Читать книгу Scanlin's Law - Susan Amarillas - Страница 5

San Francisco

October 1880

What the hell was he doing here?

Luke Scanlin swung down off his chestnut gelding and looped the reins through the smooth metal ring of the hitching post. Storm clouds, black and threatening, billowed overhead. Rain spattered against the side of his face. It caught on his eyelashes and plastered his hair to his neck. He shivered, more from reflex than from cold.

Three days. He had been in town three days. It had been raining when he finally stepped off the train from Cheyenne, and it was raining now. Aw, hell, he figured it was destined to rain forever.

Fifty feet away, the house, her house, stood like some medieval fortress. It was gray, and as intimidating as any castle. Three floors high, it was as impressive as the other Nob Hill mansions that lined both sides of California Street.

A wry smile played at the corners of his mouth. A princess needs a castle, he thought. But if she was a princess, then what was he? Certainly Luke Scanlin was nobody’s idea of a prince.

That blasted rain increased, trickling off his drooping hat brim and running straight down his neck. “Damn,” he muttered as he flipped up the collar of his mud-stained slicker. He was cold and wet and generally a mess, and still he stood there, staring up at the house.

His hand rested on the hitching post, two fingers on the cold iron, three fingers curled around the smooth leather reins. He ought to mount up and ride away, logic coaxed for about the hundredth time in the past hour. His muscles tensed, and he actually made a half turn, then stopped.

This was pathetic. Here he stood like some schoolboy, afraid to go in there and see her.

Well, she wasn’t just anyone.

When he rode away that day eight years ago, he’d been so certain he was right.

The breeze carried the scent of salt water up from the bay, and the rain intensified, soaking the black wool of his trousers where they brushed against the tops of his mud-spattered black boots. Oak trees rustled in the breeze, sending the last of their golden leaves skittering along the street.

Beside him, the gelding nickered, his bridle rattling as he shook his head in protest at being out in the storm.

“Quiet, Scoundrel.” Luke soothed the animal with a pat and stared up at the house once more.

Well, what’s it going to be? You going to stand here all day?

He sighed. What was he going to say to her after all these years? Pure and simple, this was flat-out asking for trouble. Leave well enough alone.

But trouble was something Luke had never shied away from. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. In fact, he and trouble were old friends.

He started toward the house.

* * *

Rebecca Parker Tinsdale strode into the parlor of her home shortly past nine in the morning. The distant rumble of thunder accompanied her arrival. The storm-shrouded sunlight gave the white walls a grayish tinge, and the rich rococo-style mahogany furnishings only added to the dark and ominous feeling of the day. A pastoral painting by Constable hung over the fireplace, but the scene—a picnic on a bright summer day—seemed inappropriate, given the ominous dread that permeated the house.

She managed to keep her expression calm. Inside, fear was eating her alive. Her hands shook, and she buried them in the folds of her dark blue dress. The faille was smooth against her fingers.

In four carefully measured steps, Rebecca crossed the room to where Captain Amos Brody, chief of the San Francisco police, waited near the pale rose settee.

“Have you found Andrew?” She spoke slowly, struggling to hold the fear in check. Even as she asked, she could tell the answer by his grim expression.

If anything happened to Andrew... If he was hurt or...

Steady. Don’t fall apart. Andrew needs you.

“Well, Mrs. Tinsdale...” Brody began, his rotund body straining at the double row of brass buttons that marched down the front of his dark blue uniform, “I’ve had two men searching all night. They’ve looked everywhere, and I’m sorry to say there’s no sign of the boy.”

“Keep looking, Captain.”

“Oh, you can rely on us,” Brody returned in an indulgent tone. “I’ll personally tell the men on the beat to keep an eye out.”

Rebecca stiffened. She and Brody made no secret of their mutual dislike. That series of articles she’d been running in the Daily Times on police corruption was leading a path straight to Brody and half of his department. Still, he was in charge and, like it or not, she had to deal with him.

