by Kali Argent
Phone pressed to his ear, he strode out of the conference room, his expression tense, his eyes narrowed.
“He looks pissed,” Sawyer commented.
“Girl trouble.” Tieran Mercier was the only person still seated, and he didn’t appear to be in a hurry to leave.
Lounging back in his chair, he propped his booted feet up on the table and folded his arms over his chest, making his leather jacket creak. His dark hair stood in mock disarray, each spike carefully arranged and held in place with copious amounts of gel. He had not giving a fuck down to a science, but there was always a gleam in his whiskey-colored eyes, like he knew a secret he’d never tell.
“He’s seeing someone?” Rayce hadn’t heard anything, but then again, Ryder wasn’t really into sharing.
“Dunno.”
“But you said…”
Tieran spared him a bored glance. “It’s always a girl, cher,” he drawled, his Cajun accent just a little thicker than usual.
Maybe he’d been home to visit his family in Louisiana for the holidays.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Rayce mumbled under his breath. Speaking of which, he had a phone call to make, and he didn’t want an audience for the amount of groveling he was about to do. “I have places to be.” He tipped an imaginary hat to his colleagues. “Gentleman.”
“Hey, where’s Colt?” Sawyer asked just as Rayce reached the door.
“In court,” Asher answered, his tone subdued. “The Emma Dalton case.”
Rayce paused, his fingers clenched around the door handle, and closed his eyes for just a moment before exiting the room. Besides home security and personal protection, WSS also offered investigative services. They took on the occasional infidelity case, but most work of that nature came from divorce attorneys and involved complicated prenups. They performed a lot of background checks for business across the state, and even investigated suspicious injury claims for insurance companies.
Every once in a while, someone came to them desperate to find a loved one long after the file had been buried by new cases at the police department. Rayce didn’t like those cases, and he never volunteered for them. Finding any information months after the leads had gone cold always proved to be an exercise in frustration, but mostly, he knew those cases never ended well.
Emma Dalton had been just eight years old when she’d vanished from the park across the street from her suburban home. The police had turned over every stone and questioned every neighbor, dog walker, and passing pedestrian, but there had been nothing to find. Three months after her disappearance, her parents had arrived in the office, tearful and exhausted.
Three other agencies had turned them away after looking over Emma’s case file, but not Dominic.
The seventh member of the ARIES team, Colton Forbes, had volunteered to take the assignment, and he’d spent every waking moment pouring over the details. He must have walked that playground a thousand times and talked to hundreds of different people, and his dedication had eventually proven successful.
As Rayce had expected, the story hadn’t ended with a happy reunion. With the trial wrapping up soon, he hoped Emma’s family could find closure and some small measure of peace. People often said not knowing was the worst torture. Somehow, he doubted that.
Entering the empty reception area, Rayce went directly to one of the blue, vinyl chairs in the corner and pulled up Phoebe’s number on his list of contacts. He hated canceling on her, but he hoped she’d be understanding.
“Hello?”
Surprised she’d answered at all, let alone on the first ring, Rayce mentally blanked for a heartbeat. “Phoebe?”
“It’s my phone. Who else would it be?”
She had a point. “It’s Rayce.”
“Obviously.”
“Is this a bad time?” He could hear smatterings of conversation in the background, as well as a barking dog and what he thought might be a car horn.
“Not at all. I’m just on my way home after having coffee with Elena and her brother.”
“Okay, I’ll let you go so you can concentrate on the road. Call me when you get home.”
Phoebe laughed. “I’m walking, so I think we’re safe. So, what’s up? Are you calling to cancel our date?”
Rayce rested his elbow on his knee and dropped his forehead into his palm. “I’m sorry, sugar. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“Oh.” She managed to fit a whole lot of disappointment into that one word. “What happened?” she asked, trying to sound upbeat, but not really succeeding. “Did you decide I was too crazy after all?”
He hated when she talked about herself that way, but this time, he decided to ignore it. “WSS is providing security for some big to-do on Saturday. The boss man just decided that he wants the whole team there tomorrow at six to go over exit routes and test some of the new equipment.”
“Well, how inconsiderate of him.”
The relief in her voice was so palpable, Rayce could practically feel it over the line. “I couldn’t agree more. I really am sorry, Phoebe.”
“That’s okay. I’m…I’m free tonight.”
Rayce mentally pumped his fist into the air. “I’m free after seven. Lady’s choice. Whatever you want.”
“Actually, would you mind if we hung out at my place? I’ll make dinner, and we could watch a movie.” She spoke quickly, her words tumbling over one another. “I know it’s boring, and probably not an appropriate first date, but—”
“That sounds perfect,” he said, interrupting her rambling. “What do you want me to bring?”
“I think I have everything. I guess if you want beer, you should bring that. I wouldn’t even know what to buy.”
“Okay, sugar. It’ll take me about twenty minutes to shower and change, and another thirty to drive across the bridge. Let’s say around eight?”
“Eight sounds good.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“Oh, Rayce?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not a serial killer or anything, right?”
