Her Holiday Protector

* * *

Blain checked his watch again. And again, he walked around the downstairs rooms of the town house.

The kitchen and dining room were open to the den, all white and bright, with more green plants and vivid artwork. A set of open stairs decorated with garland crawled up the wall by the entryway. Swanky, as his mom would say.

An officer came in while Blain moved around the room once again, anything to help him figure out who’d been through here. They’d already dusted for prints and searched for hair and fabric fibers but Blain doubted they’d find either. The place looked as pristine as one of the ads in his mother’s many magazines. A professional job?

His gut burned toward that end but he still needed to pin her down on the ex-boyfriend. “What do you have, Wilson?” he asked the uniformed officer.

“Found some broken branches on the shrubbery near the back gate. The gate has a latch but no lock. Figure they left in a hurry headed that way once Miss Allen ran out screaming.” He pointed toward a thicket of woods that followed the far shore of the river. “Anybody could get lost in there, even this time of year. We don’t have a lot of bare trees in the winter around here.”

“I hear that,” Blain replied. A lot of pines and live oaks grew in that thicket. “Footprints? Shoe prints?”

“Yes, sir. Big ones. But only partials. A distinctive pattern, though.”

“Get pictures and measurements. Maybe a plaster form.”

“Already on it,” Wilson replied. “I think we’ve covered everything for now.”

“Okay. I’m waiting on Miss Allen,” Blain said. “We’re putting her in a hotel room for now. I’ll need a cruiser to give us a ride and a guard on her room tonight.”

The young officer nodded. “Night, Detective Kent.”

Blain nodded and then checked his watch. What was keeping Rikki Allen? He was about to go up and check on her when she came back down with a fancy leather overnight bag on one arm and a smaller shoulder bag on the other shoulder.

“There you are,” he said in what he hoped was a casual voice. Taking her overnight bag, he said, “I thought you might have bolted on me.”

She almost smiled. “I did consider it for about five minutes.” The intense expression on her exotic face showed she’d considered it a lot.

“Why would you want to run away, Miss Allen?”

“Call me Rikki,” she replied, not answering that question. “Now, can we get out of here?”

“Sure. I don’t have my vehicle here so I’ll have a patrol drop us at the hotel and I’ll also assign a patrol outside your hotel.”

“Did they break into Tessa’s car? It should be in the public parking area around the corner.”

“No. But we’ll go over both your vehicles to see if we find any odd prints or maybe some fiber or hair follicles.”

“What about you?” she asked, her head down. “How will you get back to your place?”

“I know my way home,” he said, thinking he’d come right back here and do some more checking on his own.

Blain followed her to the front door where an officer was waiting to place crime-scene tape across the entryway and all around the small porch. Some of the neighbors were standing out on the boardwalk, their expressions full of shock and questions.

An officer walked them to a waiting patrol car.

Blain shot a glance toward the woman and remembered the sporty little convertible parked in her garage. Neither the car nor the woman would ever be his in this lifetime. Out of his league. So he needed to focus on work and not the subject at hand, his gut burning for answers.

She got in and glanced back after Blain put her stuff in the trunk and slid in beside her in the backseat. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why someone would rob me and...kill Tessa.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to call your mother?” Maybe if he kept pushing, she’d keep talking.

“No. It’s late and she’s not well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Who is your mother? I might know her.”

“I doubt it.”

Again, that nonresponse. “Okay.”

Then she sat up on the seat. “What about Pebble?”

“Excuse me?”

“My cat, Pebble. He’s missing.”

“We’ll put out some food for him and alert the neighbors.”

The neighbors who were checking out their windows right about now and texting their friends and standing along the boardwalk in clusters of fear. Yeah, they’d definitely check with those neighbors.

He wouldn’t push on that matter or the matter of her refusal to give him a straight answer, but he’d certainly do his own research later. So much for a slow holiday season.

He pulled out a business card when they approached the hotel she’d mentioned, one of the few low-budget hotels in town. At least this one was new and located near a busy intersection. No fancy condo-type accommodations around Millbrook. “Listen, if you need me for anything or if you remember anything, call me. No matter the time.”

“I will.”

Yeah, right.

He came around to help her out of the car but she already had her door open and herself out, tall boots and jean-clad legs first. He got the bag she’d packed out of the trunk. “I’ll walk you to the front desk and make sure you’re in a secure room.”

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, Blain was on his way to the station to file his report, his mind humming with the sure knowledge that Rikki Allen knew things she didn’t want him to know. He’d head back to her town house once he was done with his work and look for her cat.

But he intended to find out the truth.

And while he did that, he’d try to get the image of those chocolate eyes and that matching hair out of his head. Blain’s gut told him there was a lot more to Rikki Allen than she wanted anyone to know.

But he knew enough.

A beautiful, mysterious woman who’d broken up with her boyfriend and who’d obviously lived a life of privilege had interrupted an intruder in her home and had found her best friend dead. A best friend who resembled her. This case shouted hit man.

His job was to find out if someone wanted Rikki Allen dead. But he also wanted to figure out what she was trying so desperately to hide from the world.

THREE (#ulink_cd4321b2-9ad7-543b-ac2e-264fc7b1f607)

Rikki tried to sleep but being alone in a strange room didn’t help her to block out the image of Tessa, beautiful, sweet Tessa, lying there with blood all around her.