Whatever the outcome, Dee’s part in the social soap opera was over—thank all that was holy. Her time and services could be bought. And, when necessary, she could bend the truth. However, where her business was concerned, she never swerved too far from the straight and narrow.
No amount of money could warp her principles. A fact someone like J. Lawson would never understand no matter how hard she tried to explain. Why waste her time trying?
“The job you hired me to do is complete, Mr. Todd. Signed, sealed, and delivered. As of this morning, your accountant has my final bill.”
“Good luck getting another dime out of me, bitch.” J. Lawson’s thin veneer of charm collapsed faster than his puffed-up pride. “Good luck finding work after I eviscerate your reputation. Once I finish, you’ll come begging to do my dirty work.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Todd.”
And fuck you. Dee wasn’t worried about J. Lawson or his empty threats. She’d handled worse from people with more clout and backbone. Her reputation was solid.
As for the money? At the ripe old age of forty-two, after a stint in the Navy and almost a dozen years as a private investigator, Dee knew a lot of people in high, and low, places.
If she had to call in a favor or two, she wouldn’t hesitate because, short of physical violence, she would use any tool at her disposal to make certain J. Lawson Todd ponied up what he owed her.
Out of habit more than interest, Dee glanced at the old battery-operated clock. Permanently laminated to the far wall for security reasons—though why anyone would want to steal the ancient timepiece was a mystery she’d yet to solve—she listened to the click of the second hand and smiled.
The clock had seen better days. But, like the worn carpet, the scarred desktop, the faded wallpaper, and the ancient but reliable plumbing, the place suited her.
Dee’s schedule left her little downtime. Because she was out of her office most of the time, she saw no reason to spend a fortune on what her mother called the niceties. Practical as well as frugal, her office was also her home.
Located in a less-than-desirable part of Manhattan, her rent was comparatively cheap. Dee was careful to slip the maid an extra hundred now and then, which meant, unlike most of the other tenants, she was treated to fresh bedding on a weekly basis, clean towels every other day, and the rooms received a better than average going over with a dust cloth and vacuum.
Taking a sip from her ever-present cup of coffee, Dee settled back in her chair and flipped on the television. The light from the big screen—a gift to herself a few birthdays ago—illuminated the normally shadowed room. She wasn’t a habitual watcher, but when she took the time, she figured her viewing experience might as well be state of the art.
Casually, Dee moved from channel to channel as she visualized the rest of her day. Lunch—always a must—followed a downtown meeting with a new client. Later, rather than an evening hunched over her computer, she agreed to meet Andi and Bryce Benedict for dinner.
Dee’s lips curved into a wry smile. She met the Benedict sisters when they hired her to dig up dirt on their mother’s boyfriend—a nasty piece of work currently doing hard time for a variety of crimes.
Picturing dinner in a swanky restaurant, and the humble lunch she’d yet to eat, Dee’s stomach growled. The distraction almost made her miss the flash of a familiar face as one of the endless sports channels zipped by on the screen.
Alone, with no one to bear witness to her moment of weakness, Dee’s thumb hovered over the remote then gave in and moved the channel back until Linc James’ handsome face filled the screen.
Damn him, Dee grumbled. A month ago, she didn’t know the man’s name. Now, wherever she turned, there he was. From his neon-illuminated image in Time Square as he touted the benefits of the latest sports drink, to magazines where his tall, lean body was dressed head to toe in designer originals, and now, the sanctuary of her home. She couldn’t seem to shake him.
Damn Linc James.
With a defeated sigh, Dee turned up the volume.
“Congratulations on your fifth Australian Open win, Linc. You never seem to lose. Does success ever get old?”
Dee rolled her eyes at the inane question. If the twinkle in Linc’s dark-blue eyes were any indication, he took the reporters lack of imagination with a good-humored grain of salt. A smile tilted the corners of his lips, friendly with a hint of self-deprecation, and annoyingly appealing.
