Rose Quartz

by Sandra Cox

  He looked at the policeman. Officer Gordon’s mouth hung open and his eyes were glazed. Hank gave him a sharp prod with his elbow. Damn fool.

  The officer jerked as if coming out of a trance. “I’m Officer Gordon, ma’am. I’m responding to the call you made earlier. May I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  The door stood open from when she’d rushed out to check on Hank. With an outstretched hand, she motioned them in.

  Officer Gordon trooped in. Hank waited for Bella to precede him.

  She flashed him a smile that brought his heart to his throat.

  The policeman gawked as he glanced around the room. Hank did some gawking of his own. The room was full of contrasts like Bella herself. Warm and lush. Cool and soothing. The walls were painted a pristine white with vibrant paintings placed strategically around the room. Track lighting over the pictures drew the viewer’s attention to exotic flowers artfully arranged in cleverly designed vases. They seemed so real Hank could have sworn he smelled them. Then realized it was the sultry fragrance Bella was wearing.

  His feet sank into carpet as soft and lush as summer grass. But it was cream-colored, for god’s sake. He looked down at his scuffed boots and hoped he hadn’t tracked anything in.

  “Officer, can I get you some coffee?” Bella’s voice broke through his preoccupation.

  The hard-nosed cop was actually shuffling his feet.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the policeman responded.

  She arched a brow. “Sugar? Cream?”

  “Black.”

  She didn’t bother to ask Hank. He hoped it was because she remembered not because she was royally pissed off. Though why she would be he wasn’t sure. Then again it had been his experience over the years, women didn’t need a reason to get a good mad on.

  “Please sit down. I’ll be right back.” Both men looked around at the overstuffed latte-colored sofa and apricot chairs and sat down gingerly. Officer Gordon had taken a chair, leaving the sofa for Hank. That was just fine with him. Bella would have to sit down somewhere. It might as well be next to him where he could inhale her fragrance and enjoy the warmth of her proximity. On second thought maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. He pushed himself off the couch and, hands in his pockets, prowled around.

  Bella came back carrying a large silver tray with three steaming mugs of coffee. Each cup bore a different flower motif.

  Hank strode over to her and reached for the tray. “Let me take that.”

  She glided around him and sat it on the coffee table. “I’ve got it, cowboy.”

  He frowned, puzzled. Why was everyone calling him cowboy?

  She handed each man a cup. Officer Gordon sat on the edge of his chair and Hank moved to the side of the sofa. She lifted a well-sculpted eyebrow. “Care to sit down?”

  “I’ll stand,” Hank said, his hands wrapped around the hot mug.

  Officer Gordon took a sip of his coffee then leaned over and sat it on the glass-topped coffee table. He pulled out his notebook and a pen. “Now, Ms. Tremaine, can you tell me what happened?”

  Bella balanced her cup in her palm. “I saw Mr. McHenry’s truck parked across the street and was walking out to invite him in when a car with its lights off came out of nowhere.”

  She hunched her shoulders, bit on her lip then looked up again. She took a deep cleansing breath and said, “If Mr. McHenry hadn’t leaped out of his truck and played Superman I’d be at the very least seriously injured if not dead.” She looked straight at Hank, her sapphire eyes drawing him in like an ocean’s undercurrent. “Thank you.”

  He gave her a clipped nod, uncertain he was capable of speech, his heart beating rapidly enough to cut off his air supply.

  His eyes intent, Officer Gordon asked, “Ms. Tremaine, do you have any idea who tried to run you down?”

  She shook her head, causing her golden hair to fan out around her face then fall back in place. “No.”

  He leaned forward, holding her gaze. “Who would want to kill you?”

  “I have no idea,” she said and touched the amulet.

  Instantly, her beauty notched up. The effect was like walking up to a force field and getting thrown off your feet. Hank stepped behind the couch, leaned down and growled in her ear, “Don’t overdo it.” Then said in a more normal voice, “Can I get you some coffee, Isabella?”

