by Beth Rhodes
“Hey ladies.” Tan came through the door, and her heart jumped. Janice let out a squeal.
“Warning,” she insisted, patting her chest. “Hi. How was your morning?”
His gaze turned wary, looking from her to Janice. “Where’s Jay?”
“Upstairs studying.” She conceded the tension that swarmed her even as she shook it off. “You haven’t met Janice. Janice this is Tancredo Byrnes. He’s the bodyguard.”
“Personal security agent.”
Liz looked up with a grin. “I’m sorr—Oh!” Her misguided needle plunged into her thumb, and she quickly stuck it into her mouth. “Shit. That hurt.”
Janice snickered. Tan’s eyebrow rose.
“Rookie mistake. Hasn’t happened in months.” She tied off her thread and stuck the needle in the cushion. “Time for a break, anyway. Shall we go upstairs?”
“I should go,” Janice started.
“No! Come up. It’s been so long since I had visitors.”
“Hey—”
“No offense, Tan. You don’t count.” Liz laughed as she picked up her water bottle and unscrewed the lid to take a sip.
He shrugged indifferently as if something was up. “I’m headed upstairs, and when you get up there, I’ll leave to do a perimeter check. Stay away from the front windows.”
His footsteps pounded against the hollow wooden stairwell at the back of the store.
“Holy cow, Liz. You didn’t tell me he was black. And hot.”
Liz choked on her sip of water, coughing at the surprise of her friend’s statement.
“I’ve heard about those guys at Hawk Elite. That they’re all built for two things, fighting and fu—”
“Geez, Janice,” Liz interrupted with a short—almost nervous—laugh.
“Looks like I heard right.” Her friend sighed. “Too bad I already admitted I have to go. And I should go.” Her grin turned almost childlike, like when she’d won the silver at Nationals.
Liz’s heart softened, remembering. They’d both been so young. F-words hadn’t been a part of their lives then. That was for sure. “You look great Janice. Tell me you’re still skating.”
“Not for myself. Just the classes for kids. You must still get out there, though. Didn’t you always want to teach the kiddies when you retired? You should join me.”
She had. She’d forgotten. That’s what happened when life threw a curve, she guessed. “I didn’t actually retire,” she answered, as if that would explain it all. And she hoped Janice would let it go. She didn’t want to talk about broken dreams.
It was good enough that she—
“I’m sorry. I made you sad.”
Liz shook her head. “No. I’m very happy. I didn’t do exactly what was planned all those years ago, but I made a new plan.”
Janice came over and tentatively put a hand on her arm. “I think you’ve done an amazing thing here, coming back and starting this business. It’s not surprising, though.
“You were always the best.”
~ 12 ~
“I’m outta here,” Jay called.
Janice gave her a quick hug. “I’m going to sneak out with Jay.” Was that a blush?
Liz opened her mouth to speak then shut it…because Janice had fled, hurrying to catch up. But, with the talk having moved to morbid things, maybe the blush hadn’t been attraction.
Turning the lights off in her workshop, Liz started up the stairs.
And the anticipation that filled her was both nerves and excitement. Nerves over what was going through his head. Sometimes, Tan could be so elusive, not giving away a single emotion or thought. He’d been like that when he came in today. And she wanted to know why.
“Done down there?” he asked when she came into the kitchen.
She smiled, studying him. Still closed off. “For now. I have a client coming over in a while.”
“I’ll be back shortly then.”
She nodded, leaving him behind as she used the restroom and then went to her bedroom. She wasn’t used to this feeling of being tied to her apartment. But, with a guard at her side 24/7, that’s exactly how she did feel.
She tugged the plain—God, so ugly—comforter on her bed to straighten it. At home, her room was more colorful than the Butchart Gardens. She’d left, hoping to wake up her world, but had done the opposite. With Gabriel out there…she found the familiar fear rising back up, smothering any advances she’d made. She fought…hard.
Running a hand through her hair, she went to the fridge. Despite the plethora of leftover containers, there was nothing to eat. “Ugh.” She firmly shut the door and stopped. Where was Tan?
Funny, how quickly a routine had been set. Jay gone, Tan here.
He should be out there on her couch, reading the paper, clacking away on that computer of his, or talking on the phone with one of his teammates. He’d be polite. She’d be standoffish. And they’d tiptoe around each other all day.
Liz was bored out of her mind.
No one had said she had to stay here, but there was an unspoken expectation…and so far, she hadn’t bothered to leave. Her work kept her busy, usually well past midnight. Her sore, bleeding fingers were tribute to the detailed beadwork she’d been able to accomplish since the attack.
She hated to say it, but the attack had been a blessing in disguise in regards to getting some work done around here. On the other hand, when work became the procrastination, there was something seriously wrong.
Tan was almost an invisible entity at this point. Yet still, he drew her in, and she found her thoughts drifting. Wondering if he had a girlfriend, if he liked to go to the movies…
She knew he liked peanut butter and jelly. He ate it every day for lunch. Brought a brown bag and everything.
