Epiphany

by Rita Herron

  Rebecca drove her car through one of the yawning garage door openings. Trey parked near the front entry and watched the garage door close behind the home’s owner. They would use his vehicle from now on. Separate transportation only added to the risk.

  He got out, grabbed his overnight bag, locked his SUV with one click of the remote on his key chain and climbed the steps to the lofty double-entry doors.

  Ninety seconds ticked by before one of the doors opened, during which he kicked himself for not insisting on going in first. He didn’t usually run behind the curve like this.

  “Come in, Detective Murphy.”

  Rebecca Saxon waited for him to pass before closing and locking the door. She immediately reset the security system before turning to him. He noted that she had a secondary alarm, the kind that went directly to a surveillance vehicle. It was the newest wave in home security for the more prominent neighborhoods. Smart lady.

  “I usually dine alone, but I’m sure we can find something you’ll consider palatable.”

  “I’m not that hard to please, Miss Saxon.” He hadn’t meant the words to come out sounding as if food weren’t the subject of his statement, but that was exactly how it happened. The abrupt pink tinge on her cheeks let him know he hadn’t heard wrong, apparently his more primal instincts had turned on the charm despite the fact that he was in work mode. That definitely hadn’t happened before.

  Her chest filled with the deep, clearly frustrated, breath she took in. He knew this because the movement hauled his gaze directly to her breasts before good sense could kick in and stop the reaction.

  “This way, Detective.”

  She pivoted on the three-inch heels of the shoes that were likely designer and probably cost more than he made in a week and gave her some of that additional height he’d admired the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Then she strode down the marble entry hall, her heels clicking on the natural stone and her hips swaying ever so slightly for his viewing pleasure.

  Trey dropped his bag in the hall near the bottom of the staircase and followed her. He forced himself to take in his surroundings as they moved deeper into the house, but it wasn’t easy with her skirt swishing softly against her stocking-clad thighs like a perpetual invitation for him to stare. He’d like nothing better than to watch that gentle side-to-side motion of her well-proportioned derriere but he had a job to do and that job included getting his bearings in this environment.

  She led him into a kitchen made up of more square footage than his entire across-town apartment.

  “Wow,” he muttered. The place was huge.

  Ignoring his awestruck comment, she pulled open the enormous fridge door and peered inside. “There’s leftover pasta and vegetables with white wine sauce, if you’re interested.” She tapped one manicured finger against the door handle as she continued to survey the contents. “A turkey sandwich would be fast and easy if you don’t have a taste for pasta.”

  “Leftovers sound good,” he said distracted by the idea that a guy could fit a whole pickup load of beer into a fridge that size. Having the gang over for the big game would be a hell of a lot less complicated without the clutter of coolers filled with ice.

  “Leftovers it is then.” She pulled out a couple of glass bowls and moved to the center island. “Wine, coffee, tea, milk?” she asked as she slid the first dish into the microwave.

  “Coffee would be good.”

  With the same efficiency she went about her work at the shop, she threw together the leftovers and a fresh pot of coffee and prepared a table setting in the dining room that would give any five-star restaurant a run for its money.

  Trey put the linen napkin in his lap and dug in. When he’d devoured the meal he would never have ordered but, oddly, enjoyed all the same, he turned to his hostess.

  “Don’t you get lonesome in this big old house all alone?”

  From the mortified expression that claimed her face, he figured he had asked the wrong question. What could he say? Trey prided himself on being straightforward. He wasn’t the beat-around-the-bush type.

  “This home belonged to my parents and to my grandparents before them. Where else would I live?”

  Okay. He could understand that. Sort of. But damn, the place was like a museum. Surely the woman felt a little separated from the world here…all alone…night after night. Enough with that. For all he knew, she had a different guy over every week. Nah, that wasn’t true. From what he’d read about her, she wasn’t big into the social scene.

  “I guess it just seems a little overwhelming in comparison to my place.” He felt a little bad that he’d said anything now. She looked seriously disconcerted.

  Rising to her feet, she said, “I’ll show you to a guest room and then I think I’ll turn in.”

  Man, it wasn’t even nine o’clock. Didn’t she watch television?

  He carried his dishes to the kitchen, mimicking her movements. Once the dishwasher was loaded, she showed him the way to the guest room, which was up the gigantic staircase and in the east wing. En route he snagged his overnight bag.

  “Where’s your room?” he asked when she would have left him standing in the doorway of the well-appointed room.

  “I’m down the hall.” She pointed in the other direction. “I’ll see you in the morning, Detective.”

  “Wait.” He took hold of her arm when she would have walked away. Her startled gaze shot up to meet his. He hadn’t meant to startle her, but the part that really bothered him was the way touching her made his chest cramp with the need to suck in a deeper breath.

