Chapter Twelve

Allen

I sit next to a solemn Brielle on the couch as my men take seats around the room. I tilt my head toward Mark as a sign for him to begin.

As usual, his reveal is short and to the point.

“Didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but then again we couldn’t exactly go tramping around through her neighbors’ backyards either,” he tells me.

I notice motion to my left and swivel my head to look at Pete, who has grabbed his laptop and is typing something.

“Finally,” he says on a sigh. “I was wondering how much longer that might take. Got a rough estimate of the caller’s position when he left the message, boss.”

“And that is?” I ask.

Two more keystrokes, and he looks up at me.

“Sixty-five yards due east of here.”

“What, at the Andersen’s house?” Brielle pipes up.

“That’s what the triangulation is showing.”

“But… but… they’re harmless,” Brielle protests immediately. “They’re both

retired schoolteachers in their late seventies with hearts as big as the outdoors. She brings me cookies at Christmas time, for crying out loud. No way they are involved in this. No way.”

“I’m sorry, Brielle, but the data doesn’t lie,” Pete replies as gently as he can.

“Your caller might very well have been on their property without them even knowing,” Marlon chimes in. “I noticed what looked like a treehouse in their backyard.”

Brielle nods her head. “They’ve lived here for years. They built that for their children, and now their grandkids play in it when they come over.”

“My money’s on the treehouse,” Marlon says. “It’s an elevated position, and nothing is blocking the view from it in this direction that I could see.”

My gut agrees with his assessment, and I turn to the petite brunette sitting beside me.

“You think they’d let us take a look around?”

She shrugs. “Possibly. Only one way to find out. I can call and ask them. But what exactly should I say? I don’t want to alarm them – or put them in danger.”

“Tell them you’ve got a friend that’s been considering installing a treehouse,” I suggest, “and that you’re wondering if he can come take a look at theirs to get some ideas.”

Her brow furrows. “That could work – in daylight. Can this keep until tomorrow?”

“I don’t see why not,” I answer.

She nods and heads to the kitchen to grab her phone and make the call.

While she’s gone, I look at my team.

“I’m thinking my being here is enough, for now,” I decide aloud. “But Marlon, you’re on standby.”

“Got it, boss,” he says as he and Mark rise to take their leave. “Anything comes up, I can be here in three minutes.”

I walk them to the door and get back to the living room by the time Brielle returns.

“Marge said they’d be delighted to show you around,” she announces with a smile. “We’re expected at nine a.m.”

“Good. Now, Pete, walk her through using that tablet, please.”

***

Ten minutes later, once she is comfortable with operating the system via the mini tablet, Pete also shows her the two traditional keypads that he installed – one just inside her front door and one in her bedroom.

“That way you can still work the system if something happens to the tablet,” he summarizes as I stand leaning against her open doorway watching the lesson.

“So, what? No buttons to activate any lasers?” Brielle teases and makes Pete chuckle.

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate navigating laser beams if you have to get up in the middle of the night,” he responds. “But I did install motion sensors inside the house that are pointed at the front and back doors, and they’ll definitely trip if anything passes in front of either one while the alarm is set, so, keep that in mind.”

“Right,” Brielle answers calmly. “Anything else I need to know?”

Pete glances at me.

“Not for now,” I say, “other than we need to talk about your schedule. I’ve moved my stuff around so I can go where you go.”

She puts a hand on her hip as she tilts her head at me.

“You really think that’s necessary?”

“Yes,” Pete and I say in unison.

Pete and I head back to the living room, and he gathers up his bags to leave.

“You’ll be monitoring?” I ask as I walk him out.

“Definitely. I set it up to stream live to my laptop in addition to recording it to our secure server,” he confirms.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem, boss. Call if you need me.”

I walk back inside the house to find Brielle on the couch, and I sit down next to her.

“Let’s review the next few days, see what we’re working with.”

She pulls up the calendar on her phone.

“Let’s see… we’re looking at the treehouse at nine, and I have two showings tomorrow between eleven-thirty and two, but nothing the rest of the day. Sunday is free and clear, nowhere I have to be.”

