by Lora Leigh
"Afraid I'd accuse Maddix of that, too?" Mikayla gave a little mocking snort.
"Not hardly," Glenda assured Mikayla with a slight shake of her head. "I'm as certain of Maddix's innocence as I am of my own. As I said, I was concerned, as is Maddix. I wanted to see for myself that you were unharmed." Glenda had almost been a friend, one Mikayla felt she would have cherished. Now, only suspicion and regret lay between them.
"Perfectly unharmed." Mikayla held her arms out from her body as she fought back the anger that continued to brew inside her.
How many women had come through that shop today out of simple curiosity?
They hadn't even bought anything, which would have been the courteous thing to do, after nosing into her business. They stared, whispered, and pretended to browse. A few even attempted to question her, but they all left empty-handed. Mikayla had escaped to the sewing room simply to get away from it all. After more than a month of the whispers, suspicions, and questions, she was ready to run home and hide for a while. Who could have believed that trying to be honest, trying to find justice, could result in this?
"I can understand why you're angry," Glenda said softly. "If you truly believe you saw what you think you saw, then this would be hard."
"Go away, Glenda." Mikayla had had enough. Either she was a liar or her eyesight was lousy. No one seemed willing to believe that she could have possibly seen Maddix Nelson commit murder.
"Fine, but before I leave, I want to look at the dress design we were working on before this bullshit started." Glenda placed one graceful hand on a slender hip as her expression became as superior and arrogant as always.
Mikayla's brows arched. "The dress design?" It was one of her best. It was still 85
lying on her desk, a dress she couldn't possibly begin without a buyer, a dress designed for one person specifically. The person standing in front of Mikayla.
"Why?" she asked suspiciously.
Glenda wasn't one of the easiest people to understand. There had been a time when Mikayla had almost called Glenda a friend. But that had been before the former model married Maddix Nelson and moved up in the social sphere.
"Because it's my dress," she stated as though the reason were a foregone conclusion. "And I want it. The annual Autumn Ball happens in less than three months. That doesn't give us much time."
"You told me to shove this dress in places I don't want to mention," Mikayla reminded Glenda, her eyes narrowing in anger. "What makes you think I'm willing to do it now?"
Glenda's arms crossed over her breasts as she stared back at Mikayla with cool disdain. "That dress was designed for me, Mikayla. My body." One graceful hand slid down her side with the ultimate love for her own body. Mikayla almost rolled her eyes. She needed the money, there was no doubt. Unfortunately, Mikayla truly did like Glenda. The woman, despite that air of superiority, had a kind heart and a wry sense of humor. Before she married Maddix, that was.
"I want my dress." Glenda's eyes narrowed in determination. When she got that look, it was rarely a good thing. "For the Autumn Ball." A pout formed on her lips.
"Come on, Kayla; be nice to me. I'm trying here."
"Why are you trying?" Confusion washed over Mikayla. "Why do you even care?"
"The hell if I know. You accuse my husband of a heinous act, stick to your story, and nearly get killed for it. I figure, you're not lying, right? Someone's playing you, my friend. And if that's the case, I can still have my dress and remain loyal to my husband. I'll raise your asking cost by a thousand, and that's it. Final deal. Now do I get my damned dress or what?"
"Don't call me Kayla," Mikayla snapped back at her.
"Agree to my dress or the whole town will be calling you Kayla before the week is out. I'll make certain of it."
As a threat, it was a damned good one. Mikayla despised that nickname. It was the one her brothers had always used when they were playing tricks on her as a child. Mikayla sighed wearily before glancing at the desk where she knew the design lay. It would be a major coup for the shop. That dress was a masterpiece, and there was no doubt Glenda would make certain everyone knew she had an exclusive no-one-elsecould-ever-wear dress. It was business. Business was business, Mikayla's father had once told her. But then, her father had pulled out of Maddix Nelson's contract as well when he learned how easily the other man was getting away with murder. And Mikayla needed the money desperately, as well as Glenda's support of the store. Mikayla was surviving, but the past month had been slow. Too damned slow.
