From the Top

by Roxanne Smith

  In the end, it was Seraphina who, after a final deep crush of her mouth on his, stepped away breathless and a little giddy. Maybe he was still reeling from the kiss, but he could swear she bounced on the balls of her feet for a second before planting them firmly. Her eyes were bright and shiny, and they glittered in a different way as she looked at him like she’d never seen him before. Or as if he’d been gone a long time, and she’d missed him dreadfully.

  She armed herself with a brilliant smile and pulled his hand toward her. Seraphina didn’t smile often or without great cause. But when she did, the curve of her lips moved something deep in his chest. “I’ll tell you what I’m up to if you do something for me first.”

  Grant’s mouth twitched into a grin without his consent. He marveled at her smile. “You say that as if I didn’t just tell you I’m completely powerless when it comes to you. And certainly, when you look at me like that, I find myself feeling oddly agreeable.”

  She laughed softly. “The death blow to your reputation. Big, bad Grant Gallagher is a pussy cat,” she purred.

  He growled, low in his throat. He brought her arm toward him and nipped playfully at the inside of her wrist. “A pussy cat with sharp teeth.”

  “So you won’t mind doing me a favor? There’s something I want to show you.”

  “Oh?”

  She took his hand, and he allowed himself to be tugged along toward the back of her apartment.

  “Yep. It’s in my bedroom. Actually, it’s on my bed. Actually, it is my bed.”

  He grinned. “I’ve seen your bed before.”

  She glanced back sexily over her shoulder. “Babe. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  * * * *

  Seraphina couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate Grant’s confession than to show him just how deeply she appreciated his gift, and gave it back in kind. She laid on her side, draped across his torso in the dark room. Her fingers walked across the span of his chest, the coarse hairs tickling her skin.

  A strange, peculiar emotion enthralled her. Here was a place to put her love, if she were strong enough. Her affection. All the things she’d always craved a safe, worthy place for. She had so much to give, and had only ever lacked someone in her life who wanted it and would cherish it. Grant had offered his without strings. A hearth in one hand, and his very heart in the other. A rushing warmth swept through her, and tears pricked her eyes. Not for the first time. Rolling her eyes at her own sentimentality, she blinked back the thick emotion. She’d cry later, whether she wanted to or not. The least she could do was wait until she had a little privacy. She loved Grant, but she had no wish for him to see her undone.

  She wanted to wake him up and talk about it. She loved him so much.

  She wanted to crawl away and never speak to him again. She loved him too much.

  Such a war inside her. Relief and anxiety in equal measures. But she chose, here in the dark, to believe in her own happy ending. For once. Grant had launched himself into her hands, put himself, his pride, and his heart at her mercy. To meet in the middle wasn’t enough. And she realized it never would be for either of them. For people like them, inches didn’t count. Halfway measures didn’t suffice. They gave every bit of themselves to all they did. It only seemed right it would be so in love, as well.

  She smiled into the dark. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”

  “Hm.” The low, pure maleness of his voice sent a small thrill through her. “Your fingers are waltzing in my chest hair.”

  “Sorry.”

  He caught her fingers in his. “Don’t be.” He paused a beat. “Since we’re awake, why don’t you catch me up on recent events?”

  She sighed. “It irritates me that you can read me.”

  His chest rumbled with a low chuckle. “I recognize an attempt at subterfuge by someone who is otherwise ill-adept at subterfuge. You’re too direct. When you dissemble, it’s a fairly obvious departure from the norm.”

  She grinned despite herself. “I can hardly tell the flattery from the insult.”

  “No insult intended,” he assured her, squeezing her hand lightly.

  “Well, since you’re here and can’t be sidetracked from your mission, I might as well ask your advice.” She didn’t know if she could keep anything from Grant now. After what passed between them, she didn’t know if she had the capacity for secrets. Nor did she want them. A knot inside of her loosened as she realized with that truth came a new one—she could trust Grant. If she asked him to keep her secret, he would. And if he felt he had to tell on her, he’d tell her to her face. “I have a lead. And I’m not sure if I want to involve Oliver yet.”

