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Upon a Midnight Clear

Page 5

by Catherine Mulvany


  Suddenly Dixon felt a whole lot more at ease. “My mom says Swensons come in only two sizes, extra large and the giant, economy size.”

  Alexandra didn’t ask which he was. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m having second thoughts about your sleeping on the cot. I know you didn’t get much rest last night.”

  Was this her way of kicking him out? He cleared his throat. “Not a problem. Really. I don’t require a lot of sleep.” And wouldn’t get much, either. Not knowing she was right upstairs.

  She glanced sideways at him. “I was thinking you could sleep upstairs with me.” The pink in her cheeks deepened to rose. “I mean, upstairs in the apartment.” He could see the pulse fluttering in her throat.

  He made her nervous. So either she was scared spitless of him or she found him threatening for some other reason. Like maybe she was attracted to him despite the fact she was engaged to Jordan. Dixon felt the tiniest flicker of hope.

  “That would work, I guess.” He sounded pretty darn cheerful for a man whose odds of getting any sleep were narrowing by the second.

  “This way.” She preceded him up the enclosed staircase at the back of the shop.

  Dixon found his thoughts wandering as he watched her mount the stairs. Not many women could wear those baggy menswear trousers without looking frumpy, but Ms. Roundtree was an exception. Good glutes, he decided. That was her secret.

  “I hope Officer Rios was right about that creep not coming back again tonight,” she said, refocusing his thoughts on the case.

  “I’m sure he is, but I wouldn’t feel right leaving you here on your own.”

  The door at the top of the staircase led directly into the living room, where they’d been cooped up for most of the day. Dixon eyed the sofa dubiously. It was fairly comfortable and, thankfully, longer than the cot, but it was also narrow. Too narrow. He’d have to sleep on his side all night. Probably wake up with a crick in his neck.

  Alexandra tugged at his sleeve. “Come see your room.”

  “My room?”

  “The spare room. Mandy’s before she married Tom.”

  Though decidedly feminine, with its chintz and ruffles, the room was big, the bed king size. “This is great. Thanks.”

  She smiled. “Better than your feet hanging over the end of that cot anyway. The bathroom’s through here.” She opened a door. “It connects the two bedrooms so you’ll have to make sure both doors are locked if you need privacy. You can use the shower first, if you’d like.”

  Dixon shook his head. “No, go ahead.” He wouldn’t be going to sleep for a while yet anyway. “Would it bother you if I watched a little TV? I’ll keep the volume down.”

  “Be my guest.” With a shy smile, she ducked into the bathroom.

  He stood there listening until he heard the lock click. Then he went into the living room and turned on the television. Unfortunately, the volume wasn’t quite loud enough to drown out the sound of the shower. Visions of Alexandra wet and naked kept breaking his concentration, despite the fact that the police drama he was watching was one of his favorites. Time after time he lost the thread of the plot. Finally, he gave up and switched to a station showing It’s a Wonderful Life. He’d seen the movie so many times, he knew most of the dialogue by heart. No need to pay attention. Instead, he indulged in a series of fantasies centered on Alexandra.

  A prickle of unease assailed Alex as she stood in front of the mirror removing her makeup before entering the shower. Something was wrong. She spun around, searching the small bathroom for the source of her discomfort.

  Her stomach gave a lurch when she finally realized what it was. The sliding shower door was open, one mirrored panel overlapping the other. Yet she knew she’d left them shut. She always left them shut.

  Her heart beating out of control, Alex started to call Dixon, then remembered the preschooler who’d wiped his sticky fingers on one of the display quilts earlier that afternoon. As Alex had given the child and his mother the bum’s rush out the front door, Mandy had hustled the quilt upstairs to soak the stains out in Alex’s bathtub. No doubt she’d left the shower doors open when she was done.

  Alex relaxed, relieved at the simple explanation. What was she so scared of anyway? She stuck her tongue out at her own pale reflection. She wasn’t Janet Leigh and this wasn’t Psycho.