"I can't." And she regretted it like hell. That dress was one of the most beautiful designs she had ever come up with. "I'm sorry, Glenda, but I can't."
"But you will." Glenda's brown eyes narrowed on her. "Look, until this is cleared up neither Maddix nor I want to see you suffer, Mikayla. Or this shop. I'm trying here; 86
help me out. . . ." Glenda seemed to get to the very heart of the problem. "We were friends once. And your father is established, Mikayla. He has plenty of work to replace a few lost contracts. Do you?"
No, she didn't.
"This is just a dress," Glenda said softly. "For a friend. You gave your word before this happened. Your father hadn't even signed a contract on the new projects. Let's face reality here. It's not the same situation."
Mikayla's lips thinned as she stared back at the other woman. "I don't understand why you're doing this." She shook her head. "What are you gaining from it, Glenda?"
"Peace of mind, dammit," Glenda snapped back. "Now, I'll expect a call from you or Deirdre to let me know when fittings begin. Don't forget the date, Mikayla. And I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."
She breezed out of the room and seconds later the bell over the front door tinkled merrily to announce her departure. The scent of her perfume still filled the sewing room when Deirdre came to stand in the doorway.
"What was that?" she asked.
Mikayla explained briefly, trying to make sense of what was going on even as she debated whether or not to actually do the job.
"We need the money," Deirdre said softly. "Rent's coming up. A down payment on that dress would more than pay for it."
That was more than the truth.
"I have to think about it." Mikayla shrugged, her gaze going back to the desk where the design lay. "Give me a few days, Deirdre."
"A few days." Deirdre breathed heavily. "Maybe in a few days we can actually take a paycheck while we're thinking about this. What do you think about that?" She turned and strode back into the shop, just as the bell tinkled again Mikayla snagged the edge of the door and carefully closed it. She wanted to slam it.
God, she hated this. She felt torn, worn, and completely unsettled. If it wasn't enough that her life had gone completely to hell, now Glenda was trying to push her deeper into the pit.
And she still had to go home and face Nik, since he'd decided he could protect her more easily while staying at her house.
She groaned at the thought. Home. Alone. With Nik. He had moved in, with her family's complete approval, it seemed. Not that her father was comfortable with it. But Nik he was still there. He was making her brain mush, and that made it even harder to deal with Glenda. Because coming up with a reason not to make that gorgeous dress was becoming impossible. Coming up with a reason not to touch Nik was even harder. She was a virgin. She was saving herself for marriage.
Bullshit.
She'd never met a man who made her heart pound, made sweat pop out on her flesh, and her heart race with such pleasure and excitement that she feared it would pound straight out of her chest.
Pushing her fingers through her hair, Mikayla turned and paced to the back of the room. As she stood amid bolts of material, the scent of the luxurious fabrics filling her senses, suddenly it wasn't enough.
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The shop was her dream. It was her career and her livelihood. But it wasn't her lover. It wasn't the excitement that filled her at the thought that when she left the shop there was more waiting for her at home.
And that was where she was getting ready to get into trouble. She would finish the dress. She would take Glenda's extra thousand on top of the fee she had already quoted and would make damned certain the dress was worth every penny of it.
Mikayla's Creations would make a name for itself. She would have this at least when Nik was gone. She was under no delusions that this had turned into some kind of forever scenario.
A growl tore from her throat.
She was insane.
She wasn't doing this to herself.
She wasn't going to . . .
Was she?
She stared around the room and shook her head again.
She couldn't think about this now. She couldn't think about Nik like this, not right now.
She had a dress to start, a life to live, and once she got home she had a killer to catch.
Nik was living in her house, he had promised to find out what was going on, and that meant he would prove Maddix Nelson had killed Eddie Foreman. And she was going to help.
