a Touch of Ice (18 page)

A flutter tickled my belly. He wanted to go with me. Not facing the barn alone was right at the top of my happy list. I could ask Violet to go with me, but this was oh, so much better. “Yeah. Yes, that’s good. Would love to do this together. I have a client tomorrow afternoon, but the morning is free. Early-ish would be good. Say nine?”

“Umm. Let’s see how we feel when we wake up.”

Wake up? Apparently we were on the same page. Heat pooled in all the appropriate places and my nerves were doing a quiet tap-dance of anticipation. Except there was one little thing to clear up first. Well, two.

“Mitch? We need to talk about your trip.” I glanced down at our interlaced fingers. “You understand that as we’re sitting here holding hands, images of where you were and what you did flash through my mind.”

He slipped his hand free, nodded.

“I can see you sliding down the glacier, some of the pictures you took. I know this is confidential and I’m not sure how to process the information. Do I talk to you about what I see? Do I ignore it? I’m not sure I’ll be able to ignore it if I see something overtly disturbing,”

He pushed his plate away, swallowed some champagne. “Yeah. It’s—” he turned my hand over, covered it with his, palm to palm, met my eyes— “new territory for us. I can’t pretend you don’t see things, and I can’t talk about what I do.”

I stayed quiet. Let him work through it. “What the hell. We’ll take each assignment as it comes.This one didn’t have any defense issues, so it isn’t as sensitive. If what we have between us deepens, we’ll have to see about getting some kind of security clearance for you. How we’ll ever explain it to my employers is another question.”

Our server interrupted, setting a large slice of sour mash cheesecake and two spoons between us. My tongue should have tingled, but no. There was still that “other thing.”

“It’s more than that, Mitch. With my fingers, I mean. If we’re together, even temporarily—” my breath did an embarrassing hitch— “you won’t have the freedom other men have. You wouldn’t, I know you wouldn’t, but as an extreme example, you could never cheat on me. I’d know as soon as I touched you or your clothes.”

He blinked.

“It might be too much for you, that kind of intensity.”

“Poor example, El. Really poor. But, yeah, I’ve thought about it. Christmas, birthdays, any potential surprise wouldn’t be. I’m thinking we need to take it one crisis at a time.” He spooned a bite of cheesecake, offered it to me. “Find ways to deal. I’m gone a lot. Screws with relationships, which is why I’m single. Planned to stay that way for the duration, but this thing we have, I’m willing to give it a shot. You?”

A surge of euphoria laced with my fear. My lungs forgot to breathe, my heart did a hop-skip, and who cared about the cool, melty goodness that had my palate doing flips of ecstasy. I gathered some big girl cool from who knows where and fed him a bite of cheesecake.

“Yes.” There really wasn’t anything else to say.

It was delicious—the food, the champagne, the conversation, and the handholding. For the first time in my life I was completely comfortable touching someone, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

Desire licked between us, fogging the car windows as we played finger games. He guided me toward the house, his hand a promise against the small of my back. Beads of anticipation danced along my skin as we hurried to my front door.

Which stood wide open.

Twenty-one

Terror iced under my skin, chasing away the beads of anticipation. I barely swallowed a scream as my mind skidded to a stop, and I pointed, fingers shaking, at the door.

Mitch pulled me back, tucked me behind the shrubbery, and eased his way to the car where he took a gun from the trunk.

Not okay.

“Not a gun,” I hissed at him from the bushes. “Your cell. Nine-one-one.” Then I noticed he had the phone in his hand and was pushing numbers. Okay. That was good. With Mitch becoming a significant part of my life, I’d have to adjust to the weapon thing, and there was no mistaking the significant part, not if I’d judged his response to my red shoes correctly.

He crept along the walkway, keeping his weapon trained on the front door.

The hair on my arms prickled, and I scrubbed my hands over the bumpy skin, trying to erase the sudden chill. A rustle behind me. Was that a footstep? The pricklies spread over the rest of my body, and I froze like a stop-action movie scene, except that my heart was thudding at triple speed.

Something behind me, closing fast. A scream bubbled in my throat, stuck there as I spun, caught the toe of my shoe in a vine, and in that split second knew I was going down. A dark shape loomed over me. Man. Big. The scream escaped, but barely counted as a whimper as I stumbled, panting for breath. I stuck my foot out catching his kneecap and landed on the ground with a thud, thwacked my elbow a good one. Pain shot up my arm and stole whatever breath I had left.

Whoever I tripped tangled with me, and we landed in a heap of wildly flailing arms and legs. Damn but he smelled bad and was off the chart clumsy. Kept rolling on top of me, the gold chains around his neck bopping me in the face while I struggled to get my feet under me.

In the movies when they do the tripping maneuver, the tripper doesn’t end up being the tripee. But then, this was my first experience as trippee, and it wasn’t planned, so I cut myself some slack. Now if I could just push the brute off me. Another bite of pain flashed from elbow to shoulder. Where the hell was Mitch? Surely he heard us thrashing around. Was there more than one intruder? Someone in the house? Was he okay?

