Dixie Browning - The Virgin And The Vengeful Groom

“Or we can look through them now and I’ll save you the bother of shipping them. My truck’s parked just down the street.”

Behind her the phone rang again. She froze. “You going to get it?” he asked.

“The machine will pick up.” It was probably only Davonda, telling her she wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. The creep almost never called twice in the same evening.

The answering machine cut in. They both listened as the familiar voice began to whisper his filthy insinuations. Lily bit her lip to keep from screaming. She grabbed her cocoa mug and would have hurled it at the phone, but Curt moved swiftly past her and picked up the receiver. “You want to run that by me again, sir? I’m not sure our technician caught that last phrase.”

Waiting until he heard the dial tone, he softly replaced the receiver. “How long has this been going on?”

“A-about a week. Maybe eight days?” She was doing her best to hide the tremor in her voice, but her best wasn’t good enough. “The police are working on it, but evidently crank calls aren’t a high priority. They couldn’t even do anything about…about the stuff in my drawer. When I told them I would never in this world buy anything so disgusting for myself, they only looked at each other—you know, the way men can do. Besides, there was no evidence of a break-in.” She lifted a pair of stricken eyes. “Which means somebody—some horrible pervert—has a key to my home.”

Something inside him shifted, coming dangerously close to sympathy. Being threatened by an unseen, unsuspected enemy was nothing new for someone in his line of work, but for a woman—a civilian—

He had to remind himself that he had a legitimate beef with her. He would do well to leave her and her problems to the Norfolk PD and get out before she undermined his mission.

“Lily—Miss O’Malley—I happened to be out of the country when the rent on my storage locker came due.”

As he’d hoped, the diversion pulled her back from the edge. “Tough. That’s your problem, not mine. Besides, I was told they gave you notice.”

“Unfortunately, I was delayed. Still haven’t caught up on all my mail. It’s possible I might have missed a payment, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Try three payments.”

“Three? That many, huh. Well, the fact remains, the stuff’s morally mine. I can understand why you might think otherwise, but now that we understand each other, I don’t see why we can’t settle things now, and then I’ll just get out of your hair and leave you in peace.” He figured she was bluffing about the lawyer, but if he had to, he could deal with it. One way or another, he needed to settle this business and get out of town. Back to where he could breathe, where he could do his own thing—or not. Where he could damn well sleep in his own bed until he was ready to move on.

Gnawing on her lower lip, she appeared to be considering his offer. Leave your lip alone, dammit. If it needs chewing, I’ll chew it for you!

She smelled of wildflowers. Once on a training mission he’d crawled on his belly through a whole field of the things. He would never forget the scent. “Well?” he prompted when she seemed reluctant to respond.

“I’m still thinking.”

“There’s nothing to think about. The stuff belongs to me. I’ll pay you whatever you paid—double it, for your trouble—but one way or another, I’m taking those boxes with me.”

“Who was Bess Powers to you?”

“What?”

“I’ve been reading her diaries. She was a writer, too. Actually that’s only one of the things we have in common. She wrote novels and travel pieces for a newspaper under the name E. M. Powers, but I know it was Bess, because she covers some of the same material in her diaries. Did you know that back in those days women weren’t allowed to do much of anything? But she did it, anyway. Did you know she was raised at sea aboard her father’s ship? Well, of course you did—after all, she had to be kin to you if your name really is Powers.”

If his name really was Powers? “What the devil—you think I’m lying about my identity?”

“Not necessarily. I don’t have any proof, though, do I? That you’re who you say you are.”

Easy, man—no matter how tempting that elegant neck of her looks, you probably can’t get away with strangling her. “I believe she might have been my, uh, great-great-aunt or something.” He’d been too young when he’d heard his father talking about his seafaring ancestors to remember much about them. His father had been merchant marine, off and on. After they’d split up, his mother claimed his father had walked out on them, but they’d been the ones to leave—she’d told him at the time they were going on an adventure. When he’d cried to go home again—a hotel hadn’t seemed like a great adventure once the novelty wore off—she’d said they weren’t going back, she didn’t want to hear any more about it, and that she knew best. After that she’d refused to allow his name to be mentioned. Hurt, angry and bewildered, Curt had simply wanted his father back. Wanted his old life back. Not until years later had snatches of the old stories he’d heard as a child come back, usually triggered by some experience in his own life. By then he wasn’t sure how much was true and how much was a combination of wishful thinking and imperfect memory.

Now, figuring it would be to his advantage to claim kinship with anyone mentioned in any of the papers, he said, “Sure she was kin to me. They all were—all the people in those papers. That’s why I want them back, they’re the only record I have.”

“What about the Black Swan?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you know about the Swan?”

“I’ve been reading. Mostly Bess’s things, but some of the other stuff, too. It’s not easy reading. I mean, sure, your ancestors were literate and all that, but I’ve got to tell you, except for Bess’s stuff, it’s pretty heavy going.”

“Why waste your time and effort? I’ll reimburse you and take the boxes off your hands and you can get on with your life.” He waited. “Best offer. Take it or leave it.”

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