Okay, he wasn’t a total stranger. He was Roger. Her old flame from college. Correction: old friend. No, that wasn’t right either. Hell, she didn’t really know what he was. Except here in her stockroom, laughing at naked pictures of her. She checked the time. Ten minutes to closing. “Oh, hell, no one’s going to come in this late.”
She twisted the lock into place, flipped the lights off, and stomped to the back. The door clanked against a shelf as she flung it open. “Stop looking at—” She stopped mid-sentence.
Roger had emptied the boxes, placed the contents as directed, and folded the cardboard and stowed it near their back door. At the moment, he was reclined in the office chair with one leg flung up on the desk as he rocked back and forth. The chair creaked under his weight, and he dropped his feet. A daisy stem dangled from his teeth like a cigar. He pulled it from his lips and pointed at the screen with the flower. “These are amazing. Was Abby with you over there? I don’t remember her from school.”
Of course he didn’t. “We met in France and traveled together for a while, then went our separate ways when I had to report on an upheaval in the Middle East. It was my big chance.”
He nodded. “Everyone needs one of those. How’d that turn out for ya?”
Not worth a shit, but she’d never admit as much. She shrugged, thankful that her hands weren’t shaking. That subject was off-limits no matter how many times he asked. “It wasn’t as big a deal as I’d hoped.”
He frowned. “Or maybe it was bigger.”
She tossed her head back and dropped a hand to her hip. “What does that mean?”
The chair squeaked as he rose to tower above her. He leaned in and whispered, “It means I read about you a lot over the last few days. There’s a lot more to that story than you want to admit, beautiful.”
A knot formed in her stomach. “There’s nothing to read. It was a bust. I didn’t write the piece because I messed up. That’s why I came home: I stunk at finding and reporting the story. Someone else got the job a week later.” There were approximately two inches between his mouth and hers. Two inches of cold, steel-hardened air. She glanced at his mouth. She could close that gap in a second if she could move. But she couldn’t. What would he do? She blinked.
His breath feathered against her face. “The story’s there. It’s still in your head. I can see it in your eyes. Whatever happened over there branded you, sweetness.” He tapped a finger to her forehead to signal the imprint.
Caroline took a step backward. She forced the shudder from her shoulders. “Don’t call me that. Let’s get out of here.”
“No, let’s see the rest of your pictures from Europe. Show me.” He tapped a finger to a key. The screensaver disappeared, replaced by a password prompt.
Gulp. She was not showing him those. TMI. Too personal. Too ... everything. She shrugged innocently. “I don’t know Abby’s password.”
“Really? I doubt your partner has any secrets.”
Dang. He was right, had read her like a book in fact, a trait she hated about him. Abby shared everything with her; after all, they were partners. Of course there was the fact that Abby had misled his friend Carter for months through texting and secret identities. She hoisted a brow. “You’re kidding, right? Abby?”
“Good point. Okay, I won’t force you to show something that makes you uncomfortable. You hungry? What do you feel like, sushi?” His hand enclosed hers with warmth as he pulled her from the room.
She felt her body depressurize as she followed him from the store and down the street. Now she just needed to clamp the lid shut on any more questions about Europe.
His cell beeped. Caroline noted he shot it a glance then returned it to darkness. “Please don’t tell me you’re a text-o-holic like your buddy Carter. I’d rather stick pins in my eyeballs than share a meal with social media..”
He hefted his shoulders up and down. “Strange metaphor. Don’t worry. Carter is overseas at the moment, and I have a conference call with him later. Just wanted to make sure we were still on because if he canceled, I’d have all the time in the world tonight. If not, I’d have to work in a few hours.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Nice ass, by the way.” She remembered how Roger had smiled at the image of two bikini-less girls on the computer before they left.
She punched his arm.
Chapter Nineteen
Roger turned his Land Rover into the parking lot of the museum. Caroline swiveled to survey a set of neon signs announcing that the museum was hosting a fundraiser. “They serve sushi here?”
