“ARE YOU GOING TO invite me in?”
Andrea stared at Tyler, standing on her front porch, a half smile on his sculpted face. He wore faded jeans and a white collared shirt. A gold star—that she somehow found both adorable and sexy—was pinned over his heart.
“I—Well…sure.” Stepping back, she ran a self-conscious hand over her ponytail. After Sloan’s desertion, she’d dressed in coordinating clothes and hastily used the straightening iron and some balm to calm the sea-air frizzies that had taken over her hair. Still, she knew she looked nothing like the mysterious woman in blue from the night before.
It was a wonder he’d recognized her.
“The house is beautiful,” he said, glancing around the foyer while she closed the door. “Yours?”
“Uh-huh.” She cleared her throat and tried to banish the image of him the last time she’d seen him, naked and well-satisfied. “I bought it when I moved back a few months ago.”
His gaze connected with hers. “Business must be good.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess you have a great view of the ocean. That’s one thing I really miss about leaving the Navy.”
“Do you? I’m sorry about last night,” she blurted.
His grin widened. “I’m not.”
Responding as always to his perfect smile, her heart pounded, not realizing hope was lost. “But you have to be angry. I tricked you.”
“And I want to know why. But I’m not mad.”
She waited for him to change his mind. But he said nothing more. He just looked at her expectantly.
He was supposed to be angry. Feel indignation over her deceit. Yell. Then, she could go back to consulting, fixing her house and making sure her brother didn’t break his probation. There was no future for her and Tyler. Their chemistry had been a charade.
“Okay,” she said finally. “If you want, we could sit on the deck and…talk.” She turned and headed across the polished wooden floors through the den, which, along with the kitchen, dominated the back of the house. A long, curved bar separated the two rooms, and she winced at the scattered paint samples littering its black granite surface. Given her normally meticulous nature, this was a sign of how off balance and distracted she’d been all day.
She took one bracing glance at the rippling waves in the distance, then sat on the end of the red-and-blue-striped cushions on the chaise, leaving Tyler the matching wicker sofa. “So…the thing is…”
“You were very clever last night.”
She smiled. “Some things never change.”
His gaze roved her body. “Some things have.”
“I guess I’m a late bloomer.”
“So brains and beauty now, is it? Not that you weren’t cute before.”
“I wasn’t even in cute’s neighborhood.”
“Sure you were. There was something really great about your eyes. I noticed it last night, too. Though I didn’t connect you with…well, you. What’d you do about the glasses?”
“LASIK surgery,” she said slowly, struck a bit dumb by the great about your eyes comment. He’d noticed her eyes? “Would you have…responded the same way if you’d known who I was last night?”
“I guess so. Why would it matter?”
She worried her lower lip and forced herself to look directly at him. “Look, to be frank, I acted pretty impulsively last night. I’ve been working a lot, and I haven’t—”
“What do you do?”
“As an insurance appraiser, I mostly investigate frauds and historical forgeries.”
He looked impressed. “Yeah?”
“It has its moments. But the thing is, I haven’t taken the time to get involved with anyone for a while.”
“When was the last time you’d had sex before last night?”
“I—” Talk about frank. She blinked. “I’m not sure.”
“Maybe I should have clarified—when’s the last time you had great sex?”
Never without you.
The uncensored thought, thankfully, popped in her head, not out of her mouth. Was that really true? She didn’t want to pause and wonder because then she’d be in serious trouble. “Could I please get this out?”
He leaned back into the sofa cushions. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“So I had this unresolved fantasy about you.” When he opened his mouth, she held up her finger. She’d like to get this done with as little humiliation as possible. “Not that I’ve spent the last decade pining over your yearbook picture or anything. I just felt…unresolved about us. I mean, I kissed you, you said no thanks and that was that, but I still wondered. And hoped things might be different.”
