One-Click Buy: February 2010 Harlequin Blaze

by Betina Krahn

  Giving in to boldness had led to a relationship with Tyler. With him, she was pretending to be the woman she’d longed to turn into. If she continued on that road, would she be adventurous permanently? Would forbidden fantasies be a regular occurrence?

  Shaking her head at her crazy ideas, at thinking she could turn a wild fling into something more, she followed Aqua, Sloan and Sister Mary Katherine down the hall. After a brief knock on the door, Aqua strode into the office.

  The two men inside, faced with a nun, a librarian, a historian, a dispatcher and a peach pie, had the only legitimate reaction available. They dropped their jaws.

  Sloan propped her hand on her shapely hip. “Easy, boys. The Calvary is here.”

  “And we brought pie,” Andrea added lamely.

  To her surprise, Tyler moved toward her and folded her into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  He really was amazing.

  It seemed impossible they’d been together less than a week. The distant fantasy she’d had in high school felt like another life, another guy. She knew Tyler inside now, and she liked him more as each layer was revealed. He wasn’t perfect, yet he was.

  But she worried she’d never be enough for him. Until recently, she never would have had the courage to live out her sensual fantasies. She lived in the past much of the time. She plodded along, watching, cataloging, assessing the treasures of others.

  With a thief on the loose and an election hanging in the balance, though, her self-evaluation would have to wait. “You guys might want to know that the press corps is gathered outside.”

  Sloan examined her nails. “Jerry Mescle and Clyde do not make a corps.”

  “I’ll have a talk with them later,” the sheriff said, then smiled fiercely.

  Andrea doubted the sheriff would have to say a word. That intense, blue-eyed stare would be enough to scare off the National Guard.

  “Besides,” Tyler began, “we have bigger issues to deal with. Namely, the city council’s office, the mayor’s office, community safety groups, neighborhood watch leaders and randomly annoyed islanders, all of whom have expressed concern about our ability to maintain law and order.”

  Andrea wanted to say something to comfort him, mostly private things. She settled with the reason for their visit. “Then it’s probably good we’ve formed a task force.”

  Tyler grinned.

  The sheriff groaned.

  “Unofficially,” Andrea added, casting a look at Sloan.

  Sloan simply stared at her father.

  After a moment or two of this silent battle, he sighed. “We might as well go into the break room. There’s a conference table in there.”

  Sister Mary Katherine, still holding the pie, smiled benignly and led the way.

  Gathered with coffee and pie, Tyler brought everybody up to date on the case developments, including Dwayne finally locating Mrs. Jackson’s pool boy, who he was interviewing now. Nobody seemed to think the easygoing surfer would have anything to add, though.

  The boot print found at the church seemed likely to belong to the custodian, who admitted he owned a pair of work boots and had been fixing a crack in the sidewalk near the garden, likely the source of the mud.

  There were no leads at the pawnshops, no witnesses coming forward. Tyler and the sheriff were both puzzled about the lack of evidence in all three cases. Even on such a small, close-knit island, nobody saw anything, heard anything or seemed to know anything about the thefts. The state crime lab was still working on fingerprint and fiber evidence from the church, so they were hopeful they’d have some leads next week.

  “Of course by that time he might have already stolen the mayor’s silverware right out of his hand during dinner,” Tyler said.

  “He’s fast,” Sloan said, drumming her fingernails on the table. “I’ll give him that.”

  “What does the mayor say when he calls?” Andrea asked.

  “It’s not content,” Tyler returned. “It’s quantity. He calls about once an hour for updates.”

  The sheriff polished off his pie and leaned back in his chair. “The mayor needs to go back to the golf course where he belongs and let us do our jobs.”

  Tyler nodded. “He did. He called last hour from the fifth tee.”

  Sloan looked annoyed. “He could at least answer some of the panicked calls and reassure people.”

  “Everyone serves to their strengths,” Sister Mary Katherine said with quiet authority.

