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Beaudyguard: I bought the murder house. The police released the scene, and the bank sold me the mortgage. When I flip it, I’ll need an interior designer. You interested?
Jane: Only if you’re prepared to triple your investment! I’m THAT good.
NewsKat: Thomas Bennett, huh?
Jane’s heart leaped. She rushed to type:
You have doubts?
NewsKat: Many. Why go to so much effort to mail me a letter, then never even try to deliver on his threat, giving me the story of a lifetime?
Jane: And why invent an alter ego to get yourself out of trouble, but stick around and not use the alias when you actually get in trouble? Although, there’s an army of blackmail victims ready to do his dirty work. I imagine he’s enjoying being exactly who he is too much.
Two hard raps sounded at the door, and Jane gasped. “He’s here!” She dropped her phone in her purse, jumped to her feet, and smoothed her dress for the thousandth time. “I’m not sure when I’ll be home,” she told Tiffany, “but you have my number if anything happens. Don’t hesitate to call me. I mean it.”
Tiff rolled her eyes. “Get out of here already. You’re ruining my date. The precious will be fine.”
Jane draped her coat over her arm and approached the entrance. She inhaled and opened the door. Her pulse leaped. Conrad looked incredible. His hair was wonderfully windblown, his five o’clock shadow now a six o’clock storm cloud. An eggshell cashmere sweater stretched over his torso. Faded jeans encased his powerful legs. Leather loafers completed the casual sophistication.
Vulnerability washed over her in waves. What should she do, what should she do?
“I’m sorry I’m late. Something I was waiting on came in late and—” His gaze roved over her and heated. “You are heaven on earth, sweetheart.”
Pleasure bloomed inside her. “You are forgiven. But, um, why are you so casual? You’re the guy who wears a suit to converse with strangers.”
“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.” He smiled a bone-melting smile, then shifted and looked over her shoulder. “Hello, Tiffany. Rolex. She won’t be back tonight.”
She wouldn’t? “Did Tom escape? Or has Barrow realized he hasn’t yet solved the crime? Should I pack an overnight bag?”
Conrad helped her into a coat. “No, no and no.” Irises twinkling, he offered her his hand.
What was he planning? And why hadn’t he reacted to her hint that GBH might have screwed up?
Eyes wide, she accepted, twining her fingers with his. They headed to his black SUV, and he shut the door after seeing her safely into the passenger’s side.
“Are you taking me to dinner?” she asked as he steered the car along back roads. “I think I remember an offer of a meal.”
“You will eat, yes.”
Wait. She recognized this route. “We’re heading to your house.”
He didn’t confirm or deny but sure enough, in a matter of minutes they were parked at his bungalow. Grinning, he jogged around to open her door. Had he cooked her a special meal? What a sweet gesture. But if he hadn’t included cinnamon sugar French toast, she might riot.
She cuddled into his side as they made their way to the porch. Just past the door, she slapped a hand over her mouth. “You recreated the murder scene.” He’d gathered coffee mugs, purple envelopes and folders and even taped an outline to present Deputy Gunn’s body.
“I did. I also brought photos and old case files. Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart. We will work this case until we’re both satisfied with the end result.”
He…this… With a broken cry, she threw herself against him. “I love you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Thou shall always be ready to provide the perfect celebration for the big win. With you at his side, he can’t lose.
–Jane Ladling’s Campaign Companion Code
Jane breathed deep as the love of her life wrapped his strong arms around her and held on tight. As his heat and scent saturated her being, a dark cloud of fear evaporated. Suddenly she just knew. This was right. Tom absolutely was not the killer, and Conrad deserved her everything.
“You finally admitted you love me,” he rasped, and she nodded. “Out loud.”
“You already suspected?”
He eased back enough to cup her jaw. “Sweetheart, you trusted me with your cat. I suspected.”
“By that logic, I love Tiffany, too,” she grumbled, clasping his wrists.
The smile he gave her projected all kinds of warmth. “You do love Tiffany.”
Hardly. Not Tiffany, the three-peat murder suspect and literal gold digger who was sometimes too snobby for her own good. “You can’t know that.”
“I majored in Jane Ladling. I know.”
“I mean, I see why you might think so. We do share a great grandfather.” And the widow was smart. And funny. And wounded. Also, they harbored the same hidden vulnerabilities.
Dang, Conrad had nailed it. She did. She loved Tiffany too. But whatever.
“There are worse things than falling in love with Tiffany Hotckins, I suppose.” Jane gripped his shirt. “My heart is your Valentine gift, in case you didn’t realize. If you’re expecting anything else, you’re not getting it.”
