by Rita Herron
“Rebecca, line one for you,” Julie, who was top salesperson of the month for two months running, said as she touched Rebecca’s shoulder.
“Thanks.” Rebecca sought out the quietest corner of the shop without resorting to her office and took the call. She preferred to stay in the thick of things. Her longtime customers expected to see her when they shopped.
“Rebecca Saxon.”
“Ms. Saxon, this is Chief Mike Wells.”
Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion for a moment. “Hello, Chief, how can I help you this afternoon?” Surely a homicide chief didn’t call about traffic tickets, which, to her knowledge, was the only law she’d ever broken. Then again maybe he simply needed to make a last-minute Christmas purchase. Chief Wells was a socially prominent man. His transition from city councilman to homicide chief had held the news headlines for weeks.
“Ms. Saxon, I’m certain you’ve heard about the House Call Murders.”
A chill shivered over Rebecca’s every nerve ending as the chief, not waiting for her response, related the details she vividly recalled from the last time she’d watched the news. From Thanksgiving until New Year’s she rarely had time for such luxuries as television. The Weather Channel was about the only thing she glanced at and only then out of necessity. The deep South wasn’t exempt from winter storms.
Despite how busy she’d been, she had to admit that she had worried about the House Call Murders. Several jewelers in nearby cities had been hit already. Saxon Jewelers was one of Atlanta’s most prestigious. Her family had worked for generations to make it so. She would be a fool not to recognize that her shop could be a prime target. That was exactly why she’d hired extra security this year. She said as much to the chief.
“Ms. Saxon, I’m not quite sure you fully comprehend the situation. The perpetrators start with the shop owner’s place of residence, not at the shop itself. Your extra security personnel may very well be misplaced.”
Rebecca blinked. She had known that. She’d taken additional measures along those lines, as well. A new can of pepper spray was safely tucked in her purse, as well as another in her night table drawer. She had a state-of-the-art security system, which she never failed to activate. Plus she’d joined a special neighborhood watch program, operated by security professionals, that included regular drive-by surveillance. No one would get inside her home without alerting her first and one punch of the secondary alarm she’d had installed would send an SOS to whomever was on drive-by surveillance duty at the time. Her home was secure with the exception of that one interior door that needed repairs, but that was inconsequential.
“I understand that, Chief,” Rebecca assured him. “I’ve taken steps to protect myself at home, as well.” She squared her shoulders, didn’t like the feeling of helplessness that attempted to creep down her spine.
“I’m sure you have, Ms. Saxon, but forgive me for my persistence when I say we desperately want to catch these criminals. If we let this opportunity slip by…well, we may see a repeat of the same travesties next Christmas.” He dragged in a troubled breath. “How many innocent folks have to die, Ms. Saxon? We cannot sit idly by and do nothing.”
“What do you need me to do, Chief?”
REBECCA WAS STILL reeling half an hour after the call ended. Chief Wells wanted to post a detective inside her shop. Inside her home.
The rational side of her understood the how and the why. Stopping these murders was crucial. If the killers abruptly disappeared on Christmas Day as they had last year, they might never be caught. Even worse, they might start the killings all over again this time next year.
She had to do her part. No question. Chief Wells had explained that he would be posting a member of law enforcement at every shop that met the exact criteria as set out by what they had learned from the perpetrators’ M.O. thus far.
Not a problem.
Rebecca worked with the public every day but Sundays all year round. As in any retail business there was the occasional ornery patron one couldn’t seem to satisfy. However, she’d never, not once since she’d taken over full control of the store five years ago, met a man or woman she couldn’t win over. Her great-grandfather had laid down the ground rules decades ago—the customer is number one. No exceptions. Rebecca followed that basic rule to the letter. No customer would walk away from her shop dissatisfied.
She would simply treat the officer as she would any customer, with respect and humility. He or she was, after all, just doing his or her job, protecting Rebecca in the process.
Why wouldn’t she go out of her way to make the officer assigned to her feel completely at home? She had plenty of room at home. Christmas was less than a week away, which meant this whole thing would be over before she knew it.
How hard could it be?
Chapter Three
Trey sat outside Saxon Jewelers for a considerable length of time before he got out of his SUV. It was almost six and it would be dark soon. The shop was on holiday hours, so it wouldn’t be closing for another hour.
Pricey automobiles lined the sidewalk for a block in either direction.
Holiday lights hung from every rooftop and window. Fake snow plastered the glass of store windows where elves and reindeer stood prominently among the merchandise showcased for the season.
The temperature had dropped low enough that gloves and scarves were worn by all rushing about on the sidewalks to attend to last-minute shopping.
This was not what Trey had expected when Chief Wells had suggested he work on the House Call Murders case.
