by Addison Fox
“It’s my dream space. The moment I saw this kitchen I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I could rebuild my life here.”
Lilah had no idea why she’d chosen those words—or why she’d even consider telling them to a stranger—but they were out.
Was it self-preservation?
Or a warning, shot over the bow so he would know in advance she was damaged and broken.
“Why are you here again?”
“I saw the light on and wanted to make sure you were all right.” When she said nothing and simply stared at him, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Since I can see that you are, I’ll leave you to finish up.”
He turned on his heel and headed out. Despite her better judgment, Lilah watched his swift, efficient movements as he walked away. She’d thought her vanilla batter delicious, but as her gaze drifted over his sculpted buttocks, she amended the notion.
The man was delicious. Every inch of him was in prime condition, and without warning or conscious effort, urges she’d repressed a long time ago sprang back to vivid life.
No doubt about it, she’d like to eat the man with a spoon.
“Good night, Lilah. Don’t forget to lock up after me.”
“Good night, Detective.”
It was a long while later when she realized the detective’s visit was the first time she’d been alone with a man in years and hadn’t felt a single moment of fear.
* * *
Cassidy ran her index finger over her lower lip as she rifled through Mrs. B.’s desk drawer. She could still taste him there, that intriguing mix of masculine perfection that was Tucker Buchanan. Their kiss in the hallway had been unexpected—and that only made it that much more enticing.
How had he managed to sneak under her defenses?
She’d known him for only a short while, and yet here they were, breaking and entering and adding stolen kisses to the mix.
At the thought of breaking and entering—or unlocking and entering, as it were—Cassidy sobered, memories of that kiss fading as she remembered the reason they were here. She closed the desk drawer and stood up, her gaze drifting around the study.
“You okay?”
She focused on Tucker where he stood at a bookshelf, inspecting a long row of spines, pulling each book out one by one. “Yes.”
“But?”
“But what?”
“But you’re having second thoughts.”
Cassidy shrugged, the truth of his words pulling at her like lead weights. She’d known Josephine Beauregard her entire life. She loved the woman like a grandmother. Yet here she was, throwing that history to the wind in favor of satisfying her curiosity. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Me, too.”
The admission was sweet—and wholly unexpected—and it only reinforced every thought she’d already had about Tucker. He was special. Different.
And a gentleman.
“I’m not even sure what we’re looking for.”
“Something we’ll know when we see it?”
“I guess.” Her gaze followed his movements, and she shrugged. She might feel bad now that they were here, rifling through things, but something had carried them from the hospital and into Mrs. B.’s house.
And that something was still proving elusive.
“What could they be hiding? By all accounts, they haven’t seen each other in years.”
“How do you know that?”
“Max Senior told me when we were sitting in the hospital room. He and Jo went their own ways and got married to other people. They haven’t seen each other.”
“How long ago was that?”
“It’s got to be well over fifty years ago.”
Tucker stopped his search. “They hid something that long ago?”
“They must have. When else would they have done it?”
His gaze skipped around the room before landing on a Louis XIV table that held a variety of photos. “Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place.”
“I know Mrs. B. If she’s got evidence of something, it would be here in the house. It would have to be. She doesn’t have an office or anything like that.”
“No, I mean we’re looking for some sort of evidence, but maybe what we need is something broader. Something that doesn’t look like a clue.” Tucker moved over to the photos, lifting each one in turn. “Do you recognize anyone in these?”
When they’d arrived, a small desk lamp was already on, its cord attached to a timer. The soft light filtered through the room, and she moved in to review the various photos. Several were filled with people she didn’t recognize, flanking Josephine in various poses, but several more were familiar. “That’s her late husband, Tom. And that’s a cousin who visited every year from England. And those are her parents.”
Tucker pointed toward the friend. “Did she have family in England?”
“She’s from there. She moved here when she was small before she’d acquired the accent but her father’s was quite proper as I’ve been told. I never knew him but my mother did as a young girl.”
“How did a British family end up in Dallas?”
“How does anyone end up anywhere?” Cassidy shrugged. “I think her parents settled here after World War II.”
“That’s interesting.”
“I guess.” She struggled to understand where Tucker was going with all his questions when he picked up the frame of Jo’s parents again. He turned it over in his hands before tugging on the stand attached to the backing.
“What are you doing?”
And old yellowed paper dropped to the table as the frame sprung free of the backing.
“Tucker!”
He set the pieces of the frame on the desk and lifted the paper, gently unfolding the thick, yellowed sheets.
“Take a look at this.”
Chapter 10
“What does it say?”
