Against the Storm1 (20 page)

Trace held her for several long moments, then kissed her softly. “You okay?”

She just smiled and nodded.

He carried her into the bedroom and set her on her feet in front of the bathroom door. “You probably need a minute.”

She looked into those fierce brown eyes. “What is it about you?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know, but I’d better go check on dinner before we decide to do a little more research on the subject.” His gaze raked her in a way that meant he was ready all over again. “Unless you want to skip dinner altogether.”

Maggie grinned. “Tempting.” More than tempting. “But suddenly I discover I’m starving. I’ll be right out.” She gave him a last seductive smile, darted into the bathroom, closed the door and leaned against it, feeling boneless and pleasantly sated.

Until tonight, she hadn’t realized what a hussy she was.

Maggie grinned.

Trace released a slow breath. He couldn’t remember a woman who turned him on the way Maggie did. He drove her crazy? The woman was driving him completely insane.

For an instant while they were making love he’d felt a rush of lust so fierce he’d thought he was going to lose it.
Not gonna happen,
he’d told himself, determined that pleasuring Maggie was more important that pleasuring himself. At least for the moment.

He smiled as he walked into the kitchen. His willpower had paid off a thousand times over. Damn, he liked making love to her.

Trace heard her moving around in the bathroom and his smile slipped away. There was no doubt the sex was great. Better than great. But after Carly, he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. When he’d discovered the truth about his marriage, discovered what a fool he had been, he had sunk to an all-time low.

He was never really in love with Carly, and yet it had taken him months to get past his doubts and regain some of his old self-confidence. He didn’t want to go through anything like that again.

Maggie came wandering in, interrupting his thoughts. She’d done a nice job of putting herself back together, but there was no way to hide it. She looked like a woman well loved.

He wanted to turn off the stove and carry her back to bed.

The night is young,
he consoled himself, thinking of all the ways he meant to have her.

“What’s for supper?” She sniffed the air as she poured herself a glass of white wine. “Something sure smells good.”

“Spaghetti and meatballs, salad and French bread. That okay with you?”

“You bet.” She lifted her glass. “Want one?”

“Does a jackrabbit like to run?”

She laughed, poured more wine and handed it to him. She stood close enough that he could smell her perfume, and his body stirred. Maggie went up on her toes and kissed him full on the lips, and his erection returned.

“Food and then sex,” she said. “Sounds good to me.”

Trace kissed her back. When Maggie moaned into his mouth and her nipples went hard, his decision was made.
Sex and then food.

Maggie didn’t protest when he carried her into the bedroom again.

M
aggie woke up at two in the morning. She’d always had a reliable mental alarm clock and it served her well tonight. She needed to get home. Jason would be gone by now and she didn’t want Ashley staying in the town house by herself. It was too soon after her telephone run-in with the stalker. What if the creep tried to break into the house?

She looked over at Trace, who was sleeping on his stomach, the sheet riding low on his hips. Lord, the man was gorgeous. A wide back ridged with muscle, smooth, suntanned skin and a tight little round behind… He attracted her as no man ever had, satisfied her as no man ever had, and yet she felt something deeper than just sexual desire.

Something she refused to think about with so much going on in her life.

Instead, she quietly put her now-wrinkled sundress back on and headed for the door. She left a note on the pad by the phone, wrote “Enjoyed the meal and everything that went with it—not necessarily in that order” and headed out to her car. She couldn’t lock the house
up tight without a key, but pushed the button on the doorknob so no one could just walk in.

Her car was parked in front. She drove the little red SUV toward home and had almost reached the turn onto Broadmoor Street when her cell phone rang. She smiled as she recognized Trace’s number. “Hey, cowboy.”

“I thought you were staying for breakfast,” he growled. “I had a lot more plans for you.”

She laughed, felt a little quiver of desire, which was ridiculous, considering. “I was worried about Ashley. I didn’t want her there by— Oh, my God!”

“What is it?”

Maggie made a strangled sound into the phone.

“Maggie! For chrissake, what is it?”

“The house…the house is on fire!” Her throat closed up. “Oh, God, Trace, it’s on fire!” She tossed the phone down on the passenger seat and stepped on the gas, fishtailed around the corner and shot down the street.

Orange and yellow flames roared into the air through the roof of the town house. Smoke billowed in thick, gray plumes into the ink-black sky. Her heart was hammering, trying to pound its way through her ribs. Her throat was as dry as the timbers going up in flames.

The first fire truck was already there, and another careened around the corner right behind her. Maggie jerked the wheel, forcing the car to the opposite side of the road and jumped out without closing the door. Her pulse was racing; tears blurred her vision.

Dear God, Ashley and Robbie!
She started running across the street, heading straight for the front door, but stumbled and nearly fell when a fireman stepped in her way, blocking her path.

“You can’t go in there, miss.”

“That’s my house! My sister’s in there—my sister and her baby!”

