McIver's Mission Read online

  And he would do anything to keep her with him.

  He knew she wasn't ready to hear how he felt. For whatever reason, he knew she was reluctant to acknowledge the growing emotional ties between them. The sex was great, they laughed and talked and enjoyed being together. But whenever he tried to talk to her about the future of their relationship, she diverted the conversation to other matters.

  It intrigued him. Most women he knew were the ones pushing for commitment, wanting to know what was in the future. Arden was unwilling to consider anything beyond tomorrow.

  He hoped that having her under the same roof might encourage her to open up to him, to confide in him about whatever it was that had her running scared. Only when he knew what he was up against would he be able to consider his course of action. Because he had no doubt that Arden was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with.

  He pulled into the driveway of his home in front of Arden. When she stepped out of her car and into the light, he noticed how exhausted she looked. Her usually immaculate hair was tousled, her shoulders sagged. Her deep-brown eyes were shadowed with fatigue, but she offered him a weak smile.

  He took her hand and led her into the house, then set the suitcase down and took her in his arms.

  "Are you okay?"

  She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

  "It's okay to be upset. Everything you owned just went up in smoke."

  "I didn't own very much."

  "That's not the point." He couldn't have said why, but he would have felt better if she'd cried. Generally he hated a woman's tears; he felt helpless around them. Which was why it still surprised him that he'd stopped to sit with Arden that day in the park. But he was glad that he had, because that was the day their relationship had changed. And that was why her calm determination seemed unnatural to him now, and why he was so worried about her.

  "My bookcases." Her eyes widened with distress.

  "Are probably ashes now," he said gently.

  "You did such a beautiful job on them."

  "I can build more."

  She managed a weak smile. "I have to find somewhere to live first."

  "Don't worry about that right now," Shaun told her.

  If he had his way—and he intended to—Arden wouldn't be living anywhere but with him. He hoped that being together under the same roof might be just the thing to convince her that they were meant to be together.

  "I have court first thing in the morning," she told him, forcing his attention back to more immediate matters. "So, if you don't mind, I'd just like to take a shower and go to bed."

  He nodded.

  Arden followed him up the stairs, into the master bath, watching silently as he got fresh towels out of the cupboard for her.

  "Do you have something I could sleep in?" Arden asked. "I forgot to grab a nightgown from Nikki."

  "Sure. I'll get you a T-shirt."

  "Thanks." She smiled, but he could see the strain around her mouth, the shadows under her eyes. She was worried about something. The fire was the obvious explanation, and he couldn't blame her for being upset about that. But it went deeper than wariness or loss. There was fear in her eyes. He didn't understand it and he didn't like it.

  Could the fire in her apartment building somehow be linked to the letters she'd been getting? He didn't want to believe it, but it wasn't much of a stretch to think that the two events might be connected.

  His mind drifted back a few weeks, to the gunshots that had shattered her kitchen windows. The police were convinced it had been a random act. Shaun wasn't so sure. And it terrified him to know that Arden's life could be in real danger.

  He poured himself a generous glass of scotch while he waited for Arden to finish in the shower. She was holding something back, and that bothered him. He wanted to be there for her. He wanted her to know that she could count on him. But she was so determined to stand on her own, to prove that she could. He didn't want to hold her up. He knew she didn't need that. But he wanted to stand beside her, to offer his support, to have her accept it.

  He heard the water shut off, and ten minutes after that she came down the stairs.

  "Where—" she cleared her throat "—where do you want me to sleep?"

  He turned to study her. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, her long dark hair still damp from the shower. His T-shirt covered her adequately, enticingly. The hem rode high on her thighs, the soft cotton hugged the curve of her breasts. He finished the last of his scotch and set his glass down on the table. "Where do you want to sleep?"

  "With you," she said without hesitation.

  Shaun's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. "I didn't invite you to stay just so that I could take advantage of the situation."

  She came into his arms willingly, pressed her lips to his. "That doesn't mean we can't take advantage of the situation, does it?"

  "I love the way you think," he murmured.

  She nipped his earlobe. "I love the way you…" She whispered an incredibly vivid suggestion in his ear that had all the blood rushing out of his head.

  "Well then," he said, swinging her into his arms. "We'd better get started."

  * * *

  Things did look better in the morning. Arden got up and put on some borrowed clothes, made her court appearance, then went to the office and buried herself in work. In fact, she was so preoccupied with preparing court materials she almost forgot about the fire that had devastated her apartment and left her and several other tenants homeless. She thought of Greta Dempsey and her dog, wondered where they would go. Arden knew she'd been lucky. As much as she often felt alone, she knew she wasn't. She had family, people who cared about her.

  And now she had Shaun. She still had her doubts about the wisdom of their current arrangement. Not that she had any real objections to sharing his home. She and Shaun were each so busy with their own lives, it was sometimes difficult to find time for each other. Now, no matter how late she had to work, she knew she could go home to him. At least for a while.