He shook his head. “I promised a friend I’d stop in if her pictures were ever chosen for display.”
Caroline frowned. “You’re taking me to a fundraiser? Why didn’t you say something? I’m not dressed for—”
He reached out and grabbed her hand as the engine died. “You look great. We’ll only be here a minute or two. I have to stop in and say hello to the people who coordinated this, and then we can go. Besides, you’re a photographer. This is right up your alley.”
He grabbed his collar and pulled. It was a stupid idea to attend, and she’d probably go ape-shit when she saw the pictures. Still, he had to at least make an appearance. He’d planned to take her over the weekend, which would have given him a chance to prepare her for the shock. But he wasn’t about to give up an opportunity to get her out for an evening alone. That kiss had fueled his imagination for a short while, but it wasn’t enough.
He stepped from the vehicle and walked to open her door. With it open and waiting, he figured she had two choices. One, sit there while he went in. Two, get out and join him. Of course, there was a third option that involved hailing a cab, but she wasn’t that rude.
The foggy evening cast a surreal haze over the glowing neon inside the windows. Silhouettes of people entering the building beckoned them to follow.
“This is a fundraiser? What for?”
He hesitated for a second. Hopefully she wouldn’t freak this soon. “The oncology ward at St. Jude’s.”
She stilled to a statuesque pose. Her face went ashen. “Nuh-uh. I hate hospitals. My mother—”
He grabbed her arm. “I know. Your mother was ill. Don’t worry, we’re not going to the hospital, and there aren’t any patients here as far as I know. Just a lot of artwork. It’s even a silent auction, so it’ll be all the more ... quiet.”
He clutched her arm until they’d weaved through the crowded entrance and past the greeters. How he’d managed to slip by without being stopped was a feat in itself. “Roger,” a voice called.
Damn, wishful thinking.
He turned around, expecting the art exhibit’s coordinator. Instead ...
“Dad?” Caroline’s eyes popped. She pivoted her eyes between the two men. “You guys know each other?”
Roger cleared his throat. How should he continue?
Her father pasted on a smile that indicated a shared secret between the two. “Of course we do. He was here when I delivered our donation for the event. Have you seen Carol’s picture? They hung it down at the end. She would have been so glad. The bids are already over a thousand. I can’t believe it.”
Yikes. That wasn’t exactly how Roger planned to break the news.
Caroline squinted toward the darkened hall. “Wait. What? Mom’s picture? What are you talking about?” She clip-clopped away in search of it.
He had planned to do this gradually. Show her all the other photos. The ones of the beach. Of the kids. Of Conan. Then, when she’d adjusted to them, and if she was in a decent mood, he’d show her Carol. He’d hoped it would melt her heart to see how beautiful the picture had turned out.
“She doesn’t know, does she?” His father’s solemn voice was like lead.
Roger shook his head. “I only submitted them a couple of days ago on a whim. It seemed like a good tribute, and I never had a chance to—”
Bob cursed and sped after his daughter. “I’ll be back to find out why the hell you brought my daugh
ter here. Idiot.” An elderly gentleman who had accompanied Bob trailed after him at a snail’s space. He repeated the curse as he worked his ancient legs in an effort to follow.
“Because she deserves to know,” Roger muttered to thin air.
What should he do? Cut her off in the hallway? He should have skipped the event, but he’d promised to attend.
“Is that my foot?” a voice shrieked. Damn. Roger felt his face flush. She’d seen the first picture. “And my ... backside? Are you kidding me?” Damn.
Crash. A picture on an easel dipped and tumbled. Roger rushed over and tried to catch it but missed. Two others hit the floor as Caroline thrashed and cursed. Her cheeks flamed to match the red ribbon she’d tied at her neck. She held up a finger and crooked it. Straight. At him.
“You.”
He looked around. “Who?”
“You know who. You took these?”
“Uh.” He wasn’t sure—had he? His brain went blank. “Uh.”
