Reluctantly, she did. He had a feeling she was fighting herself as much as him.
“I would never do anything to hurt you. Do you believe that?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper.
“I will never take advantage of you. I will never do anything you don’t want me to do. That’s a promise. Okay?”
“Okay.” She relaxed, her lovely smile shining with trust.
Dixon smiled back. “Shall we shake on it?”
She put her hand in his.
So small, he marveled. So delicate. Sometimes it was hard to believe men and women belonged to the same species.
They shook hands, then stood there for a moment, her hand warm in his. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her eyelashes, the betraying color in her cheeks. A mistake, he thought. Touch triggered too many responses, both in her … and in him.
Drop her hand before you do something to screw this up, stupid!
“Thank you, Dixon.” She twined her fingers through his, then brought his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss on his knuckles.
She might as well have used a branding iron, he thought. Hope and despair battled in his head.
No matter what lies she told herself, he knew she was attracted to him. Just as he was attracted to her.
Remember what happened last time, the last shreds of his common sense reminded him. It’s Brittany all over again.
He couldn’t take much more of this. Her mouth was so close. All he had to do was bend a little closer to taste those soft red lips.
You’re the professional here, bozo. So act like one. Gently, he disengaged his hand.
“You shouldn’t have gone out alone this morning.” He raised his hands to silence her automatic protest. “I know. Slipping out to the bakery wasn’t a big risk, but it was still a risk. Until the police get this nut under lock and key, you need to be more careful.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. She nodded. “You’re right.”
“Yeah.” His smile was rueful. “That’s what you pay me for.”
FIVE
Dixon was on his forty-third game of computer solitaire. Fiddling around on the computer terminal in the partially enclosed office cubicle made it appear he was working, though actually, the customers were the focus of his attention. So far all he’d noticed was a little blue-haired lady who’d tried to rip off a couple of those overpriced crystal angels.
In one day he’d gone from licensed investigator to shoplifting patrol, not a smart career move. No doubt his mother would attribute the comedown to his unprofessional attire.
Shelby dropped a stack of invoices on the desk, then leaned over his shoulder, so close he could smell the mingled scents of her hairspray and her perfume. Paul Mitchell and Opium. Brittany’s favorites. Dixon fought the urge to sneeze.
She leaned in closer so her breasts nudged his back and her hair tickled his ear. “Black jack on red queen,” she suggested in a throaty whisper.
Dream on, Red. He’d been wary of redheads since carrot-topped Katie Meara had broken his heart back in third grade.
“Shelby!” Alexandra’s voice was sharp. “Mrs. Bourasa is waiting for that estimate.”
The redhead blew in his ear like some high-school seductress. “Later.” She moved toward her impatient customer, employing a little more hip rotation than was strictly necessary.
Dixon found it a provocative and highly entertaining performance. He permitted himself a small smile.
“I’m paying you to watch out for possible attackers, not ogle the sales staff.” Alexandra’s outraged whisper sounded right in his ear. She’d taken up Shelby’s former position near his shoulder.
Jealous? He clicked the mouse to dump the jack of spades on the queen of hearts, then glanced sideways at her. “What makes you think Cousin Shelby’s not the would-be killer?”
Alexandra rolled her eyes. “She has no motive.”
“Don’t be so sure. It could be a twisted Fatal Attraction thing. Maybe she wants you out of the way so she can have Jordan all to herself.”
Alexandra gave an unladylike snort of laughter. “No chance. Mark and Shelby can’t stand each other. When I first started going with Mark, Shel did her best to turn me against him. And he avoids her like the plague.” She shrugged. “Negative chemistry, I guess.”
Or a damned good cover-up. Dixon swiveled around in his chair to face her directly. “So tell me, Alexandra, who does have a motive? Who stands to gain from your death?”
Every trace of amusement disappeared from her face. “Just Mandy and my mother. If I die, Mandy gets my half of the business plus a quarter of my trust fund. Everything else goes to my mother.” She paused. “But I can’t believe … neither Mother nor Mandy would … no, it’s crazy!”
