Silken Threats (13 page)

“Yes, I do. I think someone knows exactly what’s under that floor, or at least believes they do. Our only chance is to get to it first.”

She thought over the decisions they’d made. “We need to finish digging up that floor.”

“Opening up a huge hole isn’t the way to keep Detective Graystone’s curiosity at bay.”

“I suppose not. I can’t imagine he misses much.”

“I think we have to open the floor ourselves. Without the detective’s involvement.”

“He needs to know.”

“Does he? We don’t even know. Only now we’re sitting on a half-dug hole in the floor and a mysterious letter.”

Cassidy knew involvement from the police was to their benefit, but curiosity and her lifelong relationship with Jo Beauregard held her back.

There could be anything in that floor. And whatever was there was obviously valuable, or those after it wouldn’t be so ruthless. Of course, heading down that path—and the belief that the concrete veiled something of value—brought her thinking back full circle.

They should get help from the police and go back to their lives.

Tucker took another sip of his coffee, quiet as he waited for her to continue, and in that moment something that had been nagging at her finally surfaced. “You said something to me earlier but I’d say it’s doubly true of you.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t seem at all interested in what’s under the floor.”

“I’m far more interested in the woman who walks and works above it.”

Again, that rush of desire threatened to swamp her like a wave in a hurricane, only this time, she was helpless to move away or resist. Helpless to resist the arguments her subconscious was intent on serving up.

Temporary passion.

Heightened tension.

Adrenaline high.

Every argument that whispered through her mind grew more and more faint as she allowed her gaze to roam over Tucker’s kind, understanding face.

He reached out and took her mug from her hands, settling it along with his on a table beside him. Turning back, he pulled her close, draping his arm across her shoulders and snuggling her against his warm, solid chest.

His gaze never left her face and his words were earnest when he finally spoke. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Or to your friends. You have my word on that. Max’s, too.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

In that simple question Cassidy knew absolutely that he understood her.

Her hesitance to trust anyone. Her struggles to be open to new people in her life. And her desire to stop fighting the horrible sense of loneliness that had replaced her family in her life.

He understood.

She had work to do. Things she had to get done before she finally headed off to sleep. But for a few moments, she allowed herself to give in and take the comfort he offered. As they sat there in her small living room, she rested her head against his chest and let the quiet moment surround her.

She took solace in Bailey’s gentle snores, the toll of his earlier adventure obviously trumping the hard work of devouring his bone. And as she gave herself up to the quiet, Cassidy reveled in the presence of the large man who sat, ever watchful, beside her.

Chapter 11

S
till groggy from sleep, Tucker followed the smell of coffee through her small house toward the kitchen. He’d fallen asleep on Cassidy’s living-room couch, at some point stretching out when she’d murmured she had to finish something in her office.

Next thing he knew he was blinking away the early-morning sun that blazed through her front bay windows, announcing the new day.

He’d slept hard, no doubt about it, but he usually maintained a base level of awareness, even when tired. He’d learned in the Corps to sleep light, and his last year with Bailey had helped him continue the practice. Although Bailey had trained well, he wasn’t so far past puppyhood that Tucker could fully relax his guard. A late-night chew session with a new pair of running shoes the previous month had only reinforced the point.

But he’d hit it hard last night.

He padded into Cassidy’s kitchen and came to a stop at the sight that greeted him.

Bailey lay at Cassidy’s feet, his bone between his paws, while she ate a slice of toast with peanut butter and scratched at an image in a sketch pad with a pencil. Both seemed oblivious to him so he took a moment to look his fill.

The sun was softer in here, less direct, and it highlighted the magnificent array of reds in her hair. From deep auburn to a soft ginger and a multitude of shades in between, he wanted to reach out and fist his hands in all those lush strands.

His gaze had already moved on toward her lips when Bailey let out a short yip, giving him away.

“Good morning.” She laid her pencil down, a soft smile playing about her lips. “Coffee’s ready, and I can make you toast, eggs, cereal or all of the above.”

“You don’t need to cook. I’ll get some toast.”

“Oh, and I have bananas, too.”

“Breakfast of champions.”

“I bet you’ve had less.”

He thought about her statement—heard the question lying underneath—and turned to face her after depressing the tab on the toaster. “You seem curious about my time in the Corps.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No.” He paused, wanting to get it right. “It doesn’t bother me at all. Consider my comment observation more than censure.”

“I know we should be focused on the issue at hand—” She broke off, and once again he sensed there was something bigger lying underneath her words.

The toaster popped, and he busied himself with the butter and jelly she’d already set out, giving her a moment to think through what she wanted to say.

In his experience, once someone got up the courage to broach a subject, they wanted to get it out. Some well-placed silence often gave that needed push to get them over the hump.