  She frowned. They hadn't talked about how long she would stay with him. She knew he didn't intend for it to be any more than a short-term arrangement, until she could find something else suitable. A week? A month?

  She pushed the thought aside and focused on the pretrial memo she was finishing up.

  At least until Lieutenant Creighton showed up at her office.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  "I assume there's a reason for this visit." Arden forced a smile even though her stomach tightened.

  "There is," Creighton agreed. "Preliminary reports indicate that the fire in your building was deliberately set, and that it started in your apartment. In your bedroom, to be precise."

  She exhaled slowly as his words confirmed her suspicions. Her fears. Someone had to have been inside her apartment to start the fire there. In her bedroom. "And you think the fire is related to the letters."

  "I do," he agreed. "We're investigating the owner of the building, of course. Most often, arson is implemented for financial gain, so we're following all leads. But we can't discount the possibility that this attack was directed at you, especially considering the content of the last letter.

  "You've pissed somebody off," he continued, "and it makes sense that this was directed at you. If whoever set the fire knew you were out of the building, it might just have been an attempt to scare you. If he didn't know, he might have been trying to kill you."

  She felt the color drain from her cheeks. She'd known that she was the target, no matter how hard she tried to deny it, but she'd never thought that someone—some nameless, faceless person that she didn't even know—could want her dead.

  "Sorry to put it so bluntly," he apologized. "But I want to make sure you know what's going on here."

  "I don't know what's going on," she protested, hating the helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her. "I have no idea who could be doing this."

&nb
sp; "You represent a lot of women who are the victims of domestic violence. It isn't a stretch to think that a man who beats his wife would exhibit other forms of deviant behavior."

  "Men who batter their partners rarely act violently toward third parties. They usually try to hide the darker side of their personality." Everything she'd ever read about domestic violence confirmed this fact.

  "Statistically, you're probably right," Creighton agreed. "But you know that not every perpetrator can be slotted into a designated mold."

  She nodded, but she still couldn't imagine who would target her.

  "If you think of anyone at all who might have reason to threaten you, call me," the lieutenant instructed.

  Arden nodded.

  "I'll get in touch with you as soon as we have any more information. Where are you staying?"

  "With a … a friend."

  "McIver?"

  Arden frowned. "How did you know?"

  Creighton grinned. "I am a detective," he reminded her. "And I didn't figure he would have hired a P.I. if he didn't have a personal interest in the situation."

  Arden felt her blood chill. Shaun had hired a private investigator? Why? And why hadn't he told her about it? She shook her head. No, Lieutenant Creighton must have made a mistake. Shaun wouldn't do something like that. Not without her permission. Not without discussing it with her first.

  She forced her voice to remain casual as she asked, "What makes you think he hired an investigator?"

  "Joel Logan contacted me to get copies of the incident reports. He's a good guy," Creighton assured her. "Used to be a cop."

  Arden nodded. She didn't care about Joel Logan, but she sure as hell intended to find out what Shaun was up to.

  She sat for a long while after Lieutenant Creighton had gone, thinking about the situation, but she still couldn't believe Shaun would do something like this without first discussing it with her. It was her life that had been threatened, after all. What right did he have to interfere?

  Fueled by righteous anger and indignation, she pushed through the heavy paneled doors that led into Madison McIver Law Offices.

  "Can I help you?" The pretty young woman behind the front desk asked in a sweet voice.

  Arden vaguely remembered the receptionist from her first visit to Shaun's office, but she walked straight past the desk. She was a woman on a mission, and she would not be diverted.

  "Excuse me, ma'am. You can't just go back there."

  Arden continued to ignore her. Shaun's door was open.

  "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

  Shaun glanced up, then from Arden to the receptionist, who was hovering nervously behind Arden.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. McIver," she said in a tremulous voice. "I tried to stop her, but—"

  Shaun waved off the apology. "That's okay, Claire."

  Arden noted, with increased annoyance, that the woman practically bobbed a curtsy before scurrying back to her desk.

  "Hello, Arden," Shaun said politely. "Is there something you wanted to talk—"

  "Damn right there's something I want to talk about," Arden snapped. "Who the hell is Joel Logan?"

  "Joel Logan is a private investigator," Shaun explained calmly.

  "I know that," she admitted. "Although not through any revelation on your part."

  "I should have told you," he agreed, his tone placating.

  Arden was not to be placated. "No, you shouldn't have told me. You should have discussed it with me before you hired someone to pry into my life. You might even have considered whether or not I wanted your interference."

  "That's exactly why I didn't discuss it with you."

  "Why?"

  "Because you would have said that it was your problem and you would deal with it."

  Arden blew out an exasperated breath. "Well, it is my problem, and I would have—I will—deal with it."

  "Uh-huh," he agreed.

  "Dammit, Shaun. I don't want you involved in this."

