Читать книгу The Guardian - Linda Winstead Jones - Страница 8

So, maybe she should’ve taken Dante’s advice and stayed in tonight. Usually, Sara relaxed completely when she walked. Usually, she didn’t think about anything but the beauty of the old trees and houses that lined the streets in this part of town, the fresh air that filled her lungs—and maybe that pair of black dress pants she wanted to get back into, and wouldn’t if she didn’t get enough exercise. Five pounds would do it. Maybe ten. Dante might think differently, but as far as she was concerned there was no such thing as the right place on her body for twenty pounds.

Of course, he wasn’t as thin as he’d once been, either, but it looked as if everything he’d added was muscle. Every change made him look more handsome, more manly. His jaw seemed sharper, his nose slightly more prominent and yet as straight and perfect as ever. There was muscle in his neck and a power to his hands that made it clear he was no longer a child. There was less softness in his face and his body, less vulnerability in his eyes. She knew no specifics, but she got the sense that life had not been entirely kind to Dante.

Just minutes after leaving her house, she wished with all she had that she’d stayed at home. In the last light of day she noticed every shadow and wondered if someone was hiding within one. She heard every chirping bird, every barking dog, every creak, and she imagined the worst. She walked a little bit faster, but that did nothing to change the shadows and the alarming noises. The hairs on the back of her neck seemed to rise up, and her heartbeat increased for reasons other than exercise.

A treadmill, Dante had suggested. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

Lydia and Patty had accused her, on more than one occasion, of being perverse. If someone said she shouldn’t do something, she had to give it a try. Robert hadn’t called her perverse, but he had more than once accused her of being stubborn as all get out. Her husband had been gone for four years, gone much too soon, and there were still times that she thought of him and it hurt like hell. She’d decided that the pain—a pain that came less often when she kept herself too busy to think about Robert and all they’d missed—would never go away.

Perverse or stubborn as all get out, those who knew her best said. So, was she walking down a deserted street at dusk simply because a man who made her anxious and twitchy had suggested that she not?

Suddenly, she was positive someone was following her. It wasn’t her imagination, not anymore. She heard a car engine, but no car went past her. The engine was almost idling, the car moved so slowly. The motor purred and whispered, instead of racing as a car engine should. Her neck and the palms of her hands itched. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. She listened for the car to stop at the curb. She listened for the driver to get out and walk to the door of one of the houses she walked past so she could dismiss her worry as silly and unnecessary.

No. Someone had anonymously sent her sexy underwear, in the right size no less, so her worries were not silly. Not silly at all. Had her underwear thief stolen the things that had been drying on the line simply to get her size? That indicated an unhealthy interest and determination and all the other traits one did not want from a secret admirer. Like it or not, she could not brush this incident off as nothing. Not anymore. She took a deep breath, gathered her composure as best she could and turned her head slowly, trying for a nonchalant glance back. She’d pretend to see a neighbor. Maybe she’d even look past the car to smile and wave. Surely if someone was following her they wouldn’t try anything if they knew they’d been seen.

Sara took a deep breath, slowed her step and turned her head—and was immediately relieved and incensed. How dare he? She spun about and stalked toward the car that was so obviously tailing her as if she were the criminal.

Dante Mangino smiled and lifted the fingers that had been resting on the steering wheel of his city car for a casual wave. He didn’t even have the grace to look guilty! Conservative suit and short haircut aside, he didn’t look like any police officer she’d ever seen. He was irreverent, fiery—and, after all these years, still the bad boy.

The driver’s-side window was down, allowing him to enjoy the mild March air. One arm rested nonchalantly there, his elbow jutting out of the car.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

He didn’t seem at all taken aback by her obvious annoyance. “Why, ma’am, I’m making sure the mayor of this fine town gets home safe and sound. That’s all.”

Was it her imagination, or was his subtle Southern accent exaggerated a bit for that comment?

Sara’s first impulse was to tell him that it was unnecessary, and then she admitted to herself that she was comforted to see him there, that the shadows did not seem so ominous now that she was not alone, and the noises that had moments earlier seemed out of place were suddenly ordinary and not at all alarming.

“This is ridiculous,” she said in a calm voice. “The least you can do is park your car, get out and walk with me.” She could only imagine what her neighbors would have to say about that, but it was preferable to having him tail her around the block at three miles an hour.

