The Phoenix

by Rhonda Nelson

  But ultimately, staying at the Betterworth estate held multiple advantages, not the least of which was that he’d be able to keep an eye on her. Any lead she managed to get would be one that he’d get as well because that was obviously what Ms. Aggie wanted. He grimaced. The flip side was that he’d be forced to share, too. Nevertheless, he thought he had a better chance of giving her the slip than vice versa. His years of military training provided him a certain advantage, he felt sure, and he could evade and divert with the best of them. The old “friends close and enemies closer” adage would most definitely hold true in this situation.

  Of course, it was the keeping her closer part that worried him the most, particularly considering this bizarre preoccupation he had with her. Had she been less interesting and half as attractive, no doubt this wouldn’t have been an issue.

  For instance, it would have never occurred to him to want to suck on her pointy little chin or feel her plain, unadorned nails digging into his back. He wouldn’t have noticed the snug way her especially ripe breasts rounded mouthwateringly beneath her sweater or found the sleek curve of her jaw nearly as erotic. It wasn’t so much the curve as the smooth, pale skin, contrasting deliciously with her hair. He wouldn’t have taken any note of her long lashes or the shadowed crescents they painted beneath her eyes when she gazed at her little notebook.

  For whatever reason, he liked that she worked in pencil, that she was willing to correct a mistake rather than scribble over it and start again. He’d always preferred a pencil, as well. A good old-fashioned number two, just like the one she’d been using. In fact, if he examined her too closely he imagined he’d find a lot of things he liked about her—beyond the obvious—and that was damned dangerous. He couldn’t afford to like her. He had too much riding on this first assignment to blow it by letting the head beneath his belt take control.

  With any luck, Ms. Aggie would put him in a room as far away from Charlie Martin as possible. No doubt he was going to need the distance.

  FROM HER VANTAGE POINT in the library, Aggie Tippins watched Charlie Martin walk the eastern fence line of the front yard and, through another window, Jay Weatherford do the same thing along the back. She humphed under her breath.

  “What’s that noise for?” Smokey asked from behind her. His voice made something in her belly tighten and release, the feeling as startling now as the first time it had happened more than a year ago when she’d hired him.

  “I’d hoped they’d work together,” she said. She sighed and gestured out the window. “Clearly that’s not going to be the case.”

  Smokey’s chuckle mimicked his name. “Just because they have the same goal doesn’t mean that they’re going to work together,” he told her. “They work for different agencies and for different people. They’re competitors, not teammates.”

  She turned to look at him, struck again by the still-broad shoulders, the work-worn hands, the handsome lined face. “So it would seem.”

  “Yet you’re disappointed.” It wasn’t a question. He knew how she felt, had had a way of peering right into her head from the day he arrived here.

  Though Aggie had loved her late husband, they’d married too young, before either one of them had figured out who they were meant to be. Instead of growing up together as most couples did who had made the same mistake, she and Curtis had grown up and apart, like a tree with two trunks. Their lives had run parallel with a few common branches—their children, for instance—but, sadly, never together. Had they met even a year later she knew without a doubt that they would have never dated, much less married.

  Did she regret her life with him? No, of course not. How could she when the very best part of her—her children—had come from it? And she couldn’t say she’d been unhappy, because that wasn’t true either. Aggie had never been one to count on anyone else to make her happy, so she’d never expected that.

  But she could say that she’d never felt fulfilled, or even really understood. Curtis had loved her, just as she’d loved him, but it was an easy sort of love that hadn’t demanded much more than common courtesy, mutual respect and the occasional obligatory night in the bedroom.

  Smokey, though… He’d immediately understood her in a way that had been as terrifying as it was thrilling. One look into those dark, wise eyes and she’d felt laid bare and exhilarated, like a tightly budded flower opening for the first time.

  He’d left her breathless—breathless at her age, when the idea of romance should have been a distant memory, a forgotten idea. He made her want things she’d long ago accepted were lost. She’d actually considered trying to manufacture a reason to fire him just so she could end her torment, but ultimately she could never bring herself to do that. She could never be that selfish.

  “It would make things so much easier if they did work together,” she said. “Two heads are better than one, which was part of the reason I hired Ms. Martin.”

  Smokey laughed softly, his low chuckle sending a shiver down the backs of her legs. “You hired Ms. Martin because you needed to do something to help bring that little dog back. You needed to act, to participate in finding her.”

  She smiled, acknowledging the insight. “True. But I also thought a different set of eyes would be good, as well. And the more eyes the better, as far as I’m concerned. She may see something that Jay Weatherford doesn’t. Women often do, you know,” she added lightly.

  “I know you do,” he said. A strange undercurrent in his voice impelled her to find his gaze once more. A beat slid to three, then he cleared his throat. “In any case, I think you’ve done the right thing,” he said. “By hiring her,” he added at her confused look. “Either they’ll work together and find Truffles or they’ll be so determined to outdo one another that you’ll get more than their best effort and one of them will find her.” He took a step forward, his gaze soft and earnest, and for a split second something passed between them. Something sweet and poignant. “Try not to worry, Aggie. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Aggie’s chest tightened and her eyes instantly watered. “That’s a nice thing to say, even if it isn’t true.”

