“Ms. Marks.” Patrick stepped forward. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Certainly, sheriff.” She straightened her shoulders as she faced him. “Please call me, Cyndi.”
“Can you tell me exactly what happened tonight?”
Shamus noted that his brother chose not to call her by name at all. Anger began to churn in his gut.
“I went to the study tonight. I hadn’t been in there since I came back and decided that I’d have a quick look.” Shamus noted that Cyndi was cradling her left hand close to her body. A white bandage was wrapped around her palm.
“Why hadn’t you been in there yet?” Patrick continued his questions.
“Too many memories.” Cyndi shook her head and glanced away, chewing on her bottom lip.
Shamus almost groaned as a bolt of lust shot through him. This was not the time or the place, but his body didn’t seem to care. Thankfully, the other two weren’t paying him any attention. A growing hard-on was hard to hide. Shamus shifted his stance to ease the pressure as he concentrated on the conversation.
“Go on,” Patrick prompted.
“The first thing I did was turn on all the lights and open the drapes. In retrospect, I probably should have left the drapes closed, but they made the room so gloomy.” She rubbed her hands over her arms and then winced and pulled her bandaged palm away.
Shamus picked up a blanket folded at the end of the bed, shook it out, and draped it over her shoulders. “Better?” he asked as he carefully tucked the ends around her.
She nodded and then ducked her head. “Yes, thank you.”
“And then what happened?” Patrick’s gruff voice broke the contact between them. Shamus stepped to one side, but stayed close.
“I went through some things in the desk and the desk drawer, trying to get a sense of what was there. The real job will be going through the filing cabinets. Tonight was more about facing it for the first time.” She didn’t give Patrick time to question what she meant by that, but kept going with her story. “I’d just been through the safe to check out the contents and had closed it again when the first window was blown out.”
“Hang on. Go back to the safe. What’s in there?”
“Why?” She looked suspicious now.
“Because valuables are always a motive for violence.”
“Oh.” Cyndi rubbed her fingers across her forehead and winced when she accidentally used her injured hand. “Sorry. I’m afraid I’m just not thinking straight. I only glanced inside. I lucked into the combination and opened it. There are papers and some journals. I don’t know what they are yet because I didn’t check them. There are also some jewelry cases that belonged to my mother. I took one of them out and looked inside. It was a necklace, but not one I remember her wearing.”
“What did you do then?”
“I put it back inside and closed the safe. I’d decided I’d had enough for the night.” She tilted her head to one side as if remembering. “That’s right, I’d gone back to the desk and was just about to turn off the desk lamp when the first window broke. Then it seemed to happen quickly. I yanked the phone off the desk, but the line was dead. I knew my purse was in the kitchen so I made a run for it. I managed to turn off the lights as I went, grabbed my purse, and hid in the pantry. I had the card that Shamus had given me earlier today and I called him. You know the rest.”
As if the recitation had taken all of her energy, she slumped forward, her head down.
Shamus could see the fine tremors in her hand as she tucked a lock of hair over her ear.
“That’s enough for tonight.” Shamus decided it was time for him to step in.
“I’m not done yet. I need to find out who she’s talked with since she hit Jamesville and who she thinks might want to harm her.”
“She is sitting right here, sheriff.” Cyndi sat up stiffly and Shamus could see the fire returning to her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed as she eased herself off the bed. “I’ve been to Mike Sampson’s garage, Greer’s grocery store, and to Jessie’s, so any number of people could have seen me. I’ve also been to see my father’s lawyers, so by now half the town or more knows I’m back. If you’re looking to start a list of possible enemies, put yourself and your family at the top of the list.”
Patrick’s lips thinned. “I didn’t threaten you and neither did anyone in my family.”
As quickly as it had come, the burst of anger left her and she sagged against the bed. Shamus reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her. “I’m sorry. I know that. I never meant to disparage your family. It’s just that I really don’t know who would want to hurt me. I’ve been gone for fourteen years, sheriff. That’s a long time to hold a grudge.”
Patrick nodded. “You can come down to the station tomorrow and give a formal statement. In the meantime, if something happens again, call the sheriff’s office first.” He reached into his pocket and handed her his card.
Cyndi took the card, tightened her hold on the blanket still draped over her shoulder and nodded. Shamus noted she didn’t agree to call the sheriff’s office. He knew she still harbored some doubts about their willingness to actually help her.
“I’d like to go home now.” There was a quiet dignity about her that made Shamus’s heart ache.
“I’ll take you home.” He tightened his hold on her as she peered up at him.
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. There was no humor in it, only sadness. “I’ve already been too much trouble. I bet you’re sorry you ever stopped to help me with that flat tire.”
“Not a chance.” He brushed his hand over her hair, letting his fingers slide through her soft locks.
“The house and grounds have been checked out and there will be a deputy stationed outside for the rest of the night.”
Cyndi seemed surprised as she glanced back at Patrick. “Thank you, sheriff. I appreciate that.”
“Just doing my damn job,” he grumbled as he gave them both a final glare. “And I’ve got your purse locked up out in my car. I thought you might need it.” Spinning around, he stalked from the room.