It was obvious by Dante’s expression that he had not expected the invitation. He’d expected—perhaps even wanted—a fight.

“All right,” he said, pulling his car closer to the curb and shutting off the engine. He exited the car in a way that was smooth and graceful and strong. She wasn’t sure how that was possible, but it was. This man, Chief Jesse Edwards’s cousin or not, was trouble with a capital T.

After the disaster with Dante so many years ago, Sara had worked very hard to be immune to trouble, especially of the male kind. While her friends in college had gone gaga over bad boys with pretty faces, she had always looked for more. She’d looked for intelligence and a sense of humor and kindness. She’d looked for stability. After her brief and fabulous and ultimately unhappy experience with Dante, those were the attributes she deemed to be worthy, not killer dark eyes and a face with sharp lines and nicely shaped lips, and thick heads of hair that might be a warm black or a very dark brown. Not long legs and strong hands and a way of moving that was both graceful and masculine. Those things were nice bonuses, but they were shallow and not at all important.

So why did her mouth go dry as Dante Mangino approached? “You’re not really dressed for walking.”

“That’s not a problem,” he said, and then he smiled.

“You don’t walk very fast.”

Sara resumed her walk. With Dante beside her she felt much less anxious in one way—and much more uneasy in another. She couldn’t allow a man to get under her skin so easily. Her memories of the past were just that—memories of a time gone by. She was not the same person she’d been at seventeen, and neither was he. She didn’t know him at all. Dante was still good-looking, and he was in great physical shape—and he had no manners at all. He had a wicked grin and a way of taking her breath away with a glance.

For so long—from the time she’d met Robert eleven years ago, in fact—her relationships with men other than her husband had been businesslike or comfortably casual. She’d never met any man who made her feel so on edge, so anxious. Sara was old enough and experienced enough to know what that edgy feeling meant.

In an instant, Dante Mangino had reawakened a part of her that had been sleeping for such a long time she’d thought it dead and gone.

It would be best to quickly and firmly put him in that business category, to squash whatever it was he aroused in her. “So,” she said casually as they walked down the familiar sidewalk. “Tell me about yourself. Are you married?” She hoped he’d say yes. No matter how attractive he was, no matter how he turned her stomach to mush with a glance, no matter that she still remembered what his arms felt like when they wrapped around her, she would not even consider getting involved with or even fantasizing about a married man.

“Nope,” he answered. He matched her short strides with his long ones with little effort, and offered no details or other information about himself.

“I imagine you have a serious girlfriend,” she said. As long as he was in some sort of committed relationship…

“No,” he said, as decisively as he’d denied being married.

She knew he wasn’t gay. Too bad. That would definitely solve her problem. She was a sensible woman. Why had she felt drawn to this man from the moment she’d opened the door? She didn’t believe in instant attraction! It was too much like love at first sight, which she most definitely did not believe in. She and Robert had been friends first, good friends, and love had come later. It had grown slowly and surely into something special.

Robert had been a lasting, slow burn. Dante had been a firecracker.

“Why the interest in my personal life, Mayor?” Dante asked.

Did he address her as “Mayor” in order to maintain a distance? Was he as uninterested in rekindling what they’d had as she was? It wasn’t as if they’d seen one another and fallen into welcoming arms. “I’m just trying to be friendly, to catch up. After all, we haven’t seen each other in a long time. I’m simply making conversation, and you’re not helping with your one-word answers.”

“Sorry,” he responded, not sounding at all remorseful. “So, let’s catch up. Are you dating anyone? Is there a guy around who would love to see you in that teeny-weeny red silk…”

“Dante Mangino!” Sara snapped. “That is…” she stammered and her step faltered. “That question is so inappropriate, I don’t know how to respond.”

“Yes or no will do,” he said, his step and his voice maddeningly steady. “After all, we’re just making conversation. Just catching up.” There was an edge to his voice as he threw her words back at her.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t bother,” she muttered. As they rounded the corner she was glad for the ensuing silence. She and Dante had nothing in common these days. They never had! Yes, he was good-looking and a fine example of the male species, but if she had to spend more than a few minutes alone with him, he’d quickly drive her crazy. Of course, they wouldn’t necessarily have to talk…Sara started counting her steps to lead her mind in another direction.

“Is there a boyfriend?” her walking companion asked a short while later, his voice deeper and more thoughtful than it had been before.

