Their revelations seemed to fit her assessment of their characters. Maybe Uncle Franco was right. Maybe her judgment and intuition weren't off and her past mistakes on that other show were just that—a mistake. Confidence seeped into her shoulders and lifted her chin. However, she wasn't foolish and knew better than to bank on it.
Doesn't matter how charming these women are, they're still suspects. And the same goes for Jack. Juice finished, she set the glass down. There'd been nothing in her uncle's notes to exclude the man.
"Sorry to eat and run, but I'm out of here.” Carla slid off her chair and sauntered toward the door.
"Me, too.” Mandy brushed past the actress and out of the room, their camera-toting shadows one step behind as they left her with a mound of dishes.
She pushed thoughts of her case aside and focused on the kitchen. Expecting the third contestant to follow suit, she was pleasantly surprised when Danni started to clear the table.
"You'll get used to them. They do that all the time.” Smiling, Danni loaded the dishwasher.
Working together, they discussed the show and how uncomfortable the process made them. They'd just put the last of the dishes into the washer when Mandy burst into the room.
"Come on, you two,” she said. “Bill's here to tell us of today's activities."
"Great.” Brielle looked down at her minimal attire. “But it'll have to wait until I pop upstairs to get dressed."
"Okay, but you'll still have to walk past him to get to the stairs.” She giggled, then let the door go. The squeaking hinges echoed Brielle's frustration.
"I can see it's going to be one of those days."
Danni sent her an apologetic look. Brielle smiled, knowing she'd been through worse. Squaring her shoulders, she followed Danni into the living room, and stopped dead.
Jack lounged in the chair next to Bill, hands behind his head, a relaxed expression on his face.
"Oh.” She blinked.
Red-faced, Bill leaped to his feet and had the decency to look away, but not Jack. With a broadening grin, he slowly lowered his arms to fold them across his chest. Dodger. His eyes raked her from head to toe, turning her knees to jelly and her heart into a Hemi engine.
"If you'll excuse me, I'll go get dressed now.” Congratulating herself for keeping her tone light, she sent the smiling contestants a look. “It seems my roommates conveniently forgot to mention your visit this morning."
"Yes, of course,” Bill stammered. “You go ahead and get dressed. We'll wait for you.” He dropped back into his chair, clearing his throat.
Jack's grinning gaze stuck to her like a wet T-shirt. She swallowed, then turned on her heel and forced her unsteady legs to walk, as nonchalantly as possible, up the stairs.
Reaching her room, she shut the door on her cameraman and shook her head. “This is ridiculous. Get it together, girl,” she groaned and slumped onto the bed. “Jack's only a man."
A very handsome, sexy, capable man. Dammit. Why did Dodger have to be on this show?
"It doesn't matter.” She jumped to her feet. “I won't let him compromise my case."
Lifting her chin, she walked over to her closet, threw open the doors and gasped.
Chapter Four
"My clothes!” Brielle clenched her teeth and swallowed down an angry scream. “They're ruined.” Her eyes snapped from garment to garment, taking in the red streaks littering her wardrobe. She pulled in a breath. Her nose told her the streaks were from nail polish. That would've taken awhile and so would the shredding.
Shredding?
A chill ran down her spine. Her mind registered the haphazard tears in her clothing. They weren't symmetrical. A quick, violent stroke sent a blade into each piece. She carefully backed out of the closet to inspect the clothes in her dresser. “Great, they're ruined too!"
Her mind recalled the case files. None of the other contestants’ belongings had been attacked. Was she the only one or did their closets bear the same artwork? If not, why had her addition to the show suddenly escalated the threats?
She glanced around the camera-less room. None of this had been caught on tape.
Brielle jerked the door open and pushed past the cameraman to peer down at the chatting crowd. Which one had done this? She gripped the railing, its smooth surface cooling her heated palms as she eyed the women. Sliding her hands back and forth, she allowed the motion to calm her anger before she spoke.
"Bill, we seem to have a slight problem,” she called down, catching Jack's frowning stare.
