Tempting Target. Addison Fox

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      And where the hell had that come from?

      “You got anything yet, Jess?”

      Her voice grew flat at his gruff bark. “Yes, bossy. It’s just coming up now.”

      “Well?”

      “That’s odd.” He heard her frowning through the phone before another round of key tapping, this time louder than the last.

      “What’s going on?”

      “I don’t see any paperwork under that name. Nor do I even see any paperwork on a Robert Barrington.”

      A hard clench fisted his stomach in knots and he reached for the roll of antacids he kept in a small well under the radio. “Jess, I just looked at the papers in Gannon’s hand.”

      “Then we need to figure out who the hell processed Barrington, because nothing is here.”

      * * *

      Reed continued turning the paperwork issue over in his mind as he navigated the Design District. Jessie was already looking into who might have taken care of Barrington’s arrest and he’d decided to head back to Elegance and Lace.

      The shop wasn’t that far from the jail and he mulled over the mystery of Robert Barrington’s life and death as the storefronts slowly morphed from fast food, dingy bars and bail bondsmen establishments into the more refined—yet still edgy—storefronts of antiques shops, design firms and newly built apartments.

      The district sure as hell had come back. He remembered coming down here as a kid with his mother, her hunt through the endless design shops—open only to professionals—some of the longest days of his life.

      She’d been a lone single mother back then, taking whatever job she could to keep them afloat, desperate to keep a roof over both their heads as she tried to get her design business off the ground.

      Then she’d met Tripp Lange on the job while decorating his new home after divorce number two. Tripp had quickly tumbled into marriage number three, and Reed and his mother had moved from a small apartment in the suburbs to a mansion in the swankiest part of Dallas.

      All things considered, Reed knew, things could have been far worse. Tripp wasn’t a bad guy. A bit of a caricature, with his oversize cigars and small sports car, but the man was fairly decent all the same.

      Tripp had embraced Reed and his mother, and while he’d shown no interest in becoming a father again at fifty-two, he had provided a home and anything Reed could have asked for. And he’d made his mother happy, which had gone even further toward putting him in the good-guy camp.

      The large windows of Elegance and Lace filled his view as he pulled into the street parking in front of Lilah’s store. The damage from a week earlier was nowhere in evidence, with mannequins covered in frothy wedding gowns back in their place of honor in the windows. Beyond that he could see the thick-cushioned couches that made up the seating area, and even farther back, Cassidy Tate was visible, carrying one of those frothy confections with the same delicate steps of the Dallas bomb squad.

      Weddings.

      He shook his head as he stepped out into the heat and headed into the store, a discreet security bell ringing to announce his arrival. He got marriage. And while he wasn’t anxious to dive headfirst into one, he got the idea of it all. That one person you were crazy enough about to link up with.

      But a wedding?

      Waste of money, as far as he could tell.

      A dress you wore once. A cake someone slaved over for days. And an open bar and rich food you used to anesthetize your guests into some sort of zombie pack who danced to dopey songs, half of which the radio refused to still play.

      “Detective.” Cassidy’s voice reached him over the dress in her arms as she caught sight of him from the hall. “Come on in.”

      “Miss Tate?”

      “Just give me a minute to put this down.” She ducked into what he knew to be a studio off the main hallway of the shop, full of all the things she used to cut, measure and sew dress after dress.

      In moments she was back, dress-free, her gaze tense. “I saw that dark look on your face when you walked in. Everything okay?”

      Reed glanced around her business and knew he needed to tread lightly. But his strange walk down memory lane over his mother and the odd thoughts that had gripped him as he looked up in the windows won out.

      “I’m trying to figure out the appeal of a wedding.”

      The tension vanished, fading away in the face of what she loved to do for a living. “You mean you’re not a fan of happily-ever-after?”

      “The happy part, sure. Yeah. But the wedding part. I don’t get it.”

      “It’s a celebration. A way to tell the world you’re in love and share that with the people you care about most.”

      “Then why do couples fight over the guest list?” He distinctly remembered how Jessie had bitched for weeks about Dave’s family and how they’d upset several relatives who didn’t rate an invite.

      “The fight’s just about the tension of the moment. People get over it. Plus—” she added a wink “—making up’s so much fun.”

      Recognizing a lost cause, Reed shrugged and pointed toward the couches. “Do you mind if we talk for a few minutes? I do have some details on Barrington I’d like to ask you about.”

      The warmth of her excitement faded. “I’d like Lilah to be here with me.”

      “Sit down. I’ll go get her.”

      * * *

      Lilah smoothed another sheet of fondant, already envisioning the elaborate ivy that would rise up along the side of her latest project. The shade of green had come out perfect and the slender white lines she’d experimentally painted on a few of the leaves cut from the first sheet gave just the look she was going for.

      Adrenaline kicked in her veins as the vision began its slow progression into reality and she danced toward her already-blaring docking station to switch from the always-kicky Donna Summer to some Aerosmith.

      Steven Tyler’s voice had just screeched when she let out a screech of her own as a large hand settled on her shoulder.

      Immediately, she swung out, her arm a hard arc against the muscled, solid chest behind her.

      “Whoa!”

      Fear and panic warred with confusion as Lilah twisted once more to see her attacker, reality pushing through the moment as the image of Reed Graystone registered in her mind.

      He had backed up several feet and was already reaching for the music dock on the counter when she stopped, her heart racing like a Thoroughbred.

      “What the hell are you doing?” His loud voice echoed even louder with the loss of music.

      “What are you doing sneaking up on me?”

      “I’m СКАЧАТЬ