Dying for Love

by Angel Nicholas

  The buzzer on the coffeepot went off. Grace jumped and slapped her hand over her mouth to smother a shriek. Just the coffeepot, Grace. Get it together. She glanced at her watch.

  “Oh, crap. I’m gonna be late for work.” Leaping over a saucepot, spatula and potato masher, she ran to the bedroom. “Crap, crap, crap.”

  At least her makeup and hair were done. Throwing on the outfit she laid out last night would take two minutes, racing down the three flights of stairs and along the sidewalk to her car two and a half, and the drive to the office ten—fifteen if traffic was snarled.

  “You can’t go to work. You have to call the police and report this.”

  Grace tugged her skirt over her hips and zipped it, frowning. “Why?”

  Lisette blinked. “Because your home was broken into, cher. The police are here to protect you. Let them do their job.”

  She snorted and pulled her blouse over her head, muttering, “They wouldn’t know how to do their job with a flashlight, map and CliffsNotes.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I don’t see the point.”

  Lips tightening, Lisette planted her hands on the generous curves of her hips. “What’s wrong with you? You act like it don’ madda’! I’m a fixin’ to do it myself.”

  Grace winced. Whenever Lisette’s Louisiana drawl thickened, the poo was about to hit the fan. If she started spewing French, it was time to hit the deck. Grace slipped on her shoes and jewelry, stalling. The amount of faith she had in the police could be measured in a thimble, thanks to her childhood experiences.

  “Lisie, you know how my boss is. I have a presentation this morning and I absolutely cannot be late. I’ll call the police,” she tried not to gag on the lie, “the moment I get home.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Cross my heart.”

  Lisette stepped out of the doorway and Grace flew past her. Flipped off the coffeepot, snatched up her purse and briefcase, and yanked the door open.

  Lisette zapped her with a gimlet-eyed stare as she walked out. “I’m gonna be checking on you tonight.”

  Grace smiled. “Thank you.”

  Her friend disappeared into her own condo. Grace quickly locked her door, turned and froze. Back pressed to the door, she flicked her gaze up and down the open-air hallway. A stranger had likely stood in the very same spot before stealing inside her condo while she slept. Oblivious.

  Tears stung her eyes. Her nails dug into her palm. She took a deep breath and blinked the moisture away. Life wouldn’t wait while she had a meltdown.

  Forcefully shoving away from the door, she jogged down the hall. She almost tripped on the stairs in her low heels and forced herself to slow down. A goose egg on her forehead would not be a good look in the board meeting scheduled for…a quick glance at her watch nearly made her trip again. Holy rosebuds. Twenty minutes to get her butt in her office and go over the monthly report on construction progress and actual cost versus estimates before her presentation to Matthew Duncan.

  Having her boss’s steely-eyed gaze focused solely on her for the space of ten minutes tried her nerves every time.

  She refused to think about what it did to other parts of her body.

  “Oh, Gracie. There you are.”

  Oh, no. Not now. She didn’t have time. Not to mention her hands were still shaking.

  Grace squeezed her eyes closed, reminded herself that she adored her neighbor, plastered on a smile and swung around. Mrs. Freeman’s massive Great Dane strolled beside her, matching his regal walk to the old lady’s shuffling gait.

  “Mrs. Freeman.” Grace scanned the area for strangers. No one else was in sight. Grace relaxed a little. “How are you?”

  “Just fine, dear. Off to work?”

  Apollo pranced, his tongue lolling and eager black eyes focused on Grace. He never once tugged on the leash anchoring him to Mrs. Freeman.

  “Yes.”

  Grace sighed softly and surrendered, scratching Apollo’s head. He heaved a big doggie sigh of pleasure and leaned into her.

  “What are you up to today? Breakfast with your boyfriend?”

  Mrs. Freeman glowed with pleasure. “Gracie, you know Roger isn’t my boyfriend.”

  “Mr. Gray adores you, and you know it. He takes you out to breakfast as often as you let him, and he’d probably take you to lunch and dinner too. Last week he even took Apollo to his vet appointment when you weren’t feeling well. If that isn’t a sure sign of devotion, I don’t know what is.”

