decided to run a few questions by her. Why not start with the most obvious ones she’d already answered for his boss and more than likely for the police? “Do you have any enemies, Amber?”
Her arms crossed protectively over her chest, and she dropped into the nearest chair. “Your boss and the police asked me that question along with a barrage of others. The answer is no. I’ve never had any sort of trouble with anyone. I’ve never had a stalker. Never received strange emails or Facebook messages. The fan mail from viewers is never threatening or overly negative. Someone might disagree with the way I reported an issue or event, but so far no one has taken it any further.”
“Lucky you. Most celebrities get their fair share of threatening or nasty mail.” Sean meant the comment as a compliment, but judging by her sigh she didn’t feel so lucky. He hitched his head toward the hall that led to the bedrooms. “How about persistent fans or admirers? Any of those?”
Amber pushed to her feet and trailed after him. “The usual. I typically receive flowers at the station a couple of times a week, depending on the stories I’ve covered. The high-profile stories generate the most reaction from viewers. Letters, food baskets, the occasional gift.” She rubbed at the back of her neck and then stretched it from side to side. “Nothing negative.”
The single window in the hall bath was secure. Sean moved to the first of the three bedrooms. “Any that are unsigned or from repeat senders?”
“A few.”
Both windows in bedroom one were secure. “Define ‘a few.’”
Following him to the next bedroom, she shrugged and said, “Four or five fans who consistently send little gifts. The occasional unsigned letter, maybe once or twice a month.”
“Have you ever met any of the four or five gift senders?” He progressed from the first window to the second before moving on to the final bedroom—her private space.
“The station has a big community day twice a year.” She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing his errant attention momentarily to her breasts. “You know, to thank the viewers. We do photos and giveaways. Have games and hot dogs. There’s always a clown and a couple of cartoon characters for the kids. Sometimes the people who write to me or send me gifts or flowers come by and say hi. No drama or discomfort. Just a friendly hello and a request for an autograph.”
The instant he entered her bedroom he felt completely out of place. The room smelled like her. Whatever perfume she wore was restrained but unmistakable. Light and citrusy. The delicate fragrance was barely there but so uniquely her, as if the subtle sweetness came from all that soft, satiny skin. He gave his head a mental shake. Evidently the skintight tee she wore had his imagination running a little wild.
The bed was big, too large for a woman to lie in alone. The bedding was pure white, lush and natural—like Amber. It didn’t take much to summon the image of that long, curly red hair flowing over those white linens. His body tightened with need at the thought of climbing onto that bed and kissing his way up her naked body.
Do the job, man. “Do you keep the unsigned letters?” He walked to the nearest window and confirmed it was locked. “Some of those may be from the same person.”
She massaged her temples as if a headache had begun there. Who wouldn’t have a headache? She was a person of interest in a murder case. That was enough to give anyone a headache.
“I never looked to see if there were similarities in the handwriting. I don’t keep them all. Only the ones that touch me in some way. In fact, Gina and I did a special about how feedback from viewers added a richness to our work.” She smiled; his pulse reacted. “We each shared things about ourselves that viewers could hopefully relate to. It was one of the most watched local programs last year.”
Her bedroom windows were secure. He stepped into the en suite bath. The only window was one of the half-moon types above the shower and it didn’t open. Like the rest of her home, the bathroom was organized and well-appointed. The house was a traditional one-story brick in an upscale, older neighborhood. According to the background report Jess had given him, Amber had lived here since graduating college. She’d inherited the house from her grandmother.
He returned to the bedroom, where she waited in the middle of the room looking very much like a lost little girl. “You keep the fan mail here or at work?”
“Here.” She opened the double doors leading to what he presumed would be the closet.
He hesitated in the doorway. The closet was almost as large as the bedroom with a sliding library-style ladder that provided access to the upper shelves that banded all the way around the space above the hanging clothes.
“The house used to have four bedrooms,” she explained as she adjusted the ladder. “I used the fourth bedroom to expand the bathroom and for this closet.”
“Looks like you made a smart move.” He surveyed the rods and rods of clothes and the rows of shoes and whistled. “This could be a supermodel’s closet.”
“Ha-ha. Viewers notice if you wear the same outfit.” She climbed up the ladder and reached for a box covered in a floral pattern resting on the first shelf.
“Let me take that.” He stepped over to the ladder and reached up to take the box.
“I suppose you’d know a supermodel’s closet when you saw one. My sister told me you were a bodyguard to the stars.”
He accepted the box and waited for her to climb down the few rungs. “I may have seen one or two.”
She pushed the ladder back into its storage position. “Don’t be modest, Mr. Douglas. Barbara says you had quite the reputation in Hollywood as a top security specialist as well as a ladies’ man.”
Apparently she hadn’t heard the whole story. “Where do you want these?” He was damned ready to get out of her bedroom. Being surrounded by her scent and her private things in what now felt like a small space was too much.
“Kitchen table.”
Rather than be a gentleman and wait for her to go first, he got the hell out of her closet and her bedroom. A few deep breaths and he still hadn’t cleared her scent from his lungs. He shook off the uneasiness and placed the box on the round table that stood in the breakfast alcove of the kitchen.
The red and pink rose-patterned box wasn’t a typical file storage size. Handholds were formed on each end. Judging by the weight, it was made of heavy-gauge cardboard. He’d noted several of varying sizes on the uppermost shelf of her closet. Some he recognized as photograph boxes. All were neatly arranged by size and color. His mother had similar tastes and organizing habits. From what he’d seen so far, his mother would like Amber.
He booted the concept out of his head. Maybe he needed more coffee. He was sure as hell having a hard time keeping his head on straight.
Amber joined him at the table. She pressed a hand to her flat belly and made a face.
“Look.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “I know you TV personalities don’t like to eat for fear of gaining half an ounce, but you’re going through some serious trauma right now. You need to eat.”
Her green eyes were wide with surprise or indignation because he’d touched her or that he’d dared to give her an order or both. He released her and dropped his hands
