In the Line of Fire: Hot Desert Heroes, Book 1

by Jett Munroe

  Colbie shrugged and went back to packing. “He told you to redecorate if you want.”

  Delaney had a feeling Colbie would never get it. She’d be absolutely fine with allowing her man to make all the money and pay all the bills, even if she held down a job. And that worked for her.

  It did not for Delaney. She was made differently, especially after having been married to a man who hadn’t allowed her to work and had reminded her nearly every second of every day that she was dependent upon him and his goodwill. And that goodwill hadn’t been directed toward her very often.

  “Redecorating isn’t making his house our house,” she told Colbie. “Letting me take an active role in the finances makes his things our things.” She shrugged at Colbie’s confusion. “That’s how I feel, anyway.”

  “And that’s what you need to communicate to him when he gets home,” Rachel said, getting to her feet. “I bet he’ll change his mind once he understands how important this is to you.”

  “I don’t know.” Delaney had been around Beck more than Rachel had, and he didn’t strike her as the type of man who budged once his mind was made up.

  “Well, you won’t know until you talk to him. Then you’ll have to decide how important it is to you and if it’s something you can compromise on.” Rachel placed the cookie sheets in a box on the kitchen island. “That’s it for that cabinet, except for the skillets,” she said, bending to brush off the knees of her jeans. As she straightened she asked, “What’s next?”

  Delaney pointed her toward the cupboard that held her mugs and glasses. “If you could pack those up, I’m out of towels except for the few I’m keeping out to use, so there’s a box of bubble wrap in the second bedroom.”

  Rachel nodded and left the kitchen.

  Delaney yanked open the junk drawer by the refrigerator and started pulling stuff out. Flashlight, screwdriver, chip clips, permanent markers—green, blue, red, and black—a box of birthday candles, two books of matches, a small bag of twist ties, three AA batteries, and another smaller flashlight. She frowned. Where was the extra set of keys to her car?

  She sorted through everything again, and no keys. Beginning to feel a small amount of alarm, she went to her bedroom and grabbed her purse. Rather than try to dig around, she upended the bag and dumped its contents onto her bed. When she didn’t find the keys, she unzipped the inside pocket. There was a set of keys there, but it was the one that was just physical keys to the doors and trunk, without a remote fob. The set she kept in the kitchen drawer had a fob.

  She went back into the kitchen. Rachel had returned with the big box of bubble wrap and was busy using it to pack glasses. When Delaney stood at the island and didn’t do anything but stare down at the junk drawer contents, trying to remember what the hell she’d done with her keys, her friend asked, “Laney? You okay?”

  “Did I give you a spare set of keys to my car?”

  “What? No.” Rachel stopped what she was doing to look at her. “I have the key to the house, but not to your car. Why?”

  “The spare set isn’t here.”

  “Laney, honey, you usually keep your car keys in your purse, not in a kitchen drawer,” Rachel said with dry humor.

  Delaney shot her a look. “My spare set of keys, the ones with the remote fob, I usually keep right here.” She opened the junk drawer as far as it would go and bent to look inside. She even reached in and swept her hand along the bottom of the drawer. Empty. “Maybe they fell into the cabinet below,” she muttered and got on her hands and knees to see. That cabinet, too, was empty, the contents having already been either packed up or put in the donate pile in the corner of the dining room.

  As she got to her feet, a horrible thought hit her, one she had to say out loud. “What if someone broke in and took the keys so they could have access to my car?”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” Colbie said. “If they broke in to your house, why would they only take the keys to your car? And if they had the keys, why wouldn’t they steal the car? They wouldn’t get into your trunk so they could steal a baby quilt.”

  “Yeah. What she said,” Rachel chimed in.

  Delaney blew out a breath. “I guess you’re right. But what could I have done with them?”

  “Are those the keys you give to your mechanic when you take your car in for service?” Rachel asked.