“Captain, I expect you to do more than keep an eye out. This isn’t a lost kitten you can dismiss and hope it eventually finds its way home. This—” she emphasized the words, as though to drive them into his thick balding skull “—this is my son. And you will help me find him.”

She saw him bristle—saw his Adam’s apple work up and down in his throat.

They faced each other, the refined lady and the harsh man, each appraising the other. Rebecca had wealth, and she published a small newspaper. That gave her power. A mother’s fear gave her determination. She knew Brody was the one who ultimately made the assignments, determined how and when and where things were done. It galled her to have to ask the man for help. If Brody chose to make only a halfhearted effort because of their feud, she might not know until it was too late for her—for her only child.

Outside, the rain spattered against the lace-curtained front window, drawing Rebecca’s attention. Silvery streaks of water cascaded down the glass. Andrew was out there somewhere, cold and afraid. He was only seven, so small, and so fragile since his illness last year. Terror, stark and real, swept through her, and she advanced on Brody. “Whatever it takes, Captain. Send more men, ten men, a hundred—”

“I’d like to do that, Mrs. Tinsdale, but I can’t.” Brody punctuated his statement with a nonchalant shrug that pushed her rapidly rising temper up another notch. “Finding one boy is small compared to the job of protecting this city. With less than two hundred men on the force, well, I have an obligation to all the citizens of this fair community,” he finished, in a pious tone that would have made her laugh at any other time. “As it is, I’ve taken men from other areas to search, and—”

“I don’t care about other areas.” Condescending bastard, she thought as she paced away from him, her rage too great for her to remain still. She talked over her shoulder. “I don’t care about other citizens.” She turned back, her hands balled into tight fists, feeling the perspiration on her palms. “I don’t care about anything or anyone but finding my son. I’ve been out there all night myself. Dammit, Captain, I expect you to do the same.”

Brody nodded and held up his hand in a placating gesture that only aggravated her dangerously short temper.

“Mrs. Tinsdale, I know you’re upset and all, but I’ve handled this sort of thing before and I know what I’m doing.”

Rebecca closed on him, contemplating serious bodily injury. “Captain Brody, either you do your job or I’ll ask the mayor to find someone who can.” It was a hollow threat since the mayor was a strong supporter of Brody’s, but she made it just the same.

“Now look here, lady,” he sputtered. “I know you’re upset, but don’t tell me how to do my job. Before you start ordering me around, you might as well face facts. The boy’s probably run off, is all. It’s only been since last night.” Maliciousness sparked in his blue eyes. “Sooner or later he’ll get tired and hungry, then turn tail and head for home...” He paused thoughtfully. “Unless someone’s taken him. Then, of course, it’s another matter.”

Her blood turned to ice. It was that thought that had circled in her mind all night, the way a wolf circles in the shadows of a camp. In a voice that was barely audible, she spoke the terrifying words. “Someone has taken my son?”

Brody gave a one-shoulder shrug, then picked up his cap, as though he were about to leave. “It’s possible.” He turned the dark blue hat absently in his pudgy hand. “I’ll do the best I can, but you gotta remember this is a big city. It can be a mean city, too, and people, including children, disappear here all the time. Ships go in and out of this harbor with all kinds of cargo, if you get my meaning.”

She did. God help her, she understood his meaning all too well. Her knees buckled, and she sank down in a chair. Brody was wrong. He had to be wrong. Andrew was lost. He’d gotten too far from home and become confused. Yes, that was it. That had to be it. To think otherwise... To think of some depraved person with her son, scaring him, hurting him, kil— No!

With sheer force of will, she refused to think that and, looking up, saw that Brody was still talking.

“—figure out who the boy is, what he’s worth.” She saw him glance around the elegant room, as if to confirm his appraisal. “Maybe they’ll make a try for ransom, otherwise th—”

Brody broke off in midword, and she saw that his gaze was focused on the doorway behind her. Still seated, she turned.