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Chapter 9
Nik arrived at the shop at precisely eight o'clock, when Deirdre and Mikayla had finished cleaning the shop and adding up the accounts for the day. They were putting the finishing touches on a new window display when the Harley throbbed to a stop at the curb and the vision of "rough and ready" swung from the seat to rise to his full glorious height.
He pulled the wicked black helmet from his head and gave his head a hard shake, allowing the long strands of pure white thick, luscious hair to fall just below his shoulder blades carelessly.
"My God, do you think men get as hard when they see a woman do that as I just got wet?" Deirdre breathed out in awe at the sight.
Shooting her a disgruntled look, Mikayla forced herself to finish tucking the back of the summer dress over the mannequin and pinning it into place before the bell over the door announced that Nik had entered the shop.
"Are you ready?" His voice was a hard, deep rumble that had Mikayla's stomach flexing in a surge of pleasure.
Deirdre turned, caught Mikayla's eye, and lifted her brows as she mouthed, Oh yeah.
Mikayla didn't even bother to shake her head at her friend. "We're ready," she assured him as she strode to the counter and picked up her purse, watching as Deirdre followed.
Within minutes Mikayla was in the Jeep and headed home, all too aware of the Harley following close behind her.
As she pulled into the driveway she inhaled deeply, collected her purse and the large leather briefcase she used to carry her sketchbooks and supplies.
"I'll go in first," Nik told her as they moved toward the door. "Stay behind me. Once we enter the house, remain in the foyer while I check everything out. I'll come back to the living room and get you if everything is clear. If I call back to you that it's not clear, then I want you to run hell-for-leather and call Jordan Malone. I programmed his number into your cell phone before we left the shop."
When exactly had he managed to do that?
The thought of anything happening to him or any threat directed at him because of her suddenly had her heart racing in dread. What would she do if by chance he were hurt?
If somehow whoever had shot at her the day before managed to harm Nik instead?
"And stop worrying," he ordered. That fierce, rasping statement couldn't be described as anything other than an order as he glanced over his shoulder and gave her a hard look before stepping onto the porch.
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"Yeah, I'll get right on that," she muttered as he held his hand out for the keys.
"And don't bother arguing with me, either," he warned her as she handed them over. "I know what I'm doing, Mikayla."
She had only a glimpse of the lethal black handgun that he pulled from behind his back after he unlocked the door.
She did as he'd ordered, though. She stepped into the foyer, closed and locked the door behind her before resetting the alarm and waiting as he began going through the house.
Lights came on in each room. Living room, kitchen, and dining room. The half bath, the hall. She heard him going into each bedroom; then she heard the thud of his steps as he came up the basement stairs. Minutes later he was walking back into the living room, the gun no longer in sight.
"I hate this," she said as she tossed her purse and case on the nearby table and stalked to the kitchen. "It's ridiculous."
"The price you pay for being honest." His shoulders lifted in a shrug as he followed her. "You should have known there would be backlash when you reported what you saw, Mikayla."
Those pale, pale blue eyes watched her intently as she moved for the refrigerator and pulled an oven dish from inside. Sliding it into the oven, she set the heat and the time before shrugging her jacket off and glaring back at him.
She didn't bother answering.
"I need a shower. Dinner will be ready in an hour." She escaped as quickly as possible. He was getting ready to ask questions, she thought; she could see the intent in his eyes. Questions she didn't want to answer again. She had no desire to see the suspicion in his eyes as he asked her if she was certain she had seen what she knew she had seen. What she thought she had seen. Stepping beneath the water, Mikayla frowned at the thought. She was certain she had seen Maddix Nelson, wasn't she?
She closed her eyes as water washed over her face, and let the image of that day flash through her mind once again.
She was staring up, the dying rays of the sun striking the upper floors of the skeletal building. And Maddix stood there, staring down at her as Eddie Foreman fell to the ground, his chest soaked with blood.