  “Yeah,” Delaney responded absently. “Doesn’t have my house key on it.” And since she didn’t have a garage where she parked her car, no one from the auto shop could take her car on a test drive to her house and get in to steal anything.

  “Well, maybe you left them there.” Rachel glanced at the clock readout on the microwave. “You should call them, ask them to check.”

  “Yeah. When’s the last time your car was in for service?” Colbie asked. She wandered into the kitchen and hoisted her fanny up onto one of the barstools at the breakfast bar.

  “Gosh, it’s been at least two months ago.”

  “Well, maybe they have them in a lost and found or something,” Colbie said. “You should call ’em.”

  Delaney went into the living room where she had her cell phone charging. She opened her Contacts folder then pressed the Call button for the repair shop. When the call was answered, she said, “Lou?”

  “Yep, you got ’im.”

  “Hey, it’s Delaney Murphy.”

  “Hey, there, Delaney. What’s up? Somethin’ wrong with your car?”

  “Oh no, it’s running perfectly.” She glanced at her friends, who both motioned for her to get on with it. “What I need to know is if I maybe left my spare set of keys there the last time my car was serviced.”

  “Hmm, don’t think so, but let me check. Hang on.”

  She heard the clunk of him setting the receiver on the desk, then the clump of work boots. Finally he came back to the phone to say, “Only have one set of keys, kiddo, and they’re to a Buick.”

  Since she drove a Honda Accord, those weren’t her keys. “Okay, Lou. Thanks for checking.”

  “You bet.”

  She said goodbye and ended the call. “He doesn’t have them.”

  Rachel blew out a breath. “I hate to even suggest this, but…is it possible Frank has keys to your car?”

  At the mention of her ex-husband, Delaney’s shoulders went taut. “No.” She thought a moment. “I did have this car when we were married, but I only had the two sets of keys with fobs.”

  “He could have had another set made without you knowing about it. And taking the quilt out of your trunk just to mess with your head sounds like something he’d do.”

  Wasn’t that the truth! “I guess so,” Delaney murmured. “But why now? It’s been three years since the divorce. And he has another wife to hassle.”

  Rachel shrugged. “He’s a douche nozzle. That’s enough reason, I’d say.”

  Delaney huffed a sigh. “Well, I’m not going to call him to ask. I wonder how much it would cost to get the locks replaced.”

  “You should look into it,” Rachel advised.

  “It could be you just misplaced them somewhere,” Colbie said. “I’m sure they’ll turn up while we’re packing.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Delaney replied. The only thing that really made sense was that she’d put them somewhere other than where they were supposed to go and would eventually find them. “I’ll probably find them back in the spare freezer,” she said with a laugh.

  “Yep, I bet you do,” Colbie agreed.

  They got back to work, and by the time Lily and Andi showed up, there was very little left to do. Certainly nothing that couldn’t wait until the day before she actually had to move, which was planned for the following weekend when she didn’t have to work and could instruct the movers where to put stuff.

  “You all take a look at the donate pile. If you see something you want, it’s yo
urs. Except for that dragon cake pan,” she stipulated. “I’m going to see if Gabe’s wife wants it.”

  She ordered Chinese, and after she ran out to pick it up, they spent the rest of the afternoon eating, drinking wine, and finishing up with vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce drizzled overtop.

  As the girls were gathering up their things to leave later that evening, Lily asked, “So have you made a decision? Are you moving in with Beck or not?”

  Delaney gave a nod. “I’m moving in with him.”

  Her friends all cheered.

  Grinning, she propped her hands on her hips. “Like any of you thought I wouldn’t.”

  Andi raised her hand. “I had doubts. You can be pretty stubborn, you know.”

  “Pot, meet kettle,” Lily muttered with a sidelong look at her business partner and friend.

  “Las personas que viven en casas de cristal,” Andi muttered right back, “shouldn’t throw stones.”

  “All right, enough with the Spanglish,” Colbie said with a laugh. “Though I do get what you said by context.”