An eerie silence fell as Rebecca and Brody stared at the powerful man standing two feet inside the parlor. He looked every inch the outlaw, dressed as he was in range clothes and a slicker. For a breathless moment, Rebecca thought Brody’s prediction had come true.

The man was tall, with broad shoulders, and his dark countenance seemed in stark contrast to the refinements of a San Francisco drawing room.

She was about to demand his identity when her gaze flicked to his face and she looked straight into dark eyes, bottomless eyes, familiar eyes.

Her hand fluttered to her throat. “Oh, no...” The words were a thready whisper. She felt the blood drain from her face.

Speechless, Rebecca stared at him. Luke Scanlin. His mere presence emanated a power that surged through the room faster than lightning.

So he’s finally here. The odd thought flashed in her mind.

“Hello, Princess,” he said, in a husky tone that sent unwelcome and definitely unexpected shivers skittering up her spine.

What in God’s name was Luke doing here? Not once in nearly eight years had she seen or heard from him, and now he strolled in here as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Well, it wasn’t the most natural thing, not in her world. Never mind those delicious shivers. He was firmly and irrevocably in her past.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brody take a menacing step in Luke’s direction. “Mister, just who are you, and how did you get in here?” he demanded with an appraising stare. “Do you know something about this?”

“Name’s Scanlin,” Luke returned, with an impudent Texas drawl. He walked slowly into the room, his steps muffled by the thick flowered carpet. “I saw you through the window. When no one answered the door, I let myself in.”

Luke never let a little thing like a closed door stop him from getting what he was after. What he was after right now was perched on the edge of a chair about five feet away.

Absently he sized the other man up and quickly dismissed him, keeping his gaze focused on the object of his visit.

Becky.

She was more beautiful than he remembered, and he remembered very, very well. A little thinner, perhaps, and obviously upset. He’d only caught the tail end of the conversation. “What’s going on?”

“Scanlin?” Brody rubbed his chin thoughtfully and ignored the question. “You by any chance Luke Scanlin, the one who brought in Conklin?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’ve heard of you. Thought you were with the Rangers down around...San Antonio, wasn’t it?”

“Amarillo,” he replied. “I’m not with the Rangers anymore.”

Luke closed on Rebecca, stopping in front of her. Dark smudges shadowed her blue eyes, and her skin was winter white. Her hair was the same, though, golden, and done up softly, tiny wisps framing the fine bones of her face. He’d remembered her hair down and loose around her shoulders, remembered it gliding like silk over his bare chest while he—

He gulped in a lungful of air and stilled the direction of his thoughts. Damn. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but this wasn’t it.

Rebecca stared at him as he dropped down on one knee in front of her. Absently she noted that his slicker left a smudge of dirt on the carpet.

“Becky? Princess? What’s happened?” he asked, in a tender voice that was nearly her undoing. Oh, Luke don’t do this to me. Not now.

All her defensive instincts were screaming that she should move, get up, walk away. She didn’t. His face filled her line of vision.

He looked at her, his eyes as black as sable and just as soft, and her heart took on a funny little flutter. She had to stop herself from reaching out and brushing his cheek.

The years had been kind to him, she thought. He was as handsome as ever, maybe more so. His chiseled face was all high ridges and curved valleys, the sternness softened by the tiny lines around his eyes and mouth that showed he was a man who liked to smile. She remembered that smile, roguish and charming enough to melt granite. The other thing she remem-bered was that way he had of looking at her, lover-soft. The way he was looking at her now.

“Rebecca?” he said, his tone coaxing.

“Hello, Luke,” she managed to say, surprised that her voice sounded so steady. “What...what are you doing here?”