  She finished removing her makeup, then climbed into the shower, secure in the knowledge that her bodyguard was right outside the door. Her tense muscles relaxed under the soothing spray. She felt safe, really safe, for the first time in weeks. All thanks to Dixon Yano.

  What might have happened if Dixon hadn’t been keeping an eye on her at the party? She scrubbed her skin, trying to wash away the memory of Ed Loomis’s hands.

  Mark certainly hadn’t been any help. If he hadn’t conned her into rescuing Loomis from Tom, she’d have been spared the whole sordid episode—the whiskey breath, the clumsy pass, the nasty insinuations. What exactly had Loomis meant by saying what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander? She scrubbed even harder.

  The problem with Mark was that he was so caught up in his own concerns, he didn’t give her worries any serious consideration. He’d as much as said he thought she was imagining these attempts on her life. And as for his boss’s repeated passes, Mark didn’t seem to realize what was going on right under his nose. Just because his own motives were pure, he thought everyone else’s were too.

  Reluctantly, Alex turned off the spray. She wasn’t really ready to leave the comforting warmth, but her fingers were becoming prunes. Besides, the hot-water heater had its limits and Dixon hadn’t had his turn yet.

  She slid the shower door open just far enough to snatch a couple of towels from the rack, then shut it quickly to hold in the steam. She wrapped her wet hair in one towel and dried herself with the other. Stepping out onto the mat, she shrugged into a terry-cloth robe and dropped the damp towel in the hamper.

  Only when she slid the shower door shut did she notice the message scrawled in scarlet lipstick on the previously hidden half of the mirrored door: I’LL BE SEEING YOU.

  Alex screamed. She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t seem to stop, either.

  Gradually she became aware of another noise, that of Dixon beating frantically at the locked door.

  Her frightened screams died as abruptly as they’d begun.

  “Open up, Alexandra! What’s wrong? What’s happened? Are you all right?”

  Alex moved stiffly to the door and fumbled with the lock before she was able to release the catch.

  Bursting into the room, Dixon seemed to take in both the intruder’s message and Alex’s precarious emotional state in one glance. He opened his arms and she fell against his chest.

  “He was in here. He left a … message on … the mirror,” she said jerkily, her words punctuated by painful sobs. She wasn’t at all certain she was making sense. “I d-didn’t see it until … I got out of the shower and slid the door shut.”

  “It’s okay.” He held her close, soothing her with both his voice and his touch. “He can’t hurt you now. I’m here.”

  Gradually, the warm comfort of his presence penetrated her distress. Her sobs lessened and, bit by bit, she regained a measure of control. Finally, embarrassed by her outburst and conscious of her reddened eyes and dripping nose, she detached herself. “I hope that sweater’s washable.” She sniffed. “I soaked it.”

  He passed her a handful of tissues from the box on the vanity.

  “Thanks.” She mopped at her eyes and blew her nose.

  “Better?” He peered anxiously into her face.

  She nodded and gave him a watery smile.

  “You’ve had a lousy day, huh?”

  She nodded again. “Should I call the police?” She didn’t want to. All she wanted to do right now was go to sleep.

  “Not tonight. Wait until morning. Unless you really want to spend all night answering questions.”

  She shook her head. No, she definitel
y didn’t want that. What she wanted most of all right this minute was to be held securely in a pair of strong arms. She looked up into Dixon Yano’s sad brown eyes. “Hold me?”

  Without a word, he folded her against his chest. His sweater was scratchy against her cheek, but she could hear his heart beating fast and strong underneath, a comforting sound. They stood there for a long time, Dixon lending strength and comfort and she absorbing all he had to offer.

  Alex wasn’t sure when the new sensations began to creep in. At first she was aware only of comfort and reassurance emanating from his big, warm body. Then gradually, other, more dangerous sensations began to prickle at her nerve endings.

  She wanted more than a reassuring hug. And it was obvious he did too.

  But you’re engaged, she reminded herself. To Mark.

  When she pulled away, Dixon made no effort to hold her, just stuffed his hands into his back pockets as if he didn’t know what else to do with them.

  She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He surely knew what she meant. “I think I’d better go to my room now.”