  Grant took a few seconds to process what she’d said. The dark kept his expression from her. “Can you explain why? It seems…well, not to seem insulting again, but silly.”

  “I know. But if you’d seen him going through the pictures from Brendan’s search, you wouldn’t question my motive. Oliver’s stretched tight. He’s been fighting against this machine for years now. He’s lost a friend, and for a while, his career. This case is a parasite, and it’s eating him up. I don’t want to give him false hope, because I don’t know how much more disappointment he can take. He’s cut off from the investigation. He’s angry and frustrated. He hides it, but I saw the lines on Kay’s face. Oliver’s known for playing fast and loose with the rulebook. And his career might not survive another one of his little scandals. This case definitely won’t if Oliver gets pushed too far.”

  Again, Grant was silent for a beat, considering. “You may have a point. I saw it on his face when I went to speak to him about you. He has a lot of anger brewing inside him. I think perhaps he’s got a higher boiling point than we might be inclined to give him credit for. But I agree it’d be disastrous if his patience bottomed out.”

  “Exactly.” Seraphina breathed a sigh of relief. “And more to the point, I could be wrong. It’s a long shot. I discovered something about the candelabras, but I need more time. If I tell Oliver what I know, he’ll take mine that came from Tanbee House. Just for a few hours in the morning. If my suspicion pans out, it might break the case. If it doesn’t, then no harm done.”

  “What can I do?”

  Seraphina smiled into the darkness. “Um, well, I guess if anything happens to me, you should tell Oliver that the candelabra is gold. Not brass. The outside is painted to hide the real worth. From the photograph I took of the similar candle holder in Brendan’s possession, I think it’s likewise disguised. Now, Oliver says two brass candlesticks do not hard evidence make. But if they’re both made of gold and camouflaged in a similar manner, maybe that’s enough. And certainly, Oliver will want to take the one I have and get the paint tested, then subpoena to have Brendan’s tested, as well. I don’t know, but maybe they can match the paint or something.”

  “Wow,” Grant breathed. “Why not just take this information to Oliver now?”

  “Because I might be able to do better than that. I just need a few hours.”

  “Okay. I’ll make sure you get them. Anything else?”

  Seraphina swallowed a strange lump of emotion. She still wasn’t used to this feeling of uniformity. She and Grant were on the same side. How strange and wonderful. She couldn’t recall that she’d ever had a sense of someone so firmly in her corner. “Just trust me.”

  Chapter 18

  I’m not going to jail. I’m not going to jail.

  Technically, Seraphina was not part of the “official” investigation. She prayed that small detail would be enough to protect her if things went south. Otherwise, she’d have to answer some pretty uncomfortable questions about carting around the evidence of an active investigation inside a canvas sack all around town, not to mention the tampering.

  The entrance to Swift Appraisal and Pawn was an unassuming wooden door. Old and paint-chipped, she checked the name painted on the glass window a seco
nd time. Yep. This was the place. A bell overhead greeted her with a cheery jingle, in direct contrast with the gloomy lighting, muffled silence, and musty smell. “Hello?”

  She wavered there. The place seemed deserted. She called out again and waited. Narrow corridors split off in several different directions. She headed straight toward the back. The aisle was crowded on either side by glass counters with poorly lit displays inside, and stacks of books and random gadgets haphazardly piled on the surface. The aisle ended at a simple wooden counter where a skinny old man puzzled over an old-fashioned cash register.

  He glanced up through tortoiseshell frames and smiled. His lips seemed to stretch from ear-to-ear. “Hello, hello. I’m Dr. Paul. What can I do for you, darling?”

  She caught her expression before she unintentionally exposed her doubt. She was able to say, “Doctor?” with more curiosity than ambiguity.

  “Why, sure.” He stood up straight and hooked his thumbs on lemon yellow suspenders. “I used to teach an antiquities class at the university, but that was ages and ages ago. I’m a collector these days. Were you looking for something special? I’m pretty good at tracking down the rare and unique.”