Shamus peered down at Cyndi. “Let’s get you home.”
Chapter Eight
Thankfully, the next few days were fairly quiet, and Cyndi settled into a routine of sorts around the house. Shamus had brought her home from the hospital the night of the shooting and insisted on staying on the sofa downstairs until the next morning. She’d been both alarmed and touched by his gesture. For the next few days, she was tense and unsettled even though a deputy from the sheriff’s office drove by every hour.
When nothing else happened, she began to relax somewhat. Maybe it had just been someone with a grudge against her or her father and they’d gotten their anger out of their system. She didn’t know what to believe, but she refused to live in fear. The bandage came off her hand, and all that remained was a fading, red scar.
She hadn’t known him long, but in that short span of time, Shamus had become much too important to her. Unlike most men who shouted their accomplishments from the rooftops, Shamus quietly went about doing things for her without even mentioning the half of them.
All she’d had to do was contact the phone company about repairing the damaged line. It was Shamus who’d seen to having her windows replaced. It was Shamus who’d cleaned up all the glass in the study when the sheriff’s department was finished with their investigation. When she’d questioned him about it, he calmly told her that she had enough to deal with, and this was something he could take care of.
He was unlike any other man she’d ever met. The more time she spent with him, the more she was drawn to him. Like a moth to a flame, she knew it was only a matter of time until she got burned, but she was beginning to think that some singed wings might be worth it.
He’d also driven her to the sheriff’s office the following day to give her statement, staying by her side the entire time. The men down at the station t
reated her with courtesy and respect, which pleasantly surprised her. It was then that she realized she was doing it again—expecting people to treat her a certain way. She had to let go of such expectations. Yes, a lot of folks didn’t want her here, but just as many had been kind to her. Still, she hadn’t made any unnecessary forays into town yet, content for the most part, to stay cocooned in the house.
She’d talked to her Aunt Verna several times, but hadn’t told the older woman about the shooting. She’d just worry and there was nothing she could do about it. She’d also insist on coming to Jamesville, and Cyndi didn’t want her here right now, not while the lunatic with the rifle was still at large.
Cyndi glanced at her watch and consulted the pad of paper, which contained copious notes.
It was almost noon, and that meant that Shamus would soon be here. He’d taken to dropping by for lunch every day. She’d already made some sandwiches and put them in the refrigerator. She had some chips, a pitcher of iced tea, and some chocolate chip cookies.
She heard the powerful growl of an engine outside and knew Shamus had arrived. Hurrying to the front door, she opened it and strolled out onto the porch.
The air was crisp, but the sun was shining. It was the perfect fall day. Shamus climbed out of his truck and she shivered. He never failed to have that effect on her when she saw him. With his tall, muscular build and his rough, yet handsome, face, he always made her heart speed up and her body tingle.
He strode toward the house and bound up the few steps separating them, dropping a casual kiss on her cheek. That was another thing about Shamus that was disconcerting—he was always touching her. Not in any big way, but light brushes of his hands over her shoulders or at the small of her back. He always kissed her when he arrived and when he left—a quick peck on her cheek or, occasionally, her lips, which always left her yearning for more.
For a woman who’d always shied away from shows of physical affection, it was a revelation to find herself wanting more. Her father had shown affection in public, putting on the big display for those around, but behind closed doors, his touch had been anything but loving. She shivered again, this time with revulsion as memories bombarded her.
“You okay?” Shamus wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her toward the door.
“You shouldn’t be outside without a jacket. You’ll catch a chill.” He had her inside before she realized it.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, shaking off his arm. She wasn’t some witless female who needed a man to look after her. She’d been standing on her own two feet for years now.
He ignored her outburst and casually removed his jacket and hung it on the coat rack just inside the door. “What have you been up to this morning?” She could see the genuine interest in his eyes and realized that she was being bitchy with him for no reason.
Cyndi had forced herself to go through the house room by room this morning, making note of the furniture she wanted to get rid of, which was most of it, and deciding what she wanted to do with each room. She held up her clipboard. “I’ve been deciding what to do with everything in this place.”
The smile disappeared from his face. “Come to any decisions?”
“We can talk over lunch. Come on back.” Turning, she led the way to the kitchen. Shamus was right behind her, his heavy work boots making a reassuring thud on the floor. No Italian, leather shoes or three-piece suit for this man. For some reason, that made Cyndi smile.
Laying her clipboard aside, she waved him over to one of the sturdy oak stools surrounding the end of the granite counter. It made a cozy eating area and wasn’t as formal as the dining room, but wasn’t quite as intimate as the kitchen nook. Shamus slid onto the stool as she pulled out the sandwiches and chips. It didn’t take her long to pour the iced tea and arrange their dessert on a fancy plate. When there was nothing else left to be done, she took the stool across from him.
Shamus picked up his ham and cheese sandwich and took a large bite. He chewed slowly and finally swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob. Realizing that she was watching him eat, Cyndi turned away, grabbed a chip, and stuffed it in her mouth.
