The Perfect Victim Read online

She made a show of fumbling with the tie of her apron as she slipped back behind the bar. "There's a beer joint two doors down. Please tell me that in your drunken stupor you've wandered into the wrong place."

  He had to hand it to her, she definitely knew where to hit a guy. But because he had it coming, he let the comment pass. "I guess you're not going to make this easy on me."

  A delicately arched eyebrow went up. "How perceptive of you."

  He had the sinking feeling that she was just getting warmed up. Even if the conversation they were about to have wasn't going to be pleasant, it would definitely be interesting.

  "In case you're wondering, I take my coffee black," he said easily.

  ''To be perfectly honest with you, Mr. Talbot, the way you take your coffee is the furthest thing from my mind, unless, of course, you take it in your lap. What I'm really wondering is what the hell you're doing in my shop with that stupid grin on your face when I'm about to close."

  Randall stared at her, not sure if he was insulted, amused, or embarrassed. He did find himself a bit relieved that there was no one else around to witness the verbal trouncing he was taking from this woman. "Better make it decaf," he said.

  Frowning, she snagged a cup from beneath the bar and moved to-the coffee brewer. He watched as she poured, noticing the jerky movements, the rigid set of her shoulders, and the stubborn set of her chin. Unfortunately, he also noticed that she was one of those women who only looked sexier when they were angry. .

  "Here you go." She set the cup in front of him and looked at her watch. "Decaf. Black. You have five minutes."

  Unable to keep himself from it; Randall smiled. "You might want to work on that customer service routine, Ace."

  She crossed her arms in front of her, inadvertently plumping her breasts. Randall kept his eyes on hers. The last thing he needed to know about Addison Fox was that her breasts were full and upswept. That kind of knowledge was dangerous business for a man who couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a date.

  "I'm sure I couldn't begin to compete with your unparalleled customer service," she said. "In fact, I don't believe I've ever manhandled any of my customers for stealing sugar packets. Nor have I searched purses for tips when they forgot to leave one. I've certainly never threatened to frisk them."

  "Yeah, well, the Better Business Bureau is hassling my brother for something I did. But I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you?"

  "You're lucky I didn't have you arrested."

  "I'm sure that would have been interesting." His gaze skimmed her mouth. "But I don't think either of us would have enjoyed it."

  ''Why are you here?" she asked.

  Deciding it wouldn't be wise of him to answer the question truthfully, Randall took a deep breath and plunged. "I came here to offer a truce."

  A frown tugged at the comers of her mouth as she studied him. "You came here to ask me to call off the BBB dogs."

  ''That, too."

  Her eyes narrowed, and he realized with some dismay that she was enjoying this more than he was. "Surely you can do better than that," she said.

  "All right." He added tough to the growing list of traits he liked about Addison Fox. She knew better than to trust a man like him. He couldn't blame her. Gazing at her steadily, he folded his hands on the bar in front of him. "I came here to apologize."

  Something resembling sympathy sparked behind her eyes. ''That didn't hurt so bad, did it?"

  "No worse than the time I broke my leg skiing."

  "You do have an ego, don't you?"

  "Groveling isn't my style, but whatever works."

  She regarded him coolly.

  He was starting to wonder if she was going to let him off the hook. "Look, the day you came into my office was an innocent case of mistaken identity—"

  "There was nothing even remotely innocent about what happened in your office."

  Even as she said the words, her cheeks bloomed with color, a fact that told him more about how she felt about that fateful day than anything she might have said. Bingo, he thought, and realized with a sense of relief he wasn't the only one who'd been aware that something had gone on between them.

  Pleased by this new morsel of information, he offered his hand. "Apology accepted?"

  She ignored the hand. "I'd like my ten dollars back."

  He'd forgotten about the money. Sending her a look he hoped relayed that he was only going to let her push him so far, he withdrew his wallet and dug out a ten-dollar bill. "Do you want interest, too?"

  She reached for the bill. "No."

  Taking him completely by surprise, she offered her hand. His fingers closed around hers. A pleasant jolt of awareness ran the length of his body on contact. Her hand was warm and small encased within his. The palm was slightly damp, but her grip was substantial. His gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth. Her lips were full and red and he couldn't help but remember how close he'd come to kissing her that morning in his office.

  She released his hand, and the spell broke. Momentarily stunned by his reaction, Randall raised the cup to his lips and sipped, wondering if she had any idea how profoundly she'd just affected him.

  Lowering his gaze, he spotted the manila folder he'd brought with him, and decided this might be a good time to see if his intellect still functioned. "You left this in my office."

  Her eyes flicked to the folder. He didn't miss the spark of recognition. Nor did he miss the quick flash of another emotion he couldn't readily identify. He wondered what secrets she had buried behind those pretty eyes.

  "Thank you for returning it," she said, pulling the file to her, but not opening it.