She rose and turned partly away from him. Offering the truth this way was uncomfortable. In all but the most basic sense, he was a stranger. “When I found out you were back on the island, I avoided you. I didn’t want to remember how it used to be.” How it felt to want him and not be able to have him. Drawing a deep breath, she pushed on. “Then last night, Sloan and I got carried away talking about regrets.”
“And fantasies?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, noting he wasn’t smiling anymore. He’d gone very still. “And fantasies. You were mine.”
“Were?”
“Sure. Last night lived up to—well…really surpassed—all my expectations.”
“So now that you’re satisfied, so to speak, you’re done with me?”
Wow, that sounded cold. And she supposed she had to face up to the fact that she had been. “It wasn’t mature or honest of me, I know. I am sorry.” She sank onto the lounge chair, laying her hand on top of his. “If I’d handled things differently, I guess we might have been friends.”
“Friends, huh?”
She couldn’t sense his mood, but he hadn’t stormed out. Yet. She’d used him for sex. He got that, right? “Well, if you want to try, I guess we could start over.”
“Will us being friends involve you patting my hand?”
She glanced over, where her hand covered his. “If you need me to.”
For the first time, he looked annoyed. “Then I’ll pass.”
She started to draw her hand back, but he surprised her by wrapping his fingers around her wrist, and with that little bit of pressure he was able to unbalance her, so she landed in his lap.
Before she could do more than suck in a surprised breath, his mouth had covered hers. With his hand behind her neck, he angled her head, deepening the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers, heat pumping off his body like a furnace.
The sensual hunger that had fed them through the night burst to life with a craving intensity she was sure she’d never escape.
And why would she want to go?
His need for her and her longing for him were explosive chemical compounds, undiscovered until last evening. Impulsiveness and a mask of deceit had led to something magical, something she’d been sure would never strike again. So she reveled in the recurrence.
When he released her, she was panting. “Are you crazy? What was that about?”
“I was just demonstrating that I don’t want to be friends.”
“Okay.” She nodded, but her ears were still ringing, so she was pretty sure she’d misheard him.
“I’m glad you agree.”
“Agree about what?”
“Not being friends. We’ve moved past the friend stage, don’t you think? I would have rather you told me about your fantasy to start with, but I’m willing to catch up. Which one would you like to do next?”
Do what?
He wanted to know about her fantasies and act them out? “I think I just fell into one,” she muttered.
He waggled his eyebrows. “Sex on the beach, huh? That’s a personal favorite of mine, too. We should probably wait until after dark, but if you’re game…” He levered them to standing, still holding her in his arms. “I could always arrest us afterward.”
She kicked her legs. He’d lost his mind. “Put me down.”
“Here or out there?” He bobbed his head toward the ocean.
“I could probably use a good dunking, but here’s good,” she told him. Standing, she had to brace her hand against his chest in order to get her bearings. His kissing ought to qualify the man as a lethal weapon. “We need to clarify some things.”
He looked amused. “More talking, huh? I prefer action.”
“Yes, I—” She stopped as the power of those potent baby blues twisted her stomach into a knot of desire. “I kind of figured that. But I feel compelled to point out that I used you for sex.”
“And anytime you want to do it again, I’m available.”
“But I don’t do that.” His wicked grin called her a liar. “Okay, I don’t normally do that.”
“Good to know I’m a special case.”
But I don’t want you to be special, she nearly blurted out. “I date men,” she said instead. “I have relationships with them. I don’t have casual sex.” And if that tidbit didn’t send him running, nothing would.
“No kidding? Me, too. Well, not the part about men. How about I pick you up for dinner at seven?”
“We can’t date.”
“Sure we can. You said a few minutes ago you weren’t involved with anybody.”
“But—” She certainly didn’t belong with him—island heartthrob, local hero, star of her erotic fantasies.
Their relationship, such as it was, had started off all wrong. Even if she set aside the humiliation of the old crush, him knowing about the fantasy stuff and the way they’d rapidly reacquainted themselves with each other, their compatibility in bed was all they had. Since that was a small aspect—well, maybe not small, but not the be-all, end-all, either—of a successful relationship, she didn’t see any reason to pursue an ultimately futile project.