  “No, sugar, I’m perfectly all right,” she drawled, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

  She turned back to Officer Gordon. “Do you think perhaps it’s a crazed fan?” She shrugged, a pretty feminine gesture. “It happens in my line of work or any other where you are in the public eye.”

  Officer Gordon wore a glazed, dead-fish expression. Bella leaned forward, making it worse. “What do you think, Officer?”

  “About what, ma’am?”

  Hank resisted a strong urge to slap the officer upside the head and ask if anyone was home.

  “Do you think it might be a crazed fan?” Bella asked, her eyes wide.

  “Of course.” Officer Gordon nodded his agreement.

  Bella settled back into the couch, breaking eye contact.

  The officer blinked and reached for his coffee. He took a deep gulp, sat it down then shook himself. “Ma’am, do you know Danny Amato?”

  Bella shook her head.

  “What about Johnny Morelly?”

  Bella straightened. “Who doesn’t?”

  “Do you have any reason to think he might try to hurt you?” Officer Gordon held the pen poised against the pad.

  “Johnny?”

  The officer leaned forward more alert. “You’re on a first-name basis?”

  “Yes.”

  Hank stiffened.

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Casually.”

  Officer Gordon cleared his throat. “Have you ever gone out with him?”

  “I don’t date married men, Officer.” Bella’s voice was cool.

  “Has he ever asked you out?” Officer Gordon shifted in his chair.

  “Yes, but it was over a year ago. I told him no. He took it in good stride.” Her lush red lips curled in a smile. “He even bought one of my paintings for his wife. A cherub vase filled with orchids as I remember.” She zeroed in like a pointer. “Why?”

  “Danny Amato, the thug who tried to run you down, works for Johnny Morelly.” Officer Gordon set the pen down and took a sip of his coffee.

  “Really?” She tapped a red manicured fingernail against an equally red lip, her expression pensive. “Why, I wonder?”

  “Don’t know, ma’am, I was hoping you could tell me.”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Hank took a slug of his rapidly cooling coffee. Do you believe that, Bella, or are you just saying that for the officer’s benefit? Either way I intend to find out.

  As if on cue, Officer Gordon rose.

  The policeman shoved his notebook and pen in his pocket. “Don’t you worry about anything, Ms. Tremaine, I intend to get to the bottom of this. I’ll also do a drive-by.”

  “I appreciate that, Officer.”

  “Bella, I think Officer Gordon was hoping for an autograph for his wife,” Hank put in.

  “Why of course, I’d be happy to give you one.” She nodded toward Officer Gordon’s front pocket where the notebook protruded. “Could you could spare me a sheet of paper?”

  He pulled it out of his pocket and ripped out a sheet.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Wilma.”

  She picked a pencil up off the table and said aloud as she wrote, “To Wilma, Best Regards.” With a few quick strokes she signed her name, embellishing the signature with tiny flowers. “There you go, Officer.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Carefully, he put it in his pocket then pulled out his business card with his precinct number on it and handed it to her. “If you think of anything that may prove helpful give me a call.”

  “Thank you, Officer, I will.”
With practiced ease, she ushered him out then shut the door and flipped the lock. She turned to Hank and fisted her hands on her hips. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “For starters what are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Don’t play games with me, sugar,” she snapped. Her eyes flashed cobalt fire. “I know you came down here to protect me.” She stalked up to him and planted her index finger right in his chest. “And planned on sitting out in that damn truck all night to do it instead of showing the sense you were born with and coming inside where you could at least get comfortable.”

  He winced as the sharp crescent-shaped nail dug into his flesh.

  “It seemed like the thing to do at the time,” he mumbled.

  Hands on hips, she snapped, “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  The air sizzled with her angry energy. Smart enough to know that he’d scared her, that she was worried about him not herself, he wisely kept his mouth shut just looked at her, one eyebrow cocked.

  The silence stretched between them.

  Breaking it, she said in a sulky voice, “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “You’ve already thanked me but you’re welcome.” He dipped his chin in a clipped nod.

