by Cherry Adair
“Sorry,” she said without so much as a hint of regret. “Mr. Shelton needed me.”
“Mr. Palmer wants to talk to you.”
Terri shrugged. “Whatever.”
Terri walked into Meghan’s office. Jack followed next, which was just fine because it gave Meghan a completely unobstructed view of his broad shoulders, tapered waist, and muscled thighs. The guy had a body to die for. Apt, since if he caught her gawking, she’d die of humiliation. Not a bad way to go, she decided as she plastered a bland expression on her face and took her place in her chair.
Jack moved to the edge of the desk, half-sitting, half-leaning, fully glaring. It took maybe a second for him to realize what Terri had been “helping” Sam with. Her hair was mussed, her pupils were dilated, and he could see the pulse at her throat still beating faster than it should.
“We’re going to talk about the employee lounge, Terri. Do you normally have to order sugar and sweetener at the same time?”
She shrugged. “Why?”
“Both boxes look relatively new.”
“I just reordered like a week ago. We go through the fake stuff pretty quickly, but I guess someone snagged all the sugar to bake or something because we ran out.”
He glanced over at Meghan and saw most of the color had drained from her face. Turning back to Meghan, he asked, “When did you realize the sugar was gone?”
“Miss Beckham put a note on my desk.”
“No one complained the day before?”
Terri shrugged. “No, which is freaky, because they always bitch—er—complain if something isn’t right.”
“Can you get me the purchase orders for the last six months?” he asked.
“Sure. They’re on my computer. It’ll take me a few minutes.” She got up and went toward the door.
“Close the door on your way out,” Meghan instructed.
Jack moved from the desk to the chair, then looked into Meghan’s troubled gray-blue eyes. “To quote your eloquent assistant, there’s something freaky going on.”
“I get where you’re going. You think someone managed to get into the break room and dump the sugar, forcing Santa to use the artificial sweetener—which was actually poison—killing him, right?”
“Something like that.”
He watched as she raked her fingers through her hair. Deep lines of concentration appeared on her forehead. “That’s a pretty elaborate scheme to kill a Santa, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Unless it wasn’t meant specifically for Santa but rather the first step in a fairly complicated plan.”
“I know retail, Jack, not this.” She pressed her fingertips into her temples. “Start at the beginning and walk me through it step by step.”
Since he wasn’t sure, he should have kept his suspicions to himself. For the first time, he read real fear in her eyes. A pang of guilt knotted his gut. He’d wanted her to take her personal security seriously, not scare her shitless. “I’m just sounding out a theory here, Meghan,” he said. “It might be nothing.”
She started to say something when the intercom buzzed. She smashed the button harder then necessary. “Yes?”
“Ms. Lewis is on line two. Do you want to talk to her?”
“Put her through, Terri.”
“Oh, and I have the stuff printing. Do you want me to bring it in?”
“Please,” Meghan answered as she lifted the receiver. “Hi, Jenna, how are you?”
While she was on the phone with her late father’s mistress, Jack kept working the hypothesis in his brain. Intuition told him the store was the key. It was the only thing that made sense. Assuming the accident was meant to get rid of Meghan and her brother, then the killer needed to finish the job without detection. But then his theory fell apart. How could the killer be assured that Santa would be the next person to go to the break room and use the tainted sweetener?
Unless Santa wasn’t the intended victim. He let out a breath and ran his palms over his eyes. His theory was falling apart even before Terri brought in the purchase orders he’d requested. Jack knew he was missing something—a crucial piece of the puzzle.
It didn’t help that the purchase orders confirmed his suspicions. Not once in the previous six-month period had Beckham’s ordered sweetener and sugar at the same time. He didn’t believe in coincidences, so he was back to someone staging the poisoning. “So what does that get me?”
“What?” Meghan asked as she placed the receiver back on its cradle.
“Just thinking out loud,” he replied, hoping he’d put a lightness in his tone that he wasn’t anywhere near feeling. “Problem?” he questioned, reading her expression.
“I’ve got a late dinner tonight.” She paused and flipped through the calendar on her desk. “Right here,” she indicated, tapping the page. “I forgot all about it. Will it be a problem?”
“Depends. Where? When?”
“City Place with Jenna at ten. I’d cancel but she sounded pretty depressed.”
“Jenna? Yeah, right, your father’s mistress. Can you have her go to your house instead?”
“I’m a really bad cook,” Meghan admitted.
He was surprised he didn’t get the expected argument from her and wanted to reward her newfound cooperation. “I happen to be a great cook.”
“That may be true, but the only thing in my refrigerator since you cooked all the bacon and eggs is a jar of mustard dying of loneliness, in case you didn’t notice.”
“I noticed, but it’s not a problem,” he assured her. “I’m assuming you can get a grocer to deliver?”
She nodded. “Terri can call in the order.”
“Let’s keep everyone else out of the loop,” he cautioned.
She turned the phone toward him after scribbling a phone number on a small sticky note. She called Sam back into her office and continued her meeting while Jack stepped out and faxed the accident report to his friend, then tried—in vain—to work through his theory.