  “Is there a problem with your room?” She wiggled her arm free of his hold.

  A frown creased his brow as his hand fell away. The room was swank, probably the fanciest place he’d ever stayed in. But didn’t she get it? He was here to protect her. How could he do that if the length of a football field stood between them?

  “I need to be near you,” he explained, stunned that a woman as seemingly intelligent wouldn’t get that up front. The very idea of protection insinuated proximity.

  “We’re on the same floor,” she countered as if he were the one who should get it.

  He hitched his thumb in the direction of her room. “Next door or across the hall. No exception. I have to be close enough to hear any trouble that comes your way before it reaches you.”

  She blinked. “Oh.”

  Maybe she hadn’t gotten it. Or maybe she just didn’t understand the seriousness of this case. If she was targeted, and there was every reason to believe she would be if the perps hit Atlanta, her high-class security systems wouldn’t save her. She would end up dead like all the rest. Her only ace in the hole was him.

  Her hesitancy in regard to his suggested sleeping arrangements proved more and more glaringly obvious with each passing second, annoying him all the more.

  “Well, I suppose you can take the room across the hall from mine.”

  He resisted asking her if that one wasn’t designated as a guest room. Damn, did the woman survive on rigid formality alone? Maybe that’s why he never saw her in the social pages. He was beginning to think she spent most of her time either at work or alone.

  What a shame.

  He shook his head as she started toward the other end of the long corridor. Eventually he followed, careful to stay on the lush Asian runner cutting down the middle of the polished wood floor.

  This time in addition to her swaying hips, he enjoyed watching her hair move gently around her waist as she advanced determinedly toward her destination. Such a pretty lady. So damned uptight.

  She finally stopped in front of a set of double doors. An exact duplicate waited behind her on the opposite side of the corridor.

  “Your room,” she said, then gestured to the set of doors at her back. “My room. Is that satisfactory?”

  “Satisfactory.”

  As she turned to enter her room, he stopped her again, this time with nothing more than a statement. Touching her had already proven a dicey maneu
ver.

  “I’ll need to check out your room before you go in.”

  That mortified look he’d seen once already slid over her face again. But she didn’t argue, just stepped aside and indicated that he should have at it.

  He gifted her with a smile but she didn’t appear to appreciate it. He dropped his bag in the corridor, turned the knobs, opening both doors to her room wide as he stepped into her private domain. Maybe this part hadn’t been absolutely necessary but better to be safe than sorry.

  With his first deep breath he recognized the subtle scent of roses. Her room was very large with a set of French doors leading out onto what was likely a balcony on the far side of the room. Carpet that seemed to rise up around his ankles as he entered the room cushioned his steps. An enormous canopied four-poster served as the focal point, catching one’s eye immediately.

  The usual furnishings flanked the walls. Nothing looked out of place. No clothes on the floor. The bed was made and piled high with decorative pillows. The colors surprised him a little. This space didn’t sport the reserved, muted ones throughout the rest of the house. Though she wore a red suit today, he had assumed that was more about fitting in with the holiday look than personal taste. But he’d apparently been wrong. Deep, rich jewel tones jumped out at him from her bed coverings and the drapes. The walls were a lush wine color.

  He moved through the room, checked the walk-in closet where he found rows and rows of elegant dresses and suits, all in those same rich colors of her room. The woman did like the extreme side of the color wheel. Definitely unexpected.

  But it was the en suite bath that gave him something to obsess about for the rest of the night. Delicate lace and satin undies hung around the room to dry. Obviously the lingerie required hand washing. He spotted a small bottle of detergent for delicates on the counter that confirmed his suspicion.

  He surveyed the hanging undies again. No white, beiges or pastel pinks for Miss Saxon.

  He fingered a lacy, devil-red bra. Royal blues, emerald greens and decadent purples. Not the first bland or pastel shade in sight.

  Heat burned low in his belly as he touched a pair of blue panties. Not the old-lady-type bloomers, either. These were the sleek and barely there thong style.

  At that moment he would have given his next month’s paycheck to see her in them. His mouth went as dry as a stream in late August at the thought.

  “I’m certain my undergarments hold some sort of clue as to whether or not I’m in danger,” she said from the doorway, her tone snapping with fury.

  He turned, his gaze sliding from the satin panties to her dark eyes. “Lady, you have no idea…”

  Her eyes widened with shock and her breath caught, ensuring that those lush lips parted slightly and her chest swelled abruptly.

  As if God had decided to give him a good swift kick in the behind to snap him out of the coma he’d evidently lapsed into, he realized his mistake.

  “You never know what desperate criminals are capable of,” he said too fast, his voice a little too high. He let go of the panties and rubbed his hand against his thigh to erase the memory of the touch. Didn’t work. “That’s why I don’t take chances.”

