by Lori Foster
“You want to make sure that I, and maybe everyone else, know that you don’t need help.”
He’d nailed it, and that surprised her. Brodie was fairly perceptive—and damn it, that only added to his appeal. “I don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”
“No, you don’t.” He moved with Howler as the dog smelled a tree, watered it, then moseyed on to a bush. “Last question.”
“You’re stalling, Brodie, and I’d rather get this over with.”
His attention was on the dog when he asked, “Do you believe in instincts? Gut feelings?” His gaze lifted to hers. “Intuition?”
Because she’d learned the hard way to trust herself and her feelings, she rarely did anything that made her nervous. “Actually, I do.”
“Great. Because my gut is telling me this is a bad idea. If I sit out here, I’m just going to worry, and you should know, I’m not good at it.”
She turned to fully face him. “Meaning?”
“God only knows how I’ll react when worried.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Is that a threat?”
Some emotion softened his expression. “C’mon, Red. I would never, ever threaten you.”
Damn it, she believed him. Her mouth flattened as she considered how to handle him—then she realized she couldn’t.
Who could possibly handle a boulder?
Temper frayed, she snapped, “I’ll leave the front door open and I’ll stay in the living room. If anything terrible happens, you’ll hear me call out.”
Gracious, he smiled and said, “Thank you, Mary.”
Did he use her name on purpose to soften her up? Deliberate or not, it worked, wringing a sigh from her. “Try to behave. I won’t be long.”
Before he could detain her any longer, she marched up the walkway and knocked on the front door.
While waiting, she noted that the house needed some attention; weeds overgrew the outdated landscaping, grime obscured the windows, and the front stoop looked as if it hadn’t been swept in years. Up close she saw that patches of paint peeled from the bricks.
She had Therman’s payment in her case and wondered if it would be put to good use. Since being hired, she’d met wealthy men with unusual interests...and she’d met people who gave up nearly everything to add one more piece to a valued collection. At times collecting seemed harmless enough.
Other times, it was like an addiction, or a sickness.
A woman answered the door in a rush, then nervously glanced behind her. She asked, “You’re Mary Daniels?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t invite Mary in. “You have the payment?”
So they were going to conduct business here on the stoop? That should please Brodie. Mary didn’t mean to, but she glanced back and saw him leaning against the front fender of his car, Howler next to him, both of them alert.
“Of course.” Mary withdrew the payment and showed it to the woman.
Her eyes gleamed at the amount before she gave another furtive look into the house. “Let me have it.”
Ignoring the burning touch of Brodie’s interest behind her, Mary returned the payment to her briefcase and held out a hand. “May I?”
“You have to hurry,” the woman insisted, thrusting the box at Mary so she had no choice but to take it.
It was lightweight, flat, about the size of a sheet of paper but an inch thick, with the lid taped shut. Mary inspected it, looking for the easiest way to get it open. Delicate items could be damaged if a person didn’t use care when unsealing.
Some collectors encased their treasures in display cases for all to see.
Others, like this collector, kept them hidden away in everyday containers to fool possible thieves.
Carefully peeling back a piece of tape, Mary asked, “The papers are also inside?”
“Yes,” the woman hissed. “Hurry.”
Mary got the lid loose and lifted it off. Inside, a lock of black hair rested atop the stack of papers. She quickly perused the photos, articles and other forms of documentation that would prove the authenticity of the hair.
Just as she returned the lid, a roar sounded from inside the house.
Shrieking, the woman held out a hand, shaking it urgently. “Give me the money!”
“No!” A heavy man dressed in an undershirt and sagging jeans came barreling from the hallway. “Eunice!” His gaze shifted from his wife to Mary and back again. Horror turned his voice to a rasp. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Mary stepped back, out of the way of his anger. “Mr. Graveson.”
“You!” His attention zeroed in on Mary, then dropped to the box she held. His face paled.
He was an intimidating sight with his eyes bloodshot and a growth of whiskers on his bloated face. At one time, before health issues had stolen his livelihood, Mr. Graveson had been a mortician to the rich and famous.
Now all he had left were the remaining bits and pieces of his collection.
Clearly Mr. Graveson didn’t know what his wife had planned. Was Therman aware that the woman sold the coveted lock of hair without her husband’s permission? If so, he apparently didn’t care.
Mary hastily slid the box into her briefcase and held out the check. “Here you go, Mr. Graveson. The agreed-upon amount.”
“I didn’t agree to shit,” he growled, followed by a roared demand. “Give it back!” He started forward. Eunice grabbed his arm, which didn’t slow him down much.
“It’s a lot of money,” Mary said.
“I don’t care. You have no right!” He got nearer, but then his gaze moved past Mary and he halted, his chest heaving, his lips thinned.
She had to convince him to go along with the arrangements, and also defuse his anger. In contrast to his shouts, she kept her tone soft, gentle. “Therman was generous, Mr. Graveson.”
He put his head back, eyes squeezed tight.