Purposefully Luke plopped his rain-soaked hat beside him on the carpet and raked one hand through his hair. She looked so forlorn, like a lost kitten, and it was the most natural thing to want to wrap her in his embrace and protect her from whatever the hell was wrong. All things considered—things like his timing, and the fact that they weren’t alone—he reluctantly decided on a more formal approach.

“My apologies for dropping by unannounced, but I—”

He fired a glance at the police officer, who was watching them with open interest, then back to Rebecca’s worried face. Concern won out over formality, and he cut to the point.

“Somebody want to tell me what the devil is going on? I heard something about a boy being missing.”

“That’s correct,” the policeman replied, in a tone tinged with an arrogance that rankled Luke. Arms folded across his chest, the man leaned one shoulder against the white marble mantel.

Luke reined in his infamously short temper and said, “And the boy is...”

“My son,” Rebecca supplied, so softly he might not have heard if he hadn’t been looking straight at her.

Holy sh—

Luke sank back on his heels, his slicker pouching out around his knees. Becky had a child, a son. All these years he’d never thought of her having a child. He’d known she had married. He’d also learned her husband had died last year. That was part of the reason he’d taken this assignment.

“Aw, hell, Becky, I’m sorry,” he said, with real sincerity. And that need to protect prompted him to cover her hands with his, his thumb rubbing intimately over her knuckles. Her skin was ice-cold, and he felt her tremble. “Is the boy your only child?” he asked, as much from curiosity as from concern.

Rebecca’s heart seemed to still in her chest, then took off like a frightened bird. A surprising reaction. She was not given to flights of fancy, and Luke Scanlin was definitely a fantasy—a young girl’s fantasy. “Don’t, Luke.” She slipped her hands free and stood. “Yes, Andrew is my only child.” She moved clear of him, survival instincts finally coming to the fore. “What are you doing here?”

He mirrored her stance, thinking it was such a simple question. Up until five minutes ago he’d been sure he knew exactly why he was here—to see her, talk to her and, yes, convince himself that she was merely one of many women he’d known.

Trouble was, five minutes ago he hadn’t seen her, hadn’t touched her, hadn’t looked into those liquid blue eyes of hers, the ones that were making his breathing a little unsteady.

Faster than ice dissolves when touched by a flame, his reasons vanished, and he told her honestly, “I came to see you.”

“Why?” she asked, and instantly regretted the question. It didn’t matter why—or did it?

“I came because—” his voice dropped to a husky timbre “—because I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

His voice, his closeness, it was all too much, and she felt cornered. Moreover, she didn’t like the feeling, not one bit. In fact, she resented Luke for making her feel this way. She feigned thoughtfulness as she took refuge behind the settee. “I have no time, Luke. My son’s missing, and I have business with Captain Brody here. So another time, perhaps.”

He recognized the dismissal. Oh, it was formal and polite, but it was a dismissal all the same. Luke wasn’t buying. He was here and he was going to stay, though he still wasn’t quite sure why. Missing children were hardly his line of work, not unless they held up a bank along the way. Maybe it was his lawman’s curiosity. Maybe it was that the policeman annoyed the royal hell out of him. Maybe it was that he wanted to see her smile, once, for him. Whatever it was, he said simply, “I prefer now.” He unfastened the buttons on his slicker and tossed it on the floor near his hat.

Brody spoke up. “Mrs. Tinsdale, would you like me to show him out?”

Luke straightened. A slow smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Captain, you couldn’t if you tried.”

Brody shifted away from the mantel and took a threatening half step in Luke’s direction. Luke did likewise. Who the hell did this son of a bitch think he was?

“Stop it!” Rebecca ordered hotly. “I won’t have this in my house!”

Luke turned on her. Anger flashed in his black eyes. That short temper of his had shot up faster than a bullet, and he wasn’t used to backing down. But this was her house, and—

“All right,” Luke muttered, with a slight shake of his head to dispel the anger.

Brody, too, gave a curt nod and retreated to his place by the hearth.

