A Time to Die. BEVERLY BARTON
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and said, “It’s Lieutenant Desmond.”
She gave Deke a condemning glower as she grabbed the phone out of his hand. He lifted his eyebrows in a what-did-I-do? expression.
“Bain?’
“Morning, beautiful.”
“Want to fill me in on what you told Mr. Bronson?”
“Mr. Bronson? Not on a first-name basis with your bodyguard?”
“No.”
“I take it that there’s a problem?”
“No, not really. I’m simply not used to having someone underfoot.”
Deke came up beside her, reached into the freezer, removed the sealed box of sausage biscuits and took it over to the counter nearest the microwave.
Bain chuckled. “I have a very preliminary report on the bombing, and since Ms. Bedell has given the Chattanooga PD orders to share all info with her, I’m heading to the big mansion on the mountain as we speak.”
“Any excuse to—”
“If you’re implying that I don’t have any real info and I’m using this as excuse to see her, then don’t go there.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
Quiet hesitation, then an admission. “Maybe. Am I that obvious?”
“Only to me, because I know how you feel.”
“If I hadn’t gotten sloppy drunk one night and cried in my beer…”
“It’s our little secret. I promise. So, see you in thirty minutes.” She ended their conversation, clutched the phone in her hand and walked out of the kitchen area.
“Breakfast will be ready in about two minutes,” Deke called to her.
“It takes twenty minutes to drive from here to Cara’s home, and you told Bain we’d be there in forty-five, which means I’ve only got twenty-five minutes to shower, do my hair and makeup and dress. I won’t have time for breakfast.” She made her way carefully into her bedroom, all the while expecting him to try to stop her.
Once inside her room, she closed the door and released a deep breath. Don’t think about him. Just get ready.
Twenty minutes later, with her hair in a ponytail, a five-minute makeup job coloring her pale face, and wearing stone-washed jeans, her favorite lavender cotton button-down and her lightweight quilted purple satin jacket, she was ready.
Deke was standing in the middle of the living room—waiting.
“Let’s go,” she said.
He surveyed her from head to toe, then went over the same territory a second time, as if he thought he might have missed something the first go-round. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her key ring. “I commandeered your keys, since you won’t need them and I will.”
“Why won’t—”
“Because you won’t be going anywhere without me.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Lexie wasn’t sure how their arrangement was going to work out. This big, bad tough guy had been guarding her for less than twenty-four hours, and having someone shadow her every move was already getting on her nerves.
When they passed the bar, he picked up a brown paper bag and handed it to her. Not giving her time to question him, he said, “Travel mug with black coffee, and a sausage biscuit wrapped in a napkin. You can eat on the way.”
She accepted what he no doubt thought of as a gift. Be nice, she told herself. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
If she had expected him to smile, she would have been disappointed. Something told her that this man seldom smiled.
I wonder why.
When he opened the front door of the loft, she exited first and headed for the old freight elevator.
She figured Cara was having as big a problem adjusting to having a bossy Dundee agent running her life as she was. Actually, Cara was probably having a bigger one. Since taking on the enormous responsibility of running Bedell, Inc., having it thrust upon her at the age of twenty-four, Cara had been forced to get tough fast and not allow any weaknesses to show. That was something they had in common—both of them had been forced to mature quickly and grow a thick hide, but deep down inside, they were lonely, soft-hearted women.
AFTER GEOFF MONDAY told her that Lieutenant Desmond would arrive shortly to personally deliver a preliminary report about the bombing at Helping Hands, Cara had excused herself and rushed upstairs to her bedroom suite. Geoff had followed and now kept guard outside the door. When she’d dressed before breakfast, she’d put on her green sweats, intending to take her usual morning walk, never imagining that Bain would have anything to report this soon.
Cara knew she was no great beauty. She was too tall, too big, with broad hips and heavy thighs. And a body covered in freckles. Makeup hid most of the freckles on her face, and she paid a hairstylist a small fortune to tone down her Bozo-orange-red hair to a slightly less fiery shade. Having always been the Ugly Duckling to her older half sister’s Raving Beauty, Cara had settled for looking wholesome and healthy. God, how she hated those two adjectives. She suspected any woman would, at least when they were used to describe herself.
Geoff probably wondered why she’d raced upstairs in such a hurry, but he was too much of a gentleman to question her actions. As long as he had no idea she’d panicked at the thought of Bain Desmond seeing her without makeup and wearing a pair of less-than-flattering sweats, she didn’t much care what her bodyguard thought.
All right, so the rich-bitch side of her personality had dismissed Geoff the way she often did servants and Bedell, Inc. employees. It wasn’t that she meant to act in a superior way—and God knew she didn’t think of herself that way—but she had been raised by Edward Bedell with all the rights and privileges his billions afforded her. If not for having lived most of her life in her sister’s bedazzling shadow, she would probably be a spoiled, worthless brat. Instead, she had worked diligently to learn about the conglomerate with its wide-reaching tentacles that spread around the world. She had earned her MBA at UT when she was twenty-two. And all things considered, at her current ripe old age of twenty-seven, she had decided that maybe it was better to have been blessed with brains rather than with beauty.
But right this minute, as she rummaged through her walk-in closet, she would have settled for just a tad more beauty. After trying on three different outfits and tossing each aside, she finally settled on a rusty-brown wool-blend suit, with a calf-length skirt and a jacket that hit her just below the waist. She chose a dark-turquoise silk blouse and deliberately left the top three buttons open. Her high, full breasts were definitely an asset, and she needed all the help she could get to impress Bain.
Dressed fit-to-kill, her makeup perfect, her short hair swept away from her face to expose her turquoise and silver earrings, she faced herself in the oversized cheval mirror.
How did she look?
She looked…rich.
What was the point of trying to impress Bain, of hoping he would notice how attractive she’d tried to make herself for him? It wasn’t as if she had a prayer of even getting to first base with him. And it wasn’t because he didn’t find her attractive. He actually did, and had made no secret of that fact. No, he kept a wide distance between them solely because she was a billionaire.
Of all the men in the world for her to fall for, why did it have to be an old-fashioned, macho guy who would rather die than live off a woman’s money? He’d made it perfectly clear that the two of them mixed like oil and water, that they lived in two different universes, and that there was no common ground where they could meet, fall in love, marry and live happily ever after.
Cara opened the door and walked into the hall. Geoff looked her over, then let