The Guardian. Linda Winstead Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ with in a ’72 Camaro that had not afforded him nearly enough maneuvering room, as he remembered. He had heard that the mayor was a widow, and with a common name like Sara he had suspected she’d be an older woman, one who’d taken up local politics in retirement. No wonder the other investigators didn’t want this job. How could any red-blooded man look at Sara Vance and talk about her bras and panties and not get, well, a bit flustered?

      Dante didn’t fluster easily, not even when he had to face down a pretty woman who stammered when she said underwear, who looked naturally sexy with her dark blond hair in a thick ponytail and her T-shirt stretched over nicely shaped breasts encased in what appeared to be, from his vantage point, a very sturdy bra, who had changeable and smart blue eyes that revealed everything. Surprise, annoyance, anger…even a woman’s reluctant interest in a man. He’d seen her interest, as well as her disapproval as her eyes had fallen on the curling end of the tattoo that crawled across his shoulder and partway up his neck.

      Pretty or not, Sarabeth Louann Caldwell Vance—how many names did any one woman need, anyway?—was not the kind of woman he’d tangle with. This house and her demeanor screamed old money, her position in politics screamed old power. The set of her mouth and the glint in her eyes screamed, “Interested or not, I don’t fall easily, not anymore. If you think you’re going to feel me up again, you are sadly mistaken.” No, she wouldn’t fall, not into bed, not into relationships, short or long. Dante was definitely into easy, at least where women were concerned.

      The thought sounded shallow and callous, even to him, but it was honest enough. He hadn’t fought for anything or anyone that wasn’t assigned by the Benning Agency for a very long time.

      “I’m going for my walk, now,” Sara said, her voice almost prim as she dismissed him and the box. “If I don’t hurry, I won’t get home before dark.”

      “Wait one minute while I get a pair of gloves from the car.”

      She sighed as if waiting for such a short period of time would be an imposition, and then curtly nodded her head in agreement.

      When Dante returned, white gloves on so he could handle the box and wrapping paper without leaving his own prints, he could tell that Sara had gathered herself more staunchly together. Whatever interest might’ve once been visible in her eyes was gone, and her chin and mouth seemed to be set more staunchly—more mayorlike. Even her spine was a bit straighter, a bit harder. She had her house keys in one hand and wore an expression that said, Thank you for your service, now get out.

      Was she always so unyielding, or was this attitude just for him? They’d shared a few weeks of teenage passion years ago, but he was not the same person he’d been at seventeen. Neither was she.

      They exited the front door together, she, locking the door behind her, he, gingerly handling the evidence. She was right: the state lab would laugh at his request if he asked them to print all of this for a panty thief. Bennings, however, had a fairly new and not badly equipped lab, along with a couple of geeks to play with all the toys.

      Still, explaining this one wasn’t going to be easy.

      He carefully stored the evidence in the trunk of his city-issued unmarked car, a boring, dependable, burgundy Crown Vic. Sara remained close by, tapping her toes, as if anxious for him to leave. Now that they were out of the house, she didn’t have to remain with him until he left, but she seemed compelled to do so. Some “good manners” thing, he supposed.

      Dante slammed the trunk and then caught her eye. Crap. She was probably right about this, too. The man he was looking for was likely a perv who was into the new mayor and didn’t know any other way to express his affection, such as it was. The crime, his first real investigative case in Tillman, was creepy but probably perfectly harmless.

      Probably. He often worked as a bodyguard for the Benning Agency, so he’d dealt with more than one stalker, more than one perv whose actions went above and beyond what any sane person would think of. It was a mistake to believe that those on the other side of the law would always think and behave rationally. They didn’t, and the results could be—had been—deadly. It had been a long time since he’d seen the world through naive eyes.

      “You walk every day?” he asked.

      “Yes,” she said in a polite but emotionally distant voice.

      “Same time every day?”

      “Close enough,” she said, her brow wrinkling.

      Dante looked her up and down. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into skipping your walk today.” It would soon enough be dark, and while the neighborhood appeared to be peaceful, someone had just dumped a box full of sexy underwear on her doorstep and then run from the scene.

      “No,” she answered sharply. “This is all very strange, but I won’t be scared into hiding in my house. Besides, I need the exercise.”

      “I’ll buy you a treadmill.”

      She laughed, and then apparently decided she’d stuck around long enough in the name of courtesy. Sara turned away and headed down the sidewalk, her step brisk, her head back, her hips set into intriguing motion.

      “Still want to drop this case?” he called after her, his eyes focused on the sway of her hips.

      “I suppose not,” she answered reluctantly, not slowing down, not looking back.

      Dante sighed and got behind the wheel of the Crown Vic. He’d rather be in his own pickup truck, but Jesse had insisted. The job came with rules that required a haircut, a suit, a tie and this old woman’s car. Jesse was doing a lot of insisting these days for someone who had asked for such a huge favor.

      The mayor didn’t look back, not even when Dante cranked the engine. He watched her for a moment, mentally marking Sara as trouble of the worst sort, mentally cursing Jesse for throwing him into this case without warning, mentally undressing the staid politician and wondering what she’d look like in that green silk bra and matching panties. Yes, she’d been a skinny teenage girl when last he’d touched her, but she’d filled out in all the right places.

      Dante cursed succinctly, and then he rolled down the street, following the woman who steadfastly refused to look back.

      Chapter 2

      So, maybe she should’ve taken Dante’s advice and stayed in tonight. Usually, Sara relaxed completely when she walked. Usually, she didn’t think about anything but the beauty of the old trees and houses that lined the streets in this part of town, the fresh air that filled her lungs—and maybe that pair of black dress pants she wanted to get back into, and wouldn’t if she didn’t get enough exercise. Five pounds would do it. Maybe ten. Dante might think differently, but as far as she was concerned there was no such thing as the right place on her body for twenty pounds.

      Of course, he wasn’t as thin as he’d once been, either, but it looked as if everything he’d added was muscle. Every change made him look more handsome, more manly. His jaw seemed sharper, his nose slightly more prominent and yet as straight and perfect as ever. There was muscle in his neck and a power to his hands that made it clear he was no longer a child. There was less softness in his face and his body, less vulnerability in his eyes. She knew no specifics, but she got the sense that life had not been entirely kind to Dante.

      Just minutes after leaving her house, she wished with all she had that she’d stayed at home. In the last light of day she noticed every shadow and wondered if someone was hiding within СКАЧАТЬ