Foxfire (2 page)

The tissue floated to the wooden floor.

“I apologize for dropping by so late. I just
wanted to put in a plug for business.”

He was so close, the crisp citrus scent of
his cologne stroked her senses. With shocking awareness, she
watched his nostrils flare. She took a step backward, regaining her
space. Beneath the thin robe, goose bumps danced on her body. The
phenomenon had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to
do with this unwelcome visitor standing on her porch.

She put her hand on the screen door and began
to pull it open.

“I'll bring Tiffany by for her yearly shots.
Maybe in six months or so.”

“You don't have to wait that long.” His
lashes kissed his cheekbone in a lazy wink. “Come down any time.
I'll give you a tour.” He ran his hand down Tiffany's back and as
Grace watched, she felt her own body quiver just like the
dog's.

“I have to go.” The door squeaked on its
hinges as Grace backed into the open doorway.

The slight upward curve to her visitor's lips
and the gleam in his eyes told her everything. He knew what she was
feeling. She was an idiot. Earlier tonight another man had spurned
her. So much for new beginnings. She was what she was.

She opened the door and snapped her fingers.
“Come, Tiff.”

Tiffany whacked her tail against the porch
floor.

Tyler lifted his shoulders in a shrug toward
his not-so-innocent smile and nudged the dog with his foot.

Tiffany lumbered to her feet and walked into
the house.

“See you around.” He nodded in farewell.

“Good night.”

“Yes, it is,” he said. A teasing grin lifted
his lips and traveled up his face, igniting his unusually deep
green eyes. He winked, pivoted, and strode off toward the
woods.

Grace stared through the screen until the
darkness and trees swallowed his outline, then she closed and
locked the door.

“Traitor. I suppose you still expect me to
feed you.”

Tiffany whined, her eyes remorseful.

“You like him, huh?”

A tail waved in response.

“Did you notice his eyes? I've never seen
eyes that color before. Probably fake. I suppose he wears
contacts.”

Grace dipped the plastic dish in the dog food
bag. “Doesn't matter if the color's real or not, he's still
hot.”

Tiffany whuffed softly.

Grace placed the bowl on the floor and headed
for the shower. She spied the glass of wine she'd poured earlier
and dumped it down the sink. She'd lost the urge to drink away her
pain. Her new neighbor might be an outrageous flirt, but he'd been
a soothing balm to her bruised ego.

After her shower, she slipped into a silk and
lace nightgown, one of her vices, and snuggled beneath the cool
sheets. Tiffany stretched across the foot of the bed.

Grace closed her eyes. Soon her new
neighbor's face formed into a sensual dream-like vision. She knew
instinctively there'd be no holding back with a man like him.
Everything would be spontaneous, exciting, and passionate. She lost
herself in the fantasy, in a heated kiss that seared her soul. She
gazed into deep emerald fire that sparked like the gem.

Suddenly the image began to shift and the
green eyes turned to steely gray hiding behind plastic lenses. The
heat of passion turned to fetid flames of viscous evil. Fingers dug
into her shoulders. Connor's voice rasped, “The media would have a
hey-day if they learned my future wife used to be a prostitute.”
His polished attorney smile, all white dazzling teeth, flashed
behind her eyes. The scene in the restaurant kept repeating over
and over, like a movie in perpetual play.

Grace rolled over and punched the pillow. She
hadn't been a prostitute.

Well, not exactly.

****

Tyler climbed the back stairs of the clinic,
which led to his apartment above. He flicked on the lights and took
off his jacket and shoulder holster. The gun clunked against the
heavy wooden kitchen table. He reached for his cell phone and
dialed his boss.

“I made contact tonight,” Tyler informed Jake
when he answered.

“Good. Before you tell me, listen up. We've
been following a lead in South America. If it pans out, I'll have a
picture for you in a few days.”

“What about Ted Powell?”

“Nada.”

“So maybe Max isn't here at all. I've been
scouting the area every day, but so far, everything seems
normal.”

“Tell me about your contact with Grace
Wilkins.”

