attempted composure.
“Give up,” Angel said. “Your cheeks are scarlet, your hair has gone wispy and you’re breathing like a dragon about to put out a fire.”
“Charming,” she muttered. “With friends like you—”
“Have you heard about the…?”
Summer listened with half an ear, as she sometimes did with Angel. Although she liked her and found her fun to work with, Angel loved to gossip. Which was why she hadn’t mentioned Nikolai to her friend. She didn’t want her personal life all over the library.
“Summer.” Angel shook her, digging her lilac-tipped nails into Summer’s upper arm. “The murder at the bookshop. Have you heard about it?”
Summer shot to attention. “Murder?”
A fine tremor shook the hand that rested on the desktop. She snatched it off the wooden surface and stuck it on her lap out of sight. Thoughts screamed through her mind fast as boy-racers and their cars on a Friday night.
“Where?” she demanded, a sharp edge to her voice.
Rapid footsteps outside the meeting room heralded Mrs. Ferguson’s arrival. She bustled into the room, casting an eagle eye over her charges. “Good, everyone’s here. We have a lot to get through.”
“Which bookshop?” Summer mouthed urgently at Angel.
“Summer Williams.” Mrs. Ferguson’s voice cut across the hushed silence. “Organize your social life during your lunch hour.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Ferguson,” she said, working at maintaining a calm façade. Difficult when worry, fear and outright panic stampeded through her brain.
What had she done?
“Firstly, I’d like to talk about the training courses…”
Summer tuned her boss out while her mind dwelled on murder. Although Angel hadn’t confirmed the whom, she didn’t believe in coincidences, not since she’d swapped the books.
Lord, what was she going to do? Panic swarmed through her stomach like a malignant virus. Her lungs tightened so much it felt as if she were pushing weights off her chest with each breath. She bent to fumble through her handbag for her inhaler and took a quick, furtive puff.
“Summer!”
Summer jerked upward and hit her head on the corner of the wooden table as she straightened in her chair. Pain lanced through her head, and she bit back a groan. Bother. Another knock to the noggin. Just the thing for clear thinking.
“What are you doing?” Mrs. Ferguson glared at her across the top of her rimless glasses.
Summer bit her lip, while tears smarted at the corners of her eyes. Her fingers delicately probed the tender spot. Great. Another lump on her head to match the previous one. “I’m sorry. My asthma is giving me trouble. I needed to use my inhaler.”
The harsh expression on Mrs. Ferguson’s face faded to concern. “Do you need to leave the room for a few minutes?”
“I think I’ll be okay. I’m sorry for interrupting.”
Mrs. Ferguson continued, and she tried to concentrate. But it was difficult when guilt coursed through her. She couldn’t help but wonder if it the murder had happened because of her actions.
Summer hadn’t made a conscious decision to tell Nikolai, but she found herself looking for him while watering Uncle Henry’s roses. She aimed the hose at the base of Tom Thumb, Uncle Henry’s favorite, and tried to quell the ever-present anxiety.
The weird thing was Dare hadn’t rung to ask about the book. If he’d found something wrong, wouldn’t he have contacted her? Apart from a hurried phone call, canceling a dinner date, she hadn’t heard from him.
He hadn’t mentioned the book.
After soaking the roses for way too long, Nikolai still hadn’t arrived home. Summer weeded the garden, a chore she hated and mowed the lawn. Still the big, bad SAS man hadn’t returned.
Darkness crept over the landscape, cloaking the trees and paddocks with the same murky gray. Birds fell silent and drivers on the country road switched on their headlights.
Still no Nikolai.
She wandered inside and flicked on a light. After toeing off her red canvas shoes, she headed for the kitchen. Halfway along the passage, she paused and turned back to lock the door.
The strident ring of the phone pulled her from thoughts of murder.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Summer.”
“Who is this?” The hoarse whisper brought a rash of goose bumps. The fact that the man—whoever he was—knew her name sent terror skittering on the heels of the goose bumps.
“Watch your back, girlie.”
/>
“Who is this? If you don’t stop, I’ll—”
The phone thumped down on the other end, leaving her talking to herself. Swallowing, she replaced the phone. There had been several heavy breathing calls. This was the first time her caller had spoken.