Tucker shook his head, his hands gentle on the old paper as he turned it over in the dim light. “Let’s find out.”
“What made you even think to do that?” Cassidy pointed at the photo. “To pull out the back of the frame? That’s not something you just do.”
How had he known?
He’d never considered himself a particularly intuitive person, but between years of observation and training in the service and a distinct love of straight lines and angles as an architect, he’d sensed something was off.
“I’m not sure. All I know was that the frame felt different. Heavier somehow, and the back bowed out slightly under my fingers.”
The paper was thick, the sort of thing that might come as a personal note from someone, and even with its age he sensed the richness of the vellum.
“Open it.”
Tucker handed it to her. “You do the honors.”
Excitement quivered around her shoulders in subtle waves, and Tucker hadn’t missed the breathless notes in her voice.
Sort of like how she’d sounded after they’d kissed.
A swift pump of excitement kicked in his stomach at the memory of their kiss in the hallway and he caught himself, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand.
They were here on a job. The stolen moments had simply been that—stolen. He’d do well to remember that, especially since they were currently standing in an old, victimized woman’s house, searching for evidence of why she and her property had suddenly been targeted with violence.
“It’s from Buckingham Palace.” Those breathless notes were back, and the awe veiled beneath was unmistakable.
“What?” Thoughts of Mrs. B. fled as Cassidy’s comment registered. Whatever Tucker might have expected in the brief moments since they’d found the paper, a missive from royalty certainly wasn’t it.
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“Look.” She shifted the page in the light, the thick ink stamped in the header marking the sender.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Look here.”
Cassidy held the paper out and they both scanned the short note.
Mister Brown. It is with gratitude that my wife and I express our appreciation for your continued duty to your country. Your continued possession of the materials we’ve discussed and your willingness to dispose of these items is of continued importance. It is with sadness we accept the news of your departure to Texas but wish you and your family continued health and prosperity.
“It’s signed by King George.”
“Which one’s he?” Tucker scanned the date—after World War II—and then turned the paper over to see if there was anything further. He understood global politics quite well but was admittedly rusty on his royalty.
“Queen Elizabeth’s father.”
“The current queen?”
“One and the same.”
“So why hide it in the back of a picture frame?” Tucker picked up the now separated photo of Mrs. B.’s parents. “This is the sort of thing you frame all on its own.”
“This has to have something to do with whatever’s secreted in our floor.”
He wanted to dismiss it—wanted to believe it was simple coincidence that they’d found such an intriguing piece of communication—but he knew better.
Kings didn’t simply send notes out to their fellow countrymen.
And they didn’t ask them to hide things.
Your continued possession of the materials we’ve discussed and your willingness to dispose of these items is of continued importance.
“This is unbelievable.” Tucker scanned the missive once more, the richness of the vellum and the royal seal seemingly real.
“It was her father who took the jewels. Like it was a favor.”
“This was more than a favor. Her father came here on a mission.”
* * *
Cassidy locked up Mrs. Beauregard’s home and did a quick scan of the quiet street as they walked toward Tucker’s SUV. She held her large purse tight against her body, the contents still more of a fanciful notion than something real she could wrap her mind around.
Yet they were real.
They’d agreed to take both the paper and the photo as evidence to share with Violet, Lilah and Max. The details were hard to imagine—secret letters from the royal family—and it would help to have additional eyes on the materials to see if they seemed as ominous to them as they did to Cassidy and Tucker.
And then they’d confront Jo.
Although it pained her to have rifled through Mrs. B.’s house, she refused to lie about it. They’d confront her the next day with what they’d found, and Cassidy knew she’d take her lumps for going through the woman’s personal things.
But she refused to be sorry.
She’d missed an opportunity once before to do what was right. There was no way she was repeating the mistake.
“You’re quiet.”
Cassidy hesitated, the need to keep her personal life buried warring with the need to keep someone she cared about safe. “I’m sad. I know I shouldn’t be and I know we don’t have all the answers, but I can’t help being sad over Mrs. B. She looked so scared.”
Tucker shook his head as he opened the door for her. “And panicked. Like someone got to her.”
“She’s been in the hospital since the accident. How could someone have gotten into such a secured area?”
“What about those goons I chased into the parking lot?”
How had she forgotten about that?
Her own sense of panic lit up her nerve endings before slithering through her stomach with all the force of a live wire. “We have to tell Detective Graystone. He’s got to be able to look at footage from the hospital. There’s no way they don’t have surveillance.”
Tucker’s gaze was assessing before he stepped away and closed her door. She’d seen the questions in those warm brown depths and wondered how she’d answer them.
