Secret Cinderella

There was no sound out of place. No trace of smoke. The only thing he smelled was the lingering scent of nail polish remover and the bath salts Shereen favored.

Yet something was wrong.

Adrenaline replaced his headache and exhaustion. At thirty-two, he knew better than to ignore his instincts. He backed down the steps quietly.

One touch of the button on the control panel would bring the police and a security team, but he’d feel worse than a fool if he brought anyone out on a night like this and the house was empty. His security system was state-of-the-art technology. By checking the panel he could see at a glance if the system had been breached. It should have alerted him if that had been the case, even if his sister had stopped by for some reason, but it hadn’t.

Was it possible that he was suddenly developing an imagination?

Not hardly. The thief had taken his house keys along with his identification. No doubt that had raised subconscious alarms. She couldn’t use the keys to get inside without tripping the alarm, yet the sense of wrongness persisted.

Roderick made his way to the softly glowing panel and ran a diagnostic check. The system recorded no entry prior to his, but it did show a momentary interrupt in power a couple of hours ago. A power surge or a flicker in the house current? It hadn’t lasted long enough to trip his pager and alert him, yet his unease remained.

The only sound inside the house was the ticking of the huge grandfather clock in the living room. He checked the doors and windows. All secure. His senses weren’t placated.

Roderick abhorred guns, and a knife wasn’t a particularly efficient form of defense against an unknown assailant, but he wanted something in his hand before he went upstairs again. Moving to the kitchen, he crossed the tiles in his stocking feet and quietly removed a heavy skillet. Hefting it, he tested its weight. He was tired and irritable and feeling oddly theatric, but this was his home. If someone had gotten past the system somehow, they were going to regret the action.

He strode to the staircase and promptly stumbled over the shoes he’d left at the bottom. He kept himself from falling, but he’d just lost the element of surprise if someone else was inside.

Jaw set, pan swinging, Roderick mounted the steps by twos. At the top he hit the wall switch. A stream of slightly yellow illumination cast shadows on the walls. Nothing else moved. There was no sound.

He turned toward the master bedroom. The double doors yawned wide-open the way he’d left them, yet he entered cautiously. At first glance nothing appeared disturbed. He moved toward the closet and froze. Heart-pounding adrenaline shot through his system. If he hadn’t taken off his shoes downstairs he would never have felt the dampness.

Someone had walked across the carpeting with wet feet.

He gripped the pan firmly while his heart tried to drill through his chest. His palms slicked with sweat. He gazed about slowly. The bedroom was empty. So was the spacious walk-in closet.

He crossed to the master bath. The large room was a hedonistic delight. The tub sprawled on a raised dais, twice as wide and half again as long and deep as a normal tub. Jets were built into the sides so it could be operated as a whirlpool. A sinfully appealing skylight loomed overhead and there was a separate, oversized shower with multiple heads so that water could run freely over a person from both sides—or two people could share as he and Shereen had done on more than one occasion.

An enormous double vanity filled the far wall with mirrored glass. The glass was partially fogged. His blurred image stared back at him.

Running a quick finger over the inside of the tub he discovered it had been wiped but was still damp. The unmistakable scent of Shereen’s favorite bath oil mingled in the air along with the odor of nail polish remover. That was what his subconscious had tried to alert him to when he started up the stairs. Those odors shouldn’t have been there. Shereen hadn’t used the large bathroom in more than a week.

He strode back to the bedroom. This time when he surveyed the room, he did so slowly, taking in small details. His muscles contracted the moment he spotted his wallet and key case on the tall dresser. Roderick didn’t need to open the expensive leather. It seemed inevitable that his money would all be inside.

He lowered the pan. Red-stained tissues were clumped in his wastebasket. Ridiculously, he was glad. The nail color had been all wrong on her. But how had the little thief gotten past his unbeatable security system?

His legs carried him to the large guest room. He slapped the wall switch. Nothing happened. The lamp on the nightstand must have been turned off at the base. It didn’t matter. The light from the hall was adequate.

The first thing he saw was the sparkly green material lying in a heap on the floor.

The second thing he saw was the body on the bed.

Chapter Three

Mel awoke from a dreamless sleep to adrenaline-pumping fear. A large shadowy shape loomed over her. With a startled cry, she rolled away from the threat, off the other side of the bed to land on her feet. She crouched there poised to fight or flee while her brain attempted to assimilate what was happening.

A startled masculine oath ripped from the shadow’s throat. He half raised an object in his hand defensively at her cry and Mel came all the way to consciousness as memory clicked into place. She was in the guest bedroom in the town house belonging to Roderick Laughlin III. The shadow could be no one else but her host.

Actually, as her heart continued to thud a staccato beat, she wasn’t sure which of them was the more startled by the situation. She’d been taught that taking the offensive was always the best policy so she gave vent to the panic that had clawed the back of her throat.

“You idiot! You scared the heck out of me!”

He lowered the object slowly. “What?”

“You could have given me a heart attack! You should have called out or something. Don’t you know you should never startle someone awake? I thought you were an intruder.”

Speechless, he remained unmoving.

As her vision penetrated the darkened room, his shocked expression drained the remainder of her fear. She had no idea what time it was, but it felt very late, or very early, depending on the point of view. The house was dark and Roderick Laughlin still wore his tuxedo—right down to the perfectly knotted tie at his throat. Mostly backlit by the hall light, he stood there gripping what looked like a frying pan. The image was so ludicrous, Mel couldn’t help it, she giggled.

“Sorry,” she apologized quickly. “But you look ridiculous holding that skillet. Were you going to bean me over the head or did you come to offer me breakfast? Because if you’re cooking, I’m eating.”

His eyes blinked shut for a moment. “Oh, hell. You’re a fruitcake.”

“I most certainly am not!” She aimed a finger at his chest. “Listen, buddy, I’m not the one dressed in a tuxedo holding a frying pan in my guest room in the middle of the night. It is still the middle of the night, isn’t it? What time is it? And what are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you and the model be ringing in the new year at her place all night?”

He shook his head like a fighter who’d taken one punch too many.

“How did you get in here?” he growled.

Uh-oh. Dangerous territory.

“Like any normal person. Through the front door. I, uh, sort of borrowed your keys.”

This time when he shook his head, she realized he’d recovered. He’d moved beyond shock to a deadly calm.

“How did you get past my security system?”

“Oh, that,” she stalled.

“Yes, that.”

When no suitable answer came to mind, Mel gave what she hoped was a negligent shrug and started moving around the bed. “You need a better system.”

He tensed.

“There is no better system,” he gritted out. “Who the devil are you?”

“Really?” she asked dubiously even though she knew darn well what he’d said was true. She’d never come across an alarm system quite like his before. Even her father would be impressed. The dratted thing had nearly defeated her.

“Look, if it makes you feel any better, it did take me several minutes to disconnect and reconnect without tripping the interrupt circuit.”

“That’s impossible,” he stated flatly.

Shrugging, she offered him a saucy grin. “If I were you, I’d make the company refund your money.”

His voice dropped another octave. “I own the company that created that system.”