Her Special Charm

That he’d even use a word like bunk seemed out of character to him. He wondered if his sleepless nights were finally taking their toll. For the last month or so, he’d averaged less than five hours a night. Part of the problem was that he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he was waiting for something to happen.

What, he had no idea.

She smiled at him. “Yes, I know. But the cameo still has a lot of sentimental value for me.”

There didn’t seem to be enough air in the cubicle. His head felt a little fuzzy. The sooner he gave her what she was here for, the sooner she’d leave. And the more air there’d be for him. “All right, then I guess a reunion is in order.”

James took a key out of his pocket and unlocked his middle drawer. The cameo moved slightly as he did so, coming to rest against the center. He realized that the blue background was exactly the same shade as the woman’s eyes. Come to think of it, they were the same color as the eyes of the older woman who’d discovered the thing in the first place.

He didn’t like coincidences when he couldn’t explain them.

He dropped the cameo into her hand, avoiding touching her skin. He didn’t know why, but he just figured it was less complicated that way.

About to say something along the lines of “that being that,” he found himself watching her eyes in fascination as they welled up. Damn, he hated tears. He hadn’t a clue what to do when a woman cried, only that he was supposed to do something.

With a barely suppressed sigh, James looked around his desk for a box of tissues, knowing ahead of time that he wouldn’t find anything.

She used the back of her hand to brush away the telltale marks. A smile returned to her lips and any tears that might have subsequently fallen held their positions.

The cameo felt warm in her hand, like something alive, connecting her to her heritage. “I didn’t think I was ever going to be able to put this on.”

“You’ve never worn it?” Thanks to Santini’s never-ending stories about his three girls, he was vaguely aware that daughters played dress-up with their mother’s jewelry. That she hadn’t seemed rather odd, given her feelings about the cameo.

Constance shook her head. “Mother was adamant about the legend. She firmly believed in it. I got engaged to Josh before she could pass the cameo on to me.” She smiled as the memory came back to her. “She told me the cameo would be there waiting for me if I discovered I needed it.” It was her mother’s way of saying that she didn’t completely approve of the match. But then, her mother wouldn’t have approved of anyone that the cameo wasn’t responsible for “choosing.” Her mother had been very, very superstitious.

James glanced down at her left hand. He told himself that it was just an “occupational habit,” taking in as much about a person as he could, to be used later. Except that in this case, there wasn’t going to be a “later.”

Her hand was bare.

She noticed him looking at her hand. Constance curled her fingers under her palm. “It didn’t work out,” she told him quietly.

Looking up at her, he shrugged dismissively. “None of my business.”

An enigmatic expression played along her lips. “Wish he had felt that way. Unfortunately, he felt that everything about me was his business, especially my mother’s money.”

She saw the look of curiosity enter his eyes. She wondered if he was aware of it. There was no question in her mind that he was trying very hard to maintain distance between them. Asking questions, verbally or otherwise, decreased that distance.

“Josh was my mother’s financial adviser,” she explained, “and I discovered right after the funeral that he’d been playing fast and loose with my mother’s money.” Which explained the bad feeling about him that had been steadily making itself more known to her, she added silently. “Marrying me would have given him a better claim to it.” Her tone became breezy, as if she were relating just another story instead of something that had caused her a great deal of pain. “So I broke off our engagement and I fired him.”

“So now you need the cameo to help you find someone.” He tried unsuccessfully to keep the touch of sarcasm out of his voice.

She raised her eyes to his. “No, I want the cameo because it had been my mother’s. And her mother’s before that.” Her smile was warm as she added, “I don’t need a man to make me complete, Detective Munro.”

The way she said it, he believed she meant it. From where he sat, the woman appeared to be pretty complete as it was. He watched her untie the black velvet ribbon and placed the cameo against her throat. She leaned her head forward just a touch as she tied the ribbon at the nape of her neck. Finished, she tossed her long, straight blond hair back over her shoulder, then raised her chin as she looked at him. Her eyes were smiling at him. Touching him.

Which was impossible.

But he still couldn’t shake the feeling.

“How does it look?” she asked.

He wasn’t one to notice jewelry as a rule. But this looked as if it belonged exactly where it was. Resting against the hollow of her throat. Moving seductively with every breath she took. The blue of the background made her eyes seem even more vivid than they already were.

He was mesmerized. It took him a second to get his bearings.

“Fine.” He bit the word off, wanting to get back to something that he knew his way around.

Constance touched the cameo, as if to assure herself that it was really there. Welcome back, she thought. Her gratitude felt boundless.

“Are there some papers I need to sign?”

James shook his head. “This wasn’t official police business, so no, there’s nothing for you to sign.” He certainly didn’t require anything. “You can just go.”

As quickly as possible, he added silently. Maybe if she went, the edgy feeling he was experiencing would leave with her. When she didn’t rise to her feet immediately, an uneasiness undulated through him.

“I can’t go without giving you some kind of reward,” she protested.

There were folders all over his desk, hard copies that went along with the series of robberies he and Santini were investigating. They had yet to make it into the computer. He nodded toward them. “Letting me get back to my work is reward enough.”

“No, really,” Constance insisted, leaning forward. Bringing with her a whiff of something sweet and stirring. And unsettling his gut, he noted darkly.

The sooner she was gone, the sooner he could grab something to eat. “Yes, really,” he insisted.

She knew ahead of time that he wouldn’t accept money or a gift. He wasn’t that kind of man. It didn’t deter her. “There has to be something I can do. At least let me take you out to dinner.”

He remained firm, fully aware that other men in his position would have given in immediately. Having dinner with a beautiful, grateful woman, well, there were a great many worse things in life.

But one thing always seemed to lead to another, ushering in unwanted complications. Even this. It had begun as a reluctant good deed on his part and wound up turning him into the center of attention in the squad room, a position he couldn’t have hated more if he tried.

The adage about no good deed going unpunished whispered through his mind.

His eyes met hers. “No need,” he repeat with feeling.

Sensations rippled through her as she continued looking into his eyes. There was a need, a definite need, she thought.

Something in his eyes just beneath the surface spoke to her. Told her she was in the presence of one of the walking wounded. Her mother had always said she had a knack for finding lost spirits and restoring them.

Was that what had happened between her and Josh?

No, it wasn’t, she told herself. With Josh it had been different. She’d been the one in need.

But all that was behind her.

The end result was what mattered. She hadn’t made the mistake. She’d followed those unsettling instincts that had kept nagging at her, refusing to allow her to sit back and let Josh take full control of everything the way he’d kept first hinting, then suggesting, and finally insisting that he do. He’d claimed that she couldn’t love him if she didn’t trust him.

Truer words were never spoken.

Feeling somewhat guilty, she’d had Josh and her mother’s accounts checked out by an independent third party. That had brought the truth home to her. That she’s been nothing more than a walking bank account to Josh. A rather sizable bank account. Of course, it wouldn’t have remained large for very long because, as it turned out, Josh Walker had lousy business instincts.