  “It is true,” he insisted earnestly. “It could have happened to any of us who took her out. Would you have blamed one of us the way you’re blaming yourself?”

  Probably not, she inwardly conceded, but it hadn’t been a member of the staff—it had been her. And she’d managed to lose Goldie’s most treasured possession, the little Yorkie that had become more dear to her than she would have ever imagined. It was strange how that had happened. She’d always been fond of Truffles, of course, but the dog had uncommonly bonded with Goldie.

  Though she’d always heard the term “dogged her footsteps,” she’d never witnessed it personally until Goldie had gotten the tiny Yorkie. Wherever Goldie went, Truffles had followed, and when Goldie had finally found herself confined to her bed, Truffles had stayed with her, curled up against her side. Aggie had been the only person who could get the animal to abandon her mistress long enough to eat and go to the bathroom. And Aggie had been the only person who could get Goldie to eat, as well. To outsiders she might have been merely the housekeeper, but in that final month she was a nurse as well, one devoted friend caring for another.

  It was Aggie and that little dog who’d watched over their beloved Goldie, seeing her grow ever frailer and weaker by the day. It had been heartbreaking, one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to do, watching her friend move a little closer to death with every breath. But the shared adoration of their Goldie had led to a unique bond between her and Truffles and, when Goldie finally passed, they were left to grieve and endure together.

  And they had, though it had been rough going the first few weeks. Truffles had often whined at Goldie’s door and routinely gone looking for her in her office, but the dog finally seemed to accept that Goldie was gone and had settled her affection solely onto Aggie. The comfort that loyal little animal had provided was simply…indescribable. There was something about fee
ling her nose nudging her hand, her silky hair beneath Aggie’s palm that had made the world bright enough to keep looking for more light.

  And now she had lost the little creature.

  “Where would you like me to put Mr. Weatherford’s luggage?” Smokey asked, interrupting her before she could sink further into despair.

  “The Sapphire Room,” she said, her gaze narrowing speculatively.

  Smokey laughed again, the cheerful sound like balm to Aggie’s aching heart, and she looked up at him once more and smiled. “They might not want to work together, but I’m most certainly not going to make it easy for them not to.”

  Admiration glinted in his dark gaze and clung to his grin. “That’s crafty.”

  Aggie lowered her lashes and straightened her cuff, trying not to appear too pleased at the compliment. It was harder than it should have been. “I prefer to call it strategy.”

  His grin widened, further melting her heart. “You would,” he said with a shake of his head, laughing under his breath as he turned and left the room.

  Mercy, Aggie thought, feeling her heart rate settle once again into a more normal rhythm. I’m too old for this.

  5

  BECAUSE THE DOG HAD been nabbed from the backyard, naturally that was the place Charlie had wanted to inspect first, but considering Jay had infuriatingly headed in that direction, she had hidden her irritation—poorly, most likely—and made for the front. The entrance was just as she remembered seeing it from the road and driveway. Considering she was an even five feet, she’d decided that the ornate fence was double her height, with razor-sharp edges along the top. There was never more than a three-inch gap between the various wrought-iron branches, leaves and pods, and a quick check along the bottom revealed a two-foot cinder-block footer buried beneath the ground, making it damned near impossible to tunnel under, especially in the time it had taken to snatch the dog.

  Furthermore, a careful look revealed scrupulously maintained sod and no evidence of excavation—attempted or otherwise—all the way around. Since the dog hadn’t been abducted here, she’d expected as much. Still, she couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that she was missing something.

  Certain that she’d covered every inch of the fence line, Charlie decided that she’d get the jump on Jay by talking to Burt, the gatekeeper, first. Even though her rival couldn’t see it, she directed a dark look at the backyard and imagined her displeasure sending a cold shiver down his admittedly handsome spine.

  It was petty to dislike the man on principle, she knew, and yet she just couldn’t seem to help herself. Ranger Security had given him her job. She’d seen the recommendation from Colonel Carl Garrett, who’d enumerated all of Jay’s finer points. Dedicated, self-motivated, a fine soldier, the special training—HALO, specifically—the multiple tours of duty, the commendations and medals. From what she’d read, Jay Weatherford had been the epitome of a for-lifer, the kind of soldier who planned to serve until he simply couldn’t anymore. Charlie grinned despite herself.

  Like her brother.

  While she’d been playing cops and robbers and begging for rides in their father’s patrol car, Jackson Oak (yes, named for the tree) Martin, Jr., was playing with army men and tanks. Their preferences were indicative of the paths they would choose, though admittedly Charlie had had little choice after Jack announced his intentions.

  He was only two years older and they’d always been close. Out of courtesy, Jack had told her about his career plans before announcing it to their parents. He’d wanted her blessing because he knew the mantle of duty would shift to her and, initially, it was one she took up gladly to make him happy. She’d had no other real plans and, at the time, had been too concerned with pleasing her father and brother to object. And the kicker?

  Even with hindsight, she wouldn’t have changed a thing.

