Cyrus Cooper didn’t run Wyatt’s department or him.

  She picked through her damaged clothes, held up a Bon Jovi tee. “Damn. This was my favorite.” She dropped it back onto the bed. “I got it at his last concert in Nashville.”

  Wyatt checked the lock on the door for evidence of forced entry. Maybe if he lingered long enough Rich would arrive and provide a much needed buffer. Right now, Wyatt just needed an excuse not to have to look at her.

  They’d almost had sex.

  What the hell had he been thinking?

  Focus, dumbass. The lock. Of course there was evidence of forced entry. Lots of it. There likely wasn’t a single room at the Shady Oaks that hadn’t been broken into at least once. For someone with the know-how it wouldn’t be that difficult. A damned credit card would no doubt do the trick.

  “Shit. The Def Leppard shirt got it, too.” She stared down at the scraps of fabric on the bed.

  Wyatt dared to step away from the door he’d been examining. “I guess your taste in music hasn’t changed.” Seemed a safe enough topic until Rich arrived.

  Yeah, right. Wyatt gave himself another mental shake. He was pretty sure he’d lost his damned mind.

  “Lot of things about me have changed.” She stood back from the bed and considered the room a moment. Then she looked him up and down. “I’m not that girl anymore, Wyatt. I’m a woman. Maybe you didn’t notice.” Then she headed for the bathroom.

  There was no way to verbalize his response to that. Oh, yeah, he’d noticed...every damned thing about her.

  “Well, well.” She jerked her head for him to come to the bathroom door. “Check this out.”

  Adrenaline sent a second charge into his veins. He stopped in the doorway. Fury chased the adrenaline through his bloodstream. This wasn’t just a random act of vandalism by some jerk from the past.

  The bastard every member of law enforcement in three counties was looking for had been in her room.

  Glued to the mirror was another cut-and-paste note.

  Are you ready to die, princess?

  “That’s it,” Wyatt snapped. “You’re not staying here another minute.”

  She glared at him for three beats before turning her attention back to the mirror. “If he’d wanted to kill me, he would have paid me a visit while I was actually in the room. Clearly, murder wasn’t on his schedule for tonight.”

  Wyatt’s frustration meter topped out. “You are the most hardheaded woman—”

  A knock sounded at the door before he could finish sticking his foot completely in his mouth. He turned away from the woman driving him absolutely crazy and strode across the room. He opened the door for his colleague. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Rich.”

  “Not a problem.” Rich Baggett, his bag of tricks in hand, leaned his head toward one shoulder to see past Wyatt. “That can’t be Adeline Cooper.”

  “Hey, Rich.” She swaggered up to him and thrust out her gloved hand. “Long time, no see.”

  “You ain’t kidding.” He bypassed her hand and gave her a hug.

  Wyatt grabbed their jackets from the floor. Shit. He hoped like hell Rich hadn’t noticed.

  “Somebody doesn’t like my taste in clothes.” She gestured to the bed.

  Rich blew out a long, low whistle. “Looks that way.”

  “I doubt it’ll do any good,” Wyatt cut in, “but you can check the relevant areas of the room for prints.” It would probably be a waste of time, but maybe they’d get lucky.

  “Gotcha.” He set his bag on the floor and knelt down to get the tools he would need for the job.

  “There’s also a message on the bathroom mirror,” Wyatt told him. “I’m particularly interested in whether or not the glue used is the same as what was used on the princess letters Prescott and Addy have already received.”

  “Whether it is or not,” Addy piped up, “this is not the work of the same guy who sent the letters.”

  Her claim took Wyatt aback. “We can’t be sure until—”

  “I’m sure.” She turned and headed back to the bathroom.

  Wyatt followed, trying his level best not to stare at her sweet ass.