"What kind of problem?” Bill jumped to his feet.
"I don't seem to have a thing to wear.” She eyed the three girls, all looking up at her with straight faces. Were they all involved? One? Two? None?
Bill stopped midstride, clipboard dangling at his side. “Look, if this is some kind of hissy fit—"
"I don't do hissy fits,” she cut him off. “An hour ago I had plenty to wear, but now"—her gaze snapped to each of the women—"I do not."
"What's wrong?” Jack took the stairs two at a time.
"See for yourself.” She pointed to her room but waited in the hall for Bill and the girls, wanting to read their expressions when they saw her clothes.
"Oh my.” Bill backed out of her closet a minute later. “How did this happen?"
"Beats me. I was downstairs cooking.” She exchanged a look with Jack, who, like her, eyed the contestants as they surveyed the damage.
Danni's fingers flew to her mouth. “Who would do such a thing?"
"Don't look at me,” Carla said with a wave of her hand. “I was in my room getting dressed."
"So was I.” Mandy shook her head as she peered into the closet, then added, “We all were."
Jack leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Very convenient."
"Oh, come on.” Bill frowned, his gaze bouncing to the contestants. “Surely you don't think one of these girls did this?"
"Who else has access?” Jack straightened, staring at the producer through narrowed eyes.
"Um ... well ... no one, actually,” Bill stammered, tugging his collar.
Carla stepped closer. “That's not true. The front door was unlocked. Anyone could've come in."
"Unlocked?” Bill's eyes widened. “Why? You girls are supposed to keep it locked and the alarm set at all times."
"We do, Bill, honest.” Mandy stared at him wide-eyed.
"Yeah,” Carla agreed. “It was my fault, today. I forgot to lock it after the groceries were delivered this morning."
"But it was locked when we got here?” The producer frowned, scratching his head.
"That's because I locked it as you drove up the driveway.” Mandy looked down at her shoes.
"Well, that's about to change,” Jack said in a clipped tone. “It's too dangerous to proceed with this show if you ladies are going to blatantly ignore security procedures."
"We won't ignore them anymore, will we girls?” Danni placed a hand on the other contestants’ shoulders. “We promise we'll keep the doors locked from now on."
"Yes. That's right. We will. Please don't send us home.” Tears filled Mandy's eyes at the mention of pulling the plug.
Brielle couldn't tell if they were as fake as the woman's boobs or as genuine as the concern in Jack's gaze.
"Don't worry about a thing, Ms. Bennett. I'll have wardrobe send over some clothes.” Bill pulled out his cell phone.
Send over? “Can't I just get some from home?” The last thing she wanted was the show picking out outfits for her to wear on national TV.
"The rules state no one is to leave until they're sent home.” Bill gave her an apologetic look. “I'll have them here within the hour."
"The rules never stated it was open season on my wardrobe, either.” Careful to keep emotions out of her voice, she simmered inside. She just played right into the perpetrator's hands. How could she let that happen? She yanked her sash tighter. It would not happen again.
"Well, you can borrow something of mine, in
the meantime,” Danni said, heading for the door.
"Wait!” Jack's hand shot out, blocking the woman's exit. “I want all of you downstairs in the living room where the cameras can see you."
"Why?” Danni's eyes narrowed.
"These rooms need to be searched and if you go into them, you'll disturb the evidence.” Jack stepped back and allowed the contestants to leave. “Not you, Brielle.” Strong fingers clasped her elbow. “You stay here."
A thrill shot up her arm and sizzled down her back. The sensation had nothing to do with Jack's touch and everything to do with being able to look inside the suspects’ rooms, she reasoned. Chewing on her bottom lip, she stood to the side, and watched the grumbling women head downstairs with the producer in tow. Her mind jumped to Jack. How should she act?
Should she become hysterical and cling to him? She eyed the man's stern profile. Pressing into his fine form had its merits. But, no, she couldn't do that even if she wanted to. She didn't do clingy.
"I wonder if I'm the only one whose closet went through a makeover.” She pushed her still damp hair over her shoulder. “Maybe their clothes shared the same fate."
