Her Amish Protectors Page 2

  His dark eyes met hers for the first time. It felt like an electrical shock, raising the tiny hairs on her arms. Nadia couldn’t imagine why she’d responded that way. His expression was so guarded, she didn’t have the slightest idea what he was thinking as he walked toward her.

  She was peripherally aware she wasn’t the only one transfixed by his approach. The other two cashiers were staring, too, although she couldn’t tear her own gaze from him long enough to tell if they were admiring a gorgeous male specimen, or frozen the way a small mammal is when a predator locks onto it. Nadia wasn’t even sure which she felt.

  He stopped on the other side of the table from her, his lips curved but his eyes remaining watchful. And he held out a hand. “Ms. Markovic, we haven’t met. I’m Ben Slater, chief of the Byrum police department.”

  She focused on that hand, long-fingered and powerful enough to crush a man’s throat—and she knew what her reaction meant. That was a spike of fear she’d felt. When she made herself accept his handshake and looked into his eyes again, she saw a flicker that told her he hadn’t liked whatever he’d seen on her face.

  “Chief Slater. Several people have pointed you out,” she said pleasantly, suppressing her completely irrational response. The antipathy she felt toward law enforcement officers was one thing, this something else altogether. Although she had to wonder if he wore a holster beneath that perfectly fitted jacket. The sight of a handgun could send a shudder of remembered pain and terror through her. “Thank you for coming tonight. I don’t suppose you’re planning to bid on one of those quilts, are you?”

  She was pretty sure he was amused now. “As beautiful as they are,” he said, in a velvet deep voice, “I’m afraid I can’t bring myself to spend thousands of dollars on a bed covering.”

  “They’re more than that,” she protested. “They’re works of art.”

  “I won’t argue.” His smile was devastating in a lean, beautiful face. “Unfortunately, I don’t spend thousands of dollars for wall art, either.”

  “A Philistine,” she teased, even as she marveled at her daring.

  He laughed. “I’d call myself a man who lives on a modest paycheck.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Oh, well. I guess you’re excused, then.”

  “What about you? I didn’t see you bidding, either.”

  This time, she made a face. “I can’t afford what the quilts are going for, either. I do own several beautiful ones already, though.” She hesitated. “Actually, I’m a quilter. I donated one of the lap-size quilts that already sold. That was all I had time to do, what with getting a business up and running.”

  “The fabric store.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Not someplace I’m likely to shop.”

  She chuckled. No, he would be wildly out of place amidst the riot of color and femininity in her store.

  But then she had an odd thought. The previous owner of her building had died in a fall. She’d heard a rumor that the police suspected the elderly woman had been pushed down the stairs, but rumors had a way of sprouting from the smallest of seeds. Still, even when an accident resulted in a death, the police responded, didn’t they?

  “You must have been in my building before.”

  His gaze became opaque. “I have.”

  “Did you...know Mrs. Jefferson?”

  “No. I was new on the job when she died.” One side of his mouth tipped up. “And, you know, she did run a fabric store. As we’ve established, not my kind of place.”

  Nadia smiled again, but it took a bit of an effort. When she heard the rumor, she’d seriously considered backing out of the sale. She’d have been within her rights, if there was any real reason to believe Mrs. Jefferson had been murdered. That was the kind of information the Realtor should have disclosed immediately. But then she’d told herself not to be an idiot. The location was perfect for her business, and she loved the idea of being able to live upstairs from it. What, did she think no one had ever died in the town of Byrum?

  But she heard herself say, “I came here thinking this was a peaceful community. Learning about Mrs. Jefferson’s death really disturbed me.”

  More thunderous applause from the ballroom had the police chief glancing over his shoulder, but his dark gaze returned to her. “No place is completely peaceful, Ms. Markovic. Humanity being what it is.”

  “I know that.” Wait. Was he confirming that awful rumor?

