Against the Storm. Kat Martin
He didn’t like the tone. He could understand why the lady might find the notes upsetting.
He sat back down in his chair. “You need to call the police, Ms. O’Connell. They’ll make a report of the incidents and keep an eye out in your neighborhood for whoever may be leaving these.”
“I’ve been to the police. It hasn’t done any good. I want to know who this is and I want him to stop.”
“And you think I can do that for you?”
“I saw the way you handled those three men. I imagine you could take care of this guy if you wanted to.”
“I don’t assault people for a living. That isn’t my job. On the other hand, if my client is in danger, sometimes steps have to be taken.”
She seemed to mull that over. “I guess what I’m saying is I’d like to hire you. Your receptionist told me what you charge, and that would be fine. If I’m your client and something happens, you would be obliged to protect me.”
His gaze ran over her, the smooth skin and stubborn jaw, the big green, troubled eyes, the red hair curling softly around her shoulders.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll need to see the other notes before I decide.”
She bit her bottom lip. She wore peach-colored lipstick and her mouth was full and perfectly curved. He wasn’t generally this taken with a woman, at least not at first glance. But there was something about her… He told himself it was just that damned red hair.
“Actually, I only have one.”
“One?” he repeated, having lost track of the conversation.
“One of the other two notes. I threw the first one away. I thought it was a joke. I should have brought the second note with me. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to get here, to talk to you, see if you could help.”
She was worried, he could tell, maybe even a little frightened. She set her purse in her lap, then unconsciously twisted the strap one way and then another.
“As I said, I’d like to see the other note.”
She rose from her chair. “I’ll get it for you right now. My condo isn’t that far away.”
Trace stood as well. “I’d rather come with you. I can see where you live, take a look at the neighborhood, see where your car was parked when the notes were left.”
“The first one was left on my car before I moved out of my apartment. It’s about a mile or so away from where I live now. But I think that’s a good idea.”
She started for the door, but he caught her arm. “I’ll drive. My car’s right out front.” He grabbed the white straw hat he had exchanged for his usual brown felt Stetson as the weather began to warm, and led her through the reception area. Opening the door, he waited while she walked outside.
“The Jeep Cherokee,” he said, and one of her burnished eyebrows went up. “What? You were expecting a pickup?”
She shrugged, smiled. “You’re a cowboy. I thought all you guys were pickup men.”
He chuckled, thinking of the Joe Diffie song and wishing at the moment he owned one. “’Fraid I only drive one when I’m out at the ranch.” He helped her into the vehicle and closed the door, rounded the hood and slid in behind the wheel.
She settled back and snapped her seat belt. “You have a ranch?”
“Technically, yes. The place belonged to my grandfather. My dad sold half when Granddad died and used the money to go into the security business. The land that’s left is leased to a company that raises Black Angus beef. I kept the old ranch house and fifty acres around it. I pretty much grew up there as a kid. I stop by every once in a while just to keep an eye on things.”
“The photos in your office…the rolling fields with the grazing cattle. Those were taken on the ranch?”
“Not by me, but yes. Gabe Raines, a friend of mine from Dallas, took them when we were out there together. I liked them so had them blown up and framed.”
“They’re very good.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.” Gabriel Raines was Dev Raines’s brother, one of his closest friends. They had worked together last year when Gabe was having trouble with an arsonist. Gabe was in construction. Taking pictures was just a hobby, but Gabe seemed to have a good eye.
They drove away from the office, leaving the small business district behind, moving along Kirby Street through a neighborhood of stately older homes and smaller, even older residences like the one in which he lived. Big sycamore trees overhung the streets, shading the asphalt. Manicured lawns climbed from the curb to the front of each house.
Heading south at Maggie’s direction, they passed Holcomb Street, wound around a bit, eventually turned onto Broadmoor and into a six-unit town house development that looked very new. The units were nicely constructed, utilizing the land without destroying too many trees. The buildings, beige with redbrick trim, had a vaulted roofline, and each unit had its own brick chimney.
“That one’s mine. The one on the end, unit A.”
He pulled into a space Maggie indicated in front of a row of matching two-story dwellings. “This your usual parking spot?”
She nodded. “There’s a guest space on the right. I keep my car in the garage at night.”
They got out of the car and Maggie led him toward the door of her unit. He liked the way she moved, sexy and confident. He liked the way she looked, too, with that little spray of freckles across her forehead and the tip of her nose.
His groin tightened. His instincts were warning him to stay away from temptation, and Maggie O’Connell was certainly that. He would give the case to Alex or Ben, he told himself. As soon as he had a little more information.
She unlocked the door and Trace followed her in. “I’ll get the note,” Maggie said. “I’ll be right back.”
He watched her climb the stairs in the entry, admiring the firmness of the muscles in her hips and thighs. The lady stayed in shape, it was clear. He liked that in a woman, since he believed in staying fit himself.
As she disappeared, he glanced around the condo, which was almost empty. Just a beige, floral-print sofa and matching chair in the living room, a maple coffee table and a couple brass lamps, one of them sitting on the floor. Cardboard boxes were stacked everywhere. There was a dining table in an area off the living room. She had a laptop set up there. Good to know she was computer literate.
Maggie returned with the note, carrying it gingerly but not as carefully. “I handled it when I first got it. Fingerprints never occurred to me until today.” She walked to the breakfast counter and laid the note on the gold-flecked white granite top. Trace moved it a little so he could read the words.
Precious Maggie,
Such a delight you are. Soon you will come to me. Soon you will understand we are meant to be together.
There it was again, that odd, eerie tone. Trace couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it meant, but he didn’t like it. He placed the second note beside the first, compared the hand-printed letters. Bold. Well formed. No misspelled words.
Maggie looked up at him. “Will you help me?”
Give the case to Alex, a little voice said.
A muscle tightened in Trace’s cheek. Alex Justice, with his good looks and dimples… Trace glanced down at Maggie and desire curled through him. Her eyes were on his, green and worried. A surge of protectiveness overrode his good sense.
So she was a redhead. So what? So what if he already felt a strong attraction to her? It didn’t mean a thing. She could be in serious trouble and she needed his help.
“You have any idea who might have written these?” he asked.