“I’m not worried about being safe.”
She was much more worried about being alone again. A few days ago, living single and unfettered had been her way of life, but right now she already dreaded crawling into her bed tonight without Luther. He belonged there. She needed him.
Edgar interrupted their private moment, grumpy as he placed a cup of black coffee on the bar. “Something to eat, Detective?” he snapped.
“A sandwich,” Luther said as he faced the bar, one possessive arm around Cleo.
Edgar didn’t much care for the appearance of Detective Malone in their lives, and neither did Eric, she knew. This afternoon’s interrogations had done nothing to change that. They would come around, when the real killer was caught and they realized that Luther cared for her. When they knew, as she did, that for once in her life everything was going to work out right, they’d be happy for her.
Russell flirted with Lizzy, but not with as much enthusiasm as usual, Luther noted. The kid was beginning to take this case too much to heart, and the worry showed on his young face.
As she sang, Cleo unconsciously fiddled with the pendant he’d given her. She liked it. Since he’d never done Valentine’s Day before, he was relieved. Every time she caressed that gold clef, he felt as if she was touching him. Thinking about him. Wishing they were somewhere else, alone and with none of this god-awful mess between them.
Cleo didn’t constantly stare above the crowd, as she usually did. She often looked at him. Sometimes she even smiled.
She hadn’t been with anyone else since Jack. Knowing that Cleo had put aside her hurt and mistrust for him added an unpleasant weight of responsibility to his gut. What if it didn’t work? What if, like everyone else, they screwed this up? Everything seemed perfect at the moment, at least as far as the two of them were concerned, but he knew damn well “perfect” didn’t last.
At the same time, knowing she’d waited for him made her all the more his. He wanted her harder, deeper, in a place he hadn’t known existed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the longhaired thug walk in. With tight jeans, leather jacket, black boots, and that long dark hair, he looked not at all like Cleo’s regular clientele. The guy belonged in a biker bar.
He took a table in the corner, ordered a beer from Lizzy and turned his eyes to the stage. And grinned. Luther did not like that wicked grin.
A few minutes later, the beer quickly disposed of, the man’s eyes met Luther’s. He nodded once and stood, tossing a bill onto the table and bursting through the front door and into the cold night. Luther followed.
“Not a bad gig,” the man mumbled as the door closed behind Luther. “She’s a looker.”
Luther turned to watch as the man lit a cigarette and leaned casually against the brick wall that fronted Cleo’s. “This is a hands-off job, Sinclair,” Luther said.
Boone Sinclair smiled and blew out a long puff of smoke. “Too bad.”
Of all the people he could’ve called, why this man? There were other private investigators available, some of them specializing in bodyguard assignments. Truth was, he’d called Boone Sinclair because he trusted him, and because the man was as tough as they come. He wanted the best man possible to be watching Cleo when he couldn’t be there himself. The way Boone smiled was enough to give Luther second thoughts.
“I can call in someone else...”
Sinclair lifted a hand to silence him. “No. I owe you. That’s why I’m here, Malone. You know this isn’t the kind of job I usually take. And if you say hands off—” he spread his hands wide “—then you got it.”
“How’s your sister, Shea?” Luther asked, anxious to change the subject.
Sinclair sneered. “Married. Pregnant. Working for CNN.”
“That all sounds good.”
Boone shot him a disbelieving glance. “Pregnant,” he said again.
“That seems to be going around.”
The Birmingham PI snorted. Now he was the one who wanted to change the subject. “You didn’t tell me much about the case over the phone. Fill me in.”
Cleo stood with her back to her front door, Luther blocking the cold wind. He’d insisted on driving her home, and had also insisted that he couldn’t stay. He wouldn’t even come inside, not tonight, but he wasn’t any more ready to let her go than she was to allow him to walk away.
His arms bracketed her head, his hands pressed against the door behind her. “You have my phone numbers, and the pager number, and you have 9-1-1 on speed dial.”
“Yes,” she said, leaning close to him to cut the night’s chill. If she thought it was fair, she’d try to convince him to come inside and stay the night. But she didn’t. He wanted to do this properly. Maybe that meant what they had was as important to him as it was to her. She wanted to believe that was true.
“Sinclair is watching—”
Luther nodded to the van that was parked down the street. With its dark tinted windows, it looked deserted. She knew it wasn’t.
“He’ll be here all night and he'll make regular rounds of the property. He’ll watch you until I can make it to the club, then he’ll catch a little sleep while I stay with you.”
“Is all this really necessary?”
“Yes.”
“I hate for him to stay out in the cold all night.”
“He’s used to it.” Luther lowered his head slowly, obviously intending to kiss her.
“You know what I think?” she asked as his lips barely brushed hers.
“What?”
“I think you have a new oral fixation.”
He brushed his mouth against hers. “Oh, you do?”
“I haven’t seen you reach for the candy all night.”
He made a noncommittal sound. “Hmmm.”
She nibbled lightly at his lower lip. “Do you crave this?” she whispered.
“You know I do.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I have a feeling I’m much better for you than peppermint and jelly beans.”
