shredded what was left of her confidence. She’d had enough sense, however, to leave him and their marriage behind. And enough self-respect to first send his canary-yellow Ferarri convertible crashing through the fence to sink to the bottom of the pool. It was the only memory of her marriage that still had the power to bring a smile to her face.
Given that, it was more than a little disturbing to experience that inexplicable…awareness when she was near Tremaine. A woman would have to be in the grave not to react to his looks, and so her response to him was only too natural, a cause for celebration, even. But as comfortable as it would be to believe that’s all there was, Tori couldn’t prevent feeling a sliver of unease. There was something about the man that heightened all her sensitivities, which really wouldn’t do. Getting involved with a client was an ethically sticky situation.
A wry grin twisted her lips. Luckily, that was not likely to be a problem. She and Tremaine couldn’t have less in common if they’d been born on different planets. Her brief foray into the monied class during her marriage had taught her only too painfully that the rich were, indeed, different.
Moving to the boxes, she hauled down the top one and opened it. A familiar sight inside it surprised a laugh from her. There, folded neatly, was a sweater her dad had worn for more years than she cared to count. She’d replaced it nearly three years ago with one enough like it to satisfy the man, but he must have rescued this one from the trash and hidden it away. Anything that was a favorite of his was always deemed too good to be thrown out, despite its missing buttons and worn-through elbows. What he’d intended to do with it was anybody’s guess.
Nevertheless, she found herself folding it with care and setting it aside. Perhaps there was more of her father in her than she’d guessed, because she knew that she’d never be able to part with it now, either.
Beneath the sweater was a file folder stuffed with papers, which she shook out onto her lap. Her throat went abruptly dry as she recognized medical statements dating from the time her mother had grown sick. With hands that shook just slightly, she stuffed them back into the envelope. She could remember vividly when as a nine-year-old she’d packed away most of her mother’s things to prepare for their move back to New Orleans. Her death had been the first and only time she’d ever seen her big, capable father helpless.
The envelope beneath was one she recognized. It was a packet of love letters exchanged between her parents when her mother was in the Mayo Clinic. For years they’d been in the bedside table of her father’s room. When had he finally put them away? she wondered. Sometime after that instance when he’d come home unexpectedly and found her reading them. He’d been coldly furious, and she’d been ashamed of her snooping, unable to explain that the few letters she’d read had helped bring her mother within reach again, the words painting an almost real form for her that had previously only been viewed through a child’s eyes.
A foreign sound had her catapulting back into the present. Looking around carefully, she eyed the piles of junk suspiciously. Any one of them could be a hiding place for some disgusting four-legged creature. Although Tori was an animal lover, most were best enjoyed outside her home.
Rising to her feet she listened again, and her blood abruptly chilled. The noise that resounded didn’t come from the attic. It came from the floor below.
Someone was in the house.
The open door and the music that still poured from the CD player left little doubt as to her whereabouts. Scanning the area, she moved silently to the corner with the furniture. She grabbed a small, particularly ugly lamp, removed the shade and light bulb, and wrapped the cord securely around it. Hefting it with one hand, she was satisfied that it would make a useful club.
She heard footsteps below, but no one called out, as she would expect if a curious neighbor or the Realtor had come looking for her. She’d left the front door unlocked, as it had been afternoon when she’d started her task. But a glance out the tiny window showed that it was early evening now. Dusk and shadows would have fallen over the street. Most of the elderly neighbors would have already finished up their dinner dishes and be seated in front of the TVs with their front doors carefully locked.
The footsteps paused, and the attic door squeaked a bit, as if the intruder had taken it in one hand and stuck a head inside the opening to listen. Tori could feel the blood pulsing through her veins. Her heart was beating a rapid tattoo in her chest, but her mind was cool as she flipped the lamp in her hand so the heavier base would be at the top. She’d feel more comfortable under a cloak of darkness, but the switch was at the base of the steps and out of reach.
The first step squeaked under the weight of the tread on it. Whoever was climbing the stairs now blocked her only exit out of the attic. There was another telltale sound. Another step upward. Options limited, Tori melted back into the shadows afforded by the stacked furniture and waited, weapon in hand.
Chapter 3
“You know some people content themselves with a simple hello.” James eyed the lamp clutched in Tori’s fist, deciding she looked more than capable of wielding it.
“And most consider it rude to walk into people’s homes without announcing themselves,” she countered, setting the lamp on a nearby table. “How did you know I was here?”
“I went by your place. A rather unkempt individual by the name of Joe, informed me that you might be at your father’s.” When she didn’t respond, he continued helpfully, “Ribbed undershirt? Uncertain hygiene? Pants riding low enough to show far more than most would care to see of his choice in undergarments?”
She made a face that was half recognition, have irritation. “My neighbor’s son. He takes an annoying interest in my comings and goings. Must have heard me talking to his mother earlier today.” She dusted her hands on her shorts as she approached, cocking a brow at him. “I have to say, when I heard someone moving around downstairs, I considered it might be the real estate agent or a neighbor. But I never thought of you.”
Since she was heading toward the stairs, he turned and preceded her down. “Which one were you going to smack with that lamp, the agent or the neighbor?”
“There was an equally good chance it was a street punk looking for an easy score.” The words, as much as the matter-of-fact way she uttered them, caused him to pause for just a moment. “It never hurts to be prepared.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He turned, once he’d reached the open door, and studied her. She snapped off the light switch before following him into the upstairs hallway. He wondered how many women in his acquaintance would have dealt with the possibility of a stranger in her house with such cool calculation. There was no evidence of alarm in her demeanor, just a certain competency that was at odds with the unmistakable femininity of those long legs and lean curves. The observation was undeniably chauvinistic, so he wisely refrained from sharing it.
“I did telephone,” he offered, surprising himself by making the explanation. “There was no answer at your house, and apparently you’ve had the phone here disconnected. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to swing by and see if I could catch you. You didn’t answer the doorbell, but I heard music from somewhere in the house and followed it.”
She brushed by him, sending him a sidelong glance before she led him toward the steps to downstairs. “I didn’t expect to hear from you until tomorrow.”
“I had business in the city, so I decided to drop off the contract I had my lawyer draw up.” He held up the hinged file he carried. “As well as a complete copy of the old investigative report.”
If truth be told, his business
