The Professional (4 page)

Before he could contemplate it any further a waitress arrived at their table, blocking his view. By the time she’d moved away, the object of his obsession was hastily kissing her friend goodbye on the cheek. He’d rattled her that much, had he? At the last second she snatched up the dessert, taking the plate and cutlery with her. For whatever reason, that made him smile.

The same waitress who’d serviced their table stopped by his. “Can I get you anything else, hon? A piece of cake? A slice of pie?”

He nodded at the woman making a beeline for the door. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The waitress followed his gaze and smiled indulgently, her grin fond. “Aw, that’s our Sophie.” She tsked. “Every tooth in that girl’s head is sweet.” She topped off his tea. “I’ll be right back with your dessert. You might want to take a slice to Foy as well,” she suggested. “It’s his favorite.”

Sophie? As in Sophie O’Brien? His one and only suspect?

That was…inconvenient.

3

“T
HANK
YOU
FOR
the home visit,” Lila Stokes said, looking pleasantly relaxed after her massage. Wrapped in a fluffy robe, a pair of satin slippers on her feet, she handed Sophie a cup of tea and a slice of orange cake.

“You’re most welcome.” She gestured to the plate and smiled. “I had an ulterior motive.” Not really a lie, per se. She did have an ulterior motive, but it had nothing to do with this delicious cake.

After another restless night preoccupied with especially carnal thoughts of a certain blond former Ranger with big hands and beautiful lips—honestly, the man’s mouth was hauntingly erotic, full and firm and just so damned sexy it made her long for it against her skin—Sophie had decided the best way to get him out of her mind was to occupy it with something else. While finding the thief had been a top priority for her, now it seemed almost essential.

Lila was one of the first residents who’d “lost” a piece of jewelry and, though Sophie’d heard about it at the time, she hadn’t really paid attention to the particulars. If she was going to get to the bottom of this, she’d need those facts along with a description of the item. Since gossip traveled faster than anything around here, discretion was key. The last thing she wanted to do was to tip off the thief and, considering all three burglaries had happened in the resident’s home, then it was fair to assume the he or she lived on-site. Only someone with regular access could have pulled this off.

The idea made her a little sick at her stomach.

Lila settled into a wingback chair. “It was my mother’s recipe,” she said, smiling. “She made it every year for my birthday, even after I was grown. Said no matter how old I was, I was always going to be her baby.”

“How lovely,” Sophie said, flattening a moist crumb against her fork. It always made her uncomfortable when people talked about their mothers because she couldn’t relate to any of their stories. Her mother had only ever had eyes for her father and her brother—the boys, as it were. She’d hated other women, other girls and always had to be the center of attention. She’d never had any use for Sophie and had made sure that the rest of them hadn’t either. That was the thing about bullies, she thought. A lone bully was bad enough, but when a group of them lived together, they brought out the absolute worst in each other, a pack mentality.

Being their prime target had been sheer hell.

Sophie released a slow breath, pushing the memories back. The very best thing her father had ever done for her was dumping her at the end of her grandmother’s driveway. She’d been six at the time. Bruised from head to toe, with a cut down the inside of her arm that had ultimately required twenty-four stitches to close.

“Get out,” he’d said, glancing dispassionately at the bloody shirt wrapped around her arm. “I don’t like you, but I don’t want her to kill you either.”

Terrified, but strangely relieved, she’d scrambled from the car, then had stood barefoot in the freezing December night and watched him drive away, back to Kentucky. After that night, her grandmother had completely cut him off, which had painted the ultimate target on her back.

Because, in their twisted minds, everything had become Sophie’s fault.

“Can I get you a second slice, dear?” Lila asked.

Sophie blinked. “I’d better not,” she said. “I’ve got to take some hand cream by Evelyn Hunter’s when I leave here and she’s sure to have a little something for me to try.” Her stomach twinged. God help her.

Lila’s eyes twinkled. “I’m sure she will. Just last week Evie made some sweet potato cookies for us to snack on during our bridge game.”

Sophie hesitated. “That sounds relatively harmless.” Lila was known for her rather unorthodox experimentation with flavor combinations. Sophie had recently bitten into a brownie the older woman had made, only to find a hidden layer of anchovies in the center. She squelched a gag, remembering.

“Oh, it would have been,” Lila said, “had she not iced them with a salmon-flavored cream cheese frosting.”

Sophie grinned and shook her head, then glanced at Lila. “She’s really been on a fish kick lately, hasn’t she?”