“Me, too.”
The kiss turned deep, and there was no more talking. No more teasing. Luther caught her up against his body and held her there, tight and secure. She grabbed on to his jacket and kissed him back with everything she had. She didn’t want to stop; she didn’t want to let him go, not ever.
But eventually they fell apart, before they arrived at that point where there would be no stopping, before they passed the point where she opened the door and he followed her inside.
She was so close to that point. “Maybe you should come inside and take a look around, before you go home. Just in case.” She didn’t really think anyone had broken into her home. In spite of the white roses, there had been no real threat to her life. Only to those who hurt her.
“Sinclair already took care of that.”
“I didn’t give him a key, and there’s no spare hidden under my mailbox anymore.”
“Sinclair doesn’t need a key.”
Having met the man, she wasn’t surprised. He looked more like a criminal than the ex-cop Luther said he was. “Did he find anything alarming?”
“Yeah. A dog who tried to love him to death.”
“Some guard dog Rambo is. She doesn’t live up to her name at all, does she?”
Luther kissed her again, his mouth coming to hers as if he couldn’t help himself. A quick kiss, a nibble, a too-brief connection to stir the heat within them both, and then he backed away just slightly. “You better go inside before I change my mind.”
She fished her key out of her purse and turned around to slip it into the lock. Luther took the opportunity to nose her hair aside and kiss her neck.
The sensation of his mouth on her neck almost pushed her over the edge. She wanted him to come inside with her, fall into the bed, and love her all night. He wanted that, too. She could feel it.
“Why do you have to be such a good guy, Malone?” she asked huskily. “Why did I have to fall for a guy who always plays by the rules?”
<
br /> He reached around and cupped her breast with one easy hand. “I swear, Cleo, I never had such a hard time playing by the rules before. If there was anyone else to hand this case over to, if there was any other way… if I could forget the rules just this once—”
“Don’t apologize for being a good guy,” she said. “It’s so much a part of who you are.” She leaned her head back against his shoulder. This was easier when she didn’t have to look him in the eye. If anyone asked her if she was brave, she wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. But she didn’t feel brave at the moment. She was terrified. “It’s a very big part of the man I’m falling in love with.” With that she unlocked the door, turned to kiss Luther quickly on the mouth, and then stepped inside and closed the door before he could respond. Yeah, she was really turning into a coward.
Would he run from her now that she’d actually said the L word? Had she scared him off with her honesty? She peeked warily through the peephole, and smiled when she saw that Luther was still there on her porch, leaning against the door and looking as if she’d knocked the wind out of him.
Then he laid the palm of his hand against the door, a silent goodbye, and glanced back quickly, his face clear just long enough for her to see that he was smiling, too.
Chapter Eleven
Cleo awakened from a deep sleep to the sound of someone knocking lightly but frantically on her door. She recognized the knock, as she stumbled toward the door, but looked through the peephole, anyway. A familiar head of red hair filled her line of vision.
She opened the door and Syd hurried inside. Her friend closed the door behind her and locked it quickly before turning around, then leaned against it taking a deep breath.
“What’s wrong?” Cleo asked sharply, coming instantly awake.
“Someone’s watching you,” Syd whispered.
Cleo’s heart jumped into her throat. “Watching me?”
“I saw him a few minutes ago, skulking around the house. He got in a van down the street, but he didn’t leave. He’s still there.” Syd took a wicked-looking kitchen knife from the inside pocket of her denim jacket and wielded it clumsily. “Isn’t Luther here?”
“No.”
“Well, call him, or call the police. Call somebody!” Syd said breathlessly. “This guy that was walking around the house, he’s pretty scary looking. Long hair, leather jacket, and one time when I peeked out of my bathroom window while he was around back, I saw that he had a gun stuck in his pants.”
Cleo breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s Boone Sinclair. Luther hired him to keep an eye on the place when he can’t be here.”
“Why can’t he be here?” Syd asked, letting her hand and the kitchen knife fall.
Cleo shook her head and turned around to walk slowly toward the kitchen. Syd followed. “He’s investigating the case, and I’m the ex-wife of the first victim. It’s just not—”
“First victim?”
Cleo nodded. “Did you hear about the body that was found at that fast-food restaurant on Whitesburg?”
“Yeah.”
“My heckler. Luther thinks the same man who killed Jack killed the heckler.” She shook her head. “He has to concentrate on the case, not on us. There can’t be any us as long as he’s on this case.” She hated it, she hated it so much, but what was she supposed to do?
“You’re not still a suspect, are you?” Syd asked.
“No.” At least, she didn’t think so. Luther never would’ve gotten this close if he’d thought for a moment that she was involved. “But still, I suppose it might look bad.” Might look bad? Who was she kidding?
She offered Syd chocolate chip pancakes, and they ate a big breakfast before Syd had to run in order to open her shop by ten. Cleo showered, then dressed in a casual, dark purple outfit that hung loosely and comfortably on her body.
When she heard footsteps outside her window and peeked out the front window to see Sinclair rounding the corner, she opened the front door and called him in.
