by Peggy Jaeger
A shudder zipped up my spine. Who knew the mild-mannered and reserved writer had such a macabre side?
And why, for the love of God, did I find it so…arousing?
He turned to me, and then cupped the back of his neck with one palm, a half grin lining his mouth. “Sorry. I tend to think out loud without filtering. Side effect of being in a solitary profession. I don’t usually have an audience when thoughts are running around in here”—he tapped his temple—“so I tend to say them out loud.”
“I think you might have missed your calling in the horror-writing department. The scene you set was a little too realistic and probable for comfort. The next time we come down here, I’m hauling a baseball bat along in case you want to try out any of your ideas.”
A heart-stopping grin shot across his face like a bolt of lightning: rapid, blinding, and powerful. “I’m harmless.” To underscore his point, he drew an X over his heart.
I didn’t know about that. Those dimples were about as harmless as a heart attack.
With a shake of my head and my own grin slipping across my lips, I slid the key into the locked door and opened it. A second door, this one passcode protected, stood a few feet in front of us.
“Double security. Impressive.”
“The museum’s insurance adjustor insisted on it. Some of the papers and items in here could be considered historically priceless.” I typed the seven-digit code I’d had to memorize when I was inducted into the historical society onto the keypad located on the wall abutting the door.
“You know, if I was writing my horror book, I’d make you the sole individual with access to the admittance code,” he said, his voice soft and hushed now around us. “I’d worm my way into your trust, then lure you down here to gain access to some treasure sealed behind the door.”
He was standing close behind me, so close I could feel his breath trail across the back of my neck. The shiver sliding down my spine this time wasn’t from the creep factor associated with the locale. No, this time it was pure excitement fraying my nerve endings. Excitement, want, and…need.
I turned back to face him. A day or two’s thatch of black and white stubble grazed his cheeks and jaw, and if I were to scratch my fingers across it, it would be prickly and incredibly alluring. His eyes had gone to half-mast as he regarded me from under thick lashes, and his lips were parted a fraction.
“Worm your way into my trust, how?”
His shrug appeared noncommittal. After a moment, he tugged his bottom lip under his top teeth and slanted me a gauging squint. “Well, since my purpose would be some shade of evil, malicious intent—”
“Good description for a horror story.”
He grinned. “I’d have to make sure you trusted me. Maybe I’d write a plot point where you took pity on me for some reason.” He stopped, his gaze shooting down to my mouth and then back up again. “Maybe even attempt a simple seduction to ensure my hold over you.”
The subbasement was kept at a comfortable, controlled seventy degrees year round. But you would never have known it by me. With each word from Frayne’s lips, my inner temperature climbed higher, like a nuclear coil overreacting and heating to dangerous levels.
“A-a simple…seduction?” Good Lord. I was relegated to repeating things now because I couldn’t form a coherent thought. Not with the heat blazing like a firestorm in his eyes.
“Maybe not so…simple.” His voice lowered even more. “The need to be careful with you, with your feelings, would war within me. I’d have to decide what I wanted more: the hidden treasure…” His gaze flicked to my mouth. “Or you.”
I swallowed.
“And after you decide? Then what?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even and not give him a clue what he was doing to my nervous system. “You’d chop me into tiny bits and leave me for the docents to find in six months’ time while you escaped scot-free?”
I’d meant it to be a playful rejoinder, following his horror theme, and a ridiculous attempt to lighten the mood. The joke was on me, though.
Frayne took a step closer, stretched out an arm and placed his palm flat against the wall, imprisoning me on one side. I lifted my chin to keep my gaze connected with his.
“No.” His voice was as soft as a curl of smoke. “No, I wouldn’t hurt you. Never. I couldn’t.” He shook his head. “I think I’d write it so I stole the treasure…and you along with it. I’d take you both with me.” With a tiny crook to his elbow, he leaned in closer and bent his head.
“Where…where would we go?” I asked. While waiting for his reply, I swallowed again—hard—the sound of my throat working loud and rough between us.
With his free hand, Frayne reached up and idly coiled a strand of my hair around his finger. Lovingly, he rubbed it between his thumb and his first two fingers, then lifted it to his mouth. When he dragged it across his lips, I swear on my oath as an officer of the court, I was in danger of losing my ability to stand.
“Someplace no one would ever find us.” His voice had gone whisper-soft. “Someplace…far away from”—he sighed—“everything and everyone.”
How wonderful that sounded. To go someplace far away from court cases and demanding clients. Loneliness and heartache. Responsibilities and sad memories.
“We’d spend the rest of our lives on a beach somewhere, lying in the warm sun. Drinking champagne, eating lobsters. Sleeping.” He let loose my hair. “Making love. No outside concerns. No thoughts about anything except what time the sun set. Sounds pretty perfect, doesn’t it?”
That ability to keep standing upright? Yeah, well, I lost it right then and there.
I fell backward against the security door, shoving it open with my body. I stumbled across the threshold and would have fallen flat on my butt if Frayne’s reflexes weren’t laser swift. His strong hands went around my upper arms and held fast. Even through the layers of my blouse and the warm wool jacket, heat blasted from his fingers, branding my flesh as if he held it, bare, in his hands.