“I don’t see that it’s an issue.”

“A boyfriend or ex should be the first suspect in a theft like yours. The angle is very personal, very intimate.”

At least he didn’t say underwear again. “No boyfriend,” she said. “No ex, either,” she added before he could ask.

“That surprises me,” he said, sounding momentarily sincere.

“I’m a widow.”

“I know. Sorry.” His words were simple and short but seemed heartfelt. “So, no boyfriends at all since your husband died?”

“Robert’s been gone four years.” Four years, three months and seven days, to be precise. “No, there hasn’t been anyone since then.” That sting in her heart flared up again. The ache always caught her by surprise, though by now she should be used to it.

“How about unwanted attention?” Dante asked. “Has anyone been asking you out repeatedly, hanging around, sending gifts, writing letters?”

Since he sounded as if he was thinking strictly of business, she did not take offense. “No.” Then she laughed lightly and added, “Unless you count anonymous letters telling me what a terrible mayor I am and how a woman has no business in the office and how…”

Dante stopped in his tracks. “Anonymous letters?”

Sara stopped, too. They had almost completed her usual circuitous course, and she could see her house two doors down. It was all but dark, and where the oaks shadowed her house and the street it truly was night. “It comes with the job.”

“Do any of these letters threaten violence?” Dante snapped.

“No. They’re simply the ramblings of dissatisfied residents of Tillman who’re too cowardly to sign their names.”

Her escort took her arm and led her toward her house. “Did you keep the letters?”

“Yes. I file all correspondence.” He was moving a little bit too fast for her. With his quick step and long legs and the way he held her arm, she had to almost jog to keep pace.

“Tomorrow morning I’d like a look at those letters.”

“Why? They can’t possibly be related to the theft.”

“Can’t possibly?” he repeated. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t have an answer for that, so she remained silent as he steered her with purpose toward her own front door.

After driving around the block a couple of times and then grabbing a coffee and sandwich to go at the Tillman Café, Dante parked at the curb in front of the mayor’s house. He was probably being overly cautious, but in his world that was much preferable to not being cautious enough. He’d had the world yanked out from under him once before and wouldn’t allow that to happen again. It was easiest to expect and be prepared for the worst.

When he got a look at the letters in the morning, he’d have a better idea about whether or not he should be concerned. Working for Bennings, he was usually called in after the case had turned serious. He wasn’t sure how to handle something that might be threatening but was more likely to be nothing at all.

By nine-thirty, all the downstairs lights in Sara Vance’s house were out. There were outdoor lights that remained on for security purposes, but he could easily see the interior illumination through the windows, and one by one the lamps and overhead lights were extinguished. He could imagine Sara climbing the stairs, drawing a bath—or did she prefer a shower?—then climbing into bed with a book or maybe some work she’d brought home with her. What would she sleep in? he wondered. Flannel pajamas, maybe. A long, prim nightgown with a drawstring in the hem. Then again, perhaps she had a secret wild side and slept in red satin or, even better, nothing at all. The prim presentation could be a front, a facade that kept unwanted attention at a distance.

You must be Sergeant Mangino, my ass.

Her bedroom faced the street. At least, Dante assumed it was her bedroom, since that was where the last light of the night remained on. Yeah, that was her bedroom. He could see no more than lacy, feminine curtains, and still, he knew. She was there, sitting up in her bed with that book or papers from work in her lap. Maybe there was a television in that room and she was catching the news.

Sitting alone in his car, he smiled. Maybe he hadn’t recognized her right away, but he would never forget Sarabeth Caldwell and those few weeks they’d spent so much time together. They had run in such dissimilar circles that they never should’ve met, but in a small town it had been inevitable.

Her date at a summer party for the popular kids—a party Dante had crashed, thanks to cousin Jesse—had drunk too much beer and had ended up making out with one of Sarabeth’s friends. Moron. The other girl had been easy and, as he remembered, well developed, but she had not been nearly as pretty as Sarabeth.

He remembered stepping outside to smoke and finding her, shoulders shaking and face in hands. For a moment he’d considered sneaking back into the house before she saw him, but instead he’d offered to drive her home.

She’d quickly said yes because she hadn’t wanted to go back into the party and let the others see her cry. The fact that he had seen her crying hadn’t seemed to matter. He had been temporary. In a few weeks he’d be gone, and it wasn’t as though there had been anyone of importance that he could have told about her embarrassment. He’d known that and hadn’t cared. There was no way he could’ve left her there, alone and miserable, hiding and suffering.

