Summer Reads Box Set: Volume 1

by Freethy, Barbara

  * * *

  "I'll sleep on the couch," Julia said as they climbed the stairs to Alex's apartment a short while later. "I don't want to completely disrupt your life."

  "A little late for that sentiment. You're the one who knocked on my door last week and started this ball rolling."

  "It's not all my fault. You took the picture. You started this twenty-five years ago."

  "Thanks for the reminder." He paused as he took out his key. "You know we slept together last night, and it was just fine."

  It hadn't been just fine. She'd spent most of the night fighting an urge to roll into his arms and make love to him. And last night she'd had a barrier, an engagement ring and a fiancé. Now she had neither. But she still had a brain, and right now it was telling her that getting further involved with Alex would not be a good idea. She might not have wanted the steady, suffocating relationship Michael had offered, but she also didn't want to get her heart trounced by a love 'em and leave 'em type, no matter how sexy he was.

  "The couch works for me," she said lightly. "Unless you'd rather I go to my dad's apartment and get out of your hair. I just don't want to put him in danger."

  "No, you can stay here." Alex opened the door and flipped on the light.

  Julia gasped at the sight that greeted them. Whoever had ransacked her apartment had done the same to Alex's, with just as much brutality and violence. Every piece of furniture had been upended, flipped over, ripped, cut, trashed. Even Alex's photographs had been snatched from the walls, the tables, the bookcase. Shattered glass lay on the floor where some of the picture frames had been thrown in ruthless abandon. The fury of the search seemed even worse here, as if the person had grown more frustrated and angry with each passing second.

  "Dammit," Alex swore. "I should have seen this coming."

  She should have seen it coming, too. Why hadn't she considered the fact that someone might follow her to Alex's apartment?

  "I swear, if they broke my camera equipment..." Alex disappeared into the bedroom before Julia could tell him to be careful. She could hear him opening the closet door, slamming a dresser, muttering to himself. She was afraid to move, worried she'd step on something important, do even more damage.

  Alex finally returned, looking marginally calmer. "The bedroom isn't as bad as this room," he said. "The cameras are okay. Nothing was broken as far as I can tell."

  "I'm sorry," she said, knowing the words weren't enough to cover the destruction. "They must have followed me here. They must have been watching me. That man outside the restaurant... He probably did this, knowing we were there. When he didn't find what he was looking for here, he came after us. I can't believe how much I'm ruining your life."

  "It's okay, Julia. It's just stuff. And you're not the one who's ruining my life."

  "Of course I am. If I'd never seen that picture, never come here, never started asking questions—"

  "Well, you did, and it's done. We can't start second-guessing now."

  "So, what's next? Who's next? Are they going to go to my dad's apartment, to my aunt and uncle's home?" she asked. "They're probably watching me right now. And I hate that I don't even know who I'm fighting. It could be one person or two or three—who knows?"

  "I certainly don't. It's possible there were two—one here, one at the restaurant watching us."

  "Should we call the police?"

  "In a minute. Let's take another look at the doll and the necklace. They're the only things you have that might have come from Russia."

  They set two of the dining room chairs upright and sat down at the table. Julia opened her bag and pulled out the doll and the necklace. Alex immediately began to take the doll apart. "I know we're missing some dolls," he said. "I wonder if that's important." He examined each doll closely, his brows knitting into a frown as he peered particularly closely at the inside of one doll. "I think there's a number scratched here. It looks like a four to me. What do you think?"

  She took the doll from his hand and saw the mark he was referring to. It did look like a four. "I think you're right," she said.

  He picked up another doll. "And this one is a seven."

  Julia took each doll as he discarded it. In the end they had five dolls and five numbers. "What do you think the numbers mean?"

  Alex met her questioning gaze with a shrug of his shoulders. "I have no idea. The problem is, I don't think we have all the numbers, because we don't have all the dolls."

