Portrait of a Girl Page 10

  She swallowed. “I don’t think so. Like I said, I’m being silly.”

  He slid onto the couch next to her and draped an arm over the back. “Start at the beginning.”

  “The phone rang, scaring me out of a deep sleep, I guess. It was an old friend of my dad’s, and he wanted to come over and get something he said my dad had taken. I don’t know why, but I got the idea that I didn’t want to be in the house alone with him.”

  “Has he hurt you in the past?”

  “No! Nothing like that. Just a strange feeling. We actually had dinner together recently. Like I said, I’m being silly. I hope I’m not interrupting your work or anything.”

  She was suddenly aware of the silence in the house, and equally aware that she was once again alone with a man she knew next to nothing about. She glanced around the room, liking the little personal touches she saw. The wool blanket on the chair, perfect for curling up with a good book. The table lamp shaped like a Grecian urn. The soft Persian rug in front of the fireplace. Her gaze traveled to the doorway, and the door of his bedroom across the hall. There a light burned, and she saw his rumpled comforter. Still only one side of the bed had been slept in, for which she was strangely thankful.

  Pfft, what did she care if he had bedroom company?

  Who the heck was she kidding?

  “That’s the guy’s car I heard pull in a few minutes ago?” He stood.

  “Yes. He must have driven very fast, because—”

  He turned off all the lights, leaving only a faint glow from across the hall. He eased a curtain away from the window. “The car is still there. Did you leave any lights on in the house?”

  “Just the living room.” She joined him at the window and saw lights in every room. “I thought I locked the doors.”

  Letting the curtain fall back into place, he grasped her arms. “I’m going to check it out. Stay here.”

  “You’re what? No, call the cops—”

  “The intruder could be gone by the time they get here.”

  He disappeared into the bedroom. She followed, to continue the argument, when he reappeared, fastening his jacket.

  Almost bumping into her, he led her back toward the parlor. “Stay away from the windows and lock the door behind me.” He opened the door a crack and peered out.

  “But I—”

  “Shit!” He stood in the open doorway. “The car’s gone. I’ll be right back.”

  She shut the door behind him, about to turn the dead bolt, but grabbed her jacket instead. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, meaning Tony wasn’t waiting to yell at her, she crept down the front steps and hurried down the hill. He must have run, because he was nowhere in sight.

  The front door was locked. She hadn’t imagined that part. She followed the fresh tracks, either Tony’s or Jeffers’s, around to the back door, which hung open.

  Her heart kicked into overdrive when she stepped into the kitchen.

  Chaos.

  Every cupboard open and messed up, every drawer out and overturned.

  Suppressing a sob, she approached the next room.

  Tony appeared around a corner, tucking something under his jacket. “I told you to stay put.”

  “What the hell happened? Oh my God, my desk. My mother’s beautiful desk.” She ran to the antique lying on its side and touched the broken leg. Tears leaked from her eyes then.

  “I’m sure it can be fixed.”

  She glanced around, too stunned by the destruction to speak. Her gaze got to the stairs, and she started forward.

  He grabbed her hand. “He was upstairs, too.”

  “I need—”

  “We need to leave before we contaminate any evidence. You can call the police from up the hill.”

  “Where’s Samson?” She broke free and raced to the kitchen. “Samson? Kitty, kitty? Where are you?”

  A faint mewing came from behind the trash can, strangely the only thing that hadn’t been emptied. Heather reached in and pulled the cat free, burying her face in his neck. “Thank God you’re okay.”

  “Can you lock him in the bathroom?”

  “I’m not leaving him alone. He’s been traumatized.” She tucked the cat into her jacket and held him firmly.

  “You do remember I have a dog, right?”

  “We’ll figure something out.” She went out into the night without looking back. She was done with the place and doubted she’d spend another comfortable night there.

  Without waiting or wondering if Tony was following, she cut across the lawn, stomping through the snow and into the big house.

