Hot Rocks (8 page)

“It just goes to show,” she murmured to Henry, who demonstrated his accord by thumping his tail.

Time to put things back in order. She wasn’t giving up who she was, what she’d accomplished, what she planned to accomplish, because some second-rate thief believed she had part of his last take.

Had to be second-rate, she thought as she gathered up the loose stuffing from the once pretty silk throw pillows she’d picked out for the George II daybed. Uncle Willy never traveled in the big leagues. And neither, despite all his talk, all his dreams, had Big Jack.

So, they’d trashed her place, come up empty and took easily fenced items in lieu.

That, Laine thought, would be that.

Of course, they’d probably left prints all over the damn place. She rolled her eyes, sat on the floor and started stacking scattered paperwork. Dim bulbs were a specialty when Uncle Willy was involved in a job. It was likely whoever’d broken in, searched, stolen, would have a record. Vince would trace that, identify them, and it was well within the realm of possibility that they’d get picked up.

It was also in that realm that they’d be stupid enough to tell the cops why they broke in. If that came down, she’d claim mistaken identity.

She’d be shocked, outraged, baffled. Acting the part—whatever part was necessary—was second nature. There was enough of Big Jack in her veins that running a con wouldn’t be a stretch of her skills.

What was she doing now, Laine Tavish of Angel’s Gap, but running a lifetime con?

Because the thought depressed her, she pushed it aside and immersed herself in refiling her paperwork. Immersed enough that she nearly jumped straight off the floor when she heard the knock on the front door.

Henry bolted out of his mid-morning snooze and sent out a furious spate of throaty, threatening barks—even as he slunk behind Laine and tried to hide his bulk in the crook of her arm.

“My big, brave hero.” She nuzzled him. “It’s probably the window guy. No eating the window guy, right?”

As a testament to his great love and devotion, Henry went with her. He made growling noises and stayed one safe pace behind.

She was wary enough herself after the break-in to peek out the window before unlocking the door. Her brain, and her blood, did a little snap and sizzle when she saw Max.

Instinctively she looked down, in disgust, at her oldest jeans, her bare feet, the ancient gray sweatshirt. She’d yanked her hair back in a short tail that morning and hadn’t bothered with makeup.

“Not exactly the look I wanted to present to the man I considered getting naked with at the first reasonable opportunity,” she said to Henry. “But what’re you gonna do?”

She pulled open the door and ordered herself to be casual. “Max. This is a surprise. How’d you find me?”

“I asked. You okay? I heard about . . .” He trailed off, his gaze tracking down to her knees. “Henry? Well, that’s about the homeliest dog I’ve ever seen.” A big grin split his face when he said it, and it was hard to take offense as he crouched down to dog level and aimed the grin at the dog.

“Hey, big guy, how’s it going?”

Most, in Laine’s experience, were at least initially intimidated by the dog. He
was
big, he
was
ugly, and when he was growling in his throat, he sounded dangerous. But Max was already holding a hand out, offering it for a sniff. “That’s some bad face you’ve got there, Henry.”

Obviously torn between terror and delight, Henry inched his snout forward, took some testing whiffs. His tail whapped the back of Laine’s knees before he collapsed, rolled and exposed his belly for a rub.

“He has no pride,” Laine stated.

“Doesn’t need any.” Max became the newest love of Henry’s life by giving the soft belly a vigorous rub. “Nothing like a dog, is there?”

First there’d been lust, she thought, naturally enough. Then interest and several layers of attraction. She’d been prepared—or had been trying to prepare—to shuffle all those impulses aside and be sensible.

Now, seeing him with her dog, she felt the warming around the heart that signaled—uh-oh—personal affection. Add that to lust and attraction and a woman, even a sensible woman, was sunk. “No, there really isn’t.”

“Always had a dog at home. Can’t keep one in New York, not the way I travel around. Doesn’t seem right.” His hand slid up to rub Henry’s throat and send the dog into ecstasy.

Laine very nearly moaned.

“That’s the downside of city living for me,” Max added. “How’d they get around him?”

