by Rita Herron
Her voice sounded shaky. Why wouldn’t she talk to him? Was she planning more lies? Maybe she was taking a pill or getting a drink to calm herself.
He studied her den, hoping to learn more about her. A simple beige leather sofa faced a natural wood entertainment unit with a small TV and stereo. Two navy wing chairs flanked a stone fireplace. The room was sleek and neat but devoid of color. Unlike most feminine rooms, it lacked fluffy pillows and tons of knickknacks. Unpacked boxes were pushed into the corner. She had a small collection of mystery novels stacked on a table and an assortment of tax-and financial-related books filled a bookcase. A big book sticking out from under a stack of magazines drew his eye. He lifted the magazine and read the title. The Psychotic Mind of a Killer. Hmm. Interesting.
Her walls were bare of pictures and he saw no photographs of family or friends anywhere. Odd. Then he remembered his apartment was similar. Was Veronica as lonely as he was?
The door squeaked open, and she came in wearing jeans and a pale pink T-shirt that molded her rounded breasts. She’d scrubbed her face free of makeup and had shed her shoes. He didn’t know why he found her being barefoot so sexy, but he did. He shifted in his seat, reminding himself of the reason for his visit. He couldn’t trust her or give in to this crazy attraction.
He decided to cut to the chase. “Why didn’t you tell me about Ron? And that you knew the senator?” He wondered why her connection to a notable figure had been absent from her file.
Veronica walked across the room, putting some distance between them. “I told you, there’s nothing to tell.”
Nathan couldn’t prevent the expletive that tore from his mouth. “Listen, Veronica, you called the police because you said someone attacked you—”
“Someone did attack me,” Veronica said, anger coloring her cheeks.
“Then you have to help me. I’m trying to find out who it is, and I don’t have time for these games.”
“I’m not the one playing games, Mr. Dawson.”
“You had a lover in Fort Lauderdale but you left out that tiny detail. You said you didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“I didn’t think it was any of your business,” Veronica snapped. “We broke up.”
“Everything about you is my business,” Nathan said, softly.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about Ron. We dated, Detective. That’s it.”
Nathan glared at her. “He wanted more?”
Veronica paused. “Yes. But I didn’t. I moved. End of story.” She exhaled. “Besides, Ron’s not dangerous.”
A long silence stretched between them. Nathan wasn’t so sure. He’d been a cop too long. A scorned lover or boyfriend could mean trouble. Men had killed for less. He would investigate Ron Cox whether Veronica believed him dangerous or not. Her earlier comment reverberated in his head. “What did you mean—you weren’t the one playing games?”
Veronica hugged her arms around her in a protective gesture. “I think someone’s trying to drive me crazy.”
Nathan narrowed his eyes. “First someone is trying to kill you. Now they’re trying to drive you crazy. Which is it, Veronica?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice breaking. “Maybe both.”
“Did something happen on the way over?”
Veronica hesitated, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not sure. I thought someone might have been following me, so I kept driving, but then they disappeared.”
Nathan cleared his throat. “Did you get a look at the car?”
Veronica crossed the room and peeked through the blinds. “No, it was too dark. It looked like some kind of Jeep but I couldn’t tell for sure.”
Nathan paused. He remembered her strange reaction to the music box, the animosity at the party, the conversation he’d overheard about her family. And when she’d fled the house, he’d seen the former senator’s pale face.
“Did something happen at the party you’re not telling me about?” Nathan asked.
Veronica shook her head. The doorbell rang, and she went to get it. Nathan was right behind her.
“Who is it?” she asked, her hand on the doorknob.
“Florist delivery service,” a young male voice answered.
Nathan peeked through the blinds. When he saw the truck with the familiar flower logo on it under the streetlight, he nodded for her to open the door.
The young man was wearing a yellow paper hat with the words, Fancy Flowers, printed on the front. He held up a long white box with a yellow ribbon tied around it. “Your lucky day, er, night,” he said, grinning.
“Thank you.” Veronica took the box and smiled.
“Sure thing.” The teenager waved and almost tripped over his feet to get back to the van after Nathan handed him a sizable tip.
She carried the box to the kitchen counter. “It’s probably from Eli,” Veronica said. “A welcoming gift. He used to send me flowers for my birthday.”
Nathan followed her to the kitchen. “Let me check it first.”
Veronica glanced into his eyes. “You think—”
“I don’t know,” Nathan said. “But it’s better to be careful.”
“There isn’t a card,” she said, looking over the box.
Nathan carefully examined the package, then slowly untied the ribbon. When he lifted the lid, she gasped. He swallowed hard and glanced at her pale face. Tears pooled in the corners of her huge eyes. “Oh, my God,” Veronica whispered. “Who would do such a thing?”
Nathan gritted his teeth. The box was filled with crushed daisies, like the ones Veronica had held in the picture by her parents’ grave.
She dropped her head into her hands and shook her head back and forth, her voice desolate. “Everything was fine until I moved back here. Why is this happening to me? Why?”
