by Addison Fox
In minutes they were loaded back in his car, Max’s lone figure left standing on the porch. As he took in his friend’s speculative gaze, Tucker instinctively knew Max’s thoughts matched his own.
Someone thought Mrs. Beauregard was sitting on a secret. What bothered him was what that nameless, faceless threat would do to possess it.
* * *
Charlie McCallum slammed the door to his apartment and stalked toward the bottle of bourbon that sat on the bar divider between his kitchen and living room. Heat radiated off him, the thick, long-sleeved sweatshirt he’d donned for the job a bitch in the Dallas heat.
Debating between pouring his drink and stripping, the heat won out as he dragged the sweatshirt over his head. The thick ski mask bulged from his back pocket and he threw that across the living room after the rest of his clothes.
Damn old woman. That crotchety old biddy was a useless dead end. He hadn’t gotten a single thing out of her and had shaved about ten years off his life in the process.
The moment when he’d let himself in her door and had come face-to-face with her, shock and horror lining her features...
It’d nearly had him running in the other direction.
He grabbed a glass from next to the sink and poured a generous portion of the bourbon with shaking hands. Damn it, he had the stones to do this.
He did.
He slugged back the drink and let the heat of the liquor wash through his system as the list of his sins piled up. When had it gotten so bad?
And why weren’t the pieces where he’d been promised?
His late wife had been vague, the rumor of a cache of jewels something she’d heard as a child. But he’d done his homework. Had hunted up that old appraiser and knew what he was looking for. Jo Beauregard was sitting on a boatload of jewels, and they were all hidden in the floorboards of his former sister-in-law’s shop.
And what were the freaking odds of that?
Charlie poured a second glass, calmer now as he worked through the problem.
Cassidy didn’t know he’d been in her shop. She had no reason to suspect him, and after the number he’d done on her dresses there was no way she’d think it was anything but a standard break-in.
Mrs. B. didn’t know it was him today, either. He’d seen the fear in her eyes and not a single moment of recognition it was him under the wool. He knew he could have gotten the location out of her if she hadn’t panicked and slipped in her kitchen.
Calming, he nodded as the liquor went to work on his system. He was okay. Fine. Better than fine.
He was clean with Cass and he was clean with the old bat. There was absolutely nothing to tie him to either place. Add on the fact that no one in the Tate family had seen him in three years and he was golden.
Of course, since the damn hole he’d finally found was shut solid and he hadn’t gotten a whiff out of Mrs. B., he was going to have to find a way to play buddy-buddy with freaking Saint Cassidy or lure her away from the shop somehow.
On a sigh, he figured he’d better start thinking up a good way to get her and her friends out of the shop. Attempting to contact her needed to be a last resort.
She’d never liked him and was certain not to have lost any sleep over him these past several years.
Especially since he was a living reminder of what she’d lost.
* * *
Cassidy noted the detective’s sharp gaze as the man scribbled another note into a small black folio. Detective Reed Graystone had arrived about an hour after the doctors had wheeled Mrs. B. back for tests and had quickly commandeered a private room from the information station.
Where Cassidy had initially appreciated the privacy and the detective’s ready attention to details, they were going on hour two and the repetitive questions had grown tedious.
“Please take me through this morning’s events, Miss Tate.”
“Detective Graystone. I appreciate the time and your need for answers, but as I told you, the police who arrived at my business this morning showed very little interest in the break-in. They were kind, did their job and left, assuring me there’d be a report as a follow-up.”
“And then you happen upon the owner of your establishment after she was assaulted in her own home. Please don’t tell me you think it’s a coincidence.”
“Hardly.” Cassidy bristled at the implication she was slow on the uptake but kept her smile firmly in place. “What I’m questioning is why we keep going over the same events.”
“Witnesses often remember things they forgot.”
Or detectives can ask different questions to trip those witnesses up, Cassidy thought ruefully.
“That’s fair, Detective. But I’ve spent all day racking my brain to understand why someone would target a bridal boutique and my landlord. Other than Mrs. Beauregard’s ownership of the location, she has nothing to do with my business.”
“So why did you go to Mrs. Beauregard’s?”
“As we discussed, I owed her our rent check as well as a bridal veil I was repairing for her. My partners and I also felt it was proper to tell her about the break-in this morning.”
“And Mr. Buchanan? What’s his relationship with the victim?”
The detective’s gaze grew sharper as he turned his attention toward Tucker. Speculation ran rampant in the man’s enigmatic gray gaze and Cassidy called on every shred of Southern charm and decorum she possessed not to call him out and request the name of a supervisor. “Tucker is one of the owners of another firm in our neighborhood. He found me this morning outside my shop.”
“Found you?”
“I was shaken up. He was out running with his dog and happened upon me.”
Detective Graystone didn’t smile as his gaze landed fully on Tucker. “So the two of you never met before today?”
