Her Stolen Past. Lynette Eason
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nodded, relief in her eyes. “Good. I really want to know who she is—or was.” Her jaw firmed. “And prove it’s not me.”
It hit Brandon that Sonya didn’t have a deceptive bone in her body. The realization allowed him to relax a fraction. She wasn’t after him because of some silly hero status that had been dumped on him. And she wasn’t interested in him romantically.
The sharp pang of regret surprised him. Made him look at her a little closer. And he decided that if she wasn’t a client, he’d be asking her out.
He drew in a deep breath at the silent admission.
“Are you okay? You have a funny look on your face.”
Brandon cleared his expression. “I’m fine. Are you ready to go?”
Her brows knit but she nodded. “Sure.”
Together they walked out of the restaurant and he escorted her to her car, his nerves alert, senses sharp. At her car, she started to slide in the driver’s seat when he noticed a small square of paper about the size of an index card under her windshield wiper. “What’s this?”
He handed it to her and leaned in to read along with her. “‘Stop looking for Heather Bradley. She doesn’t want to be found.’”
Sonya gaped. “Well, I guess we’re making someone kind of nervous.”
“You think?” A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stared at the note.
“So what do we do?”
Brandon lifted a brow. “Do you want to stop looking for her?”
“No way.”
“Do you have a paper bag in your car?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“All right, let’s go back in the restaurant and get one.”
Sonya shut her belongings in the car and followed Brandon, who carried the note between his thumb and forefinger. She figured he wanted to get the note tested for fingerprints. She glanced around the parking lot, wondering if the person who’d left the note was watching. Shivers slid up and down her spine.
Spooked, she stayed close to the person who seemed to represent the only security she could find in a world that had shifted on its axis once again. First the death of her father, then her mother and now someone was sending her threats.
She didn’t like it.
Sonya waited by the door while Brandon requested a paper bag. The waitress handed him one and he slipped the note inside and folded the bag over. He held it up. “All right, I’m going to take this over to the lab.”
“Tonight?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“But it’s late. You’ve had a full day and need to rest.” She sighed. “And I sound like your mother. I’m going to be quiet now, get in my car and go home.”
His lips pulled into a smile. A smile he seemed to struggle with. Almost as though he didn’t do it very often and his lips had forgotten how. She knew exactly how he felt. Smiling seemed to take more effort than it was worth these days.
“I’ll follow you home before I take this over,” he said. “I have a friend who works the graveyard shift. He’ll probably be able to take care of this pretty quick. Depends on what else he has in the lineup.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She walked to the door and stepped outside. Her eyes immediately scanned the area for any threat. “And I think after today’s craziness, I would appreciate you following me home.” She paused. “And going through my house to make sure no one is inside would be nice, too.”
“My pleasure.”
His hand slipped under her elbow, and warmth danced up her arm. What was it about this man at her side? It was rather crazy the feelings he’d stirred up in her. And the feelings had her curious, too. She’d felt attraction before. Had even dated a doctor at the hospital before she’d moved to South Carolina to be with her mother during those hard final days of her life. So why now? Why would her heart suddenly decide that it was time to be attracted to Brandon, a man so tightly closed emotionally, a crowbar wouldn’t get him to open up?
A hand waved in front of her face. “Where are you?”
Sonya blinked and found herself at her car. “I was lost in thought.”
“I could see that. About what?”
She shrugged. “Everything. How confusing my life has suddenly become.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Brandon said. “I promise.”
She smiled. “I know you’ll try.”
“Well, that smile’s not fake, but it looks a little sad.” He held the door for her while she slipped into the driver’s seat.
“Thanks.”
He closed her door and she waited for him to get into his car. He flashed his lights when he was ready and she pulled from the parking lot.
She kept an eye on her rearview mirror and couldn’t help wondering while Brandon was following her, was someone following him?
* * *
Brandon was concerned. The shooting in the park could have been a random thing. As unfortunate as it was, that kind of thing happened and made the news all the time. Okay, maybe not all the time, but often enough that people were no longer shocked when they saw reports on the news. Saddened, angry and frightened that their world could be such a dangerous place, but not shocked.
But the break-in at his house and the note left on Sonya’s car both pointed to the fact that someone didn’t want them looking for Heather Bradley. That was one fact he had no trouble figuring out.
By the time they pulled into Sonya’s driveway, he’d mapped out his plan of action for the next day.
She pulled into her garage and he met her as she climbed out of her car. “Nice place.”
“Thanks. My mother was originally from South Carolina before she and my father met. Then she went to college in Virginia and my dad swept her off her feet.” She gave a small smile and led him into the house via the back door. “At least that’s her version.”
“Your father had a different one?” He stepped into her kitchen. Cinnamon and another spicy scent hit him and he drew in a deep breath.
“Absolutely. He said Mom swept him away.” The fondness in her voice got to him.
He stopped at the table and looked into her eyes. Which made him crave chocolate.
At the same time, a long-rooted bitterness he’d thought he’d managed to suppress rose up strong and hot, taking him by surprise. “My parents never felt that way about each other.”
Something in his tone must have caught her attention. Her gaze sharpened. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Now he wanted the subject dropped. Him and his big mouth. “I don’t know why I told you that. Forget it.” He moved away from her. “Stay here while I check out the house.”
He could tell his abrupt departure confused her but he had to get away. He felt his walls slipping, crumbling before her sweet disposition and compassionate eyes. She’s a client, Hayes, remember that. You don’t date clients.
With his weapon ready, he checked the den, the three bedrooms and three bathrooms. He opened doors and peered in every potential hiding place, taking note that she kept a clean house. The glass on the nightstand, the T-shirt over the footboard of the bed and the flip-flops tossed into the corner of the room said she wasn’t obsessive about everything being in its place, though. “It’s