A Touch of Scarlet

by Liz Talley

  “The hell you will,” Adam snarled. “Get in your car and leave.”

  Chris’s eyes narrowed. “I noticed you were all chummy with the starlet. You got something going on with her? Something you’re trying to hide?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Hmm. I wonder. You look guilty. She’s a fine piece of ass. I don’t blame you, brother.”

  “Look, you piece of filth, Scarlet Rose is serving a sentence and I’m the chief of police. Nothing is going on between us. Now, pack your raggedy ass up and get out of my town.”

  “This—” Miller extended one finger in the air and made a circle “—ain’t your town. And I don’t have to go anywhere. It’s a free country.”

  Adam bit down on the impulse to say “Not really,” the way he had to Scarlet over a week ago. Instead, he gave the squirrelly photographer a sneer. “I feel certain I speak for Sheriff Lee and Rick Mendez when I tell you to pack up and get the hell out of here. Or I can make a call and they can do it for you. Leave Scarlet and this facility alone. She is serving her sentence and nothing inappropriate has occurred between her and me or any other member of the community. You’re barking up the wrong tree, brother.”

  Miller shrugged. “I see smoke. And where there’s smoke there’s usually a fire. Bet a fire with her would burn a man up.”

  Deep anger seared Adam’s gut. His fist flexed. He wanted to beat the ever-loving hell out of the man but couldn’t allow himself the pleasure. Plus, the piece of garbage had sniffed out what he knew to be true. Adam did want Scarlet to strike him like a match struck against sandpaper. To burn out of control with her.

  “Think it over, Chief. I can get you big bucks if you give me a story on her. On what she’s like between the sheets.”

  “You little sack of shit.”

  “Go ahead. Punch me. We can add a lawsuit to the story of you bopping the vampire queen.”

  “You’re not worth the time. Get out of here before I teach you a lesson in manners.”

  Miller picked up the camera that had fallen near the tire, then opened the car door. “You know, you may want to be more worried about that creepy dude who’s been following Scarlet around.”

  “What creepy dude?”

  “That old dude who got the book tossed out.”

  “Harvey Primm?” Adam had seen Harvey hold fast to a grudge, something that usually resulted in the offending person ending up in his sham of a paper. But stalking seemed extreme, even for him. Of course, Scarlet had injured his pride, had embarrassed him in the national news.

  Miller climbed into the car and cranked the engine. “Yeah, that’s the dude. I saw him earlier. He’s freaky. Me? You got nothing to worry about. I take a pic and then I’m gone.”

  “So go,” Adam said.

  Miller drove away, leaving Adam to mull over what he’d learned. Harvey’s visit to the station to complain about Scarlet following him hadn’t set right with Adam, but he hadn’t given it any more thought. So why was Harvey spying on Scarlet? Had he become obsessed with her? Or was it something more dangerous? Some kind of revenge because she had embarrassed him?

  Adam walked to the cruiser, taking a moment to look hard at the landscape around him. Phoenix sat miles outside Oak Stand. The nearest house was Cottonwood, an estate owned by Rick’s father-in-law. In fact, the land the rehab center sat upon had been part of Justus Mitchell’s vast property before Justus deeded it to the foundation for which Rick and Kate served as directors. They lived in a smaller rustic cottage that sat adjacent to the center, but no one else lived within miles of the place. The only consolation Adam could find in the situation was that Scarlet’s class contained six street-savvy, tough gang members who wouldn’t hesitate to protect their acting coach.

  Suddenly he was very glad he’d decided to be a part of their production. Acting had never interested him, but that insinuation that he didn’t need to participate had him throwing his hat into the ring. Adam hated being told he couldn’t do something.

  Which was how he had ended up a police officer in the first place.

  Years ago over breakfast with his parents, he’d mentioned law enforcement as a possible career. He’d been fresh out of college and without any direction career-wise.

  “Absolutely not,” his mother had said, spearing a grape with her fruit fork. “I won’t have a son who is a police officer. Can you imagine, Hal?” She’d said police officer as if being an enforcer of the law was cousin to the crap she scraped from her mare’s hoof when she came in from riding.

