She peeled off the crimson wrapping and opened a small box. It contained a round silver Christmas ornament.

Rue held it up so Cody could see. “What am I going to do with this? I don’t have a tree. I can’t even go to my house because it’s too dangerous for me to be alone.”

“You have a home with me,” he said.

His smile was gentle and warm. When he reached over and stroked her cheek, some of the ache went away. Right now, he was her haven. “My protector.”

He winked. “Somebody’s got to watch over you.”

And she was grateful. If he hadn’t been here, she’d be lonely and in danger.

“Have you been able to talk with anyone about the case?”

“Tomorrow. It’s going to have to wait until tomorrow.”

“What are we going to do for the rest of today?”

“I have plans.” His grin widened and he winked. “Get ready.”

“For what?”

“Tonight, we’re going to have ourselves a merry little Christmas.”

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Rue (Ruth Ann) Harris – Struggling to make a go of her custom cake shop, the last thing she needs is to witness a high-profile murder. Or to fall in love.

Cody Berringer – The ruthless corporate lawyer has a vulnerable spot when it comes to the twenty-year-old unsolved murder of his father, “Lucky Ted.”

Leticia Grant-Harris-Mason-Lopez-Jones-Wyndemere – Now a wedding planner, Rue’s mother never met a man she wouldn’t marry.

Danny Mason – Leticia’s second husband, the newly elected but not sworn-in mayor of Denver is the closest to a father Rue ever had.

Bob Lindahl – Danny’s old friend and political supporter.

Mike Blanco – Another of Danny’s friends, he’s a former cop who suffers from serious heart ailments.

Jerome Samuels – Danny’s campaign manager, who pulled himself out of the gang life to become supremely ambitious.

Tyler Zubek – A witness to the murder, he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Carlos – Lindahl’s bodyguard is injured in the murder.

Madigan – His criminal record makes him the police’s number one suspect.

Bernice Layne – Rue’s colourful assistant at the cake shop has a heart of gold and a wardrobe to match.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For Cassie Miles, the best part about writing a story set in Eagle County near the Vail ski area is the ready-made excuse to head into the mountains for research. Though the winter snows are great for skiing, her favourite season is autumn when the aspens turn gold.

The rest of the time Cassie lives in Denver where she takes urban hikes around Cheesman Park, reads a ton and critiques often. Her current plans include a Vespa and a road trip, despite eye-rolling objections from her adult children.

Christmas Cover-Up

CASSIE MILES

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Gary Outlaw and the guys,

especially Bernice. And, as always, to Rick.

Chapter One

Shortly after Rue Harris opened her custom bakery shop, she realized that she was going to need a lot more dough.

Though her profits from the morning pastry sales were decent, the real money came from providing designer cakes for big events. She had to publicize, to build her reputation. Which was why she had agreed to provide two free cakes for a political event on a Thursday, one week after Thanksgiving.

The purpose of this midafternoon party was to thank those who had contributed to the campaign of Danny Mason, the newly elected mayor of Denver. Danny was Rue’s former stepfather. One of several. Her mother had been married five times.

Though it was early for Christmas, that was today’s theme. The huge ballroom in a foothills mansion was festooned with wreaths and red velvet bows. A fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree stood in the cathedral-style window, and the caterer’s staff wore Santa hats and holly pins. A very tall Santa Claus in full beard and suit meandered through the crowd making ho-ho-ho noises.

Rue reached up to tuck a wisp of brown hair into her high ponytail, then adjusted the shoulder strap of her burgundy chef’s apron so her white embroidered logo—Ruth Ann’s Cakes—would be visible. Nervously, she shuffled her weight from one foot to the other. Come on, Rue. Mingle. Her main reason for being here was to make contacts, and it wasn’t doing her any good to be a wallflower. She needed to meet people.

Her gaze skimmed the ballroom. Danny had once been a cop, and she spotted a couple of navy blue police uniforms in the crowd. Some of these people she’d met before but most were friends of Bob Lindahl, the owner of this mansion. Lindahl was a building contractor with a shady reputation that made her wonder how many of these guests—cops or otherwise—were carrying guns.