“He’s been working nonstop,” Eunice said to her, then she pleaded with her husband. “We need it, babe. You know we do.”
Mary blinked at the endearment. Mr. Graveson was a rough beast of a man, overweight, currently unkempt—and apparently also well loved.
“But my hair...” he groaned.
“Not your hair. Just hair. Only hair.” Eunice drew a breath and tears glittered in her eyes. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy and instead you’re working yourself to death. For what?” She gestured at Mary’s briefcase. “To keep that? Old hair that doesn’t really matter?” Eunice put a hand to his chest. “You matter. We matter.”
Mr. Graveson put his hand over hers, whispering, “You don’t understand.”
“I do,” his wife whispered back. “That’s why I chose your least important piece and negotiated a better than fair amount. We’ll both be able to take a little time off.” She put her forehead to his shoulder. “We can enjoy life.”
Mr. Graveson didn’t look like he cared about any of that, but he relented—grudgingly. With his arm around Eunice, he snarled to Mary, “Give her the goddamn money, then, and get out before I change my mind.”
Relieved, Mary handed the payment over to Eunice. The minute the woman had it, Graveson slammed the door in her startled face. She heard the lock click.
Well. Overall, she’d handled that perfectly, if she did say so herself. Though her heart was hammering in her breast and her hands trembled, she had Therman’s coveted addition to his collection, plus she’d avoided any violence.
Satisfied, she turned—and almost ran into Brodie.
Silently, his expression implacable, he stood right behind her, a large, immovable wall of hard muscle.
The truth slapped against her pride: she hadn’t defused the situation at all.
Mr. Graveson had given up because of her driver.
CHAPTER FIVE
FURY, AS WELL as
hurt, overwhelmed Mary.
Brodie hadn’t trusted her, hadn’t respected her enough to follow her directions. He’d interfered when she’d specifically asked him not to.
She set her mouth and concentrated on the anger. It was easier to deal with.
Howler sat beside him, ears up, teeth showing as he continued to stare at the closed door. Both males looked dangerous.
Mary lifted her chin and stalked around them.
“You okay?” Brodie asked as she passed.
Mary barely refrained from curling her lip. Did he think a closed door had somehow wounded her? Did he think her so weak? “You should have stayed by the car as I instructed.”
He silently trailed her. All she could hear was Howler panting.
Fine. Let him stew. Going around the hood of the car, she opened the passenger door and, ignoring the wave of heat that escaped, sat inside.
The sun beat down on the car in suffocating waves. She waited for Brodie to get in, but all he did was open the back seat to get Howler’s water dish. He set it on the curb and filled it.
Howler drank and drank some more, then piddled another dozen times.
By then, Mary felt the dampness on her skin. Sweat beaded on the bridge of her nose and under her eyes.
Obnoxious man. Was he trying to make her melt?
To distract herself, she got out her phone and texted an update to Therman.
All went well. I have the purchase. We’ll be heading back now.
An immediate reply popped up on her screen.
Excellent. Any problems? How did Graveson take it?
Using a judicious choice of words, she texted, Annoyed, but he didn’t fuss too much.
There was a pause, and then, Did our driver get involved?
No.
No?
Therman always knew when she left out a detail. Mary locked her back teeth and replied, He refused to stay at the curb.
Because he had voice-to-text capability, Therman’s question came quickly. Graveson let him in?
Mary grabbed a tissue to blot her face and throat while she thought of how to answer. She settled on, He didn’t invite either of us. The exchange was made on the front stoop. Crews waited behind me.
Therman stated, Ah, backup. Smart.
Mary didn’t see it that way. No, she saw it as interference and an implied doubt in her ability to handle matters.
I want to meet the driver. Bring him in when you arrive.
She nearly dropped the phone. Therman rarely wanted to meet the couriers. Why did he have to choose Brodie to get curious?
With her pulse tripping, she texted, Are you sure?
Bring him in.
Having just broken a cardinal rule—questioning her employer’s decisions—Mary knew she couldn’t push any further. Yes, sir.
She waited, but Therman said nothing more. He was used to giving orders and having them followed. Period. Hopefully he wouldn’t remind her of that in front of Brodie.
She slipped the phone back into her briefcase and rested her head against the seat. A drop of sweat slid between her breasts and her thighs were starting to stick together. No air stirred from the open doors. It felt like she sat in a sauna.
She was just about to demand the keys so she could start the air-conditioning when Brodie got the dog secured in the back seat, then slid behind the wheel.
She opened her eyes, but otherwise didn’t move. Her body had glued itself to the leather seats.
“Sure is hot today.”
Other than narrowing her eyes, Mary didn’t acknowledge him.
He started the car and turned up the blower, then surprised her by aiming the vents directly at her.
Heaven.
“You’re flushed,” he said in that soft, rough voice.
This time she was giving him the silent treatment, because if she spoke, she just might start cursing.
As he pulled away from the curb, he asked, “Should I apologize?” When she didn’t answer, he nodded. “Guess I should.”
