The Hunk Next Door Read online

  Not enough people were willing to be so honest about what they wanted. He wanted her—the physical evidence was clear on that. She wanted him, too, but she couldn’t bring herself to satisfy this rush of lust in his truck in full view of her neighbors or the patrol car assigned to the neighborhood. Mayor Scott would have a field day using a public indecency ticket against her in the next town council meeting.

  She pushed at his shoulders. “Hey, are you trying to kill my career?”

  “What?”

  “There’s a morality clause in my contract.” He fluttered kisses along the sensitive skin of her neck and she giggled. “Stop.” She pushed at him again, taking every millimeter of space he reluctantly gave her to gather herself. “Seriously. Stop.”

  “I have to?”

  “Yes. For the moment.”

  He grumbled but eased back. The cold air was bracing, but it wouldn’t cool down the all-consuming heat she felt deep inside. That unquenchable fire could only be satisfied by the man in front of her.

  “I’m not teasing you,” she said, wanting to be as direct and clear as he’d been with her.

  His brow furrowed. “I didn’t say you were.”

  “Good. I just, um, wanted to get that out in the open. I, ah—” she pushed at her hair “—want this to happen. Just not tonight. Not out here.”

  “I’m all for a warmer venue.” He put his hands to her waist and boosted her out of the truck, letting her body slide down his in a slow, delicious caress. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  He nearly destroyed her resolve with that smoldering gaze and hot, strong body so ready for her. “You’re a walking temptation,” she accused.

  “Same goes.” He paused, one boot on the bottom step, his hand catching her coat sleeve. “I’m right next door.”

  She felt her lips curve. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you being alone tonight.”

  “There are certain disadvantages,” she said, dragging a fingertip along the rough stubble of his jaw. “But I’ll manage.”

  He cupped her palm to his lips. “Lock your doors.”

  She almost gave in. “You, too.” But he didn’t let her go at that.

  * * *

  RILEY STARED INTO those wide blue eyes, his blood running hot, but it wasn’t all about those kisses. He was furious about the fire and more than a little concerned about the evidence on the shovel. The more he thought about it, the more likely he decided it had been an attempt on her life—at the very least on her freedom.

  It was hard to believe Filmore had taken that leap on his own. Was one person planning all of these stunts? Or were they up against more than one threat? And how long before this nebulous enemy tried again?

  The smart thing was to take a step back and be clear about the situation, despite what his body wanted. This was a razor’s edge he was dancing on and he didn’t want to ever give her cause to doubt him or his motives toward her.

  He didn’t expect to be drawn so strongly to Abby on a personal level, but she captivated him. From her consistent strength and determination through the adversity to her passionate kisses.

  “How will emergencies get handled tonight?” With the police station closed, it was the perfect opportunity for someone to strike. His gaze roamed the shadows, searching for threats.

  “Everything’s handled, Riley. I’ll be fine.”

  He wanted to believe her. “Let me sleep on your couch.”

  “No. The couch isn’t big enough for both of us.” Her smile was as loaded as her words. “I need quiet more than...”

  He stepped back. It was easy enough to fill in the blanks. Tonight had left him with plenty of business to take care of before morning. “Give me your phone.”

  That sultry smile still teasing her lips, she pulled it out of her pocket and placed it in his palm. He added his name and number to her contacts and returned it.

  “Keep your phone close.”

  She nodded her agreement before pulling away from his touch. He waited while she went inside. Walking backward, watching her at the window, he crossed over to his back door. Every gut instinct he had said leaving her alone was the wrong thing to do.

  Whatever was happening, whoever was behind all this, it felt as if they were getting closer to the goal of destroying her with every passing hour.

  She gave a little wave as she locked her back door. He returned it just before she dropped the curtain back in place. He noticed she’d left her coat on the back step to air out. Following her example, he removed his vest and slung it over the handrail.

  But when he went to pull his screen door shut, it wouldn’t latch. Something was caught under the door near the hinges.

  Squeezing through the narrowed opening, he used his phone as a flashlight and saw the problem: a wool scarf.

  It looked familiar, but it didn’t smell like Abby’s bright citrus fragrance and he’d never seen her wear anything in the soft pastel colors. Mrs. Wilks would know who it belonged to, she had the pulse of the whole neighborhood, but Riley didn’t want to disturb her at this hour. He had more pressing matters to deal with.

  He grabbed a beer, sipping at it slowly while he waited for his laptop to warm up. As much as he wanted to stare out of the side windows toward Abby’s house, he resisted. Director Casey had tasked him with protecting her and Riley wasn’t convinced Filmore was the end of the threat. The violent messages on the sign had promised a more expansive fallout for Abby as well as the citizens of Belclare. A few acts of vandalism, he suspected, were only the beginning.

  While they would certainly be affected if their police chief was injured, killed or simply removed, most people of Belclare wouldn’t suffer specifically. What in the hell was the ultimate plan and who was so damned determined to make Abby pay?

  * * *

  AT ELEVEN HE WENT OUT and turned off the Christmas lights. The patrol car drove by on the cross street as he lingered at the front door, watching as the displays winked into darkness up and down the street.