“Over the years, I’ve learned tennis contains one constant. The game can humble you in an instant. No one with half a brain takes winning for granted.” Linc’s smile widened. “So, to answer your question. The day success gets old is the day I hang up my racket.”
Good answer, Dee conceded. As the network switched to another story, she switched off the TV, but her thoughts stayed on Linc. He was a hard man to dismiss—boy, had she tried. One brief meeting, a little banter, and she caught him creeping into her thoughts at the oddest times.
Not that she was obsessed, Dee assured herself. She had too much on her plate to spend time mooning like an addle-brained teenager in the throes of her first crush. She was too old, too experienced, and too cynical to fall into a mantrap. Even one as enticing as Lincoln James.
Trouble was, he left her hanging. Dee was certain after the last look they exchanged on New Year’s Eve, Linc would call. Or text. Or something. Certain he would continue his unwanted pursuit, she anticipated the satisfaction she would receive when she turned him down flat—again.
Instead, nothing. Not a word. Briefly, Dee wondered if non-communication was part of his plan. But she dismissed the idea. He hadn’t struck her as that kind of game player. Every bit of research she’d done into his background supported her instincts.
Lincoln James was a go-getter. He didn’t sit back and wait for what he wanted. His career, an endorsement deal. A woman. He pursued everything in his life with a single-minded dedication.
Dee was left with only one conclusion. Linc wasn’t as interested in her as she assumed.
Good. No, great. The last thing Dee wanted or needed was a man. Any man. She’d carved out a nice life for herself. She was successful, she had good friends. As for sex? She wasn’t averse to the occasional lightweight dalliance. Any man she invited to her bed was a momentary distraction. They scratched her itch, she returned the favor and was forgotten as quickly as he forgot her.
Something told her if she let Lincoln James into her life, he wouldn’t be easily dismissed. Dee flicked off the television. She wasn’t worried. The last time she let a man get close was the last time. Period. The relationship left her bruised and battered—inside and out. Even if she wanted to try again, Dee didn’t think she could fall in love. Or like. Her heart was an emotional wasteland. The most she managed was a bit of harmless and fleeting lust.
Immune to deeper emotions, Dee was inoculated by a life lesson she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. She’d survived, but something had died in her, and she was glad. At best, love was a distraction she didn’t want. At worst?
With a shudder, Dee surged to her feet, shaking off the memories. Once again, she cursed Lincoln James. He was the reason for her chaotic musings. Enough was enough.
Giving herself a mental kick in the pants, she took her gun from the drawer of her desk. Cleaned and fully loaded—as always—she secured the weapon into the holster she wore clipped at her waist.
As Dee slipped on her black peacoat, she sighed. Maybe she wasn’t as hardened as she wanted to believe. She was hard enough and smart enough not to let her weaknesses show. She knew what could happen when she let down her guard, a mistake she almost paid for with her life.
Dee stepped onto the sidewalk outside the entrance of her building. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she lifted her face. Snow fell, cold and bracing. The sounds of the city assaulted her ears, filled her senses, and calmed her racing heart.
Taking a right, Dee hunched her shoulders, dodging fellow pedestrians with the ski
ll of a seasoned New Yorker. Pausing at the subway entrance, she looked around. Everything she needed she already had. And right now, she needed to focus on her job, not Lincoln James—or any man.
Never again, she muttered as she headed underground. Never again.
CHAPTER FOUR
~~~~
ABSENTLY, LINC RAN his fingers over a piece of scarlet-colored silk. Piles of fabric filled shelf after shelf, accompanied by endless spools of thread in every shade of the rainbow—and beyond. Neat as a pin, scissors, large to small, were lined up like good little soldiers awaiting their orders.
Doodads and whatsits filled every space, a mystery to a man who couldn’t sew on a button, let alone construct an entire garment. Linc had no doubt the woman who occupied the office could use each item blindfolded, with expert skill.
Andi Benedict sat behind her desk, head down, completely immersed in her knitting. She was dressed for a casual day at home, yet she had the ability to make a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt look like the height of fashion.
