“Um... I'm sorry, Miss Everett,” Drew started, his voice shaky. “I'll pay for it out of my allowance.”
She shook her head at the little boy who couldn't be any older than eleven. “I know you're sorry, but you don't have to pay.”
“Miss Everett,” Drew's father interrupted, “he needs to understand that there are consequences to actions.”
“Of course he does, but I won't take money from a child.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she rolled on, “Chores are better payment. I have some weeds that need pulling, and if you're allowed to mow lawns, I really need that done, too.”
“I can do that,” Drew answered quickly. “And I can do other stuff.”
“Great,” she replied with a genuine smile this time. “Accidents happen.”
“No baseball for a while, though,” Carter added as he crossed the room to stand at her side.
Drew looked down at his shoes for a moment. “I'm not very good.”
“You're not getting any better,” his father muttered.
At the same time, Carter told the boy, “Practice will help, but maybe in the fenced backyard. My cousin's a pro, maybe he can work with you.”
Drew's brown eyes widened. “Really? Who?”
“Fletcher Jamieson.”
“No way!”
“Cross my heart. He's not around much with the long season, but next time he's in town we'll have to get you two together.”
“Promise?”
“Only if you don't break any more windows,” Carter returned with a grin.
“I promise!”
“Thank you, Miss Everett, Mr. Jamieson,” Mr. Langley cut into Drew's exuberant display of joy about meeting Fletch. “We'll let you get back to bed.” They turned and were out the door before she could say anything further.
“Someone is coming to fix the window in the next hour or so,” Carter told her. “I'm glad it was only a baseball.”
“You scared me running down here in nothing but your underwear with just your phone as a weapon.”
“You're wearing less than I am.”
She was wearing a sheet and was sure she looked just as thoroughly loved as she actually was. “Mr. Langley seemed to enjoy that.”
He growled before wrapping her in his arms. “Andrew Langley can't have you.”
Drew's dad's name was Andrew, she thought fleetingly before addressing the possessive man holding her. “I don't want anyone but you, and there's no way the entire town won't know we're sleeping together within the next hour anyway.”
“Good.”
She searched his face. “Good?”
“I told you I'm not letting you go, Lark. You're mine, and I want everyone to know.”
Her head was spinning. He'd stayed away for years, and now he wanted to publicly claim her? “Just yesterday you—”
“That was yesterday,” he interrupted. “Today is a new day, and you're stuck with me.”
She eyed him standing there in just black boxer briefs and mussed hair and gave him a sultry smile. “Maybe you should convince me.”
He scooped her into his arms and headed back up the stairs. “Consider yourself convinced.”
~*~
Sometime later, after she was very thoroughly convinced, the window repaired, and brunch eaten, her phone rang, flashing UNKNOWN across the screen. “Nice try, 'unknown' but I'm not answering,” she muttered.
Carter's head jerked up, his gray gaze meeting hers. “Unknown?”
She shrugged. “It happens a couple times a day, I'm sure I'm just on some list.”
“Have you ever answered?”
“Once. There was nothing there. Probably a recording on an auto-dialer.”
He glared at the phone, his expression fierce. “Or someone is tracking you. Seeing where you are with a convenient call here and there.”
A chill ran up her spine. “They can do that?”
“They can track you without calling if they want, but the calls make it easier.” He paused, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “When was the last one?”
“It seems like there's one every day, but I'm sure it's not a stalker, Carter.”
“When, Camryn?” he asked, using her full name just as she'd used his.
She shrugged. “During the show. The phone was on silent, so it just showed up as a missed call.”
Fists clenched on the table top, her mild-mannered, musical-loving attorney looked every inch an alpha-male. Coupled with the possessiveness he was showing, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to jump him or remind him she could take care of herself. “When?”
She scrolled through the recent calls. “Nine fourteen.”
“Too late for a sales call,” he said through gritted teeth. “Less than twenty minutes before someone tried to kill you.”
Her heart sped up. “No,” she denied automatically, but the sinking feeling in her stomach remained. “What do we do?”
“We get you a new phone,” he growled. “And you're coming home with me.”
His high-handedness was going to make her crazy. “What if I don't want to?”
“Doesn't matter. Alive and pissed at me is much better than dead. I just got you, Lark, I won't let you die if I can do something about it.”
Arguing with a defense attorney might be a lost cause, but she wasn't going to just bow to his orders. “Caleb and Dylan made sure this house is safe.”
“A baseball broke the window just hours ago.”
“And the alarm sounded, just as it should have.”
He looked like he was two seconds from throwing her over his shoulder. “What if it was something else?”
“Like what, a grenade?” she scoffed. “I suppose we'd blow up.”
He stood then, tension radiating off his body. “No.” He pulled her against him, stroked his fingers through her hair. “If I had my way I'd tuck you away somewhere no one would be able to find you, but I know you won't let me. My house doesn't have kids ready to create security breaches.” He tipped her face to meet her eyes. “I want you in my house.”