When the door opened, the automatic light shot to the on position and the glare from the overhead fluorescents was blinding.
Frayne held me close in front of him, even after I was sure-footed, his fingers slowly kneading my upper arms as he continued to stare down at me. “Are you okay?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat for the third time—and then tried to take a step back and out of his hold.
His grip tightened. “Cathy? Are you all right?”
“You can let me go,” I said, my voice shaking. “I won’t fall. Promise.”
His gaze shifted to where his hands were clasped around my upper arms. With brows almost meeting in the center of his forehead, he shook his head a few times, as if pulling out of a trance.
Flames shot up my neck and cheeks, and I imagined my face was akin to the color of a vine-ripened tomato by now.
He opened his hands, crossed them behind his back, and then took a step backward. At the same time, I turned and moved into the archives, dragging in a huge gulp of air to calm myself.
It was going to take a whole lot more than a deep breath to quell the tsunami swirling in my belly.
I never entertained the thought Frayne was flirting with me. First, he didn’t seem the type. Second, I believed him when he said he was used to working story angles aloud. When I prepared court summations, I routinely read them out loud at home, to hear how they came across, if I was conveying my thoughts coherently, and if everything made sense. I figured he’d been doing the same thing, then got caught up in the moment and let it go a little further than either of us expected. Telling myself this went a long way in soothing my nerves.
The air in the archive rooms, although temperature controlled, had a stale, musty reek to it. It was apparent no one had been down here in quite some time.
“Do you have those location markers?” I asked. Before turning back to him, I sent myself a silent order to keep things professional.
I took the proffered paper and snuck a quick side
eye at him. His brows were beetled, and he was staring down at the floor. He’d shoved his hands into his pockets again, and a slight tic in his jawline told me he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. Eileen had done the same as a child and through her teen years whenever she was concentrating.
“Okay.” I lowered my voice as it bounced around the metal cabinets and shelves surrounding the room. “What do you want to see first, the birth certificate?”
“Yes.”
“According to the numbered indicators, they’re in the next room. There’s a high-quality copy machine in there to use.”
“I can’t take it upstairs with me?”
“No, I’m sorry. Nothing can be moved from here because of the controlled environment. Hence, the copy machine.”
“Some of the papers will be old and faded,” he said, for the first time looking directly at me again. “They might not copy well.”
“They will, don’t worry. The copy machine is worth every penny the historical society paid for it.” I located the archival drawers indicated on his notes and pointed to the box of disposable gloves sitting on top of it. “You’ll need to put on a pair of those.”
He grabbed two from the box, as did I.
I located the file and gave it to him. “The birth certificate should be in here.”
With his glasses perched back on his nose, he opened the file and rifled through the documents housed within it. After a few moments, he stopped.
“Did you find it?”
Whatever he’d been about to say was halted when my cell phone blared, the unexpected shrill making me jump.
“Jesus.” I tore off a glove and hit the connect icon. Lucas Alexander, Heaven’s police chief and one of my oldest friends said, without preamble, “Cathy, we got a situation.”
I closed my eyes and took a cleansing breath. I was doing a lot of deep breathing recently. “Please tell me it doesn’t concern Nanny.”
His low chuckle calmed me. “Not this time. But I had to haul Seldrine Compton in, and I figured I’d give you a head’s up.”
“What happened?”
“Neighbors called in a disturbance. When Pete Bergeron got to her house, she was drunk and screaming like a fisher-cat. He had to call me for backup because he couldn’t handle her. He’s got a nice shiner brewing.”
“Oh, good Lord. Is he okay?”
His calm, smooth voice filtered through the phone. “He’s fine. Sitting here with a bag of frozen peas over his eye socket. His pride’s hurt more than anything, but I’ve got to add assaulting a law officer onto the drunk and disorderly charge.”
“Seldrine’s been doing so well lately.” I shook my head and closed my eyes. “She’s been attending meetings, getting her life back together. She even started classes to earn her GED. I’ve got her custody case this week.”
“I know. Which is the reason I’m calling. Her mom took the kids back to her house with her. She’s agreed to keep them until Seldrine’s brought before the judge, which isn’t going to happen until Monday morning. Asa’s skiing with his grandkids in Vermont this weekend.”
“This is going to be a black mark on her record for sure.” I closed my eyes and shook my head.
“It will. I’ve got her back at the station, fuming, in a cell, and I’m gonna have to keep her there until her court appearance. I’m hoping once she sleeps it off, she’ll be less combative.”
“Do you have any idea what sparked this? I know for a fact she hasn’t had a drink since before Cam went to prison.”
“She wasn’t exactly forthcoming with Pete or me. Called us a couple of names I haven’t heard since I got back stateside, though. Maybe you’ll be able to get more out of her.”
“Okay.” I thought a moment. “I’ll be down there as soon as I can. Tell her I’m coming, would you?”
“Will do. Before I let you go, you’re not anywhere near the inn, are you?”