He didn’t laugh. “I would never hurt you, Phoebe,” he answered, hoping she heard the sincerity and conviction in his voice. “Not ever.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Phoebe groaned when the doorbell rang at precisely eight o’clock that evening.
“Shit, shit, shit.” With thick, red oven mitts covering her hands, she waved them frantically in front of the open door of the oven, trying to fan away the thick smoke. “Just a minute!” she called. “Be right there.”
She knew better than to try to cook anything while she was writing. After she’d put the chicken into the oven and set the timer, she’d returned to her office, intending to just finish up her current scene, then shower and change before Rayce arrived. An hour later, she still hadn’t showered or changed, hadn’t put on any makeup, and she’d brought the apocalypse down on her rosemary chicken.
“Phoebe, is everything okay?”
“Fine! Just fine!”
The more she fanned at the smoke, the worse it became, rolling out of the oven in black, acrid clouds that obscured her vision and made her cough. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, the smoke detector beeped twice, then blared out its warning in loud, high-pitched screeches that hurt her ears.
The front door banged open, the boom barely audible over the rhythmic wail of the alarm, and Rayce rushed into the kitchen. “Phoebe, get out of here. Go out on the deck. Leave the doors open.”
“I need to get the chicken.” The smoke would never dissipate if she left the chicken in the oven.
“Forget the damn chicken!” Rayce barked. “Get outside, now.”
Ignoring him, she reached into the oven, gripped both ends of the glass baking pan, and lifted the chicken off the rack. Carefully, she carried it around the island and through the living room to the doors that opened onto the deck. Rayce rushed ahead of her to slide the glass doors open, his face a hard mask of disapproval.
While
she hurried outside with the lump of charcoal that had once been a bird, Rayce pressed a single button on the control panel positioned on the wall next to the patio doors. Instantly, the smoke detector quieted, though Phoebe’s ears continued to ring. If she’d been thinking clearly, she’d have remembered her smoke detectors were connected to her security alarm. The bypass button had been included on the control panel for just such a situation.
“Thank you,” she mumbled. “That’s much better.”
The temperatures had dropped since nightfall, and an involuntary shiver rippled down her spine as tiny goosebumps sprouted over her skin. Unfortunately, she hadn’t considered the cold when she’d rushed outside with a searing hot, glass pan.
The dish snapped right in half, the sound like a gunshot in the night. The ruined chicken fell to the deck and rolled across the stained wood. The small amount of bubbling chicken stock that had managed to survive the disaster splashed over her chest and stomach, burning her skin through her thin T-shirt.
“Fuck!” she screamed, throwing the broken pieces of the baking dish to the deck.
“Damn it, Phoebe.” Marching over to her, Rayce gripped the hem of the pink cotton and jerked it up over her head. “Be still. Let me look at it.”
As his fingertip brushed lightly over a splotch of angry, red skin on the swell of her left, she became acutely aware that she was wearing nothing but a white lace bra and a skimpy pair of sleep shorts. The pain had already begun to subside, giving way to crushing humiliation.
“I’m okay,” she mumbled.
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I don’t think you need a doctor.” With a heavy sigh, he slid his fingers through her hair to cradle the back of her head, then pulled her against his chest. “I have some burn cream in my pickup.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll get it while you change.”
He smelled so good, like musk and spice, and the feel of his fingers in her hair sent a ripple of pleasure down her spine. She didn’t want to move, not yet, but propriety and practicality overcame her selfish desires.
“Okay. Yeah.”
She followed Rayce to the front door, then turn right, navigating the hallway to her bedroom. This would, without a doubt, go down as the worst first date in the history of time. How she’d managed to turn on the broiler instead of preheating the oven, she didn’t know, but she was lucky she hadn’t burned down her entire house. Maybe she should just send him home and try again another time when she wasn’t drowning in embarrassment.
Standing in the middle of the walk-in closet with her hands on her hips, she thought about selecting something date-appropriate. Maybe a casual dress or a nice blouse. Nothing would salvage the night, though, so instead, she opted for a pair of burgundy joggers, a stretchy sports bra, and a thin, black sweater with a fleece lining that wouldn’t irritate her burns.
Rayce was already sitting at the island in the kitchen when she emerged, a first-aid kit opened on the countertop. The smoke had been whisked outside through the patio doors, but the stench of burned chicken still lingered in the air, tickling her nose and making her eyes water.
“Come here,” Rayce said, pushing out the stool beside him with his foot. “Let’s see it,” he added once she’d hoisted herself up on the chair.
Hooking her fingers into the collar of the sweater, she tugged at the stretchy material. “I’m so sorry about all of this.”
“What do you mean?” Gently, he coated her injury with a thick, opaque salve, spreading it around in circles with the pad of his thumb. “I’ve been here ten minutes, and I’ve already made it to second base.”
Her heart galloped, the vein in her neck pulsing with its wild rhythm, but she couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Well, there is that.”
“Best first date ever,” he confirmed. “Okay, let’s see your stomach.”
