What Are You Afraid Of?

  “Fine.” He reached to pluck the key from her fingers. “Let’s do this.”

  He unlocked the door and shoved it open. They stepped into the shadowed living room, instantly surrounded in a stale gloom. Out of habit, Carmen moved to pull open the heavy drapes, allowing the sunshine to spill through the window.

  The darkness was dispersed to reveal the worn carpeting that had faded to a dull brown, and the furniture that was covered with the plastic that her grandmother insisted was a necessary protection. Carmen wasn’t sure what posed a danger to the sofa and chairs, but she hadn’t dared to remove the stiff coating. She’d been afraid the cushions might disintegrate if they were exposed to air.

  She had added a flat-screen TV that was set on the mantel, and bought a new lamp, but those were the only changes that had been made in the past thirty years.

  “Does it look like anything has been disturbed?” Griff asked her, his gaze sweeping over the tidy room.

  “No.”

  He led her into the narrow kitchen that had the usual linoleum floor and white-painted cabinets. She crossed to the built-in china cabinet and squatted down to pull open the bottom drawer.

  “My grandmother’s silver is here,” she said, opening the velvet-lined case where the silverware was kept, along with a matching sugar bowl and creamer. She closed the drawer and straightened to peer through the glass of the china cabinet. The antique dishes and figurines were still there, covered in a light layer of dust. “There’s really nothing else that might have been worth any money.”

  He poked his head into the mudroom, which led to the back porch. “Is there a basement?” he asked.

  “No.” She waved a hand toward the window over the sink, which offered a view of the backyard. There was a large mound at one end of the lawn with a wooden door. “There’s a root cellar where my grandmother kept the vegetables she canned, but it doesn’t connect to the house.”

  “Where’s the attic?”

  She turned to leave the kitchen, only to roll her eyes as he darted in front of her, clearly still concerned that there might be some madman lurking in shadows.

  “Through the living room and to the right,” she directed, following him into her grandparents’ bedroom.

  It was a large room, with windows that overlooked the front yard. The wooden floors had been worn over the years, but the planks had been lovingly waxed and polished by her grandmother. The sturdy furniture had been carved by some distant ancestor, and probably weighed as much as a bulldozer. Which meant that it’d been hauled into the room a hundred years ago and never moved. There was a worn quilt spread across the mattress and homemade drapes that framed the windows.

  A bitter sense of pain sliced through Carmen. Her grandparents had been all she had. Now they were gone. It didn’t seem fair.

  Sensing Griff ’s steady gaze, she gave a faint shake of her head and crossed the floor toward the narrow door at the back of the room. Someday she was going to have to come to terms with her loss. Otherwise this place was going to end up another rotting farmhouse that would collapse into oblivion.

  Grabbing the rusty doorknob, she tugged on it. Then tugged again, and again.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, when the door abruptly flew open with a cloud of dust. She coughed, waving her hand in front of her face. “This hasn’t been opened in years. After I moved in my grandfather converted the loft of the barn into a storage area. That’s where they put most of the stuff from the attic.”

  He moved next to her, peering at the steep flight of wooden steps.

  “What stuff?”

  “Christmas decorations. Old pots and pans,” she said. “And every work of art I ever brought home from school, including the turkey I made out of dry macaroni.”

  His lips twitched. “You made a turkey out of macaroni?”

  “Don’t scoff. I’m multitalented.”

  “I believe you.” He paused before sending her a questioning glance. “Are you going up?”

  Her brows lifted in surprise. “You’ll let me go first?”

  He shrugged. “There might be bats.”

  She rolled her eyes before heading up the stairs, which were too narrow for more than one person at a time. The man was willing to go into the house first when he thought there might be a killer waiting for them, but he was afraid of a bat?

  She reached the planked floor of the attic, but before she could move into the thick darkness that shrouded the space, she felt Griff ’s arm wrap around her waist.

  “Is there a light?” he demanded.

  “There’s a bulb hanging from the rafters with a string attached to it,” she told him.

  “Hold on,” he said. “I’ll find it.”

  There was the squeak of old boards as Griff moved cautiously forward. Then Carmen heard a faint click before a small circle of light appeared in the center of the room.

  She was on the point of moving to join Griff when he abruptly muttered a curse.

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  “Someone’s been in here,” he said, pointing toward the floor where there was a smudged outline of footsteps in the dust. “Look.”

  “Crap.”

  Without giving Griff time to protest, Carmen pushed past him to hurry toward the boxes that had been neatly stacked at the back of the attic. She was forced to hunch over as the slanted roof threatened to smack her on top of the head. By the time she reached the boxes she was bent almost double.

  Dropping to her knees, she pressed her fingers to her lips. Each of them had been tugged open and the contents spilled across the wooden planks.

  Clothes, shoes, a locked jewelry box, and a stack of letters that were tied together with a frayed ribbon.

  With gentle care she folded her mother’s belongings and tucked them back into crates with hands that weren’t quite steady. Then, tugging off the ribbon, she opened one of the letters and angled it to catch the muted light.