  Knowing he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this one, he walked straight up to the door. “I’ll be across the hall.”

  She turned sideways in the door to let him pass. As he did, she said, “Sure you don’t want to take some of this evidence with you?”

  He stopped face-to-face with her, arranged his lips into a smile. “Good night, Ms. Saxon.”

  She stared at his mouth as if she hadn’t understood. His gut reacted, tied up in knots.

  Before he could decide whether to repeat himself or to just get the hell out of there, a distant sound captured his attention. What the hell?

  He cocked his head and listened. A loud, constant wailing…

  The security system alarm on his SUV.

  “Stay here,” he ordered, shooting Miss Saxon a look that dared her to defy his command.

  “What is that?” she demanded, clearly prepared to buck his authority.

  He didn’t have time to argue with her. “Just stay there,” he reiterated as he lit out down the hall. Adrenaline surged through him as he paused at the top of the stairs and reached for his weapon.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he considered the possibilities. Could be a run-of-the-mill car thief. He doubted that it would be the perps he hoped to nail since their M.O. was to get in and out without leaving any evidence much less attracting attention.

  He moved into the living room and peeked out the front window. His alert status escalated when he noted the rear portion of a van parked almost out of view at the end of the garage.

  The bob of a flashlight near his SUV jerked his gaze back in that direction.

  “Too stupid to run, eh?” he muttered as he watched the dark figure move to the rear of his vehicle.

  Shaking his head, Trey moved into the entry hall and eased up to the front door. Might as well face this head-on. He imagined when he identified himself the would-be thief would run like hell. Not that it would do him any good. Trey wouldn’t waste time going after him, he’d just take down the license plate number and call it in. Guys like this, more often than not, were mostly looking for what they could steal from inside parked vehicles. CD or DVD players, anything of value that an owner left inside was up for grabs. One quick smash of a window and the goods were gone.

  “Is someone out there?”

  Trey whipped around at the sound of Rebecca Saxon’s voice.

  “Go back upstairs,” he snapped.

  She glared at him and promptly proceeded to stride to the living room for the purpose of taking a look as he had.

  Dammit. Was this going to be the way of it? How was he supposed to protect her if she didn’t listen when the time came? Frustration roared through him.

  “What’s the code?” he yelled as he drew his weapon.

  She yelled the answer right back, thankfully without leaving the living room. At least she was smart enough to be afraid now.

  He should have gotten the code from her earlier, he thought as he jabbed the off button and entered the series of numbers into the keypad of the first alarm system as well as the second then unlocked the door and wrenched it open.

  The business end of a .9 mm gun abruptly shoved into his face.

  “Put down the weapon, sir.”

  Trey frowned. What the…?

  The uniform registered then.

  The new security company Rebecca Saxon had hired.

  Great.

  “Take it easy, buddy,” Trey reassured. “I’m Detective—”

  “Keep your hands where I can see them!” the guard ordered when Trey reached toward his jacket pocket.

  “You all right, Miss Saxon?”

  Since the guard looked past him, Trey assumed Rebecca Saxon had walked up behind him. Perfect.

  “Yes, Wallace, I’m fine. Sorry for the trouble. I should have let you know that I would have company for a few days. This is Detective Murphy. Chief Wells has placed him with me for the rest of the week.”

  The guard, Wallace, eyed Trey speculatively. “Just making sure, ma’am.”

  “You mind if I take care of that?” Trey gestured toward his SUV.

  “No problem.” Wallace lowered his weapon. “Park in the garage next time, Detective Murphy. You should know it cuts down on theft.”

  Trey clicked his remote and the alarm stopped screaming. “Sure thing.” Just what he needed. Advice from a rent-a-cop.

  “I guess you won’t mind if I see some ID,” Wallace said suspiciously.

  Trey dragged out his ID and showed it to the guy.

  The guard took his time studying the shield and ID then said, “Good night, Miss Saxon.” He turned and walked away without saying another word to Trey.

  Great. He was making friends already.

  Trey closed the door, locked it and reset the alarms. He pivoted and gl
ared down at his principal. “Is there anyone else you should call and warn that you have company?”

  Her cheeks flaming with irritation or something on that order, she shook her head.

  The stare-off lasted about ten more seconds before she whirled around and stormed up the stairs.

  Trey waited a full minute then followed.

  Maybe the chief was right…maybe he was losing his touch.

  Chapter Five

  Rebecca placed a slice of toasted whole-grain bread on each plate alongside the fresh, plump blueberries and tangy, sliced kiwi. A serving of plain low-fat yogurt completed the mouthwatering arrangement. She poured two glasses of orange juice and placed all on a tray.