by Julie Miller
“And you’re the young man who saved her.”
Audrey made the introductions. “Daddy, this is Alex Taylor of KCPD. My father, Rupert Kline.”
“Good to meet you, sir.”
Rupert Kline pumped Alex’s hand between both of his. “It’s good to meet you. Thank you. And don’t tell me that you were just doing your job. Thank you.”
Alex extricated his hand from the effusive greeting and glanced over at Audrey’s slowly rising chin. Father and daughter shared the same coloring, but they were worlds apart when it came to expressing their feelings. He might have spent some time considering what would cause her to rein it all in, but the trio of other well-wishers joining their circle put him firmly back into protector mode.
“Aud. What a terrible thing.”
The tall blond suit who’d claimed ownership that night at the Cosgrove murder swept past Rupert Kline and pulled Audrey into a hug. When he bent his head to give her a kiss, Audrey turned to give him her undamaged cheek. Alex could tell Blondie wasn’t pleased with the friendly brush-off, and if she hadn’t shrugged away his lingering grip, Alex would have answered the need to act buzzing through his veins and twisted the guy’s grabby fingers from her arm for her.
“When Rupert told me about those gangbangers accosting you, I thought I’d lost you, too.”
She chided him on a pinched breath. “Don’t be so melodramatic. I’m fine. This is Harper Pierce. Jeffrey Beecher. Clarice Darnell.”
But there was no shaking of hands.
The dark-haired man with the glasses and clipboard stopped her next. “Audrey?”
Pierce elbowed him back out of the circle. “Can’t you see we’re having a conversation here, Beecher?”
“Harper,” Audrey chided.
Beecher adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, his expression unfazed by Pierce’s rudeness. He turned his smile to Audrey. “I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re okay. We’ve been trying to keep your father busy so that he wouldn’t get too worried.”
“Thanks, Jeffrey.”
“Clarice?” Beecher turned to the slightly plump woman with unnaturally blond hair that was swept up and pinned with silk flowers on the top of her head.
“Do you want to talk about the delivery options for the museum event?”
“In a minute.” Alex cataloged names and faces and tried to gauge their relationship to Audrey. Family. Friend who didn’t understand boundaries. Employees. The fiftyish Clarice had linked her arm through Rupert Kline’s. The dart of Audrey’s gaze indicated that she’d noted the other woman’s connection to her father, but didn’t seem to mind. “We’re so pleased to see you in one piece, dear.”
Jeffrey Beecher tapped the edge of his clipboard. “The vans are nearly full. We need a decision on storage versus delivery tonight.”
Clarice shot him a killer glare and curled her fingers more tightly into Rupert’s sleeve. So she didn’t want to be considered one of the Kline’s employees. Was there anyone here who wasn’t getting on someone’s nerves?
“I thought you were going to handle that,” Clarice commented.
“Bud’s ready to take the vans to either location. But you’re the one who signs the checks, boss.”
Audrey’s gaze slid over to the handyman with the toothpick and the sudden tension in her mouth made Alex hate the commotion surrounding her here even more.
“Could you two discuss your work someplace else?” Pierce snapped.
Audrey’s tone strained to remain polite. “I really do need to get upstairs and change out of these clothes.”
Beecher moved over to Clarice to chat directly with her while Harper Pierce swung his attention back to Audrey. “But the Hunts offered to host something for the scholarship fund as well, and I think we should take them up on it. We can make the plans while the event planner is here.”
“I told you I couldn’t do any more of this until the trial was over. Besides, there’s the holi—”
“But it’s for Gretchen.”
“Bud!” Clarice clapped her hands and Audrey jumped.
The tug at Alex’s jacket sleeve was as clear as a cry for help.
Enough. Alex plucked his badge from his belt and held it high in the air. “I need everybody out of here. Now.”
He shoved his arm in front of Audrey, blocking anyone else from getting to her. “Alex—”
She better damn not try to pretend she wasn’t overwhelmed by all the chaos here. “If you have a key card to the front gate, it needs to be checked in with me before you leave. I’ll be changing the access codes immediately.”