  “No disrespect, Sister,” the sheriff put in, “but you haven’t seen the mayor’s lousy putting.”

  Andrea rose to refill everyone’s coffee cups. “So, it’s up to us.”

  “Any new developments on your end?” Tyler asked her.

  “I put out the alert for the chalice, and my friends, even with their—” she sent a cautious look at the sister “—flexible moral codes, were very disturbed by a stolen church relic.”

  The sheriff studied her. “You’re the fraud specialist?”

  Andrea returned to her seat. “Yes, sir.” Clearly, she’d surprised the sheriff. He only knew her as Sloan’s quiet, nerdy friend, after all. “If any of the stolen items are sold, I’ll hear about it.”

  “What if they’re not sold?” Sloan asked.

  Tyler shrugged. “Why steal if you’re not going to profit?”

  “There are people who just like to take things,” Sister Mary Katherine pointed out. “Lost souls.”

  Aqua, who’d silently been taking notes on her laptop the entire time, stopped typing. “You might take something for revenge. When I caught my ex with another chick at a nightclub in Charleston, I stole the tires off his car.”

  The room went silent.

  “I’m not sure I remember that on your résumé,” the sheriff said, rubbing his chin.

  Nonchalantly, Aqua resumed typing. “I gave them back. I just put them on his porch instead of on his car.”

  The sister clicked her tongue in admonishment. “Aqua, don’t you think you could have come up with a more peaceful solution?”

  “That was peaceful, Sister. I wanted to shoot the tires. And him.”

  “Aqua has a point,” Andrea said, trying to shift the focus back to the case. If the good sister launched into one of her “do unto others” lessons, the meeting was going to run a little long. “Maybe the thief has somehow been wronged by the victims?”

  “That brings us back to the sheriff’s idea that we need to find a connection between the victims,” Tyler said.

  The sheriff lifted his mug. “It makes sense in a serial case.”

  “They all attend the church,” the sister said.

  “Like most of the island,” Tyler reminded her.

  Unfortunately, nobody could think of another commonality between the stolen pieces or their owners, except that the items were all silver—if only in color in the case of the trophy—and all gone without a trace.

  The tea set and chalice were priceless and had historical significance to the island. The trophy worthless except as a symbol of victory.

  Symbols? Did all three of the items represent some as yet unknown desire? History? Faith? Cups to drink out of?

  And the victims. What about them?

  They were a rich elderly lady, a maniac volleyball captain and the church. How did they—

  Andrea halted her thoughts. Hang on. Two rich, elderly ladies’ homes had been broken into. The trophy belonged to Cal Wells, but the house was owned by his mother.

  So how did the church fit? Other than being the ladies’ choice of worship, it didn’t. The property and buildings were owned by the Catholic Church, not one individual.

  Still, the Church itself was well-off. It seemed disrespectful to say “rich,” since their budget was reserved for worship and community service, but there were those who might resent the power and money. Hadn’t arguments over faith toppled governments, aristocracies and led to long, bloody wars throughout history?

  “Maybe it’s about money,” she found he
rself saying.

  “So why take Cal’s worthless volleyball trophy?” Sloan asked reasonably.

  “Maybe it isn’t the items but the victims,” Andrea said. “They all have money. Maybe the thief resents power and wealth.”

  Tyler cleared his throat. “There’s certainly a link between the women and the church.”

  “It seems to be the only link,” the sheriff said, clearly frustrated.

  Andrea swallowed, knowing only too well about a link between Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Wells. “They both get meals delivered a couple times a week from the church.”

  Sitting beside Andrea, Sloan linked their hands. “Nobody thinks Finn is responsible for this.”

  Both Tyler and Sister Mary Katherine smiled confidently.

  “But we have to add Finn to the mix,” Aqua said, ever blunt. “The thief wanted him to get blamed. So the thief has to know him.”

  “Or at least know of him,” Tyler added.

