by JB Lynn
Her cell phone buzzed on the night table. She picked it up and saw she had a message from Pete.
He hadn’t found a reason for the kidnappers wanting such an odd amount of money for the cat’s safe return, and as far as he could tell, Mildred, a pillar of the community, known for her philanthropic efforts, had no known enemies. He went on to say that there were only two people who would benefit if something happened to her: her husband, Lester, and her former sister-in-law, Edith, who was living out her days in an assisted living facility that Mildred paid for.
She wrote back her thanks, then considered the ceiling, which was painted with a calming cloud motif, trying to figure out how to proceed.
Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Pete calling.
“Hello?” Her voice, still scratchy with sleep, was barely audible.
“Still in bed?” His tone, deep and softly intimate, made her body tingle.
If she’d had any sense, she would have told him she was up, but instead, a naughty facet of herself made her admit, in a breathy whisper, “Yes.”
She was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the call and then silence. She just knew he was imagining her in bed, probably fantasizing about what he’d like to do to her. The knowledge was a heady power that made her entire body heat and heartbeat speed up.
He cleared his throat, endeavoring to sound as normal as possible. “Don’t you have work to do?”
Enjoying the fact there were no direct consequences with flirting over the phone, she teased, “All work and no play makes me a dull girl.”
“You could never be dull.”
She grinned. “You don’t think so?”
“I knew it the moment I first saw you.”
“Oh yeah, when was that?” She remembered when she’d first seen him. He’d been laughing with his brothers Tom and Danny by the bar at the rehearsal dinner for Tom and Jane’s wedding.
“You were on your way into the rehearsal dinner,” Pete said without missing a beat. “You were wearing a black dress and when you bent over to get the cake out of the trunk of your car…” His voice caught.
Her own throat had gone dry hearing the passion in his voice.
A single, quiet knock on her door startled her.
As she watched, it swung open. She scrambled to pull the sheets up to her chin, despite the fact she’d slept in one of her police academy T-shirts.
Pete poked his head in. She could have sworn she spotted a flash of disappointment in his eyes when he realized she was covered.
He stepped inside, carrying a steaming cup. The scent of fresh brewed coffee filled the room. Holding her gaze, he continued his earlier story as he moved closer to her. “When you bent over to get the cake, your dress rode up.”
She blushed, remembering how short the dress had been. She’d borrowed it from Jane, who’d assured Alyssa it was perfectly decent, but she imagined how high the hem could have climbed as she’d bent over.
“So you tugged it down,” Pete continued, putting the cup on the coaster on the night table. “And you blushed like an innocent schoolgirl. I knew right away you could never be dull. Just like now.”
He skimmed her burning cheek with a single finger, causing a shiver of desire to wrack Alyssa’s body.
He watched her reaction with satisfaction before bending to whisper into her ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin. “I knew then I wanted to get you into my bed.”
Alyssa’s eyes drifted closed and she bit her lower lip as heat pooled in her core.
Straightening, he told her matter-of-factly, “You should come downstairs when you’re ready. Roscoe’s baking cinnamon buns.” Without looking at her, he strode out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Alyssa took a very quick and very cold shower, guzzled the coffee, and got dressed, all the while thinking about how when she’d danced with Pete at Tom and Jane’s wedding, he’d flirted nonstop with her. She’d been attracted to him, but hadn’t wanted the complication of a relationship.
She still didn’t.
Or did she?
Carrying her empty cup, she followed the scent of something delicious to the kitchen. Roscoe and Pete were in there, talking baseball or maybe it was basketball. She recognized the names being bandied about from news reports, but since she wasn’t a sports fan, she couldn’t identify what teams they went with.
“Morning,” Roscoe greeted. He held up the coffee pot. “Refill.”
“Please.” While he poured, she risked a sidelong glance at Pete.
He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was studying something on the screen of the laptop computer he had perched on the counter.
“Find something?” she asked.
“Not for you,” he murmured. Then, realizing how that must have sounded, he looked up and explained. “It’s about Amy Winn’s father.”
“The woman Brady quit his job for and went chasing all over the world?”
“He didn’t quit his job for her,” an unfamiliar male voice argued.
All three of them swiveled their glances in the direction of the newcomer. The young man in his twenties carried a cheap briefcase and wore a light yellow bowtie.
“Who the hell are you?” Alyssa snapped, startled that a stranger had gotten into the house.
“I’m Gerald,” he explained.
“How did you get in here?”
“I let him in,” Pete interjected mildly. Before she could ask him why he’d done that, he explained, “Mildred asked me to.”
Putting her hands on her hips, Alyssa fixed Gerald with a stare that had been known to frighten career criminals. “What are you doing here?”
He fiddled with his bowtie nervously. “Mrs. M. asked me to come. I’ve been working on paperwork for Mr. Burberry and she wanted—”
“Paperwork for a cat?” Alyssa interrupted.
“He’s Brady’s intern,” Pete supplied helpfully. “Brady says he’s a boy genius. Is that true, Gerald? Are you a boy genius?”