Nathan heard the frustration in her voice, the fear, the agony. He couldn’t stand it any longer. The smart thing to do was not to get involved. But then again, he didn’t always do the smart thing. Sometimes he just went on gut instincts. And right now his gut instincts were screaming at him to comfort her. Ignoring the branding heat of the police badge in his breast pocket, he took her in his arms and held her while she cried.
Chapter Four
Veronica tried to shove away her lingering fear, but her body trembled and her mind raced with unanswered questions. Had someone been following her when she’d left Eli’s house? And if so, whom?
And who could have been so cruel as to have sent a box of crushed daisies?
While Nathan’s arms tightened around her and he stroked the long column of her spine with his wide palm, she sagged against him, her heart racing, her mind ordering her to extricate herself from his comfort. Her body adamantly refused.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll get to the bottom of it,” Nathan said in a quiet voice. He gently traced his thumb along her chin and tilted her face to gaze into her eyes.
Embarrassed at her loss of composure, she brushed the damp tears from her cheeks and inhaled a calming breath. But being held in Nathan Dawson’s arms was definitely not calming, and inhaling the deep musky scent of his body and cologne was intoxicating. A danger in itself. Although his jaw was taut, heat flared in his eyes. His gentle touch and powerful, protective arms made her sway.
“Veronica?”
Desire laced his husky voice, his lips a mere whisper away, his breath hot on her skin. Veronica’s breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest. Heat skittered up her spine, and the rough texture of his stubbled jaw on her cheek sent a shaft of white-hot need darting through her.
“Tell me not to do this,” he whispered as his lips grazed her hair.
“Nathan, I—” Veronica’s unspoken argument died when his warm mouth descended on hers in a bold motion, sending a rush of pleasure and passion though her that was almost frightening in its intensity. His mouth devoured hers, his lips daring and forceful as he claimed the tender recesses of her mouth with his plunging tongue. Veronica’s body reacted to his need by mold
ing to his hard masculinity, and a low moan escaped her when his lips moved to the delicate skin beneath her jaw. Quivering now from his touch instead of fear, she felt his hands press her intimately against him, and she muttered a raspy sigh that was partly a plea to stop, partly a plea not to.
Nathan suddenly gentled his hands and loosened his fierce hold on her, letting his hands linger at her waist as he touched his forehead to hers and exhaled loudly. His words came out on a ragged breath. “I’m sorry.”
Veronica tensed immediately and flexed the palms of her hands against his chest to push him away, his apology shredding her fragile pride. Instead of releasing her, Nathan continued to stroke her back as he had before, slowly allowing the tension to ease from both their heated bodies. When he finally looked at her, she saw a mixture of the passion they’d ignited along with a strong sense of regret, but he still didn’t let her go.
“I shouldn’t have done that, because I’m working on your case,” he said in a husky voice. “Not because it wasn’t good.”
Veronica felt her anger slip and toyed with the pleats of his cummerbund. Beneath her thin T-shirt, her nipples stood erect against the soft cotton, and her breasts ached for Nathan’s touch, a realization that shocked her. She had her own policies about not getting involved with people she worked with, and she desperately needed his help as a detective.
“Veronica?”
Why had her reaction to his touch been so volatile? Ron had barely excited her. “You’re right,” she finally said, pulling away.
Nathan gave her a hard, assessing look, then dropped his hands to his side. “Do you have some coffee?”
Veronica wrung her hands. “I’m not a coffee drinker. But I’ll make you some.”
“Don’t go to any trouble.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s instant. I keep it for…just in case.” She darted to the door, biting her tongue. She’d almost told him she kept it for Ron, but she’d been here several weeks and hadn’t invited him for a visit. In fact, she hadn’t even considered the idea. She’d simply bought the coffee out of habit.
Still shaken from the passionate kiss, she willed her hands to be steady while she made tea and coffee. Nathan’s scent wafted into the kitchen, and she felt his penetrating stare on her back and heard his steady breathing in the strained silence of the room.
“How long have you been here?” Nathan asked, glancing around the tidy kitchen when she handed him the steaming coffee mug.
Veronica stirred sweetener into her tea and sat down at the oak table and chairs that had belonged to her grandmother. The kitchen was clean but bare—white cabinets and countertops, a small kitchen island, beige tile floors, nothing impressive. But then she’d never gone in for frivolous things or decorating. Nathan sprawled his long legs out beside her and sipped his coffee, obviously waiting for her answer.
“I moved here about eight weeks ago.”
“Did you inherit a lot of Walsh’s clients?”
Veronica warmed her hands by cupping them around her mug. “A few.”
“Bring any with you from Florida?”
Veronica sipped her tea. “A couple of entrepreneurs who travel worldwide, live by their fax machines. And I represent a few of my grandmother’s friends. They live in a retirement community in Fort Lauderdale. With their limited pension plans and social security, they need all the breaks they can get.”
Nathan nodded and stared, his gaze unnerving her. She suddenly wished she’d thrown a heavy sweatshirt on over her thin cotton T-shirt. The memory of his heated kiss and her own response lingered between them, causing the air to crackle with tension.
Nathan swirled the dark coffee around in his mug. “How did your firm feel about your leaving? Any hard feelings?”
Veronica shook her head. “Not that I know of. They seemed amicable. My boss told me if I ever wanted to come back to let him know.”
