Beckett's Cinderella (10 page)

“How
did
you know where she was?” Beckett asked, taking care not to let his growing suspicions show in his voice. For some reason these two were hedging. He knew guilt when he saw it, and it was guilt he saw in the girl's eyes. The way they darted around. The way her blue-tipped fingers kept stroking nonexistent wrinkles from her miniskirt.

It was the guy who answered. “Patty Ann, she come across this address book mixed up in some old magazines she brought home. It had this address in it, and she was pretty sure Fred Grant was a cousin or something.”

“He's my great-uncle,” Liza murmured. “But how
did you know…I mean, how could you possibly know…?”

Beckett read the growing doubt in Liza's face. Putting two and two together, he came up with…two. The hang-up calls and the letter she'd told him about. A blank sheet of paper with a Dallas return address.

Oh, yeah, this pair was up to something all right. But what? Could they have been mixed up in some way with Edward's business?

Camshaw's eyes were never still. He was sweating, but then the temperature was already in the high eighties. The girl looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.

Liza asked how her mother was and got a monosyllabic reply.

“She's fine. Real good.” The girl squirmed. Either she needed to go to the bathroom or she had something on her mind.

Beckett turned to Camshaw. “You're in law enforcement, right?”

The girl brightened. “How did you know that?”

He shrugged. “Lucky guess.” He'd been working with law enforcement types for years.

“Cammy's just a security guard now, but he's studying to be a detective. We're going to open us this agency—you tell 'em about it, Cammy.” And without pausing, she rushed on to say, “We're going to call it Camshaw and Camshaw, Private Investigations at Bargain Rates, and we thought—that is…” Her enthusiasm leaked out like air from a punctured balloon.

Beckett was beginning to get a glimmer of what it was they'd thought. Make a connection to a high-profile case, wait awhile, revisit the principals, then reap the publicity. It would be tabloid stuff, at best, but when you were trying to launch yourself as a P.I., any free press was welcome.

He wondered if either of them was aware of the fine line between jumping on a perceived opportunity and taking advantage of an innocent victim.

“We appreciate your stopping by, don't we, Liza?” He moved closer to her chair and rested his hands possessively on her shoulders.

“What? Well, yes, of course. You didn't say where you were going, Patty Ann. I wish I could offer you hospitality, but as you can see, we're in a mess here. My uncle's coming home as soon as I can go get him, and—”

“That's all right,” the freckled blonde said, jumping up and reaching for Camshaw's ham-size hand. “We can't stay, can we, Cammy? I just wanted to— That is, long's we were in the neighborhood…”

Yeah. Sure you were, Beckett thought, wishing he could have just five minutes alone with the guy. While he was pretty sure they were no real threat, he had no intention of heading south while they were still in the area. It wasn't as if Liza had anything of value to steal—all the same, something didn't smell right.

“At least let me offer you some refreshments before you go,” Liza said. “Coffee? Iced tea? Fruit?”

Ragged bandages, baggy tent dress and all, she was
totally convincing as the gracious hostess. Real dignity, he told himself, had little to do with outward appearances.

The phone rang, and he excused himself. “Might be for me,” he said quietly as he headed for the kitchen.

It wouldn't be for him. Car would've called on his cell phone. Just as he reached for the instrument, his glance fell on the peanut butter jar with two spoons in it, and he had to smile. The lady was a constant surprise, not to mention a constant delight.

“Grant residence, Beckett speaking.”

“H
ey? Speak up, I can't hear ya. Is this Liza?”

It took a while, but Beckett managed to get the message. Uncle Fred would like to stay a few more days. Could Liza please pack a few more things and bring them out to the home? Don't forget his Bible and the picture on the mantel. Oh, and a bag of those orange-flavored prunes.

Beckett stood on the porch and watched the younger couple off before passing on Fred Grant's message. Liza said nothing. She sighed, turned and leaned her face against his chest, murmuring an apology she didn't mean and he didn't need. His arms came around her, and he held her for several long moments, savoring the feel of her, the scent of shampoo and peanut butter. “You all right?”

“No. Yes. Well, of course I am.” She leaned back to look up into his face. “You know, the strangest thing…I think those two were up to something and for some reason they changed their mind. I mean, I've known Patty Ann for years, and I've never seen her so…so squirmy.”

Squirmy. He'd have put it another way, but yeah…that pretty well described it. “Any ideas?”

“Nope. You?”

“A few. I think it might've had something to do with what happened a couple of years ago in Dallas. The guy's trying to launch a business, right? I doubt if they'd be spending money on a cross-country jaunt if there wasn't something in it for them. You saw what they were driving.”

Her smile turned into a grin. With the sunlight sparkling on her auburn hair, highlighting her creamy complexion, she was totally irresistible. “Their truck, you mean? I think it's a year younger than my car.”

Liza wished the moment could never end. Wished she didn't have to think about things like flooded vegetable bins, and leaky roofs. “But you know the sweetest thing? Patty Ann asked me to show her to the bathroom, and while we were out in the hall, she offered to lend me money. She said she'd been saving up for when she and Cammy got married, but she didn't really need it now. She said I could pay her back when I got on my feet again. Did you ever hear anything so sweet? I nearly cried.”

