by Lori Foster
“Oh.” Embarrassment burned her cheeks, and she studiously kept her gaze on Fletcher. “Miles is here to help me until—”
Miles snorted. “Your first assumption was right.” Hell, Maxi might not want to go there yet, but he wouldn’t hesitate, not with Fletcher all but salivating over the idea of having a chance.
“She doesn’t seem convinced.”
No, she didn’t. “It’s true all the same.”
Maxi threw up her hands. “This is ridiculous. I don’t even know what you guys are talking about.” Still with heat in her cheeks, she turned and stalked away.
Fletcher hadn’t moved, but his gaze tracked Maxi’s every step. More precisely, it followed the angry swish of her ass.
Miles saw red. He took a step closer and warned, “Don’t.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Fletcher gave up the view and instead raised a brow at Miles. “One way or another I’m going to have to deal with you, aren’t I?”
“That’s right.”
Fletcher smirked, turned his back on Miles and went to his car.
Miles didn’t move until Fletcher was in his Suburban and driving away. Then his gaze located Maxi, already seated in the SUV, seat belt on, arms folded, mouth tight.
He sighed.
It would have been easier if she’d accepted that they had a relationship, a real relationship, based on more than compatibility in the sack.
He’d given her an opening—but she hadn’t taken it.
Carrying his own irritation now, Miles got in the SUV and closed the door without a word. He fastened his seat belt, started the car and pulled away.
After two minutes of silence, she asked, “We’re heading home now?”
He was just pissed enough to specify, “Your house, yeah.” Then he felt like an ass. It wasn’t like he wanted to take her house from her. Nothing like that.
But he did want to be included.
She turned to look at him, a question in her eyes, but her cell rang before she could ask anything. She glanced at the screen and groaned.
“Who is it?”
Long suffering, she confessed, “Gary.”
Damn it, how many men did he have to put up with? Holding the steering wheel with one hand, he thrust out the other and demanded, “Let me talk to him.”
“Ha, no.” She held the phone closer. “You’ve done enough talking, thank-you-very-much.” With a press of a button, she put the phone to her ear. At least she made it clear that she didn’t want to talk to him with her snapped “What is it, Gary?”
Miles kept his gaze on the road, but he was so attuned to Maxi, he sensed her frown without seeing it.
She listened, then said, “Do whatever you want...No, it truly doesn’t matter to me...Yes, it does sound like a terrific opportunity.” She paused, nodded. “Harlow must have a lot of faith in you...Of course...All right, and, Gary? No more calls. Ever. There’s no reason.”
Satisfaction settled into his bones, but Miles resisted the smile that came with it. Maxi was too bristly right now and he didn’t want her thinking he was amused by her surly attitude.
When she disconnected the call, she started to shove the phone into her purse, and a text message dinged. Grumbling, she held the phone up again and laughed.
“Can I get in on the joke?”
“Sure.” She half turned in the seat to face him. “Gary called to let me know that Harlow has offered him a manager’s position in a second location that’s brand-new, opening in about a month.”
“Where?” Hopefully in Timbuktu.
The smile twitched on her lips. “Indianapolis. He was concerned because, given the distance, it’ll truly mean the end of us.” With an eye roll, she added, “As if that wasn’t already a done deal.”
“He’s an idiot. Good riddance.”
“An idiot who apparently called me in front of Harlow, wanting my blessing before he accepted her job offer.” She turned the phone so he could see the screen. “The text was from Harlow.”
It said only: You’re welcome.
Miles laughed. “I have to admit, I wasn’t a fan at first, but your sister is growing on me.”
“That’s good.” She fussed with putting her phone away, then stored her purse on the floor before saying, “Because she sort of endorsed you.”
Better and better. “Yeah?” he asked, still being cautious with her prickly mood.
“Says you’re a keeper.”
He grinned. “Smart woman.” Would Maxi want to keep him?
“She told me not to screw it up.”
Miles nodded in understanding. “That’s good advice.”
Laughing, relaxing a little, Maxi swatted his shoulder. More mellow now, less on edge, she asked, “Did you mean what you said to Fletcher?”
“Every word—but which part are you talking about?”
Her gaze searched his face. “That you’d be around?”
Deep satisfaction settled into his bones. “Definitely that part.” He spared her a glance. “Does that work for you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Very much so.”
Tonight, Miles decided, he’d tell her that he wanted a chance to make things work, to see where the relationship took them. And he wouldn’t let her distract him. Not this time.
After he told her how things would be, then he’d show her...and that’d help to win her over.
Just as they were pulling down the long, wooded drive to her house, dark clouds rolled in, obliterating the usual vivid sunset. They didn’t see Sahara’s car until they pulled into the clearing.
She had her phone in her hand but smiled and put it back in the pocket of a flared pink skirt with a bold flower print.
As both Miles and Maxi got out of the SUV, Sahara said, “I was just about to call you.”
She approached, pressing forward a small man in a business suit that had to be sweltering in the summer heat.
