The Guardian

“Wait one minute while I get a pair of gloves from the car.”

She sighed as if waiting for such a short period of time would be an imposition, and then curtly nodded her head in agreement.

When Dante returned, white gloves on so he could handle the box and wrapping paper without leaving his own prints, he could tell that Sara had gathered herself more staunchly together. Whatever interest might’ve once been visible in her eyes was gone, and her chin and mouth seemed to be set more staunchly—more mayorlike. Even her spine was a bit straighter, a bit harder. She had her house keys in one hand and wore an expression that said, Thank you for your service, now get out.

Was she always so unyielding, or was this attitude just for him? They’d shared a few weeks of teenage passion years ago, but he was not the same person he’d been at seventeen. Neither was she.

They exited the front door together, she, locking the door behind her, he, gingerly handling the evidence. She was right: the state lab would laugh at his request if he asked them to print all of this for a panty thief. Bennings, however, had a fairly new and not badly equipped lab, along with a couple of geeks to play with all the toys.

Still, explaining this one wasn’t going to be easy.

He carefully stored the evidence in the trunk of his city-issued unmarked car, a boring, dependable, burgundy Crown Vic. Sara remained close by, tapping her toes, as if anxious for him to leave. Now that they were out of the house, she didn’t have to remain with him until he left, but she seemed compelled to do so. Some “good manners” thing, he supposed.

Dante slammed the trunk and then caught her eye. Crap. She was probably right about this, too. The man he was looking for was likely a perv who was into the new mayor and didn’t know any other way to express his affection, such as it was. The crime, his first real investigative case in Tillman, was creepy but probably perfectly harmless.

Probably. He often worked as a bodyguard for the Benning Agency, so he’d dealt with more than one stalker, more than one perv whose actions went above and beyond what any sane person would think of. It was a mistake to believe that those on the other side of the law would always think and behave rationally. They didn’t, and the results could be—had been—deadly. It had been a long time since he’d seen the world through naive eyes.

“You walk every day?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said in a polite but emotionally distant voice.

“Same time every day?”

“Close enough,” she said, her brow wrinkling.

Dante looked her up and down. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into skipping your walk today.” It would soon enough be dark, and while the neighborhood appeared to be peaceful, someone had just dumped a box full of sexy underwear on her doorstep and then run from the scene.

“No,” she answered sharply. “This is all very strange, but I won’t be scared into hiding in my house. Besides, I need the exercise.”

“I’ll buy you a treadmill.”

She laughed, and then apparently decided she’d stuck around long enough in the name of courtesy. Sara turned away and headed down the sidewalk, her step brisk, her head back, her hips set into intriguing motion.

“Still want to drop this case?” he called after her, his eyes focused on the sway of her hips.

“I suppose not,” she answered reluctantly, not slowing down, not looking back.

Dante sighed and got behind the wheel of the Crown Vic. He’d rather be in his own pickup truck, but Jesse had insisted. The job came with rules that required a haircut, a suit, a tie and this old woman’s car. Jesse was doing a lot of insisting these days for someone who had asked for such a huge favor.

The mayor didn’t look back, not even when Dante cranked the engine. He watched her for a moment, mentally marking Sara as trouble of the worst sort, mentally cursing Jesse for throwing him into this case without warning, mentally undressing the staid politician and wondering what she’d look like in that green silk bra and matching panties. Yes, she’d been a skinny teenage girl when last he’d touched her, but she’d filled out in all the right places.

Dante cursed succinctly, and then he rolled down the street, following the woman who steadfastly refused to look back.

Chapter 2

So, maybe she should’ve taken Dante’s advice and stayed in tonight. Usually, Sara relaxed completely when she walked. Usually, she didn’t think about anything but the beauty of the old trees and houses that lined the streets in this part of town, the fresh air that filled her lungs—and maybe that pair of black dress pants she wanted to get back into, and wouldn’t if she didn’t get enough exercise. Five pounds would do it. Maybe ten. Dante might think differently, but as far as she was concerned there was no such thing as the right place on her body for twenty pounds.

