by Lauren Hope
“Hmm,” was the only thing he said.
She looked up into concerned eyes and for some reason, didn’t feel the need to be angry anymore. She was tired of it, weary of the torrent of emotions that were consuming her lately. “So,” she smiled, cocked a hip, “my picture said I’d be a handful?”
“A little.” And before she could back away, his fingers were touching the tips of her hair. “Must be the red.”
“So they say.”
One corner of his mouth turned up, creasing the dimple in his cheek. He sighed and after locking eyes with her for several quiet moments, lowered his hand and stuffed it in his pocket. “Sorry about this.” He gestured around, encompassing the path they’d just walked from her car to the porch.
She worked on stilling the unusual jumping of her heart and waved a hand nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Sorry I wasn’t checking my phone. I was in my own world. I went to Hilton Head by the way—shopping trip.” She pointed to the bags.
“Ah. Woman’s therapy.”
“You got it.” After a moment, she cleared her throat. “Well, thanks for checking on me. Need to put all this up.” She gestured to the door. “I’ll call you when I’m inside.”
“Sill mocking.” He shook a finger at her, but smiled anyway. “I am sorry, Marxie. Sometimes I guess I’m guilty of taking cases a little too much to heart. Not a great quality in a cop, really. Especially one with my job. But it’s . . . personal you could say. I’ve got some sort of protective thing going. I don’t know. Sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
“No,” she shook her head, understanding. “It sounds like you care. Which I think is the greatest quality for someone in your position. It’s easy to feel like that with a little gal like me to look after, right?”
“Yeah.” He answered quickly, and without thinking she could tell, because when he looked at her, his face was painted with embarrassment.
She laughed and poked a finger in his chest. “Evan used to say that too . . . until he got to know me. Then he’d ask if I would protect him.”
Grant nodded. “I’d say he had it right. You’re a determined woman when you set your mind to it. Or so I’ve seen so far.”
She smiled. “I can be. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes bad. But I figure out of most people, you can at least understand my need to follow this thing to the end. Till we know what really happened. Maybe I should’ve called, told you I was going to Pembroke, told you about Hilton Head. But after you told me about Evan, I really wasn’t thinking. While the investigation lasts, I’ll try to keep you up-to-date on my plans, especially if they involve leaving the area. Sound good?” She smiled and patted his arm.
“Yep.”
She gathered her bags back up, laced them through her hand to hold them on her wrist and fish for the keys that always sunk to the bottom of her purse.
“Well, if you’re all right, guess we’ll talk soon.”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
He walked off the porch, started for the drive. “See ya.”
“Bye.” She waved absently and heard him walk away. She found the keys—finally—jiggled the lock and pushed open the door.
As she walked into the house, her breath stopped. Her head spun with screams, her stomach with nausea.
“Grant!” she screamed wildly. “Grant!”
When her shrill scream pierced the air, he turned and ran at breakneck speed, grabbing for the gun tucked under his arm in its holster.
He got to her fast, eyes tracking any and every movement he could catch.
“What?” He came up behind her, put a hand to her back and gently pushed her to the side, shielding her.
Her mouth was agape, the blush of rosy red from their earlier argument completely drained from her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and glassy. She didn’t speak but gestured with her finger, pointing through the door.
He peered inside. Found the source of her shock.
Her home was in shambles. Glass shattered, furniture upturned, candles and décor haphazardly thrown through the room. Shelves had been sifted through, drawers and cabinets lay open, some bare. Pictures and frames lay in pieces on the floor or ruined on the wall.
“My house,” she finally choked. He turned to see one hand on her heart, the other steadying her against the side of the door. “My house!” she shrieked. “What happened?”
“Stay back.” He ordered, putting a hand toward her. “I’m checking to see if anyone’s still here.” He brought the gun out, pointed it in front of him and cautiously stepped through the open door.
“Police! Anyone here?” He walked a few steps, glass crunching under his boots. “Police! Come out with your hands above your head!”
He searched each room, turned each corner swiftly, alert, and with care. He pivoted after entering through a door, scanning all corners, and behind him, to be sure no one would surprise him.
After doing a thorough check of the downstairs, he ventured upstairs, calling behind him. “You okay out there, Marx?”
“Yes,” she answered, her voice quaking. “Anyone in there?”
“Not downstairs. I’m headed up. You stay put.”
He crept up the spiral stairs.
On a bang, he popped open the door that led to Liz’s upstairs rooms. He scanned the bright living area, made his way through the bedroom and checked the small bathroom. Nothing. He searched the kitchenette, all the closets and cubbies, with the same result.
After he felt sure the house was secure, he pocketed the gun in his hostler and centered his thoughts back on Marxie.
But as he walked down the stairs, he heard rummaging. And whipped out the gun again. “Police!” He yelled. “I will shoot if you do not come out with your hands up!”
“It’s me,” he heard a weak voice cry. “I’m in here, Grant.”
He rushed to her voice, gun still poised for action. He sprinted into her bedroom, saw her huddled over a tall, antiqued box. She was crying and searching frantically.
“I told you to stay outside,” he growled, putting the gun away.
