His Wanted Woman. Linda Turner
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any other time, that could have been an exercise in frustration, but as she slowly made her way up and down the streets within walking distance of her shop, she had to smile. She loved D.C. during the holidays. Christmas might be nearly a month away—the Capitol and National Christmas trees hadn’t even been lit yet—but the shops and cafés in her neighborhood were already decked out for the season and glistening with twinkling lights. Not surprisingly, business was brisk.
Which was why, she thought with a rueful smile, she didn’t find a parking spot on the first swipe down her street. She circled the block four times before she spied a Mini Cooper pulling out of a tiny space in front of the Chinese grocery down the street from her shop. Thankfully, her PT Cruiser didn’t take up a lot of room, and she whipped into the space, lightning-quick, before anyone else could take it. It wasn’t until she stepped out of her car and turned to see where Patrick was that she realized she had lost him while she was hunting for a parking space.
He knew where the shop was, she reminded herself as twilight slipped into darkness and the streetlights popped on. He’d find her. In the meantime, she had to unload her car. Pulling two boxes from the backseat, she headed for her shop.
The building was over a hundred and fifty years old, and during its long history, it had been everything from a photography studio to an Indian restaurant to a funeral parlor. In its first incarnation, however, it had been a tavern, and it still retained its original bow window, fireplace and rich wainscoting. Her father had taken one look at it and known it was just what he was looking for. Laid out like a house, with a bedroom upstairs and the kitchen and common rooms downstairs, it was the perfect setup for a shop owner. He’d bought it on the spot six months after Mackenzie’s mother died, and he and Mackenzie had moved in immediately. Here she’d worked through her grief and grown up in the security of her father’s love. She couldn’t imagine living or working anywhere else.
Patrick came around the corner then and hurried forward to help her with her load as she reached the front door of her shop. “Here…let me help you with that. You should have waited for me.”
“Thanks.” She sighed in relief. “I didn’t know where you had gone. Where’d you park?”
“Around the corner,” he began, only to swear softly when she started to slip her key in the lock and the door silently glided open. Glancing at her sharply in the darkness, he growled, “Did you lock the door when you left?”
She frowned. “I always lock it when I leave the shop, even if it’s just to drop a letter in the mailbox on the corner.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course. I set the alarm, too.” Her gaze drifting back to the open door, she glanced back up at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t the alarm go off? The door’s open. It should have gone off.”
His face carved in grim lines, Patrick reached for his phone. “I don’t know,” he retorted. “But I’m going to find out.”
“Who are you calling?”
“The cops. Breaking and entering is out of my jurisdiction.”
Less than fifteen minutes later, a patrol car arrived and braked to a stop right in the middle of the narrow street. Standing at Mackenzie’s side, Patrick took one look at the officer who stepped out of the car and grinned. “What the devil are you doing here? I thought you had the day off.”
“I switched shifts with Larry Lopez. What’s going on? Did you make the call?”
Patrick nodded and explained about the unlocked door of the bookstore. “This is Mackenzie Sloan—she owns the store. Mackenzie, this is my brother, Devin.”
“Oh, my God. There are two of you in law enforcement?”
Grinning, Devin shook the hand she held out to him. “Actually, there’s three of us,” he admitted. “Logan’s with the FBI.”
“It’s in the blood,” Patrick explained. “Our father was a cop, too.”
“So what are you doing here?” Devin asked him, frowning.
Quickly giving him a rundown about the stolen items that had somehow ended up in Mackenzie’s father’s possession, he added, “I followed Mackenzie home from a show in Arlington to look at her father’s records. That’s when we found the door open.”
“And it was locked when you left?” Devin asked Mackenzie as he jotted down notes.
“There’s not a doubt in my mind I locked it,” she said firmly. “The lock on the door sticks sometimes, so I always check it twice. It was definitely locked.”
“And the alarm? Is there a possibility you may have forgotten to activate it?”
“No. I was on the phone to my friend Stacy, and distinctly remember setting the alarm on my way out.”
“And no one else has a key or the alarm code?” Devin asked. “A neighbor? An old boyfriend?”
She shook her head. “No, no one. I’ve been meaning to change the code since my father died and give the new code and a key to Stacy, but I just haven’t had time.”
“Then your father must have given it to someone,” Patrick said.
Startled, Mackenzie paled. “You think one of his friends would have broke into the shop?”
“It’s possible,” he said. “Unless the alarm malfunctioned, whoever left the door open had to have the code. If you didn’t give it to anyone, then your father had to.”
“We won’t know the truth until we check it out,” Devin said. “C’mon. Let’s go.” Quietly ordering Mackenzie to stay outside until they scoured the building, he stepped around Mackenzie and carefully, soundlessly pushed open the door. Seconds later, he and Patrick slipped inside.
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