This was nothing more than a glorified baby-sitting job. He hadn’t been saddled with that kind of run-of-the-mill surveillance in half a dozen years. The rookies always got these assignments.
Trey considered his skills most useful in the field, ferreting out clues and tracking down killers. Not sitting back, waiting for them to strike. There were hundreds of jewelry stores in Atlanta. Saxon’s might not even be one of the targets.
Okay, so he knew better than that. The flourishing family-owned-and-operated business was a prime candidate. Trey had studied the M.O. of the perps involved. Rebecca Saxon, whether she realized it or not, was exactly the kind of victim they preferred.
But that didn’t make Trey any happier about his assignment.
Still, he had a job to do.
He got out of the SUV and made his way through the crowd on the sidewalk until he reached the main entrance to the ritzy shop. A bell jingled over the door as he went inside. The scent of Christmas, evergreen and cinnamon, tickled his nostrils. Elegant decorations shimmered all around the shop, dangled from every nook and cranny. Diamonds twinkled blindingly from the display cases lined two deep on both sides of the main aisle.
A crowd of patrons flocked around each of the counters. From the looks of things, business continued to be damned good for Miss Rebecca Saxon.
Trey had noticed her name in the newspapers from time to time, mostly in the business section, but he’d never met her. He hoped she wasn’t a snob, like most of her clientele, he mused as he moved past the elegantly dressed folks. Chief Wells would fit right in around here. Designer suits and dresses with purses and wallets containing platinum credit cards.
Yep, this was definitely one of Atlanta’s most upscale jewelry shops. Anyone who doubted it only need take stock of the break-the-bank rides parked outside.
Even if he were in the market for jewels, which he wasn’t, this was not the place where he would shop. He’d go for the less expensive chain shops in one of the malls. Why pay more?
He supposed one’s definition of expensive was relative.
Trey walked up to the first salesperson to become available. “I’m looking for Rebecca Saxon.”
The lady smiled. A nice smile. Made her blue eyes sparkle. Very nice. “She’s at the last counter.” She inclined her head to her right. “In red.”
“Thank you.” Trey’s gaze sought and found the lady in red. He blinked, had to look again.
; Wow. Rebecca Saxon was a hell of a looker.
“Don’t feel bad,” blue eyes said, jerking his attention back to her. “Most men react that way the first time they see her.”
Trey swore silently. Had he said wow out loud? Evidently. “She’s taller than I expected.” He tossed the words out offhandedly as if that had been the one and only reason for his surprise.
The saleslady simply smiled and moved on to the next customer.
Trey gave himself a swift mental kick. What the hell was he thinking saying something like that out loud? It wasn’t like him to be caught off guard.
He took his time moving through the crowd. There was no need to hurry since Miss Saxon looked busy. Might as well get a fix on her. Observe her while he was still anonymous.
He hadn’t been joking when he’d dredged up that comeback about her height. She was tall, five-nine or ten. Only two or three inches shorter than him. Slender, but not skinny. And the lady had a little meat on her bones. Few women understood that most men preferred at least some womanly curves. Whether Miss Saxon’s shapely figure was from genetics or design, she certainly had an eye-catching form.
Against the deep red of her tailored suit jacket was a mane of chestnut-colored hair that flowed down her torso like a cascade of dark water. It shone like pure silk. Very straight but not limp or thin. Those glossy tresses were full of body. Her complexion was flawless and pale as lush cream. She had dark eyes like her hair. Too dark to be called brown. But the thing that did the most damage to his senses was the mouth. Now this was the kind of mouth vain women paid the big bucks for. Either she had just applied her lipstick or those luscious lips were naturally cherry-red. Made a guy want to taste them just to see if they tasted half as good as they looked.
Trey frowned. He couldn’t remember the last instance he’d spent so much time visually detailing a woman’s every asset without her being a suspect in a murder investigation or a conquest he’d recently bedded.
One thing was certain, Rebecca Saxon would get a second look, maybe a third, anywhere she went.
As she moved around the end of the counter, his gaze dropped lower, to the hem of her skirt where it landed just above her knees, then downward. Sculpted calves. Long, long legs. Man, oh man, this lady had it going on.
She had an easy way with her customers, too. Patient, caring. Considering what she had to offer, he wondered why he didn’t see her on the social pages. According to her file, she wasn’t married or even seriously involved. Didn’t make sense.
Unless the beautiful lady was fatally flawed beneath that gorgeous exterior.
He gave his head a little shake and let go an exhale of regret. Wasn’t that always the way?
The gorgeous ones were always the hardest to get along with. He’d dated one or two like Rebecca Saxon. Had basked in the glow of their attention for a little while then realized his mistake. Life was too short to spend it miserable with a woman you couldn’t hope to please in the long run. Not that he dragged out any of his so-called relationships. He wasn’t the marrying type.