The big man, all dark hair and denim and leather, stopped on the front porch. He didn’t look like he’d been up all night, except for the fact that he was in bad need of a shave. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Are you hungry?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. I’ll grab something this afternoon, once you’re settled in at the club.”
“Chocolate chip pancakes,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, giving in quickly and stepping inside as she moved back to make way. “Nice place,” he said, looking around as if seeing it for the first time.
Cleo headed for the kitchen. “Don’t play dumb with me, Sinclair. Luther told me you checked the place out yesterday.”
Sinclair grunted.
Rambo, who’d been sleeping in the kitchen, bounded forward to greet Sinclair as if he were a long-lost friend.
“You need a new lock on the back door,” the PI said, as Rambo licked his hand voraciously. “The one you’ve got was too damn easy to work past.”
“Thank you,” she said as she began to gather the ingredients for a second batch of pancakes. “I’ll take care of having it replaced.”
“I told Malone. He’ll probably set you up with a new one by this afternoon.”
Her next gift, she imagined. A gaily wrapped dead bolt.
Sinclair ate the pancakes with relish, but didn’t care for her coffee and didn’t mind telling her that it tasted like dishwater. If she was going to start cooking for a man, she needed to know how to make decent coffee! And other things, too. She didn’t mind eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner or grabbing a sandwich at the club. But she’d have to learn to feed Luther. More than that, she wanted to feed him. She’d never given a fig about feeding anyone before, not even Jack.
“This is kind of a boring job, I imagine,” she said, as Sinclair dumped out a pot of weak brew. He was going to show her how to make good coffee. He laid out the necessary ingredients—a filter, coffee grounds and a spoon— and she watched carefully as he measured, using twice as many grounds as she had.
“Most stakeouts are.”
“I don’t imagine anything exciting will happen. No one’s really threatened me, except for...” She was no longer sure those white roses were a threat. Not everyone looked at white roses and thought of death. That might’ve been a coincidence. “Luther’s being overprotective.”
“Except for what?” Sinclair asked as he started the fresh pot.
“I’ve been getting red roses from a secret admirer for months, and Luther thinks he might be, you know...” She hated to say it out loud. The man who’s been killing people on my behalf. “Last week I had a delivery of white roses, and I thought...” She shrugged off her concern. “It’s probably just me.”
Sinclair leaned against the counter while the coffeemaker gurgled. “Malone took the threat seriously enough to call me in.”
“He’s just being cautious.”
“Better safe than sorry.” Sinclair gave her a lady-killer grin. “I don’t blame him for being careful where you’re concerned. If I was the kind of man who enjoyed a fight, I’d give Malone a run for his money. Okay—” he shrugged “—I do love a fight. But I like Malone, so I’ll behave. Sweetheart, you have a voice that would knock any man flat on his ass. Not my kind of music, you understand, but still... dynamite.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“Besides, Malone’s got that look in his eye. You don’t mess with a man’s woman when he gets that look.”
“What kind of look?”
“That dangerous, permanent kind of look.”
She couldn’t help it; she blushed.
Sinclair waggled his eyebrows. “You kinda got that look yourself. God help you both.”
Boone waited around until Luther arrived at the club, and then he split. Luther knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the PI on the case for more than a few days. Not only was this not Sinclair’s usual missing or runaway child case, but stakeouts got boring, fast. Sinclair wasn’t
a man who would stand for such a tedious assignment for very long.
Luther had thought about Cleo all day. While he’d been interviewing Webb’s co-workers, going over the details the crime techs had come up with, bugging the coroner for an autopsy report and jumping down Mikey’s throat he’d been thinking about Cleo. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t set her aside, he couldn’t dismiss her.
“Hi,” he said, dropping her heavy gift on the bar. “How’s everything?”
“Fine. Nice and quiet.” She picked up the package and shook it gently. “This is heavy,” she said. “I’m guessing...” She placed her playful gaze on him, and he was caught by her amber eyes. “A new lock for my back door.”
“You’ve been talking to Boone.”
She nodded gently. “I was going to pick up something new for you, but Boone didn’t want to go to the mall. Do you have a yellow tie?”
“Yellow? Hell no. I’ll have to thank Sinclair when I see him tonight.” He hadn’t kissed her yet. There weren’t that many people about since it wasn’t late enough for a crowd to have gathered. Cleo wasn’t even dressed for her show, but the purple outfit she wore looked fine to him. He really should wait…
He reached out and kissed her gently, quickly. To anyone watching, and there were a few people about, it might appear to be a friendly, intimate kiss between two people who were becoming comfortable with one another.
She draped her arms around his neck. “Okay, how about orange?”
“Yellow would be better.”
She rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes. “I missed you today,” she whispered.
“Me, too.”
Eric bounded off the stage and joined them, his eyes flashing angrily. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said curtly, obviously not at all sorry.
“It’s okay,” Cleo said, wrapping her arm around Luther’s waist as she faced her piano player. “What’s up?”
“Can I talk to you privately?” the kid asked, nodding toward the office.
“Sure...” Cleo began, trying to disengage her arm.
CAPTURING CLEO Page 13