What could he tell him? That she had curves
reminiscent of the starlets of the 50's, nicely rounded hips that a
man's hands could grip, or that her million dollar legs should be
insured? Or should he confess that looking into her deep blue eyes
he glimpsed a vulnerability hidden behind her tough façade? Her
picture hadn't fully prepared him for the flesh and blood
woman.

“Not much to tell,” he finally said. “I
caught her at a bad time, introduced myself and that's about it.”
Except that he had always been a sucker for tears. Some women
couldn't hide the evidence. Grace was one of them. She had the
light complexion and freckles that led him to believe her red
riotous curls didn't come from a bottle.

“An introduction is a start, I guess,” Jake
conceded. “Just do your best to keep an eye on her. I've no doubt
Max will surface, and I don't want him to strike when we're not
looking and get away. She's our best lead right now. We'll keep
looking for Ted Powell. If anything comes up, I'll call you.”

Tyler ran a hand through his hair. “All
right. I'm going to maintain my cover as long as possible.”

“How are you doing with the clinic?”

“I'm running an ad this weekend. Everything's
coming along.”

“I hope for your sake it works out. I support
your decision, bro. You know that.”

“I know and I appreciate it.”

Tyler dropped into the chair and lifted his
feet to the coffee table. “Max will surface sooner or later. We'll
get him Jake. For Natalie.”

There was a brief silence before Jake
responded.

“Yeah, for Natalie. Keep in touch.”

The phone cut off and Tyler tossed it to the
table.

For Natalie, yeah right. If he'd wanted to do
something for Natalie, maybe he should have quit his job like she'd
begged him to do. Maybe if he had, she'd still be alive...and so
would the child she carried inside her.

“One last assignment, Natalie,” he said to
the empty room. “I promise this time. I'll quit as soon as I bury
the sonofabitch that took you from me.”

Tyler couldn't bring back his wife or their
baby, and he'd live with that loss the rest of his life, but he had
an opportunity to avenge their deaths. He might spend the rest of
his life feeling guilty, but he'd bring Max Clayton down, even if
it meant using Grace Wilkins to do it.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Grace stared across the
horizon at the haze hanging over the distant mountain range. Dew
clung to the bushes lining the driveway, glittering in the few rays
of sun breaking through the trees surrounding her cabin home. The
scene in the restaurant last night seemed a faraway memory.

Tiffany padded into the kitchen and bumped
her head against Grace's leg. “Okay, Tiff. I know it's time for
work, but I'm not going.”

The dog tilted her head questioningly.

“I quit. Connor and I broke up.” She held her
hand in front of the dog's nose. “See, no ring. I don't work for
him any more.”

She ran her fingers through the dog's soft
fur. “Don't worry, I'll find a job to keep you in doggie
biscuits.”

Tiffany whined.

“It's okay, girl.” She cradled the dog's head
in her palms and stared into chocolate brown eyes that gazed at her
with uncanny understanding. “Everything will be fine. I'm a
survivor. I always land on my feet.”

Tiffany thumped her tail against the
floor.

The telephone rang, disturbing their
camaraderie.

Grace glared at the offending apparatus, but
it continued to ring. She snatched the receiver off the hook, and
just as she'd expected, Connor's voice grated through the line.

“Why the hell aren't you at work?”

“I quit.”

“We have to talk.”

“I think you said it all last night,
Connor.”

“You can't quit. Not without giving
notice.”

“I can. I just did.”

He heaved an angry sounding breath. “I don't
want to broadcast our broken engagement until we find a way to do
it without raising questions.”

“What you want doesn't matter. Not any
longer.”

“Damn it, Grace. What do you expect from
me?”

“Nothing. Not one thing.”

“I think you should come back to work, at
least for a while. If we do this right, the press will—”

She slammed the phone down. His arrogant,
demanding tone took the pain that had begun to fester again and
stuffed it down deep inside. So he was worried, huh? Well, Mr. Hot
Shot attorney had made a big mistake. The Knoxville Sentinel might
hurt his career, but it couldn't hurt her. Politics was his game,
not hers.

Someone whistled and Tiffany raced out the
pet door. Brad on his morning stroll no doubt. The thought of
seeing her friend drove her out the door and onto the path between
their houses. She caught up with Brad and Tiffany a few seconds
later. When he spied her, Brad's lined and weathered face lit with
happy surprise. Then concern drove the smile away.