I twisted around trying to wriggle out from under the heavy lump of the intruder, caught the dull glint of streetlight touching hard plastic about two feet from my hand. Was that his gun? I stretched, pulled back before my fingertips touched the barrel.
No fingertips, El. Images from a gun, not good.
I twisted, stretched, scooted the gun toward me with the palm of my hand.

Well, damn. Yay me.

I’d inadvertently managed to separate him from his weapon—and I had every intention of taking credit for disarming the bad guy. Now if I could just figure out how to pick it up without fingertips…

It had been seconds since I’d tripped him. Maybe not even, but my mind had switched to slow motion, giving me plenty of time to think. Off. I had to get him off me. I kicked and rolled, an uncoordinated series of movements that seemed to take forever.

Every bone and muscle in my body reminded me real life isn’t like the movies as I finally resorted to pounding against his chest with my free hand. I inhaled, pulling air into my starving lungs. A mistake. Garlic, stale cigarettes, and sweat-soaked clothes assaulted my nostrils. If I didn’t get out from under him there was going to be an unfortunate incident involving my dinner.

“What the—” Mitch bent down to collect the gun I’d knocked from smelly guy’s hand.

I jerked my head, clouted my victim forehead-to-forehead. Pain shot through my head. Why wasn’t Mitch pulling him off me? I rolled, just enough to catch a glimpse of my hero standing over us with a weapon in each hand. James Bond has got nothin’ on Mitchell Hunt. “Donny? Donny Civitelli? What the fuck?”

Who knew Mitch could bellow? Obviously this incident had unraveled his last nerve. He tucked a gun in his waistband, grabbed Donny by the collar, and jerked him off me. Might have been all of five seconds that passed since I tripped him and Mitch collared him.

“What the fuck are you doing here, sneaking around Everly’s house?”

Donny shrugged, stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Followed you. You found Tony, and Mama…she sent me to take care of the vendetta. Which—” he turned on me— “is becoming a real pain in the ass. What is with you lady? You don’ mess with a Civitelli. I oughta…” He raised his hand in a recognizable Italian gesture.

I lost it. Simply lost it. Started pounding on him with both fists, reconsidered when pain snaked from elbow to shoulder again. “You idiot.” My toes made solid contact with his shin, sending a shaft of pain up my leg. “You snuck up on a woman in a hormonal rush, who’s recently been shot,
and
you broke the heel on my new Via Spiga sandal.”

Mitch circled an arm around me, tucked me close. “Enough, Sunshine. If he fights back and hurts you, I’ll have to do him some serious bodily harm. Not that that would be all bad.”

Donny’s face paled to alabaster, fear dilating his eyes. It was the look of a man who wanted nothing more than to escape, even if it meant going home to Mama without a body receipt.

“Don’t even think about it.” Mitch’s hand fisted in Donny’s collar and lifted, bringing him off the ground.”

“Not goin’ anywheres. Let me the fuck go.”

Mitch dropped him and he backpedaled a few feet, straightened his clothes. “Sweet Jesus,” he said, adding a sign of the cross. “The two’a you. She’s worse than Mama. Needs to be shut up somewheres so she can’t hurt no one.”

Mitch’s brows snapped together, and he flexed his hand around the gun. “I don’t know much about Tony’s death…yet.” Each word was carefully spaced. “What was he into that got him killed?”

Donny danced up on his toes, back down. “Nuthin’, Tony wasn’t into nuthin’. Never really was part of the family.” He pointed at me. “She knows somethin.’ Has pictures of the two guys we use for odd jobs tacked to some kinda picture thing. I wanna know how she got ’em, and why.”

We both stared at him, mouths hanging open. “You know Shaved Head, Messy, and Pudgy?” I finally managed to scrape out some words.

“Who the fuck are Shaved Head, Messy, and Pudgy?”

“The pictures. On my storyboard. “Wait a minute.” I glared at him in confusion. “You said two guys, and there are three pictures on my storyboard.”

“Only two of ‘em worked for us. Wen’ on to bigger and better things ‘bout a month ago.”

“Their names?” I asked through clenched teeth. “Who are they?”

“Wouldn’t ya like ta know?”

Flashing red and blue lights brightened the street in front of my house, interrupting our discussion, and it suddenly dawned on me that Violet was nowhere to be seen. That was so many kinds of wrong. She’d never let this go on without showing up to rescue me. I started toward her front door.

Turned out that wasn’t a good move.

Mitch caught me before I landed in the bushes, and I leaned against him as I slid out of my shoes. Anger burned under my skin, hit flashpoint, and my common sense went the way of the broken heel. I whirled on Donny, red clouding my vision as I slammed him with the ruined shoes. “What have you done with Violet? If you hurt her, I’ll, I’ll…”

He backpeddled, palms up. “Crazy bitch. I ain’t done nothin’. Who the hell’s Violet?” He jerked his head at Mitch. “Man, this bitch is fuckin’ crazy.” Then he spun to face the approaching uniforms, started toward them. “This broad’s a nut case. You’d better the fuck lock her up.”

