Epiphany

by Rita Herron

  She’d damned sure been having an effect on him. He’d watched her all day. The way she moved with a self-assurance and rhythm that was almost mesmerizing. And her voice. Soft, but with just a touch of depth. Husky. No. Sexy. Very sexy. Every single hair on his body stood on end even now when he thought about the way she laughed. Quietly at first, and then the sound would fizz up from her throat, a full, rich resonance of exuberance.

  He liked the sound.

  Liked it too damned much.

  Tuning out the remembered sounds and images, he devoured his sandwiches while she nibbled delicately at her first.

  He wondered how she managed to hang on to those womanly curves when she scarcely ate enough to keep a bird flapping its wings.

  When he’d polished off the last bite, she abruptly stood, as if she’d been waiting for that final crumb to pass over his lips. “Thank you, Detective, that was nice.”

  He watched her pad off into the kitchen, her food scarcely touched.

  Gathering his own utensils, he got up, pushed in his chair and followed the path she’d taken. He found her loading the dishwasher as per her usual routine.

  “You know, Miss Saxon,” he said, passing his own plate and glass to her, “nice is what you say when you don’t particularly like the outfit your friend selected but you don’t want to hurt her feelings.” He leaned against the counter. “Nice is what a guy says when he hears that his rival at work got the promotion he wanted.” He let his gaze settle fully onto hers. “Nice is not nice at all. And it’s hardly a compliment.”

  A feigned smile spackled on her face as she sucked in a deep breath, but rather than answer him she walked over to the island, picked up the bottle of wine and poured herself another glass. When she’d downed half of it, she faced him.

  “You’re a walking time bomb, Detective,” she said bluntly.

  Confusion dragged his mouth into a frown. “Say what?”

  She gestured vaguely with her glass, her movements unsteady, as if the couple of glasses she’d already drank had gone straight to her head. “Your cholesterol is probably through the roof. Maybe even your blood pressure, considering how you salt practically everything.”

  What the hell was she talking about?

  “I’ll have you know,” he said, relocating to the island so that he could glare down at her with more impact, “that both my B.P. and my cholesterol are fine. I’m as fit as a fiddle.” His eyes narrowed. “Just because you eat like a health nut doesn’t mean your numbers are so perfect.” But they were, the wicked side of him argued. Every damned inch of her was perfect from those 36D breasts to that narrow waist and those lush hips that required a size medium in the lingerie department.

  “Pardon me, Detective,” she said suddenly, her eyes going wide with the realization of just where his thoughts had gone. “It wasn’t my intention to be negative. I simply meant that I prefer less oils and fats in my diet.”

  He wondered if she always apologized for any and all less-than-pleasant remarks. He’d noticed that about her. She was so careful what she said and did, almost to the point of obsession.

  “It’s okay if you don’t like what I like,” he said back. “It’s also okay if you tell me, especially when I back you into a corner.”

  Her cheeks turned that crimson color that he found so cute. “I’m not in the habit of arguing with personal taste,” she said flatly. “I find it makes life much more enjoyable to accept what you cannot possibly hope to change.”

  Man, talk about repressed aggressions. If this lady ever blew, anyone around her had better watch out. And she thought he was unhealthy.

  Time for a subject change. The conversation had gotten entirely too personal and he knew better than to go there. But something about Rebecca Saxon made him want to go right down that forbidden path.

  Another thought occurred to him. His cocky expression wilted into a frown as he glanced around the kitchen, mentally reviewed the rest of the rooms in the enormous house. “Christmas is only two days away, don’t you want to put up a tree or something?” She’d gone all-out at her shop to display the holiday spirit, but here there wasn’t the first twinkle of Christmas.

  She stuffed the cork back into the bottle and set her glass in the sink. Anything to keep from meeting his gaze again. It didn’t take a mind reader to tell she didn’t want him to see whatever she felt.

  “I’m very busy this time of year,” she said pointedly. “I don’t generally get home until late, I’d hardly have any time to appreciate the effort.”

  He watched her hastily wipe the counter and then neatly fold the dishcloth before placing it next to the sink. As if on autopilot, she tucked the half-empty bottle of wine in the fridge and surveyed the room for anything else that needed doing.

  “We could do that tonight, if you’d like,” he offered, challenged actually. “I don’t mind.” Climbing into that bed any earlier than necessary was not something he cared to do. He’d probably toss and turn half the night thinking about her and those gorgeous undies she wore beneath those conservative suits.

  She cast around as if searching for some handy excuse to negate the suggestion.

  “Come on.” He wrapped his fingers around her arm and prodded her out of the kitchen. “It’s early. We can at least put up a tree.”

  Trey felt reasonably certain that the only thing that kept her from saying a flat-out no was that politically correct attitude of hers. She probably assumed that he wanted to have a tree for Christmas and since he was stuck here with her it was the least she could do.