“So, tell me more about what you’ve been up to this morning.” Shamus reached for his glass.
Cyndi watched as he raised it to his mouth. She almost groaned when his lips parted. This had to stop. The man was wreaking havoc with her emotions and her hormones.
Grabbing her clipboard, she flipped it open to the first page. “First, I need to go through every room. There’s a ton of clothing in my father’s room and in my old one.” Her fingers tightened around her pen, but she continued undaunted. “Then there’s all this furniture.”
Shamus laid his glass back down on the counter and propped his elbows on the granite. He rested his chin on his hands, giving up any pretense of eating. “What about the furniture?”
“It’s…well, it’s formal and dark and ugly.” She hated the stuff.
A grin kicked up one corner of Shamus’ mouth. “All that?” She could tell he was teasing her, but she was deadly serious.
“Yes, all that. I detest the stuff.” Grabbing a chip, she bit down hard on it and chewed.
Shamus shrugged. “Then get rid of it.”
Once again, she was reminded of how different Shamus was. Her father would have insisted that the furniture was an investment. Her ex-husband would have agreed with her father. Good, antique furniture always appreciated in value, both of them would have said.
She knew it wasn’t that Shamus didn’t understand the value of the pieces. He was a carpenter and had already shown his knowledge, commenting on several antique pieces from the eighteen-hundreds. It was his mindset that was different. As far as he was concerned, if she didn’t like it, it should go. It really was that simple to him.
“I’ve been thinking about calling an auction house that I know in Vermont and getting them to come and have a look. I think that they would jump and run here for this much quality furniture.”
“Then do it if it will make you feel better.”
She tapped her pen on her notes. “I think I will.” A weight lifted from her shoulders now that she’d finally made her decision. This was her house now. She could do whatever she darn well wanted with the house and its contents.
Shamus reached across the counter and closed her fingers around her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What are you going to do with the house?”
“I could sell it, but it probably would take a while. This is a huge, historic home and takes a lot to upkeep.” Cyndi hadn’t told anyone that she planned to stay in Jamesville. It wasn’t that she was being secretive, not really. She’d had years of practice at keeping her thoughts to herself, and it was hard to break the habit. Still, she had no idea how Shamus would take the idea of her staying in Jamesville permanently “It’s well-constructed, and as you said, historic, so you’d probably find a buyer eventually. If that’s what you want.” His voice lowered to a husky whisper, his fingers stroked the back of her hand.
She could feel that simple touch all throughout her body. It was as if every nerve ending connected to that small patch of skin on the back of her hand. Her breasts felt heavy and an ache began low in her belly. “It would make sense.” She’d meant for her voice to be strong and assured. Instead, it was sultry and soft.
“Very sensible,” he agreed as he entwined her fingers with his.
She nodded, trying to remember what they’d been talking about. Oh yes, the house. “I could invest the money.”
“Investing is good.” Shamus used his thumb to stroke her palm. “Then you could take your time and decide what you want to do next.”
“I already know what I’m going to do.” She blurted out the words and Shamus froze. He sat back, slowly releasing her hand. Her fingers closed tight as if trying to keep the sensation of his touch from dissipating.
“You’re leaving.” His tone was flat, his words blunt.
She shook her head, took a deep breath, and spille
d what had been in her mind for several days now. “I’m renovating this place and turning it into a B & B.”
She held her breath and fiddled with her pen, waiting for him to respond. It was a sound idea. She’d been in the hotel business for years and had worked at several B & B’s as well as a couple of classy hotels. She knew this industry inside and out. It would also give her the opportunity to become a solid member of the local business community.
“It’s a lot of work,” he began, but she cut him off before he could go any further.
“I know it’s a lot of work. I’m not stupid,” she snapped.
His brows drew together in a frown. “You’re anything but stupid, Cyndi. It’s just that most people have no idea what they’re letting themselves in for when they take on a renovation project this large. Plus, running what amounts to a small hotel is not easy work.”
She straightened her shoulders and launched into the plan she’d formulated. “I’ve worked in this business for more than ten years. If there’s one thing I do know, it’s how to run a bed and breakfast. Most of the work on this place is cosmetic—new paint, some minor repairs and maybe some updated plumbing. I need to go through the attic, but I’ve already had a quick glance and I think it has most of the furniture I’d need. It’s stuff my father didn’t like, but it’s lighter and friendlier than the furniture that’s filling the house now. The sale of what I don’t want would offset the cost of the renovations. I could be up and running early in the new year, maybe sooner.”
Shamus sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and stared at her. “You’re serious about this?”
She nodded. “I left my job in Vermont before I came here. That’s why I didn’t get here sooner. I had to give notice, store my belongings, sell my condo, and tie up loose ends.”
A slow smile crossed his face and his eyes began to gleam with pleasure. “Then I think it’s a great idea.”
She felt an answering smile curve her lips upward. It was one thing for her to think this would be a good idea, but it was reassuring to know that someone else did, too. Not that she needed approval, but it was still nice.
The Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke Page 8