by Tara Thomas
Kipling did his best not to show any sort of response. “No, apparently he needs a complete name.”
Alyssa didn’t react in any way to his statement, other than to tap her pen against the pad of paper again. If anyone else had been doing that, it would have annoyed Kipling, but for some reason, seeing her do it made it hot somehow. Of course it seemed like everything she did he found hot.
The tapping stopped abruptly. “I know.” Alyssa reached into her purse and pulled something out. “Where did Jade sleep and which bathroom did she use when she was here?”
Kipling raised an eyebrow.
She sighed. “I’m looking for hair.”
“You won’t find it on the sheets she used and Lena will take it as an insult if you suggest as much.”
“Let me see the bathroom she used then. Maybe there’s some hair left in a brush or something.”
Kipling nodded. “Come with me. I’ll take you.”
He led her down the hall into the room Jade had used the one time she stayed at Benedict House. There was a connecting bathroom she’d have used as well. Kipling knew Lena would have changed the sheets, but there was a possibility if Jade didn’t have a brush she may have used the one in the bathroom.
Alyssa went straight for the drawers in the bathroom and smiled when she found the hairbrush. “There’s hair in it. Has anyone else used this brush?”
Kipling shook his head. “The last person to stay in that room before Jade was a distant cousin from England. I’m not even sure the brush was in the bathroom then. I know Lena restocked the bathroom after he left. That’s probably when she got it.”
Alyssa collected several strands of hair and placed them in what Kipling now saw was an evidence envelope.
“What exactly are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going to submit this hair to the lab,” Alyssa said.
“For DNA?” Kipling had to admit it was a good idea and one he hadn’t thought of before.
“Mitochondrial DNA,” she clarified.
“What’s the difference?”
“Mitochondrial DNA is what we typically use in kidnapping cases. It’s not the entire genotype, however, and it’s not unique. It’s passed down through the maternal line, so for example, my mitochondrial DNA is exactly like my sister’s and is exactly like my mother’s.”
“How will this help find Jade?”
“For one, if any maternal family member of hers is in the database, we’ll find it and that might help us find her.”
That was good enough in his book. “How long will it take to get results?”
She got that glimmer of excitement in her eyes. The one he loved so much. “Don’t worry about it. I know people.”
CHAPTER 5
A week after both agreeing to work with Kipling and after turning in her resignation, Alyssa stood in her room, brushing out her hair. Because she wore it in a ponytail all day, she loved nothing more than when she was able to take it down. In fact, it was one of her most favorite parts of her day. She flipped her head over and ran her brush through the tangles until the strands were smooth and crackled. Once she put the brush down, she ran her fingers through her hair, scratching her scalp so that it felt so good, she almost groaned.
She still couldn’t believe she told Kipling all that information about her sister, but it had felt so good to talk to someone. She’d never even told Janie about her sister. Why had it been so easy to tell Kipling? More than that, why was it impossible to get the man out of her hair? And did she want to?
Stupid question. No. She didn’t want Kipling out of her hair. The exact opposite, in fact—she wanted him in her hair. With her head still flipped over, she ran her fingers through her hair again, and pretended they were his. Would he be gentle or rough? In her fantasy he would be both. He’d start gentle and the more aroused he became, the rougher he’d get.
And because it was her fantasy, the closer he got to his release, the tighter he’d fist her hair. She buried her fingers in her hair and pulled. That wasn’t enough, so she grabbed two tight fistfuls and gave them a good, solid yank.
And let go with a sigh.
It was nowhere close to being as good when she did it herself. How long had it been since she’d had rough, hair-pulling sex? Definitely before Mac. He never wanted to do anything of the sort.
Why would you want your hair pulled? Mac had treated her like a freak and by the time he died, she believed she was one. She knew nothing about Kipling’s life. Had no idea what he was like as a lover, but she’d bet her house on the fact that he’d never make her or anyone else feel like she was a freak because she liked having her hair pulled. Maybe he secretly wanted to pull hair.
“You might as well forget it,” she told herself. “Want to or not, he’s so far out of your league it’s not even funny. Just deal with it and go on.”
She brushed her hair all over one last time and then put her hairbrush down. Laid out the outfit she planned to wear the next day and tried to decide if she wanted to go jogging today. She snorted. She never wanted to jog. She did it because she had to. She pulled out a sports bra and put it on the bed when a floorboard creaked from the front part of her house.
She froze.
It wasn’t unheard of for her house to creak. After all, all houses did. But she knew the noises her house made and that wasn’t one of them. Her heart began to pound. Was someone in her house?
She strained her ears, trying to listen for anything that sounded out the ordinary. But all she heard was her own heart beat and her breathing. She held completely still, although why she wasn’t sure. If anyone was in the house, they knew she was, too.
She stayed that way for several long minutes, trying to be completely still and closing her eyes in order to pick up on anything out of the ordinary. She looked across the room at her weapon. Too far away to reach without moving and because she knew her house so well, she knew there was no way to get to it without walking across the squeaky floorboards in her bedroom.
There.