  No, he was speaking in generalities, of course. And, no, she absolutely would not ask him what he thought about the elderly woman’s death. Since she went up and down those stairs several times a day, the last thing she needed was to obsess about the older woman who had plummeted to her death on them.

  Or to think about how intimately she had seen death.

  Nadia was rescued from trying to think of something pleasant to say by renewed excitement from the ballroom. Even the police chief looked around. Nadia noticed the third cashier hovering, the one whose seat she was occupying. A stream of people started out of the ballroom, so she stood and said, “Looks like it’s time to go to work.”

  Chief Slater had stepped back, but was waiting when Nadia came around the table. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

  She forced a smile and lied. “Likewise. Except I hope I never need to call you.”

  “There are other reasons for two people to talk,” he murmured, nodded—and walked away.

  * * *

  INTRIGUING WOMAN, BEN REFLECTED, as he stood at the back of the ballroom and watched the last few quilts be auctioned for staggering prices.

  Sexy woman, too. Hair as dark as his, white, white skin that would give her trouble in the hot Missouri sun and haunting eyes he’d label as hazel, inadequate as the word was to describe the seemingly shifting colors: green, gold, whiskey brown. And lush curves. The woman was built. Breasts that would more than fill his large hands, tiny waist, womanly hips and long legs that weren’t sticks. Scrawny women had never done it for him.

  For just a second, he’d thought she returned his interest. But something else had darkened her eyes. Wariness? Okay, he was a cop. Some people reacted that way to him, although usually they had a guilty conscience. She didn’t look like the type.

  He frowned. He wasn’t so sure what he’d seen was wariness. She’d almost looked...afraid.

  The minute the thought crossed Ben’s mind, he knew it was right. She’d moved here because she’d believed the community to be peaceful, which suggested wherever she’d come from wasn’t. Still, you’d think if she’d been the victim of a crime, law enforcement presence tonight would have reassured her.

  For a moment, he didn’t see the still-full ballroom, the auctioneer, the spotters. He saw only her face, gently rounded rather than model beautiful. And he saw that flare in her eyes, and knew whatever she’d felt had been for him, not what he represented. Or, at least, not only what he represented.

  He grimaced. Maybe he bore an unfortunate resemblance to some scumbag who’d beaten her. Mugged her. Stalked her. Or what if she’d had an ex who’d been a cop and violent?

  Bad luck. What Ben would like to do was drop by the fabric store and persuade Ms. Nadia Markovic to take a break for a cup of coffee. But scaring women...that wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed. He’d keep his distance, at least for now.

  He abruptly refocused on the stage, because Nadia had taken the microphone and was thanking everyone for coming and letting them know how much money had been raised. Over $100,000 just from the auction, plus an additional $20,000 from the sale hall open today, where many more quilts had been available as well as other textile arts. A drop in the bucket compared to the need, but a nice sum of money nonetheless.

  “And, finally,” she said, “we all owe thanks to the artists who donated the work of thousands of hours, their skill and their vision, to help people whos
e lives were devastated by nature’s fury.”

  The applause was long and heartfelt. Ben joined in, watching as Nadia made her way from the stage and through the crowd, stopping to exchange a few words here, a hug there. She was glowing. Nothing like the way she’d shut down at the sight of him.

  Even so, he hung around until the end, thinking about how much money was stashed in that metal box behind the cashiers. He couldn’t shake the big-city mentality. Hard to picture anyone here trying to snatch it—but better safe than sorry.

  He clenched his teeth. That had been one of his mother’s favorite sayings. She had, once upon a time, been firm in her belief she could keep her family safe by adequate precautions. Until the day she found out shit happens to everyone.

  Keeping that in mind, he stepped outside and waited in the darkness beneath some ancient oak trees until he’d seen Nadia Markovic safely in her car and on her way.

