Tempting Target

by Addison Fox

  Thoughts that had taken a decidedly dark turn as images of three bloodred rubies rose up to edge out the heat.

  He paid his way out of the downtown parking lot and then used his voice controls to call his partner.

  “Jessie, it’s Reed. I need you to look up a name for me.”

  He rattled off the spelling of the name Gannon had given him and the sound of tapping computer keys on the other end was audible.

  “Okay, the computer’s searching. How’s Gannon doing?”

  “Raving about his baby daughter with a smile that could rival a beauty queen’s.”

  “I could eat that baby up with a spoon she’s so sweet.”

  Reed didn’t know if he quite agreed with the analogy, but any attempt at protest faded as Jessie started in on a funny story about the three of them from high school. They’d both worried over their old friend and were happy to know Gannon’s return to civilian life from the service had begun to take a more positive turn.

  He shook his head to himself at Jessie’s easy transition from cop to high school gossip. She wore one as simply as the other, and—oddly—both suited.

  “Sasha and Jade are good for him. Real good.”

  “That they are.”

  The veteran’s organization they’d finally convinced Gannon to join had done its part, as well. An image of his friend and his wife filled Reed’s thoughts before morphing into an image of him and Lilah, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

  And where the hell had that come from?

  “You got anything yet, Jess?”

  Her voice grew flat at his gruff bark. “Yes, bossy. It’s just coming up now.”

  “Well?”

  “That’s odd.” He heard her frowning through the phone before another round of key tapping, this time louder than the last.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t see any paperwork under that name. Nor do I even see any paperwork on a Robert Barrington.”

  A hard clench fisted his stomach in knots and he reached for the roll of antacids he kept in a small well under the radio. “Jess, I just looked at the papers in Gannon’s hand.”

  “Then we need to figure out who the hell processed Barrington, because nothing is here.”

  * * *

  Reed continued turning the paperwork issue over in his mind as he navigated the Design District. Jessie was already looking into who might have taken care of Barrington’s arrest and he’d decided to head back to Elegance and Lace.

  The shop wasn’t that far from the jail and he mulled over the mystery of Robert Barrington’s life and death as the storefronts slowly morphed from fast food, dingy bars and bail bondsmen establishments into the more refined—yet still edgy—storefronts of antiques shops, design firms and newly built apartments.

  The district sure as hell had come back. He remembered coming down here as a kid with his mother, her hunt through the endless design shops—open only to professionals—some of the longest days of his life.

  She’d been a lone single mother back then, taking whatever job she could to keep them afloat, desperate to keep a roof over both their heads as she tried to get her design business off the ground.

  Then she’d met Tripp Lange on the job while decorating his new home after divorce number two. Tripp had quickly tumbled into marriage number three, and Reed and his mother had moved from a small apartment in the suburbs to a mansion in the swankiest part of Dallas.

  All things considered, Reed knew, things could have been far worse. Tripp wasn’t a bad guy. A bit of a caricature, with his oversize cigars and small sports car, but the man was fairly decent all the same.

  Tripp had embraced Reed and his mother, and while he’d shown no interest in becoming a father again at fifty-two, he had provided a home and anything Reed could have asked for. And he’d made his mother happy, which had gone even further toward putting him in the good-guy camp.

  The large windows of Elegance and Lace filled his view as he pulled into the street parking in front of Lilah’s store. The damage from a week earlier was nowhere in evidence, with mannequins covered in frothy wedding gowns back in their place of honor in the windows. Beyond that he could see the thick-cushioned couches that made up the seating area, and even farther back, Cassidy Tate was visible, carrying one of those frothy confections with the same delicate steps of the Dallas bomb squad.

  Weddings.

  He shook his head as he stepped out into the heat and headed into the store, a discreet security bell ringing to announce his arrival. He got marriage. And while he wasn’t anxious to dive headfirst into one, he got the idea of it all. That one person you were crazy enough about to link up with.

  But a wedding?

  Waste of money, as far as he could tell.

  A dress you wore once. A cake someone slaved over for days. And an open bar and rich food you used to anesthetize your guests into some sort of zombie pack who danced to dopey songs, half of which the radio refused to still play.

  “Detective.” Cassidy’s voice reached him over the dress in her arms as she caught sight of him from the hall. “Come on in.”

  “Miss Tate?”

  “Just give me a minute to put this down.” She ducked into what he knew to be a studio off the main hallway of the shop, full of all the things she used to cut, measure and sew dress after dress.

  In moments she was back, dress-free, her gaze tense. “I saw that dark look on your face when you walked in. Everything okay?”

  Reed glanced around her business and knew he needed to tread lightly. But his strange walk down memory lane over his mother and the odd thoughts that had gripped him as he looked up in the windows won out.

  “I’m trying to figure out the appeal of a wedding.”

  The tension vanished, fading away in the face of what she loved to do for a living. “You mean you’re not a fan of happily-ever-after?”

