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McIver's Mission
Brenda Harlen


BULLETS. ARSON. BOMBS. SOMEONE WANTED HER DEAD.Arden Doherty had dedicated her career to protecting families, but now her own life was on the line. The driven attorney hadn't thought things could get any more dangerous…until she wound up in bed with Shaun McIver. He was a colleague, a friend–she couldn't afford anything more. Now Shaun was hell-bent on keeping Arden safe from the unknown danger that stalked her, no matter the risk. He promised she wouldn't get hurt, but it was no longer the physical danger that concerned Arden most. How could she keep sharing her body with this incredible man and keep her heart intact?









“I’m not pretending to care about you because I’m concerned about you. I’m concerned because I care.”


Arden wanted to believe him but was afraid to trust him, afraid to trust her own feelings for Shaun. There were still things she didn’t want Shaun to know. Things she might never be ready to tell him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out that the fire in your apartment was deliberately set? Did you think I wouldn’t connect this arson to the last letter you received?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—I don’t—” She remembered his reaction after the fire: his fear and concern, and the way he’d made love to her, slowly and tenderly, until she felt as if she were really cherished. “I’m not used to having people worry about me.”

“Then you’ll have to get used to it,” Shaun said. “Because I’m not going away.”


Dear Reader,

Our exciting month of May begins with another of bestselling author and reader favorite Fiona Brand’s Australian Alpha heroes. In Gabriel West: Still the One, we learn that former agent Gabriel West and his ex-wife have spent their years apart wishing they were back together again. And their wish is about to come true, but only because Tyler needs protection from whoever is trying to kill her—and Gabriel is just the man for the job.

Marie Ferrarella’s crossline continuity, THE MOM SQUAD, continues, and this month it’s Intimate Moments’ turn. In The Baby Mission, a pregnant special agent and her partner develop an interest in each other that extends beyond police matters. Kylie Brant goes on with THE TREMAINE TRADITION with Entrapment, in which wickedly handsome Sam Tremaine needs the heroine to use the less-than-savory parts of her past to help him capture an international criminal. Marilyn Tracy offers another story set on her Rancho Milagro, or Ranch of Miracles, with At Close Range, featuring a man scarred—inside and out—and the lovely rancher who can help heal him. And in Vickie Taylor’s The Last Honorable Man, a mother-to-be seeks protection from the man she’d been taught to view as the enemy—and finds a brand-new life for herself and her child in the process. In addition, Brenda Harlan makes her debut with McIver’s Mission, in which a beautiful attorney who’s spent her life protecting families now finds that she is in danger—and the handsome man who’s designated himself as her guardian poses the greatest threat of all.

Enjoy! And be sure to come back next month for more of the best romantic reading around, right here in Intimate Moments.






Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor




McIver’s Mission

Brenda Harlen





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




BRENDA HARLEN


grew up in a small town, surrounded by books and imaginary friends. Although she always dreamed of being a writer, she chose to follow a more traditional career path first. After two years of practicing as an attorney (including an appearance in front of the Supreme Court of Canada), she gave up the “real” job to be a mom and to try her hand at writing books. Three years, five manuscripts and another baby later, she sold her first book—an RWA Golden Heart Winner—to Silhouette.

Brenda lives in southern Ontario with her real-life husband/hero, two heroes-in-training and two neurotic dogs. She is still surrounded by books (“too many books,” according to her children) and imaginary friends, but she also enjoys communicating with “real” people. Readers can contact Brenda by e-mail at brendaharlen@yahoo.com or by snail mail c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279.


This book is for Neill,

my husband and my hero,

for always believing.

And for Connor and Ryan,

heroes-in-training,

for giving me a reason to follow my dreams.


With thanks to:

Sheryl Davis, Sharon May and Kate Weichelt,

for their critiquing expertise

and priceless friendship;

Tom Torrance,

for teaching me more about writing romance

than I thought a man ever could;

and Susan Litman,

for loving this story enough to buy it.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18




Chapter 1


Laid to rest.

The words taunted Arden Doherty with the illusion of comfort, the suggestion of peace. There had been little peace in the lives of Denise and Brian Hemingway, even less in the way their lives had been taken from them. Abruptly. Tragically. Unnecessarily.

Arden turned away from the gathering. Her absence wouldn’t be noticed by the small crowd of mourners who’d come to say goodbye. She wasn’t family; she hadn’t been a friend. There was no reason to stay any longer, nothing she could do now.

Still, she glanced back one more time, not sure why she felt compelled to take that final look. She knew she’d never forget the image of those two glossy wood coffins, side by side—one less than four feet in length—gleaming in the late-September sun.

Just as she’d never forget that she was responsible for them being there.

Arden walked briskly, as if she might outdistance her thoughts, her grief, her guilt. She paused outside the cemetery gates to put on her sunglasses. The dark lenses cut the bright glare of the afternoon sun and masked the tears that burned behind her eyes. She desperately tried to switch mental gears, to think of something, anything but the mother and son who would soon be buried.

She turned into Woodfield Park, her steps slowing as the top of the courthouse came into view: thick stone walls; gleaming, multifaceted windows; towering white pillars. More impressive to Arden than the architecture of the building was what went on inside. The law was a complicated piece of machinery that churned tirelessly, if not always successfully.

The building was a visible symbol of the unending fight for truth and justice. Arden had dedicated her life to that same fight, and her own office was just down the street, where she could look out her window and see the peaked roof of the courthouse. Sometimes that glimpse was all she needed to remember why she’d become a family law attorney: to fight for the women and children who couldn’t fight for themselves.

Today, she wasn’t feeling very inspired, and she wasn’t ready to go back to the office. Not yet. She needed a few minutes by herself to grieve, to acknowledge the helplessness that now seemed so overwhelming. She found a vacant bench nestled in the shelter of towering oak trees and settled against the wooden slats, confident that she was hidden from the pedestrian traffic on the path by the massive stone fountain. Here, if not solace, she could at least have solitude.

She tilted her head to look up at the sky, staring at the cloudless expanse that, even through the shade of her sunglasses, was so gloriously blue it almost hurt her eyes. The trees had started to change color, flaunting shades of gold and russet and red. Birds chattered somewhere overhead, although it wouldn’t be long before most of them headed south to escape the cold Pennsylvania winter.

It was a beautiful day. Or it would have been if she could have forgotten, for even half a minute, about the scene she’d walked away from in the cemetery. And the part she’d played in putting the mother and son there.

She felt a tear spill onto her cheek, swiped at it impatiently. She’d learned a long time ago that tears were futile, crying a sign of weakness. But right now she couldn’t help feeling helpless, ineffectual.

“Arden?”

She stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. The last thing she wanted right now was company. Especially Shaun McIver’s company. She ignored him, hoped he’d keep walking.

Of course, he didn’t. Anyone else would have respected her need for privacy, but not Shaun. Arden had met him eight years earlier when her cousin had married Shaun’s brother the first time. After a five-year separation Nikki and Colin had recently remarried, and Arden had danced with Shaun at the wedding.

It had been an obligatory dance between the maid of honor and best man, but it had opened the door to feelings Arden had buried long ago, introduced her to desires she preferred to ignore. Uncomfortable with the emotions he stirred inside her, Arden had resolved to stay away from him. But Shaun was a lawyer, too, which meant that she had occasion to cross paths with him both personally and professionally.

“Please, go away.” Her tone wasn’t as firm as she’d wanted, the words not quite steady.

He ignored her request and lowered himself onto the bench beside her. No doubt Shaun believed he had the right—maybe even an obligation—to intrude on her pain.

Arden braced for the questions, prepared to deflect any attempts at idle conversation. But he didn’t say anything at all. He just slipped his arm across her shoulders and drew her close to the warm strength of his body.

The quiet compassion, the wordless understanding, unraveled her. She felt another tear slip out, track slowly down her cheek. Then another. Arden pulled off her sunglasses, brushed away the moisture with her fingertips. She drew in a deep breath, fought for control of her emotions. She tried to pull back, to pull herself together, but Shaun didn’t release her.

“Just let it go,” he said.

And she did. She wasn’t strong enough to hold back the tears any longer, and they slid down her cheeks. Tears of regret, despair, guilt. Helpless to stop the flow, she turned her face into the soft fabric of his shirt and sobbed quietly.

Shaun rubbed his palm over her back, soothing her as a mother would soothe a child—as Denise Hemingway might have once soothed four-year-old Brian. Arden’s tears flowed faster, and still Shaun continued to hold her. She didn’t know how long he sat with her, how long she cried. Eventually her sobs subsided into hiccups, her tears dried. Still, her throat was raw, her eyes burned, her gut ached with the anguish and futility of loss.

She felt something soft pressed into her hand and focused her bleary eyes on it.

A handkerchief?

It almost made her smile. She didn’t think anyone carried them anymore. She should have known that Shaun would. She pulled away from him and unfolded the pressed square of white linen to wipe her eyes, blow her nose.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

Arden shook her head. “No.”

Maybe he thought she owed him some kind of explanation after such an outburst, but she hadn’t asked him to intrude on her grief. She wasn’t used to leaning on anyone other than herself. That she’d needed someone, and that he’d been there for her, both surprised and irritated her. And she was just waiting for him to pry, to demand, so she’d have a reason to be annoyed.

But he didn’t pry. He didn’t demand. Instead he tipped her chin up and looked at her with genuine concern and compassion in the depths of his dark green eyes. “Are you going to be okay?”

