The Professional Page 12

  He’d elected for ridiculous instead.

  And as a diversionary tactic, bringing it up had worked well. It had almost made him forget that she’d actually revealed something. Some of the family wasn’t happy with Gran’s will? And that had required this sort of fortification? A fence inside a fence. The first fence he could understand—it was the first line of defense, designed to keep people out. The motion sensors were a brilliant touch. They alerted her to an intruder and gave her ample time to either ambush them—like she had him, which still boggled the mind—or to alert the authorities and lock herself out of harm’s way.

  He’d noted the locks on all the doors and windows—the sensors there as well—and the loaded gun cabinet next to the door this morning. She was ready. She was prepared. And she was clearly determined not to be a victim.

  But from who? A member of her family? An image of her rubbing that scar suddenly emerged in his mind’s eye and his stomach tightened with dread. She’d taken her paternal grandmother’s name, had presumably changed it from that of her father’s. A tingling eddied through his fingers, across the back of his neck.

  Her father? That’s who she was afraid of? It was and he knew it. Every bit of intuition he possessed told him that it was true. Shock and anger rocketed through him and bile tickled up the back of his throat. He’d already asked Charlie to do some deeper study into her background, but she’d been looking under the wrong name. No wonder she hadn’t found anything that threw up a red flag. As soon as he went in this morning to get a new phone, he’d update her and see what she could find out. He had to know why Sophie was this spooked, what had happened to make her so afraid of the one man who was supposed to love and protect her. He couldn’t imagine the betrayal, couldn’t wrap his head around it.

  But he knew this—nobody was going to lay a finger on her on his watch.

  Hadn’t he felt it all along? The vulnerability? The baffling urge to protect? It’s because she needed it.

  Desperately.

  “I did find it, thanks,” he said, pulling at the shirt in an attempt to stretch it a bit more. “An old boyfriend’s?” he asked, dreading the answer to that question. The idea of her kissing anyone else—he couldn’t push his mind past a single kiss, because it flatly refused to go there—made him want to tear his hair out by the roots and howl.

  She shot him a look. “No,” she told him. “Come on, I need to get a few things from the shop.” She gestured toward a building behind her house. A miniature version of the house, it sat roughly thirty feet from her back door. Convenient, but separate. “They gave me the sweatshirt when I bought my tractor,” she explained. “Large and Extra Large were my only choices.”

  He winced. “I would have preferred Extra Large.”

  Her lips twitched. “I’ll bear that in mind next time.”

  “You know how to drive a tractor?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. Why was he not surprised? “You just scored another point in The Perfect Woman contest.”

  “I try,” she said, laughing softly. She pushed through the front door of the little building and the scent of citrus and vanilla immediately rose up to meet him. A quick look revealed a showroom of sorts, with lots of different soaps and lotions arranged around the room, grouped according to scent. Sophie slid behind the desk at her computer, clicked through a few screens, then the whine of the printer reached his ears. “Right,” she said. “Feel free to take a look around.” She picked up a basket. “I’ve got to pull a few orders together.”

  Taking advantage of the chance to learn more about her, he strolled around the room, then made his way to the back, where the actual work took place. Soaps in different stages of production filled large square molds, little round molds and a big knife, similar to a paper cutter sat in the middle of one table. Bits of precut fabric, satin ribbon and her label on another, obviously where the finishing work happened. Various ingredients lined shelving attached to one wall, lots of essential oils and things he didn’t recognize. A stove and refrigerator rounded out the room and her iPod docking station sat on the window sill. There was no chair, even at the finishing station, indicating that she was on her feet for the entire process. It was much more labor intensive than he’d realized, obviously, Jeb thought, impressed.

  “This is incredible,” he told her. “You do everything yourself, from start to finish.”

  She nodded, seemingly pleased. “I do,” she said, then darted him a sheepish look. “It’s the only way to ensure quality control.”

