But her father would. Benjamin Wainwright might be overbearing as a father, but as a man of faith he was a good listener. He was good at helping people put their problems in perspective. She resolved to give him a call and ask him to speak to John. As his friend, she felt it was the least she could do.
They hadn’t spoken since the exchange between him and Jacob earlier in the day. John had left to pick up the tracing software and spent the entire afternoon installing it on her computer. Julia had caught herself watching him several times throughout the day. And she found herself liking what she saw just a little too much.
When he was working on a task, his concentration was complete. His brows knit. Hands steady on the computer keys. Eyes level on the screen. She wondered what it would be like for that concentration to be focused on her . . .
Realizing what she was doing, she quickly shoved the errant thought aside. John Merrick was not the kind of man she should be having those kinds of thoughts about. He was deeply troubled and in no condition to partake in a relationship. Not that she was interested. She wasn’t. But a girl could look . . .
At five o’clock Claudia left for her evening class. Jacob left shortly thereafter. Julia spent the next hour filling out the daily sales report, cleaning the coffee station and replenishing spent candles.
“You got a minute?”
She started at the sound of John’s voice and spun to find him standing at the counter, his hands in his pockets.
“Sure.” She set down the rattan tray of flavored teas and came around the counter. “Look, if you want to talk about what happened this afternoon, there’s no need—”
“Actually I want to show you how the software works.”
Julia couldn’t help it. She smiled. “All right.”
He walked to her desk. She noticed he’d moved the phone and put it next to the computer. A wire ran from the computer into the phone. He pointed to a tiny box the size of a cell phone next to the tower. “This box relays the caller information to your computer. Your computer in turn will relay the information to the tracing company. They need three minutes to complete the trace. So, if our boy calls, try to keep him talking.”
She nodded, impressed by the sophistication of what he’d done. “Of course.”
“Don’t turn off the computer—keep this software running at all times.”
“Will it tell us where he’s calling from?
He hit a key, brought the monitor to life.“A dialogue box will pop up the instant the trace is complete. If he’s calling from a physical address, we’ll get it. If he’s calling from a cell phone, they’ll have to run what’s called a triangulation grid, which will tell us the location of the nearest tower.” He hit another key and a box popped up. “Chances are he’s using a disposable cell phone, but I thought this was worth a shot.”
“Do you think he’ll call?”
“Yeah, I do. I think he’s escalating. Even if he’s cautious, he won’t be able to resist the compulsion that drives him. He’s not finished. Hopefully, he’ll make a mistake.”
Julia suppressed a shiver. It was unnerving to know there was some stranger out there who at the very least wanted to hurt her. Or at the worst, wanted her dead.
“I’m going to finish your book tonight,” he said. “See if I can figure out what has this guy so pissed off.”
Discomfort rippled through her at the thought of him reading the book. “All right.” She cleared her throat. “Just be prepared . . . I mean, it was written with a female audience in mind.”
“I noticed!” One side of his mouth curved, and for an instant the old John was back. “But I think I can handle it.”
Julia hoped so, because she wasn’t so sure she could.
SEVENTEEN
John closed the storage room door behind him and studied his new living quarters. Julia had done her utmost to make the room comfortable. She’d added floral sheets to the cot. A water glass, carafe and a vase of fresh cut flowers adorned the tiny wooden table next to the cot. She’d moved some boxes and set a radio on the shelf. A bar of fancy pink soap sat in the rack above the sink along with a matching pink hand towel.
He wished the scene between him and Jacob hadn’t happened. John told himself the other man had been out of line, putting his nose where it didn’t belong. But the fact of the matter was, Jacob was right. The truth of that stung. Hit him in a place that was already rubbed raw.
Once upon a time, John had been a good cop. It was the one thing in this life he’d done well. The shooting had changed everything. It had left John with a fear he couldn’t get a handle on and a terrible guilt that ate at him twenty-four hours a day.
So what in the hell was he doing here, taking responsibility for another life? Julia’s life? Jacob was right. John was in no frame of mind to be taking on this kind of responsibility. He wasn’t capable of protecting her, couldn’t even pick up his gun. His attraction to her was skewing his objectivity. He was making the entire situation worse by drowning himself in booze every night. A losing proposition for everyone involved. Especially Julia. If the bastard stalking her decided to pay her a visit in the middle of the night, how did John plan to protect her?
Scrubbing his hand over his face, he walked to the duffel and opened it, found himself staring down at the fifth of gin he’d picked up at the liquor store on Bourbon Street. He could feel the need crawling inside him, taunting him with the promise of oblivion.
Next to the gin was the revolver. Even though the weapon was zipped in its case, John still felt a cold chill at the sight of it. The reaction shamed him. At one time he’d been a decent marksman. He’d made it a point to get to the range two or three times a month. He’d enjoyed shooting. Then came that terrible night in the warehouse. He still dreamed about the way the gun had kicked in his hand. He still saw Franklin Watts’s pale-as-death face. He could still hear his final words. Feel the warm stickiness of the other man’s blood on his hands.