Before she could reply, Tucker cut in, smooth as spun cotton candy at the state fair. “Our partners have met at neighborhood events but Cassidy and I had never met before today.”
“Yet you were more than willing to take her to her landlady’s?”
“My mama would expect no less. Cassidy had a scare this morning and I offered moral support.”
Cassidy held back the snort—she suspected that was the first time a New Yorker had ever called his mother his “mama”—but she had to give him points for style. The aw-shucks routine had the detective standing down a notch or two, even if he appeared no closer to believing the coincidence.
“What were you doing outside her store at—” Graystone consulted his notepad “—a little after 6:00 a.m.?”
“I was on my morning run. My dog and I stumbled across Cassidy as she stood outside the store.”
“And you accompanied her inside?”
“After Cassidy called the police, yes, we did.”
The detective’s gaze skipped between Tucker and Cassidy before coming to rest on Tucker. “And you weren’t scared?”
“I served in the army. I assessed the situation and felt it was okay to go in.” His smile brightened and edged toward celebrity wattage before he added a cocky grin. “And I have a big dog.”
Detective Graystone bared his teeth in a gesture that bordered on a snarl—as if he were irritated at being thwarted—but his words were deceptive as he spoke. “I think that’s all my questions for now. I plan on following up in the morning. I’d like to talk to your partners, too. Will you be at your shop?”
“Yes.” Cassidy nodded. “We won’t be open for business in order to finish dealing with the damages, but come by anytime. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll see you in the morning then.”
Tucker waited until the door had closed behind the detective before he spoke. “He believes you.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He didn’t want to, but every q
uestion he asked, you had an answer for.”
“He sure didn’t act like he believed me. In fact, he sort of resembled the big bad wolf, just before he ate Grandma.”
“Don’t mistake standard interrogation tactics for lack of belief. Every volley the good detective tossed your way you sent right back. Nice job.”
“Thanks. But I think you get the award for bringing Bailey into it. I still owe him that bone.”
Tucker’s easy smile—the one that kept snagging her pulse—fell away so suddenly she blinked at the rapid change. “You didn’t tell him about the alarm.”
The words weren’t quite an accusation, but she heard the note of disapproval all the same. “He didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t mention the hole in the floor, either.”
“It’s Mrs. B.’s building. As far as we know, it’s empty.”
“They were both omissions.”
“It wasn’t relevant to the questions.”
Panic bloomed, chasing away the light, airy butterflies he’d created with his smile.
She’d been questioned before. Remembered how it felt to have someone stare at you as if you were nothing. Or worse.
As if you’d done something to be ashamed of.
She’d lived through that once and she’d be damned if she was going to go under the microscope again.
Tucker leaned forward, his dark eyes urgent. “Can you honestly sit there and tell me you think a hidden, sealed hole in the concrete floor of your office is empty? That you’re not in danger and that whoever was in there once won’t try again?”
With swift efficiency, she bricked up her emotions. This wasn’t the same as before. No matter what they ended up discovering about the break-in and the concrete floor and even Mrs. B.’s attack, this would never be the same.
“It’s not my building. It’s not my business to say anything until we’ve spoken to Mrs. B. Besides, we’ve been there for nearly three years and nothing’s happened.”
“Yet someone came and ruined your things—your business—to make a point.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“By keeping the cops in the dark?” His big shoulders hunched, and he stood to pace. She watched the long, trim lines of his body and couldn’t help wondering what had suddenly spooked him.
“You’ve been my partner all day and suddenly you’re playing judge and jury. What gives?”
“This isn’t a joke. Someone with access to your building wants something inside of it. I’d think you’d take it a bit more seriously.”
“I am taking it seriously.” The shift from easygoing flirt to fierce protector caught her more off guard than she wanted to admit, and Cassidy heard the quaver in her voice. Swallowing hard, she firmed up her tone. “I just spent two hours with a cop taking it seriously.”
“Then prove it.”
“I don’t need to prove anything and I don’t appreciate round two of an afternoon interrogation. While I appreciate the partnership, this isn’t your problem. Violet, Lilah and I are more than capable of handling it.”
“Handling it?”
She knew sparks arced between them—could practically see them float in the air—but Cassidy held her ground. It was embarrassing enough to be treated like a criminal by the detective. She’d be damned if she was going to take it from the one person who’d been with her all day.
Before she could say another word, those same sparks thickened, then exploded in a rush.
Tucker had his hands on her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. Somewhere inside she knew she should protest that she’d be fine. That she could take care of herself. That she could deal with whatever the hell was going on.
But as those large, capable hands pulled her close, she had to admit that Tucker Buchanan might be a bit more than she could handle.
Chapter 4
Tucker had no idea why her omission to the detective had him so riled, but now that it had, he couldn’t quite stop the raging need to touch her and assure himself she was whole.
Unspoiled.
He’d seen the destruction this morning in her shop. And he’d seen her corresponding fear, sharp and pointed in that bright blue gaze. Someone had violated her space and ruined her work. And then they’d found Mrs. Beauregard.
