by Terra Little
Under the cover of Tchaikovsky’s urgent-sounding crescendos, Elise began creeping toward the staircase at the far end of the foyer. Holding her breath and moving on the tips of her toes, she narrowly avoided teetering sideways into the centerpiece of the foyer—a marble, French baroque-style pedestal table—by a hair and froze for five long seconds. Satisfied that Olivia hadn’t heard her, she started carefully inching forward again. She had almost reached the bottom step when the volume of the music suddenly dropped, one of the study doors swung open and Olivia appeared in the doorway like an apparition. Caught, Elise stopped short and slowly removed her sunglasses.
Great. Just great.
“Soooo...” Olivia said in a singsong voice as she leaned in the doorway and eyed Elise balefully over the rim of her reading glasses. “Joel called.”
“I figured he would. What did he say?” As if she didn’t already know.
“He said that you walked into his house, stayed just long enough to decline his case and then walked right back out. And then you were in some sort of road-rage incident that led to a car accident?” Arms still folded and eyebrows raised, Olivia padded barefoot across the foyer until she was close enough to see Elise clearly in the muted lighting. Circling her slowly, she looked her up and down with a wrinkle of concern creasing her forehead.
“What are you doing?” Elise asked, tracking her movements suspiciously.
“I’m making sure you’re okay. The way Joel was going on and on, it was like listening to an episode of How to Get Away with Murder. I was worried sick. What in the world happened to you after you left here earlier?”
“Well, Joel was right about one thing. There was an accident but—”
“What? Oh my God, what happened?” Eyes wide, she pounced on Elise, checking with searching hands for possible bumps, bruises or breaks. Finding none, she breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Elise said, warding off Olivia’s hovering hands as she moved around her and reached for the wooden banister behind her. “It was really just a tap, and it happened on my way to Joel’s house, not after I left. I’m surprised Joel even knew about it.” She climbed one step, then two and then it occurred to her. “Wait, what am I saying? Of course, Joel knew about it. He probably told him all about it before I got there.”
“He? Who’s he and exactly what was there to tell?”
Elise opened her mouth to explain, then thought better of it. Introducing Broderick Cannon’s name into the conversation right now would only result in more questions, and, if Elise factored in the questions that were already in queue to be asked, they could end up standing there half the night, which was so out of the question that it was laughable. There was only so much harassment that she was willing to take in one day, without a chilled glass of Reisling on hand as backup, and she’d reached her threshold well over an hour ago.
“Elise?” Olivia prompted with a cocked brow when the silence stretched from one second into five.
“Just some friend of Joel’s from college. No one important,” Elise explained vaguely, impatiently. “A private investigator, I think.”
And a demigod, she silently added, mentally reviewing Broderick’s finer points in her mind. Six-three or -four, with the kind of imposing build that was best served scantily clad and glistening with body oil. Smooth, mocha brown skin, full lips and sleepy-looking bedroom eyes, rimmed with long black lashes. A deliberate five-o’clock shadow that was as expertly groomed as his close-cropped black hair was and a slightly off-kilter smile that, by itself, was seemingly harmless but that, together with the whole of him, was exactly the thing that instantly melted a woman’s panties and summarily dismissed every ounce of her self-control.
Elise knew because she’d been transfixed herself by the way his protruding Adam’s apple bobbed rhythmically in his powerful-looking neck as he talked and the way the slashes in his cheeks bracketed his mouth just so when he smiled. She’d been secretly appreciating the way the muscles in his forearms strained against the sleeves of his black trench coat whenever he moved his arms, when she also happened to notice that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and suddenly thought, eighteen months. That’s how much time had passed since her last relationship ended and, not until the moment that Broderick loomed over her and blithely suggested that he could be a serial killer, had it ever occurred to her to question exactly why.
At some point, very early on, when she was still thinking clearly and in her right mind, she noticed the look in his eyes, recognized it for what it was and knew she was in trouble. The same X-rated thoughts that were running through her mind were clearly running through his, but, unlike her, he didn’t seem to care that she could see them. She should’ve been offended by the unobstructed view into his carnal thoughts, but, instead, she was excited and slippery wet, and embarrassed by her body’s reaction to him. And, honestly, she’d been too busy ogling him right back and thanking God for dark sunglasses to hide behind while she did it, to bother jumping on anyone’s feminist soapbox. Frankly, his boldness, his tendency to stare at her mouth when she talked and at her breasts when he thought she wasn’t looking, turned her on.
He was a spectacular-looking man, an interesting cross between Boris Kodjoe and the Terminator, with a hint of something else lurking beneath the surface, something other than his amazing looks and tall, powerhouse physique. He’d been dressed like a business mogul, in a flawlessly tailored trench coat, cashmere dress slacks and hand-sewn Italian loafers. But the energy around him was raw and intense, his gait controlled and predatory, like a caged beast, one that was chomping at the bit and impatiently biding his time on lockdown.
My God, he was sexy.
