“I’ll be right out,” she squeaked, then took a deep breath, went to the door, and opened it. Cord’s shoulder was propped against the wall, his blond hair wet from a shower, his sapphire eyes troubled. She eased out of the room and closed the door behind her.
“What did you need?”
“I wanted to apologize for dinner. I was rude. My only excuse is that I have a lot on my mind. I just want to tell you I was sorry.”
“No need to be. I didn’t think anything of it,” she lied, hoping her face didn’t give it away. Hell, it was pretty much all she’d thought about since.
He smiled. “Good. I was worried.”
“Could I show you something?” Grace opened her door to get the key she’d found on her bed. When she turned, Cord was standing inside her room, looking around. This was the last place she wanted him.
Okay, show him the key. Then he’ll leave.
Grace placed the key in his hand. “I found this in one of Vincent’s sport coats. Do you have any idea what it could be?”
Cord examined the key, then glanced at her. “Looks like an apartment key of some kind.”
“Is there a way we could find out which apartment? I’m sure Vincent found it and had planned to get it back to its owner.”
“I don’t know, Grace.” His brows furrowed. “Do you have any idea how many apartment complexes there are in this city? It could take a lifetime to find the right one.”
Grace’s shoulders slumped. Sheer disappointment hit her. Her great idea wasn’t so great after all.
He stared at her a moment. “I guess we could try, though. In the evenings, after you close the shop.”
A glimmer of hope resurfaced. “Really? You’d be willing to help me?”
He smiled. “Yes, of course. If that’s what you want to do.”
She returned his smile. “Thanks, Cord. Knowing Vincent the way I do, he’d have wanted me to try.”
“Okay. We’ll start tomorrow night. I’ll even buy you dinner.”
The word dinner had her heart skipping a beat. Would he consider this a date? A chance to spoon, among other things?
Grace’s stomach fluttered.
She shook the idea. This was Cord. In the two and a half years she’d known him, she had never seen him with a woman.
Wait a minute. She’d never heard him talk about dating a woman, either.
A sick, sinking feeling hit in the pit of her stomach. Maybe he was gay. Maybe that’s why she’d never seen him out with any female. That could be why he was so good around the house, too.
Grace watched his departing back. Watched his stride. He couldn’t be—could he?
She shook her head again. No way.
****
Cord lay on the guest bed and studied the key Grace had given him. Was this key something Vince would want his wife to find? It was an apartment key. But whose? Had Vince known the owner? Could it have been the same person who owned the Lexus? Just another question to add to the number he already had. They were really starting to pile up.
His cop’s sense told him this key was important. He knew what his next step had to be. He’d go down to the Tops and Tails and do a little undercover work. If Vince had had a lover working at the club, Cord intended to find out about it before Grace did. He’d die before he saw her hurt because of an indiscretion her husband might have had.
He could picture her face. The pain in her eyes. Nope, he couldn’t stomach seeing her like that again.
He looked at the ceiling. “I hope, for your sake, you didn’t cheat on her, Vince.” Cord squeezed the key in his hand. “Not when you had the perfect woman waiting for you at home.”
He placed the key on the nightstand and closed his eyes.
Images of Grace floated around in his head. Her beautiful mouth spoke to him. He yearned to kiss her lips and feel her soft, supple skin next to his. Her sea-green eyes, filled with tears, tore at his heart. No woman had ever evoked such protectiveness in him. Her feelings and needs were uppermost in his thoughts. He’d never been in love, but he was pretty sure it felt something like this.
Hah! Get a grip, Rawlings. Love is for normal people, and you’re not even close.
Grace Under Fire
Chapter Seven
Grace rifled through her closet, angry that she couldn’t find anything suitable to wear. She’d never had the problem before. So why was the simple task of dressing this morning so difficult?
Most of the time she’d just throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but that wasn’t good enough today. She wanted to look different, look nice—and in the back of her mind she knew why.
Cord Rawlings. The man had brought her out of her funk and turned her into a raving lunatic. The mere thought of him sent her heart racing, and the fact that he was just down the hall made it worse.
Her dreams were no longer of Vincent, but of Cord—dreams that made her blush. Not only did he fill her waking hours, but now her dreams revolved around him as well. What would be next? Daydreaming about him?
His sad, sapphire eyes beckoned for her to find out what caused his pain. Why he was such a loner, off to himself, never seeming to need anyone or anything. What had happened in his life to cause such antisocial behavior?
Grace shook her head, determined to keep Cord and his tortured eyes at a safe distance. She didn’t need him messing with her mind. She had her shop and her family, and they needed her full attention.
She grabbed a pair of olive capris and a beige T-shirt and went to the bathroom to get dressed. To heck with trying to impress Cord Rawlings.
He probably wouldn’t acknowledge it anyway. He seemed more likely to notice hair fibers at a crime scene than see a change in her appearance. He was a man’s man, which meant her silly deduction about him being gay was crazy. But if he was indeed into women, what type did he prefer? The ones she’d first thought of—the brainless, big-breasted kind?
Didn’t all men love well-endowed women?