What had seemed like a run-of-the-mill break-in at her shop had morphed into something far more serious. A threat hovered around Cassidy and, by extension, her partners. For reasons he couldn’t name or begin to understand, that nameless, faceless danger had every instinct he possessed on high alert.
His gaze roamed over her face once more. Although that wild-eyed fear from earlier was nowhere in evidence, she had gone still, her gaze too bright as she anticipated his reaction.
Tucker gave himself that moment to simply look his fill. Her skin was so pale, a soft cream that spoke of elegance and refinement. His fingers gentle, he ran the pad of his thumb over the fine bones of her cheek. “You need to take this more seriously.”
“I am taking it seriously, but I want to give Mrs. B. a chance to explain what we found.” It was as though wisps of smoke curled around the edges of her voice, the register low and husky. “I owe her that much.”
Fascinated by the softness of her cheek, he skimmed his thumb toward her jawline, tracing the firm length. “Don’t you think she owes you the truth of why it’s there in the first place?”
The moment hovered between them, their bodies close even as their battle of wills kept them at an emotional distance.
“She’s an old woman. I hardly think she’s hiding secrets.”
“Everyone has secrets, Cassidy.” He shifted closer before bending his head to press his lips along the same path his thumb had traveled. The light sigh that floated between them encouraged him, and he ran his lips over her slightly open ones, capturing the end of that small exhalation with his mouth.
Her hesitance vanished, and suddenly she was as in the moment as he was as they explored each other. Her hands settled on his hips before tangling in the material of his shirt where it bunched at his waist, and she moved closer in his arms.
Their bodies flush, Tucker felt that age-old rush of satisfaction as she came to him.
And in mere moments, he had to admit to himself that he was lost. His role as frustrated he-man—not his usual style at all—faded as he went from actively aggressive to humbly enthralled. The slim woman in his arms had turned his attraction on its ear and now stood toe-to-toe with him, giving as good as she got.
Their mouths met and clashed with a fierce urgency that gripped them both, drove them both.
Destroyed them both.
Her soft lips were lush under his, begging him to drink his fill. But when she turned on him, taking his bottom lip between hers, Tucker knew a moment of such deep-seated weakness his knees nearly buckled.
Who was this woman?
Drawing back, he stared at her, dazzled by the fierce urgency that had consumed them, locking them in a moment rife with power and need.
A witchy little smile tinged those bee-stung lips. “You look surprised, Lancelot.”
“Lancelot?”
That smile broadened as she cocked her head. “You were the one with the white-knight complex this morning.”
“I’m not feeling very pure and honorable at the moment.”
“That makes two of us.” Her temptress’s smile shifted, gentled, as she released her hold on his waist. “But it doesn’t change the fact we don’t know each other very well.”
He knew he was staring, unable to look away from the vivid, bright woman standing before him. But he also knew she had secrets.
And some level of fear that ran deeper than even she likely understood.
Willing his raging blood to cool, Tucker took a step back of his own, s
eeking some sort of equilibrium in that extra degree of space.
“I can at least buy you dinner. You up for burgers?”
“A man after my own heart.”
A funny little tingle settled low in his gut at the mention of her heart, but he ignored it. Instead, he grabbed her hand—unable to not touch her after what they’d shared—and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Cassidy snagged a crisp French fry, loaded with cheese, bacon and ranch dressing, and avoided a low moan as the combination passed her lips.
“These are good.” Tucker shoved about three fries to her one in his mouth, his head nodding as he chewed. “Really good.”
“Angry Dog makes one of the best burgers in town. And their cheese fries are to die for. I have to promise cleansings and salads for a week to even get Vi to consider this place.”
A lone eyebrow raised across the scarred wooden table. “Do I dare ask what’s involved in a cleansing?”
“Not if you want to enjoy that burger that’s about to be set in front of you.” Cassidy glanced at their waitress, who hovered over them with two plates loaded with juicy burgers and even more of those delicious golden French fries. Their waitress settled the plates, and Cassidy didn’t miss the appreciative glance the young woman gave Tucker.
Nor did she miss Tucker’s abstract smile when he nodded for another iced tea.
Cassidy waited a beat until the woman was out of earshot before she spoke. “I think you wounded her.”
“I’m sorry?” He glanced up from the ketchup bottle, confusion stamped clearly in his dark eyes.
“Our waitress. She was getting her flirt on and you seemed oblivious.”
“She wasn’t flirting. She asked me if I wanted a refill on my drink.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“She wasn’t flirting, and even if she was, I’m here with you. Why would I make eyes at her?”
Cassidy nearly fumbled her bun as she layered on her own spread of ketchup. Who was this man?
She’d been single longer than she wanted to admit, but even in her periods of active dating she’d struggled with men who seemed to have a wandering eye, always looking for something better to come along. Hell, even Robert had always acted like there was something better waiting around the corner.