The fireman’s big gloved hands settled firmly on her shoulders. “They’re okay,” he said gently. “They’re safe. They’re right over there.” He tipped his head toward the street, angling his wide-brimmed helmet in that direction.

Maggie’s heart squeezed. She sagged in relief. Drawing in a shaky breath, she brushed the tears from her cheeks, changed course and hurried toward the slender figure huddled in a blanket on the curb, little Robbie tight in her arms.

“Ashley! Ashley, oh, God, are you all right?”

Her sister stood up, holding on to the baby, and Maggie wrapped her arms around them both. She was shaking all over, her legs weak with leftover fear and relief.

“We’re okay,” Ashley said. “We’re both okay.”

Maggie’s throat clogged with tears and she started crying. “I shouldn’t have let you stay with me. I was afraid something would happen. If you and Robbie had been hurt or—or…” She swallowed, unable to complete the awful thought.

“We’re all right, Maggie, truly. This wasn’t your fault.”

She looked over at the row of town houses. None of the other units were burning. So far the firemen had been able to keep the blaze contained to her house alone. All the other owners seemed to have been evacuated, and small groups milled around in the darkness, watching the firefighters battle the fire. Mrs. Epstein sat on a lawn chair someone had been thoughtful enough to provide, and was talking to some of the neighbors.

Maggie watched the flames leaping into the air, the
dense streams of water shooting toward the roof from three different hoses, the wall of smoke slowly changing from black to white, and her throat clogged even more.

A noise caught her attention. She turned at the sound of boots ringing on asphalt, and spotted the tall, familiar male figure.
Trace.

“Maggie!” He strode toward her, his hat missing, his hair still rumpled from sleep. His eyes were dark and filled with concern, his forehead lined with worry. His glance went from her to the fire. Then he spotted Ashley and Robbie, and some of the tension drained from his features. “Everybody get out okay?”

Maggie nodded. “Everyone’s all right.” She started crying again, shifted so that Trace wouldn’t see. She felt his hands settle gently on her shoulders. He turned her toward him, drew her into his arms and just held on.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Your sister and the baby are safe. The other residents got out okay. Everything’s going to be all right.”

A little sob escaped. “This is my fault.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I shouldn’t have made him mad. Oh, God, Trace.”

His arms tightened around her. “This wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.” He eased her a little away, brushed a light kiss over her lips. “You scared the holy bejeezus out of me, darlin’.”

The soft drawl rolled over her like a warm caress. She knew she had frightened him, and the worry in his eyes made her heart twist. She sniffed, accepted the handkerchief he pulled out of the back pocket of his jeans and blew her nose.

“I shouldn’t have gone to your house tonight. I should have stayed home.”

“I don’t think that would have pleased your sister and Jason very much, and it wouldn’t have changed anything anyway.” He turned his attention to Ashley, who stared at the fire as if she were in a trance. “Tell me what happened, honey.”

Ashley turned to look at him. Beneath the blanket, she was wearing her shortie, pink flowered robe, and her feet were bare. “I don’t exactly know. After Jason left, I went over to Mrs. Epstein’s to pick up Robbie. I brought him home and put him in his crib and we went to bed. I was sleeping pretty hard until something woke me up. I don’t know exactly what it was, some kind of noise, I guess. I got up to check things out, and when I reached the kitchen, I saw this bright yellow glow over the yard. I didn’t realize the house was on fire until one of the neighbors started banging on the door.”

She took a shaky breath. “I grabbed Robbie, my purse and the diaper bag, and ran out of the house. People were streaming out of the other condos. Someone had already called the fire department.”

“The fire started upstairs?” Trace asked.

Ashley nodded. “In Maggie’s studio, I think. The door was closed and I didn’t see any flames until I got outside. Then I saw the whole roof on the back side of the town house was on fire.”

Maggie looked at the flames chewing through the space where all her pictures were stored. Weeks of work, hours of effort. Her computer destroyed, along with the files that held all her photographic memory cards, as well as the list of buyers she had been compiling. Her stomach rolled with a combination of nausea and anger.

“He destroyed my studio,” she said, fighting not to cry again. “He was mad because I hung up on him.”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. All your hard work gone because some lunatic wants you and can’t have you.” Trace gazed back at the town house, which was mostly smoking now, though flames still burned in part of the upper story.

Maggie followed his gaze. “Do you think maybe the security cameras might have picked up something?”

“There’s a chance. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He crossed the small grassy area in front of the condo and walked up to one of the firemen, the one who appeared to be in charge. They spoke for a while. Trace pointed toward the camera mounted under the eaves beside the front door. The man replied, Trace nodded, then turned and started walking back in Maggie’s direction.

“The arson squad’s already here,” he said. “See that red Suburban? They’ll be doing some preliminary work tonight, asking questions, taking pictures. They’ll come back tomorrow after the debris cools down, bring the dogs in maybe, examine the interior. They’ll be able to tell us how the fire started and whether or not it was arson.”