  Delilah waited just inside the front door. She sniffed Heather’s jacket and wagged her tail. Samson had never met a dog before. Heather opened her coat an inch to let the cat peek out, wondering what would happen.

  He growled.

  “Now, Samson, we’re guests. You mind your manners.”

  Delilah sat on her haunches with what could only be described as a goofy smile on her muzzle.

  Heather brought the cat all the way out of her coat and set him atop the newel post. He looked around, sniffed the air, hopped down and trotted toward the kitchen like he owned the place, with Delilah following at a respectful distance.

  “Well, now that’s settled.” She went in search of a phone, having left hers on her couch. She knew it was ridiculous, but the phone seemed contaminated after Jeffers’s creepy call.

  She wandered into the former dining room, now set up as an office. One wall was covered with photos of a woman. Dark-haired, smiling, and in several, holding a child.

  Oh God, he was married. And had a baby.

  The dirty rat.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  She jumped. “Cripes, you startled me. I was looking for a phone. Um…who’s this?”

  Tony’s face softened with a smile. “My two sisters, and nephew.”

  She looked more closely at the pictures now that she knew it wasn’t competition.

  Wait—what? I am not getting serious about this guy.

  “Are they twins?”

  “No, but just a year apart. Becca is the one with the baby. Who isn’t a baby anymore—Greg is almost four.”

  “You took the pictures?”

  “Yup, at various times.”

  “They’re fabulous.” She couldn’t take her eyes from one in particular, the woman looking directly at the camera, her face lit from the side, a look of love and contentment in every line. To be able to capture that shot, the photographer clearly loved his subject, and just as clearly was loved by his sister.

  A real family man who cherished those people who were important to him. He probably missed them, having to travel so much for his job.

  More than anything, she wanted to envelope him in a hug.

  “My phone is in the other room.” He turned, leaving her with a receding back to talk to. A fine, broad back atop an attractive butt. All of which had come to her rescue. Heck, he’d been prepared to confront Mr. Jeffers without knowing whom he’d be facing. He was either very brave or foolhardy. Or compelled to protect those he cared for. Did that mean he thought of her as special? She hoped so, because he was pretty damn special in her opinion.

  An image of her trashed house intruded, extinguishing her warm, fuzzy feeling. She needed to figure out what the heck was going on, why Mr. Jeffers was after her.

  Not wanting to be by herself another second, she hurried into the parlor.

  Tony was crouched in front of the fireplace, stacking kindling. Without turning, he gestured toward the coffee table. “You can use my cell. Where’s the cat?”

  “I think Samson is making friends with Delilah. He chased her up the stairs.” She punched in the number and explained the situation to the dispatcher. She declined staying on the line and ended the call. “A car will be here in a couple minutes.”

  Setting the phone on the table, she wrapped her arms around her waist, suddenly chilled to the bone.

  He appeared at her side. “Si
t by the fire. You’re probably experiencing mild shock.”

  Grateful, she let herself be led to the chair by the fire, too tired and confused to think of a reason to refuse.

  “Why would he do something like that?” She pulled the wool throw around her shoulders and felt the shivers diminish.

  Was she really in danger? What would Jeffers have done if she’d been in the house? He’d seemed ill at dinner, but he was still larger than she.

  Should she tell the cops about Jeffers’s connection with her dad? And what she’d recently discovered in her father’s journals?

  Should she tell Tony?

  She met his gaze, locked on her, and immediately nixed that idea. A vague inkling that he wasn’t merely a photographer prevented her from trusting him completely. She hated that feeling. She wanted to be open and share her every thought and fear. Was she imagining things that weren’t there? Was he mixed up in this mess, or was it just coincidence that he arrived on her doorstep a couple weeks before Mr. Jeffers broke into her house?

  Red and blue lights flashed through the window. Tony went to the front door, and a second later she heard him greet the cops. He came back into the room.