  His father had smiled. “Not a bad way to earn a living, son, but you really don’t need to earn a living, now do you? I thought we’d agreed upon law school.”

  Adam shoved his empty plate away. Marta immediately cleared it and refilled his coffee cup before his father waved her away from the terrace where they often had breakfast on Sunday mornings. “That will be all, Marta. Have Thomas bring the car around in forty minutes. We’ll be attending church this morning.”

  The maid nodded, then melted away inside the house.

  “I don’t want to go to law school,” Adam said.

  “Hinton men always go to law school, darling,” his mother said. “Then you could get your MBA as your father has done. Very useful for when you take over the companies. Your father can’t very well work forever.”

  “Who said I was taking over?” Adam asked, raising his voice. Having finished his undergrad at Texas A&M University, he had no intention of applying for law school. He wanted to go to the police academy. Get a regular job. Be a regular guy. He wanted to take scissors to his custom-made suits, slice the polo guy off all his golf shirts, toss the keys to his Benz in the ornamental fountain filled with Japanese carp.

  His father frowned. “You want to sow some oats? Fine. Go to Europe for the summer. Backpack and do whatever it is your friends do. When you come back, you’ll be ready to start. I’ve already sent your application in to Tulane, Stanford and Harvard. I even sent one to Rice for the MBA program.”

  Adam shoved his chair back and stood. “I don’t want to go to Europe, I don’t want to go to law school and I don’t want to live here any longer.”

  “Darling,” his mother said in the same syrupy voice she’d used on his father for years. The voice that accepted the way her life was, the voice that forgave the incessantly philandering husband as easily as it forgave the maid who’d burned a hole in her favorite designer suit. Placating, accepting…whiny. “You can’t be serious. A police officer? Really, what—”

  “Would the ladies at the club say?” Adam finished for her. “Maybe they would say I got a clue. That I broke away from this farce of a life. That I did something that I wanted to do for once in my pitiful existence.”

  His father’s eyes grew cold. “If you go to that academy, you will be cut off without a dime. Think hard about it, son.”

  Adam threw down his fifty-dollar linen napkin. “I have. I’m leaving for the academy on Monday. And I don’t need your money. I have a trust fund Grandfather was smart enough to give me control over when I turned twenty-two last year. I can live comfortably off the interest.”

  He’d stalked away—nearly knocking poor Marta down on the way—to his room to pack. No one told him what to do. No one.

  Ten years later, and that outlook still held true. Pride had always been his downfall.

  He climbed back into the idling cruiser, thinking about not having what he wanted. He wanted Scarlet. The way he’d once wanted Angi. He’d met his ex-wife four years ago at a bar in Tomball when he’d gone out to celebrate his partner’s birthday. She’d been half-drunk and smoking-hot. All the guys had made a play for her, but she had eyes for Adam. They’d dated for two blissful months. Then she’d gotten pregnant.

  Maybe not getting what he wanted was a good thing. Angi, the miscarriage, his father’s meddling in his affair—all had led him to the breaking point.

  So what would Scarlet lead to?

  If he could have her. Which he couldn’t.
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  But how in the hell would he resist her? When she was so deliciously forbidden to him?

  Maybe the answer lay with Sophie Waters. Maybe his date with the very appropriate mayor’s daughter would straighten him out. Maybe hanging around the right kind of woman, the type of woman who could be his future, would purge him of these crazy urges. Maybe he needed exposure to good women to cure him of wanting inappropriate women. And there was nothing inappropriate about Sophie. She was exactly the kind of girl he needed to date.

  And exactly the kind of girl he didn’t want.

  He watched one of the best examples of the exact kind he craved walk down the steps of Phoenix and climb into her convertible She hadn’t bothered to even check the area around her. A deranged madman could have jumped her and made off with her as easily as a knife slid through hot butter.

  He needed to have a talk with Scarlet. In a strictly official capacity. He’d tell her to exercise caution, pay attention to what was happening around her. And, yeah, there would be a little warning for himself.