  “Roger and I are just friends. He loved his wife, and he still grieves her passing. We fill a space in one another’s life, that’s all.”

  “If you say so.” She rubbed Apollo’s back. “We know better, don’t we, Apollo?”

  Mrs. Freeman chuckled. “You’d better skedaddle on to work, dear. You don’t want that ferocious boss of yours getting on your case first thing.”

  Grace pretended a shiver. “Heavens, no.”

  “Some men hide a big heart behind a tough demeanor. My George was that way.” Mrs. Freeman’s eyes went misty. “Tough as a pit bull on the outside, soft and affectionate as an old tabby cat on the inside. Your Mr. Duncan might just need a good woman to tame him.”

  “Maybe, but that good woman won’t be me.” Grace glanced at the parking lot then did a double-take. Her car wasn’t in its usual spot. The pit of her stomach fell. “Where’s my car?”

  Mrs. Freeman edged her walker forward. “There it is, dear. Across the way.”

  Grace followed the direction of the old woman’s trembling, wrinkled finger. Her brand- new tango-red Honda Accord Crosstour sat on the far side of the parking lot beneath a big tree. She blinked, her pulse skittering. Her lips tightened. What the hell?

  Mrs. Freeman tutted. “The carport is safer than that old tree.”

  “Um-hmm.”

  She clutched the handle of her briefcase tight enough to leave finger imprints. No way had she parked there last night. She was never that tired. There’d better not be a single hairline scratch on the finish, or someone was going down. As a practical joke, the humor escaped her. As something more…She didn’t want to think about anything more. She scanned their surroundings again.

  Casual expression firmly in place, she glanced at the elderly woman. “Have you heard about any weird break-ins in the complex?”

  Mrs. Freeman’s smile disappeared and a little frown crinkled the white skin between her slim brows. “No, dear. Why? Is something wrong?”

  Grace forced her stiff cheeks into a smile. “Goodness, no. Just something I overheard in the hallway the other day. I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how kids are.” Leaning down, she planted a soft kiss on Mrs. Freeman’s age-weathered cheek and patted Apollo. “Lovely to see you both. I’ll be by to take Apollo for a walk when I get home.”

  She glanced back as she reached the parking lot. Mrs. Freeman’s smile was troubled. Guilt bit hard. Grace waved at Roger Gray as he eased his big Lincoln to a stop near the curb. So he was taking Mrs. Freeman out for breakfast.

  As she neared her car, the hair on her neck rose. She glanced around. No face peered from the bushes, no curtains twitched and nothing shifted in the cool morning air. Rubbing her neck with an unsteady hand, she circled the car. Not so much as a fingerprint marred the gleaming finish. She tried the handle. Locked. Rummaging in her purse for the keys, so jittery she may as well have drank the whole untouched pot of coffee, she glanced around again.

  A chilly spring breeze ruffled the trees. Shadows skittered for cover.

  Grace shivered and hit the remote button to unlock the Honda. With a quick look in the backseat, she tossed in her purse and briefcase, slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut and locked it. She wrapped trembling fingers around the leather steering wheel.

  “No boogeyman is going to jump out from behind the tree.” She glanced through the sunroof at the tree branches waving overhead. “Or out of the tree.” The whole morning had her on edge, totally creeped out and talking to herself
, which was friggin’ fantastic.

  Starting the car, she took a deep breath, focused on the smooth sound of the new engine and automatically checked the gas level. A paper covered the gauges.

  Nice car, slut

  *****

  Matt Duncan peered through the door as Grace got off the elevator and walked down the hall toward her office. He snapped straight, shaking his head in disgust. Leering at an employee—he was such a pervert. In his defense, he’d been closing his door when the elevator pinged. The glimpse of Grace emerging froze him in place.

  For six long months he’d worked hard to hide his attraction to her. Ever since she’d walked across his office for her interview. Marilyn Monroe couldn’t have done that expanse of polished hardwood more justice. He’d instinctively checked to make sure his tongue wasn’t hanging out. Miracle of miracles, no drool pooled on his desk either.