She drew a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

Shaun glanced at his watch, and she hoped he had somewhere else he needed to be. She didn’t like to seem ungrateful, but she’d cried all the tears she had in her, and now she just wanted a few minutes to herself to gather her thoughts. Then she would head back to the office and bury herself in any one of a dozen cases that needed her immediate attention.

“Do you want to grab some dinner?” he asked.

Arden frowned. “With you?”

One side of his mouth curved in a wry smile, and she felt a jolt of something deep inside her. Something she didn’t understand and wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.

“Yes, with me,” he said.

“I don’t think so.” She was baffled by the invitation and wondered if all that crying had somehow short-circuited her brain.

“Why not?” he asked in the same casual tone.

Her frown deepened. Why was he pursuing this? She couldn’t ever remember him seeking out her company. “Because I have to get back to the office.”

“You’re not going to get any work done tonight.”

“Despite the outburst,” she said, irritated by his confident assertion, “I didn’t have a complete mental breakdown.”

“You need to get your mind off what’s bothering you.”

“And having dinner with you is going to do that?” she asked skeptically.

“It might.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer. And I appreciate the shoulder. But I don’t have time—”

“Dinner with me,” Shaun interrupted without raising his voice, “or I’ll call Nikki.”

Arden lifted one eyebrow, silently communicating her displeasure that he’d drag her cousin into this. “Why would you call Nikki?”

“Because I’m concerned about you. You’re upset about something, and I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“I have things I need to do.”

He pulled a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and held his thumb poised over the keypad. “She’s on speed dial.”

Arden sighed. The last thing she wanted was her cousin to be worrying about and fussing over her. “I want Mexican.”

“Mexican it is.” He dropped the phone back in his pocket.



Shaun sat across from Arden at a scarred wooden table, studying her as she studied the menu, wondering how they’d ended up here together. His invitation had been as much a shock to himself as it had been to her. But he couldn’t leave her alone when she was obviously distraught about something.

Her nickname around the courthouse was “ice princess,” and everything he knew about her confirmed that she’d earned that designation. Not that he’d ever referred to her as such. Not out loud, anyway. Although it seemed to him more of a compliment than an insult—a tribute to her ability to remain detached and professional as she represented her clients.

There’d been nothing cool or detached about the woman who’d cried in his arms. She’d curled into him, her body soft and fragrant and completely feminine. She’d been vulnerable, almost fragile, her sobs wrenched from somewhere deep inside. As he’d held her, the outpouring of grief had squeezed his own heart.

He frowned, disturbed by this thought. He didn’t want to have warm, tender feelings toward Arden. He didn’t want to have any feelings for Arden. He respected her as a professional acquaintance, he appreciated her as a woman, but he had no personal interest. Besides, she was practically family.

Okay, so she wasn’t related to him in a way that would make any sexual interest illegal or immoral. But the connection was close enough that he’d have to be a complete idiot to risk a romantic interlude. If it ended badly, it would be awkward for both of them on family occasions.

Besides, he had his own reputation as a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy. It was as inappropriate as he now knew Arden’s to be, but it didn’t bother him. The reputation was an effective deterrent to all the marriage-minded women who might otherwise set their sights in his direction. He hadn’t had a serious relationship since Jenna had ended their engagement six years earlier, and he wasn’t in the market for one now.

The appearance of the waiter brought his attention back to the present. Arden still had her nose buried in the menu, although he could tell by the distant look in her deep brown eyes that her thoughts were elsewhere. He reached across the table to pluck the menu out of her hand and return it to the waiter.

“Why don’t we start with the deluxe beef nachos, followed by chicken fajitas?” he suggested.

“That’s fine,” she agreed.

The waiter scribbled down the order.

“And a couple of Corona,” Shaun added.

The waiter returned almost immediately with two bottles topped with wedges of lime. Shaun picked up his beer and tapped it against hers.

“To better tomorrows,” he said.

She forced a smile, but the sadness continued to lurk in her eyes. “I don’t think I thanked you.”

“I got the impression you would’ve preferred to be left alone.”

“I would have,” she admitted. “I don’t like to fall apart. I like it even less when there are witnesses.”

“There’s no shame in needing someone to lean on every once in a while.”

She tipped the bottle to her lips and sipped. “When was the last time you soaked someone’s shirt with your tears?”

He sat back, considering. “I can’t remember.”

“Yeah,” she said dryly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Sometimes it’s harder to let go than it is to hold it in,” he told her, knowing that it was true for Arden.

What had happened to her that she felt compelled to bury her feelings so deep? Why was she always so determined to be strong and independent? And why was he so affected by the hint of vulnerability in the depths of those beautiful eyes?

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. She jolted, and the furrow on her brow deepened. He found he enjoyed seeing the cool and controlled Arden Doherty flustered. And he found it quite interesting that his touch—even something as casual as his hand on hers—seemed to fluster her.

She tugged her hand away, but not before he noticed the way her pulse had skipped, then raced. It made him wonder how she might react if he ever really touched her. And it forced him to admit that he wanted to really touch her.

He shook off the thought, took a mental step in retreat. Offering to share a meal with a woman wasn’t analogous to feeling an attraction. He did not want to touch Arden. He wasn’t looking for any kind of involvement.

And if being here with her had him contemplating something more than dinner, it was just that he’d obviously been too long without a woman in his life. Besides, contemplating was steps away from acting, and he had no intention of making any kind of move on Arden Doherty.

Still, he was relieved when the waiter returned with a heaping platter of nachos.

Arden’s stomach grumbled; Shaun grinned.

“I missed lunch today,” she admitted, as she dipped a nacho chip laden with spicy beef, cheese, and jalapeños into the dish of sour cream. “I was tied up in court all morning and then…I had…somewhere else I had to go.”

Her evasive comment intrigued him. “Somewhere else” was obviously where she’d been before he’d found her in the park. It shouldn’t matter to him; he shouldn’t care where she’d been or what had upset her.

He decided to redirect the conversation. “I can’t believe we’ve never had dinner together before.”

“We’ve had dinner together plenty of times.”

“With Nikki and Colin,” he agreed. “Never just the two of us.”

“Why would we?”

He shrugged. “We’re colleagues, of sorts. We’re family, almost. It just seems strange that we’ve never shared a meal.”

“We wouldn’t be doing so now if you hadn’t blackmailed me,” Arden reminded him.

He grinned. “I must admit, it’s a novel approach for me with a woman.”

Her lips twitched in a reluctant smile, and Shaun’s breath caught. He’d always known she was beautiful. Almost too beautiful. It was an observation, he assured himself, not an attraction. Yet, he couldn’t discount the immediate physical response of his body when those sensual lips curved, parted slightly. He wanted to touch his mouth to hers, just once, to know if she tasted as sweet as the promise of those lips.

“There’s no need to waste your charm on me,” Arden said.

“Why do you think it would be wasted?”

“We both know I’m only here with you because you thought I’d fall apart again if you left me alone.”

“I was concerned about you. I am concerned,” he admitted.

“Don’t be.”

It was her tone as much as the words that informed him the ice princess was back. Or so she wanted him to believe. But why? What had happened to make her so distrustful, so wary?

He shook off the thought. Whatever it was, it was her problem. She’d said as much herself. He didn’t need to worry about Arden Doherty, and he didn’t need any complications in his own life right now.



As she shared dinner and conversation with Shaun, Arden found herself beginning to relax. She’d wanted to be annoyed with him for having forced the situation. She didn’t like being coerced into anything. But she was also grateful. She had planned to go back to work, but she knew that by six o’clock the office would be empty. There would be no one with whom to share meaningless conversation, nothing to distract her from thinking about Denise and Brian, wondering if there was something more she could have done, something that might have changed the way things had turned out.

She’d thought she wanted to be alone, but what she really wanted—what she needed—was a diversion.

Shaun McIver was one hell of a diversion.

He was certainly a pleasure to look at: more than six feet of well-honed male with sun-kissed golden highlights in his dark blond hair. His face was angular, with slashing cheekbones and a slight dimple in his square chin. But it was his eyes that got to her. They were a dark mossy green with amber flecks that could take her breath away if she let them.

Which she didn’t. He might be a beautiful specimen of masculinity, but she wasn’t interested. Not in Shaun McIver, not in any other man. She’d learned a long time ago that opening herself up to love meant opening herself up to heartache. Her mother, her stepfather, her almost-fiancé—everyone who’d ever claimed to love her had hurt her. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Still, she had no moral objection to sharing a meal with Shaun, especially when the food was Mexican and she was starving.

By the time they left the restaurant after dinner, the temperature outside had dropped several degrees. Arden shivered, and Shaun slipped an arm over her shoulders. She shivered again, but this time it wasn’t from the chill in the air.

Arden frowned. She didn’t understand her reaction to him. Surely she didn’t have any romantic feelings for Shaun—that was too ridiculous to consider. Maybe it had just been too long since she’d been with a man. Too long since she’d even wanted to be. In the past several years, she hadn’t met anyone who understood the importance of her career. Even the lawyers she’d dated thought her commitment bordered on obsession. And there were times, even she had to admit, when it did. When it had to. Because there were times when she was the last hope for the abused women and children who came to her for help.

Shaun turned automatically in the direction of Arden’s apartment building. She’d forgotten that he knew where she lived, that he’d been drafted by Nikki to help Arden move several months earlier.

“You don’t have to walk me home,” she protested.

“What would Nikki say if I didn’t see you safely to your door?”