  * * *

  THE FOURTH STAIR always creaked, and it always made her start. Which was silly. Older buildings made noises. Nadia had had an inspection done before she bought this one, and there wasn’t a thing wrong with the structure. Yet the creak made her think of clanking chains, moans and movement seen out of the corner of her eye.

  Had the stair creaked before Mrs. Jefferson’s fatal fall? Nadia wrinkled her nose at her own gothic imagination. Only then she got to wondering if the police had noticed that one step creaked. Because nobody could sneak up those stairs—unless they knew to skip that step. Or the person hadn’t bothered, because he or she was expected, even welcome. Either way, it suggested the killer wasn’t a stranger.

  She rolled her eyes as she set the money box on the dresser in her bedroom. If Mrs. Jefferson had the TV on, she wouldn’t have heard anyone coming. Or she could have been in the bathroom, or maybe she was going a little deaf. No one had said.

  Or, oh, gee, she’d stumbled at the head of the stairs and fallen. There was a concept. A neighbor had said that the poor woman had suffered from osteoporosis. Tiny, she had become stooped with a growing hunch. She should have moved to an apartment or house where she didn’t have to deal with stairs.

  And Nadia did not want to think about tragedy of any kind, not tonight. If she hadn’t encountered Ben Slater, she wouldn’t have felt nervous for a minute going upstairs in her own home.

  While she was at it, she’d refrain from so much as thinking about him, too. She’d forget that odd moment of fear, or her surprising physical response to the man. Instead, she’d let herself enjoy satisfaction and even a teeny bit of triumph, because tonight they’d exceeded their original goal by a good margin. She could hardly wait to deposit the money in the bank tomorrow morning.

  Normally, she didn’t like to have money lying around. She made regular deposits to limit how much cash she had on hand in the store. But whatever Chief Slater said, Byrum seemed to be a peaceful small town. She read the local paper, and most of the crimes mentioned in it were trivial or had to do with teenagers or the weekend crowd at bars.

  Nadia had locked up as soon as she was inside, checking and rechecking both the building’s front and back doors as well as the one at the foot of the staircase leading to her apartment.

  Worrying came naturally to her, and the tendency had worsened drastically after—Nope, not gonna think about that, either.

  Instead, she removed her heels and sighed with relief. Most people hadn’t had to dress up at all, the event having been advertised as Missouri summer casual, but since she’d opened the evening and closed it, she’d felt obligated to wear a favorite silk dress with cap sleeves while hoping it wasn’t obvious her legs were bare.

  She took a cool shower, brushed her teeth and went to bed wearing only panties and a cotton camisole. She threw even the top sheet aside. The small air-conditioning unit in the window helped, but she usually turned it off at some point during the night. It didn’t just hum, it rattled, which was really annoying.

  Maybe that’s why Mrs. Jefferson didn’t hear someone coming up the stairs.

  Nadia groaned, but even as exhausted as she was, it was bound to wake her up later. Replacing it was on her wish list.

  So, as she often did, she basked in the scant flow of chilly air until her eyelids grew heavy, then forced herself to crawl out of bed and turn off the air conditioner. Tonight, not even a sultry ninety degrees would keep her awake.

  * * *

  THE SCREECH OF the alarm jolted Nadia to enough consciousness to slap the button to shut it off. Then she moaned and buried her face in the pillow. Why hadn’t she planned to close the shop today?

  Dumb question. Saturday was her busiest day in a typical week, and she bet lots of people would stop by just to share the excitement generated by last night’s event. Plus, she needed to slip out before noon to deposit the money, since the bank’s Saturday hours were so limited.

  “Ugh.” Her eyelids felt as if they were glued shut, or maybe weighted down with a thin coating of cement. She had crashed last night. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t ready to reboot.

  Another cool, or even icy-cold, shower would help, she decided. She just had to get up and make it that far.

  With a whimper, she rolled out of bed. It only took a minute to gather clothes. Heading for the bathroom, she tried to decide why her entire body ached. Yes, she’d worked hard yesterday doing setup, and she’d been on her feet for hours on end, but she wasn’t in that bad shape.

