Wanted: Bodyguard. Carla Cassidy
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her hands and squealed with happiness. “I told you I had a way with women,” he said to Lana.
“She’s too young to know any better,” Lana retorted. She turned back to her burgers.
Oh, she knew his type all right. Handsome as sin and probably with little moral code, he would be accustomed to women making fools of themselves over him. He’d probably never heard the word no from any female. Well, he was in for a rude awakening if he thought she was just going to be another in a long line of conquests for him.
She smiled as she thought of the sand that was probably falling off Haley and into the cracks and crevices of Riley’s jeans. Hopefully, some of that abrasive sand would end up in his briefs.
She was acutely aware of Riley’s gaze on her as she took up the burgers. Haley had climbed back off his lap and returned to the sandbox, where she was digging with a plastic shovel.
“Come on, baby. It’s time to eat,” Lana said as she carried the burgers toward the back door.
“Thanks, sweetheart, I’m right behind you,” Riley replied, as if she’d been talking to him. He got up from the chair and then bent down and swooped Haley up in his arms. She squealed in delight as he carried her into the kitchen.
He plopped her into the booster seat and then sprawled in a chair at the table.
“There are cold sodas in the fridge,” Lana said. “Why don’t you grab a couple, and while you’re at it get out the mustard and ketchup or whatever you might want on your hamburger.” She wasn’t about to allow him to just sit and be waited on.
While he rummaged in the fridge she wiped down Haley’s hands and then put the burgers on buns and poured the chips into a serving bowl. She placed the food in the center of the table and sat down, then cut up a burger for Haley.
Riley joined her, and instantly she was inundated with sensory overload. His scent seemed to surround her, and she imagined she could feel the heat from his body reaching out to warm her.
Get a grip, she told herself. Granted, it had been a long time since she’d been around any man, but if the world held only Riley Kincaid she absolutely, positively wouldn’t be interested.
“I love hamburgers,” Haley exclaimed.
“Me, too,” Riley agreed with an easy smile at the child. “And I love potato chips.”
“Me, too,” Haley exclaimed with a giggle, and popped a chip into her mouth.
He could even charm the girls that young, Lana thought. Oh yes, she knew his type very well. All charm and no substance.
“I forgot something earlier,” he said, and reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out a lovely gold wedding band and laid it on the table in front of her. “I believe this is yours, Mrs. Kincaid.”
She stared at the ring, oddly reluctant to pick it up and put it on. It had only been a month ago that she’d stopped wearing her wedding ring from Joe. That ring had come to represent heartache each time she’d looked at it.
It’s just pretend, she reminded herself as she finally picked up the ring and slid it on her finger. It felt cold and alien against her skin.
“I think we should plan a little celebration,” he said.
She looked at him warily. “What kind of a celebration?”
“A gathering to announce our marriage to your neighbors and friends.” He grabbed a handful of chips and smiled at her, seemingly unconcerned that what he was asking of her was to invite a potential serial killer over for cake and punch.
Riley stood and stretched with his arms overhead, wincing slightly as the muscles in his wounded shoulder groaned silently in protest.
It was almost nine. He’d been sitting at the cameras since he’d left the dinner table. Throughout the evening he hadn’t seen anybody going in or out of the house next door, nor had the camera caught Greg performing any incriminating act.
Lana had agreed to set up something four nights from now, on Friday, to introduce Riley to her neighbors. He could tell she didn’t like the idea, would have preferred not lying to her friends and neighbors, would prefer that Riley simply go away.
But Riley was eager to meet Greg Cary up close and personal. He had a nose for killers, and he wanted to look into Greg’s eyes, get a reading on the man he believed was responsible for four women’s deaths.
The house was quiet as he left the guest room. About an hour earlier he’d heard Lana putting Haley to bed. As Lana had read the little girl a bedtime story, Riley had closed his eyes and listened to her voice.
She had a nice voice, low and with just a touch of something sexy. She amused him. His easy charm held no power over her. She appeared determined to dislike him, and that definitely intrigued him.
He walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, where the light was still on, and found her seated at the table working on her jewelry. She didn’t appear to notice his presence as she worked with a soldering iron.
He remained in the doorway, taking the opportunity to study her. She was pretty in an unassuming way. If she wore makeup it was subtle, not screaming like many of the women that he usually dated wore. She had a slamming figure, full breasts and a tiny waist and shapely hips that could definitely turn a man’s head.
“Is there something you need, Agent Kincaid?” she asked, not taking her gaze off her work.
“The first thing I need is for you to call me Riley,” he replied and walked over to the table. “Calling me Agent Kincaid could ruin this entire operation.”
He sat in the chair across from her and looked at the items she had strewn across the top of the table. Pieces of metal and semiprecious stones battled for space with tiny tools, spools of wire and velvet boxes displaying finished products.
“You do nice work,” he said as he looked at the necklaces and bracelets she’d completed.
She set the soldering iron down and finally looked at him. “Thanks. I enjoy it.”
“What are you working on now?”
“A necklace that will be part of my winter collection.”
He wanted to keep the conversation flowing, not only enjoying the sound of her voice but also the momentary respite from the tension. “What’s the difference between a winter collection and a summer collection?”
She leaned back in her chair and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Mostly color. My summer collection is filled with bold, chunky, brightly colored jewelry, and the winter one has the more traditional colors. There’s a big show here in town in two weeks and I want to make sure I have plenty of pieces to sell.”
“You make a living at this?”
“I do okay, although I’m certainly not getting rich,” she replied. “Most women can’t resist a beautiful piece of jewelry at an affordable price. I’m steadily building up a clientele that’s respectable. My goal over the next couple of years is to get my jewelry into some of the upscale stores not only here in town but around the country.”
“You sell it on the Internet?”
She nodded. “Right now most of my sales come in through my Web page, Designs by Lana. Speaking of jobs, as my husband, what exactly is it that you do?” She unplugged the soldering iron and leaned back in her chair once again.
He liked that she had a directness to her gaze, that there was nothing flirtatious or simpering about her. “I’m an investment broker. I do most of my work at home.”
“Where’s all your furniture and personal belongings?”
It was apparent that she was thinking, working all the elements of their subterfuge around in her head. He couldn’t help but admire the intelligence that shone from her eyes.
“Right