  "We should go to that shop, Russian Treasures. Maybe that woman can tell us what the numbers mean. They could just be a production code."

  "They could be, but there's nothing uniform about the way they look. It's as if someone scratched the numbers with a sharp knife."

  His words sent a chill through her, and something stirred in her mind. A distant memory? She struggled to bring it into focus, but her brain wouldn't cooperate.

  Alex sat back in his chair, a frown on his face now. "What's wrong?"

  "I thought I was remembering something, but it won’t come back."

  "Something about the doll?"

  "I don't know," she said in frustration.

  "Julia, don't force it. The memories will come back when they're supposed to."

  "How can you be so patient?" she asked. "I thought you were a man of action."

  "When it's called for. But I also know how to wait for the perfect light, the right angle, and the clearest view. Your mind takes photographs of everything you see just the way a camera does. Eventually it will develop those early pictures for you."

  "Hopefully before I'm dead," she said, her words a mix of sarcasm and real fear.

  "Hopefully," he agreed with a small smile. "We'll check out that Russian store tomorrow. Now, are you sure there isn't anything else your mother might have had that could link you to the doll or that trip to Russia?"

  "I went through everything in the storage locker, but my father did say that their business and personal papers are at his apartment. I haven't had a chance to look through them yet." She glanced down at her watch and saw it was after ten. "It's too late to go there tonight. I'm a little afraid to go at all. What if they follow me there, too?" She sat up straight, a terrible idea crossing her mind. "Or perhaps they've already been to my dad's apartment. It wouldn't be difficult to find his address. He's listed in the phone book. I have to call him, make sure he's all right." She rifled through her handbag for her cell phone. "At least he lives in a security building. That's something."

  "So far they've struck when no one has been home," Alex said reassuringly. "There's no reason to think that will change."

  "There's no reason to think it won't, either. We don't know who we're dealing with. I'm calling my dad."

  "And I'll call the police. I think it's time we brought them in on the whole story."

  * * *

  It was almost eleven o'clock at night when Alex ushered two detectives from the San Francisco Police Department out of his apartment. Julia remained in the living room, her heart still racing. The last hour of questions had done nothing to reassure her that she was safe. After telling the police the story of the orphan girl photograph and Julia's recent picture in the Tribune, it had become clear to all of them that the latter event had triggered the break-ins.

  Someone had seen Julia's picture, believed her to be that girl, and come looking for something. The detectives had examined the necklace and the matryoshka doll but had been unable to find a reason why the two tourist-type souvenirs would be important. Even if the doll was worth a couple thousand dollars, it wouldn't be enough to trigger the kind of vandalism and burglary that had taken place here tonight or at her apartment earlier that day. There had to be something else.

  In the meantime, Julia had called her father and discovered that he was fine. She told him to be careful and alert to anyone lurking around his apartment building or near the restaurant. She'd left a message for Liz on her cell phone, wishing that her sister had picked up, so that Julia could know she was all right
. It had occurred to her that Liz might have gone to Michael's house, so she'd even forced herself to call his apartment, but he hadn't answered, either, and she'd gotten the same voice mail on his cell phone. She had to trust they'd be okay as long as they weren't with her. She was the target, not them.

  Alex shut the front door and headed for the kitchen. "How about a drink?" he suggested.

  "Anything cold would be great."

  "You got it." He returned a moment later with two bottles of mineral water.

  Julia took a long draught, feeling a renewed sense of energy as the carbonation tickled her throat. Then she looked around the room, and her energy faded as quickly as it had come. They both had a lot of cleaning to do, not to mention major repairs. A lot of the furniture would have to be replaced or fixed before their apartments would really be livable again.

  "I wish I'd never gone to the Legion of Honor," she murmured. "Look at the trouble I've brought myself, you, my family."

  Alex shrugged, kicking off his shoes. "Never look back," he advised. "It doesn't do any good."

  "Do you think the police will be able to find who did this?"

  "Doubtful."