“You can’t do that. You can’t take pictures of people and plaster them all over the damn place without permission. You can’t ... ”
Her arms were spinning like a windmill. If she kept going, she would twist out of her sockets.
“Caroline. Calm down.” Her father arrived and pulled her into a bear hug. “You’re making a scene.”
She sputtered. “Scene? This guy takes pictures of me years ago and then blows them up and displays them here for, for—”
“A good cause. It’s for a good cause, honey. Besides, until you blurted the newsflash, there wasn’t any way to know these were of you. Your face isn’t on a single one.”
“No, just my ass.” She pointed at one of the spilled frames. “And my leg. And—oh crap, is that my ... Jesus Christ.” She attempted to bend and look at the picture below, but her father held her tight.
The elderly gentleman finally bulldozed behind Caroline’s father, holding his arms out wide. He flung them around the man and his daughter and grinned. Had he called out bear hug? He grunted something else before the three toppled over, taking another easel with them.
Caroline shoved the two men off and crawled out from under a framed picture. She held up a thin forefinger. “Roger Freeman, get me the hell out of here before I explode in your face.”
He glanced around. Hmmm. Judging by the state of the room, it was too late. Did that mean the sushi was canceled, too? His stomach growled in protest.
She lifted to one knee then stood erect. “Never mind. I’ll find my own way out.”
Don Carlisle, the organizer of the event, whispered into Roger’s ear. “It sucks to be you, man. I was wondering ... does this mean those pieces are no longer available? I need to know because there were bids on them. We need every penny.”
Roger held up a hand and stuttered. “Hold that thought.” He ran after Caroline, silently thanking her for wearing crazy colors instead of a fancy dress. It made her easy to spot—until she bolted into the women’s room.
He waited. And waited. The door swished open. Two random women exited. No Caroline. How long would she hide out in there?
Minutes ticked by. She had to come out eventually; there were no other exits. Her father swung by and handed him a glass of scotch and soda. “This’ll calm her a little.”
Roger took one look at the liquid and tossed it back in three gulps. Forget her, he needed a little calming himself. He hadn’t really thought the whole thing through. He thought she’d, just maybe, like the pictures? Dumb.
He knocked on the bathroom door. No answer. He knocked again. “Caro. You have to come out sometime.”
“Go away.”
“Why? They’re just photos. They don’t even show anything.”
“Like hell they don’t.” Okay, maybe the one showed the shadow of her ass, but until she’d screamed no one could tell. Across the room, a crowd had gathered by the pictures and started to point. Shit, they were figuring it out now. Or at least trying to. So much for abstract art.
That was what Carlisle had called them. He liked the colors. Hell, Roger figured it was for a good cause, and he’d stared at them long enough. In snapshot form, of course, not quite as big as they were now.
A man walked his wife to the door and stood waiting as she went in. “Can you believe the one picture is at ten thousand dollars? Isn’t that crazy?”
Roger’s throat went dry. “Seriously? Which one?”
“I don’t know. It has red and tan and—”
“Green. It has green in it.” Caroline’s voice wavered as she held the bathroom door open. “There was a green string to the suit, and it was barely tied and coming undone.”
Actually, it had come completely undone and was lying on the towel in little ringlets, but who wanted to argue? The man’s eyes darted from Caroline to Roger.
Roger played it safe and shrugged. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.” It was a good idea to play dumb at the moment.
“Are you serious about the ten-thousand-dollar bid?” Caroline’s voice held more than a hint of disbelief.
The man nodded. Roger kept silent. He wasn’t sure what to do. When her eyes locked on his, her anger had dampened somewhat. “You should have told me.”
Yes, he should have. He would have, too, if he hadn’t been a complete idiot and thought she’d find it cute. He nodded, unable to respond.
Caroline ran a hand down her shirt and straightened the hem. “Who was that old guy who tackled me?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. He came with Bob. You want to stay or go? Or maybe beat me into a bag of crumbs?”