  Only Abby’s lights stayed on. He thought of her upstairs in her bathtub, her skin warm and rosy under the layer of bubbles. A quick rush of troubling what-if scenarios flashed through his mind and just when he’d decided to grab his pistol from the kitchen, her door opened and she stepped out into the cold night air to turn off her lights.

  She was cute as all get out in a thick robe, her hair piled high on her head. It was too easy to imagine how she’d emerged from the tub, dried off that amazing body and tucked herself into that warm robe. Only his training kept him in place when every fiber of his being longed to race across the short distance, scoop her into his arms and carry her up to bed—hers or his, didn’t matter.

  That would be one way to be sure no one hurt her tonight. He needed to protect her. Protect the city. Better not to blow the long game with a shortsighted leap that could backfire and hurt them both. Between her trust issues and his lies, the odds were stacked against them, even without the people trying to oust her or murder her.

  After she’d gone back in, Riley did the same and finished his report, bringing Director Casey up to speed. Feeling like a slacker for not making more progress identifying targets, he ended the email with a recommendation to take a closer look into Filmore’s past. His sources in Belclare hadn’t given him much to go on, though that might change as news spread of the man’s arrest.

  On the den floor, Riley laid out maps of the city given to him by the decorating company. What value did Belclare offer terrorists? It was a friendly community. Small and close-knit. Putting a sleeper cell here didn’t make sense.

  There was the proximity to Baltimore and even Washington, D.C. The docks on the Chesapeake Bay offered easy access up and down the Eastern Seaboard, but that only explained the drug traffic.

  “Why plant terrorists here?” Riley laced his fingers behind his head. “What’s the attraction?”

  The docks? The Christmas Village? Other than those two things, the only c
laim to fame was the recluse artist who’d been devoted enough to Belclare to speak out on the morning shows urging people to visit the Christmas Village.

  Riley let out a frustrated groan. He was going in circles. His best guesses were getting him nowhere. He considered Filmore nothing more than a whiny snob, but the man had set fire to an historical landmark.

  “What am I missing?” He mulled over the question as he put away the maps and tossed the beer bottle into the recycling bin. His best hope at this hour was a revelation in his sleep. The boss wanted him down at the warehouse early tomorrow and showing up sluggish would do more harm than good. For both of his jobs.

  He might not have identified the threat, but he could feel it, just out of sight, waiting to strike.

  Chapter Ten

  Friday, December 2, 8:45 a.m.

  Abby’s gaze drifted from the laptop to her cell phone. She’d called in at six to check on things and decided both she and her officers would be more effective if she worked from home today. With the reporters dogging her every step, it was best if she stayed out of the way.

  Besides, she didn’t want any witnesses to her persistent daydreams. Even with an in-box full of more dire and personal threats, she couldn’t get her mind off Riley’s kisses.

  The man had skills that went far beyond hanging garland and looking hot in a tool belt. The first thing she’d done this morning was check the driveway, hoping for a glimpse of him, but his truck was gone.

  So she’d called in and tried to focus on being chief of police—a job which, according to today’s overwhelmed in-box, she was failing miserably. In the meetings following the drug bust, both FBI and Homeland Security agents had told her to hand the bulk of this off to someone in her department. They’d had good reasons and she didn’t doubt their experience. But she’d taken a look at her small department and just couldn’t saddle any of her officers with this kind of mess.

  She’d been at it long enough now that she recognized the spam and lunatics, easily weeding them out before she forwarded messages she thought were valid on up to the federal analysts. Belclare didn’t have the cyber forensic experts to follow the bread crumbs to something helpful.

  She was making her second pot of coffee when her doorbell rang. Hoping it might be Mrs. Wilks with cookies, she hurried to the door. Flowers filled her peephole, an arrangement large enough that it hid the face of the deliveryman.

  Mrs. Wilks would’ve come to the back. Cautious now, she opened the door. “Yes?”

  “Delivery for Chief Jensen.”

  She smiled, recognizing Deke’s cultured voice behind the green floral tissue paper. “What are you doing?” She opened the door wider and invited him in.

  “I thought you deserved something beautiful after the recent trouble,” he said, handing her the vase.

  The scent of lilies and roses filled her front room as she set the arrangement on her coffee table. She unwrapped the protective tissue and marveled at the flowers and the crystal vase.

  “For a shy, artistic celebrity, you’re spending a great deal of time out and about,” she said.

  “For a police chief you seem to be spending a great deal of time in the field,” he countered.

  Fair point. “Would you like coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I can’t stay long.” He removed his cap and gloves and settled into the wing chair facing her. “How bad is the station?”

  “It’s not destroyed, which is a plus. And they tell me it’s possible that no one will know the difference from the front.”

  “Clever arsonist. Are you sure you have the right man?”

  She nodded sadly. “I’ve seen the video. Filmore cried throughout his confession.”

  “He does love all of this old architecture.”

  “He does,” she agreed. “We’re still trying to sort out what drove him over the edge.”

  “How fortunate you were nearby to get him off the streets.”

