The Rogue Reviewer (Primrose, Minnesota Book 3) (14 page)

He fingered the delicate petals as his
thoughts turned once again to how he would convince her of his
love. Although his earlier attempts had been unsuccessful, he
refused to give up. No, he intended to remain tenacious in his
chase; she had no choice other than to acknowledge him.

He gently tucked the bell-shaped leaves into
the tissue. This gift was perfect and she would not mistake this
gesture as anyone’s but his. He carefully placed the flowers back
into the box, taking care to surround them with the pillow of
tissue paper, and replaced the lid. No one cared for her as much as
he; this would comfort her until the detectives turned their
attention to other suspects. He took the card out of his pocket,
positioned it just under the bow where she would be sure to find
it, and then squatted to lean the box against the door.

He stood to pull at the cuffs of his gloves
while he once again surveyed the area. Satisfied he still remained
alone, he left the area as quietly as he had arrived.

Soon, Dara.

***

Dara drove into her allotted space under the
canopy and parked while she stared at her front door as if it would
morph into a black hole and suck her inside. The longer she sat and
stared, the harder it was to force herself to leave the safety of
her car.

This is ridiculous.
She sighed loud
and hard as she pulled the door handle and exited the car. What
were the odds of finding another body blocking the door? Maybe she
really did need Bri’s professional help. She squared her shoulders,
focused on the front door and quickly walked toward it. She stopped
only at the sight of a long, white box braced against the door.
Still determined to overcome the insanely loud ringing in her ears,
she bent to retrieve the box then jammed and turned the key in the
lock, extremely relieved when the smooth action opened the door and
the beeping noise of her new alarm system filled the silence.

Dara punched in her code, put down her purse
and bag on the table, then sunk into the sofa cushions with the box
across her lap and opened the card.

Welcome Home.

Typewritten, short and sweet with no
signature – facts that led her to believe a certain detective may
have sent them. She opened the box, even more surprised by the
contents. Lilies. She inhaled the clean, sweet smell of her
favorite flowers and wondered how he knew. The man was a mystery –
one she had every intention of solving.

She welcomed the warm fuzzies that wrapped
her body as she took the box to the kitchen, laid it on the bar and
then found a tall crystal vase under the sink. After she filled it
halfway with water, she added the flowers, impressed that Mace had
put so much thought into the gift. Just as she stepped back to
admire her handiwork, the doorbell rang. She immediately glanced at
the door while a chill ran the length of her spine. She’d been so
distracted by the flowers that she hadn’t reset the alarm or even
locked the door.

She purposely deepened her voice as she
reached for the knob. “Who is it?”

“Uh … Griffin Owens, the super. Dara? Is that
you?”

Relieved, she threw open the door. “Hi,
Griffin.”

He frowned. “What’s wrong with your
voice?”

“Just a frog in my throat. Thanks for
asking.”

“I thought I’d come by and see how you like
the carpet.” He shifted from one foot to the other.

She gave her forehead a mental thump. She’d
forgotten all about that. “Oh yes, I do.” She looked down at the
pale blue carpet, minus one humongous blood stain, and took off her
shoes to run her bare feet across the soft fibers. “Feels
great!”

Griffin gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m glad
you’re happy. I have to go now but I’ll come back later to measure
the kitchen and the bathroom.”

“Sure. I’ll be here.” Dara shut the door and
locked it this time. Maybe she was paranoid, but the locked door
didn’t do much to soothe her – especially since a locked door
hadn’t stopped a murderer. Without hesitation, she punched her code
into the keypad.
Thank you Detective Turner.
She glanced
back at the flowers. She should probably call the detective and
invite him over for a personal thank-you – it was the least she
could do in return for the beautiful gift.

She only had time to palm her cell phone
before the doorbell rang again. This time, she peered out the
peephole. As if he’d read her mind, Mace stood on the other
side.

“Just a sec,” she told him through the door,
“let me unlock.”

Mace waited on the other side of the door
until he heard the familiar four beeps of the alarm system and then
the click of the deadbolt. The door opened and Dara greeted him
with her sweet smile.

