Читать книгу: «Dying for Love»

CHAPTER ONE

Twenty-five years later

“Sweet angels in heaven, I need coffee.”

Grace Debry walked into her kitchen, hand outstretched for salvation in a coffeepot, and tripped. Her hip smacked into the granite counter and tears of pain blinded her. She righted herself, rubbing her hip, blinked her gaze clear and screamed.

Her kitchen had been ransacked. A sea of kitchen gadgets covered the pristine black counters. Kitchen towels were everywhere. Spatulas, a meat tenderizer, large spoons, and a collection of other utensils spilled from drawers. The oven door was wide open. Her entire collection of cookware covered the stovetop and sink.

“Purple dandelion blood.”

She covered her mouth, her hand trembling. If only she hadn’t given up swearing. Her foster mother had hated swearing with a passion. Always said it showed a severe lack of vocabulary. Pulse thundering in her ears, she stepped back and took in the rest of her condo at a glance. A well-executed swear word would make her feel so much better right now.

The peaceful serenity of her neat living room and cozy furniture arrangement made the carnage of her kitchen all the more bizarre. She wrapped her arms around her ribcage, trying to still her trembling. The front door and balcony slider were securely dead-bolted.

Maybe she’d woken in the middle of the night and trashed her kitchen? She shook her head. Sleepwalking wasn’t part of her repertoire. She nibbled on her lip. No, not possible. She’d shared numerous bedrooms growing up—not to mention the occasional bed. She would know. Foster kids were not merciful creatures. Neither were jealous co-workers, come to think of it. She’d kept so much to herself since moving to the area, she didn’t know anyone outside of work. Except the little elderly lady downstairs. She couldn’t imagine her or anyone else she knew indulging in a little B&E for kicks and giggles. Or screams.

Swallowing to moisten her dry mouth, she braved the kitchen again. Her heavy marble rolling pin rested against the carpet edge at the entrance. So that was what she’d tripped over.

Grace focused on the pantry door.

A kernel of caution nudged her. The intruder could be behind that door. She snatched the marble rolling pin off the floor and faced off with her frosted-glass pantry door. Reaching for the gleaming silver handle, her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.

Banging against her front door ripped another scream from her.

“Grace? Are you alright, cher?”

Hand pressed against her racing heart, Grace spun and leapt over the mess covering her floor. She glanced at the wall-mounted clock in her living room. They weren’t carpooling today, which meant Lisette had heard her scream from across the hallway. Grace would be mortified about screaming later. Right now, she was grateful for a friend.

Grace looked through the peephole. Her petite Cajun neighbor from New Orleans bounced on the other side, anxiously twining her long hair around her fingertip. Grace unlocked and opened the door with hands that trembled.

Lisette burst through the opening. “Mon amie! What happened?”

Grace took her time shutting and locking the door. They’d become instant friends when Grace had moved in six months ago, but a lifetime of keeping her own council gave her pause.

A hiss of breath sounded from across the room. Grace turned. Her neighbor stood in the arched entrance to her kitchen. She should have known the warm bundle of energy, otherwise known as Lisette de LaCroix, aka Lisie, wouldn’t wait for an invitation.

“Soc au’ lait! What happened?”

Grace sighed, some of her fear draining now that she wasn’t alone. “I don’t know. I found it like this when I walked in for my coffee.”

Lisette’s impossibly big brown eyes widened. “Surely you heard something?”

This had happened while she’d slept. Grace paused in the middle of the living room, light-headed at the realization that an intruder had ransacked her kitchen while she slept just a room away. Her knees trembled. She snapped her spine straight and sucked in a deep breath.

Joining her friend, she shook her head. “I wear noise-cancelling earbuds at night.”

“Maybe it was done while you were at work yesterday?”

“No …”

Grace stared at the pantry door. She hadn’t checked inside yet. Hefting the rolling pin she hadn’t even thought to put down—latent terror, no doubt—she carefully maneuvered through the maze of kitchen gadgets. Her pulse skipped a beat.

“What’re you doing, cher?”

With a shaky exhale and shakier smile, she glanced at Lisette. “I was just getting ready to check the pantry when you arrived.”

“Check for…Oh!” Lisette’s eyes narrowed. She quickly selected a copper-bottomed skillet, then nodded. “Ready.”

Grace considered asking her to leave for half a beat. She’d feel awful if anything happened to the first real friend she’d made since high school. No way Lisette would go without a fight, though. Stomach clenched tighter than her hand around the marble rolling pin, Grace faced the pantry, yanked open the door and flipped on the light, ready to brain anything that moved.

Empty.

She sagged against the door frame. The floor was piled high with foodstuffs, miscellaneous kitchen tools and dishes, leaving the shelves bare. Her pantry hadn’t escaped her uninvited visitor, but at least the culprit was gone.

Thumbnail caught between her teeth, she turned. “Why would someone break into my place only to mess up my kitchen?”

Lisette tapped the saucepan against her thigh, arched brows drawn together in a frown. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

The buzzer on the coffeepot went off. Grace jumped and slapped her hand over her mouth to smother a shriek. Just the coffeepot, Grace. Get it together. She glanced at her watch.

“Oh, crap. I’m gonna be late for work.” Leaping over a saucepot, spatula and potato masher, she ran to the bedroom. “Crap, crap, crap.”

At least her makeup and hair were done. Throwing on the outfit she laid out last night would take two minutes, racing down the three flights of stairs and along the sidewalk to her car two and a half, and the drive to the office ten—fifteen if traffic was snarled.

“You can’t go to work. You have to call the police and report this.”

Grace tugged her skirt over her hips and zipped it, frowning. “Why?”

Lisette blinked. “Because your home was broken into, cher. The police are here to protect you. Let them do their job.”

She snorted and pulled her blouse over her head, muttering, “They wouldn’t know how to do their job with a flashlight, map and CliffsNotes.”

“Pardon?”

“I don’t see the point.”

Lips tightening, Lisette planted her hands on the generous curves of her hips. “What’s wrong with you? You act like it don’ madda’! I’m a fixin’ to do it myself.”

Grace winced. Whenever Lisette’s Louisiana drawl thickened, the poo was about to hit the fan. If she started spewing French, it was time to hit the deck. Grace slipped on her shoes and jewelry, stalling. The amount of faith she had in the police could be measured in a thimble, thanks to her childhood experiences.

“Lisie, you know how my boss is. I have a presentation this morning and I absolutely cannot be late. I’ll call the police,” she tried not to gag on the lie, “the moment I get home.”

“Promise me.”

“Cross my heart.”

Lisette stepped out of the doorway and Grace flew past her. Flipped off the coffeepot, snatched up her purse and briefcase, and yanked the door open.

Lisette zapped her with a gimlet-eyed stare as she walked out. “I’m gonna be checking on you tonight.”

Grace smiled. “Thank you.”

Her friend disappeared into her own condo. Grace quickly locked her door, turned and froze. Back pressed to the door, she flicked her gaze up and down the open-air hallway. A stranger had likely stood in the very same spot before stealing inside her condo while she slept. Oblivious.

Tears stung her eyes. Her nails dug into her palm. She took a deep breath and blinked the moisture away. Life wouldn’t wait while she had a meltdown.

Forcefully shoving away from the door, she jogged down the hall. She almost tripped on the stairs in her low heels and forced herself to slow down. A goose egg on her forehead would not be a good look in the board meeting scheduled for…a quick glance at her watch nearly made her trip again. Holy rosebuds. Twenty minutes to get her butt in her office and go over the monthly report on construction progress and actual cost versus estimates before her presentation to Matthew Duncan.

Having her boss’s steely-eyed gaze focused solely on her for the space of ten minutes tried her nerves every time.

She refused to think about what it did to other parts of her body.

“Oh, Gracie. There you are.”

Oh, no. Not now. She didn’t have time. Not to mention her hands were still shaking.

Grace squeezed her eyes closed, reminded herself that she adored her neighbor, plastered on a smile and swung around. Mrs. Freeman’s massive Great Dane strolled beside her, matching his regal walk to the old lady’s shuffling gait.

“Mrs. Freeman.” Grace scanned the area for strangers. No one else was in sight. Grace relaxed a little. “How are you?”

“Just fine, dear. Off to work?”

Apollo pranced, his tongue lolling and eager black eyes focused on Grace. He never once tugged on the leash anchoring him to Mrs. Freeman.

“Yes.”

Grace sighed softly and surrendered, scratching Apollo’s head. He heaved a big doggie sigh of pleasure and leaned into her.

“What are you up to today? Breakfast with your boyfriend?”

Mrs. Freeman glowed with pleasure. “Gracie, you know Roger isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Mr. Gray adores you, and you know it. He takes you out to breakfast as often as you let him, and he’d probably take you to lunch and dinner too. Last week he even took Apollo to his vet appointment when you weren’t feeling well. If that isn’t a sure sign of devotion, I don’t know what is.”

“Roger and I are just friends. He loved his wife, and he still grieves her passing. We fill a space in one another’s life, that’s all.”

“If you say so.” She rubbed Apollo’s back. “We know better, don’t we, Apollo?”

Mrs. Freeman chuckled. “You’d better skedaddle on to work, dear. You don’t want that ferocious boss of yours getting on your case first thing.”

Grace pretended a shiver. “Heavens, no.”

“Some men hide a big heart behind a tough demeanor. My George was that way.” Mrs. Freeman’s eyes went misty. “Tough as a pit bull on the outside, soft and affectionate as an old tabby cat on the inside. Your Mr. Duncan might just need a good woman to tame him.”

“Maybe, but that good woman won’t be me.” Grace glanced at the parking lot then did a double-take. Her car wasn’t in its usual spot. The pit of her stomach fell. “Where’s my car?”

Mrs. Freeman edged her walker forward. “There it is, dear. Across the way.”

Grace followed the direction of the old woman’s trembling, wrinkled finger. Her brand- new tango-red Honda Accord Crosstour sat on the far side of the parking lot beneath a big tree. She blinked, her pulse skittering. Her lips tightened. What the hell?

Mrs. Freeman tutted. “The carport is safer than that old tree.”

“Um-hmm.”

She clutched the handle of her briefcase tight enough to leave finger imprints. No way had she parked there last night. She was never that tired. There’d better not be a single hairline scratch on the finish, or someone was going down. As a practical joke, the humor escaped her. As something more…She didn’t want to think about anything more. She scanned their surroundings again.

Casual expression firmly in place, she glanced at the elderly woman. “Have you heard about any weird break-ins in the complex?”

Mrs. Freeman’s smile disappeared and a little frown crinkled the white skin between her slim brows. “No, dear. Why? Is something wrong?”

Grace forced her stiff cheeks into a smile. “Goodness, no. Just something I overheard in the hallway the other day. I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how kids are.” Leaning down, she planted a soft kiss on Mrs. Freeman’s age-weathered cheek and patted Apollo. “Lovely to see you both. I’ll be by to take Apollo for a walk when I get home.”

She glanced back as she reached the parking lot. Mrs. Freeman’s smile was troubled. Guilt bit hard. Grace waved at Roger Gray as he eased his big Lincoln to a stop near the curb. So he was taking Mrs. Freeman out for breakfast.

As she neared her car, the hair on her neck rose. She glanced around. No face peered from the bushes, no curtains twitched and nothing shifted in the cool morning air. Rubbing her neck with an unsteady hand, she circled the car. Not so much as a fingerprint marred the gleaming finish. She tried the handle. Locked. Rummaging in her purse for the keys, so jittery she may as well have drank the whole untouched pot of coffee, she glanced around again.

A chilly spring breeze ruffled the trees. Shadows skittered for cover.

Grace shivered and hit the remote button to unlock the Honda. With a quick look in the backseat, she tossed in her purse and briefcase, slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut and locked it. She wrapped trembling fingers around the leather steering wheel.

“No boogeyman is going to jump out from behind the tree.” She glanced through the sunroof at the tree branches waving overhead. “Or out of the tree.” The whole morning had her on edge, totally creeped out and talking to herself, which was friggin’ fantastic.

Starting the car, she took a deep breath, focused on the smooth sound of the new engine and automatically checked the gas level. A paper covered the gauges.

Nice car, slut

*****

Matt Duncan peered through the door as Grace got off the elevator and walked down the hall toward her office. He snapped straight, shaking his head in disgust. Leering at an employee—he was such a pervert. In his defense, he’d been closing his door when the elevator pinged. The glimpse of Grace emerging froze him in place.

For six long months he’d worked hard to hide his attraction to her. Ever since she’d walked across his office for her interview. Marilyn Monroe couldn’t have done that expanse of polished hardwood more justice. He’d instinctively checked to make sure his tongue wasn’t hanging out. Miracle of miracles, no drool pooled on his desk either.

Her job performance, warm friendliness with the other staff, persistent charm, quick wit, and sharp intelligence had quickly made her an asset. And served to fuel and deepen his attraction. Admiration and respect rode hard alongside physical attraction.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and clicked the door shut. The day had barely begun and was already headed to hell in a handbasket. Breakfast with his mom and stepdad had rocked his world, and not in a good way. The cherry on top of his crappy morning? His receptionist reminding him of his brother’s appointment.

“Mr. Duncan?”

Matt strode over to his desk and hit the intercom button. “Yes?”

“Your eight-thirty appointment is here.”

Not what he wanted to deal with today. Especially since his mom hadn’t shared her devastating diagnosis with Jeff yet. Cancer. Damn, she didn’t deserve that. Not after all she’d been through with her ex-husband—his father—screwing around on her.

“Send him in.”

Retrieving his coffee from the bar, he carried it to his desk. A large object between him and his brother was always beneficial. Jeff threw open the door and stomped in before Matt’s butt hit leather. Great. Already sporting an attitude.

Matt leaned back, sipping cold coffee gone bitter. His brother flung himself into one of the hard chairs facing the big desk. His worn polo shirt pulled taut over his round belly. Prematurely thinning hair added to Jeff’s general resentment of the world. In less charitable moments, Matt wondered how they came from the same parents.

“Hey, big bro.” Jeff didn’t make eye contact. “What’s up?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who asked to see me.”

Jeff snorted, finally raising watery eyes to Matt. “Yeah, and I have to make an appointment with your stinkin’ secretary to even get in the door.”

“You said it was about business, and that’s how a business is run. People make appointments with one another so they can schedule their day. Makes things easier on everyone.”

“Or just you.”

Matt gently set his cup on the desk and laced his fingers together in his lap. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

“How’s your new job?”

Jeff laced and unlaced his fingers, straightened and slouched and then straightened again. Matt tensed. His brother cracked his neck.

“That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Things didn’t go so good. The supervisor was totally unreasonable when I forgot to come back from lunch last week.”

“You forgot…” Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “…to come back from lunch?”

“Yeah. I got distracted. So, I figured, ya know, to hell with it.”

“Really.” Matt wanted to close his eyes and pretend Jeff wasn’t sitting there. That he hadn’t just blown off this latest job. One Matt had gotten for him, calling in yet another favor. He couldn’t wait to hear from the contractor. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t already.

“I was hoping you’d let me help out on the construction site again.”