A knock on the door interrupted the conversation, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief as she got up from the table to answer it.
What in the hell was he doing sitting at the table chatting with her? Why did he find the shine of the sun on her hair so enchanting? The curve of her lips such a damned temptation?
Apparently he needed not only a vacation but a brain adjustment, as well. He definitely needed to get some distance from Daniella Butler, who made him think of rumpled bedsheets and sweet feminine curves and mindless, soul-searing sex.
He quickly drained his coffee mug and got up to carry it to the sink. He should be catching fish instead of fishing for information about a woman who he would never allow to matter to him.
He turned away from the sink and saw Daniella reentering the room, followed closely by a grim-looking Sheriff Jim Thompson.
“Jim has some more questions for me,” she said to Sam. The sparkle that had lit her eyes earlier was gone, replaced by dark worry. She sank down in a chair at the table, but both men remained standing.
“Several things have come up between last night and this morning that I find troubling,” Jim said. He directed a harsh gaze at Daniella. “I think maybe you haven’t been completely honest with me.”
“About what?” Daniella looked shocked.
Jim waved a hand toward Sam, as if to dismiss him. “I don’t think we need you here, Mr. Connelly.”
Sam didn’t like the way the sheriff stood too close to her chair, as if in an effort to intimidate her. He didn’t know what exactly was going on, but he wasn’t going to leave Daniella alone with the man.
“Consider my interest a professional one,” he said. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, opened it and laid it in the center of the table, his FBI identity card exposed.
He was aware of Daniella’s look of surprise, but Jim looked none too happy at this new information. “This isn’t an FBI matter,” he said stiffly. “It’s a local one and we handle our own.”
“I understand that,” Sam said smoothly. “But Daniella wants me here while you speak to her, and so I have no intention of leaving at the moment.”
“The way I see it she doesn’t need an FBI man, although before this is all over she might need a good defense attorney,” Jim replied.
Daniella gasped. “Jim, dear God, what are you talking about?”
“I found out last night about Samantha’s plans…plans that would have put her in direct competition with you,” he said.
“What plans?” Daniella’s face had gone pale, and Sam fought the impulse to step closer to her, to touch her shoulder or pull her into his arms for support.
He’d known her for only twenty-four hours, but his gut instinct told him there was no way in hell she had anything to do with the murder of Samantha Walker, and his gut was rarely wrong.
“Samantha was planning on opening her own bed-and-breakfast. For the last couple of weeks she’s been going around town telling everyone the town wasn’t big enough for two of you and she intended to be top dog.”
Sam knew the shock on Daniella’s face was genuine. “I…I didn’t know,” she finally managed to say. “I hadn’t heard about her plans to open a bed-and-breakfast.”
“She would have been a tough competitor. She had plenty of money, and I figure it wouldn’t have been long before she put you right out of business,” Jim replied.
“Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with her murder?” Daniella jumped up out of her chair and faced the sheriff. “This is crazy. I had nothing to do with it. How could you even think such a thing?” She trembled with the force of her emotions, and her face paled even more.
“I’m sure the sheriff has other suspects,” Sam said, as he stepped closer to her.
“There have to be other suspects,” Daniella exclaimed. “Because I had nothing to do with this.”
“I’m just at the beginning of this investigation,” Jim said. “I just wanted to talk to you about this whole competing bed-and-breakfast thing.”
“You’d better be talking to somebody else because you’re wasting time talking to me,” Daniella replied. “I didn’t know about any plans Samantha had, and even if I did I wouldn’t have killed her.”
“I’ll see myself out,” Jim said. “I guess I don’t have to tell you not to leave town.” He didn’t wait for a reply but left the kitchen, and a moment later the front door slammed shut.
Daniella looked at Sam, her beautiful eyes filled with tears. She looked fragile, like she might fly into a million pieces, and before Sam recognized his intent he stepped forward and drew her into his arms.
She leaned into him, a trembling mass of tantalizing curves. Her hair smelled like a floral-scented summer breeze and he instantly realized his mistake in holding her so close.
She buried her face in the front of his T-shirt and released a deep, tremulous sigh as he patted her back awkwardly and tried to pretend he wasn’t aroused by her very nearness.
Finally she raised her head and looked up at him, her eyes dark with emotion. “I had nothing to do with this,” she said, her voice a half whisper.
“I know.” He dropped his arms from around her and took a step backward. Two words thundered in his brain.
For you.
For you.
He shoved his hands in his pockets as he held her gaze. “But I think it’s possible somebody you know did have something to do with it.” He didn’t think it was possible for blue eyes to go so dark, but hers were nearly black as she returned his gaze.
“The phone call,” she whispered, as if afraid to say the words out loud. She reached out and took his hands in hers. “Oh, Sam, what am I going to do?”
She squeezed his hands, and he felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he wondered how in the hell he was going to keep himself uninvolved from this crime and from this woman.
THIS WAS HER FAVORITE time of the day, when dinner was finished and the dishes were done and Daniella had a little downtime to enjoy.
