The Unmistakable Scent of Gardenias (Haunted Hearts Series Book 6) Read online

  “Nothing is missing in here.” The ordeal was starting to look less like robbery and more like harassment. Just as she’d feared.

  He nudged her toward the bedroom. “Take a look in there.”

  She slipped into the room and stood just inside the door, scared to enter her private space. Something was wrong. She sensed it before she figured it out. Moving closer to the desk in the corner, she studied the items littering the surface. “My things have been moved around.”

  “What’s out of place?”

  She pressed her nails into her palm to steady her shaking hands. “Everything. It’s all in different spots. Much neater than I left it.”

  Everything on the desktop had been squared off and straightened. When she left that morning, books had been left open. Printouts from websites had been spread across the desk. Even the glass of water she’d left on the desk was missing.

  She glanced at Moreau. “I don’t understand why he would do this. What is the point? If he wants me to know he’s been here, I think the flowers are an obvious clue.”

  Mixed with the cloying scent of gardenias was the obnoxious odor of Angelique’s cigarette. Moreau had insisted that she come with them while they inspected the apartment.

  Sophia gagged despite the purple rag covering her face. “Can we get out of here?”

  “This wasn’t a robbery.” Dylan voiced his opinion from behind them.

  They both swiveled at the sound of his voice.

  He moved a step closer. “Someone is harassing her.”

  Their eyes met. She’d been through this before.

  “You can stay with me.” Dylan’s offer seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised her.

  Her heart raced at the thought of being alone in the same house with him. At night. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  The cop piped in with his opinion. “Me either. Staying with Hunter could be dangerous.”

  “What are you implying, Moreau? No, wait. You aren’t implying anything. You’re saying it plain. You know, you are a pain in the—”

  Angelique’s voice rose above their dispute. “Can I go now?”

  Moreau switched his angry glare toward the woman. “Not yet. I want you to look at a picture and tell me if this is the man who delivered the flowers.”

  She retreated a step. “I don’t know what he looks like. I didn’t get a good look at the guy.”

  Sophia’s patience left the scene. “You described him for me earlier. Why can’t you remember him now?” Was she going to have to remind the woman about the money she took? “I thought the guy gave you—”

  “Let me see the picture.” Angelique wiggled long fingers at the cop.

  Her blood-red fingernail polish complemented her dark looks. Sophia could easily imagine the woman in a dominatrix outfit. She cringed. Once the unwanted mental image had invaded her imagination, it would be hard to dispel.

  Moreau pulled a crumpled photo from the inside jacket pocket of his cheap suit and offered it to Angelique. “Is that the man?”

  Sophia closed the gap between them to get a glimpse of the picture. No surprise that the photo was a black and white shot of the man who called himself Les Wakefield.

  Angelique’s dark complexion paled. One arm dangled with the cigarette hanging from her fingers. The other hand wrapped around her extended elbow. She flicked ashes from the end of the cigarette. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Her physical reaction was a sharp counterpoint to the indifference in her words.

  Sophia was about to push the woman to answer truthfully when Moreau beat her to the punch line. “He threatened you, didn’t he?”

  Angelique’s eyes popped with surprise and fear. “What? No.”

  Her brittle laughter assaulted Sophia’s last nerve. She tightened her hands into two balled fists.

  Moreau stepped closer to the woman. “You’re lying.”

  Angelique drooped a bit before recovering her bravado. “I ain’t got no reason to lie to you. I don’t remember if that’s the man or not.”

  Sophia skewered the woman with her hardest malevolent glare. “I think you do.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this.” Angelique dropped her smoke to the floor and stomped on it. “You holding me here, cop?”

  Moreau shook his head, but clearly he wanted to detain her. He had no reason. A cop can’t arrest a woman for being obnoxious. The group moved into the living room as Angelique turned and rushed away. Moreau followed her to the open door and kept his eyes trained on the woman’s back as she scurried across the parking lot and disappeared into the office across the way.