Embarrassed, Gerald shook his head.
Roscoe, searching for something in the refrigerator, urged, “Stop teasing the kid.”
“Brady’s not here,” Alyssa reminded the room. “So could someone explain why his intern is?”
“Mrs. M. wants a trust set up for Mr. Burberry,” Gerald explained. He waved the briefcase as proof of his claim.
Alyssa took another gulp of coffee like it was a shot of liquid courage. “A trust for a cat?”
Gerald nodded. “In the event of her death…”
A timer dinged.
“They’re ready,” Roscoe announced cheerily, hurrying over to pull a baking pan out of the oven.
“You want a cup of coffee, Gerald?” Pete offered.
“Yes please, sir.”
“For the love of God, man, don’t call me sir,” Pete instructed. “It makes me break out in hives. Now her on the other hand,” he pointed at Alyssa, “make sure to call her ‘ma’am.”
Alyssa was still hung up on the information Gerald had revealed. “So you’re telling me the cat has inheritance coming when Mildred dies?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t you dare,” Alyssa warned the younger man.
Gerald blinked, confused. “Ma’am?”
“Don’t call me ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Gerald slapped a hand over his mouth as though to stuff the “ma’am” back in.
Everyone began to laugh.
Alyssa wasn’t sure if it was because the situation was really that funny or if it was because they were all so tense. It didn’t really matter.
All that mattered was, in that moment, in that kitchen that smelled of heavenly baked goodness, with those people, she felt like she was part of something again.
Chapter 12
Roscoe made up a tray of coffee and cinnamon buns for Mrs. Michelman to eat in her bedroom, which Gerald delivered, leaving Roscoe, Alyssa, and Pete to dine in the kitchen.
He and
Alyssa discussed what he’d discovered in his searches the night before while Roscoe puttered around.
Alyssa seemed more relaxed than usual, joking around and speaking in the warmest possible terms when conveying her appreciation of Roscoe’s baking.
Pete was relieved. He’d been worried that he’d overstepped his bounds earlier, just walking into her bedroom uninvited. It was out of character for him to invade someone’s privacy like that, but he’d had an overwhelming urge to walk through that door at that very moment.
It had taken all his self-control to walk back out of it. She’d looked so sexy in that bed, clutching the sheets, her cheeks turning that delicious shade of pink. He’d so badly wanted to know if the rest of her flushed like that too.
Now she seemed to be in control, but unlike other times, she didn’t seem to be working quite so hard to keep her guard up. Without her chilly façade, she was even more attractive.
She caught him looking at her, and he knew, from the way she appeared to stop breathing, that she’d seen his desire for her.
Thankfully, Roscoe said something that drew her attention and Pete used her distraction to get up and leave the kitchen.
He needed to get away from the woman in order to think straight. Being in her presence made him think with a part of his anatomy that wasn’t his brain.
Finding the library empty, he pulled out his phone and stared at it, unsure of what to do. Finally he called Tom.
He answered on the third ring. “Hey, little brother.”
“Hey. I’m not interrupting you or anything, am I?”
“No. I’m just taking Calamity to the park.”
Pete swallowed a chuckle. He wasn’t sure who Tom was more enamored with, Jane, the woman he’d married, or Calamity, the mutt they’d adopted. He spoiled both the woman and the dog.
“What’s up?” Tom asked.
“Brady needs a favor.” Pete deliberately kept his voice calm and even. “He wants me to find Geoffrey for him.”
Tom didn’t say anything for a long moment.
Pete understood why. Like him, Tom hadn’t seen or spoken to their youngest brother in three years. Not since he’d been accused of attacking their other brother Danny’s then girlfriend.
Violence against women wasn’t tolerated in their family. Not after what their father had done to their mother.
Thinking their father’s tendencies had trickled down to Geoff, they’d refused to have anything to do with him after that, despite his protestations. They’d made it a point to tell all of their mutual friends why. Having been ostracized by his family and most of his friends, except for Brady, who’d spouted the whole “innocent until proven guilty” spiel, Geoffrey became an outcast. Not long afterward, he’d left the country, taking an overseas security job with a less-than-reputable agency.
When Tom finally spoke, it wasn’t about his brother. It was about his friend. “Did Brady say why?”
“I didn’t talk to him. Jackson did. According to him, Brady thinks Geoff can help him get out of some trouble.”
A long beat passed.
“Can you find him?” Tom asked quietly.
“I already did.”
“So why are you calling me?”
“I don’t know whether to give Brady the information,” Pete admitted. He’d lost sleep over the dilemma the night before.
“If Brady’s in that much trouble—”
“But to count on Geoffrey?” Pete interrupted, hating the way his voice cracked and rose.
Tom sighed. “Brady always believed him. If he believes that he’ll come through for him now, you can’t stand in the way.”
“I could,” Pete countered childishly.
“But you won’t.”
“I won’t,” Pete agreed grudgingly.