“Either of them having cash-flow problems?”
She bit her lip. “I know Mother was disappointed with her last royalty check, and she did spend more than anticipated on the new house.…”
“And your sister?”
“Tom and Mandy are well-off. Okay, they have sunk a bundle in Tom’s clinic, and I know things are a little tight right now, but …” She looked troubled.
“How about your fiancé?”
“Mark wants to marry me, not kill me.” She spoke emphatically, but she didn’t look at him.
Dixon suspected Alexandra wasn’t as sure of Jordan’s loyalty as she was trying to pretend. “The question is, would he benefit financially from your death?”
“No. I told you. Mandy and my mother inherit everything.”
“Everything?”
She bit her lip. “Almost everything. Mark is the beneficiary of my life insurance.”
“How much?”
“A hundred thousand.”
Dixon gave a long, low whistle of surprise. A hundred thou?
Alexandra’s jaw tightened. “Don’t look that way. Mark’s no threat. His insurance names me beneficiary too. Does that automatically make me a murder suspect?”
“Jordan’s not the one who’s been having ‘accidents.’ ”
She shifted her gaze to stare out across the cluttered shop, seemingly fascinated by the pile of red-and-green wicker baskets her sister was showing some customers.
Shelby ushered Mrs. Bourasa out the front door, then trotted quickly back to the office. “Mind if I take off for lunch a little early? I ripped a fingernail assembling one of those wretched bent-willow crèches.” She waved her cherry-red talons under Alexandra’s nose. The nail on her right index finger had a minuscule nick. “My manicurist said she’d try to squeeze me in if I can get there before twelve-thirty.”
Alexandra nodded. “Sure, go ahead.”
Dixon waited until Shelby was out of earshot, then resumed his questioning. “All right, think, Alexandra. Aside from those who stand to profit from your death, do you have any enemies?”
She chewed her lip. “Not really. There is a checker at Albertson’s with an attitude. I try to avoid her because she always manages to crush my eggs and smash my bread. I’m sure she does it on purpose, but I don’t have a clue why.”
“She hates you because you’re beautiful?”
“That motivation only works in fairy tales.” Gnawing at her lip some more, she frowned.
“An old boyfriend?” he suggested. “A disgruntled former employee? A dissatisfied customer?”
“Danny Hall.” She spoke slowly. “I’d almost forgotten about him.”
From the look on her face, Dixon wished he hadn’t had to remind her. “A former boyfriend?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “Never. No way. He repulses me.” She shuddered at the thought. “Hall used to live with Julie Yeager, one of our employees. He knocked her around on a regular basis. Julie finally kicked him out, but he refused to leave her alone. The situation got very nasty. Threats and restraining orders. One night he forced his way into Julie’s place and beat the daylights out of her.” She sighed. “He ended up do
ing jail time. Since I was the one who turned him in, I suppose he might be carrying a grudge.” She looked doubtful. “All that happened over three years ago, though.”
“No other enemies?”
“Not really.”
She was lying. She couldn’t even look him in the eye. “You’re holding out on me, Alexandra.”
It was a wonder her lip wasn’t hamburger the way she kept chewing on it. “Well, there is one more possibility.”
“Who?”
“Mark’s ex-wife, Colleen.”
“What about her?”
“She called me one day, shortly after the announcement of my engagement appeared in the paper.”
“And?”
“Mark had warned me about her.”
I just bet he did.
“She’s a very disturbed woman.”
Dixon held his tongue. He couldn’t very well spill his guts without checking first with his former client.
“She made all kinds of crazy claims.”
“Such as?”
“Such as Mark was a philanderer. ‘President of the Society of Cheating Husbands,’ as she put it. Pretty farfetched considering she was the one who had a lover on the side.”
“Mark told you that?”
