A Place with Briar (Harlequin Superromance) (17 page)

Tiffany had crossed the line, and now he would do what he had once done best.

Justice was about to be served.

* * *

“I
T
LOOKS
LIKE
the desktop computer was the only thing taken,” the officer told her, echoing what Cole had explained to her and what she’d already surmised herself.

“But why?” Briar asked. She, Cole, Olivia and the detective doing the questioning were sitting around the kitchen table. Her nails were biting into her forearms as she searched for answers and fought the helpless trembling that threatened to assault her body. She couldn’t let it. She couldn’t afford to be fragile. She wouldn’t be weak. Not now. “The modem’s outdated and has needed to be replaced for some time now. Why wouldn’t they have taken something more valuable, like the printer? I bought it six months ago....”

“Looting is, unfortunately, sometimes a by-product of hurricanes,” the detective explained. “Usually, we see it with bigger storms, the kind that do a lot more damage than this last one. But if the looter thought that the inn was empty, as many homes around the area have been over the past week, they would’ve seen it as an easy target. Also, the perpetrator might’ve started to clean house but heard a noise and realized that he wasn’t alone. Can you tell me if there were any lights on in the downstairs area overnight?”

“No.” The shock was turning her numb. It lured her into a kind of numbness she recognized—it was both comforting and distressing.

She’d felt the same numbness for months after her mother’s death. It had helped her get through the grieving process, but there had been a period several months long where she’d feared she wouldn’t be able to break out of it—to go on living a normal life with all the necessary emotional stimuli. Shaking off the niggling voices in her head, Briar cleared her throat and forced herself to go on. “The power was out until sometime early this morning. I didn’t leave any lamps or candles burning.”

The detective—she couldn’t quite place his name amidst the chaos in her head—nodded as he made notes on his pad. “And what time did you go to bed?”

She did her best not to look at Cole. Or Olivia, for that matter. “It was around...nine. Maybe nine-thirty. The girls were here to keep Mr. Savitt and me company over dinner. I’m not sure when they left exactly, but I went up to bed shortly after that.”

“I was the last to leave,” Olivia said, reaching over to place a supportive hand over Briar’s. “It was right around eight forty-five. I locked up behind me.”

“This is just a routine question, but do either you, Ms. Browning, or Ms. Lewis, know of any enemies you might have? Any reason why someone would want your computer files?”

“No,” Briar said at once. “There’s no one.”

“No one who would wish you harm?”

Briar shook her head. “No one,” she repeated, at a loss. When Olivia said the same, she knotted her hands together. “Detective...if you think it was just a looter, why would you ask these questions?”

“Like I said, Ms. Browning. They’re just routine.” The officer turned to Cole for the first time. “You went to bed around the same time Ms. Browning did?”

“Yes,” Cole replied. “As soon as I heard Olivia here lock up, I went upstairs. To my room.”

“Your suite is on the second floor,” the detective stated.

“Yes, it is.”

“But you didn’t hear anything?”

“No, I didn’t,” Cole replied.

Briar watched a muscle in his jaw tighten and quickly spoke up for him. “Mr. Savitt was kind enough to help us take care of the debris and repairs around the inn and shops yesterday. He worked very hard to get everything cleared up. It’s no wonder he didn’t hear anything. He was exhausted, I’m sure.”

Cole’s eyes rose to hers briefly. They’d been hard since the police had arrived. Since they had discovered the break-in, in fact. Now, facing her, they softened by a fraction. It was her heart that trembled and broke through the numbness she’d dreaded, warming her cold limbs inch by welcome inch.

The police didn’t take up much more of her time. The detective that had spoken to them assured her they would get back to her with any leads, but Briar couldn’t help but notice that the words sounded hollow, routine.

“I have to clean up....” she told the others after they watched the police depart.

Olivia tucked an arm around her waist. “I’ll help.”

Cole cleared his throat. His voice grated, raw against his throat. “I would, too...but I have some business in town I need to take care of.”

Briar looked to him. The knot in his jaw was working hard against the bone. She wanted to reach up to touch him, soothe him. “Thank you. Both of you. I hardly know what to make of all this.”

Olivia smiled in reassurance. “We’ll get it cleaned up. I’ll call the window repair people. And if they don’t catch whoever did this, if it was looters like they say, they’re long gone.”

“I hope you’re right,” Briar nodded. She took a cleansing breath, gathering confidence from the both of them standing strong around her. “No, I
know
you’re right.” She patted her hands over the apron she had put on as she came downstairs. Before the day that had started out so perfectly took a long slide downhill. “I didn’t get to make lunch.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Cole’s hand found hers as his eyes once again latched on to her face and softened several degrees. “I’ll get something in town.”