  “And if this guy resents money, he’s on the wrong island,” Sloan said, frowning. “We barely have property that isn’t beachfront.”

  “It could be an outsider,” Aqua said.

  “Who knew about the sacraments closet at the church?” Tyler shook his head. “Not likely.”

  “So it’s an islander who’s taking the symbols of wealth?” Andrea ventured. “What about Lester Cradock?” She’d long been concerned about the timing and the election. “He’s an activist. You said so yourself, Tyler.”

  “He certainly wouldn’t mind disrupting the election,” Sloan said in agreement.

  “But the trophy still doesn’t fit,” Aqua argued.

  Tyler and the sheriff exchanged a look. “We could run him, just in case. Especially since nothing seems to fit all the facts.”

  “But something does,” the sheriff said, rising.

  His height and imposing presence always commanded a room. Today, Andrea felt his comfort. And his determination.

  This was the man Tyler would be. Not the same, since Tyler was more easygoing. His strength was more understated, his fierceness usually covered with charm. But the respect and confidence was the same. The islanders would value him, and he would always present himself with self-assurance.

  Between Tyler, the sheriff and the task force, this thief didn’t stand a chance.

  “Let’s draw up a plan for dealing with the immediate issues,” the sheriff continued. “The evidence is still comin’ in. We’re bound to get a break.”

  There was a rushed but decisive discussion on holding a town hall meeting to answer questions and calm the residents’ fears.

  The sheriff nodded. “Excellent idea. Tyler, you’ll take the lead.”

  “I—” A rapid battle of pleasure and panic crossed Tyler’s face, one Andrea was sure only she understood the full depths of. “I’d be honored,” he said finally.

  As the summit ended, everyone was given an area of responsibility to deal with and report back on.

  Sister Mary Katherine was in charge of organizing the neighborhood watch groups. Sloan and her historical society members were going house to house to warn owners of other island treasures that might be at risk and offer to store the items in the bank’s vault. Aqua offered to go through the call log over the last few months to see if anyone had called with a complaint about seeing anything or anyone out of place in the weeks leading up to each theft.

  Andrea was asked to research the stolen items, where and when they were made, who’d owned them, their insurance policies and estimate a current dollar value.

  In absentia, Dwayne was put in charge of documentation, and Tyler and Sheriff Caldwell vowed to handle strategy and were cocaptains of the investigation. So as everyone trickled out, and the sheriff left to “talk” to the press—after which he was going to Mabel’s to thank her for the pie—Andrea found herself alone with Tyler.

  He sat on the conference table and drew her between his legs. His thoughts had to be on the case, but his eyes burned with an intensity that jumped into a more personal area.

  “It’s a good plan,” she said, still unsure of his mood.

  “Mmm.” He tugged her closer, kissing the side of her neck. “We’ll find the guy.”

  “So you’re not worried about closing the case?”

  His lips trailed toward her ear. “No.”

  “Or the election?”

  He flicked his tongue against her earlobe. “No way.”

  Desire shot through her body.

  Maybe she didn’t have to plod today. Enjoying him before she left for London, and he simply lost interest in her, was important.

  So, outside the commitment of a belly-button ring like Aqua’s, but somewhere near the concept of sex in a squad car, she could be a bit wild. For now.

  She laid her hands on his shoulders, reconsidered, but then sent one of them southward.

  Hardening instantly, he sucked in a breath.

  “I’ve been thinking about fantasies,” she said softly, stroking him.

  “Yeah?” His voice was little more than a squeak.

  “Remember how we broke several traffic laws in the squad car last night?”

  His erection pulsed. “Vividly.”

  “Well, there’s another one where I get naked in the sheriff’s office.”

  “We’re not in the sheriff’s office.”

  She grabbed the hem of her sundress and lifted it over her head. “Then we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.”

  13

  THE NEXT WEEK PASSED in a blur.

  The state crime lab had processed the evidence from the cases, but unfortunately no one had the urge to say By jove, I think we’ve got it!