“Twenty-four hours ago, you hadn't even properly kissed me, and now you want to move me in your house?”
“Yes, and not just because you're in danger,” he answered, eyes solemn. “I'd marry you tomorrow if you'd let me.”
She choked on the air she'd just breathed in. “Seriously?”
“I don't say things I don't mean.” He kissed her then, just a brush of his lips against hers. “It's always been you.”
“You don't do anything by half-measures, do you?”
“I'm all in, Lark. I want you to be mine. Forever.”
She'd dreamed of this for most of her life, but she asked, “You're not just saying that, so I'll agree to move into your house?” His gaze was intense, but he remained quiet, daring her to question him, to disbelieve what he'd said, and although she wanted to point out that he was a defense attorney and surely had bent the truth once or twice, she bit her tongue. Why was she fighting him? What happened in New York brought her home, brought her back to Carter. She gave him a sly grin. “I want a disgustingly big diamond.”
His eyes widened before his mouth broke into a smile. “That I can do.” He squeezed her tight against him. “You're coming with me.”
That was never really a question, was it?
Chapter Seven
Chris slapped at his phone when it buzzed to his left. He must've fallen asleep at the table, his laptop and papers strewn across its polished cherry surface. He wiped a hand down his face and grabbed the phone. “What?”
“Is that any way to greet your sister?” Gemma Delmonico Sinclair groused in his ear.
“I've been working and fell asleep.”
“At the table again?”
His big sister knew him too well. “Maybe.”
“Who's on the phone?” Tiffany asked from the attached kitchen.
“My sister,” he answered Tiff, aware he'd get the third degree from Gem, and cut her off before she could jump to
conclusions. “That's Tiffany Morgan you hear—she's working this investigation with me.”
“I didn't say anything,” his sister denied.
“Right. So, why'd you call?”
“We wanted you to come to Mass, but it sounds like that's not happening.”
“Maybe next week.”
“Uh-huh,” She made an affirmative noise, but he knew Gemma didn't believe him for a second.
“You should at least come to lunch at the restaurant. Bring Tiffany.”
He was about to come up with an excuse when the call-waiting beeped. “I've got another call, Gem. I'll see you soon.” He pressed end to switch calls. “Delmonico.”
“Are you home? It's Carter Jamieson.”
“I am,” he answered, “what do you need?”
“We're bringing you Camryn's phone. I think someone is tracking her with it.”
This was new. “I have a lot of questions.”
“I know you do, and we'll answer them all when we get there in about fifteen minutes.”
Having an attorney as a witness and potential victim, not to mention involved with the other victim was going to be fun. “See you then.”
Tiffany brought him a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “What's happening?”
“Carter Jamieson is bringing Camryn Everett over. He seems to think someone is tracking her via her cell.”
“That's new.”
He held in the smile that came with their identical thoughts. “If that's the case, we've got a stalker of a sort, likely trying to keep her quiet.”
“Why track her and only shoot once last night? If they wanted her dead, I'm thinking she'd be dead.”
“Scaring her into keeping quiet?”
“It's a thought.”
Tiffany tilted her head and studied him then. “Are you okay?”
He sucked in a breath. “I'm fine. Tired, overworked, but fine.”
“No, you're not. Something's got you twisted in knots.”
“You don't think it's just another Everett involved crime spree?”
She shook her head. “Not really. What's going on?”
He'd spent years undercover, he should be able to hide his issues better than this. Why this woman wasn't already a detective, he didn't know. “It's nothing.”
“I don't believe you. You haven't made the first pass at me, Delmonico. Something is wrong with you.”
He snorted a laugh. “Something has to be wrong with me to treat you with respect?”
“Well, yeah.” She shrugged. “We might be best as friends, but we are both smokin' hot.”
That got him to really let loose with laughter. “I can't disagree.”
“So, what's wrong?”
He cracked his neck to work out the kink from sleeping at the table. “I'm tired, Tiff. Maybe my mother has worn me down, maybe I'm envious of my sister and my friends who have found the right person, maybe I'm just old.”
“The horndog wants to settle down?” Her face was screwed up with confusion. “I thought you were never getting married after Chicago.” She paused, but he didn't offer an explanation he wasn't sure he had. It wasn't long ago he'd sworn off relationships and serious ties to anyone but his family, but he was starting to wonder if the emptiness he felt when he came home needed to be filled. “You're not old, by the way.”
“I feel it sometimes.” He took a swig of coffee. “I don't know if settling down is the right term, but I'm tired of what I've been doing.”
“A revolving door of chicks?”
He shook his head. “It's not quite like that.”
“You're a good man, Delmonico, but you have a trail of broken hearts all over this town and mine.”
He shook his head. “Nah.”
“Whatever. I just think it might be hard for you to find a woman you like that you haven't already banged.”
“It's a good thing I like you,” he cautioned, “because you're stepping on my last nerve. I haven't left a trail of broken hearts. The women I see know the score before we spend time together.” He made sure to promise nothing but a good time, but it had been a while since he'd done even that.