Plus, she just plain didn’t like that he’d breezed into her house, kissed her, then asked her out as if dinner, a little wine and her flat on her back were all a foregone conclusion.
Of course last night she’d wound up on her back without any dinner at all.
But then it had been all her idea.
“I already have dinner plans,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. They were with her brother, but still.
“You do?”
He clearly hadn’t expected this. No woman had probably ever turned him down. It was yet another reason anything between them was doomed. The balance would always be weighted on his side. She, like everyone else, would always be a little in awe, and she couldn’t let herself be that vulnerable to him again.
“I do appreciate you coming by and clearing the air, but I have work to do this afternoon,” she said, “so if you don’t mind…” And she extended her arm toward the door leading from the deck to the house.
“You’re throwing me out?”
She opened the door, holding it wide. “I’m showing you out.”
He stared at her a long moment, then smiled and moved toward her.
She had a second to recognize this was the identical, ultraconfident, Vote For Me smile that graced signs all over the island, before his scent and nearness overwhelmed her and her brain went fuzzy.
“If your date doesn’t go well, you can always call me later.”
The cockiness wasn’t working on her today. Well, actually it was, but he didn’t have to know that. “I’m sure my date will be more than entertaining.”
He slid his thumb across her cheek. “Too bad.”
“Oh, so you’re not going to hang around and fight him for me?”
“Would I win?”
She thought of her quiet, gangly, video-game-loving brother. He was crafty, not brawny. “Probably,” she hedged.
“It’s tempting. Winning you, I mean, not the fight itself.”
“But…”
“I’ve already seen more fighting than I need.”
His years in the military hadn’t been all medals and glory, it seemed. And, despite her vow to get him out of her life, she found herself curious about the shadows that had moved into his eyes.
“And the islanders might not appreciate their would-be sheriff picking a fight,” he added.
“I guess so.”
He moved past her, then crossed through the den. She followed him down the hall, wishing she could close her eyes and block the view of his fitted jeans riding his narrow hips.
He turned. Regret filled his gorgeous eyes. “Call me if you change your mind.”
She forced a smile and steeled her resolve. “Okay.” As she also forced herself to close the door behind him, she came to an honest and disturbing conclusion.
Despite all her denials, delusional pep talks and hopes to the contrary, their chemistry was no charade.
“SIR, YOU HAVE A visitor,” Dwayne said, sticking his head around the door frame the next morning.
It was Monday, but Tyler resisted the urge to sigh. Barely. “Please don’t call me sir, Dwayne.”
“But you’re in his office,” Dwayne said, a hint of awed fear in his voice. “Sitting at his desk.”
“And when he comes back, give him all the sirs he can handle.”
“Lester Cradock said that if he wins the election for sheriff, I’ll get my own bullwhip, but I have to address him as the Grand Island Pouba.”
“Then you’d better vote for me. Who’s here?”
“Sir—” He cleared his throat. “I mean who’s where?”
“The visitor, Dwayne.”
“Sister Mary Katherine.”
Now Tyler did wince. “Did she say what she needs?”
“No. Sorry. Should I have asked her?”
Rising, Tyler shook his head. “You’re not my secretary.” He dropped a pile of faxes on the desk as he headed out of the office. “I’m not getting anywhere on this missing-silver case anyway. Nothing about the theft makes any sense.”
“Yesterday you seemed sure the tea set would turn up in the pawnshops.”
“Proving I know significantly less about local law enforcement than I do about flying M-16s.”
“I’m not sure I’d put that on your campaign posters.”
“You’re probably right.”
Would he have a stronger focus on this case if he wasn’t spending every waking moment thinking about Andrea? If he hadn’t slept wishing Andrea was beside him? If he couldn’t swear the alluring scent of her perfume brushed past him every five minutes?
He could admit his ego was bruised. But the feeling weighing in his chest went beyond ego and disappointment. He was hurt.
