Burning Seduction (21 page)

“W
e’ll have to
park behind the restaurant,” Trent said.

He’d driven around the block, and all of the parking places in front had been taken. Because the skies had suddenly darkened, bringing with it cold air, Charlotte was glad for the shorter walk. “Fine by me. It looks like it’s about to rain.”

“Or snow.” Trent found a spot, jumped out of the Jeep, and went around to her side. After opening her door and helping her out, he plucked an umbrella from the back and waved it. “Preventative measures.”

She smiled. “We can only hope.”

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he sheltered her as they walked down the alley between the restaurant and the hardware store, the buildings thankfully blocking some of the wind. His protective action stirred something deep inside her. This was where she wanted to be.

Once inside, Trent gave his name and asked for a booth near the back, and they were immediately seated. The fact he’d made a reservation thrilled her. She hoped he wanted to have a romantic conversation, but she wouldn’t let her hopes rise. Right now she needed to focus on her store and making her new client happy.

No sooner were they seated than the waiter arrived for their drink order. “I’d like a bottle of champagne,” Trent said then looked over at her.

Stunned, she leaned forward on her elbows. “What are we celebrating?” Her mind spun. “Oh, my God. Did you arrest Mr. Goddard’s killer?” she whispered.

His eyes widened briefly. “I wish. You said you had something to tell me. I thought it might be cause for another celebration.”

She had asked him to her place to celebrate her first client. Now, she felt a bit guilty that her news wasn’t worthy of a bottle of champagne. “You are the sweetest man alive.”

He froze for a fraction of a second before smiling. “Not always. So tell me about your news.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, but I have another decorating job.” When she told him the name of her client, she had a feeling he’d be unhappy, given the man’s connection to Harmon’s former firm, but she wanted to share everything with him.

“That’s fantastic. Was it a referral from Mrs. Goddard?”

“It was.” She loved that he acted so pleased. “His name is Mr. Samuels. He knows Mrs. Goddard because he worked for her husband.”

His lips thinned. “Really? Did you know this before you took the job?” His words came out tight, though he didn’t seem angry.

“No. It wasn’t until I was in the middle of the job that he mentioned his connection to Ardton Investments. He asked about some of the books and papers Mr. Goddard had in his office and wanted to know if I’d tossed them.”

Trent fiddled with his napkin, looking as if he was trying to figure out what to say. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him the file cabinets were already empty and to ask Mrs. Goddard what she might have done with the contents.”

His fingers relaxed and he let go of the knife he was holding. Her answer must have pleased him. “Was he nice?” he asked.

That was an odd question, and since Mr. Samuels still worked at the firm, she bet Trent had interviewed him. “What was your take on him?”

“I asked you first.” His tone sharpened, and she imagined this was how he sounded when he interrogated a witness.

Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to play around. “He was very easy-going. As soon as I walked into his living room, it was clear that he needed a decorating intervention as nothing in his house matched. He asked me to redo his master bedroom, and I could see why. It was a nearly empty shell of a room with no personality. If he ever brought a woman there, she’d run.”

His shoulders sagged. “I’m glad to hear it, but you know what I’m going to ask of you next.”

He sounded too much like her dad. “Yes. Keep my eyes open for anything strange and be careful.”

“So he’s divorced?”

“Yes.” Most likely Trent knew that.

“He’s old enough to be your father, you know.”

His implication shocked her. “Are you kidding me? He’s a client.”

“Who conveniently has you redecorating his master bedroom and just might be looking for the next Mrs. Samuels.” His jaw was so tight she feared it might break.

A bit of anger speared her, but then humor edged its way in. “Trent Lawson, I’m ashamed of you. Trust me when I say I only have eyes for you.” She probably should have kept her intense interest to herself, but Trent had to know how much she liked him. The tension on his face evaporated, but she couldn’t judge his level of relief.

“I’ve met John Samuels and he’s a good-looking man.”

All she could do was shake her head. “So are you. Remember, I’m a professional. Now can we talk about something else?” Here she thought he’d say the man might have been involved with Mr. Goddard’s murder, and all Trent was worried about was a man nearly her dad’s age putting the moves on her.

Before he could answer, the waiter came by with the champagne and two glasses. He poured their drinks then slid the bottle into a bucket of ice. As soon as their server left, Trent lifted his glass and she followed suit.

“Here’s to a successful opening of your store and to many more clients to come,” he said as he tapped his glass to hers. All remnants of the Mr. Samuels’ conversation seemed to have been forgotten, pleasing her to no end.

“I’ll make a toast, too. May your case end soon.”

“Here, here.”

As she lifted the glass to her lips, the bubbles tickled Charlotte’s nose, and she giggled. While they’d eaten out together before, she considered this their first real date, and she wanted to enjoy it the best she could. “So tell me about your most exciting case.”

“I already did. The whole incident with your father and the terrorists was one that will forever be burned in my brain. We had to use every resource at our disposal to find out who was behind the potential attack, and we identified them with only a day to spare.”

She was pleased that her dad was involved in something that affected so many people. “Do you think you’ll always be a detective?”

His chin tucked in. “As opposed to what? A private investigator?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You ever see yourself being in charge of an entire unit, like Dan Hartwick, or do you want to pound the pavement searching for clues?”

“The latter. I enjoy the mystery of it all. I inherited much of my drive from my dad, though I don’t aspire to be like him.”