None of my business. If she happened to pick up a few new clients who were criminals, so be it. She’d run a special on cakes with files baked inside—the perfect surprise for a jailed felon.

She launched herself into the crowd, prepared to mingle, mingle, mingle. She said a couple of hellos, introduced herself to strangers, checked out the baubles on the Christmas tree and bobbed her head in time to the music from the jazz combo playing Christmas tunes.

When she glanced back toward the serving line, the caterer seemed to be almost ready for her. The red-draped table on the far right end was saved for her cakes. Time to bring them in from the van, but first she needed to wash her hands.

She slipped through a door at the edge of the ballroom, hoping it was a bathroom.

It wasn’t.

And she was not alone.

The tall Santa stood in the center of an oriental rug in a study. He was unbuttoning his red jacket.

“Sorry,” she said as she reached for the door handle. “I was looking for…a quiet space.”

“Me, too,” he said. “Peace and quiet and cool air. I’ve been wearing this suit for an hour, and it’s hot.”

“Not like the North Pole, huh?”

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Cody Berringer.” Peering over his fluffy white beard, he stared at her chest and read the embroidery. “You must be Ruth Ann’s Cakes.”

“That’s me,” she said as she shook his hand. “I’m Rue Harris, and I make custom cakes for any occasion.”

“Weddings?”

“Are you getting married?”

“Not me,” he said with the shudder of a confirmed bachelor. “The cake would be for my little sister.”

He peeled off the Santa jacket. Underneath he wore a sleeveless T-shirt and a giant pillow stuck into fuzzy red trousers that were held up by suspenders. She noticed a suit and shirt tossed over the back of the sofa. Surely, he didn’t intend to change clothes right in front of her.

He asked, “What else should I know about you, Rue Harris? Have you been naughty or nice?”

In usual circumstances, she would have made a hasty retreat before the Santa Claus striptease went any farther, but she was here to mingle and he’d already mentioned a wedding cake. Cody Berringer was a potential customer.

“Naughty or nice,” she mused. “Shouldn’t I be sitting on your lap when you ask that question?”

“That sounds a little bit naughty.”

“You’re kind of a bad Santa, aren’t you?”

“I try.”

When he pulled out the pillow, his costume deflated. He had muscular shoulders and long, lean arms. His height was impressive, well over six feet. He towered over her. A dominating presence.

Mesmerized, she watched as he yanked off his fur-trimmed red hat and ran his fingers through his thick black hair.

Then he removed the beard.

Rue felt her eyes widen. She pressed her lips together to keep from gaping like the village idiot. Cody Berringer was gorgeous. Square jaw. Full lips. And the sexiest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

He sat on a white leather sofa and started digging through his Santa bag. “I’m not much of a Santa. Wasn’t giving anything away. I was collecting donations for Hathaway House, a homeless shelter.”

“You’re an idealist.” Gorgeous and sensitive?

“Not a chance.” He chuckled—not with a ho-ho-ho but a real laugh. “I’m a lawyer.”

“Which doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re a shark. Lots of lawyers are idealistic.”

“Good for them,” he said as he stacked the checks and pledge cards from his Santa bag.

She really hoped he wasn’t a sleaze. “Do you work for Bob Lindahl?”

“I’m not one of Bob’s boys,” he said with a sneer. “My expertise is corporate law—take-overs and mergers. Using your shark analogy, I think of myself as a great white. Not a bottom feeder.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She gave him a smile.

He didn’t smile back. “You like to think the best of people, don’t you?”

His cynical tone made optimism sound like a negative trait. “I’m not naive.”

“Sure, you are. Sweet and sunny.”

She adjusted her opinion of him, adding arrogant to the list. “For your information, I can be very bitter. Like dark chocolate.”

His intensely blue eyes focused sharply. “Have we met before, Rue?”