She looked at her chest and sighed. So she didn’t have huge boobs; at least she had brains, and that was much more important to her. Vincent had thought so. He’d loved her the way she was.
Cord could take his big-breasted fetish elsewhere. She didn’t need it. All these foolish schoolgirl notions were just that—foolish.
Brushing her hair back, she secured it with a ponytail holder and went to find a pair of sandals.
Now, if she could just get through breakfast and the short drive to the shop, she’d feel better.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a bowl and a box of cereal, thinking a quick breakfast would definitely be best. The sooner they got on the road, the sooner she’d get rid of Cord.
Why she’d asked him to help her find the owner of the key was beyond her. Now she was going to have to spend the evening with him as well—alone in a car, inhaling his incredible male scent.
Maybe she’d get lucky and he wouldn’t look so good today. Maybe her attraction to him had all been some strange fantasy.
“Morning,” Cord said from the kitchen doorway.
Grace held her breath and glanced his way.
Her heart missed a beat when her eyes focused in on him, admiring what she saw. Nope. Nothing had changed. His blond hair was slicked back, emphasizing his handsome, chiseled face. The jeans he had on were worn and faded, but fit as if they’d been made for him, as did the blue chambray shirt stretched taut across his broad chest.
Looking at him, it was obvious he didn’t spend much money on clothes, but he was delicious in anything he wore.
“Morning,” she forced out, feeling her face heat.
Please don’t let him be able to read my thoughts.
The man did strange things to her. Her body’s thermostat wouldn’t work right. Her temperature went from hot to hotter, and she had no way of adjusting it.
She pushed her cereal bowl away. “Could we get going?”
“Sure.” His brows furrowed together. “You don’t want to have breakfast?”
Grace shook her head. “Emily’s bringing something to the shop.” Okay, so that was a lie, but she couldn’t spend another minute alone with him. Especially at the table she’d dreamed she’d made love to him on—a vivid image that would be embedded in her mind all day.
****
Cord pulled in front of Tops and Tails, feeling a sense of déjà vu. The raid they’d done almost a year ago had garnered nothing more than a little kinky sex going on in the back of the club. Nothing out of the ordinary for a place like that. What they’d hoped to find was a link to drugs.
On a tip, they went in to raid the place. The club was supposed to be dealing inside. But nothing was found. Either they’d heard Vice was ready to raid and gotten rid of everything, or they hadn’t been involved in any drug dealings at all. Somehow the first seemed more likely, and he’d bet money a bad cop had helped them out.
He opened his car door.
In his mind, he went over how he’d approach the subject of Vince. He’d just walk in as a regular patron and see what he could learn.
As he entered, it took him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkened interior. Stale air assailed his senses. Thick cigarette smoke burned his eyes.
The place reminded him of the places he used to have to go into, looking for his mother. At a young age he’d seen women’s bodies in various states of undress, men pawing at them like animals.
He hated the whole scene, but he was there to find out information, and until he did, he’d force himself to appear indifferent.
He made his way to the bar and ordered a drink, then sat at a table next to the stage. He hoped to watch unobserved, at least until he was ready to ask some questions.
Loud, drum-pounding music blared from somewhere, and a busty blonde, wearing a g-string and pasties, came out from behind a drab black curtain. She wore four-inch stiletto heels that didn’t seem to hinder her body’s gyration to a popular hip-hop tune.
Obvious by their lack of movement, her breasts had been augmented to a size too taut for her body to accommodate. They looked almost plastic.
Grace’s lean body popped into his mind. She had perfect proportions in his eyes.
When the stripper reached the pole in the middle of the stage, her gaze fell on him, and with clear interest, she smiled.
For the next ten minutes, Cord spent his time trying not to show his pity for the woman. Maybe he could pry some information from her if he handled the situation just right. Most of the girls in places such as this were tight-lipped when it came to talking about other strippers. The fact that they had an ethical code seemed almost laughable. Most did anything for money—except talk about each other to the cops.
The stripper moved closer to him, squatting down, wanting a little compensation for her performance.
Cord reached into his jeans for money and stuffed a five into the top of her g-string, forcing a smile.
Up close, he could see she wasn’t as young as he’d first thought. Probably edging close to forty, judging by the fine lines around her eyes. Otherwise she’d had a really rough life, as did most who had to resort to stripping.
His mother had looked older than her years. Drinking did that to a person. Maybe it was time for him to give up the shit.
He shoved his glass away as images of his mother’s haggard face bombarded him.
When Mira Rawlings died, she’d had a bottle of bourbon clenched in her hand and was dead more than a day before anyone had found her outside a seedy tavern. They had to practically break her fingers to get the bottle out. No one had even missed her. A drunk leaving the same dive had stumbled over her body. She had no friends or family who’d claimed her, only him, and he’d been in Germany at the time, just nineteen, stationed with the Army. He’d been given four days to go home and bury her.
Shaking the awful picture from his mind, Cord concentrated on the stripper. Her gaze pierced his. He knew the look. Lust shined in her dark eyes. She wanted more than to dance for him, but there was no way she was getting any more than the five bucks he’d stuck down her pants.