  “The officers will look around the gatehouse, and then they’ll want to talk to you.”

  She nodded. Having to deal with the police twice in one week was not the way she was used to living. Maybe she should leave before selling the house. She didn’t have many belongings—moving around the country regularly prevented her from collecting stuff. She could rent a room somewhere, not worry about the past or the missing money. It was obviously long gone. And the only thing she was achieving by hanging around was getting the spit scared out of her with a daily dose of fright.

  Tony stood at the window keeping an eye on the activity at the gatehouse. With feet spread and arms crossed over his chest, he looked intimidating. Masterful. Like he wanted to join the cops and take charge.

  Like he was one of them.

  “Tony?”

  “Here they come.” He went toward the hall. “Stay by the fire.”

  Damn, just when she’d gotten the nerve to ask him a few probing questions.

  He returned, followed by two uniformed officers who introduced themselves, offered condolences for the upheaval, and started the questions. Heather recounted what had happened, but only what she’d already told Tony. Maybe if he hadn’t been in the room she would have divulged more. For some reason, she didn’t want him to know her father was a thief. The less involved he became, the easier it would be for her to walk away.

  Finally the officers seemed satisfied and told her to come to the station the next day to sign a statement. Since she hadn’t actually seen who entered her house, all they could do was ask Mr. Jeffers a few questions.

  She slumped in the chair and closed her eyes while Tony saw the men out. This wasn’t her home, had never been her home, so why was she so set on staying? Just admit defeat and move on.

  Except she enjoyed working at the bakery, felt comfortable in the city, could picture herself settling down, finally.

  Yes, darn it, she had a right to live where she pleased. She’d be damned if she’d let some creep chase her away.

  The clink of glasses brought her out of her maudlin reverie, and she opened her eyes. Tony crouched in front of her holding two glasses of ruby wine.

  “You can’t go back to your place tonight. It’s a wreck.”

  She took the glass and sipped, feeling some of the tension slip from her body. No sense agonizing about her life tonight; nothing to do but let the crap fall where it may.

  “Mm, this is good. Thank you.” She sat upright. “If I can borrow your phone again, I’ll call my boss and ask if I can stay with her.”

  Tony sat on the couch across from her. “This is a large house.”

  …

  He watched for her reaction and could practically see her arguing with herself. She was smart to be cautious, didn’t know that he was the last person she needed to fear. Unless she was guilty. From where he sat, the only thing she was guilty of was being a loyal daughter.

  She stood, threw off the blanket, and wandered to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, she stared into the night. He wished like hell he could tell her what was going on, but he had to stay undercover until Jeffers made his move.

  From the bits and pieces Chas was uncovering in France, Jeffers was getting desperate and wouldn’t hesitate to use force if necessary. A few of his cohorts had vanished. People who worked with Jeffers were in the habit of disappearing, leaving no trace. No body, no crime.

  Tonight’s trashing of the gatehouse was a perfect illustration of Jeffers’s impatience. What the old man was hoping to get out of Heather was still very much a mystery. But she seemed to be the solution to the puzzle.

  And therefore too valuable to let out of his sight, even for one night.

  She was also damned pretty, and he was tired of watching her get scared. He wanted to be the one she turned to, and not just because it was his job.

  Shit, he was in deep trouble.

  He got up to throw another log on the fire. “Would you like more wine?”

  She held up her glass to indicate it was still half full. He waited while she settled in one corner of the couch. She seemed to be dealing well with recent events, unless she was a good actor. He had a feeling she was good at hiding her true self, either because she had to, or because it was easier that way.

  He sat next to her, a little close, angling his body toward her. She kept her face averted, watching the flames flicker in the draft. Dark shadows underlined her eyes, pale skin in stark contrast to her dark sweater. She’d tucked her legs under her and appeared totally relaxed. Since he was never off the clock, perhaps now was the time to change the subject, put her at ease, and dig.