Summer glanced out the kitchen window. What if Nikolai wasn’t coming home tonight?
Although she was tired of orders from her family and Nikolai, there was the odd time when their bossiness felt right.
Even confiding her fears would help. She picked up the newspaper she’d purchased during her lunch hour. Not that it had given many details of the murder.
* * *
Man Found Dead in Bookshop.
The owner of the Pen and Quill bookshop was found in the early hours of Wednesday morning. Police suspect theft was the motive and are chasing up several leads.
* * *
Summer dropped the Herald back onto the bench top with a sigh. Theft, they said. But what if it hadn’t been theft? What if murder was the motive, and the culprits had made it look like a burglary to throw the police off the trail?
The faint sound of a car pierced her troubled mind. She ran for the window. The vehicle slowed, its headlights piercing the darkness and highlighting the hedge that ran the length of the roadside boundary.
It wasn’t Nikolai.
Summer stilled before she realized with the light on in the kitchen and the curtains and blinds wide open, anyone would be able to see inside the house. Ducking out of sight, she leapt for the light switch and flipped it off. It took precious seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dark, and by the time she reached the window, the headlights were no longer visible.
The car was gone.
Or was it?
Her stomach knotted, her imagination conjuring dragons and monsters lurking in the dark. She peered into the front garden and scrutinized the shadows.
Nothing.
But that didn’t mean a thing.
Uncle Henry had so many bushes and hedges in his flourishing garden. Anyone with nefarious purposes could hide or skulk close to the house without detection.
A sharp creak sounded.
Shit. Had she shut the gate between the property boundaries after visiting Nikolai earlier? Or had someone else left the catch unfastened?
She licked her lips as she tried to remember. The sound repeated. A ghostly rat-tat-tat. Summer clasped and unclasped sweaty palms. Overactive imagination. That was what she hoped.
Voices drifted on the air and a vehicle engine fired to life. Light flooded the area behind the hedge and it bled through the greenery to her side, casting huge black shadows. The car drove away and some of the tension bled from her tense limbs. The driver had probably stopped to answer his cell phone or for some equally innocent reason.
She expelled a breath. Telling herself to quit the drama queen act, she made her way to her bedroom and started preparations for bed. She was about to climb into bed when she decided it would be a good idea to have her phone handy. She switched on the passage light and when she saw it was clear, ran into the kitchen, scooped up the phone and tore back to bed.
“Get a grip, Summer.” The sound of her voice didn’t offer comfort. It just made her isolation feel more real.
The phone rang again. Summer started, and a gasp escaped before she could bite it back. The sharp peal of the phone continued. She needed to answer in case it was Uncle Henry. With a shaky hand, she stabbed the answer button and held it to her ear.
“Hello.”
“That you, Mariah?” The deep masculine voice sent ripples of apprehension writhing like snakes.
She jerked upright in bed. “I think you have the wrong number.”
“Don’t think so. It’s right here on the telephone booth. Mariah Twining will jump-start your day.”
“No, I—”
“How much you charge for extras? You do extras dontcha?”
Summer hung up. Almost immediately, the phone rang again. Uncle Henry had rung a few nights ago. It was improbable he’d call again in the same week.
She turned off the phone, closed her eyes and tried to ignore the empty sound of the night…
Suddenly, she jerked awake. The crick in her neck told her she’d fallen asleep with her neck at a weird angle. Tension seeped through her, the silence in her dark room broken by the tick of her alarm clock. She strained her ears for anything out of the ordinary.
When nothing sounded out of place, she fumbled for the bedside lamp. Almost one in the morning. Surely, Nikolai would be home by now.
She reached for her phone and jerked her hand back. Ringing him was admitting she required help because of this mess.
“Stop being stupid. You can’t carry on like this.”
Biting her lip, she reached for the phone and punched the speed dial button for Nikolai.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me. Summer.”
“What is it?” He sounded alert—a good man to have in her corner.
“Can… Could you come over?” The last of her words rushed out so quickly they tangled on her tongue. Asking for help sent a quiver of anxiety through her too. What if he turned around and told her uncle? Uncle Henry would feel obliged to ring her parents. It would be like a chain reaction if she didn’t handle things with speed and decisiveness.
