A Younger Woman Page 7

  No, she hadn’t found the key, but she had reacquainted herself with Ryland Archard. She’d learned his simple taste in clothes hadn’t changed: he still wore jeans 90 percent of the time and lightweight cotton shirts and T-shirts. She’d found three identical pairs of brown cowboy boots in the closet, and one tan suit jacket. A subtle change was his preference in underwear. He now wore briefs, silk ones, and scraped his face with an electric razor instead of a straight edge. Then there were the true-crime novels. She had found them everywhere. There were as many books in his house as there were prescription drugs.

  Margo felt his gaze on her bare legs again and stiffened. “What are you staring at? Legs are nothing new.”

  “True, everybody has a pair,” he agreed. “But some are nicer to look at than others. You always did have great legs.” He pulled a takeout container from the bag. “I suppose Tony’s menu isn’t all that special any longer. Still, the Toucan’s shrimp is some of the best in the city.”

  “You stopped by the lounge? Why?”

  He looked up. “To pick up the food.”

  “What else?”

  He pulled a second container from the bag. “I was curious what sort of a mood Tony would be in after a secretary at the precinct gave him a call pretending to be a friend of yours. She told him you were going to be gone at least four days, possibly a week.”

  “Four days! A week! I can’t afford to take that many days off.” Margo called him a filthy name, then started for the door. By the time she rounded the table, Ry was blocking her escape. “Get out of my way.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He gave her a quick head-to-toe. “You can’t leave the house dressed like that. Or rather, undressed, like that.”

  “Watch me.” She darted past him and swung the door open. But before she took two steps onto the veranda, he grabbed her from behind and pulled her close, fusing her backside to his hard groin. Margo gasped with the knowledge of what she was up against and went still.

  “That’s right,” he whispered in her ear, “I’m in the same condition I was last night. I’ve never lied about how much you turn me on, and that kiss this morning—”

  “Was your idea,” Margo hissed, “not mine.” She kicked backward and clipped him hard in the shin.

  “Ouch!” He tightened his hold on her. “Take it easy. You’re going to rip open those stitches if you’re not careful.”

  “I don’t care.” Margo kept fighting him. “All I want is to go home.”

  “That’s not going to be possible now.”

  His words cut through her anger, and Margo stopped struggling. “What do you mean by that?”

  Nudging her along, he half guided, half carried her back into the kitchen. After kicking the door shut, he let go of her.

  Margo spun around quickly. “Answer me, dammit! What’s happened?”

  “I went to your apartment to pick up some clean clothes for you, and someone had gotten there first.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning everything you own was either smashed or shredded sometime last night or this morning. Your clothes…I’d say 10 percent made it. They’re in the Blazer.”

  “My plants?”

  He shook his head.

  “All of them?”

  “I’m sorry, baby.”

  Stunned by what she was hearing, Margo turned away from him. “Why?” she muttered. “Why would they do that?”

  “They?” He reached out and turned her to face him. “Tell me who they are.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Margo. I’m not stupid, and I resent like hell you thinking I am. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s damn obvious whoever shot you isn’t through with you yet. Now that might not bother you, but it riles the hell out of me.”

  Margo frowned. “I don’t see why it should.”

  “Plants and clothes are replaceable. But your life isn’t, baby, that’s why!”

  When he mentioned the plants again, she felt physically sick. She knew it was crazy to feel so strongly over a bunch of plants, but the plants had been a part of her childhood dreams, the only part that she’d been able to realize. What Ry said about her clothes was true enough, they could be replaced. Her furniture had been secondhand. But the plants…

  “Did you hear me, Margo? I want your cooperation, starting right now.”

  It wasn’t fair, she decided. She’d agreed to take a handful of harmless pictures. A simple matter that required little or no skill and a small amount of time. Easy, right?

  “It’s time you trusted me. You came here last night. That must mean—”

  “I told you, I didn’t want to upset Mama.”