  “It’s a wonder you two have the kind of success you do,” Delaney said; still grinning, she added, “the way you go on.”

  Lily threw her arm around Andi’s shoulders. “We’re the best of friends. It’s all done in love, right?”

  Andi nodded. “Si. Con el amor más grande.”

  “One of these days I swear I’m gonna learn to speak Spanish,” Colbie grumbled.

  “I know enough to know she said with the greatest of love,” Delaney translated for her.

  “Oh. That’s nice,” Colbie said with a smile at Andi, who shrugged.

  “It’s the truth,” the other woman responded. “Besides, every relationship, platonic like ours or romantic like Delaney’s with Beck, needs a bit of spice in it to keep it lively, yes?” She looked at Delaney. “You’ll see, once you’ve been with him awhile.”

  “Spice is not something I’m worried about,” Delaney mumbled, getting laughs from all her friends.

  “When do you want to move?” Rachel asked. “’Cause you know I’m yours until about six every night. Just need enough time to shower and get changed for work.”

  “The movers are scheduled for next weekend. I’ll get the keys to Beck’s condo from Gabe on Monday.”

  “At your new job!” Lily lifted her hand. When Delaney did as well, she slapped their palms together in an enthusiastic high-five. “New boyfriend, new job, new house. It’s finally all coming together, hon. I’m thrilled for you.”

  Delaney was thrilled too. And more than a little scared. It was so much coming all at once. She just hoped she was up for the challenge.

  * * * * *

  By Friday two weeks later she’d settled in, both at work and in her new home. Her right palm had been scanned and recorded for entry to the building, Gabe had given her the key to Beck’s condo, and she’d been introduced to the retail tenants on the front side of the first floor. She’d also found out that Tyrell Thorne and Rafael Delgado lived in condos on the second floor. Another unit was reserved for Solomon Quincy, which left the extra one Beck had told her could be hers if she didn’t want to live with him.

  But she wanted to live with him. Maybe she was crazy, moving in after such a short amount of time of dating him, and maybe it was because they’d been dancing around each other for a year, but she felt like she knew him. She knew what made him tick and how he would react to certain things.

  Even so, she wasn’t looking forward to having the conversation they needed to have when he got back. If he got back. Her stomach churned and she shoved that thought to the back of her mind. Negativity had no place here. Positive thoughts equaled positivity in the universe and would bring her lover back to her safe and sound. She had to believe that.

  Beck’s place was stark and blatantly masculine, with dark-stained wood floors throughout, bulky leather furniture in the living room, and a big king-sized bed in the main bedroom, complemented by an equally massive chest of drawers. Since the condo unit was on the second floor, it had a view of the mountains to the north, but only from the bedroom. Every other room had that glorious view blocked by other buildings.

  It was his master bathroom she fell in love with. Done in cream, royal blue, and soft mint green, with oil-rubbed bronze fixtures, it was the largest bathroom she’d ever seen. An oversized Jacuzzi tub big enough for about four people sat in one corner. Next to it stood a large walk-in shower, and a glass-block wall separated the toilet from the double-sink vanity.

  And it got better. On the other side of the wall by the shower was his walk-in closet, one with not only built-in drawers and shelving in a beautiful mahogany but one which was also big enough to hold a storage island easily five feet by five feet with a bench on one end.

  As he’d had hardly any clothing in the drawers, she’d taken that over. One side of the large closet held her hanging clothes, the other side she left to him. And he still had room.

  She’d brought her most comfortable armchair, a peachy-pink flowered wingback, and placed it and its matching ottoman by the bedroom window. Since he didn’t have a bed in the second bedroom—only a sad little futon—she’d had Gabe and one of his neighbor buddies put the futon with the things she placed in storage and put her queen-size bed in the second bedroom.

  The only thing she’d added to Beck’s living room was some of the bright jewel-toned pillows that had been on her sofa.