  Her job performance, warm friendliness with the other staff, persistent charm, quick wit, and sharp intelligence had quickly made her an asset. And served to fuel and deepen his attraction. Admiration and respect rode hard alongside physical attraction.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and clicked the door shut. The day had barely begun and was already headed to hell in a handbasket. Breakfast with his mom and stepdad had rocked his world, and not in a good way. The cherry on top of his crappy morning? His receptionist reminding him of his brother’s appointment.

  “Mr. Duncan?”

  Matt strode over to his desk and hit the intercom button. “Yes?”

  “Your eight-thirty appointment is here.”

  Not what he wanted to deal with today. Especially since his mom hadn’t shared her devastating diagnosis with Jeff yet. Cancer. Damn, she didn’t deserve that. Not after all she’d been through with her ex-husband—his father—screwing around on her.

  “Send him in.”

  Retrieving his coffee from the bar, he carried it to his desk. A large object between him and his brother was always beneficial. Jeff threw open the door and stomped in before Matt’s butt hit leather. Great. Already sporting an attitude.

  Matt leaned back, sipping cold coffee gone bitter. His brother flung himself into one of the hard chairs facing the big desk. His worn polo shirt pulled taut over his round belly. Prematurely thinning hair added to Jeff’s general resentment of the world. In less charitable moments, Matt wondered how they came from the same parents.

  “Hey, big bro.” Jeff didn’t make eye contact. “What’s up?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one who asked to see me.”

  Jeff snorted, finally raising watery eyes to Matt. “Yeah, and I have to make an appointment with your stinkin’ secretary to even get in the door.”

  “You said it was about business, and that’s how a business is run. People make appointments with one another so they can schedule their day. Makes things easier on everyone.”

  “Or just you.”

  Matt gently set his cup on the desk and laced his fingers together in his lap. “How’ve you been?”

  “Fine.”

  “How’s your new job?”

  Jeff laced and unlaced his fingers, straightened and slouched and then straightened again. Matt tensed. His brother cracked his neck.

  “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Things didn’t go so good. The supervisor was totally unreasonable when I forgot to come back from lunch last week.”

  “You forgot…” Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “…to come back from lunch?”

  “Yeah. I got distracted. So, I figured, ya know, to hell with it.”

  “Really.” Matt wanted to close his eyes and pretend Jeff wasn’t sitting there. That he hadn’t just blown off this latest job. One Matt had gotten for him, calling in yet another favor. He couldn’t wait to hear from the contractor. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t already.

  “I was hoping you’d let me help out on the construction site again.”

  Matt bit back a sharp bark of laughter. “You think I should let you back on my job sites, where you took your buddies after-hours two months ago and let them take off with fifteen hundred dollars in materials and tools. Three months ago you almost killed a guy when you swung the crane around too fast and lost a load of lumber.”

  Jeff slunk lower. “No need to get bitchy about it, man.”

  “I’ve warned you before. No foul language in my office.”

  “Sh…Damn, dude. What’s gotten into you?”

  “During the ten years you blew off, roaming free and living off Dad, having a grand ol’ time, I’ve worked my butt off building this business. I have a reputation for well-built structures and well-run construction sites. All of my employees behave in a professional manner at all times.”

  “I had my own business for a while, ya know.”

  Oh, Matt knew. He knew too much about that disaster. It had taken the whole family pooling their resources to drag Jeff’s butt out of the sinkhole he’d created. Plus, a corporate lawyer, moving company and a psychiatrist. He didn’t need to be reminded of that fiasco.

  “I can’t allow you on the job sites.”

  Jeff stared at the floor and shrugged his shoulders. Beneath the desk, Matt fisted his hand. This shadow of a man was all that was left of his brother. He had so many memories of growing up together, playing alongside each other and on the river, hunting and camping together and the stringers of fish they caught.

  He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Nah. I gotta go.”