  “You can trust me, baby.”

  Margo wanted to trust someone, especially since Blu and Brodie had all but deserted her in her hour of need. But the truth was, she couldn’t trust a man who had promised her the moon and the stars, then within a month’s time had simply walked away. Chin raised, she slowly pulled herself together. “I’m tired. I’m going upstairs.”

  “Not before you eat something.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  He flipped the top open on the takeout carton, releasing the aroma of grilled shrimp swimming in garlic butter. It was like a swift dose of déjà vu, and to Margo’s horror her stomach promptly reacted with a sudden, fierce growl of satisfaction and betrayal.

  Ry glanced her way, his intense expression of moments ago softening slightly. “I guess I chose right.”

  “I’m not sharing takeout with you,” Margo insisted, recalling all the shared cartons of shrimp late at night in his apartment. They had lived for the nights. It had been a wicked, wild ride, the happiest time of her life.

  He ignored her outburst and headed for the cupboard. Moments later the table was set with the shrimp and fettucini cartons placed in the middle.

  “If you think feeding me old favorites is going to gain you some kind of edge, you can forget it. Recycling the past is a waste of energy.”

  “You’re overreacting, Margo. The fettucini was today’s special.”

  “Liar. On Thursdays it’s gumbo with an andouille sandwich.”

  While she glared at him, he had the audacity to grin. “Okay, so I ordered off the menu.” He went to the fridge, retrieved a yellow water pitcher and filled the yellow glasses, then set the pitcher on the table. “How’s your arm?”

  “Good as new.”

  “I doubt that. Any redness or swelling?”

  Margo didn’t answer. All day she’d noticed a tightness surrounding the stitches, but she wasn’t about to mention it. She didn’t want Ry playing doctor again. That would give him the opportunity to touch her, and she didn’t think she could bear that. His kiss was still warm on her lips, a painful reminder that she needed to be on guard. He had manipulated her before; what were the odds that he could do it again?

  “After supper I’ll take a look.”

  “No, you won’t. I said my arm’s fine.”

  “A fresh bandage couldn’t hurt.” He pulled out a chair close to the window and gestured for her to take a seat. When Margo didn’t budge, he said, “We both know you have a stubborn streak, but there’s nothing to gain by not eating, Margo. Except maybe getting sick and missing more days at work.”

  Hating him for being right, Margo settled on the chair. Just as he was about to join her, he paused, reached into his shirt pocket and produced a bottle of pills. Setting them next to her water glass, he said, “I stopped by the drugstore and got you an antibiotic to fight infection.”

  Margo cradled her aching arm in her lap. “I already told you my arm’s fine. Besides, I don’t take pills, remember? But if I did, your medicine cabinet would be the first place I’d check. You must have something in there for every occasion.”

  He ignored the jibe and pointed to the bottle. “You’ll take these. It’s just a strong antibiotic to fight infection.” When she didn’t reach for the pills, he arched a brow, then leaned forward to look
straight into her eyes. “I’m not going to fight you every step of the way here, Margo. If you don’t want to be treated like a child, stop acting like one.”

  When she still didn’t move, he sighed and scooped up a spoonful of fettucini and shrimp and plopped it on her plate. “A bite of food, then swallow two pills.”

  Furious with him, afraid to allow herself to give in an inch, she argued, “And if I don’t?”

  He offered her a tight smile. “You wouldn’t want me to have to sit on you and force them down your throat, would you? That’s what I used to do to the calves back home on the ranch. And for the record, I won every round and I wasn’t half the size I am now.” He relaxed his back against the chair and rested his elbow on the table. “Take the pills, Margo. You’ve got enough problems. You don’t need to spike a fever in the middle of the night or have me wrestling you to the floor to prove I’m bigger than you.”

  Angry, Margo picked up her fork and poked a shrimp into her mouth, then snatched up the pills. She shook two into her hand and tossed them to the back of her throat. After emptying her water glass, she slammed it back on the table and attempted to stand.

