Time had run out for Chase M. Braxton. He knew it the instant he saw the neatly printed return address on the oblong box wrapped in plain brown paper stamped FRAGILE. An incongruent mixture of dread and anticipation swept through him. Typical Monday, he thought. The sigh that came from his wide chest was long and deep.
Shifting the unfamiliar weight of his briefcase to his left hand, Chase pulled the parcel from the black granite-topped front desk of Hotel George in the heart of Capitol Hill’s business district. His thoughts unsettled, he strode through the two-story glass-and-stainless-steel lobby to the elevator and jabbed eight.
Less than a minute later the doors smoothly slid open on the top floor. Long, powerful strides quickly carried Chase to his door. Carefully shifting the bundle beneath his left arm, he pulled his plastic room key card from his shirt pocket and activated the lock. As soon as the light flashed green, he entered the room.
Decorated in cool beige and cream, the suite possessed a spacious sitting room with built-in wet bar, adjoining powder room, and custom-designed cherry wood furnishings. As a man topping six-foot-five, Chase welcomed the ability to move freely without bumping into furniture. That important aspect when he’d checked
into the hotel eight extremely long days ago mattered little now compared with his current problem.
Skirting the lounge chair, he stopped on the other side of the coffee table positioned in front of a small couch. Tossing his briefcase on one of the cushions, he bent and edged over the twelve-inch-high, rickety stack of policy and procedure law enforcement manuals on the coffee table. He set the package down and straightened.
Hands on his narrow waist, he stared broodingly at the telephone a few feet away on the end table, then brought his troubled gaze back to the parcel.
He had definitely run out of time.
The phone call to Julia Anne Ferrington couldn’t be put off any longer. Still, he hesitated at following through with action.
Indecisiveness was not a characteristic people who knew Chase would have associated with him. Few in law enforcement could come close to matching his outstanding reputation as a commissioned officer of the elite Texas Rangers. The wall behind his desk in Austin was covered with awards from civic organizations for his work with youth and with commendations for bravery in the line of duty.
Chase took special pride in the awards given for trying to make a difference in the lives of young people. As for the commendations, the way he saw it, he simply did the job he had sworn to do. In his line of work a moment’s hesitation could cost lives. In the thirteen years that he’d spent working his way up from Trooper One with the Texas Department of Public Safety to Lieutenant in charge of his own Ranger unit in Austin, he’d always acted quickly and decisively.
He’d never choked … until now.
His large, callused hand ran over his clean-shaven face as indecision held him still. He didn’t like the feeling. But neither was he thrilled at the prospect of calling a strange woman and making small talk. However, the neatly wrapped box with the Waco, Texas,
postmark was a gentle reminder that he had to do just that. His procrastination for the past week since he had been in D.C. was about to come to an end.
Midnight black eyes narrowed as Chase stared longingly at the parcel. Mabel Johnson, the wife of his captain, Oscar Johnson, in Waco, had baited her trap well. She knew a gentle reminder worked better than a shove. Temptation worked even better.
Chase picked up the box and gently hefted its weight. He almost groaned in anticipation. Mabel made the best tea cakes his taste buds ever had the pleasure of meeting. He was probably holding at least three dozen of the delicious cookies the size of his palm. And unlike back in Austin when Mabel brought them to the station for all the Rangers to share, these were all his.
But first he had to make the phone call.
Pulling his billfold from the back pocket of his jeans, he plucked out Julia Ferrington’s phone number. If Mabel had been the kind of lady to try to set him up, he’d have tossed the number despite the cookie bribe. But she wasn’t. She simply was doing what she had always done, helping her husband take care of his men.
Chase had made no secret of the fact that he didn’t want to leave his heavy caseload and come to D.C. for six weeks to teach a criminal law symposium at Howard University. Captain Johnson and his superiors hadn’t given Chase a choice. They were honored that out of all the law enforcement agencies in the country the Texas Rangers had been chosen, and just as they had always done for the past 176 years, they sent their best, most qualified man to do the job. In their opinion, that was Lt. Chase Braxton.
Mabel, in her usual motherly way, had tried to ensure that Chase, who didn’t know anyone in the city, not be lonely during his six-week stay. Mabel needn’t have worried. Washington, D.C., like most metropolitan cities, had more women than men. Chase could have had a date, if he wanted one, even before the plane landed at Washington National Airport.
