Too bad his choice of female companions hadn’t always been so stellar.
Looking around the room instead of looking at them, his gaze snagged on the TV. As if to underscore his condemnation of his own lousy instincts, Lorraine Kushi’s face appeared on the screen. She’d worked for years at an LA news affiliate, and when she came on he always switched the channel to avoid the sight of her sharp beauty and the memories it dredged up. He stood now, bent on doing just that, when a name flashed on the screen. Ralph Rodriguez.
Ralph Rodriguez was the name of Angelica’s father.
Brett sank back in his seat as Lorraine reported the latest financial scandal. Angelica’s father had stolen millions of his investors’ dollars in a Ponzi scheme that had finally gone bust. The Feds had kept him in custody—for several days now—and the news had finally leaked.
His personal accounts and property had been frozen or put under the government’s control. Rumor was he’d even robbed his own daughter while trying to cover up the crisis.
Angelica. Her father jailed. Her money gone...or at least inaccessible.
Did she know?
Of course she knew. It all made sense now. The darkened house. Her creeping around inside it. He’d suspected something was off. Then there was the job at Hallett Hardware.
In this very coffee shop, she’d told him she’d once wanted to work with her father but she hadn’t been welcomed. All for the best, she’d said. I’m not suited for that kind of risk.
Not suited for the things her father did. Breaking the law. Cheating other people. Betraying family.
“Where are you going?”
He glanced at his companions, realizing he’d jumped up from his chair and was heading for the door. The two men were staring at him. “Where are you going?” Ryan repeated.
“I’ve got to go check on someone—I mean something.” He needed to see her. To make sure that she was okay. While he cursed this drive to protect her, he couldn’t deny it, either.
The morning air, as crisp as a pippin apple, didn’t cool the heated urge. But as he unlocked his truck, he realized he had no idea where to find her. Where was she living now that the mansion on the lake was in government hands?
He slid inside, trying to think it through. Hallett Hardware. It was his best bet.
But a dumb idea, he realized, as he pulled into its small parking lot. The place was dark. It wouldn’t open for another couple of hours. Frustrated, he banged on the steering wheel with the heel of his hands. Did she know the story was out?
If so, would she look for a new place to go?
Maybe she’d run from the mountains and he’d never see her again. She’d banish herself. That made sense, didn’t it?
His hands thumped the steering wheel again. Then he cursed, because there was no reason for that idea to bother him so. It was what he wanted. Distance from gorgeous Angelica Rodriguez who fascinated him in a way he was sure would only lead to disaster.
A knock on the driver’s side window caused him to jump. His head whipped around to see Vaughn Elliott, dressed in dark jeans and a wool coat. Brett had never warmed to the guy, but then again he had a knee-jerk distrust of Richie Rich types. Vaughn was certainly that. As far as Brett knew, he lived off family money and got off by playing cop. The sheriff’s volunteer patrol car that he so often cruised around in was parked beside the truck.
Vaughn knocked again on the glass.
Brett unrolled the window. “Yeah?”
“Good morning.”
“Uh-huh.” Brett stared at a shiny piece of metal that was pinned to Vaughn’s lapel. “You wear a badge now?”
The other man shifted on his feet and looked a little embarrassed. “The sheriff thought it was a good idea.”
“Right.” Wrong. Brett would bet this particular volunteer liked the—fake—authority the emblem conferred upon him. Everything about the arrogant jerk rubbed him the wrong way. “You here to arrest me?”
Vaughn looked back coolly. “Have you done something wrong?”
An image of Angelica popped into Brett’s mind again. That kiss in the shadowy hallway at Mr. Frank’s. What he’d been on the brink of doing. Sex in a public place was against the law, right? Shoving the idea of it out of his mind, he shrugged for Vaughn’s benefit. “Nothing I’m willing to share,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Thought I’d pass along the word about a burglary last night.”
Brett straightened in his seat. “Another house was broken into?”
The other man’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve heard?”
“Don Fleming clued me in a few days ago,” he said.
“Ah.” Vaughn nodded. “Well, this does seem part of the same string.”
“What was taken?”
“I don’t know all the particulars. It was the Smithfields’ vacation home. There were some silver pieces missing for sure and an antique globe in a walnut stand.”
Brett frowned. “Silver? An antique globe? That doesn’t sound like the kind of loot kids would take.”
“There was cash missing, too, I’m told. And, uh...” Vaughn seemed to think. “The medicine cabinets were rifled. A TV is gone.”
“Hmm.” It seemed to him an odd assortment of plunder, but Brett didn’t know anything about what items could be fenced. Or the criminal mind.
The sheriff’s volunteer patted the roof of the truck. “Keep vigilant.”
Brett resisted rolling his eyes. “Will do,” he said, and succumbed to the urge to mock salute.
The other man didn’t appear to sense his irony and returned to his vehicle. Brett watched him roll slowly out of the parking lot and onto the highway.
As he did, he saw Angelica’s vehicle drive past the hardware store. Most of her face was hidden behind a pair of celebrity-sized sunglasses. Without thinking, he pulled out after her. If she wasn’t working at Hallett’s today, where was she going?
More important, how was she faring?
At the next turnoff, an SUV took advantage of the gap he’d left between their vehicles and slid into place behind Angelica. Brett didn’t mind. He could watch her just as well from here. Their short parade continued on for half a mile until her lights signaled and she hung a right into a parking lot bordering a rustic set of buildings that housed a branch of the county library, a gourmet market and a fancy day spa.
He followed at a sedate space, wondering about her destination.
Was she intending to massage her worries away?
His mind got busy again, picturing her naked on a table, a towel covering the delectable curve of her butt. Maybe he’d sneak in, pay off the real masseuse and help himself to the wealth of her golden skin.
He’d warm his hands by spreading coconut oil between his palms and then he’d stroke her shoulders, knead the tight muscles there. After long minutes he’d work his way down her back.
She’d moan.
At the thought of the sound of her pleasure, he had to shift on his seat and adjust the tight fit of his jeans. Damn, he thought, watching her exit her car as he idled behind a commercial-size Dumpster. Could he do it?
But instead of the spa, she approached the library and pushed some books through the mouth of the outside depository. Then she returned