Dani Sinclair - Secret Cinderella

“You could have dropped it upstairs. Maybe you left it at the table. We could go back up and have a look around.”

For someone who hadn’t wanted to leave a minute ago, she didn’t sound enthusiastic at the prospect of going back upstairs.

“I didn’t lose it upstairs,” he said tersely. Well, he had, but not in the way she meant. No wonder the little imp had been looking around so frantically. He wondered how many other men in the ballroom were going to find their faces red this evening.

“Are you going to call security?”

“No,” he said absently. “I know exactly what happened to it.” And he was generally such an excellent judge of character. “Would you mind tipping the man for me?”

Roderick was more annoyed than embarrassed to admit that he’d been suckered. He should have known better, of course, but she was a pro—and not the sort he’d thought. Well, hadn’t she told him she wasn’t what he’d thought?

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Roderick thought about calling the police, but he knew he wouldn’t and not just because he’d look foolish. He preferred to deal with the little pickpocket himself. Someone else might report her, of course, but it was a chance he was willing to take. She didn’t know it, but she’d handed him the perfect excuse to find her. And he would. She’d made it easy by taking a taxi. Taxi’s kept records.

“You’re in a perfectly foul mood this evening, you know that?” Shereen asked as he pulled carefully out into traffic.

“I suppose I am.”

Wisely, she fell silent, leaving him to concentrate on the road. His thoughts were busy conjuring up mock conversations with the imp when he located her. His imagination was enjoying the exercise when Shereen turned toward him again.

“I am sorry, darling,” she offered, laying a long-fingered hand on his thigh. “I didn’t appreciate how severe your headache must be. I guess you had a beastly night. I’ll make it up to you when we get to my place.”

“Save it, Shereen. You made your point earlier. Consider it taken. Right now I need to concentrate.”

She stiffened and withdrew. He could feel her amber eyes studying him in the glow of the dash lights, but he kept his focus on the road. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the falling snow.

They drove in tense silence until they reached her apartment complex. Instead of pulling into the parking garage as usual, he drove to the front of the building and stopped.

“Darling, I realize you’re annoyed with me and I’m sorry. I wasn’t really flirting with your archenemy, you know. Why don’t you come in and let me make it up to you? It’s far too treacherous to drive all the way into Virginia tonight.”

Her hand moved to his thigh and stroked upward.

“Goodbye, Shereen.”

The hand stopped moving and she frowned. “Pouting is most unbecoming.”

“So is using sex to get your own way.”

She recoiled instantly.

“Happy New Year,” he added sarcastically.

The flash of anger in her expression came and went so fast he barely had time to notice. She laid a placating hand on his sleeve, her frown of concern so patently phony he had to force his arm to be still.

“We’ll talk in the morning when you’re feeling better.”

“Don’t plan on it, Shereen.”

Her eyes widened as she studied his features. “You’re dumping me? You are! Why you arrogant bastard!”

Without another word, she exited the car. The slamming of the door shook loose a clump of snow from the roof. Manfully, the wipers struggled to cope as it cascaded over the windshield.

Roderick pulled away without a backward glance. He generally used more finesse when breaking off relationships, but he suspected subtlety would have been wasted on Shereen. He also suspected at least some of her anger was more for show than anything else. If he wasn’t mistaken, Shereen had already selected his replacement. Wilhelm’s pockets better be as deep as reported if he was planning to be the next in line to woo the beautiful model. Shereen didn’t come cheap.

The snowplows and salt trucks were operating with almost negligible results. The drive to her apartment had taken longer than it did in rush hour, and what was normally a fifteen-to twenty-minute trip to his place took nearly two nerve-wrenching hours as the weather continued to worsen. His headache was truly wicked by the time he pulled into his garage.

Roderick used the spare house key concealed there to let himself into the town house. As he switched the security panel back on for the night, he gave himself a mental reminder to change the code and have the door locks re-keyed. Shereen had both and could let herself in at any time. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about that tonight.

His headache was reaching migraine proportions by the time he kicked off his dress shoes and crossed to the stairs. He was tired. All he wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed.

He had nearly reached the upstairs hall when a sudden prickle traveled up his back to lodge at the base of his skull. Roderick stopped moving.

There was no sound out of place. No trace of smoke. The only thing he smelled was the lingering scent of nail polish remover and the bath salts Shereen favored.

Yet something was wrong.

Adrenaline replaced his headache and exhaustion. At thirty-two, he knew better than to ignore his instincts. He backed down the steps quietly.

One touch of the button on the control panel would bring the police and a security team, but he’d feel worse than a fool if he brought anyone out on a night like this and the house was empty. His security system was state-of-the-art technology. By checking the panel he could see at a glance if the system had been breached. It should have alerted him if that had been the case, even if his sister had stopped by for some reason, but it hadn’t.

Was it possible that he was suddenly developing an imagination?

Not hardly. The thief had taken his house keys along with his identification. No doubt that had raised subconscious alarms. She couldn’t use the keys to get inside without tripping the alarm, yet the sense of wrongness persisted.

Roderick made his way to the softly glowing panel and ran a diagnostic check. The system recorded no entry prior to his, but it did show a momentary interrupt in power a couple of hours ago. A power surge or a flicker in the house current? It hadn’t lasted long enough to trip his pager and alert him, yet his unease remained.

The only sound inside the house was the ticking of the huge grandfather clock in the living room. He checked the doors and windows. All secure. His senses weren’t placated.

Roderick abhorred guns, and a knife wasn’t a particularly efficient form of defense against an unknown assailant, but he wanted something in his hand before he went upstairs again. Moving to the kitchen, he crossed the tiles in his stocking feet and quietly removed a heavy skillet. Hefting it, he tested its weight. He was tired and irritable and feeling oddly theatric, but this was his home. If someone had gotten past the system somehow, they were going to regret the action.

He strode to the staircase and promptly stumbled over the shoes he’d left at the bottom. He kept himself from falling, but he’d just lost the element of surprise if someone else was inside.

Jaw set, pan swinging, Roderick mounted the steps by twos. At the top he hit the wall switch. A stream of slightly yellow illumination cast shadows on the walls. Nothing else moved. There was no sound.

He turned toward the master bedroom. The double doors yawned wide-open the way he’d left them, yet he entered cautiously. At first glance nothing appeared disturbed. He moved toward the closet and froze. Heart-pounding adrenaline shot through his system. If he hadn’t taken off his shoes downstairs he would never have felt the dampness.