The Art Of Deception, Book Two, Stolen Hearts series, Romantic Suspense (6 page)

He frowned when he heard a soft whimper from the living room. Andy had been acting strange since he’d picked him up yesterday afternoon. The kid hadn’t laughed once while watching his favorite movie Dumb and Dumber last night.

Gage strode down the hallway and looked into the living room. Andy was on his knees crying quietly as he scrubbed a patch of the old hardwood floor.

“Hey." He put his can of paint on the floor and squatted down beside the small boy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing." Andy stuffed the rag he’d been using behind his back.

Gage sighed and looked at the paint-stained floor. The kid had never lied to him before. How as he supposed to handle this?

“You spilled some paint, I see." Gage swiped his thumb over the floor.

“I’m sorry." Andy sniffed and looked at him anxiously. “I’ll clean it up, I promise. It was an accident.”

“Don’t sweat it. When we sand the floor, the paint will come right out.”

“Oh." Andy wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “It was an accident,” he said again.

“‘Course it was." Gage ruffled the small boy’s hair. The way it stood up reminded him of Sophie’s hair. Damn. He shot to his feet. He had to get that woman out of his head.

“What say we grab a cold one and soak up some rays on the back deck before I take you home?” He watched Andy drag in a teary breath.

“Don’t you want me to help paint?”

Something in the boy’s voice made him take a closer look at his nephew. The kid looked worried, like he was about to get fired or something. Gage squatted down again so they were eye to eye.

“You don’t have to work when you’re here, Andy. I like having you around.”

“Yes I do.”

He squeezed the small boy’s thin shoulder. “Who told you that?”

“Maisie. She said I better be good and work hard or you won’t let me stay here.”

Gage fought to hide his anger. He should have known his sister would lash out after he’d criticized her on the phone yesterday. Their father had done the same, over and over again. Whoever was convenient and weaker than him took the brute force of his anger.

But Maisie wasn’t their father. Gage knew she’d never hurt her son, at least not physically. He’d have to be careful what he said to her from now on.

He pulled his young nephew into his arms. “You and me, Andy, we’re buds. Right?”

“Yeah." Andy sniffled into Gage’s neck.

“Okay. Sometimes buds work together, and sometimes they just hang out. Take in a few games or a movie. The important thing is,” he leaned back to make eye contact, “we like each other, and that’s why we spend time together. If you don’t feel like working on the house sometimes, that’s cool with me. Okay?”

“Did your mom ever get mad at you?”

“Sometimes." Almost never, Gage thought sadly. Exhausted from cleaning other people’s homes, his mother seldom had the energy to raise her voice.

Andy slipped his hand into Gage’s. “Can I have a Pepsi? Martin says only little kids drink root beer.”

Gage smiled. If only he could solve all his problems as easily. “I think I’ve got a Pepsi. Who’s Martin?”

“He moved in next door last week. He’s two years older than me.”

The phone rang as Gage checked his refrigerator for a Pepsi. He snatched up the receiver and tucked it under his ear, then grabbed a can of soda and tossed it to his nephew. “Gage here." He gave Andy the thumbs-up sign when he caught the can.

“Sophie?” His heart tripped at the timidity in her voice. Sophie Pascotto timid?  Something was wrong.

He listened to her stumble over her words. Someone had broken into her apartment, but nothing was touched, except her refrigerator. It was full of food.

Gage rubbed his forehead as she rattled on. Finally, he interrupted her. “You’re telling me you’re upset because someone bought you groceries and put them in your refrigerator?”

Silence hummed over the line. He could have sworn he felt her disappointment crawl right through the connection.

“It’s hard to explain." She sounded tired and disheartened. “That’s why I phoned you. I thought maybe...never mind." She hung up.

He swore volubly as he banged the receiver down.

“What’s wrong?” Andy asked in a worried voice from behind him.

Gage sighed and turned to face his nephew. How could he tell the kid not to swear if he let loose like that in front of him? “Sorry. I shouldn’t have cursed like that. I’m upset." About a damned refrigerator full of food.

“I have to go to work, bud. Can you get your clothes together?”

Andy clasped the can of soda with both hands. “Did someone get shot?”

“Nah, nothing like that. I gotta get my stuff.” Gage unlocked the top drawer of his bedside table and pulled out the small back holster. He slipped his .38 special into the pouch, then belted the holster around his waist so the gun snugged into the small of his back.

He’d only take the one gun. Not that he needed it. Not for a refrigerator full of food. But the food wasn’t what had upset him. He grabbed his badge and clipped it to the waistband of his faded jeans.

The fear he’d heard in Sophie’s voice had gone straight to his gut, as if they had this hotline of communication between them. Without giving it conscious thought, he must have decided she was fearless, because the tremble in her voice had shaken him. He had to see her, if only for a few minutes. Just to make sure she was all right.

Thirty minutes later, Gage pulled into a parking spot half a block from Sophie’s apartment. He must be nuts to drive halfway across town because someone had bought Sophie food. Maybe he should phone her before going up. She’d likely called everyone she knew by now and asked them over. They were probably eating the food that had mysteriously appeared. Then it would be gone, and so would her problem, whatever that problem was.

Gage got out of his truck and locked the door. He was acting as if he were a kid on a first date. Should I, shouldn’t I? Fifteen minutes. In and out. That’s all it would take.