Elise had never been more attracted to a man in her entire life.
But that information was on a need-to-know basis, and, as far as Elise was concerned, Olivia didn’t need to know. They were identical twins, but when it came to men, the two of them were like Jekyll and Hyde. Olivia was a femme fatale, with a trail of broken hearts in her wake that dated all the way back to kindergarten to prove it. While Elise...well, Elise had simply watched the drama that was her sister’s life unfold from the sidelines. She was a bookworm, who’d been obsessed with maintaining her position as captain of the debate team and with maintaining at least a 3.5 GPA at all times. She was seventeen, almost eighteen, when she got around to her first tongue kiss and a whopping twenty-one when she fumbled her way through losing her virginity, and even then she’d only done it because she figured that it was about time. To this day, she could count on one hand the number of men that she’d been intimate with since then.
And she’d still have two fingers left.
Men like Broderick Cannon scared the hell out of her.
“Wait, so Joel hired another firm?” Olivia wanted to know. “A competing firm?”
“I didn’t really leave him any choice. After he hit me, I—”
Olivia gasped. “What? Joel hit you?”
“No,” Elise cried impatiently, stretching the word out into five long syllables. Just a few minutes ago, escape had seemed so possible. Now? Not so much. “Joel didn’t hit me, Broderick Cannon did. Please try to keep up.”
“I am trying, but you’re not making it very easy,” Olivia said, laying a hand on Elise’s forehead and looking concerned. “You seem rattled, and you’re a little flushed, too. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Elise rolled her eyes to the ceiling and swatted Olivia’s hand away. “Stop that. Of course I’m okay.” She climbed two more steps. “I just need a few minutes—”
“Well, at least come into the kitchen with me and have some tea. It should be done steeping by now. It’ll help you relax, and you can tell me all about whatever happened today...from the beginning and in chronological order this time. How about that?”
—alone to catch my breath and process everythin
g, Elise finished silently. Aloud, she said: “Well—” The ringing doorbell cut her off. For a second, she was torn between hanging around to see who was at the door and getting out while the getting was good. “Who could that be at this time of the evening?”
Olivia frowned at her watch. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the courier that Eli was supposed to send over with some papers five hours ago,” she said, referring to Eli Seamus, the retired CIA agent who moonlighted as their Competitive Intelligence Analyst, or CIA, and all-around computer hacker. “He’s called five times now, each time to let me know that he was running a little later than he was running when he called the time before that.”
“Who? Eli?”
“No, the courier, and you can bet Eli is going to hear all about it first thing in the morning.” The doorbell rang again, and Olivia’s neck rolled ominously. “He’s five hours late, and I’m the one who’s taking too long?” She threw up her hands and let them fall back to her sides wearily. “Incredible.” Sighing disgustedly, she whirled and headed for the door, giving Elise just the opportunity that she needed to hurry up the rest of the stairs. “Listen, don’t go anywhere, okay?” Olivia called out to Elise as she switched on the veranda light and went up on her tiptoes to peek through the peephole. “I’m still not convinced that you’re completely okay, and I want to talk some more about what happened today.”
Elise decided to go with getting out while the getting was good and made a dash for it, heading up a second, shorter flight of stairs to the second-floor balcony that overlooked the foyer while Olivia was still talking. She leaned over the balcony and called back, “Sure, I’ll be right back,” then hurried down the east hallway to her bedroom suite and firmly shut the door behind her.
In about an hour, she thought a few minutes later, as she peeled off her clinging panties and stepped into a cold shower.
Chapter 4
The massive entry door swung open, and Broderick’s brown eyes met a pair of gorgeous amber-colored ones. She’d gotten rid of the giant sunglasses and traded her dress and boots for tight black pants, a flowing top that bared one caramel-colored shoulder, and bare feet. Up top, a pair of eyeglasses was anchored in the midst of the wild, curly lion’s mane framing her face, and, down below, glossy, hot-pink toenails and an ultrafeminine diamond ankle bracelet winked up at him. If it hadn’t been for the subtle, provocative gleam in her eye, she could’ve passed for an innocent college coed, with her smooth, clear skin and big, blinking eyes. She was so completely opposite of the snarling sex kitten from earlier that, for a second, he wondered if he was looking at the same person. Then she smiled and he thought, There she is.
“Well?” she said. “Are you going to speak first or should I?”
“I guess I should, since you walked out of our last meeting before I had a chance to fully explain myself.” She had the nerve to cock a brow at his tone but damned if he cared. She knew damn well why he was there and exactly what he wanted, and if his tone was sharp, she knew why that was, as well—because he was on the verge of shaking her until her teeth rattled around in her head like loose marbles.
Anticipating another round of pointless sparring, he put up a hand to ward her off and tried for a more diplomatic tone. “Look, obviously, I had no idea who you were when we met earlier, and, for the record, I didn’t figure out what Joel was up to until right after I arrived at his estate, which was about five minutes before you did. If I’d known beforehand, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. But since I am here and the circumstances surrounding Meagan’s disappearance are less than ideal, I came here to ask you to please reconsider Joel’s and my proposal.”
