by Rita Herron
“Gee, thanks,” he said, doing a little seething of his own now, “that explains everything.”
As Trey returned to his Santa post, he couldn’t be sure but he felt relatively confident that the lady had just offended him.
This was definitely not the reaction he usually got from women.
Looked like his bad luck on the job had just spilled over into personal. Merry Christmas to him.
Chapter Six
Rebecca retired to her bedroom the moment she got home that evening. She didn’t want to look at the detective anymore. Didn’t want to hear his voice.
All afternoon she’d had to listen to his ho-ho’s and booming laughter as he entertained, quite successfully she had to add, the children. A definite turnaround from the morning’s fiasco.
She sagged against her door and closed her eyes. How had she let him get under her skin like this? He was the fire she knew to avoid…the dangerous kind of man that could and would break her heart because he possessed the intrinsic power to break down her emotional defenses.
Rebecca sighed wearily and opened her eyes once more. She’d worked so hard for so long to steer clear of this very sort of situation. She’d had her heart broken once and once was definitely enough.
Her junior year in college zoomed into her thoughts. He, the man who’d swept her off her feet and straight into his bed, had loved her and left her, as the song goes. He’d been in the top of his senior class, was the man of the hour, headed for Wall Street with his big plans and amazing aptitude for charming his adversaries as well as the ladies. But his future plans hadn’t included a Georgia girl with family commitments of her own. If she wasn’t willing to leave behind her family obligations, he couldn’t be bothered. How could she, the only child of her parents, walk away from the family business? As if that weren’t heartbreak enough, she’d learned she wasn’t the only one with whom he’d had an intimate relationship. Like the ambitious man he was, he’d led three—three—women to heartbreak at the same time. Leaving all humiliated.
She should have been better prepared…but she wasn’t. As an only child, her parents had shielded her most of her life. It wasn’t until she’d gone off to college that she’d faced real life. Real life had taught her some hard lessons, but she’d told herself that a few bumps in the road were good character builders.
And she’d been right. She’d learned from her mistakes. Never trust a charming man who thought he owned the world. Or, at least, she had appeared to until now.
Rebecca pushed off the door and moved toward the bathroom, stripping off her clothes as she went. Yes, she had learned her lessons, had moved on to the next stage of her life without difficulty. No looking back.
She’d worked side by side with her father for the next three years after college, had learned the business inside and out, and loved every minute of it. She’d even dated a few of Atlanta’s eligible bachelors. Her mother had been big into society life and had dragged Rebecca to various functions every chance she’d gotten.
Then her father had died and all had changed. Her mother had eventually moved on, but Rebecca recognized that she hadn’t. Her social life had floundered, finally fizzling out almost entirely. But she hadn’t really missed it.
Not until now.
How could twenty-four hours with a cop—this cop in particular—have stirred up so many confusing emotions? She’d lain in bed last night and thought of nothing but him lying across the hall. She’d replayed in her mind every physical asset the man possessed.
She turned on the water in the tub and, while it filled, scrubbed her face. With a quick twist and snap, she pinned her hair atop her head using a claw clip. Staring at her reflection, she couldn’t help thinking that she looked almost as old as she felt this evening. Usually when she looked at herself she didn’t see a thirty-one-year-old woman, she just saw what she’d always seen—a girl trying to maintain what her ancestors had built and inevitably entrusted to her.
It was a big responsibility but she had never once regretted taking it on.
Not…until now.
Rebecca braced her hands on the cool marble counter and looked into the dark brown eyes staring back at her. She’d watched Detective Murphy with those children and somehow it had made her long for a child of her own. Never, not once, had she experienced that yearning. Most of her friends were married and had children, but that fact had never bothered her. She was too focused. Too determined. But somehow, impossibly, in a mere twenty-four hours, that aspect had shifted somehow.
She placed a hand against her flat belly. How would it feel to carry a child? To give birth to an heir who could carry on with the family business…?
All right. She straightened. Clearly she’d slipped over some strange precipice there for a moment. “Pull it together, Bec,” she muttered. “Don’t even think about going there.”
Forcing the troubling thoughts from her mind, she stepped into the knee-deep water and then settled her body within its warm embrace. She had her shop. Had this home. What else did she need?
It wasn’t that she was against emotional entanglements, but she was very certain of the type of man she intended to one day marry. And Detective Trey Murphy was certainly not it. She didn’t doubt that he was a nice guy…but she’d recognized him for what he was on sight.
The kind of man who would walk into the line of fire to get the job done. A man who liked the little woman at home taking care of his needs while he went out and saved the world. Nothing like her father…nothing like she was looking for. She wanted safe…dependable. Predictable.