“I had to see what they’ve taken,” she said hurriedly, breath panting. “I had to see.” Her hands pushed around gold, silver, large pendants, big hoops of earrings, and her fingers trembled as the search grew deeper.
“What are you looking for?” he asked, edging up beside her.
“Something. Something very important.”
Seconds later, she let out a cry and sunk to the floor. “They’ve taken it Grant, they’ve taken my ring!”
“What ring?”
“My wedding ring.”
His heart trembled a little at the look on her face, and because he knew from his mother and the few women he’d gotten close to that rings, especially the wedding kind, meant a lot, he knelt down, took her in his arms. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes,” she cried, big tears flowing over milky cheeks. “I always keep it in the same place when I’m not wearing it. I should’ve put in on today. I knew it. Why didn’t I?” She buried her face in his shoulder, crying feverishly. He was barely able to make out her rushed words. “Mostly I don’t wear it. On anniversaries, birthdays, I put it on. But today, I felt a tug to wear it. And I didn’t. And it’s gone. It’s gone!” She put her head in her own hands now and sobbed.
Even with his sympathetic nature, he was desperately uncomfortable with a crying woman, especially one as delicate and determined as Marxie. “Uh, I’m real sorry. I know it meant a lot to you.”
“It meant everything,” she said fiercely, raising her head to meet his eyes. “Everything. And it’s mine. Mine! And they stole it! Why? Who did this?”
He shook his head, having no answer for her, and rose to survey the rest of the damage. Turning in the big room, his eyes widened. “Someone who wants us to leave their secrets buried.”
“What?” she mumbled through her tears.
He took her arm, gently raised her and turned her to face the oval, full-length mirror standing cattycorner in the r
oom.
She gasped and put a hand to her mouth as she read the words scrawled on it aloud: “LEAVE IT ALONE.”
SIXTEEN
The police told her she didn’t need to be alone if possible or stay at the home for the night in case the intruders came back.
She hadn’t argued. She didn’t want to stay anyway.
Grant was adamant that she needed 24/7 protection. At least until the perpetrators were found. Chief Burns had okayed it, as long as Grant could find someone to do it. He didn’t have the manpower to put an officer on round-the-clock protection duty for one person he wasn’t even sure was a specific target.
Grant stepped up to the job, told Marxie as much. He’d offered a hotel for tonight, said he could stand watch. Or, he brought up the option of his home, with an alarm, a comfortable bed, guns, and a cop who knew how to use them. She chose the latter.
She hadn’t called Liz. Not yet. Only because she knew her best friend and knew Liz would be catching the next flight out of the Big Apple to rush and be by Marxie’s side. Liz had been waiting on this trip for months. Since she’d been promoted in her position as a buyer for Bella—a high-end clothing store in Savannah—she was given the opportunity to go to any fashion show, twice a year, to get a head’s up on all the latest trends and bring them south. Marxie wasn’t taking her away from that . . . no matter how scared she was. After all, there wasn’t much that could be done now. Liz’s coming home wouldn’t change the house, couldn’t salvage any of the damage. Besides, the upstairs, and Liz’s things, hadn’t even been bothered.
Marxie hadn’t called her parents either. They would flip when they found out she hadn’t come to them, but she couldn’t worry them anymore. She’d call them later . . . just not now. They’d been more shocked and possibly more upset than she when Evan was found. There was no way she was stumbling through their door tonight telling them Evan’s murderer might be after her now.
She was turning to Grant for protection from that potential nightmare. Oddly, it was the only place she felt safe.
So she’d taken his invitation and was currently on her way to Isle of Hope—a gorgeous little seaside town about twenty minutes east of Savannah—to an old house he said he was fixing up, where he promised she’d have a comfortable room. She hoped she’d at least have a bath to herself. She needed a good long shower and a good long cry to go with it.
With what little reason she had left, she knew she was on autopilot right now, wading through the last bits of shock and grief. Her home had been broken into, ransacked. All her things, wrecked, ruined, gone.
And she didn’t care one single bit. She only wanted her ring back.
A piece of Evan was in that ring. In the inscription on the band. The perfect size and shape of the stone he’d picked just for her hand, for her slim, petite fingers he’d said. How could she live without it? How was she living without him?
Her heart beat too heavy in her chest and her stomach rolled with the pain. When she bit back a sob, Grant looked over. “You okay?”
She shook her head no, and he put a hand over hers. “I’m not going to tell you not to worry. You will anyway. But the police are there now. They’ve got your statement. They’ll search for evidence. Those guys are good. They’ll do their job.” He squeezed her hand. “And don’t even try to think about insurance right now. That’ll really get you out of whack.”
He smiled over at her and she knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but she couldn’t find it within herself to laugh, even smile, for his sake. So she sat, silent, letting her heart break with each passing moment. Everything was gone. Her husband, her things, all her beautiful belongings she had worked so hard for, gone. The memories. The photos and albums.
The violation.
She shuddered thinking of someone stalking through her home, looking at her things . . . Taking her things. Why would they do this? She’d have given them anything if they ‘d asked, as long as she had her ring. She wanted it back, needed her piece of him.