  Sophia stared at her through the curtains on her front window. She hadn’t left them open. Had they been parted when she had entered the apartment with Moreau? She couldn’t remember.

  She turned to Dylan. “Did you open the curtains?”

  “No. I didn’t. They were closed when I came in.”

  They both stared at Moreau.

  “Don’t look at me. I was with you.”

  “We would have heard someone come in, right? Maybe Angelique opened them.” She wanted their reassurance. Wanted it desperately.

  Neither man offered her any.

  Dylan broke the strained silence that followed. “Where did you get a picture of Les Wakefield?”

  Moreau shifted his gaze toward Dylan. “Surveillance.”

  Dylan lifted his eyebrows. “You’ve been following him?”

  The cop’s demeanor turned sour. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “Maybe you don’t have to tell us anything.” Sophia emphasized the word us. “But that man is stalking me. I think I deserve to know how much danger I’m in.”

  Moreau stuffed the photo back into his pocket. “Are you in danger?”

  She pointed to the complex manager’s office door. “That man bribed her to let him in. Do you think that’s normal behavior? He left eighteen vases of gardenias in my apartment. Don’t you think he might be dangerous?”

  The cop smirked. “Maybe he’s a secret admirer.”

  Sophia moved as close as she could to the cop without touching him. “He’s made no secret about it. He’s acting creepy strange. His behavior is getting more and more aggressive toward me. Are you about to tell me there is nothing you can do until he kills me?” She snorted her derision at him. “Maybe Dylan’s right about you.”

  Dylan flinched. No doubt, he was well aware of her lie. They hadn’t discussed Moreau enough for her to know exactly what Dylan thought about the man.

  “Sophia—”

  “Dylan, you offered to let me stay with you. Is that offer still open? I don’t feel safe with my stalker hanging around here.”

  “I’m not sure you’re safe with this man either.” Moreau’s tone left no doubt about his attitude toward Dylan.

  She backed away from the cop. “Really? I’ll take my chances. Because I think I’m safer with him than I am with you.”

  The cop’s blue eyes flashed with antagonism. “You know what happened to his girlfriend, right?”

  “You mean Audrey? She was the kind of person that would steal someone’s boyfriend and then run off with another guy. Just because she could.” She grabbed Dylan by the elbow. “Will you help me pack a few things?”

  “Sure.” No hesitancy. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Moreau.”

  Moreau’s lower jaw flexed. “Wait to pack your things until after I’ve sent a team over here to dust for prints and take your statement. If you have any more trouble, dial 9-1-1. Dispatch will send a unit.” He took his time exiting the scene.

  “Why did you ask him to come here? I wanted to keep the cops out of this.”

  Dylan’s uncertain tone matched hers. “I didn’t call him.”

  “Then, what was he doing here?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  Together they shifted their gaze toward Moreau as he got into his car and drove away. Her stomach muscles contracted. “Do you think he came here becau
se he found out we used to be together before…” She couldn’t make the words pass her lips.

  “No one ever asked you about me? Or about Audrey? You were never interviewed when she disappeared?”

  Sophia’s heart lurched. Of course, she should have been questioned. Why wouldn’t she be considered a person of interest? From an objective viewpoint, Sophia had a very good motive for wanting Audrey gone. Revenge was a strong motivator.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance.”

  Dylan grabbed her hand. “I know that.”

  Despite her earlier anger toward him, she didn’t pull away. “Why is he questioning me now?”

  “He should have interviewed you years ago. Our previous relationship was no secret.”

  Could she admit she was scared out of her mind without appearing weak?

  His arm slid around her waist. “You can use my spare bedroom tonight. Tomorrow we’re finding you somewhere new to live.”

  She broke away from him. “I can handle this myself, Dylan.”

  “I know you can. You’ve been taking care of yourself for a very long time. But this is my fault. You shouldn’t have to deal with both Wakefield and Moreau alone. Let me help you.”