  Her heart clenched. The letter was addressed to her mother and the words were an outpouring of love and desire that brought a blush to Carmen’s cheeks. Quickly skimming to the bottom of the page, her heart gave another clench. The letter had been written by her father.

  She trembled, carefully folding the fragile notepaper and tucking it back into the envelope.

  What had happened?

  How had her father gone from a man who blindly adored his young wife to someone who could end her life with a shotgun?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  Barely aware that a tear was trickling down her cheek, Carmen felt an arm wrap around her shoulders to tug her against the broad strength of Griff ’s chest.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmured softly, brushing his lips over the top of her head.

  Carmen sniffed, then blinked back her tears. Now wasn’t the time to try to deal with her father’s tangled motives for pulling the trigger. Or the pressures that might have led him to such a desperate act.

  For now, she just wanted to get out of the dusty attic.

  “I’m okay,” she assured him.

  His lips touched her brow, then the tip of her nose before he was turning toward the boxes.

  “Can you tell me if anything is missing?”

  “The safe,” she said without hesitation. It’d been the first thing she’d noticed.

  He muttered a curse before he was nodding toward the envelopes she clutched in her hands.

  “What are those?”

  “Love letters.” The words came out as a croak.

  His arm tightened around her before he was pulling back and urging her away from the boxes.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  She allowed herself to be pulled across the floor and down the stairs. They moved in silence, both brooding on the fact that there had been unmistakable footsteps in the attic and now the safe was missing.

  Someone had been at the farmhouse to steal her parents’ private papers.

  She shook her head in bewilderment. It seemed that G
riff had been right. This wasn’t about a copycat serial killer. It’d been nothing more than a disgusting trick by her family to ensure that they could protect the three million dollars they’d stolen from her.

  Trying to come to terms with the knowledge that her wretched family were all a bunch of greedy psychopaths, she barely noticed when Griff strolled toward the window, his expression distracted.

  Pacing from one end of the ugly carpet to the other, she finally came to an abrupt halt. Walking in circles wasn’t going to solve her troubles.

  “What now?” she asked.

  He slowly turned to face her. “If someone got their car stuck in the road, who would they call to get pulled out?”

  “If they were local they would just ask a friend with a tractor to come and help.”

  “And if they weren’t local?” he pressed.

  She considered, then gave a shrug. “I suppose they would call the garage in town. I’m pretty sure they have a tow truck that they could send out.”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Do you have a number?”

  She nodded toward the small desk in the corner of the room. Her grandfather had been an old-fashioned man who refused to be dragged into the current century. He’d never turned on a computer, preferring to write out checks for his bills at the end of each month. And he’d never had a cell phone, maintaining his landline until the day he died.

  “I’m sure my grandfather has an old phone book that would have the number,” she said, her brows pulling together. “But it’s Christmas. There won’t be anyone there today.”

  “Damn,” he breathed, shoving the phone back in his pocket. Once again he glanced out the window, this time angling his head to study the sky, which was painted with deepening shades of lavender and peach as the early dusk settled over the landscape. “How do you feel about spending the night here?”

  Carmen paused. This was the only true home she’d ever had, and now it’d been violated by some unknown intruder. Had the sense of peace she felt when she came here been ruined forever?

  After a pause, she released a small breath of relief.

  She didn’t feel afraid. Or apprehensive. Not like she did when she’d entered her parents’ old home.

  No. She felt angry.

  She seriously wanted to find out who’d dared to break in and toss around her mother’s belongings like they were trash. Then she wanted them thrown in jail for a very, very long time.

  She met Griff ’s watchful gaze. “Actually, I’d like that.”

  “Good.” His expression eased, as if he’d been prepared for a battle that hadn’t happened. “I want to see if we can discover who made the tracks in your driveway before we return to Louisville. I’ll run into town and get something to eat.”

  She wrinkled her nose. The nearest town had one small grocery store that was locked up tight by five o’clock and a gas station that sold milk and bread.

  “I doubt anything will be open, but I always keep food in the freezer,” she said. “And there will be a few bottles of wine in the root cellar.”

  A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. “Perfect.”

  Carmen forgot how to breathe.

  Chapter Sixteen

  December 25, Rural Indiana

  Dinner turned out to be a frozen pizza and garlic bread that Carmen had pulled from the freezer along with a bottle of Merlot that Griff had found in the cellar.

  For a man who was accustomed to being wined and dined in some of the finest restaurants in the world, it should have been a huge disappointment. Instead, it was the best meal he’d ever eaten.

  A part of his enjoyment was their surroundings. He’d lit a fire from wood he’d found stacked in the barn, and laid out a blanket on the floor in front of the cheery blaze. Outside, the moonlight frosted the ground in a shimmer of silver, making it look like a picture on the front of a Christmas card. He’d even pulled out a few decorations to add a festive air.

  Holly was hanging from the mantel, an elf was perched on a shelf, and a tiny tree that played “Jingle Bells” when he plugged it in was set in a corner.

  The largest part of his enjoyment, however, was solely due to his dinner guest.