Work had helped today, before the break-in, to ease her troubled mind, but how long could it this time? How long could she deny her feelings? That breaking and crumbling inside that she swept over two years ago. It was coming back now, or rather finding its way to the surface again. Something couldn’t come back if it had never really left.
She could admit now that she’d never let all of it out—the pain, the anguish. Yes, she’d grieved when the tragedy first struck, she’d had no other choice, she’d been too shocked to do anything else. But soon, she’d sucked it up, tried to move on. Was it too soon? Too much, too soon? She deserved to mourn her own way, right? But no one had forced her to stay in her room, behind closed doors and deal with her grief. She could’ve done it out in the open and her friends and family would’ve loved her just the same, would’ve understood her better because of it most likely. No one had thought she didn’t love Evan, didn’t miss him, but her grief had been so private, so personal for her, she hadn’t reached out to those who knew she needed it most. They’d been worried for her. But she’d persevered, carried on.
And was doing just fine until three days ago when Grant Carter knocked on her door to throw a bomb in her life—again. She didn’t think she’d be able to sidestep it this time. Even with millions of hours of work.
Grant turned onto a beautiful street with weeping willows sweeping over the road and guarding their journey. It was wonderfully distracting and romantic and she let herself leave her reality, drift into the dream of living on a street like this. Maybe with someone she loved, maybe with children running under those low-hanging branches.
Moments later, when Grant pulled into a big circular drive, all other thoughts—romantic and otherwise—vanished. She was mesmerized.
Mansion is the only word that came to mind when she looked at the grand old home. It wasn’t so much the size that made it spectacular, but the obvious age to it, the splendid history it displayed. Aged ivory columns, a classic Victorian front porch with big bay windows, a high arch door; it had everything.
The night clouds creeping in only made it more wonderful and magical.
She breathed a little sound of awe as Grant parked the Jeep in front of the house. “This can’t be the ‘old place’,” she said, stunned.
“Yep. It’s a fixer-upper in some areas, but a beaut to me.”
She took her eyes off of the house for only a moment to stare at him, wide-eyed. “Yeah, I’ll say. This is magnificent, Grant.” She popped open the small door, hopped out to the ground below. And for the first time in hours, she smiled, taking in the amazing sight before her. As he rounded the hood and came to stand beside her, she couldn’t keep her excitement to herself. She almost jumped when she turned to him. “Is this really yours?”
“So says the mortgage.” He grinned at the big old place.
“And you’re letting me stay here?”
He grinned bigger, at her this time. “ ‘Less you wanna stay in the Jeep for a night.” He jerked a finger back to the car. “C’mon, let’s get your stuff. You need some rest.”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded, and never taking her eyes off the grand home, helped him gather her things.
When she walked inside, it was even better.
The home was filled with rich, old, wonderful architecture. Classic lines, elegant curves. Beauty at its best. History in its fullest. Why hadn’t he told her he lived in such glory? She’d been mistaken about Design Palace, this was heaven for a woman with a heart for design.
As she glanced around though, a frown began to play at her mouth. This was heaven yes, but it was an empty paradise. The man had nothing in this splendid place.
“Grant.” She turned to him. “Where’s all your stuff?”
“You’re lookin’ at it.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He frowned sheepishly. “You don’t like it?”
“Like it?” She put a hand to her heart. “I love it. It’s—it’s beyond wonderful. Do you have any i
dea what I could do in here?”
“Wonders probably.”
“Precisely.” She smiled and scanned the spacious entryway, butterflies flitting in her stomach at how exquisite this alone could be, not to mention the sweeping living room to her left and expansive dining room on the right.
“I might take you up on that someday.” He smiled her way, set the bag he carried on the floor beside her. “Well, I’m sure you’d like to go to bed. It’s right down that hall.” He pointed to the left, past the living room, down a long corridor. “Need me to carry this?” He gestured to her overnight bag.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit awhile. I wouldn’t mind a distraction from tonight.” She glanced around. “This is a nice start.”
He grinned at that. “Good. I can take you on a tour then.”
“I’d love it.” She reached to hang her purse on the hook by the door, saw her hands trembling. By the frown he wore she could tell he did too. “Guess I’m a little jumpy still.”
“You’ve got every right to be. Break-ins are a violation, just like anything else.”
She nodded, wishing she could go back to talking house and dreaming about a life that wasn’t her own.
“Need something to drink? We could start with a tour of the kitchen.”
“I’d love to.” She smiled and followed him straight through the entryway to a generous, just-as-gorgeous-as-the rest-of-the-house kitchen, all the while trying to file away the design ideas running through her head. If she could just get her hands on this place! It could be a show home, no doubt.
She watched in awe as he strode to old cherry cabinets with beautiful beveled glass fronts. Cobalt blue glasses were stacked neatly behind the door. That cleanliness of the kitchen, with its polished, ivory marbled countertops and tidily stacked blue dishes impressed her far more than his decorative skills.
He pulled down two tall glasses, set them on a big, narrow island. Walking to the refrigerator, he swung open the door, rapped his fingers against the outside.