Was that another squeak? The silence in her room was so complete it was actually loud. She kept thinking she heard things and wasn’t sure whether they were real or not. It was not unlike a game of chicken, assuming there was somebody in the house, with each of them trying to wait out the other to see who would make the first move.
She finally decided that whoever was in the house, knew she was as well and that whatever happened next, she wanted to be armed. She made a step toward the gun, determined to get to it before whoever else in the house made it to her. She eased her foot around the squeaky floorboard and gently pressed down on it.
Right as the floor moaned underneath her foot, she heard the clicking of the front door and she froze again. Had someone entered or had they left?
Deciding she wasn’t going to wait any longer, she ran across the room, grabbed her gun and headed toward the front of the house. Through the window, she saw a nondescript black car pull out of her driveway. There was no license plate on the car.
She took a deep breath. She was fairly certain that whoever was in the house had left, but she wasn’t going to rest until she knew for certain. Gun in her hand, she decided to go through each room.
Nothing was out of place until she reached the kitchen. In the middle of her table, placed where she couldn’t miss it, was a perfect black rose.
* * *
“Mr. Kipling?” Lena poked her head into his office.
Kipling looked up from the contract he’d been reading and pushed back from his desk. “Did I miss dinner again? I’m so sorry. I seriously don’t know how you put up with my worthless self.”
“No, sir. Dinner still has a while to cook yet.” Lena gave him a big grin. “It’s that Ms. Adams who was here last week. She’s back.”
“Officer Adams?” He looked behind her to see if she had followed Lena.
“I told her to wait in the foyer. I wasn’t sure where you wanted to talk with her.”
Kipling narrowed h
is eyes at the much-too-helpful Lena. As expected, she continued. “I thought you might like to invite her to dinner. I cooked plenty and that woman could use some good home cooking.”
“I’ll ask her if she’s interested.” He walked swiftly to the foyer. It wasn’t like Alyssa to come by this time of the evening. He worried that something had happened. She stood facing away from him and when she turned around, his heart sank. Not only because of the look of fear she had in her eyes, but because of what she held. A black rose.
“Kipling,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”
He held a hand up. “Don’t apologize. Ever. For coming by my house when you need to.” He nodded toward the rose. “Where did you get that?”
“It was left in my house.”
“Inside your house?”
“Yes, I was upstairs and I thought I heard something downstairs. I crossed the room to get my gun, but whoever it was ran outside before I could get to them. This was sitting on the kitchen table.”
He needed to calm down before he blew a gasket. “Come in here and sit down.” He led her to the living room and took a seat across from her. “Someone was in your house the same time you were?”
She tried to put on a brave face, but he saw the fear hidden in her eyes. “Yes, but I had a gun.”
He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “Alyssa, I don’t give a damn if you had a whole arsenal. Someone was in your house. You’re in law enforcement, I can’t imagine your place is easy to get into. How did that happen? Have you given that any thought?”
“I have, but I don’t have any ideas.” She looked dejected admitting it to him and he knew her well enough to know how much she hated that.
“I’m willing to bet you don’t have a spare key under your doormat.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Seriously?”
He held his hands up. “I’m simply thinking of the easiest way to break into your place.”
“Think harder.”
“Any neighbors or friends with a key?”
“Just Janie and…” Suddenly, her eyes grew big.
“What?” he asked after she didn’t say anything.
“Just a thought.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch. “Mac had the keys to my house. After I … after he … died…” She closed her eyes. Kipling remembered how he’d teased her once before about her ex who ended up being a murderer. At the time, he hadn’t thought about how it’d affect her. He could have punched himself. Damn, he was an ass. He knew now that Mac had kidnapped Janie. Janie was fine now, but still …
He reached out his hand and they were close enough that he could just brush her knee. Just to let her know he was with her. Not that he understood, because there was no way he could, but as a silent show of support. At least, that’s how he hoped it came across. Maybe it worked; she didn’t jerk away.
No, if anything, her body seemed to relax a bit. Maybe he was only seeing what he wanted to, but it truly appeared as if his touch calmed her. He was filled with the sudden urge to gather her in his arms so he could protect her.
“Take a deep breath and tell me,” he whispered, somehow feeling that this was an important step in their relationship. Outside of that time shortly after they’d met, she’d never mentioned Mac.
Her eyes were open as she took several deep breaths. She gave him a weak smile. “Sorry, it’s not easy for me to talk about this.”
“I imagine not.” He squeezed her knee and sat back, giving her space.
“Mac had a key,” she said. “I don’t know what happened to it. After.”
“We have to assume that it somehow fell into the wrong hands and that they knew it was to your house.” And if they got in once, they could get in again.
“I’ll call tomorrow and have my locks changed.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.
Kipling tried not to pay attention to her hair, but it was easier said than done. Especially since she normally wore it up and this was one of the few times he’d seen her with it down. He told himself to focus on the issue at hand and not how soft he imagined her hair would be or what it would smell like.
Focus. “If you would like, you’re more than welcome to stay here.”
“Thank you, but no,” she replied in a clipped voice.