  She heaved a sigh and he felt her anger dissipate.

  “Let’s try again. Thank you, Hank McHenry, for saving my life.”

  He smiled a slow smile and his features relaxed. “My pleasure, Isabella Tremaine. Did anyone ever tell you your name fits you perfectly? It’s both beautiful and mysterious.”

  She blinked, startled then batted those sparkling blue eyes flirtatiously. “Why, sugar, is that a compliment?”

  “You can bet your sweet…” his gaze swept her and lingered on her rear end, “self,” he amended, “it is.”

  She burst out laughing—a deep as midnight, rich as velvet sound.

  For a moment the blood pooled at his feet. He gave himself a mental shake, like a retriever coming out of water. He drew air deep in his lungs and marshaled his thoughts. Don’t go there, McHenry. Now isn’t the time to be thinking with your rod.

  “Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here, Hank,” she said and held out her hand.

  He clasped it briefly and felt the warmth of it travel up his arm and lodge somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “Do you have any idea why Amato would run you down?”

  She took a turn around the room, rubbing her arms, thinking out loud. “It had to be on Morelly’s orders. Morelly’s men don’t think for themselves. But why? Johnny has no beef with me. It’s got to be Victor. I can feel it in my bones.” She looked at Hank. “But how? He’s in prison for the gods’ sake.”

  Hank rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. “Had a buddy once that did time. He told me the whole system is based on favors. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Somebody owes somebody a favor, they call it in. It’s like a giant network.”

  She flopped into a nearby chair and stared at Officer Gordon’s card that she’d tossed on the coffee table. “Why? Why me? He’s already used the amulet to transform himself from grotesquery to beauty, why would he need my amulet again? Why not go after the power amulet?”

  He watched her, his expression intent.

  “You know why. You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?” She tipped her head, staring at him, her eyes narrowed, her forehead wrinkled.

  She jumped up and snapped her fingers. “Of course. With the creativity amulet he can figure out how to break out of prison. And he wouldn’t trust anyone else with the power amulet,” she finished triumphantly, her face flushed with success.

  “Bingo.”

  Tapping her nail against her lip, Bella stared into the distance, her expression speculative. “Victor either has something on Johnny or knows someone who has something on him.”

  “You got it in one. We just need to find out what that is.” Hank sank down into one of the overstuffed chairs across from the couch, stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles.

  Even though he had adopted a relaxed pose, his mind seethed. Bella had nearly been killed. His jaw tightened. If Johnny Morelly was responsible for it, he, Hank, would just have to point out to Morelly the error of his ways. He was a big believer in enlightenment. And he looked forward to—no, yearned for—the opportunity to enlighten Morelly.

  Watching his face, Bella’s lovely eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think of it, shug,” she warned.

  He crossed his arms and said nothing.

  She leaned forward. “I mean it, Hank.”

  His glance swept her face. He liked it when she called him Hank instead of the generic “sugar” and “handsome” she called everyone.

  “He’ll eat you up and spit you right into the bottom of a trash can. He has bodyguards and they pack heat.”

  “So where does this tough guy live?”

  She straightened, tight-lipped. Though even set in a straight line nothing could detract from the ripeness of her mouth. He glanced at it once then looked away and shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

  “I want you to leave, now.”

  Wordlessly, he stood up.

  Their bodies were a hairsbreadth apart. He could feel her heat, almost feel the rise and fall of those luscious breasts as she spoke.

  “You saved my life. Saying thank you seems a pretty milquetoast way of expressing my gratitude. That’s why I want you to leave. I’m returning the favor. Go home, Hank McHenry. Go back to Wisconsin.”

  Her voice was telling him to go but her eyes were saying something entirely different. The air between them sizzled with sexual tension. She was grateful. He could take her and they both knew it. But the sad truth was he wanted more from Bella Tremaine than just her gratitude. He’d known it the first time he’d laid eyes on her, with her damn cat winding in and out of her legs, looking like she was heading for Rodeo Drive instead of a horse ranch in Wisconsin. He said the first thing that came into his mind, “Where’s the cat?”

