Hidden Riches

by Nora Roberts

  the medicine chest. “I can’t find any aspirin.”

  “Let me.” She’d been rather pleased to be able to stand and walk on her own, until she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored cabinet above the bathroom sink. “Oh my God.”

  “Dizzy?” Sharp-eyed for signs of fainting, he took her arms, prepared to sweep her up.

  “No, revolted. The only makeup left on my face is what’s smeared under my eyes. I look like something out of the Addams family.” Reaching up, she took a small blue apothecary bottle from the top shelf. “Aspirin.”

  “Why isn’t it in the right bottle?”

  “Because plastic aspirin bottles are ugly and offend my impeccable sense of style.” She shook out four, handed the bottle back to Jed.

  “How do you know they aren’t antihistamines?”

  “Because antihistamines are in the amber bottle, aspirin is in the blue one.” She ran water into a porcelain cup and downed the pills in one swallow. She winced at the sound of the knock on her door. The grandmother of all headaches was setting up residence just under her skull. “Is that the cavalry?”

  “I imagine. Stay here.”

  She watched him, eyes widening as she saw the gun hooked in the back of his jeans. He reached for it and stood at the side of the door. “Yeah?”

  “It’s Brent.”

  “It’s about damn time.” He yanked open the door and a portion of his bottled-up fury descended onto his former partner. “What the hell kind of cops are you putting on these days when an armed rapist can stroll right by them and break into a locked building?”

  “Trainor was a good man.” Brent’s mouth was tight and grim. He looked over Jed’s shoulder to where Dora was standing in the bathroom doorway. “Is she all right?”

  “No thanks to Philadelphia’s finest. If I hadn’t—” He broke off because the look in Brent’s eyes had finally penetrated his temper. “Was?”

  “Dead. Twice in the chest, close range. So close there are fucking powder burns on his shirt.”

  Dora’s steps slowed as she saw the look they exchanged. “What is it? What else happened?”

  “I asked Brent to put a man on the building, in case whoever broke in came back.” Jed took out a cigarette. “He came back.” He struck a match. “And the cop’s dead.”

  “Dead?” The color that had come back into her cheeks washed away.

  “I want you to sit down,” Jed said flatly. “And run through the whole thing again, step by step.”

  “How was he killed?” But she already knew. “He was shot, wasn’t he?”

  “Let’s sit down, Dora.” Brent started to take her arm, but she shook him away and stepped back.

  “Was he married?”

  “That’s not—”

  “Don’t tell me it’s not my concern.” She slapped a hand onto Jed’s chest before he could finish the sentence. “A man was outside, trying to protect me. Now he’s dead. I want to know if he had a family.”

  “He had a wife,” Brent said quietly while guilt gnawed at him with small, dull teeth. “Two kids, both in high school.”

  Hugging her arms, she turned away.

  “Dora.” Jed started to reach out, to touch her, but let his hand fall back to his side again. “When a man or woman joins the force, they know what the risks are.”

  “Shut up, Skimmerhorn. Just shut up. I’m going to make coffee.” She pushed back her tousled hair. “We’ll go over it again.”

  Later, they sat at Dora’s dining room table, going over her statement point by point.

  “Funny he’d come back—we’ve got to figure three times.” Brent checked his notes. “And taking out a cop to get inside. Not the pattern of your usual rapist.”

  “I wouldn’t know. The more frightened I was, the better he liked it.” She recited the lines as if rehearsing for a play. “I could tell he was excited, that he didn’t want it to happen too quickly. Because he kept talking. He said . . .” She opened her eyes. “I forgot. He said something about a picture.”

  “He wanted pictures?” Brent asked.

  “I—no. No, I don’t think that was it. He wanted a specific picture, wanted me to tell him where it was. I wasn’t really listening then, because I knew I had to do something or he was going to rape me.”

  “What kind of pictures do you have?”

  “All sorts, I suppose. Family pictures, snapshots of vacations and birthday parties. Nothing anyone would be interested in.”

  “When’s the last time you took any?” Jed questioned. “What did you take them of?”

  “I took some at Christmas, at Lea’s. I haven’t even had them developed yet. Before that . . .” She pulled a hand through her hair, holding it back from her face before she let it go. “Christ, I don’t know for certain. Weeks, probably months.”

  “I’d like to have that film developed, if you don’t mind.” Brent smiled. “It never hurts to check.”

  “I’ll go get it.”

  “It doesn’t fit,” Jed said when she left the room. “A guy doesn’t kill a cop, then walk across the street to rape a woman and raid her photo album.”