  Whatever worked.

  At least they would be doing something that didn’t involve him lying between those swanky cotton sheets and staring at the ceiling…wondering what she was doing across the hall.

  The Christmas decorations were stored in sturdy boxes in the attic. Judging by the layer of dust that had settled atop them, she hadn’t bothered with the task in quite some time.

  She pointed out the box containing the artificial tree and the decorations necessary and he wagged them down the stairs.

  Twenty minutes later she had finally decided upon the keeping room as the best place for the tree. In making that decision he’d learned that a keeping room was nothing more than a small, intimate den off the kitchen. He’d noticed it, but didn’t know its proper name. But, he supposed, with a house this size, plain old den just wasn’t good enough, especially considering there was at least one other room that could fit that description.

  At his prompting, she reluctantly explained the history behind each ornament placed on the tree. He liked watching her face light up when some memory flitted across her mind and surprised her. Eventually she’d forgotten her misgivings and reluctantly shifted into the holiday mood. She looked like a little girl decorating a tree for the first time.

  “What about this one?” He held in his hand a glass ornament containing a miniature bird’s nest and four tiny, pale blue eggs.

  “I made that in Girl Scouts.” She smiled, her face softening as the last of the day’s stress erased from her expression. “Fifth grade. My father was so proud.”

  He asked about her parents and felt an immediate kinship. She was pretty much an orphan herself in a sense that her only surviving parent’s life no longer involved her. Finally something they had in common, only he’d been a ten-year-old kid when he lost his folks to a jerk with a gun who’d decided to rob a convenience store and take out any possible witnesses before rushing away with less than two hundred bucks for his trouble. Lucky for him he’d had an aunt and uncle ready to take on another son. He and his cousins had grown up like brothers. But no matter the love his new family had given freely, he would never forget or get fully past what had happened.

  That was the primary reason he’d gone into law enforcement and steered clear of commitment. Might as well admit it, it was the truth. You couldn’t lose something you didn’t have.

  He wondered if that explained why Rebecca Saxon had never married. Her father had left her,
not on purpose of course, and her mother had moved on.

  “Oh, my gosh.” She gasped. “I’d completely forgotten about this.” She held up an angel made of Popsicle sticks. “I made this when I was six.” Shaking her head, she murmured, “Why in the world would my parents keep this stuff?”

  “Because they loved you,” he said instinctively.

  Their gazes locked and for the first time since he’d met Rebecca Saxon she looked truly vulnerable. Completely open.

  “I…knew that.”

  He took the angel from her hand and hung it on the tree.

  Maybe the whole tree-decorating thing hadn’t been such a smart idea. But it was too late for regrets now. Especially for the fact that being here like this with her had left him a little too vulnerable, as well.

  They finished the project in silence, but the tension was as thick as if he’d been swimming under water too long before coming up for air. Breathing was labored. Proper reasoning impossible.

  He kept thinking that she needed a hug.

  He could damn sure use one himself.

  It didn’t make a lick of sense.

  But it was what it was.

  He clicked on the tree lights and they stood back to admire the warm, twinkling glow of their work.

  Still neither spoke.

  Just as well. He’d probably only do something stupid like give her that hug he felt certain she needed…or worse.

  Chapter Seven

  At 10:00 a.m. the next morning Rebecca stood in the middle of her office. She’d just reached for the remote to turn on the Weather Channel when Julie rushed in.

  “Turn on the news, Rebecca.”

  The horror in her entire demeanor, especially her rounded eyes, said far more than anything else could have.

  Rebecca pointed the remote toward the small television taking up space on one corner of her credenza and clicked the necessary buttons.

  The local news flickered onto the screen. Rebecca recognized the familiar face and voice but the words emblazoned across the bottom of the screen were what held her attention.

  House Call Murderers Strike Again.

  She went numb as she listened to the gruesome details of how the owner of a jewelry shop in nearby Marietta had been murdered at his home night before last. He’d lived alone.

  Just like her.

  When the scene on the screen switched to a traffic update, she powered off the set and turned to Julie.

  “Would you send Santa in to see me, please?”

  Julie nodded jerkily, didn’t even bother to ask what Santa had to do with what they’d both just viewed on the news. Instead she rushed out of the office as if she could escape the reality that still reverberated in Rebecca’s mind.

  Another murder.

  Fear and fury rushed in equal measure through her veins. This had to stop. There had to be a way to catch these monsters.

  His tall, broad-shouldered frame draped in red velvet, Detective Trey Murphy sauntered into her office. “If that kid told you I refused—”

  “What child?” she demanded, concern for her customers abruptly jumping to the forefront.

  “Never mind.” He dragged off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “What’s up?”