Toast in one hand and a fresh mug of coffee in the other, he took a seat opposite her.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“You seem to have a healthy attitude about whatever you saw while in the service. But it’s a big part of your life and you don’t say much.”

“I have the occasional nightmare from time to time, but I consider myself fortunately exempt from some more destructive memories.” He thought about some of the men he knew who weren’t so lucky and paused a moment to take a sip of his coffee. “Our first project after starting Dragon Designs was doing some pro bono work for a new veteran’s facility in Dallas.”

“The one that’s going up just north of downtown.”

“One and the same.”

“That’s yours?”

He saw that spark—recognized the compliment of another creator—and nodded. “Top to bottom.”

“You’ve created something wonderful with your talent. A haven for others.”

“You do the same.” He reached out and tapped his finger against the top of her sketchpad. “That’s a pretty amazing drawing. Even now, as only some quick pencils over breakfast, I can see the design and workmanship. The woman who ends up with that dress will benefit from your talent.”

“It’s our job at Elegance and Lace to create a beautiful day for others.”

“Something you’ve created out of the ashes of tragedy.”

She paused and the same pain he’d seen the night before when she spoke of her sister flashed once more before fading. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

“Maybe you should. It’s an accomplishment. To take difficulty and make something out of it. Something strong and good.”

He took a big bite of his toast and tapped the sketch pad again. “So. Where are we headed today? You said you had fittings.”

“
I’m
headed to a couple of my brides’ homes. I assumed you were headed back to work. I already spoke to Detective Graystone. He wants to talk to both of us.”

“He can wait until later. I’m not leaving you on your own.”

“Tucker, I’ll be fine.”

Bailey whined at his side for some toast and he tossed over the last piece of his crust before reaching for his coffee. “I’m not sure what part of ‘I’m with you until we get the floor uncovered and taken care of’ you don’t get yet.”

“You can’t go with me to a fitting.”

“I’m not coming into the woman’s bedroom while she tries things on.” He shot her a big grin before standing to make another round of toast. “Unless you’re in need of my dress-zipping services.”

“Um, no.” She came up behind him to fill her coffee mug. “How will I explain you?”

“Designer in training? Bodyguard? New boyfriend? Take your pick.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“It’s the deal if you want to keep your appointments today.”

She set her mug down, then whirled on him. “When did you get so bossy?”

“When someone decided to ransack your business, then stalk us to your home and then shoot at me when I wanted answers.”

The dark reminder of the threat that hung over her head stopped her, her pale skin going even paler and highlighting the circles under her eyes.

He wanted to apologize—knew he should—but held his tongue as her gaze brightened, like blue sky opening up behind a mass of storm clouds. “Then I think I have just the job for you.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Lackey.”

* * *

Cassidy looked over her shoulder, tossing out orders as she hauled two oversize cases full of her supplies. “Don’t let that dress drop on the ground. In fact, don’t even think about the ground.”

“I’m not thinking about anything.”

“I believe you’re thinking something that includes the
B
word but I promise not to hold it against you. Vi and Lilah often think the same things when I’m knee-deep in a fitting.”

She heard the hard bark of laughter and knew they were back on even ground. It had been a close call, she mused, as she rang Bridget Talloway’s doorbell.

Tucker had been determined to help, but he clearly had had no idea what went into the production of a wedding dress. An hour in her company and now he knew.

“You do this for every dress you make?” The thick layers of silk crinkled in his hands, but Cassidy was pleased to note he held the wrapped material high and across both arms.

“We usually do it at the shop, but yes, several times per dress.”

“How many times does it take?”

“As many as it takes to get it right.” When he said nothing, she added, “I’m sure you don’t get every sketch right the first time.”

“Hell, no.”

“This is the same.”

“But you already have her measurements.”

“It doesn’t mean there aren’t adjustments. Modifications. A tuck here or letting out a seam there.”

“I respect what you’re saying but still don’t quite get it.” He hefted the swath in his arms a bit higher. “There’s enough material here to cover a rhino.”

“Tucker!” She hip-bumped him because her hands were full of her own supplies. “You never say that to a bride.”

“I didn’t say she was one.”

“Nothing that remotely suggests weight is ever to be uttered around a bride.” At the sound of footsteps on the other side of the doorway, she added in a lower voice, “Or to any woman, for that matter. Did you just crawl out from under a rock?”

His scowl was deep when the door opened but he said nothing as her blushing—and slender—bride greeted them from the other side of the door.

“Cassidy!” The loud screech and big hug pulled her through the door on a whirlwind, the woman’s excitement so extreme she didn’t even register Tucker’s presence. “You’re here!”

“Good morning, Bridget. I hope you don’t mind I brought my assistant along.”

“Of course not.”

Tucker lifted the material high. “Where do you want me to set this?”

