Brenda Harlen - McIver's Mission

“This one—” Creighton pointed to the first letter “—suggests that you’re acquainted with your pen pal.”

Arden wrapped her arms tighter around herself and pushed away the painful memories that nudged from the back of her mind. More than twenty years had passed since Aunt Tess had brought her to Fairweather; there was no reason for Gavin to look for her now. Mentioning her stepfather’s name, reliving the humiliation and the pain, would only hurt her again. She refused to give him that kind of power. “If I thought I knew who was doing this, I’d tell you.”

“An ex-boyfriend?” Creighton prompted.

Arden’s thoughts drifted from Gavin to Brad. But the way their relationship had ended was unlikely to suggest that he was obsessed about her. “No.”

“A beautiful woman like yourself must have admirers.”

She frowned.

He held up his hands. “I didn’t mean any offense,” he said. “It’s just an objective observation.”

“I’m sure it’s not an ex-boyfriend.”

“A rejected suitor, perhaps?”

Arden rolled her eyes; Creighton shrugged.

“You know as well as I do that almost one-third of all violent crimes against women are perpetrated by their partners or former partners.”

“I know,” Arden agreed. “And I know this isn’t a boyfriend, an ex-boyfriend or a wanna-be boyfriend.” That was all she was going to say without admitting outright that she hadn’t had a date in the past two years.

“Okay,” Creighton relented. “Then we’re back to considering that the threats must be related to one of your cases.”

“That seems like the most reasonable explanation,” she admitted. “But I’ve gone through all of my files, concentrating on new clients in the few weeks preceding the arrival of the first letter, and nothing strikes me as out of the ordinary.”

“I’d like a list of those clients,” Creighton said.

Arden hesitated. “I can’t breach confidentiality.”

“I don’t need any details,” Creighton said. “Just names.”

She hesitated, hating that her fear outweighed her sense of professional obligation. “All right.”

When Arden returned home after her meeting with Lieutenant Creighton, Shaun was seated on a bench in front of her building, his long, denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him. Her heart gave a little sigh. No man should look so good.

One of his wide-palmed hands idly stroked Rocky’s back as he chatted with Greta Dempsey. The dog’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth, his eyes closed. Arden couldn’t blame him. It was all too easy to remember the feel of those hands on her back, stroking, seducing, and she’d been pretty close to drooling herself.

She shook off the memory and stepped closer, heard the musical tinkle of Greta’s laughter. The older woman’s eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed, confirming to Arden that her own reaction wasn’t unique. Women—young and old and in between—adored him.

Shaun’s lips curved in response to something Greta said, and all Arden could think about was how it felt to have those lips on hers. How much she wanted to feel them again.

Greta spotted her first and waved her over. “Arden, I was hoping to catch up with you. I have a plate of warm oatmeal-raisin cookies with your name on them.”

Arden stepped toward them. “I’m going to have to buy a new wardrobe if you keep baking me cookies.”

Greta dismissed the comment with a careless wave of her hand. “A few extra pounds won’t do you any harm. A man wants a woman with soft curves he can cuddle up to.” She turned to Shaun and winked. “Isn’t that right?”

Shaun grinned. “I won’t argue with that.”

Greta nodded, satisfied. “Well, then. Come on upstairs to get the cookies. You can take them to Arden’s apartment to have with your tea.”

“I haven’t invited Mr. McIver up for tea and cookies,” Arden said dryly.

“If you’re a smart woman, you will,” Greta said then gave a gentle tug to Rocky’s leash. “Come along, sweetie. We don’t want to miss Jeopardy.”

“I’m sorry,” Arden apologized to Shaun after Greta and Rocky had disappeared inside the building. “She’s a wonderful lady who just can’t seem to mind her own business.”

“She cares about you,” Shaun said simply.

“She’s obsessed with finding a nice young man for me to settle down with.”

“I got that impression.”

Arden cringed. “What did she say to you?”

“It wasn’t what she said so much as how she said it. Greta Dempsey could teach the members of the Fairweather P.D. a thing or two about interrogation,” he said.

“I am so sorry. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not looking to settle down.”

“You don’t want a husband and two-point-two kids and a house with a white picket fence?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Is it my turn to be interrogated?”

He flashed her that quick, sexy smile. “I’m curious about you, Doherty.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But when I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

He held up a tape measure. “To take measurements. For your shelves.”

“Oh.”

“You forgot?”

“Actually, I thought you’d forget.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think you really wanted to build shelves for me.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to,” he told her.

“Then I guess I’ll have to invite you in to take measurements.”

“Am I going to get tea and cookies, too?”

“Cookies,” Arden told him. “I still don’t have any tea.”

“Coffee would be okay,” he suggested. “Maybe some of that Jamaican stuff.”

Arden laughed. “Now I know the real reason for your visit.”

“Just an added bonus,” he assured her.

She opened the front door of the building and led the way up the stairs. Mrs. Dempsey was just coming out of her apartment with a plate heaped with cookies as Arden turned down the hall. She could smell the mouth-watering scents of nutmeg and cinnamon.

She wanted to ask Mrs. Dempsey if she’d seen anyone she didn’t recognize in the building the previous afternoon, but she couldn’t do so in front of Shaun. If she did, he’d know she’d been lying about the envelope coming from her landlord. And she had no intention of discussing the letters with him.

Greta passed off the plate of cookies to Arden and smiled. “Smart girl,” she said in a stage whisper.

“Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey,” Arden said. Then, to clarify, “For the cookies.”

Greta winked at them both. “Enjoy.”

Arden shook her head as she juggled the plate of cookies and her briefcase, trying to reach the keys in her pocket, but she was smiling. Shaun took the cookies, inhaled deeply, and a low hum of pleasure sounded in his throat. The sensual sound caused Arden’s insides to quiver.

She stepped away from him quickly, into the apartment, and set her briefcase down. “Mrs. Dempsey makes fabulous cookies.”

“And oatmeal-raisin are your favorite,” Shaun said.

“How do you know?”

“She told me.” He followed her into the kitchen.

Arden didn’t want to speculate about what else her neighbor might have told him. “That doesn’t mean she has to give me three dozen.”

“She thinks you’re too skinny,” Shaun reminded her, helping himself to a cookie.

“If she wants cuddly, she should get a teddy bear.”

He laughed. “She worries about you. She doesn’t have any children of her own to fuss over.”

Arden measured coffee grinds into the filter. “How long were you talking to her?”

“I didn’t clock the conversation,” he said dryly.