“How dare you.” Clarice propped her hands on her ample hips. “I have every right to be here.”
“We’re not finished tearing down,” Jeffrey protested.
“All of you. Out.” Alex took a good look at Bud Preston’s sneering grin and nodded toward the nearest exit before turning to Rupert. “Sir, I’m here to protect your daughter on D.A. Powers’s orders. Audrey’s my only concern. I need to secure this location and she needs her rest.”
Thank God somebody here had his priorities straight. Rupert held up his hands, placating the gathering even as he ushered them toward the door. “Officer Taylor is right. It’s been a long, difficult day for Audrey.” He caught Clarice by the elbow and turned her with a kiss on the cheek. “Can we finish this tomorrow?”
The platinum blonde wasn’t going peacefully. “Of course. But surrender my card? What about your invitation?”
“Not now.”
“This will mean paying the crew for overtime,” Jeffrey pointed out, using hand signals to get his staff to drop what they were doing and head outside.
Rupert whispered something to Clarice and she smiled. Erasing the affronted look she’d had for Alex, she broke away to come back to Audrey. “Some things are more important than money, Jeffrey.” She reached for Audrey, but Alex wasn’t budging. “I’m just so glad you weren’t seriously hurt.” Once she understood that she wasn’t getting past Alex’s protective arm, Clarice touched her own cheek, indicating Audrey’s. “I have a great ointment you can put on that to keep it from scarring.”
Witch.
Although the grip on his jacket eased, Audrey was still holding on. “I think a hot shower and some sleep are all I really need. Good night.”
Rupert held out his arm and Clarice latched on while they retrieved her purse and he walked her to her car. Audrey’s sigh of relief was audible before she turned back up the stairs. But this assault on her patience and composure—feeling every bit like the mob at the courthouse that afternoon—wasn’t quite over.
When Harper Pierce’s foot hit the first step, Alex was there, his hand at the center of Pierce’s chest, pushing him back down to the foyer. “You, too, buddy.”
The tall man’s blue blood was boiling. “Unlike you, Officer Taylor, I am a friend of the family—a good friend of Audrey’s. Why don’t you go sit out in your squad car and—”
“Harper, please,” Audrey interrupted.
“No. I won’t be talked to like this by some—”
“Get out of here, Harper.” Audrey Kline might be down, but she was by no means out of fight. Once again, the stubborn redhead surprised Alex when she marched back down the stairs and slid her arm around his waist.
“He’s with me.”
“I understand that the D.A. ordered a protection detail—”
“No, Harper.” Audrey turned, the subtle swell of her breast branding Alex’s chest as she lightly stroked her fingertips across the stubble of his jaw. His pulse raced beneath his skin, chasing the feel of her deliberate touch on him. She might be playing a game for Pierce’s benefit, but the possessive, protective rightness of having Audrey pressed to his side felt real enough, and he slid his arm around her shoulders, completing the embrace.
“Alex is with me. He’s not leaving.”
Pierce eyed the hand cupping Audrey’s shoulder before throwing what sounded like an accusation at her. “So you’
re taking him to the Hunts’ New Year’s Eve reception?”
“Maybe. If I go.”
“I thought we would attend together.”
“When did you ask me? Has anyone even received an invitation?”
“Well, I never expected you’d take your boy toy instead.”
That’s it. Alex had Pierce by the back of his belt and his pretty starched collar and was dragging him across the foyer and out the door before he even got a threat about suing his ass off out of his mouth. Pierce was stumbling onto the porch when Alex slammed the door and threw the dead bolt.
Alex turned to face Audrey on the stairs, the sudden emptiness making the house seem even larger than before. He locked on to Audrey’s emerald gaze as he strode silently back across the marble floor. She seemed smaller, even more vulnerable than before, framed by the grand staircase. “Your father has the key to get back in, doesn’t he?”