“Mauricio says you’re helping Alyssa find a cat.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“He also said he’d never seen you chase after a woman like you did her.”
Pete didn’t say anything. What could he say? That he’d never felt this about any other woman? He’d never hear the end of it from his brothers and friends.
Tom took his silence as confirmation of what Mauricio had told him. “Okay then. Well, if you need help with anything, you know who to call.”
“Danny,” Pete joked quickly.
“Yeah, bother him. Later.”
“Later.” Pete disconnected the call. He leaned tiredly against the wall, his concern for Brady’s safety and his doubts about Geoff helping weighed heavily on him.
“You okay?” the woman they’d just been talking about asked.
Pete whirled around to find Alyssa standing in the doorway watching him. “Everything’s fine.”
“You sound upset.”
He shook his head.
Her concerned gaze hardened as though she felt rejected by him.
“It had nothing to do with this.” He waved his hands to encompass the house. “Brady needs me to do something unrelated and I don’t want to.”
She nodded like she understood, but he knew she didn’t.
Turning away from her, he faced a bookshelf and pretended to study the titles. “Brady wants me to find my brother Geoffrey for him.”
“I don’t think I met him at the wedding.”
“That’s because he wasn’t invited.”
“Oh.” Her single syllable was laden with confusion and sympathy.
He sensed her moving closer. “We had a falling out a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” She placed a supportive hand on his shoulder.
“He did something pretty terrible.” He shook his head at the memory, of the police showing up at the door, looking for Geoff.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Alyssa said gently. “I can see that it upsets you.”
But now, having started the story, Pete felt compelled to finish it, to make her understand.
“He… hurt Danny’s girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Brady always believed his story that he’d been set up, that he didn’t remember what had happened, even when the rest of us didn’t.”
Her fingers dropped away from his shoulder and he sensed her stiffen.
“And now he wants Geoff’s help.” He shook his head, disappointed in his friend’s lack of judgment. “But he needs me to tell him how to get in touch with Geoff.”
“Are you going to?”
He swiveled his head to get a good look at the woman beside him, wondering why she seemed uptight again. “Yes.”
She turned away, her back to him, before asking, “Why didn’t you believe him? Was he always a bad seed or something?”
“Naah, he wasn’t a bad kid, but he was headstrong. Always thought his way was the right way and was willing to fight to prove it.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’d cut him out of your life.” The bitter accusation hung in the air between them.
He wished he could see her face, wished he understood why she was advocating for someone she’d never met. Why would a woman take the side of a man who’d attacked another woman?
Anger welled up inside him. He didn’t need to justify his actions. “You weren’t there.”
Whirling to face him, her blue eyes glittered like sharp glass. “Were you?”
“I was there for the aftermath. I saw how upset she was.”
“Or,” she suggested in a scarily controlled tone, “you saw what she wanted you to see. Was he convicted of the crime?”
“He never went to trial. The police said that they couldn’t build a strong enough case against him. As soon as he was free to go, he left town. Left the country. Could there be a clearer admission of guilt?”
“Maybe he just couldn’t stand how everyone looked at him.” Voice cracking, her eyes suddenly shimmered with tears. “So much for your friends and family thing.” Shaking her head, she ran from the room.
He was too stunned to follow her.
>
Not just because of her reaction, but because the more he thought about it, the more he realized—she might be right.
Chapter 13
Needing to get away from Pete, Alyssa stumbled down the hallway toward the foyer. Even though she’d never met his banished brother, she felt a kinship to him. She knew too well what it was like to not be believed by friends and family. The memory of her own abandonment pressed down on her.
She needed some air.
Before she could get outside, she spotted Mrs. M. studying the photographs, a frame clutched to her chest.
Pushing aside her own emotions, she asked carefully, “Are you okay?”
The older woman slowly turned to face her, tears streaming down her face. “He’s my last.”
“Ma’am?”
Turning around the framed picture she held, she showed her an old photograph of a young version of herself holding a cat. “This is Sweetheart.”
“She was beautiful,” Alyssa murmured soothingly.
“She was a gift from Roger, my first husband. All of my cats have been her descendants. It was a way of keeping Roger alive. His plane crashed into the Atlantic, you know. His body was never recovered. All I had left of him was Sweetheart. Mr. Burberry is the last of the line.”
Alyssa scanned the line of photographs unsure of what to say.
“You’ll get him back, won’t you?” Mildred sniffled.
“I’ll try my best,” Alyssa pledged.
Mildred put a wrinkled hand on Alyssa’s arm. “I know you will, dear.”
Hoping that she could live up to Mildred’s faith in her, tears prickled the back of Alyssa’s eyes.
Pete, clutching his laptop to his chest, hurried toward them. “I was going to head out for a couple of hours.” He looked distracted. “Unless of course you need me.”
“You’re not obligated to be here,” Alyssa snapped.
Mrs. M. looked at her sharply, but Pete seemed oblivious to her tone.