Hot Mail

by Maynard, Janice

  “When you heard something?”

  She nodded jerkily. “There was a loud crash and then I heard footsteps in the shop.”

  “What did you do?”

  She took another sip of tea, burying her nose in the steam before meeting his concerned gaze. “I tiptoed across my office and locked the door.” She faltered, her eyes brimming with tears. “It couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds, but I felt like I was walking in slow motion. If I hadn’t been quick enough . . . if he’d had a gun . . .”

  He couldn’t help himself this time. He pulled a stool, the only other seat in the room, close to her and laid a hand on her arm. “You’re okay, Jane. You did the right thing. Most burglaries happen when no one is home. That’s how the B-and-E guys like it. So it was sheer bad luck that you came downstairs. He wasn’t counting on that. He probably bolted when he got far enough inside to see the light coming from beneath the office door.”

  She nodded, the overhead fluorescent light emphasizing her pallor.

  She didn’t seem to notice that he had touched her, so he withdrew his hand. It was unprofessional at best, but he didn’t think anyone would fault him for trying to comfort a woman who was so obviously shaken.

  Jane had always struck him as a calm, self-possessed female, not at all prone to hysteria. But what had transpired this evening would upset anyone, and all things considered, he thought she was handling herself pretty well.

  She shivered hard. He realized that the frigid air pouring through the busted-out window had filtered to the back of the shop. He could handle it, even without his coat, but Jane was in a vulnerable state. He glanced down at her feet and cursed as he realized for the first time that her slender feet were bare.

  He ground his teeth, trying to remember that she had dealt with a lot tonight and didn’t need him berating her. Biting back his scolding words, he stood, took the cup from her, and set it aside.

  When he scooped her up in his arms, she flailed wildly. “Put me down.”

  He grunted and nearly dropped her. “Be still, for God sakes.”

  She continued to struggle, traces of pink blooming on her cheeks. Her expression was mortified. “I’m too heavy, Ethan. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He had already reached the foot of the staircase leading up to her apartment. “You’re tall,” he said, breathing heavily. “There’s a difference.”

  Her foot hit the wall as he moved up the stairs. He muttered an apology and hitched her a bit higher in his arms. Her bare toes struck him as sexy, and the thought made him uncomfortable, especially considering the fact that her left breast was nestled against his chest. He could smell her soap and a faint trace of perfume.

  Where her head rested on his shoulder, strands of her hair tickled his chin. It was disconcerting as hell.

  On the second floor, he thought about setting her on her feet, but he’d made it this far, so he might as well finish his chivalrous posturing. He spotted her bedroom through an open door and managed to maneuver through it without doing any further damage to his cargo.

  He dropped her on the bed and ignored his aching back. Instead, he turned to the dresser and yanked open a drawer. “Where are your socks?” He tossed the question over his shoulder and froze when the first thing his hand touched was a hot pink bra.

  He dropped it like it was a poisonous snake and moved one drawer down. “Jane?”

  “One more,” she said. Her voice sounded stronger, and he thought she might possibly be laughing at him.

  He sighed in relief when he found a pair of wool hiking socks. As he replaced the drawers, his mind flitted back to a beautiful spring day when he and Jane had hiked in the Smokies. They’d laughed and talked, and at the top of a steep incline, they had simply paused to savor the view.

  His chest tightened as awareness slammed into him of how much he missed those fun-filled times with Jane. She was easy to be with, and he had always felt comfortable and relaxed around her.

  But somehow . . . not today.

  He turned to face her and couldn’t quite meet her eyes, particularly when his breathing fractured as he sat down beside her and slid first one sock and then the other onto her icy feet. He tried not to notice the sensual arch of each foot or the pretty pink polish that made her toes look cute and kissable.

  Kissable? Holy hell. What was wrong with him? This was a crime scene. He was the assistant chief of police. He had work to do.