  “I finished painting all the bedrooms. I thought we could discuss a different color for the two bathrooms.”

  Draining her glass, she grinned, sort of lopsided. He guessed she wasn’t a heavy drinker. “You really don’t like that color, do you? So what did you have in mind?”

  “First of all, I don’t consider beige to be a color. Blue is always good for a bathroom.”

  “Fine, I’ll stop by the hardware store tomorrow after work.”

  “Why don’t I meet you after your shift, and we can pick out the color together.”

  “You don’t have to do that. You’re doing enough as it is. I’ll just—”

  “Lug heavy paint cans home on the bus. No, I’ll pick you up. One o’clock, right?”

  She heaved a sigh and stared into her glass, her body slumping a bit. “Okay, thanks.”

  “Would you like more wine?”

  “I should call my boss, before it gets too late.” Placing her empty glass on the table, she reached for his cell.

  “Stay with me tonight.” What the hell? Where had that come from? He watched the blush spread up her neck. Her gaze snapped to his.

  “What are you saying?” she asked, her voice shaky and husky. She licked her lips, and the gesture went straight to his groin. Who was he kidding? He’d wanted to kiss those lips again the minute the last kiss ended, and this seemed to be the perfect opportunity.

  His boss had said to keep her close. Tony’s arguments against that order evaporated.

  He grasped her arms and gently pulled her toward him. Brushing the hair from her neck, he leaned closer and inhaled her sweet scent, a mix of cinnamon, vanilla, and sugar. He trailed his lips across her smooth cheek, stopping at the edge of her mouth. “I’m saying this.”

  And he touched his lips to hers, slowly increasing the pressure until he felt her acceptance. Holding her shoulders, he pulled her closer still, leaning back at the same time until she was lying on top of him. Still not breaking the kiss, he moved his hands to her back and skimmed down to her waist. He shifted to increase the contact, and could tell by the hitch in her breathing that she’d noticed his erection. Hell, it would be hard to miss. He was afraid h
e’d bust out the front of his jeans.

  Ethics and morals be damned. He had to know what she looked and tasted like under all those clothes. And he had to know right now.

  He slid his hands under her sweater and paused, waiting for her to object. When she pressed closer, he continued. Smoothing his hands over her silky back, he couldn’t hold in the groan. Her hands clasped his shoulders, fingers digging in. Like she was afraid to let go. He linked his fingers with hers and raised them over his head. When she pulled her hands loose, he grabbed the arm of the couch behind his head, leaving his body open for her exploration. He wanted her to feel safe and in control.

  Her eyes squeezed shut, she grasped the front of his shirt and levered herself up. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

  “Why not? We’re both unattached, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He reached for her hair clip and released her blond curls, combing them out with his fingers until they were a mass of gold circling her head. Then pulled her close again. “Just tell me to stop, and I will,” he said before reclaiming her mouth, using his lips, teeth, and tongue to coax her.

  She moaned and responded in kind, opening her mouth to his assault, giving back with as much passion. In a flash she had his shirt buttons free and his chest bare. Her hands stoked the fire hotter, running over his flesh, flicking and pinching his nipples. Unable to control himself, he pushed his hands back under her sweater, skimming over her velvet skin, teasing the sides of her full breasts. When she leaned to one side, he took that as an invitation to explore further. Slipping his hand between their bodies, he cupped the cool fullness and squeezed gently. Her hard nipple pressed into his palm and he rubbed against the pebbled flesh.

  Please don’t tell me to stop.

  He rolled her until they lay side by side, giving him better access to her breasts. Easing her sweater up until she was bared to him, he gazed at her dusky pink nipples. His mouth watered, imagining their sweetness.

  She speared her fingers through his hair, pulling him close for another kiss as he continued to explore her body. Frustrated at the layers of clothes between them, he cupped her bottom and pulled one of her legs up and over his, opening her more. Damp heat centered in her crotch.