He’d taken Jesse’s keys and promised to be back in a matter of minutes. The flat tire could not have come at a better time.

Dante had changed the tire, and Sarabeth had quit crying. She’d gotten angry and accused him of causing the flat tire. He’d laughed at her and she hadn’t liked that at all. These days he could easily arrange a convenient flat tire, with some planning and the right tools, but back then he hadn’t had a clue. He hadn’t had a clue about a lot of things, truth be told.

Somewhere along the way, he’d kissed Sarabeth. It hadn’t been his first kiss, or hers, but he could still remember kissing her and feeling as if he was falling into nothingness, like nothing else mattered. She’d been a spoiled rich kid who would never have looked his way if she hadn’t needed him, and he’d suspected that the kiss was a revenge of sorts for the cheating boyfriend. None of that had mattered, however, and that kiss had changed everything.

Only one other time in his life had he found himself attracted to a woman who was so totally and completely wrong for him. Whatever contentment he’d found in thinking of the old days with Sarabeth disappeared in a flash as he stared at the house before him and let go of old memories.

Things hadn’t worked out well for Serena. Not at all. Dante didn’t waste his time on women like her—or Sara—anymore. He wasn’t so foolish as to think that he could bring a woman into the world he lived in and then let her go unscathed. Or worse, never let her go at all.

The women who came into and out of his life on a regular basis knew who he was and what he wanted and that he wouldn’t be sticking around for long, and they didn’t care. They lived for the moment, for the night. Four years after her husband’s passing, Sara Vance remained faithful. She likely could not even imagine living for the night, giving herself to a man who wouldn’t stay, throwing herself into the moment strictly for the fun of it. For the pleasure.

Even eighteen years ago she’d been cautious. They’d kissed plenty, and he’d snaked his hand up her blouse more than once, but that had been it. He’d thought he’d die if he didn’t have her, if he didn’t get inside her, but she would have none of it. They’d come close, very close, but in the end Sarabeth Caldwell had been the one to get away, the one female he’d wanted to distraction and had not had. Maybe that was lucky for her.

Around ten-fifteen, the light in her bedroom was switched off. A moment later, the lace curtains at that window moved, very slightly. Was she watching him, now? Did she realize or care that he was keeping an eye on her?

The curtain fell, and he waited. Knowing Sara, she was likely to come storming out of the house in a thick, ugly bathrobe, still managing to look sexy as all get out. She’d order him off her street. She’d order him to go back to his lonely little duplex and get some sleep. When that didn’t happen, he waited for his cell to ring. She was the mayor, after all, and getting his cell number from Jesse wouldn’t take her more than a few minutes.

But no one came running out of the house, and his phone didn’t ring. Maybe she hadn’t seen him after all.

It was after midnight when Dante finally headed toward his rented duplex to grab a few hours of sleep. He was restless, unsettled. It had been a while since he’d thought about Serena. As he drove down the deserted Tillman streets, he wondered if he’d dream of colorful silk and creamy skin, or slit throats and unheard screams.

When the door to her office opened without warning, Sara’s head snapped up. After yesterday evening’s disturbing events, she was more than a little on edge. Jumpy. She was downright jumpy. She was relieved to see her friend Patty walk in, bearing two tall disposable cups of coffee. Dressed for work in a conservative blue suit, with her long dark hair pulled back into a sleek bun, Patty looked very much the professional. There was no hint of the wild child she had once been—not outwardly.

A couple times a week, Patty stopped by on her way to work at the bank. They had coffee and talked for a few minutes. Now that Patty was married, they didn’t get to spend as much time together as they had when Patty had been single and sworn off men, and Sara had been widowed less than a year and newly relocated to Tillman. Sara would never begrudge her friend happiness, but she did miss those days when they’d spent so much time together. Much of that time had been spent convincing themselves that they did not need or want male companionship of any sort. She’d actually believed that for a long time.

“The highlights look good,” Patty said.

Sara patted her tightly restrained hair. “I had it done Friday afternoon. You don’t think it’s too much?” For years she’d worried more than she should about her image. As a Caldwell, as a Vance, as the wife of an assistant district attorney—as mayor. She wore conservative suits that never felt quite right and fashionable shoes that too often pinched her toes. It came with the job, she told herself.