  He smiled and inclined his head. “Ah, I see. Control issues, huh? Is it because you’re the only one who can do it right or because you don’t want to let anyone else help you?”

  She considered him for a minute, her melting brown gaze fixed on his. Reading him. Seeing things no one else could see. “Hmm. Do I detect the voice of experience in that question?”

  Unnerved, a bark of laughter rumbled up his throat. She had to quit that. “It’s vaguely familiar,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  She laughed, the sound low and knowing. “Oh, I don’t think so. Hauntingly familiar, more like. Taking orders must have been sheer hell for you,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “I’m honestly a little surprised that you ever went into the military at all. But where else are men with honor, a sense of duty and the belief in the greater good supposed to go, huh?” The corner of her ripe mouth lifted in a grin, as if it was a foregone conclusion.

  As if she hadn’t flipped his world on its end.

  In a couple of sentences, after having known him for three days, she’d just summed up his entire military career, as well as his motivation for pursuing it.

  He was so stunned, his feet turned to lead and panic punched his heart rate into overdrive.

  Was nothing safe from her? Was she going to be able to read every insight into his soul, every carefully locked down secret, every unformed thought that flitted through his head?

  Because if that was the case, more than his sanity was in trouble. Gut instinct told him his heart was as well.

  * * *

  SOPHIE WASN’T EXACTLY sure what she’d said that had rooted him to the floor, but clearly she’d rattled him. “Jeb?”

  He blinked, seemingly coming out of stupor. “Sorry,” he said, his smile strained. “I was woolgathering.”

  She set the basket on her hip and reached for the door. “Come on,” she told him. “I’ll fix a little breakfast and we can talk strategy.”

  “Strategy?”

  “For catching the jewel thief,” she went on. He closed the door to the shop for her, then beat her to the back door so that he could open it for her, ever the gentleman. In his too small John Deere sweatshirt and tuxedo pants, she thought, stifling a snicker. He should have looked ridiculous—like a proper fool, to tell the truth—but, naturally, he didn’t. His shoulders were mouthwatering beneath the too tight fabric and now that she’d seen them bare, in all their muscled glory, she didn’t think he could ever look anything short of perfect to her.

  She’d relived that kiss a million times since last night, still shivered when she thought about it now. And while he might have been talking to her because she’d been an initial suspect in his investigation, that’s not why he’d been flirting with her.

  She didn’t know when anything had ever pleased her more.

  This glorious specimen of masculine flesh, this honorable, duty-bound, sweet, funny, frustratingly inscrutable former Ranger wanted…her.

  She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised.

  Sophie knew her own worth—she knew that she was a catch, that she was hardworking and clever, devoted and loyal to those she loved, honest and trustworthy. She had many good qualities. But those good qualities and her mind—probably her best one—were packaged beneath a completely ordinary face. She owned a mirror. She knew what she looked like. She was passably attractive, her eyes being her best feature.

  But men didn’t look at her and swoon, they didn’t whistle
when she walked by, and they certainly never looked at her and lusted.

  But Jeb had.

  And it thrilled her to her little toes.

  She set her basket on the counter, offered him a seat and quickly set to work on their food. “Tell me what you know so far,” she said. “What have you been able to find out?”

  She felt his brooding gaze as it followed her around the kitchen. The back of her neck prickled beneath that unwavering regard. “Not much,” he said. “We know from Rose-Marie’s family that her brooch was taken from her safe, so that’s in keeping with what you’ve told me about Lila. That pattern holds with Nanette Hearst as well. I was able to talk to her yesterday and, though it took a little bit of effort—she had me looking at every picture she’d ever taken of her cat—” he drawled with a wry smile “—she finally revealed that she’d been certain that the piece had been in the safe.”

  “Were you able to get a picture of it?” she asked. “So we’ll know what we’re looking for.”

  “Not of hers, no. I have one of Rose-Marie’s.”

