Tempt Me Again Page 4
There was a brief pause. “See there, knew you’d make a good sheriff. And, yeah, I got plenty of doubt about the theft. With the owner’s advanced age and general dottiness, who knows where the tea set really is. The old lady could even have her mind on insurance fraud.”
“But she’s loaded.”
“She’s also a troublemaker. Walk careful with her, you hear?”
“I will. And don’t worry about any of this. I can handle it.”
“As long as you get plenty of rest.”
Tyler wasn’t about to admit he’d slept in because he hadn’t slept during the night. “As long as,” he said, though he knew he’d never live down the assumed laziness. “How’s Mabel?” It was common, but as yet unconfirmed knowledge that the sheriff was vacationing with the local café owner, whom he’d been dating the last several months.
Clearly annoyed, the sheriff snorted. “How should I know? I’m on a fishin’ trip. Solve this case, Lieutenant. And quickly. Or your Navy rank may be the last title you ever have.”
He hung up.
Tyler flopped back on the pillows, staring at the room’s high ceiling. Yesterday, he was going through the motions of the election and, really, his life as a whole. He’d retired from active duty as advised by his commander. He’d reconnected with his family. He’d come home to the island to begin a new career. To remember what he’d gone off to fight for in the first place.
But he hadn’t felt more than a glimmer of satisfaction from any of the changes. He’d questioned his decision over and over. He’d loved his life in the military. Did he really belong back home? Could he adapt to civilian life again?
And now, barely twenty-four hours later, he had a case to fill his days and a woman who could fill his nights.
If he could find her.
Flinging the sheets aside, he let his feet drop to the floor beside the bed. He vaguely remembered taking off his watch and setting it on the bedside table near his phone. Glancing in that direction, he saw the gold-and-platinum watch given to him by his grandfather lying there. As he snatched it up, he noticed a white business card beneath.
Andrea Hastings, Appraiser.
Just like when the sheriff mentioned Mrs. Jackson’s name, a mental picture flooded Tyler’s mind. Dark blond hair, braces, glasses with a thick black rim, math genius, shy smile.
No. No way. She couldn’t be.
Another memory zipped into focus. This scene had taken place on the beach, late at night just before he’d left for basic training, in the shadows of a palmetto bush.
His shy math tutor’s unusual, pale green, fairylike eyes, somewhat blurry behind her glasses, had focused on his face as she’d told him about the crush she’d cherished for years. How she’d known he’d recently broken off his two-year relationship with his girlfriend, who was angry about him joining the Navy instead of him taking any of the walk-on offers from several universities to join their football team.
Then she—Andrea, the smartest, kindest person he’d ever known—had kissed him.
He’d been kind in return, explaining his need to serve his country, as everyone in his family had done before him. And, maybe, as he really concentrated on the memory, he’d been tempted to find out what might happen between them if school, future plans and social barriers hadn’t been in the way.
But he’d said nothing of this brief spark of interest to her at the time. He’d smiled and set her aside, all but patted her head as he set off to bigger and better glories.
Fast forward to last night.
The moment he’d fitted his body between the welcoming hips of his mystery woman, when he’d asked her to open her eyes and he’d seen the familiar—though he hadn’t recognized them at the time—fairy eyes.
He braced his arms on his thighs, still holding the business card between his fingers. What have I done?
It all made sense—having met her before, her knowing Sloan, her intelligent, witty comments, even her reluctance to remove her mask.
Regret clenched his gut as he forced himself to flip the card over, knowing, just knowing, there would be a note.
Second time’s the charm.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
He glanced back at the card and noticed an address on Beach Road and phone number. The address wasn’t for an office, though. The house number was too high. That end of the street contained only homes. Big, expensive, ocean-front homes.
Andrea had apparently put her formidable brains to successful use.
No surprise there. But the address also meant she was only a few blocks down from his new case. After handling Mrs. Jackson and calming Dwayne, he had another stop to make and an apology to impart, one that was several years overdue.