  “The happy part, sure. Yeah. But the wedding part. I don’t get it.”

  “It’s a celebration. A way to tell the world you’re in love and share that with the people you care about most.”

  “Then why do couples fight over the guest list?” He distinctly remembered how Jessie had bitched for weeks about Dave’s family and how they’d upset several relatives who didn’t rate an invite.

  “The fight’s just about the tension of the moment. People get over it. Plus—” she added a wink “—making up’s so much fun.”

  Recognizing a lost cause, Reed shrugged and pointed toward the couches. “Do you mind if we talk for a few minutes? I do have some details on Barrington I’d like to ask you about.”

  The warmth of her excitement faded. “I’d like Lilah to be here with me.”

  “Sit down. I’ll go get her.”

  * * *

  Lilah smoothed another sheet of fondant, already envisioning the elaborate ivy that would rise up along the side of her latest project. The shade of green had come out perfect and the slender white lines she’d experimentally painted on a few of the leaves cut from the first sheet gave just the look she was going for.

  Adrenaline kicked in her veins as the vision began its slow progression into reality and she danced toward her already-blaring docking station to switch from the always-kicky Donna Summer to some Aerosmith.

  Steven Tyler’s voice had just screeched when she let out a screech of her own as a large hand settled on her shoulder.

  Immediately, she swung out, her arm a hard arc against the muscled, solid chest behind her.

  “Whoa!”

  Fear and panic warred with confusion as Lilah twisted once more to see her attacker, reality pushing through the moment as the image of Reed Graystone registered in her mind.

  He had backed up several feet and was already reaching for the music dock on the counter w
hen she stopped, her heart racing like a Thoroughbred.

  “What the hell are you doing?” His loud voice echoed even louder with the loss of music.

  “What are you doing sneaking up on me?”

  “I’m not sneaking! You were dancing like a manic fairy in here and I was trying to get your attention. I hollered your name about four times.”

  “Oh.” Lilah stilled, the initial panic fading into a wash of embarrassment.

  Which only managed to piss her off.

  Her shoulders hunched and she mentally shook off the weight, standing straighter, even though her voice remained petulant and gruff when she spoke. “Why not just turn the music off, then? I regularly carry a knife in my hand. You should watch yourself, Detective.”

  “So noted.” The light of battle still sparkled in his gray eyes, but she saw something else.

  Concern.

  “I need to talk to Cassidy about something and she’ll do better with someone with her.”

  The lingering panic in her belly faded in full at the mention of her friend, along with that gentle awareness in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got some questions about Barrington. I also have an update.”

  Lilah glanced at her workstation, then to Reed. “Give me a minute to cover everything and I’ll be right out.”

  He followed her to the counter, his gaze on the work already laid out. “Those are gorgeous. They look like real leaves.”

  “That’s sort of the point.”

  “But I mean, really real. Like I could smell them if I were close enough. Are they edible?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can I try one?”

  She lifted one of the already completed leaves with a small cake knife. “Take this and go. I’ll be right out.”

  The leaf had already disappeared through his lips and Lilah struggled to hold back a smile at the grimace on his face. “It’s chewy.”

  “It’s fondant.”

  “Do people really like that?” That deep voice was still distinctive, even around a mouth full of gummy sugar.

  “Some people do. And it makes for stunning decoration, which is why it’s one of the weapons in a baker’s arsenal.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He swallowed hard, then backed toward the door. “Speaking of weapons... Why don’t you do me a favor and leave the knives in here?”

  Lilah watched him disappear through the kitchen entry into the main store. The urge to go to her friend was strong, but she gave herself a moment to give in to the equally strong urge to linger.

  Every time she thought she had a handle on her reaction to Reed Graystone, the damn man showed up again and had her rethinking her position.

  Nearly beating him up in the middle of her kitchen likely wasn’t lost on the good detective, either, Lilah suspected.

  Ignoring the embarrassment, along with that small swirl of desire that flamed to life every time he showed up, she covered the leaves with plastic wrap and headed for the main salon.

  No reason to keep the man waiting.

  * * *

  Lilah had known Cassidy Tate and Violet Richardson since the first day of college. The three of them had immediately bonded over their living space, their common interests and an innate ability to talk about anything and everything that struck their collective fancy.

  So the wide-eyed friend who sat on the couch, her slender frame set in fragile lines, was a surprise.

  Cassidy was many things, but delicate to the point of frail wasn’t it.

  Lilah sat and took her hand before turning her attention fully on the detective. “What did you find out?”

  “We’ve been looking into Robert Barrington’s background, especially who might have sprung for his bail.”

  “His parents, I’m sure,” Cassidy said.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Lilah listened to the details, shocked by the pervasive sense of something foul and malicious that filled Reed’s words. Paperwork they couldn’t quite find, signed off on by a nameless, faceless individual who had paid for Robert’s release.