  “Um, no, actually.” She approached the counter and reached for the canvas tote slung around her shoulder. “I’m looking for the man who sold this to me. He mentioned you’d appraised the piece for him, and I want to speak to you myself before I take further action.” The candelabra landed with a thunk on the counter.

  “Oh?” Over the rim of his glasses, Dr. Paul’s fuzzy white eyebrows gathered in puzzled fascination as he peered down at the candlestick. “Hm. Yes, yes. I know this. Only last time I seen it, there wasn’t none of this…” He flapped his hands and scowled.

  “Paint?” she offered. It took everything she had not to whoop and holler. Her instincts had led her true. “It’d be a shame to get robbed on my way here. Now, the gentleman who sold me this said you had appraised this piece.” She flipped the piece over and showed him the dent in the side; the one she’d made herself. She’d done her best to make it look like the one Brendan had in his apartment.

  She’d done her due diligence and had photographed documentation of the process. As long as Oliver didn’t mind claiming this was all his idea, everything would pan out, and she wouldn’t go to jail for evidence tampering.

  She fingered the dent. “In the photograph I was shown before purchase, this wasn’t there. I came to ask if this changes the value significantly before I hunt down the son of a bitch and get my money back. This thing cost a fortune.”

  Dr. Paul’s eyebrows hitched. “Oh, indeed. I’m sure it must have, if he asked close to what I told him he might.” He shook his head and pressed his lips together regretfully. “Now, I can give you two possible things, dear. Because I stand by my appraisals. One, you were fleeced. See, this is part of a set of two. He may have shown you the undamaged candelabra, and gave you this one instead. Or could be, he made an honest mistake.”

  Seraphina gusted out a frustrated sigh. “Well, have you at least got some documentation I could take to him? Someone is going to answer for this.”

  He bobbed his head. “Oh, yes. Yes, yes. Of course I do. Give me just a minute, I’ll fish you out the ticket. Should be enough to prove you ended up with the dented one, so long as you held on to your own receipt.”

  “Of course I did,” she muttered.

  He disappeared into the back of the shop. He came tottering back several minutes later, waving a yellow slip of paper. “It’s here. Right here.” He slapped it onto the counter. “See there? Two in the set. I marked the damage on one. That there’s the amount I appraised for both. Now, I striked through Mr. Berkley’s contact information,” Dr. Paul said apologetically. “Sorry, I won’t give out personal information, but that there is his name. He’s a long-time customer of mine, and I’ve only ever had good dealings with him. If I were to guess, I’d say it was an honest mistake, Miss… I didn’t catch your name?”

  She snatched the slip from the counter and hefted the candle holder. “You certainly did not. Thanks, Dr. Paul.”

  He scratched his head but watched her go without further remark. She stopped at the door to return the candelabra to her sack. Her heart thudded in her chest. She couldn’t believe her luck. She tucked the yellow ticket into her purse and pulled the door open. A light breeze swirled past her, and she smiled.

  She hadn’t dared hope that the seemingly inconsequential snippet of conversation she’d heard would pay off. Not to this degree. She’d hoped to prove the candlesticks were possibly a set. Perhaps get enough information to convince Oliver to formally question the proprietor of the appraisal shop. Instead, she had an established link connecting Brendan directly to them. She fairly vibrated with anticipation as she began a brisk walk toward Gallagher Interiors. As a bonus, she was only a few blocks from the office. She didn’t even need to bother with cab fare.

  The side street was quiet and practically barren. At this time, most people were squirreled away in their offices, clucking over e-mails, sighing over meetings gone too long, and hiding yawns behind third and fourth cups of coffee.

  She heard scuffs behind her seconds before something sharp jabbed into her right side. On her left, an arm hooked around her shoulder, pinning her against a hard body at her back. She froze, her mouth open and her heart in her throat.

  “This was a departure from your usual good sense.” Brendan’s husky voice rumbled in her ear.