  “Yes.” His voice was rough, sandpaper to her exposed nerves. “That’s a good idea.”

  She grabbed her comb and fled. But even after she had worked the snarls from her damp hair, she lay tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep.

  The past two days were a jumble of impressions replaying themselves over and over in her head. Dixon saying, “You don’t look dead.” Dixon bleeding after the rifle shot. Dixon running after the shooter before he got away. Dixon staring at her from across the room at her mother’s party. Dixon doing his best to break Ed Loomis’s jaw. Dixon holding her when she needed to be held.

  Later, much later, she heard the shower running. Somehow she had a feeling she need not have worried about saving hot water.

  “Oh, my God!” Alexandra’s eyes grew round.

  Dixon glanced at her reflection in the mirror and smiled through the lather on his face. “I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed one of your razors.” He waved a pink disposable.

  “I … what are you doing here?”

  “Shaving. Isn’t it obvious?”

  “But you’re not dressed.”

  Dixon glanced down at his towel-clad hips. Careful not to disturb the lipsticked message on the mirrored door, he’d had a second shower this morning. Warm, this time. “I’m decent.” He studied her shocked expression. Hadn’t she ever seen a man in a towel before? “If it offends you, shut the door.”

  “You slept here last night?”

  “Not here. In the bed—” His gaze narrowed. He spun around to confirm a sudden suspicion. Left eye blue. Right eye hazel. Not Alexandra. The sister, Mandy. Her mirrored image had confused him at first.

  “Where’s Alex?” Eyebrows lowered, she stared hard at him, as if she suspected foul play.

  He shrugged. “She was already gone by the time I woke up.”

  “Does Mark know?”

  “Does Mark know what?” asked Jordan, slipping up behind Mandy.

  She jumped. “Where did you come from?”

  “The front door was open, but I couldn’t find anyone downstairs, so I came on up. Where’s Alex?”

  “I don’t know. Ask him.” She hooked a thumb in Dixon’s direction.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Jordan sounded like the archetypal jealous fiancé, which Dixon found vaguely amusing considering the man’s track record.

  “Shaving.”

  “Before that.”

  “Showering.”

  “And before that?”

  “Sleeping.”

  The lawyer made a sound deep in his throat, a cross between a growl and a gurgle. “And before that?”

  Dixon tilted his head as if searching his memory, then let a satisfied smirk spread across his face. “Well, let’s just say I didn’t spend the whole night sleeping.”

  Jordan swore. “I don’t know how the hell you wormed your way in here, but I want you out. Now.”

  Dixon wiped the last of the lather from his face. “Go suck an egg.”

  Jordan’s fair skin turned beet red.

  Dixon realized the man’s intention almost before Jordan decided to act. Ducking a wild punch, Dixon swiveled on the balls of his feet, then doubled up Jordan with one hard jab to the solar plexus. He’d been aching to do that since the day before. Too bad his personal code forbade him kicking a man when he was down. Not that his bare feet would have inflicted much damage anyway.

  In the background Mandy Sutton was saying “Oh, my God!” over and over.

  “Oh, my God!” A new voice joined the chorus. “What’s going on here?” It was Alexandra, her cheeks pink from the cold air outside. She clutched a white bakery sack in her gloved hands.

  “That’s what I’d like to know!” Jordan straightened up, one hand pressed to his stomach.

  “Me too!” Mandy chimed in.

  They both stared accusingly at Alexandra.

  She glanced at Dixon, then back at the other two, then back at Dixon again. Their gazes locked and held.

  “Nothing,” he said, still watching Alexandra’s eyes, still aware of her silent plea.

  “The hell there’s not!” Jordan had a lot of bluster left for someone who’d just had all the wind knocked out of him.

  “Ms. Roundtree hired me as a bodyguard. Period. End of story.”

  “But before you made it sound—”

  “Your attitude rubbed me the wrong way. You came in here making insinuations, demanding explanations. I just told you what you expected to hear.”

  Jordan turned to Alexandra. “Is that true? Nothing happened last night?”