Standing, she lifted her sweater and leaned back slightly. The patch of red skin on her belly was bigger, but it didn’t sting as much. When Rayce touched her again, his fingers lightly pressed against her hip as he applied the gooey salve, her stomach fluttered, and her breath stuttered from her parted lips.
“All better,” he declared a moment later, sitting up on the barstool with a big smile. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do for the chicken, though. He’s definitely a goner.”
He’d worn a lightweight sweater in a shade of deep chocolate that matched his eyes. The material clung to him like a second skin, stretching across his broad shoulders and molding to his hard muscles. His wavy hair fell around his face to brush the curve of his jaw, the strands gleaming in the fluorescent lights overhead. Heaven above, he was gorgeous, and he looked so out of place in her homey kitchen.
“You’re looking at me weird.”
Phoebe shook her head. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re still here.”
His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head to the side. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No, but most guys would have run screaming into the night after a scene like that.”
He gave her that special smile that always seemed to stop her heart. “I’m not most guys, sugar. It’s going to take a lot more than some burned chicken and first-degree burns to scared me away.”
Funny enough, she believed him. “Speaking of the chicken, that was dinner. So…now what?”
“Do you like pizza?”
“Of course, but delivery takes forever.”
“Then, let’s go get it.” When she didn’t agree right away, he rested his hands on her hips and stared at her with those big, soulful eyes. “I’ll throw in dessert.”
Phoebe pretended to think about it, but really, she could barely think at all when he looked her like that. “What kind of dessert?”
“Chocolate,” he answered at once. “Everything chocolate. All the chocolate.”
He was too much, but she adored his sense of humor. “Okay, Mr. Hawkins, you have yourself a deal.” She took a step back, forcing Rayce to drop his hands. “Just let me go change.”
“Why?”
Bless him, he looked genuinely confused. “Well, just look at me.” Her hair fell in tangled waves to the middle of her back, and she was wearing what amounted to pajamas. “I’m a hot mess.”
“I am looking at you.” The frown lines around his mouth deepened. “You look beautiful.”
Could the guy be any more perfect? “At least let me put on some shoes.”
He nodded once. “I’ll give the chicken a proper burial and lock up while you do that.”
Five minutes later, she stood in her driveway with Rayce, staring open-mouthed at his massive, black, Chevy Silverado. “That’s a lot of truck for one guy. You plan on moving a house anytime soon?”
“Shush, woman. I like my truck.”
Secretly, she liked it as well, but she enjoyed poking at him. “You’ll have to take me for a drive sometime.”
“I thought we were going for pizza?”
“We are, but it’s only four blocks that way.” She pointed to the east. “Seems silly to drive.”
“You’re not too cold?”
She adjusted the sleeves of the light jacket she’d grabbed while putting on her shoes. “I’ll be fine once we start walking.”
They strolled down her driveway to the sidewalk, following it around the corner to the main road through her neighborhood that would lead them to a small shopping center where the pizzeria was located. They didn’t speak for a while, but Phoebe found the silence comfortable rather than awkward.
As they neared the first intersection, she pulled her phone from the pocket of her jacket and brought up her text messages.
“What are you doing?”
“Texting Elena.” She saw no point in lying about it. “I told her you were coming over tonight. Now, I’m letting her know we’re going for pizza instead.”
“In case you don’t make it home,” he surmised.
“In case I don’t make it home.”
Rayce snorted and shook his h
ead. “You’ll text your friend, but you can’t be bothered to lock your front door.”
“I was home.”
“Which is even more reason to keep the doors locked and your security system armed.” He combed his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his face. “You still haven’t gotten those bars for the patio doors.”
She lived in the safest neighborhood on the planet. There had been no break-ins, assaults, or anything remotely dangerous in over nine years. Still, he had a point. As a single female living by herself, she should probably take her safety more seriously.
“I’ll look into it tomorrow,” she promised.
He nodded. “Lock your damn doors.”
She turned her head to hide her smile. “And I’ll lock my doors.”
Her phone chimed, and a notification appeared at the top of the screen, informing her she had a new email. Out of habit more than anything, he tapped her thumb to the banner. It started off simple enough, much like hundreds of other emails she’d received from readers.
This person loved her books, and looked forward to the next one. As the message continued, however, it became increasingly more personal. The reader felt he—or she—had a special connection with Phoebe, that they were kindred souls. Fate had led them to one another, but now, it was up to them. Oh, and maybe they could meet for coffee or lunch.
Shaken, but not wanting to add to the list of things that had gone wrong already, Phoebe closed out the application and shoved her phone back into her pocket. It wasn’t the first creepy email she’d received since she’d been published, and she doubted it would be the last. Some people just had no sense of the line between fiction and fantasy.
“Everything okay?”
“Yep, everything’s fine.”
As they walked, Rayce moved closer and took her hand, linking their fingers together. It felt nice, the warmth of his palm against hers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d held hands with someone, but she found she greatly enjoyed the simple gesture. More likely, it was less about the act and more about the man who had initiated it.
“Have you always lived in Texas?”
“For the most part,” he answered. “I was stationed in California for a while, and I spent some time overseas.”