“Come on in.” She waved him inside with one
hand. “I was just about to call you.”

“Everything okay?”

“Of course. I just wanted to thank you for
the flowers.”

“Flowers?”

She nodded and pointed at the vase. “The
lilies. How did you know they’re my favorite?”

“I didn’t.” He moved to the bar and palmed
the card. “Dara, I didn’t send these to you.”

“You didn’t?”

“I’m sorry, no. Did you see who delivered
them?

“No. They were on the front doorstep when I
got home.”

“Have you had any visitors today?”

“I’ve been out most of the day. Griffin
stopped by a few minutes ago.”

“Owens? Why?”

“He came to make sure I liked the
carpet.”

“How did he get in here to lay it?”

“I asked Mrs. Bridgewater to let him in.”

“What about the alarm? Did you give her your
code?”

“No, Detective. I followed your explicit
instructions and programmed a temporary code for her to use.”

“Did you confirm she opened the door?”

“No.”

“See that you do. Did she mention the
flowers?”

“No.”

“What about Owens?”

“He didn’t say anything either.” She
dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “It’s really no big deal. I
occasionally receive gifts from my readers.”

“How often?”

“Maybe weekly. You know, they could have been
sent by the Homeowner’s Association.”

“Maybe.” His temper bristled at the thought
of someone other than him sending her flowers, even if it was a
corporate gesture.

She sat on the sofa and patted the cushion
next to her. “Do you have news about the case?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He took her offered
seat. “We’ve interviewed a few more witnesses but haven’t come up
with anything substantial.”

“So, where do we go from here?”

Mace raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes,” she insisted, “we.”

“You’re going to stay focused on those sexy
stories of yours. Detective Stewart and I are going to investigate
this crime until we find out who is responsible.”

He fully expected another argument – one that
would most likely end in his surrender. Instead, her response
caught him completely off guard.

“How do you know my novels are sexy?”

“You told me.”

“Yes, but do you have evidence?”

For a split second, he considered lying. Why
in the hell would he even think about revealing his evidence?
Because if their roles were reversed, he’d lock her up if she
didn’t.

“You read my book,” she prodded.

It took every ounce of his willpower not to
deny her accusation. Damn his noble intentions. “I skimmed it.”

“Which one?”

“
Arresting Hearts
.”

“Good choice. So you enjoyed the plot?”

Plot? What plot? He’d been truthful when he
answered; he skipped over the plot and read everything else. Word.
For. Word.

“Sure.”

“You’re not being honest, Detective. I’ll bet
you a night of hot, sweaty sex that you can’t even summarize the
plot.”

Mace stood morbidly still and utterly quiet
while he tried to muddle through the decision of how to respond to
her challenge. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he could probably
steer her away from this conversation and save his ass but
honestly,
hot, sweaty sex
sounded pretty damn good.

He leaned close, his lips inches from hers.
“I can’t summarize the plot.”

He didn’t give her a chance to gloat before
he captured her lips between his and tasted the sweetness he’d
craved since their first kiss.

A small, breathy moan escaped from between
them as he grasped the sides of her face and deepened the contact,
urging her mouth open with his own. His tongue tangled with hers,
the motion heated and exciting.

His skin tingled with anticipation as she
unbuttoned each button of his dress shirt. And when she rubbed the
back of her knuckles across his abdomen, tiny sparks danced on his
nerve endings. This woman’s touch made him absolutely crazy.

Only the knock on the door stopped him from
going positively insane with lust – and that severely pissed him
off.

“Who the hell is that?”

“Well, I don’t have x-ray vision, Detective.”
She walked her fingers up his bare torso, across his chest, then
along his jaw until she smoothed his bottom lip with her index
finger. “But, it’s probably Griffin.”

“Again?”

She shrugged as she stood and headed for the
door. “He mentioned he’d stop by to measure for tile in the
bathroom.”

“Why? What’s wrong with the bathroom
tile?”