  “Take a look at how the words are lined up.” She drew a line in the air beneath the message. “Perfectly straight. Exactly the same distance apart. The letters, mine as well as Prescott’s, were not so meticulously arranged. The words weren’t so perfectly straight, a little upward tilt on the right as if the perp had trouble maintaining a straight line.” She shrugged. “Hands weren’t steady enough or maybe a vision problem.” She pointed to the spacing between the words then. “These words are spaced precisely, like the guy took a ruler. Not so with the letters from our perp.”

  Wyatt considered the validity of her points. “Could be that having them on the mirror right in front of his face enabled him to be more accurate with the spacing and the lining up of the words.” If the glue was the same, damn it, then it had to be!

  Maybe. Damn it!

  “That’s possible,” she admitted. “But why tear up my clothes? It’s not consistent with his actions related to Prescott’s abduction.”

  “Not that we’re aware of,” he countered. Addy was in way too much of a hurry to dismiss this situation. Bottom line, he didn’t care who had come into her room. She wasn’t safe here, especially not alone.

  “Does management maintain video surveillance here?”

  Wyatt laughed. “No surveillance, and if the manager’s asked if he saw anyone hanging around, the answer will be no. But we’ll ask, just the same.”

  Addy folded her arms over her chest and eyed the message on the mirror. “Next time I’ll have a surprise waiting for this bastard.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Wyatt informed her in no uncertain terms. “You’re not staying here another night. No negotiations.”

  She turned to face him in the cramped bathroom. “I thought we’d gotten past that. You don’t own me, Wyatt, so stop acting like you do. I can take care of myself.”

  Enough. “We don’t have a single clue as to this perp’s identity,” he reminded her. “No fingerprints. Nothing. We’re forced to wait for him to act and to hope that this time he’ll make a mistake and leave us something.”

  “It’s not the first case like this you’ve had to deal with,” she countered. “Probably won’t be the last. Sometimes it’s just the way it goes.”

  “You are the one link we have to him.” That was the part she was glossing over. “I’m not about to let anything happen to our one shot at getting this guy.” That didn’t come out the way he’d intended but he got the point across. The subtle shift from cocky to mildly uncertain in her expression was telling.

  “You’re saying this is business,” she said warily, “not personal.”

  “That’s right.” A muscle in his jaw throbbed irritatingly. There was no reason for her to know any differently. “Strictly official business.”

  She laughed. “Good. I thought maybe you just wanted to finish what we’d started.” She squeezed between him and the sink but stopped shy of the door. “Because that’s not going to happen.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wiggins, Mississippi

  Christmas Day, 7:00 a.m.

  She was here.

  The corners of his lips tugged into a smile. He’d been concerned she wouldn’t come.

  Good little real estate agent. She didn’t want to miss out on a sale. It might look bad on her record. Especially since she had such lofty aspirations. So what if it was Christmas? The kids could wait.

  That was just like a princess. Thought of no one but herself. Bitch.

  Penny Arnold parked her car in the newly poured drive of the recently completed home in the highest-end development on her list of properties.

  She’d worked so hard to get the builder to take her on. He had listened to one of her lunch meetings with the man. She hadn’t suspected for a moment that the quiet gentleman at the next table was there, not for lunch, but to learn what she was up to. To confirm his conclusions.

  Poor Penny had practically begged for the opportunity.

  She had assured the developer that she understood that there were others in the community with far more experience and considerably more clout but no one would work harder than her. She would be available twenty-four/seven. Princess Penny had gotten the contract.

  Good for her.

  Too bad she wouldn’t need it.

  Not after today.

  Merry Christmas, princess.

  Chapter Sixteen

  1708 Monroe Street, 8:30 a.m.

  Wyatt had bought a house.

  Adeline shouldn’t be surprised. She’d bought one, too. But it just felt weird.

  He was even cooking breakfast.

  He never cooked. They’d lived on take-out and frozen entrees. The only home-cooked meals they’d gotten were the ones her mom or his had prepared.

  Adeline still didn’t cook. Had no desire to learn the culinary arts.

  Hell no.