“Will you be back in time for dinner?” she asked, hearing the hopeful lilt of the words for herself.

He hesitated, searching her face. Then he whispered, “Count on it.” He touched his lips to her cheek. “Liv,” he said with a nod to her before he walked down the porch steps, helmet in hand. “Take care of her.”

“Will do. Come on, cuz,” Olivia said, guiding her back to the door. “Let’s do this.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

B
RIAR
KNEW
THAT
it was mostly to get her mind off the break-in, but as soon as she and Olivia finished cleaning the office and piecing together what was left of her files, her cousin walked her over to the shops. Adrian and Roxie both offered her what would have been sure distraction on any other day. She found it hard, however, to think of anything but that broken pane of glass and her missing computer.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered to herself as she sat on a stool in Roxie’s boutique folding delicate swatches of satin and silk. She’d asked Roxie if she needed a hand preparing the shop, as desperate to distract herself as her friends were determined to keep her mind off the morning’s events. Each swatch was different, ranging from spring pastels to deeper hues more suited to autumn. They would go in the bridesmaids’ design portfolio Roxie was putting together.

The wedding coordinator’s voice echoed from the open changing stalls toward the back of the boutique. “I know it doesn’t make sense, Briar, but there’s no use getting your thoughts more tangled up than they need to be. The police will do their job. During Ivan, my neighbors two doors down were looted.”

“Were the looters ever caught?” Briar asked curiously, folding a delicate, salmon-pink swatch over one of burgundy.

“They were,” Roxie replied. “They actually ran into one of the National Guard patrols. The idiots were the only ones out after the county-wide curfew that was enforced in the storm’s wake. Looters aren’t generally the smartest members of the herd.”

“Right,” Briar said. “You’re right.” She glanced toward the changing stalls. “Are you sure you don’t need a hand? I feel pretty useless.”

“No, you just keep folding, honey,” Roxie called back in a reassuring voice. “Trust me. There’s nothing like folding, or any other mundane task, for that matter, to get you back in the right mind-set.”

The boutique smelled of the newness of fresh paint and possibilities. Briar found herself looking again at the mannequins bedecked in profusions of white fabric. “Your work is exquisite.”

The hardworking lady peered out of a dressing room, paint roller in hand and a long handkerchief tied from her brow to the nape of her neck to protect her coif. “That’s the gown I designed for my eldest sister’s wedding. It took everything but a loaded gun to convince her to let me add it to my collection.”

“Why wouldn’t she want you to?” Briar asked, fingering the long Irish lace train. “It’s your design.”

Roxie lifted a shoulder and disappeared again, voice echoing once more. “My sisters are all creatures of selfishness and vanity. My mother, too. You get used to it.”

“Were you adopted?”

“Sometimes I dream.” Roxie backed out of the dressing room, gauging her paint job. “The Honeycutt women don’t settle for anything but the very best, so don’t get me wrong—the fact that both of my wedded sisters came directly to me for their gowns pleases me to no end. I guess I’m partly a creature of selfishness and vanity myself.”

“You’re no such thing.” Briar eyed the dress again wistfully. “I bet she looked absolutely stunning.”

“The wedding was alfresco in the middle of a field with a backdrop of wildflowers. I was going for nostalgic whimsy.” Roxie dried her hands on a wet rag as she approached Briar. “Though it is one of my best, I’d have to do up something completely different for you.”

“Really?” Briar narrowed her eyes. “You’ve thought about me...in a wedding gown?”

Roxie laughed, delighted by the perplexed look on Briar’s face. “Honey, it’s the first thing I think about when I meet a prospective customer. Or friend. Or simple acquaintance. I’m somewhat obsessed, and I’m not afraid to admit it. Tea?” she asked as she walked behind the glass display check-out counter and lifted a teapot inlaid with pink and yellow pansies.

“Sure.”

Roxie poured both of them a cup. Steam billowed from each, infusing the air with a soothing, herbal blend. She passed one to Briar then took out a sketch pad as she made herself cozy on the high-backed stool behind her. While her tea cooled, Roxie picked up a pencil and began to draw. “First I’d go with a sweetheart neckline. And linen. You’d look sublime in virgin-white linen.”

Briar lifted the delicate cup to her lips and blew the steam off the surface of the tea. “Not that I’ve dwelled on it overly much...” She cleared her throat carefully. “But I always kind of pictured a garden wedding. At Hanna’s.”

