Since when was being shot at an ordinary, everyday event for anyone besides James Bond? she wondered, shooting a quick glance toward Dixon. His jaw was clenched, his expression thunderous. He, at least, took her fears seriously.
One of the waitresses brought their orders then, so Alex swallowed the protest she’d been about to make. She hoped it wouldn’t give her indigestion.
Seemingly oblivious to her anger, Mark tasted his soup, then sighed in satisfaction. “Best chowder in town.”
“Here. Have mine.” Dixon tipped his bowl into Mark’s lap.
Stifling a curse, Mark leaped to his feet as the scalding liquid soaked through his trousers.
Dixon’s gaze was limpidly innocent. “Oops. Sorry, buddy. I guess I slipped.”
“You son of a bitch!”
“Careful, Jordan. People know you here. You don’t want to give them the wrong impression.”
Alex fought to keep from laughing at the outraged expression on Mark’s face.
“Excuse me,” he said stiffly, and moved off toward the men’s room, walking rather oddly.
“That was a rotten thing to do,” Alexandra said to Dixon as soon as Jordan was out of earshot.
Dixon grinned. “It was an accident.” He shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich. “Just as much an accident as the ‘ordinary, everyday events’ you’re so ‘paranoid’ about.”
“It’s rude to talk with your mouth full.”
“It’s rude to talk with your brain empty, but that doesn’t seem to stop your fiancé. What do you see in that jerk?”
Alex was beginning to wonder. Instead of answering, she took a bite of her sandwich. Dammit. Right now she needed Mark’s support, not specious reasoning or a condescending “understanding” of her so-called psychological problems. She was worried, yes. Scared too. But not paranoid.
Was Mark really that insensitive? Or did his stubborn refusal to take the threats seriously stem from a more sinister motive? What if Mark himself had orchestrated the accidents?
She swallowed hard and glanced up to find Dixon staring at her. “What? Do I have mustard on my nose?”
He shook his head. “No, I was just thinking about this party tonight. Maybe we should go.”
“You’re joking. After the Loomis fiasco last night?”
“Trust me. Loomis won’t pull anything with me sticking to you like a cocklebur. I’m assuming this will be a big party?”
She nodded. “Everyone connected with the firm plus all their top-drawer clients and the local bigwigs.”
“Your mother?”
“Definitely.”
“How about your sister and her husband?”
“Yes, they’re on the A-list too. So?”
He leaned his chin against his steepled fingers. “So it means we’d have most of the known suspects together in one place, a situation which offers some intriguing investigative possibilities. And you should be safe enough in a crowd as long as you steer clear of any poisoned eggnog.”
“No problem.” Alexandra made a face. “I hate eggnog.”
“Or we play it safe and stay in the apartment.” Dixon shrugged. “Your choice.”
Alex sighed. “Even in the apartment there are no guarantees of my safety. Santa got in last night while I was gone. Who’s to say he won’t come back tonight?”
Dixon looked grim. “If he does, I’ll be ready for him.”
“Excuse me? Ms. Roundtree?” The waitress hovered at her elbow.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Jordan gave me a note for you.” She laid a folded paper towel on the blue-checked tablecloth next to Alex’s plate.
“Thanks.” Wondering what Mark was up to, Alexandra smiled an acknowledgment at the girl. Now what? Had the office beeped him? Sometimes she suspected he was more closely engaged to the firm than to her. She unfolded the towel and read in silence.
After a long pause Dixon cleared his throat. “What is it?”
She made a face. “He couldn’t remove the stain from his trousers, so he slipped out the back to avoid notice. He’s rushing home to change before his one o’clock appointment.”
Dixon’s grin made him look like an ornery ten-year-old.
“There’s a message for you too,” Alexandra continued. “Interested?”
“You bet.”
“Mark says the party tonight is formal, and if you don’t have a tux, you can’t go. Bodyguard or no bodyguard.”
“Are we planning to attend, then?”
She nodded, making up her mind. If she sat around waiting for Santa to make his next move, she’d go crazy. “Don’t worry about a tux. The woman who owns the bridal shop next door is an old friend. She’ll give me a discount.”
