Roz Fox - Too Many Brothers

Glad he was otherwise occupied, Daphne zigzagged through her living room, picking up items she’d strewn haphazardly about. She wouldn’t call herself a slob, exactly, but picking up never seemed a top priority, unless she’d arranged for company. Or if family members phoned to say they’d be dropping by, she made certain the place looked more presentable than it did now.

She hooked an arm around the beach bag Logan had set just inside the door, then threw it and a dirty T-shirt scooped off the couch, plus yesterday’s nightgown, into her bedroom. Quickly slamming the door on a rumpled, unmade bed, she hurried out to make a similar survey of the kitchen.

Ugh! Her kitchen was even messier. Daphne enjoyed cooking if she had guests. Otherwise, she’d never been able to work up much enthusiasm for fixing three meals a day. And doing dishes—well, last night’s microwave teriyaki rice bowl and her toast plate from breakfast still sat on the counter, along with glasses and an empty orange-juice container. She really ought to develop better habits.

Lord help her if Logan Grant took a notion to open her refrigerator. There was no telling what kind of flora and fauna he might find growing in there. She cast a sidelong glance at him. He was probably hungry, but she needed to shop for groceries because she’d stayed at Dane’s house all last week.

“Damn,” he muttered. “The car that followed us found a parking place right across the street from your VW. The occupants don’t seem in any rush to get out. But it doesn’t seem as if they’re set to leave anytime soon, either.” He sidled away from the window and walked to the front door.

Frowning, he turned. “What did you do with the bag I carried up? I’ll think better after I shower and change into my own clothes. Well, not mine but that stuff of Mike’s I asked April to pack. Mike’s heavier and a few inches shorter than me, but I’m sure his shirt will fit. I’ll have to make do with my jeans, though, no matter how grungy they are.”

Daphne looked stricken. “When did you ask April to pack some of her husband’s clothes? I saw her stuff your old clothes in a department-store bag she sent off with her friend who left the party early. She asked Mariel, I think her name was, to toss the bag in a commercial trash bin. I’ll look again, but I’m sure there are no clean clothes of yours in the bag.”

She hurried into her bedroom and pawed through the beach bag. She walked back out, shaking her head. “The only things in there are the costumes I took to the party. I’m sorry, Logan.”

While Daphne was in her bedroom, he’d removed the hat that had fuzzy white yarn sticking out wildly over each ear. He ran a hand through his own sun-streaked badly matted hair and tugged off the rubber band tying it back. “What was April thinking? I can’t go roaming around town wearing this.” He gazed helplessly at his wilted costume.

“April thought I was dropping you at your office. Since you’re planning on phoning your boss, have him bring some clothes so you can change before you leave.”

“Right. Good idea. That wig fit so tight, it must’ve shrunk my brain.”

“Gee, that’s reassuring, Special Agent Grant. You’re supposed to be our government’s finest protector.”

Logan delivered a dirty look. “Where’s your phone?”

Daphne went into her bedroom and came out carrying a silver cellular.

“I can’t use a cell. That group outside has ways of pulling cell waves out of the air. Did you see the array of antennae on the Mercedes? It’s set up with every kind of scanner known to man.”

“A cell is all I have. I canceled my land line after I lost my last job. I needed to keep monthly costs down.”

“So you don’t have a computer, either?” He acted as if no one could be that hard up.

“No. If I need one for any reason, I run by my folks’ or over to one of my brothers’ homes. They have all the latest high-tech toys.”

“Which does me no good. Hell, this paint you put on my face is starting to itch like mad. I’ll at least go wash it off, if you don’t mind.”

“There’s a half bath off the smaller bedroom down the hall on your right. I, uh, am going to shower in my bathroom. Sorry, but I have a closetful of clothes. None you’d want to share,” she said, grinning mischievously.

“Ha, ha. Well, maybe our shadow will give up and leave by the time I get this gunk off. How hard is it to remove? Will I peel off a layer of skin?”

Daphne’s smile broadened. “I happen to have this handy-dandy magic cream. Momento! I’ll go find you an extra jar.”

Logan cooled his heels and inspected her living room as Daphne disappeared again into what he assumed was her bedroom.

He stood in the center of the high-ceilinged space and swiveled in a slow circle. Nothing matched. Not woods, not fabrics, not colors. Oddly enough, the crazy mixture held a homey appeal. The potted plants everywhere added a natural charm.

Personally, Logan didn’t own much in the way of furniture or knickknacks. What he and Lizzy had bought during their brief marriage went to her in the divorce.

Or should he call it a bloodbath? By about the third meeting with both of their lawyers, Logan figured he’d be lucky to end up with a shirt. He’d been so naive about what could happen during a divorce. He’d gone into it assuming they’d be fair and split things down the middle because their marriage had been a mutual mistake. But that piranha Liz hired as her attorney had made him out to be the most unfeeling bastard on the planet. Between her and the judge, they’d stripped him of everything except his pride. Even that was rocky for a while.

Logan didn’t like remembering how Liz had taken every opportunity to undermine him in the department where they’d both worked in D.C. If it hadn’t been for Simon Parrish being transferred to L.A. to head up a team, and the fact that he’d asked Logan to come along, there’d be no telling how his career might have fared.

Daphne popped back into the room. When he glanced in her direction, Logan noticed her face was free of greasepaint. She smiled and passed him an open white jar filled with an opaque cream. “I thought I had a second one of these, but I couldn’t lay my hands on it. So I quickly washed my face. You can take this to the bath I pointed out earlier. You’ll find washcloths and towels under the sink.”

“Thanks. I’ve gotta say, you’ve been decent about all this.”

“No problem.”

“I doubt many women would’ve faced the situation as calmly as you did.”

She uttered a self-conscious laugh. “I didn’t feel calm. You had me at a disadvantage from the start. It helped to find out you were on the right side of the law.”

Logan remembered how her heart had fluttered when he’d flung his arm around her in order to pull her over to the window. He also had a sudden, distinct memory of exactly how she’d looked standing before him in lacy blue underwear. And how soft and velvety her skin felt under his own rough fingers.

Clearing his throat, which had gone bone dry, Logan nervously juggled the jar of cream. He gave a couple of jerky nods and sped off down the hall to the guest bath.

Daphne noticed the sudden tension in the air as she watched Logan vanish into the back bedroom.

Men could be so touchy at times. Obviously, she’d said something he deemed unacceptable, but she had no idea what. And of course her brothers always claimed she let her mouth run away without ever connecting with her brain. She guessed that was true enough.

Deciding it was just too bad, she ducked back inside her own room, intent on showering. Her hand hovered above the lock for all of ten seconds. Then she curled her fingers into her right palm and went into her bathroom. He was, after all, an FBI special agent. And if he’d had designs on her body, he’d already passed up a chance to ravish her at April’s. Of course, his mind had been on other things. Turning back, she engaged the lock. Not that Logan had given the slightest sign he found her even vaguely attractive, or that he’d make a pass if the opportunity presented itself. But better safe than—Daphne frowned. That was exactly what her mother would say.