“Go ahead and put it on my bed.” Bridget pointed toward a door on the first floor. She waited until Tucker disappeared into the room before she whirled. “Tell me he’s yours.”

“My assistant?” Cassidy ignored the flutter in her belly at the lie. “Yes, he works for me.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I don’t know.” Bridget shrugged. “I just thought there was something more. Like you can’t stand to be away from him for a single moment and he feels the same so he had to come with you.”

“That would be horribly unprofessional.”

“Oh, bull.” Bridget crossed to the fridge and pulled out three waters. “You, Violet and Lilah are some of the most professional professionals I know. That doesn’t mean you’re not human. Besides, I think a group of women who run an awesome bridal company should all be lucky enough to be wild and crazy in love.”

It wasn’t the first time someone had pointed out that she and her partners were still single, running a boutique that specialized in the most love-struck part of love. Either together or in individual consultations with brides, each of them had dealt with it. They’d cultivated thick skins and a litany of polite remarks to deflect the questions or excited comments. She and her friends all knew the comments were shared in excitement and in the spirit of happiness, love and sisterhood.

So why did this one stick a bit harder than usual?

Bridget handed her a water. “So what’s wrong with the shop? Not that I’m sorry you came to me, but what happened?”

Cassidy shared the practiced excuse—some unavoidable work on the floor that was churning up too much dust—and quickly gestured toward the woman’s bedroom.

Tucker came back from the bedroom, his face set in grim lines. Cassidy nearly laughed at his somber demeanor but instead pointed toward Bridget. “Bridget and her fiancé, Cole, are getting married at the end of next month at the Arboretum.”

He might not be happy in his surroundings or with playing delivery boy, but she had to give him credit.

Tucker Buchanan knew how to handle a woman.

A bright smile lit his face and he moved into animated conversation, full of the right balance of subtle flirtation and interest as he peppered Bridget with questions about her big day.

At the point where they moved into a discussion of her fiancé’s decision to do a morning coat versus a standard tuxedo Cassidy figured he’d suffered enough.

“Why don’t we get started?”

At Bridget’s excited nod and Tucker’s raised eyebrows behind her bride’s head, Cassidy pointed toward the living room. “Tucker. I believe you needed to call our contractor and light a fire under him. I’ll take Bridget to the bedroom.”

“I’ll be here if you need me. Have fun.”

Bridget waved at him as she practically danced down the hall. “We will.”

Cassidy didn’t miss his words—meant just for her—before she followed her happy bride.

“I really am great with zippers.”

Unwilling to give him the last laugh, she took a few steps back and moved into his chest. Lifting to her tiptoes, she pressed her lips near his ear. “Funny. So am I.”

* * *

Max stood over an oversize card table Violet had set up for him in the front of the shop. They’d decided to hold off breaking through the concrete till after hours when they could all concentrate on the situation. For now, they had several blueprints spread out and he reviewed each of them, making notes on a large legal pad.

For her part, she couldn’t make sense of any of them but hadn’t yet found a reason to move away from the large, capable man filling the front of her shop.

That’s because you don’t want to.

While she prided herself on being a smart, sensible woman who could tackle any task put in front of her, the blueprints were like reading Greek. She also prided herself on being a woman who could handle her hormones, so why the hell did her gaze keep straying to the corded muscles of his forearms or the thick biceps that flexed beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt?

“This was a good idea.” Max pointed toward the layout of Dragon Designs. “Nearly all these warehouses were built around the same time after World War II. We might find something in our blueprints that help us figure out the lay of the land. I’m glad you thought of this.”

She stumbled over the compliment—they hadn’t exactly been civil to each other up until now, but she left that thought unspoken. “It’s amazing your grandfather’s got the originals.”

“The man throws nothing away. He’s got a copy at home of these, too.”

“So anal-retentive tendencies really are hereditary.”

Max shot her a dark look before it was replaced with a smile and a hard laugh. She couldn’t hold back her own, the stress of the past few days more tiring than she’d realized.

It was good to laugh. Good to find something to break up the tension. And it was even better to laugh with him.

“I keep thinking about your observations from last night. About how closed up your grandfather and Mrs. B. are. Is it possible you got some small detail from the discussion you’ve maybe overlooked?”

“I don’t think so.” Max tossed his pencil on the blueprints and stepped away. “Old man’s closed up tighter than an oil drum.”

Violet’s gaze shifted to the back of the shop. “You think he knows what’s in here?”

“I think he knows something.”

“And we’re smack in the middle of it all.”

The interest she always saw in his deep blue gaze flickered once more before something more somber took its place.

Honesty.

“I think you, Lilah and Cassidy are in this. Deep in this. And I think we need to take a more direct approach with the detective. Get the police down here watching the store.”