Silken Threats (5 page)

So why was she wrapped up?

Underneath the antiseptic she became aware of something else. A scent she remembered from so long ago. Strong. Masculine. And mind-numbingly alluring.

Turning her head, she took in a dim shape in the corner of her room. “Max?”

Now that she was aware of it, pain throbbed in her skull with all the finesse of a jackhammer. Despite the searing pain, she couldn’t hide the rush of awareness and excitement at the figure she sensed in the dark. “Is that you?”

“Been wondering when you’d wake up.”

“Why are you here?” Why
was
he here? He never came, and she’d stopped expecting him to long ago.

“That’s the question I’ve been waiting to ask you.” He moved slowly—wasn’t that the way of it now?—before coming to stand beside her.

Despite the age that tinged his features, she saw the young man she’d loved so well underneath. The firm jaw that had added folds of age still begged for her touch and those bright blue eyes saw as much now as they had fifty years ago.

“What happened to you, Jo?”

“I don’t know.” Confusion warred with the sweet memories of Max and again, the pain rose up in her head with sharp claws. Through the haze of hurt, a dim memory registered. “My house... Someone broke into my house.”

She pulled at the blanket, the warm cocoon turning suffocating. “In my house. There was someone in my house. Someone hurt me.”

He moved closer, his large hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Shh. Don’t move like that. Take it easy.”

A wave of panic stuck in her throat, choking her, as hot tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

Were they tears for the sudden realization she’d survived an attack, or were they for the fact that he was finally touching her? On a hard exhale, she admitted to herself she had no idea.

But it was probably both.

“Who would do that?”

“We don’t know who.”

“We?” The word struck her as strange since she’d been the one hurt.

“My grandson and his friend are helping out your girls. Seems like trouble’s found its way to their door.”

Max leaned closer, his gaze firm as those blue eyes lit with understanding. She’d seen those same eyes on his grandson—his namesake—and it never failed to choke her up.

Never failed to remind her of things best left buried.

“What aren’t you saying, Max?”

“We don’t know who attacked you, Jo. But I think you and I both know why.”

* * *

Cassidy closed her front door behind Tucker, touched he’d walked her to her door. She’d purchased her small bungalow in East Dallas two years before, her home quickly becoming her haven, and it was odd to see his large frame in her doorway.

Odd, yet lovely, she thought now as she watched his long-limbed strides through the glass pane that edged her front door frame.

Maintaining his streak, he’d been the chivalrous gentleman, escorting her home and doing a quick check of her house to ensure the problems they’d battled all day hadn’t found their way to her door.

She’d known the moment they walked in no one had been inside the house, but that knowledge hadn’t negated how nice it felt to be looked after. Nor had it kept her from allowing him to roam through her kitchen and living room, bedroom and studio, confirming all was well.

If he’d noticed the thick duvet and red silk accent pillows that covered her bed she didn’t know. But a girl could hope the sight had been what put the slight hitch in his stride as he walked from her home.

Yep. Tucker Buchanan had
gentleman
written all over him.

And why was that so damn appealing?

He pulled away from the curb, and she turned to focus on her home. The warm, almond-colored walls set off by bright, vivid prints of various sketches filled her with pride. This was her home. She’d earned it through hard work and the determination to make something of herself.

To make something of her life.

And with a soft sigh, she acknowledged she’d better get her mind off her attractive escort and back to work. She might have started the day early, but the unexpected twists ensured she still had a fair amount to get done.

With a cup of hot tea in hand ten minutes later, she made her way into her studio and assessed the dressmaker’s dummy that stood half-clothed with her latest design.

Although the bride wasn’t getting married for a year, the young woman was in the mood to experiment, and Cassidy had promised a preview of some mocked-up designs by the end of the following week.

The opportunity was a new one and she enjoyed the challenge of designing something with the wearer in mind. Even so, she was still struggling with the sweep of silk she’d planned at the waist.

Gaze speculative, Cassidy kept her distance from the dummy, considering the angles as she stood across the room. The cut of the neckline negated an empire waistline but the gathers she’d planned didn’t quite fit, either.

The dress looked like every other dress and the carefree artist she was designing it for was anything but traditional.

Unlike Tucker Buchanan.

She settled her now-empty mug on the edge of her desk and considered her neighbor. The man had
traditional
and
old-fashioned
stamped across every inch of him. He was smart, strong and capable, with that damnable streak of chivalry she’d have never known she even liked until he found her standing in the middle of Dragon Street.