  Ry’s hand reached out quickly and gripped her bare knee. “I also had to force feed some of those calves. Sometimes they were too stubborn to know what was good for them all the way around. You don’t need me steering your fork, do you?”

  Margo pinched the skin on the top of his hand hard enough to make him yelp, then let go. “You forgot napkins,” she told him. “You can’t eat Tony’s shrimp without napkins. I was going to get some paper towels.”

  Margo glanced around until she spied the paper towels, yellow paper towels. Did he like the color yellow or what? Every room in his house had something yellow in it.

  “I’ve got napkins,” he offered. “I’ll get them.”

  Margo watched as he went to one of the many drawers in the kitchen, withdrew a stack of yellow-and-white-striped napkins, and brought them back to the table. Once he was seated again, serving himself a healthy portion of shrimp and fettucini, she said, “Tell me about my apartment.”

  He looked up. “There’s not much to tell. If they didn’t break it they took it. All except a couple of pairs of ragged jeans and a few T-shirts.” He stabbed a shrimp, then jammed it into his mouth and chewed. And all the time he was giving her a long, hard look. Finally, he asked, “Feel like telling me the truth yet? Why someone would want to shoot you, steal your underwear and destroy everything else?”

  “My underwear?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t find any underwear among the destroyed clothing. You still wear underwear, don’t you?”

  Incensed, Margo narrowed her eyes. “Of course I do.”

  “Who’s after you, Margo?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you see something you shouldn’t have?”

  “I don’t know.

  “How is Blu involved?”

  “I don’t…” Margo swore. “Blu’s not involved. And that, Detective, is the truth. Whether you choose to believe it is up to you.”

  “The story last night was pure fiction, wasn’t it. And you’re still lying to me right now. Why?”

  Stubbornly Margo remained silent.

  Another minute passed before he said, “Jackson will be staying at your apartment tonight. If someone backtracks for any reason, we’ll pick them up.”

  Surprised by the information, Margo’s mood suddenly improved. If Ry was the only one watching her tonight it would make it easier to escape—he had to sleep sometime. “You said my clothes are in your Blazer?”

  “I’ll bring them in after supper.” He drained his water glass. “When I was at your apartment I checked your answering machine. Your mother called.”

  “She called?”

  “I want you to call her back. If she wants to see you, make up some reason why you can’t. And make sure she knows you won’t be at your apartment for a few days.”

  He was right about keeping her mother away from the apartment, Margo decided. She didn’t want to escalate her mother’s blood pressure or place her in danger. But how could she keep her away without lying to her? It didn’t bother her to lie to Ry, and making up a story to Tony had been for a good reason—Blu had needed her help. She had never lied to her mother, she didn’t even know if she could convincingly. Voicing her concern, she said, “I can’t lie to Mama.”

  “But you can lie to me.”

  “Any day of the week.”

  He swore crudely.

  Margo laid down her fork. “What? What is that look? Disappointment, shock?”

  “Both. We never lied to each other.”

  Margo sniffed. “You mean I never lied because I was too stupid and gullible.” The memories suddenly tasted bitter. “Don’t bother trying to make me feel guilty, Ry. I owe you nothing.”

  She couldn’t be sure, but he looked as if he flinched. “You’re right. You don’t owe me anything, but your mother deserves to be safe, so call her and tell her you’re staying with a friend for a few days. Call her, or I will.”

  She hated him for being right, but she would call her mother. And if she had to lie, it would be just this once.

  “Has your place been broken into before?”

  Margo picked up her fork and played with her fettucini. “Yes. So it could have been just—”

  “A random burglary? We both know these creeps didn’t break in to lift your radio. They were sent to deliver a strong message and it was damn clear. You’ve pissed someone off, and not just a little bit. What if you had been home when they broke in? Have you thought about what would have happened?”