"I doubt it, but there's only one way to find out.” He motioned for her to precede him down the hall. “At least your robe and nightgown were spared."
"What nightgown? I've only got this robe.” She tied the sash tighter and smiled when he stiffened.
"Do I want to know why?” His sideways glance held a mixture of concern and desire.
"I'd just stepped from the shower—"
"Never mind.” His hand shot up.
"Actually, this is probably important.” She felt guilty about her role but saw no reason she couldn't help him out. Lowering her voice, she filled him in on her morning activities. “So you see, even though Mandy had been in my room to get my microphone, all three had plenty of time to paint and shred.” She frowned, then added, “So did you."
"Me?” His voice rose in surprise. “Why would I ruin your clothes?"
"I don't know. Maybe you don't like me. Maybe you don't like your brother. Maybe you don't like my choice of clothes.” She shrugged. “I'm just pointing out the fact I was in the kitchen and had no idea how long you were in this house."
He leaned close, eyes hard like blue steel. “Let me make one thing clear, Ms. Bennett. I don't know you and don't give a damn about your wardrobe choice, but I do give a damn about Matthew. He's my brother. I'm here to protect him and, by God, that's what I'll do.” He straightened, never losing eye contact. “As for me, I arrived with Bill and stayed with him the whole time. Why don't you ask him?"
"No need.” She smiled sweetly. I'll check the feed later. Her gut told her he didn't do it, but she couldn't listen to her gut where Dodger was concerned.
"What about you?” He eyed her warily. “Maybe you ruined your clothes as a way to gain my brother's sympathy."
She threw her head back and laughed. “Yeah, my goal is to walk around in a flimsy robe on national television."
His gaze fastened on her mouth. The hunger in his eyes dried her amusement and tripled her pulse.
"Well, if you didn't do it, and I didn't do it, I wonder which of the girls did?” She pushed her hair back again and reverted to playing her role. “Are contestants always this aggressive on these shows?"
He hesitated as if trying to decide how much to tell her. “I don't know. This is my first one,” he said before they resumed their trek.
An hour later, Brielle and Jack returned to her bedroom, disappointed. Nothing had been out of place in the three rooms they'd examined. Even Carla's nail polish appeared untouched with not enough missing to warrant the rampage of Brielle's clothes. The search had been a flop. Their only surprise had been Carla's caged six-foot albino python.
"We're still at square one.” Frowning, he dropped into a chair near her fireplace. “My team, along with some people from DeMarco Investigations, should be here soon to dust for prints and do a thorough search."
"Yes, Bill explained you were here to keep an eye on your brother, while DeMarco investigated the threats.” She settled into a seat across from him.
He sat up. “Threats? I never mentioned anything about a threat.” Eyes narrowed, his gaze bore into hers, watching—waiting.
"No, but Bill told me about them when he gave me the choice to opt out of the show. He said all contestants were made aware of the threats.” She tilted her head and changed the subject. “I wasn't aware you had a double agenda, though."
He sat back without breaking eye contact. “I'm here to help my brother in more ways than one.” His gaze dropped to her legs, heating her bare skin.
Resisting the urge to tuck them under and sit on them, she got to her feet and stood behind the chair instead. “Matthew is lucky to have such a caring brother."
Amusement crinkled the corner of his eyes and lifted his mouth.
Dodger.
Her gaze widened at the astonishing transformation.
"I tell him that all the time,” he said, unaware of the havoc he caused.
Relaxed by his attitude, she laughed. “I don't doubt it.” Her gut sounded the alarm. This laid-back Jack posed more of a threat than the intense one.
Needing to break the connection forming between them, she flicked back her unruly hair and matching emotions, then headed down the hall to re-examine her closet. “I still can't believe someone did this to my things."
What's taking his team so long? She scratched her palm, itching to process the room. She had access to the required equipment, but because of her promise to keep her identity from Jack, she couldn't do that part of her job.