“He even has a dog,” she muttered to herself as she padded back to the kitchen to make a second mug of tea. “A freaking dog. With a smooshed-in face and a big loyal gaze.”

Other than Vi and Lilah, commitment and lasting bonds were not her strong suit. And a man with a dog had
commitment
painted across every inch of him.

There was no way she was getting herself mixed up with a modern-day version of the Lancelot she’d teased him about. Nor was she a tease, so their hot kiss would have to be the end of things.

When she saw him next—and based on what they’d discovered she knew more time with each other was inevitable—she’d keep her distance.

She’d be polite.

Friendly.

Warm, without being a tease.

It was only right. They were neighbors, after all, running up-and-coming businesses.

The whistling teakettle added a smooth punctuation to her thoughts, confirming the finality of her decision. She had no real interest in Tucker Buchanan. They’d shared nothing more than a luscious lip lock between two healthy adults, capping off a tense and action-filled day.

It was understandable. And really, it could happen to anyone.

She’d nearly convinced herself as she carried her steaming mug back toward her office, once again determined to figure out the lines of the gown.

But when images of Bailey—curled at her feet while she sat with a sketch pad working on dress designs—floated through her mind, Cassidy had to admit the truth.

Who, exactly, was she trying to convince?

Chapter 5

T
ucker dropped Bailey’s leash on top of his drier as the mutt beelined for his water bowl. Loud slurping sounds echoed behind him as he headed for a bottle of water in the fridge.

Damn, but it was hot. Sweat covered him and he could have sworn he was giving off steam.

And it was only six freaking o’clock in the morning.

Just when he thought he was getting used to Texas, more heat leaped up to slap him in the face. It was a stark reminder of why Max had enticed him to take the job in the cool, arid month of January.

“Calculating bastard.”

Even as the epithet left his lips, Tucker knew full well Max wasn’t to blame for this morning. He’d earned his own personal heat wave all by himself, pushing the two of them through their paces. Bailey had delighted in the jog, his year-old boundless energy undeterred by the increasing heat. Although Tucker enjoyed his morning runs, he’d adjusted his schedule since getting the dog, ensuring they left early enough to miss the heat of the day.

Clearly he underestimated the power of August in Texas.

The lolling tongue and thick pants from where the dog now flopped on his belly against the cool kitchen tiles only reinforced the thought.

“Good run, boyo. Even if I am still thinking about the woman and all that gorgeous red hair.”

That tongue continued to loll but Tucker could have sworn he saw a subtle head nod as well as clear understanding in that solemn brown gaze.

“And now you’re convinced the dog understands you,” he muttered to himself before gulping down a glass of orange juice, willing the natural sweetness to bring some equilibrium back to his thoughts.

He obviously had none if he was talking to himself all while assuming his dog understood his words. With brisk motions he snagged another glass of OJ from the fridge, along with the milk and a large box of cornflakes from the counter.

Sustenance and a shower would set him to rights. Then it was back to his drafting board to get a bit more done before heading into the office. Although Cassidy had filled more of his thoughts than anything else, the depths of his subconscious did manage to work through a bearing-wall problem he hadn’t quite figured out on his latest project. He’d focus on the designs and get the luscious redhead out of his mind.

It was a good plan, and Tucker was convinced he’d have managed it until he caught sight of Bailey once more as he headed off for his shower.

He’d be damned, but if he wasn’t mistaken those large brown eyes had a twinkle of a smile that dared him to keep Cassidy Tate out of his thoughts.

* * *

With images of his mocking housemate dogging his steps, Tucker pulled into the street parking in front of Dragon Designs. Heat filled his lungs the moment he stepped from his vehicle’s air-conditioning, and he glanced over to see Max’s silhouette in the doorway, a mug in hand. “You’re late.”

Tucker shrugged and slammed their office door closed, amused despite himself at his friend’s perpetual scowl. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re never late.”

“So I was today. Got caught up in a design problem and did some drafting at home. I live three blocks away. If it was that important you could have called me.”

“I’m just curious is all. You’re never late.”

“I was today.”

Tucker brushed past Max and headed straight for the coffee. Heat be damned, there was no way he was skipping caffeine. After selecting his usual, he hit the button on the Keurig machine and settled in for whatever had Max extra surly this morning.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“How the hell did we manage to get involved in what is happening down the street?”

“Define
involved
.”

“Come on, Buck. You know as well as I do those girls are in a ton of trouble.”