Of course, he wasn’t as thin as he’d once been, either, but it looked as if everything he’d added was muscle. Every change made him look more handsome, more manly. His jaw seemed sharper, his nose slightly more prominent and yet as straight and perfect as ever. There was muscle in his neck and a power to his hands that made it clear he was no longer a child. There was less softness in his face and his body, less vulnerability in his eyes. She knew no specifics, but she got the sense that life had not been entirely kind to Dante.

Just minutes after leaving her house, she wished with all she had that she’d stayed at home. In the last light of day she noticed every shadow and wondered if someone was hiding within one. She heard every chirping bird, every barking dog, every creak, and she imagined the worst. She walked a little bit faster, but that did nothing to change the shadows and the alarming noises. The hairs on the back of her neck seemed to rise up, and her heartbeat increased for reasons other than exercise.

A treadmill, Dante had suggested. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

Lydia and Patty had accused her, on more than one occasion, of being perverse. If someone said she shouldn’t do something, she had to give it a try. Robert hadn’t called her perverse, but he had more than once accused her of being stubborn as all get out. Her husband had been gone for four years, gone much too soon, and there were still times that she thought of him and it hurt like hell. She’d decided that the pain—a pain that came less often when she kept herself too busy to think about Robert and all they’d missed—would never go away.

Perverse or stubborn as all get out, those who knew her best said. So, was she walking down a deserted street at dusk simply because a man who made her anxious and twitchy had suggested that she not?

Suddenly, she was positive someone was following her. It wasn’t her imagination, not anymore. She heard a car engine, but no car went past her. The engine was almost idling, the car moved so slowly. The motor purred and whispered, instead of racing as a car engine should. Her neck and the palms of her hands itched. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. She listened for the car to stop at the curb. She listened for the driver to get out and walk to the door of one of the houses she walked past so she could dismiss her worry as silly and unnecessary.

No. Someone had anonymously sent her sexy underwear, in the right size no less, so her worries were not silly. Not silly at all. Had her underwear thief stolen the things that had been drying on the line simply to get her size? That indicated an unhealthy interest and determination and all the other traits one did not want from a secret admirer. Like it or not, she could not brush this incident off as nothing. Not anymore. She took a deep breath, gathered her composure as best she could and turned her head slowly, trying for a nonchalant glance back. She’d pretend to see a neighbor. Maybe she’d even look past the car to smile and wave. Surely if someone was following her they wouldn’t try anything if they knew they’d been seen.

Sara took a deep breath, slowed her step and turned her head—and was immediately relieved and incensed. How dare he? She spun about and stalked toward the car that was so obviously tailing her as if she were the criminal.

Dante Mangino smiled and lifted the fingers that had been resting on the steering wheel of his city car for a casual wave. He didn’t even have the grace to look guilty! Conservative suit and short haircut aside, he didn’t look like any police officer she’d ever seen. He was irreverent, fiery—and, after all these years, still the bad boy.

The driver’s-side window was down, allowing him to enjoy the mild March air. One arm rested nonchalantly there, his elbow jutting out of the car.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

He didn’t seem at all taken aback by her obvious annoyance. “Why, ma’am, I’m making sure the mayor of this fine town gets home safe and sound. That’s all.”

Was it her imagination, or was his subtle Southern accent exaggerated a bit for that comment?

Sara’s first impulse was to tell him that it was unnecessary, and then she admitted to herself that she was comforted to see him there, that the shadows did not seem so ominous now that she was not alone, and the noises that had moments earlier seemed out of place were suddenly ordinary and not at all alarming.

“This is ridiculous,” she said in a calm voice. “The least you can do is park your car, get out and walk with me.” She could only imagine what her neighbors would have to say about that, but it was preferable to having him tail her around the block at three miles an hour.

It was obvious by Dante’s expression that he had not expected the invitation. He’d expected—perhaps even wanted—a fight.