Arden shrugged but didn’t bother to respond as they headed down the street. They walked in companionable silence, listening to the muted sounds of the evening. Fairweather was hardly a booming metropolis at the best of times, and by eight o’clock on a Friday evening, this part of the downtown core was pretty much asleep. A few streets over, people would be filtering in to the bars and dance clubs, but here everything was quiet. Her apartment, just a few blocks ahead, would be quieter still.

“I really should have gone back to the office,” Arden said, wondering if she should do so now.

“It’s Friday night,” Shaun reminded her. “If it’s that important, it will be there tomorrow.”

She nodded. He was right, but she couldn’t help thinking that work might help keep her mind occupied, help her push the events of the day aside—at least for a while. Shaun’s company had provided a reprieve, as he’d promised, but she knew that the haunting memories would come back as soon as he was gone.

She turned up the walk to the front door of her building, his arm dropping from her shoulders as she reached in her pocket for the key. “I can find my way from here.”

“Is that a not-so-polite way of saying good-night?”

“I thought it was polite,” she said.

He smiled, and her heart stuttered. She told herself the reaction was a result of her exhaustion and not indicative of any attraction. She almost believed it.

“It would be more polite to invite me inside for a cup of tea,” he said.

“I don’t have any tea.”

“Coffee, then.”

She didn’t really want to be alone, but she didn’t understand why he wanted to spend any more time with her. “Fine. Would you like to come up for a cup of coffee?”

His smile widened; her pulse accelerated. “That would be great.”

The old, converted home that housed her apartment didn’t have the luxury of elevators, so she led the way through the small lobby to the stairs. On the second-floor landing, they passed Greta Dempsey, one of Arden’s neighbors, with Rocky, Greta’s toy poodle. The flamboyant Greta was dressed for an evening in front of the television in a fuchsia satin robe with lime-green slippers on her feet and curlers in her hair. Rocky had fuchsia bows on both of his ears. After exchanging greetings, Mrs. Dempsey looked Shaun up and down, then grinned at Arden and indicated her approval with a thumbs-up.

Wishing Mrs. Dempsey a good evening, Arden hurried up the last flight of stairs to her third-floor apartment, grateful that the dim lighting in the hallway wouldn’t reveal the flush that infused her cheeks.

She unlocked the door of her apartment and stepped inside, her hand halting in mid-air by the light switch as her gaze landed on the envelope on the hardwood floor.

And the knot in her belly that had only started to loosen, tightened again.




Chapter 2


Shaun hadn’t missed the sudden hitch in Arden’s breathing as she fumbled for the lights. Concerned, he stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. Her eyes were wide and focused on the floor. Following her gaze, he bent to pick up the envelope. There was no postage, no address, no return address. Nothing but her name printed in red ink. Nothing at all to explain the prickling sensation at the back of his neck or his sudden and instinctive desire to protect her.

“Do you always get mail delivered to your door?” he asked casually, offering her the envelope.

Arden blinked, then took the letter from him. “Not—” she cleared her throat “—not usually.”

She walked into the kitchen, tossed the piece of mail onto the counter as if it was of no importance. But he’d seen the fear in her eyes, the erratic throbbing of the pulse at the base of her jaw as she’d taken the envelope from his hand. It was as if she already knew what was in the letter.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” he asked.

Arden tried to smile, but her lips trembled rather than curved. “It’s probably just from…my landlord. There’s a…a new tenant in the building. Downstairs. He’s been complaining…about noise.” She shifted her gaze, cleared her throat. “He—the landlord—has been delivering warning notices…to keep the new guy happy.”

Shaun knew she was lying, and he couldn’t help being concerned. Arden didn’t rattle easily. She was self-assured, strong, independent. And right now she was terrified.

He bit back a sigh, wondering what the hell was going on in her life, wishing he could just walk away, and knowing he wouldn’t. He reached out and gently laid a hand on her shoulder, surprised when she jumped as if he’d pulled a gun on her. He dropped his hand. “Are you okay?”

“Sure. Fine.” She stepped away from him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The letter—from your landlord.” He caught a flicker in the depths of her dark eyes. “He isn’t harassing you about this noise complaint, is he?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Gary’s a good guy.”

He wanted to press, but she had already taken the carafe from the coffeemaker and crossed to the sink to fill it with water. Instead he leaned back against the counter and watched her, and he almost forgot the multitude of unanswered questions niggling at the back of his mind.

She was a pleasure to watch: tall and slender, with subtle curves in all the right places. She emptied the water into the reservoir, then replaced the carafe, and he felt his mouth go dry as she reached for the buttons that ran down the front of her jacket. She was wearing a blouse underneath, but still, watching her unfasten those buttons, slide her arms out of the sleeves, seemed so…intimate. She tossed the jacket over the back of a chair and turned to the refrigerator.

Shaun swallowed and tried not to notice the way the silky fabric of her blouse molded to the curve of her breasts. Then she opened the fridge and bent at the knees, her black skirt stretching enticingly over the smooth curve of her shapely buttocks as she reached for the tin of coffee.

He tore his gaze away.

What was wrong with him? This was Arden. She was practically family.

She was also a woman. An incredibly attractive woman. Although he’d never been blind to her attributes, the attraction had never before hit him in the same way. It had been a while since he’d felt more than the most basic stirring of desire, and this sudden and fierce attraction concerned him.

Why had he even suggested coming up to her apartment? Why couldn’t he have taken her less-than-subtle hint that she wanted to be alone?

Because it was Friday night and he didn’t want to be alone.

He also didn’t want to be hanging out at a smoky bar with the usual crowd, trying to seem duly enthralled with Sarah Jones, a court clerk he’d dated a few times last year. He was tired of the bar scene, weary of the dating game. Which was why he’d practically leaped at the opportunity to have dinner with Arden. He felt comfortable with her. And because he wasn’t trying to get her into his bed, he didn’t have to impress her. He didn’t have to pretend.

But if he really wasn’t interested in Arden, why was he finding it so difficult to tear his eyes from her? Why was he unable to stop imagining the subtle curves hidden beneath her tidy little suit?

In the interests of self-preservation, he moved away from her, stepping out of the kitchen to survey the modest apartment.

The living room walls were off-white in color and completely bare. No artwork or photos marred the pristine surface. The furniture was deep blue: a plush sofa and two matching chairs that were covered in some suedelike fabric. In front of the sofa was a dark wood coffee table polished to a high gloss. A matching entertainment unit sat against the opposite wall, containing a small television, a VCR and a portable stereo.

There was a short bookcase beside the front door with two framed photos on top of it. Shaun stepped closer. One frame held Nikki and Colin’s wedding picture, the other, their daughter, Carly’s, most recent school photo. There were no other mementos or knickknacks around the room. No magazines tossed on the coffee table, no decorative cushions on the sofa, no fancy lamps or little glass dishes. There were no plants or flowers, no signs of life. In fact, there was nothing in the room—save those two photos—that wasn’t useful or necessary.

Even the books on the shelves, arranged in alphabetical order, were legal texts. The room was very much a reflection of its tenant, he realized. Practical, efficient, ruthlessly organized. A beautiful façade, offering no hint of anything inside. The realization frustrated him, as did his sudden curiosity about a woman he’d known for so long. Except that he didn’t really know her at all.

He glanced in the direction of the dining room. At least, he assumed it was the dining room. It was hard to tell as the room was bare of furniture except for the packing boxes stacked four and five high against the back wall.

Beyond the dining room was a short hallway, probably leading to Arden’s bedroom. He turned away. The last thing he needed to think about was where she slept. What she slept in.

He moved back to the kitchen.

There were no dirty dishes in the sink, no crumbs on the countertop. Just the coffeemaker, currently bubbling away, and a microwave. Curious, he peeked over her shoulder as she opened the refrigerator again. She put the can of coffee inside and pulled out a carton of milk. Other than those two items, there were half a dozen containers of yogurt, a couple of cans of diet cola and a half-empty bottle of white wine. That was it. He frowned. No wonder her kitchen was spotless—she didn’t eat here.

As she closed the door again, he noticed the flutter of a small newspaper clipping that had been taped to the outside. It was the obituary of Denise Hemingway, age twenty-nine, and her four year-old son, Brian. He remembered reading about them in the paper, how they’d both been killed by Eric Hemingway—Denise’s husband, Brian’s father—before he’d turned the gun on himself.

It was hard to miss the story. Things like that might be commonplace in bigger cities, but in small-town Fairweather, Pennsylvania, domestic slayings were a rare occurrence and, consequently, front-page news. The victim, he realized, must have been Arden’s client.

He scanned further, noted that the funeral was…today.

Finally the pieces clicked into place and confirmed his earlier suspicions about Arden. She wasn’t cool or detached. She was a woman who cared about her clients, and cared deeply. Not only had she taken the time to go to the funeral, she’d shed deep, grief-filled tears for the mother and son who had lost their lives so tragically.

“How do you take your coffee?” Arden asked.

“Black.”

She filled the two mugs and handed one to him, then added a splash of milk to the other.

“Denise Hemingway,” he said, and saw her back stiffen.

She set the milk carton down before turning to face him.

“What about her?” Her eyes were stark, almost empty, her voice the same. But he knew now that it was a mask, that her emotions ran deep.

“She was your client?” he prompted.

Arden nodded.

“That’s where you were earlier today,” he guessed.

She nodded again. “Yes.”