“No. I was there earlier for a wedding. Why?”
I could hear him shrug. “Gonna be a long weekend if I’m stuck here babysitting. I was hoping you could finagle some muffins or something from your sister so I don’t starve to death.”
I knew Lucas was a frequent visitor to the inn. My sister and her helper, Sarah, each had a soft spot for him and took pity on him more times than not. They never sent him away without a plastic container filled with leftovers from lunch service, or a morning’s sample of breakfast items. Lucas was divorced and, in addition to being the town cop, also had his elderly, infirm father living with him. His sporadic hours meant oftentimes he wasn’t able to cook a nutritious meal for them and whatever Mo sent him home with was always appreciated.
I told him I’d make a quick stop there before coming to the jail.
“Take your time. Seldrine isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I.”
I hit the end icon, then called Martha at home. After I explained the situation, she volunteered to come in the next morning and type up a brief I was going to write tonight for the judge so it would be ready to go Monday morning.
One more quick call to Maureen and a promise for a go-bag for Lucas and Seldrine, and I finally shut my phone. When I turned, Frayne’s face was a jumble of expressions. His brows were pulled in so tight it looked like he had a unibrow, he was gnawing on the inside corner of his lip, and he was tapping his reading glasses against his thigh. In the other hand, he still held the file I’d given him.
I couldn’t determine if he was confused, nervous, or merely antsy from being in the subbasement.
“Sorry,” I said. “Client emergency.”
“I thought you had weekends free. Except for weddings, I mean.”
“My life doesn’t run on a normal five-day-a-week schedule.” I shook my head. “I have my own practice, and in all honesty, I’m always available for my clients. Any day they may need me and at any time.”
“Practice? Wait—you’re a doctor?”
I smiled. If he knew how much the sight of blood made me queasy he’d never ask that. “No, I’m not.”
He cocked his head again and peered at me, his eyes narrowing.
“Social worker?”
“No, again. I’m a lawyer. That was the chief of police informing me he arrested one of my clients.”
Frayne’s entire body went stone still as if he’d been turned into a hardened slab of concrete. His eyes were the only things indicating he was still conscious. A few minutes ago they’d been free of their haunting sadness and replaced with what I thought was something akin to desire. Now they were frozen over like a tundra glacier.
“You’re a lawyer.” It wasn’t a question.
Not understanding the annoyance in his tone, I took a breath then said, “Yes. General law. I deal, for the most part, with child custody, guardianships, wills.”
He shook his head and fisted his hands on his trim hips. If I was reading his body language correctly, he wasn’t happy about what I’d told him.
“I’ve gotta say, I don’t know what I thought you did for a living, but lawyer was never even a consideration. You seem too nice, too…” He waved his hand in the air. “I don’t know. You don’t come off like a lawyer.”
“How do lawyers come off?”
Fire chased the ice in his eyes away. It was fascinating to see someone’s emotions turn on a beat. “Arrogant. Self-aggrandizing. Egotistical. Greedy and self-serving. More descriptions come to mind. None of them are complimentary.”
“No, they don’t seem to be. I’m sorry you view the profession in such a light.”
“That’s a laugh. I never met a lawyer who was sorry for anything.” His mouth turned down at the corners, scorn screaming through his words. “Lawyers don’t care about the lives of the people they deal with. It’s all a game. A big chess game with people as the pawns. Who’s going to be sacrificed? Who wins? Who makes the best deal? Who comes out on top? Never mind people have suffered, are suffering. Never mind the pain, the physical ache, suffusing them. You all twist things to allow the g
uilty to go free and the innocent to suffer. Christ. I hate lawyers. I hate the entire breed.”
When he stopped, he shook his head with such force his hair fell across his forehead. With a furious finger swipe, he shoved it back in place, a deep, dark breath dragging through him.
Frayne’s characterization was something I’d heard before. Many people had nothing nice to say about lawyers and had no need of one.
Until they did.
Until a situation arose where having a lawyer meant the difference between getting off with a warning or spending a decade in prison.
I willed myself to keep my tone calm and my voice professional when I said, “Yes. I can see you do.”
His gaze met mine. Pain had mixed with anger, both harsh and hot.
“As much as you despise us as a breed, lawyers do have their uses, Mr. Frayne, one being to ensure the safety and welfare of our clients. And I need to go see to mine. I can wait until we find the other items you want, though. You can make copies of the documents in here before we go back upstairs.”
Before he could say another word, I turned, the slip of catalogue file numbers he’d written still in my hand and went in search of the records he’d indicated. Frayne said nothing.
It was easy to find the two land deeds he wanted to inspect. What wasn’t easy was keeping my hands from shaking when I handed them over. While I’d been searching, he’d taken advantage of the high-tech copy machine in the room. When I gave him the deeds, he returned the file with the birth certificate to me.
Not more than five minutes later we were done. Neither of us had uttered a word as I locked the subbasement door behind me, then made a beeline for my belongings. Frayne walked back to his work station and laid the copies down on top of all the papers and books he’d left there.
