by Janie Crouch
And, of course, Dylan picked that moment to walk in.
“Evening, ladies. Everything okay?”
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Dylan. Something is wrong with Shelby.”
Dylan looked over at Shelby with concern, but Shelby just rolled her eyes.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Mother.”
Just then, the nurse walked in, so Shelby repeated her assertion that she was fine and apologized for accidentally hitting the call button.
“Dylan, Shelby plans to go all the way back to Knoxville and have some stranger care for her. You simply cannot allow her to do that. Tell her.”
“The doctors estimate I’ll need care for one week, Mother. I am pretty wealthy. Hiring someone for a week shouldn’t be a problem,” she told them both. “I’ve already got my assistant looking into it.”
Dylan leaned over and whispered something in Belinda’s ear. Belinda nodded and patted his hand, then walked out of the room.
“I don’t even want to know what you just said to her.”
Dylan chuckled. “Yeah, you really don’t.”
Dylan came over and sat on her bed. “I know this fiancé thing has gotten a little bit out of control with your mom, and I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, my mother is one of a kind.” Shelby rolled her eyes.
“I want to ask you for one thing. Let me handle the details of your next week’s care. I think I can safely say that I’ve learned a few things about your needs and your quirks, as you call them.”
“Dylan—”
“Shelby, give us a chance to get to know each other with no plane crashes, or snakes, or bombs, or guns. If after a week we’re ready to get rid of each other, then that’s okay. But let me do this for you.”
Shelby didn’t want him to feel as if he was responsible for her. “Are you sure you want to?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Shelby hesitated, torn. Was she just prolonging the inevitable? If Dylan was still in love with his wife, what would a week change?
“Please, Freckles.”
Shelby nodded. “Just promise, whoever’s house we’re staying at, tell them not to give their address to my mother.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Borrowing a plane from Omega hadn’t been a problem for Dylan. After all Shelby and Dylan had done, and because now Dennis Burgamy was their friend rather than adversary, Dylan had been given access to whatever he needed.
“Whose house are we going to?” Shelby had asked as they left the hospital. “Back to Cameron and Sophia’s?”
Dylan didn’t want to share Shelby with anyone. He was taking her back to his house in Falls Run.
He’d already been home yesterday, before Shelby had even agreed to let Dylan take care of her. There were some changes he’d had to make around his house before she got there. Some were medically necessary to help her out over the next week.
Some he hoped would be enough to help erase the hurt he’d caused her with his careless words at the table a few mornings ago. And some he hoped would convince her to stay longer than a week.
She’d been surprised when after leaving the hospital they’d pulled up at a small airstrip outside town rather than at the house of one of his siblings. “Where are we going?”
“Back to Falls Run. To my house.”
Because of her injury and surgery, Shelby couldn’t fly in the cockpit with Dylan. He helped her get situated in the cabin, lying across two reclining seats. He kissed her on the forehead and told her to get some rest. Soon they were in the air.
It was probably good that they couldn’t talk during the flight. Both of them had heavy things on their minds.
Shelby made her concerns known immediately after they landed, before she would even get out of the plane.
“I didn’t know we were going to your house when I agreed to do this,” she told him.
“I know.” That’s why he hadn’t told her. He was afraid she’d say no.
“You’re still in love with your wife.” Shelby believed in getting to the point. It was one of the things Dylan enjoyed most about her.
But about this, she was wrong.
“No. Shelby, I grieve for the loss of her young life, and definitely the baby’s, but I wasn’t even in love with her when she died. I realized that’s the biggest part of what kept me trapped with her ghost for so long. Not so much the fear of losing, but the fear of choosing wrong like I had with her.”
Shelby seemed to ponder that.
“Are we still okay? Will you still give me the week?”
Shelby nodded and Dylan scooped her up in his arms and carried her off the plane and down to his truck. He went back and got the little luggage they had, then closed the hangar door behind him. He drove slowly over the rough road leading to his house and parked as close to the front steps as possible.
He got out and walked around to her side of the truck and opened the door. This was it.
Dylan had never felt more unsure of himself in his entire life. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to or enjoyed.
He trailed a finger down Shelby’s cheek and helped her out of the truck. “I know that Sawyer and Megan’s good-mornings that meant so much to them touched you. Sawyer has always been great with romantic stuff like that. But I’m not, Shelby. I’m sorry.”
Dylan felt completely inadequate. What he’d done wasn’t romantic. She was just going to think he was nuts. He helped her walk up the porch stairs slowly.
“I know you only promised me a week, Shelby, but I hope you’ll give me—give us—much longer. And you trusted me to make you as comfortable as possible—” Dylan opened his front door “—so I hope you don’t mind that I did this.”
He helped Shelby through the front door and into the living room. Where he had moved her favorite overstuffed chair from her condo, the time-out chair she had told him about, that helped her know everything would be all right. He’d put it in between the front window and the fireplace, thinking she could enjoy the view and be warm.
