Glass Slipper Bride

She smiled wanly. “I’m not much of a sailor. I like to swim, but boats do a number on my stomach, always have.”

“That’s certainly fortunate.”

“It was hard to think of it that way at the time,” Jillian said.

He nodded and murmured, “I can imagine.” He shifted positions, signaling a shift in subject. “So you wound up here with your half sister and your father’s ex-wife.”

“Not here as in this same house, but yes, I wound up with Camille and Gerry.”

“And no doubt you’re grateful for that.”

“Of course,” she said lightly.

“Which is why you let her treat you like a lower life form,” he said, almost offhandedly.

Jillian blinked in shock. “I beg your pardon!”

He grimaced and backed up a step, throwing up his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

She got to her feet. “You certainly shouldn’t have! Camille does not treat me like...” Jillian bit her lip. “She’s overprotective, is all. She still thinks I’m thirteen and mad at the world.”

“Were you?” he asked. “Mad at the world, I mean.”

She looked down, surprised to find that she was twisting her hands together. “Maybe,” she said, but in truth she didn’t remember it like that. She only remembered feeling lost and alone, a disappointment to those she loved most. Forcing her hands down to her sides, she said, “You don’t understand Camille. Hers is a tough business, and she’s learned to use arrogance as a shield against criticism. She’s not really like that. In fact, sometimes I think she’s really very insecure.”

He lifted an eyebrow as if doubting the correctness of her assessment, but he merely remarked, “It really isn’t any of my business. I apologize if I offended you.”

“I just don’t want you to think that Camille is a bad person,” she told him softly.

“I can see that you love her very much,” he said, as if that was all that mattered.

Jillian smiled. “She’s my sister, and she gave me a home when no one else would or could.”

“And that’s very commendable,” he said. A heartbeat later he added, “Well, I’d best be going. I have a dinner engagement. Thanks for the cold drink, or rather, drinks.”

“I’ll show you out,” she said, moving away from the counter. Nodding, he followed her through the house to the front door.

“I didn’t realize we were interfering with your social life,” she said, even knowing that it was none of her business.

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” he assured her. “My brother and sister-in-law know only too well the demands of my business.”

Jillian felt a flash of relief. It wasn’t a date, then; rather, a family engagement. “Well, extend my apologies if we’ve made you late.”

“Not necessary,” he told her, pausing at the front door. “Don’t forget, now, locksmith and security service, first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I won’t forget.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Excellent.” She opened the door for him, and he started out into the heat. “Oh, and, Zach, uh, Mr. Keller?”

He stopped and turned back. “Zach will do. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to thank you.”

He smiled and bowed slightly from the waist. The effect was absolutely dazzling. “All part of the service, ma’am.” He winked and started off down the sidewalk, calling over his shoulder, “Later.”

She watched him all the way to his car, a sporty, two-door model in black with a white convertible top. For once she didn’t feel the heat—except on the inside. This time, it was all inside.

The shrill, familiar sound pierced the darkness of a deep, easy sleep. Zach jerked awake knowing exactly what that sound represeated. On his stomach as usual, he levered up onto one elbow and reached for the cellular phone on his bedside table with the other hand. The antenna was up, and the phone within easy reach on an otherwise clean tabletop. Rolling over, Zach pushed the send button, clapped the tiny phone to the side of his head and cleared his throat. He’d had a busy couple of days and gotten to bed late after taking in a Friday-night movie with his older brother, Brett, and Brett’s wife, Sharon, but his mind was clear as a bell.

“Keller here.”

“He came into my house!” blurted a shrill voice. “He came right in while we were all sleeping and destroyed my kitchen!”

“Calm down and tell me who this is,” he barked.

A shocked silence followed. “Well, who else would it be? Do you just go around handing out your emergency number on every street corner? You may be good-looking, Zach, but you’re not very smart if that’s how you do business.”

Camille Waltham. Zach rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t bother to tell her that he had other clients. He doubted that it would penetrate that monumental ego. “Is anyone hurt?” he demanded.

He heard a huff, followed by, “Not really. He bumped into Jilly in the dark and knocked her down, but I don’t think she’s really hurt.”

He was throwing back the covers before he even thought about doing it. “Have the police arrived?”

“I thought you were supposed to take care of things like this.”

He caught the phone between his shoulder and his ear and reached for his jeans, then yanked them on. “We need documentation!” he snapped. “The police have their uses, too.”

She started grumbling something about him not making himself clear, but he interrupted her. “I’ll take care of it myself from here. Don’t touch anything that he might have touched. Lock the doors and stay together. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

He hit the button, cutting her off before she could say anything else, then dropped onto the bed and grabbed for his socks. One of them went on inside out, but he couldn’t have cared less. After picking up the phone again, he turned it on and punched in the police dispatch number. As he stomped into his boots and threw on a clean chambray shirt, he told the dispatcher where to send the patrol car, pocketed his wallet and grabbed his keys.

Clipping the phone to his waistband, he flew out of the apartment and down the hall to the elevator. Forty-five seconds later he was backing the convertible out of its parking space and heading down the garage ramp. Less than ten minutes passed before be pulled to a stop in front of the Waltham house. The police were already there and moving up the sidewalk. Fortunately he knew both officers.

“Jennings! Carpenter!”

Both stopped. “Hey, Keller,” said the older man. “This one of yours?”

“Afraid so.” He caught up to them and ushered them both up the walkway. “My client says the perp broke into the house and destroyed her kitchen.”

“Is this the Camille Waltham who’s on the news?” asked the younger man, Jennings.

“The same.”

“She seems real nice,” mused Jennings.

“Seems,” Zach muttered, reaching for the doorbell.