Achieving her masters in business had taught her one essential business motto that also applied in one’s personal life—never wager more than you’re willing to lose.
Men like Trey Murphy required more than she was willing to risk. Giving that much left a woman too vulnerable.
Rebecca never wanted to be vulnerable.
She pushed the moot subject aside and relaxed fully for the first time today.
The hot water slowly soothed her muscles and just as slowly she let the last of her troubling thoughts go.
It was almost Christmas. This whole thing would be over in seventy-two hours.
TREY CLOSED the phone and shoved it back into his pocket.
Damn.
A jewelry store in Marietta had been hit last night. No one had known until late this afternoon.
The perps had altered their M.O. They’d forced the owner to call all the employees last night and tell them that he wouldn’t be opening the store the next morning due to a death in the family. The scene at the jewelry store was like all the others, no evidence left behind. Not that they’d found so far in any event.
Fury boiled up inside Trey. They had to stop these guys. That no one had discovered the first clue regarding these robbery-murders was just insane. No criminal was that good. Their luck couldn’t keep holding out.
Trey paced the kitchen as angry with himself as with anyone else. There should be something they could do—he could do. Some way to figure this out. Someone somewhere had to know these creeps.
In an attempt to turn his anger into something more constructive, he moved from room to room in the house, checking windows and doors. Every room except Rebecca Saxon’s. That one would have to wait. He had a feeling she wanted to be alone just now.
He paid particular attention to the small extra measures he’d put into place. But Rebecca Saxon didn’t need to know about any of those. The less she knew, the better.
He surveyed the yard from each room he entered. Tonight the exterior lights had the property lit up like an airfield.
Trey stretched his neck, then shrugged, feeling the weight of his weapon in the shoulder holster he wore. He was fully prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect Rebecca Saxon.
Even if she had made him dress up as Santa Claus.
He made a command decision just then, as well. He wouldn’t tell her about the latest hit. Why spoil her evening? He could tell her in
the morning, after they’d both had a decent night’s sleep.
He strolled back into the kitchen with the intention of wrestling up some grub, but stopped dead in his tracks.
The door leading from the kitchen to the garage stood ajar.
Adrenaline fired through his veins. His weapon already in his hand, he executed a 360-degree turn. He listened intently. No sound other than the rush of warm air from the heating vents.
Still, the door hadn’t opened itself. His gaze zeroed in on the keypad on the wall next to it. The red light indicated the alarm was activated. Rebecca always set the alarm. It should be wailing. The red light should be flashing.
Trey stepped cautiously to the garage door, ensuring that a portion of his attention remained on the room behind him.
The door hadn’t been open a few minutes ago. He knew that for certain.
The garage was dark. Assuming a firing stance, he flipped on the overhead light. His gaze roved over his SUV as well as Rebecca’s car. He moved through the garage, scanned the possible hiding places, ensured the doors were closed.
Nothing.
He glanced upward, considered how long it had been since he’d heard a peep out of Rebecca.
Trey swore as he bounded back into the kitchen.
What if the killers had been waiting in her bedroom?
Trey should have checked out the upstairs before allowing her to go there…he shouldn’t have depended upon the alarm systems. Those could be overridden.
He was up the stairs and skidding to a halt at Rebecca’s door before the thought fully assimilated in his brain. Readying for battle, he flung the door inward and burst into her room.
Clothes were scattered over the carpet.
His heart rocketed into his throat.
The lamp on the bedside table cast a dim glow over the room.
Where the hell was Rebecca?
A groan from the bathroom jerked his attention in that direction.
“Rebecca?” He was across the room and storming through the door before reasoning kicked in with an explanation.
She screamed.
He froze.
Her arms curled over her breasts.
“What’re you doing in here?”
He blinked, the picture in front of him only then steeping past the haze of worry. She wasn’t in danger. She was…
Bathtub. Water. Porcelain skin. Naked.
He turned his back. “Sorry. I didn’t…” He cleared his throat, dragged his hand over the back of his neck. “The garage door was open.” What was he doing standing around here apologizing? He had to check out the rest of the house. Had to be sure all was clear.
“It does that sometimes,” she said crisply. “I have someone coming to look at it next week. They couldn’t come sooner because of the holidays.”
Trey shifted, cleared his throat again. “But the alarm didn’t go off. It should—”
“I had the security company remove that sensor until after the latch is repaired. The overhead doors in the garage have sensors, so it isn’t a problem. I would have told you already but I didn’t think about it. Lock the door and it’ll stay shut.” She sighed. “I just forgot to take care of it when I came in tonight.”