His nickname always reminded him of his time in the service—
Buck
an amalgamation of
Tucker
and
Buchanan
—and Tucker tamped down on the corresponding memories. He and Max had known each other for a long time, and there were few people—hell, there wasn’t anyone—he trusted more.

But he didn’t like the frustration roiling in his friend’s tone.

“For the record, I think there’s something going on, too. And I also think they need our help.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your attraction to Red.”

Tucker watched Max over the rim of his mug, curious at the very real frustration he saw lining his friend’s jaw. “If we’re going to start giving them nicknames, I didn’t miss you eyeing Killer Heels every chance you got.”

Max backed off at the pointed reference to Violet, his tone ratcheting down a few notches. “We don’t need this. It’s a distraction and a hassle. We’re trying to get a business off the ground, not play protector-slash-detective for our neighbors.”

“I’d say it’s more than off the ground. We put in three new bids last week and won two others. The hard work’s starting to pay off.”

“So we can’t put it at risk.”

“I’m not putting anything at risk. And I’m not interested in playing detective.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Tucker fought the slight itch that settled in the dead center of his back. Max Baldwin was a straight arrow. He liked things his own way in his own time and the man had the role of curmudgeon down to a T.

But he was also as honest as Abe Lincoln, so whatever had his eyes darting away had Tucker’s senses on high alert.

“What the hell’s really going on here, Max?”

“Nothing.”

“You started it, man.”

“I just think you need to watch your step. We both do.”

“What aren’t you saying?”

Max settled his cup on his drafting station, his attention drawn to the messy surface before taking a deep breath. “This whole area—the Design District. It’s got ghosts.”

“Oh, come the hell on.” Tucker fought back a laugh by sheer force of will, the misery stamped on his friend’s face the only reason he didn’t let go with a series of mocking insults. “Don’t tell me you believe in that.”

“Hell, no. I’m not talking literal ghosts. I mean remnants of bad things. My grandfather’s had property down here for more than half a century and some bad stuff’s run through here. These warehouses have hid a lot of things in their time.”

“So you’re talking ghosts. Worse, you believe them. Yet you chose to set up shop here. Build a business. Become a freaking pillar of the community.”

“Pop’s been cagey about it all, but when he gave us the space for the business I figured it was a sign he finally believed the neighborhood was turning a corner.”

“And now?”

Max ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the still-military-short ends. “Now I’m starting to wonder if he put us here to keep watch.”

* * *

By midmorning Cassidy had made a significant dent in the cleanup. Although by no means done, she could now see an end in sight, with the majority of her studio set to rights. She’d intended to make a quick visit to Mrs. B. but Violet called a team meeting to discuss the upcoming Baker-Sullivan nuptials.

“What happened here?” Gabriella Sanchez stepped through the front door, her gaze sweeping over the space. Although Gabby owned her own business, Elegance and Lace had formed a loose partnership with her catering firm and they had three weddings they were working on together.

Cassidy caught her up on the events of the past day and in moments found herself pulled into a tight hug. “You could have been hurt.”

“I keep going over it in my head, doing my best to ignore that part.”

Gabby gave her another tight squeeze before standing back. “Then we won’t talk about that part. But we will talk about why.”

“That’s just it, Gab. What would anyone want with us? We create weddings. We don’t even sell bridal jewelry except for some nicer rhinestones and crystals. We’re hardly a high-dollar smash-and-grab.”

Gabby shrugged, her long, dark hair curling around her shoulders in an oversize, gorgeous mass that Cassidy had admittedly envied from the first day they’d met. “Because weddings are expensive, others often think we’re flush with cash. I fought off a cousin about that very fact two weeks ago.”

Despite the hair envy—which Cassidy was still working on getting over—she knew her friend had borne her fair share of struggle as she worked to build her business. Family criticism from one corner and unrealistic demands when she’d begun to see some success from another.

“This is why we drink wine.”

Gabby patted her arm. “You’re not kidding. And I have a new vineyard I’ve been sampling from up in the Panhandle. Wait until you taste this guy’s Malbec. He’s really got something.”

“Let’s get through this wedding and then we’ll dive into a case.”

The click of Violet’s heels interrupted the mostly casual conversation and in minutes, they’d moved into a business meeting, each of them itemizing the status of their responsibilities for the upcoming event. They moved through the details quickly, each of them well versed in their roles.

Gabby finally had an approved menu and had confirmed her staff for prep and on-site. She and Lilah would work to bring in the cake and the same team Gabby had hired would assist in plating and distributing the cake to guests. Cassidy was on the final stages of the dress and would shift to run point on coordination with Violet since the wedding attendance numbered over three hundred.