Her lips were pressed into a thin line and he didn’t have a damn clue what he’d done or said to elicit such a response. “Based on your reply, I get the feeling I should apologize for something, but I’m at a loss as to what.”
“I’m not Tilly or Bea,” she said. “I’m not your girlfriend or your wife, so no, I’m not staying here. I’ll get a hotel room tonight. They’ll come out and replace my locks tomorrow and everything will go back to normal.”
“Then I apologize if my offer came across as anything other than one friend reaching out to another.” He crossed his arms and leveled his gaze. “I assume it is safe to call us friends, or is that pushing the envelope as well?”
She didn’t shrink from his stare. “‘Friends’ is fine.”
“Although I have to be honest with you. I’m not sure I want to be your friend. What I’d like to be is a bit more intimate than mere friends.”
Her cheeks flushed with a hint of color and she refused to meet his gaze. But before she had the chance to reply, Keaton and Tilly’s voices filled the room and then they both appeared. Tilly entered the room first, though Keaton was right behind her. She was all smiles as she spoke to her fiancé. “I told you it was Alyssa’s car.” She turned to Alyssa and at once seemed to be aware that she’d walked in on something. “Should we leave?”
Kipling stood up. “No, of course not. We were just chatting. Nothing important. Alyssa,” he said, “come have dinner with us. You’ll upset Lena if you don’t stay.”
She frowned. “I don’t know. I should probably go make sure I can get a room somewhere.”
“Have dinner with us,” Kipling said. “And if I have to call everyone I know in Charleston to ensure you have a place to sleep tonight, I will.”
Alyssa didn’t look convinced, but she followed him out of the room.
“What was all that about?” Kipling heard Keaton ask Tilly.
“I think we did interrupt something,” Tilly said in a loud whisper.
* * *
Alyssa was happy to see Bea and Knox already in the dining room when they entered. It wasn’t that she disliked Keaton and Tilly, but Knox and Bea were more sedate than the younger couple. More her own temperament.
Bea looked up from her conversation with Knox as they all entered, but her smile faded at the sight of Alyssa. Knox reacted immediately, sitting up straighter and looking around, trying to find what had scared his wife.
Bea pointed to the rose Alyssa had in her hand. “Where … where did you get that?”
Alyssa didn’t miss the what in the hell look Knox shot Kipling. Kipling’s only reaction was to step closer to her and put a hand at the small of her back. Her body relaxed almost immediately.
“Alyssa found the rose inside her house this evening,” he said, pulling her chair out for her and seeing that she was settled before taking his own seat. “If you remember, it was a rose like that one that led to my unfortunate arrest some months ago.”
It was a day Alyssa would never forget. The body of a dancer from a local gentlemen’s club had been found and since several people had seen her talking to Kipling not long before she died, Alyssa and her partner stopped by Benedict House to question him. They were getting nowhere until Alyssa pulled out a black rose.
Kipling asked her when she took it out of his car, but the rose had been found on the dancer’s body. To this day, Alyssa wasn’t sure which one of them were more surprised when she arrested him.
Bea still hadn’t regained all of her color. “There were some of them in an arrangement at my father’s service. I remember thinking they were the creepiest flowers I’d ever seen.” She shivered. “Still do.”
�
��We always assumed, later,” Knox said, continuing to keep a careful eye on the woman at his side, “that it was Tom who had arranged for the flowers and the note.”
Alyssa froze. “There was a note?”
“I’ve been roasting this chicken all afternoon,” Lena said, entering the dining room and carrying a tray that looked as if it weighed more than she did. Alyssa stood to help her, wondering why no one else was. She glanced down at Kipling by her side. Seriously? He was just going sit there? She lifted an eyebrow, but Kipling shook his head and motioned for her to sit down.
“Yes, Ms. Alyssa,” Lena said. “Listen to Mr. Kipling and sit back down in your seat. I’ve been serving this family for more years than you’ve been alive and no one else is going to do so until I’m cold and dead and in my grave.”
Alyssa felt her cheeks grow hot. “Sorry, Lena.”
Lena put the tray down and placed her hand on top of Alyssa’s. “Don’t you worry one little bit about it. Now, if you find yourself over here one day and you’d like to join me in the kitchen, I’d be happy for the company.” Lena took a step back and put her hands on her hips. “Like I was saying, that chicken has been roasting all afternoon and I don’t want to hear one word about those threats or anything else unpleasant. Hear me? It’ll mess up your digestion.”
No one said anything until Lena left.
“Wow, Alyssa,” Bea said. “Lena didn’t invite me into the kitchen until we were back from our honeymoon. She must like you.”
Across from her, Knox and Keaton exchanged a look. Kipling must have noticed as well. He cleared his throat and asked Keaton a question about the charity division he had recently started at Benedict Industries.
After dinner, they all gathered in the living room. Bea and Knox had excused themselves before everyone else finished, but they were waiting for them. Bea had something in her hand she gave to Alyssa.
“That’s the note that was on the black roses at my father’s service,” she said.
It was much too late to attempt to get prints off of the note, and Alyssa wasn’t sure it would have mattered anyway. “Interesting that whoever this is keeps using black roses.”