As soon as he had it out with that little instigator Sloan.
There was no way sweet Andrea Hastings had come up with seduction and a secret identity on her own.
After tossing on his rumpled clothes, he headed downstairs, where he heard voices coming from the kitchen. Sloan was sitting on her husband’s lap while he laughed and tried to hold a coffee mug out of her reach.
Normally, he would have slipped out of the house and let them “play,” but he wasn’t going to let any more time than absolutely necessary come between him and making things right with Andrea.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we have to talk,” he said as he approached the table.
Sloan glanced over her shoulder at him. Her expression was carefully blank. “About what?”
“Not what.” He held up Andrea’s card. “Who.”
“I’M A SLUT,” ANDREA said miserably when she opened the door to Sloan’s knock.
Sloan sighed. “Oh, good grief.”
“I am.” Trudging back into the den, Andrea flopped on the sofa and didn’t even stop to admire the view from the window-dominated back wall of her house. The sight of her much-treasured kitchen and sunroom, the waves crashing on the shore mere yards away, always reminded her of how far she’d come, how hard she’d worked for her success.
She threw a cold washcloth over her face to counteract her flaming, guilty cheeks. “I slept with a man I never intend to see again. I had sex with him to deal with my emotional issues and shortcomings, never once wondering if he was ready to take that intimate step so quickly.”
“You feel guilty for last night?” Sloan’s surprise was clear.
Lifting the washcloth, Andrea peeked at her friend. “Shouldn’t I?”
“No.” Sloan—dressed in a professional, but somehow still alluring, pale pink suit and hot silver sandals—settled into the nearby chair, crossed her long, tan legs and stared at Andrea. “You had a decent orgasm, didn’t you?”
She swallowed hard. “Beyond decent, and several.”
“And you fulfilled your fantasy to see Tyler Landry naked.”
“The reality was better.”
“So you successfully seduced your fantasy man, which was better than you imagined it would be, you regained your confidence as a desirable woman, plus you got revenge for all the crappy, selfish guys who’ve flooded the land for the last two thousand years and used women the same way.” Sloan leaned back in her chair. “What’s the guilt about? Do you think he would have hung around all night if he felt used and didn’t want to be with you again? And again?” She paused, her mouth tipping up. “Many, many times over?”
“I guess not,” Andrea said, considering the sense in her friend’s words. Tyler was a great many things but gullible wasn’t one of them. “But still—”
“So you really never want to see him again?”
“That was the plan, if you remember. The plan you sold me on as you tied me into that breath-stealing costume. Get over my teenage fantasy issues, my awkward past, try not to focus on my convicted-felon-now-on-probation brother and move on to…” Andrea jolted to her feet. Her heart pounded in a panicked rush. “This is your fault. You knew this would happen.”
“What?” Sloan asked, blinking with fake innocence.
“
Me, getting hooked on him again.”
“I didn’t think you’d be satisfied with one night,” she admitted. “So, why does it have to be one? Why can’t you see him again?”
“Because it’s all wrong! I lied. I wore a mask, for pity’s sake.”
Sloan’s gaze grew speculative. “Even during…?” She waved her hand when Andrea shook her head, unwilling to spill intimate details. “And you didn’t lie. You were mysterious and intriguing. Obviously, it worked.”
“But I’m not mysterious and intriguing.”
“So see him again and be you. What’s the worst that could happen?”
She headed out.
Feeling ridiculous but unable to stifle the urge, Andrea followed. “Did you see him when he left this morning?”
“Yep.”
“How did he seem?”
“Annoyed, confused and anxious.” She paused at the door. “Of course the last thing could be because my father called.”
“About what?”
“Some case,” Sloan said vaguely. “Anyway, Tyler showed me your card—nice touch, by the way—and said we had to talk.”
“How mad is he?”
“He isn’t thrilled with me. You, he’s crazy about.”
