Alex held her hands out, palms up, fingers spread beseechingly. “What did I say?”
“You insulted her,” he said. “She was speaking English.”
Alex woke up with a start. The Jeopardy theme was playing in the background. Dixon was humming along. When she felt the vibrations buzzing in her ear, Alex realized the “pillow” beneath her head was really Dixon’s chest. She sat up abruptly, scanning the tiny living room for Great-grandmother. What must the old woman think of her?
Evidently, not much. Great-grandmother was nowhere to be seen. Besides the sofa where she and Dixon sat, the only other seat, a wooden swing rocker, was occupied by what was either the world’s ugliest fur coat or a pile of calico cats. Alex put her vote in for cats since she could count at least ten legs in various improbable positions.
“Quick,” said Dixon. “The category is world geography. The highest and lowest altitudes in South America are both located in this country known for its salubrious air.”
“I don’t know. Peru? Bolivia? Somewhere in the Andes? Where’s your great-grandmother?”
“Gone.” He sounded distracted. “Salubrious air. Good air.”
“Gone? Gone how? Gone where?”
He slapped his thigh. “Buenos Aires. Argentina!”
“Argentina?” Alex didn’t think she’d heard him right.
Dixon tore his gaze from the TV. “I mean, ‘What is Argentina?’ That’s the answer—or rather the question.”
“What is Argentina?” echoed Alex Trebek. “That’s absolutely correct. How much did you wager?”
“Not enough,” scoffed Dixon. “The guy’s a weenie. Now me, I’d have bet my wad and won too.”
“Yeah, you’re a regular whiz kid all right. Where’s your great-grandmother?”
“I told you. Gone.”
“Gone where?”
“California,” Dixon answered.
“For how long?”
“All winter. I thought I explained that already.”
“You didn’t tell me anything.”
“I didn’t mention Great-grandmother Yano’s yearly pilgrimage to visit her brother in Palo Alto? Great-great-uncle Taro’s the baby of the family, a mere ninety-eight.”
“You never said a word.”
“Well, you should have figured it out. What did you think we were doing here?”
“Hiding from a would-be murderer-slash-arsonist?”
“That, too, of course, but also house-sitting.”
Alex relaxed. “She really is gone, then? What a relief. After starting out on the wrong foot, I was worried I was going to have to eat raw fish just to redeem myself.”
“Not this time of year,” Dixon assured her. He gestured toward the television. “Jeez! What did I tell you? A measly hundred dollars. That wimp deserves to lose.”
Alex yawned and stretched. “How long was I asleep anyway?”
“Almost five hours. You missed lunch. Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Great-grandmother’s pantry’s well stocked. How about I whip up my specialty, carp-head stew?”
“Sure. If you want.” His specialty was carp-head stew? Alex bit her lip. “Sounds great.” She stood up and padded sock-footed across the room to examine the cat pile. A raspy, asthmatic purr rewarded her tentative stroke of one splotchy head.
“That’s Wynonna. Great-grandmother’s a big fan of country music. All her cats are named for female vocalists.”
Alex jumped at the sound of Dixon’s voice. She hadn’t realized he’d followed her. She turned and found herself staring at the buttons on his denim shirt.
Slowly she raised her eyes to meet his steady gaze. They stared at one another in silence for an endless moment. Alex wasn’t sure what he saw in her face, but what she read in his reassured her. This was a man to trust, a man to depend on. A man to love, whispered her heart. If only …
She broke off eye contact, her gaze caught by the pale reminder at the base of her ring finger. If only she could trust her own judgment when it came to men. Mark had seemed the perfect man too. At first.
“You’re thinking about Jordan, aren’t you?”
Alex glanced at Dixon, surprised by the harshness of his tone. His mouth was tight with suppressed anger, but his eyes held only sadness. “Dixon—” she started, but he cut her off.
“None of my business.”
