It was now or never. Walk up to that door and knock or drive back to the office and give the case to someone else.
From behind the wheel of her plain white Chevy Cruze, Jade Warren eyed the housing complex next to the smooth green golf course of Gabriel’s Crossing, Texas. She wasn’t a bit surprised that Sawyer Buchanon lived in such a nice place. His family’s construction company had likely built the buff brick townhomes, something she would know if she’d done her computer homework. But the impulse to immediately drive to the river town and face the dragon had overshadowed her usual rigid work ethic.
Do the job. Do it right. Don’t get involved.
Which was exactly why she shouldn’t have accepted this assignment.
She was involved. She’d been involved for years. Being here, accepting this investigation, made her a traitor.
But frankly she was tired of chasing absconding debtors and deadbeat exes. She wanted a case with meat on the bones, something she could sink her investigating teeth into.
Most of all, she was curious about her family nemeses, the dreaded Buchanons.
To hear her daddy tell it, the Buchanons breathed fire and plotted the demise of anyone they didn’t like. And they always won. She’d grown up despising a group of people she’d never met.
Until today.
A pretty redhead exited the front door of number 4, Sawyer Buchanon’s home. Figures. Very little investigative skill was required to learn Sawyer liked women and they liked him back. His social media was loaded with messages and photos from beautiful females.
The shapely, jean-clad redhead hopped into the cab of a bloodred F-150 pickup complete with a big white toolbox across the back.
Jade waited until the woman pulled away, the truck’s mufflers rumbling, before leaving her nondescript car to walk across the lush, manicured grass, up the clean-swept sidewalk past recently groomed boxwood to ring the doorbell.
Before she had time to put on her game face, Sawyer Buchanon, in gray athletic pants and white T-shirt, opened the door.
Jade thought she had prepared for this moment. She’d seen his photos. She knew he was very handsome and was determined not to react, not to become distracted from the case, or worse, become an idiot female and simper.
She swallowed and breathed slowly through her nose in a concerted effort to keep her expression cool and passive.
Photos didn’t do the man justice. Messy midlength hair, vivid blue eyes and a morning scruff as black as his hair.
Every female cell in her body reacted. She held the reaction inside, tightening her mouth to a determined thin line.
Sawyer flashed a movie star smile, a little crooked and a lot breathtaking.
Jade clamped her back teeth against her cheek until pain shot from the roof of her mouth to the top of her head.
There. Better. He wasn’t that good looking.
“Did you forget somethi—Oh, I thought you were Clare.” He poked his head around the door and looked toward the driveway. “She just left.”
Right. The redhead.
Jade stuck out a hand, her words intentionally crisp. “I’m Jade Warren, Paris Investigations. Is this a good time for us to talk?”
His smile faltered, replaced by a look of bewilderment. “You’re the private investigator my father hired?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?” She braced for it.
“Does my dad know you’re...?”
Her hackles rose. “A woman?”
“I was going to say pretty.” He flashed the smile again, eyes alight with mischief, and stepped to one side. “Come in. I was about to have a Coke. Want one?”
She shook her head. “Too early in the morning.”
“That’s what I’ve been told.” He led the way into the living room. The interior surprised her somewhat. Given his reputation, she’d expected a bachelor’s lair but was met with clean, simple lines in tones of gray and white with splashes of maroon. Masculine. Tasteful. Jade settled on the dove-gray sofa. Directly in front of it was a big-screen television mounted above a small tiled fireplace.
While Sawyer disappeared around a wall for his caffeine, she took out a notebook and jotted a few lines.
He popped back into the room. “I have coffee.”
“I’m good, thank you.”
He held up a single-serving coffee pod. “K-cups. Only take a minute. Would you rather have hot chocolate? Cider?” He turned the packet up close to his eyes and pretended to squint. “Caramel vanilla cream?”
She loved caramel vanilla cream. So, apparently, did his legion of girlfriends. Probably including the shapely redhead.
With a soft hum, she scribbled player on her pad. Now he was showing his true colors. “Do you stock every flavor?”
“Never know when you’ll need them.” He grinned. “I aim to please.”
Jade didn’t roll her eyes but she came close. Give it a rest, Romeo. I know your kind. I even have the scars to prove it.
“How nice.” She didn’t smile. “I’d prefer to get down to business if you don’t mind.”
“Okay.” Coke can in hand, he stood in the doorway between the living room and whatever was behind the wall. Kitchen, apparently. “Shoot.”
She wished he would sit down. From her place on the couch she had to look up and it made her feel inferior. At a disadvantage. He was a good six feet tall but not particularly broad. Just fit and lean with the right amount of shoulders. Strong and muscular as she’d expect of a man who made his living with a hammer and his hands.
Not that she noticed shoulders. She’d never known any worth leaning on.
Nor did she allow herself to be intimidated. Maintaining a businesslike tone, she held his gaze and absolutely refused to blink first.
“I’m here to investigate the vandalism plaguing Buchanon Built Construction projects. Your father shared some background with my boss and I have the police reports, but I’ll need you to fill me in on details from your perspective.”
“You’d do better to discuss this with Brady. He’s the site manager and COO of Buchanon Built.” A pair of eyebrows, as black as sin’s underbelly, twitched with a hint of amusement. “But he’s in Italy on his honeymoon. Lucky duck.”
Jade flipped through her notes. “Brady. Your older brother. A pet project of his burned to the ground on New Year’s Eve.”
The handsome face darkened. “Arson. Abby’s house. He was building it for her as a Christmas makeover.”
“Abby. Brady’s wife.”
“Fiancée at the time of the fire.”
She scribbled a note. “Interesting, but your father is more concerned about the photo recently found after a break-in.”
Sawyer made a noise deep in his throat. “Dad has it in his head that Dawson or me—Dawson’s my twin—is somehow