“I’m sorry?”

He gave Henry a last thumping pat, then straightened. “I heard about the break-in. Big dog like this should’ve given them some trouble.”

Down, girl,
Laine ordered herself. “Afraid not. One, he was shut in the mudroom. That’s his place when I’m out. And second, well . . .” She looked down at Henry, who was slavishly licking Max’s hand. “He doesn’t exactly have a warrior’s heart.”

“You okay?”

“As good as it gets, I suppose, the morning after you come home and find somebody’s trashed your house and stolen your property.”

“You’re pretty secluded back here. I don’t guess anyone saw anything.”

“I doubt it. Vince, the police chief, will ask, but I’m the only house back on this lane.”

“Yeah, I met the chief. Another reason I came by was to make sure you didn’t think I asked you to dinner to get you out of the house so this could happen.”

“Well, of course not. Why would . . .” She followed the dots. “Vince. I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s his job. And now I see I’ve put the same suspicion in your head.”

“No, not . . .” But she was trying it on. “Not really. It’s just been a very strange week. I think I’ve dealt with Vince twice on a professional level since I moved here. Now it’s been twice in a matter of days. He must’ve come by your hotel room this morning. I’m sorry.”

“Just routine. But coming home and finding your house has been burgled isn’t.” He reached out, touched her cheek. “I was worried about you.”

The warmth pumped up a few degrees. She told herself it wasn’t a good fit—Willy Young and Max Gannon in league. And that if Max was of the ilk, she’d know.

Like, she believed, recognized like.

“I’m okay. Jenny and Angie will work the shop today while I put the house back into shape.” She gestured toward the living room. “I’ve barely made a dent. Good thing I like to shop, because that’ll be stage two.”

He stepped around her, looking into the room himself.

It could be taken for a spate of vandalism accompanying a burglary. But to Max’s eyes it looked like what it was: a fast, nasty search. And if they’d gotten what they were after, he didn’t think Laine would be calmly clearing up the debris and talking about shopping.

Nobody was that cool.

On the tail of that thought, he imagined her coming home alone, in the dark, and opening her house to this. Small wonder she had shadows under her eyes and the pale look of a woman who’d spent a sleepless night.

“They did a number on you,” he murmured.

“Not the usual thing in the Gap. When I lived in Philadelphia, I worked with a woman who went home one night, found her apartment broken into. They cleaned her out
and
spray-painted obscenities on the walls.”

He looked back at her. “So it could be worse?”

“It can always be worse. Listen, I’ve put the kitchen back together and made a quick morning run to the store so there’s coffee. You want?”

“I always want.” He walked to her. She looked so fresh.

All that bright hair pulled back from that pretty face, her eyes only bluer with the shadows haunting them. She smelled like soap, just soap. The innocent charm of freckles was sprinkled over her nose.

“Laine, I’m not looking to get in your way, but . . . let me help you.”

“Help me what?”

He wasn’t sure, but he knew he meant it, that the offer was unqualified. He looked at her, and he wanted to help. “For a start, I can help you put your house back together.”

“You don’t have to do that. You must have work—”

“Let me help.” He cut off her protest simply by taking her hand. “I’ve got time, and the fact is, if I went on my way, I’d worry about you and I’d never get anything done anyway.”

“That’s awfully sweet.” And she knew she was a goner. “That’s really very sweet.”

“And there’s this one other thing.” He took a step forward, into her, which put her back up against the wall. Still, when his mouth came down, the kiss was slow and smooth, almost dreamy. She felt her knees unlock and go halfway to dissolve before he lifted his head. “If I didn’t do that, I’d be thinking about doing it. Figured we’d get more done if I got it out of the way first.”

“Good.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Finished?”

“Not hardly.”

“That’s good, too. Coffee,” she decided before they started rolling around on the floor of the disordered room instead of setting it to rights. “I’ll just get that coffee.”

She walked back toward the kitchen, with the dog prancing happily beside her. It helped, for the moment, to keep busy. Grinding beans, measuring coffee into the French press. He’d gotten her nerves up again, she realized. He was just leaning against the counter, watching her. That long body relaxed, but those eyes focused. Something about him made her want to rub up against him like a cat begging to be stroked.

