Harlequin Intrigue March 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Cindi Myers

  “Thanks.”

  He motioned her ahead of him, back through the crowd toward the table. “So, what happened in that bathroom?” he asked. “It looks like your hair went crazy.”

  “Shut up.” She shot him a sideways look as they reached the booth. “I thought you always liked my crazy hair.”

  “I do.” He scooped a disposable container off the table. “I saw the waitress while I was waiting. She got the box ready.”

  “Great. Where’s the bill?”

  Lucas scanned the table and benches, then checked on the floor beneath. “I’ll ask at the register.”

  Gwen led the way and stopped behind an older couple getting change. She slid her coat on as they waited, butterflies swooping in her core. Her nerves burned, hyperaware of Lucas’s nearness and the way he made her feel when he looked at her like she wasn’t permanently broken. She longed to reach for him again, hungry for the physical contact and proof she wasn’t alone.

  He smiled at the cashier as the older couple moved away, then explained where he’d been seated and requested the bill.

  The younger woman smiled politely, then tapped on the register.

  Gwen winced as the familiar tingles of paranoia lifted the fine hairs on her arms and neck. She scanned the room in search of someone looking her way, but the lively crowd was lost to itself, tuned in to a hundred different conversations that had nothing to do with her or her problems.

  “It looks like your bill has been paid,” the cashier said brightly.

  “What?” Lucas asked. “By who?”

  The uneasy sensation of being watched rode over Gwen’s skin once more, and she clutched on to Lucas’s sleeve for support.

  “Are you sure you’ve got the right table?” Lucas asked, a clear measure of disbelief in his tone. “We were alone in the corner booth.”

  “Positive,” the cashier said pertly. “There’s even a note in the register’s memo. Must’ve been a friend. It says, ‘Welcome Home.’”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lucas felt his jaw lock and his senses heighten. He reached for Gwen on instinct, setting a protective palm over her hand, resting on his sleeve. “Can you remember what the person who paid this bill looked like?” he asked, reaching into his pocket for the badge he rarely went anywhere without. “This is important, so think carefully.” He presented the badge, and the cashier’s eyes widened.

  “No. It wasn’t me,” she said.

  “Then who?” Lucas demanded. If he had a chance at finding this alleged friend, time was of the essence, and the cashier was wasting his.

  “Uhm.” She stared nervously at the cash register’s computer screen, her round cheeks going red under pressure. “It was Thomas. Server nineteen.” She looked up proudly and clearly relieved. “We use our codes to access the register.”

  “Where’s Thomas now?” Lucas asked. “I need to speak with him.”

  “Okay.” The young woman backed away from the register and rose onto her toes. “He usually covers the back.”

  Gwen stepped closer, then sucked in a ragged breath, as if she’d temporarily forgotten to breathe.

  “There!” the cashier said. “Tall. Black hair. Brown eyes.” She thrust a hand over her head and waved. “Thomas!”

  Lucas leaned his head closer to Gwen’s while he tracked Thomas visually through the room. “You’re all right,” he promised her. “I’ve got you.”

  She nodded quickly and seemed to struggle to swallow.

  Lucas flashed his badge again as Thomas approached.

  The server was lean and young, likely just old enough to handle the alcohol he served. He’d threaded his way through the crowd with ease and agility. An athlete, likely. And based on his posture and expression, a cocky one.

  Thomas cast a wary gaze at the girl behind the counter. “What’s up?” he asked, dragging his attention from her to Lucas. “I do something wrong?”

  “No.” Lucas motioned to the register. “I’d like a description of the person who paid our bill.”

  Thomas stepped around to the register and examined the screen. “Corner booth. Sliders and fries.” He looked up with a frown. “Sorry, man. I barely looked at that guy.”