Violet closed her laptop, a subtle satisfaction humming around her in the air. “Last bit of business. Rumor has it Sullivan’s got cold feet.”

“He’s a dog.” Gabby frowned, her gaze knowing. “We went to school together.”

“And?”

“And he’s had a roving eye since puberty.”

“Lovely.” Cassidy fought the groan. “Guess I know how I’ll be assisting Violet. Checks of the bride’s and groom’s suites every fifteen minutes for a rogue groom.”

“That’s what backup to Vi usually entails anyway.” Lilah patted Cassidy’s hand, her grin broad. “What is it about a wedding?”

“I told Tucker it was the scent of tulle. He—” Cassidy broke off as Gabby leaned over the table.

“Tucker who?”

“The guy down the street who found me yesterday outside the shop.”

“Wait. Wait.” Gabby waved a hand. “Is this the other half of the duo Violet complains about every time she comes back from a District business-owners’ meeting?”

“I don’t complain.” Violet took a sip of her tea, her gaze focused on the small cup. “Although Tucker’s considerably nicer than Max.”

“You do complain,” Gabby pressed her, “but that’s beside the point. Is he hot?”

“You’ve seen Max at the same meetings I have.”

Gabby rolled her eyes but no one missed her sly grin at Violet’s protests. “I meant Tucker, the neighborhood hero.”

“Hot. Definitely.” Lilah added a sigh. “And he’s got a dog.”

Cassidy felt three pairs of eyes settle on her, the weight of those expectant gazes suddenly oppressive in the airy space. “He’s a nice guy. And he helped when I needed it.”

“And?” Lilah pressed.

“And what?”

Cassidy knew she was being stubborn—and in her obstinacy she was making this more than it needed to be—but what did they want her to say? Tucker Buchanan was a nice guy. And he’d definitely shown up at the right time.

But—

But what?

Had she stopped believing she didn’t deserve a nice guy? Or worse, had she stopped believing they existed altogether?

“He drove you home last night,” Violet pointed out. “Made sure you were safe.”

Gabby sighed. “Who does that?”

“No one I’ve been able to find.” Lilah stood, the memories that normally stayed buried hovering like specters around her. “And on that note, I’ve got a cake to finish up. Gabs, I’ll see you at the blessed event.”

“You got it,
chica
.”

The three of them watched Lilah go, and it was Violet who finally spoke. “When did the concept of finding a nice guy become a fairy tale?”

“I have no idea.” Cassidy shook her head.

“Me, either,” Gabby added.

Violet’s gaze drifted to the doorway to Lilah’s kitchen before she spoke. “Does it make me nuts for still believing in them anyway?”

Gabby laid her hand on the center of the table, palm up. “I’m right there with you.”

Cassidy laid her hand in hers and Violet followed. “Look at us. Sappy wedding planners.”

Cassidy couldn’t hold back the smile—the first real one she’d had since the morning before. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

Since Lilah was neck-deep in a cake and Violet was out on appointments, Cassidy opted to move up her visit to see Mrs. B. from after work to lunch. Their morning business meeting had been productive and she’d made a good dent in a new design she had in development.

All in all, a break was in order.

With a bright bouquet of Stargazer lilies in hand, Cassidy navigated her way along the sterile hospital corridor, ignoring the paintings of pastel-hued abstract art that were somehow meant to soothe and calm hospital visitors and patients alike.

And walked straight into a wall of testosterone when she turned into Room 482.

Any sense of calm the paintings may have imparted vanished as she caught sight of Tucker, seated at the head of Mrs. Beauregard’s bed like a sentinel. Max flanked the door, further adding to the image of the two of them as guards, and Cassidy suddenly wished there had been far more to clean up at the office.

“Cassidy, dear. Come in.” The deep lines of Mrs. B.’s face creased in welcome as she waved her in, and Cassidy knew there was no easy escape. And when she realized how delighted Mrs. B. seemed by all the attention, she didn’t have the heart to go.

“How are you feeling today?” She kissed the older woman’s cheek, concerned when she saw the dark circles marking the tissue-thin skin.

“Right as rain, my dear. I should be out of here in no time.”

Cassidy didn’t miss Tucker’s sharp gaze or the subtle shake of his head so she allowed Mrs. B. her illusions. “Can’t keep a good woman down, you know.”

“Of course not.”

They made small talk over the flowers, and Cassidy couldn’t quite hide her smile as Max and Tucker fought to stay interested. She did see a small yawn from Max as he shifted from foot to foot at his post.