“Now?”
“Yes, please,” she whispered.
“Make coffee. I’ll be there in five.” The phone crashed down on his end.
Summer pulled a face and saluted with her free hand. “Yes, sir.” She placed the phone on the bedside table and dressed. The idea of meeting the big, bad SAS man in her nightie made her feel weird, even though he’d seen her naked. A knock sounded on the door as she plugged in the coffeemaker.
“What is it?” Nikolai demanded, pushing past her.
Summer stared at him wordlessly, her body responding to his nearness even more now that she knew what it felt like to touch his skin and run her fingers across his muscles. His dark hair was a wild jumble of damp curls that made her palms itch to touch. His jeans hugged his hips, his muscular thighs and no doubt his butt if he’d taken the time to do a twirl. He hadn’t bothered to don a shirt, and his hairless chest rose and fell with each breath.
“If you’ve finished undressing me, maybe you could get to the point.”
Had she made a mistake? Maybe she should’ve called home.
“Summer, I haven’t slept for hours. Please spit out whatever you need to say then I can get some sleep. Did you make coffee?”
“It’s almost ready.” She shut the front door and walked past him, careful not to touch while passing.
As she led the way to the kitchen, she felt his gaze. A tingle of excitement sprang to life inside despite the harsh words between them. Lord, she missed him. She’d tried to tell herself she could get by without him, but the truth—the truth was she wanted to jump his bones. More than that, she wanted an exclusive relationship. But that wasn’t going to happen, not when he insisted on living in the shadows of the past.
In the kitchen, Summer poured coffee. All the time, she was aware of his enigmatic gaze, his scent of raw male and soap, and the sounds he made as he settled onto a stool at the breakfast bar.
She hesitated. Where to start? At the beginning. Yes, the beginning.
“I met Dare because somehow I received his book special order instead of mine.”
“That is how you met the clotheshorse?” His brow wrinkled as she placed down the mug of coffee. “How did you know they were his books?”
“The order had a card inside. I went to the address, and that’s when I met him. We exchanged packages and went from there.”
A low growl vibrated in the air between them. “And?”
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“Summer.” Nikolai placed his mug on the breakfast bar with a soft clunk. He prowled toward her.
She found herself backing up until the kitchen cabinets blocked her retreat. Seconds later,
Nikolai’s hands thumped either side of her, effectively caging her in place. She swallowed.
“Spit out your problem. I don’t have time for games.”
“Since I frequent the bookshop often, I’ve picked up the odd package for him. Last week, I brought Dare’s books home. We were going to go out for dinner, but he had to cancel because a business contact wanted a meeting.”
Nikolai’s jaw clenched. “I told you the man was bad news.”
Her mood veered sharply to anger. “Look, this is hard enough without you saying ‘I told you so’.”
He gave a clipped nod, but didn’t move. Having his bulk so close made her nervous. Actually, that wasn’t quite the truth. He made her think of sex—sweaty bodies sliding together in a sensual dance. Her body. His body.
Summer swallowed convulsively and felt the inevitable heat swamp her face. She hurried into speech to hide her unease at his proximity.
“I don’t know why, but I opened the package. It was the same title as the first book. A book on fly-fishing.”
“Fly-fishing.” Nikolai showed his opinion with a sharp snort. “Hard to believe the clotheshorse likes standing up to his waist in icy mountain water.”
Summer agreed but didn’t comment. “It made me think. I couldn’t believe Dare would buy a book for one of his brothers or his father. They didn’t strike me as fishermen either. The more I thought about it, the weirder it seemed. So, I found another fly-fishing book and replaced it, and yesterday the owner of the bookshop was found murdered in his shop.”
“You did what?” Nikolai’s tempered voice was far worse than a bellow.
“I exchanged the books,” she whispered. “I think it’s my fault the man was murdered.”
“Fuck.” Nikolai moved without warning, stalking across the kitchen floor with a distinct hitch in his stride. “What did you do with the book?”
“It’s in my room.”
“You’d better get it.”
“But there’s nothing different about it. I’ve checked.”
“Let me look. Another set of eyes.”
Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances Page 98