  Not surprising on a night as busy as this. “How long ago did he pay?” Lucas asked. “Was it in cash? Did he use a card?” Lucas nearly snorted at the absurdity. If the bill-payer was up to no good, as suspected, he wouldn’t have used a credit card. Unless it was stolen, or the user was stupid. Lucas wasn’t that lucky.

  And if they were truly dealing with Gwen’s attacker, he wasn’t that stupid.

  “He gave me cash,” Thomas said, projecting his voice above the crowd. “Maybe ten minutes ago. Told me to keep the change. I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t, and it’s crazy busy. Now, if you’ll—”

  “No,” Lucas said, widening his stance and pressing his palm onto the counter between them. “I need a description of the man who paid this bill. You can tell me here or at the station.”

  Thomas smacked his lips. “Man, I didn’t do anything wrong, but I’m about to be fired if I—”

  “Get arrested?” Lucas asked. “Please, check the time stamp. I want to know how long ago this man was here. Did you see him leave?”

  Thomas shook his head, forcing his attention back to the register. “Says seven twelve, and no, I didn’t see him leave. In case you haven’t noticed, this place is packed. I’m barely keeping up, and leaving my area to come up here and pay your bill pulled me away from my tables. Now, I’m up here again, and I can’t help you.”

  Lucas glanced at his watch. Thomas had handled the bill nearly twenty minutes ago. Long enough for the person to be out of town by now. “Take a look around,” Lucas said, scanning the bar. “Do you see him? Was he with anyone when you spoke to him?”

  Thomas looked slowly around, his agitation turning to defeat. “Nah, man. I don’t see him. He was alone near the dartboard in back when he stopped me. I was rushing past with a big order. He put a wad of cash on my tray, told me what he wanted me to do and I agreed. That was it. I served the table, then came up here to pay your bill. After that, I got back to work. There’s nothing else to tell.”

  “He stopped you,” Lucas repeated, “gave you more work to do, a task that wasn’t your job and paid with a large sum of cash, but you can’t tell me what he looked like? You don’t know if he was Black or white? Hispanic or Asian? Short? Tall? Young? Old?”

  “He was old, all right?” Thomas said. “Probably thirty. He looked like all of you, decked out in our gear, coming back here for homecoming and trying to relive your college years.”

  Lucas sucked his teeth and forced himself not to argue that he was twenty-eight, not thirty, and neither age was old. Unless you were twenty-one, he supposed. He took another look at the crush of bodies in the popular pub. Thomas was right. At least half were clearly over twenty-five and most were wearing Bellemont College colors or jerseys. They really did all look alike. He tipped his head to motion Thomas away from the register. “Got any security cameras in here?”

  “Yeah.” He lifted a finger to indicate a single unit above the cash register. A place the man who paid their bill had been careful not to go.

  “Thanks,” Lucas said, passing Thomas a few bucks for his time. Lucas had waited tables once, too, and he knew how important tips were to survival.

  Gwen’s grip on his arm loosened, and she backed away. “What now?” she asked, shoving her hands into her pockets.

  “Now, we get you home,” Lucas said, scanning the crowd for anyone who seemed especially interested in them. “There’s no one else to talk to here. We know whoever paid our bill didn’t go to the register. And I’ve got no description, other than old.” He slid a sideways look in her direction, and her lips curved up on one side.

  “I don’t think you’re old,” she said.

 
“That’s because I’ve only got a year on you.” He left his card on the counter with the cashier, then led Gwen back onto the sidewalk. “I think you should stay at my place tonight,” he said, once they were free of the music and gonging mashup of sounds.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I have work tomorrow morning, and I never miss. The last thing I need is to alert anyone at the office that something might be wrong.”

  He stifled the urge to remind her that something was definitely wrong, and she had no reason to try to hide it. “Then you should consider letting me stay with you. Either way, I don’t think you should be alone tonight. We’ve confirmed you’re being followed, and I’m willing to bet this guy isn’t overjoyed to see you with another man, or a cop. Since I check both of those boxes, there could be a problem.”