No strings, no attachments. And definitely no high-maintenance babes.
He didn’t have time for any of that.
And if a guy wasn’t committed all the way, he had no right going there. Mainly that was an excuse not to put himself in an emotionally compromising position. He was man enough to own his shortcomings.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Leddon, and thank you for shopping with us,” Rebecca said as she offered up the decorated bag with its matching tissue paper to the customer.
As exhausted as she was, Rebecca couldn’t help the smile that lingered. Visiting with her Christmas customers was like catching up with old friends you hadn’t seen in months. In most cases she hadn’t seen these particular customers since a birthday or anniversary. A select few bought jewels for everyday surprises, but the vast majority only dropped by for the important occasions.
While Mrs. Leddon disappeared into the slowly thinning crowd, Rebecca’s gaze bumped into a man who was blatantly staring at her. Of course he looked away when she caught him, but not before she noted that he had in fact been analyzing her quite thoroughly.
Blondish hair, a little shaggy around the ears. She thought his eyes might have been blue or gray. He’d looked away too quickly for her to be sure. Quite tall, with shoulders that spanned the width of his chest and then some. He wasn’t shabbily dressed but the jeans looked a little out of place with the classic tweed sports jacket. Maybe a leather coat would have been a better choice.
His gaze swung back to her and her breath jammed in her throat.
She felt certain she didn’t look away quickly enough to prevent his knowing she’d been sizing him up. Well, turnabout was fair play, after all.
Rebecca glanced around, hoping to snag another customer to prevent her gaze from doing what her silly curiosity urged. She would not look at him again.
Flirting with customers was strictly against the rules, for the boss as well as the employees—Linda Bowman’s light teasing excluded. Not that Rebecca had actually been flirting.
And not to mention, the absolute last thing she needed was to flirt with fire. And this gentlemen, she used the term in its loosest context, was definitely too hot for her. He exuded far too much confidence.
When she dated, which she rarely did—but who was keeping count?—she preferred men who were safe.
It was easier to put safe behind her. Easier to walk away, easier to tell herself the relationship hadn’t actually mattered.
She’d had a taste of dangerous back in college and she’d learned her lesson well. Don’t go near the flames and you don’t get burned.
Smoothing her palms over her hips, she focused her attention on tidying the display case she’d most recently opened. Anything to keep her eyes and her mind off the man in the faded jeans. She stilled. But what if he wasn’t a customer? What if…
“Miss Saxon?”
Before Rebecca straightened or even looked up, she knew it was him. Her heart lunged into a faster rhythm. The smell of trouble assaulted her senses. It wasn’t a specific scent, at least nothing she could name. More an overwhelming aroma of risk, of the untamed.
“Yes?”
She rose to her full height, forced a smile. Definitely blue eyes. And his hair was that beach-blond color guys with great tans and surfboards managed without effort or spending a dime in a salon. Malibu Ken came immediately to mind.
He reached into his interior jacket pocket. “I’m Detective Trey Murphy.” He flashed a gold shield before tucking the leather credentials case back into his pocket. “Chief Wells sent me.”
Her mouth sagged open.
This man. She looked him up and down, as if she hadn’t already mentally ticked off his every visible asset, was supposed to go home with her? Stick like glue to her for the next few days?
Oh, no.
This would never work.
“I’m sorry, Detective Murphy, but I was expecting—”
“Whatever you were expecting, Ms. Saxon,” he said with the same crispness as this morning’s biting wind, “I’m what you got. I hope we can make this work.”
Rebecca felt taken aback. She wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or angry.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Detective,” she said briskly. They could discuss this later. Right now she had customers. “I’m quite busy at the moment. We’ll get into this later, when the shop has closed.”
He shrugged one of those massive shoulders carelessly. “Whatever you say, lady. I’ll be waiting.”
And that’s what he did.
To Rebecca’s dismay, he stood not ten feet away for the next hour and watched every little move she made.
Chapter Four
Rebecca Saxon lived in a swanky mansion in Atlanta’s acclaimed Buckhead community.
Trey tried not to be impressed, but hell, he was only human. The exterior lights had gone on at dark, ensuring that the massive home stood out against the dark canvas of the sky
like a towering jewel.
He didn’t have anything against folks with money. It was just that in his experience a certain level of superiority accompanied that much wealth. And Trey had never cared for those who considered themselves better for whatever the reason.
Admittedly Rebecca Saxon appeared to be the hands-on type. She worked right alongside the employees in her shop. Trey had witnessed that with his own eyes. She didn’t ask anyone to do anything she wasn’t prepared to do herself. He liked that about her. The money hadn’t turned her into the master-and-commander type. And God knew she’d definitely been born with a silver spoon in her mouth.
Silver, hell. He surveyed the rambling estate. Maybe gold would be a more accurate depiction.