“Yes. I’d be wary of anything the size of a cake or pie if I was you.” She hid her smile behind her teacup. “She could hide a catfish in one of those.”

Chuckling, Sophie set her plate on the coffee table. “I’ll be vigilant, I assure you.” She paused. Time to get down to business. “Lila, did you ever find that necklace of yours that went missing awhile back?” she asked lightly.

The older lady blinked behind her glasses, evidently surprised at the subject change. She frowned, her face falling a bit with regret. “No, I didn’t.”

“Rose-Marie’s brooch made me think of it,” Sophie told her, which was true, of course, but not precisely why she was asking about the missing necklace.

Lila was thoughtful for a moment, her long elegant hands wrapped around her tea cup. She’d been a concert pianist in her younger days, traveling the world with various orchestras. Arthritis made playing difficult for her now, but she still sat down at her piano every morning, like clockwork, at seven. She’d once told Sophie that the music still itched in her fingers, desperate for the outlet.

Lila’s gaze found hers and she released a small sigh. “To tell you the truth, I think my daughter might have taken it. Oh, she’d never admit to it, of course. But I have my suspicions. She was forever hounding me about putting it away in the safety deposit box with all my other jewelry, but that piece was so special I couldn’t bear to part with it.” A sad smile turned her lips. “It was a gift from my father, you see. My mother, too, to be fair, but my dad is the one who picked it out for me. It was a present for my coming-out party.” She gestured toward the fireplace. “There’s a picture of us over there.”

Sophie stood and made her way across the room. Several photographs—some old, some new—lined the mantle, but the one Lila referred to was easy enough to spot. It was the one closest to her wedding photo. Black and white, and in a silver filigree frame, a sixteen-year-old Lila clung happily to the arm of her father. He’d been a handsome man, her father, and the proud smile on his face made an inexplicable lump form in Sophie’s throat.

Standing at the foot of a grand double staircase, Lila was dressed in a white organza dress and white satin gloves extended to her elbows. She’d had dark hair then, black as a raven’s wing, and it had been upswept into a sleek bun. She was radiant with happiness, her smile the epitome of youthful joy. The necklace circled her throat, a stunning sapphire and diamond choker. A pair of matching earrings glittered from her lobes.

Sophie turned and arched a brow. “Where are the earrings?”

“In the safety deposit box now,” she said.

A jolt of surprise caught her. “They were with the necklace then?”

“Yes, I’ve always kept the set in the original box. Odd, isn’t it?” she asked, looking baffled. “That the necklace went missing, but the earrings didn’t.”

Sophie felt a frown move across her face, then turned back to look at the picture once more. The necklace was memorable and she felt certain she’d recognize it if she ever saw it again. And, yes, it was most definitely odd that the thief hadn’t taken the set, particularly when the earrings would have been worth a small fortune as well. Perhaps a set would have been more easily traced? Or was there another reason? Regardless, it was a terrible thing to do to someone. Lila had clearly treasured the jewelry.

“Monica was livid,” Lila went on, referring to her daughter, “but she was only concerned about the reduction in her inheritance, which was foolish because the necklace was insured. She didn’t lose anything, ultimately.” Lila met her gaze, the older woman’s suddenly sad. “But I did. An heirloom tied to a memory,” she sighed. “To me, it was priceless.”

Sophie swallowed. “I’m so sorry, Lila.”

“Whatever for, dear? It’s not your fault.” She purposely brightened. “Aw, well. It’s all water under the bridge now. I’ve accepted that I’ll probably never know what happened to it.”

Not if she had anything to do with it, Sophie thought, firming her resolve. “If you don’t mind my asking, what makes you think that Monica is the one who took it?”

“Because, other than Marjorie, she was the only person who knew the combination to my safe. Marjorie’s a tyrant, I’ll grant you,” she said with a dark chuckle. “But I don’t think she’s a thief.”

Truthfully, Sophie didn’t either. Marjorie ate, lived and breathed Twilight Acres and was a strict rule-follower. She was notorious for sending out her “Please don’t” letters—please don’t drive your power chairs on the lawn, please don’t allow your dogs off a leash, please don’t sunbathe naked by the pool. (Sophie had most heartily approved of
that
particular edict.) Overall Marjorie made sure that everything was strictly up to code and kept a close supervisory watch on everyone associated with the village. Though many of the residents complained about her rigid disposition and had even at one point considered taking up a collection to have the proverbial stick up her ass surgically removed, ultimately they knew Marjorie genuinely cared for their well-being.

