“Oh, sure. Just do whatever you need to do. I’ll be in the study.” She started to turn away, then paused. “I can make coffee if you’d like some.”
Frank knew she was just being polite. He knew he should say no, if only to let her get back to work. But for the first time in what seemed like forever, he wanted to be with someone, even if it was for some stilted conversation over coffee and a glimpse of that ring in her navel.
“Coffee would be great,” he heard himself say.
“I was just about to start a pot brewing when I saw your headlights in the driveway, anyway. Decaf okay?”
It wasn’t. Frank liked the leaded stuff and lots of it. But he would drink a mug of nails if it would garner him an opportunity to look at her for another fifteen minutes. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll go ahead and start the inspection.”
His eyes made a final sweep of her as she turned toward the kitchen. Nice ass. The little ring was gold. And she definitely wasn’t wearing a bra. . . .
He was sweating beneath his jacket as he stepped onto the front porch and closed the door behind him. His sex felt heavy and full as he took the steps to the yard.
“Cut it out,” he muttered.
Frank started around the house, using the time to cool off both mentally and physically. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d reacted to a woman this way. For the last year he hadn’t so much as noticed a female, let alone gotten hot under the collar. He wanted to believe this was merely his body’s way of telling him it was time to venture back into the land of the living. That he was one step closer to healing.
On the other hand, maybe he just needed to get laid.
He didn’t think Kate Megason was the woman for the job.
Putting thoughts of getting laid out of his mind, he opened the back gate, frowning at the lack of a padlock, and made a note on the form. The back of the house was as pleasing to the eye as the front with lush landscaping and a custom swimming pool. Security wise, however, the place left much to be desired. He skirted the house, making notes and checking boxes on the form as he went.
A cedar plank privacy fence surrounded the backyard, standard fare in the city of Dallas. The fence was good for privacy—which Kate seemed to like—but bad for security. Privacy fences not only protected the homeowner from prying eyes, but if some scumbag were to scale the fence, he wouldn’t be seen by neighbors. Frank noted that on the form and continued. He looked out at the greenbelt beyond. The trees that were so coveted in Dallas would make perfect cover for some bozo looking to score some loot. The area was relatively secluded and very dark. Someone could walk along the creek totally unseen, scale the fence or go through the gate, cross the yard unnoticed, and gain access into the house through the pet door or even break a window before Ms. ADA had a clue she was in trouble.
Making notes as he went, Frank walked along the rear of the house. The flagstone patio was small and jammed with vacant terra-cotta pots. The hot tub was covered with a protective tarp for the winter. Everything was neat and in its place. He was stepping past the barbeque and a nice smoker when movement at the back window caught his eye. Even though the mini-blinds were closed, the slats weren’t tight and he could see into her bedroom. The glossy wood of a mirrored dresser. The slowly turning ceiling fan above the bed. Warm lighting.
The sight of Kate stopped him dead in his tracks. He knew what was going to happen next. Common decency told him to keep moving. She couldn’t possibly know those mini-blinds weren’t one hundred percent private. But Frank had never claimed to be decent. And when she reached for the hem of her sweatshirt and drew it over her head, he didn’t turn away.
She was standing with her back to the window, but he could see the front of her in the dresser mirror. He could see her face. Her breasts were full and gently sloped. He was standing too far away to see much detail. But his imagination filled in the blanks.
He went hard instantly. Only this time the rush of blood was so powerful, he was dizzy for an instant. It was the kind of arousal that was edgy and uncomfortable and prodded him like a sharp stick, forcing him to a place he didn’t want to be.
It seemed like an eternity that he stood there, aching and pulsing and feeling like a goddamn Peeping Tom. But it was only a short moment before she reached into her drawer and quickly slipped into a bra. A second later the sweatshirt was back on. The light went out.
Frank stood there for a full minute, his heart pounding, his erection pressed painfully against his fly. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered.
He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d just been standing at the wrong place at the wrong time. But a little voice reminded him that he could have looked away. He could have kept moving. But for the life of him he hadn’t been able to make himself do it. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her. And he could no more prevent his physical reaction to her than he could stop the beating of his heart.
Turning on the flashlight, he shone it on the form and wrote, Blinds northwest corner of house, and started for the front.
He was standing on the porch, looking down at the clipboard, making a few final notes when her voice drew him from his concentration.
“So do I pass inspection?” she asked.
For an instant he saw her as she had been without a shirt. A smooth, pretty back. Full breasts that were uptilted. Nipples puckered with cold . . .
“Uh, a couple of things . . .”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Anything major?”
Frank knew he was acting like an idiot. That he should leave the score sheet with her and get the hell out of there. But he couldn’t get the image of her out of his mind. Couldn’t get his mind off the notion of what she might look like without the rest of her clothes. What it would be like to put his hands on all that pretty flesh.
He told himself she was out of his league. That he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell. But his cock didn’t care about either of those things, and so he stood there with a hard-on that showed no signs of abating and tried like hell to say something coherent.
“You scored mid-range,” he heard himself say. “I made a few recommendations.”
