Читать книгу Silken Threats - Addison Fox - Страница 12
ОглавлениеCassidy fought back the wave of terror creeping up her throat as she raced toward Mrs. Beauregard. Please let her be okay. Please. Please. The words pounded through her mind with the heavy tread of Thoroughbreds as memories of another day rose up and threatened to swamp her with grief.
“Mrs. B.!” The older woman had a sturdy frame, and Cassidy knelt beside her, running her hands over her shoulders, arms, then face. “Mrs. B.!”
Cassidy probed still-warm flesh, her limbs shaking as she sought evidence of life. Abstractly, she heard Tucker on the phone calling for emergency assistance.
Nothing...nothing...and there.
Thin and faint, she paused until she could calm herself enough to finally recognize a pulse.
“She’s alive.”
Tucker knelt on the other side of Mrs. B. and leaned his head toward her face. “I can feel her breath. It’s faint and slow, but I can hear it, too.”
Her touch was gentle, but Cassidy kept pressing Mrs. B.’s arm and squeezing her hand, all the while murmuring the woman’s name to get her to wake up. Tucker vanished, but returned a few moments later with a thick throw that had lain over the sofa in the living room. “Let’s get her wrapped up.”
She sat back on her heels as he wrapped the blanket around Mrs. Beauregard, then settled a small couch pillow under the woman’s head. The soft sound of sirens echoed in the distance, growing louder by the second.
“Stay here with her, I’ll go meet them.”
She watched him leave the kitchen, her gaze trailing after his large, capable form. They’d met under the strangest circumstances—shocking ones, even—yet she was more than grateful for his presence.
For how right it felt to have him there.
A light moan pulled her from her thoughts, and she squeezed Mrs. B.’s hand as another moan—louder this time—fell from the woman’s lips. “Shh. Shh now.”
Thin, blue-veined lids fluttered open, Mrs. B.’s normally vibrant green eyes filled with pain and confusion. “What happened?” She blinked once. Twice. “Cassidy?”
“It’s me, Mrs. B. Shh, now. You’re all right.”
Mrs. B.’s eyes darted left and right and her breathing hitched as she grew more agitated. “But what happened?”
“It’s okay now. We don’t know what happened, but the ambulance is almost here. We’re going to get you checked out and you’ll be fine.”
She crooned a few nonsense words, pleased when she heard Tucker’s directions echoing from the front of the house.
The paramedics moved in, and she stood up to give them access. A large man, his dark blue T-shirt stretched tight against his chest, took charge immediately as he knelt next to Mrs. Beauregard. Cassidy gave the team room to work and took a spot beside Tucker.
It was several long minutes later that she looked down to realize her hand was firmly clenched in his.
* * *
Tucker and Cassidy followed the paramedics from the house. The ambulance had just pulled away, the team having confirmed the emergency room where they were taking Mrs. Beauregard, when Max pulled up in his sports car. The two-seater was anything but practical, but Lilah and Violet didn’t seem to notice as they tumbled out of the passenger seat.
Questions carried across the yard as the women raced toward Cassidy before they surrounded her in a tight embrace.
“What the hell’s going on?” Max’s gaze stayed steady on the trio of women before giving Tucker his full attention.
“I’ll be damned if I know.”
“Did you get anything from their landlady?”
“She was pretty out of it.” Those first few moments in Mrs. B.’s kitchen rolled through his thoughts, the shock and horror of finding the woman. “I’m just glad she’s alive.”
Max’s face set in stoic lines, concern etching his tanned skin. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking this was a coincidence.”
“I’ve never put much stock in coincidence.”
“I fiddled a bit more with that panel in the floor.”
“And?”
“Nothing. It’s cemented tight and won’t budge.” Max paused a moment before pressing on. “I stopped short of jackhammering it but it smacks of something curious.”
“So why now? Unless they’re damn good actresses, Cassidy and her partners obviously weren’t aware of the hole. Besides, they’ve been there for a few years already. If they were responsible, they could have dug it up at any point and without destroying things. So who suddenly decided to go digging for whatever’s been hidden?”
Snippets of the conversation between the women floated toward them on the rising heat of the day. Their concern for Mrs. Beauregard had faded to speculation on what might have happened. Tucker missed the specifics of their discussion, but he didn’t miss Cassidy’s hard head shake or the shrug of her shoulders in response to her friend’s questions.
He suspected she didn’t believe in coincidences, either.
“They make quite a sight.” Max’s voice was low, hovering in the register he’d perfected when they were on active duty. Only this time there was a layer of intrigue that spoke of anything but the enemy.
“A beautiful trio.”
Tucker wasn’t sure if he realized it, but Max mentioned Violet every time he came back from one of the Design District’s business meetings. He’d never mentioned the other women, but now that he’d met them all, Tucker saw what a team they made.
A competent and beautiful one.
Their conversation faded as the women moved toward them as a unit.