“Yes, yes!” Roxie’s pencil hand drew in quicker, surer strokes. “With a mixed, cascade bouquet. And white blossoms in your hair in lieu of a veil. Lily of the valley, perhaps.”

Briar closed her eyes, trying to see it more clearly. “On the north side of the house. Summertime would be best, preferably before it’s too hot.”

“Late April or early May,” Roxie suggested. “I love a late-spring, early summer wedding. And, you’re right, we wouldn’t want the guests to drop like flies in the heat. The vows could be exchanged under that charming jasmine arbor.”

“Mmm.” Briar beamed. She could smell the jasmine’s torrid perfume. Her heart picked up pace as she imagined walking through the shrubbery and blooms her mother had planted...the ones she’d nurtured and sustained...walking toward...

Her pulse leaped.
Cole.
She could see Cole standing under the arbor, waiting.

“This is it.”

Briar’s eyes popped open. She stared at the drawing of a faceless model of herself. The gown was simple, empire-waisted. The skirt tapered down in a soft flair. Roxie’s clever vision had added a chapel train. She let out a breath. “That’s it,” she agreed in a whisper. She shook her head, reaching out to take the pad and admiring the details more closely. “You’re a visionary, Roxie.” She could practically feel the linen, the weight of the gown around her. Her heart gave another thrilled leap when again Cole appeared under the flowered arch, hand outstretched, eyes warm.

With a sigh, Briar edged the pad onto the counter, clasping her hands tight over her knee. “Oh, Roxie. What are you doing?”

“Making you a princess,” Roxie replied in an airy voice as she tucked the pencil behind her ear. “It’s my job.”

“Yes, well.” Briar forced her eyes away from the drawing. “I’m not getting married.”

“You don’t know that.”

When Briar’s mouth fumbled open, Roxie offered her an encouraging grin and reached out to pat her hands. “Here’s reality, the way I see it. You’re beautiful, sane, stable. What man wouldn’t want you?”

Briar shook her head. She’d set aside dreams of wedded bliss when Jean-Luc had left her high and dry in her Paris loft. “No one’s ever...” She fumbled as Roxie gauged her reaction. “There hasn’t been time to...”

“You seem to be making plenty of time with sexy Mr. Savitt.”

She took a steadying breath. “Cole... He’s not looking for marriage.”

“Have you asked him that?”

“This soon? Of course not—I’d run him off.”

Roxie chuckled, sipped her tea. “It took some time for my Richard to come around to it—four years to be exact. But at the end of the day we love each other and want to continue to be together. It’ll happen, if you both feel it for one another.”

Briar’s heart rapped against her breastbone, and she couldn’t quite meet Roxie’s eyes. “I haven’t known you all that long. But there’s something delicate I need to say to
someone.
”

“I’m your friend, Briar,” Roxie assured her. “Lay anything you want on me. It doesn’t go outside that door.”

Briar eyed it, uncertain. “Last night... Well, he and I...”

“Tangled? I thought so.”

Seeing the amused gleam in Roxie’s eyes, she couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from twitching up. “How did you know?”

“Well, for one, you’ve got the twinkle. And the worried crease between your eyes has mysteriously disappeared. Two and two. So...how was it?”

She hadn’t expected the outright question from anyone but Olivia. Yet as she eyed Roxie, she realized she’d been dying to brag. “Unbelievable. He’s unbelievable.”

Roxie cupped her chin in her hand, expression smug. “Mmm, yeah. I sensed that.” As Briar lapsed into silence, Roxie considered her again. “You have every right to dance a jig right there on that stool, if you want to. I wouldn’t stop you for a minute. Hell, if Liv were here, she’d video it just to commemorate the occasion then post it on YouTube and proudly invite all her internet devotees to watch. I suspect those are legion.”

Briar laughed despite herself. “She would...and they are.”

Roxie lifted a brow and said, “You know, I think I might have something for you....”

Briar watched as her friend rose to poke through some of the moving boxes crowded around the boutique. “What are you doing?”

“On the sly, I design more than gowns. Recently, I started doing lingerie. The good stuff—negligees, baby dolls.... Victoria’s going to get a run for her secret once I start marketing it. Somewhere around here I’ve got one of the finished prototypes.”

“Prototypes?” Briar blinked, hands gripping her teacup. “Are we still talking about lingerie?”

“Indeed. Ah, there she is.” She lifted something slinky and held it up by the straps for Briar to observe. “Ta-da!”