“I thought you looked a little weepy there.”

“Who called? Not another hang-up call—that's only at night.”

With his hands roaming over her back, easing the stiffness she'd felt ever since she got up this morning, Beckett said, “Your uncle wants to stay on a few more days. That okay with you?”

“Well, of course. You think he really wants to stay? He's not just saying that because he knows I'll have my hands full cleaning up around here?”

“I think he really wants to stay, and I'll help you clean up.”

Closing her eyes, she savored the moment. If she was lucky there might be a few more such moments before he left. She intended to savor every one of then, and shed not a single tear when he drove off. In a matter of a few days, he had brought her more happiness than she'd ever expected to find. Contentment was one thing; sheer, mindless bliss was something else. Scarcer than hens' teeth, as Uncle Fred would say.

“You know what? I think they did it,” she said suddenly.

“Think who did what?”

“Those calls—you know, the hang-up calls? I think it was Patty Ann, or at least her boyfriend. But why wouldn't she just call and say they were coming East, and ask if they could come for a visit? It's almost as if—oh, I don't know, I just had the strangest feeling about the whole thing.”

Beckett said nothing. He leaned against the porch support, holding her loosely in his arms. She went on.
“I know, I know, it's crazy. Honestly, I've never been paranoid—well, not very. All the same, I got a funny feeling they were, um, looking for something? What on earth did they expect to find here? And then offering to lend me money.”

He waited for her to work it out in her own mind. She had most of the pieces of the puzzle. “I think you're probably right. Whatever they were looking for, whatever they were up to, the girl's all right. She'll keep him in line, and I seriously doubt if they'll bother you again.”

His hands continued to stroke her back slowly, caressing her nape under the heavy fall of hair, moving down to curve over her hips. When Liza leaned away to look up at him, he smiled that slow, lazy smile that never failed to curl her toes. To think she'd once thought those silvery eyes were cold.

If she'd had a grain of sense she would have run the minute he stepped out of that big green SUV. Now, here she was, in love for the second time in her life—or maybe the first time, because this felt so much deeper, so much richer than anything she'd ever felt for James.

And this time she was mature enough to know what to expect. Tears, followed by curses, followed by bitterness, she admitted with painful honesty. Followed by a few more vows of “never again.”

“Beckett, could we please go back to bed?” she asked suddenly.

He was still for so long she wanted to drop through
the floor and disappear. “Liza? Are you sure you want that?”

“Oh, I can't believe I said that,” she whispered, eyes shut tightly. Opening just one, she said, “I'm sure, but if you're not— I mean, if you're in a hurry to leave…”

He laughed aloud, the sound ringing out clearly in the fresh morning air. One more time, Liza told herself, just one more memory to savor in the years ahead, is that too much to ask? She would tuck it all away together in her memory book: the sound of his rich, baritone drawl, the feel of his hands, gentle on her body.

Two spoons side by side in a jar of peanut butter….

He led her inside. There was no pretense on either side; they both knew what was going to happen. Last night the tension that had been growing between them for days had reached flash point. This time would be slower, more deliberate. They were both tired; they could take time to savor the moment.

In his own way, L. J. Beckett was every bit as much a thief as her late husband had been. He'd stolen her heart without even trying. Now that the deed was done, she might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

Thus spoke the new Liza Chandler. James had been a real education.

In the sunlight that slanted through the east-facing bedroom window, she could see the texture of his skin, the tiny creases that fanned out from his clear gray eyes, the crisp texture of his hair. Before he could inventory all her flaws, she reached up and
pressed her mouth to his. He certainly wanted her—wanted sex, at least. That much was dramatically evident.

Coals of banked desire began to glow. Tiny flames began licking in the pit of her belly. She savored the now familiar taste of him, the soft tug of his teeth on her lower lip that opened her to a deeper invasion. She was lost. Light-years beyond the reach of reason. His tongue skillfully engaged hers in a game of seduction, and she gloried in every nibble, every thrust. Any remaining defenses she'd possessed had gone down without a whimper. This was her choice. She would take the lead and live with the consequences.

His hands tangled in the fabric of her denim float as he lifted it over her head. She hadn't bothered with a bra. Stepping into underpants had been painful enough without struggling to fasten a hook behind her back. She didn't know which was worse—bandaged hands or stiff knees, but if she broke loose every scrap of gauze and adhesive tape, she was not going to let herself be handicapped. This time she intended to do more than let it happen.

For long moments after he eased her clothes off, he simply held her. She loved being held. Until Beckett had come along, it had been years since anyone had held her this way. Since anyone had held her at all. She had never even missed it, never given it a thought, until this man had walked into her life.

Beckett was here, and he was nothing at all like James. Instead he was warm and caring, strong and honorable. She couldn't look at him without wanting
to touch him, and it occurred to her that she had never felt that way about James, not even in the beginning.