Audrey nodded. “And he’ll reset the alarm.” Her soft smile was worth every curse being hurled at him from outside the door. “Harper is a talented attorney. He could take you to court.”
“I’m a police officer carrying out my assigned duty. He’s got no case against that, does he, counselor?”
“No.” Alex halted two steps below her and watched her smile press into a flat line. “I’m going to bed. There are plenty of guest rooms in the east wing. Food in the kitchen—maybe even coffee. Make yourself at home. Good night.”
She’d pulled off both shoes and unbuttoned her coat and blazer before she reached the top of the stairs and turned down the west hallway. The coat was sliding off her shoulders when Alex bounded the stairs behind her. By the time she pushed open a door near the end of the corridor, he’d caught up and slipped through the doorway behind her.
“What are you doing?” Weary as she was, there was nothing lagging about the sharpness of that tongue. He noted the length of the pale green sofa beneath the window in the curving tower room and two doors leading into a bathroom and an elegant bedroom of flower patterns and pastels. “Get out of here.”
He watched as she tossed her coat and shoes onto the bed and followed him into an equally elegant, though decidedly less flowery office. “You said to make myself at home.” He opened a door that led back into the hallway. “Does this lock?”
“Yes.” He closed it, locked it. She followed him to the window where he checked the lock and closed the drapes as well as the blinds. “I meant in a guest room.”
Back in her bedroom, he checked each window lock and pulled the drapes, ensuring that no curious eyes could even see whether or not the lights were on. “You sleep in here, right?”
“Yes.”
“Stay away from the windows. If anyone besides that crowd downstairs gets onto the grounds, I don’t want them to be able to identify which rooms are yours.” The walk-in closet and bathroom had no exterior exits and were easily secured. But Audrey was with him every step of the way as he learned the layout and identified the access points. A suite of four rooms—the same number of rooms he had in his entire apartment—were a lot easier to defend than the entire house and acreage outside. He returned to the sitting room and tossed his jacket onto the couch. “I can sack out here for the night.”
She picked up the leather jacket, stuffed it back into his arms and tried to push him out the door. But her tongue was no match for his strength. “No, you can’t. This is my home. These are my rooms, my space.”
Which had been violated by at least twenty different people downstairs, and that didn’t even take into account pushy reporters and bombs and Broadway Bad Boys. Alex saw the frustration—maybe even desperation—coloring her skin, making the strawberry on her cheek stand out in stark relief. “You expect me to guard you from the blind side of those rock walls and trees a quarter of a mile away?”
She almost said yes. Almost. Either he’d made his point or she’d grown too tired to argue.
Alex again laid his jacket across the couch, then gently took her by the shoulders and turned her back into the adjoining bedroom. “I won’t let Demetrius Smith or his gang or anybody you don’t want to see come near you tonight. Get some sleep. Be ready to kick some ass in court tomorrow morning. Close the door if you need some quiet time. Lord knows you deserve it.”
Although he could have followed her right over to that queen-size bed, he released her and retreated to his side of the doorway, giving her the distance she wanted—the distance he needed. Something about this woman—everything about her—made him buzz with energy. He wanted when he was around her—he wanted to talk, to discover, to argue, to kiss, to touch, to protect—he probably wanted a lot more than he should.
She was hugging her arms around her waist when she turned to face him. He locked his feet inside his shoes, fighting how much he wanted to take her in his arms and shield the vulnerable beauty that was peeking out beneath her determined exterior. “How do I know you’ll stay in there and not invade my privacy?”
“Lock the door if you still don’t trust me. I’ll knock it down if anything happens and I need to get to you.”
Her chin jerked up. She studied him from shoulder to shoulder, noted his gun, his badge, his unblinking eyes. Finally, she resigned herself to the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere. Not tonight. She clasped the door in both hands.
“Good night, Alex.”
“Good night, Red.”