She nodded. “Oh, he didn’t want to admit it, but he thought I ought to be warned just in case she tried to poison my mind against him—which, of course, is exactly what she did.” She wrinkled her nose. “She was very believable too.” Alexandra fell silent, her face reflecting inner turmoil.
“You suspect at least part of what she told you was true.”
Her gaze met his. She looked miserable. “I don’t know what’s true anymore. Mark says she’s dangerous, but …” She shrugged, then shook her head. “Even if she is bitter over the divorce, that’s still no motive to get rid of me. Unless she’s completely irrational, she must know Mark would never take her back, not after the way she hurt him.”
I’d like to hurt that lying son of a bitch. Again.
He glanced up as the bells above the front door jangled, a wave of pure rage washing over him when he saw who the customer was. Mark Jordan strolled up the center aisle, a complacent smile on his handsome face.
Jordan’s attention was focused on his fiancée, but Dixon noticed the way the two customers talking to Mandy, both women, followed Jordan’s progress. What did females find so damn charismatic about the scrawny blond creep, anyway? he wondered.
“Ready for lunch, darling?” Jordan asked.
“Anytime you are, sweetheart,” Dixon replied, standing and reaching for his jacket.
A frown wrinkled Jordan’s forehead and tightened the corners of his mouth. “Very funny, Yano. I wasn’t talking to you.” He turned to Alexandra. “How about it, Alex? There’s a turkey-and-cheddar croissant out there with your name on it.”
“I …” She glanced at Dixon. “We do need to talk, but—”
“But what? I think the shop can get along without you for an hour.”
“No, that’s not it.” She frowned. “It’s just that I can’t go anywhere without Dixon.”
Dixon fought the urge to jump on the counter, pound his chest, and let loose with a Tarzan yell. “It’s part of the job description,” he explained to Jordan. “A bodyguard has to stay in close proximity to the body he’s guarding.”
Jordan said a very rude word under his breath. “I think Alex is safe enough with me.”
Dixon shrugged into his jacket. “Why don’t we let Alexandra be the judge of that?”
“Alex?” Raising one eyebrow, Jordan crossed his arms over his chest.
“I hired Dixon to protect me. It doesn’t make any sense not to let him do the job he’s being paid to do, does it?”
“No, I suppose not.” Jordan’s capitulation was grudging.
“That’s settled, then. I’ll go get my coat.” She whisked away up the stairs.
Jordan glared at him. “You’re a real piece of work, Yano. You might have Alex fooled, but don’t think I don’t know what you’re after.”
“What’s that?” Dixon’s tone was deceptively mild.
“The beautiful heiress.” He spat the words out. “You think all you have to do is shake the money tree and Alex’ll drop into your lap like a windfall. Well, forget it. I’ve invested a lot of time and effort in her, and I don’t intend to bow out gracefully—not until I’ve collected the grand prize.”
Dixon cocked his head to the side. “The grand prize?”
“Two million dollars in trust until she turns thirty or gets married, whichever comes first.”
Dixon sucked air for a second or two. She’d mentioned a trust fund, but he’d had no idea the Roundtrees had that kind of money.
Another thought occurred to him. Damn. Much as he’d like to pin the murder attempts on Jordan, that scenario now seemed highly unlikely. The jerk had means and opportunity, but no motive. What was a hundred thou in insurance compared with two million in trust-fund dollars? Double damn. Apparently the guy wasn’t murdering scum, just scum.
“I’ve got your number, too, Jordan. In case you haven’t figured it out already, I’m the one who gathered all the evidence your ex-wife used to ream your ass in court. Push me too far and I’ll tell Alexandra what I know.”
“Go ahead.” Mark Jordan’s smile was distinctly unpleasant. “She won’t believe you. She loves me.”
