Angel Nicholas - Dying for Love

Matt cleared his throat, annoyed with himself for mooning over her like a pubescent high-school freshman, frustrated with his inability to fix this, and concerned because she still looked too pale. “Miss Debry, is there something going on I can help with? Is someone bothering you?”

She glanced at him, then her gaze fell to her fingers, twisted together in her lap. Her lips parted and closed several times. Chest rising and falling on a silent exhalation, she smiled. “I’m fine, but thank you for your concern. I’d better get back to work.”

She didn’t look fine. Not knowing what else to say or how to convince her to confide in him, he let her go.

Halfway across the room, she turned back. “I’m sorry you were…” she waved a slender hand vaguely, “disturbed on my behalf.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Grace nodded, hesitated for another second then spun on her heel and left.

As soon as she closed the door, Matt picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary. “Nancy, was there a number for the last caller?”

“Just a second, I’ll check.”

Impatiently tapping his fingers on the desk, he stared out the window. What was going on with Grace? He wanted to help. Needed to in a way he couldn’t describe. Cursing his helplessness, he flung the pen he’d been fiddling with onto the desk.

The line clicked open. “The number was blocked, Mr. Duncan.”

“Damn.”

“Can I help with something, sir?”

“I’d really like that last number.”

“Shall I call security to see whether they can find anything?”

Matt hesitated and the line beeped.

“I need to pick up that call.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

The situation didn’t sit well. He felt like he’d harmed Grace, and that was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

*****

Grace drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She couldn’t decide if she was happy to be going home or not. Discovering her kitchen trashed had left her more than a little freaked out. The weird phone call Mr. Duncan had received didn’t help. She needed a dog. One with really big teeth.

She couldn’t call the police. What would she say? “Hi. Someone rearranged all of my kitchen stuff then moved my car to a different spot in the parking lot.”

Right. They’d think she was an escaped mental patient. Besides, her time as a foster child had painted an unfavorable picture of the police. They were sometimes called upon to deliver her from home to home. They could have been carting a cardboard box for all the interest they’d shown. Sitting in the backseat of a patrol car, throat tight, leg bouncing and separated from the uniformed officers by a cage, hadn’t left the best impression.

Like a magnet, the paper lying on the passenger seat drew her gaze. So simple and unassuming. A stray scrap of paper. Could have been anything. Yet it felt like an oversized tarantula crouched on the seat, unmoving, creepy eyes following her every move.

“Just a prank. Some kids getting off on freaking me out.”

Even spoken aloud, the words did little to reassure her. She pulled into her apartment complex and parked in her assigned space. Her car had better be in the same spot in the morning.

Trudging up the sixty-two steps to her condo—she’d counted—she hesitated outside her door. Please, please, please. No more surprises .

Grace unlocked the door and pushed. It swung inward, banging softly into the wall. Nothing stirred. She stepped inside and set down her purse, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Miss Debry?”

With a startled squeak of surprise, Grace swung around. “Mr. Duncan?”

“Are you okay?” He glanced inside, brow drawn tight.

“What are you doing here?” Leaving the door open behind her. Way to be vigilant, Grace .

His frown deepened, but when his gaze again met hers, his eyes were shuttered. “After today’s call, I was worried about you.”

“You were?”

“Is that really so hard to believe?”

“Well, yeah.”

He didn’t respond, just watched her with his unfathomable brown eyes. Heat climbed up her neck and settled in her cheeks. Okay, the polite thing would be to invite him in. She glanced through her lashes. His gaze was fastened on her breasts. Her nipples went pebble-hard in a heartbeat. Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she gestured him in—not the most gracious invite ever.

“So.” She shut the door and faced him. “You came here just to check on me?”

The setting sun speared through the glass balcony doors and outlined him, making him appear bigger. Harder. Grimmer. Which oddly made her feel safe.

“It’s not often I have people call and lie about one of my employees, Grace.”

Grace? What happened to Miss Debry?

“Uh…”

Nice. Smooth, Grace. Way to fumble like a virgin in the backseat of a car with the quarterback. It’d been a long day. The furnace kicked on and carried Mr. Duncan’s cologne on a burst of warm air, further hobbling her brain.

She cleared her throat. “How about those Boise State Broncos?”

Mr. Duncan’s lips twitched. “I wasn’t aware they were playing.”

“They’re not?”

“No. It’s March.” The twitch spread to a smile and out sprang his dimple.

She crossed her arms. Stared at his mouth. Uncrossed her arms. Cleared her throat again. “Oh.”

His smile slipped into obscurity. That wasn’t disappointment making her sigh. Really.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

The temporary haze of desire lifted and the reality of her morning flooded back. Her muscles clenched. She glanced at the kitchen.

“Grace.” He walked like a cat. In a heartbeat he’d crossed the room and stood far too close, a breath away from invading her personal space. “Please.”

His low voice, combined with a word she’d never heard from him, turned her to mush. Totally unfair. She sighed and gestured toward the kitchen. “Have a look at my kitchen.”

He turned without question and crossed the room.

Restless from the day’s events and his presence in her space, she kicked off her shoes and curled into a corner of the couch. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just someone messing with me.”

He turned, frowning. “Assuming you’re normally neat here, like at work, this is more than someone messing with your stuff.”

He’d noticed she was neat at work? “It’s not a big deal.”

The frown turned into a glare and she sighed.

“Fine, it is a big deal. Also, when I left for work this morning, my car had been moved across the parking lot.”

Mr. Duncan’s expression cleared, leaving him about as readable as a brick wall. “What did the police say?”

She bounced off the couch and paced to the sliding door that led onto her small balcony. “Nothing, since I didn’t call them. What would I have said? Someone didn’t like the placement of my baking tools and spaghetti noodles? My car drove itself across the parking lot? Oh, but nothing was taken, Officer. No, the car wasn’t harmed. Of course I’m not on any medication. Oh, you’d like to take me down to the hospital for a psych evaluation? On the state’s dime? How generous.”

“Are you finished?”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms.

“No damage done and nothing taken doesn’t mitigate the situation. Someone broke into your home and your car.”

“Nobody threatened me.”

He strolled toward her. “You have to be hurt or confronted to get scared?”

“No, but nothing major happened.” Her voice rose. She hated being backed into a corner, and that was exactly what he was doing. Deep breaths. Self-control. She refused to yell at her boss.

“Show some common sense. A crime was committed and you need to report it.”