“All right,” he said, pulling his car closer to the curb and shutting off the engine. He exited the car in a way that was smooth and graceful and strong. She wasn’t sure how that was possible, but it was. This man, Chief Jesse Edwards’s cousin or not, was trouble with a capital T.

After the disaster with Dante so many years ago, Sara had worked very hard to be immune to trouble, especially of the male kind. While her friends in college had gone gaga over bad boys with pretty faces, she had always looked for more. She’d looked for intelligence and a sense of humor and kindness. She’d looked for stability. After her brief and fabulous and ultimately unhappy experience with Dante, those were the attributes she deemed to be worthy, not killer dark eyes and a face with sharp lines and nicely shaped lips, and thick heads of hair that might be a warm black or a very dark brown. Not long legs and strong hands and a way of moving that was both graceful and masculine. Those things were nice bonuses, but they were shallow and not at all important.

So why did her mouth go dry as Dante Mangino approached? “You’re not really dressed for walking.”

“That’s not a problem,” he said, and then he smiled.

“You don’t walk very fast.”

Sara resumed her walk. With Dante beside her she felt much less anxious in one way—and much more uneasy in another. She couldn’t allow a man to get under her skin so easily. Her memories of the past were just that—memories of a time gone by. She was not the same person she’d been at seventeen, and neither was he. She didn’t know him at all. Dante was still good-looking, and he was in great physical shape—and he had no manners at all. He had a wicked grin and a way of taking her breath away with a glance.

For so long—from the time she’d met Robert eleven years ago, in fact—her relationships with men other than her husband had been businesslike or comfortably casual. She’d never met any man who made her feel so on edge, so anxious. Sara was old enough and experienced enough to know what that edgy feeling meant.

In an instant, Dante Mangino had reawakened a part of her that had been sleeping for such a long time she’d thought it dead and gone.

It would be best to quickly and firmly put him in that business category, to squash whatever it was he aroused in her. “So,” she said casually as they walked down the familiar sidewalk. “Tell me about yourself. Are you married?” She hoped he’d say yes. No matter how attractive he was, no matter how he turned her stomach to mush with a glance, no matter that she still remembered what his arms felt like when they wrapped around her, she would not even consider getting involved with or even fantasizing about a married man.

“Nope,” he answered. He matched her short strides with his long ones with little effort, and offered no details or other information about himself.

“I imagine you have a serious girlfriend,” she said. As long as he was in some sort of committed relationship…

“No,” he said, as decisively as he’d denied being married.

She knew he wasn’t gay. Too bad. That would definitely solve her problem. She was a sensible woman. Why had she felt drawn to this man from the moment she’d opened the door? She didn’t believe in instant attraction! It was too much like love at first sight, which she most definitely did not believe in. She and Robert had been friends first, good friends, and love had come later. It had grown slowly and surely into something special.

Robert had been a lasting, slow burn. Dante had been a firecracker.

“Why the interest in my personal life, Mayor?” Dante asked.

Did he address her as “Mayor” in order to maintain a distance? Was he as uninterested in rekindling what they’d had as she was? It wasn’t as if they’d seen one another and fallen into welcoming arms. “I’m just trying to be friendly, to catch up. After all, we haven’t seen each other in a long time. I’m simply making conversation, and you’re not helping with your one-word answers.”

“Sorry,” he responded, not sounding at all remorseful. “So, let’s catch up. Are you dating anyone? Is there a guy around who would love to see you in that teeny-weeny red silk…”

“Dante Mangino!” Sara snapped. “That is…” she stammered and her step faltered. “That question is so inappropriate, I don’t know how to respond.”

“Yes or no will do,” he said, his step and his voice maddeningly steady. “After all, we’re just making conversation. Just catching up.” There was an edge to his voice as he threw her words back at her.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t bother,” she muttered. As they rounded the corner she was glad for the ensuing silence. She and Dante had nothing in common these days. They never had! Yes, he was good-looking and a fine example of the male species, but if she had to spend more than a few minutes alone with him, he’d quickly drive her crazy. Of course, they wouldn’t necessarily have to talk…Sara started counting her steps to lead her mind in another direction.

