Chapter 4
Tucker Buchanan heard the scream as he moved into the last quarter mile of his run, his boxer, Bailey, beside him. He’d always shunned earphones, favoring the subtle din of early-morning ambient noise and abstractly solving quadratic equations in his head. The run both soothed and invigorated him and he was rigid in keeping this time to himself each day, even if the incessant solving of formulas only proved his geeky beginnings.
While his business partner would suggest he was still a geek, he knew damn well an early-morning scream of terror definitely did not solve for x, y or z.
Years of training kicked in and with a glance, in unison with Bailey’s, they both ran harder in the direction of the noise. As a second scream echoed through the warm, hazy Dallas dawn his gaze narrowed in on the only shop lights visible in a nearby row of storefronts.
Slim shoulders that still balanced a large tote bag and an oversize purse stood quaking as he closed the last few feet down Dragon Street. “Miss!”
Another scream died on her lips as she turned toward him, her vivid blue eyes wide. He lifted his hands as he called Bailey to a halt, and they both came to a stop a few feet away. “Are you okay?”
She took a few steps back, the fear still visible in her gaze, and he and the mutt remained in place, waiting for her to calm. Bailey dropped to a seated position, his tongue lolling, and that final action seemed to do the trick.
The woman blinked, the fear receding slightly from her eyes. “They... It...” She pointed toward the store. “Someone was in there. I can see the destruction from here.”
Tucker wished he had his gun but figured an eighty-pound dog would provide some measure of menace. “Stay here and I’ll go check it out. Do you want Bailey with you or would you rather I took him?”
“I’m going in there with you.” Her voice had calmed another notch and now that fear faded fully, replaced with sheer, stubborn grit.
“You seem pretty shaken up.”
“I only screamed the second time because I saw movement from the corner of my eye.” Her voice grew stronger, more aware. “Something skittering down the street from the garbage.”
“You’re still shaken. Why don’t you wait here?”
“My store. My rules.”
He shrugged. The likelihood anyone was still in the store was slim—especially with the clear signs of destruction evident in the window—but he pointed toward the phone in her hand to buy a few additional minutes. “Why don’t you call the police first and then we’ll check it out.”
He gave her space to make the call, moving up toward the windows with Bailey by his side. The storefront was still dark but the early-morning light brightened it enough for him to see the destruction that littered the floor in a morass of white material and what looked to be dressmakers’ forms.
Storefront, Tucker knew, wasn’t the most apt description. Dallas’s design district had evolved out of a series of old warehouses along the banks of the Trinity River. Or what had become the Trinity River after the Corps of Engineers had outfitted it with a series of levees in the 1930s.
From the detritus on the floor, he quickly processed that the woman owned what looked to be a wedding store. As his gaze took in a lavish wall of gilt-edged mirrors and lush couches, he figured he’d hit it spot-on. Any number of designers and decorators had chosen to make this corner of Dallas their own, and with the district’s renaissance in the past five years several businesses were thriving.
Hell, it was the reason he and his partner had opened their firm here. Max’s grandfather had given him an old warehouse on the south end of Dragon Street and it had seemed as good a place as any to set up shop. The past eighteen months had proven the decision was a good one and they’d worked themselves to the bone.
If those same eighteen months had been rather light on female companionship, well, starting a business was tough work. He’d heard about the neighboring wedding business—and had seen the pink truck delivering cakes all over Dallas—but hadn’t yet met the women who owned the place.
“They’re on their way. The police and my partners.” Her husky voice broke into his musings and Tucker turned, registering the tightening in his stomach at the sultry tones.
“Do you want to go in?”
“Might as well.” A small smile quirked her lips and he was pleased to see her fear had fully faded, replaced by what looked like grim determination. “So you’ve introduced Bailey but not yourself. I’m Cassidy Tate.”
“Tucker Buchanan.” He held the slim fingers, firm under his palm,