  She rubbed her palms together as she gathered her thoughts. Guilt nipped at her for skipping dinner with Deke only to wind up at the pub with Riley. She and Deke didn’t have anything officially personal beyond their weekly coffee, yet she sensed he wanted something more from her. Something more that she’d thought she was interested in, as well, despite her reluctance to cross that line.

  Well, she thought as her cheeks heated, she’d certainly leaped over that line with both lips and most of her body last night with Riley. Which meant it was time to clear the air with Deke. Hopefully, she was just misinterpreting his signals. Braced for embarrassment, she tried to explain.

  She cleared her throat. “I was close to the station, though I didn’t intend to be. After I called you, I came home to find my neighbors had been decorating like crazy. My yard looked stark in comparison.” She couldn’t stop babbling. “One of my neighbors helped me get caught up in record time. The least I could do was buy him a burger at the pub.”

  “Of course. Your passion for this community is what makes you stand out. It’s what makes them love you so,” Deke said, waving off her concern with a flick of his hand. “Think nothing of it, my dear. Our plans were tentative at best. I only came out today to see a friend and offer a bit of encouragement during this ordeal.”

  Ordeal felt a little strong, but Deke enjoyed formality and drama. It showed in his work as well as every other facet of his life, including impersonating a floral delivery driver. And she wasn’t about to quibble over semantics with a friend.

  “Thank you. The flowers are gorgeous and definitely brightened my day.”

  His gaze roamed around the room and she was afraid to ask what he thought. Compared to the grand expanse of his home, hers must be a laughable disappointment. But none of those reactions showed on his face.

  “I heard you had a little trouble yourself.”

  “Someone broke into my garage and tried to tie me to a murder.”

  “That’s absurd. Do you need a lawyer?”

  She was sure he could afford the best. “No. I cleared it up with the Baltimore P.D. first thing this morning. While no one knows how my shovel got involved, it wasn’t the murder weapon.”

  “What a relief. For all of us.” His smile was kind and friendly as he pushed to his feet and donned the ball cap and gloves. “Tomorrow’s opening day will be a resounding success,” he declared. “I’m sure of it.” He gave her a quick hug. “And the city will have you to thank.”

  “Not just me,” she said, uncomfortable with his effusive praise. “Everyone has worked together to make this the best season ever. Thanks for everything, Deke.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  She locked the door when he returned to his car. On her way back to the kitchen she paused to enjoy the flowers. It was a thoughtful gesture, a bit over the top, but thoughtful. The arrangement was too big for her small kitchen table, but she felt too exposed working in the front room.

  If this was her worst dilemma today, things were looking up.

  Chapter Eleven

  Home from his errand, Deke tapped an impatient rhythm on the cold pane of the window. He was surrounded by idiots. The man on the ladder hadn’t had the decency to die. Somehow no one had put Chief Jensen into cuffs for bashing a repeat offender over the head with her shovel, despite her lack of a believable alibi. And now, rather than inciting fear, the fire had seemingly fueled the woman’s determination to maintain her hard stance against the attacks on her town.

  He cursed the skills that had put him in this precarious position. It wasn’t his job to micromanage something as pedestrian as the crime-versus-law balance in Belclare and yet those who kept him in business insisted he clean it up. Fools. They were wasting his talent.

  His job was creating the strategies that furthered the cause. Tempted to ignore his orders in favor of more effective strikes elsewhere, he soothed himself with the small progress he’d made with the police chief.

  The only other consolation was that revenue from the Christmas Village would surely be down
in light of the current violence. No amount of greenery and twinkling lights could hide the stain on Belclare, and the shopkeepers who needed the financial infusion would force their once-beloved chief of police out of the way long enough for him to take a giant leap forward in making reparations.

  The latest drug shipment was half the size of the one Abby had discovered. Thanks to the distraction of the fire, it had come and gone already with no one the wiser. Now, with his superiors slightly at ease, he could focus on vengeance. He picked up the phone and relayed his next orders.

  Waiting for the fun to start, he contemplated all the ways things could go right. And wrong.

  If he couldn’t bring Chief Jensen to him with the promise of a friendship, he could certainly prey on her need to defend and protect. Either way, he would be thrilled when she finally came running right into his trap.

  Her new neighbor was no match for Deke. If he got in the way he would be just another casualty of this war.

  Chapter Twelve

  Riley spent the morning much as he’d spent the night: thinking of Abby. Not just the kiss, but the serious threat chasing her around town. Personally and professionally, the woman and her predicament consumed his attention.

  His arms full of plastic wrapping and cardboard boxes, he headed out to the Dumpsters and recycling bins. He pulled out his knife and sliced through the tape, breaking down the boxes for recycling. The decorating team was nearly done setting up and not a moment too soon. A light snow was predicted for this evening, which would surely make tomorrow’s opening day perfect for all the expected visitors.

  As he walked back into the warehouse, he spotted a black wallet caught between the Dumpster and the warehouse. He pulled out the tri-folded leather, only to realize it was a woman’s wallet. Looking around, he didn’t see any of the women who were part of the crew. Figuring someone would come forward soon, he walked on into the supervisor’s office. “Anyone looking for this?” he asked, holding it up.