No matter that he’d only been employed at B&C Investigations for a month, he’d learned a lot from the boss already. Jess had a motto: find the motive, find the killer. When looking for the source of trouble, there was no better advice. The boss didn’t exactly have a lot of confidence in Sean just yet. She’d been reluctant to assign him this case—which was exactly why he had to do the best job possible. Of course, he always wanted to do a good job, but he couldn’t allow even a single misstep this time. He had a feeling the first mistake and he would be out at B&C Investigations.
For damned sure he would never again allow the kind of mistake he’d made on his last security assignment. His bad judgment had cost a life.
His fingers stilled on the back door’s lock mechanism. How could he blame Jess Burnett for not fully trusting him? No matter that he had years of outstanding work history under his belt, his last assignment for his former employer had gone to hell. The only reason he’d gotten the job with B&C Investigations was because Buddy Corlew and Sean’s older brother, Chase, were friends. They’d played high school football together—against each other, actually. Chase had warned Sean that a year of moping around was enough. Sean had to get on with his life. During his time in Hollywood he’d built up considerable savings. Private security in the entertainment world paid extremely well. Finding a new job hadn’t been necessary the first year after he returned home, but his brother was right. Sean had to get on with at least part of his life. His personal life might never recover from his mistake with Lacy, but there was no excuse for allowing his professional life to stay in the toilet.
“Is there something wrong with my door?”
Amber’s question snapped him from his worrisome thoughts. He closed the door and shook his head. “I’ve checked front and back doors, and so far no sign of forced entry. The windows are next.”
A frown dragged down the corners of her lips. She had nice lips. Full and pink. Her red hair and green eyes were a vivid contrast to her pale skin. The sprinkling of freckles across her nose she worked so hard to cover with makeup made him want to smile. She was a gorgeous lady, no doubt, but not the kind of overdone Hollywood beauty he’d disliked in California. Amber’s was natural and completely unpretentious. He’d been watching her and fantasizing for months.
Fantasies and casual encounters were all he had anymore. He wasn’t sure he would ever trust himself in a real relationship again, and he would never permit work to become personal. Of course, his brother warned him that a guy still six months from thirty shouldn’t be throwing in the towel.
Realization dawned in the lady’s pretty green eyes. “You think someone broke into my home and took my...the evidence the police found.” The frown reappeared. “But how did they get my prints on the teacup?”
When he looked confused, she quickly explained about the evidence the BPD had discovered in the murder victim’s home.
Sean inspected the second of three kitchen windows. “Trust me,” he said in answer to her question, “there are ways to get into any place—home or business—if a person wants in badly enough.”
Amber followed him into the living room. She watched silently as he confirmed the windows were locked and that all the locking mechanisms were in working order.
“You mean like overriding security codes?”
“That’s one way, yes.” He shrugged. “Folks who make it their business to break and enter can unlock about any kind of lock with or without a key.”
Rather than continue with her hovering too close and watching his every move, he decided to run a few questions by her. Why not start with the most obvious ones she’d already answered for his boss and more than likely for the police? “Do you have any enemies, Amber?”
Her arms crossed protectively over her chest, and she dropped into the nearest chair. “Your boss and the police asked me that question along with a barrage of others. The answer is no. I’ve never had any sort of trouble with anyone. I’ve never had a stalker. Never received strange emails or Facebook messages. The fan mail from viewers is never threatening or overly negative. Someone might disagree with the way I reported an issue or event, but so far no one has taken it any further.”
“Lucky you. Most celebrities get their fair share of threatening or nasty mail.” Sean meant the comment as a compliment, but judging by her sigh she didn’t feel so lucky. He hitched his head toward the hall that led to the bedrooms. “How about persistent fans or admirers? Any of those?”
Amber pushed to her feet and trailed after him. “The usual. I typically receive flowers at the station a couple of times a week, depending on the stories I’ve covered. The high-profile stories generate the most reaction from viewers. Letters, food baskets, the occasional gift.” She rubbed at the back of her neck and then stretched it from side to side. “Nothing negative.”
The single window in the hall bath was secure. Sean moved to the first of the three bedrooms. “Any that are unsigned or from repeat senders?”
“A few.”
Both windows in bedroom one were secure. “Define ‘a few.’”
Following him to the next bedroom, she shrugged and said, “Four or five fans who consistently send little gifts. The occasional unsigned letter, maybe once or twice a month.”
“Have you ever met any of the four or five gift senders?” He progressed from the first window to the second before moving on to the final bedroom—her private space.
“The station has a big community day twice a year.” She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing his errant attention momentarily to her breasts. “You know, to thank the viewers. We do photos and giveaways. Have games and hot dogs. There’s always a clown and a couple of cartoon characters for the kids. Sometimes the people who write to me or send me gifts or flowers come by and say hi. No drama or discomfort. Just a friendly hello and a request for an autograph.”
The instant he entered her bedroom he felt completely out of place. The room smelled like her. Whatever perfume she wore was restrained but unmistakable. Light and citrusy. The delicate fragrance was barely there but so uniquely her, as if the subtle sweetness came from all that soft, satiny skin. He gave his head a mental shake. Evidently the skintight tee she wore had his imagination running a little wild.
The bed was big, too large for a woman to lie in alone. The bedding was pure white, lush and natural—like Amber. It didn’t take much to summon the image of that long, curly red hair flowing over those white linens. His body tightened with need at the thought of climbing onto that bed and kissing his way up her naked body.
Do the job, man. “Do you keep the unsigned letters?” He walked to the nearest window and confirmed it was locked. “Some of those may be from the same person.”
She massaged her temples as if a headache had begun there. Who wouldn’t have a headache? She was a person of interest in a murder case. That was enough to give anyone a headache.
“I never looked to see if there were similarities in the handwriting. I don’t keep them all. Only the ones that touch me in some way. In fact, Gina and I did a special about how feedback from viewers added a richness to our work.” She smiled; his pulse reacted. “We each shared things about ourselves that viewers could hopefully relate to. It was one of the most watched local programs last year.”
Her bedroom windows were secure. He stepped into the en suite bath. The only window was one of the half-moon types above the shower and it didn’t open. Like the rest of her home, the bathroom was organized and well-appointed. The house was a traditional one-story brick in an upscale, older neighborhood. According to the background report Jess had given him, Amber had lived here since graduating college. She’d inherited the house from her grandmother.