“We’re going to head to the hospital. Would one of you mind taking us?” Cassidy’s brow furrowed. “Mrs. B. doesn’t have any children and we don’t know who else to call. We don’t want her to be alone.”
“I’ll do it.” Tucker ignored the subtle lift of his friend’s eyebrows, satisfying himself that his quick reaction was tied to the knowledge his SUV offered better transportation than Max’s two-seater. “Max can follow us with the keys after the locksmith gets here.”
In minutes they were loaded back in his car, Max’s lone figure left standing on the porch. As he took in his friend’s speculative gaze, Tucker instinctively knew Max’s thoughts matched his own.
Someone thought Mrs. Beauregard was sitting on a secret. What bothered him was what that nameless, faceless threat would do to possess it.
* * *
Charlie McCallum slammed the door to his apartment and stalked toward the bottle of bourbon that sat on the bar divider between his kitchen and living room. Heat radiated off him, the thick, long-sleeved sweatshirt he’d donned for the job a bitch in the Dallas heat.
Debating between pouring his drink and stripping, the heat won out as he dragged the sweatshirt over his head. The thick ski mask bulged from his back pocket and he threw that across the living room after the rest of his clothes.
Damn old woman. That crotchety old biddy was a useless dead end. He hadn’t gotten a single thing out of her and had shaved about ten years off his life in the process.
The moment when he’d let himself in her door and had come face-to-face with her, shock and horror lining her features...
It’d nearly had him running in the other direction.
He grabbed a glass from next to the sink and poured a generous portion of the bourbon with shaking hands. Damn it, he had the stones to do this.
He did.
He slugged back the drink and let the heat of the liquor wash through his system as the list of his sins piled up. When had it gotten so bad?
And why weren’t the pieces where he’d been promised?
His late wife had been vague, the rumor of a cache of jewels something she’d heard as a child. But he’d done his homework. Had hunted up that old appraiser and knew what he was looking for. Jo Beauregard was sitting on a boatload of jewels, and they were all hidden in the floorboards of his former sister-in-law’s shop.
And what were the freaking odds of that?
Charlie poured a second glass, calmer now as he worked through the problem.
Cassidy didn’t know he’d been in her shop. She had no reason to suspect him, and after the number he’d done on her dresses there was no way she’d think it was anything but a standard break-in.
Mrs. B. didn’t know it was him today, either. He’d seen the fear in her eyes and not a single moment of recognition it was him under the wool. He knew he could have gotten the location out of her if she hadn’t panicked and slipped in her kitchen.
Calming, he nodded as the liquor went to work on his system. He was okay. Fine. Better than fine.
He was clean with Cass and he was clean with the old bat. There was absolutely nothing to tie him to either place. Add on the fact that no one in the Tate family had seen him in three years and he was golden.
Of course, since the damn hole he’d finally found was shut solid and he hadn’t gotten a whiff out of Mrs. B., he was going to have to find a way to play buddy-buddy with freaking Saint Cassidy or lure her away from the shop somehow.
On a sigh, he figured he’d better start thinking up a good way to get her and her friends out of the shop. Attempting to contact her needed to be a last resort.
She’d never liked him and was certain not to have lost any sleep over him these past several years.
Especially since he was a living reminder of what she’d lost.
* * *
Cassidy noted the detective’s sharp gaze as the man scribbled another note into a small black folio. Detective Reed Graystone had arrived about an hour after the doctors had wheeled Mrs. B. back for tests and had quickly commandeered a private room from the information station.
Where Cassidy had initially appreciated the privacy and the detective’s ready attention to details, they were going on hour two and the repetitive questions had grown tedious.
“Please take me through this morning’s events, Miss Tate.”
“Detective Graystone. I appreciate the time and your need for answers, but as I told you, the police who arrived at my business this morning showed very little interest in the break-in. They were kind, did their job and left, assuring me there’d be a report as a follow-up.”
“And then you happen upon the owner of your establishment after she was assaulted in her own home. Please don’t tell me you think it’s a coincidence.”
“Hardly.” Cassidy bristled at the implication she was slow on the uptake but kept her smile firmly in place. “What I’m questioning is why we keep going over the same events.”
“Witnesses often remember things they forgot.”
Or detectives can ask different questions to trip those witnesses up, Cassidy thought ruefully.
“That’s fair, Detective. But I’ve spent all day racking my brain to understand why someone would target a bridal boutique and my landlord. Other than Mrs. Beauregard’s ownership of the location, she has nothing to do with my business.”
“So why did you go to Mrs. Beauregard’s?”
“As we discussed, I owed her our rent check as well as a bridal veil I was repairing for her. My partners and I also felt it was proper to tell her about the break-in this morning.”
“And Mr. Buchanan? What’s his relationship with the victim?”
The detective’s gaze grew sharper as he turned his attention toward Tucker. Speculation ran rampant in the man’s enigmatic gray gaze and Cassidy called on every shred of Southern charm and decorum she possessed not to call him out and request the name of a supervisor. “Tucker is one of the owners of another firm in our neighborhood. He found me this morning outside my shop.”