  He stood and backed away from the bed. “If you have cardboard and duct tape downstairs, I’ll cover up the window until I can get someone here tomorrow.”

  She gave him the information in a low voice and he managed to look at her without flinching. Her wide-eyed stare told him she must have picked up on his agitation. She managed a small smile. “Thank you for doing that. But you’ll need your coat back if you’re going outside.”

  He put in on and shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “No problem. Stay under the covers and get warm. I’ll be back up to check on you when we’re finished.”

  Jane had never experienced such a far-reaching range of emotions in one short two-hour period. First it was the frustration of insomnia brought on by the sick feeling that her valentine agenda was doomed to failure. Then later terror, relief, joy at seeing Ethan, and bafflement and surprise at his tenderness. Embarrassment as he struggled up the stairs with her. Finally a flood of nostalgia for what had once been and now was lost.

  But his concern warmed her heart, made her feel like he still cared for her after all. Maybe not what she felt but something.

  She scooted down in the bed and huddled under the covers. For some reason, she couldn’t stop shaking, and her stomach felt queasy. She had always felt so safe in her little abode, and she loved being able to walk down the steps to work. The police station was only three blocks away, so that had convinced her she would never have to worry about being the victim of crime.

  Hard to admit she had been a naive fool.

  Early on she had considered installing a security system, but her shop sold paper and note cards and pens, for heaven’s sake. Not exactly the kind of stuff someone could sell for drug money.

  She could hear the two men moving around downstairs, and she wondered bleakly how she was ever going to feel safe again. Would she be doomed to sleepless nights wondering if someone was going to climb the stairs and stab or rape her while she slept? She knew her vivid imagination was not going to make this whole thing any easier.

  It was almost another hour before she heard Ethan’s footsteps in the hall. She scooted up against the headboard and smoothed her hair.

  Her first thought when he entered the room was that he looked exhausted. His jet-black hair was rumpled and his gray eyes were dull with fatigue.

  Though it wasn’t her fault, she felt guilty anyway. Call it the curse of her gender.

  Suddenly, she had to know. “Have you been home today?”

  He frowned, removing his jacket and tossing it on a chair. “No. Why?”

  She waved a hand. “No reason.” I merely wanted to know if you had opened your mail.

  He perched on the foot of her bed and stared at her. “I sent my officer and the squad car back to the station. My shift ended at one thirty. Would you like me to stay with you? As I recall, your sofa is pretty comfortable.”

  He asked it prosaically. Not a hint of flirting or sexual intent.

  Nevertheless, her nipples tightened, and her legs stirred restlessly beneath the covers. Did she want him to stay? Only for the rest of her life. She gripped the edge of the blanket with both hands. “That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

  Apparently she was a lousy liar. One corner of his mouth kicked up in a wry grin. “No need for heroics, Jane. Anybody in this situation would be spooked.”

  She sighed. “Not you.” She couldn’t imagine Ethan being afraid of anything. He was strong and confident, and even the benign arrogance he sometimes displayed could be discounted in light of the fact that his assurance was backed
up with the ability to handle a crisis.

  He ignored her last comment. “Tell me where to find a blanket and pillow.”

  “In the hall closet.”

  He disappeared, and immediately her bedroom felt colder, more lonely.

  She heard water running in the bathroom across the hall, and then he poked his head in the door a few moments later. “Good night, Jane.”

  “Good night.”

  When he turned off her light, she slid down beneath the covers and curled into a ball. As soon as she closed her eyes, she was suddenly back in the midst of that terrifying few minutes. Her stomach rolled, and she broke out in a cold sweat. Oh, God, she had never been so scared in her life. There was no way to know if the intruder had been armed, but if he had, she could be dead right now.

  Finished. Over.

  She sat up quickly and reached for the lamp beside her bed. Her breathing was rough and jerky, and she didn’t pause to weigh the risks of what she was about to do.

