by Rebecca Deel
“Get your own woman.”
His friend chuckled. “I was afraid to call Sophie and ask.”
“Smart man. She’s fine. Wants to go to her store. She’s worried about her workers, concerned the stalker will return and threaten them to reach her.”
“Lily could help out in the store until Sophie returns. She’s a health nut, too. Should I send her?”
Micah’s lip curled. Lily Stanton. Barbie doll with a snarky attitude. Lily walked, talked, and dressed like a cover model but was almost as dangerous as some Navy SEALs he’d worked with. At just over five feet, maybe 100 pounds dripping wet, she could bench press more weight than Micah on his best days. Maybe she used a Jeep instead of barbells. What she lacked in size, Lily made up in tenacity. Men always underestimated her to their painful regret.
“Oh, yeah. Send her. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Lily will take out Sophie’s stalker by herself. I sort of feel sorry for the slob.” Then he remembered Sophie’s cheeks. “On second thought, he deserves everything Lily delivers. He slapped Sophie hard enough to leave bruises.”
Brent’s swearing almost blistered Micah’s ear. “I’ll tell Lily to cut him off at the knees with our blessings. He’ll regret the day he was born by the time she’s finished with him. She hates men who abuse women.”
He knew the feeling. Leaving the thug to Lily wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as plowing his fists into the man’s face, but he’d deal. When he thought about what could have happened to his woman and son, Micah’s blood ran cold.
Not going to happen, he assured himself. No matter what else occurred, Micah would keep Sophie and the baby safe. With his extended family in England, no one mattered more to him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Don’t jerk me around, Zeke.”
Sophie shoved her hair over her shoulder and shifted Micah’s laptop one more time. Baby belly and the computer’s track pad didn’t mix well. Every time she moved wrong or Junior thumped against the laptop’s weight, funky stuff appeared on the screen.
“I swear, I don’t know anything,” whined the voice of Zeke Randall, the Valero family’s fence of choice.
Her hand tightened around the sat phone. “Not buying it. You always know something about everything. That’s your stock in trade, Zeke. Information.”
Muttered cursing. “Look, I remember when Sierra was heisting all the glitters. It always made a splash in certain circles, you know?”
And the splash made the thrill that much greater for her sister and more difficult for Sophie to reverse the process. “No splash, huh?”
“None. Not since Sierra passed on.”
Sophie blew out a breath. She found it hard to believe no other jewel thief called Music City home. “What about interesting purchases or thefts in the last year, things that might attract Sierra’s attention but not make the news?”
“Black?”
She smiled. Gotcha, Zeke. Nothing peaked his interest as much as a stealthy foray into the gem underworld. “Obsidian.”
A baritone chuckle. “I’ll ask around. Where can I reach you?”
Sophie started to give her number, then thought better of it. What if the thug or his boss unearthed Zeke’s identity? Giving the fence too much information might be dangerous to his health. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
“Any luck?” Micah settled on the couch across from her.
“Not yet. My first contact choice says nothing is happening in jewelry heists right now. At least, nothing legitimate.”
“He knows to keep his inquiries low key?”
“Zeke specializes in under-the-radar inquiries. Did you learn anything?”
“A friend is digging into the background of the women in Sierra’s portraits. Adam will get back to me in a few hours.” He nodded at the computer sliding once again down her thighs. “Need a different position for that computer?”
She scowled at the laptop inching its way to her stomach. “I need a lap.”
“Would you like me to help with the laptop or do you want to move to Jase’s office?”
“I don’t want to move yet.”
“You feeling okay? Anything hurt?”
“My ankles are swelling. Not enough water today, I guess.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have bought water for you.”
She snorted. “And then made a stop within two minutes of the first sip? My bladder is the size of a thimble these days.”
Masculine hands gripped the computer and rescued it from the journey to her belly. She averted her gaze to the window, taking in the drifting snowflakes. “Looks like you were right. Wonder how much we’ll get this time?”
Silence greeted her question. Limping footsteps faded as he left the room, computer propped on the couch to her right. Sophie drew in a deep breath. Tears formed in her eyes. Disgusted with herself, she swiped the tears away. Waterworks because the Secret Service agent hadn’t answered her question? Why should he? No way for him to know about the weather forecast. And who said the man thought of her as a friend, someone to pass the time with in idle conversation? Pregnancy hormones must be running rampant through her system today. She was being ridiculous.
Minutes later, halting footsteps cued her to Micah’s return. He carried a blue fabric covered square which he set on the floor in front of the couch.
An ottoman. “Where did you find that?”
“Jase’s wife has a reading chair in their bedroom. Clarissa has more books than anyone I’ve seen outside of bookstores or libraries. The ottoman goes with her chair.” Micah moved to the recliner and held out his hands. “Come sit with me. We’ll work together.”
After she situated herself on the couch, Micah gently lifted her feet to the ottoman and positioned it in front of her. “Okay?”
She nodded. “Thanks, Micah.”
He sat and turned to face her. “Sophie.”
“Hmm?” She stared hard at the computer screen.
His hand cupped her chin and turned her face toward him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore your question as if it weren’t important. I didn’t realize you expected an answer.”