  Making a mental reminder to question him about customer relationships again later, she shifted back to the more pressing matter. “Why didn’t you tell me about the murder in Marietta?”

  The beard camouflaged a good portion of his chiseled face but the truth flashed in his eyes a split second before he shielded it.

  “There was nothing to be gained by telling you immediately.” He pulled the beard away from his face and let it rest under his chin.

  “When did you find out?” She braced her hands on her hips as she launched this demand. The grim set of his mouth that he’d just revealed distracted her a moment, but only one.

  Problem was, he appeared to be the one distracted now.

  His gaze followed her movements, lingered on her hips a moment too long. Heat steamed her cheeks. Maybe this suit wasn’t right for her. When she’d purchased it she hadn’t considered that the short, Napoleon-style jacket could possibly put extra emphasis on her hips. She’d simply fallen in love with the deep luxuriant shade of lavender.

  Her breath fell short of reaching her lungs when that roving gaze moved downward to take a tour of her legs. Admittedly the skirt was a couple inches short of what she usually wore, but it was certainly well within the boundaries of conservative. She resisted the urge to shift beneath his continued scrutiny.

  “Detective,” she persisted, forcing her attention back on the matter at hand, “I asked when you learned about this latest murder?”

  His gaze snapped back up to hers. “Last evening.” He looked every bit as guilty as he was, both for holding out on her and for staring at her legs.

  Ignoring the little fizz of heat that his perusal had lit, she threw her hands up, angry that he hadn’t told her the truth. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. My life is in danger here! People are dead. Didn’t you think I deserved to know?” She took a quick breath. She needed to calm down. Keep her head. A slow backward count from ten, two more deep breaths. She would be okay. She could handle this.

  Trey wasn’t sure what he could say to make her happy. She was definitely fired up now. Might as well tell her the truth. “I figured a decent night’s sleep would do you more good than hearing about this.” He shrugged, pushed away the thought of how she’d looked soaking in that tub. “Between the wine and your obvious state of exhaustion last evening, you should thank me.”

  So not the right thing to say, he realized too late.

  “Are you accusing me of overindulging last night?” She held up a hand. “Don’t answer that! Just go back to your post,” she ordered, those lush lips trembling with fury.

  Curiosity wouldn’t let him do as she said right away. Was this ultra-controlled lady about to have a meltdown? Watching might even be worth the probable fallout.

  “Go,” she repeated, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

  “Look.” No point letting this get out of hand. He couldn’t help feeling a little guilty that he’d kept her in the dark. Not to mention she clearly hadn’t appreciated his looking at her legs. That last part he just couldn’t help. Still, he had to do something to appease her. “The chief has rescinded all holiday leave until this is over. Patrol cars will be driving by all primary targets every hour and even the secondary targets every so often, as well. We’re doing everything we can to keep those at risk in Atlanta safe.”

  She searched his eyes for two beats before she turned away. “I have to get back to work.”

  And that was it. She scarcely spoke to him the rest of the day. But that didn’t keep him from watching her every chance he got. That was his job. The fact that the extra inch or two of thigh the slightly shorter skirt revealed seriously turned him on was just a perk. And the jacket, well it molded to her upper torso as if it had been tailor made. She looked amazing.

  Every bend and reach gave him something else to sigh about…to keep him awake at night.

  Hell, maybe that was a good thing. Last night’s news had pushed his internal alarm system to the next level, had him jumping at his own shadow. The only thing good that had come from the chief’s call last night was his reluctant admission that the IA investigation had cleared Trey. The racial profiling accusation had been tossed out and his eyewitness had admitted to being coerced by a man Trey had taken down years ago. The same man was now the primary suspect of the ongoing case. Wells probably wouldn’t have even told him until this was over if he hadn’t been afraid Trey would read about it in the papers the next morning.

  As glad as he was, he couldn’t afford to breathe a sigh of relief. This assignment required his full attention. At this point there were no acceptable risks. He couldn’t let his guard down for a second. As much as he hated to admit it, where Rebecca Saxon was concerned, that was proving more and more difficult.


  THERE WERE FIVE customers left at closing time.

  Trey resisted the urge to scratch. The suit was driving him crazy. He’d had to resort to carrying his weapon in the waistband of the Santa pants at the small of his back to ensure he could get to it quickly enough.

  Since there were no children loitering about and Linda had closed up her refreshment center, he figured he could leave his post. Trey glanced at the three security guards who no doubt wore their weapons the right way and he wondered why he couldn’t have dressed like them. Maybe Rebecca had thought he didn’t own a suit. His gaze narrowed. Or maybe she’d just wanted to make him pay for intruding into her life on a personal level.

  As that last idea faded, something at the counter where the saleslady Julie worked captured his attention. The customer she waited on looked uneasy. His feet were planted wide apart, his body turned to one side slightly, as if he might need to make a mad dash for the door.