She didn’t ask for his compassion, but he felt compelled to offer it. He set his mug on the counter and moved toward her, breaching the few-foot gap that separated them to take her in his arms. She resisted at first, her back straight, her shoulders stiff. But he continued to hold her, running his hand down her back, his fingers roaming over the silky fabric of her blouse.

Would her skin be as soft? He chastised himself for the wayward thought. He was supposed to be offering her comfort, not speculating about the feel of her naked skin beneath his hands.

She didn’t cry again, but she finally let out a long, shuddering breath and relaxed against him.

“She came to me for help,” Arden said, sounding completely dejected. “She was counting on me, and I let her down.”

“You did everything you could for her,” he said, knowing it was true, and knowing she would find no comfort in that fact.



Arden pulled out of Shaun’s arms. She didn’t want to talk about Denise and Brian, she didn’t even want to think about them right now. When Shaun went home, when she went to bed, she’d think about them then. She wouldn’t be able to stop. Nor would she be able to stop the nightmares that plagued her sleep.

“Why don’t we take our coffee into the living room?” she suggested.

“Okay,” Shaun agreed.

She was grateful that he didn’t ask any more questions or try to appease her with useless words or platitudes. Nothing anyone could say or do could make up for what had happened.

She moved over to the sofa and curled up in her usual spot at one end, then wished she’d chosen a chair when he sat down beside her. She wasn’t sure why she was so unnerved by his presence today. She’d spent a fair amount of time in his company over the past few years. When Arden had been living with her cousin, Nikki, and Nikki’s daughter, Carly, Shaun had visited often to spend time with his former sister-in-law and his niece. Maybe that was the difference. It was just the two of them tonight, and being alone with him felt strange to Arden.

“This is great coffee,” Shaun said.

Arden was grateful for the change of topic. “It’s Jamaican. I don’t share it with everyone, but I figure you earned it. Putting up with me this afternoon, buying me dinner.”

“It was my pleasure.”

She managed a smile. “I doubt it, but thanks.”

“That’s what friends are for,” he said easily.

She propped her feet up on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles as she settled back against the cushions. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me, McIver.”

“Did I suggest you did?”

“No, but I think your sudden offer of friendship was inspired by the fact that I cried on your shoulder. Believe me, it was a one-time thing.”

“That’s too bad,” he said. “I thought it was a pretty good excuse to hold you in my arms.”

“I wouldn’t think you needed any kind of excuse to hold a woman. Aren’t they lining up for the privilege?”

Shaun grinned. “I wasn’t talking about any woman. I was talking about you. You fit in my arms, Doherty.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I noticed it before, when we danced at Colin and Nikki’s wedding.”

Arden didn’t want to be reminded of the dance they’d shared. Of the way their bodies had melded together, like two pieces of a puzzle. It had made her wonder if they would mesh so perfectly if they were horizontal.

“Anything you want to share?” Shaun sounded amused.

“No,” she snapped, conscious of the flush in her cheeks.

“I’ve never seen you blush, Doherty. It’s…endearing.”

“I don’t blush.”

“Yeah.” He stroked a finger down the curve of her cheek, and her breath caught in her throat. “You do.”

She pulled back, stood up. “Do you want more coffee?”

His smile was lazy, satisfied. “Sure.”

Arden retreated to the kitchen, chastising her overactive hormones. All he’d done was touch her, and her skin had burned. She took several deep breaths before returning to the living room with the pot of coffee. She refilled his mug, conscious of his gaze following her even though she avoided looking at him. She wasn’t sure she understood what was going on here, what the undercurrents were about. She was probably experiencing some kind of emotional meltdown—a normal reaction after the kind of day she’d had.

Somewhat reassured, she returned to her seat on the sofa.

“What’s in all the boxes?” Shaun asked, gesturing to the stack against the dining room wall.

“Books.”

“What kind of books?”

“Textbooks, case law.”

“Why aren’t they unpacked?”

“I don’t have any shelves.”

He looked around, visually confirming her statement. “I could build some for you.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“I like to work with my hands,” he said.

The innocent comment brought to mind erotic images of things she’d like him to do with those hands, and building shelves wasn’t in the top ten. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time,” she said, sounding just a little breathless.

“Not really. And it would give us a chance to get to know each other better.”

“Why?” she asked again.

“Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I guess so,” she agreed, not completely convinced.

“I built the shelves in Nikki’s den,” he told her. “In case you have doubts about my abilities.”

No, Arden had no such doubts. “Fine, you can build shelves for me if you want to.”

“Great. I’ll come by tomorrow to take some measurements. Think about what kind of wood you’d like.”

As if she would know the difference between maple and mahogany. She smiled. “All right.”

“You have a beautiful smile, Doherty.”

Arden tried to shift away from him, but her hip was already against the arm of the sofa. “Thank you.”

“Why does that make you uncomfortable?” he asked.

She didn’t bother to deny it. She’d always felt that too much importance was placed on appearance, and she knew she hadn’t done anything to earn her looks. The flawless skin, the silky hair, the dark, almond-shaped eyes were a result of genetic makeup. She looked like her mother, and she’d never been particularly proud of that fact. Every time she looked in the mirror she was reminded of the woman who’d given birth to her, and who had abandoned her. “Looks are superficial,” she said. “They shouldn’t matter.”

He seemed to consider her statement, then nodded. “You also have a beautiful heart.”

His words caused an unfamiliar warmth to expand inside her. Uncomfortable with the feeling, she set her mug on the coffee table. “It’s getting late, Shaun.”

“You’re trying to get rid of me again.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not a promising start to a friendship,” he said.

“I would think a friend would appreciate honesty,” she countered.

He sipped from his cup. “I’m not finished with my coffee.”

“Too bad. I have a busy day tomorrow and I need to go to bed.”

“Now that brings to mind all kinds of interesting possibilities,” he said.

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Go home, McIver.”

“All right,” he agreed, and drained the last of his coffee.

Arden followed Shaun to the door. She should have been relieved that he was leaving, but now that his departure was imminent, she wasn’t so eager to see him go. She’d enjoyed the verbal sparring, the chance to think about things other than the hellish day she’d had, and she didn’t want to be alone with the memories and regrets that plagued her.

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Shaun paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Or she would be, anyway. If there was one thing she’d learned over the years, it was how to take care of herself.

Still he hesitated. “You know you can call me if you need anything. Anytime.”

It was a nice thought, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—take him up on it. “Go home, Shaun.”

He smiled, and her traitorous pulse skipped a beat before she ordered it to behave. She wasn’t going to get all giddy and weak-kneed just because Shaun McIver smiled at her. But she couldn’t help the way her breath caught in her throat when her eyes met his, watched them darken.

Something crackled in the air between them. Something powerful and unexpected and just a little scary, and if her brain hadn’t seemed to shut down, she might have stepped away. Instead, she stood rooted, mesmerized.

He leaned toward her, and if Arden didn’t know better she might have thought he was going to kiss her. But she did know better, and she knew—




Chapter 3


Whatever it was Arden thought she knew slipped from her mind as Shaun’s lips touched hers.

She watched his eyelids lower, felt her own flutter, then close. In darkness her other senses were heightened, the impact of the kiss magnified. The touch of his lips sent tingles down her spine; the musky, male scent of him clouded her brain; and she lost herself in his kiss.

His lips were warm and firm as they moved over hers with a mastery that was either pure God-given talent or the result of much practice. A mastery that didn’t so much coax as demand a response. She responded, and demanded in turn.

The sensations that stirred inside her were as unwelcome as they were unfamiliar. She’d been kissed by more than a few men in her thirty-one years, but she’d never been kissed like this. The heat building inside her was like an inferno: burning, raging, devouring. Desire wasn’t a new emotion, but the intensity of this desire baffled her even as her mouth moved against his. Had any of her brain cells been functioning, she might have pulled back. She might have recognized this as insanity and withdrawn from it. But that first touch of his lips on hers had abolished all rational thought, leaving only edgy, achy need.

When his tongue slipped between her parted lips and stroked the ultrasensitive ridges on the roof of her mouth, she almost moaned. He tasted of salsa and coffee and man: spicy and potent and hot.

She vaguely registered the pressure of his hand on her back, drawing her slowly but inexorably closer to the hard length of his body. She didn’t, couldn’t, resist. Her arms wound around his neck, her breasts crushed against the solidity of his chest. His heart beat against hers, as fast and heavy as her own.

His hands slid lower, cupped her buttocks, positioned her more firmly against him. She could feel the evidence of his arousal, and the answering, aching heat between her thighs. She wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him. It was irrational, insane, but it was real. She wasn’t the type of woman to indulge in meaningless sex. She didn’t have casual affairs. She’d never been tempted.

But she was now, and she was dangerously close to giving over to her impulses and dragging Shaun to the floor with her.

It was Shaun who drew back, easing his lips from hers with obvious reluctance. His hands moved up to her hips, held her steady. She might have pulled away, if she’d been sure her legs would support her.

“That was…um…” She swept her tongue along her bottom lip nervously. “Unexpected.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, the husky tone of his voice making her wonder if he’d been as affected by the kiss as she’d been. “And probably not wise.”

Although she could think of a dozen reasons why she knew it wasn’t smart to kiss him the way she just had, she wasn’t sure she appreciated his commentary on the matter. “You kissed me,” she reminded him.

He grinned. “You kissed back pretty good.”

Arden felt color flood into her cheeks. “You were leaving,” she reminded him, managing to pull out of his arms.