Luke dropped down on the settee, making clear his intention to stay, in case there was still some doubt in someone’s mind. “Okay, someone tell me what happened.”

He was arrogant and self-involved as ever, Rebecca thought, her own temper moving up a notch. Looking at him sitting casually on her sofa, for the briefest moment she was tempted to recant and let Brody escort Luke out.

Who did she think she was kidding? Brody throw Luke out? Not hardly. Not without a scene. There was only one way to make him budge, and that was to give him what he wanted.

“My son disappeared yesterday,” she told him flatly. And it’s all my fault. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew it must be. Her guilt added to her anguish.

“What time?” Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Her mind wandered back to the terrible moment when she’d realized he was really gone. Disbelief had turned to shock, then fear. It was the fear that was twisting noose-tight in her stomach as the minutes slipped past. “What? Oh...” She began to pace again, her hem brushing the carpet as she walked. “Luke, I’ve already gone over this with Captain Brody.” She nodded in Brody’s direction, and he responded with a smug sort of nod.

“Well, tell me, then we’ll all know,” he said, his tone a mix of sarcasm and demand.

She was so astounded by his firm tone that she was more surprised than angry. And maybe that was the best thing. People made mistakes, said things better left unsaid, when they were angry. She needed all her wits about her when dealing with Luke.

She halted by the grand piano and looked out through the lace-curtained window. Rain sheeted on the glass, the lawn and the street beyond, casting blurred shadows, dark and menacing as the vivid fears she had for her son.

With sightless eyes, she continued to stare out as she spoke. “It was about four in the afternoon. I’d let him play in on the porch until dinner was ready. When I went to check on him, he was gone.”

“Any sign of a struggle, of any...injury?”

She turned sharply. “What do you mean, injury?”

“Blood?”

“Dear God, no!”

“Could he have run off?” he countered quickly, not wanting to upset her more than necessary. “Maybe he’s gone somewhere he isn’t supposed to go? Boys have a way of doing that sort of thing. Maybe he’s afraid to come home.”

“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “Andrew’s not afraid of me. He knows, no matter what, I love him. Besides, I’ve checked with his friends, and no one has seen him. The only family we have is my mother-in-law, Ruth. She lives with us. She’s out there now searching...like I should be, would be if—”

He held up a placating hand. “Just a couple more questions.”

Luke stood and faced Brody directly. So the boy had been missing all night. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. Still, there was no sense jumping to conclusions. “All right, Captain, what have you done to find the child...Andrew?”

“Listen, Scanlin, this is none of your business,” Brody flung back at him, obviously still smarting from the earlier challenge.

Luke didn’t give a damn. “Becky’s child is missing. I’m making it my business.”

Brody slapped his cap on his head and made as if to leave.

Luke blocked his path.

“I asked you a question, mister, and I want an answer. What have you done to find this child?”

Brody took a couple of steps back and looked up at Luke. Rage colored his blue eyes. “Look, Scanlin, you don’t have authority here, and I—” he thumbed his chest, near his badge “—don’t answer to you. I’m handling this just fine.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Luke said, without an ounce of remorse in his voice, “but I do have authority here.” With thumb and forefinger, he peeled back the edge of his gray wool vest to reveal a small silver badge. “U.S. marshal for this region, as of last Monday.”

Brody puffed up like an overstuffed bullfrog. “So?” he sputtered. “This ain’t a federal crime. This is local, and that means it’s my jurisdiction.”

“I wouldn’t let a little thing like a technicality get in the way. Becky’s in trouble. Her son’s in trouble, and that’s all the authority I need. This is personal.” And it was, he realized with a start—very personal.

Brody’s gaze flicked from Luke to Rebecca and back again. “Personal, huh? You and `Becky’ old friends?” he said smugly, in a way that implied something illicit. It implied something that could ruin a lady’s reputation.

Luke grabbed a fistful of blue uniform and yanked the man up close, so close their faces were only inches apart. “I don’t think I like your tone...Captain.” He spit the words out harshly. “The lady and I are friends. You wanna make something more out of it?”