  Sophie flipped the bacon, then began cutting up a bit of melon. A quick check of the eggs revealed they weren’t quite ready. “I don’t have a picture of Lila’s, but it would be easy enough to get. She’s wearing it in one of the photographs on her mantle. I would know it if I saw it again.”

  “It should be easy enough to snap a picture of it with a cell phone,” he said. He released a breath. “That still leaves Pearl McIntosh. Unfortunately, I haven’t had any luck finding her.”

  “She’s been visiting family in the city. She’s supposed to be back today. Her book club is meeting and she’s not going to miss that.”

  “Do you think you could talk to her?”

  “I can.” A thought struck. “Does Foy know about all of this?”

  “He does,” Jeb told her.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t offer to help you.”

  Jeb hesitated. “I’m not convinced that he actually believes that anything has been taken.”

  “You should have told everyone that you were his nephew,” she said. “It’s pretty much common knowledge that he and Annie didn’t have any kids.”

  He winced. “Actually, they did. A boy, but he was stillborn.”

  Shocked, Sophie turned to look at him more fully. “What?” she breathed. “How do you know that?”

  “Because he told me. Last night, while I was waiting for you.” He swallowed, then gave his head a regretful shake. “Sad stuff. Tragic.”

  She’d known Foy for years, considered him one of her closer friends at Twilight Acres and, though she’d heard many stories about his Annie, the one he’d shared with Jeb, obviously, was one she’d never heard. She didn’t think anyone else on site had heard it either. Foy was the reigning king of Twilight Acres. News about him travelled fast. Tragic news would have travelled faster.

  Jeb arched a brow. “You didn’t know?”

  Sophie shook her head, bit her lip. “No, I didn’t, and I doubt anyone else does either.”

  Her handsome guest mulled that over. “Oh. Wow.”

  “Yes, wow. He must have had a reason for sharing something so personal, something he hadn’t confided in even his closest friends.”

  “Would Marjorie know?” he asked.

  Sophie chewed the inside of her cheek. “I don’t think so. It wasn’t in Foy’s file.”

  He grimaced. “I really need to get into her office.”

  “That’s how you caught me, isn’t it?” she breathed. She hadn’t thought about it last night, but clearly he’d been coming to Marjorie’s office for the same reason she had.

  He grinned, shrugged. “Yes. When you didn’t come back to the dance, I decided that, rather than waste the rest of the evening, I should try to do something proactive, something I was actually getting paid to do. So I left and went over there.” He leaned forward, considered her. “How did you get in exactly?”

  “Through the French doors in her garden. There’s a hide-a-key rock next to the fountain.” She grinned at him. “How were you going to get in?”

  He sighed softly, eyes twinkling, and shook his head. “By picking an unlocked door, evidently.”

  “We can go back tonight, if you’d like.”

  He nodded. “When does Marjorie normally leave?”

  “Not until around six, usually,” Sophie told him.

  “Why don’t we grab a bite to eat at the diner?” he suggested lightly. “Then when we leave together, everyone will assume that I’m coming home with you and my absence at Foy’s won’t seem so notable.”

  His plan made perfect sense, logical and well-reasoned, but she couldn’t help but feel like he was angling for an invitation to spend the night. A thrill whipped through her, swirling around her middle, that “for now” promise ringing in her ears.

  She smiled, then turned back to the stove. Ah, the eggs were ready. “Be sure to bring an overnight bag. You can follow me through this gate this time instead of coming over the fence.”

  “Right,” he said, chuckling. “I wouldn’t want to risk another injury that required a Band-Aid.” He held up his hands, gesturing to the Disney princess one across his knuckle. “I’ve got to take this off before I get back to Foy’s. He’ll revoke my Man Card.”

  Sophie chuckled, plating their food. “Hey, that’s all I had on hand. I love Mulan. She’s a warrior, too. Carried a sword. Defeated the Huns. I thought she was appropriate.”

  “Bullshit,” he said. “You thought it would be funny to put a girly Band-Aid on my hand.”