  Of course she had thought about that. But what was she going to do? She didn’t know who was after her, not a clue.

  “You just don’t get it, do you? The place was gutted, dammit! Smashed to hell!”

  Margo winced at the force of his words. “My stuff was old. It wasn’t worth much.”

  “And you! What is your life worth?” He tossed the fork at his plate and abruptly stood. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Cheapen yourself like that. You’ve done it before, and I don’t like it. You talk like you’re second in importance to everyone else. To Blu, to your mother. You deserve first class if that’s what you want. Whatever the hell it is you want, dammit!”

  Amused that he was shouting again, Margo said, “I’ll remember that next time I want a new car. I’ll tell the salesman he can bill you.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Margo.”

  “I’m just saying the furnishings didn’t have any great value. The plants didn’t, either, but they were living things. Innocent and harmless.”

  “I’ll replace the plants.”

  “I don’t want you replacing the plants or anything else.”

  “Just a minute ago you were willing to let me buy you a new car.”

  “You know I wouldn’t take a dime from you,” Margo scoffed.

  He stared her down. Finally he said, “When your apartment was broken into before, what was taken?”

  “Some money. CD’s My…radio.”

  “Did you report it?”

  “No.”

  He sat back down. “Why not?”

  “I know the drill, Detective Archard. No prints, no suspects. Or, if the department was lucky enough to pull a print, the print would need to be on file to do any good.”

  He frowned. “You make us sound useless.”

  “You said that, I didn’t.”

  “But you think it.” A mix of emotions changed the color of his eyes to a dark-navy.

  “I understand your sensitivity on the subject. It comes from needing to validate the past ten years, and the best way to do that is to believe in the system. If you didn’t, it would seem pretty silly playing cops and robbers at your age, right?”

  His frown pinched his brows together. “This job is for real, Margo. I resent like hell you implying otherwise. I believe in what I do, and I’ve paid a fat
price for being good at it. If you don’t respect me as a man, at least respect me for what I do.”

  He looked stricken—completely insulted, but Margo refused to apologize. “It’s not just about me catching the bad guys and getting them off the streets. It’s about drug dealers getting fat off restless, mixed-up kids, it’s about husbands thinking they have a right to beat their wives. It’s about making a difference daily wherever you can. It’s about giving a damn.”

  “Saint Ryland Archard to the rescue.” Margo sniffed, then shook her head. “I hate to tell you this, Ry, but in my book you’re no saint. What you give a damn about is anyone’s guess. Two years ago it certainly wasn’t about a young woman who idolized the ground you walked on. A woman you promised to love forever.”

  “Margo—”

  “No! Don’t preach to me about your almighty goodness, Detective Archard, because I’ve had an altogether different experience where you’re concerned. And speaking about paid prices. I did my time on the bottom, thanks to you.”

  Margo hadn’t meant to confess anything personal, but it was too late. She’d implied Ry hadn’t just hurt her, but that the hurt had been devastating. Feeling the need to hurt him in order to recover a little dignity, she continued. “They say you learn the most from rejection and disappointment. If that’s true, I suppose I should thank you. I don’t trust easily, and I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve anymore. Best of all, I don’t need a man in my life to be happy. Family is most important.”

  “You’re talking about Blu.”

  “Yes. He’s not only the best brother in the world, but my best friend.”

  “Saint Blu duFray to the rescue,” he mocked, as she had mocked him. “If that’s the case, and he’s so wonderful, why aren’t you with him right now? Why come to me?” Before Margo could speak, he said, “I’ll tell you why. Because he’s the reason you’re in this mess. Mr. Wonderful is the reason you’ve got a bullet hole in your arm and an apartment that looks like it was taken apart by gremlins. I told you two years ago that if you needed anything I would—”

  “Would what? Take Blu’s place and play big brother one weekend a month, or whenever you got bored? Or did you have something else in mind? Were you planning on taking me to bed for a pity—”