Brielle sets her phone on the coffee table, then leans back and looks at me.

“Now what? I know I should try to get some rest, but my mind is all over the place right now. There’s no way I’d get any sleep.”

“Me either,” I admit.

“Wanna see if we can find a movie to watch?”

“Sure.”

Brielle

When he admits he has never seen The Cutting Edge with Moira Kelly and D.B. Sweeney, I cannot help but grin.

“It’s about this figure skater who needs a new partner, and she is a complete diva, and she’s paired up with this ex-hockey player. I think you’ll like it,” I say, and Allen raises his eyebrows at me.

“All right,” he says finally. “But I’m picking the next one.”

“Fair enough,” I tell him as I move to the DVD player and insert the disc. “Want any popcorn? Or a drink?”

“I’m sticking with water, for now, but I’ll take some popcorn.”

He comes with me to the kitchen and refills his glass while I make some popcorn in the microwave. A few minutes later we are settled in on my couch and I press ‘play’ on the remote control.

Allen’s quiet through most of the movie, although he does laugh at a couple of scenes. As the ending credits begin to roll across the screen, I turn and look at him.

“Well? What did you think?”

“Lot less of a chick flick than I thought it’d be,” he admits with a smile. “Not too bad.”

“High praise, I suppose,” I tease as I stand to take the empty bowl back to the kitchen. “Want to watch another one?”

“It’s almost eleven,” he reminds me. “Think you can sleep?”

“I can try,” I answer, suddenly consumed with a burning desire to ask him one simple question.

He must see my conflicted emotions on my face because he suddenly asks, “What?”

Why were you such an ass to me the day we met? I want to ask,

but I hesitate, because I am not sure I want to hear the answer.

Thinking someone thinks you are repulsive is bad enough. Verbal confirmation? No thank you, I tell myself as I mutter “never mind” and continue toward the kitchen.

But as I put the bowl in the dishwasher, then turn, I gasp, because Allen has followed me and is standing only inches from me.

“Something’s on your mind. What is it?” he asks softly, his blue-grey eyes searching my face.

“I…um… nothing. It’s nothing. I’m fine,” I start to protest, but he steps closer, pinning me between himself and the kitchen counter. He puts his hands down on the counter on either side of me and leans forward until our lips are almost touching.

What is happening here? I thought he was not interested…

I feel my pulse kick into overdrive with anticipation.

“Brielle,” he breathes, and then his lips are on mine, searching, pressing urgently, and the electricity between us fills the room with its intensity. His hands leave their stations on either side of me, and I revel in the feel of him touching me, one hand at the small of my back while the other fists in my hair. I moan, parting my lips, and his tongue takes advantage, thrusting forward to tangle with mine.

I run my hands up his arms and across his chest, delighting in the rock-hard muscles my fingertips are exploring, and when he breaks the kiss to trace a scorching-hot trail down my neck, I tilt my head to give him better access.

“Brielle,” he says again, a reverent whisper that makes my knees weak. My body goes limp, and Allen responds by moving his hands to my waist and gracefully lifting me like I weigh nothing at all.

I am shaking again, but not from fear this time. My surge of need for this man is powerful and all-consuming.

The moment he sets me down on the counter, I move my knees apart so Allen can step between them, then wrap my arms around him to draw him even closer to me.

One strong but gentle hand slowly slides under my sweatshirt to caress my right breast, and I moan with pleasure.

Then, suddenly, it all stops. The next moment finds me both aroused and completely confused as Allen takes his hands off me and steps away, out of my grasp, his expression neutral, almost cold. The only remaining trace of the heat we just shared is a flash of fire in his eyes.

We stare at each other for what seems like hours, both slightly out of breath, before he speaks.

“You’re a client,” he manages. “I can’t do this.”

And without another word the man my entire body is crying out for turns on his heel and walks out of the room, leaving me embarrassed and alone.

I swallow hard, fighting back the tears that threaten to breach, and morosely hop down from the counter as I hear my front door open and close.

Work. Focus on that. It’s helped before.

I scurry down the hall to my home office and close the door to avoid another humiliating encounter with Allen.