Andrea’s traitorous, susceptible heart jumped.
Sloan’s lips twitched. “And he seemed to think the mask was sexy.”
“What else did he say?”
“He wanted to know what you’ve been doing the last twelve years. I told him he had to find out for himself.”
“What else did he say?”
Turning as she stood on the porch, Sloan shrugged. “You aren’t in high school anymore, you know.” Then her gaze raked Andrea’s ratty sweatpants and paint-stained tank top. “Put on some makeup and decent clothes and stop wallowing. You’re supposed to be floating on a cloud with blissful, lustful memories keeping you airborne.”
“Yeah, I’ll work on that.”
“You might want to work fast. Mrs. Jackson’s silver tea service is missing, so Tyler’s just a few doors away, investigating the case. That’s what my dad called about this morning. So, unless I’m completely off base—and I rarely am—he’s going to come by here.” With a sassy wave, she scooted off the porch. “Have fun.”
Andrea’s jaw dropped. She watched her—supposedly—best friend swing her purse and her hips into her cute little convertible as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “You could’ve led with that!” she shouted after her.
“MRS. JACKSON, ARE you sure you locked the china cabinet last night?” Tyler asked his, hopefully, future constituent.
Henrietta Delmar Jackson peered at him from behind tiny, silver-framed glasses. “Of course I’m sure, honey.” Her veiny hand clutched Tyler’s. “Are you sure that girlfriend of yours wouldn’t mind if you got a little side action?”
Deputy Dwayne lifted his paper bag—already well-used since arriving at the Jackson home—back to his face and inhaled deeply. Dwayne was a nice guy, but actual crime scared him. He was more of a behind-the-scenes person.
Glaring at his colleague, who sat beside him on the uncomfortable, but no doubt valuable, antique sofa in Mrs. Jackson’s front parlor, Tyler fought desperately to keep his attention on the investigation.
Such as it was.
He’d been forced to lie about having a girlfriend to keep the ninety-something “victim” from crawling into his lap. All he needed was paramedics arriving to save Dwayne from himself and Tyler from Mrs. Jackson, and his humiliation would be complete and forever.
“But the lock wasn’t forced,” Tyler continued. “Neither were any of the doors to the house.”
“I’ve seen those paranormal shows on TV,” Mrs. Jackson said with a defiant nod. “They could zip in here with a blink.”
“They?”
“The aliens.”
Mere weeks ago his life was a mix of foreign lands, missions in the dead of night, glimmers of hope, fighting to avoid dwelling on fear and loneliness. Today, aliens and zipping—whatever that was. Did he prefer reality or ridiculousness?
“What was I saying?”
“They could zip with a blink.”
“Right.” She nodded. “The aliens obviously zipped in here and stole my precious silver. They need it for their weapons of mass destruction, you see.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said, looking at Dwayne, who shrugged, the paper bag still over his mouth and nose. “I bet they do.”
“But if aliens weren’t responsible,” Tyler continued to Mrs. Jackson, “does anyone else—on this planet—have a key to your house?”
She narrowed her bleary eyes. “Are you mocking me, young man?”
“No, ma’am.” And he thanked God she wasn’t still calling him honey. “I’m going to find your silver service.”
“Sheriff Caldwell could find it faster,” she said.
“I’m sure he could. But Deputy Burris and I are on duty at the moment.” He nudged Dwayne in the ribs, forcing him to lower the paper bag he’d been breathing into. “Aren’t we?”
“Yes, sir,” Dwayne parroted.
No help there. Great. “We’ll look around the property and dust for fingerprints, Mrs. Jackson,” Tyler said as he rose. “But it would be helpful if you could let us know about the key and give us a list of all your employees and anybody who’s recently shown an interest in your tea set.”
Her eyes brightened. “Are you going to turn out the lights and make things turn blue like that cute boy on CSI?”
Since those blue lights tended to reveal blood splatters, Tyler certainly hoped not.