That didn’t bode well for him wanting a family, but she wouldn’t be discouraged. The waiter stopped back and after they placed their order, Charlotte decided to relax and not dig too deep into Trent’s psyche. He’d already explained that his life growing up hadn’t been easy, so there was no use unearthing more pain. “What’s your fondest memory with your brother?”

“I can see this is twenty questions night.”

She laughed. “You afraid?”

“Hell no.”

She smiled. “You should be.”

He glanced at the ceiling and said nothing for a moment. “I think my favorite memory with my brother was when he taught me how to ride my bike. Harm was really patient and didn’t make fun when I kept falling off.”

Harm? Cute nickname. “I can remember when my dad helped me learn, too. He wasn’t home very often, but one time after he’d finished a job, he bought me a pink bicycle. He made me wear a helmet, which I didn’t like, but when I fell off, I was glad I had it. I remember thinking Dad was pretty smart.” She leaned back against the seat. “It was one of the happiest days of my life.”

Trent polished off his glass of champagne and poured a second one. “I’m pleased you had some nice memories of him.”

“Me, too, though I was angry with Dad after he left. I’d like to think I’ve grown up since then. I know Dad did what he thought was right, and I can appreciate that now. He says he regrets a lot of things in his life, and we’re working toward a better relationship.”

“I believe all relationships are a work in progress.” He tossed back his glass as if that was yet another touchy subject.

Not wanting the dinner to be a downer, she changed the topic to one dear to her heart—decorating. “If you could have your ideal home, what would it look like?”

His eyes widened. “I haven’t a clue. I’m never home long enough to worry about it. What I have now suits me fine, even if it is a bit bland.”

With the right decorations, his place could be cozy, even for two. Fortunately, the food arrived, giving her time to come up with another topic. “How often do you think I need to practice shooting in order to become proficient?” She figured he’d like to talk about weapons.

“I don’t see why you need to improve. It’s not like you’re a police officer or anything, but if you’re asking on a theoretical basis, I’d have to say about three times a week in the beginning.”

“Good to know.”

Besides impressing Trent, she wanted to be proficient mostly because she liked having the control and power.

They chatted a bit about Harmon, and then talked about a few of his other cases. About halfway through their meal, the rain came down in earnest, making their corner retreat all the cozier. Twenty minutes later, the storm passed, and the sky cleared.

Trent picked up the umbrella. “Told you this was my good luck charm. Are you ready?”

“Yes. There’s nothing worse than being cold and wet.” She was anxious to return home and finish some last minute preparations for her opening. For once, she wasn’t going to let her inner desires rule and ask Trent in.

He paid the check and escorted her outside. Just as they stepped into the alley he stopped. “Fuck.”

A lake had formed the length of the alley. “That’s not good.”

He handed her the umbrella. “No, it’s not. Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll head around back and pick you up in front. You’ll ruin your shoes if you walk in the water.”

She had dressed in her good boots, and they probably would be damaged. “What about you?”

He lifted his booted foot. “These have been through mud and rain and survived. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be back in a moment.”

With the umbrella in hand she headed back around the corner and leaned against the front wall. She had thoroughly enjoyed being with Trent tonight, and while the conversation had started out a bit uneasy, once they found a safe topic, an easy rhythm developed between them.

As she was thinking about how he’d ordered champagne, popping sounds floated toward her. At first, she thought she was imagining the opening of the bottle, but then the noise registered. They were gunshots reverberating down the alley, coming from the back, and every one of her senses shot to alert. All she could think of was that Trent had been shot.

Her muscles froze for a moment before she was able to move. Heart pounding, she dropped the umbrella, stuck her hand in her purse, and retrieved her gun. Not caring that she was about to ruin her shoes, she raced through the near lake-like alley, all the while keeping her eye out for on any movement coming from the parking lot area. Her throat nearly closed and a tight band squeezed her chest, making it hard to breathe. She prayed Trent would emerge from the back any second and say he’d shot some wild animal about to attack a small child. That was a stupid thought, but fear had blocked all logic.

As much as she wanted to call his name, keeping her presence hidden for as long as possible would be best for both of them.

She was about ten feet from the back parking lot when a large hooded figure charged around the corner. As he came toward her, she pressed her back against the wall, hoping the darkness would hide her from view, but the dim bulb on the wall across from her cast too much light. Indecision swamped her. Run or stay put? Her muscles screamed for her to run, but she’d never escape the large man.

He closed the gap between them and her stomach cramped. Her breath lodged in her throat as images from the last time she’d been shot at entered her brain—from the loud report to the shattered car window.

Then the scant light reflected off the gun in his hand. Oh, no.

Shoot him
.

What if he hadn’t harmed Trent but was running from the person who had? He was wearing a ski mask, but it was cold, so it made some sense.

No sooner had she dismissed the thought of him being evil, than he was upon her. Before she could move out of his way, he slammed an elbow into her face and an ache the size of the lake exploded. The force caused her head to smash against the wall, adding a wrenching pain to vibrate through her. Shock took over as time stood still. Having no say in how her body reacted, she slowly slid to the ground, losing her focus.

Shoot him
.
This man is evil.

As if on autopilot, she lifted the gun, and pulled the trigger just like Trent had shown her. Before Charlotte could see if she’d hit her target, she blacked out.

Chapter Twenty-One