“I don’t think so.” With her snub nose and muddy gray eyes, she had the kind of face that reminded people of someone else. Her only remarkable feature was her long, thick, chestnut hair which she usually kept pulled up in a ponytail. “But I’ve lived in Denver most of my life so we might have run into each other somewhere along the line.”

“There’s something familiar about you.” When he stood and came toward her, her senses prickled. He was dangerously sexy, radiating masculine energy. It took all her willpower not to step back as he approached. He leaned closer, inches away from her cheek. “You smell great. Like butter and vanilla.”

“A cake-baker’s perfume.”

“How are you connected to the campaign?” His tone was confrontational, as if she were a witness on the stand. “What’s your opinion of our new mayor?”

“He’s my former stepfather.” Explaining her family history was always complicated. “He was my mother’s second husband.”

“Then, you’re not such an innocent. You grew up in a family of sharks.”

“Danny’s a good guy,” she said defensively. He filled the fatherhood role far better than the man who was named on her birth certificate. “He coached my Little League team and taught me to swim.”

“Is that when he was a police officer?”

“One of Denver’s finest.”

“My dad knew him back then.”

She sensed an undercurrent of tension—something in the way he said “my dad.” This casual conversation had taken on an air of importance.

“My father’s name,” he said, “was Ted Berringer. He was an assistant district attorney. They called him Lucky Ted. Did you know him?”

Her mind flashed back twenty years to when she was six years old. Lucky Ted Berringer? She remembered Danny and her mother talking about him in one of those grown-up dinner-table discussions that got her banished from the room. The name—Lucky Ted—stuck in her mind because he didn’t sound lucky at all. “Your father was killed.”

The glow from his eyes sharpened to blue laser pinpoints, boring into her skull with such intensity that he must be reading her mind. Not that he’d find anything terribly interesting. Her life was simple, and she worked hard to keep it that way. Calm. Stable. Steady.

She suspected that Cody was the one with secrets. There was something dark and troubled about him. Something that warned her to keep her distance.

“My father’s murder,” he said, “was never solved.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You would have approved of him. He was an idealist.”

Ending his scrutiny, Cody stepped away from her and went to the sofa where he picked up a white tailored shirt and shook the wrinkles from it. “I’d like to see you again, Rue.”

From the pocket of her apron, she produced a business card which she placed on the coffee table beside the pile of checks and pledges. “About the cake for your sister’s wedding?”

“We’ll discuss the cake over dinner. Saturday night.”

“A date?”

“Sure, you can call it a date.”

She was shocked. Guys like him didn’t date women like her. Hotshot corporate lawyers went for more flashy partners—sexy blondes in low-cut gowns, reeking of expensive perfume.

Even if Cody actually was interested in her, why would he assume she was free? That she didn’t have a current boyfriend? “After I check my schedule, I can—”

“I’ll call you with the time.”

He turned away from her.

Apparently, she was being dismissed. That was his last word. Could he possibly be more egotistical? She had half a mind to tell him that she wouldn’t be home when he called. No matter how handsome he was. No matter how many cakes he might order.

Calmly, he slipped off one of his suspenders. The red trousers sagged. Rue didn’t want to stay for the rest of the Santa striptease; she’d seen quite enough of Cody Berringer for one day. She pivoted quickly and left.

As soon as she entered the ballroom, Bob Lindahl came bustling toward her on his short, stubby legs. He looked like a cartoon character with his red-and-green plaid trousers and Santa Claus suspenders stretched tightly over his beer belly. Years ago, he’d been a police officer with Danny, and she’d known Bob since she was a little girl. He rested his hand on her shoulder and said, “It’s time for you to bring out the cakes, Rue.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir?” His heavy eyebrows lifted. “You used to call me Uncle Bob when me and Danny would take you to the park. Don’t you remember the Tickle Monster?”

“Oh, yes.” Moisture from his sweaty palm soaked through her white cotton shirt. The way he leered made her glad that she was wearing loose-fitting black slacks and a long apron that disguised her figure.