Two weeks after The Incident, being a firm believer in facing the hair of the dog that had bitten him, John had gone to the range. But the instant he’d tried picking up his weapon, a cold sweat had broken out all over his body. His heart had pounded. He’d begun to tremble, and suffered with nausea so powerful he’d tossed his lunch. He’s found himself in the throes of a fucking anxiety attack and left without the slightest clue how to overcome it.
He knew he should see a shrink. His captain had ordered mandatory counseling. Only John had quit the department after that first visit. He’d thought he could handle it on his own. What a fool . . .
Pulling the duffel closed, John turned away from it and tried not to feel like hell. He wanted a drink. He wanted to be able to pick up his gun without fucking losing it. Goddamn it, he wanted Franklin Watts to still be alive . . .
Restless and unsettled, he sat down on the cot and put his face in his hands. He closed his eyes, wishing he were somewhere else. That he hadn’t screwed up his life and a dozen others. That Julia’s safety wasn’t his responsibility.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking down at the corner of her book, A Gentleman’s Touch, which was sticking out from beneath the cot. He’d shoved it there the night before and promptly forgotten about it. He didn’t feel like reading. But facing a long night and a host of demons, he figured it was better than spending the next eight hours bouncing off the walls.
He’d been curious about the book, anyway. He wanted to know what Julia had written that had angered someone to the point of wanting to hurt her.
Snagging the book off the floor, he folded the pillow and lay back on the cot. Misery settled onto his chest as he opened the book. Refusing to acknowledge its presence, he turned the page and began to read.
Julia knew better than to start a project as monumental as her taxes so late in the evening. But when she’d sat down at her laptop to work on her current project, The Bride’s Secret Dream, the words refused to come. Usually she could find solace in her writing. Tonight, however, she h
adn’t been able to concentrate. She felt out of sorts. Out of touch with her characters. It didn’t happen often, but when it did she knew there was no forcing the issue.
Now if only she could get a handle on these taxes.
Sighing, she pulled a fat hanging file from the drawer and set it on the desk. From within, she slid a manila folder marked “Deductions” and began sorting them according to type of expense.
The wall clock glared down at her, reminding her that if she didn’t go to bed soon and get some sleep, tomorrow was going to be a tough day. Usually, she was a good sleeper and fell into slumber the minute her exhausted head hit the pillow. Tonight she felt keyed up. Restless. As if her own skin didn’t quite fit.
She wanted to blame it on the latte she’d had after dinner. But caffeine had never bothered her before. As much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it, she’d been thinking about John on and off all evening. She’d tried occupying her mind with other things. Her book. Taxes. Even the stalker. But time and time again she found her thoughts going back to John. She wanted to believe her preoccupation with him was nothing more than concern for a friend in trouble.
But the thoughts squeezing into her mind were a hell of a lot more complicated. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. She liked the sound of his voice. The way he smiled. She wanted to know everything about him. Worse, she was attracted to him in a way she’d never been attracted to another man. Every time she was in the same room with him, she could feel the attraction tugging at her.
Of course she was too smart to succumb to something as mindless as hormones. There were a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t let herself get tangled up in a relationship with him. He drank too much. He was moody and could be hostile. He had a dominating personality. It would never work. Still, she couldn’t deny the chemical reaction that exploded inside her every time he so much as looked at her.
“Enough already,” she muttered. “This is ridiculous.” Sighing, she looked down at the file, and realized she needed her “Receipts” file, which was downstairs in her desk.
Julia glanced down at the lavender drawstring pants and matching T-shirt she wore and briefly worried about running into John. But he’d retired almost two hours ago. She could creep down the stairs, snag the file from her desk and be back without ever being seen. Holding that thought, she padded to the door and went down the stairs.
Pleasure fluttered inside her as she walked between the aisles toward her desk. She loved slipping into the shop after hours when the place was dark and the smell of coffee and candles and old books lingered. She smiled at the memory of the customers she’d interacted with that day. The shop comforted her in a way most people found comfort in their bedrooms or kitchens or Labrador retrievers.
Her bare feet silent on the wood planks, she went directly to the desk and opened the file drawer. She flipped through several files, deciding to take the utility bills and credit card file as well as the receipts and other shop-related expenditures.
Satisfied she had everything she needed to at least put a dent in her tax work before she took it to the CPA, she closed the drawer and turned. She nearly dropped the files at the sight of John standing a few feet away, watching her.
“You startled me,” she snapped when her heart slid back into her chest.
“Didn’t mean to.”
His voice was low and rough. He was wearing faded jeans. No shoes. The navy chambray shirt was untucked, unbuttoned and opened to reveal a chest she knew better than to notice. Disappointment whispered through her when she noticed the bottle of gin he held at his side, his fingers wrapped around the long neck.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
Julia let her eyes drop to the bottle. “I thought you were going to stop drinking.”