As for the safes, much like those featured in hotels, they’d been part of the standard installation when the complex was built. Sophie was relatively certain every unit featured one. A thought struck.

“Did you set your combination or was it already coded?”

“It was coded, though I was assured when I moved in that the old code had been zeroed out and my new one set in its place.”

Sophie supposed it was possible that someone could have broken into Marjorie’s office and obtained the combinations to the safes, but if that was the case, why hadn’t everyone been a victim? She knew for a fact that Arnold Hammerfield had an extremely valuable coin collection—he never failed to tell her about while he was on her table—and that several of the other residents liked to keep sizable amounts of cash on hand for emergencies. One resident was notorious for burying her stash in Mason jars around her lawn. The baffled groundskeeper had suspected a mole problem until the truth was revealed. Why not steal from them? Why was jewelry the only item taken?

“I suppose you’ve seen Foy’s grandson,” Lila remarked with a smile, seemingly ready for a subject change.

Sophie swallowed a sigh. “I have, at Cora’s insistence,” she added with a droll grin.

Truthfully, Foy’s grandson was a topic she was getting mightily tired of—she hadn’t talked to a single person over the past two days who didn’t have something to say about the former Ranger. It was infuriating. And to make matters worse, like a bad penny, he kept showing up everywhere she went. Granted the village was relatively small, but it seemed like no matter where she was, he managed to be close by.

She’d avoided going to the diner for lunch yesterday because she’d been certain he’d be there again, laughing and smiling and looking all brooding and mysterious and sexy. She’d packed a lunch from home and, despite the chilly weather, had opted to dine al fresco on a park bench by the lake. She’d just spooned a bite of potato soup into her mouth when she’d looked across the water and spotted him. Evidently, he’d made the same choice and, smiling, had lifted his thermos in a salute to her.

Peevishly—hell, it wasn’t his fault that she found herself wildly, inexplicably, horribly attracted to him—she pulled a book from her bag, stuck it in front of her face and pretended to read. While hiding in plain sight, she’d inadvertently dropped a glob of soup on her right breast and accidentally let her cake slide off her plate. She was so annoyed she’d abandoned the rest of her meal, gathered up her things and left in a foul mood.

And realizing that she’d let him put her in a foul mood had only angered her further. Where was this newfound control she was supposed to be exercising? What the hell had happened to it?

Just because he had the unique ability to make her body mutiny and melt like a popsicle on the Fourth of July, and she’d caught him staring at her several times with that microscopic gaze as though she were an exotic specimen in a Petri dish didn’t mean that she was destined to fail at celibacy.

It simply meant she needed to try harder.

Honestly, for a man who was supposedly here to visit his grandfather and make notes for his memoir—that little tidbit had made its way to her this morning—he certainly didn’t spend a lot of time with Foy. If he wasn’t in the diner, then he was in the general store. If he wasn’t in the store, then he was at the pharmacy. If he wasn’t at the pharmacy, then he was at the barber shop. Or the fitness center, or the recreation room, or simply visiting someone else. She frowned. It was odd and, combined with it being physically impossible for him to be Foy’s grandson, she suspected he wasn’t being completely honest with everyone about his purpose here.

Granted she didn’t know every branch of Foy’s family tree and if Foy said he was his grandson—which he did—then who was she to question it? Furthermore, Foy was shrewd and, of the residents here, he was the least likely to be taken advantage of.

Ultimately, though, it didn’t matter. She just knew she needed to stay the hell away from him.

“Speak of the devil,” Lila said, a smile in her voice.

Sophie blinked. “Pardon?”

A knock suddenly sounded at the front door and with a sense of impending doom, she turned and followed Lila’s gaze. The devil, indeed, Sophie thought, her mouth parching at the sight of him. He wore a black cable-knit sweater which accentuated every impressive muscle from the waist up, and a pair of faded jeans which did the same thing from the waist down. Black boots and black sunglasses completed the look. A silver watch encircled his wrist and though she couldn’t isolate a brand name on any particular item, everything he wore looked well-made and of quality.

In a word, expensive.

In her discount scrubs and worn tennis shoes, she suddenly felt like a slob. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford nice clothes—she could—she just preferred to spend her money on other things. Like food for her animals, farm equipment and new furnishings for her house. She’d be willing to bet her tractor cost more than his, Sophie thought with an inward smile.