Joanna Wayne - 24 Karat Ammunition

“Then why did she send her daughter to you?”

“It’s a long story, Celeste, and I’m dead-tired. I’ll call you in the morning and give you a full update.”

“Okay, but I still don’t see why you went rushing off to Dallas just because some kid yelled wolf. It’s probably just a scam to get money out of you.”

“We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Not too early. I may sleep in. The dinner party didn’t break up until nearly midnight. Melvin was nice enough to fill in for you at the last minute, and he and I went out for drinks after that. Just call when you get to the office.”

Thank goodness for Melvin. Not only was he Langston’s most valued VP at the company, but he was also always willing to pinch-hit when Langston couldn’t make one of Celeste’s social events. That was more than his brothers would do.

“I won’t call too early,” he promised. They said their goodnights and Langston broke the connection. Tired as he was, he didn’t go back inside. Instead he stood on the edge of the narrow porch and stared into the shadows that played around the cabin.

He wasn’t sure of the real answer to Celeste’s question about why he’d come running to Dallas but he was glad he had. He’d always needed closure with Trish. Hopefully this would provide it, and he could finally get past the memories of that summer and the two of them reveling in their exploding hormones and thinking it was the real thing.

Sure, he’d had a brief relapse tonight, but that was just the memories and seeing her again after so long a time. He’d see Trish through this, and then he’d go on with his life without a backward glance.

He went back into the house and into the hall to get a pillow from the closet. He passed the bedroom where she was sleeping and hesitated, his senses suddenly intoxicated by her presence. He listened to her breathing and imagined her head resting on the pillow, her hair disheveled with the curls dancing about her cheeks.

He took a deep breath and stepped away. Tomorrow he’d be fine.

Tonight, the memories held sway.

SELENA ARRIVED AT THE BOUTIQUE at six minutes before nine the next morning, though it didn’t open until ten and she’d stayed late to do paperwork last night. Her boyfriend’s truck was in the shop and she had to drive him to work for eight-thirty. Once she was out, she figured she may as well go to work herself.

Selena went back to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Once the brew was dripping, she made a quick tour of the shop, checking each room to make sure it was ready for business. She saved the blue room for last. It was her favorite. The furnishings were the same type of beautiful antiques as in the rest of the cottage, but it was in the style of a privileged lady’s boudoir.

Selena never tired of laying the silky lingerie across the huge four-poster bed or displaying it in the magnificent, mahogany wardrobe. Not to mention that the white lace and satin bridal set she’d hung next to the eighteenth century washstand practically made her mouth water.

When she and Enrico married, she planned to wear one like that on her honeymoon. Then no matter how many times they’d made love before, she’d feel like a princess bride. She knew he loved her, but he wanted to save money for a down payment on a house before they set the date. But it would be soon. His bank account was growing fast.

Today, even thinking about that didn’t lift her troubled spirits. She started back to the business office, then paused when she thought she heard someone in the front room of the shop.

Just her jagged nerves, she decided, since even during business hours the doors to the outside stayed locked. Customers rang the doorbell as if entering the house of a friend. Trish claimed that was part of the boutique’s charm and made it feel far more exclusive.

Selena dropped to the computer and pulled up the list of customers to be notified that the new shipment of Jimmy Choo shoes was going on display August fourth. But there was that noise again, only closer. She spun around in the chair as the man stepped into the doorway behind her, one hand resting on the doorframe, the other behind his back.

“Nice little setup you’ve got here.”

“Who are you? How did you get in?”

“I came by to do some shopping. Where’s Trish?”

Oh, no! Fear settled like red-hot coals in her chest. She reached for the button beneath her desk that sent a silent alarm to the police, turning her body so that he wouldn’t see her fingers. “Trish isn’t here.”

“I can see that. Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“I kind of think you might.” He pulled the hand from behind his back and pointed the barrel of a stubby black pistol at her head. “Where’s Trish?”

Her stomach rolled and Selena tried to swallow through the hard, dry crust that her throat had become. “I told you I don’t know where she is.” Her words were so shaky she wasn’t even sure they were intelligible.

He inched closer, his hand steady and his finger sliding to the trigger. “I’m counting to three. If you don’t happen to remember by then where I can find your boss lady, you won’t be remembering anything ever again. And if you lie to me, I’ll track you down and yank your heart out through your throat.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“One.”

She didn’t want to die. She wanted to wear the beautiful bridal lingerie. Wanted to marry Enrico. Wanted to have his children. “This is about that video isn’t it? Trish doesn’t have your stupid video.”

“Two.”

She heard a siren. The cops were on the way.

“Three.”

LANGSTON’S CELL PHONE RANG at nine-thirty the next morning. The ID read Aidan Jefferies. Good. He knew he could count on his detective buddy to work quickly. “Any luck?”

“Some. Gary Packard’s got a clean record except for one count of domestic violence against his wife. That was ten years ago. They’ve divorced since.”

“What about Buck Rivers?”

“He’s been in Dallas for four years and has had several arrests—no convictions. He always seems to be around trouble, but there’s never any proof that he’s in it. He’s been working as a bouncer at one of the local gentleman’s clubs for the past six months. One of the dancers reported he’d beaten her up a month ago, but later recanted the charges. There’s probably a lot more on him, but that was all I could get with phone calls to the DPD. I’ll follow up, but I could fax that to you if you’d like hard copy.”

“We barely have indoor plumbing here.” He stepped outside the door so that Trish wouldn’t overhear his next question. “Did you get any information on Trish Cantrell?”

“She bought the Cottage Boutique five years ago after moving to the States from London. No police record. Not even an unpaid parking ticket. So are you heading back to Houston today?”

“That’s the plan. I’ll give you a call later.” He thanked Aidan again, broke the connection and went back inside.

Trish had showered and was dressed in the same clothes she’d had on last night. The shorts showed off her tan and terrific thighs and the pale pink T-shirt fit just snug enough to cup beneath her breasts. Her hair was still damp but curling about her cheeks.

He forced his gaze away. The close quarters were definitely getting to him. “I could use some breakfast,” he said.

“I still have an apple.”

“I’m thinking more like bacon and eggs.”

“I could go for that. I’m starved, and I actually got some sound sleep last night for the first time since the carjacking.”

“Good.”

“And I’ve made some decisions.” She propped her bottom on the arm of the faded sofa. “I’ll hire a private investigator to look into the mystery tape and a bodyguard to protect me until I know exactly who’s behind all of this.”