  This was something new. Dylan had never admitted fault for anything.

  “You’re in a lot more trouble than I am.”

  “I’m not being stalked.” His hands wrapped around her upper arms. Not a tight hold. Just firm enough she knew he meant what he said. “I think it’s time you broke your contract.”

  “I can’t afford to do that, and I’m not afraid of Les Wakefield.”

  Dylan had the nerve to smirk. Not for the first time she wanted to slap the smirk off his handsome face.

  She pulled her pride around her like a safety blanket one more time. “Not much anyway. Besides I want to find out what he’s up to at Wakefield Manor. If he’s not really the Wakefield heir, I want him to go to jail for fraud…or something.”

  Dylan’s grip tightened a little. Not enough to hurt, but enough to reveal the strong emotion behind his words. “I don’t want him going to jail because he murdered you.”

  “So if he murdered me, you’d want him to go free.” She dared to tease him.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” A small smile creased his mouth. “I don’t want him to murder you.”

  She shivered and crossed her arms over her chest. Dylan kept his hands on her arms. Strangely, it seemed a comforting rather than a controlling gesture.

  “It doesn’t seem too hard to imagine him killing someone, does it?” And that’s what had been creeping her out from the first time she’d met Les Wakefield. The strange impression that had hovered in the back of her mind for weeks had finally taken shape. No, she didn’t have any trouble imagining Les as a killer.

  Dylan’s eyes sparkled with understanding. “I know what you mean. And that’s what scares me.”

  In all the time she had known him, she would have never believed he would ever admit to being scared.

  Chapter Eight

  An officer had arrived to take Sophia’s statement, and a crime scene investigator had dusted for prints leaving smudges of powder everywhere. The investigator’s conclusion had been that the perpetrator, as the officer had referred to the man, must have wiped down everything because he couldn’t find a single usable print on any of the vases or on the desk in her bedroom. When he finished, Dylan and Sophia cleared the apartment of the unwanted flowers and tossed them in the dumpster.

  Dylan studied the tension between Sophia’s shoulders as she pushed objects around on her desk, the only things out of place in her apartment other than the overabundance of floral arrangements.

  “Everything is straightened, squared off, or centered.”

  “Reminds me of his office.”

  Sophia nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing. He’s a control freak.”

  “That’s why it seems weird he wouldn’t take the time to go out to Wakefield Manor. You’d think he’d want to micromanage the work out there.”

  “Everything he does is weird.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so tired. I just wanted to come home and take a nice long bath.”

  He grinned at her. “I’m not going to stop you.”

  She shot him a mean glare. The ire on her face wasn’t a pretty sight. His manly parts were probably in danger. Sophia was the kind of woman that wouldn’t have a bit of trouble kneeing a guy in the crotch if she thought he deserved it.

  “So nothing’s missing, huh?”

  She turned her back to him just as her eyes glistened with moisture. “I don’t think so. Those books…” She nudged two rather large volumes. “I left them open because I was doing research about antebellum furnishings. I had just gotten started.” She opened the one on top. “Wakefield Manor was mentioned in this one. Now I’ve lost the page and the reference.”

  He needed to get her out of her apartment. The longer she dawdled, the more disturbed she became. “Come on, Soph. Pack a few things. Let’s take the books with us. Maybe you can find the reference again.”

  “I can’t stay with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why not.”

  “Can we just leave the past in the past for a few days until this all gets sorted out? I’m not asking you to forgive and forget. Just let it go for a little while.”

  Before she turned away, her eyes had revealed a lot. Like what she said wasn’t exactly what she meant. Why was the woman afraid to be alone with him? He’d never abused her. The thought that she was scared to get too close to him stabbed him in the heart.

  “That’s a lot to ask.”

  Her whispered reply deepened the cut, startling him more than if she had raged. Anger he expected, but he hadn’t anticipated her wistful mood. Did she still have feelings for him? Feelings that she didn’t want to indulge because of how he’d hurt her? Well, he guessed that was reasonable. He couldn’t blame her for that.