Miles had no idea who the guy might be, but he looked nothing like a bodyguard.
As usual, Sahara’s sense of style didn’t entirely mesh with farm life, though he realized she’d “dressed down” for the visit. Or as down as she could be.
She’d paired the feminine skirt with a silk tank top and black sandals. Her brown hair was up in a loose knot on top of her head, sexy little tendrils floating along her face. She wore no jewelry, but then, she didn’t need any.
The poor fellow she dragged along appeared to be smitten, given the way he kept gazing at her in worshipful awe.
She didn’t bring him to Miles but steered him to Maxi instead, saying, “This is Mr. Delacroix. He’s from the local historical museum and he’d like to obtain your grandmother’s kitchen. They’ll reenact it as is, even down to the tiles on the floor and wall. Not all of the tiles will survive, of course, but they’ll salvage what they can and replicate the rest. They want all the appliances and some of the dishes, and—”
“Ahem.” Finally finding his voice, Mr. Delacroix held out a hand. “Ms. Nevar, thank you for meeting with me.”
Maxi, who’d been momentarily shocked into silence, took his hand and said, “You haven’t even seen the kitchen yet!”
“We peeked through the windows,” Sahara confided. Lower to Miles, she said, “No doubt you’ll see us on your surveillance cameras.”
“It’s a wonderful room,” Mr. Delacroix gushed. “Quaint and homey, and so original. I can almost picture your grandmother standing in front of the cast-iron sink, wearing an apron, listening to an old radio—”
“She has an old radio in the basement.”
Mr. Delacroix looked ready to swoon. “Oh, but I must see it, as well.”
He appeared so hopeful that Maxi grinned. “I’ve got all kinds of things to show you. Some stowed in the attic, most in the basement.
A lot of the furniture I’m actually using, but you’re welcome to any that I’m not.”
“You don’t plan to sell it?”
“To a stranger? No.”
Pleasure showed in his grateful smile. “We would truly cherish each piece if you can find your way to part with such sentimental mementos.”
She glanced at Miles. “What do you think?”
Knowing what that kitchen meant to Maxi, hell, what the radio probably meant to her, too, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Since you’re living here, I think you’ll be happier with a fully functioning kitchen, especially if you know the pieces are appreciated. But it’s up to you, honey. If you can’t bear to let them go, I understand.”
The very idea left Delacroix stricken—until Maxi nodded.
“I think it’s an excellent compromise. I would like to update the kitchen, I just couldn’t bear the thought of disposing of her things.” She smiled at Sahara. “Thank you for thinking of such a great alternative.”
Sahara put her hands together. “I just love being instrumental to a happy ending.” And with that, she gave Miles a long look.
Maxi and the curator started for the house, their heads together in conversation, so Miles felt safe saying to Sahara, “I can handle my own happy ending, thank you.”
“Of course you can. But let me remind you that I knew right off there was real danger, and that the two of you were meant to be.”
“Meant to be, huh?” Sure felt that way to him. “I don’t recall you using those exact words.”
She waved that off. “Admit I’m excellent at what I do.”
“At whatever you do,” he agreed, gesturing for her to precede him. “It’s going to start raining any second now. Let’s get inside.”
And hopefully her prediction would come true.
* * *
EVEN IN HIS coat and wide-brimmed hat, the rain soaked him through to the skin, running in icy rivulets down the back of his neck. It stung his face and made visibility even more difficult. He didn’t dare use a flashlight, not with all those damned cameras around.
They thought he was a fool, that he’d blunder into view and they’d catch him. They were the fools, and when they were dead, they’d know it.
He frowned over that warped logic; how could they know anything as corpses? Shaking his head, he continued picking his way forward. It was a miserable night, perfect for what he had to do.
But do I really have to do it?
Yes, she’s left you no choice.
Aloud, he agreed, “No, she hasn’t.” Neither has he.
He could have handled her on her own, but Miles was like a guard dog, keeping him from getting too close with all his suspicions.
And all the damned renovations. Why wouldn’t she leave well enough alone?
He had to kill them both. Everything else had failed. Not even a bomb had chased her away. This is on her. She forced you to it.
“But to kill her?” he asked of the silent woods. “Isn’t that a little much?” No choice, damn it.
A great bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by a crack of thunder. With his heart in his throat, he lurched back, banging his elbow against a gnarled tree.
After he finished cursing, he drew a deep, calming breath. Here beneath a canopy of trees, the worst of the rain couldn’t reach him. “Maybe I’ve gone off the deep end.” His heavy boots slipped in a muddy patch of wet moss and he almost fell. The deep end? He snorted.
He was as clearheaded as he’d always been, doing what needed to be done.
The binoculars hung around his neck, his rifle sling over one shoulder and the strap to his utility lamp over the other. The lamp, with its multiple functions, would be critical to his success, as were the police-issue metal handcuffs in his pocket.
He’d come prepared. Tonight was the night.
You’ve done it before, you can do it again.
This is different. She’s a nice girl.