Perfect. When he humbled himself with sincerity, she’d tell him to shove it. The nasty words hovered on the tip of her tongue as she waited.
Only...he denied her by not saying another word.
God, he was annoying!
Without moving her head, she slanted her gaze toward him. His large hands loosely held the steering wheel. She knew from their earlier handshake that his fingers were rough, his broad palms warm.
Thick wrists led up to steely forearms dusted with hair, then to smooth, incredible biceps that bunched and loosened with even the smallest movement. Was his darker skin tone natural, or did he often work out in the sun?
He glanced at her and she turned away.
Still, he didn’t say anything.
Howler, apparently feeling the tension, leaned his great head over the seat so that his snout rested on her shoulder. His worried eyes looked back and forth between them.
Mary idly stroked his downy ear. “It’s not your fault, honey. You’re a good dog, I know that.”
Brodie snorted. “In case you’re wondering, Howler led me to the door. I couldn’t hold him back.”
“Such a good dog,” she continued, then had to dodge a big tongue when he tried to lick her face. “You know how to behave, don’t you, baby?”
Brodie’s jaw tensed. “If by behave, you mean drag me after you, yeah, he knew how.”
Mary inhaled but still didn’t address Brodie. “I can’t believe he’s trying to blame you. Next time he tries to sweet-talk you—” she lowered her voice, whispering to the dog “—bite him.”
Howler whined.
“Shame on you,” Brodie said in good humor. “Trying to corrupt my dog.”
After one hot glare, she turned to look out the window. The landscape rolled past without much notice from her.
“You’re going to make me do it, aren’t you?”
If he meant to apologize—
“It’s impulse, you know.” In case she didn’t understand, he explained, “To defend and protect, I mean.”
“Odd,” she muttered, her gaze still aimed away. “That sounds nothing like an apology.”
Silence, and then a tentative “Does my job depend on me apologizing?”
Unfortunately... “No.” She knew Therman had already made up his mind and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t influence him.
“Good.” Brodie turned a corner. “Then you’ll know it’s sincere when I say I’m sorry.”
She slanted her gaze his way. “When you say it?”
“Well... I just did.” He held up a hand as she turned more fully to glare. Sounding of ill humor, he said, “But hey, I don’t mind spilling my guts again.”
Mary curled her lips, waiting.
He made a big show of inhaling and exhaling, then growled, “I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t very pretty, was in fact grudgingly given, but it did sound genuine, so she nodded.
His big shoulders relaxed and he gave a tentative smile. “Does that mean we can talk again?”
Had her silence bothered him so much? If so, good. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Hair.”
Oh, for the love of—
“Did we seriously drive all this way to buy a freaking hank of hair?”
“Yes, we did. But I’ll point out that you wouldn’t know what we bought if you’d—”
“Waited by the car as you ordered me to. I know.” He checked his mirrors but didn’t seem concerned. “I meant it when I said it was Howler’s idea. He’s sensitive to angst, and that lady was oozing it. Then when the big guy showed up—roaring, I might add—I agreed with Howler. We were already there, but still.”
“You have way too many excuses.”
“Hey, they’re all legit.” He reache
d up to give the dog a pat. “By the way, your situational awareness sucks. How did you not know we were behind you?”
Turning on him with disbelief, she snapped, “I was focused on getting what we came for!”
“Sure, but we’d had those yahoos following us, right? What if it’d been them, instead of Howler and me? You might’ve lost the prize—and gotten hurt in the bargain.”
The logic of what he said only notched her temper higher. “You were right there by the car.”
Half under his breath, he muttered, “If you had your way, that’s where I would’ve stayed.”
“Exactly!”
“You ’bout done giving me hell? Howler’s getting stressed with all the shouting.”
Mary almost threw up her hands, but damn it, she had gotten a little loud—and maybe a little shrill as well. Poor Howler indeed looked upset. Contrite, she stroked his nose and found it as downy as his long ears. His short fur was very soft and sleek.
Drawing a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “Okay, I’m going on the record right now: if I’m ever being physically attacked, please, feel free to lend a hand. But until then—”
“Does that mean I get to stick around awhile?”
“Yes.” She hated to admit it to him, but figured she might as well get it over with. “Therman would like to meet you.” She tensed, waiting for his reaction.
“Okay.”
Blinking, she said, “That’s it? Just okay?”
“Should I sing hallelujahs?”
Would he ever do the expected? Probably not. She sighed in frustration. “Maybe you don’t realize it, but Therman doesn’t meet just anyone. It’s a big deal.”
Brodie grinned. “So I’m getting the red carpet, huh? Sweet.”
Time to get serious. “Brodie, listen to me. You have to—”
“I like when you say my name.”
She blinked at him, thrown off course.
“Just saying.” He shot her a glance. “Your voice is nice.”
“My voice?”
“Well, mostly your mouth, but I figured you’d consider that inappropriate, so I concentrated on your voice.”
He liked her mouth. It made her want to bite her lip self-consciously. “Thank you.”