He chuckled. “I used to tickle you until you screamed for me to stop.”

A memory she didn’t want to dwell on. When she was a kid, she’d sensed that Bob was a jerk. As an adult, she was sure of it.

Stepping away from his grasp, she said, “I’ll get the cakes.”

“Need some help?”

Actually, she did. These two cakes were huge and heavy. One was three tiers iced in fluffy white chocolate and decorated with green holly and red berries. The other was a gluten-free, low-fat almond sheet cake. She called the recipe “Ruth-less” because it was lower in calories. The design on top featured the front range of the Rockies surrounding the words: Congratulations, Danny.

“I could use a hand.” But she wasn’t going anywhere alone with Uncle Bob. “We’ll need two more helpers.”

He signaled to a muscular guy in sunglasses who stood nearby. Bob introduced him as Carlos. When he leaned forward to shake her hand, Rue glimpsed a shoulder holster under his sports jacket. Obviously a bodyguard.

As they exited the ballroom and went through the kitchen, Bob roped in another volunteer. Rue vaguely remembered him as someone she’d known in high school—a football player who now worked as a foreman at one of Bob’s construction sites. His name was Tyler—Tyler Zubek.

Bob reminisced. “Rue used to wear her hair in two braids. Still keeping it long, huh?”

When he reached toward her ponytail, Rue took a couple of quick steps forward. His groping hand clutched nothing but air.

“She was a tomboy,” he said to the other two men. “I never thought our little Rue would end up being something feminine like a baker.”

If she’d cared about his opinion, she would have run through her credentials: an MBA, culinary school, training as a dessert chef and an apprenticeship with a master baker. She would have talked about the scientific methods she used for testing new ingredients for her cakes and the skilled effort she put into her custom creations.

Instead, she said nothing and left the kitchen. In spite of the season, the weather was un-Christmasy. Though the leaves were off the trees, the temperature had been in the sixties without a hint of snow.

She hurried the rest of the way to her burgundy van, parked in the driveway close to the four-car garage. Uncle Bob’s sprawling Colonial redbrick mansion was the only house on this cul-de-sac.

She turned to her helpers. “It’ll take two of us to carry each cake. It might be kind of tricky to get them through the kitchen.”

She swung open the van door. The three-tier cake was fantastic with swirls of icing and crystalized sugar snowflakes. Also heavy. And unwieldy.

“Bob and Carlos,” she said. “You get this one.”

While Rue gave instructions, they removed the cake from the van. The three-foot-long sheet cake was easier for Rue and her former classmate to handle.

From the corner of her eye, she saw someone approaching from the street. A man in a dark sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. There was something odd about his face; his nose was a strange color. And he wore sunglasses.

Carlos saw him, too. He growled, “This is a private party.”

“Not anymore.”

Still balancing the cake tray in his left hand, Carlos reached inside his jacket for his gun. The three-tier cake teetered wildly.

“What’s going on?” Bob demanded. “Who the hell are you?”

She looked over her shoulder. The man in the sweatshirt held a pistol. He fired once, and Carlos went down. The cake fell with a splat.

With a strength borne of panic, Rue whipped her end of the tray from her classmate’s hands and hurled it at the gunman. Globs of frosting went flying. Crumbs scattered.

Undeterred, the gunman fired three more times. Three bullets meant for Bob Lindahl. Uncle Bob toppled to his knees. His mouth gaped. His chest was covered in blood.

Rue heard herself scream as she dove for the pavement. Her classmate was right beside her.

The gunman dropped his weapon, pivoted and ran.

Carlos attempted to get up but fell again. His left trouser leg was bloody where he’d been shot. He shoved his gun toward her. “Get him.”

Rue knew how to shoot. Danny had taught her. But she had never dreamed of taking aim on another human being. Still, she picked up the gun. Hunched over, she ran to the end of the long driveway. The cul-de-sac was packed with parked cars. Earlier, there had been two young men running a valet service, but they were nowhere to be seen.