The pretty stewardess in first class had made him acutely aware
she’d be more than happy to make his first night in D.C. a memorable one. Chase, still annoyed at his captain, had spent that night and the ones following alone … by choice. He wasn’t interested in sex for sex’s sake. He’d learned more sense than that by the time he graduated from high school.
He wasn’t a monk by any stretch of the imagination, just selective and careful in more ways than one. He planned to be the fifth African-American in the history of the Texas Rangers to make captain, and that meant no women. Women had sidetracked the career of more than one man in law enforcement. They didn’t like the crazy hours or the dangers their men faced. The excitement of dating a man in uniform, a man with so much authority, soon wore off and reality set in. Chase had seen it happen time and time again. In his opinion it took a very special woman to put up with being married to a man in law enforcement. The chances of finding such a woman were slim to none. His father and brother had tried and failed. Thirty-four-year-old Chase wasn’t trying.
His focus for the next few years had to be the job, not trying to keep some woman happy. The pain and heartache that followed wasn’t worth it.
Mabel understood his plan and applauded him for his determination. She also understood he hadn’t wanted to go to D.C., and in her own thoughtful way she wanted to see that his stay in D.C. was as pleasant as possible. Since a lady, in Mabel’s old-fashioned opinion, never called a gentleman first, she had asked Chase to initiate the call. The cookies were both a reminder and an enticement if he had not.
His blunt-tipped forefinger traced the clear plastic tape. Mabel was well aware his conscience wouldn’t allow him to rip into the box and satisfy his notorious sweet tooth if he hadn’t done as he promised: called Julia Ferrington before he left D.C.
Sighing, Chase picked up the receiver and punched in Julia Ferrington’s number. He should have known Mabel would realize he
hadn’t been specific in his promise. He had planned on calling the day before he left.
He wasn’t much on small talk, and frankly, after hearing Mabel chatter about Julia Ferrington and her family’s deep political and financial connections and clout, Chase didn’t think he, a Ranger and a rancher, and Julia, a Washington socialite, would have much in common. The way he figured, he was saving them both a painful ten minutes, tops, of each trying to be polite and pretend interest in what the other was saying.
As the answering machine clicked on, a grinning Chase quickly stashed the phone between his ear and shoulder, then shoved his hand in the front pocket for his knife. By the time the electronic voice had asked him to please leave a message, the sharp blade had sliced through the wrapping paper and he had a golden brown tea cake in his hand.
“Ms. Ferrington, this is Chase Braxton. Mabel Johnson asked me to call and say hello. I’m at the Hotel George on Capitol Hill. You have a good day. Bye.”
His duty done, he took a sizable bite out of the cookie, closed his eyes, and savored the taste. By the third cookie he was thirsty. Picking up the phone, he ordered milk from room service. Some decisions weren’t that difficult. Propping his booted feet atop the table, Chase reached for another cookie.
Later that evening in her high-rise condo near the wharf, six miles from Hotel George, Julia Ferrington listened to the messages on her answering machine with her notebook in her hand and her black-and-gold Mont Blanc pen that had been a college graduation present from her oldest sister, Suzanne, poised. There had been five messages thus far.
Her handwriting was a reflection of Julia, elegant, neat, and precise. She had worked hard to change the insecure, awkward teenager
into someone she and her family could be proud of. At age twenty-seven, her poise and self-assurance were as much a part of her as her sunny, caring nature.
The deep baritone of Chase Braxton’s drawling voice brought her head up. She recognized the authority behind the rumbling sound, the confidence. She had grown up with and been around people just like him all her life. It was with a small bit of pride that she could now count herself in that number.
She recognized something else in his voice: impatience. Obviously the phone call to her had been made under duress. It appeared Mabel Johnson had been completely mistaken in her assumption that Chase would be lonely and homesick during his stay in D.C.
Mabel Johnson had called several weeks ago and asked Julia’s permission to give Chase her phone number. Julia had been hesitant at first, until Mabel had said Chase didn’t know anyone in the city. Julia had friends now, good friends, but she still remembered times when she did not. No one should be lonely with so many people in the world. It still saddened her that people were lonely.
She’d like to think she made a small positive difference in the lives of the residents in a nearby nursing home by visiting and reading to them twice a month. Her practical-minded family of bankers and politicians thought her time would be better spent crusading to raise volunteer awareness. Julia didn’t. Her family might take pleasure from the spotlight and a calendar full of social events, but she enjoyed a quiet, simple life. More importantly, the people in the home would be left with no one if she weren’t there.