The next time he had sex, he wanted it to mean something. He was tired of intercourse that left him feeling empty. That’s all he’d ever had. Hell, jacking off was more fulfilling. He wanted to fall asleep in the arms of a woman he cared for and wake up in the morning next to her. Was that too much to ask?
Unfortunately, probably for him it was.
He’d spent most of his life thinking he didn’t deserve to have what most did. Maybe that was because he wouldn’t allow himself to. A little voice in the back of his head—his mother’s—claiming he was a bad seed, always stopped him. But maybe he did deserve to have what most men had—love and acceptance from a woman. Maybe his mother was wrong.
The music ended and the stripper started toward the curtain, bringing Cord’s attention back to his mission. He needed to find out if his partner had been messing around.
He’d see the blonde later, once she’d changed and worked her way to him. He just hoped she’d be worth his time and earn him some information.
****
“Look what I found in the box of stuff Cynthia brought in.” Emily held up a mint green baby-doll dress. “Look at the color.”
Grace glanced up from the tray of scarves she’d been folding. The dress her sister held was the exact color of her eyes, in a lush, clingy fabric.
“And look,” Emily said with excitement. “Matching shoes, in a size seven. You have to keep this dress, Grace. It’s perfect for you. Go in the back and try it on.”
Grace shook her head. “I don’t have time. I need to get these scarves folded before we close.”
The bell above the door jingled, drawing both Grace and Emily’s attention to the front.
Detective Mike Tidwell stood in the doorway. The man’s gaze darted uncomfortably around the store. Grace could imagine Lightly Seasoned was the last place he wanted to be. So why was he there?
“Mike, hi.” Grace made her way to the door. “What brings you to our shop?”
He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. “It’s not an official visit, Grace. I was wondering if you and I could maybe have dinner sometime?”
Grace couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d asked to see some women’s underwear in his size. Mike had been a close friend of Vincent’s. Why would he ask her out? Especially when her husband had only been gone a short time.
What was she going to say? Outright, she wanted to just say no, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Look, Mike, I’m really not ready to start dating again, but thanks for asking.”
His smile fell. “Are you seeing Cord Rawlings?” His tone had deepened, and Grace was taken aback by the question.
“Of course not.”
“But he is staying with you.”
She knew Cord’s presence at her house would cause trouble, but she was determined to squelch any rumors. “Only until they catch the man who was prowling around my house.”
“I see. I’m glad to hear that, Grace. Because I saw Cord’s car parked outside Tops and Tails earlier today. He’s not the kind of guy you want to get involved with.”
His remark confused her. She had never heard of the place. “What’s Tops and Tails?”
“It’s a strip club, and not a high-class one, either.”
As Mike’s words sunk in, Grace’s stomach clenched. Cord had left her at the shop to go watch women strip, and God knew what else. She felt sick inside, but what had she expected? That he spent his days going to church? She’d heard he’d been drinking a lot. Now she knew what else he did with his time, and with that knowledge went her respect for him. How could any man go in and watch women degrade themselves in such a fashion? The whole thing was disgusting.
“Like I said, Mike, Cord’s just around to keep an eye on things. Nothing more.”
The man’s smile returned. “Okay. So would you keep me in mind when you’re ready to start dating again?”
�
��Sure,” she said to appease him. She could hardly say no, though Mike wasn’t her type at all. Barely an inch taller than she, and a little on the heavy side.
“All right. Great. I’m in the book. Call me.” He turned and left.
Grace glanced at Emily, whose hazel eyes were narrowed on her. “What?”
“You’re not going to ever go out with that bozo, are you?”
“No, but I didn’t want to hurt him.”
Emily threw up her arms. “Mike Tidwell is trouble, Grace. You should have told him straight out no. And don’t you dare believe a word he said about Cord. You know darn well how the cops at the Ninth feel about him.”
Why was Emily always standing up for Cord? You’d think she was dating the man. “Cord has been gone for months, Emily. We don’t know what he’s been doing with his time.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed further. “Ready to condemn him, without even asking questions?”
Grace didn’t understand her sister. “Why should you care what I think of Cord?”
“I don’t know. I just see something in his eyes. Something that makes me think he’s a man who needs someone to care about him. But let’s drop this. Go try that dress on.”
Grace rolled her eyes at how fast her sister could change gears. This time she’d allow it. She didn’t want to talk about Cord and his sad eyes. She’d seen them herself and knew Emily was right. But she wasn’t what Cord needed. Not if he was into strippers.
“Okay, I’ll try the dress on. Just to get you off my back.”
She took the dress and shoes from Emily. She’d try the darn things on to make her sister happy, then later hang it on the rack with all the other dresses. She had no intention of dolling up for anyone, especially Cord. Besides, he was obviously into women who wore far less.
Grace Under Fire
Chapter Eight
Cord parked his car behind Lightly Seasoned. He was still trying to erase the last two hours from his mind. Star, as she was known at the Tops and Tails, had come to sit with him, though she hadn’t given him anything but the name of a former stripper who’d briefly worked at the club. Heather Pratt.
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