  Jeff rose but hesitated, studying the floor. Opened and closed his mouth. In the end, he just turned and walked out without another word. Matt stared after him. He had spent months working through his anger over his brother’s betrayal, and Jeff never expressed an ounce of remorse.

  His shoulders slumped and he fought the urge to lay his head on the desk.

  An image of Grace flashed through his mind. The shock of his mom’s news had brought the reality of life sharply into focus. Between his brother’s behavior and his mom’s illness, he didn’t know how much more his family could take. Life was too damn short. He squared his shoulders. It was time to see if there was more to his attraction.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Grace, isn’t that report due to Mr. Duncan. As of, like, five minutes ago.”

  “Yes. I’m on my way. I promise.”

  “He’s in a real mood today, ya know.” Sally shook her head and walked away.

  Like her day didn’t already suck. Getting fired on top of everything else would seriously suck. She’d snagged a position that a lot of people would kill for, in a firm recently listed in the top ten list of a local business publication. At twenty-seven, she was the youngest executive in the large construction firm.

  Not to mention, the job enabled her to pay for her beautiful new car.

  The low-grade headache thrumming at the base of her skull kicked up a notch. She wanted to drop her aching head into her hands and sob for a few minutes. Or hours. Something…anything to release the build-up of fear, stress and delayed shock. Instead, she straightened her shoulders.

  Grace hit PRINT, swiveled around in her chair and snagged a binder from the storage cabinet. Mr. Duncan insisted reports be presented neatly and properly. Printed, bound, no factual errors and no typos.

  In the six months she’d worked there, only two people had made the mistake of handing imperfect work to Mr. Duncan. They were no longer employed at the prestigious firm of Duncan Construction, Inc. Personally, she thought that was a bit over the top. Matthew Duncan might be hot sin walking, but he didn’t have to act like the Devil incarnate.

  Not that Mr. Duncan was interested in her opinion. Nor would she ever dare voice it. She liked her job and would very much like to keep it. Especially in this economy. A fabulous job she enjoyed was a bonus she didn’t intend to waste by bandying about her opinions about.

  She’d worked too hard, for too long to get where she was.

&nbs
p; Neatly bound report in hand, she rushed out of her office. Sally, the first friend Grace had made at work, looked up from her desk and sent her a sympathetic smile as she held up two fingers crossed for luck. Grace blew out a breath and grinned.

  The click-clack of her modest black pumps followed her down the tiled hallway. The rich cinnamon scent permeating the hall was supposed to be calming. She inhaled deeply.

  Mr. Duncan wouldn’t fly off the handle just because he requested this report be in his hands at 9:30 and it was now—she glanced at her watch and swallowed—9:44. Her stomach tightened and she started relaxation breathing.

  “Better hurry, Grace,” a masculine voice whispered in her ear.

  Without thinking, she spun around and lightly whacked Luke in the gut. “Not funny.”

  Hitting her co-worker. Nice. Very professional. She winced. Too much time spent around too many boys growing up and too much…everything this morning.

  Luke doubled over, groaning like she’d punched him. Lips twitching, Grace kept walking.

  “Oh, man.” He caught up and clapped a hand over his mouth. His cheeks bulged. “Ooh…” One hand pressed to his stomach, he staggered across her path and collapsed against the wall.

  “Good grief, Luke.” Grace rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself already.”

  He straightened, grinning. “Hey, just trying to keep your spirits up. Facing old man Duncan would terrify anyone. Especially with mediocre, late work in hand.”

  “Hey!”

  Luke trotted off down the hall with a jaunty wave. The nerve. She did good work, no, excellent work, for this company. Mr. Duncan wouldn’t can her because of one late report. He was a reasonable man. Well, sort of reasonable. In an anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive kind of way.

  She smiled at Nancy, Mr. Duncan’s secretary. Outside Mr. Duncan’s door, she took another deep breath. The stupid cinnamon was so not doing its job.

  Grace stared at the dark mahogany door, straightened the hem of her short, fitted blazer, smoothed the back of her knee-length matching tweed skirt and, in general, procrastinated as only a terrified employee could. She’d just about, kind of, almost, worked up the nerve to knock.