  All resulting in a second dead body in less than a week.

  The fact they knew both of the deceased had only pushed the creep factor off the charts.

  “So I need to ask you again, what knowledge do you have or could you possibly have on Robert Barrington?”

  Fierce, protective urges rose up first at the leading question, stilled only when she caught the sincerity in Reed’s gaze. Measuring her words, Lilah kept her tone even. “We’ve been over this and over this. None of us had contact with Robert Barrington until he reappeared last week.”

  “I understand that, but is it possible Cassidy’s former association with the man could lead to a few more strings to tug?”

  “Tucker and I have discussed this, as well.” Cassidy offered up a tremulous smile before she leaned forward, her innate strength forcing itself to the surface. “And after I got over being mad at him for asking me basically the same question, I got to thinking.”

  “And what conclusion did you come to?” Reed probed.

  “There are connections and have been for a long time. How deep they run is the bigger question.”

  Lilah sensed the shift in Cassidy’s demeanor before her friend took her hand, the grip of her fingers tight with support.

  The whirling flash of panic that had come upon her in the kitchen returned in full force.

  She knew that look.

  It was pity veiled behind a layer of sympathy. She’d thought their relationship well past looks like that, but apparently she’d been wrong.

  As wrong as thinking she could stay several steps ahead of her past.

  “I think Lilah’s ex-husband, Steven DeWinter, might be the connection.”

  Chapter 3

  From the start, Reed had figured Lilah Castle for secrets. He made a living out of sizing up individuals with quick, precise impressions and using those impressions to figure out their true motives. He’d honed the skill young and he was good at it.

  Damn good at it.

  But over the past few days, he’d increasingly suspected the secrets Lilah carried held pain and abuse. The visceral shock that painted her pale face in deep, grooved lines only confirmed his instincts.

  What he hadn’t counted on was the raw, pulsing fury that gripped him at the confirmation.

  Shifting from his position on a plush, purple velvet chair, he took Lilah’s free side and pressed a hand to her back. “Breathe. Slowly in and out.”

  He caught Cassidy’s gaze over the top of Lilah’s pink-and-blond hair, a world of acknowledgment in that one look before the same rough voice that greeted him in the kitchen barked back at him, “I’m fine.”

  “Of course you are. So humor me by sitting still and taking a few deep breaths.”

  The tense set of her shoulders never waned, but she did take the breaths as he’d asked. “Good. Nice and slow.”

  She might have grudgingly taken the breaths, but there was no way he could miss her white-knuckled grip on Cassidy’s fingers.

  But it was when her friend shifted her free hand to brush several strands of hair behind Lilah’s ear that Reed truly understood the bond between the two women. “I think it’s time we gave Detective Graystone a bit of background.”

  “Like he can’t look it up if he wanted to.”

  Cassidy ignored the continued gruff responses. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it might come better from you.”

  He saw Lilah war with the truth of that statement as something strange worked itself into his chest. He wanted her to open up to him. Even more than that, he wanted her to believe she could trust him.

  And as someone who’d spent his adult life around victims of violence, he knew
trust was the very last thing Lilah Castle would ever give him.

  With that fresh in his thoughts, he gave her space, returning to the gaudy chair. He kept his gaze level, focused on hers. “Cassidy’s right. I can look it up. But I’d rather hear it from you.”

  The convivial baker who kept things light and breezy with a smart mouth and airy confections was nowhere in evidence as Lilah seemed to sink into herself. Even the pink streak in her hair seemed duller somehow. As if the color were a mood ring to its owner.

  Ignoring the inane observation, Reed kept his focus on Lilah.

  “I was married to Steven for almost two years. We met when I went to work in one of his restaurants.”

  Reed nodded, encouraging her to continue. He knew the name DeWinter, but until she said restaurants, he hadn’t made the connection with the popular local restaurateur who had risen to near-stratospheric heights in the past few years.

  “He was temperamental and moody and an amazing creator. His star was on the rise then and I was hooked. All that temperamental moodiness focused on me. Directed toward me. It was amazing and passionate and fiery and I fell for all of it.”

  Reed would confirm the timing later, but based on what he knew of the women’s ages, he assumed Lilah was no more than twenty-two or twenty-three when the relationship took place. And while he knew no one was immune to a heady dose of passion, it was especially alluring at that age.

  “There’s nothing wrong with caring for someone.”

  “No.” She shook her head, her eyes dark with memories and pain. “But there is something wrong when you make excuses for the bastard every time that passionate moodiness turns dark and twisted.”

  “Lilah—” Cassidy reached for her friend as if to pull her close, but Lilah was already up and off the couch.

  “It’s a story as old as time and I fell for it. Bright-eyed innocent in love with an older man.”

  Before either of them could stop her, Lilah was already down the back hall toward the kitchen, hollering over her shoulder, “The rest is in a nice fat juicy file at the Dallas PD. I suggest you look it up.”