  “Ethan?” She called out, her voice just short of shrill. She hated the panicky, needy wave of emotion that tightened her chest.

  He didn’t bother answering. In a nanosecond, he appeared in her doorway, his hair tousled, his chest completely bare. “What’s wrong?” The urgency in his voice matched the speed at which he stumbled into the room and came to a sudden stop within feet of her bed.

  She surrendered the last of her pride. Gave up any remnants of poise. “Will you talk to me . . . until I fall asleep?” It was a stark request borne of the need for comfort and a desperate urge to be close to him.

  Something flashed across his face. Lord, she hoped it wasn’t pity. In all her imaginings, she had never envisioned fate bringing Ethan back into her life like this. She—the poor, rattled female. Ethan—wondering how he had been unlucky enough to get saddled with a semihysterical crime victim.

  He ran both hands through his hair, and in better circumstances, Jane might have swooned. The muscles that rippled in his arms and torso were even more impressive than she remembered from those long-ago times at the lake, or on the court at the YMCA, playing shirts and skins. But not in bed. Not in intimacy. He shrugged, his face impassive. “Sure.”

  He retrieved his pillow and blanket and brought them back to her room. For the first time, she saw his confidence waver. He clearly didn’t know how to proceed.

  She took pity on him. “It’s okay to lie down. I know you must be exhausted.”

  He took her at her word, settling on his back on top of her comforter, flipping the blanket out to settle over his legs, and tucking his hands behind his head.

  She felt breathless, as if he had sucked all the air out of the room. But she also felt something else—peace. With Ethan by her side, the bad guys were exiled to some other place. She’d been standing on her own two feet for a long time. But tonight, just this once, she needed to lean on someone.

  She couldn’t believe she wasn’t hyperventilating. Ethan Oldham was in her bed. And he hadn’t even received her first erotic valentine. She closed her eyes, feeling the inexorable pull of fatigue. All her adrenaline had winnowed away, and she felt battered in mind and body.

  Ethan stirred beside her. “Do you want me to turn out the light?” His voice was husky. She kept her eyes closed, unable to summon the strength to look at him. It was enough to sense his warm, hard body so close. To know that he was there.

  She curled on her side, facing him, moments away from sleep. “Do you mind if we keep it on for a while? Will it keep you awake?”

  Will it keep you awake? Jane’s voice was slurred. Ethan shifted his hips and found a comfortable spot, one that carefully maintained a sizable “no-touching” zone. The lamp was the least of his worries. He had never felt less like sleeping, even though he was damn tired.

  She had asked him to talk to her, but he sensed it was going to be unnecessary. Already her breathing was steady. She had her hands tucked beneath her cheek. Like a little child. But there was nothing childish about Jane. She was soft and sweet-smelling, and the boorish male inside him was in danger of kicking the gentlemanly Ethan’s ass. The urge to spread her long legs and mount her throbbed in his gut.

  He had a massive erection, and it both shocked and dismayed him. He’d never lusted after Jane. They had been friends. Good friends. But somehow that familiar relationship, the one he’d thought long since destroyed, had evidently been lying dormant, ready to reappear in a newer, definitely more alarming manifestation.

  He closed his eyes and courted sleep. For the first time, his brain clicked over from a professional assessment of what had happened tonight to a far more personal realization. Jane might have been badly hurt. Perhaps killed.

  The thought shook him. Even in a quiet town like Statlerville, violence was a reality. Humans did unspeakable things to one another at times. But he knew the value of keeping a one-step-removed perspective.

  In order to do his job, he had to keep his emotions in check. He might react to a crime scene with pity, or sorrow, or occasionally even shock and horror. But those human feelings, if he allowed them to take precedence over his instincts and his training, would merely get in the way of doing his job.

  But nothing about tonight seemed familiar. Not his reaction to the initial 911 call. Not the strangling rush of fear he’d felt for a woman from his past. Not the urge to protect and care for Jane.