  Friday night she fixed herself some zucchini noodles and drowned them in pasta sauce with mushrooms and freshly grated Romano cheese, some heated-up rotisserie chicken and a small salad with black olives, tomatoes, croutons, and Italian dressing. “Olive Garden, eat your heart out,” she muttered after the first bite. It was that good.

  After dinner, feeling a little weird about being there by herself—and feeling like an interloper no matter how hard she tried not to—she watched a couple of hours of television on his kick-ass sixty-inch HDTV. Then she grabbed her e-reader and settled on his big bed with a glass of wine. She’d just started a new romance by Vicki Lewis Thompson, a local author who’d hit the New York Times bestseller list numerous times. Her writing was humorous, making Delaney laugh out loud more than once each book she read.

  Delaney had made it to the fifth chapter when her cell phone, hooked up to the charger on the nightstand, started playing “Hanging by a Moment” by Lifehouse. Recognizing the tone she’d set for Beck, she unhooked the charger and clicked on the call. “Hi,” she murmured, suddenly shy. They hadn’t spoken for two weeks, and though she’d asked Gabe to let Beck know she was thinking of him if Gabe talked to him, she wasn’t sure the message had been relayed.

  The ringtone had the opening lyrics of the song running through her mind. If that didn’t describe her with Beck—falling in love with him, letting go of all the shit she’d been holding onto all these years—she didn’t know what did.

  “Hey, babe.” He sounded tired. Even so, his voice made her body come to attention.

  “You okay?” she asked softly, still treading lightly where his job was concerned.

  “Whipped, but all right.” His tone was gruff, low. “We’re done here. Should be catching a flight out in two days. Have to file our reports, but after that we’ll be heading home.”

  Tension in her shoulders she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying loosened, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I’m so glad.”

  “How’s work going?”

  “Just fine,” she replied with more aplomb than she felt. He’d been worried about her. That felt better than anything had felt in a long time. And she liked it. “I’ve got the front area organized,” she went on. “Spent some of the company’s money to buy more filing cabinets, the lateral fireproof kind, so they weren’t cheap. But everything I need is pretty much at my fingertips. I can guard the castle without leaving the bailey, sir.”
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br />   He chuckled. “You’ll be allowed to use the bathroom and take a lunch break, you know.”

  “Hmm, yes. Where’s the bathroom? Oh, right. Up front. And where’s the employee break room? Again, up front.”

  His chuckle turned into a laugh. “If I’m in, you come back and have lunch with me.”

  She was happy to be able to lighten his mood, even if it took her being silly. “I can do that.”

  “Where are you?”

  She blinked. Where did he think she’d be at—she took a quick look at her phone—ten o’clock on a Friday night? “In your condo.”

  “Our condo,” he stressed. “I know you moved in, baby. Gabe let me know. I meant, where in the condo?”

  “I’m in bed.”

  “Jesus.” His voice dropped an octave. “What do you have on?”

  She glanced down at herself. Ever since she’d moved in, because she’d been missing him so, she slept in one of his T-shirts. An old one, and favorite one, by the looks of the fading. But because it had been washed so often, the cotton was baby-bottom soft. She hoped he wasn’t wanting to hear she was wearing some slinky, sexy nightwear he could fantasize about. Just for a second she thought about lying to him, then settled back on her honesty-is-the-best-policy policy. “I’m wearing one of your T-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts.”

  He gave a low groan. “As much as I like that sweet little pajama set you have, baby, I think from now on I want you sleepin’ in one of my tees.”

  She swallowed. He was turned on by her wearing his shirt. A smile curled her lips. “Beck,” she whispered.

  “I’m sliding my hands down your back,” he said. “Into your shorts, cuppin’ that sweet ass of yours.” His voice went deeper. “Now I’m slidin’ ’em around in front, between your legs.”

  What?

  “Beck…”

  “Touch yourself, baby,” he murmured.

  She’d never had phone sex before. She hadn’t dated much, but even in the early days of her marriage her husband had never cared enough to engage in phone sex. At least not with her.