She thought for a second. “Hmmm, the bag of crumbs sounds good.” She headed for the side exit near the bathroom. “Let me think about it for a while.”
He had no choice but to follow as she pushed out into the night air and headed toward his car. Hmmm, she had something on her back. He squinted. The sauce from one of the snacks the wait staff handed out. Yuck. Should he tell her? He was reaching into his pocket for the napkin when she whirled around.
“You know what I don’t understand? Where did you get those pictures? We went to the beach one time. Period. And you didn’t have a camera. I took mine, but I don’t recall—”
“You were sleeping, remember? You lathered up with lotion and dozed off on your towel.”
“Okay, but—”
“You’d untied that string on your back to avoid tan lines, and I, um, got your camera out and snapped a couple of shots. There’s one of you drooling on the towel—be glad I didn’t share that.”
She frowned. “Small victories. Which one is better for the art museum: me drooling on a towel or baring my backside? You obviously took more than just a couple shots.” She felt violated.
“Your backside wasn’t bare. Don’t be ridiculous. It was just a close-up of the tie on the towel and the shadow of your hipbone. You had sand on your skin, and it—”
“Sparkled, yeah, I saw that. I should complain. Or sue.” She yanked open the passenger door of the Land Rover and slid into the car, slamming the door.
• • •
He hadn’t even asked. She could tell the pictures were of her from the tiny flower tattoo on her foot. Otherwise, the pictures were anonymous and random.
“Caro, I wasn’t planning—”
“What? To share skin pictures of me? Or to get caught? Why’d you take me to see all this then? What was so important about showing me your, your voyeurism fetish?”
His eyes widened. “Voyeurism? It was just a close-up of a piece of string, a towel, and an inch or two of skin. How do you figure that as voyeuristic?”
“You watched me.”
“Yes.”
“You took pictures.”
“Yes, with your camera. Not from far away. I was right there next to you.”
She snapped her seatbelt into place. “If you took them with my camera, why don’t I have the images? Why didn’t I—”
“I kept the sim card. I pulled it and put in a new one. I though
t you might get upset.”
Her lip curled into a grimace. “Well you got that right.”
They rode in silence to the restaurant. She debated asking him to take her home, but her stomach had passed the growling stage. It barked.
Not to mention, she was curious what else was on that sim card.
They ordered and ate the first few bites in silence. Outside, rain began to slap the window. She pointed her chopsticks at his nose. “You realize what’s going to happen now?”
He stuffed a piece of peppered tuna in his mouth and chewed. When he’d swallowed the bite, he pinched another. “What’s that?”
“If those really sell for that much, every guy there is going to ask you to take pictures of his wife or girlfriend. You’ll be inundated with—”
“Naked women modeling for me? Sweet, I hadn’t thought of it that way.” He grinned. Caroline wanted to reach over and shove his face in the soy sauce. “The terrible price of fame. I could sell the pictures and make a mint.”
“Yeah, you wish. Don’t get a big head. It’s a charity event, not the Smithsonian.”
“Don’t burst my bubble.”
“I can see it now.” She raised a hand and waved it across a fictitious billboard. “Freeman’s Photo Fantasies. Your girl in all her glory.”
“Hmmm. Catchy.” He took a sip of rice wine.
“Should work real well for you, knowing how much you enjoy surveying women’s curves.”
His eyes narrowed over his glass as he drew in another sip. Was he searching for a response? He spotted something over Caroline’s shoulder. Or someone. “Shit.” He plunked the wine glass on the tablecloth.
“Roger! I’m glad you’re here. I was planning to stop by later tonight.”
Caroline looked up, then leaned back to get the full view and height of the woman who towered over their table in six-inch heels. Blonde waves cascaded over the shoulders of a perfectly fitted silk blouse, which fell smoothly over a rather tight skirt.
“Marina, I’m a little busy right now. Can we talk some other time?”
“I can stop by later, if you like ...” The woman slid into the seat beside Roger.
Need Me Page 12