“Not a problem. I have a monkey suit, a relic of my sister’s wedding.”
“Good. It’s settled, then.”
Dixon kept her distracted throughout the rest of the meal with a series of truly awful knock-knock jokes. She was still groaning as they emerged from the deli to the bitter chill outside. “Your sense of humor is seriously warped.”
Afterward, she wasn’t certain exactly what happened next. One minute she was standing on the curb, laughing up at Dixon, and the next she was lying prone in the street, watching a car bearing down on her.
“Catch that Santa!” she heard Dixon yell. Then Dixon’s strong arms were pulling her to safety.
Alex clung to him. She hurt all over, her palms, her elbows, and most of all her knees. “What happened? Did I slip on the ice?”
Dixon’s face was dark with anger, but she knew his rage wasn’t directed toward her. His hands cradled her gently; his voice soothed. “You were pushed. Our old friend Santa Claus again. I’m afraid he got away. By the time I’d pulled you back to the sidewalk …”
She struggled to a sitting position. “I guess it’s time to call the cops again, huh?”
He nodded grimly. “Already taken care of.”
Dixon was getting sick of repeating himself. “Like I already told you twice, Cesar, all I saw was somebody in a Santa suit.” He frowned. “How come you responded to the call, anyhow? I thought you were working swing.”
Cesar washed down his second hunk of fudge with a swig of coffee.
Dixon suspected his friend had an ulterior motive for conducting this interview in the break room of Gemini Gifts. Officer Rios’s sweet tooth was legendary.
Cesar reached for a third piece of fudge. “I’m pulling a double shift today. Harrison and Echanis are both out with flu.” He refilled his mug, added three sugars, and stirred vigorously. “When I spoke with Ms. Roundtree earlier, she mentioned seeing a Salvation Army Santa ringing a bell on the corner as she entered the sandwich shop. Are you sure you didn’t notice him?”
“I’ve already answered this question. Twice. Here’s number three: No, Officer Rios, I didn’t notice the Salvation Army Santa. I wish I had, but I didn’t.”
“Weird, huh? You’d think a bell-ringing guy in a red suit would stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Look, Cesar, maybe if it were the middle of July, he would have. But the fact is, Santas are a dime a dozen during the Christmas season. I admit I should have noticed. Normally I would have noticed. But today I was distracted.”
“Distracted?” Cesar smirked. He knew damn well what Dixon meant.
“By Ms. Roundtree.”
Cesar laughed. “Just wanted to hear you admit it, man. Never thought I’d see the day you’d let another female penetrate your armor.” He downed his coffee in a few quick gulps. “They’re not all like Brittany, you know. In fact, damn few of them are.”
“She’s engaged, Cesar.”
“Brittany? Didn’t know you’d kept in touch.” A fourth chunk of homemade fudge disappeared.
“No, not Brittany. I haven’t thought of her in years.” Which was a damn lie. He thought of her every time he used a credit card.
“You mean Ms. Roundtree’s engaged? No wonder you’re in such a stinking mood, man. That really throws a kin
k in your rope.”
“Are we finished?” Dixon stood. The break-room walls were starting to close in on him.
“What’s your hurry?” Cesar picked a fudge crumb from a wrinkle of his blue uniform shirt. “Who’s the lucky fiancé?”
“Mark Jordan. Do you know him?”
“I’ve seen him. He’s a lawyer, right?”
“Right. Tollman, Loomis, and Taylor.”
“Blond guy? Looks like he ought to be modeling underwear in the Penney’s catalog?”
“Yeah, that’s Jordan.”
Cesar grunted. “Poor slob doesn’t stand a chance.” He raised an eyebrow. “Neither do you, man. I’ve seen the way you look at her.” He grinned. “And the way she looks back.”
SIX
“This is a crock, Alexandra. No way should you be going to Loomis’s party.” Dixon frowned and tugged at his tie. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable the tux was. He felt like he was choking to death.
Alexandra’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t look that bad, do I?”