“Not nice enough to leave!”
His own voice, so loud in the darkness, startled him again, so he clamped his lips together.
The last of their guests had finally left and the house was quiet now. Who knew she’d be a damned partyer, constantly keeping people around? It made his job a lot harder—but not impossible.
While he waited, he peered through the binoculars, wondering if he’d catch another show. There was too much rain to see clearly, and they’d pulled down their new blinds, too, like they thought he was a pervert.
Like they thought he wanted to see them going at it.
He locked his jaw.
I’m not a pervert.
I know it.
Just do what you have to do.
“Damn it all.” If he waited any longer, he’d lose the advantage with the rain.
He stuck as much to the shadows as he could. When he had to step out in the clearing, he kept his head down so the cameras wouldn’t be able to make out his features. Unlike the other times, his heart beat too fast now that he knew they were watching for him.
Cats scattered as he stepped inside the dim interior of the barn. They didn’t know him well—but they knew not to trust him.
It had been a hot day and now the rain sealed all that heat inside, turning the barn into a sticky sauna. He pulled off his hat, slapping it against his leg to remove some of the rain.
His boots had left muddy prints behind. So what? By the time it’s noticed, it’ll be too late.
Familiar with the barn, he set the rifle in a corner next to a sharp pickax where it wouldn’t be noticed, and then put the binoculars on top of the food barrel.
Finally, he would end this.
So what are you waiting for?
For you to shut up.
“Go to hell.”
The cats stared at him with wide glowing eyes, suspicious of his presence. A wonderful idea occurred to him, the perfect excuse needed to get Miles to the barn. He looked from the cats to the pickax and back again.
Smiling, he knelt down and said, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
* * *
THE SUDDEN POUNDING on the front door startled Maxi so badly she almost dropped her bottle of water as she left the kitchen. Miles had settled on the couch after his shower and she was about to join him. He’d said he wanted to talk. Despite common sense, she was hopeful he’d say what she so badly wanted to hear.
But now they had more company.
Scowling, Miles bounded off the couch. “I’ll get it.”
She nodded but followed closely behind him. “It’s probably Fletcher, worrying about the lights going out again because of the storm. Be nice, okay?”
“No.” He lifted aside the curtain covering the window in the door. “Damn. Not Fletcher.”
“Who is it, then?”
Miles jerked the door open. “Woody, what the hell? What are you doing out in this rain?”
Hands on his knees, breathing hard, Woody said, “I saw someone in the woods headed here. I followed...” His gaze went past Miles to Maxi, then warily back again. He cleared his throat. “You gotta come quick. He went into your barn.” Lower still, he said, “I, uh, I think he’s doing something to the cats.”
Miles’s expression turned into a thundercloud. “Stay here.”
“Miles!” Maxi held herself tightly. If that madman hurt a single animal, I’ll kill him myself. Right now, though, her biggest concern was Miles. He couldn’t just charge out there without a plan or—
Already shoving his feet into his shoes, Miles said, “Not now, Maxi.”
The horrified look on Woody’s face scared her half to death, but Miles was so different from her, so confident, that he likely saw this as an opportunity.
Oh God, what if he got hurt?
“At
least take your gun.” She could tell he didn’t think he’d need it. True, he had lethal fighting skills, but they were no match for a weapon. Insisting wouldn’t do her any good, so instead she tried a heartfelt “Please.”
One look at her face—which no doubt showed her upset—and he relented.
He was in and out of the bedroom in five seconds. “Lock the door behind me. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call Sahara. No matter what you hear, you stay inside with the door locked. Understand?”
Maxi nodded. The last thing he needed to do was worry about her. “I promise.”
Woody said, “I’m going with you.”
“I’d rather you stay with Maxi.”
“But you’ll need me! You don’t know what I saw—”
“Woody.” That single word, accompanied with Miles’s dark warning expression, silenced him.
Maxi covered her mouth with her hand. What had he seen?
“I need you to stay here with Maxi. I don’t want her to be alone. Can you do that for me?”
“I can’t come in. My boots are too muddy.”
Maxi knew exactly what Miles was doing—giving Woody a purpose so he’d feel useful. But what about her?
It was her property, her cats.
Her problem.
No, she knew that wasn’t true. Not anymore. Miles had stepped in and accepted half responsibility for everything. It wasn’t his job, but he didn’t complain.
“Your boots are fine,” she promised. “I can clean up later.”
Reluctantly, Woody stepped in, staying on a rug in the foyer.
Miles immediately slipped out the door, pulling it silently shut behind him.
It almost killed her to see him walk out there alone. She locked the door and drew a deep breath, but it didn’t help.
Nothing would help until Miles was back inside with her, safe. Unharmed.
“It’ll be okay.” Woody rubbed his palms against the denim of his jeans.
Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she trembled all over. Finally, needing to do something, she made a decision. “I have to call Fletcher.”
“No,” Woody said, catching her arm, full of solemn regret. His face almost crumpled and his voice cracked when he said, “You can’t do that.”