Too Close For Comfort. Sharon Mignerey
nodded and held her arms up. Around a giant yawn, she said to Ian, ‘‘We’re safe now, huh?’’
‘‘As safe as we can be, petunia,’’ he returned.
She smiled sleepily and focused on Rosie. ‘‘Mommy said we would be.’’
Rosie picked up the child. Looking over Annmarie’s head, she met Ian’s gaze. ‘‘You stay put.’’
He lifted his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. ‘‘Hey. I’m not going anywhere.’’
Rosie carried Annmarie toward the bedroom, hearing the soft jangle of Sly’s tags on his collar as he followed her. In the bedroom Rosie lay the child on the bed, still rumpled from her interrupted night’s sleep. She slipped off Annmarie’s shoes and tucked the covers around her.
‘‘Aunt Rosie?’’
‘‘Hmm?’’ She sat down on the bed.
‘‘Will you sit with me till I fall asleep?’’ Annmarie swallowed. ‘‘Sometimes I get scared, ’specially since Daddy went to heaven.’’
A lump rose in Rosie’s throat as she brushed Annmarie’s hair away from her face. ‘‘I’m here as long as you want, sweetie.’’
‘‘Mommy said you were nice. She said I’d like it here.’’ Another smile followed, this one with heavy eyelids.
‘‘I’m glad she thinks so,’’ Rosie whispered.
‘‘Will Sly stay with me?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
Annmarie snuggled deeper under the covers. ‘‘Good. Later I’ll play ball with him.’’
Rosie continued stroking Annmarie’s hair. The child’s breathing changed, and between one breath and the next, she fell asleep. Rosie sat there a moment longer, studying the child. Regret, heavy as heartbreak, stole through her. How could she have stayed away so long? It wasn’t as though Lily hadn’t wanted her to come. She had.
Rosie closed her eyes. Like the coward she was, she had stayed away. How could she have thought an old, old hurt was important compared to spending time with and cherishing a child?
Silently she rose from the bed. Sly stood up to follow her from the bedroom. Pointing toward Annmarie, Rosie commanded, ‘‘Guard.’’
Sly lay back down, and Rosie studied him a moment, wondering if he really would guard Annmarie or if he simply thought guard was another word for stay. Since he hadn’t protected her out there in the clearing, she had serious doubts. She had taken him to guard dog training when she first got him, liking the idea of a watchdog. He had loved attack training, but she doubted he would attack anyone not wearing a padded suit. She had soon discovered that he liked tracking better, and he had taken to that like a spawning salmon to a rushing stream.
When she returned to the kitchen, she found Ian at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes and putting them on the drain board. He looked surprisingly at ease, which brought Rosie to a complete halt at the doorway. The table had been cleared and wiped down. Somehow he had figured out that the embroidered cloth and basket of flowers belonged in the middle.
‘‘There are a couple of cups of coffee left in the pot,’’ he said without looking at her. ‘‘Ready for another?’’
Resisting the temptation to clear her throat she said, ‘‘Yes.’’
He took one of the mugs from the drain board, filled it and offered it to her.
It was a simple gesture of appeasement. The man had made a lot of those overtures since he walked through her door. For the life of her, though, she couldn’t cross the few steps to take the mug from him.
‘‘It’s going to take more than doing a few dishes to get on my good side,’’ she said, hating the words the instant they were out of her mouth.
‘‘So you have a good side,’’ he murmured. Deliberately he came toward her, extending the coffee cup toward her. She didn’t move, though she had the strongest urge to turn and run.
She accepted the cup from him, noting the teasing glint in his eyes. His hands were loose at his sides as if to reassure her he was harmless. Harmless? Not this man.
To her chagrin, he skirted slowly around her. He came to a stop in front of her, his eyes dark with an emotion she couldn’t name when he met hers again.
‘‘You have more than one good side, Rosie Jensen.’’
She took a sip of the coffee, which wasn’t nearly as hot as the flush that crawled up her cheeks. Flirting was something she hadn’t allowed herself since she came to Lynx Point. Forbidden or not, she had forgotten how exhilarating that initial dance between a man and a woman was. It had been years since she had been tempted to flirt back, to give a man any opening gambit at all. She wasn’t about to start now, especially with this man.
‘‘Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t particularly like you, and I don’t want you here. The sooner you’re gone, the better.’’ She cringed when she realized the tone she heard in her own voice was fear instead of anger.
He returned to the counter, poured himself a cup of coffee, then turned off the switch to the drip coffeemaker. He faced her, leaning against the counter and crossing his ankles. ‘‘I take it the truce is over.’’
Chapter 3
Rosie’s grip tightened around the cup of coffee. ‘‘I want to know everything.’’
Ian sat down on one of the chairs next to the table, stretching his long, denim-clad legs out in front of him. Absently she noticed saltwater stains below the knees, indicating he had waded through ocean water at some point. His posture was deceptively relaxed, at odds with the anger in his eyes. Gone was the affectionate man who had teased Annmarie through breakfast. Her apprehension grew as she watched him lift his mug to his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a couple of swallows of coffee.
He set the cup down and met her gaze. ‘‘The man who was killed was an assistant D.A. in San Jose.’’
‘‘Oh, my God.’’
‘‘It gets worse,’’ Ian said.
Rosie wasn’t sure how it could be worse. She sat down and set her mug on the table, then realized she was trembling when coffee sloshed over the top.
‘‘The D.A. who was killed…he was working on a big case with organized crime connections.’’
‘‘This Marco person?’’
Ian nodded. ‘‘Indirectly. Marco works for Franklin Lawrence. At least, that was the gist of what I overheard right after he shot me.’’
Rumors had floated around the Silicon Valley for years that Lawrence, like his daddy before him, had mob connections going clear back to Bugsy Malone. The sort of thing you heard about but never paid much attention to. Now she wished she had.
‘‘How…when?’’ Rosie asked. Lily was a research scientist at the University of California, a genius in a field of microbiology Rosie barely understood. How could Lily have witnessed a murder?
‘‘She was on her way home one night. There’s an empty stretch of winding road—’’
‘‘You mean just beyond the country club?’’ Rosie asked, mentally following Lily’s path home. Lily’s neighborhood was tucked in the hills between an office park and exclusive neighborhoods that included a vineyard and the country club.
‘‘That’s right,’’ Ian said. ‘‘I didn’t know you’d ever been there.’’
‘‘I used to live in Los Gatos. Get to the point—she was on her way home.’’
Ian nodded,