Maddix. His features were distinctive. The personable lines of his face, the way he brushed his hair back, the strong line of his jaw, his lips held in a rigid line of fury as he saw her.
Like a photo, but blurry after time, she admitted.
Shaking her head, she hurried through her evening routine. When she finished, her long hair was halfway dry and falling down her back rather than in the braid she normally kept it in. Light cotton sweats and an overlarge T-shirt completed her evening attire.
Normally, this was relaxing time. Tonight, she had a feeling relaxation was going to be the least of what she had to look forward to.
Moving from her bedroom, she was met with the sight of Nik leaving the guest room. He'd showered as well. Damp hair was pulled back to his nape, exposing the strong, harsh features of his face, the pale icy blue of his eyes. 90
"Dinner should be ready."
She rarely went out of her way for dinner. She normally ate late, so she kept it simple, a nice casserole. Tonight chicken dumpling casserole was on the menu. She'd prepared extra and bought a loaf of freshly baked bread to go with it. She knew how much a man could eat. Her brothers had been proving it since they'd hit puberty.
Dinner was quiet. Thankfully. She needed time to unwind. The events of the past two days were beginning to eat at her. The harder she tried to forget that someone had actually tried to kill her, the sharper the memory became.
"What did you find out today?" she finally asked as she cleaned up the table and placed the few dishes in the sink for washing later.
"Not a lot," he answered.
Leaning back in his chair, the beer he'd opened held loosely between two fingers, he stared at her with a thoughtful frown. "I went through the file Maddix gave me last night, checked it against the information a source of mine had. The police have no suspects, as we already knew. Tomorrow, I'll head to the construction site, see what I can find out there."
"You'll find nothing there," she informed him. "The building is more than halfway completed now. The area where Eddie was killed is completely filled in, and the workers refuse to talk to anyone about it. Maddix has covered his tracks well." She peeked over his shoulder as she started the dishwasher.
"Or someone else has." He sighed as he leaned forward and stared back at her intently. "Let's go under the assumption here that you're both telling the truth. That means, there's another player involve
d."
She shook her head. "How does that make sense? Only Maddix would have a reason to kill me. If someone else killed Eddie, then it wouldn't make sense for him to want to hurt me because I believe I saw Maddix?"
"That's one of the questions that now have to be answered," he told her.
"I wish I'd never seen it." Turning back to the dishes, she fought back her anger and her tears. "It's been nothing but trouble for me as well as my family, Nik. No one believes me, and Maddix plays the game perfectly. He's getting away with murder and no one even cares."
Even Nik believed him. Mikayla could tell he did.
The tension in her shoulders was so clear that Nik swore he could feel it in the air. Hell, he had no idea what the fuck to do here.
"Let's sleep on it, see what we can come up with."
"I know Maddix and Eddie argued hard for weeks before Eddie was killed." She swung back to Nik, her gaze fierce. "Loud enough that they were heard outside the office that sits on the construction site. Then again days later at the cantina. Maddix was angry at him over something. Has your buddy told you what they were fighting over?"
"Maddix hasn't mentioned it. And why are you just now mentioning it?"
"Because you're just now showing any interest in doing anything about it." She turned back to him, those incredible amethyst eyes damp and filled with pain. "No one wants to listen, Nik. That's what I keep trying to tell you. And no one wants to know the truth. The only reason I know about this is because my brother Scotty just happened to have been on the job site as well as at the cantina. He witnessed it." 91
Nik made a mental note to talk to her brother after he found out what he could at the job site.
For now, he had a hellaciously long night to look forward to, because God only knew it was going to be impossible to sleep. She was a single door away from him. The scent of her filled the entire house. The thought of her, sleeping alone in that big bed she had, spread out, tempting, and warm, was enough to drive him insane. Fuck.
He drank the last of his beer, his gaze on her back as she finished the dishes and set them in the drainer.