  Bella blinked then laughed. She shook her head. “You never fail to amaze me. Just when I think I have you figured out. He’s locked in the bedroom.”

  The light thumping noise he’d blocked from his mind was becoming increasingly loud. The cat was throwing himself against the door.

  “Better let him out.” He turned and walked toward the foyer, intent on leaving, on shoring up his crumbling willpower.

  “Hank, wait.” Bella held out her arm.

  Hank closed his eyes. Let me go, Bella. We’d both be better off if you just let me go. Being this close to you is torture. He took a breath from deep in his belly, let it out, straightened his shoulders then turned.

  “Where are you going?” Her arm dropped to her side.

  His voice noncommittal, his features expressionless, he said, “I’m leaving like you suggested.”

  “Good try, McHenry, but you’d never leave a damsel in distress. You’ll be out on the streets holding up some lamppost all night. You can sleep on the couch. I’ll get some sheets.”

  He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “I thought you wanted me to leave.”

  The air-headed façade that Isabella Tremaine showed the world had slipped a bit but was now firmly back in place. “I do, sugar, but I know a big, strong man like you isn’t going to leave a helpless female like me on her own.”

  He snorted. “You’re about as helpless as a she-wolf.”

  “And that’s why you’re sticking around?” she asked sweetly then waved a hand before he could respond.

  The sound of Puss–Puss’ yowls, added to the thumping against the door, distracted them both.

  “Never mind. I’ll be right back.” She pointed a finger and commanded, “Stay,” then ran upstairs.

  “You’d think I was a damn dog,” Hank muttered as he heard a door open. Moments later Puss–Puss bolted down the stairs.

  The white cat went around the room, his mouth open
, his head bobbing as he sniffed the air and smelled the scent of strangers. He looked at Hank, sat down on the floor in front of him and stared.

  Bella strolled in. “Are you hungry?”

  He smiled ruefully. “I could eat a whole cow about now.”

  She flashed a smile this time genuine. “Better not say that around Maureen.” The woman he worked for and who he considered family was a vegetarian.

  “I knew I was talking to another carnivore.” He grinned and watched in delight and wonder as the reserve in her eyes melted away.

  “Well, I haven’t been home long enough to do any shopping so I’ll order you a couple of meat lovers pizzas. One of these days I’ll fix you a Southern breakfast. I noticed when I was at the ranch no one served grits. What kind of meal is that?” Bella asked as she picked up the phone, punched in speed dial and gave the order.

  Grits. Manfully, he repressed a shudder. “You’re going to join me, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll have a slice. What do you want to drink?” she asked as she headed into the kitchen. Puss–Puss trotted behind her, his tail straight in the air.

  Hank followed her. His boots clicked on the marble floor as he stepped into the kitchen. “What have you got?”

  She opened a gleaming white refrigerator. “I’ve got water, soda, beer and wine.”

  “I’ll take a beer. Thanks.”

  He looked around. The kitchen, like the living room, was a sparkling white. A painted border trailed the top of the wall with clusters of dark purple grapes on emerald-green vines. The room gleamed with new appliances. A wooden plaque with a vineyard in the background proclaimed Bella’s Kitchen in bold purple lettering, giving the modern kitchen a homey touch.

  She turned with a green bottle in her hand. “Ale okay?”

  He smiled and leaned a hip against the granite counter. “That works.”

  Sticking the bottle under a wine-shaped opener mounted on the wall, she popped the top and handed it to him. “How’re Maureen and Jack?”

  He reached for the bottle at the same time she extended her arm. She winced as he brushed it.

  “What’s wrong, Bella?” He straightened, alert.

  She smiled. “Nothing, sugar.”

  He grabbed her hand and for the first time noticed the dark stains on the brown shirt. He pushed up her wide, bell-shaped sleeve. The raw and oozing scrape ran up her arm.