“I have to say something.”

“Okay.”

She got down two of the mugs that had survived the kitchen rampage. “I don’t usually . . . Hold on, let me figure out how to say this without sounding incredibly stupid and ordinary.”

“I don’t think you could sound either. Ever.”

“Boy, you really push the right buttons. All right.” She turned to him while the coffee steeped. “It’s not my habit to make dates, even casual ones, with a man I’ve just met. With a customer. In fact, you’re the first.”

“I’ve always liked being first.”

“Who doesn’t? And while I enjoy the company of men, and the benefits thereof, I also don’t, as a rule, wrap myself around one after dinner like sumac around an oak.”

He was certain he’d remember the moment she had for a long time. It would probably come back to him on his deathbed as a major highlight of his life and times. “Would I be the first there, too?”

“At that level.”

“Better and better.”

“You want cream? Sugar?”

“Just black’s good.”

“Okay then, to continue. I also don’t—and this has been a pretty hard-and-fast rule of thumb—contemplate sleeping with a man I’ve only known for twenty-four hours, give or take.”

He was scratching Henry between the ears, but he never took his eyes off her face. “You know what they say about rules.”

“Yes, and though I agree with what they say, I don’t break them lightly. I’m a firm believer in the need for structure, Max, in rules and lines. So the fact that I’m considering breaking a rule, crossing a line, makes me nervous. It’d be smarter, safer, more sensible if we backed away a bit, at least until we get to know each other better. Until we give things a chance to develop at a more reasonable and rational pace.”

“Smarter,” he agreed. “Safer. Sensible.”

“You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to live by those three attributes.” She laughed a little, then poured the coffee. “And the problem here is I’ve never been as attracted to anyone as I am to you.”

“Maybe I’m a little looser when it comes to rules and lines, and not as worried about being sensible in certain areas.” He took the mug she offered, then set it on the counter. “But I know I’ve never looked at another woman and wanted her the way I want you.”

“That’s not going to help me be smart.” She picked up her coffee, stepped back. “But I need some order. Let me put my house back together, as best I can, and we’ll see where things go.”

“Hard to argue with that. We share some of these domestic chores, we ought to get to know each other.”

“Well, it’s one way.” He’d be a distraction, she concluded. A lot more of a distraction than Jenny and a lunchtime Big Mac.

But what the hell.

“Since I’ve got some muscle on hand, let’s start with the living room. The sofa’s pretty heavy.”

 

 

 

In Remember When, business was brisk. Or at least
browsing was. It hadn’t taken long for word to get out about Laine’s latest trouble, or to bring out the curious to pump for more details. By one, with the new shipments logged, tagged and displayed, sales rung up and gossip exchanged in abundance, Jenny pressed a hand to the ache in her lower back.

“I’m going to take lunch at home where I can put my feet up for an hour. Will you be all right on your own?”

“Sure.” Angie held up a protein bar and a bottled, low-fat Frappucino. “Got my lunch right here.”

“You don’t know how sad it makes me, Ange, to hear you call that lunch.”

“Weighed in at one-nineteen this morning.”

“Bitch.”

While Angie laughed, Jenny got her purse from behind the counter and her sweater from the hook. “I’m going to nuke leftover pasta primavera and finish it off with a brownie.”

“Now who’s the bitch?” She gave Jenny’s belly a pat, hoping as always to catch the baby kicking. “How’s it going in there?”

“Night owl.” She stuck a loose bobby pin back in her messy topknot. “I swear the kid wakes up and starts tap dancing every night about eleven, and keeps it up for hours.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” Smiling now, Jenny tugged on the sweater. “Every minute of it. Best time of my life. Be back in an hour.”

“Got it covered. Hey, should I call Laine? Just check on her?”

“I’ll do it from home,” Jenny called back as she walked to the door. Before she reached it, it opened. She recognized the couple, searched around in her mental files for the name. “Nice to see you. Dale and Melissa, right?”