“Is there a boyfriend?” her walking companion asked a short while later, his voice deeper and more thoughtful than it had been before.

“I don’t see that it’s an issue.”

“A boyfriend or ex should be the first suspect in a theft like yours. The angle is very personal, very intimate.”

At least he didn’t say underwear again. “No boyfriend,” she said. “No ex, either,” she added before he could ask.

“That surprises me,” he said, sounding momentarily sincere.

“I’m a widow.”

“I know. Sorry.” His words were simple and short but seemed heartfelt. “So, no boyfriends at all since your husband died?”

“Robert’s been gone four years.” Four years, three months and seven days, to be precise. “No, there hasn’t been anyone since then.” That sting in her heart flared up again. The ache always caught her by surprise, though by now she should be used to it.

“How about unwanted attention?” Dante asked. “Has anyone been asking you out repeatedly, hanging around, sending gifts, writing letters?”

Since he sounded as if he was thinking strictly of business, she did not take offense. “No.” Then she laughed lightly and added, “Unless you count anonymous letters telling me what a terrible mayor I am and how a woman has no business in the office and how…”

Dante stopped in his tracks. “Anonymous letters?”

Sara stopped, too. They had almost completed her usual circuitous course, and she could see her house two doors down. It was all but dark, and where the oaks shadowed her house and the street it truly was night. “It comes with the job.”

“Do any of these letters threaten violence?” Dante snapped.

“No. They’re simply the ramblings of dissatisfied residents of Tillman who’re too cowardly to sign their names.”

Her escort took her arm and led her toward her house. “Did you keep the letters?”

“Yes. I file all correspondence.” He was moving a little bit too fast for her. With his quick step and long legs and the way he held her arm, she had to almost jog to keep pace.

“Tomorrow morning I’d like a look at those letters.”

“Why? They can’t possibly be related to the theft.”

“Can’t possibly?” he repeated. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t have an answer for that, so she remained silent as he steered her with purpose toward her own front door.

After driving around the block a couple of times and then grabbing a coffee and sandwich to go at the Tillman Café, Dante parked at the curb in front of the mayor’s house. He was probably being overly cautious, but in his world that was much preferable to not being cautious enough. He’d had the world yanked out from under him once before and wouldn’t allow that to happen again. It was easiest to expect and be prepared for the worst.

When he got a look at the letters in the morning, he’d have a better idea about whether or not he should be concerned. Working for Bennings, he was usually called in after the case had turned serious. He wasn’t sure how to handle something that might be threatening but was more likely to be nothing at all.

By nine-thirty, all the downstairs lights in Sara Vance’s house were out. There were outdoor lights that remained on for security purposes, but he could easily see the interior illumination through the windows, and one by one the lamps and overhead lights were extinguished. He could imagine Sara climbing the stairs, drawing a bath—or did she prefer a shower?—then climbing into bed with a book or maybe some work she’d brought home with her. What would she sleep in? he wondered. Flannel pajamas, maybe. A long, prim nightgown with a drawstring in the hem. Then again, perhaps she had a secret wild side and slept in red satin or, even better, nothing at all. The prim presentation could be a front, a facade that kept unwanted attention at a distance.

You must be Sergeant Mangino, my ass.

Her bedroom faced the street. At least, Dante assumed it was her bedroom, since that was where the last light of the night remained on. Yeah, that was her bedroom. He could see no more than lacy, feminine curtains, and still, he knew. She was there, sitting up in her bed with that book or papers from work in her lap. Maybe there was a television in that room and she was catching the news.

Sitting alone in his car, he smiled. Maybe he hadn’t recognized her right away, but he would never forget Sarabeth Caldwell and those few weeks they’d spent so much time together. They had run in such dissimilar circles that they never should’ve met, but in a small town it had been inevitable.

Her date at a summer party for the popular kids—a party Dante had crashed, thanks to cousin Jesse—had drunk too much beer and had ended up making out with one of Sarabeth’s friends. Moron. The other girl had been easy and, as he remembered, well developed, but she had not been nearly as pretty as Sarabeth.