“Yeah, I guess I was.”

But still he hesitated, and it took more willpower than she’d known she possessed not to ask him to stay.

“Good night, Arden.”

Then he was gone.

It was the sound of the door latch clicking into place that mobilized her, and Arden moved to engage the dead bolt. Then she leaned back against the locked door, her knees as limp as overcooked spaghetti, her lips still tingling.



Arden awoke Saturday morning feeling rested, and she realized that the previous night was the first since Denise and Brian were killed that she’d slept deeply, peacefully, without the nightmares that had recently plagued her.

She sat up in bed, frowning as hints of a dream nudged at her subconscious.

Not a nightmare; a dream.

A dream about a man.

A kiss.

She touched her fingertips to her lips. She could still feel him there. Taste him.

Shaun.

She covered her face with her hands.

The last thing she needed was to be fantasizing about her cousin’s husband’s brother. Despite the events of the previous evening, Shaun McIver was the last man in Fairweather she would consider getting involved with.

Not that he’d offered her anything more than dinner, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t put too much stock in the fact that he’d flirted with her. To men like Shaun, flirting was as natural as breathing, and he’d only paid attention to her because she’d cried on his shoulder.

What had come over her? She never lost control like that. Not since she was ten years old and Aunt Tess had brought her to Fairweather. Maybe the tears had been building up for too long. She knew she could represent her clients better if she viewed their cases objectively, and for the most part, she managed to project an image of detached professionalism. But it wasn’t in her nature to shut off her emotions, and she’d never managed to distance herself from others’ problems.

In the six years since she’d been out of law school, hundreds of clients had passed through the doors of her law office. Those who could afford to paid an outrageous hourly fee for her passion and expertise and thus subsidized those who could only manage a reduced rate. Some paid nothing at all. She didn’t like to turn away a client; she wouldn’t turn away someone who needed her.

Denise Hemingway had needed her. Arden had first met Denise at the women’s shelter six months earlier. It wasn’t the first time Denise had gone to the shelter, but it was the first time she’d shown a willingness to discuss leaving her husband. Still, it had taken four more months—and several more beatings—before she’d done so. Only after her husband knocked their four-year-old son down a flight of stairs had Denise realized it was crucial to get out. Not just for her own sake, but for her child’s.

Arden had got Denise a restraining order against Eric Hemingway and a judgment for interim custody and child support. Denise and Brian had both gone into counseling, Denise was actively seeking employment, and Brian had just started school. Arden had believed that things could only get better for them.

She’d been wrong.

She’d never forget Denise and Brian, but she knew she had to put the tragedy behind her and move on. She had to believe that she could still help other women, or there would be no reason for her to get out of bed in the morning.

Arden spent a few hours at the women’s shelter, answering questions and dispensing legal advice. If one woman listened, if one woman managed to break the pattern of abuse, she knew the time was well spent. Just as she also knew that most women would return to their homes, their partners, the abuse. Even more never found the resolve to leave at all. And those were the ones whose lives, and those of their children, were in danger.

She sighed, again remembering Denise and Brian. Their deaths had proven that leaving isn’t always enough, and that a restraining order is no match for a gun.

Arden also knew that it was next to impossible to protect someone from an unknown threat. On her way home from the shelter, she stopped at the police station, anyway.

She sat in a hard plastic chair across from Lieutenant Creighton’s desk and studied him. Early thirties, she guessed, with hair so dark it was almost black, eyes a clear and startling blue. Today his jaw was unshaven and his eyes showed signs of fatigue. Still, he was a good-looking man, and she wondered why he failed to make her heart race and her blood heat the way Shaun McIver could do with a simple smile.

“Ms. Doherty. Good morning.”

“I got another letter,” she told him, carefully lifting the envelope by the corner so as not to destroy any fingerprints that might be on it.

“Today?” he asked, already starting to scrawl notes on the legal pad on his desk.

“Last night,” she admitted.

He looked up at her and frowned. “I gave you my pager number. Why wasn’t I contacted right away?”

“I didn’t think the delivery of another letter was an emergency.” It was the third one she’d received, after all.

“You haven’t opened it.”

“I didn’t want to contaminate it,” she explained. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it said. “This one—” she swallowed “—was delivered to my apartment.”

His head came up, his eyes sharp, concerned. “With the rest of your mail?”

“No. It wasn’t in the mail slot. It was under my door.”

“You should have called me,” Creighton said, pulling on a plastic glove before picking up the envelope.

Arden nodded again. She couldn’t admit that she’d forgotten the letter—and everything else—when Shaun had kissed her.

Creighton sliced open the flap and withdrew the single sheet of paper inside. When he unfolded it, she could see that the words on it were in the same careful block print and the same red ink as her name on the outside of the envelope.

“YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned back in her chair, as if she could ward off the threat by distancing herself from the letter.

“We’ll send the letter and the envelope to the lab to check for prints.”

Arden nodded, but she knew better than to expect that they would find anything. The only prints on the other letters had been her own. “Oh, um, a friend of mine picked the envelope up off the floor,” she told him. “His prints will be on it.”

“Who?” Creighton asked.

“Shaun McIver,” she said, unaccountably embarrassed.

“Colin McIver’s brother?” Creighton asked. “The lawyer?”

Arden nodded.

“I played peewee hockey with Colin,” he told her. “Even then we knew he was going to be a superstar.”

“Colin’s married to my cousin,” Arden told him, wondering why she felt the compulsion to share this information. Maybe to somehow explain Shaun’s presence at her apartment Friday night. Not that it was anyone’s business but her own.

“Small world,” Creighton said.

Smaller town, Arden thought wryly.

“As a member of the local bar association, his prints will be on file. That will make it easy to isolate any unknowns.”

“There weren’t any prints on the other letters.”

Creighton nodded. “There probably won’t be on this one, either, but we have to go through the motions. Sometimes these guys get sloppy.”

Arden didn’t think so. Every step this guy took had been planned with care and deliberation. He wouldn’t slip up.

Lieutenant Creighton pulled copies of the other two letters out of the file. Arden glanced away as he laid them side-by-side on the top of his desk. The bold lettering was ominous and compelling, drawing her gaze reluctantly back to the pages.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN I WOULD FIND YOU.”

“YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO INTERFERE.”

The first note had been delivered to her office. She’d found it within the stack of regular mail, although the envelope bore no postage or address, just her name scrawled in the same bold lettering. That had been almost two months ago. The second had also been delivered to her office, about three weeks later. But it was this last letter, delivered to her home, that increased her feelings of trepidation. Somehow she knew this wasn’t a prank, an empty threat. The letters were a warning of something to come. But she didn’t know what or why.

“You’re sure you have no idea who might have sent these letters?”

She shook her head. “If I did, I’d tell you.”

“This one—” Creighton pointed to the first letter “—suggests that you’re acquainted with your pen pal.”

Arden wrapped her arms tighter around herself and pushed away the painful memories that nudged from the back of her mind. More than twenty years had passed since Aunt Tess had brought her to Fairweather; there was no reason for Gavin to look for her now. Mentioning her stepfather’s name, reliving the humiliation and the pain, would only hurt her again. She refused to give him that kind of power. “If I thought I knew who was doing this, I’d tell you.”

“An ex-boyfriend?” Creighton prompted.

Arden’s thoughts drifted from Gavin to Brad. But the way their relationship had ended was unlikely to suggest that he was obsessed about her. “No.”

“A beautiful woman like yourself must have admirers.”

She frowned.

He held up his hands. “I didn’t mean any offense,” he said. “It’s just an objective observation.”

“I’m sure it’s not an ex-boyfriend.”

“A rejected suitor, perhaps?”

Arden rolled her eyes; Creighton shrugged.

“You know as well as I do that almost one-third of all violent crimes against women are perpetrated by their partners or former partners.”

“I know,” Arden agreed. “And I know this isn’t a boyfriend, an ex-boyfriend or a wanna-be boyfriend.” That was all she was going to say without admitting outright that she hadn’t had a date in the past two years.

“Okay,” Creighton relented. “Then we’re back to considering that the threats must be related to one of your cases.”

“That seems like the most reasonable explanation,” she admitted. “But I’ve gone through all of my files, concentrating on new clients in the few weeks preceding the arrival of the first letter, and nothing strikes me as out of the ordinary.”

“I’d like a list of those clients,” Creighton said.

Arden hesitated. “I can’t breach confidentiality.”

“I don’t need any details,” Creighton said. “Just names.”

She hesitated, hating that her fear outweighed her sense of professional obligation. “All right.”



When Arden returned home after her meeting with Lieutenant Creighton, Shaun was seated on a bench in front of her building, his long, denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him. Her heart gave a little sigh. No man should look so good.

One of his wide-palmed hands idly stroked Rocky’s back as he chatted with Greta Dempsey. The dog’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth, his eyes closed. Arden couldn’t blame him. It was all too easy to remember the feel of those hands on her back, stroking, seducing, and she’d been pretty close to drooling herself.

She shook off the memory and stepped closer, heard the musical tinkle of Greta’s laughter. The older woman’s eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed, confirming to Arden that her own reaction wasn’t unique. Women—young and old and in between—adored him.

Shaun’s lips curved in response to something Greta said, and all Arden could think about was how it felt to have those lips on hers. How much she wanted to feel them again.

Greta spotted her first and waved her over. “Arden, I was hoping to catch up with you. I have a plate of warm oatmeal-raisin cookies with your name on them.”