“End of messages.”
Clicking off the machine, Julia leaned back in her antique Queen Anne chair and stared out the window at the distant lights of Virginia. People visiting D.C. for the first time usually were surprised that Virginia and Maryland were so close. Just as her family was surprised that she chose to live in D.C. instead of Virginia as they did.
The crowded city of D.C. was a government town with literally
thousands of office workers. Yet because of the high cost of living and poor parking facilities, many people elected to live in one of the surrounding suburbs or cities, with their leisurely lifestyle, quaint shops, and deep historical presence.
No one expected the shy baby sister to leave the shelter and security of her family. But her parents and her two older sisters had made their mark. Julia had just begun to make hers with Sweet Temptation, her gourmet chocolate-and-candy shop. A small chain of Sweet Temptation stores was her dream, just as a house in the suburbs and a family were a dream to some. She was on her way. Her first store was a resounding success.
After triple-digit profits for the past four years, she now felt comfortable enough to start scouting for a second location in Virginia. That way she could keep a close eye on both businesses and maintain her residence. If some people said she had used her family’s far-reaching connections to become so successful so quickly, that was all right. This was Washington, where who you knew weighed just as important as what you knew. But she had little doubt her business had thrived because of the care she gave to the smallest detail and the excellent service. She took pride in knowing that when you purchased from Sweet Temptation you got much more than a delicious box of the finest candy money could buy.
The antique grandfather clock in the entryway chimed the half hour. Eight-thirty. She might as well get her own obligatory phone call over with. From the sound of his voice, he didn’t want or need her help in becoming acclimated to the city or in fighting loneliness.
Flipping back through her telephone message book, she found the number of the Hotel George. In the past she’d had clients who stayed there, and she had worked with several conventions hosted there. Chase Braxton certainly hadn’t given her the number, and judging by the high regard Mabel Johnson had of him as a Texas Ranger, he wasn’t a man who forgot details that were important to him.
After the fourth ring, the message center activated. Emulating the same manner in which Chase had spoken, she said, “Good evening, Mr. Braxton. This is Julia Ferrington. Welcome to D.C. I’m sorry I missed your call. Good night and enjoy your stay in our fabulous city.”
Hanging up, Julia stretched and walked into her bedroom, her retreat. She spent long hours away from home, and when she returned she enjoyed indulging herself with things that delighted the eyes as well as the other senses.
The elegantly romantic soft peach room held a mixture of Louis XVI and Empire furniture. On a glass-topped table were fresh flowers. French chairs flanked the cozy nook. Silk brocade ran the length of her picture windows and pooled on the thick cream carpeted floor. The fine old drawings and art by African-Americans hanging on the soft white walls had taken months to locate but were well worth the effort and expense.
The focal point was a huge four-poster canopy bed draped in peach silk. On the hand-made imported duvet were restored antique throw pillows. If romance was not in her immediate future, she could still enjoy the trappings by having beautiful, sensuous surroundings.
Stepping out of her high-heel Italian pumps, she placed them in a specially designed shoe box, unbuttoned her plum-colored double-breasted jacket, then her knee-length matching skirt. Hanging the clothes on a padded hanger, she felt a twinge of guilt about the call to Chase, then pushed it away. Although she had sounded like an overworked representative of the Visitors Bureau, the call had served its purpose. She had other things to worry about.
Like trying to come up with a unique concept to add Leo’s to her growing lists of clients. If she could acquire the “in” supper club in D.C., it would be quite a coup.
Noah Hardcastle, manager and one of the four owners of Leo’s, demanded only the best for his restaurant. Since his and Julia’s business philosophy was the same, they got along fabulously. Her
name and their friendship might get her an appointment, but she had to deliver the goods.
Finished undressing, she slipped on a white terry cloth robe with peach piping and headed for the bathroom, ideas running through her head. As water gushed from the mouth of a gold swan into the oversize marble tub, there wasn’t a doubt in Julia’s mind that when she and Noah met on Thursday she’d have an idea that would meet with his approval.
It was after ten that night when Chase returned from his jog and saw the red message light on the telephone in the sitting room. Although the hotel had an exercise and steam room, he preferred the unrestricted outdoors and fresh air. Pulling his perspiration-dampened gray sweatshirt over his head, he mopped the trickles of moisture gliding down his face and chest. Leaning over, he hit the speaker button and dialed for his messages.