  SCARLET CLOSED THE DOOR to her room at Serendipity Inn and fell across her bed with a deep sigh.

  Teaching the gang members at Phoenix sucked.

  It wasn’t as if they didn’t have potential.

  On the contrary, their lives on the street had given them plenty of varied, if not a little scary, experiences to pull from their acting closets. It was the emotional toll that had her topsy-turvy. Throw the sexy police chief in the mix, and she was like a swimmer tossed in the middle of a stormy sea. Very tired. Very waterlogged. And very uncertain about her fate.

  The door to her room flung open, scaring her.

  “Aunt Scarlet!” Henry cried. “Check out my progress report!” He landed beside her on the bed and waggled a yellow piece of paper in front of her eyes.

  She squinted in the dimness of the room, trying to distinguish the writing. “Get the light, will you?”

  Henry switched on the bedside lamp and sat beside her like a puppy awaiting a treat.

  “Five A’s and two B’s. Most excellent!” Scarlet gave him a high five.

  “So what are you going to give me for them?” Henry asked, picking at a scab on his forearm.

  “Stop,” Scarlet said, knocking his fingers away from the sore. “Why do I have to give you something?”

  Henry looked shocked. “Because you’re supposed to. Those are good grades.”

  Scarlet rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a report card. It’s a progress report. Shouldn’t you be satisfied with getting a good grade?”

  “Well, yeah, but I thought it was at least worth something. Like an ice cream.” Henry dropped his head then snuck a peek under his lashes at her. His cuteness was a pistol to her temple.

  “Okay, okay. Maybe a hot-fudge sundae from the Dairy Barn.”

  “Yay!” Henry bounced up and down on her bed.

  “Stop, before I get seasick.” Scarlet laughed, tugging her nephew into a headlock and giving him a noogie. “We’ll go tomorrow after I film my audition.”

  “What are you auditioning for?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about.” Wasn’t as if she could teach him about bisexual hookers. Yeah, that would be a little hard to explain to the sister who had pulled strings to get her an appointment with a production company in Shreveport. She would head over tomorrow to film her audition and be back before lunch. “Hey, kick your shoes off.”

  Henry’s sneakers were caked with dirt and had already marred the perfection of the white chenille spread.

  “’Kay,” Henry said, toeing them off. An unholy smell filled the room.

  “Good heavens, Henry. Put them back on,” she cried, holding her nose.

  Henry laughed like a deranged clown. And then he farted.

  “Out!” Scarlet commanded, launching herself from the bed and pointing her nephew out the door. He complied, but not before farting again. “Henry!”

  Brent appeared at the door. “What smells so bad in here?”

  “Me!” Henry yelled before disappearing around the corner.

  “Phew,” Brent said, wrinkling his nose. “Rayne shouldn’t have let him eat those black beans with the quesadillas tonight.”

  “Here, give him back his nasty shoes.” She pinched the back of the tennis shoes and handed them to Brent.

  He took them but didn’t look happy doing it. “Hey, some guy called today. I told him to try your cell phone, but he said you never check your messages.”

  Only one person had teased her about that. “Who was it?”

  Brent shrugged. “He didn’t leave a name, but caller ID said Hammerstein. No first name.”

  John.

  Scarlet’s heart skipped a beat. How had he tracked her down to Serendipity? Duh. She’d been all over the news and John knew who her sister was. Wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she was holed up at Serendipity Inn. “Oh, yeah. He’s an old friend.”

  “Wouldn’t be John Hammerstein, would it? The actor?”

  “Um, yeah.” Scarlet averted her eyes. She didn’t want Brent to see the truth. He was intuitive—a trait she’d missed in him many years ago, mostly because her first impression of him was that he was a pure man-whore.

  “What do you think he wanted?”

  “What does any man want?”

  Brent lifted his eyebrows. “Wow. You and Hammerstein, huh? He’s like, what? Twenty or thirty years older than you?”

  Scarlet bristled. “We’re not together. Just old friends.”