  Gwen shivered. “We can go to my house.”

  Lucas drove Gwen back to the police station parking lot, then followed her home at precisely the speed limit. Him in his new extended cab black pickup with a local PD sticker in the window. Her in her nondescript, plain as hell gray sedan. They turned off the main road through her town and into an older neighborhood with compact, nearly utilitarian homes lining each side of every street. Cookie-cutter boxes with postage-stamp yards and limited privacy, short of shutting all the blinds.

  Gwen’s home was sandwiched between two white single-story cottages on a cul-de-sac. Hers was a cheery yellow number with white shutters, a red door and security cameras everywhere.

  She pulled into the attached one-car garage, then motioned him to follow once he’d parked in the drive.

  She ducked her head shyly when he met her in the small space, then pressed a button on the wall, closing the garage door before unlocking the door to her home.

  Gwen turned the lock on the knob behind them, then flipped two dead bolts and secured a chain before entering a code to stop the wailing security alarm. She waited, frozen, staring at the screen until a row of green numbers appeared beside the word SECURE.

  With the alarm silenced, Gwen headed for the kitchen. “Can I get you something? Water or coffee?”

  “Water is fine,” he said, taking a turn around the home’s living space.

  The decor was simple and tidy. White everything, with an occasional blue-patterned pillow, strategically placed silver centerpiece or a leafy green plant to break up the monotony. The result was attractive, intentional and devoid of personality. Like a magazine cover. Staged, but not lived in.

  Each room opened to the next in a typical, continuous plan. The kitchen flowed into an eating space that spilled left into a family room and right into a formal dining area, which Gwen had set up as an office. The living room and office were connected by a small foyer and hall which he assumed led to the bedrooms. “You have a nice place.”

  “Thank you.”

  The sounds of cupboard doors, clinking glasses and jostling ice cubes drifted through the space to his ears.

  “Everything here is original,” she called. “It’s got good bones, and I knew I had to have it the moment the Realtor pulled into the drive. The place needed a lot of TLC back then, but I’ve been diligent. Refinishing woodwork, repairing crown molding, cabinets and floors. Pretty much anything the previous owners didn’t get to. It’s been a great experience, and I’m nearly done.”

  Lucas nodded to himself as he returned to her. Home restoration was a great way to pass a lot of time alone. “You were going to be an engineer,” he said, watching as she approached, a glass in each hand.

  “Life happened,” she said, remorsefully. “I was going to be a lot of things.”

  Like his wife, he thought, uselessly angry again at what the actions of one monster had done to two futures. “Thanks.” He accepted the water and sipped.

  Gwen returned to the kitchen and stopped at an old landline telephone and answering machine combo. She pressed a blinking button on the answering machine, and a mechanical voice announced two new messages.

  “Hello,” a female voice greeted. “This is Dr. Maslow’s office calling to confirm your appointment—”

  Gwen pressed another button, moving quickly to the next message.

  “Hey. Gwen. It’s Collin,” a friendly man’s voice said. “I was thinking about that rain check and wondering what you think of dinner at—”

  Gwen interrupted the second message like the first. She glanced at Lucas, looking suddenly as uncomfortable in her home as she had in the bar.

  “You keep a landline?” Lucas asked. “Not a popular convention these days.” Though he suspected he knew why it appealed to Gwen. Landlines were more reliable than cell phones when calling for emergency services, and a cell signal blocker couldn’t stop a landline call. For someone still recovering emotionally from an attack, like Gwen clearly was, a secondary form of communication probably seemed wise. Comforting, at least.

  Her cell phone hadn’t helped her before.

  “The landline came with the house.” She shrugged. “It’s convenient and always charged. Plus I never have to go hunting for it.”

  “All true,” Lucas said, then watched as her smile faded, having never truly reached her eyes.

  “And the security system uses it.”

  He set his water aside, thoughts running back to the messages that had been waiting for her. “You have a doctor’s appointment. Are you feeling okay?”