They walked three abreast across the street to Sandy’s Sandwich Shoppe, the men flanking Alex. She shivered in her bulky down-filled coat. The sky was a clear robin’s-egg blue, but though the sun shone brightly, it gave off precious little warmth. A sharp wind rattled the halos on the tacky plastic angels that hung from every streetlight on Oregon Street and fluttered the fairy lights Sandy’d strung along the naked branches of the Japanese maple that shaded her stretch of sidewalk in summer. Down at the end of the block a skinny Santa hugged himself against the cold, rocking back and forth in time with the bell he rang over a Salvation Army kettle.
Alex smiled teasingly up at Dixon as they entered the warmth of Sandy’s shop. “I can’t believe you’ve never eaten here before. Your office is only four blocks away. What do you do for lunch?”
“Brown-bag it most of the time. Once in a while I splurge on pizza or a Big Mac.”
“A true gourmet.” Mark’s smile was almost a sneer.
He and Dixon didn’t seem to like each other much, Alexandra couldn’t help noticing. No doubt it was a man thing.
“What are you wearing tonight?” Mark posed the question as soon as they had placed their orders and seated themselves at a table in the back of the long, narrow lunchroom.
Alex shot him a questioning glance before taking a sip of her diet soda. “What’s tonight?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. We planned this weeks ago.”
Alex stared at him blankly. Weeks ago. Before some nutcase in a Santa suit entered her life. “Refresh my memory.”
“Cocktail party at the Loomises’. Ed’s going to announce the new partner. God, Alex. How could you forget something like that?”
Dixon grunted. “She’s had other things on her mind.”
Mildly irritated at his presumption, Alex placed a restraining hand on his arm. “I do have a tongue, you know. I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself.”
Dixon made a cross with his index fingers and held it out in front of him as if warding off evil spirits.
She smiled at his foolishness. “Idiot.”
“Second that motion,” Mark snapped.
She turned to him, her smile disappearing. “As Dixon said, I’ve had other things on my mind. Someone is trying to kill me, Mark, and the scary part is, they’re not even bothering to make it look like an accident anymore.”
“Darling, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress. But this is important. My career—”
“Your career?” Her voice rose shrilly. “How does your career compare to my life?”
Dixon gave her arm a warning squeeze
as some of the luncheon crowd turned to stare.
Mark frowned. “Keep your voice down. People know me here.”
Alex couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Mark, listen to yourself. You’re more worried about your image than about the fact that your fiancée’s in danger. Don’t you care that someone’s trying to kill me?”
“Alex, I love you dearly. You know that. If anything happened to you, I couldn’t bear it.”
Dixon’s fingers tightened again on her arm.
“But?” Somehow she knew there was a but. With lawyers, there always was.
“But I’m not convinced your life is in danger.”
She stiffened in outrage. “You think I made it all up?”
“No,” he said hastily. “I’m merely suggesting that you’ve misinterpreted certain events.”
He didn’t believe a word she’d said. Her cheeks stung as if he’d slapped her. “For example?”
“Okay, someone has threatened you. I have no argument with that. What I don’t necessarily buy is that this mysterious someone is trying to kill you. Neither the short in the Christmas lights on the store display nor the collapsing float was a surefire method to murder someone. I think the ‘accidents,’ like the anonymous note and the lipsticked message on the shower door, were warnings, not actual attempts on your life.”
Alex frowned. “What about the mugging?”
Mark shrugged. “An act of random violence”—he held up a hand to forestall her objections—“or a clever way to get your keys. In my opinion, the shove down the stairs was more a matter of expediency than a deliberate attempt to harm you.”
Alexandra was so angry she was shaking. “Two days ago someone shot at me. Explain that away.”
“Like I said before, the bullet could have been meant for Yano, not you.”
“You’re wrong—”
“Maybe.” He cut her off smoothly, his voice determinedly reasonable.
“Dammit, Mark. Are you suggesting I’m delusional?”
He smiled and patted her hand. “No, but I think you’re too close to the action to view matters objectively. Paranoia has set in, Alex, and no wonder. If I’d grown up in the same house with the reigning queen of the mystery genre, I’d probably see criminal intent in ordinary, everyday events myself.”
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