As the day had worn on Daniella had almost managed to convince herself that she’d misunderstood the words the anonymous caller had said to her.
The voice had been strange and she’d had to strain to hear what he’d said. It was possible he’d only said something that sounded like for you.
She now sat on the front porch and watched Macy doing cartwheels across the lawn. The sun rode low in the sky, and the heat of the day had eased to a pleasant temperature, but her mind was far away from her daughter’s acrobatic skills and the weather.
She’d called Jim earlier in the day to tell him about the phone call, and as she’d explained it to him she’d thought she’d heard the sound of nails being driven into her coffin.
How could Jim believe that she had anything to do with Samantha’s murder? And how could she possibly believe that anyone close to her was capable of such a thing? It was too awful to even consider.
Most of the afternoon she’d thought about the supportive people in her life, and there was no way she could imagine any of them doing something so heinous. She’d known Frank and Jeff for years, and they’d never shown any hint that they were capable of such violence.
She smelled him before she saw him, that crisp, clean scent that tightened something in the pit of her stomach. She turned her head and smiled as Sam stepped out on the porch.
“How are you doing?” he asked, as he eased down into the wicker chair next to hers.
“Okay. I’ve spent most of the day thinking about everything, about who might be responsible for Samantha’s murder.”
“Did you come up with any answers?”
“No, but I can tell you this—Samantha wasn’t a popular woman in town. She had more money than she knew what to do with and never let anyone forget it. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Samantha was a petty, mean woman. Over the last couple of years I’ve heard rumors about all kinds of businesses she intended to open—a beauty shop, a restaurant and an upscale boutique—but
none of them ever materialized. I wouldn’t have worried if I’d heard that she was on a bed-and-breakfast kick. Anyone who knew Samantha knew she was big on talk and never followed through.”
“Then Jim has his hands full with the investigation,” Sam replied. “Hopefully he’s up to the job.”
“Hopefully he is, because I don’t want to go to jail for something I had nothing to do with.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen,” he said gruffly.
His words created a ball of warmth in her stomach, a warmth she hadn’t felt for a very long time. Watch out, she told herself. He’s just a guest and nothing more.
“Mr. Sam!” Macy yelled. “Watch this!” She did a series of cartwheels and then stood proudly, waiting for his response.
“That’s great,” he said, as if surprised that she would want his approval.
Macy ran up to the porch. “I didn’t get to show you my princess walk last night, so I’ll do it now.”
Before he or Daniella could respond, Macy tore into the house where Daniella knew she was fetching her crown.
“She has a lot of energy,” Sam said.
Daniella laughed. “That’s probably the understatement of the century. She’s opinionated and maybe more than a little bit spoiled, but she really is a good kid. She has a tremendous heart and she loves people.”
At that moment the door opened and Macy pranced out, her glittery crown firmly in place on top of her head. “Are you ready, Mr. Sam?”
“I think I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied.
Macy ran to the far end of the porch. “This is my official princess walk.” The walk was less princess and more fairy sprite as she danced her way back to them.
“I do believe that was the finest princess walk I’ve ever seen,” Sam said when she’d finished.
Daniella flashed him a grateful smile and then looked at her daughter. “And now it’s time for the princess to go take a bath. It’s not nice for a princess to smell like a day of grit and grime.”
Macy looked at Sam. “And maybe tomorrow I can have a princess tea party, and you can come and be my guest of honor.”
“No time for tea parties tomorrow,” Daniella said. “I have new guests arriving, and besides, Mr. Sam has other things to do.”
“Okay, then we’ll have a tea party another day,” Macy said agreeably. She disappeared into the house to get ready for her bath and Daniella once again turned to look at Sam.
“I’m sorry, she seems to have taken a liking to you.”
He offered her a small smile and gazed out in the distance. “Guess there’s no accounting for taste.”
No, there was no accounting for taste, she mentally agreed. And whatever had bitten her daughter when it came to Sam Connelly had bitten Daniella just a little bit, as well.
“How long have you been an FBI agent?” she asked, as she relaxed against the back of the wicker chair.
He turned back to look at her, and as always she found the blue of his eyes intoxicating. “I joined the agency when I was twenty-two, fresh out of college and eager to catch the bad guys.”
“What exactly is it that you do?” Usually with guests she kept her distance, didn’t try to find out personal details about them except what they liked to eat and how they liked their rooms kept. But, she wanted to know more about this man with his eyes that alternately filled with humor and darkened with demons. Besides, talking about him was far better than thinking about the horror show her life had become over the last twenty-four hours.
“I’m a profiler,” he replied.
“So you profile killers?” she asked with interest.
“Actually, profiling starts with us looking closely at the victims of crimes. We learn everything we can about them and that gives us an idea of the killer. Then we try to get into the head of the person who committed the crime. We try to figure out what drives them, what wants or needs they have and finally what weakness they might possess that would allow us to catch them.”
“Must be fascinating.”
“It is,” he agreed. “It’s also intense and all-consuming and takes me to some very dark places.”