“How?” she whispered.
“I contacted your assistant and she let me into your apartment yesterday. After thoroughly vetting that I was who I said I was and that I wasn’t just robbing you, of course.”
Shelby was just standing there, saying nothing, staring at the chair.
Dylan laughed and it sounded awkward even to his own ears. “I was trying to be romantic, but I’m obviously not as good at it as Sawyer.”
Dylan walked over to the MP3 player on the end table by her chair. He turned it on. “And I recorded about six hours’ worth of traffic from right outside your window. I know how you love that traffic sound.”
Shelby still hadn’t said anything. Dylan turned off the MP3 and looked at her. She had both hands covering her face and was crying.
“Shelby, are you okay? Are you hurting?” Dylan rushed to her side.
Shelby immediately put both hands on his cheeks. “This is the most special and romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. It’s good-mornings enough to last a lifetime.”
“Then promise me you’ll stay a lifetime here with me and know that every time you turn on the sound of that traffic that I love you.”
“You can bet on it because I love you, too.”
He tenderly picked her up in his arms and sat them both in her time-out chair. He’d take time-out with her there every chance he got. The two of them together were a perfect fit.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE DETECTIVE by Adrienne Giordano.
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Intrigue story.
You crave excitement! Harlequin Intrigue stories deal in serious romantic suspense, keeping you on the edge of your seat as resourceful, true-to-life
women and strong, fearless men fight for survival.
Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Intrigue every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience
The Detective
by Adrienne Giordano
Chapter One
Lexi Vanderbilt’s mother taught her two very important lessons. One, always wear coordinating lipstick, and two, recognize an opportunity when it presented itself.
Standing in the ballroom of the newly renovated Gold Coast Country Club, Lexi planned on employing those lessons.
All around her workers prepared for the throng of club members who would descend in—she checked her watch—ninety-three minutes. As the interior designer about to unveil her latest masterpiece, she would spend those ninety-three minutes tending to everything from flowers to linens to centerpieces. A waiter toting a tray of sparkling champagne glasses cruised by. She took in the not-so-perfect cut of his tux and groaned. The staff’s attire wasn’t her jurisdiction. Still, small details never escaped her. At times, like now, it was maddening.
Oh, and just wait one second. “Excuse me,” she said to a woman carrying a stack of tablecloths. “The sailboat ice sculpture belongs on the dessert table by the window. The Willis Tower goes by the champagne fountain.”
The woman hefted the pile of linens, a not-so-subtle hint that the sculptures weren’t her problem. “Does it matter?”
If it didn’t, I wouldn’t ask. Lexi sighed. “It matters. Unless you’d like to tell your boss, who specifically requested the placement of the sculptures, that it doesn’t.”
For added effect, Lexi grinned and the woman rolled her eyes. “I’ll get the busboys to move it.”
“Thank you.”
One minicrisis averted. And maybe she could have let that one slide given that the club’s manager had to be 110 years old and most likely wouldn’t remember which sculpture went where, but why take a chance on something easily fixed?
Besides, tonight everything had to be perfect.
Functions attended by the richest of the rich were a breeding ground for opportunities. Opportunities Lexi craved for her fledgling design company. At twenty-nine, she’d already been profiled by the Banner-Herald and all the major broadcast stations in the city. She was quickly gaining ground on becoming Chicago’s “it” designer, and that meant dethroning Jerome Laddis, the current “it” designer. He may have had more experience, but Lexi had youth, energy and fresh ideas on her side. A few more insanely wealthy clients touting Lexi’s work and look out, Jerome.
Then she’d hire an assistant, rehab her disaster of a garage into an office and get some sleep.
Lots of it.
Right now, as she glanced around, took in the exquisite silk drapes, the hundred-thousand-dollar chandelier and hand-scraped floor she’d had flown in from Brazil, no questions on the tiny details would haunt her. She’d make sure of it. Even if stress-induced hospitalization loomed in her near future.
The upshot? She’d lost five pounds in the past two weeks. Always a silver lining.
“Alexis?”
Lexi turned, her long gown swishing against the floor and snagging on her shoe. She smiled at Pamela Hennings while casually adjusting her dress. Darned floor-length gowns. “Mrs. Hennings, how nice to see you.”
Mrs. Hennings air-kissed and stepped back. On her petite frame she wore a fitted gown in her signature sky blue that matched her eyes. The gown draped softly at the neckline, displaying minimal cleavage. As usual, a perfect choice.
“I love what you’ve done in here,” Mrs. Hennings said. “Amazing job.”
Being a club board member, she had no doubt shown up early to make sure the unveiling of the new room would be nothing short of remarkable. “Thank you. I enjoyed it. Just a few last-minute details and we’ll be ready.”
“Everything is lovely. Even the damned ice sculptures Raymond couldn’t live without. Waste of money if you ask me, but some battles aren’t worth fighting.”
So true.