  She’d learned a lot working for the Atlanta P.D. and was proud of her service there. But she would have never made her way around her father and grandfather’s shadow and would have forever had the naysayers crediting any success she had to them, as well.

  Charlie wanted to make her own mark.

  She’d wanted to be the first woman non-military agent hired on at the best personal security company in the southeast—Ranger Security. She’d wanted to exceed the founders’ expectations and garner their respect. She wanted to be appreciated, an asset, and judged solely on her ability and not by the accomplishments of her family.

  And in the deepest, darkest corner of her heart, there was another reason as well, one she hadn’t even realized until after she’d left their office, without securing the job.

  She wanted a family.

  Could she have had that and continued to work for the police department? Yes, she could have, she supposed. But watching her mother alternately biting her nails and checking the clock every time her father was late was something she didn’t want to visit on her future spouse or children. Furthermore, though she knew there were men out there who wouldn’t find her career intimidating—she had even briefly dated a couple—she’d yet to find one she wanted to keep around on a permanent basis. On some level it always became a competition, with her boyfriend du jour needing his ego stroked and her having to compromise in order to keep him from feeling inadequate.

  She was done compromising.

  She wanted a man who was going to respect that she was strong, that she was intelligent. Those were good qualities, right? So why did they always end up becoming an issue? She wanted a man who was confident enough in his own right to go toe to toe with her, one who would give as good as he got, but who didn’t constantly try to bring her to heel. She wanted mutual respect and admiration. An equal partnership. Strengths and weaknesses that balanced and were complementary.

  Maybe she wanted too much, Charlie thought with an inward sigh, but if that was the case then so be it. She’d rather be alone than compromise or settle and be miserable. She’d seen her fair share of friends do that and the outcome hadn’t been pretty. One or both partners inevitably grew bitter and the people caught in the middle—typically the children—suffered the most. Charlie frowned. She’d certainly seen enough of that over the course of her career, and a steady diet of inequity was hard to stomach after a while.

  Ultimately, that’s why the job at Ranger Security would have been a perfect fit. It would have utilized her finer skills and renewed her faith in humanity. Furthermore, the firm was the best and she was just vain enough to want to be part of their team. Her lips twitched. Whose ego needed stroking now? Charlie thought. But there it was.

  And it was that exact same ego that couldn’t allow Jay Weatherford to beat her. She had to win, if for no other reason than to make Brian Payne, Jamie Flanagan and Guy McCann sorry for not giving her a chance.

  Competing again—but the stakes, for whatever reason, felt much higher, as though there was a hidden purpose hovering just out of her grasp.

  Irritated with the nebulous feeling, Charlie batted it aside and made for the guard booth. Burt, whose belly was large and hips nonexistent, was a mustached bald man with ruddy cheeks and no chin. He was playing solitaire on the computer when she arrived, but didn’t start or flinch when she knocked on the door. A quick look at a second monitor indicated why—she was on-screen. As was Jay, crouched low, inspecting a line of fence along the back property line.

  An arrow of heat winnowed through her at the sight of him, the sensation as thrilling as it was unwelcome. The way his jeans stretched over that especially mouthwatering rear end was criminally unfair, Charlie bemoaned, determinedly marshaling her thoughts toward something more productive than ogling her opponent.

  Charlie smiled. “Burt, I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “I let you in here, didn’t I?”

  Her grin froze. That he had. “Right,” she said, feeling momentarily stupid. “Could I ask you a few questions?”

  “You can ask,” he said, saving his game. “But I’ve alre
ady told everyone what I know. The story isn’t going to change no matter how many different ways you phrase the questions.”

  Oh, wasn’t he a charmer? “Be that as it may, I’d still like to ask,” she told him, her tone leaving him with two choices—obedience or death. She’d run into her share of Burts over the years, the loud-mouth braggarts who looked at her and saw a little pesky woman. She could lay his ass flat if she chose to do so and she’d had to cultivate a voice that conveyed that.

  He looked up and reassessed her, then chose correctly. “What would you like to know?”

  Now, that was more like it, Charlie thought, pleased. She wished she had a treat to give him. “Where were you when the dog was taken?”

  “Right here.”

  “You never left the booth?”

  “Only for lunch from twelve to one, during which time the gate is locked and the intercom system will buzz directly through to the house.”

  “No relief worker?”

  He shook his head. “There’s never been a need.”

  “And how long have you worked for the Betterworth estate?”

  “Almost twenty years. I like being alone, so this job suits me quite well.” No wedding band, she noted, and a cursory glance around the little booth noted a single cup coffeemaker, a mini fridge and several handheld video games. It was neat and tidy, but Burt had clearly made it his own.

  Nevertheless, if Marigold Betterworth had been rewarding faithful employees, then why hadn’t Burt been on that list? Had it been a case of out of sight and out of mind? Could he have taken offense at being essentially passed over while the others were given their just due? Charlie made a mental note to ask Ms. Aggie about Burt’s status, then jerked her head toward the security monitor. “Is all surveillance recorded?”

  Burt grimaced and shook his head. “Initially we were doing that, but with no incidents other than the occasional teenage prank, we stopped logging everything.”