He remembered stepping outside to smoke and finding her, shoulders shaking and face in hands. For a moment he’d considered sneaking back into the house before she saw him, but instead he’d offered to drive her home.

She’d quickly said yes because she hadn’t wanted to go back into the party and let the others see her cry. The fact that he had seen her crying hadn’t seemed to matter. He had been temporary. In a few weeks he’d be gone, and it wasn’t as though there had been anyone of importance that he could have told about her embarrassment. He’d known that and hadn’t cared. There was no way he could’ve left her there, alone and miserable, hiding and suffering.

He’d taken Jesse’s keys and promised to be back in a matter of minutes. The flat tire could not have come at a better time.

Dante had changed the tire, and Sarabeth had quit crying. She’d gotten angry and accused him of causing the flat tire. He’d laughed at her and she hadn’t liked that at all. These days he could easily arrange a convenient flat tire, with some planning and the right tools, but back then he hadn’t had a clue. He hadn’t had a clue about a lot of things, truth be told.

Somewhere along the way, he’d kissed Sarabeth. It hadn’t been his first kiss, or hers, but he could still remember kissing her and feeling as if he was falling into nothingness, like nothing else mattered. She’d been a spoiled rich kid who would never have looked his way if she hadn’t needed him, and he’d suspected that the kiss was a revenge of sorts for the cheating boyfriend. None of that had mattered, however, and that kiss had changed everything.

Only one other time in his life had he found himself attracted to a woman who was so totally and completely wrong for him. Whatever contentment he’d found in thinking of the old days with Sarabeth disappeared in a flash as he stared at the house before him and let go of old memories.

Things hadn’t worked out well for Serena. Not at all. Dante didn’t waste his time on women like her—or Sara—anymore. He wasn’t so foolish as to think that he could bring a woman into the world he lived in and then let her go unscathed. Or worse, never let her go at all.

The women who came into and out of his life on a regular basis knew who he was and what he wanted and that he wouldn’t be sticking around for long, and they didn’t care. They lived for the moment, for the night. Four years after her husband’s passing, Sara Vance remained faithful. She likely could not even imagine living for the night, giving herself to a man who wouldn’t stay, throwing herself into the moment strictly for the fun of it. For the pleasure.

Even eighteen years ago she’d been cautious. They’d kissed plenty, and he’d snaked his hand up her blouse more than once, but that had been it. He’d thought he’d die if he didn’t have her, if he didn’t get inside her, but she would have none of it. They’d come close, very close, but in the end Sarabeth Caldwell had been the one to get away, the one female he’d wanted to distraction and had not had. Maybe that was lucky for her.

Around ten-fifteen, the light in her bedroom was switched off. A moment later, the lace curtains at that window moved, very slightly. Was she watching him, now? Did she realize or care that he was keeping an eye on her?

The curtain fell, and he waited. Knowing Sara, she was likely to come storming out of the house in a thick, ugly bathrobe, still managing to look sexy as all get out. She’d order him off her street. She’d order him to go back to his lonely little duplex and get some sleep. When that didn’t happen, he waited for his cell to ring. She was the mayor, after all, and getting his cell number from Jesse wouldn’t take her more than a few minutes.

But no one came running out of the house, and his phone didn’t ring. Maybe she hadn’t seen him after all.

It was after midnight when Dante finally headed toward his rented duplex to grab a few hours of sleep. He was restless, unsettled. It had been a while since he’d thought about Serena. As he drove down the deserted Tillman streets, he wondered if he’d dream of colorful silk and creamy skin, or slit throats and unheard screams.

When the door to her office opened without warning, Sara’s head snapped up. After yesterday evening’s disturbing events, she was more than a little on edge. Jumpy. She was downright jumpy. She was relieved to see her friend Patty walk in, bearing two tall disposable cups of coffee. Dressed for work in a conservative blue suit, with her long dark hair pulled back into a sleek bun, Patty looked very much the professional. There was no hint of the wild child she had once been—not outwardly.