A rash of goose bumps broke out as Beckett nuzzled the sensitive place at the side of her throat. Her head fell back and she whimpered. Slowly, slowly…make it last, she told herself, wanting nothing more than to drag him closer and feel him on every part of her body, inside and out.

His hands, unbelievably gentle, covered her small breasts. When his thumbs feathered the tips, making them rise like small pink acorns, she gasped, inhaling his clean, musky scent. She licked the skin of his throat with the tip of her tongue, felt him shudder and knew a small surge of power. He tasted slightly soapy, slightly salty.

Mmm, delicious. She wanted more.

And so she did it again and felt his arousal surge against her.
Yes!
She exulted, this is for me! Bandaged knees and all, it had to be more then merely physical.

Although the physical alone was almost more than she could bear.

Overflowing with love, she offered him one last chance to escape, if only to prove to herself that she could handle whatever did or did not come next. “Beckett, are you sure? I mean, this probably isn't very…ohhh, smart.”

“Shh, honey, no one's checking IQs.”

On an emotional razor's edge, she couldn't help it—she laughed aloud.

She stroked his chest under the knit shirt that clung
to his chest and shoulders with her padded palms, feeling like a molten puddle of liquid desire.

Beckett stripped quickly and efficiently, removing something from his hip pocket first. He kept a first-aid kit in his car. It was equipped for all emergencies. “Honey, are
you
sure? I don't want you to have any regrets…ever.”

In other words, Liza interpreted, he wasn't making any promises.

She hadn't expected any. Hadn't asked for any. Quickly she stifled the last shred of doubt as to the wisdom of what she was about to do. There were times when wisdom was a highly overrated quality. She held out her arms, and he came down beside her.

Sunlight gleamed on the sharp angles of his tanned face, glinted off his white teeth. She said, “Let's not talk. I can't talk and have sex at the same time. It just doesn't work that way.”

“Doesn't it? Sweetheart, you could lie there reading aloud from the yellow pages and I'd still want to jump your bones, bandages and all.”

“Hand me the phone book, then,” she demanded, and he laughed. Laughed and nuzzled her throat, then moved up to begin kissing his way down her body. Just before he reached her navel, he lifted his head and said, “Read on—don't let me stop you.”

Ignoring his teasing words, she arched her hips, oblivious to the pain of her knees. All too quickly the tension reached flash point. One more touch and she knew she would go up in flames.

And then he made that one more touch. Liza, who
had never been particularly sexual until this man had come along, opened herself to his explorations, gasping as he closed in on her most sensitive flesh. What had happened to her? She wasn't like this. Until last night she had never felt this! Never
ever
gone off like a…like a firecracker! “Please…I can't stand it,” she gasped.

It built swiftly and exploded just as suddenly. Spiraling rainbows, arching and dissolving, arching and dissolving, until she was nothing but a shimmering beam of white heat.

Beckett watched her ecstasy, feeling great pride and, oddly enough, an even greater sense of humility that he'd been the one to bring her this gift. And then his own control broke and he moved over her, and when she welcomed him, it began all over again.

He began to thrust, slowly at first, but all too soon he was racing out of control. There was only the sound of groans and whimpers. The sound of his rasping breath and her shuddering, gasping sighs, and then the world went up in flames again.

Twice within minutes, Liza marveled later, when her brain began functioning once more. Until last night that had never happened to her before. Usually, once didn't even happen. Sex had always been…pleasant. Something men and women did together that meant more to the man than it did to the woman.

Last night she'd been stunned by the magnitude of her climax. Today…

How on earth was she going to get through the rest
of her life without this man? Because she knew for a fact that sex with any other man, even if she could bring herself to the point, would wither in comparison.

Beckett didn't sleep afterward. His body was exhausted, his mind racing. Every particle of self-preservation he possessed was clamoring, urging him to get the hell out of her bed before it was too late.

Studying the woman sleeping in his arms, he was reminded all over again of the reasons why this never should have happened. He'd promised himself he wouldn't let things go this far—that he would settle the debt, help her get through the storm and leave.

Almost from the first time he'd seen her there in that crazy little stand of hers, looking like a down-on-her-luck duchess in her calico apron, he'd been stunned by his own reaction. It was that attitude of hers—part pride, part vulnerability—that had gotten under his skin. It had irritated the hell out of him the first few times he'd tried to do business with her.

What he hadn't known until she had come apart in his arms was how totally, devastatingly defenseless she really was. He didn't know much about that jerk she'd been married to, except that he was a crook. He sure as hell hadn't been much of a husband. Newly widowed, she'd evidently walked away from an up-scale address with little more than the clothes on her back, only to devote herself to taking care of an old man and his rinky-dink roadside stand.

And now, along with all else she had to deal with, she was going to start piling on guilt, because what
ever she said to the contrary, Liza Chandler wasn't the kind of woman to take sex lightly. He'd been with enough of that sort to know the difference. When it came to sex, she probably knew less than today's average teenager.

A drop of water plunked down on his forehead and ran off onto the pillow. The rain had stopped hours ago, but it would probably continue to drip through the ceiling for hours, maybe days. No wonder the damn roof was rotted. The whole house was probably about to fall down.