by Kylie Brant
There was a dull throb beginning in Cage’s left temple. “You know, I’ve got about one nerve left, Tanner, and you’re on it.”
His friend’s eyes crinkled. “Yep, smitten is what you are. Don’t know of anything else that turns a normally easygoing man into the snarling beast I see before me right now.” He held up a hand to ward off the obscenity Cage mouthed. “Now don’t you go getting riled up. It was bound to happen to one of us sooner or later, and it’s just my good luck that it happened to you.” Chuckling at his own joke, he glanced down at his watch.
“Shoot.” He rose swiftly to his feet. “I’ve got a meeting with the bank auditor in five minutes.”
“By all means,” Cage said with mock politeness, rising to throw open the door. “Don’t let me keep you.”
When he got to the door, Tanner turned. “As much as I abhor seeing my best friend go through the pangs of true love, I have to say I do admire your taste.” He winked. “I couldn’t have chosen better if I’d picked her out for you myself. And in a manner of speaking, I did.” He had the good sense to duck, and missed the halfhearted swing Cage sent his way.
Hand propped on the doorjamb, Cage watched his friend stride away. He could and did blame his foul mood on the sleepless night he’d just spent, but he’d been shocked at the burst of pure primal possessiveness that had had him warning Tanner off Zoey. It had been immediate, and completely involuntary. Any idiot could have recognized that Tanner was merely baiting him, but the visceral response Cage had felt at his friend’s words hadn’t stemmed from logic.
He took a deep breath, released it slowly. A damned sorry state of affairs, indeed, to get this heated up over a woman who had told him, in a reaction clearer than words, that she didn’t trust him. It shouldn’t matter. He wished like hell he could figure out when it had started to matter all too much.
He pushed away from the door and headed down the hall in the opposite direction to the one his friend had taken. Entering the room labeled Investigative Services, he absently returned the greetings of the deputies seated at their desks and made his way to the bank of computers at the back of the room.
Progress, he thought, as he sat down before the mainframe computer, was a wonderful thing. Given enough local funding, law-enforcement officials around the nation could tap into a huge database of information compiled on unsolved crimes throughout the U.S. Eyes intent on the computer screen, he keyed in his command and waited for access.
Of course, there wouldn’t have been sufficient funding available to bring twentieth-century technology to the St. Augustine sheriff’s department without philanthropic contributions. Cage didn’t consider it strange that he’d donated an amount ten times his annual salary to the sheriff’s office after he’d been hired to bring its investigative abilities up-to-date. He’d been raised to understand that being born to wealth entailed certain obligations. Although he’d never given it much thought growing up, he’d been aware that his parents had contributed freely to the town and the parish. The new addition to the school, and the two fire trucks the parish volunteers kept polished to a gleaming shine were evidence that the Gauthier tradition of charity was continuing. Or at least, that of the most recent Gauthiers. He seemed to recall having heard a thing or two about his granddaddy’s ability to keep two sets of books and every penny he ever made.
Cage squinted at the screen and tapped in the information he wanted to access, narrowing the search to Louisiana: Homicide female unsolved. As the volumes of data began downloading he prepared the printer and turned to the deputy nearest him, Bob Sutton. “Some time this morning I want you to run out to Donny Ray’s place. Check up on Stacy.” The man nodded. It wasn’t the first time the request had been made. As a wave of resignation swept over him, Cage knew better than to hope that it would be the last.
The day had been a total loss. Zoey shoved away from the computer and rose to pace. She had the self-discipline to keep herself at the screen all day and the determination to type eight new pages. She also had the insight to realize every word she’d written would have to be trashed.
Unfortunately, concentration had been far more elusive to summon than self-discipline had been—unless she was willing to admit that her concentration had been focused solely on Cage, and the events of last night.
In a strange sense, she felt as though she’d failed some test, one she couldn’t even put a name to. The thought of putting a stop to their growing intimacy had never entered her mind, not once that slow, persuasive mouth had met hers again. Not after those warm lips had cruised up her jawline and unerringly found the sensitive spot below her ear. Not after he’d cupped her breast in his clever fingers. And especially not after she’d touched him, tasted him.