  “We have to start somewhere. He wanted a picture, we’ll look at her pictures. Maybe she took a shot of something she shouldn’t have.”

  “Maybe.” But he couldn’t make the piece fit into the puzzle.

  “Did you get a good enough look at him for a make?”

  “Six foot, a hundred seventy. Dark hair, dark eyes, slim build. He had on a cashmere coat, gray, and a navy or black suit with a red tie. Funny a guy wearing a suit and tie for a rape.”

  “It’s a funny world.”

  “Here’s the film.” She set the container on the table. “There were a couple shots left, but I don’t think I’ll be using them.”

  “Thanks.” Brent pocketed it. “I’d like you and Jed to work with the Identi-Kit. It’s a little toy we have to help put together a composite.”

  “Sure.” The show must go on, she thought miserably. “I’ll get my coat.”

  “Not tonight.” Brent adjusted his glasses and rose. “You need some rest. You’d do a better job of it tomorrow. If you think of anything else, you call, anytime.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  When they were alone, Dora stacked the cups and saucers. It was still too difficult to look Jed in the eye. “I haven’t gotten around to thanking you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He put his hands over hers. “Leave them. I should probably take you to the hospital. Let them examine that hard head of yours.”

  “I don’t want doctors poking at me.” She pressed her lips together to keep her voice from quavering. “I don’t want anybody poking at me. The aspirin’s taking the edge off the headache.”

  “It doesn’t do much for a concussion.”

  “Neither does anything else.” She turned her hands under his, linked fingers in a plea for understanding. “Don’t push, okay?”

  “Who’s pushing?” He slipped his hands from hers to tip her head back and examine her eyes. What he saw was simple exhaustion. “Go to bed.”

  “I’m not tired. All this coffee will probably keep me awake for . . . I nearly brought Richie back here with me tonight.” That thought churned in her stomach. “If he . . .” That was one train of thought she couldn’t afford to indulge. “It should have been safe here.”

  “It will be.” Gently he laid his hands on her shoulders and kneaded the tight muscles. “The next time I go out for cigarettes and milk, I’ll take you with me.”

  “Is that where you were?” Because she wanted to lean back against him, a little too much, she picked up the cups and carried them into the kitchen. “I didn’t see any bag.”

  “I left it in the car when I heard you scream.”

  The cups rattled when she set them down on the counter. “Good thinking. Do you always take a gun to the market?”

  “They really hose you for milk in those convenience stores.” He touched her hair when she managed a choked
laugh.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not falling apart.”

  “I’m not worried.” But he left his hand on her hair, lightly. “Do you want me to call your sister? Your father or your mother?”

  “No.” Dora plugged the sink, flipped on the water. “I guess I’ll have to tell them something tomorrow, and that’ll be bad enough.”

  She wasn’t fooling with dishes out of a sense of neatness, he knew, but because she was postponing that moment of being alone again. At least that was something he could take care of.

  “Tell you what, why don’t I bunk out on the couch for tonight? I promise not to leave shaving gunk in the bathroom sink.”

  With one indulgent sigh, she shut off the tap and turned to bury her face against his chest. “Thanks.”

  He hesitated, then slipped his arms around her. “Don’t thank me yet. I might snore.”

  “I’ll risk it.” She rubbed her cheek against his. “I’d tell you that you could share the bed, but—”

  “Bad timing,” he finished.

  “Yeah. The worst.” She eased away. “I’ll get you a pillow.”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  She looked good. Really good. Jed hadn’t spent much time observing sleeping women, and certainly not unless they’d shared the bed with him, but none had looked better than Dora in the morning.

  She slept sprawled on her stomach, her hair, tousled from the night, was swept back from her cheek, leaving her face unframed but for the fringe of bangs. She looked enormously appealing.

  He’d thought it was because of those big, dark eyes, and the way they dominated her expressive face. But the eyes were closed now, the face at rest.

  And she still looked damn good.

  Maybe it was her skin. Dora’s skin was like silk, smooth white silk faintly blushed with rose.

  He shook himself, both embarrassed and appalled by his train of thought. When a man started thinking up metaphors about a woman’s skin, he was in deep.

  Jed walked over, set his mug on the nightstand, then sat on the edge of the bed.

  He could smell her—that carelessly sexy scent that always made his mouth go dry. Another problem, he decided, when a man fell into the obvious perfume trap.

  “Isadora.” He touched her shoulder over the thick quilt, shook lightly, as he had every two hours through the night to be certain she was lucid.