Nathan took a long sip of coffee and frowned. “How about the businessmen you mentioned? Must have been some major league clients. Were the partners upset when you took their business?”
Veronica tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “One of them made a big deal out of it. But the boss said I’d earned the clients. Neither one resided in Florida anyway. Besides, my contract specified I couldn’t practice within a ten-mile radius and—”
“And you’re well out of that range,” Nathan finished for her.
“Exactly.”
“Smart businesswoman,” Nathan said, nodding his approval.
Veronica smiled. “I like my work.” It’s not threatening, like you.
“Did you work up a client list for me?”
Veronica sighed. “No, but I will tomorrow.”
“Good. Include the names of the people you worked with in Florida.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Veronica, it’s my job to investigate all angles.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I’d like to talk to your old boyfriend, too.”
Veronica gritted her teeth. “Is that really necessary? I told you Ron isn’t dangerous.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Besides, it’s routine.”
Veronica rose, her nerves on edge at the thought of Nathan talking to Ron.
“Is there some other reason you don’t want me to contact him?” Nathan asked.
“I…I don’t want him to worry about me,” Veronica said quietly. “Or come here.”
“Does he know where you are?”
“Of course. I didn’t just run away.”
Nathan was silent for a moment. Tension radiated between them. “You think he’ll show up here out of concern?”
“I don’t know.” She turned to face him. “He doesn’t know about my past, though, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Nathan arched an eyebrow. Veronica realized he expected her to tell him more, but she sipped her tea instead.
He finished his coffee, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Why? Don’t you think he could accept it?”
A sliver of apprehension knotted Veronica’s stomach. She’d suffered every imaginable kind of reaction to her past, from disgust to morbid curiosity to rejection. She had no idea how Ron would have reacted if she’d told him. But she assumed he’d have insisted she forget her need to reconcile herself with her past.
She had no intention of doing that.
“None of the people I worked with in Florida know. I didn’t think it was any of their business,” Veronica said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Besides, I told you my relationship with Ron is over.”
She refused to squirm when he studied her with his dark probing eyes. The memory of the kiss taunted her. Had Nathan already forgotten it? Probably. He was a sexy, virile man. He probably had dozens of women.
Whereas she was sexually inept, a freak—at least that was what one college boyfriend had told her. He’d attributed her ineptitude to her traumatic past.
Nathan stood, pushed his chair back from the table and placed his empty cup in the sink. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll come by your office tomorrow for that list.”
Veronica nodded. “And what about Ron?”
He hesitated. “I have to check him out.”
Veronica sighed.
“I’ll be discreet.” He closed the distance between them and covered her small hand with his own. “Trust me, Veronica.”
Then he squeezed her hand and walked out the door.
She watched the door close and touched her hand to her cheek where he had offered her comfort. Trust me, Veronica.
If only she could. Her heart squeezed at his husky plea, and the words rang over and over in her head like the beckoning sound of church bells drawing one into its welcoming sanctuary. But trust didn’t come easily for her. Too many memories, too much pain and gossip in the past, and too few friends. His kiss had been passionate, his touch warm and hungry and perhaps sincere.
But she wasn’t sure she could ever trust again.
THE NEXT MORNING N
athan showered and washed his face, trying to wipe away the memory of the heated kiss he’d shared with Veronica. He’d wanted her to trust him, but how could he ask her to do that if he couldn’t trust himself around her?
And why had he kissed her? It was totally against his beliefs to get involved with her. But the memory burned in his mind like the hot coals of an open fire and he was afraid he already had become involved with her. No amount of scrubbing could wipe the sweet touch of her lips from his mouth or banish the memory of her fiery response.
Damn. He had work to do. And Veronica Miller was right at the heart of it.
And worming her way into his heart—against his will.
Slinging on an oxford shirt, jeans and boots, he grabbed his badge and gun, then headed toward his car. Forget breakfast. His appetite could only be satisfied by finishing what he’d started with Veronica—and that was impossible.
He might as well work on her case. The sooner he got to the bottom of the mystery surrounding her, the sooner he could put her warm, delicate body and baby doelike eyes out of his mind. The sooner he could forget that she tasted as fresh as a mint julep on a hot summer day.
At the office fifteen minutes later, he tapped into the precinct’s computer to begin his investigation of Ron Cox. It wasn’t because the guy had been involved with Veronica personally, he told himself, but because it was the logical place to start the investigation. Perhaps the Florida police department had dealt with the man in some form other than his capacity as a lawyer. Sometimes lawyers were like bad cops—it was too easy to find loopholes and too tempting to cross the line.
“Hey, Dawson.” Ford leaned over his shoulder, his breath heavy with cigar smoke. “What the hell you doing?”
Nathan read the information coming in over the transit. “Checking out a lead.”
“The Bailey robbery?”
“No, the Miller case.” Nathan skimmed the lines of text, searching for anything he could find on Cox. If he had any kind of record, he would have had to be fingerprinted. The FBI would have a file on him.
The chair beside Nathan squeaked and protested as Ford lowered his heavy bulk into it. “Why are you wasting the taxpayers’ time? I told you she’s a nutcase.”