  "If you're interested, that is, if you haven't already hired another firm, Jack and I are willing to take a look at your case." He hadn't planned on saying it; he hadn't even discussed it with his brother, but there it was. Admittedly, he was more interested in getting to know her than he was in her case, but given the circumstances—mainly the way that turtleneck swept over her body—he wasn't holding himself responsible for anything he said.

  "How much of the file did you read?" she asked.

  "All of it." Three times to be exact, but he thought it best if he didn't mention it. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea.

  Picking up the folder, she strode to the end of the bar and dropped it in the trash. "You couldn't have known, Mr. Talbot, but I've since found who I was looking for."

  When she turned back to him her eyes were huge and filled with a kind of defiance that contrasted sharply with the vulnerability he discerned just below the surface. He was no judge of people, even less of character, but he knew there was more going on than she wanted him to see.

  From the notes in the file, he'd been able to deduce that she was searching for her birth parents. Belatedly, he realized the subject could be an emotional one for her. It was an area as foreign to him as the moon. "You were looking for your birth parents," he said.

  "My birth mother, actually." Her eyes darkened. "I ... located her just a few days ago.”

  Whoever she'd found, she wasn't happy about it. Randall let the thought pass. If she needed his help, she'd ask. "I'm glad things worked out for you," he said.

  Casting a glance at the front door, she crossed her arms in front of her. "I'm sorry, but I really need to close the shop."

  Rudeness had always come naturally to him. It pleased him that she had to put forth so much effort to manage it. Charmed, he winked. "I can take a hint." Pulling out his wallet, he laid a five-dollar bill on the bar.

  * * *

  Addison knew she shouldn’t have let him off the hook so easily. Randall Talbot might wear that boy-next-door charm like a comfortable pair of old jeans, but she knew something darker lay just beneath that steady gaze and crooked smile. Still, it was difficult to stay angry when he was so clearly sincere. After all, he had apologized, she told herself. God only knew what that had done to his ego.

  At first, she'd had no intention of accepting the apology
or listening to whatever frail rationalizations he'd conjured up. She'd enjoyed watching him struggle with that giant sized ego he wielded so artfully. Perhaps even a small, cruel part of her had just wanted to see him cut down a notch or two. But he'd been determined to make amends, and Addison hadn't had the heart to snub him. Even if it had taken him three weeks to work up the courage.

  His offer to take her case had thrown her. The jolt of pain that followed was surprisingly sharp. It had been three days since her ill-fated trip to Siloam Springs, and she was still trying to accept that Agnes Beckett was dead. As much as she didn't like to think about it, a small part of her had died that day in the cemetery. She'd lost one of her dreams. Now, she couldn't help but wonder if things might have turned out differently if she'd hired this man early on.

  Studying him across the bar, Addison realized he looked like a different man than the scoundrel she'd met that day in his office. Gone was the heavy five o'clock shadow, the bloodshot eyes, and the nasty disposition. The transformation was complete and not at all unpleasant. There was still an inherent ruggedness about him, but the harshness and the vague sense of violence she'd sensed before had vanished.

  He was taller than she remembered, well over six feet. He looked fit and relaxed in well-worn jeans, hiking boots, and a blue parka. His eyes were dark brown and a little too intense for comfort. He was a stickler for eye contact, she noticed, and at times she found his gaze unsettling.

  She was about to offer him a refill in a "to go" cup when the bell on the alley door jingled. Her gaze snapped to the door leading to the back room. Mild puzzlement skittered through her. She and Gretchen were the only people who used the alley door. Besides, she'd locked it. Hadn't she?

  She looked at Randall only to find his eyes already on her. "Expecting company?" he asked quietly.

  "Not through the back door."

  "You keep it locked?" he asked.

  "Always." Slipping her apron over her head, she started for the back room. "I'll be right back."

  Reaching over the bar, Randall stopped her with a light touch on her arm. "Let me check it out. You stay put."

  Something in his eyes kept her from arguing. Closing the cash drawer, Addison placed the money bag on the shelf beneath the register, out of sight.

  "Give me that," he said.

  She hesitated an instant before passing the bag to him over the counter. The thought hit her that she didn't know him from Adam, but she quickly reminded herself that he was a licensed private investigator.

  "Where's your phone?" he asked.

  "I left it in the back room."

  Another muffled sound emerged. The alley door closing, she thought, and felt the first real jab of alarm. Soundlessly, she came around the bar and approached Randall.

  "Go stand at the end of the bar," he said and started for the back.

  In the two years she'd owned the shop, Addison had never been afraid. Not of her customers or the hours she kept. She'd never considered the possibility of a robbery. Yet tonight, as she listened to an intruder slink through the rear door, an uncomfortable layer of fear settled over her like cold fog.

  The knob squeaked. Randall stopped, took a step back. An instant later the door swung open and slammed against the wall. Shock crashed through Addison when a man stepped into the doorway. In an instant, she took in the full-length coat, black leather gloves, and knit ski mask. A tiny chrome pistol glinted like a cheap trinket in his hand.