“If you say so.” She tapped her fingers against her thigh. “You are quite the catch. The Delmonicos might not be the Everetts or Jamiesons, but you are a member of a prominent family. Then there's the detective part, the hospital volunteering, the guitar playing and singing, not to mention you're ripped and hot as hell.” She shot him a smile. “And you're one helluva good lay.”
He snorted at her last comment. That ship had sailed long ago. “You sound like I'm on the auction block.”
“If you want a wife, you will be.”
His coffee threatened to come back up. “Why the fuck did I say anything to you?”
Blue eyes dancing with laughter, she asked, “Maybe you wanted me to seduce you and talk you out of it?”
He thought about that for a moment. “Nope.”
“Maybe you trust me.”
“Maybe I do.”
~*~
Carter got them to Delmonico's house with no incident. Had he really proposed a half hour ago? His thoughts were spinning, his gut churning with the possibility Cam was being tracked and targeted, and he'd thrown marriage out there like it wasn't a big deal.
Tiffany Morgan opened the door before they got a chance to ring the bell, the Tyler officer looking at home in the Aylesford detective's house. “We're ready for you.”
“You two a thing?” Cam asked.
“Been there, tried that, bad idea,” Tiffany answered with a wave of her hand. “He's a great guy, though, and he's single.” She eyed him for a second before returning her gaze to Cam. “You're not.”
“No, I'm not,” Camryn replied with a smile that warmed him as Tiffany ushered the two of them toward a dining room that appeared to handle much more police work than it did family meals.
“You have anything on this phone you aren't comfortable with me seeing?” Chris asked as soon as they were I n the room. “Since you're bringing this to us on your own, feel free to edit as necessary.”
Camryn's strawberry curls bounced as she shook her head. “I'm not that kind of girl, detective.”
“Pity,” Delmonico remarked with a smirk in Carter's direction. He gave the phone a cursory look before handing it over to the woman seated to his right.
“While I check this,” Tiffany broke in, “go ahead and tell us what's been going on.”
Camryn sat down at the well-made cherry dining table. “I really didn't think it was a big deal, but I've been getting calls from an unknown caller pretty much every day. I figured I was on a list or something, but this morning after the window—”
“Window?” Delmonico interrupted.
“The boy next door, Drew, hit a baseball through the window this morning. The alarm went off, and the window's been fixed, but when I received another unknown call a bit later, Carter started asking questions.”
“What type of questions?” Tiffany asked from her spot at the end of the table as she tapped away on her laptop.
“When the calls came, if anyone was there when I answered.” She paused. “The last one came last night at nine fourteen. Not long before the shooting.”
“They're keeping tabs on her,” Carter insisted.
“He's right,” Tiffany agreed. “There are a couple of tracking apps here that have been hidden, and the calls are likely just to ensure the GPS is correct.”
“What do you mean there are tracking apps?” Camryn asked, eyes wide. “I didn't install anything.”
“Whoever did it hid them well. You'd have never known. Honestly, he showed his hand with those calls—they were unnecessary.”
“Could it be more than one person? One using triangulation and other the GPS?” Chris asked.
Tiffany's expression was pensive. “Could be.” She turned back to Camryn. “Any reason someone would track you, shoot at you, but leave you alive?”
“Way to be blunt, there, officer,” Cam
replied. “I'm sure you know I’m a witness to a murder. A murder I didn't actually witness, but that might not matter. As to why I'm not dead, well, I'm thankful for that, but have no idea what the hell is going on.”
“Any enemies, exes, people you may have pissed off?” Delmonico asked.
“No,” she replied, sounding more like a question than an answer.
“Are you sure?”
She swallowed. “They wouldn't shoot at me.”
“You don't know that.”
She took in a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “The production I was in, Summertime. The producers weren't happy about me bailing, although Gavin Albright, the director, knows exactly what happened should they ask him.”
“And what was that?”
“I had an affair with him.” She glanced at Carter then, her expression a mix of anger and sadness, and his spine stiffened. He already hated Albright for hurting her, but he was thankful she'd left New York and come home, no matter the circumstance.
Delmonico's eyes narrowed a bit as he made a note on his pad. “It ended badly?”
The need to touch her, to comfort her was overwhelming. He wrapped his arms around her, dropping a kiss on her hair. “It doesn't matter, Lark.”
She leaned into his embrace. “Badly is an understatement.” She took another deep breath before going on. “He and I were living together—well, I was living with him—and I thought we were in a serious relationship.”
His stomach soured at the thought of learning the details this way, with an audience, but there was nothing he could do but listen. He tightened his hold on her as she forced herself to continue.
“I came home one day to find him with another woman. I was shocked and furious, and then I learned she was his wife. I was the side piece.”
“So, you left,” Carter whispered.
“So, I left.” She shook off his hold on her and began to pace. “I had no idea I was...” she trailed off for a moment. “A mistress. I don't mess with married men.”
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