  She jerked violently, trying to tear herself free. He easily snapped her back against him and held her. “Dr. Paul is an old, old friend. He sent me a quick text the second you stepped inside his shop. He sold me out to buy himself time to get the hell out of town before you bring the entire police department down on his head. Thanks for screwing that up for me.”

  “Get off me,” she demanded through gritted teeth. She calmed her nerves. She guessed the pointy thing jabbing into her back was the barrel of a small caliber weapon. He probably didn’t expect a fight from her. That pissed her off enough to chase away lingering doubt. To hell with going along with the helpless girl act. “Or I’m going to knock your nuts into your throat.”

  He laughed and gripped her harder. “You’re tough. And smart. And that’s a damn shame. I knew you might try to tie me to the candlestick. See, I tried to give you an easy out. You found something valuable in Tanbee House. You could’ve just let me go. Instead, you called in your cop buddies and got my apartment ransacked.”

  Seraphina took a deep breath and carefully recalled everything she’d ever learned in her self-defense classes. She poised her body, readied it for action, but she had one last question. “So, you’ve been watching me, have you?”

  “Closely.” His breath on her ear was hot. Nausea swirled in her gut. She grimaced and held tight to her concentration. “But without Oliver, you’re not much better than a kid playing dress-up. The candelabra was a message, Seraphina. I wanted you to know I was listening and watching.”

  “I’ve got a message for you, too, Brendan.” She knew he’d be expecting another witty comment. Instead, she acted, taking advantage of those precious few seconds. She threw her elbow back as hard as she could. Immense satisfaction flooded her as Brendan’s breath leaped from his mouth in a strangled, guttural moan. She pitched her head backward, catching him in the face.

  He released her as he stumbled backward. Seraphina didn’t hesitate to utter some scathing quip, or pause to soak in the pain that blossomed on the back of her head, but kicked him square in the groin. His hands went from his bloody nose to his crotch as he dropped to his knees. For a beat, he appeared to struggle to his feet. Instead, he gagged and fell into himself, almost like a caving soufflé. There was no gun. A metal rod less than a foot long clanged to the pavement and rolled a few inches.

  She reached for her phone and dialed Grant while she stood over Brendan. He was curled onto his side, moaning,
hands at six and twelve. The back of her head throbbed where it had made contact with his face.

  “Seraphina.” Grant answered in record time, his tone worried and a pitch higher than usual. “Ophelia just came to tell me Brendan took off in a hurry not ten minutes ago. She sent a tail after him, but they’re five minutes behind. I have a feeling you’ve got something to do with this.”

  Seraphina’s breathing was labored, but she managed a coherent explanation. “Swift Appraisal and Pawn. Tell Ophelia she’ll need some guys to track down the proprietor of the shop, too. He tipped off Brendan the second I stepped inside.” She cast a glance at Brendan, still pitifully prone on the ground. He obviously didn’t fight very often. Maybe he usually had thugs to do his dirty work for him. Had he employed them today, this all might’ve had a far less happy ending. She hadn’t expected Brendan to go down so easily, and was glad she hadn’t had to test her mettle against someone with more experience. “And you’d better tell Oliver we need an ambulance.”

  * * * *

  Grant beat Oliver’s brigade to the scene. Seraphina was no longer alone, but standing with two other men dressed like they were late for an important board meeting. She smiled at them when she saw Grant coming. “Hey. These guys passed by, and I had to tell them I was waiting for Brendan to be arrested. They offered to hang out in case he caught his second wind.”

  Grant couldn’t decide what to stare at. He went from Brendan’s prone form to Seraphina’s slight grimace until he was almost dizzy. “What…what happened? What’d they do to him?”

  “They?” She laughed and rubbed the back of her head. “They didn’t do anything, thank you very much.”

  “You did that to him?”

  She shot him an annoyed glance. “I’m a single woman. I don’t have a man or a dog to protect me. So, I learned to protect myself. Years ago, I was assaulted after a party on campus one night. I fought and got away, but I didn’t want to count on being so lucky next time. Don’t stare,” she chided him. “Kay carries a gun. Go gawp at her.”