  In her peripheral vision she saw Randall scramble back. The intruder glanced toward the front door. Addison stood frozen at the end of the bar: Her heart rocked hard against her ribs when he raised the gun and leveled it at her.

  Then she was being shoved violently to the floor. A gunshot snapped through the air. She fell flat on her back hard enough to take her breath. Randall came down on top of her. Before she could move, he sprang to a crouch, cursing as he worked an ugly pistol from beneath his parka. To her utter amazement, he took aim and fired.

  The blast deafened her. She sat up, pressing her hands to her ears. Her brain screamed for her to run. Before she could move, Randall gripped her arm. "Stay down!"

  Addison watched helplessly as he tossed the bank bag toward the rear door. "What are you doing?" she cried.

  "Saving your life. Stay the hell down!"

  As if in slow motion, the man in black loomed into view from behind the end of the bar. Legs apart, he aimed the pistol at Addison.

  She screamed. A bullet pinged against the bar stool next to her. Randall fired four shots in quick succession. The intruder's pistol flashed in response. Addison ducked. Bullets zinged past her. Bits of wood and plastic pelted her.

  Then, as suddenly as the chaos began, an eerie silence fell over the shop. Traffic hissed beyond the shattered front door. Cold air streamed in, enveloping her with icy hands.

  Vaguely, she was aware of Randall rising. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he jogged to the rear door. She wanted to rise, ordered herself to move, but she was trembling so badly, she didn't trust her legs to support her.

  For a full minute, she crouched next to the bullet-damaged stool, grappling for control, trying in vain to stop shaking. She didn't hear the footsteps behind her. She cried out when a pair of strong hands closed around her shoulders.

  "Easy." Randall's voice broke through the haze of shock. "He's gone. It's only me."

  Addison's ears tang from the gun blasts. She shivered, feeling disoriented and dazed. Thoughts rushed at her in senseless order.

  "Oh, my god," she heard herself say. Gripping the bar, she somehow managed to get her legs under her.

  Randall looked at her through narrowed eyes, then cast a glance toward the back room. "Stay here. I'm going to call the cops."

  She stared blankly after him as he strode to the back room. She listened, stunned, as he dialed then relayed to the police what had happened. It hit her with sudden incredulity that he was talking about her shop. Her shop. Her refuge. Outrage jolted through her at the thought of such a violation.

  A moment later, Randall reappeared. Setting the phone on the bar, he strode toward her, assessing her the way an emergency room doctor might assess a trauma patient. “Are you hurt?"

  Despite the fact that her senses were still reeling, Addison shook her head. "No. I'm not hurt." She thought about it a moment. "I'm scared. And I'm really pissed off."

  "That's good, Ace. I'll take pissed off over hysterical any day."

  She blinked at him, the sudden realization of what had almost happened slamming into her like a lead weight. "Jesus, he was going to kill us."

  "Yeah." Randall raked an unsteady hand through his hair and blew out a curse.

  Blood glistened on his cheek. Vaguely, she remembered the flying shards of plastic and glass, and realized he'd been cut. He looked dangerous standing there, a wicked-looking pistol in his hand, a streak of blood sliding down the side of his face.

  "You're bleeding." Surprising herself, she pulled a napkin from the counter and pressed it against his cheek.

  "Piece of-glass caught me."

  Because of his height, Addison had to step close to see the cut. "Hurt?" she asked.

  "Not much."

  She forced a laugh. It was either that or cry. "You'd say that if you were gushing buckets, wouldn't you?"

  "No, I hate pain. I'm a weenie from the word go." Clasping her wrist, he lowered her hand from his cheek. "You're shaking."

  "Call me weird, but flying bullets and masked gunmen scare die hell out of me."

  He regarded her through shuttered eyes. "You're pale, too. Maybe you ought to sit down."

  "No. I'm okay. I want to stand. Jesus, I'm alive. I'm pretty happy about that."

  "Just don't faint, all right?" He didn't look pleased by the possibility.

  "I don't plan to." She struggled to absorb the full impact' of what had happened, realizing belatedly that she probably did need to sit down. "If you hadn't been here, I'd be dead right now."

  "And t
o think you wanted to throw me out."

  "You saved my life."

  "Just doing what any self-respecting P.I. would do."

  Addis on stared at him. He stared back, his face as inscrutable as stone. There were a hundred things that needed to be said, but at the moment she didn't trust her voice to say any of them, let alone to this man whose actions had just turned her opinion of him on its ear.

  The police arrived ten minutes later. Addison stood next to the bar, watching helplessly as a swarm of cops in blue uniforms tramped over what was left of her coffee shop. She felt as if she'd stepped onto the set of a horror movie. A set complete with a down-and-out private detective and a villain in black that had nearly sent her to an early grave.