Why wouldn’t he drop this? “Forget it. You and I aren’t really friends. You don’t owe me an explanation. It’s not like you’re attracted to me or anything. We’re not dating. You don’t have to keep in my good graces.” She so needed to shut up. Rambling on like that might give him a clue that her feelings had been hurt. “I have a couple ideas how we might get more information about the portraits.”
“Hold up, sugar.”
Sugar? Another sweet name. If only he meant the endearments. Right. Nice dream.
“You think I’m not attracted to you?”
“I know how you feel about the Valeros, Micah. You don’t need to pretend. We both know you wouldn’t mean it.”
“I’ve never lied to you, never will.”
That statement finally dragged her attention from his chest to Micah’s intense gaze. “What does that mean?”
“I meant exactly what I said, Sophie, but this isn’t the time or place to explore those feelings.”
He couldn’t mean he was attracted to her. Could he? “But I’m 1,000 weeks pregnant.”
“With my son. And if we don’t table this discussion right now, we’ll be having a conversation neither of us is ready for just yet. What were your ideas?” With a final brush of his thumb over her bottom lip, Micah twisted and positioned the computer on his lap.
Was he crazy? He’d just confessed to being at least a little attracted to her and now he wanted her to concentrate on the case? Men. “See what we find with a browser search. I’m sure your computer research geeks will cover the stuff I can’t get to, but I’d like to know what these ladies have been up to in the last year.”
“What else?”
“If we don’t learn much from the Internet search and our combined sources, I think we should pay a visit to each woman and personally deliver their portraits.”
Micah stilled, his hands hovering ov
er the keyboard.
Sensing his volatile emotions, Sophie laid her hand over his forearm. The muscles beneath her hand were as hard as petrified wood. “Hear me out. I know you don’t like that option, but we might learn more information faster.”
“You may also find a bullet in your back, too. I’m not willing to take that chance.”
“Micah, I know you won’t let anything happen to me or our son.”
“I can’t stop a bullet I don’t see coming, baby.” Jaw clenched, he typed in Danielle Ross’s name into a search engine. “Let’s save that option for last. I’d like to think it through, maybe investigate the possibility of body armor.”
Sophie’s eyebrows rose. Body armor? “Someone invented maternity-friendly armor?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t needed that for principals I’ve protected, but there’s bound to be some somewhere. If nothing else, I’ll give you mine.”
And leave himself open for an assassin’s bullet.
#
Hours later, Micah shut down the computer and set it aside. The warm weight of Sophie’s head shifted against his shoulder.
He smiled at her grumpy kitten noises as she settled into a more comfortable position against his chest. Micah wrapped his arm around her and slowly reclined against the arm of the couch, drawing her with him.
Sophie had to be exhausted. He’d lost track of how many times she’d been up in the last two nights. Too many, between the leg cramp and multiple trips to the bathroom.
Micah pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She sighed and snuggled closer, her ear pressed once again over his heart.
Eyes closed, he listened to the wind blowing, the tick of a clock, the sound of Sophie’s breathing. He tightened his arm around her back. She felt so good in his arms, perfect. He needed to hunt her attacker, yet he couldn’t leave her. Wouldn’t leave her and Junior unprotected and didn’t trust anyone else with their safety.
He’d done all he could without moving them from this temporary haven. He’d checked with Brent again. Still nothing.
Too much nothing. He felt in his gut something would break soon. He just hoped he was ready and Sophie was out of the line of fire when it broke.
#
Sophie threw back the covers and, with a soft groan, maneuvered her body into a sitting position. After another trip to the bathroom, she stood in the doorway to the guest bedroom she’d occupied for the last few hours and scowled at the rumpled bed linens. No matter what she’d tried, nothing helped her sleep.
Thoughts of their fruitless search for information before and after dinner ran in an endless loop through her mind along with worry about the gang with a contract on Micah. Bad enough to have some unknown thug and his boss threatening her. Now her Secret Service bodyguard defended her and Junior from the Kings as well. No question what his priority would be if the situation turned lethal. Micah would sacrifice himself to save her and his son. She swallowed hard, praying he’d never have to make the choice. Junior needed his father, too.
Much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she also missed Micah holding her. And how lame was that? He’d only held her one night. Micah wouldn’t be in her future nights once her thug was behind bars.
She made her way to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of hot tea. Her mouth curled up. She saw more trips to the bathroom in her near future. Tea kettle filled, Sophie turned on the burner and wandered to the patio doors. Snow drifted to the white ground, the feathery flakes twirling with gusts of wind. The scene would have made a good postcard or calendar picture.
Her thoughts turned once again to the women in Sierra’s portraits. Three women who did nothing interesting in the last year, except wear unusual pieces of jewelry. At least Zeke unearthed the women’s names and jewelry descriptions. Micah’s friend was putting together information on the women, hoped to have files ready for each by the time she and Micah woke. Except she remained awake.
She traced the frost pattern on the glass with her finger. Daylight was hours away. If sleep proved elusive after drinking chamomile tea, she could try searching the Internet with different search parameters.
“You okay?”
Sophie whirled, heart in her throat. “Did I wake you?”