“Would you like to come in?” She stepped back and opened the door for him to enter.
“Sure.” He stepped into the foyer.
“Are you all right?”
He must have looked at her blankly, because she motioned toward his leg.
“You’re limping,” she said.
Realizing he’d been favoring his leg, he mentally berated himself. “I’m fine,” he said a little too roughly.
“Oh, well . . .” She motioned toward the kitchen. “The coffee’s brewed.”
Her eyes met his and for an instant he couldn’t look away. She might be a pushy, type-A personality at the office, but tonight the dynamics had changed. Take away the power suit and I’ll-kick-your-ass pumps, and there was a youthful softness about her he hadn’t noticed before. She had a strong mouth, full of sass and damn near as shapely as her body. But her eyes had a fragile quality that called upon his protective instincts.
Breaking eye contact with him, she turned and walked into the kitchen. He knew better than to indulge, but his eyes took on a life of their own and latched on to her backside. Another hot rush of blood to his groin made him glad his coat was long enough to cover his fly. The woman definitely knew how to fill out a pair of jeans.
“Here we go.”
He looked up to see her come through the saloon doors holding a tray. Watching her, he suddenly felt optimistic, like maybe the assignment Mike had given him wasn’t going to be as bad as he’d thought.
She set the tray on the coffee table and took a seat in one of the chairs. Frank wanted to sit next to her, but decided that would probably cause more problems than it was worth and took the sofa.
“Cream or sugar?” she asked.
You, he thought, with a little bit of cream so he could lap it out of her navel with his tongue. “Black.”
She handed him a cup,
then picked up her own and leaned back in the chair, contemplating him. “So what are your recommendations?”
Frank drank some of the coffee, then set the cup on the table and tugged the score sheet from the clipboard and passed it to her. “Since you have a privacy fence, I think some exterior lighting is definitely in order. I prefer motion-sensitive lighting.”
“Motion detectors?”
He nodded. “Floodlights. They’re common and inexpensive. I’d install two at the rear of the house, one on each corner, and two in the front.”
“That’s an easy enough fix. I can hire that out right away.”
“Or I could install it for you.” The words were out before he’d even realized he was going to say them.
She looked away from the form and met his gaze. “You don’t have to do that. I can hire a handyman or electrician.”
“The wiring in the rear is already there. All I’d have to do is swing by the hardware store and pick up the lights and install the fixtures. The front will need some additional wiring, but it’s pretty basic stuff.” When she continued to look unconvinced, he smiled. “Besides, I’ll do a better job than some handyman.”
“Oh, well . . . Of course, I’d pay you whatever you deemed necessary.”
Like an idiot, he waved the statement away. “I’ll do it for cost.”
“You’d have to do this after hours.” She looked flustered for a moment. “Things are about to spin into high gear with regard to the Bruton Ellis case.”
“I ought to be able to knock it out in a couple of hours.” He struggled for something to say. “How’s the Ellis case coming along?”
She sighed, her eyes flicking toward the den. “Aaron Napier, the defense, is trying to wrangle a deal, but we refused. We’re going to win this one hands down. Preliminary hearing has been scheduled for March 1. Motions to suppress evidence will be sometime in April. I expect the trial to be on the docket in early fall.”
“That’s fast.”
“Just in time for the election.”
“Mike’s a political animal.” Frank smiled. “I think he’s counting on you to help him win.”
He saw the shadow of a smile an instant before she looked at the form. “What’s this about the mini-blinds?”
“The ones in the northwest corner of the house aren’t totally private.”
“I’ve been meaning to order new ones, but I’ve been so busy with work. I didn’t think it was a big deal since the backyard is private.”
Frank rolled his shoulder, aware that he was sweating beneath his coat. That he was uncomfortable because he was hard again. That he couldn’t stop thinking of the way she’d looked without her shirt on. . . . “Now might be a good time to get that done,” he said easily.
She looked at the checklist. “Trimming back some of the overgrown bushes ought to be an easy fix. I like to putter when I have time.”
“It’s always a good idea to keep walkways clear. Burglars like the dark. And they like hiding places. You take those two things away, and they’ll go elsewhere, where the pickings are easier.”
“Okay.” She set the paper on the table and her gaze met his. “Thanks for coming out and doing this.”
Realizing he’d stayed longer than he should have, Frank rose. “Not a problem. If everyone in Dallas had their homes inspected, the cops would have fewer burglaries to contend with.”
She rose and for the span of two heartbeats they were standing face-to-face with a scant two feet separating them. Frank was keenly aware of her scent, titillating his senses, teasing his libido. Her eyes were large and dark against her pale complexion. Even though her mouth was bare of lipstick, her lips were the color of some ripe tropical fruit. He wondered what it would be like to lean close to her and set his mouth against hers.
“I’d better get going.” Stepping away from her, he started toward the door. Vaguely he was aware of a phone ringing in the background. Her footsteps against the hardwood floor.
“Excuse me,” she said and started for the phone.
