The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) (26 page)

“For Christ’s sake, I leave you alone for two minutes and look what happens. I thought you were going
home
. What the hell were you thinking, going back in there alone?”

He stood at the edge of her bed, fists planted on his neat, designer suit. Dark silvery eyes flashed as he glowered down at her, as though expecting that she would actually respond to such outrageous accusations. His conservative navy tie, half twisted so that its Versace tag showed, was another sign that he was agitated.

Fiona couldn’t resist. She reached out to flip it back into place, and responded, “Better fix that before you get to court. And, by the way, I feel fine, thanks for asking, Gideon.”

“You look terrible,” he commented, but his voice softened. “Are you all right?” He looked around in confusion, then, with a shrug, settled on the very edge of her bed.

She nodded, warmth swimming through her at the concern in his eyes. “My head hurts, but otherwise I’m doing fine.”

“I called the shop this morning and Dylan told me what happened—that he found you there and took you in to the hospital. And about the note.” An angry line creased between his heavy brows as he looked down at her. “Fiona, this isn’t good.”

“Do you think you need to tell me that?” Her voice was mild, but she clutched the sheets. That black, scrawling threat still made her stomach churn.

“I called the police department on my way over here, but they didn’t have anything to report about last night’s break-in. I did talk to Detective Hinkle about the skeleton, and the only news he had was that they found traces of lime in the fabric of the woman’s clothes. He wanted me to ask you if you’d had any, or seen any lime anywhere else in the shop.”

“Lime?” Fiona would have frowned, but her head hurt too much.

“Yes—you know, limestone.”

The fog cleared. “Oh, limestone.” She sighed and gave a rueful chuckle. “I guess my mind is more addled than I thought. No, I haven’t seen anything like that around.”

Gideon took her hand and fumbled with her fingers between his own, touching each of the three rings she wore, and smoothing over the freckled skin on the back of her hand. His breath hissed out when he saw the red roughness around her wrists, and he touched that too. “I should have taken you home last night,” he said finally. “I’m afraid I just didn’t see any reason that a fifty-year-old skeleton would be the cause of anyone’s concern. But apparently it is.”

Fiona swallowed and reached for the tea to moisten her throat. The stiffness and arrogance she equated with him seemed to have faded, and the warmth that emanated from him now was so unlike the cool, business-like attorney that it threatened to work its way past her barriers.

“Do you think…could it be Barnaby?” she said, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Still holding her hand, he shrugged, and she felt the gentle jolt. “He’s been sniffing around ever since you opened the place…but he’s also been pretty obvious about his concern with the skeleton. I don’t think he’d do anything to jeopardize the election.”

Fiona felt sick. If it wasn’t Barnaby—a somewhat known evil—then who could it be? What did they want? “If someone’s broken in twice, they’re looking for something,” she said. “It’s not just a thief. And the first break-in was before I found the skeleton…is it possible they’re not related?”

Gideon reached up to tuck a coiling curl behind her ear, hesitating before he replied. He didn’t want to say anything that would put an even greater edge of fear in her eyes, but at the same time, he wasn’t about to downplay her safety. If she was concerned about the situation, she would take more care than to be in the store alone at night.

He gritted his teeth at the thought of her bound and gagged on the floor of the shop, then forced himself to relax. “It’s possible the first break-in was a random thief. Last night, though…well, you must have surprised the intruder and we don’t know whether he got what he came for.”

He stroked the back of her hand, silently berating himself for leaving her alone last night. If he hadn’t leapt to answer Leslie’s call…. His lips tightened and he thrust the thought away. There was no way he could have known she’d return to the shop, and absolutely no indication that she would interrupt another burglar. Still…if he’d listened to the message his heart had been telling him, he’d never have gone to Leslie.

Gideon’s stomach churned at the memory of the terrible, heart-rending scene that had ensued with Leslie collapsing in tears, and him unable to comfort her…and all the while, he’d been thinking about Fiona.

“I suppose the reason he tied me up and left me was to scare the hell out of me,” Fiona said in a small voice, breaking into his thoughts and jerking him back to their conversation. “Well, it worked.” Her eyes, enclosed by thick, winged lashes, carried the shine of fear, and she fluttered her lids down as though to hide it. “But why scare me? I haven’t done anything.”

“That you know of, anyway,” Gideon agreed. “Fiona, we don’t know what’s going on here—so I want you to promise me that you won’t be in the shop by yourself in the evening, or at night—or even early in the morning. Not until we figure out what’s going on, and why you seem to be a target.” The very thought was enough to make his throat close up.

She struggled to sit upright in her bed, exasperation showing in her tired features. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gideon. I’m not going to be stupid about things—especially now, after this—but I can’t schedule Dylan to be there with me every waking hour.”

He began to talk, but stopped when she pressed two firm fingers to his mouth. “I promise I won’t be in the shop after hours by myself. And, I’ve already scheduled to have the security system updated, so I’ll turn the alarms on when I’m there alone. Customers will just have to knock to be let in when I’m alone. Plus, I’m going to get some Mace and have it with me all the time. Unlike my cell phone. Okay?”