  At some point today she had to check in with her chief. He was a man of his word. If she wasn’t back in forty-eight hours—or had a damned good excuse—he would send Metcalf and Wallace down here to collect her.

  Adeline straightened the covers on the guest bed she’d slept in last night. She’d been pretty pissed at Wyatt when he’d pushed the issue of her ending her stay at the Shady Oaks. There were plenty of other accommodations around town, but he’d insisted on bringing her home with him. Wasn’t going to let her out of his sight, he’d proclaimed.

  She fluffed the pillows. ’Course she could have simply said no. But she hadn’t.

  That made her a bigger fool than even she had known.

  She looked across the room, studied her reflection in the mirror. A hot shower last night and one of Wyatt’s shirts had kept her from going naked while her clothes were being laundered. He had a washer and dryer, too.

  Freaky.

  She wiggled into her clean jeans and tugged on her T-shirt. Plopping down on the bed, she grabbed her creds case from the bedside table and shoved it into her back pocket. After making quick work of her socks and sneakers, she bounded for the door. Between the smell of freshly brewed coffee and whatever he was cooking, she was ready to hit the kitchen.

  Just after midnight last night Baggett had called in the results of the analysis he’d performed. The glue used to attach the words to the mirror was the same as on the letters she’d received.

  But it wasn’t the same guy. Adeline was certain.

  Mulling over the possibilities, including her asshole cousin, she wandered to the kitchen door and leaned against it. His back turned to her position, Wyatt stirred the scrambled eggs. A plate covered with steaming biscuits obviously straight from the oven sat on the table. Smelled yummy.

  But not nearly as yummy as watching her host for a minute without his knowledge. It would be a nice change. He was usually too aware of his surroundings to be sneaked up on like this. Why not enjoy the anomaly?

  Her mouth watered. The delicious smells would make anyone’s senses stand up and pay attention.

  Wyatt had forgone his uniform this morning. Just a plain white tee and faded jeans. She cocked her head to see past the table. Barefoot, too. A grin slid across her lips. He had really nice feet for a man.

  And long, heavily muscled legs. She wondered if he still ran those four miles every morning. She had kept up her personal routine. This morning was the first one she’d missed in months. Not since all those twenty-four-hour days on the Nash/Abbott investigation.

  Wyatt had maintained that lean waist. Her gaze trailed up his back to those broad shoulders.

  Her body heated just thinking about that tumble onto the bed at the motel last night.

  Sex with Wyatt had always been great.

  Maybe that was why she’d allowed herself to get carried away last night.

  She’d been primed and ready, no denying that.

  In the end, the perp had done her a favor. Kept her from allowing Wyatt back inside her. It had taken several years for her to adequately evict him the last time. Last night would have undone a lot of hard work.

  And pain.

  She couldn’t let herself forget the pain just because she was standing here looking at his fine backside. Which was a dumb idea.

  “Morning.”

  He glanced over his shoulder as she pushed away from the wall. “Morning. You find everything you need?” He turned back to the stove and scraped the eggs onto a plate.

  “Yep.” Her skin smelled like him. Earthy, like leather and herbs. She loved his soap.

  “Hungry?”

  “Yep.” The smell of freshly brewed coffee overwhelmed the other scrumptious scents. “Coffee ready?”

  “Yep,” he said, repeating her responses.

  She strolled to the counter where the coffeepot stood next to the sink. A rumble of pleasure sounded in her throat as she filled the empty mug he’d set out for her. Caffeine would hit the spot. One quick sip of the steaming brew and her taste buds exploded with the just-ground flavor.

  “When did you start grinding your own coffee beans?” God, it was good. She downed another swallow. Too fast. Burned her tongue.

  “That’s the only way to get really fresh coffee.” He shot her a knowing look. “I hear folks in Huntsville think fresh coffee only comes from Starbucks.”

  “That’s where I get mine.” He’d already set the table. Adeline pulled out a chair and took a seat. “But,” she lifted her mug in a salute, “I have to say this is every bit as good as what I pay the big bucks for.”