“
He
did this. You know he did.”

“Whoever did this knew a lot about electronics. We installed a good system. He had to be damned good to get inside without setting it off.”

“He put cameras in my house. He knew enough to do that.”

“This would be a whole lot harder.”

“Could you get in?”

He frowned. “Yeah.”

“I guess he could, too.”

Trace’s jaw hardened.

“So what about the video cameras?” Maggie asked.

“If they’re intact, the arson guys will take a look at them, let us know if they find anything.” He pinned her with a hard, dark glance. “You’re not gonna like this, but you and your sister are coming home with me. You’ll stay there until we get all of this figured out.”

“Why? So he can burn your house down, too?”

“Trust me, he won’t get into my place. Protection is my business. The only way he gets inside is if I invite him in.”

Maggie didn’t argue. She would rather have checked her weary little family into a motel, but clearly, the stalker was dangerous.

Maybe he figured if he couldn’t have her, he might as well kill her.

Early-morning sunlight streamed in through the kitchen windows. The weather was heating up. Ninety degrees predicted, and the humidity wouldn’t be any fun, either.

Trace poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it over to the kitchen table. Rowdy trotted up beside him, dropped down on the floor next to his chair and rested his muzzle on Trace’s boot.

“Well, boy, we’ve got company, like it or not.”

Rowdy’s ears perked up and Trace chuckled. “What was I thinking? Of course you’d like it. Two pretty females lavishing you with attention.” He set his cup on the red Formica tabletop next to the
Houston Chronicle
he’d carried in off the front porch. On a lark, or maybe in a moment of nostalgia, he’d remodeled the kitchen to look like the 1950s kitchen his grandmother had in the old farmhouse out on the ranch. White and red and chrome. He still liked coming home to it.

He flicked his gaze to the hallway off the living room that led to the bedrooms. His unwilling houseguests were asleep in one of them, exhausted after the fire last night.

Leaning back, Trace combed his fingers through his hair. Maggie felt responsible for the fire, but it wasn’t her fault. If anyone was responsible, he was. She was paying him to protect her. He had failed.

Trace blew out a frustrated breath. He needed to talk to Anthony Ramirez, captain of the Arson Investigation Bureau. Tony was a straight shooter, and he and Trace had worked together before. Tony could confirm what Trace’s gut had already told him—that the fire had been purposely set.

In return, he needed to bring Ramirez up to speed on the threats against Maggie and what little he had found out about her stalker. Until he talked to Ramirez, he couldn’t be sure it was arson, but his instincts, bolstered by his brief conversation with a couple of the fire boys last night, were saying chances were nearly a hundred percent.

He had underestimated this guy at every turn. The last thing he’d expected the bastard to do was set Maggie’s house on fire. The guy was obsessed with her. In some sick fashion, in love with her. Even if he’d been pissed, angry enough after the phone call to do her physical harm, a guy like that would want a face-to-face confrontation. He’d want to get her alone, have her all to himself when he meted out whatever punishment he believed she deserved.

Hell, she wasn’t even there last night—which, since he had to have gone inside to start the blaze, he must have known. He had set the fire anyway, putting Ashley and her baby at risk.

Trace sipped his coffee, trying to get inside the guy’s head. Trying to make sense of things. Coming up with a big fat zero. Again.

Talking to Ramirez came first and foremost, but he also needed to talk to Mark Sayers. The cops had shown up last night and taken a preliminary statement. Mark wasn’t officially involved in the case, but he was a friend and a detective, and Trace wanted him kept in the loop.

He glanced at his watch, saw it was still too early for Sayers to be at the station, looked back down the hall to the guest room door. He had a dozen things to do, but didn’t want to leave without making sure Maggie knew how to operate his alarm system. He wasn’t taking any more chances.

He got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. As much as he wanted to leave, he didn’t want to wake her. She was exhausted and worried. She’d been terrified last night and he didn’t blame her.

He’d been damned terrified himself.

With her cell line open and connected to his, he could hear her crying as she’d raced like a madwoman toward the fire that threatened her family.

Maybe it was realizing how much she cared about them.

Maybe it was realizing how much he had come to care for her.

Whatever it was, his stomach had been churning as he struggled to drag on his clothes, shove his feet into a worn pair of boots and get the hell on the road. His heart had thundered as he’d raced to the condo. All the way there, all he could think of was Maggie.

He wanted her safe. He wanted her out of danger.

Hell, he just plain wanted her.

And he was beginning to realize he wanted her for a lot more than just sex.

The thought scared the hell out of him.

A memory stirred, of Maggie and their heated lovemaking last night, and his blood headed south in arousal.

The worst possible punishment he could inflict on himself was having Maggie O’Connell sleeping in his house—and not sleeping in his bed.