A shiver ribboned down her spine. No, she’d elected just for once to feel, and feel she had. The explosion of desire had been more raw, more primitive than anything she’d experienced before. She hadn’t considered backing away. Logic simply hadn’t entered the equation.
Until one little word he’d spoken had shattered the spell.
She turned sharply, and nearly tripped over Oxy, who gave a startled yelp, then looked up at her with reproachful eyes. She knelt down to give him a soothing pat. She’d been a fool to react so violently to something Cage had said half in jest. Even now, she could remember his easy tone and the heat in his eyes as he’d uttered the phrase.
“You’ll just have to trust me on that.”
Surely he hadn’t meant the words to be taken literally. And certainly her response must have surprised him, embarrassed him—almost as much as it had embarrassed her.
As if he understood the emotions churning within her, Oxy reached up and swiped her face with his tongue. She hunched her shoulder, wiped her cheek on her shirt. One little word. So silly, really. Easy to utter, but, oh, so difficult to give. She drew in a shuddering breath and gathered Oxy close. Why, then, did it feel like a personal failure on her part?
She sat there holding the dog, rocking a little, until Oxy began to wriggle and squirm out of her arms. She released him and stood, resolve forming. She’d spent the entire day wondering what Cage was feeling, what he was thinking. Was he still worrying over the investigation the way he’d been when he’d come to her last night?
Turning, she headed toward the stairs. In some odd way Cage had needed her last night, in more than just the physical sense. A compulsion that ran far deeper than simple emotion demanded she find out if he still did.
Zoey took a quick shower and blow-dried her hair. Then she dressed with slightly more care than usual, applied some makeup and went to her dresser for the locket she kept there.
Funny. She frowned, looking into the crystal bowl on top of her dresser. She wore the locket so frequently she rarely put it away, electing instead to drape it over the side of the bowl. But there was no sign of it now, neither in the bowl nor, a quick search determined, in the jewelry box where she sometimes kept it.
Glancing at the clock on her bedside table, she paused for a moment, indecisive, before turning on her heel and heading down the steps. She’d look for it tomorrow, first thing, she promised herself. Right now there was something much more pressing to do.
She went to the kitchen, took out a sack and then opened the refrigerator to examine its contents. Before she could give her better judgment time to talk her out of it, she put some food in the bag, scooped up Oxy, locked the door and headed for the car.
It wasn’t until she was standing on the front porch of the stately Gauthier home that her knees began to shake. It took all of ten seconds in the still, suffocating air for dampness to form along her spine. Stalwartly, she stepped forward and rang the bell.
And waited.
She rang it again, clasping Oxy a little tighter. For the first time it occurred to her to wonder what she would do if Cage wasn’t home from work yet. Or worse, if he was home, but didn’t want to see her. Or even worse, if—
The door swung open and Zoey’s gaze fixed on the woman f
illing the doorway. Surprise, and a healthy dose of awe, kept Zoey silent.
“Well?” The woman crossed her broad arms and began to tap what was surely a size-twelve sneaker. Her brassy gold curls bobbed as she swept Zoey with a look that didn’t miss an inch, top to bottom. “If you’re selling something, miss, I’m not the lady of the house.”
“No.” She was unable to say more, unable to do more than stare.
The woman’s three strands of brightly colored beads jingled as she tapped more furiously. “No? What do you mean, no? No, you’re not selling something, or no, I’m not the lady of the house?”
Fascinated, Zoey watched the woman’s heavily rouged cheeks deepen in color. “No, ma’am. I’m—ah—not selling anything.”
“Well, good, because I’m about to go home and I just don’t have time to watch a demonstration of dirt being sprinkled on the carpet and vacuumed all up again. Lucky for you, too. Last salesman did that to my clean carpet limped for a week.”
Zoey didn’t doubt it. “Actually, uh, ma’am…I was wondering if Cage was home.”
The tapping stopped. The woman peered at her more closely. “Well, of course you are. Don’t know a salesperson who brings a dog with her.” She shot Oxy a suspicious look. “Fact of the matter is, don’t know one of Cage’s women who travels with one, either. Is he expecting you?”