Brody covered Luke’s hand with his own, trying to pry it loose. His pudgy fingers cut into Luke’s knuckles. Luke responded by giving the man a shake. “Now either watch what you say, or you and I can step outside and discuss this more vigorously.”

“Luke, for heaven’s sake,” Rebecca cut in. Luke ignored her this time. No way was he letting this bastard make a remark, start some gossip. He didn’t know much about society, but he knew firsthand how hurtful gossip could be.

Brody’s cheeks were mottled with red. His eyes literally bulged in his face. Through clenched teeth, Luke continued, “Well, what’s it gonna be?” He saw Brody’s gaze dart around the room, as though he were looking for help or an escape.

Luke’s mouth pulled up in a crooked smile that held no warmth, a smile that said there was no escape.

Helplessly Brody bobbed his head up and down like a puppet on a string. “You and her—”

“Who?” Luke demanded.

“Mrs. Tinsdale! You and Mrs. Tinsdale are friends.”

“Damned straight,” Luke snarled. “If I hear anything to the contrary, you and I are gonna tangle, Brody.” Luke released his hold so suddenly the man stumbled back a couple of steps before regaining either his balance or his composure. “Now, answer my question. What have you done to find the boy?”

This time Brody did answer, though to say it was curt would have been an understatement. Luke listened to Brody’s half hearted excuse for a search plan. The man couldn’t find his hat in a room full of spurs. Good thing Luke had spent the past three days looking over the files in the office, the map of the city, police rosters and the like. It was always his habit to familiarize himself with a town. Luke had never thought he’d need his knowledge so quickly, or for such an unhappy reason.

Without hesitation, he said, “Pull the patrolmen from the residential areas. Those are low-risk and can spare the men. Leave the business districts and the, ah...entertainment areas down by the docks at full staff. If there’s any trouble, it’ll be there first. Have the men here within an hour.”

Brody smoothed his rumpled uniform over his belly. “Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here—”

“I think I’m the man who’s gonna find that boy.” If it wasn’t too late, he thought but didn’t say. Becky looked upset enough, without him adding to it, especially if it wasn’t necessary.

Brody made a derisive sound in the back of his throat. “The men won’t like being pulled off duty to search for some kid who’s probably holed up somewhere, laughing his head off at all the excitement.”

Rebecca spoke up. “Andrew would never—”

Luke cut across her words. “I don’t want to hear your opinions, Brody. Do what I’m telling you, and do it now, dammit!”

Brody slapped his cap on his head and stormed toward the front door. “I’ll see the mayor about this, Scanlin.” He disappeared around the doorway.

“Yeah, well, tell him to wire President Hayes if he’s got any complaints,” Luke snarled. There were some advantages to being a U.S. marshal. Being a presidential appointee was one of them.

Quickly he called out, “Right here, one hour—or I’ll come looking for you.”

The door slammed with glass-rattling force. With an anger he didn’t mean to take out on Rebecca, Luke whirled and said, “I’ll need a room.”

“What?” she muttered. She was still trying to assimilate the fact that Luke was a U.S. marshal. Of all the places in this country that needed a marshal, why did he have to be here—now?

Suddenly his demand penetrated her thoughts. “What do you mean, you want a room? Don’t marshals get offices and quarters?”

“Offices yes, quarters no—”

“Well, you can’t stay here.” she said, meaning more than in this house and more than this minute. She wanted him gone.

“Becky, my room is way the other side of town. The search area is here. I need to be close to the trouble.”

He obviously wasn’t going to go quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me with Captain Brody, and I appreciate you wanting to help with the search, but I hardly think you need to stay here.”

She started for the hallway. Luke followed, not bothering to bring along his hat and slicker.

She could be just as determined as he was. Lifting her coat from the mirrored hall tree, she pulled it on. The black wool was expensive and cashmere-soft against the side of her neck.