  “Therapist,” she said softly. “I started seeing someone again a few weeks ago when the feelings of being watched grew unusually persistent. I thought I was relapsing. It was scary.”

  “Understandable,” Lucas said. “You were smart to set up the appointments. Everyone needs someone to talk to.” He tried not to wonder who her confidant was now, and if she talked to the man from the messages the way she used to talk to him.

  Gwen climbed onto a stool at the kitchen island and cradled her glass between her palms. “Go on. Ask whatever you need to. I want to help you figure out what’s going on here, however I can. It’s been a while since I opened up about my life, but I’m going to do my best. I know it’s important that you get all the facts, and that I’m as honest as possible with my answers. We need to know who’s following me and why.”

  He took the seat beside her and tapped his thumbs against the table’s edge. “How many people know where you live?” he began. “How many have been here? And how many of them have come inside with you after being away?”

  “How many people have seen me disable my alarm?” she asked. “How many might have memorized the code as I typed it? None.”

  “Good,” he said. “How many have been inside, seen your layout and the security measures in place?”

  “Three,” she said easily, releasing her glass in favor of crossing her arms. “My mother, my father and Marina from my office.”

  Lucas felt his brows raise. “In all the years since you moved in, only three people have come over to visit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. What about neighbors and friends? Anyone you’ve told about your attack or your recent feelings of being followed? Anyone your stalker might go to for information on you? Or someone he might use as a way to hurt you?”

  Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t flinch. “No. Everyone on my street keeps to themselves, and I’m not especially close to anyone. I don’t talk about what I’ve been through outside of therapy. There’s no reason to relive it more than I already do, and I don’t want the pity that inevitably comes when people learn that I’m a victim.”

  “Were,” Lucas said, feeling the familiar knot of regret and empathy in his core.

  “What?”

  “You were a victim. Once. Six years ago. You aren’t a victim anymore,” he assured her. He wouldn’t allow her to be.

  Gwen’s lips tugged into a small, sad smile. “You’re wrong.”

  “I’m not,” he said, resolve rising in him. He
hadn’t been able to stop her from becoming a victim before, but that was a lifetime ago, in a world where they were getting married and he was going to be an architect. Her attacker had shattered those dreams, and Lucas was left alone to pick up the pieces. He made a damn good special victim’s detective from the rubble, and he was going to make sure Gwen’s stalker regretted ever targeting her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Gwen woke before dawn, eager to get outside for a run. She swung her feet out from beneath her covers, and the events of the previous day rushed back to her with a snap.

  There wouldn’t be a run in the park this morning. Not with someone following her, and Luke Winchester in her guest room. Lucas, she reminded herself once more. He went by Lucas now. A more grown-up name for the more grown-up man. One with all the heart and compassion she’d once loved, packed into a more-mature and slightly brooding, but equally attractive, package.

  She rubbed her forehead to clear her thoughts, then shuffled toward her dresser in search of an outfit. Having Lucas in the next room, in her new life, was confusing and complicated enough without thinking about his handsome face or soulful eyes. Never mind the intense compassion he still had in spades. Her addled, sleepy mind thought that maybe being near him again was worth the tension of being followed for a little while.

  A good sign she needed coffee. And a run.

  Lucas had fallen in love with a whimsical young college student, and Gwen was officially an uptight, no-nonsense hermit. The attraction these days could only run one way. She was lucky he’d agreed to help at all after she’d shown up at his precinct, without invitation or notice.

  Gwen dressed for a date with her treadmill, then headed to the kitchen for some much-needed caffeine.

  “Morning,” Luke said, startling her as she exited her bedroom. His smile was warm and his hair mussed. He was dressed nearly identical to her, in black running pants and matching long-sleeved top. “I keep a gym bag in my truck,” he said, apparently noticing her staring. “Sometimes I work out at the precinct.”