Colton Under Fire. Cindy Dees
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up at the camera lens as he randomly opened drawers in search of clothes for Sloane. His mind raced as he found socks, T-shirts and sweaters.
Why would anybody covertly surveil a young mother in Roaring Springs? Who had Sloane made an enemy of? A criminal she’d been involved with in her work? The ex-husband? Either way, a random stranger going to all the trouble to set up surveillance on her was not likely.
He retreated to the closet, where he spied jeans and sweatshirts folded on shelves and grabbed one of each.
He moved to the shoe rack and was bemused to discover that it rotated. How many pairs of shoes did one woman need, anyway?
He grabbed a pair of gym shoes made of a knit fabric that looked comfortable and headed for her bathroom. There had better not be a camera in there, or there would be hell to pay. He took a surreptitious look at each of the corners and spied nothing but paint. Then he did a thorough search of the walls as well to assure himself there were no hidden surveillance devices in the vicinity.
Not a sicko Peeping Tom, then. Which left something—or someone—more sinister behind that camera in her bedroom. He swore under his breath and grabbed a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste out of the cup by her sink.
Taking a moment to look at the duffel bag, he forced himself to think about what he’d forgotten to pack for her.
Goop. Fox always used to complain that Sloane was a world-class goop collector and hogged the bathroom they’d shared to smear it all over herself.
Liam warily eyed the neat rows of bottles and tubes on the counter.
Did Sloane even wear makeup? He honestly didn’t remember. He’d been so shocked by the girl he’d had a giant crush on all through high school slamming into him out of the blue at the hospital that he hadn’t registered any of the details he usually would as an observant detective.
What was he missing?
Of course. Underwear.
His gut jumped a little at the idea of handling Sloane Colton’s unmentionables. Which was absurd. He was a decent-looking man in his thirties and had been around plenty of lingerie, and the women in it. But his very first fantasies of a skimpily clad female, all the way back in junior high, had involved Sloane Colton. He’d never admitted it to Fox and had pretended to have a crush on another girl. But it had been Sloane he’d dreamed of and woke up in hot sweats over.
He went to the dresser in her bedroom and opened a long, shallow drawer.
He inhaled sharply as a spill of brightly colored lace assaulted his eyes. Prim and proper Sloane Colton wore this sexy stuff? Wow. Uh, good to know. Of course, he was never going to look at her again without imagining which jewel-toned ensemble of silk and lace she had on under her clothes.
Swearing under his breath, he grabbed the first pair of skimpy bikinis and bra that matched—a scarlet ensemble with pert little bows strategically placed. Dammit, that was not sweat breaking out on his forehead.
He left the bedroom light on and headed back to the living area. Under the guise of poking around in the toy box for a stuffed animal to take to Chloe, he inspected the walls.
There. Over the front door. Tucked high in the corner under the crown molding. Another tiny, circular hole. From that vantage point, a surveillance camera would have a view of the entire living-dining-kitchen area.
Sonofa—
He ducked into Chloe’s bedroom and grabbed the well-worn stuffed elephant off her bed. A telltale circular shadow lurked in the far corner of Chloe’s bedroom as well. Now, why would a bad guy watch a toddler? The ex-husband climbed to the top of Liam’s suspect list for being the creepo stalker.
He forced himself to keep his rampant cop suspicions in check. After all, he still wasn’t positive Sloane was being watched nefariously. She could have hired a security company to monitor her, or perhaps there was some other legitimate reason for the cameras being there. But his gut was dead certain the explanation wasn’t so innocent. Which was weird. He was usually the soul of logic, relying completely on facts and careful analysis. Intuitions were for amateurs. Real detectives used their minds to uncover the truth.
Assuming Sloane herself wasn’t the source of the cameras, she faced a choice. Rip the cameras out of her walls and have a security firm sweep her house for any more surveillance devices. Or, she could let the cameras ride, pretend she didn’t know they existed, and let him investigate who was behind the surveillance without tipping off the perpetrator.
Fury bubbled up in his gut. When he caught whoever was behind the surveillance, he was going to—
Slow down, there, buddy. He was going to hand the bastard over to the district attorney with an ironclad file of evidence so the perpetrator got put away for a good long time. He was a law enforcement professional and didn’t indulge in gratuitous violence, no matter how angry he might be.
Still. This case was personal. Sloane was his best friend’s little sister. They’d grown up together, for crying out loud.
On his way out, Liam left on lights and turned on the TV. He doubted whoever had been lurking behind her house would come back tonight, but on the off chance that the guy was a burglar, Liam might as well make the house look occupied.
He didn’t recall seeing Sloane carry a coat in the hospital, so he stopped at the cast iron coat tree just inside the front door. He grabbed a neon-pink ski jacket, pink mittens and a matching hat with a jaunty pompom. There. That should keep her warm.
He might not have noticed whether she had makeup on or not, but he’d noticed that she’d been wearing flannel pajamas without much on underneath when she’d banged into him at the hospital. Her body had been soft in all the right places with more curves than he remembered from back in the day, although she was still not much bigger than a whisper.
Of course, he’d put on about forty pounds of muscle when he took up lacrosse in college. It was the universe’s karmic joke that he finally became a buff athlete type after having to go all the way through high school as a beanpole.
He took a hard look up and down the street as he pulled out of the driveway but didn’t spot any movement. He made a mental note to ask police cruisers to roll past her house for the next few weeks.
* * *
When he got back to the hospital, he headed for the nurses’ station outside Chloe’s room to drop off the duffel. As he turned to leave, Sloane stepped out into the hallway.
“What are you doing awake?” he asked, startled.
“You obviously aren’t a parent, or you wouldn’t have to ask. I’m too worried about Chloe to sleep.”
A nurse piped up from behind him, “That and we’re going in and out of Chloe’s room every ten minutes to check her temperature, and naturally mommy wants to know how it’s doing every time we take it.”
“How is it doing?” Liam echoed.
Sloane glanced over her shoulder toward her daughter. “High but steady at 104 degrees. They’ve wrapped her head in refrigerated blankets to cool her down.”
That didn’t sound good. But he wasn’t about to voice the concern aloud. Sloane already had dark shadows under her eyes and looked on the verge of losing control. As much as he wanted to ask about the cameras in her house, that could wait until tomorrow.
“You should sleep,” he suggested.
“Not happening.”
“Maybe you should take a walk, then,” the nurse suggested. “Movement helps burn stress. Your boyfriend brought you clothes, too.”
Liam opened his mouth to correct her, but Sloane beat him to it. “I’m single. He’s—”
He glanced at her, one eyebrow cocked with interest to see just how she classified him.
“—an old family friend.”
He