Her client would be here in half an hour. Enough time to throw a few sarcastic remarks Tan’s way and share a cup of coffee. She grinned. If she could find him that was. Liz called down the stairs, “Tan!”
“Be up in a few minutes.”
Dropping bread into the toaster, she started some coffee.
She missed the chatter. Dang it. How could that be possible?
At the sound of a drill, she straightened. “What the hell?”
Her one cup brewer finished, and she took her coffee downstairs where she found Tan, sleeves rolled up, tool belt around his waist, and large screw gun in his holy-manly-capable-looking hand. She really was bored, if she was wondering about those hands…and how they would feel—
He turned. “Hey, just in time.”
She cleared her throat. “For what?”
“Fingerprinting and height check.”
Her old door was gone. Not that she loved the door, but she did own the place. “What have you done with my door?”
“Replaced it with something better, more secure.”
“How does it work?”
“Well, now you push it from the inside and it opens. You pull it from the outside and it opens.”
She could never tell what he was thinking, but his sarcasm made her laugh. Maintaining some distance seemed very important to him. She sighed.
“I mean that,” she said, pointing to the fancy electronic box over the door knob.
“That is Malcolm’s newest creation. Handprint entry.” Tan smiled and his chest puffed out a little. He was proud, and she found it sweet. Not that she was going to tell him that.
“Come on. Give me your hand, and we’ll get it all set up.”
“I won’t have to use a key anymore?”
“Nope.”
He took her coffee and set it on the steps behind her.
“Oh.” She frowned with a longing glance back at her coffee but gave him her hand. The warmth of his touch made her stomach clench. Serious trouble. She let him guide her hand to the box as he explained how the lock would work. “There’s a code you enter first, and we’ll set that up in a minute. Then you place your whole hand on the black screen.”
When he pressed his hand over hers, she bit he
r lip. Oh, boy. “Do I have to hold it there for a certain length of time?”
He let go and pressed a few more buttons. “You shouldn’t. One firm touch should do it. There.” He hit the green button on the bottom of the keypad.
“Is there a way to override it?” Even though she appreciated the effort, she still had her doubts. “What if something happens while I’m in here, and no one else can get in? You know…help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up, or something like that.”
“Not a problem. The keypad will recognize three prints.” Tan opened the door. “Let’s try it.”
“I don’t have a coat on.”
He gave her a look that asked, what are you? a wuss?
“It better open.”
His laugh rang down the alley and made her heart skip a beat. He had a startlingly uninhibited laugh…when he decided to laugh. Even his hair joined in, the soft-looking curls brushed against his ears.
The heavy door closed with a bang, and she shivered. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch sent heat through her body. God, the tension that zinged through her was tight, like in her youth, like the stupid girl she’d been when she met Gabriel.
She stepped aside, putting distance between them—to protect herself, and looked at the door. The outside version of the electronic lock was considerably more discreet. A thin screen above the knob and six numbered buttons down one side. “So you put in the code, which I’ve set for you this time. Two. Zero. Zero. Nine. Then you place your hand there.”
“Two thousand and nine. Like the year?” Liz put her hand over the screen and immediately heard a click.
Tan tensed, a funny look came over his face, and then he shrugged as he opened the door. “Yeah, I guess… See?” The door opened. “Like a charm.”
She studied him a moment, knowing something had crossed his mind. Something about the date, as if he hadn’t even known he’d done it. But he was Tancredo—security specialist and bodyguard. Not a friend, not someone she had the right to dig into the past with, and definitely not someone to feel desire over.
“I’m impressed,” she said instead, gazing in through her workshop as they went back inside. “How is that going to help if someone gets in through the front door?”
“Ah.” Tan picked up the screw gun from the bottom step. The T-shirt he wore hugged his bicep, and she really tried not to notice. “That will come on Thursday. A new door for access to the storefront from the workroom. It’s too conspicuous to replace the front door, and you do have customers and clients who regularly come in that way. You own a business. That’s part of life…and part of why continuing to refresh and learn about self-defense is very important,” he added with that raised brow. “But, I showed your dad a few designs for a better door between the store and your work room.”
“I’m imagining a panic room. You’ve got me locked in from both sides.” Inside the workshop, Liz opened a sequin drawer. She dipped her finger in and twirled it around, creating a kaleidoscope of shimmery and matted teal. “Besides, I like to invite my clients back here. I like the open concept that’s here, so they can see what I’m doing, and I can see people coming and going.”
At his silence, she looked up into his brooding gaze.
“Look, this might be hard for you to understand, but I’m only recently letting go of the fear I’ve lived with for three years. I can’t go backward. I’m not going to close myself in this windowless room to work.” Liz closed the drawer with a determined thump, her hand shaking on the knob before she clasped it behind her. “Besides, this is only temporary, right? They’ll catch the person responsible, and I’ll be free and clear. Please, we have to find a different way.”
“We could try getting a new front door?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Like the back one?” She was already shaking her head no. No way. Her storefront was one of several that made up this quaint little small-town street on the west side of town. She couldn’t add a big honking steel door—
“I think we can find something that won’t scream security,” he reassured her. “But it will protect you.” He took a step into the store and became backlit by the sun shining through the windows. “You have a glass door. We can get that, only with bulletproof glass. We can put a modified entry on it—nothing as elaborate as the back….yet secure—whether you’re in here or not.”