Which meant what? That she’d only hired him as a bodyguard, not a shrink? That he didn’t want to get involved in her personal problems? She studied Dixon’s face, trying to interpret his expression.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Alexandra.” He glanced up from the stove, where he was stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. Her mouth watered.
She smiled faintly. “You didn’t. Don’t worry. I’m tougher than I look. I’ll live.” She moved closer to peer into the heavy stainless-steel soup pot. She had to admit fish-head stew smelled a lot more appetizing than it sounded. Maybe if she ate with her eyes closed, she could pretend it was beef stew. It sure smelled like beef stew. Dinty Moore beef stew, to be exact. “Where’s the trash?” she demanded, suddenly suspicious.
“Under the sink. Why?”
Alex didn’t answer right away. After rummaging briefly through the refuse, she held a can aloft in triumph. “Aha!”
“What?” Dixon raised an eyebrow, his expression mildly curious.
“It is Dinty Moore beef stew.”
“So?” He shrugged. “I never claimed to be Julia Child.” Slowly a smile lit his face. “Oh, I get it. You expected fish eyeballs staring back up at you.”
“Well, you said—”
“I was joking.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you set the table? The bowls are in the cupboard next to the sink and the silverware’s in the top drawer at the end of the counter.”
Alex did as he suggested.
“I think I may finally have a lead on who’s after you.” Dixon plopped a heavy crocheted pot holder in the center of the kitchen table and set the stew pot on it. “I wonder where Great-grandmother keeps her ladles.”
Alex spied a ladle hanging from a wrought-iron rack above the center island. She handed it to Dixon. “Who’s after me?”
“I’m not positive, but the evidence is fairly strong.”
“Who?” she demanded.
“Danny Hall.”
“You’re kidding. That business happened so long ago. I really thought he was a long shot.”
“Not so long. He’s out of prison, has been for over a year. And guess what he does for a living?”
“He used to be in construction.”
“Still is. Want to guess where he’s working?”
She stared at him blankly. “The Stockton renovation?”
“Right. Directly across the street from my office.”
“So maybe the reason the police didn’t catch the shooter was because he never left the building.”
“Bingo.”
NINE
Dixon poured stew into Alexandra’s bowl. Even with a worried frown wrinkling her forehead, she looked adorable.
“How did you find out about Danny Hall?” She poured herself a glass of milk.
Dixon passed her the bowl and began ladling stew for himself. “Cesar, of course. I gave him a list of suspects and he’s been poking around, using his official contacts.”
“What else did he find out? Beyond the fact that Hall’s back working construction? Any arrests recently? Parole violations?”
Dixon sat down across from Alexandra. “Uh-uh. Nada. The guy hasn’t had so much as a parking ticket since his release.”
Alexandra blew on a spoonful of stew. “No rumors of domestic violence?” She took a cautious bite.
“No reports of any problems, though apparently he is living with someone. I wrote it down somewhere.” He dug a crumpled scrap of paper from his hip pocket. “Wendy Calzacorta,” he read. “Ever heard of her?”
Alexandra frowned. “I went to s
chool with Tyler Calzacorta. He had a younger sister, too, but I think her name was Kim. I don’t remember a Wendy. If she’s mixed up with Danny Hall, though, she has my sympathy. He treated Julie like his personal punching bag.” She shuddered. “The man’s an animal.” She laid her spoon aside and clasped her shaking hands together.
Dixon covered them with his own. Her trembling sparked a fierce protectiveness in him. “I won’t let Hall hurt you.”
Her gaze met his. “I know.” A wobbly smile curved her lips, lips he longed to kiss.
I love you, Alexandra. He couldn’t say the words. He didn’t have the right. But he could think them. He could live them. He could and would keep her safe. No matter what.
Alex stared at the ceiling in Great-grandmother Yano’s spare bedroom and listened to the wind. Beyond the confines of the snug little house, a blizzard raged, the wind howling like a pack of hungry wolves, ice crystals clawing and scraping at the windows.