  "Too late."

  She narrowed her eyes. "When did you hire this private investigator?"

  "A few weeks ago."

  "Why?"

  "Because I was concerned about you."

  She crossed her arms over her chest. "How concerned were you?"

  He frowned. "What kind of question is that?"

  "Were you concerned enough to have sex with me?"

  She hated to think that it might be true, that Shaun's interest in her stemmed from a desire to protect her rather than a desire for her. But she couldn't deny the possibility. "After all, if I'm sleeping in your bed, you know where I am."

  "I won't deny that I'm more comfortable having you stay in my home. I know you're safe there."

  She felt betrayed by his response, by his admission that he had ulterior motives for pursuing a physical relationship with her. And it hurt, so much more than she'd expected it to. She'd been let down often enough that she should have been expecting it. But she'd thought Shaun was different. She'd believed he cared about her.

  "Stop it," he said gently.

  She lifted her chin. "Stop what?"

  "Jumping to all kinds of unwarranted conclusions about our relationship."

  "Are they unwarranted?"

  "Yes," he insisted. "I'm not pretending to care about you because I'm concerned about you. I'm concerned because I care."

  She wanted to believe him, but she was afraid to trust him, afraid to trust her own feelings for Shaun. And she was even more afraid of what kind of information his investigator might turn up. There were still things she didn't want Shaun to know. Things she might never be ready to tell him. Things she definitely didn't want him learning from a third party.

  "Lieutenant Creighton is handling this."

  "And I'm sure he's doing everything he can. But he's only one man, and this is only one of his cases. I need to know that someone is making it a priority to find this guy. I can't just sit around and wait for him to make his next move."

  She dropped her eyes, unwilling to let him see her fear.

  "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?"

  Arden didn't dare admit that she had hoped he wouldn't find out it had been her apartment that had been torched.

  "Where were you when the fire started?" he asked.

  She frowned. "I was at the library doing research."

  "But you had been home."

  "Yes."

  "How long were you gone?"

  "Why all the questions?"

  "How long were you gone?" Shaun repeated the question slowly.

  "I'm not sure."

  "You're lying."

  "I'm not lying," she snapped. "I didn't check my watch when I left."

  "You must have an idea what time it was when you decided to go to the library."

  "Why are you cross-examining me?"

  "What time?" he repeated.

  Arden turned away from him. "It was about seven o'clock."

  "And what time did you leave the courthouse again?"

  "Around eight."

  "So you were gone less than an hour, and in that time, your apartment was destroyed."

  "That doesn't prove that I was a target."

  "Maybe it doesn't prove anything," he admitted. "But it sure as hell concerns me."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't… I don't—" She blew out an exasperated breath and stepped away from him. She remembered his reaction after the fire: his fear and concern, and the way he'd made love with 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."

  * * *

  Shaun tried to convince Arden to go to bed early that night. After everything she'd been through in the past week, he knew she had to be exhausted. But she insisted that she had reading to catch up on, and she settled do
wn on the sofa with a stack of legal journals. He wasn't surprised that she'd fallen asleep less than half an hour later.

  He was surprised when he heard her scream.

  It was a deep, blood-curdling sound wrenched from somewhere deep inside her. He dropped the book he'd been reading and leapt from his chair. She sucked air into her lungs, prepared to scream again. He wrapped his arms around her, and she fought against him, thrashing and whimpering.

  "It's me, Shaun. It's okay. You're safe."

  The words must have penetrated the haze of her subconscious, because she stopped fighting and collapsed against him, sobbing.

  He brushed his hand over her hair, stunned. He'd never seen her like this. So completely vulnerable, so obviously terrorized.

  "Jesus, Arden. You're shaking." He rubbed his hands briskly over her bare arms, trying to warm her.

  "I'm okay," she said. "Just a little cold."

  "You're not okay."

  "It's not the first time I've had this nightmare," she admitted, her voice not quite steady. "And I'm sure it won't be the last."

  "Tell me about it," he said.

  "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to relive it again."

  "Not talking about it hasn't helped you forget."

  She shook her head. "It's just a nightmare. I know that, but I can't stop it. It keeps happening, over and over."

  "What is it?"

  She closed her eyes but finally responded. "It's the night Denise and Brian Hemingway were killed."

  He continued to hold her, but he didn't ask any more questions. He just waited for her to talk.

  "She first came to see me just a couple of months before that," Arden told him. "Her sister had taken her to the shelter after she was released from the hospital. Her husband had beaten her up pretty badly. She had a couple of cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, multiple cuts and bruises. And he'd knocked Brian down the stairs, when the little boy tried to stop him from kicking his mother.

  "She didn't want the restraining order," she admitted. "He would be angry enough that she'd left and taken his son with her, and a piece of paper forbidding contact would only make him angrier. But he'd hurt her and he'd threatened their child, and she was scared enough to let me talk her into it."