  If anyone had told him yesterday that tonight he’d be in Jane’s bedroom, in her bed, he’d have laughed.

  But at the moment, humor was the last thing on his mind. He moved restlessly and grunted when pain shot through his lower back. He was going to pay, no doubt, for his Rhett Butler imitation.

  He sighed and pulled the blanket up to his chin. If he’d ever felt more out of his element, he couldn’t remember when. He was the assistant chief of police. Nowhere in his job description did it list “spending the night with a victim.” He could have called his sister. She and Jane knew each other.

  He could have suggested Jane go to a motel for the night until the window could be replaced. He could have offered to park a squad car at the front door. To deter any further mischief.

  But no. He’d had to be all gallant and macho and offer his services as a babysitter. And tomorrow, when Jane was once again her usual confident, assertive self, this two-on-a-mattress scenario was bound to be embarrassing for both of them.

  He abandoned his perusal of her ceiling and turned his head to look at her. Her skin was creamy in the soft lamplight, her bare lips blush pink. . . .

  She still wore the blue robe, but without her death grip at the collar, the material had gaped open to reveal a V-neck sleep shirt, which offered him a mouthwatering glimpse of her firm, curvy breasts. He gulped and dragged his gaze away. His unintentional voyeurism smacked of taking advantage of Jane’s vulnerable state.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled, noticing the faint mix of scents that were so uniquely Jane. Suddenly, the conversation with his sister came back to him. The one where he had promised to date seriously.

  Of course, he’d had his fingers figuratively crossed behind his back. He had every intention of weaseling out of that agreement. But it seemed like an odd karmic twist that Sherry had mentioned Jane just a few days ago, and then—bam . . .

  He had reason to know that karma could be a twisted bitch with a sick sense of humor, and he had learned the hard way to proceed with caution in matters of the heart. A philosophy that in the last four years had translated to keeping his relations with the opposite sex infrequent and impersonal.

  Jane was a wonderful person. They had once been very good friends. But that was a long time ago. And just because being here in this apartment—hell, in this bed—made him feel some really odd but kind of sweet emotions. . . . Well, that was probably nothing more than a potent cocktail of nostalgia and bone-deep weariness.

  He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. His hand froze in midair. No. Don’t go there. Deliberately, he lowered his arm, turned his
back on her, and closed his eyes. He didn’t need more complications in his life. He needed sleep.

  Three

  Jane surfaced slowly from a night of deep, almost drugged sleep. Even trapped by the lingering mists of weird dreams, she was aware that light filtered into the room. But it was the she was aware that light filtered into the room. But it was the weak, chill light of a winter’s day.

  She huddled under the covers, savoring the warmth of her comfy bed. Before she opened her eyes, she took stock. In barely the time it took her to draw a breath, everything came flooding back. The break-in. Ethan showing up. Ethan staying.

  She lifted one eyelid a fraction and checked out the bed. Ethan’s side was empty, the covers smooth, his blanket and pillow nowhere to be seen.

  Had she dreamed the entire thing?

  She listened intently. Outdoor noises in the distance were familiar, but the only sound in her apartment was the quiet ticking of an antique mantel clock that had been her grandmother’s.

  She reared up on one elbow and saw a note on her nightstand. With trembling fingers, she opened it.

  Dear Jane:

  I’ll send someone over first thing to get the window replaced. We were able to recover a few partial fingerprints. I’ll keep you posted on the investigation. Let me know if I can be of help in any way.

  Sincerely,

  Ethan

  That was it. Short and sweet. She swallowed her disappointment and forced herself to get out of bed. Her body felt old and tired, as if she had done hard physical labor yesterday. Her aches and pains were no doubt the remnants of stress and fear. In the light of day, her behavior embarrassed her.

  When Ethan had offered to stay last night, she should have turned him down. Her apartment had a sturdy lock on the door. Even with an open window downstairs, she would have been perfectly safe.