  Nadia had gotten all the way into the bathroom before her brain stuttered. No, no. I just didn’t see because I wasn’t looking.

  So she set the neat pile of clothes on the countertop, then very slowly turned around. Through the open bathroom door, she could see her dresser. She could even see her reflection in the beveled mirror above the antique chest of drawers.

  She just didn’t see the money box.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HAVING SLEPT POORLY last night, Ben was not happy when his phone rang while he was in the bathroom trying to scrape off the whiskers he’d grown since he last shaved at approximately 6:00 p.m. yesterday. He glared at himself in the mirror and groped for the phone. Half his face still covered with foam, he snapped, “Yeah?”

  “Um...Chief?”

  Recognizing the voice, he sighed. “Sergeant. Sorry. What’s up?”

  “Ah, just had a call I thought you’d want to know about. Since you said you were going to that event last night.”

  Tension crawled up his spine. “The quilt auction.”

  “Yeah. The lady who organized it says somebody stole the money. She’s next thing to hysterical.”

  How in hell...? “I know where she lives. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Incredulity and worry spinning in his head, he finished shaving, got dressed and went out the door without his usual second cup of coffee. In front of her building, he parked directly behind a squad car.

  After he rapped lightly on the door that had a closed sign and no one came, he went in. An astonishing array of colors filled the space. Rows and rows of fabric on bolts flowed naturally from one shade to another, while quilts hung on every wall. At the rear was a door leading into another space that had been a storeroom in the past, but he knew Ms. Markovic was offering classes now, so maybe she’d converted it. The store was a whole lot more appealing than it had been the last time he’d been here, after Mrs. Jefferson’s death.

  To his right, a wide doorway opened to a hall that gave access to a restroom for customers, ending at a back door. He was all too familiar with the layout, including the oddly shaped closet beneath the staircase. Ben stopped long enough now to examine the lock on the apartment door.

  Voices came from above as he mounted the stairs. One step still creaked, resulting in abrupt silence above. Sure enough, Officer Grumbach appeared at the head of the staircase.

  “Chief.” He looked relie
ved.

  Ben nodded a greeting and entered the apartment.

  Nadia sat in an easy chair, arms crossed and held tight to her body. Her mass of dark hair was loose and unbrushed. She wore a stretchy camisole with no bra beneath—he had to make a conscious effort not to let his gaze drop to those generous breasts—and what looked like thin sweatpants. Her face was pinched, even paler than last night. And her eyes fixed on him, unblinking.

  He sat on the coffee table right in front of her. “Okay,” he said in a deliberately gentle voice, “tell me what happened.”

  “I don’t know what happened!” she cried. “Like I’ve told him over and over.”

  Hovering by the doorway, the young redheaded officer flushed.

  “Let’s put it another way,” Ben said. “I saw you drive out of the parking lot last night.”

  Her eyes widened. “You were still there?”

  “I was. That was an awful lot of money you had.”

  Her teeth chattered. “It never occurred to any of us that something like this could happen.”

  “Now I wish I’d escorted you home, too,” he said.

  Nadia shook her head. “I got home fine. I had the box. I thought of hiding it downstairs, but I decided to keep it close by instead. So I put it on the dresser in my bedroom.”

  He went very still, not liking the implication.

  Officer Grumbach cleared his throat. “When I checked, the back door was unlocked. And Ms. Markovic says the door at the foot of the stairs was unlocked this morning, too.”

  “But I checked both last night!” Nadia’s voice rose. “I locked my apartment door and verified that I had. I did!”

  Unable to help himself, Ben reached out and laid a hand over hers, now writhing in her lap. She froze, took a couple of deep breaths and continued in a quieter voice, “I worried a little, because I always do, but how could anyone get in?”

  He frowned. “Are you a heavy sleeper?”