Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  Chapter Four

  Veronica tried to shove away her lingering fear, but her body trembled and her mind raced with unanswered questions. Had someone been following her when she’d left Eli’s house? And if so, whom?

  And who could have been so cruel as to have sent a box of crushed daisies?

  While Nathan’s arms tightened around her and he stroked the long column of her spine with his wide palm, she sagged against him, her heart racing, her mind ordering her to extricate herself from his comfort. Her body adamantly refused.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll get to the bottom of it,” Nathan said in a quiet voice. He gently traced his thumb along her chin and tilted her face to gaze into her eyes.

  Embarrassed at her loss of composure, she brushed the damp tears from her cheeks and inhaled a calming breath. But being held in Nathan Dawson’s arms was definitely not calming, and inhaling the deep musky scent of his body and cologne was intoxicating. A danger in itself. Although his jaw was taut, heat flared in his eyes. His gentle touch and powerful, protective arms made her sway.

  “Veronica?”

  Desire laced his husky voice, his lips a mere whisper away, his breath hot on her skin. Veronica’s breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest. Heat skittered up her spine, and the rough texture of his stubbled jaw on her cheek sent a shaft of white-hot need darting through her.

  “Tell me not to do this,” he whispered as his lips grazed her hair.

  “Nathan, I—” Veronica’s unspoken argument died when his warm mouth descended on hers in a bold motion, sending a rush of pleasure and passion though her that was almost frightening in its intensity. His mouth devoured hers, his lips daring and forceful as he claimed the tender recesses of her mouth with his plunging tongue. Veronica’s body reacted to his need by molding to his hard masculinity, and a low moan escaped her when his lips moved to the delicate skin beneath her jaw. Quivering now from his touch instead of fear, she felt his hands press her intimately against him, and she muttered a raspy sigh that was partly a plea to stop, partly a plea not to.

  Nathan suddenly gentled his hands and loosened his fierce hold on her, letting his hands linger at her waist as he touched his forehead to hers and exhaled loudly. His words came out on a ragged breath. “I’m sorry.”

  Veronica tensed immediately and flexed the palms of her hands against his chest to push him away, his apology shredding her fragile pride. Instead of releasing her, Nathan continued to stroke her back as he had before, slowly allowing the tension to ease from both their heated bodies. When he finally looked at her, she saw a mixture of the passion they’d ignited along with a strong sense of regret, but he still didn’t let her go.

  “I shouldn’t have done that, because I’m working on your case,” he said in a husky voice. “Not because it wasn’t good.”

  Veronica felt her anger slip and toyed with the pleats of his cummerbund. Beneath her thin T-shirt, her nipples stood erect against the soft cotton, and her breasts ached for Nathan’s touch, a realization that shocked her. She had her own policies about not getting involved with people she worked with, and she desperately needed his help as a detective.

  “Veronica?”

  Why had her reaction to his touch been so volatile? Ron had barely excited her. “You’re right,” she finally said, pulling away.

  Nathan gave her a hard, assessing look, then dropped his hands to his side. “Do you have some coffee?”

  Veronica wrung her hands. “I’m not a coffee drinker. But I’ll make you some.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble.”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s instant. I keep it for…just in case.” She darted to the door, biting her tongue. She’d almost told him she kept it for Ron, but she’d been here several weeks and hadn’t invited him for a visit. In fact, she hadn’t even considered the idea. She’d simply bought the coffee out of habit.

  Still shaken from the passionate kiss, she willed her hands to be steady while she made tea and coffee. Nathan’s scent wafted into the kitchen, and she felt his penetrating stare on her back and heard his steady breathing in the strained silence of the room.

  “How long have you been here?” Nathan asked, glancing around the tidy kitchen when she handed him the steaming coffee mug.

  Veronica stirred sweetener into her tea and sat down at the oak table and chairs that had belonged to her grandmother. The kitchen was clean but bare—white cabinets and countertops, a small kitchen island, beige tile floors, nothing impressive. But then she’d never gone in for frivolous things or decorating. Nathan sprawled his long legs out beside her and sipped his coffee, obviously waiting for her answer.

  “I moved here about eight weeks ago.”

  “Did you inherit a lot of Walsh’s clients?”

  Veronica warmed her hands by cupping them around her mug. “A few.”

  “Bring any with you from Florida?”

  Veronica sipped her tea. “A couple of entrepreneurs who travel worldwide, live by their fax machines. And I represent a few of my grandmother’s friends. They live in a retirement community in Fort Lauderdale. With their limited pension plans and social security, they need all the breaks they can get.”

  Nathan nodded and stared, his gaze unnerving her. She suddenly wished she’d thrown a heavy sweatshirt on over her thin cotton T-shirt. The memory of his heated kiss and her own response lingered between them, causing the air to crackle with tension.

  Nathan swirled the dark coffee around in his mug. “How did your firm feel about your leaving? Any hard feelings?”

  Veronica shook her head. “Not that I know of. They seemed amicable. My boss told me if I ever wanted to come back to let him know.”

  Nathan took a long sip of coffee and frowned. “How about the businessmen you mentioned? Must have been some major league clients. Were the partners upset when you took their business?”