In moments, he was in the passenger seat, pulling away from the curb. “We’ll call Graystone in the morning.”
She supposed it would keep. If Mrs. B. had been under strong care before, she was absolutely under watch in ICU. Even so, something in waiting didn’t sit well.
She’d waited once before...
“What’s bothering you?”
The urgency to get home—to get in bed and simply pull the covers over her head—was strong, but Cassidy remained resolute. She refused to let the panic win. “I hate being helpless.”
“You’re not helpless. And you’re not alone.”
“I wish that were true.”
Oh, how she wished it were true.
How she wished some sense of normalcy would return instead of the constant memories, hovering just beneath the surface, always waiting to break through.
“You’re not alone.” Tucker’s voice remained firm, his face set in hard lines as streetlights washed over his features.
She took in the hard line of his jaw and the warmth and strength that emanated off him as naturally as he took each breath. And without warning, a hard sob rose up in her throat, choking in its intensity.
“My sister. It was my sister.” She exhaled again on a heavy breath that was half moan, half sigh at finally saying the words. “I know it’s not the same but every time I stop and think about what’s happening I feel so helpless. Like it’s happening all over again.”
“What happened?”
The memories she worked so hard to keep at bay broke through, warring with the images of what she could only suspect had happened. Danger and desolation and death.
Each jockeyed for position as she imagined the last days and months of her sister’s life.
“Leah. My sister. She died. Overdosed on booze and pills. She left a note.”
“I’m sorry—” He broke off when she raised her hand, and stopped, clearly waiting for her to continue. She had to get through this. In one great big rush of information, she had to get through.
“I knew she wasn’t happy in her marriage, but I had no idea she was so unhappy. Or that she felt so alone. She’s my sister. I should have known. Should have sensed something was wrong.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that.”
Violet and Lilah had tried the same arguments but nothing could assuage the guilt. “If not me, then who? She’s my family.”
“And as your family, she chose to keep things from you. How is that your fault?”
She shook her head, rubbing her hands over her arms in an effort to stay warm, even with the ambient heat that still surrounded them like a thick blanket, even with the car’s air-conditioning on full blast.
“I won’t make excuses, Tucker. I wasn’t there for her. And that’s on me. It will always be on me.”
* * *
Grief was something Tucker understood. He’d steeped himself in it at a young age with loss of his own. But this sense of responsibility Cassidy held herself accountable to was a puzzle. Everything he’d observed up to now had indicated she was a strong-willed woman with a mind of her own.
So how could someone so confident—so full of life—think that she held such a deep degree of responsibility for the actions of another?
Yes, it hurt to lose a loved one. But mind reading was a tall order for anyone.
The normally crowded streets were empty as he drove through downtown toward the Design District. Although the city wasn’t devoid of a homeless problem, the heat had forced many into shelters and there were few stragglers out and about on the streets.
“I’ll drop you at the store to get your car and then follow you home.”
“You don�
��t—”
“We’ll swing by and get Bailey and then we’ll follow you home. I’d like to check your house, too.”
Any additional protest died on her lips. “Thank you.”
The absence of traffic gave him additional time to look at her. She was already slim but up until now he’d seen those slender shoulders were able to carry great burdens. Hell, the woman had moved around her store like a whirling dervish, setting things to rights with precision and focus.
But in this moment, that same build simply looked small.
And completely overwhelmed with grief.
“I see you looking at me.”
“And?”
“And I keep hearing your words.” She hesitated, then pressed on. “About not being at fault.”
“I don’t get the feeling you believe them.”
“It’s not that simple. I chose not to have an active relationship with her. My own sister.”
“You have a relationship with Violet and Lilah that’s sisterlike. It seems as if you’re capable of one.”
He thought of the camaraderie between the three women—and the fierce devotion—and knew the thought to be completely accurate. They were a support system and they were a family. One created instead of born to, but a family all the same.
“I should have had one with Leah, too.”
“Yet you didn’t. Why not?”
She grew quiet again, and Tucker sensed he’d overstepped. So it was with some surprise when she spoke once more. “I told you the other night about my father. And how he wasn’t crazy about what I was doing.”
“Yes.”
“Leah wasn’t, either. My parents should have supported me and they didn’t. To have my sister side with them—” Her light sigh seemed to fill the confines of the car. “It hurt. And it still does. Mrs. B. was actually a rock during that time. To both of us. She managed to straddle both sides—see both our perspectives.”
“You and your sister were close to her?”
“She was Leah’s godmother so there was a bond there. Always. But she’s also been supportive of me. It’s the rest of my family who couldn’t make that same effort.”