He rarely had trouble getting and keeping a woman’s attention. Where had he gone wrong with Andrea? Was one night really enough for her? She wasn’t involved with anybody, but she’d had dinner plans she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change to be with him.
At some point, he really needed to look around for his charm.
“Have you heard back from Mrs. Jackson’s pool cleaning company yet?” he asked Dwayne as they walked down the hall.
“I don’t know how much of a company it is, boss. And his answering machine’s message is Went to catch some waves. Later. So we might not hear from him right on through the end of summer.”
“Keep trying, will you? Maybe we’ll go by his office this afternoon and see if any of his neighbors have seen him.”
“I think he lives and works from his parents’ garage.”
“Terrific. Maybe they know where he is.”
They rounded the corner into the outer office, which separated the rest of the station from the waiting area. For security purposes, the room had a large front window made of bulletproof glass.
Aqua Joliet, the station’s day receptionist and 911 dispatcher, sat leaning back in her chair, her bare feet propped on her desk as she smacked gum and flipped through the pages of a fashion magazine.
This was her usual pose, and since Tyler was only temporarily in charge and he’d yet to find any fault with her job performance—even the lack of footwear could be considered normal for the island—he didn’t generally comment. But with Sister Mary Katherine sitting only yards away, dressed in her formal black-and-white habit and knitting something, the whole business seemed strange at best, disrespectful at worst.
He stopped at her desk and leaned toward her. “If crime were running rampant on the island, Aqua, and your fellow citizens were to dial nine-one-one, would they get an analysis of London Sheraton’s latest party dress or actual help from the sheriff’s department?”
Blowing a bubble, Aqua tucked a blue-and-blond-streaked lock of hair behind her ear. Which actually didn’t turn out to be either a nervous or defiant gesture. With her hair out of the way, Tyler could see a small earphone, presumably linked to the phone system on her desk. “Should I be concerned about a crime spree, Lieutenant?” She flipped another page in the magazine. “And London Sheraton’s taste sucks. There’s nothing to discuss.”
Clearly, he’d lost both his charm and his ability to command.
Planting a firm smile on his face, he opened the outer office door, then headed toward the nun. “Sister, let’s go back to my—uh…the sheriff’s office.”
She rose, her pale, smooth face wrinkling briefly in a smile. “Thank you, Tyler. I missed you in church on Sunday.”
He didn’t think telling the sister that he’d crawled out of a strange bed after a particularly lascivious night was the right tone for their conversation. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make a stronger effort this week.”
In the office, he offered her one of the chairs in front of the sheriff’s battered oak desk, then sat behind it. She tucked her knitting in her tote bag and folded her hands in her lap.
“I think you know why I’m here,” she said.
A flash of Andrea, flushed and naked, scooted through his memory. He staunchly blocked out the image. “No, Sister, I’m sorry. I really don’t.”
“Henrietta called me.”
“I see.”
“It’s vital this case be solved.”
“My team and I are working very hard to make that happen.”
“Your team?” The sister smiled—benevolently even. “You, Deputy Dwayne and Miss Aqua.”
She wasn’t both the spiritual leader and crab-claw-edged spine of the island for nothing.
“Yes, Sister. My team and I are confident we’ll find the perpetrator. I’ve interviewed Mrs. Jackson, searched her house and dusted for fingerprints. I’m working my way through interviews of everyone who’s had recent access to her house. I’ve talked to or gotten faxes from practically every pawnshop in Charleston, and I’ve been involved in the case less than twenty-four hours. We’ll find the tea set.”
“Do you really think a piece that important is going to turn up in a common place like a pawnshop?”
On top of every other complication in his life at the moment, did he really need a nun educating him about police procedure? “We have to pursue every possibility.”
“While you’re pursuing, Deputy, please make sure the history of the island is considered. How can we move forward if we don’t know our past?”