  "You can't even try to be optimistic?"

  "Sorry, but I think whoever broke in here knew what they were doing. It has a feel of professionalism about it. I don't think they left one fingerprint behind."

  Julia traced her finger along a particularly ugly gash in the sofa cushion. "This is nasty. And I don't get it. What would I be hiding in a sofa cushion?"

  "Something small," he replied, a thoughtful look on his face. "Which would rule out the matryoshka doll, don't you think? It's almost a foot long."

  "Exactly. The necklace?"

  "It sure doesn't look like anything special. I don't get it."

  "Then there's something else at stake, something else they think I have, but I don't. Or I have it, and I don't know it."

  He smiled. "That narrows it down."

  She blew out a sigh, which turned into a yawn. It had certainly been a long day. She could hardly believe they'd flown back from New York earlier that morning. "We should talk to Mr. Brady again," she said. "Tell him about the break-ins. Maybe he can get someone in his intelligence agency to figure out what's happening."

  "I'll call Stan first thing in the morning," he promised. Finishing his bottle of water, he set it down on the table.

  For a moment there was silence between them. Julia's mind drifted from the problems of the day to Alex. He was sitting so close, their thighs were practically touching. She could hear him breathing, and the scent of his aftershave washed over her like a warm, inviting breeze—like a call to move closer, to run her lips across his jaw, the corner of his mouth...

  Her nerves began to tingle in anticipation. She licked her lips as her pulse quickened.

  Should she do it? Should she cross the few inches that separated them, run her hand through his hair, trap his handsome face with her suddenly impatient hands?

  Alex cleared his throat. He shot her a hard look, then said, "You should go to bed. I'll take the couch."

  Disappointment hit her like a cold shower. He obviously wasn't feeling what she was feeling. "I don't want to put you out of your bed. Besides, this sofa is pretty short, and you're a lot taller than I am." Taller, stronger, sexier... God, why was she so charged up? It must be the extra adrenaline in her body that was making her feel like she wanted to jump on him and not let him up for a long, long time.

  "Just take the bed and don't argue. I can sleep anywhere." He quickly got to his feet.

  She stared at him, surprised by the harsh tone of his voice. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. It's been a hell of a day."

  "That's it?"

  "That's it. Let's call it a night. I'll get the bed made up."

  "You don't have to do it. I'll take care of it."

  "It's my bed. I'll do it," he snapped.

  "Okay." She followed him into the bedroom, watching his sharp, impatient movements as he stripped the tumbled covers and began to remake the bed. "I'll help," she said. "Toss me a corner of the sheet."

  "I can do it."

  "It will go faster if I help you," she repeated as she moved to the other side of the bed.

  "And I said I'd do it."

  "Don't be ridiculous." She didn't know why he was being so stubborn. Leaning over, she grabbed the sheet. Alex yanked his end back so quickly that she fell halfway across the bed. Pushing her hair out of her face and feeling extremely irritated now, she tugged on her end of the sheet.

  Alex had more strength, but she had a lot of determination. She pulled again, refusing to give up until she'd taken the sheet completely out of his hands. He dove for it. She tried to scramble out of the way, but he landed on top of her, pinning her hands over her head.

  She pushed against his chest. He didn't budge. Nor did he appear to have any intention of moving. In fact, his dark eyes glittered with desire as he gazed down on her, and her breath caught in her chest. She was completely at his mercy.

  "What is your problem?" she demanded, trying to focus on anger and not desire.

  "You. You're my problem. I don't want you in my bed."

  "You just said you did. In fact, you insisted."

  "I don't want you alone in my bed," he corrected. "You're driving me crazy."

  "I am?" she asked, somewhat bemused by that fact.

  "I want to make love to you, Julia."

  Hearing his intention stated so firmly and clearly made her tremble with anticipation. When he reached out and stroked her cheek with his hand, her whole body tingled. She swallowed hard, trying to think. She'd just broken up with Michael. She couldn't do this.