  Sophie laughed, outed, and slid his plate in front of him. She’d already set butter and jam, salt and pepper on the table. “That might have a teensy, insignificant part of my motivation.”

  “Ha.”

  She sat down, draped her napkin over her lap and added a smear of butter to her toast. She peeked over at him, noting the grin on his face with a hefty dollop of satisfaction.

  “You made eggs,” he said. “With no crispy, gross edges.”

  Yes, she knew. “The trick is to cook them slowly.”

  “That settles it. You are The Perfect Woman.”

  Pleasure bloomed through her chest, pushing a smile it took effort to contain over her lips. “Oh, I doubt that. Perfection is too hard to live up to. I’d rather be ordinary, but skilled.”

  “Trust me,” he said. “You’re not ordinary. You’re…remarkable,” he said, his voice strangely thick, a hint of unmistakable wonder and admiration.

  Sophie blushed to the roots of her hair. “I’d argue with you, but that would be stupid. So thank you.” She swallowed a bite of fruit. “I think you’re pretty damned remarkable, too.”

  She did. And if the tightness in her chest and the happiness tripping through her veins were any indication, she was half in love with him already.

  So much for swearing off men, Sophie thought with a fatalistic sigh. It had been a bad idea from the start, one doomed to failure. And if she was going to fail, better it be spectacularly with him than with anyone else.

  10

  “HERE YOU GO,” Payne said, handing over a new cell phone. “What did you say happened to yours again?”

  “It got wet.” True enough, if not completely accurate. He arched a brow. “Is Charlie around?”

  “I think she might be in her office. If not, then you can look for her at the bakery down the street. Raw Sugar. Her sister-in-law, Mariette Martin, owns it and she and the baby spend a good bit of time down there.” He leaned back in his chair. “Any progress?”

  “Yes, a bit. I’ve talked to Sophie and she’s going to help me,” he said. He felt a smile tug at his lips. “She was actually investigating the thefts on her own. I caught her in the director’s office last night.”

  Payne’s gaze sharpened with interest. “Really? What was she looking for?”

  Jeb explained briefly. “She’s going to talk to Pearl today, secure a picture of her missing jewelry, and find out if her necklace was taken from
her safe. If so, then that narrows things down a bit.”

  “Yes, it does,” Payne said. “And the director is the only person who has access to the codes?”

  “Other than the resident, yes, that’s the way it looks.”

  “I’m sensing a but.”

  Jeb released a small breath and winced. “But I don’t think she’s guilty,” he admitted. “The village is her life. She’s intimidatingly efficient. I can’t see her rolling through a stop sign, much less stealing jewelry from her residents.”

  “Is it possible that someone has gotten access to her codes?”

  “That’s what Sophie was looking for last night, but she didn’t find anything. The codes are not easily available, but it’s not impossible that someone has managed to get to them. We suspect that the file might be on her computer, but it’s password protected.”

  “Charlie should be able to help you with that.” He chuckled darkly. “We all changed the passwords to our computers recently—I changed mine to pure gibberish—and she still managed to get into each one. I had an electronic post-it on my desk top when I turned it on the following morning. ‘Nice try, but no cigar, Chief,’ she’d said.”

  Jeb chuckled. Actually, that wasn’t why he’d wanted to talk to Charlie—he wanted to talk to her about Sophie—but Payne had an excellent point. “I’ll find her.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  Jeb promised to do just that, then left Payne’s office and went in search of Charlie. Luckily, she was in. He knocked on her doorframe. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure,” she said, smiling in welcome. Married to one of the other agents, Jay Weatherford, and being the first female non-Ranger hired on by the company, Charlie was an interesting woman, one they all seemed to respect. “What can I do for you?”

  “Remember how I asked you to dig a little deeper into Sophie O’Brien’s history?” he asked, settling into a chair in front of her desk.

  “I do,” she said, hesitating smally. “I’ve got to tell you, there just isn’t that much to go on. From everything I can tell, she’s squeaky clean. She’s never even had a traffic ticket.”