He and Dwayne spent the next hour searching the house and property for the tea set without success. The lack of results frustrated Tyler in a big way, since he’d expected to find the missing item under a bed or table, hidden from enemies of the alien persuasion. But, true to his word, he dutifully covered the table where the tea set normally rested with fingerprint powder, lifted several viable prints and knew they’d all wind up belonging to Miss Jackson, her friends or her employees.
By the time he and Dwayne escaped to the porch, thoughts of his personal problems and lack of sleep had caught up with him, leaving him tired and even more annoyed.
“Well, it’s not there,” he said to Dwayne as they headed to their respective cars.
“Unless she buried it in the backyard.”
For the first time since waking up naked in a twist of sheets without a hot woman anywhere in sight, Tyler smiled. “There’s a viable possibility. Beyond that, there’s no forced entry. No footprints. No enemies—on Earth, anyway. Let’s look at the cleaning staff, the pool boy, anybody who has access to the house on a regular basis.”
“The church ladies might bring her meals. It seems I’ve heard Sister Mary Katherine talk about that recently.”
“But the church ladies—and the good Sister in particular—aren’t involved in a theft, so it’s likely somebody she employed ran off with the silver, hoping for a fast payoff. I doubt it’s a professional, because even if he knew the significance of the set and its worth, a smart thief wouldn’t touch something that hot. Some pawnshop owner’s about to get more than he’s bargaining for, then this whole thing is going to get sticky.”
Dwayne nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir, Dwayne. We’re the same rank.”
“But when you’re sheriff…”
“If I’m sheriff. Mrs. Jackson may be the abrupt, crash-landing of my campaign.” And, dammit, he couldn’t even find the energy to care about his career or the silver-stealing silliness. He wanted to see Andrea and apologize, clarify, then repeat last night. “I’ll check with area pawnshops. Let’s close this down before it gets out and everybody’s talking about crime running rampant without Buddy here to keep order.”
Smiling, Dwayne saluted. “You got it, boss.”
“Don’t salute me, Dwayne.”
“Even when you’re sheriff?”
“Even then.”
4
Andrea stared at Tyler, standing on her front porch, a half smile on his sculpted face. He wore faded jeans and a white collared shirt. A gold star—that she somehow found both adorable and sexy—was pinned over his heart.
“I—Well…sure.” Stepping back, she ran a self-conscious hand over her ponytail. After Sloan’s desertion, she’d dressed in coordinating clothes and hastily used the straightening iron and some balm to calm the sea-air frizzies that had taken over her hair. Still, she knew she looked nothing like the mysterious woman in blue from the night before.
It was a wonder he’d recognized her.
“The house is beautiful,” he said, glancing around the foyer while she closed the door. “Yours?”
“Uh-huh.” She cleared her throat and tried to banish the image of him the last time she’d seen him, naked and well-satisfied. “I bought it when I moved back a few months ago.”
His gaze connected with hers. “Business must be good.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess you have a great view of the ocean. That’s one thing I really miss about leaving the Navy.”
“Do you? I’m sorry about last night,” she blurted.
His grin widened. “I’m not.”
Responding as always to his perfect smile, her heart pounded, not realizing hope was lost. “But you have to be angry. I tricked you.”
“And I want to know why. But I’m not mad.”
She waited for him to change his mind. But he said nothing more. He just looked at her expectantly.
He was supposed to be angry. Feel indignation over her deceit. Yell. Then, she could go back to consulting, fixing her house and making sure her brother didn’t break his probation. There was no future for her and Tyler. Their chemistry had been a charade.
“Okay,” she said finally. “If you want, we could sit on the deck and…talk.” She turned and headed across the polished wooden floors through the den, which, along with the kitchen, dominated the back of the house. A long, curved bar separated the two rooms, and she winced at the scattered paint samples littering its black granite surface. Given her normally meticulous nature, this was a sign of how off balance and distracted she’d been all day.