Arden stepped toward them. “I’m going to have to buy a new wardrobe if you keep baking me cookies.”

Greta dismissed the comment with a careless wave of her hand. “A few extra pounds won’t do you any harm. A man wants a woman with soft curves he can cuddle up to.” She turned to Shaun and winked. “Isn’t that right?”

Shaun grinned. “I won’t argue with that.”

Greta nodded, satisfied. “Well, then. Come on upstairs to get the cookies. You can take them to Arden’s apartment to have with your tea.”

“I haven’t invited Mr. McIver up for tea and cookies,” Arden said dryly.

“If you’re a smart woman, you will,” Greta said then gave a gentle tug to Rocky’s leash. “Come along, sweetie. We don’t want to miss Jeopardy.”

“I’m sorry,” Arden apologized to Shaun after Greta and Rocky had disappeared inside the building. “She’s a wonderful lady who just can’t seem to mind her own business.”

“She cares about you,” Shaun said simply.

“She’s obsessed with finding a nice young man for me to settle down with.”

“I got that impression.”

Arden cringed. “What did she say to you?”

“It wasn’t what she said so much as how she said it. Greta Dempsey could teach the members of the Fairweather P.D. a thing or two about interrogation,” he said.

“I am so sorry. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not looking to settle down.”

“You don’t want a husband and two-point-two kids and a house with a white picket fence?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Is it my turn to be interrogated?”

He flashed her that quick, sexy smile. “I’m curious about you, Doherty.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But when I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

He held up a tape measure. “To take measurements. For your shelves.”

“Oh.”

“You forgot?”

“Actually, I thought you’d forget.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think you really wanted to build shelves for me.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to,” he told her.

“Then I guess I’ll have to invite you in to take measurements.”

“Am I going to get tea and cookies, too?”

“Cookies,” Arden told him. “I still don’t have any tea.”

“Coffee would be okay,” he suggested. “Maybe some of that Jamaican stuff.”

Arden laughed. “Now I know the real reason for your visit.”

“Just an added bonus,” he assured her.

She opened the front door of the building and led the way up the stairs. Mrs. Dempsey was just coming out of her apartment with a plate heaped with cookies as Arden turned down the hall. She could smell the mouth-watering scents of nutmeg and cinnamon.

She wanted to ask Mrs. Dempsey if she’d seen anyone she didn’t recognize in the building the previous afternoon, but she couldn’t do so in front of Shaun. If she did, he’d know she’d been lying about the envelope coming from her landlord. And she had no intention of discussing the letters with him.

Greta passed off the plate of cookies to Arden and smiled. “Smart girl,” she said in a stage whisper.

“Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey,” Arden said. Then, to clarify, “For the cookies.”

Greta winked at them both. “Enjoy.”

Arden shook her head as she juggled the plate of cookies and her briefcase, trying to reach the keys in her pocket, but she was smiling. Shaun took the cookies, inhaled deeply, and a low hum of pleasure sounded in his throat. The sensual sound caused Arden’s insides to quiver.

She stepped away from him quickly, into the apartment, and set her briefcase down. “Mrs. Dempsey makes fabulous cookies.”

“And oatmeal-raisin are your favorite,” Shaun said.

“How do you know?”

“She told me.” He followed her into the kitchen.

Arden didn’t want to speculate about what else her neighbor might have told him. “That doesn’t mean she has to give me three dozen.”

“She thinks you’re too skinny,” Shaun reminded her, helping himself to a cookie.

“If she wants cuddly, she should get a teddy bear.”

He laughed. “She worries about you. She doesn’t have any children of her own to fuss over.”

Arden measured coffee grinds into the filter. “How long were you talking to her?”

“I didn’t clock the conversation,” he said dryly.

“Approximately?” she prompted.

“Half an hour.” He grinned. “It was…informative.”

“I’ll bet.”

He bit into the cookie, finished it off in two bites and reached for another. “These are fabulous.”

“I’ll send some home with you,” she promised.

“Thanks. Mrs. Fields can’t compare to Mrs. Dempsey.”

Arden smiled and took a cookie for herself. “I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.” She pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard and filled them with fresh-brewed coffee. Then she carried both cups to the table, setting one in front of Shaun.

“I didn’t only stop by to take measurements,” he told her.

Arden sipped her coffee, waiting for further explanation.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay—after yesterday.”

After her breakdown in the park? Or after his kiss? Her answer would be the same in either case, but she chose to accept the first interpretation. Just because she was obsessing over that kiss, she wasn’t going to delude herself into thinking that he was. Shaun McIver probably went around kissing women all the time; she just happened to be the only one in the vicinity last night. What bothered her more than the way he’d kissed her was the way she’d kissed him back. Her response to him had been disproportionate and out of character.

“I’m fine,” she told him.

He nodded. “Good. You look good.” His gaze skimmed over her and he smiled. “A little on the skinny side, but good.”

“You might want to think about whose cookies you’re eating and whose coffee you’re drinking before you start throwing the insults around.”

“I apologize,” he said with mock solemnity.

Arden pushed the cookie plate a little closer to him.

“I was a little concerned when you weren’t here this morning,” Shaun told her.

Arden frowned. She wasn’t comfortable with other people worrying about her. “I told you I was okay.”

He nodded. “Mrs. Dempsey guessed that you were at the women’s shelter. She said that you spend a few hours there a couple of days a month.”

“That’s true.”

“Visiting clients?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes just to talk to the women about their legal options.”

“Can you bill for that?”

“Not everything is about billing,” she said testily.

“It was just a question,” he said. “There’s no need to get defensive.”

She sipped her coffee, considered another cookie.

“I think it’s admirable that you’re willing to share your time and expertise. Not many lawyers do pro bono work anymore.”

“It’s surprising, and depressing, how many clients I get from the shelter.”

“It’s probably reassuring, though, for those clients to meet you in an informal setting. Most people don’t like having to see a lawyer at the best of times. I imagine it would be a lot worse for a woman who’s been abused, having to face someone she’s never met and share the horrors of her life—particularly if the lawyer is a man.”

His insight surprised her. Most people didn’t want to hear about the work she did, didn’t understand her commitment. Still, his sudden interest confused her.

“I’m sure you don’t want to talk about my career, or my crusade, as some call it.”

“Everything about you interests me, Doherty.”

She tilted her head. “Are you hitting on me, McIver?”

“If you have to ask, I’m doing something wrong.”

She laughed softly. “Don’t bother. I don’t date lawyers.”

In fact, she hadn’t dated at all in a long time. But even if she was looking to date someone, even if she was willing to bend the rule, it wouldn’t be for Shaun McIver. Shaun was everything she didn’t want in a man.

“Neither do I,” he admitted, contradicting his earlier statement.

“Your fiancée was a lawyer, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” he said shortly.

She nodded. “I could give you a speech about how you shouldn’t let one bad experience disillusion you against a whole profession—but I’m not sure it’s true. Life is a hard lesson, and we should learn what we can from it.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he said, his dark green eyes intent on her.

She wasn’t happy that the conversation had taken such a personal turn. She didn’t mind talking about his life and his past, but she had no interest in rehashing her own sordid history. “No one lives thirty-one years without having some experience,” she said lightly.

Shaun finished his coffee and pushed away from the table. To Arden’s surprise, he came back with the coffeepot in one hand and the carton of milk in the other. He refilled both of their mugs, then added a splash of milk to her cup.

She stared at her coffee, then at Shaun’s back. It was only the second time he’d been in her kitchen, and yet he moved around as if he was comfortable there, as if he belonged there.

“So tell me about this wealth of experience you’ve acquired in your thirty-one years,” Shaun suggested, when he was again seated beside her.

She gestured around the spartan apartment. “As you can see, it’s not the only wealth I’ve acquired.”

He grinned. “Smart, sexy and a sense of humor.”

“Can you turn off the charm, or does it always flow that easily?”

“Maybe you bring out the best in me.”

“Is that your best?” she challenged.

“Not even close.”

Her lips curved in a reluctant smile.

“If you won’t succumb to my endless charm, how about desperation?”

“Do I look desperate?”

“Not you, me.”

She cupped her mug in her palms and raised an eyebrow. “What do you want, McIver?”

Before he could respond to her question, the kitchen window exploded in a shower of glass and Arden was on the floor.




Chapter 4


Shaun didn’t have time to think or plan. It was pure instinct that had him leaping from his chair, knocking Arden from hers and rolling with her to the floor as glass sprinkled down around them.

“Ow. Dammit.” She rubbed the back of her head, her eyes wide with confusion. “What are you doing?”

He felt her shift beneath him. The subtle movement made him all too aware of each and every curve of the body pinned beneath his, causing his to respond in a very predictable fashion. “Stay down.”

“I can’t go anywhere with you sprawled on top of me.”

He felt his lips curve, marveled at the fact that she could make him smile at a time like this. “Don’t move,” he said, slowly levering his body off hers.

Glass crunched beneath his feet as he crouched beside the window and cautiously peered out. People were starting to converge on the sidewalk below, questions and explanations exchanged through a mixture of agitated voices and frantic hand gestures. In the distance he heard the low wail of a police siren.

He returned to Arden, offered a hand to help her to her feet. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. What happened?”

“Somebody took a shot through your window.”

“A shot?” She sounded more puzzled than concerned.

“With a gun,” he clarified, and watched as her cheeks drained of all color. “What did you think that sound was?”

“I thought it was a car backfiring.”

“This is reality, not the movies.”