“I can see myself out.” Frank reached the foyer and swung open the door. Cold night air hit him in the face and he felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders and neck. He’d just stepped onto the porch when he heard Kate speak.
He didn’t catch the words but something in her voice made him stop and turn. An alarm trilled in the back of his head when he saw her face. Something protective and male slithered through him when he realized she’d gone pale. That her hand was clutching the phone so hard her knuckles were white.
For a split second he debated whether to keep going or go back inside. But even though Frank didn’t necessarily trust himself when it came to Kate Megason, he did trust his instincts. At the moment, those instincts were telling him something was wrong.
SIXTEEN
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 7:48 P.M.
“How did you like my note, Kay-tee?”
The raspy voice on the other end of the line made the hairs on Kate’s neck prickle. She was standing in the hall with the phone pressed to her ear. She could hear her heart beating heavily in her chest. Her breaths coming too hard, too fast. Vaguely she was aware that Frank hadn’t yet walked out the door, so she turned her back to him. “Who is this?”
“Don’t you remember me? That night in Houston. Me. You. Your sister. You were the best fuck I ever had.”
Shock punched her with such violence that for a moment she couldn’t think. Couldn’t catch her breath. All she could do was stand there and clutch the phone, telling herself it wasn’t him.
“Do you ever think of that night, Katie? Do you think of me?”
Kate couldn’t find her voice, didn’t know what to say, what to feel. There were too many emotions exploding inside her for her to sort through them. Rage. Shock. Horror. Shame so deep she could feel it all the way to her marrow.
“Who the hell is this?” she hissed.
“I’m hurt that you don’t recognize my voice. Ah, sweet Katie, how could you forget me? I was your first—”
She slammed down the phone. Setting her hands against the console table, she leaned heavily, aware that her entire body was shaking. The back of her neck was slick with cold sweat. Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t catch her breath.
“Kate?”
She spun at the sound of Frank’s voice. He’d walked back into the living room and was standing just a few feet away from her. One look at his face and she knew he’d heard the entire exchange. That she was a wreck. That she probably had some explaining to do. If only she could figure out how.
“You’re shaking.” His cop’s eyes flicked to the phone. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine.” But she figured they both knew she was not fine by any stretch of the imagination.
“Who was that on the phone?”
Her gaze snapped to his. Struggling to calm herself, she left the hall and walked into the living room, hoping he didn’t notice that her legs were shaking. “Nobody,” she said.
“Nobody seems to have you pretty shaken up.”
“It was a personal call, Frank.”
But she could tell he wasn’t buying it. At some point he’d slipped into cop mode. She’d dealt with enough of them to see the suspicion in his eyes, and the hard gleam that told her he wasn’t going to let this go. Damn. Damn. Damn.
“Look, I didn’t walk back in here to pry into your personal business,” he said. “But you’re obviously upset, and I’d like to know why.”
“I’m not upset.”
“Really?” Without warning he reached out and took her right wrist in his and held her hand out for both of them to see.
She tried to yank her hand away from his, but he was holding on too tight. When she stopped fighting, she looked at her hand, found it shaking violently within his grasp.
“I guess that’s why you’re shaking, huh? Because you’re not upset?”
Kate had always believed she was good at keeping a handle on her emotions. Many times
her job demanded it. The things that had happened to her eleven years ago hadn’t made her weak; they’d made her stronger. But hearing the man’s voice, knowing she was going to have to deal with this, shook her so badly she couldn’t get a grip.
“It was a prank call,” she said after a moment.
Without speaking, Frank led her into the living room and guided her to the sofa. “Sit down.”
Kate sank into the sofa without a fight.
Never taking his eyes from hers, he took the chair across from her. “What did he say?”
“Just . . . meaningless stuff.” She raised her gaze to Frank’s, hoping he’d let this go. But she could tell by his determined expression that he was going to press her. A small part of her wanted to tell him everything. But because of the nature of the calls, she couldn’t. She didn’t want anyone to know what had happened to her eleven years ago.
But Frank wasn’t just anyone. He was a cop. And judging from the way he was looking at her, unless she came up with a really good lie pronto, he would not let this go. “He . . . talked dirty,” she said. “Heavy breathing. You know what I mean.”
“Don’t you have an unlisted number?”
“Yes, of course. I don’t know how anyone could have gotten it.”
“Has this guy called before?”
Feeling like a fool, kicking herself for having not just hung up the phone, Kate gave a reluctant nod.
“How many times?”
“Twice.”
“In addition to the prowler.” He shook his head. “Kate, you’re a smart woman. You know better than to stick your head in the sand. Why didn’t you mention this?”
“I didn’t think it was an issue.” When he only continued to stare at her, she continued, “Come on, Frank. It was a prank call.”
“And you’re a prosecutor. You’ve put people in prison, and more than likely picked up some enemies over the years.”
“I’m aware of that,” she said tightly.
“And you’ve decided not to do anything about it?”
“Look,” she began, “it was some jerk with too much time on his hands. I’ve been meaning to change my number; I’ve had it for quite some time. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”