She glimpsed the man in the sweatshirt climbing into a car parked half a block away.

She lifted the gun. There was no one else in sight. No one she might hit if a bullet went astray. Could she really do this? Shoot at someone else?

From the back of her mind, she heard a voice. Danny’s voice. When she was a kid, she’d been so proud of him. He was a policeman. Sometimes he had to use his gun to fight the bad guys.

She had to stop the bad guy. It was up to her. Bracing the gun in both hands, she fired. The blast echoed inside her head. The gun kicked back in her hands. She aimed at the tires and fired again.

Chapter Two

Cody was standing near the door when he heard the commotion out front. Gunshots? He dropped the gym bag holding the Santa outfit and went outside onto the long porch that stretched across the front of the house behind six white pillars.

Other people were pointing, shouting, reacting with varying degrees of panic. Their focus was Rue Harris. She stood in the street, with a gun in her fist. When she gestured helplessly and waved the gun, a woman standing beside Cody shrieked in terror.

To his left, he saw several people gathered beside the maroon van with the Ruth Ann’s Cakes logo. Someone was yelling for help. He saw Bob Lindahl’s legs in red and green plaid trousers lying on the pavement. What the hell had Rue done?

She took a step toward the house. The people around him gasped and ducked behind the pillars on the wide verandah. Cowards and imbeciles. Couldn’t they see she was in shock? Her legs wobbled. She could barely stand.

He went toward her.

“Rue.” He spoke her name loudly. Her eyes were glassy and dazed. “Rue, are you all right?”

She nodded.

“Give me the gun.”

Eagerly, she held out the black automatic. He took it from her and gathered her into his arms. Her cheek rested against his chest. He could feel her trembling, delicate as a butterfly. “Don’t pass out,” he said.

“I need to sit down.”

With his arm around her shoulders, he guided her back toward the house. The crowd parted before them. From far away, he heard the siren of an ambulance.

When they reached the three steps leading up to the pillared verandah, she sank down onto the stair and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. Her head drooped.

He sat beside her, arm around her shoulder. “Where did you get the gun, Rue?”

“Carlos the bodyguard.” Her voice was barely audible. “He was shot in the leg. The bad man was getting away. I tried to stop him. I tried.”

“Everything is going to be okay,” he reassured her.

“It’s not.” She stiffened. “Uncle Bob was shot in the chest. Three times.”

Sounded like an assassination. Cody wasn’t sure how the murder fit into his own personal agenda, but it couldn’t be a coincidence. He was meant to be here. At this particular time. In this particular place.

One of the uniformed officers from the party came up beside them, and Cody handed over the gun.

The officer said, “I’m taking this lady into custody.”

“Give us a minute,” Cody said. “This is Danny’s stepdaughter.”

“Oh.” The officer took a step back but stayed close, watching in case Rue decided to make a run for it.

Not much chance of that. She was limp, boneless.

Cody held her protectively and watched as another cop, the assistant chief of police, took charge of the scene on the lawn, herding people back into the house and making room for the ambulance.

Rue looked up at Cody. Strands of her wavy brown hair had fallen loose from her ponytail and framed her face. Her complexion was as white as her blood-spattered shirt, but she seemed more controlled. “Why are you helping me?”

A damn good question. Even though he’d decided Rue might be useful to him, that didn’t mean he had to come to her rescue. He shrugged. “Somebody had to step up before you shot yourself in the foot.”

“Do you think Bob Lindahl will be all right? I’ve never seen anything like…” Her words trailed off, and she covered her face with her hands.

A light vanilla scent rose from her silky hair. She was sweet and quirky—very different from the perfectly packaged women he usually dated. Those ladies wore the right clothes, knew the right people and said the right things. Not one of them would have been caught dead at a social event waving a gun.

Fighting for composure, she looked toward him again. “I really screwed up.”

“What happened?”