Micah leaned one shoulder against the door jamb. He was once again wearing a black t-shirt and sleep pants. The man could pose for a portrait like that. A canvas or camera would love him. Wonder if Sierra broached the subject with him?
“Didn’t answer my question, baby.”
She shrugged and turned back to the silent scene. “Couldn’t sleep.” Cryptic answer for a cryptic question.
Silence. Then, “Anything in particular keeping you awake?”
Him. Since admitting the truth meant revealing feelings better buried, she said nothing. A whisper of movement behind her. The palms of his hands caressed her shoulders. Heat from his hands seeped into the rest of her body, chasing away the chill of winter and fear by his touch alone.
“Talk to me, Sophie. Are your legs or feet hurting again?”
“My mind won’t shut down long enough for me to sleep.”
“You didn’t have a problem on the couch.” Amusement colored his voice, deepening her frustration at her dilemma. “Took you about ten minutes.”
“The circumstances were different. Maybe I’m not tired now.” As if the universe conspired against her, Sophie punctuated her last statement with a huge yawn.
Micah chuckled. “Try again, love. How about the truth this time. What do you need?”
Sophie had two choices. Either try to bluff her way through until she convinced Micah to go to bed or dig up enough courage to ask for what she needed. Her gaze dropped to her stomach. For Junior’s sake, she needed sleep. “Hold me,” she whispered as the kettle started to sing.
“Sure.” Micah dropped a kiss on the crown of her head, then stepped to the stove and turned off the burner. “Do you really want tea?”
A soft laugh escaped. “Not if I can avoid it.”
He smiled, held out his hand. “Couch again?”
She froze, hand hovering over his. Sophie tilted her head, studied his face. The twinkle in his eyes had her muscles relaxing. “Couch.” Her free hand rested on her stomach.
Micah led her into Jase and Clarissa’s living room. She stared at the rumpled quilts covering the couch, evidence of his own restless night. In a minute, Micah’s chest warmed Sophie, heart beating under her ear, his hand cradling her belly, much as he had the night before.
“Sleep, love.”
Contentment and Micah’s warmth lulled her to sleep.
#
“Morning, beautiful.” Micah handed Sophie a plate with scrambled eggs, toast and orange slices. He nodded toward the kitchen table and the two mugs on the flat surface. “Coffee’s ready.”
He filled his own plate with twice the amount of food on hers and sat across from her. Micah noted the lessened lines and shadows on her face. The icy ball in his gut melted away. Sophie seemed more rested this morning.
She eyed the steaming mug. “Decaf?” she asked, distaste evident from her expression.
“One quarter is the real stuff.”
Sophie’s eyes lit. She grabbed the mug with both hands and sipped. Her eyes closed, as if he had given her the greatest delicacy instead of plain coffee.
Micah grinned at her expression of pure joy. “Good?”
“Mmm.” She drank more. “Fabulous. Thanks, Micah.”
“Figured you could use a little buzz to clear fatigue fog. Want to go on an excursion today?”
Sophie paused with a fork of scrambled eggs halfway to her mouth. “Where?”
“I did some thinking.” Through most of the early morning hours. Holding Sophie in his arms while she slept was a unique brand of sweet torture. “Much as I hate to say it, I think delivering the portraits in person might be a good idea.”
Eyes wide, she set her coffee mug on the table with a thud. “But last night you were determined not to let me near those w
omen. What changed your mind?”
“We’re not making much progress with our sources. They’re still gathering information. In the meantime, I checked the voice mail messages on your cell phone. The thug left four messages, each one more pointed than the last.”
Sophie stood and started toward the kitchen phone.
Micah snagged her wrist. “You don’t want to hear them.” Especially the last one in which he explained in excruciating detail how he would cut Junior from her body, then kill them both in the most painful ways imaginable. “He’s desperate to retrieve what Sierra took.”
“But I don’t know what she stole.” Sophie jerked her wrist from his grasp and paced to the other side of the kitchen before turning, her face a picture of misery. Ripped his heart out to see that expression. And made him that much more determined to make the thug and his boss pay. “How can I return it?”
“Have you remembered anything else your attacker said?”
She shook her head.
Micah blew out a breath and waved her back to the table. “Eat. Stress burns up fuel whether you’re aware of it or not. If you won’t eat for yourself, do it for our son.”
Another grumpy look came his way, but Sophie settled in the seat across from him again. Coming at this from another angle might lead them to answers. One corner of his mouth turned up. Or lead them to another dead end.
Had to try something, though. The deadline was hours away. Of course, the creep had to catch Sophie first before he could hurt her. Micah intended to prevent that from happening.
“Why won’t the thug tell me what his boss wants?”
Micah stared at her glittering eyes for a moment. “Good question.” One that had kept him company while he held Sophie as darkness gave way to dawn’s gray light. “It’s possible if you knew what the item was, you would also know who wanted it.”
“I could identify the boss through the jewelry? What difference would that make? The thug said Sierra took what belonged to his boss. He must own it.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Are you telling me Sierra stole this from another thief?” She shook her head. “How? I returned everything to the rightful owners, Micah.”