If there was a God in the heaven, the earth would open up and swallow her right now. Seconds ticked by. The earth remained solid. Natural disasters were notoriously unreliable.
Zoey cleared her throat. “Yes,” she lied baldly.
“Humph. Never said a thing to me about it, and I can’t say as I recognize you, either. You’re not from around here, that’s for sure. I know nearly everybody in the parish….” Her mouth made an O of discovery. “Well, I’ll be… You’re that writer from up north that moved in, ain’tcha?”
Oxy squirmed in her grasp, and Zoey tightened her hold on him. The woman before her—Cage’s housekeeper, if she didn’t miss her bet—didn’t look the type to be charmed by animals, no matter how adorable. “Yes, ma’am.”
The blond curls bobbed emphatically. “Don’t know why it took me so long to see it. I’ve had my ears filled with news about you since the day you drove into this town. So you’ve come to sniff around my Cage?”
Zoey’s brows rose and her chin angled. Cage would have recognized the frigid tone. “Certainly not.” It was a moment before Zoey unbent enough to observe the twinkle in the woman’s eyes.
“Actually, the way those Potter sisters tell it, the boy’s got his sights set on you, but you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. Never known him to put forth this much energy before on the chase.” As if to discover the reason for the anomaly, she gave Zoey another thorough once-over.
She was a contained one, Ila noted, with the confidence to stare down the devil himself. Intelligence shone from those surprising green eyes and there was stubbornness in the angle of her chin. Cage wouldn’t have this one falling at his feet with a little sweet talk and his effortless charm. At the realization, Ila’s estimation of the woman rose. Cage wasn’t family, but he was the closest thing to it, and Ila wasn’t getting any younger. She wouldn’t mind a few surrogate grandchildren tearing through the house while she was still around to enjoy the experience.
She swung the door wide. “Cage isn’t home from work yet, but since he’s expecting you, you’d better come in and wait. Mind you, now, I don’t want any messes in the house.”
Zoey was almost certain that remark was directed at Oxy.
The other woman turned away and headed toward what, Zoey remembered from her previous visit, would be the kitchen. “I’m Ila, by the way. Been housekeeper here since Cage’s folks moved back from Florida. Can’t tell you what’s keeping that boy, but I don’t have the time to wait for him. Got an appointment in ten minutes to have that silly twit, Mavis, perm my hair again. Never had such a time keeping the curl in my hair before I started going to the girl. I have half a mind to do it myself from now on.”
During the monologue Ila had retrieved a huge bag from a closet, dug around in it for her keys, and continued walking through the kitchen to a back screen door. “You tell Cage I didn’t make him any supper to warm up. He never ate what I fixed last night, and from the look of that sack in your hand, he’s probably got other plans for tonight.” The screen door slammed behind her, and her voice trailed over her shoulder. “Don’t let me find no pet hair on the furniture.”
Then a car engine sounded, and Zoey dropped her gaze to Oxy. “That, I’m positive, was aimed at you.” She set him down, and placed the bag of food on the counter. “Your entire future might just hinge on your behavior this evening, so keep that in mind.”
Zoey turned slowly about the kitchen, newly aware of the emptiness of the house. Not even to herself did she admit that her words could apply as much to her as to the puppy.
Eyes burning, Cage made his way through the cloaked shadows to the house. Ila must have turned some lamps on before she left, and their muted glow was welcoming in the silent, still darkness. The weather hadn’t yet given in to the tumultuous rains that had been forecast, but heat lightning seared and scored the sky, and the air was almost too thick to breathe.
It was a measure of his weariness that he was almost to the front door before the sight of a car parked alongside the house registered. Slowly he backed up, squinted into the darkness. A long breath hissed between his teeth. It was too dark to discern the color, but he recognized the make. The hard band that had been forming in his chest all day loosened. The glow beckoning from the windows took on new warmth.
Oxy greeted him at the door, and he bent to rumple the dog’s ears, but his attention was acutely fixed before him. Wasting no time, he straightened and went in search of Zoey.