“Why aren't you at work? Are you sick?”

Grace shook her head and her shield crumbled
as she fell into his arms. His warm broad palm patted her back. Her
cheek pressed against his shoulder. She inhaled the comforting
outdoorsy scent of his after-shave, feeling more like a small child
than a twenty-four year old woman.

Brad was her surrogate grandfather. He'd
nurtured their relationship since the day she moved next door to
him. He actually found good in her, something she’d never been able
to accept, given her past. Tiffany had been his first Christmas
present to her, a small fluffy black and white, clumsy-footed ball
of fur.

“What's wrong, honey?” he asked.

“Oh, Brad, everything. My whole life is
wrong.”

He turned her toward his house. “Come on. You
can tell me all about it over a bowl of home-made ice cream.”

“It's still morning,” Grace sniffled.

“Yeah? So what?”

Grace wiped her nose. “Strawberry with lots
of chocolate syrup?”

“What else?” He chuckled and ruffled the fur
on Tiffany's head. “Come on, girl.”

In Brad's kitchen, Grace pulled the bottle of
chocolate from the refrigerator while Brad scooped the ice cream.
She squeezed chocolate syrup into the bowl he pushed in front of
her and licked the sticky sweet residue from her fingers.

Sun rays beamed brightly through the window
above the sink. Tiffany grunted as she lowered her body onto the
tiled floor. Grace loved the blue and white gingham curtains, which
lifted softly in the light breeze blowing through the open window.
This room had been a haven where she and Brad shared many hours
discussing events in their lives. He had built the butcher block
table himself, though the ladder back chairs were not his
handiwork. Light blue rugs in front of the sink and refrigerator
matched the blue shade in the curtains, and warmed the otherwise
rustic room. Like Grace's house, the walls were log and mortar,
lending an authenticity to the cabin architecture. Brad's kitchen
gave credence to the phrase, “the kitchen is the heart of the
home.”

He sat across from her and met her gaze. “So
what's going on? What's with the tears? You never cry.”

Grace held out her hand and wiggled her bare
left fingers. “Connor called off the engagement last night.”

His head bowed. Thinning strands of
still-dark hair allowed glimpses of his scalp. He lifted her hand
and ran his gnarled fingers over the place where the ring used to
be. Then he looked at her, his kind blue eyes full of
understanding.

“He wasn't good enough for you, honey.”

Grace pulled her hand away.

“That's not true, Brad. It's the other way
around. I wasn't good enough. I'm not good enough for any man.
That's the problem.” She stuffed a huge bite of ice cream in her
mouth. Pain shot across her forehead—instant brain freeze.

“Want to tell me what happened?” Brad's
gentle voice soothed her.

Grace shook her head.

Brad leaned back in his chair. “I can guess.
Connor found out about your past?”

“Yeah.”

“Honey, do you think things would have been
different if he'd found out after you got married?”

She sniffed and blew her nose on a paper
towel.

“Well, do you?” he persisted.

“No,” she admitted. “I'm stupid for thinking
it could work.”

“Only marriages based on love work,
honey.”

“You're a fine one to talk. Don't tell me
that's why you haven't popped the question to Harri. I know
you—”

“Uh-uh.” Brad moved his finger back and forth
in front of her face. “This conversation is about you, not me.”

Grace silenced her retort with another bite
of ice cream. Brad was right. He tried to warn her when she plunged
headlong into the doomed relationship. She planned to tell Connor
the truth about her past, but the timing had never seemed
right.

She sighed and laid her spoon on the table.
“I quit my job. I just couldn't face working at the D.A.'s office
where I'd see him every day.”

Brad nodded. “Makes sense. You'll find
another job. And, there are other fish in the sea, as Harri always
tells me.”

“Not for me. I'm never going to fall in
love.”

“That's something you have no control over.
When the real thing comes along, you'll be caught up so quick you
won't know what hit you. Mark my words, you'll see.”

“No man will ever want me.”

“You're wrong.” He tapped her hand. “You're a
beautiful, strong woman, inside and out. Any man would be fortunate
to have you.”