She gaped. “Oh. My word.”

Roxie beamed. “Briar Browning, meet Carmela. What do you think of her?”

“She’s...kind of wicked.”

“Damn right she is. And she’ll look magnificent on you.”

“Me?” Briar blanched. “You’re joking. I can’t take that.”

“Yes, you can. Consider it a gift. I’ll wrap her up for you. Or you could try her on, see if she needs adjusting.”

“You’re crazy.” Briar laughed.

“No, hon.” Roxie thrust the garment into Briar’s hands and winked. “I’m helping you give that fine member of the male species you’ll be tangling with again soon a kick in the ass he won’t soon forget. You both can thank me later.”

* * *

“I
T
’
S
BEEN
A
long time, tumbleweed.”

Cole grinned. He hadn’t thought it was possible after the morning’s events at Hanna’s, but hearing his older brother’s voice again did just that. “Tad. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” Tad asserted. “Where’re you calling from, brother? The Keys? Costa Rica?”

Glancing around, he tucked his phone between his ear and shoulder. Cole was sitting on a bench high up on a bluff overlooking the Fairhope Pier. He was alone, but for the rustling of the wind through the trees around him and the twitter of songbirds. Indeed, his surroundings did sound a lot like paradise. “No. But I’m not far from it.”

“Did you call to brag?” Tad asked wryly.

“No,” he said, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “I’m actually calling for a favor.”

“Haven’t seen you in eight months and all you want is a favor. How ’bout you come over for dinner? That would make both me and Maddie happy.”

“Maddie.” Guilt swamped him. Tad, a lawyer, had battled on Cole’s behalf in the courtroom, while his sister-in-law had taken care of him—since he hadn’t been in much shape to do so himself. She’d fed him, encouraged him. If it hadn’t been for Tad and his wife, he wasn’t sure what he would have done a year ago. “How is she?”

“She misses you. We both do.”

Cole closed his eyes as a tidal wave of grief hit him. “I miss you, too.”

“So what’s this favor?”

He cleared his throat. “It’s Tiffany.”

Tad sighed. “Are you kidding me? What’s she done now? Murder? Grand larceny?”

Cole snorted out a bitter laugh. “She’s making waves again, but it’s not your legal services I need. Do you remember her old man?”

“Douglas? Sure. Who could forget a nasty old barnacle like him?”

“Something she said...” Cole ran it through his mind. “I was wondering if you could do some digging for me. You still have that PI contact? The one you used to follow Tiffany around the time of the divorce?”

“Yeah, Smithson. Saw him last week. What do you need?”

“I want to know about some of Douglas’s real-estate interests, particularly in east Baldwin County. I know it’s been a long time, but I figure someone with as many substantial land holdings as Douglas Howard wouldn’t be too hard to look into, dead or alive.”

“You’re right about that, especially considering what he lost when several people he’d taken land from sued him. It was pretty ugly. Apparently, he made one too many bad threats. Fraud and blackmail cost him almost everything. Any interests in particular you want Smithson to look into?”

“Yeah, a little bed-and-breakfast on the Eastern Shore of Mobile Bay called Hanna’s Inn.”

A pause wavered over the line. “Would that in any way be related to a woman named Hanna Browning?”

Cole’s heart turned over. “She’s the founder, deceased. Her daughter owns it now. How do you know her by name?”

“Because she’s the one who initially took him to court,” Tad said. “He tried blackmailing her. She didn’t stand for it. Hell of a lady. Hate to hear of her passing.”

“It was a year ago, from what I understand,” Cole explained. “Cancer. What was it about Hanna’s that Douglas was willing to go to such criminal lengths to obtain?”

“Location. He’d bought up several properties along the shore, and the Brownings’ was smack-dab in the middle. It was his greatest wish to level every building along that stretch of shore and build an impressive bayside resort—the A-lister kind. He had blueprints drawn up and everything.”

“I’ll be damned,” Cole muttered. “All this for a resort?” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. This was right up Tiffany’s alley. He could practically see her lounging poolside, her father’s monstrosity situated behind her where Hanna’s should have been.

“Hanna Browning’s case against Douglas was the first in a long line of court battles that eventually led to his professional demise. Her winning was the battling cry for everyone else he’d bullied over the years.”

“Never mind about Smithson, Tad,” Cole said, standing up to pace to the edge of the bluff and back. “You’ve given me all I need to nail Tiffany’s ass to the fan.”

“What does all this have to do with you? How do you know anything about the Brownings?”