“Got it.” Why was it he had to learn everything from her the hard way? And this time it was pretty damned hard. He shifted again. Wished like hell he could clear the image burned onto his retinas.
“Do you mind?”
He shoved his weapon back into its holster. “Yeah, sure.”
He couldn’t get out of her bathroom…out of her room…fast enough. Just for the hell of it, he went over the entire house once more. Even gave the door leading from the kitchen to the garage a look before deciding no foul play was involved. It took that much time for his heart rate to return to normal. Damn, he had to get a handle on this situation.
His stomach rumbled. And he had to eat.
Trey took a peek into the fridge. Rebecca Saxon employed a part-time housekeeper and gardener and no cook at all. Usually the first thing she did when they got home was prepare dinner—herself.
Not tonight. Tonight she’d disappeared up the stairs the instant they’d entered the house. And then, well, he didn’t want to think about the way he’d overreacted after that. He was definitely off his game.
Maybe she hadn’t cooked because she figured it was his turn to cook. He had her pegged for the type who would never agree that kitchen duty, including cooking, was primarily a woman’s job. She would expect the man to do his part.
He could do that.
All he had to do was find something in a can or box. That’s where his meals came from when he didn’t eat out.
By the time he’d searched the entire kitchen, including the butler’s pantry, he’d realized that Rebecca Saxon didn’t do convenient. She not only did her own cooking, she did it the hard way. Okay. There was sliced cheese in the fridge and sliced bread in the bread box. That could work.
A few minutes later he had grilled four cheese sandwiches in a pan of sizzling butter. He’d slathered each with mayo and layered on some pickles. Tomato soup would be nice, but she didn’t have any of that in a can, either, so the sandwiches would just have to do.
He regarded the plates before hauling them to the dining room. They didn’t look as inspiring as hers, but he wasn’t sure he could do anything about that.
“What’re you doing?”
Trey looked up at the sound of her voice. She was covered neck-to-toe in a fluffy blue robe. Her hair was stacked high on her head and held in place by one of those brutal-looking clips that reminded him of gadgets in a torture chamber. She didn’t wear much makeup to begin with, but he decided then and there that he liked her even better without any at all. She looked serene, wholesome.
Wholesome?
Since when had he added that word to his chick vocabulary? He squeezed his eyes shut so he would stop seeing the glimmer of her naked image beneath that water.
“I thought I’d have a go at dinner,” he explained as soon as he kicked his brain into gear.
“Did you use butter to grill those?”
If the mortified expression on her face was any indicator, she wasn’t pleased with the meal he’d prepared.
He shrugged carelessly, as if he weren’t standing there with a plate in each hand containing what she clearly did not like in the way of cuisine. “You cooked last night and the night before that. I thought I’d take a turn.” How was that for avoiding the question?
She stared at the plates, evidently uncertain what to say next. This positively was not the reaction he’d expected. Damn. Try to do something nice and what did you get?
“Well, that was…very thoughtful of you,” she stammered. Her fingers knotted in the lapels of her lush, velour robe. “Looks…yummy.”
She was lying. It didn’t take a trained cop to see that one a mile off.
“What would you like to drink?” He headed to the dining room with the plates. “Milk? Wine?” He wouldn’t touch her gourmet coffeemaker for tickets to the Rose Bowl game.
The soft sound of her bare feet whispering across the wood floor made him smile in spite of the fact that she had most certainly offended his culinary skill.
“I think wine,” she said. “I’ll get it.”
“Suit yourself,” he muttered as he situated the plates on the gleaming cherry dining table as she had done the previous night. Hey, he ate cheese sandwiches grilled in butter all the time and he did all right. That was just another reason he wasn’t in a hurry to settle down. A wife would surely want to dictate what he ate and when he ate it.
He sauntered back into the kitchen just in time to catch her gulping down a glass of wine. She quickly refilled her glass and grabbed the one she’d poured for him before turning and almost running headlong into him.
“I guess we’re ready then,” he said as he reached for his glass of wine. He bit back a grin and the urge to ask if she thought the wine would make the sandwich go down a little
easier. Or maybe she needed the extra shot of alcohol to get through dinner with him. Or, hell, maybe she was afraid and didn’t want to admit it. Rebecca Saxon didn’t like appearing weak in any manner. He had to respect that even if she could be damned annoying at times.
When she’d taken her seat, he dropped into his own. This was definitely the first time he’d had this kind of effect on a woman.
Not that he was trying to have any sort of effect on her.
Okay, maybe he’d been trying a little today.