“I’ll adopt that as my campaign slogan.” When she continued to stare at him, saying nothing, he sighed. She wouldn’t be passed off with vague promises and a pat on the head. He’d been delusional to even believe in the prospect.
He, like most islanders, suspected her habit was steel-lined.
“So, Mrs. Jackson’s claim about the set once belonging to the president is true?” he asked.
The sister nodded. “The historical society verified her genealogy years ago. Though she isn’t a direct descendant of his as she often claims. President Jackson actually fathered no children. She’s the great-great-granddaughter of his wife’s brother.”
“So how does she have the name Jackson?”
“A coincidence, believe it or not. Though I’m sure she’d tell you it was fate or some such. I expect her pride in her name is one of the reasons she never married.”
Well, that and the plentiful supply of hunky lifeguards to keep her entertained.
“Still, the tea set did belong to the president,” the nun continued. “So, as I said earlier, I doubt we’re going to find it in a pawnshop.”
“We?”
“With the sheriff out of town, it falls to me to supervise this case.”
Knowing it would be rude and disrespectful to ask how the hell do you figure that? Tyler merely raised his eyebrows. “It does, huh?”
“Yes, it does. I represent the island’s interests, the historical society and the church. Surely you feel you can trust me with the information on the case.”
“Of course I trust you, Sister.” In his meddling hometown, was there any way he really thought he could be in charge of a simple burglary without interference? He’d led covert international flight missions with less interrogation.
He forced a smile. “I’d be grateful for any insight you could give me into the case.”
She leaned forward and laid her pale, vein-covered hand over his. “You’ll make a good sheriff, Tyler.”
Suddenly, he felt the weight of his own history, the fear of the future. His family expected a great deal from him, and for the first time in his life he wasn’t sure he could measure up. After his last, disastrous mission, his confidence had taken a huge blow. Would he ever recover completely?
“I certainly hope to be,” he said.
“So…the pawnshops.”
Shifting his thoughts to the theft and its motives, he leaned back in his chair. “Have you considered the idea that the thief doesn’t know the silver’s historical significance?”
“No,” she said, looking impressed. “I haven’t.”
“An employee who’s desperate for money could have lifted the set without forcing the lock.”
“Simon Iverson is her great-nephew. He doesn’t have financial problems, but he’s in her house frequently. He knows everyone who works there.”
As Tyler wrote the name on his pad, he also made a note to check those financial records. Just in case.
“And the church occasionally brings meals to Henrietta. She actually sponsors our home missions project.”
“Which means?”
“She bought our van, and her annual donation pays for nearly our entire budget of supplies to make meals that volunteers take to those who’re sick or housebound and can’t come to church. Her only stipulation is that she be included in the deliveries once a week. She’s lonely and likes to be catered to.”
Tyler really didn’t want to fulfill the lonely needs of Mrs. Henrietta Jackson, but that didn’t negate his duty to see her case through. “I’ll need the names of the volunteers who delivered the meals.”
“I’ll check my records and let you know.” She smiled, then added, “I’m glad you’ve given this so much thought. Do you have a theory about who might have taken the set?”
“I’m not sure about a theory yet, but two things stand out to me—the stealth of the theft, and the difficulty of profiting from the act. If the thief was smart enough not to get caught taking the silver and also understood its value, then he or she had to know reselling it would be complicated.”
“A smart criminal and a dumb crime.”
Now it was Tyler’s turn to be impressed. “You’re very skilled at succinctness, Sister.”
“It helps when teaching Proverbs to teenagers.”
“You also seem to know quite a bit about police procedure.”
She waved her hand. “Reruns of TV cop shows. Perhaps the thief is a professional.”
“Then why take only the tea set? She keeps enough jewelry in her bedroom to open her own museum. Plus there was a safe, which was not-so-cleverly hidden behind a painting in the library. It hadn’t been touched.”
“The silver could be valuable to a collector. What if a thief was hired to get that one thing?”