  “Is it so hard to believe I don’t want anyone to hurt you?” He cringed, bracing for the obvious comeback. He had hurt her already. When a sharp retort didn’t materialize, he exhaled the breath he’d been holding.

  He had to take a firm stance. Appear to be putting up with her presence. He had to act as if he was barely managing civility. He had to make her think she was an imposition. Weird. He found himself in the strange spot of protecting her heart from his desire to be with her.

  “It’s just for one night. Tomorrow you’ll need to find someplace else to stay.”

  When she raised her eyes to meet his, the hurt on her face seared his conscience.

  “I’d let you stay longer, but renovations begin next week. I’m having a temporary building moved onto the property, and I planned to stay at Wakefield for the duration of the project.” He rubbed his neck where the tension had begun to create an incredible throbbing ache. “I don’t know. Maybe…”

  “What?” Hope seemed to fill her short question.

  His determination to push her away vanished. “There’s enough room in the trailer for two people. If you want…” He wanted to strangle himself. Why had he cracked open that door?

  She crossed the room and dragged a suitcase from the top shelf of her closet. “I’ll think about it. Depends on how you behave tonight.” Her grin wasn’t enough to cover the panic on her face. “Should we go ahead with the project even though we think Les might be a fraud?”

  His stomach flipped. So much subtext existed beneath her question. This conversation was about their continued relationship more than continuing the project.

  “What if he isn’t? Do you really want to lose this opportunity to restore the manor house? Our names will be part of the house’s history. I’m going forward until someone tells me to stop. As long as Wakefield pays me, I’m still in. We could complete the restoration before the truth comes out.”

  “Is it worth it?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s more than that for me.�
��

  Her eyes flashed with understanding. She’d read his underlying message loud and clear.

  He gulped down his anxiety and continued. “Even if the guy is a fraud, don’t you think restoring the house is worth spending the Wakefield inheritance on it? The bank wasn’t going to do it.”

  “You know, if there’s a real Wakefield heir, he or she might disagree.”

  “How is that my problem?” He stepped toward her, and then moved closer when she didn’t retreat. “I’ll keep working on the project as long as I keep getting paid for it. Are you in this with me or not?”

  Her mouth screwed into that funny shape it always did when she had already made up her mind but wanted him to think she was considering both the pros and the cons of his suggestion.

  “You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

  What challenge did she mean? Restoring the house under questionable circumstances or restoring the house with him? Probably both. If she wanted a challenge, he’d give her one. His resolve shattered. Forget about keeping his distance or pushing her away. Now that she was back in his life, he couldn’t stand to lose her again.

  ****

  Sephronia Adams’s shack perched above the water on six pilings that appeared unstable at best. Charlotte followed Bobby to the screen door that barely hung onto the frame by loose hinges. The last board she stepped on shifted with her weight, and she grabbed Bobby’s arm to keep from tripping.

  He wrapped a strong hand around her elbow and kept her upright. “Careful there, darlin’.”

  She offered him a thin smile and found a more stable board on which to plant her feet.

  He released her and yelled through the screen into the dark front room. “Roni, are you in there? It’s me. Bobby.”

  Sephronia pushed open the screen and drew Bobby into a tight hug. “Bobby, I thought you was dead.”

  He laughed, obviously trying to catch his breath. “No, I’ve just been a ghost.”

  “That’s for sure. I ain’t seen you in months. I thought you’d done forgot your cousin Roni.”

  Charlotte watched him squirm. Bobby tended to avoid his family. More so his sister and her worthless husband than the rest. His pap had been dead for many years, and his momma didn’t want Bobby coming around snooping in her business. Charlotte had heard rumors about Cherie’s involvement with a swamp rat named Sebastian. Not the kind of guy a son usually wanted to see his mother snuggling up to.