  Carmen fascinated him in a way that no other woman ever had.

  It wasn’t just her beauty. Or her feminine charm.

  It was her cunning intelligence. Her wary vulnerability. And her persistent determination to pierce through his natural reserve to discover the man he kept hidden from the world.

  Eating pizza in front of the fire, she managed to coax him to talk about his childhood. Something he never did. Not even with Rylan. He told her about the Sunday afternoons that his mother insisted they spend together. They would choose some new activity, like visiting the zoo or attending a Cubs baseball game, or just walking along the edge of Lake Michigan. It didn’t really matter what they did, as long as they were together. He even told her about visiting his grandparents’ farm, where he would sleep beneath the stars and dream about becoming an astronaut.

  Once dinner was done, he poured the last of the wine into their glasses and tossed the paper plates into the fire. Then, scooting toward her, he brushed a golden curl behind her ear before he allowed his fingers to trace the curve of her throat.

  “I forgot to ask about the cut on your arm,” he murmured. “Is it healing?”

  Her cheeks were lightly flushed, her eyes as brilliant as sapphires in the firelight.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “It wasn’t very deep.”

  He gave a tug on the scooped neckline of her sweater, pulling the knit material over her shoulder to reveal the thin line of red that marred her pale skin.

  She was right, it wasn’t deep. And it didn’t look like it was infected. Still, the sight of it made fury burn through him like a corrosive acid.

  “When I get my hands on the son of a bitch who hurt you—”

  His threat was cut short when Carmen pressed a finger to his lips.

  “No,” she murmured softly.

  “No?”

  “Not tonight.”

  He studied her upturned face. The wide, impossibly blue eyes. The narrow blade of her nose. The lush lips.

  Heat swirled through his body that had nothing to do with the nearby fire.

  Allowing his hip to press against her side, Griff used the tips of his fingers to trace her lovely features.

  She felt delicate beneath his touch. Fragile. Utterly feminine.

  For too long she’d been out of his reach.

  First he’d feared that she was merely using him to further her fame. And then he’d been overwhelmed by his fierce need to protect her.

  Tonight, however, was different.

  They were alone in the middle of nowhere, with the doors and windows locked up tight. Including a window in the mudroom that Griff had discovered didn’t have a latch. He suspected that was how the intruder had managed to get into the house and steal the safe. Now it was firmly nailed shut. No one else was going to be sneaking in.

  But even as he savored the feel of her skin, warm and satin smooth beneath his touch, he sensed that she kept a part of herself locked away. He understood her need to protect her heart. She’d been through hell. But that didn’t halt his increasing need to break through the invisible walls that surrounded her.

  Why?

  There was only one answer.

  He wanted more than her body. He wanted her mind. Her heart. Her trust.

  His hand moved to trace her full lips, his erection hardening as desire blasted through him with a sharp-edged need.

  “You take my breath away,” he whispered.

  He was braced for her to pull away. She might be sexually attracted to him, but he knew she was feeling raw and vulnerable from the past few days.

  He wouldn’t blame her for being reluctant to become intimately involved.

  With anyone.

  But even as he watched a hint of uncertainty flare through her eyes, she released a slow breath. Then, snugglin
g closer, she slid her hands beneath his sweater. The soft tinkle of her bracelet was like music to his ears. She hadn’t taken it off since he’d placed it around her wrist. The knowledge warmed his heart in a way he couldn’t fully explain.

  “I could say the same,” she assured him in soft tones.

  Griff hissed at her touch. Raw, delicious heat jolted through him. It felt like he was being branded.

  Claimed by this woman.

  Tangling his fingers in her golden curls, he lowered his head and kissed her. Electricity zapped him, a thousand watts of sheer pleasure sizzling between them.

  He heard Carmen’s soft gasp. A smug satisfaction raced through him. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who was shocked by the sheer power of their attraction. A mere kiss wasn’t supposed to scorch through you like wildfire.

  “You’ve haunted me for months,” he muttered against her lips.

  “Haunted?” She tilted her head back, studying him with a darkened gaze. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

  “It wasn’t,” he assured her in a gruff voice. “I’ve endured more restless nights and cold showers since I met you than I have in my entire life.”

  Her fingers skimmed over his chest. “Are you sorry I approached you on the beach?”

  “Hell, no,” he rasped.

  Another kiss. He used the tip of his tongue to trace the seam of her mouth, groaning in appreciation when her lips parted to allow him to fully taste her sweetness.

  At the same time, he lowered his hands to find the hem of her sweater. Then, with one smooth motion, he was tugging the fuzzy material over her head. With a flick of his hand the sweater was tossed onto a nearby chair.

  He locked his gaze on the frilly bra, taking a second to appreciate the lacy concoction before it was joining the sweater on the chair.

  His breath hissed between his teeth as he lifted his hands to cup the soft swell of her breasts.

  There was another blast of desire, and unable to resist temptation he lowered his head to suck the tip of one breast between his lips.

  Her nails dug into his chest, her back arching. “Griff.”