Black eyes narrowed as he listened to Julia Ferrington’s cool, cultured voice. Iceberg was his initial impression. He tossed in snooty and stuck-up by the time she said good-bye. Deleting the message, he went to the wet bar and chugged a glass of mineral water. After turning the TV to the evening news, he headed to the bathroom. A soak in the Jacuzzi had become as much a part of his nightly ritual as his jog, and just as pleasurable.
As the water filled the oversize tub, Chase promised himself again that as soon as he returned to his ranch he was going to install a Jacuzzi in his bathroom. His modest home was large enough to give him room and small enough for him to be able to keep fairly clean by himself.
His extra money went to pay a ranch hand to take care of his growing herd of Herefords and horses. By most Texas ranch standards, a ten-acre spread wasn’t much of a ranch, but to Chase it was a small piece of heaven on earth. He had another fifteen years of a twenty-year mortgage and it would be his.
Stripping off his pants, he climbed into the swirling water, stretched out his long legs, and leaned his head against the rim. Through the wall speaker in the bathroom the reporter’s voice came through loud and clear, but the one Chase heard was Julia’s. Cool, polite, distant.
Closing his eyes, he tried to come up with a face to match Julia’s voice. Within seconds he visualized a thin nose, pinched features, an unsmiling mouth. Rich laughter filled the room. Thank goodness he had missed her call and hadn’t had to talk to her. He certainly wasn’t going to call her again and try to meet her. He’d kept his word to Mabel and now he could enjoy his tea cakes and put Julia Ferrington out of his mind.
Chase had a good day at Howard and planned a better evening. Not even the tailgating and lane-switching of fellow motorists trying to beat the inevitable bumper-to-bumper rush-hour traffic could dampen his mood. He and his students were finally on the same page. They’d gone from being faintly suspicious of his qualifications and vocally wanting to know why the law symposium class wasn’t being taught by a person from the FBI or CIA to respectful and genuinely interested in what he had to say.
Chase stopped for the traffic light. Tires screeched. Horns honked. People yelled out of open windows. The cars on the other side of him went through the yellow caution light. Cars illegally followed on the red. Glancing across the street, he saw Howard University Hospital. At least they wouldn’t have far to go for medical attention.
The light changed and Chase pulled off. This afternoon several students had followed him into the hall after the lecture and then to his car, their mood angry over the accounts he had given them of injustices to minorities. He’d told them to channel their anger into becoming involved in the political arena and the justice system and changing laws. A few promised they would. He believed them.
To celebrate his breakthrough and the distinct possibility that
his superiors had been right about the necessity of his teaching the class, he was going to indulge himself with a meal from room service, watch some football on TV, and, if he were lucky, find someone who wanted to check out the hotel’s billiard room.
Chase was smiling in anticipation as he pulled up in front of the hotel. Saying hello to the jovial valet on duty, he tossed him the keys and quickly crossed the sidewalk. He pictured the blood-red, two-inch-thick porterhouse he planned to order, the mound of French fries with catsup piled on top.
“Mr. Braxton.”
Chase stopped on the steps and looked over his shoulder. Henri held his briefcase in his hand. “Sir, you forgot again.” Light amusement trickled through in the valet’s heavily accented French Creole voice.
With a shake of his Stetson-covered head, Chase bounded back down the steps. He never took paperwork home from the Ranger office, so he had problems remembering he had to do so now. Teaching meant notes and lesson plans.
For the first time, Chase didn’t shudder at the words. Smiling, he reached for the briefcase. “Thanks for catching me. This time someone won’t have to be bothered with bringing it to my room.”
“No problem,” assured the valet as he turned to get into the Jeep Cherokee. By the time he’d pulled away from the curb, Chase was walking through the automatic glass doors and whistling softly. Another thing the department had been right about was choosing the “boutique” hotel over a large chain. The staff was small and friendly. He knew everyone by the end of the first week there.
“Mr. Braxton,” called the desk clerk. “Could I see you a moment, please?”
Chase paused, trying to figure out why Simone had called him, then figured the quicker he took care of the matter, the quicker he could get to his steak. He switched direction and went to the desk. “Yes, Simone.”
“You have another package, sir.”
Black brows bunched. “Another one?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get it for you.”
Chase placed his briefcase on the desk and wondered who might have sent this one. He was close to his father and brother who lived in Austin, but all three preferred using the telephone to keep in touch. They did enough paperwork on the job to abhor writing letters. Sending a package to him would be out of the question.