He expected her to start hissing and spitting at him again, but she surprised him, instead, with a thoughtful expression and a few seconds of contemplative silence. “Joel’s proposal?” she asked, pursing lips that begged to be sucked and staring at him through narrowed eyes. “Sounds interesting. Go on.” She leaned against the door casually and waited.
“I’d be glad to but could we talk inside?” The temperature had dropped to somewhere between twenty and twenty-five degrees in a matter of hours and, the later it got, the more brisk the wind became. Supposedly, it was an unseasonably warm midwestern February, but to Broderick, who’d grown up on the West Coast, anything below seventy degrees was cruel and unusual punishment. He couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Dodge.
“Sorry, but no. You’re a complete stranger, so right here works for me.” She giggled at his pithy expression and then gave him one right back. “So what was it that you wanted me to reconsider, again?”
“As I said before, I wasn’t expecting that Joel would hire you to find Meagan and then want us to work together, but now that I’m here and the idea is on the table, I think we should seriously consider it.”
“Oh?” She cocked a brow. “Why?”
“Meagan is my goddaughter, and while this isn’t the first time she’s run off, it is the first time she’s run off without her medication. We believe she’s with a guy that she’s been dating behind her parents’ backs for the past couple of months. His name is Peter Danforth, as in the son of state senator Frank Danforth.”
“I see, and are Peter’s parents searching for him, as well?”
“Apparently, they flee to the Caribbean when it’s wintertime here. But we do know that their son is a grad student at Mizzou, who just happens to be well over the age of twenty-one, and, according to the family’s housekeeper, present and accounted for on campus as we speak. So, technically, he isn’t missing and I, for one, couldn’t care less about him right now. Frankly, I’d have hung up on Joel when he called me late last night, if it wasn’t for the fact that Meagan was diagnosed with bipolar disorder a month ago and she’s been refusing treatment. Let’s just say that her decision-making skills are questionable under the best of circumstances. Factor in a rich boyfriend with a valid ID, platinum credit cards and mental illness, and she’s a ticking time bomb. As of about fifteen minutes ago, she was in the Jefferson City area, which isn’t very far away, but based on her travel pattern so far, it doesn’t look like she’s planning to head back in this direction any time soon. I could be wrong, but I’d rather go after her now than have something that could’ve been prevented happen later, because I didn’t.”
“I get that part,” she said, looking slightly confused. “But what I don’t get is why you need a partner. You seem to have a handle on things already.”
“Ordinarily I wouldn’t, but I’m in the middle of another case right now and there’s a possibility that I could be called away without notice. I’d like to have an associate with me in case that happens, someone who could pick up the slack, if necessary.”
“You mean like a sidekick?”
He shrugged. “That’s one way of putting it, but—” He realized his mistake a second too late, when her expression went from open and curious to closed for business in the blink of an eye. “If I might rephrase—”
“No need. I think I understand perfectly, Mr...”
That made him laugh. “Oh, so now you don’t remember my name?”
She looked taken aback. “Is there a reason why I should?”
Was she serious? Just a few hours ago, he’d been positive that something interesting was happening between them, something that, if played right, would eventually lead to her straddling him and riding his stiff, swollen cock until they were both out of breath. He wanted her, and, underneath her prickly exterior, he thought he’d sensed a mutual attraction. But now, standing face-to-face with her again, without so much as a spark between them, he reminded himself that there was always room for error, and, though it didn’t happen often, he wasn’t above entertaining the strong possibility that he’d made one. Either that or he’d been right all along and she really was nuts, in which case he was probably talking to one of her multiple personalities.
�
��No, I guess not,” Broderick conceded after several seconds of holding up his end of a staring contest. “Look, about Joel’s proposal...”
“It sounds like what you need is an assistant, and I’m afraid that’s something we can’t help you with. I could, however, recommend a couple of our past interns who might be available for a last-minute assignment like this, if you’d like.”
The emphasis that she’d placed on last minute hadn’t escaped his notice, but he wasn’t in the mood to rise to the bait. He’d wasted enough time already. “I have an entire staff of assistants at my disposal, Elise. The last thing I need is another one.” Something flickered in her eyes when he said her name, but it came and went so quickly that he wasn’t sure if he’d actually seen it or if it was a trick of the light.
“Fine, so use one of them,” she suggested and he thought, for a tense millisecond, that he saw it again.
“I would if it was that simple,” he said, and the sigh she offered in response was soft and wistful, sexy in a breezy, nonchalant kind of way that irritated the hell out of him. He rolled right over it. “But the thing is, both cases require extreme discretion. Meagan’s case, in particular, needs to be kept away from both the press and local law enforcement, for obvious reasons. So far, that hasn’t been much of an issue, but if her behavior were to escalate and she were to become a threat to herself or others, because she was off her meds and not thinking clearly, then who knows how things could play out.”