“No.” She looked gorgeous in a snug-fitting red dress, but it didn’t require the intuition of Sherlock Holmes to realize she wasn’t feeling up to par. He’d watched her downing aspirin like candy all afternoon. And he knew about the scrapes and bruises hidden beneath her long sleeves and flowing skirt. She was wearing more makeup than normal too. Dixon suspected she needed the extra color to disguise the unhealthy pallor of her cheeks.
A teasing smile lit her face. “You’re being deliberately dense, aren’t you? I was fishing for a compliment. You were supposed to tell me that no, of course, I don’t look that bad. On the contrary, you were supposed to say, I look fabulous”—she batted her lashes—“stunning”—she modulated her voice to a husky whisper—“ravishing.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “What you said.”
Alexandra put one hand to her heart. “Flatterer.”
Playing along, Dixon struck a pose, one hand gripping his lapel, the other resting on the mantel. “Your turn.”
Alexandra tipped her head to one side, studying him. Her smile made his heartbeat accelerate alarmingly. “Oh, Dixon.” She bit her lower lip. “You look like you’re in imminent danger of strangling to death.” Her throaty chuckle sent a shiver down his spine. “Here. Let me fix that tie.”
She positioned herself in front of him, so close it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms.
His cognitive processes slowed to a crawl. Thoughts of Alexandra filled his mind. Alexandra—so lovely, so feminine, so … engaged.
Reaching up, she deftly retied his tie, much more loosely this time, though he still was having some trouble breathing.
“Thanks.” His voice was hoarse.
She smoothed his lapels, then ran her fingertips lightly across his cheek. “I see you shaved again.”
He swallowed hard. “Had to. I develop five o’clock shadow around noon.” That’s it. Keep it light, Yano. Try not to think about the fact that those facial nerves she just touched seem to be directly connected to your crotch.
She smiled approvingly. “You look like a Hollywood hunk. You’ll have every woman in the place throwing herself at you.”
Every woman except the one woman he cared about. He cleared his throat and asked gruffly, “How are your knees?”
She pulled up the hem of her skirt. The bandages were clearly visible through the thin nylon of her panty hose. “Fine as long as I don’t bend them. If you notice me walking like a robot, you’ll know why.” She let her skirt drop and glanced up at him. “I’m not complaining, you understand. If it weren’t for your quick thinking, I’d be in worse shape. Did I thank you yet for saving my life?”
“No need. That’s what you’re paying me for.” Don’t look at me that way, Ms. Roundtree. If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to have to kiss you.
“Yes need.” Alexandra stood on tiptoe, wrapped both arms around his neck, and gently pressed her lips to his.
The hallucination was so vivid, Dixon could swear he felt the softness of her mouth against his own.
“Thank you.” She whispered the words, her breath caressing his lips.
Not a hallucination. Reality. Jeez.
The doorbell rang before he could take advantage of the situation.
Alexandra stepped back, casually glancing down at her watch. “That must be Mark. On time as usual.” She smiled. “Wait till he hears what you did. He’ll want to thank you too.”
Dixon raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but no kissing. I’m not that kind of guy.”
Alex ducked into the Loomises’ powder room, sank down on the ivory brocade love seat just inside the door, and buried her head in her hands. Her temples throbbed with every beat of her heart. Dixon had been right. She really wasn’t up to this.
“Having fun, dear?” Regina emerged from behind the partition that hid the toilet. She washed her hands, then paused in front of the mirror to adjust her hat, an outrageous sequined cloche trimmed with curling ostrich feathers.
Alex didn’t say a word, just sent her mother a bleak look that spoke volumes.
“What’s wrong? Are you and Mark fighting? I noticed he’s spent the entire evening sucking up to the host and hostess while virtually ignoring you.”
Alex shook her head. “No, it’s this killer headache. I shouldn’t have come.”
“You do look pale. Dixon told me about your close call this afternoon.” Regina sat next to Alex, wrapping a comforting silk-clad arm around her shoulders.
“I’m scared, Mother. If Dixon hadn’t been there to pull me back to safety …” She shuddered.