The needles flew with breathtaking speed as her fingers weaved row after row of yarn into an intricate pattern. Normally, Linc would have been loath to interrupt; from experience, he recognized when someone was in the zone. Plus, he was on her turf, in her home, without a formal invitation.
When the maid let Linc into the mansion, he asked if any of the Benedict sisters were home. After a brief intercom conversation, he was escorted to Andi’s office. If she didn’t want his company, he wouldn’t be here.
“What are you making?”
“A sweater. Probably.” Andi shrugged, her blond ponytail bouncing in rhythm with her shoulders. “Sometimes I change mid-project. Could turn out to be an afghan. We’ll see.”
Linc had known Andi for years. Even before he purchased his nearby Park Avenue apartment, they ran in the same social circles. She was beautiful, outrageously intelligent, and a keen businesswoman. Her wicked sense of humor was an unexpected plus.
Naturally, Linc asked her out. One enjoyable dinner was all they needed to understand they would never be lovers. The brother/sister vibe was strong, making the idea of seeing each other naked too weird to contemplate.
Linc wasn’t surprised when he and Andi became friends. She was the sibling he hadn’t realized he wanted. He thought of the other Benedict women, Calder, Bryce, and Destry, the same way. They were on a small, precious list of people he trusted without reservation.
“First time I’ve seen your home office.”
The room smelled faintly of cedar and something indefinably Andi. The combination was all at once heady and comforting. Like the woman herself.
A light knock sounded.
“Come in.” Andi looked up from her knitting and smiled as the same maid who answered the front door wheeled a silver serving cart into the room. “Thank you, Sheila. Please tell Mrs. Finch the pastries look wonderful. As always.”
Linc swallowed a groan. Knowing the cherry-filled sweet roll was made by the Benedicts’ incomparable family cook made the temptation almost too much to bear.
In his younger, less disciplined days, when Linc could eat anything and never suffer the consequences, he would have indulged in the sugar and fat-laden goodies without a second thought.
Unfortunately, he was no longer twenty-something and blissfully clueless to the hidden side effects. Now, older and wiser, to maintain his athlete’s edge, he watched everything he ate with eagle-eyed vigilance.
When Andi offered him his choice from the serving tray, he politely refused as saliva pooled in his mouth. She smiled with understanding. However, her sympathy only went so far. She took the biggest pastry, bit, and sighed
“Sorry.” Eyes brimming with humor, Andi didn’t sound the least bit repentant. ‘I’m not in training.”
“The day I retire, I plan to eat my way from one end of the city to the other until someone has to roll me back to my apartment.”
Laughing, Andi handed him a cup of freshly brewed tea—lemon, no cream.
“Somehow, I can’t picture a fat Lincoln James.”
“He’s in there,” Linc said with rueful certainty.
“I’ll take your word. Now.” She took of sip of tea. “Want to tell me why you’re here?”
Andi’s sharp gaze made Linc want to squirm. He had no reason to feel guilty. Or, if he did, she had no reason to suspect.
“Can’t one friend visit another without an ulterior motive?”
“Absolutely.”
Who was he fooling? Not himself. And, if the raised eyebrows were any indication, not Andi.
“About Dee Wakefield.”
“Yes?”
“Is she…? I mean, does she…?”
Linc tried to remember the last time a woman made him tongue-tied and failed. His father swore he was a born charmer, his mother concurred. Until now, nothing in his thirty-four years had occurred to prove either of them wrong.
“You haven’t called her?” When Linc shook his head, Andi's eyes widened in surprise. “After the way you watched Dee on New Year’s Eve, we were certain you’d ask her out the next day.”
“I asked her out that night. She said no.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised.”
Linc didn’t care for the way Andi smiled behind the rim of her cup. As if she knew something he didn’t. Maybe she did. Women were by nature a mystery to men, a fact he found irresistible. And, like now, frustrating as hell.