  She made a sound that was caught somewhere between pouty and annoyed, and turned over. The movement slithered the quilt down past her shoulders. Thoughtfully, Jed studied the flannel gown she’d chosen. It looked thick as a suit of armor and was an eye-popping blue. He made out two little pink appliqués that looked like pigs’ ears. Curious, he lifted the quilt. Sure enough, a fat pink pig face grinned back at him.

  He imagined she’d selected it because she thought it would be warm, and completely sexless.

  She’d been half right, he decided, and dropped the quilt.

  “Isadora.” He shook her shoulder again, then took hold of it to prevent her from turning aside. “Izzy,” he whispered close to her ear. “Wake up.”

  “Go away, Dad.”

  Grinning, he leaned closer and caught the lobe of her ear between his teeth. That had her eyes springing open. It also kindled a ball of heat in the direct center of her body.

  She blinked, focused, but before she could orient herself found her mouth thoroughly captured. Dazed, she lifted a hand to his shoulder, fingers digging in as the ball of heat erupted.

  “You awake now?” Jed murmured, and pleased himself by nipping lightly at her lower lip.

  “Oh yeah. Wide.” She cleared her throat, but her voice remained sleepily husky.

  “Who am I?”

  “Kevin Costner.” She smiled and stretched her shoulders. “Just a little harmless fantasy of mine, Skimmerhorn.”

  “Isn’t he married?”

  “Not in my fantasies.”

  Only a little miffed, Jed leaned back. “How many fingers?”

  “Three. I thought we established I was all right last night.”

  “We’re reestablishing it this morning.” Her eyes were heavy—sexily so, he noted. But the pupils were normal. “How’s the head?”

  She lay still a minute, taking inventory. Besides the tingling going on, there were aches. Entirely too many of them. “It hurts. My shoulder’s sore, too.”

  “Try these.”

  Dora looked down at the aspirin in his hand. “Two? Skimmerhorn, I take two when I break a nail.”

  “Don’t be such a wimp.” He knew that would do it. She scowled, took the pills, then the mug of coffee he offered.

  Irritation turned to surprise at the first sip. “Pretty good coffee. Almost tastes like mine.”

  “It is yours—your beans, anyway. I watched you do it once.”

  “Quick study.” Wanting to enjoy the moment, she plumped a pillow at her back and snuggled into it. “Did you sleep okay on the couch?”

  “No, but I slept. I used the shower. Don’t you have any soap that isn’t shaped like little flowers or swans?”

  “I had some sea horses, but I used them up.” She leaned forward, sniffed at him as she toyed with the dark blond hair curled damply over his collar. “Mmmm. Gardenia.”

  He covered her face with his hand and gently shoved her back.

  “Tell you what,” she offered. “The next time I’m out shopping, I’ll see if I can find some shaped like a little weight lifter. With that appealing masculine aroma of sweaty gym socks.”

  With the mug cupped in both hands, she sipped again, sighed. “I can’t remember the last time anyone brought me coffee in bed.” Smiling, she tilted her head and studied him. With his hair damp from her shower, his chin shadowed with stubble and his eyes nearly as annoyed as they were beautiful, he made a very appealing picture.

  “You’re a tough one to figure, Skimmerhorn. You had to know with minimal effort you could have been in here with me last night. You knew what buttons to push, but you didn’t push them.”

  “You were hurt and you were tired.” But he’d thought about it. Oh yeah, he’d thought about it. “I’m not an animal.”

  “Oh, yes you are. You’re this big, restless, ill-tempered animal—and that’s part of the allure.” She ran her fingers along the cheek he hadn’t bothered to shave. “All those hard muscles and that bad attitude. There’s something irresistible about knowing you have an equal capacity for mean as you do for kindness. I’m a sucker for bad boys with soft hearts.”

  He took the hand she pressed to his cheek, intended to push it away. But she linked her fingers with his and sat up to kiss him. Very softly, very sweetly, so that every muscle in his body throbbed in reaction.

  “You’re pressing your luck, Dora.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He could have proven her wrong, would have if he hadn’t been able to see the headache so clearly in her eyes. He could have pushed her back on the bed, purging that feral need she’d built inside him.

  But he didn’t, because there was no way to take what he wanted without hurting her.

  “Listen to me.” He spoke carefully, keeping his eyes on hers. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of, or what I’m not capable of. The only thing you can be sure of is that I want you, and when I’m certain you’re a hundred percent, I’m going to have you. I won’t ask.”

  “There’s no need for that, since I’ve already answered yes.”

  “And I won’t be kind.” He looked down at their joined hands and deliberately let hers go. “It won’t matter a damn to me if you’re