sale, see what might come up.
His Jeep was loaded and ready. The office wasn’t officially open on weekends, but Ben, Alex and Sol were usually in and out. Annie came in whenever she needed to play catch-up. The alarm system installers worked for JDT Security Systems, the company that handled all the Atlas jobs. Trace phoned Ed Wilcox and got the guys going on what would be an overtime job at Maggie’s.
By nine he was finished and heading back to the town house. He wanted to interview the residents in the other five units, see if anyone had heard or seen anything last night.
As he drove toward Broadmoor, he found himself smiling. He was working, sort of, providing a protection detail for his client—not that he planned to charge her for a trip to the shore. But the better part of the bargain was the day he would be spending at sea, sailing with the pretty little redhead on his boat in Galveston Bay.
Maggie was surprised she had agreed to the trip. But as Trace had said, the security people would be working in the town house all day, and she really needed to take some more pictures. She wanted to finish the coffee-table book and if she got lucky, she could get a few more shots for her show at the Twin Oaks Gallery in a couple weeks.
After Trace left in the wee hours of the morning, Maggie had returned upstairs and managed to get a couple hours of sleep. But it wasn’t nearly enough. As she dressed in a pair of cropped navy blue pants, a red-striped top and sandals, she yawned, feeling groggy and out of sorts. Coffee helped but not that much. At least the weather was good. Still cool, but no longer cold, the air not too humid.
Trace returned at ten, his Cherokee loaded with gear. “You ready?” he asked when she opened the door.
“Just about.” She looked down at the black-and-white dog standing next to him on her doorstep.
“That’s Rowdy,” he said. “Rowdy, this is Maggie.”
Her eyes widened when the animal barked.
“Hi, Rowdy,” she said, because he seemed to demand a greeting. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
He barked again.
She bit back a laugh. “I just need to load my camera gear.” She turned to collect the Nikon D3S sitting in its case in the entry. It was equipped with a fantastic Tamron 28-300 lens she had purchased a few weeks back. The new equipment had set her back nearly seven thousand dollars, but in her line of work, it was an essential investment.
Trace walked past her, gently elbowing her aside when she reached for the bag, and hoisted the strap over one of his wide shoulders.
“I’m used to carrying my own equipment,” she said.
“I’m sure you are.” But he kept on walking, hauling the stuff out to his Jeep and loading it into the backseat.
“I hope you aren’t charging me extra for that,” she grumbled as she carried her yellow canvas swim bag out to the car.
He grinned, a flash of white in a suntanned face so handsome it made her breath catch. An amazing face, she thought, with those hard, sculpted features and intense, whiskey-brown eyes, so warm and direct they sent a little quiver into her stomach.
“No extra charge,” he said, sliding her tripod onto the seat. “Not today.”
She watched the flex of those incredible biceps she had noticed at the Texas Café, and told herself therewas nothing wrong with being physically attracted to a man. After all, she was a young, fully mature woman, though she rarely gave in to those sorts of urges.
“Oh, I almost forgot the sandwiches.”
He smiled. “Sandwiches, huh? I like the way you think. I’m hungry already.”
Maggie ran back inside and grabbed the small cooler she had filled with ham-and-cheese sandwiches on fresh rye bread, and a couple Diet Cokes. Mr. He-man probably drank the real thing, but today, diet would have to do.
Trace and Rowdy walked to the rear of the Jeep. “Load up,” he said, and the dog hopped onto the tailgate, went inside and lay down on his bed. Trace left the rear window
His Jeep was loaded and ready. The office wasn’t officially open on weekends, but Ben, Alex and Sol were usually in and out. Annie came in whenever she needed to play catch-up. The alarm system installers worked for JDT Security Systems, the company that handled all the Atlas jobs. Trace phoned Ed Wilcox and got the guys going on what would be an overtime job at Maggie’s.
By nine he was finished and heading back to the town house. He wanted to interview the residents in the other five units, see if anyone had heard or seen anything last night.
As he drove toward Broadmoor, he found himself smiling. He was working, sort of, providing a protection detail for his client—not that he planned to charge her for a trip to the shore. But the better part of the bargain was the day he would be spending at sea, sailing with the pretty little redhead on his boat in Galveston Bay.
Maggie was surprised she had agreed to the trip. But as Trace had said, the security people would be working in the town house all day, and she really needed to take some more pictures. She wanted to finish the coffee-table book and if she got lucky, she could get a few more shots for her show at the Twin Oaks Gallery in a couple weeks.
After Trace left in the wee hours of the morning, Maggie had returned upstairs and managed to get a couple hours of sleep. But it wasn’t nearly enough. As she dressed in a pair of cropped navy blue pants, a red-striped top and sandals, she yawned, feeling groggy and out of sorts. Coffee helped but not that much. At least the weather was good. Still cool, but no longer cold, the air not too humid.
Trace returned at ten, his Cherokee loaded with gear. “You ready?” he asked when she opened the door.
“Just about.” She looked down at the black-and-white dog standing next to him on her doorstep.
“That’s Rowdy,” he said. “Rowdy, this is Maggie.”
Her eyes widened when the animal barked.
“Hi, Rowdy,” she said, because he seemed to demand a greeting. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
He barked again.
She bit back a laugh. “I just need to load my camera gear.” She turned to collect the Nikon D3S sitting in its case in the entry. It was equipped with a fantastic Tamron 28-300 lens she had purchased a few weeks back. The new equipment had set her back nearly seven thousand dollars, but in her line of work, it was an essential investment.
Trace walked past her, gently elbowing her aside when she reached for the bag, and hoisted the strap over one of his wide shoulders.
“I’m used to carrying my own equipment,” she said.
“I’m sure you are.” But he kept on walking, hauling the stuff out to his Jeep and loading it into the backseat.
“I hope you aren’t charging me extra for that,” she grumbled as she carried her yellow canvas swim bag out to the car.
He grinned, a flash of white in a suntanned face so handsome it made her breath catch. An amazing face, she thought, with those hard, sculpted features and intense, whiskey-brown eyes, so warm and direct they sent a little quiver into her stomach.
“No extra charge,” he said, sliding her tripod onto the seat. “Not today.”
She watched the flex of those incredible biceps she had noticed at the Texas Café, and told herself therewas nothing wrong with being physically attracted to a man. After all, she was a young, fully mature woman, though she rarely gave in to those sorts of urges.
“Oh, I almost forgot the sandwiches.”
He smiled. “Sandwiches, huh? I like the way you think. I’m hungry already.”
Maggie ran back inside and grabbed the small cooler she had filled with ham-and-cheese sandwiches on fresh rye bread, and a couple Diet Cokes. Mr. He-man probably drank the real thing, but today, diet would have to do.
Trace and Rowdy walked to the rear of the Jeep. “Load up,” he said, and the dog hopped onto the tailgate, went inside and lay down on his bed. Trace left the rear window
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