“I plan to ask again. Except…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t have her phone number.”
If Linc had a blush left in him, his cheeks would be fire-engine red. Talk about a lame excuse. Off the top of his head, he knew a dozen people who could find Dee’s number without raising a sweat. All he had to do was ask. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he hadn’t.
“Dee is a very private person.” Andi set aside her tea, her attention fully on Linc. “What are your intentions?”
Flummoxed by the question, Linc’s mind went blank. Intentions? Who did Andi think she was? Dee’s father?
“Dinner?” Frowning, Linc rubbed his neck. “Dancing?”
“Sex?”
Linc felt a layer of anger settle over his already confused brain. Friend or no friend, some subjects were off limits.
“None of your business.”
“True.” Thoughtfully, Andi tapped her index finger on the arm of her chair. “You aren’t a child. Neither is Dee.”
“If you’re going to bring up the difference in our ages, don’t. Adam already filled me in.”
“Did he, now?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I should think not.” Andi rolled her eyes. “Men. The subject wouldn’t come up if you were older.”
“No argument from me.” Linc felt the ground settle under his feet, and his unaccustomed bout of nerves dissipated. “Dee interests me.”
“She’s an interesting woman,” Andi nodded. “But…”
“What?” Linc wasn’t a mind reader. “What’s the problem?”
“Phone number aside, why haven’t you called her?”
“We talked, Dee and I, the night of the party.”
“And?”
“Seemed like a good idea to give her time.” Another lame excuse. “Besides, I had to prepare for the Australian Open.”
“Which you won.”
The Benedict sisters sent congratulations the day after with a bottle of vintage champagne. Class all the way.
“The next major tournament isn’t until May. Gives me time to turn my attention to other things.”
“Meaning Dee.”
“She’s on the list.” Right at the top, a fact Linc didn’t share.
Andi paused as if to consider her next question.
“I’ll ask again, Linc. Why are you here?”
“Hell if I know.” Linc stared at his boot as if the answer would magically appear on the polished tip. No such luck. “We exch
anged a few words. Argued would be a better description.”
“Sounds like Dee.”
“Annoying,” Linc chuckled then sobered. “I can’t get her out of my mind. Why?”
“She’s different than your usual type?”
“Adam said the same thing.” Linc scratched his chin. “She’s attractive, obviously smart. Sounds like my type so far.”
“How many ex-Navy, gun toting, tattooed, private investigators have you dated?”
None, Linc thought. He agreed, Dee was unique.
“Guess I’m ready for a change of pace.”
“Are you sure? Really sure?”
Talking to Andi had clarified his interest, cleared away the fog. Linc was ready to jump in feet first. Apparently, his friends were less enthusiastic.
“Adam warned me off. Now you. Dee strikes me as the kind of woman who can take care of herself.”
“She’s tough, but no matter what she tells herself, she isn’t hard.” Andi met his gaze. “Don’t hurt her.”
“What makes you think I would? Or could?”
“You came here for advice.” Andi sighed. “And I said too much. Dee wouldn’t thank me.”
“What aren’t you saying, Andi? Who hurt her?”
“Not my story to tell.”
Getting to her feet, Andi walked Linc to the door.
“Would she tell me?”
“Lord, no. And don’t ask. She’d bite your head off, then have mine on a platter.” She gave him a hug. “Take Dee to dinner, if she agrees. Or don’t. Your decision.”
In the hall, Linc turned, curious.
“You can’t picture us together, can you?”
“Physically, you’d make a beautiful couple. Emotionally…? Hard to say. But who am I to judge? On paper, the man I plan to marry is so wrong for me.” A glow entered her clear-blue eyes. “Luckily, we don’t live our lives on paper.”
“Noah makes you happy.”
“Noah makes me better.” When Linc sent her a confused frown, Andi chuckled. “Hard to explain. Maybe someday, if you’re lucky, you’ll find the love of your life. Then, you’ll understand.”
SIX DAYS Page 4