  Veronica tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “One of them made a big deal out of it. But the boss said I’d earned the clients. Neither one resided in Florida anyway. Besides, my contract specified I couldn’t practice within a ten-mile radius and—”

  “And you’re well out of that range,” Nathan finished for her.

  “Exactly.”

  “Smart businesswoman,” Nathan said, nodding his approval.

  Veronica smiled. “I like my work.” It’s not threatening, like you.

  “Did you work up a client list for me?”

  Veronica sighed. “No, but I will tomorrow.”

  “Good. Include the names of the people you worked with in Florida.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Veronica, it’s my job to investigate all angles.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I’d like to talk to your old boyfriend, too.”

  Veronica gritted her teeth. “Is that really necessary? I told you Ron isn’t dangerous.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Besides, it’s routine.”

  Veronica rose, her nerves on edge at the thought of Nathan talking to Ron.

  “Is there some other reason you don’t want me to contact him?” Nathan asked.

  “I…I don’t want him to worry about me,” Veronica said quietly. “Or come here.”

  “Does he know where you are?”

  “Of course. I didn’t just run away.”

  Nathan was silent for a moment. Tension radiated between them. “You think he’ll show up here out of concern?”

  “I don’t know.” She turned to face him. “He doesn’t know about my past, though, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Nathan arched an eyebrow. Veronica realized he expected her to tell him more, but she sipped her tea instead.

  He finished his coffee, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Why? Don’t you think he could accept it?”

  A sliver of apprehension knotted Veronica’s stomach. She’d suffered every imaginable kind of reaction to her past, from disgust to morbid curiosity to rejection. She had
no idea how Ron would have reacted if she’d told him. But she assumed he’d have insisted she forget her need to reconcile herself with her past.

  She had no intention of doing that.

  “None of the people I worked with in Florida know. I didn’t think it was any of their business,” Veronica said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Besides, I told you my relationship with Ron is over.”

  She refused to squirm when he studied her with his dark probing eyes. The memory of the kiss taunted her. Had Nathan already forgotten it? Probably. He was a sexy, virile man. He probably had dozens of women.

  Whereas she was sexually inept, a freak—at least that was what one college boyfriend had told her. He’d attributed her ineptitude to her traumatic past.

  Nathan stood, pushed his chair back from the table and placed his empty cup in the sink. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll come by your office tomorrow for that list.”

  Veronica nodded. “And what about Ron?”

  He hesitated. “I have to check him out.”

  Veronica sighed.

  “I’ll be discreet.” He closed the distance between them and covered her small hand with his own. “Trust me, Veronica.”

  Then he squeezed her hand and walked out the door.

  She watched the door close and touched her hand to her cheek where he had offered her comfort. Trust me, Veronica.

  If only she could. Her heart squeezed at his husky plea, and the words rang over and over in her head like the beckoning sound of church bells drawing one into its welcoming sanctuary. But trust didn’t come easily for her. Too many memories, too much pain and gossip in the past, and too few friends. His kiss had been passionate, his touch warm and hungry and perhaps sincere.

  But she wasn’t sure she could ever trust again.

  THE NEXT MORNING Nathan showered and washed his face, trying to wipe away the memory of the heated kiss he’d shared with Veronica. He’d wanted her to trust him, but how could he ask her to do that if he couldn’t trust himself around her?

  And why had he kissed her? It was totally against his beliefs to get involved with her. But the memory burned in his mind like the hot coals of an open fire and he was afraid he already had become involved with her. No amount of scrubbing could wipe the sweet touch of her lips from his mouth or banish the memory of her fiery response.

  Damn. He had work to do. And Veronica Miller was right at the heart of it.

  And worming her way into his heart—against his will.

  Slinging on an oxford shirt, jeans and boots, he grabbed his badge and gun, then headed toward his car. Forget breakfast. His appetite could only be satisfied by finishing what he’d started with Veronica—and that was impossible.

  He might as well work on her case. The sooner he got to the bottom of the mystery surrounding her, the sooner he could put her warm, delicate body and baby doelike eyes out of his mind. The sooner he could forget that she tasted as fresh as a mint julep on a hot summer day.

  At the office fifteen minutes later, he tapped into the precinct’s computer to begin his investigation of Ron Cox. It wasn’t because the guy had been involved with Veronica personally, he told himself, but because it was the logical place to start the investigation. Perhaps the Florida police department had dealt with the man in some form other than his capacity as a lawyer. Sometimes lawyers were like bad cops—it was too easy to find loopholes and too tempting to cross the line.

  “Hey, Dawson.” Ford leaned over his shoulder, his breath heavy with cigar smoke. “What the hell you doing?”

  Nathan read the information coming in over the transit. “Checking out a lead.”

  “The Bailey robbery?”

  “No, the Miller case.” Nathan skimmed the lines of text, searching for anything he could find on Cox. If he had any kind of record, he would have had to be fingerprinted. The FBI would have a file on him.

  The chair beside Nathan squeaked and protested as Ford lowered his heavy bulk into it. “Why are you wasting the taxpayers’ time? I told you she’s a nutcase.”

