You Again by Carolyn Scott Page B

fraud.”
    “Oh look, here it is.  Right next to the needle I pulled out of a haystack.”
    “Funny.  Look, Lil, it might not be that bad.  If we can’t find the necklace you returned then there might be some paperwork, false valuations, letters, that sort of thing.”  He squeezed her hand.  After a hesitation, she squeezed back.  “Don’t worry,” he said.  “We’ll find something.”
     
    Lily watched Luke as he quietly and efficiently went through the Haywood-Smith’s master bedroom without disturbing so much as a speck of dust.  He looked in places she thought would be good hiding spots for stolen jewels that weren’t actually stolen, and some she’d never thought of—under the rug, up the chimney and inside sofa cushions.  They found nothing.
    And that didn’t make sense.  A rich woman should have some jewelry somewhere but they couldn’t find anything worth insuring.
    “Now what?” she asked.
    He didn’t answer.  He stood near the velvet drapes, his head to one side.  Focused.  Listening.  At that moment he reminded her of her father.  She always knew when he’d just completed a job because he was always alert, never quite with her even when he was right beside her.
    And then she heard it too.  A door closing followed by footsteps coming up the stairs.
    She wanted to warn him but her throat had seized and he was way ahead of her anyway.  “In there.”  He pointed to an adjoining door with his flashlight. 
    She opened it and stepped into every girl’s dream closet.  Or not really a closet, more like a room dedicated to clothing.  Shoes of all shapes and sizes took up one entire wall, each pair occupying its own pigeonhole in the custom-built shelving system.  The remaining walls consisted of mirrored sliding doors behind which hung clothes, except for one which was conspicuous by its emptiness.  Suits, dresses, skirts, shirts and pants were sorted according to style and color.  A purple brocaded chaise lounge sat in the middle of the room, a pair of discarded black heeled shoes beside it. 
    Luke hustled her into one of the closets amongst the men’s suits and they switched off their flashlights in unison.  Expensive aftershave swamped her and she gagged.  He put his fingers to her lips and the scent of rubber from the flashlight grip mixed with something more masculine and pleasant replaced the aftershave.
    “They’re in the bedroom,” he whispered in her ear.
    They?  She listened and heard what he had heard.  Two sets of footsteps, one light the other heavier.  At any moment one or both of the Haywood-Smiths would enter the closet in which she and Luke hid.

 
    CHAPTER 8
     
    Sweat popped out on Lily’s brow and her body shook.  Luke’s arms snaked around her waist, strong and steady and comforting.  She leaned back into his chest, her head bumping his shoulder, not quite relaxing but no longer hyperventilating.
    “It’s okay.  I’m here and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” he said.
    She could kiss him for saying it.  The effect of his words made her knees weak and heart full.  He was right.  She was with a cop.  Nothing bad would happen.  She was safe and he was right alongside her.
    She closed her eyes and turned her face into his throat, wanting to draw in his scent and block out Max Haywood-Smith’s cloying aftershave.  The pulse in Luke’s neck beat steadily against her lips, its strong rhythm flowing through her and calming her own pulse rate to a more regular beat. 
    His skin smelled so good and his throat tasted like, well, like Luke.  Strong.  Masculine.  Delicious.  She felt alert and more alive than ever, and very aware of him beside her. 
    He turned his head a little and their mouths connected in a fierce, thrilling kiss that knocked her senseless.  She drove her fingers through his hair, locking him against her.  Maybe it was the close proximity to both a sexy man and danger, or maybe it was the primal beat of her