“Alex, I don’t think you should stay in the apartment any longer. Or even in Brunswick. Why don’t you and your bodyguard fly to Maui for a week? I’d be happy to pick up the tab.”
“Let me see. A week in paradise with another man? Yes, I’m sure Mark would go for that. Get real, Mother.”
“Then hide out in Cleveland. Or Salt Lake. Or Timbuktu. I don’t care where you go as long as you put some distance between yourself and whoever’s after you.”
Alex sighed. “Dixon agrees, but this is our busiest time at the shop. If I left Mandy in the lurch, I wouldn’t have to worry about a mystery assailant; she’d kill me herself.”
“Then move in with me for a while.”
“I’ll think about it,” Alex promised. She stood. “Right now, though, I’m going to find Dixon and have him take me home.”
Regina rose in one lithe movement and gave Alex a quick hug. “Sounds like a plan, baby.”
Unfortunately, finding Dixon proved to be easier said than done. He wasn’t in the dining room among the crowd circling the hors d’oeuvres like vultures. Nobody’d seen him in the media room, and the sunroom was empty. Reluctantly, she headed for the family room, where Ed Loomis was holding court.
She slipped inside and, positioning herself behind a lush ficus, scanned the interior. Dixon caught her gaze from across the room. “Where have you been?” she mouthed.
Frowning slightly and shaking his head from side to side, he maneuvered his way through the crowd. “Scouring the house searching for you. I was afraid you’d had another run-in with your unfriendly neighborhood Santa. Where were you, Alexandra?”
“Powder room.”
“Are you feeling all right? You look tired.”
“I have a headache,” she admitted.
His frown was an accusation.
“Yes, I know. I shouldn’t have come. You were right. I should have listened.”
“Yes, you should have.” His expression was grim. “I’ll take you home.”
“Not so fast. I have to say good-bye to Mark first.”
“Well, he’s not in the living room. I just came from there.”
“He’s not in the dining room, media room, or sunroom, either.”
“Maybe he left already.”
She shook her head. “Not before the new partnership’s announced.”
Dixon scanned the crowd. “So
where is he?”
“The library maybe?” She shrugged.
“Shall we?” Dixon held out his arm.
Alex balked. Yes, she was paying him to keep her safe, but that didn’t mean he had to follow her everywhere—especially not into Mark’s vicinity. After the soup incident that afternoon and the wrangling over who drove earlier that evening, she doubted Mark would be exactly thrilled to run into Dixon again. Her head hurt enough already. She didn’t feel up to playing referee for a couple of squabbling males. “No need for you to trouble yourself. I’ll only be a second.”
Dixon gripped her upper arms. “Look, Alexandra.”
She smiled up at him expectantly. She loved the way he said her name.
Dixon swallowed hard. An odd, almost flustered expression crossed his rugged face. “Look, I’ve been going crazy for the last half hour, wondering where you’d disappeared to. I’m not about to let you out of my sight a second time. How do you expect me to do my job if you won’t cooperate?”
He wasn’t going to give in. She could read determination in the stubborn line of his jaw. “All right, but if you pick another fight with Mark—”
“I won’t.” Releasing her, he crossed his heart. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise.”
She didn’t believe him for a second, but she couldn’t resist the entreaty in his smile. “Okay. Come on. The sooner we find Mark, the sooner we can leave.” She led the way up the stairs, her abraded knees protesting at each step.
For the third time in under an hour the Bing Crosby version of “White Christmas” blared through the stereo system. Alex suspected the song was not only Eileen’s favorite, but also the theme of her decor.
The big neo-Victorian house had been decorated—overdecorated in Alex’s opinion—in stark white. Flocked pine garlands trimmed with oversized satin bows hung in swags along the stair railing. Huge snowy-white artificial trees, drooping under a load of pearly beads, satin balls, and crocheted angels, dominated the entry hall, living room, and family room. Thousands of lace snowflakes hung suspended around the house. It was enough to induce snow blindness.
“All the warmth and charm of a meat locker,” Dixon muttered.
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