  "You're an amazing woman," Alex murmured, his fingers now tracing her mouth. "So soft, yet so strong when you need to be." She held her breath as he leaned over and replaced his fingers with the tip of his tongue, which he ran lightly across her lips. "Hmm, I want more," he murmured.

  So did she, but she couldn't ask, couldn't speak. She could only wait for his mouth to cover hers completely. Despite his words, he didn't immediately deepen the kiss. His mouth hovered just an inch above hers, teasing, taunting, until her nerves began to scream.

  Finally, he moved. Or maybe she did.

  Their mouths met in a deep, passionate kiss that went on and on. He released her hands, and she immediately flung them around his neck, pulling him closer, running her hands through his hair, enjoying the textures of his mouth, his skin, his hair. His palms skimmed up her sides until his hand covered one breast, his thumb playing the nipple into a tight point. She felt as if she were on fire, losing control with each passing second.

  This wasn't her, was it?

  She didn't have casual sex, did she?

  Not that kissing Alex felt even close to casual.

  "Stop thinking," he muttered against her mouth. "I can hear the wheels turning in your brain." He lifted his head to look at her.

  "I'm not sure," she whispered. "I just got out of a relationship. I'm not certain I want to dive right into another one." She saw something flicker in his eyes and realized that he didn't want a relationship; he just wanted sex. She felt incredibly disappointed. "Oh," she said. "You're not looking for anything more than tonight or maybe just the next fifteen minutes."

  "I think I can do better than fifteen minutes," he said lightly as he sat back. "It doesn't always have to mean something, Julia."

  "I think it does—to me." She paused. "I know that sounds like a real girl thing to say, but that's what I am. If we make love tonight, Alex, I'm afraid I might fall in love with you. I don't think you want that."

  She wanted him to refute her statement, tell her that's exactly what he wanted, because in truth she was already halfway in love with him, maybe more.

  Alex didn't answer for a long tense moment. Then he said, "I'll leave you to make up the bed."

  "You're not going to say anything else?"

  "I don't make promises I can't keep." He go
t up and walked to the doorway, then turned back to her. "I don't know what real love is supposed to look like or feel like, Julia. And since you thought you were in love with someone else about eight hours ago, I'm not sure you do, either." On that note he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  She flopped back onto the bed, wondering if she'd made a huge mistake. As she stared up at the ceiling, she considered what he'd just said. He was wrong about one thing: She hadn't been in love with Michael eight hours ago. In fact, she'd probably never been in love with him, not the way she should have been. His kisses had never made her feel so dizzy, so off balance. Michael had been nice, comfortable, caring. Alex was hot, reckless, passionate.

  She knew she wanted more in her life than what she'd had with Michael, but Alex was like a stick of dynamite. When it came right down to it, did she really have the courage to go after everything she wanted? She could stay here and play it safe, or she could march out into the living room and take the biggest risk of her life.

  Her brain battled her body. Finally logic and caution won out. She couldn't make love with Alex tonight. It was too soon. She was too confused. It wouldn't be right.

  But tomorrow was another day.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Liz sat in her father's kitchen early Wednesday morning, watching him pour two glasses of orange juice. He topped off his drink with a discreet shot of vodka. She knew she should say something, but she wasn't in the mood to argue with him. She hadn't slept well on his couch, and her nerves were strung tight after the break-in at her apartment. She still had to face going back there and trying to put her belongings back together.

  Everything was changing, she thought with a small sigh. Her life felt wrong in every way. Just seeing her father padding around the kitchen in mismatched pajamas with his hair standing on end and an air of fragility about him reminded her how different everything was. Breakfast in her family had always been a big, happy affair. Her mother had loved cooking up plates of eggs, bacon, and potatoes, topped off with fruit, pastries and juice. She'd insisted they all come dressed to the table, their hair brushed, their faces washed, ready to face the day