He found her in the kitchen, a book in her hand and a soda on the table in front of her. She was seated on a ladder-backed chair with her feet curled beneath her, in one of those joint-defying positions that only women could seem to manage and men could only drool over.
Like a sneaky left jab, desire hit him square in the gut. She was wearing a white sleeveless top that made him think of the one she’d worn the first night he’d met her, but this one was softer somehow, with lace and ribbons tracing the edges. She was a breath of cool, sweet air after the mugginess of the day, a flash of blessed sunshine after the unbelievably savage crime reports he’d immersed himself in all afternoon.
Unfamiliar emotion surged through him—a simple sense of longing that was nearly staggering. For the first time, he realized how long it had been since this house had seemed like a home. Until he’d found her waiting in it for him.
Her eyes, when she looked up, were startled. She straightened self-consciously. “You may have to rethink Oxy’s function as a watchdog. I had no idea you’d come home.”
With effort, he matched her wary tone with a casual one of his own. “Now don’t go blaming this little guy. He just hasn’t learned to bark yet.” The dog had followed Cage to the kitchen, and trailed after him as he went to the refrigerator to get a beer. Cage’s gaze lingered on the thick, seasoned steaks lying on a plate inside, next to a bowl of fresh salad. He snagged a bottle with two fingers and straightened to face her again. Twisting off the top with a quick efficient movement, he raised the beer to his lips, grateful to have something to occupy his hands.
Zoey watched him searchingly. She’d never seen him look so fatigued, his shoulders slightly slumped as if from carrying a burden too great to bear. She had an overpowering urge to go and wrap her arms around him, let some of the tired cynicism he wore drain away.
Because the strength of the urge terrified her, she rose swiftly. “I didn’t know dogs had to be taught to bark. It appears I’ve been neglecting Oxy’s lessons.” Cage was still leaning against the refrigerator, so she busied herself at the stove, fiddling with the broiler she’d found in the drawer beneath the oven.
Cage saw the nervous energy in her
movements and wondered at it. “He’ll discover that talent all on his own soon enough. Then you’ll be wishing he could unlearn it.” Thunder rolled ominously outside, followed by a crack of lightning. She started, her gaze darting to the screen door.
“I suppose we should close that.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Every porch on this place—and I think it has six or seven—is covered. The rain’s not going to hurt anything.”
“I’ve been waiting for a while. I didn’t realize you’d be late. I kept thinking you’d be home anytime….” She bit her lip when she realized she was babbling.
“I was involved in something.” Not by the slightest inflection did he let on that he’d spent hours wading through reports of carnage and violence, and that the experience had left him weary and sick. And not for the world would he have her know the awful suspicion that drove the search, even as a part of him prayed to be proved wrong.
“I have steaks.” Her voice steadier now, Zoey raised her eyes to his. “Maybe it’s too late for you to eat. Or maybe you’d rather I’d go so you can be alone.”
He pushed away from the refrigerator and went to her. Tipping her chin up with one crooked finger, he let his lips sink into hers, savoring her texture, her taste.
“No.” His voice was soft when their mouths parted. “I don’t want to be alone.”
So while the thunder rumbled warnings outside, and lightning flashed to herald the long-awaited rain, Cage let himself enjoy the simple pleasure of just being near her. They broiled the steaks together, bickering amiably about the best way to cook them. When he refused a potato, they ate only the steaks and salad. The rain came, softly at first, then in a wild torrent that pounded against the windows and walls.
When he was pleasantly full, Cage sat back and drove Oxy into delirium by offering him small scraps of meat. “My mama had a custom for this kind of storm,” he mused aloud, as he yanked his fingers out of the way of the puppy’s sharp teeth. “The kind that built up for hours and hours and when it broke just poured for hours more. No matter what the season, or the time of day, she’d bully my daddy into building a fire in the fireplace in the den. Then the whole family would gather in there, stay to talk, read some, until it passed. When we were teenagers Nadine and I made like the whole thing was a big ordeal.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “But we never have a rain like this that I don’t think of those times.”