Once she’d closed the door, Alex unhooked his belt and placed his Glock and its holster on the lamp table within arm’s reach of the couch. He peeled off his tattered sweater and spread it over the throw pillows he stacked at one end. He turned off the lamp and settled onto the couch, getting accustomed to the sounds of the wind in the trees outside, and Rupert Kline coming back into the house and climbing the stairs. He heard Audrey moving in her bedroom, opening a drawer, crawling into bed.
And as clouds gathered outside and the house fell silent, he noted that, although the door between them was shut, Audrey had never locked it.
AUDREY STARTLED AWAKE at the clap of thunder that punctuated the explosion tearing through her in her nightmare.
Lightning flashed outside her window as she jolted up in bed, her mind racing, her heart thumping against the wall of her chest. She reached over to turn on the lamp beside her, centering herself in the familiarity of her own bedroom.
Seriously, a thunder-snow? While this type of weather wasn’t unheard-of in the Midwest, as the seasons fought with each other to change, dumping a mix of rain, sleet and snow while the night sky rumbled overhead, the timing of the violent storm made Audrey wonder if this was still part of her nightmare.
But no, she was alive, she was awake and she was painfully alone.
As her breathing slowed to a healthier rate, she kicked off the covers that had twisted around her hips and tugged down the pant legs of the silk pajamas that had ridden up past her knees. The flashes of the storm peeked through the edges of her drapes, casting strobe-like shadows over the Monet hanging on her walls. Matching sparks of adrenaline, remnants of the violent images that had haunted her dreams, coursed through her, making the idea of sleep as appealing as it was now elusive. Her one consolation as she grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest was that she must not have cried out or Alex Taylor would be in here already.
She’d seen the look in his eyes earlier—dark like the night, yet filled with such a light that she imagined he could see around corners and deep into her soul. Those eyes were as unsettling as they were handsome, and they’d left her with no doubt that, should he see fit, he’d bust down a door that had survived a fire, a tornado and hooch runners during Prohibition.
It was an idea that was equal parts frightening and reassuring and just a little bit exhilarating.
Why couldn’t she have dreamed about that? Alex’s hard, compact wrestler’s body. That teasing grin. His gentle, drugging kisses. Those eyes.
But no—the rumble of thunder drummed along her spine and she shivered. The flashes of light and shadows creepin
g through her room transformed into the scattered images from her forgotten dreams. Speeding cars. Cold-eyed stares from a man she knew to be a killer. Grabbing hands. Exploding lights. Are you scared yet? Do the right thing. Or die doing the wrong one.
“Stop it.” Audrey pulled her knees up and wrapped her whole body around the pillow, finding little comfort. Sitting here, wide awake, trembling in the dark, left her little to do but think.
It had taken forever to fall asleep. She was self-conscious about the man on the other side of her door, obsessing about the trial, remembering the threats, reliving the fear. Audrey looked over at the clock on the table beside her and groaned. Only an hour had passed since she’d last checked the time, shortly after midnight. That didn’t bode well for a rested morning. She punched her pillow, lay back down and rolled onto her side. But the intermittent rumble of thunder and her own troubled thoughts kept her from falling back to sleep.
Out of all the craziness she’d gone through since Gretchen’s murder, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d felt any real sense of calm or balance in her life. The first time, Alex Taylor had been offering her a handkerchief and holding her hand, another… She turned her lips into the cool cotton of her pillow case and remembered how warm and supple and completely seductive Alex’s kiss had been.
There’d been one sane voice, one salvation through all of her waking nightmare of the threats and the trial—and he’d been talked down to by her friends and relegated to sleeping on a couch. Shamed by the way Alex had been treated by her guests downstairs, Audrey peeked over to see a dim light shining beneath the crack of her door.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep tonight.
And maybe the need to offer an apology wasn’t the only reason she slipped from beneath the covers and padded across the room.
When she quietly opened the door, Audrey wasn’t surprised to see Alex sitting up in the next room.
“Did the storm wake you?” he asked, his voice a hushed echo of the thunder rumbling outside.
“My guilty conscience did. Couldn’t you sleep, either?”