Eight hours of contemplating mergers, buy outs, and potential zoning issues had pretty much fried Meghan’s brain by nine-thirty. Terri had vanished at the stroke of six. The store had closed almost half an hour ago and she could hear the faint chatter of the employees filing out of the locker room and the gentle, distant hum of the public elevator taking people down to the garage.
Sam stuck his head in to say good night on his way out to join Barrett and his wife for drinks. Soon it was quiet enough that all she was conscious of was the even sound of Jack’s breathing.
Her powers of concentration were nonexistent, so she tossed her pen on the desk and sighed loudly. “I’m ready to call it a day,” she told him.
“Fine with me.”
He rose and stood near the door while she gathered up her purse and stuck a few things in her briefcase. After slipping her shoes on, she walked into the hallway, stopping so Jack could precede her out into the corridor.
They had reached the stairway when Meghan heard the sound of voices in the locker room. Jack instantly plastered her against the wall with his body.
Air rushed from her diaphragm as she was smashed between the cool, hard wall and his warm solid body. It took several seconds for her to realize that he had a gun in his hand.
Dropping her briefcase and purse, she placed her hands on his shoulders as soon as she recognized the voices. “It’s Darius and my Santa,” she said, wondering why she was nearly yelling. Then she realized it was because her heart was pounding in her ears as adrenaline surged through her.
Jack lowered the gun as the two men appeared in the hallway. Their boisterous conversation stopped abruptly as soon as they caught sight of Meghan and Jack.
“Sorry, Miss Beckham,” Darius offered. “We got to talking and time got away from us. I hope we didn’t disturb you.”
“No,” she insisted, slipping out from behind Jack. “Is everyone else gone?”
Darius nodded. “Sure are. We’ll get out of your way now.”
“You’re not in
our way,” Meghan insisted. “Take the executive elevator,” she offered. “It’s already up here so you won’t have to wait.”
“Thank you,” the men replied, stepping past her to get into the normally restricted area. “Aren’t you joining us?”
Jack stepped forward, reached in, and pressed the button. “You guys go ahead; Miss Beckham forgot something in her office.”
“Night,” they said as the decorative metal gates closed and the elevator began to descend.
“What did I forget?”
Before Jack could answer, there was a loud creak, then a snap, then sparks and horrible screams as the elevator cable snapped. As if in slow motion, Meghan listened in horror as the elevator box scraped and tumbled down the shaft before landing with a loud thud. Followed by nothing but a deadly silence.
Chapter Seven
DETECTIVE CERVENTES WAS A HANDSOME MAN WHO’D made the newspapers when he’d become the first Cuban immigrant to join the Palm Beach Police Department twenty years ago. He was efficient, talented, and standing in Meghan’s office as the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed in a new day.
Her horror had turned into shock. Now she was just numb. She was numb knowing Santa was dead—again. Numb knowing Darius probably wouldn’t survive his injuries. And numb knowing that she and Jack should have been the ones in the elevator.
“I’m going to have a patrol car follow you home. It’s my recommendation that you stay there for your safety and the safety of others until we find out who is responsible for this.”
“She will,” Jack answered, taking her arm and helping her to her feet.
Meghan grabbed her purse on her way out of the office as the detective added, “I’ll post men here in the store around the clock as well.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled as Jack placed his arm around her shoulders and led her toward the stairs. The burden of her guilt weighed heavily on her. “Darius is still listed as critical, and another person died because of me,” she said as she and Jack reached the second floor landing.
“No,” Jack corrected, squeezing her shoulder, “you aren’t responsible. You’re a target, Meghan. You can’t hold yourself responsible for the actions of a lunatic.”
“I should have listened. Closed the store. I should have—”
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” he cut in. “A determined killer doesn’t care who gets in his way. No one could have predicted the guy would tamper with the elevator.”
“But I told them to use it,” she argued, swallowing the bitter taste of regret.
“I hope you don’t mind. I had Terri call Jenna and cancel your dinner after the thing with Darius. You need to get some sleep,” Jack suggested. “You’re exhausted and the memory is too fresh.”
They reached the underground parking garage where half the police department milled around apparently waiting for her. Three marked cars escorted them back to her house, then parked and took root out front.
“Why don’t I fix you something to eat,” Jack offered as she reactivated the alarm system once they were inside, “then you can get some rest.”
Meghan shook her head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I couldn’t swallow a thing right now.” While Meghan appreciated Jack’s offer, she wasn’t up to it. Right then, all she wanted was to be alone with her raw emotions.
“I’m still waiting for a call back from the accident investigation people,” Roz told Jack. “Are you absolutely sure the accident was staged?” she asked.
“Positive,” Jack said. Then he wished her well before hanging up, mildly distracted as his brain splintered into several different directions.
Again Jack tried to picture the boss he’d never met. Roz’s voice betrayed nothing and all he really knew about her was that she coordinated the Agency assignments and sent him homemade cookies. The cookies said kindly grandma. The voice said buttoned-down executive in a pinstriped suit, with stiffly lacquered hair and sensible shoes. They didn’t mesh. The rest was all supposition and conjecture. Pretty much like what he had in the Beckham case.
