No Place To Hide

“Several ideas are on the table. Dop’s gotta make a mistake somewhere along the line. We’ll help him do that.”

Anthony held up his hands and waited expectantly.

“You and your results mentality,” Jim complained.

“Well, it’s a little hard to be patient, Jim. He’s already blown every profile you’ve come up with. It’s like he’s deliberately changing course just to throw you off base.”

“You’re right, he is doing that. But meanwhile he’s showing us he’s done time in either law enforcement or prison. I’d guess the latter. Guys in there study how we work. He’s also highly intelligent, efficient and patient. When we bring him down I’ll definitely be publishing his case.”

“If we bring him down.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Jim commented. “Look, I need to go help Hornsby. You keep an eye on Emma. Make sure she doesn’t take off on us.”

“Yes, sir. Hey, wait a second,” Anthony said. “What did you make of Brady?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m not sure I buy his altruistic act. He grew up at the store, same as Emma, but she’s holding all the reins. And Brady’s wife left him a couple of weeks back. Emma doesn’t know that, though, so keep quiet about it.”

Anthony sighed. “Did some digging before this morning?”

“It’s a sickness. I can’t help myself. And speaking of which…”

“I’m going!” Anthony groused. He left Jim to his beloved cellphone, which seemed to be permanently attached to the man’s ear.

Descending to the jewelry department, Anthony found Emma stubbornly immersed in work. She was still attending to the older gentleman, talking over a tray of rings.

Anthony took up position by the workroom door, receiving a flurry of suspicious looks from Emma even while she showed the utmost patience to her client. It was a learning experience, seeing her smile the way she used to when he’d first met her. Genuine. Kind. He found it hard to believe that striking face could turn so cold.

Wondering how, exactly, one got on Emma’s good side, Anthony rubbed his shoulder against the doorjamb. The itching was a constant reminder of Dop, and though the doctors said it was a sign of healing, it was yet another irritant in an already full load.

As Emma moved on to the next client, Anthony decided to do double duty. There were ways to make this easier. He’d done enough damage in her life already and now he was adding a stalker to the tally. Right now, planning might do more good than an apology that would satisfy no one.

So he took out his own cellphone and got to work, spying as Emma milled around a constantly busy sales floor.

Her state of denial began to slip when Hornsby and Brady pulled a security guard from his post. She went white, then red, but didn’t interfere. That was good, Anthony supposed, although she would almost certainly take it out on him later.

She handled the next round better, showing nothing but calm as Jim made off with department heads, one by one. Emma rotated to cover their absences, and it wasn’t always easy for Anthony to find an unobtrusive vantage point. He finally gave up and sat on the oak staircase as she took over the china department. It was nearly noon by then and the hot, viciously humid weather had slowed down even the most avid shoppers.

Anthony was virtually alone with her now, watching as she tidied an already pristine set of displays. He wondered what she was thinking, but didn’t mind the cold shoulder. It gave him a chance to stare.

The yellow dress was straight out of a Doris Day movie—sleeveless, tailored and prim, yet somehow managing to show a mile of tanned skin. His eyes moved to her legs, where high heels, nice ankles and the curve of firm calf muscles held his interest for quite some time.

And then suddenly she was walking right toward him, like a warrior on a mission. Anthony’s spine straightened abruptly at the obstinate look on Emma’s face. He was unprepared for another showdown.

“You need to answer a question,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Did you really believe I was behind this?”

“At first, yes,” he said. “And you thought it was me.”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“Well then, that’s out of the way. How’s your stomach doing? Better? Feel like lunch?”

Emma eyed him warily for a moment. “No,” she said. “But I suppose if I’ll be having houseguests I’d better call the grocery store.”

“Already taken care of. My housekeeper will be here later with provisions. And I’ll make a deal with you.”

“What?”

“I’ll cook if you scratch on demand.”

“If I what?” she asked.

“The scar. It itches and you have long fingernails.”

There was another pause, but this time Anthony could see what she was thinking. Having houseguests was one thing. Touching him was another. They both knew they were in trouble under the enforced proximity. It only remained to be seen which one of them would slip first.

“Are you supposed to be scratching?” she asked.

“Probably not. But the deal stands.”

“Fine.”

“All right. Why don’t you come upstairs for a while, anyway? I can scare up lunch and tell you what the FBI’s been up to.”

“I can’t. When they keep pulling people off the floor we’re short of help.”

“You’re also short of customers. Look, I know this is awkward, but I promise no mischief if you promise not to flirt.”

“Excuse me?” Emma exclaimed indignantly.

“I’m only teasing. Lighten up.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You don’t have to watch your back every—”

Anthony laughed out loud at the horrified look on her face.

“What’s so funny?” she chirped, then smiled sheepishly. “Man, talk about putting your foot in your mouth. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I think that’s the first time I’ve laughed in weeks.”

They started up the stairs, Emma’s expression sour. “You must be pretty desperate if you’re laughing at that.”

Chapter 4

“A cantaloupe? That’s it?” Anthony complained.