  He settled the eggs on the table next to the biscuits. “It was either figure out how to do this or starve after I bought my own place.” He passed her a napkin. “OJ?”

  “No, thanks.” Careful not to touch those long fingers, she accepted the napkin. “You sticking by your promise to keep what happened last night off the record?”

  The surprise in his eyes told her he’d misunderstood. He blinked it away. “Rich is the only one who knows. We’ll keep it that way for now.”

  “Good.” If any of his deputies were involved, she wanted them to wonder why there hadn’t been a reaction. A reaction from whoever hacked up her clothes was exactly what she wanted. She bit her lip to prevent a little smile at the idea that Wyatt had at first thought she meant the other thing that happened last night.

  She had to hand it to him. He was still the best kisser she’d had the pleasure of locking lips with. Considering the number of men she’d dated in the last eight or so years, that was saying something.

  Wyatt pulled out a chair and lowered that tall frame of his into it. “Merry Christmas, Addy.”

  She blinked away the unexpected reaction to the way he said her name. He’d said her name plenty of times since she got here. Why the sudden burst of shivery heat?

  Do not let him get to you like this.

  “It is Christmas, isn’t it?” A few more swigs of coffee kept her from having to linger on the subject.

  “Dig in.” He gestured to the goods he’d gone to the trouble of preparing.

  That she could do. After scooping a heaping pile of eggs onto her plate, she grabbed a biscuit. It was still hot. He scooted the tub of margarine in her direction, obviously recalling that she liked to slather her bread in fat even if—she glanced at the brand of margarine—it came from vegetables.

  The eggs were cooked just long enough, still moist and soft. The biscuits. Dear God, the flavor burst in her mouth. She ate. Ate every damned speck from her plate.

  “More?” He’d cleaned his plate, as well.

  Adeline leaned back in her chair and rubbed her tummy. “Couldn’t hold another bite.”

  He had that look. The one that said he was going to open a can of worms, and she wasn’t interested in fishing. Adeline sat up. Stuffing her face had permitted her to avoid conversation, but that was over.

  “I’ll clean up.” She stood, sending her chair scooting across the wood floor.

  “We need to talk about last night.”

  Oh no they did not. “What’s to talk about?”

  He brought his plate and fork to the sink. “There’s still something between us, Addy. No point denying it. Last night was undeniable evidence.”

  She finished rinsing her plate and elbowed him out of the way so she could put it in the dishwasher. Wyatt had a dishwasher. Jesus. What else? Then she straightened and faced him. “It’s called hormones, Wyatt. You’re a man, I’m a woman. We got carried away. It only means that there was chemistry brewing.”

  She grabbed his plate, rinsed it, and tucked it into the nifty dishwasher. The forks went next.

  “If not for the perp having vandalized your wardrobe we would have had sex,” he said as he braced one lean hip against the counter.

  She shrugged. “We’re both adults. So what?”

  He smiled, but there was no amusement in the expression. “Let’s not play this game, Addy.” He moved his head slowly from side to side. “We both know last night was about more than raging hormones.”

  “You’re right.” She walked around him and grabbed the skillet from the stove. “Some asshole broke into my motel room and ruined my shit.” Reaching for the pot scrubber and dish detergent, she flashed him a smile—one just as fake as the one he’d shown her. “I’m pissed.”

  “Not just some asshole,” he corrected. “Baggett said the glue was a match. The wording, not to mention the method of communication, was too similar. We haven’t released any information related to the letters. This can’t be a copycat. This was him.”

  She wasn’t going to waste her breath reminding him that just because they hadn’t released the information didn’t mean it hadn’t gotten out. Happened all the time.

  “This guy is watching you.”

  “Probably.” She scrubbed out of the skillet. This was the bad part of scrambling eggs. The cleanup.

  “Then why don’t you believe he was the one who came into your room?”