  Nathan gritted his teeth. “I have to check it out.” He narrowed his eyes at Ford. “Then I’ll decide.”

  “You’re crazy yourself,” Ford said in a disgusted voice. “Wait till the lieutenant hears about this.”

  Nathan slammed his hand on the table. “I’ll handle Stevens. Why don’t you get to work?”

  “You expect me to help you?”

  “You’re my partner, aren’t you?”

  Ford’s fat cheeks ballooned out in anger. “Not by choice.”

  “Well, it certainly wasn’t my choice, either,” Nathan snapped. A buzz of voices sounded in the hallway. The other detectives and cops strolled in. Nathan and Ford glared at each other.

  “I’ll check the background on the Bailey case,” Ford finally said, heading to his own desk.

  “Fine. By dividing up, we can get the legwork done on both cases. Then we’ll meet up.” Nathan turned his gaze back to the screen, his eyes widening as the data kicked in. Cox had been fingerprinted and he had a record, a misdemeanor for vandalizing as a teen, but nonetheless a record.

  Nathan studied the data. Hmm. Interesting.

  Ron Cox was five foot eleven, 170 pounds.

  Scrawny.

  First wife—deceased at age twenty-five. Cox had been questioned about the murder, but released, citing lack of evidence. No mention of cause of death. Worth checking into, Nathan noted to himself. No children. Lawyer with Hepplewhite and Sutton, handles investments, been with the firm for four years, being considered for partner. Annual income $110,000.

  Then he realized Veronica’s salary probably tripled his own, also. Not that it mattered, but it was a real ego buster. Shaking away the thought, he turned back to the information and scanned for details on the man’s arrest. Zilch. He wondered if it could have been a substantially more serious charge and he’d pleaded down to the misdemeanor.

  He would check the Internet for any news articles about Cox’s arrest and investments. A few minutes later he hit the jackpot. There wasn’t just one, but several articles about Ron Cox. He was one of Florida’s leading attorneys specializing in land investments, and Florida was booming with investors. A whole series of stories had been written about tourism and the economy. The price of land had skyrocketed for condos and town homes near the coast. As he skimmed the articles, he understood how Cox earned such a hefty salary. His specific knowledge was valued by proprietors of several major companies who were expanding and building entire vacation resorts catering to the wealthy.

  Then one article drew his eye. A small subsidiary of one of the companies had accused Cox of embezzling funds and taking money from elderly people. The case had gotten local media attention, but suddenly the news had ceased. He skimmed the next few editions of the paper and discovered a small section explaining that the company had reached a settlement and the charges had been dropped. Hadn’t Veronica mentioned helping some older groups?

  Nathan ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair, placing his booted feet on his desk while he considered the possibilities. Did Veronica know about Cox’s past?

  Surely she knew. The stories had appeared in the paper only six months ago—she was still living in Florida at the time.

  Perhaps Veronica had discovered something about Cox’s business by mistake. Cox might be worried about her coming forth with the information. If his career was at stake, he had a viable motive—men had killed before for money. It was a theory worth investigating.

  He checked his watch, then stretched and ignored the hum of the other computers and officers in the room as he strode toward the door. The flower shop would be open by now. He planned to go by and see if he could learn who’d sent Veronica the crushed daisies before he picked up her client list. Maybe the florist would solve the little mystery for him and he could wrap up this case. Then he could forget Veronica Miller.

  VERONICA TRIED to concentrate on her agenda for the day as she took her morning
run, but images of Nathan Dawson kept popping into her head. At least his image was more pleasing than the dead flowers she’d received and much less upsetting than the music box. Well, upsetting in a different way, she conceded.

  After lying awake half the night trying to figure out the odd circumstances surrounding her arrival in Georgia, she’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep and dreamed that she was being chased by a madman, the same one who’d killed her parents, and she’d gone running off a cliff. She’d been falling, falling, falling into empty air with nothing but jagged rocks below to break her fall—her fall to death.

  Picking up her running pace, she pumped her legs and turned the corner near her apartment complex, then slowed as she noticed a man wearing a dark coat walk past her car. What was he doing?

  She jogged the trail that went around the parking lot and watched the man, but the hood of an all-weather coat hid his face.

  Then the man was gone. Disappeared right before her eyes.

  She followed the path bordering the building and searched to see if he’d run around the back, but she saw nothing except a couple of teenagers embracing on the park bench. Circling back, she scanned the parking lot to make sure he wasn’t hiding behind a bush, but again she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Was she just being paranoid?

  Building up speed, she jogged around the building again, once more searching for any signs of the man. A young mother pushing a stroller passed her and waved.

  She veered toward her apartment, certain she was just imagining things, when she saw a hooded figure dash from her apartment door. Freezing momentarily, she forgot to breathe. Then the figure disappeared and anger replaced her fear. She charged up the steps, expecting to find her door ajar and her things scattered, but her door was locked and a newspaper lay on the stoop. She picked it up and wondered if the man was the new delivery guy. Reaching inside her pocket and retrieving the mace she carried when she jogged, she held it in one hand and rolled the paper up with the other hand so she could use it as a weapon if she needed. Then she crept inside her apartment. But once again, nothing was amiss.