“Okay,” she answered slowly. “That sounds reasonable. And expensive.”
He chuckled, the sound hitting her right in the gut. Pull it together, Liz.
“Come on. I’m measuring you for a peep hole, then you can get to work and I can…sit on my rear for the rest of the day.”
“Don’t sound like you love it so much.” She thought maybe he was full of crap. In the time he’d been here, his dedication to the job had been more than obvious. He stayed late. He arrived early. When he was always checking things, she wondered if he didn’t get bored, like she was bored.
Tan took her arm and pulled her to the back door. “Stand there.”
With a pencil, he marked the door at about eye level. If he didn’t stop creating these intimate moments between them, she might have to jump his bones. God, he smelled good. His lips were full, and a little bit pink.
The whirr of the screw gun jolted her from the fantasy of making out with him at the bottom of her steps. Gah. She cleared her throat. “There’s dinner at my dad’s house tonight,” she started, immediately questioning her own sanity. “If you’d like to come, I mean.”
He put his serious face on, something he did whenever she tried to lighten the mood and, perhaps, get to know him a little. “Are you inviting me to be a guest?”
Liz shrugged. “Well, I’ll hardly need a bodyguard while I’m at home.”
He studied her, and the subtle foreshadowing of heated embarrassment rose on her neck. The chime of her front door broke the silence.
“My appointment.” She turned to face him, walking backward around her work station. “So? Dinner? You’ve been cooped up here long enough. We don’t have to be friends. I’m not saying we’re friends. I’m bored though. I thought you might be as well.”
She thumbed her way through the doorway. “I’m going to stop talking now.”
Greeting Mrs. Rogers and her young daughter, Liz forced a focus she didn’t feel, knowing that Tan was a room away—probably listening to them, probably thinking she was the biggest idiot in the world!
“It’s good to see you, Miss Whitney. Steph has been over the moon with excitement about getting her costume designed for the end-of-the-year performance—oh,” Mrs. Rogers’ gaze went to the doorway behind her, and Liz didn’t have to guess. Tan.
“Are we early? We can wait if you’re busy…fitting another customer.”
Liz almost laughed at the thought of Tan in a figure skating outfit. She tilted her head, as if studying him for her next beaded leotard. Yes, maybe she could imagine it. She grinned.
Tan lifted the screw gun and took a step back. “I’m just the handyman, ma’am. Don’t mind me.”
Liz shook her head and turned to draw the shy girl into the back room. She rested her hand on Stephanie’s shoulder and crouched down. “How would you like to look at some designs?”
“Yes, please.”
“Come on, into the magic room then.”
It didn’t take long to realize Stephanie was all about soft colors and classic lines. No lime green and purple for this young lady. “Do you like to read?”
“Oh, yes—”
“The girl reads a mile a minute. Always with a book in her hand, if she isn’t on the ice.” Mrs. Rogers spoke over the girl again. “I think your handyman went upstairs, Miss Whitney.”
The drilling had stopped. A glance at the back door showed a peep hole right where he’d said it would be.
“You gotta be careful with those kind of laborers. They’ll rob you silly the minute you turn around. If I have workers coming to the house, I never turn my back on them. You must watch them, dear.”
“Hmm.” For the love of God, please stop.
Liz took Stephanie’s measurements, her waist and bust, arms and legs. She leaned over the girl’s shoulder to see the color pallet she’d chosen. “Gorgeous, Stephanie. It’s going to look perfect with your darker hair. You’ll be stunning.” Liz rolled up her measuring tape. “There. I think I have everything I need. I should have this ready in about six weeks. I’ll call when it’s done, and then I want you to come back and try it on. We’ll do any last-minute adjustments. Okay?”
Stephanie nodded her head, a smile playing on her lips.
“What do I owe you today?” Mrs. Rogers asked, digging into her purse.
“You pay when you come back.” Liz gave Stephanie another little squeeze as she led her through the store, quickly glancing through the windows as she opened the door. “I’m so excited to see you in this costume.”
The door was heavy against her back as the mom and daughter team exited. Stephanie turned and gave her a wave as she skipped up the street—light and carefree. Liz smiled, waving back. Then she pulled her mail from the box on the front stoop and locked the front door, done for the day. Some days, she’d have two or three appointments lined up. Other days, only one. Her name was slowly gaining interest—Whitney Creations. In the last year, she’d gone from having a mere client or two per month to juggling eight or more. But she refused to consider selling out and buying wholesale even if that meant keeping her clientele pool small. She wanted her hands on every piece. That’s what made her work special.
Liz shuffled through the few envelopes. Bills mostly and one from Premiere Skating, a costume magazine. She’d submitted her work and gone up against thousands of designers for the coveted spot on the cover page. It wasn’t the brass ring or anything, but it was exposure.
She fingered the edge of the paper. To open or not. Her stomach filled with jitters as she peeled the corner free.