The Heart of Christmas. Brenda Novak
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aware of the mole?”
“I don’t get sexually involved with our clients. You know that.”
“I do. But I thought this client might be an exception. She’s extremely attractive. And she’s not married.”
He had a soft spot for Scarlet, but she was more like a younger sister to him. When he’d watched over her before, he’d still been in love with Laurel, Virgil’s sister, but he wasn’t remotely tempted to change his relationship with Scarlet, even now. “You said it was getting worse. What else has happened?”
“Yesterday someone broke into her house and urinated on her bed. That’s why she finally called.”
“Was anything taken?”
“Several pairs of underwear.”
What he’d just learned made Rex itch to get back to work. It had always bothered him that the police hadn’t been able to find the guy who’d tormented Scarlet. “What’d you tell her?”
“I said I’d be happy to arrange for a bodyguard until the police can find out who’s behind it, but when she realized the bodyguard wouldn’t be you, she started to cry.”
This type of security was very up close and personal. He could see why she’d want somebody she already knew and trusted.
He wished he could help her, but he couldn’t ask her to sit tight and wait until he felt safe to return to the Bay Area. He couldn’t drag her around the Sierra Nevada foothills with him while he tried to keep a low profile, either. He was about to say he was sorry but there was nothing he could do when a flyer he’d found pinned to the public message board at the local coffee shop popped into his mind. It had advertised rooms for rent in a private residence....
Why not answer that ad? He could hunker down in this quaint town and have Scarlet join him. That would remove them both from their usual circles—take them out of the flow of motel life, too, which added a degree of security. He might not come up with such a perfect solution, at least not such a perfect and immediate solution, anywhere else, especially during the holidays.
“Text me her number. Given these latest problems, I’m guessing she’s changed it since I spoke to her last.”
“What are you going to do?” Marilyn asked, sounding surprised.
“I’m going to take the job.”
“How?”
“By inviting her to come and spend some time with me here in Whiskey Creek.”
“You think she’ll do that?”
“If she’s truly scared, I don’t see that she has a better choice.”
“But how can you ask her to leave her home with Christmas coming?”
“If the police do their job, she should be able to return by the big day.”
She harrumphed. Then she said, “Whiskey Creek, huh?”
“Why not? Getting her away from her usual routine should give us an advantage. Maybe her stalker will get frustrated when he can’t torment her and then he’ll do something that’ll give him away.”
“But I thought you were moving on, that moving on is what keeps you safe.”
He turned to frown at his packed bags. This latest move wasn’t about that. This move was more about what he’d done last night. He didn’t want to fall back into bed with Eve Whoever She Was—well, actually, he did want to fall back into bed with her. That was the problem. What he didn’t want was to get her hopes up, make her think they might have a future together. Considering his limitations, he knew that wasn’t fair.
But if he moved out of the B and B and into a house or some other situation with his client—a client he enjoyed as a friend—surely he’d be able to avoid Eve, maybe forget about her, too. His work had always been enough for him before.
Meeting with Ted was awkward. After their failed attempt at romance, Eve had grown accustomed to coping with the strain in their relationship when she saw him and the rest of their friends on Fridays at Black Gold Coffee. She just directed her comments to the group in general, when she could, and avoided sitting too close to him and Sophia. But there was no getting around a direct confrontation now. He’d asked if he could come over. He wanted to write a book about the mysterious murder of the child who had died in the basement in 1871.
But he was already a successful suspense writer. Eve couldn’t understand why he didn’t stick with fiction and leave her alone.
“I’m not sure a book about Mary will be worth your time,” she said as she sat across from him in the parlor where she’d spoken to her parents earlier.
He’d been fiddling with his phone, trying to find the record app. “Why not?” he asked, glancing up. “I’ve been intrigued by it since I was a kid.”
“Because you’re doing so well with your fiction,” she explained. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to put out another serial-killer book or something in the time it would take you to write this?”
“I’m not doing it for pay. The proceeds will go to the historical society so they can preserve more buildings like this one.”
He was donating the money?
Damn, she couldn’t even feel justified in remaining mad at him. That was always the problem. He was too nice.
He gave her a look that told her he was suspicious of her resistance. “Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge.”
“You say that as if I’d have no right to.”
“You’re not the kind of person who hangs on to resentment.”
That was true. And he’d already apologized several times. He’d also tried very hard to maintain their friendship. But she couldn’t help feeling like an old shoe that had been cast aside. Maybe if she’d been able to move on like he had, or if the guy she’d been with last night hadn’t treated her the same way, it wouldn’t be a problem.
“Of course. I’m happy for you and Sophia.” Part of her really was. She’d known Ted since childhood. And she had to take partial responsibility for getting romantically involved with him. On some level, she’d realized he still had a thing for Sophia. She’d just chosen to ignore her instincts hoping that she would indeed find a good husband.
“When I walked in and hugged you, you were stiff as a board,” he pointed out.
“So I’m having a bad day.”
Some of the suspicion disappeared, replaced by concern. “Is there something serious going on?”
“Not really.” She tried to wave his question away. “I’m always under a lot of pressure around the holidays.”
“You love the holidays.”
She said nothing. She wasn’t enjoying them this year.
“Do you want me to come back in January?” he asked.
Why? Why not get this out of the way? He’d already explained that he’d turned in his latest book and didn’t need to start the next one until January. It was the fact that he had time during the Christmas period that made him want to get moving with this—and it was all for charity. His gift to the town they both loved. “No. I’m sorry. I’ll give you what you need.”
“Suffer through it, huh?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that even Unsolved Mysteries, and all the crime analysts they brought to town, couldn’t figure out who murdered Little Mary, so I’m not sure what more you’ll be