“Not at all. It’s cute.” Patty looked Sara up and down in that way only a good friend could, and her smile faded. “You didn’t sleep well last night.”

Sara sighed. “No, I didn’t.”

“I warned you being mayor wouldn’t be a bed of roses.”

“Many times,” Sara said with a smile as she took a sip of her coffee. She sighed in delight. The coffee from Bubba’s Quick Stop was so much better than the sludge her secretary made every morning. Patty sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk, and Sara relaxed. This would likely be the most pleasant part of her day, so she might as well enjoy it. “It wasn’t exactly city business that kept me up half the night,” she confessed.

Something in her voice grabbed Patty’s attention. The woman’s eyes sparkled. Aah, yes, there was that hint of the wild child. Her spine straightened. Her lips curved into a smile. “What’s going on?”

Being very careful with her words, Sara told her friend about everything that had happened yesterday. She tried not to make Dante sound too interesting, or even to make him a too-important part of the story. He was ancillary, a necessary evil, no different than any other officer who might’ve been investigating her case. Patty had moved to Tillman her senior year of high school, months after the fiasco with Dante had ended, and there had been no reason to tell her—or anyone else—what had happened. So Sara told the story as if she’d never seen Dante before yesterday.

She did, however, have to end the telling with her looking out of her bedroom window late at night and seeing his car sitting on the street, and she also had to admit that she’d felt comforted at the sight.

“And you didn’t call me?” Patty asked, incensed.

“It was too late.”

“You could’ve called me long before you saw the car on the street. Someone delivers replacement undies, very nice stuff to hear you tell it, to your house and you don’t even call?”

“You have supper at your in-laws every Tuesday,” Sara argued.

“And I’m always happy to be interrupted,” Patty replied. Her eyes narrowed. “There’s more. There’s something you’re not telling me. This Dante Mangino.” She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of coffee.

“Tell me about him.”

“There’s really nothing to tell,” Sara said. “He’s Chief Edwards’s cousin. Apparently he has a lot of experience and has agreed to stay on for a while and help with training and investigations.”

“So why is he sitting outside your window late at night? Was it creepy?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, do you think he’s the underwear thief?”

“No!”

“If this was a movie, he’d be the one,” Patty argued.

“He’s new in town, there’s the underwear theft, sexy stuff is delivered while he’s there, you see him watching your house late at night…”

“If it’s Dante, then who left the box and rang the doorbell while he was standing in my foyer?”

Patty grimaced. “A small detail easily explained away. Somehow.”

“Dante is just…he worries too much, I suppose.” Sara gave a nonchalant wave of her hand, doing her best to dismiss the man in every way. “He sees a shadow and he believes there’s a danger in it. He sees the worst possible scenario in everything he runs across. A couple of unhappy letters and a panty thief, and he’s got me under surveillance.” If not for him, she wouldn’t even be worried about the letters or the underwear. A little bothered, maybe, but not really worried.

Patty cocked her head. “You’re already calling this Mangino character by his first name. That’s rather interesting, knowing you and the way your brain works. Hmm. You also very quickly and decisively dismissed him as a suspect. What does he look like? Is he as hot as his cousin?”

Hotter. “I suppose some women would think he’s attractive, in a…different sort of way from Jesse Edwards.”

“Different how?” Patty could be very persistent.

“Just different.”

Patty smiled. “You like him, don’t you?”

“I do not.”

“You do. You’ve got that little twitch to your lips. It’s a dead giveaway. I haven’t seen that twitch since college!” Patty’s grin was insanely wide. “When do I get to meet him?”

Never, if I have anything to say about it. “I’m sure you’ll run into him eventually,” Sara said, cursing the ease with which her old friend could read her. A twitch? Why hadn’t anyone ever told her she had a twitch? “He’s going to be around until I can come up with more money for payroll and Chief Edwards hires more qualified men.”

Patty ignored the subject change to city business. “How serious is it? Are we talking love at first sight?”

Sara sighed and drank more coffee. It was a nice little stall but didn’t last long enough. Finally she said, “There’s nothing at all serious going on here, and even if there were, I don’t believe in love at first sight and you know it.”

“Lust at first sight?” Patty asked without pause.