What else could he say? She made sense, even though it left him with a nervousness that would not abate. However, her fingers were still pressed to his lips…and it was rather distracting….

He smiled under her touch, then, with a quick movement, he opened his mouth and let a finger slip in. He nipped it lightly, quickly, and pulled away, grinning at the shocked look on her face. Gideon leaned to press her back into her pillows, covering her lips with his in a gentle, sensual kiss. She tasted wonderful…like Fiona.

A wave of desire washed over him, surging to his groin, and he slid a hand along the length of her neck, tracing over her shoulder to the curve of her breast. Oh…yes….

The low rumble of a throat clearing behind him froze Gideon, half-sprawled on Fiona, and he swallowed deeply. Giving a half-smile to the woman he’d been unable to get out of his mind for three weeks, he deliberately pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed as Fiona’s friend—he couldn’t remember her name—entered the room.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, a smile quirking her full lips, “but I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to take off, now that you…er…have things under control.” Her eyes danced, flickering to Gideon in what could only be described as an overt approval, then back to her friend.

“Thanks a lot for coming over, Chris,” Fiona, appearing completely composed and unembarrassed, replied. “I really appreciate it.”

“I’ll stop by the shop later tonight, okay?”

“See you then.”

“What do you mean, see you then?” Gideon exploded. Chris darted a look at him, raising her eyebrows at Fiona, then, with a little wave, sailed from the room.

To his utter amazement, she blew a kiss after Chris and, giving him a little push away from the bed, slid from beneath the covers. “I should think it’s perfectly clear—she’ll see me this afternoon. At work. My shop.”

Fiona padded over to the largest armoire he’d ever seen and opened its weathered pine door to expose a bulging closet. A heavy shoe fell out, landing with a clunk, and a hot pink and lime green scarf fluttered to the floor in its wake

Gideon tried to keep his irritation in place, but seeing her floating around the room in two little scraps of brilliant blue silk—a little strappy top and some very brief shorts—was enough to get his heart racing again. The tone of her voice indicated that she wasn’t about to capitulate to his demands that she get back into bed, unless…. He shifted gears and decided to try a different, more rewarding tactic.

He slipped up behind her, resting his hands lightly on her bare shoulders as she flipped through the myriad of dresses and flowing skirts that crowded her wardrobe.

“What’s the hurry?” he murmured into her ear, trying not to wince when he saw her hand pause over a flame-red dress with bead-studded fringe that looked like something a cowgirl/gypsy would wear.

“No hurry,” she said crisply, and chose a long blue linen skirt, pulling it from its hanger. She turned right into him, and that was a very fortuitous event.

He slid his arms around her waist, his hands slipping sensuously over her skin with the shift of blue silk. The dark circles under her eyes solidified his decision that keeping her in bed would be the best thing for her, and that was all he needed to justify the way his mouth covered hers—telling her what would happen next.

~*~

He sat outside, trying to enjoy the musky, musty taste of a Puerto Rican cigar and a tumbler of golden brandy. Sucking hard on the smoke, he held the taste in his mouth for a count of ten, then expelled it in a straight shot toward the twilight sky.

God
damn
Nevio Valente.

He clenched his teeth, then forced himself to relax. He would find the papers if it killed him…or someone else.

His lips tightened as he thought of that idiot bitch who’d interrupted him last night—again. She always seemed to find a way to interfere. The hardness relented into a nasty smile and he set the cigar on the edge of a marble ashtray.

He doubted she’d be around to bother him for much longer. He hoped he’d succeeded in scaring her so much she sold the shop—or at least closed it for a while. All he needed was some time to do a good, uninterrupted search, and he’d be able to find what Valente tried to hide from the world.

Then when he found it, he’d keep it hidden too, of course, except for the money. The money would be his. After all, it was his due.

He tapped his well-manicured fingernails on the table and imagined how much those bank accounts would be worth now…and his heart began to race. Valente owed him…for all he’d put up with over the years, Valente owed him.

The following Tuesday—a week after Fiona had discovered a skeleton in her shop’s closet and that a stuffy lawyer could take her to the moon—she found a bracelet belonging to the skeleton.

It had to belong to the skeleton, she reasoned, staring at the delicate gold links that clasped a heavy oval plate, because it had somehow got caught up on the inside of the wall she’d broken through.

She’d forgotten about the debris that she’d removed before finding the skeleton, and only now had she enlisted Dylan’s help in moving it from the back room out to the Dumpster. The detectives had missed it too—although they’d gone over every other inch of the small closet under the stairs with a fine-toothed comb. Now she understood how some of the celebrated errors in police investigations happened.

Fiona turned the bracelet over in her hand and saw the faint engraving on what looked like an old-fashioned identification bracelet. Stepping toward one of the fluorescent lights that spilled into the back room in a decidedly un-designer-like fashion, she peered at the plain, neat letters and read: “GJF liebe NV 17/6/40.”

Fiona felt a swell of sadness rise within, and, without truly being conscious of why she did so, she looked out toward the main shop—toward The Lamp—and spoke very softly. “Is this yours? GJF?”