“We came out to get the cakes from my van. It was me, Bob and his bodyguard, Carlos. And another guy. His name is Tyler Zubek. We had the cakes in our hands.”

She pantomimed holding a tray. “Then this guy started shooting at us. God, it was loud. The only defense I could come up with was to throw my cake at him.”

Cody bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. She tried to fight off a gunman with a cake?

“It was a beautiful sheet cake,” she said. “A low-fat, gluten-free recipe.”

“It’s good to know you didn’t throw anything fattening.”

“But both of my cakes are ruined.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Oh my God, what am I saying? How can I even think about cake? Bob Lindahl might be dead.”

He heard the rising panic in her voice and tried to reassure her. “It’s okay. You did everything you could.”

“Danny is going to be so disappointed in me. I didn’t even get the license plate on the getaway car.”

Her former stepfather. Danny Mason. He was the reason Cody had come to this party.

Shortly after Danny was elected mayor, Cody had received a manila envelope marked Personal and Confidential. Inside was a green shamrock tiepin, similar to the one his father had been wearing on the day he’d died. There was also a folded bumper sticker in red, white and blue that said, Danny Mason—Building a Better Denver. The implication? Danny knew something about his father’s murder. Cody intended to follow this lead.

Going to the police was a waste of time. They didn’t have the manpower to reopen a twenty-year-old case. Nor could Cody march up to the new mayor and start asking pointed questions.

When Rue had introduced herself, he’d seen his opportunity. If he got closer to her, he’d get closer to Danny.

Her eyebrows pinched in a frown. “The gunman did the strangest thing after he shot Bob. He dropped his weapon. Just left it there. Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know.”

The ambulance arrived and two paramedics raced toward her van. He gave her arm a squeeze and helped her to her feet. “I think we should have the EMTs take a look at you.”

“I didn’t hurt myself,” she protested. “I know how to handle a weapon. Danny taught me.”

Speaking of the devil, Danny Mason was coming toward them. In spite of the chill, the sleeves of his green shirt were rolled up to the elbow. He had the forearms of a bricklayer. Or a boxer. If Cody remembered correctly, Danny had once been a Golden Gloves middleweight contender, and he’d stayed in shape. His dark-red hair swept back from a concerned forehead. Though his focus was on Rue, his gaze darted, taking in every detail. He might be mayor, but his cop instincts were still in force.

As he folded Rue into an embrace, he scowled at Cody. “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

“We just met.” Cody wasn’t intimidated. “I intend to see more of your former stepdaughter.”

“Is that so?”

“Dinner on Saturday.” Cody named the most romantic restaurant he could think of. “Chez Mona.”

Rue turned her head toward him. “I’ve been dying to go there. They have a new chef.”

“I’ve met him.”

She wriggled out of Danny’s embrace and came back toward Cody. “If I could get Chez Mona to serve some of my pastries, my business would take off.”

“I can’t make any promises,” he said. “We’ll talk to the chef.”

“Hey,” Danny interrupted. Like all politicians, he hated being ignored. “This isn’t a dating service.”

“I know,” Rue said crisply. “I was almost killed.”

“That’s not the way I heard the story,” Danny said. “You chased after the shooter. Damn it, Rue. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I did what I thought was right.” She stood up straighter, stretching her height to maybe five feet, four inches. “It’s like you always used to tell me. Sometimes you have to use your weapon to fight the bad guys.”

She must have touched a nerve because Danny looked surprised. “Did I say that?”

“Frequently,” she assured him. “You always told me to aim at the midsection. The largest target.”

Though she looked as innocent as a newborn fawn, she didn’t seem to have any trouble standing up for herself. Cody was beginning to be intrigued by this sweet little cake-baker with a backbone of tempered steel.

A second ambulance parked at the end of the driveway as the first team finished loading Carlos the bodyguard into the rear and pulled away.

“Will Carlos be all right?” she asked.

“Should be.” Danny squinted after the ambulance. “One bullet to the thigh.”

“And Mr. Lindahl? