By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс

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СКАЧАТЬ could make her feel so many things. The approval in his tone triggered warmth that intensified when their fingers linked again. She felt the pull, the same one she’d felt when their hands had connected on the hood of his car. Her gaze shifted to his mouth, and she felt the pull even stronger than before. They were alone. All she had to do was lean across the table, close the small distance between them, and she could feel more—more than anyone had ever made her feel. And there was more that he could make her feel.

      Here. Now. She simply couldn’t prevent those words from coming to mind every time he was this close.

      “There’s a connection between us,” Duncan murmured.

      There was definitely something between them. She glanced down at their joined hands. She could try to pull her hand away. She might be able to. She might not. He might let her, but he might not. Each possibility brought a separate thrill.

      Here. Now.

      She met his eyes and saw that he was thinking the same thing. All one of them had to do was make that small move. But she saw something else she recognized, because it matched exactly what she was feeling. Wariness.

      Watching each other, they drew their hands back at the same time.

      Duncan closed his fingers around his wineglass. “If you agree to come to the castle with me, we can explore the connection. Or not. No pressure. That part’s up to you. Bottom line, I’d really like your help.”

      Piper was surprised that her hand didn’t tremble when she used it to lift her glass. She needed a sip of wine because her throat had gone dry as dust. He was going to leave whatever was going on between them up to her?

      Maybe. She wasn’t sure she entirely trusted him on that score. As far as no pressure went … there was pressure each time she looked at him.

      Duncan leaned forward. “I’ve never made a case to a jury before. What’s the verdict? Will you go with me to the castle?”

      She had her mouth open, ready to answer when footsteps pounded on the staircase outside. Duncan was already at the door when someone knocked.

      When he opened it, all she could see beyond Duncan’s large frame was the face of her visitor, and she recognized it immediately. “Mr. Findley.” She crossed to the door. “Duncan, this is Mr. Findley. He runs the coffee shop across the street.”

      “A deliveryman left these with me earlier today. I promised I would bring them up when you got home. But I wanted to wait until the reporters finally gave up and went away.”

      “Thanks.” But it wasn’t until Duncan turned that she saw roses. They were bright red and arranged in a glass vase. Fear knotted in her stomach.

      Mr. Findley was already retreating down the stairs as Duncan closed the door.

      “Those are not from the RPK,” Piper said. “They’re from whoever set up that little scene this morning. And he’s beginning to annoy the hell out of me.”

      Duncan took a vellum card out of an envelope and held it out to her.

      THE NEXT TIME YOU’LL BE THE ONE LYING BENEATH THE PETALS. THESE PERHAPS.

      “The person who sent this note could be just as dangerous,” Duncan said.

      “I don’t want to run away from this. I want to catch him and make him pay.”

      Duncan set the flowers down, then turned to face her. The anger she saw in his eyes was such a close match to her own that some of her tension eased.

      “We’re going to catch him,” he said. “He’s already making mistakes. He left behind that Macy’s bag, and he used a florist for this. Mike Nelson will check it out. In the meantime, why not play with his mind the way he’s trying to play with yours?” he asked. “Just think of what he’ll feel like if you’re not here to get the next message or flower delivery. If you come away with me to the castle, it’s going to annoy the hell out of him.’’

      She studied him for a moment, but the decision had been made. “You’re damn good at making a case, Sutherland. I’ll pack a bag.”

      AT FIRST PIPER WASN’T SURE what had awakened her. Not Donald Duck, a fact she discovered when her hand whacked the flat top of the nightstand. And she couldn’t see a thing. The lights from the street always filtered in through her bedroom curtains.

      By the time her mind had slogged its way through the missing alarm clock and the pitch blackness that surrounded her, lightning flashed outside and the brief illumination chased away her disorientation.

      She was in her bedroom at Castle MacPherson. Thunder rumbled. Rain splatted.

      Ah, the sounds of home, she thought. Turning on her side, she angled her head toward the windows so that she could see the lightning sparkle and dance across the sky. Nature’s fireworks.

      For better or worse, she’d let Duncan talk her into coming here. And he hadn’t wasted any time doing it. He’d called Aunt Vi to let her know they were coming, and his suitcase and golf clubs had already been in the trunk of his car when he’d finessed her suitcase in between them. Either he’d been very confident that he’d be able to talk her into going with him or he’d been prepared to leave without her. She suspected the former.

      And she couldn’t fault the argument he’d made. Or the bait he’d used. Offering the opportunity to put Patrick Lightman back behind bars had been the perfect lure. He had to have known she would jump at it. She suspected that he was very good at his job.

      But if Duncan Sutherland thought he was going to have everything his way every time, he would be in for a surprise.

      The rain was pouring down now, the thunder crashing overhead. The details of their exit from D.C., while pushing the speed limit through a series of small towns in Pennsylvania and New York, were coming back. Duncan had kept the music loud and tuned to a station that played and replayed the top twenty. The fact that only a few of the songs were familiar to her told her that she’d been working too hard. It had been after midnight when they’d reached the castle, but Aunt Vi had greeted them at the door and hustled them off to waiting beds.

      She’d slept like a rock until now. Nearly 5:00 a.m. according to the illuminated dial on her watch. Throwing the covers off, she crossed to the sliding doors that led to one of the castle’s many balconies and opened them. The rain was growing softer already and the lightning had dimmed to erratic flickers in the slowly graying sky. Even as a child, she’d loved the storms that rushed in over the mountain lakes, unleashed their fury, and then blew away. They seldom lasted long.

      But then, few things in life did. Everything was temporary. The important thing was to live in the present the best way you knew how. And Duncan had given her the opportunity to do that on a couple of levels. She enjoyed solving problems, the planning, the execution, even the point at which you claimed success and then could put them behind you. For years now, she’d structured her life around projects. Finish college, get into Georgetown Law, make law review. Since she’d worked for Abe, it had been one case after another.

      This was the first break she’d had in a long time. Not that it was a break, really. She had two projects to work on. Find something that would put Patrick Lightman back in jail, and decide what to do about the intense, almost primitive attraction she and Duncan were feeling for each other.

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