  Come to think of it, Andrea couldn’t think of many places where that would be an appropriate phrase to use. Maybe the Theatre Royal in London.

  The task force met every night to discuss case developments, strategies and rumors. Kirk, the pool guy, was eliminated officially, since he had a rock-solid alibi for the days surrounding the theft at the church—he’d been in Myrtle Beach for a surfing competition. After winning, he’d used his celebration time to accept free drinks from various fans, who were only too happy to supply details of the bar and hotel room crawl.

  Personally, Andrea could have lived without the details, especially since she didn’t find anything to surpass her recent tendency to act out her sexual fantasies with Tyler.

  Aqua and Dwayne followed up on the financial status and whereabouts of Simon Iverson, Mrs. Jackson’s nephew, plus Cal Wells and Roger Bampton. Iverson was vaguely “at home alone” on each of the nights. Did he not have a social life, or was there more to see with him? He was doing okay financially, but they’d uncovered an extravagant purchase of a sixty-eight-foot yacht, which had seriously cut into his savings.

  Interestingly, neither Wells nor Bampton had substantiated alibis for any of the nights. Could Wells have stolen his own trophy to divert suspicion away from himself? Had Roger Bampton taken the loss of the volleyball championship so hard he’d stolen the trophy? And why would either man take the tea set or the chalice? They were both very well-off financially.

  Lester Cradock did have a solid alibi for at least two of the thefts—he’d been leading gun-control rallies at the state capitol in Columbia.

  After the town hall meeting, the newspaper had again printed a story designed to ignite the island to riot status. While no one took things that seriously, Jerry Mescle’s exaggerated writing had driven people to pick up the phone and call the sheriff’s office, delaying progress in the already-bogged-down investigation.

  Still, there were quite a few supporters who’d attended Tyler’s campaign rally last night. At Andrea’s suggestion, and given the vitriolic atmosphere, she’d suggested food-based giveaways. So the free pie, courtesy of Gilda, plus the free fried chicken, courtesy of Mabel, and the coffee bar/real bar had both been hits—particularly since they’d served the statewide vodka-infused phenomenon known as Firefly Sweet Tea.

  It tasted li
ke Granny’s traditionally iced and sugared concoction until the consumers found their heads spinning in a way their elders probably never intended. But it made for a great party.

  The stories of the thefts were the talk of the island with a single exception. Everyone was twittering to report a previously impossible turn of events—Misty and Dwayne were dating.

  They’d shown up Friday night at Coconut Joe’s without Jack, sharing virgin piña coladas and a shrimp dip appetizer, then enjoying Joe’s famous fried flounder. Saturday night they’d returned with Jack, and following dinner the trio had walked into the sunset on the beach below.

  Andrea doubted Jerry was planning a story about romantic happy endings.

  “Andrea?”

  Turning from the balcony, she walked into her bedroom. A familiar sight greeted her—bare-chested and dark hair rumpled, Tyler was propped on one elbow and looking at her with a sleepy, confused expression.

  “Did the phone ring?” he asked.

  “No.” Amazed as always to find him more and more attractive, she sat on the bed beside him. “I just woke up early. I was thinking about the case.”

  After linking their fingers, he flopped back onto the pillows. “Isn’t it Saturday?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m not on duty?”

  “No.”

  Tugging her on top of him, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled her beneath him in the space of a heartbeat. “Then there are much more interesting things to do than think.”

  He parted her robe and skimmed his lips across the bare skin he exposed. As his lips closed over her nipple, she arched her back and pressed her hands against his shoulders.

  Her pulse blasted off as desire surged through her.

  He could do that with a look or a word. His touch was almost too much.

  She had no idea how she’d find level ground again. Everything was centered on him, the pleasure he brought, the hope and hunger that blossomed in her chest.

  With lots of practice, he rolled on a condom, never stopping in the laving kisses at her breast. He was an amazing multitasker, she decided, her breathing reduced to pants.