“Your parents must be very proud of you.” She noticed the tension that had begun to radiate from him as he spoke of his work.
“My parents are dead.” His tone was flat, emotion less.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
An awkward silence fell between them as he once again directed his gaze into the distance. Dusk was falling quickly, layering the dark shadows of approaching night all around. She knew she should go inside. She had a ton of things to do for the new arrivals the next day, but she was reluctant to leave the porch, to leave Sam.
“Bachelor Moon,” he said, breaking the silence. “It’s kind of an odd name. How did it come about?”
She smiled. “Legend has it that Larry Bridges, our founding father, was standing in the center square one evening beneath a full moon. Larry was a confirmed bachelor, but that night a mysterious, beautiful woman appeared, and within six months they were married. He named the town Bachelor Moon. Legend has it that when a single man stands in that particular place in the town square beneath a full moon he will be wed within six months. There’s even a statue denoting the specific place to stand.”
“And I assume this legend brings its fair share of tourists to the area?”
She smiled. “That’s what legends are for.” Once again she thought that she should go inside, that Macy needed her bath so she could be tucked into bed.
But she was reluctant to leave. The night air was sweetly scented and pleasant, and there was no question that sitting so close to Sam had created a pleasant buzz through her veins.
“It must have been tough after your husband disappeared to stay here and make the business work,” he said. His eyes glittered in the semidarkness.
“After a month had passed I thought about just packing up and putting the place back on the market and walking away. But then I worried that if Johnny came back he wouldn’t know where to find us. As the months went by I got angry and decided if Johnny had willfully walked away from us, then I was going to make this the best damned bed-and-breakfast to prove to him that I could.”
“Prove to him or prove to yourself?”
She smiled thoughtfully. “Maybe a little of both. I’m comfortable with where I am and who I’ve become over the last five years. I’ve made peace with the fact that Johnny is gone forever and I’m moving along with my life. And speaking of moving on with my life, I’d better get back inside.”
She stood and he got up at the same time. As they both stepped in the direction of the door they were suddenly face-to-face, intimately close.
Their gazes locked, and then his slowly slid down to her lips and she knew he wanted to kiss her. And as crazy as it seemed, she wanted that, too.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she suddenly ached with the need to feel his mouth on hers and to mold herself against his body. She wanted his strong arms to wrap her up so tight she couldn’t think about murder or Johnny’s disappearance, but only about him.
The tension between them snapped as he stepped back from her and gestured her to go before him through the door. Disappointment fluttered through her, and she shook her head to admonish herself. “You go on. I’ve got a few things to do out here on the porch.”
He hesitated a moment, then with a murmured good-night he went inside. When he disappeared she released a tremulous sigh. What was she thinking? Wanting a kiss from a guest?
She must have been more unsettled than she thought about the murder and Jim’s suspicions of her. She took a moment to arrange the chairs on the porch, then stood and stared out into the darkness of night.
Sam.
The man shook her up almost as much as the murder and Jim’s ridiculous suspicions of her. Sam had thought about kissing her. She’d seen it in his eyes. He’d wanted to kiss her. The thought shot a little th
rill up her spine. It had been a very long time since she’d seen that in a man’s eyes, since she’d wanted a kiss from any man.
As she remained looking out at the darkness a new chill suddenly slithered up her spine. The base of her scalp tingled with a prickly feeling, and she had the inexplicable feeling that somebody was watching her. She narrowed her eyes and tried to pierce the deep veil of night. Was somebody out there in the dark? Had Samantha’s killer returned?
“Silly fool,” she muttered beneath her breath. As Macy would say, monsters had no power when there were princesses present.
Daniella was jumping at shadows, feeling the presence of an imaginary boogeyman. What had happened to Samantha had nothing to do with her. She was safe here. Comforted by her own thoughts, she turned and went into the house.
THE MOMENT SHE DISAPPEARED from his sight, he leaned back against the large tree trunk and drew a deep, steadying breath.
Daniella.
Daniella.
Her name was a song in his heart, a burn in the depths of his soul.
She didn’t know it yet, but she belonged to him. It was written on the face of the Bachelor Moon, roaring on the wind of fate, emblazoned on his heart.
He loved her. And now he’d killed for her. There was no way he could let that bitch Samantha run around town and badmouth Daniella and her business.
So far he’d been patient…so damned patient.
But his patience was wearing thin, his need to claim her becoming an overwhelming force. Soon, he promised himself. Soon he would make his move, claim her and her daughter. All he had to do was finish his work on their new home, a secret place where he could keep them with him through eternity.
Chapter Four
He stood in the kitchen, a seething mass of sick energy, the shotgun a terrifying extension of his hairy arm. Eyes wild, sweat dripping from his forehead, he embodied every nightmare Sam had ever had of a monster.
Sam’s mother stood against the kitchen cabinets, her pretty face blanched of color, her entire body trembling uncontrollably. “Sam,” she whispered, as he walked into the room.
Scene of the Crime: Bachelor Moon Page 4