  Alexandra stiffened. She clutched the bakery sack so tightly, Dixon feared for his breakfast. “Other than Santa paying an early visit, you mean?”

  “Santa?” Mandy echoed.

  Alexandra ignored her sister. “Or are you referring to the police searching the premises for bombs, booby traps, and intruders?”

  “None of which they found,” Dixon added. “Though Santa did leave a memento.” He slid the shower doors shut so the lipsticked message was visible.

  “ ‘I’ll be seeing you.’ How creepy!” Mandy frowned. “Does that mean the psycho has you under surveillance?” She glanced over her shoulder as if searching for hidden cameras.

  “Someone broke in last night while I was at the party, someone dressed in a Santa suit, probably the same someone who mugged me in the mall and took a potshot at me Wednesday afternoon in Dixon’s office.” Alexandra’s voice shook. “When I got home last night, the back door was hanging open.”

  “Anything taken?”

  Mandy’s concern for her pocketbook was equal to, if not greater than, her concern for her sister’s safety, Dixon thought cynically.

  “Nothing I could see. We’ll have to check stock against inventory to be sure.”

  “If you people will excuse me, I’d like to get dressed.” Dixon twisted one corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile. “Of course, it’s entirely up to you. I don’t mind an audience.” He put one hand on the towel as if he were about to let it drop.

  Alexandra hustled the other two out and Dixon shut the door firmly behind the three of them.

  “Personally, I wouldn’t mind watching,” he heard Mandy say, her voice only slightly muffled by the door. “The man has a gorgeous body. Are you sure—”

  “Nothing happened,” Alexandra snapped.

  Dixon smiled to himself.

  “So where’d everybody go?” Dixon asked, poking his head into the kitchen where Alexandra was shoveling coffee into a filter.

  “To work. Where I should be.”

  “I thought the plan was for you to lie low for a while?”

  “I’ll go nuts if I spend another day cooped up in this apartment. Besides, Christmas is our busiest time of year. I can’t leave Mandy and Shelby shorthanded.” Her jaw was set. He could tell she wasn’t going to change her mind in a hurry.

  Alexandra po
inted to the sack of assorted doughnuts from Sunrise Pastries. “Breakfast,” she said. Shoving the basket into its slot, she threw the switch on her coffeemaker. “There’s cereal in the cupboard if you’d prefer that. Eggs and juice in the refrigerator. Coffee’ll be ready in a couple minutes.” She refused to meet his gaze. Something else was bothering her.

  “Did Jordan cool off?”

  “Yes.” She fiddled with the cuff of her red turtleneck. Her trousers were black-and-white houndstooth check today. She’d accessorized with lace-up boots and wide black suspenders that hugged the curve of her breasts. “No thanks to you. What did you tell him anyway?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I just said I didn’t get much sleep last night. His nasty little mind filled in all the lurid details.”

  “There were no lurid details.” She looked him straight in the eye.

  “I know that.”

  “There aren’t going to be any lurid details.”

  He made no comment.

  Her chin came up. “I said, there aren’t going to be any lurid details!”

  “No need to shout. I heard you the first time.”

  “Then you should have acknowledged me.”

  “I said I heard you. I didn’t say I agreed with you.”

  A fleeting emotion crossed her face, so fast that he had no time to identify it.

  “I’m engaged.” At the moment she didn’t sound very happy about it.

  Dixon sat at the little wooden dinette table and helped himself to a slightly mangled maple bar.

  “I’m engaged to a wonderful man.”

  Yeah, a real peach of a guy. He ripped the maple bar in half, wishing it were Jordan’s face.

  “Our relationship is strictly business.”

  He met her gaze.

  She flushed and looked away. “You’re my bodyguard,” she told the vinyl flooring. “Just my bodyguard. Nothing else.”

  “That’s what you’re paying me for.” He set the remains of his pastry on a napkin and crossed the small kitchen to her side.

  “So long as we’re agreed, then.” She was still talking to the floor.

  Dixon lifted her chin with gentle pressure from his index finger. “Look at me, Alexandra.”

 

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