  Brent grinned. “Stress on the old part, right?”

  Aggravation flashed inside Scarlet. Yeah, John was older. Salt-and-pepper hair, white at the temples, craggy good looks, lean, only slightly paunchy in the middle. He had been more than capable in bed. Old was not a word she’d ever ascribed to John.

  “That’s none of your business. Did he leave a number?”

  Brent stopped smiling. “Wait. This man, did he hurt you?”

  Scarlet swallowed and tried not to look guilty. “We had a relationship of sorts. A mentorship, so to speak. We had a disagreement, and I haven’t heard from him in well over a year. Just surprised me.”

  Her new brother-in-law didn’t look convinced, but neither did he probe further. “Check your cell phone. Maybe he called you on it. By the way, Rayne left dinner for you in the fridge. Some kind of cold soup she cooked on her first segment.”

  “I don’t get quesadillas like Henry?”

  “She makes her quesadillas with goat cheese.”

  “Soup it is. Then I’ll call it a night.”

  Brent tromped off to do lord only knew what. Probably watch a ball game or read on the toilet or other guylike activities, and Scarlet was left to wonder why her ex-lover had called. Was it because he’d seen the news? Was it something more?

  Maybe she didn’t want to know.

  Maybe she did.

  She pulled her cell phone from the drawer she’d dumped it in. Most actors clung to them like holy grails, but Scarlet considered them to be rather crippling. She didn’t have to play Angry Birds while she waited in a grocery line and she didn’t have to check her email every hour. She hated seeing everyone walking around looking at a stupid device. What was wrong with talking to an actual person?

  Of course, it had come in handy with Destiny.

  So, they had their uses.

  She pressed the button that lit the screen. John had called but had not bothered with a message. She allowed her finger to hover over the little telephone icon. Should she call him back and see what he wanted?

  No. If he wanted her to return the call, he would have left a message. So why hadn’t he?

  She flopped back on the bed, deciding against food, and wondering why she hadn’t thought about John in days. For the past year, she’d allowed him to trickle into her thoughts the moments before she closed her eyes at night and those sleep-soaked moments when she awoke. For the past week, she’d had Adam on the brain. Not John.

  Strange.


  It was as if losing her necklace had allowed her to empty out the hurt and open herself to something more…something like the serious police chief who hid a dazzling smile and totally hot body beneath his starched shirts.

  She yawned and tucked her head against her folded forearms.

  Too bad she had to keep her hands off him. She really wanted to find out how he felt beneath her touch. Longed to see those clear eyes cloud with passion, those straight white teeth nip—

  She yawned again.

  Did this mean she was officially over John?

  She was pretty sure she was, but was she falling for Adam? Maybe. Falling in love would be a huge mistake. Texas-size mistake. But could she stop herself?

  Maybe she’d think about all these things later.

  Like her namesake, she’d think about it tomorrow.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “SCARLET!”

  The voice penetrated the fogginess of her consciousness. She was at Disney World, watching Cinderella dance with the big character who wore the tiny green hat. She had been pointing out where her Japanese tour group could buy cotton candy before they boarded the tour bus. Her plane would leave in thirty minutes, but she still had to ride the water ride that took her through Norway. And she wanted cotton candy.

  “Scarlet!” The sound of knocking succeeded in waking her.

  Scarlet sat up and rubbed a hand over her face. Where was she? Oh. Yeah. Her aunt’s inn. Oak Stand. “What?”

  “Open the door,” Rayne called with another insistent knock.

  She slipped off the bed, twisted the lock and threw the door open. The harsh light of the hallway had her blinking. “What?”

  “Oh, you were asleep.”

  “Crown you Queen of Obvious,” Scarlet grumbled.

  “Sorry to wake you. Adam is downstairs. He wants to talk to you.”

  Scarlet’s stomach tripped. Adam. Hadn’t she just dreamed about him? No. It was Disney World. “What does he want?”

  “I don’t know. He seemed kind of pushy about it. Want me to tell him you’ll call tomorrow morning?”