Jaw clenched in disgust, she entered the closet, then stopped when a splash of yellow on the floor caught her eye. How did that get there? Her mind quickly rewound the previous hour. Had Jack been out of her eyesight long enough to drop the note? Possibly.
"Jack.” She backed out of the closet to regard him closely. “I think you'd better come here."
"What is it? What's wrong?” He strode toward her, then cursed when she pointed to the floor. “Damn! That wasn't there before."
"No. It wasn't.” Moving out of his way, she watched him drop to his knees and use his pen to pick up the folded note. His actions appeared real and not that of the culprit.
But experience had taught her looks could be deceiving. She held back a smirk. Look at her, pretending to be little Miss Dance Instructor.
She sobered. No, Jack would remain on the top of her suspect list.
"Brielle, do you have any tweezers?” he asked, getting to his feet.
The sound of her name on his lips sent shivers over her body. She didn't have time to lecture her libido on the perils of responding to Jack-In-The-Closet.
"I think so,” she replied and procured a pair from the bathroom. “Here."
"Thanks.” He walked to the dresser, and using the tweezers and his pen, carefully unfolded the yellow paper. “Damn!"
Two words in big red letters filled the note.
GO HOME!
"This isn't good.” He dropped the pen and tweezers to rub a hand over his eyes. He appeared genuinely upset. Turning, he pinned her with a determined glare. “You're leaving, now."
"What?” She backed into the wall. “I'm not going anywhere."
"Don't you get it?” He advanced toward her. “Whoever's been threatening Matthew obviously wants you off the show."
"Too bad.” She shrugged, not at all worried. “And you should be happy."
"Happy?” His gaze narrowed. “Why?"
"I'm obviously making someone angry, and you know what happens to people when they get angry, don't you?"
Grudging respect filled his eyes. “They make mistakes."
"Exactly.” She nodded with a smile. “And if we play our cards right, we'll catch the offender in no time.
"We?” He shook his head and grabbed her shoulders. “Oh, no. There is no we, Ms. Bennett. This isn't a game."
"Yes—we,” she corre
cted, lifting her chin. Heat seared her skin from under his grasp. “As I see it, I have two choices, Mr. Anderson. I can either cower and leave the show or stand my ground and see if Matthew is my match."
His gaze darkened to a smoky blue before dropping to her mouth. Her heart did an impromptu fire drill—stopped, dropped, then rolled.
All thoughts of the show, threats and suspects clouded as her body responded to Dodger's nearness. She only had to lean forward and they'd be heart-to-heart, body-to-body.
He cursed, pressed her into the wall and lowered his head.
"Jack! Jack, what room are you in?” A deep voice penetrated her fuzzy head.
He released her shoulders and stepped back.
That was close. She drew in a breath. Too close.
Disappointment, mixed with guilt, calmed her libido. She turned and headed for the bathroom as Jack's help arrived. Needing a moment to recover before facing his team and her uncle's men, she closed the door and splashed water on her heated cheeks. “You're an idiot,” she mumbled into the towel, then gazed at her ruffled reflection.
A panting, wild-eyed, flushed faced met her gaze.
She's back.
Brielle blinked and touched her cheek. Ariel was back—minus the hair and makeup. The same face had always greeted her after her Dodger dances.
"I thought you were gone,” she whispered. Damn! That man could melt a glacier.
"That means you have to become a marble statue. Jack's a suspect and even if he wasn't, he's way too distracting,” she told herself with a curt nod.
The murmur of voices outside the door signaled the men had started to process her room and it wouldn't be long before they'd want to examine the bathroom. Taking several deep breaths, she refastened her robe, then glanced in the mirror again. “No more Jack-reactions, you got that?” She shook her finger at her reflection.
Nodding, Brielle squared her shoulders, then opened the bathroom door.
* * * *
What kind of person am I? Jack stepped back to let his and Franco's men process the room. I'm an idiot, that's what I am, he told himself as he strode to the window. White caps curling on the Pacific Ocean in the distance reflected the turbulence in his mind.
Meet Your Mate Page 5