Almost A Honeymoon. Susan Crosby
him and what he’d do about it.
“Harry.”
She blinked and looked at him, deciding it wasn’t the first time he’d called her name.
“Talk to Lloyd. Tell him what you need.”
She forced her legs to move. “Good afternoon, Lloyd. I hope you caught up on your rest.”
“I did, thank you, miss.”
She rattled off the brand and model printer she needed. Hesitantly she asked if he might be willing to pick up something casual for her to wear, a sweat suit or something.
“Of course, miss.”
“I don’t need much. I might be going home today, for all I know, so don’t spend a fortune. As for sizes—”
“Unnecessary, miss. I’ll be there within the hour.”
“But—”
He hung up. Paige held the phone out and stared at it, then shook her head as she set it down. Rye came out of the bathroom as she did so, his hairline damp, as if he’d splashed his face with water.
“What side of the bed do you sleep on?” he asked.
She straightened, surprised. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to lie down until Lloyd gets here, and I don’t want to sleep on your side.”
“To be honest, I kind of roll around.”
“Oh. Well—”
“But don’t let that stop you,” she rushed to assure him. Anything to get him out of sight for an hour and let her think clearly. “I don’t mind.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Positive. Please. Be my guest.”
He closed the door between the rooms halfway, enough so that she couldn’t see what he was doing, but could hear. Boots falling to the floor, the shift of fabric as he slid under the comforter. Lord. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Why now, when she was at her most susceptible to temptation? Was she having a mid-life crisis at age twenty-eight?
She stretched out on the couch to think. Her eyes drifted shut. It took too much effort to open them.
The sound of a key being fitted into the lock brought her awake. Lloyd entered, his arms loaded with packages. He nodded at Paige as she yawned and stretched. An hour had passed.
“Warner’s asleep,” she whispered, taking a couple of the bags from his hands.
“No, I’m not.” He emerged from the other room, tucking his shirt in.
“Pasta salad for Miss O’Halloran and a submarine sandwich for you, sir,” Lloyd said as he placed two bags on the coffee table. “I’ll put your dinners in the refrigerator. Pop them in the microwave for five minutes or so when you’re ready.”
“Pasta salad...my favorite!” Paige said. “How did you know?”
“He’s a mind reader. Be careful what you think.”
“He’s joking, of course, miss. I hope the clothing is as much to your liking.”
She dug into a bag and withdrew a cream cable-knit sweater that would fall mid-thigh, soft blue jeans and a teal T-shirt and matching leggings. Two simple white cotton-knit camisoles, saved from being merely undershirts by their skinny shoulder straps, tumbled out next. Further investigation yielded white sneakers, size nine, narrow, and three pairs of slouchy socks. Everything looked as if it would fit.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “How did you know my size?”
Rye grinned mutely at him, seemingly daring him to answer.
Lloyd’s expression never changed. “I have an eye for such things.”
“I’ll say. Good taste, too,” Paige said. “What’s in the box?”
“Chocolate chip cookies, miss. Homemade. From Mrs. MacKenzie, sir.”
Rye carefully set down the sandwich he’d been about to take a bite of. “She doesn’t know—”
“Of course not, sir. She has been on a baking binge and forgot I can’t eat chocolate. Let me see if I have her words correct...I believe she said something about domesticity being the pits.”
Rye chuckled. “That’s my Kani.”
“Who’s Kani?” Paige asked as she sprung the lid on her salad.
The phone rang. Rye snatched it up.
“Yeah?... Put him through. It’s your dad,” he said to Paige as he waited for the connection to be made. “Patrick, what’s up?... Did they trash the place?... Do you want to bring the police in on it?... Keep me current. I’ll let you talk to Paige.”
“Dad?” She clutched the receiver with both hands.
“Somebody broke into your house, honey.”
“Oh, God! My presents! Did they take the presents?”
“Well, it’s kinda crazy. Not much seems to be disturbed. I came to add water to the Christmas tree stand like you asked. The door wasn’t shut tight.”
“Ask him if they took your address book,” Rye said to her as he paced, thinking.
“I heard him,” Patrick said. “Where do you keep it?”
“In my drop-leaf desk in the living room. Nothing was destroyed? Are the presents under the tree?”
“I count about fifteen.”
“That’s probably all of them. Can’t you find my address book? It’s around six inches square, sort of peach colored.” She could hear him rustling papers.
“Don’t see it.”
“He says it’s gone,” she said to Rye.
“What about at work? Anything missing? A Rolodex, maybe.”
“Tell Rye I’ll call when I get back to the office.”
Rye extended his hand. “Let me talk to him. Patrick, listen, if something’s gone from her desk, question everyone about who might have had access today. Maintenance men, delivery people, anyone who’s not employed by you. If you come up empty, have your security people start running traces on your newest employees and work backward. Call me anytime... She’s fine here with me. I promise. Even if they’ve got her Rolodex and can get my address, they won’t be able to track us... Let me know as soon as possible.”
Rye hung up the phone and followed Paige’s movements as she paced in front of the hearth. “Don’t you have an alarm in your house?”
She fired a glare at him. “No.”
“A woman alone, in a big city?” he pressed.
“It’s a quiet neighborhood. I’ve never had any problems.”
“It only takes once.”
“Look, Mr. Secret Agent Man, I’m upset enough without you criticizing my home security—”
“Or lack thereof.”
“Indeed.” Ice formed around the word.
“I can’t believe you don’t have a system. They’re so easy to install.”
“They’re expensive.”
Rye frowned. “Expensive? A thousand dollars for peace of mind and safety? I’d say they’re a bargain.”
She gestured impatiently. “Of course you would. You think flying first class is a necessity.“
“Well, now that you’ve seen me, you must understand why I need plenty of room.”
“I’m