The sun had been up for a couple of hours and he’d yet to hear Meghan stirring in the bedroom. Just as well. He figured she probably needed more than a decent night’s sleep; she needed her space. Not that he didn’t want to go to her. That had been pretty much an all-night battle. One he’d very nearly lost a time or two. The knowledge that she was mere feet away seemed to spark strong feelings in him.
Hadn’t he learned his lesson all those years ago with Laura? He’d sworn after that disaster that he’d never get attached to a protectee again. His love for Laura had been strong but brotherly in nature. She was young and reckless, and he should have made sure the agents he’d assigned to her that night kept a vigilant watch on the headstrong twenty-year-old who was hell-bent on going to that party. But he hadn’t and Laura had slipped out on her detail.
A week later it had been his job to tell the vice president that Laura’s body had been found in a shallow grave.
Yet here he was—two days into the assignment—thinking of this protectee in ways he knew were a bad idea. A very bad idea. And not just because it might cloud his judgment. He was too much of a professional to be blinded by lust. Hell, of the two, that was the easier one to control. Well, not so easy when his brain flashed a quick and vivid image of her to taunt him. Oh, he wanted her. That was a given. It was the other thing that was driving him nuts. The feeling of being . . . connected. That was weird.
Meghan managed to raise his blood pressure and make him feel comfortable all at once. The raised blood pressure he could deal with—no problem. The comfort level, he thought as he held his head in his hands, that was an unexpected kink.
“Damn it!” He stood and began to pace the spacious living room. As if . . . feeling things for her wasn’t enough of a monkey wrench, he was also frustrated to hell and back trying to anticipate the lunatic’s next move. Three store Santas were dead. What was the connection? The fact that all three murder victims were Santas? All three were employees of Beckham’s? All three incidents could just as easily have happened to Meghan? None of the above? Jack raked his fingers through his hair as he paced from one end of the large space to the other.
He needed to know the connection if he had a hope in hell of unraveling this and anticipating the killer’s next move.
Not only was it imperative to resolve this before the killer struck again, but, to be honest with himself, doing his job was a hell of a lot less complicated than trying to decipher the reasons why he was so drawn to Meghan.
“So what am I missing?” he asked the morning quiet. “What’s the common thread?” Annoyed when answers didn’t come on command, Jack gabbed the accident reconstructionist’s report and reread it for the tenth time. Not the summary cover letter, but the actual pages of the report. The company had been thorough. They had checked and rechecked everything, then created a computer model of the incident that mirrored everything from confirmed witness statements to police photographs to factoring in the wind speed that night.
Jack might not be a physicist, but he grasped the concepts contained in the pages as he read them over and over. Slowly, he began to formulate a scenario that didn’t precisely match the cover letter. But it sure as hell matched the reports and photographs. At least he thought so. He’d have to wait for Roz’s call to confirm his suspicions.
Moving back to the kitchen, he poured himself another cup of coffee, then started a fresh pot, his third one this morning. Meghan liked it strong enough to grow hair on her ch—Jack rubbed a hand across his face. His frustration was fueled by more than just a healthy dose of physical longing. Though when he heard the shower, his groin stirred. Lust was easy to dismiss.
Liking Meghan Beckham was a lot more complex. And considerably harder to write off.
He liked her. Liked her strength. Liked her tenacity. Liked that she gave a damn about her employees, even the two she’d never met. She didn’t just care because these men had worked for her. She cared on a deep pe
rsonal level that made her more human. More fallible than she liked to portray.
He took a long swallow of coffee, hoping his brain would focus on the hot liquid searing his throat. No such luck. The only thing that burned was his fierce need to be with her. Pictures of Meghan, naked and wet, standing under the stream of the shower, slipped in and out of his mind. He groaned aloud and suffered in silence as he heard her hair dryer, then the drawers, then finally the sound of her bare feet as she came down the hallway.
Normally, he would have been impressed by the display of inner strength. By the way she’d put the previous night’s incident in proper perspective. But this wasn’t normal. Not by a long shot.
Normal didn’t include the smell of floral shampoo that arrived a split second before she came into the room wearing a plain white robe that seemed anything but plain when wrapped around the outline of her incredible body.
He allowed his eyes to roam freely and happily over her upturned face. He knew he should offer some sort of greeting but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth at that moment, it would be to insist that they go back into her bedroom.
As if reading his mind, Meghan stood still, her thickly lashed eyes focused on him. Her lips parted slightly, allowing each breath to ease in and out of her pretty mouth.
A moan of strong, urgent need rumbled in Jack’s throat. He felt a seizing in his gut and a tightness in his groin as his gaze dropped lower to her long, delicate throat and then lower still, to the hint of cleavage just above the V formed by the neckline of her robe.
Banishing rational thought from his brain, Jack took the two steps necessary to reach her, wrapped his arm around her waist, and dragged her against him. The feel of her body against his was like finding the true meaning of life.