“Me?” It came out as a screech and embarrassment began to creep in, balanced my anger, and warmed my cheeks.

Mitch rested a hand on my shoulder, gave me a little shake. “Violet’s not here, El. Her house is dark.”

The fight drained out of me, leaving the cold taste of fear behind.

I looked across the yard, the dark windows registering in the scrap of sanity that remained in my brain. A shiver crawled through my body. Mitch pulled me close, pressed his lips to the top of my head. “Go check. You’ll feel better. I need to stay here and sort this out with Adam Stone.” He nodded toward the Crown Vic pulling in next to the squad cars.

I jerked my head in a quick nod and made tracks for Violet’s front door. It was locked. A good sign. I up-ended the sleeping gnome long enough to dig out her key and let myself in, calling for her as I pushed the door open, checked her office for any sign of trouble, and then ran up the stairs. Nothing was disturbed. I dropped into a kitchen chair, rested my elbows on the table, and pressed the heels of my hands into my temples.

Violet was fine. Out for the evening. Talk about over-reacting. And in front of those cops. Oh, God. Could it get any more embarrassing?

The prickly neck thing kicked in, and a rustling sound skittered over my senses.

I spun toward the deck, sure I’d heard footsteps.

But no. It was leaves, just leaves blowing across the deck. Probably Magnolia.

What the hell was I doing? I exhaled with a whoosh. She could walk in any minute, and…this was so wrong, me spying on her.

The house creaked and I froze.

Waited.

Quiet pooled around me. I stood and pushed the chair back under the table, guilt weighing on me. Heavy. I shook off the feeling and returned to the cluster of confusion playing itself out on my front lawn.

My life is
so
not
like this.

Mitch looked up when I crossed the yard. “What’d you find? She okay?”

I walked toward him, toes curling into the cool grass. “She’s not there and nothing’s disturbed, so she must have gone out. I’m not sure because we didn’t see each other today, didn’t discuss schedules like we usually do.”

The officers had Donny cuffed and were arm-walking him toward one of the squad cars. Adam grinned at me. “Hey, tiger, you’ve had quite a night. Heard you held your own with Donny.” He offered his palm for a high five. Guess he still didn’t quite grasp the extent of my—what was it Pierce called it—my ability.

“Yep. Totally not what I had in mind for the evening.” I forced my lips into a smile as I slapped his palm and did my best to keep the images at bay. I’d done enough trespassing for one night.

Mitch reached for my hand, smoothing away Adam’s touch. “I’m going to the station with Adam, fill out the reports, and tie up any loose ends—” He raised a brow at me. “Unless you’d rather do it yourself?”

The Independent Woman role had about run its course for the evening, and any plan he came up with to spare me from filling out paperwork—especially paperwork that might involve my fingers bumping into something horrendous—was just fine by me.

“Go for it. This isn’t something I need to do.” I rubbed my elbow, massaging the lingering ache, and a slight shudder passed through my body.

Mitch must have felt it, because he interlaced his fingers with mine and his eyes softened.

I looked around the yard for my purse, found it under a shrub, dug out the house key and tossed it to Mitch. “I’d feel better if the doors were locked while you’re at the station with Adam, and my body isn’t going to make more than one trip upstairs tonight.”

He took the key, his lips curving, smug, as he tucked it in his pocket.

I couldn’t resist teasing him. “I’m guessing there’s something about having my key jingling in your pocket—”

“Anticipation, Sunshine.”

Adam came up behind Mitch. “El, I need to walk through the house with you and check things out before we can wrap this up for the night. I doubt Civitelli took anything, since his focus was on finding out what you know about his brother, but if anything is missing I want to include it in the report.”

The pair of them dogged me as I wandered through my house, until I was comfortable the only thing Donny had touched was my storyboard. “You know,” I said, as we finished our walk-through. “I don’t think Donny went upstairs. I’m guessing he saw the storyboard sitting here in my office, the pictures of Shaved Head and Pudgy caught his attention, and he didn’t have a chance to look any further before we interrupted him. He must have seen us drive up and ducked out the front door.”

“I’ll hold on voicing an opinion until Mitch and I have spent some quality time in an interview room.” Adam motioned to Mitch. “Ride with me. We can talk on the way, save some time. Should have you back here within the hour.”

I swear I saw a smirk, but he swallowed it so fast I couldn’t be sure. “My men are finished inside but will be working around your front yard for a while, so you may notice lights and hear them talking.”

“Good to know. I’m planning on a quick shower and bed. Is there any problem with that?”

“Not a one. I’ll try not to keep Mitch any longer than necessary.” This time his smirk was obvious.

Mitch turned my face to him, dropped a warm, promise-filled kiss on my lips. “Don’t wait up.”

“That’s why you have the key, remember?”

“Not likely to forget.” He closed the door behind him, the lock snapping into place with a definite click.

There’s an indescribably creepy feeling that’s left behind when a stranger intrudes on your privacy, touches your things. I shook it off. Donny was more pitiful than scary, and he hadn’t touched my lingerie drawer, so I was cool with being alone. Sort of.