tossed carelessly on the floor, the Garfield cats decorating the old-fashioned vanity with its oval mirror, a relic right out of the 30s that the perpetually broke Becky had found in a junk shop and beautifully restored.
That was Becky, Lauren reflected, her mouth curving. On paydays she’d splurge on a leg wax or the expensive lingerie she collected with as much passion as her Garfield cats, and then have to subsist on tuna fish for the rest of the week. Or she’d purchase wildly extravagant gifts like the diamond unicorn pin Becky had sent her sister for her birthday a few weeks ago, followed up with an urgent request for a loan. Fondly, Lauren fingered the pin on her lapel. She didn’t even want to think how much the piece must have cost her sister. Or her latest boyfriend, she guessed wryly.
Men were always falling all over themselves to score points with the vivacious Becky. It wouldn’t have surprised Lauren if her current love hadn’t footed the bill for the expensive birthday gift. From the way her sister had gushed about the guy, he could afford it. According to her, Dave Jannisek was as loaded as he was handsome. Becky had even hinted that she might be serious about this one.
If so, it would be the first time she’d ever fallen for one of her many admirers. Lauren suspected their parents’ bitter divorce and Lauren’s own short, disastrous marriage had given the volatile Becky a permanent fear of commitment.
Finding her ex in bed with another woman had certainly made Lauren herself wary of leading with her heart instead of her head, but she didn’t compensate for that humbling experience by indulging in a string of love-’em-and-leave-’em relationships the way her sister did.
None of which explained where said sister was at this particular moment. Or why her front door had been open when Lauren arrived.
Raking her hand through the hair that was so like her sister’s in its thickness and dark red sheen, Lauren thought about that open door. The moment she’d noticed it, alarms had started pinging up and down her nervous system. Whatever or whoever had made Becky so nervous was starting to make Lauren distinctly uncomfortable, as well.
She’d check the kitchen, she decided, tossing aside the oversized tote she carried on quick trips like this. Maybe she’d find some clue to Becky’s whereabouts there. If not, she’d grab a shower, clean some of the clutter off the bed, and zonk out until her sister showed up. After the flight from D.C., followed by the hop down to Phoenix, even Lauren’s jet lag had jet lag.
She was halfway out the door when she spotted what looked like the strap to Becky’s favorite shoulder bag buried under a discarded blouse on the floor. Frowning, she pulled out the purse and checked its contents. Wadded tissues, loose half-sticks of cinnamon gum, a funky little makeup bag in the shape of a grinning Garfield and the embossed leather wallet Lauren had given her for Christmas a couple years ago. No house or car keys.
She hefted the wallet in her hand and looked inside. Fresh concern spilled through her. Why would her sister leave the house without her cash or credit cards?
Thinking of that open front door, Lauren slipped Becky’s wallet into her own tote for safekeeping. She’d hang on to it until Beck showed up, or until Lauren figured out just what the heck was going on here.
Forehead creased with worry, she headed for the hall. She’d better call her assistant Josh. She’d have to cancel her early morning meeting with the stationery supplier who wanted to show her his new line of stock. If Becky showed up any time soon, maybe Lauren could still make her afternoon appointment with the director of Denver’s museum of fine art. She really wanted the museum account.
Really needed that account.
An exclusive contract to produce the museum’s postcards and gift stationery could finally take her fledgling design firm out of the red. She’d launched the business after her divorce had left her jobless as well as husbandless. Drawing on her art training, she had decided to specialize in adapting the great masterpieces to local scenery. Her unique designs were just starting to take off, particularly the cards that blended the whimsical, mythical creatures she so loved into familiar settings.
Lauren had sunk everything she had into the enterprise. Everything she could scrape together, that is, after her ex had cleaned out their joint account. And Jack had had the nerve to look wounded when Lauren told him that she was reverting back to her maiden name. How had she ever imagined herself in love with the jerk?
Wondering if man trouble was what had precipitated Becky’s odd call, Lauren headed down the narrow hall toward the kitchen.
The sound of glass shattering spun her around. Eyes wide, she stared at the front door. For a heart-stopping instant she caught a shadowy movement on the other side. Then, a black-gloved hand reached through the broken glass and groped for the dead bolt Lauren had locked behind her only minutes before.
Lauren didn’t stop to think. Didn’t even consider snatching up the phone to dial 911. Someone wanting in the front door was enough to send her flying down the hall and out the back. Her fingers frantic, she fumbled with the lock on the kitchen door.
The knob wouldn’t turn. It twisted halfway, then caught, as if the tumblers inside the lock were out of alignment or gummed up or something. She slammed a palm against the door and tried again.
“Come on! Come on!”
Still the lock wouldn’t turn the whole way. In a spurt of pure desperation, she tugged off her shoe and whacked the handle with the stacked heel, and then tried again.
The lock gave. Almost sobbing with relief, Lauren threw open the door and charged outside. Two steps later, she collided with a wall of solid muscle.
“What the hell…?”
The gruff voice split the darkness as Lauren rocked back, almost toppling over. Hard hands grabbed her arms, whether to save her from falling or to keep her from running, she had no idea. She flung her head up, gasped at the sight of the lean, shadowed face inches from hers.
“Are you okay?”
“I…I…” Lauren struggled to reply around the lump in her throat.
Those hard fingers stayed locked around her upper arms, but the hold gentled, supporting her while she stammered incoherently.
“Who…? What…?”
“I’m your new neighbor. I was carrying some boxes out to the trash and heard the sound of glass shattering. Did you drop something? Cut yourself?”
Too flustered to correct his mistaken impression that she was Becky, Lauren did manage to gather her scattered wits enough to register two swift impressions. One, his eyes were the bluest she’d ever seen. They reflected the light pouring from the kitchen like blue ice. Two, the hands wrapped around her arms were bare, uncovered by black gloves.
“Someone broke in the front door,” she got out on a shaky breath. “He smashed the glass and reached inside to turn the dead bolt.”
His head shot up. Eyes narrowed, he peered over her head at the house she’d just vacated.
“I left my back door open,” he said tersely. “Go inside, shoot the lock behind you, and wait there until I get back.”
Uncurling his hands, he started forward. Alarmed, Lauren snatched at the sleeve of his blue denim shirt.
“Wait! You can’t go in there alone!”
He