“Found you?”
“I was shaken up. He was out running with his dog and happened upon me.”
Detective Graystone didn’t smile as his gaze landed fully on Tucker. “So the two of you never met before today?”
Before she could reply, Tucker cut in, smooth as spun cotton candy at the state fair. “Our partners have met at neighborhood events but Cassidy and I had never met before today.”
“Yet you were more than willing to take her to her landlady’s?”
“My mama would expect no less. Cassidy had a scare this morning and I offered moral support.”
Cassidy held back the snort—she suspected that was the first time a New Yorker had ever called his mother his “mama”—but she had to give him points for style. The aw-shucks routine had the detective standing down a notch or two, even if he appeared no closer to believing the coincidence.
“What were you doing outside her store at—” Graystone consulted his notepad “—a little after 6:00 a.m.?”
“I was on my morning run. My dog and I stumbled across Cassidy as she stood outside the store.”
“And you accompanied her inside?”
“After Cassidy called the police, yes, we did.”
The detective’s gaze skipped between Tucker and Cassidy before coming to rest on Tucker. “And you weren’t scared?”
“I served in the army. I assessed the situation and felt it was okay to go in.” His smile brightened and edged toward celebrity wattage before he added a cocky grin. “And I have a big dog.”
Detective Graystone bared his teeth in a gesture that bordered on a snarl—as if he were irritated at being thwarted—but his words were deceptive as he spoke. “I think that’s all my questions for now. I plan on following up in the morning. I’d like to talk to your partners, too. Will you be at your shop?”
“Yes.” Cassidy nodded. “We won’t be open for business in order to finish dealing with the damages, but come by anytime. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll see you in the morning then.”
Tucker waited until the door had closed behind the detective before he spoke. “He believes you.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He didn’t want to, but every question he asked, you had an answer for.”
“He sure didn’t act like he believed me. In fact, he sort of resembled the big bad wolf, just before he ate Grandma.”
“Don’t mistake standard interrogation tactics for lack of belief. Every volley the good detective tossed your way you sent right back. Nice job.”
“Thanks. But I think you get the award for bringing Bailey into it. I still owe him that bone.”
Tucker’s easy smile—the one that kept snagging her pulse—fell away so suddenly she blinked at the rapid change. “You didn’t tell him about the alarm.”
The words weren’t quite an accusation, but she heard the note of disapproval all the same. “He didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t mention the hole in the floor, either.”
“It’s Mrs. B.’s building. As far as we know, it’s empty.”
“They were both omissions.”
“It wasn’t relevant to the questions.”
Panic bloomed, chasing away the light, airy butterflies he’d created with his smile.
She’d been questioned before. Remembered how it felt to have someone stare at you as if you were nothing. Or worse.
As if you’d done something to be ashamed of.
She’d lived through that once and she’d be damned if she was going to go under the microscope again.
Tucker leaned forward, his dark eyes urgent. “Can you honestly sit there and tell me you think a hidden, sealed hole in the concrete floor of your office is empty? That you’re not in danger and that whoever was in there once won’t try again?”
With swift efficiency, she bricked up her emotions. This wasn’t the same as before. No matter what they ended up discovering about the break-in and the concrete floor and even Mrs. B.’s attack, this would never be the same.
“It’s not my building. It’s not my business to say anything until we’ve spoken to Mrs. B. Besides, we’ve been there for nearly three years and nothing’s happened.”
“Yet someone came and ruined your things—your business—to make a point.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“By keeping the cops in the dark?” His big shoulders hunched, and he stood to pace. She watched the long, trim lines of his body and couldn’t help wondering what had suddenly spooked him.
“You’ve been my partner all day and suddenly you’re playing judge and jury. What gives?”
“This isn’t a joke. Someone with access to your building wants something inside of it. I’d think you’d take it a bit more seriously.”
“I am taking it seriously.” The shift from easygoing flirt to fierce protector caught her more off guard than she wanted to admit, and Cassidy heard the quaver in her voice. Swallowing hard, she firmed up her tone. “I just spent two hours with a cop taking it seriously.”
“Then prove it.”
“I don’t need to prove anything and I don’t appreciate round two of an afternoon interrogation. While I appreciate the partnership, this isn’t your problem. Violet, Lilah and I are more than capable of handling it.”
“Handling it?”
She knew sparks arced between them—could practically see them float in the air—but Cassidy held her ground. It was embarrassing enough to be treated like a criminal by the detective. She’d be damned if she was going to take it from the one person who’d been with her all day.
Before she could say another word, those same sparks thickened, then exploded in a rush.
Tucker had his hands on her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. Somewhere inside she knew she should protest that she’d be fine. That she could take care of herself. That she could deal with whatever the hell was going on.
But as those large, capable hands pulled her close, she had to admit that Tucker Buchanan might be a bit more than she could handle.