For once, she didn’t mind the snow. In fact, she welcomed it. Let it snow all night. Let it snow until the drifts piled up to the eaves, isolating her—them—from the outside world. From the danger. From whoever wanted her dead.
Danny Hall. She’d never liked him, never trusted him, not from the first time they’d met. Later, after she’d seen the way he treated Julie, that initial dislike had grown into an active loathing. And while it was true that Alex’s testimony, along with that of a dozen other witnesses, had put Hall behind bars, she couldn’t help wondering if that was sufficient motivation for murder. Would Danny Hall really have held a grudge for so long? Was he so vengeful, so full of rage that he wished her dead? Alex didn’t want to believe it. How could he hate her enough to want to kill her? How could anyone?
Her heartbeat quickened. Her breathing grew rapid and shallow. Cold sweat beaded her forehead and upper lip. Panicked, she flicked on the bedside light and groped for her watch with shaking hands. A little after two and so far she hadn’t had a wink of sleep.
Her mind raced, flitting from one memory to another, reliving the increasingly frightening events of the past few weeks: the accidents that weren’t really accidents, the break-in, the shove that had sent her sprawling into the street in front of a car, the terrifying realization that she was trapped in a burning building.
The official verdict wasn’t in yet, but she was convinced the fire had been arson. An ugly word, arson.
Her intestines tied themselves in knots. Not only arson, she realized, but attempted murder. Someone—Danny Hall?—wanted her dead. And with the exception of her mother and her paid bodyguard, no one seemed to care. Certainly not Mark.
Had he ever truly cared for her? Or had he been interested only in her money? How could I have been so blind?
Reaching up, she turned off the light, feeling less exposed, less vulnerable in the darkness.
Both Mandy and her mother had had their doubts about Mark right from the start, but she’d refused to listen. Even Dixon had tried to tell her the truth.…
Dixon. His concern for her well-being went beyond any professional requirements. He cared for her. She could see it in his face, feel it in his touch.
His touch. Embarrassed by, and ashamed of, her own wanton behavior, Alex had tried not to dwell on the physical aspect of their relationship. But now, alone with her thoughts in the sheltering darkness, she examined her feelings. The truth was Dixon affected her in a way no man ever had. Was that love or lust? A wish for true commitment or raging hormones? She didn’t know, and she was half-afraid to find out for fear of what that knowledge might do to her tidy little world.
Could she trust her own judgment? What if she was wrong about Dixon? She’d been so wrong about Mark.
Dixon awoke to the smell of frying bacon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had bacon for breakfast. Cereal, milk, and a glass of juice was his usual bachelor fare. And on the rare occasions when he ate out, an Egg McMuffin was par for the course. The tantalizing odor of frying meat brought a reminiscent smile to his face. When he was a kid his mother had prepared special breakfasts on the weekends, sausage and waffles or bacon and eggs.
However, when he emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, dressed in fresh clothes, his hair still damp from the shower, he found the house clouded with bluish smoke and a skillet full of blackened strips cooling on a back burner. Alexandra stood by the counter, her slender fingers pleating and unpleating the loose tail of the flannel shirt she wore over a white turtleneck. Her expression chilled his blood.
“What’s wrong?” He touched her hand. It was cold and unresponsive. “Alexandra, what is it? What’s happened?”
She swung around to face him, but her beautiful mix-and-match eyes were unfocused. “I burned the bacon.”
His grip on her hand tightened. “Damn the bacon. That’s not what upset you. Tell me, Alexandra. What else happened while I was in the shower?”
She looked at him then, really looked at him.
Dixon felt the impact of the connection like a physical blow. Emotion linked them. Her distress became his own. His muscles tensed against the onslaught. A mixture of pain and anger churned his gut. He tasted bile.
She took a little hitching breath. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. She shook her head and cleared her throat. “I just did something very stupid.”
She looked so miserable, Dixon pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin.
“Don’t worry. There’s no law against stupidity.”