“This is Fairweather, not Philadelphia,” she countered. “Why would someone be shooting through my window?”

“I’m sure that’s a question the police will be asking you,” Shaun said as the sirens grew closer.

She lifted a hand to push her hair away from her face, and her fingers trembled. She dropped her hand quickly and tucked it into the front pocket of her pants.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said softly. “And to admit it.”

Arden just shrugged. “I should call my landlord about getting that window fixed.”

He bit back the oath of frustration. Why wouldn’t she open up to him? Why couldn’t she trust him? He decided to try another tack. “Do you want to come home with me until the glass is replaced?”

“That’s one I haven’t heard before.”

He grinned. “I’ve had the pleasure of you writhing beneath me once already, but I thought the next time we might try someplace a little more comfortable than your glass-strewn floor.”

“Is body slamming your usual method for getting a woman horizontal?”

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t usually have to resort to blackmail to get a date, either. You seem to inspire me to new heights, Doherty.”

“Should I be impressed?”

“I might have saved your life.”

“And given me a concussion in the process,” she grumbled.

“Doubtful, considering how hard your head is.” But he combed his fingers through the silky strands of her hair and encountered a small lump at the back of her head. He touched his lips to it gently. “Maybe I do need to work on my knight-in-shining-armor routine.”

She managed a smile. “I guess you did pretty good.”

He let his hand linger at the back of her neck, considered kissing her again. Her eyes were wide, wary, but she didn’t pull away. His gaze dropped to her lips—soft and pink and tempting. Before he could decide whether or not to follow his impulse and cover her lips with his own, a loud knock sounded.

Arden jolted, and the opportunity was lost.

“Fairweather P.D.,” a voice called from the other side of the door. “Is anyone in there?”

Arden moved away from him quickly, her hand not quite steady as she wrapped it around the knob.

An interesting and complicated woman, Shaun mused. She seemed more unnerved by the heightened awareness between them than by the knowledge that she’d been shot at. Her demeanor with the police officer confirmed his suspicions. Arden answered the questions smoothly, her voice never wavering. It was only because he was watching her so closely that he saw the flicker of unease in her eyes, noted the way she clasped and unclasped her fingers.

Almost an hour passed before the officer was gone and the broken window boarded up and they were alone again.

“Do you feel any better?” Shaun asked.

Arden rubbed her hands down her arms and shrugged. “It’s hardly reassuring to know that something like this can happen in this town. And in broad daylight.”

“The police figure it was just a bunch of kids joy-riding in a stolen vehicle.”

“The police don’t know—” her outburst ended abruptly.

Shaun’s eyes narrowed. “What don’t they know?”

She shrugged. “They can’t know anything for sure. Not until they find whoever was in that car.”

It was a valid response, but he somehow knew it wasn’t what she’d originally intended to say. “Do you know something that the police don’t?”

“Of course not,” she denied, but she didn’t look at him.

“Is there any reason for you to think that you might have been the shooter’s target?”

She shook her head. “As the police said, mine weren’t the only windows blown out.”

He nodded slowly, but he wasn’t convinced.

“I’m going to get some Tylenol,” she said. “My head is still pounding.”

Shaun nodded again, wondering how his life had become so complicated since yesterday afternoon. The answer was obvious: Arden. Since he’d encountered her in the park less than twenty-four hours earlier, he’d experienced a wider range of emotions than at any time in the past twenty-four months. Empathy, compassion, attraction, desire. He’d held her while she cried, he’d laughed with her, argued with her and dodged bullets with her. It made him wonder what other surprises might be in store if he spent more time in her company. One thing he knew for sure: he wouldn’t be bored.

“I was about to tell you that I needed a date,” he said when she returned. “Before we were so rudely interrupted by gunfire.”

“You need a date?” Her voice was filled with skepticism.

He nodded. “For the Criminal Lawyers’ Association Annual Ball.”

“Are you asking for a recommendation?”

“No. I want you to go with me.”

She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if she had any idea how sexy she looked, how his blood heated when he thought about that kiss—and about kissing her again. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t his type, that he wasn’t in the market for a romance right now.

He was concerned about her. He knew there was something going on in her life, something that worried her, and he figured if he spent some time with Arden, it might encourage her to confide in him. And if they engaged in a little flirting or shared a few kisses along the way, well, there was no harm in that.

“I don’t date lawyers,” she reminded him.

He’d heard her the first time, but her insistence only made him all the more determined to break through her barriers. Because he was concerned about her, he reminded himself again.

“It wouldn’t really be a date,” he said.

“I’m not agreeing to be your pretend date,” she said, sounding miffed. “And I don’t believe you’re so desperate you’d need to take me. The ball isn’t until sometime in December. I’m sure you’ll be able to find a date before then.”

“I want a date who won’t have any expectations.”

“How do you know I won’t?” she challenged.

“Because you’ve already stated—twice—that you don’t date lawyers, and you’re about as interested as I am in a romantic relationship.”

“That’s not a very flattering invitation.”

“I could try flattery,” he admitted. “But you’d see right through me.”

“I might have appreciated the effort, though.”

Shaun grinned. “I thought you’d appreciate a more honest approach.”

“The answer’s still no.”

“I haven’t finished outlining the terms of the proposed contract.”

“Contract?” Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “And what kind of consideration would I get for entering into this contract?”

She sounded so sexy when she was in lawyer mode; the combination of that smoky voice and cool attitude went straight to his loins. “Other than the pleasure of my company?”

“Other than that,” she agreed dryly.

Now he smiled. “Tickets to the opening night performance of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead next month.” He’d learned, again courtesy of Greta Dempsey, that Arden loved the theater. It was a happy coincidence that he had season tickets to the Fairweather Players’ Theater.

Arden’s eyes narrowed. “That’s an interesting offer.”

She was practically salivating, but he wasn’t above sweetening the deal. “Box seats.”

“Damn,” she swore under her breath, but she was smiling. “I really don’t want to go to the ball. All those lawyers, talking shop.” He didn’t think her shudder was feigned.

“But you really want to see that play,” he guessed.

“How did you know?”

He didn’t think it necessary to tip his hand just yet. He had a feeling that Mrs. Dempsey might be an invaluable ally, but not if Arden knew he was tapping her for information. “Is it a deal?”

“I’ll check my calendar.” She came back into the kitchen with her appointment book in hand. “When is the ball?”

“Saturday, December fourth.”

She flipped through the book. “I have appointments that day.”

“In the evening?”

“Well…no,” she admitted.

“Then pencil me in,” he told her.

She did so, but with obvious reluctance. Her calendar, he could tell even from a distance, was quite full.

“Is it hard dealing with marital disputes day after day?” he asked.

“No harder than dealing with career criminals, I imagine.”

Shaun grinned at the jibe. “Did you ever consider anything but family law?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “I just felt that it was the one field in which I could make a difference for people.”

He hesitated, certain she wouldn’t appreciate his prying. Still, he felt compelled to ask, “But at what cost to yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were a wreck yesterday, Arden.” His words were gentle but firm.

“Yesterday was the first time I buried a client. I think I was entitled to a few tears.”

“Nobody’s suggesting otherwise,” he agreed.

She folded her arms over her chest, a clearly defensive stance. He decided to back off—at least a little.

“Do you believe that happily-ever-afters can happen?” he asked.

“I like to think so,” she admitted. “But it’s hard to imagine, when I spend so much time dealing with the aftermath of relationships that fall apart.”

“What about Colin and Nikki?”

“I think they’re the exception rather than the rule.”

“Maybe,” he allowed.

“And they had their share of heartache first,” she reminded him.

“Some would call it paying their dues.” And they had both paid dearly when Colin walked out on the wife he hadn’t known was carrying his child. He hadn’t trusted that Nikki loved him enough to move halfway across the country with him. When Colin had finally come home, Nikki hadn’t trusted that he loved her enough to stay. But somehow they’d worked through the barriers of the past and were now blissfully happy together—Colin and Nikki and their daughter, Carly.

“I don’t ever want to fall in love if that’s the price I have to pay,” Arden said.

“You’ve never been in love?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He sat back and studied her. It was hard to believe that a woman who was thirty-one years of age had never been in love. Then again, he had been in love, and he couldn’t think of a whole hell of a lot to recommend it.

Still, he wanted a partner with whom to share his life. Someone with similar goals and values. And he wanted to have children. Not that he was in any particular rush to get married and start a family, but someday.

So he’d approached the problem like any other legal dilemma: with reason and research. He’d even made a list of the attributes he wanted in a wife: nurturing personality, good with kids. He would prefer to find a woman who’d be willing to stay at home to raise their children. His practice was successful enough that they wouldn’t need a second income, but he was willing to be flexible. His wife could work, so long as her choice of career wasn’t too demanding.

His sister-in-law had laughed when he’d explained his criteria to her. Nikki had accused him of trying to pencil love into his Daytimer like a court appearance, of wanting a woman who would be his subordinate rather than an equal partner. Shaun couldn’t deny there was probably some truth in that. After all, it had worked for his parents. And his experience with Jenna had shown him how easily conflicting ambitions could destroy a relationship.

He wasn’t looking for love. He didn’t want passion. No, thanks. He’d tried that before, and although fun while it lasted, it hadn’t lasted long. He wasn’t prepared to go through that heartache again.

Still, he couldn’t deny that he was attracted to Arden. Which made him wonder why he’d ever suggested this friendship thing. It would be a lot easier to get her out of his mind—and out of his fantasies—if he wasn’t spending time with her.