The department had shipped all the materials, too much in Chase’s opinion, that they thought he’d need to teach his six-week seminar. There was no woman in his life who might want to make him think he’d be much better off with her in his life permanently. He was genuinely puzzled.
His thoughts came back to the present and his frown deepened as Simone returned with a large brown wicker basket wrapped in clear plastic and tied with a big red, white, and blue bow. There was a white star on the blue, just like the Texas flag. Although the clerk’s slim arms were stretched to capacity, they were unable to encompass the basket.
“You’re sure this is for me?”
White teeth flashed in Simone’s ebony-hued face. “Positive.” Her red nail tapped the envelope. “‘Chase Braxton. Hotel George.’”
His puzzlement growing, Chase opened the envelope. He stared at his name and the neat handwritten note welcoming him to D.C. Below in small, discreet gold print were the words: “Created by Julia A. Ferrington.”
“Why would she send me this?” he mumbled.
“Since I don’t know who ‘she’ is, I can’t very well say, Mr. Braxton,” Simone answered with open amusement. Her black eyes dancing with lingering humor, she glanced around the lobby, then leaned over and whispered, “But if you don’t want it, I’d be delighted to take it off your hands. I’m a chocoholic and Sweet Temptation is renowned for their gourmet chocolate goodies.”
Replacing the card, Chase picked up the basket and briefcase and flashed her a grin. “I’ll be sure and keep that in mind.”
“Please do that,” Simone said, moving away to help another guest.
In his suite, Chase’s gaze immediately zeroed in on the telephone, as if that would give him the answers he wanted. Seeing the red message light on, he quickly crossed the room and retrieved his message.
“Chase, this is Mabel. You sweet man. You must have made quite an impression on Julia. She called this morning to ask if you had any food allergies and if you liked candy. I told her no to the allergies, yes to the candy. If I don’t miss my guess, you should be very happy by now. Enjoy and don’t eat it all at one time.”
Chase stared at the basket he still held in his hands. There were five sections, each filled with a different kind of candy. He recognized three: pralines, chocolate-covered peanuts, and divinity. The question remained, Why would she send him a gift basket? He knew enough to know that it hadn’t been cheap, and although Julia Ferrington came from money, why would she want to spend it on a stranger?
Placing the basket on the coffee table, he removed the heavy card again. Seeing a telephone number on the back, he picked up the phone and dialed.
He needed answers. He prided himself on reading people correctly. In his profession it was almost second nature. It didn’t set well that Julia Ferrington had somehow managed to prove him wrong.
“Sweet Temptation,” answered a cheerful-sounding woman.
“Is this some kind of a candy shop?” Somehow he couldn’t reconcile himself to the cool woman on the phone last night designing gift baskets.
“Sweet Temptation is more than just candy. As the name implies, it’s a fabulous treasure trove of delicious and decadent goodies guaranteed to tempt the untemptable,” she explained.
Her answer told him nothing. “Can I speak with Julia Ferrington, please?”
“I’m sorry, sir, she’s not here.”
“She works there, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, sir. Is there a message?”
Leave it up to a woman to leave a man hanging. “Please have her call Chase Braxton at Hotel George. She has the number.”
Hanging up the phone, he poked at the cellophane. The rich, tempting aroma of chocolate and other candies drifted out. The fat pralines, loaded with big pecan chunks, glistened like spun honey. He could see similar pecan chunks in the divinity. If he didn’t miss his guess, macadamia nuts were in one of the other chocolate candies.
He loved nuts. People liked to joke about policemen eating doughnuts, but he preferred nuts any way he could get them.
What the heck. Ripping open the cellophane, he plucked out a praline and bit. His taste buds exploded in sheer ecstasy. The woman who’d answered the phone hadn’t exaggerated. The sugary candy was as good as any he had ever tasted.
He still didn’t understand why Julia Ferrington had sent the candy, but he intended to find out. Unanswered questions annoyed him.
Speaking with Julia Ferrington wasn’t as easy as he’d imagined. Over the next two days he called Sweet Temptation four times and each time she was out. They either got tired of him calling or took pity on him, because the fifth time he was informed she was out of town.
Hanging up the phone, he decided that, come what may, he was seeing Julia Ferrington before he left Washington. And he was getting some answers. She might be cool, but she was also exasperating, even though he had yet to meet her. But he would. That he promised, and Chase never broke a promise.