“Just taking the edge off.”
“Edge off what?”
He was looking at her oddly. As if she had somehow amused him. “You don’t want to know.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.” When he only gave her that odd smile, she stepped closer. “John, look, I’m your friend. If you need help—”
“Help isn’t what I want from you, Julia.”
At some point her heart had begun to pound. She could feel the rush of blood through her veins. Suddenly she was aware of everything around her, her senses heightened to a fever pitch. She heard the sound of heat coming through the furnace vents. The tick of the clock above her desk. The cold floor beneath her bare feet. The heat of his gaze against her skin.
“What are you doing up at this hour?” she asked.
“Just trying to wind down.” His gaze flicked to the files in her arms. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I’m just . . . getting started on taxes.”
“Taxes, huh?”
“Yeah, you know. The IRS. April 15.”
“Odd time for you to be working on taxes.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Must be something in the air.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. The way he was looking at her was making her uncomfortable. As if he could see right through the cotton pants and T-shirt.
“I finished your book,” he said.
She didn’t know what to say to that either. A ripple of surprise. A tug of discomfort. “Oh . . . well.”
“You’re talented.”
“Thank you.” Pride swelled in her chest. Too much of it. Too powerful. She shouldn’t care so much what he thought of the book, but she did. “Did it give you any insights into why this goon is stalking me?”
“A lot of sexual content.” He shrugged. “This guy is probably fantasizing. He might have created his own little world. Put you right in the center of it.”
“Scary how someone could do that.”
“Yeah, well, fantasies are generally harmless. It’s when he starts acting on them that things get dangerous.”
The thought made gooseflesh rise on her arms. “You think that’s what he’s doing?”
“Maybe. Probably.”
She half-expected him to reassure her, but he didn’t.
He stood his ground at the mouth of the aisle, looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Your book,” he began. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
“Did it shock you?”
A smile curved his mouth. “It made me hot.”
Julia laughed, felt the heat of a blush and found herself inordinately relieved for the dim lighting. She gripped the files tightly, used them to cover her chest because she was suddenly painfully aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra. That she was chilled and her nipples were hard.
“Well,” she said, hefting the files. “I’ve got to get these files upstairs. Good night.”
Her heart was beating too fast when she started toward the aisle. She could feel John’s eyes on her. She wanted to say something flippant and light and brilliant. But Julia was astute enough to know there was something happening between them that was none of those things, and she instinctively knew the smartest thing for her to do was get back upstairs and lock the door behind her as quickly as possible.
“Wait.”
She stopped, but she didn’t turn and look at him.
The silence was like an explosion. Julia could hear her heart thudding against her ribs. A little voice inside her head telling her to get the hell out of there before he did something inappropriate. Before she let him.
“Put down the files,” he said softly.
She turned to face him, but didn’t put down the files. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He started toward her at a slow, predatory tread. The urge to run was powerful, but Julia held her ground. She wasn’t afraid of John, knew he would never hurt her. But her heart was beating so hard her chest hurt. She didn’t know what would happen when he reached her. Didn’t know what he would do or how she would react. The one thing she did know for certain was that they were probably about to do so
mething stupid.
He stopped with scant inches between their bodies. Julia stepped back when he invaded her personal space, but he moved with her.
“Why are you backing away from me?” he asked.
“Because evidently I have more common sense than you.”
Her bottom connected with the edge of the desk, halting her backward momentum. He stopped inches away, not touching her, but so close she could feel the heat of his body through her clothes.
“W-what are you doing?” she asked.
His eyes drilled into hers. “Screwing things up probably.”
“Maybe we ought to just let this go.”
“I’ve never been good at letting things go, especially when it’s something I want.” She jolted when he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How long are we going to ignore what’s happening between us?”
She blinked rapidly. “There’s nothing happening between us.”
“I guess that’s why you’re gripping those files like your life depends on it.”
“John, you’re drunk.”
“Honey, I’m not even close.”
“I have to go.” But Julia didn’t move. She couldn’t take her eyes off his. She knew he was going to kiss her. She knew she shouldn’t let him. But it was as if her feet were suddenly mired in glue.
“Don’t go,” he whispered.
“This is a mistake.”
“Mistakes are my specialty.”
He leaned close. The brush of his mouth against hers didn’t feel like a mistake. The intensity of the pleasure shocked her system. All five senses jumped and began to hum, like electricity through a high-voltage power line. Every nerve ending in her body quivered with anticipation. Julia knew this was the moment when she should say something about consequences and pull away. But John’s kiss was like a highly addictive drug. All her mind could think was that she wanted more.
His mouth was hard against hers. He tasted of gin and male frustration. She was vaguely aware of the masculine scent of his aftershave, the scrape of his whiskers against her face. He kissed her like she’d never been kissed in her life. Her toes curled. She could feel her body responding to his. Her breasts felt heavy and full. Blood pooled like hot mercury low in her body.