Again, Sara hesitated. She didn’t believe in that, either, not for a woman thirty-five years old. Not for a woman who’d had her heart broken, first by desertion by choice and later by desertion by death. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “Maybe I was just having an off day.” Maybe, even though she did her best to dismiss it as unimportant, the theft and anonymous gift had rattled her more than she’d realized, and a capable man, any capable man, was a comfort.

Maybe she’d simply been alone too long.

Natalie Douglas, Sara’s secretary and maker of terrible coffee, knocked briefly and then opened the door. The young woman was truly beautiful, with pale blond hair stylishly cut, cool gray eyes and a figure any woman would kill for. She was also a more than capable assistant and a whiz with computers. If they could just get past the bad coffee thing…

“There’s a Sergeant Mangino here to see you. Should I tell him to wait?”

“No!” Patty said with a smile. “Bring him to us immediately.”

Natalie ignored Patty’s enthusiastic direction and looked to her boss for an answer, and after a moment Sara nodded her head. “Send him in.”

Patty’s smile widened, and Natalie cast a furtive and blatantly interested glance over her shoulder. Did Dante have this effect on every woman he met? Probably. She should consider that fair warning where he was concerned.

Natalie opened the office door wider, and Dante stepped inside. He glared down at the cup of coffee he had foolishly poured himself in the outer office. “Good God, you could tar a roof with this.”

Whenever Sara had carefully and kindly mentioned that perhaps Natalie could make the coffee less strong, the woman had been insulted. Now she took the cup from Dante’s hand and promised, in a heartfelt, apologetic voice, to pour it all out and make a better pot. When he added a “Thanks, darlin’,” Natalie actually blushed and bit her lower lip in a coy manner.

Sara was momentarily ashamed of her own gender.

Dante nodded to Patty, who all but dropped her jaw at the sight of him. Yes, he was studly, but really…get a grip.

“Do you have those letters?” he asked without preamble, his attention entirely focused on Sara.

“I gathered them together first thing.” She handed over the thin stack, certain he wouldn’t find anything alarming but not altogether sorry that he was going to check to be sure. Dante shook his head at her as he put on a pair of gloves. Only then did he take the stack of letters.

Patty stood. “I have to go or I’ll be late for work. Don’t forget the sock burning. Saturday night, Lydia’s place, just after dark.”

“I’ll be there,” Sara said.

Patty closed the door on her way out, and when she was gone Dante lifted his head to look at Sara. “Sock burning?”

She gave him a genuine smile. “It’s a tradition a couple of friends and I have. Every spring, we gather up all the mismatched socks we’ve managed to accumulate during the year, and we burn them. Lydia lives outside town on a large piece of property. We build a bonfire and ceremoniously dispose of the socks whose mates went missing in the dryer or just got lost or damaged along the way. Except that year we were having such a drought. We skipped the sock burning that year.”

“I have a similar tradition,” Dante deadpanned. “I throw mismatched socks in the trash.”

Must be a man thing. Robert had voiced the same thought, a time or two, back in the days when the bonfires had been planned around infrequent trips home to see family and friends. He had never understood or embraced the annual sock burning, but he had tolerated the event with a smile. Sara remembered well. She thought of Robert and she smiled herself, and this time his memory didn’t hurt. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I didn’t know there had to be fun involved in disposing of…” He stopped abruptly and began carefully riffling through the letters. “Never mind. I should know by now never to question a woman’s logic since there usually is none.”

She could argue that point with him, but chose not to. Not now, at least. “What do you do for fun these days?” The question was out of her mouth before she had time to think it through.

He didn’t hesitate to answer. “My idea of fun includes explosives and big guns, or copious amounts of alcohol and loose women.” He glanced up, pinning those dark eyes on her. “And in case you’re wondering, no. The two various forms of recreation don’t mix.”

“Good to know,” she said softly. Her voice took on a different tone as she asked, “Will there be anything else? I have a busy morning planned.”

Dante very gently shook the letters in her direction. “No, this’ll do it. Have a good day.” He dismissed her and turned just as Natalie opened the door. The smitten secretary held a foam cup of steaming coffee in one hand.

“I hope you like this better,” she said sweetly. Too sweetly.

Dante smiled at her. “I’m sure I will, darlin’.”

It took all Sara’s willpower not to snort out loud.

And once the door closed, her first thought was that Dante Mangino had never called her darlin’.