But, no, he had to propose that they be friends. Yeah, like that was likely. And they had a date scheduled for the annual ball in December. Not a date—a contract. An exchange of service for consideration.

He frowned. He’d never had to bribe a woman to go out with him before. He might try to convince himself he was sticking close to Arden to look out for her, but the truth was that he just wanted to be with her.



Shaun didn’t like to admit how often his thoughts wandered to Arden throughout the following week. How many times he picked up the phone, tempted to call her. Just to see how she was doing. He told himself it was because he was concerned about her, but he knew it was more than that.

He was attracted to her. He wanted her. And he had no idea what to do about it.

She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested. She wasn’t looking for a relationship, and she didn’t want to get involved with him. He’d have to be a complete idiot not to get the hint. He wasn’t an idiot.

He also wasn’t able to turn down a challenge.

Arden challenged him. It wasn’t a macho thing. It wasn’t that he wanted to get her into bed just to prove to himself that he could. He did want her in bed—after all, he was a healthy, fully functioning man—but it was more than that.

He liked that they had so much in common, and that they argued. Arden wasn’t afraid to disagree, to stand up for what she believed in. She had strength and conviction and heart. And the memory of the kiss they’d shared continued to linger in his mind and haunt his dreams.

Of course, she was a lawyer, and that was a pretty big stumbling block as far as he was concerned. He wouldn’t get involved with another lawyer—he’d made that mistake once already. He’d met Jenna while they were both attending law school at Harvard, and the attraction between them had sparked from the first. She was everything he’d ever thought he wanted in a woman: beautiful, sophisticated, intelligent, ambitious. He’d thought theirs was a love of the happily-ever-after variety; he hadn’t anticipated that her ambition would override all else.

He didn’t blame Jenna for walking out on him. She’d always been honest about what she wanted, and she’d made no secret of the fact that she did not want to stay in “Small Town Pennsylvania,” as she’d dubbed his hometown. It was Shaun who’d made the mistake of assuming she could be happy there, that her love for him would override her plans for her career.

He’d been wrong.

When she’d received an offer from a high-profile criminal defense firm in Boston, she hadn’t even hesitated. She had asked him to go back to Boston with her, but just as she’d known she’d never be happy in Fairweather, Shaun knew he’d never be happy anywhere else.

Maybe he hadn’t loved her as much as he thought he had. If she’d really been “the one,” he would have gone. And if she’d really loved him, she would have stayed.

He’d reached two conclusions as a result of his experience with Jenna. One, similar goals and expectations were more important to the success of a relationship than either sex or love. Two, he would not get involved with another lawyer. The next time he fell in love it would be with a woman who could love him back, who would be willing to put their relationship above all else.

Which proved that he shouldn’t even be thinking about Arden Doherty. By her own admission, Arden was committed to her career; her clients were the focus of her life.

Then again, just because she was the wrong woman from a relationship perspective didn’t mean that they couldn’t be friends. Except that he’d never found himself so preoccupied by thoughts of a “friend” before.

When the phone on his desk buzzed, Shaun picked up the receiver, grateful for the interruption. “Yes?”

“There’s a Ms. Doherty here to see you,” his receptionist informed him.

He felt his lips curve. “Send her in, Claire.”

“She doesn’t have an appointment,” Claire said pointedly.

“That’s okay,” he said. “She’s a friend.”

“All right.” But the receptionist didn’t sound pleased by this overt breach of office policy.

Shaun didn’t care. Arden was here.

He cleared his throat, banished the grin from his face and grabbed one of the files that was stacked on the corner of his desk. He flipped it open, pretending to be hard at work.

When he heard the knock and saw Arden peek around the door, the smile that returned to his lips was completely natural. He’d carried a mental picture of her in his mind all week, but it didn’t compare to the reality of her. There was something about Arden that reached him on a basic level and stirred his most primal urges.

Today she was wearing a dark-green skirt and jacket with a cream colored blouse. Her hair was twisted into some kind of fancy knot at the back of her neck, but a few strands had escaped to frame the clear creamy skin of her face. “Arden.” He stood up from behind his desk. “This is a surprise.”

“Next time I’ll make an appointment.”

His smile widened. He liked to think that Arden would have reason to come by his office again—as any friend might. “Claire takes her job seriously,” he apologized.

“Well, obviously you’re busy—”

“Not too busy,” he interrupted to assure her. “Have a seat.”

She hesitated, then moved over to one of the chairs facing his desk. She perched herself on the edge of the seat, the green skirt riding up on her thighs, exposing a few more inches of creamy flesh.

“Nice office,” she said, surveying the spacious surroundings.

He managed to tear his gaze away from her legs before she caught him staring. “I like it.”

She glanced at him, and their eyes locked for a long moment. Shaun would have sworn the air crackled with the awareness between them. Then she looked away and the moment passed, or maybe he’d just imagined it.

“I was heading back to my office after court,” she said, “and I thought I should stop by to return this.” She took his handkerchief out of her pocket, passed it across the desk to him.

He’d forgotten that she had it. He tucked it into his own pocket. “Aren’t you going to be at Carly’s birthday party tomorrow?”

Arden nodded. “Yes. I thought about waiting to return it, but I wasn’t sure if I’d have a chance to speak to you alone. Not that I want to be alone with you. I mean—”

She broke off, drew in a deep breath. He fought against the grin that tugged at his lips. Damn, but she was cute when she was flustered.

“I only meant that I didn’t want Nikki to know that I had your handkerchief, because then she’d have a ton of questions. She worries about me,” Arden admitted reluctantly.

“It’s natural to worry about those you love.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Why does that bother you?”

She shrugged. “Because it’s unnecessary.”

One day, he promised himself, he would get to the bottom of this stubborn independence of hers. He’d find out what had happened to make her so unwilling to rely on others, so reluctant to accept help when it was offered. For now it was enough that she was here.

“I saw you and Warren Blake having coffee at the courthouse Monday.” He wasn’t sure what compelled him to blurt out the statement. He hadn’t realized that the sight of Arden with the assistant district attorney had bothered him, but apparently it had, more than he wanted to admit.

“And?” she prompted, sounding baffled.

He shrugged. “I thought you didn’t date lawyers.”

“Is that a not-so-subtle way of asking about my relationship with Warren?”

He didn’t give a damn about being subtle, and he didn’t like the way the man’s name had rolled off her tongue. “Do you have a relationship with Blake?”

“Do you have a problem with the new ADA?” she countered.

“He’s arrogant and self-righteous and unreasonable.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did he refuse to grant bail to one of your clients?”

He had, but “That’s not the point.”

She smiled.

“He was hanging all over you.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Arden told him. “But we were having a professional discussion over coffee.”

Her explanation failed to appease him. A professional discussion. “Since when do you represent criminal defendants?”

“I do a lot of work with young offenders,” she told him.

“Oh.” He’d forgotten that. Still, he didn’t like the way Blake had been looking at her. Not that he could blame the man for finding Arden attractive, but he sensed it was something more than that. He had no grounds for his suspicions, though, so he kept them to himself.

“Any more questions?” Arden asked.

“Not right now.”

“Good.” She stood up. “I have to get back to the office.”

But Shaun was reluctant to let her go. “I haven’t forgotten about your bookshelves,” he told her. “I just haven’t had a chance to get the wood.”

“I’m not in a hurry.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll call you, then, when I’m ready to get started.”

“Sure,” she agreed. Then, “I’ll see you at Colin and Nikki’s tomorrow?”

He nodded, already looking forward to it.



It was amazing, Arden thought as she stepped out of the path of an oncoming child, how vocal a group of six-year-olds could be. And it wasn’t a particularly large group, either. She tried to count the heads as they rushed past, but they changed direction in midstream, circled around and disappeared up the stairs again.

“How many kids are here?” she asked Nikki.

“Six,” her cousin answered. “Including Carly.”

“I never would have thought that six kids could make so much noise.”

Nikki shrugged. “You get used to it.”

“How long is this party supposed to last?”

“Until three o’clock.”

Arden glanced at her watch. It was a little past one. The party had started at noon, with hot dogs and potato chips for lunch. Then Carly had opened her presents, and now the kids were playing some kind of game that apparently required running around the house at full speed and full volume. Arden concentrated on helping Nikki pick up the scattered remnants of wrapping paper and ribbon, refusing to think about the fact that Shaun had yet to make an appearance.

“How’s your new associate working out?” Nikki asked.

“Good. It took her a while to get her bearings, but she’s settling in well.”

“So what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing.”

Nikki sent her a pointed look; Arden sighed.

“I’m not sure.”

“Must be a man,” Nikki said, smiling.

“No. Well, sort of.”

“He’s sort of a man?”

Arden laughed. He was definitely a man. “He sort of bothers me.”

“It’s about time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You always close yourself off from people, never letting anyone get too close. If he bothers you, it means he’s getting to you.”

Arden frowned. It frustrated her to realize that she still carried the emotional scars from a man who’d been gone from her life for so long, and that her inherent distrust was so apparent. “Do you think I’m cold?”

“No,” Nikki responded immediately. “You’re the warmest, most giving and caring person I know, but you don’t often let other people see it.”

Arden stuffed a wad of wrapping paper into the bag in Nikki’s hand.

“Does he see it?” Nikki asked.

“He thinks he does.”

Nikki grinned. “I like him already.”

“You would,” Arden muttered.




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