She stood rigid in his arms, clutching him so tightly that her fingernails seemed to be cutting trenches in his back. “Maybe there should be.” Releasing him, Alexandra sank down on the bar stool behind her. She stared at her clenched fists. “Mark—”
His name hung between them like a dark cloud.
Dixon lifted her chin. “What about Mark? You want me to put out a contract on him?”
Her startled gaze met his.
“A joke, Alexandra.” He tapped the tip of her nose, then frowned. “Wait. You didn’t do something really dumb like decide to forgive and forget?”
“No.” Sighing sharply, she dropped her gaze to the countertop, where she traced the pattern in the Formica with one fingertip.
“Then what?” He outlined the curve of her lower lip.
“Mark. I called him just now.”
“You what?”
“Go ahead. Yell at me, Dixon. Tell me what a fool I am.”
A pool of silence enveloped them.
“What did he say?” he asked at last. “And more importantly, what did you say?” Damn it to hell and back, if she’d let that sweet-talking snake slither his way back into her good graces …
“All he said was”—Alexandra uttered a short bark of unamused laughter, never lifting her gaze from the countertop—” ‘I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message at the tone.’ ” She sounded as if she were strangling on the words.
“And you left a message?” he asked quickly.
She frowned. “Oh, yeah. I left a message all right. He has it all on tape.”
Dixon stood silent at her side, waiting for her to go on.
Her smile was sheepish. “I called Mark Jordan every name in the book. And some not in the book.”
The phone rang and they both jumped. Alexandra’s eyes looked huge. “Who?”
“You didn’t happen to mention where you were in the course of your tirade, did you?”
“No, but … oh, damn! I didn’t think. Mark has caller ID.” Alexandra braced her stockinged feet on the rung of the stool and stared at the ringing phone as if it were a rattlesnake ready to strike.
“Want me to take care of him for you?”
She shook her head. “He’s my problem.”
She closed her eyes for a second, then lifted the receiver.
“No, Mark. It’s over,” she said after a while. “I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want to listen to you talk about it. Not now. Not ever.”
Dixon could hear
the unintelligible gabble on the other end continuing unabated.
Shrugging, Alexandra gently returned the receiver to the cradle. “He never did listen to anything I said. Dixon, how could I have fallen for a man like that in the first place?”
He ran his fingertips across her furrowed brow. “Jordan puts up a good front.”
She bit her lip. “And I’m a gullible idiot.”
“No, Alexandra. He’s the idiot.” Dixon gathered her close.
She sighed, a hopeless sound.
He held her away from him. “Don’t blame yourself for Jordan’s infidelity. His actions had nothing to do with you and everything to do with feeding that voracious ego of his. Your only problem seems to be your talent for picking losers.”
She gave a funny little hiccuping sob of laughter. “But how can I tell the losers from the winners? Men should come with warning labels, like cigarettes.”
He laughed. “Women too.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
He clenched his jaw at the thought of Brittany. “Painful experience.”
“Something you want to talk about?”
“Nothing to say. She claimed she loved me, but she didn’t. Once the money ran out, once she’d maxed out all my credit cards, once she’d bilked my grandfather out of fifty thousand dollars, she moved on.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. She taught me a lesson, one I’m not likely to forget in a hurry.”
Alexandra studied his face, her expression tender.
Little by little the tension left Dixon, only to be replaced by a heightened awareness of the woman in his arms. To hell with Brittany. She was the past. Alexandra was the present.
“The truth is Mark hurt my pride more than my heart. I thought I loved him, but lately, even before I had reason to distrust him, I’ve been having a few doubts of my own.” She stared at the buttons on his shirt. “Ever since I met you …”
Dixon’s chest felt tight. What was she saying?
“But my judgment hasn’t proved very reliable in the past.” He could feel her trembling. “Like you said, I have a talent for picking losers.” She bit down hard on her lower lip. “Does that mean if I picked you, Dixon, you’d turn out to be a loser too?”
Upon a Midnight Clear Page 11