Luke positioned himself between her and the doorway. “Are you deliberately trying to make this difficult?”

“I’m not.” It was already more difficult than anything should be. With both hands, she pulled her hood up to cover her hair. “Staying here isn’t—”

“Do you want the boy—”

“Andrew.”

“Andrew,” he said with a nod. “Do you want him back or not?” He ran both hands through his hair, leaving furrows in the inky blackness.

“Of course, but—”

“I’m telling you, I need to be here. I need to coordinate with the police, and I can’t do that if I’m running back and forth most of the time. Look, if it’s so troublesome, I’ll camp in the damned front yard. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been cold and dirty.”

She looked up then, saw the determination and the concern mirrored in his grim expression. Was there some plan to make her life as difficult as possible? She desperately needed help, had prayed for help, but not from Luke Scanlin. Anyone but Luke Scanlin.

Logic warred with fear—fear of herself and him and the sudden flare of pleasure she’d felt when he first walked in here. What kind of a woman was she to have even the barest trembling of desire when her son was missing?

Without thinking, she took a retreating step back. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you need me.”

“I don’t need you,” she countered emphatically.

“Well, you need someone, ‘cause even I can see that Brody’s not getting the job done. I do this for a living, and I’m damned good at it.”

That she had no doubt about. It was the needing-him part that was grating on her already raw nerves. She needed Luke Scanlin like she needed to be trampled in a stampede, but it all came down to this: Brody was next to useless. Luke had managed to get more from the man in the past few minutes than she’d managed since last night. Andrew was out there, and if it would help her get her son back, she’d dance with the devil himself. Looking at Luke’s hypnotic black eyes, she had a sinking feeling that the dance was about to begin.

“There’s a guest room at the top of the stairs.” She gestured with her head. “I’ll have the maid show you.”

“I can track down a guest room.” He smiled, and this time he touched her shoulder, very lightly.

It was the second time he’d touched her. The second time those familiar shivers had skittered up her spine. No! She wouldn’t give in to him. Not this time. Not ever again. Needing distance, she moved away. “Third door on the left.” She fumbled with the ebony buttons on her coat. “The bed’s made, and I’ll have towels brought in when I return. The housekeeper’s been sick. She’ll be back tomorrow. My mother-in-law will be here tonight.”

Luke smiled. It was a lopsided smile, filled with enough roguish charm to melt the coldest heart. If she stood here looking at that smile much longer, her knees were going to melt, that was for certain.

“I’ll be back later.” She was reaching for the shiny brass doorknob when his hand on her shoulder turned her to face him again. His dark brows were drawn together in a frown.

“Back? What do you mean, back? Where are you going?”

“Out.” She made a show of tugging on her kidskin gloves while she slipped free of his touch. Darn those goose bumps.

Luke’s expression drew down. “Out? Why, for heaven’s sake? The police will be here in an hour, and then—”

“I’m going now.” She turned the knob and pulled the door partially open. The rain dripped from the roof and made noisy plick-plops on the wooden planks of the porch. The sudden draft felt blessedly cold against the side of her face.

“Look,” he started to say with a nod—a gesture Rebecca suspected was meant to pacify rather than to indicate agreement. He grasped the edge of the open door, holding it firmly, and looked at her in a way that was all too familiar, a way that brought better-forgotten memories rushing to the surface faster than lava in a volcano, and just as hot.

“This is crazy. We’re gonna cover the same ground in an hour.” He pushed on the door.

Rebecca held fast, as though this were a test of wills between them. Accepting help was one thing, surrender was another. This felt like giving in. “I’m going.” She pulled, and he released his hold on the door.

She slipped out and pulled the heavy oak door closed behind her. She knew he was watching her through the clear etched glass. Until thirty minutes ago, she had thought she’d closed the door on Luke Scanlin just as easily. It seemed she was wrong.