Hot, blinding need slapped up against him as he stepped onto the sidewalk. Fifteen minutes. In and out. Cripes. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked toward Sophie’s apartment. He was turning into the kind of dirty old man who leered at the slightest suggestion. Tomorrow, he had to get on the phone and start calling some of his old girlfriends.

The street door that opened to the stairs of Sophie’s apartment didn’t have a lock on it. Gage’s mouth tightened. He’d noticed that yesterday, but he’d thought the stairs led only to her studio, not to her apartment as well.

And, he hadn’t known that she.... Hadn’t known what, chump? That a slip of a woman with messy hair and big brown eyes would fascinate him? He didn’t need this. Especially after the air hostess episode.

He slammed the street door shut, trotted up the first flight of stairs and stopped outside her apartment door. Fifteen minutes. Maybe ten. He’d listen to what Sophie had to say, then reassure her and leave.

He knocked on the door and waited. Nothing. A chill snaked down his spine. He knocked again, harder this time. What if she’d been right? What if the groceries had signaled a greater danger than a friend stopping by to make a charitable donation?He tried the door handle, but it was locked. She could have gone out. Seven o’clock on a Sunday night. Plenty of people went to dinner at this hour. He pounded on the door with his fist and shouted her name, the chill now crackling through his body.

Maybe she was working on that ugly landscape upstairs in her studio. He’d made it a quarter of a way up the next flight of stairs when her apartment door opened. He turned, and when he saw the pinched expression on her face soften into surprised pleasure, he made himself take the stairs slowly back to the landing.

He needed a second to catch his breath, to tamp down the relief that swamped him. And the delight. Sophie honest-to-God looked happy to see him.

Who wouldn’t be happy to see a cop if their apartment had been broken into?

“You should keep the door to the street locked." That wiped the pleasure from her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, keeping the door half closed.

Good question. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. “You sounded worried. I had to go out to drop the kid off anyway.”

“Your son?” She opened the door a little wider.

He clenched his teeth as he tried to ignore the flickers of heat that licked at him. Sophie had a white bath towel wrapped around her slender body. Nothing more.

“You shouldn’t answer the door wearing only a towel." He edged the words out through clamped lips.

“I was taking a shower, and I thought I heard someone shout my name. I didn’t know.... Look, you’d better come in." She retreated halfway across the room and hitched her towel up further.

Gage hesitated, then stepped into her living room and closed the door behind him. Rather than look at an almost naked Sophie, he concentrated on the cozy room.

Her furniture was old, but looked comfortable. Large plants and smaller ones clustered in groups in the corners. A couple of hooked rugs covered the refinished hardwood flooring, and several paintings–beautiful, airy paintings that somehow made him think of Sophie–adorned the walls.

Finally his gaze came back to rest on Sophie who had been watching him check out her living space. “You should get dressed." No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep that damned raspy sound out of his voice.

“Yes." She walked to the door that opened onto a hallway and stopped to look back at him. “The kitchen’s right here." She inclined her head to the right. “Maybe you want to take a look while I get dressed?”

His heart did a weird flutter thing, and he sucked in his breath. Not her, idiot. The refrigerator.

The kitchen was small enough that if two people worked in it at the same time, they’d get in each other’s way. Or rub up against each other whenever they moved from the counter to the stove. Or.... Fifteen minutes, he reminded himself.

He yanked the refrigerator door open and stared inside. Yup. That was one hell of a load of groceries. She even had asparagus. He had a great recipe for cooking asparagus.

“See what I mean?” she asked from the doorway.

“It’s full." Thank God for bulky sweaters. She had swaddled herself in an oversized beige sweater that reached her knees.

He let the door swing shut. “So what’s the problem?” He folded his arms and leaned against the small wooden table behind him. “Most people would be thrilled if someone stocked their refrigerator.”

She moved over to the counter and hitched herself up to sit on the counter top. “For one thing, I wasn’t here, and my door was locked.”

“Okay, that’s break and enter. Any signs of forcible entry?”

“You mean like someone fooled around with a lock or something?” She frowned and swung her legs.

“Yeah. Second floor, they’d have to come in through the door. Unless you have access to the roof?”

“No. There’s just one door to each floor. And the fire escape, but that window’s locked. I didn’t see anything wrong with the locks on the doors, but you could check them, I guess.”

“Right." He pushed away from the table. “Anyone else have a key?”

“Yes." She looked a few inches to the right of him instead of returning his gaze.

“How many people?”

“Um, I don’t know exactly.”

He moved in front of her so she would have to look at him. “What does that mean? That you pass your key out to every person you meet?”

“Well, Raphael has one,” she said defensively. “And Ciro. Cleo, too. You met her in the bar Friday night. She needed a place to stay for a few weeks last year.”

He braced his hands on the counter on either side of her and bent down to look her in the eye. “So far all you’ve told me is this place is a like a throughway station. People stop by whenever. They probably eat your food and hang out for a few hours, like a home away from home?”

She swallowed before speaking, as if she had something stuck in her throat. “That’s about it.”

“So what are you not telling me?”

She swallowed again and looked down to where their bodies almost touched. “It started about a month ago." That damned tremble was back in her voice again. “Someone filled the refrigerator full of food, but no one seemed to know who.”