“Relax, Mace. That tile needed to be replaced
before the
incident
so the association authorized all the
renovations at one time.”

He stood and fully untucked his shirt, not
bothering to button it. Maybe the guy would take the hint. Besides,
he sported a hard-on the size of Mt. Olympus. Surely even Owens
could appreciate his dilemma and leave them the hell alone.

He braced himself on one hip against the back
of the sofa. “Make sure it’s him before you open the door.”

She turned to face the door and although he
couldn’t see her face, he was sure she rolled those beautiful,
piercing eyes. “Who is it?”

“Hey, Dara. It’s Griffin again. I’ve come to
measure the bathroom.”

She tossed him a smug grin over one shoulder
and then turned to open the door. “Come on in, Griffin.”

The other man stepped inside and then stopped
abruptly, obviously surprised by his presence.

Mace gave him a curt nod. “Owens.”

“Hello, Detective Turner.” The super pushed
his glasses up on his nose and fidgeted from side to side.

Dara closed the door and gestured at the
hallway leading to the bathroom. “Thanks for coming, Griffin. Help
yourself.”

He watched through narrowed eyes as Griffin
quickly left them and headed to complete his task.

“Stop making him nervous,” Dara hissed
through her teeth.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re eyeing him like you’d like to use him
for target practice.” She pointed back at the sofa. “Sit. It won’t
take him long.”

With a sideways grin, he followed
instructions only because if he didn’t, he might just throw the
party crasher out.

Minutes ticked by, the snap of Owens’
measuring tape the only audible sound in the silence. Mace took a
deep, cleansing breath and leaned forward with his elbows on his
knees.

“The room is relatively small,” he mumbled
under his breath.

“Patience, Detective.”

Her soft touch to his tense shoulder muscles
did little to relax him. He glanced between his legs. No, relaxed
he was not.

“All done.” Mace raised his head when Owens
re-entered the room quiet as an alley cat and gave Dara another
goofy grin. “I’ll swing by the warehouse in the morning and then
start tiling.”

Dara stood and inched toward the door, a
subtle gesture for the other man to get the hell out. He smirked.
What a woman.

“That sounds great, Griffin. I’ll have Mrs.
Bridgewater open for you again.”

The super nodded and then pointed at the
vase. “What lovely flowers.”

Mace’s senses went on full alert.

“Thank you.” Dara smiled and reached for the
doorknob. “It seems I have a secret admirer.”

Owens ducked his head as she opened the door.
“I’m not surprised,” he said as he exited. “Enjoy your
evening.”

“You too,” she told him as she closed the
door.

Mace waited for her to sit next to him to
speak. “Nice of him to notice the flowers.”

She frowned. “Yes, but I was disappointed in
his observation.”

“You mean the part where he didn’t admit to
leaving them?”

“Was I that obvious?”

“No. In fact, I was impressed.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I figured that syrupy smile he
wears around you might spur a confession.”

“I guess that means the Homeowners’
Association left them.”

“Would Owens be responsible for
delivery?”

“Not necessarily.”

“And you don’t think Mrs. Bridgewater
would’ve signed the card?”

“I have absolutely no idea.” She sighed. “I
just figure it was someone who frequently sends flowers since the
card is typed.”

“Or someone who doesn’t want to be
discovered.”

She twisted her lips. “You’re a real
killjoy.”

He shrugged. “Just trying to analyze the
facts.”

“Well, here’s another piece to the mystery.
Alex, Marnie and I went to lunch at Hannigan’s this afternoon.
Someone paid our bill.”

“Hannigan?”

“No.”

“Who?”

“We didn’t ever find out. One of the
waitresses told Chad whoever paid it, left the money with a note on
a napkin.”

“Did she keep the napkin?”

“Alex asked the same question. No, she threw
it out.”

“Did you see anyone familiar?”

She shook her head. “The place was packed.
Alex assumed the resident Neanderthal was responsible.”

“Huh?”

“There was a group of men leaving when we
arrived. One of them attempted to hold the table ransom in exchange
for Alex’s phone number.”