A loud bang from the corner of the room assaulted Lexi’s ears. Please let that be silverware. She shifted her gaze left and spotted the waiter who’d passed her earlier scooping utensils onto a tray. Thank you.
Mrs. Hennings touched Lexi’s arm. “By the bye, I think I have Gerald convinced his study needs an update. All that dark wood is depressing.”
Now, that would be a thrill. If Lexi landed the job and nailed it, the top 10 percent of Chicago’s executives would know it. And competition ran hot with this social set. Before long, they’d be lined up outside her office for a crack at outdoing Pamela and Gerald Hennings.
“I think,” Lexi said, “for him we could leave touches of the dark woods. Macassar ebony would be fabulous on the floor.”
“Ooh, yes. Do you have time this week? Maybe you could come by and work up some sketches?”
“Of course.” Lexi whipped her phone from her purse and scrolled to her calendar. “How about early next week? Tomorrow I’m starting a new project that might eat up the rest of my week.”
“I’ll make sure I’m available. What’s this new project? Can you share?”
Rich folks. Always wanting the inside scoop. “Actually, it’s quite fascinating. Remember the murdered broker?”
“The one from Cartright? How could I not? The entire neighborhood went into a panic.”
The residents of Cartright, the North Side’s closest thing to a gated community without the gates, employed private security to help patrol the six city blocks that made up their self-titled haven. That extra money spent on security kept the crime rate nearly nonexistent in those six city blocks.
Except for the offing of one crooked stockbroker.
“That’s the one,” Lexi said. “I’ve been hired to stage the house. The real-estate agent suggested it to the broker’s widow and she hired me.”
“I heard they couldn’t sell. The market is destroying her. That poor woman. He left her with a mountain of trouble. He paid top dollar and if she lowers the price again, she won’t make enough to clear his debts. Add to that any retribution owed to the clients he borrowed funds from without their knowledge.”
As expected, Pamela Hennings was up to speed on the latest gossip. Gossip that Lexi would not share. Being told this information about a client was one thing. Sharing it? Not happening. “I’m looking forward to the project. It’s an incredible house.”
Being an interior designer didn’t always give Lexi the chance to change someone’s life. Her work allowed people to see the beauty in color and texture and shape and made their homes more than just a place to live, but she didn’t often get the opportunity to alter an emotionally devastating situation. Now she had the chance. Getting this house sold would free the broker’s widow from debt and give her children a comfortable life.
And Lexi wanted to see that happen.
Plus, if she got the thing sold in forty-five days, she’d make a whopping 20 percent bonus. The bonus alone would pay for an assistant and give her a life back.
Nap, here I come.
Mrs. Hennings made a tsk-tsk noise. “They never did find the murderer, did they?”
“No. Which I think is part of the problem. I may do a little of my feng shui magic in there. Clear all the negativity out. When I’m finished, that house will be beautiful and bright and homey.”
“The debt, the children and now the police can’t find the murderer. And it’s been what, two years? No woman deserves to be left with that.”
/>
Again, Lexi remained quiet. Don’t get sucked in. But, yes, it had been two years, and from what Lexi knew, the police were no closer to finding the man’s killer. Such a tragedy. “The case has gone cold.”
Sucked in. She smacked her lips together.
“You know,” Mrs. Hennings said, “my husband’s firm recently did some work with a pro bono cold case. I wonder if the investigator who worked on that wouldn’t mind taking a look at this. I’d love to see the man’s family given some relief. And, let’s face it, it would certainly be good PR for the firm.”
It certainly would.
Investigative help wouldn’t hurt the real-estate agent’s chances—or Lexi’s—of getting the house sold in forty-five days. “Do you think they’d be interested?”
“Oh, I’m sure it can be arranged.”
Gerald Hennings, aka the Dapper Defense Lawyer, pushed through the oversize ballroom doors, spotted the two women and unleashed a smile. Even in his sixties, he had charm to spare. Salt-and-pepper hair and the carved cheekbones of a man who’d once been devastatingly handsome—all combined with his intelligence—added up to someone who ruled a courtroom.
“Gerald,” Mrs. Hennings said, “perfect timing. The board meeting will be upstairs. Believe it or not, we’re the first ones here.”
The Dapper DL eyed his wife with a hint of mischief, smiling in a rueful way that probably slayed jurors. “Shocking.” Then he turned his charm loose on Lexi. “Alexis Vanderbilt, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Hennings. Thank you. And yourself?”
“I was quite well until fifteen seconds ago when my wife announced my timing was perfect. That means I’ll either be writing you a healthy check or she’s volunteered me for something. Either way, I’m sure it will be painful.”
* * *
BRODEY HAYWARD BLEW out a breath as he watched his sister saunter into the Hennings & Solomon reception area. Finally she’d stopped wearing her blouses unbuttoned to her belly button. He never needed to see that much of Jenna’s skin and said a silent thanks to whichever saint covered brothers in distress.