Christmas Cover-up

“The penthouse,” she said. “Classy.”

In spite of everything that had happened to her in the past hours, she beamed a wide grin. Most women would be fearful and traumatized, but not Rue.

“You’re handling this well,” he said.

“No point in dwelling on something that can’t be fixed.”

“Your house was trashed. And you’re not scared?”

“When you grow up like I did, moving around and changing families, you learn how to keep your problems to yourself.”

She sure as hell didn’t look like a woman of mystery, but she was an enigma. He wanted to know her secrets and to find out what made her tick.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “Water? Herbal tea?”

“Vodka with a splash of juice. Any kind of juice.”

Again, unexpected.

She followed him into the kitchen where she gushed over his double-sided refrigerator, inspected the inside of the oven and told him exactly how his top-of-the-line appliances were capable of performing.

He prepared the same drink for himself and handed her a tumbler with vodka, ice and orange juice. He held up his glass in a toast. “Here’s to better luck.”

“Being in the right place at the right time.”

When he gazed into her greenish-blue eyes, he saw a glimmer of sensuality. She tossed her head, sending a ripple through her long chestnut hair. Those thick strands would slip through his fingers like the finest silk.

A warmth generated between them. Not cozy or comfortable, this was a purely sensual heat. Acting on this urge would be insanity. He wasn’t really dating Rue and wasn’t looking for a relationship. He didn’t want to lead her on.

Turning away from her, he set his drink on the polished granite countertop that separated his kitchen from the living room.

“I feel safe here,” she said.

“Good.”

“But I’m still angry.” Her tone sharpened, reminding him of her mother. “I want the guy who did this to suffer.”

“I don’t blame you.”

The damage at her house had been mostly malicious—obviously meant as a warning. The intruder had slashed the cushions on her flowered sofa, had pulled books off the shelves and had broken all kinds of glassware. Her closets and drawers had been emptied into a pile on the floor. Some of the fabrics were torn. She’d been lucky to find the long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of jeans that she’d changed into, along with a few other things.

“That creep touched my clothes,” she said. “Even this shirt I have on. I want to burn every stitch so I won’t be reminded. He stabbed my sofa. And you want to know the worst part? The very worst? He used my chef’s knives to do it.”

“Why is that so bad?”

“I use those knives for cooking. Baking cakes is my favorite thing, but I love all kinds of cooking, from vegetarian quiche to rack of lamb. I’ll never be able to touch those knives without thinking of him. Some faceless man in a hooded sweatshirt. A murderer.”

“He won’t get away with it. You saw how fast the cops responded. Every officer in Denver is after this guy.”

“Which doesn’t mean he’ll be caught.”

Cody knew from experience that was a true statement. His father’s killer had never been apprehended. In spite of the efforts of the police, their only viable suspect had an airtight alibi.

Her eyes blazed as she looked up at him. “I don’t ever want to go back to my house again. I just want to move.”

“I know people who specialize in cleaning up after crime scenes. I could contact them.”

“Great idea.” Her anger was replaced by another strong emotion as she took a step toward him. “Thank you, Cody. For everything.”

Now was the time for him to back away. But her gaze pulled him closer. She reached up and placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled him toward her for a kiss.

Unexpected. The soft pressure of her lips punched through his nervous system like a hard right jab to the chin. She knocked him out.

Her contented moan resonated inside him. The tips of her breasts grazed his chest as she arched toward him on tiptoe.

Then, she stepped back. When she raised her glass to sip her drink, the ice cubes rattled. Her hand shook, but her eyes were bold. Her cheeks were flushed with a rosy pink.

A tense silence swirled around them. If he didn’t figure out what to say, he’d be tempted to carry her off to his bed. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.” In that single word was a burst of relief. She went into action, opening and closing kitchen cabinets. “I’ll whip something up. After all I’ve put you through today, you deserve dinner.”

He wanted more than food. The taste of her lingered and aroused him. But he didn’t want to mislead her. He liked her too much.

As she rummaged through his refrigerator, the phone rang and Cody picked up. It was Danny.

“I heard what happened at Rue’s house,” he said.

And he had probably also heard that she’d gone home with him. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“I called for you, Cody.”

He carried the phone into the other room. “Go on.”

“First off,” Danny said, “I want to thank you for taking care of Rue. She’s a great kid.”

Not exactly. Rue was a grown woman who didn’t need or want her former stepfather hovering over her. “Is there something else you wanted to tell me, Danny?”

“The chief of police has been keeping me informed on their investigation. There’s something you should know.”

“Yes, sir?”

“After Bob was shot, the killer dropped his weapon. He just left it there for us to find.”

Cody had no idea why Danny was telling him this. He wasn’t an investigator and he didn’t handle murder cases. He practiced corporate law. In his negotiations, the only blood that was spilled was symbolic.

Danny continued, “The forensic people have run ballistics tests on the gun.”

“Already?”

“Top-priority case.”

Of course, it would be. Danny Mason was the newly elected mayor of Denver. Cody waited for him to continue.

“The gun,” Danny said. “It was the same weapon used twenty years ago to murder your father.”

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