“That’s possible, but how would I find a collector who—” He ground to a halt as an idea occurred to him. An idea about who might know about collectors who would obtain a coveted piece and not ask too many questions about how it had been acquired.
“Tyler?” Sister Mary Katherine prompted.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“You have a theory?”
“Just a possible source on finding an unscrupulous collector.”
“Excellent. I’ll let you get started.”
As she rose, Tyler stood as well. “Sister, one last thing…” He rounded the desk and took her arm to escort her out. “We also have to consider the possibility that the silver set hasn’t been stolen at all. Just…misplaced.”
Her face flushed, she nodded. “Yes, I guess we do.”
“It would also be helpful if the victim wasn’t intent on blaming aliens for her property loss.”
“Henrietta has a vivid imagination.”
“There was mention of zipping and bopping—whatever those are.”
“I’ll try to counsel her—and hopefully get a straight answer. I wouldn’t want the set to turn up at a jeweler’s, where she’d sent it to be cleaned, leaving you only with an embarrassing story in the newspaper.”
“The newspaper?” Tyler echoed absently, his mind already on finding a persuasive way to get Andrea to help him.
“You know how Henrietta loves attention. She probably called them before you.”
“I guess so.”
She squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry. The timing’s perfect for you to get some good publicity for your campaign.”
Frankly, Tyler wasn’t worried about the paper. Or the case.
He was worried about Andrea.
She was obviously attracted to him. Why wouldn’t she go out with him? Maybe he’d simply been too presumptive earlier, asking her out on such short notice. Maybe dinner was too much. A drink was more casual. Not so significant.
After walking the sister to her car, he returned to the office—where Aqua was now reading about the latest trends in platform sandals—and went in search of Dwayne.
He found his fellow deputy in the records room. Dwayne liked alphabetizing things.
Watching him doggedly plow through a metal filing cabinet, humming under his breath, Tyler remembered that he and Dwayne shared something besides a job title. Trouble with a woman.
Everybody on the island knew Dwayne was completely in love with Misty Mickerson, a teller at the local bank. He’d been asking her out, like clockwork, every two weeks since her divorce two years ago. It was common knowledge that the only thing positive Misty’s ex had given her was her three-year-old son. The rest had been dark and abusive.
Romantics believed Misty would eventually heal and accept Dwayne’s offer. Cynics thought he was tilting at windmills.
Tyler finally understood his fellow deputy’s sentiment and determination.
“Hey, Dwayne, what do you know about Simon Iverson?”
“Mrs. Jackson’s nephew? He lives off Third Avenue. I think he’s an engineer at a firm in Charleston.”
“A nice house?”
“Sure.”
“But not beachside.” As fine a reason as any to resent a wealthy relative. “Does he have a good relationship with his aunt?”
“As far as I know.”
“Can you call around and try to find out for sure?”
“Yes, s—” He stopped, his cheeks reddened.
He had the feeling he was fighting a losing battle about the sir thing. “How about calling me lieutenant?” he suggested. “That’s at least a rank I’ve earned.”
Dwayne’s face immediately brightened. “Absolutely, Lieutenant. And I’ll get on the nephew angle right after I get this drawer straightened out.”
“Good. I’m headed out to the pool boy’s place. We can compare notes later.”
“You sure you don’t need me as backup?”
Even if he had, Tyler wouldn’t have said so and scared the life out of Dwayne. Exposure to Mrs. Jackson had been enough excitement for one day. “If he swings his surf-board at me, I’ll duck.”
Tyler headed to the front room to put the other half of his crack team to work. “Aqua, I need a background check on Simon Iverson. His address should be somewhere on Third.”
Without looking up from her magazine, she muttered, “Dweeb.”
Surely she meant Iverson. Tyler didn’t think he’d lost his charm that significantly. “You don’t like him?”
“He’s okay. Just dweebie. I’m on it, boss.”
Risking a brief glance at the magazine to note the engrossing pictorial debate on London Sheraton’s latest toe polish color, he reluctantly nodded. “I can see that.”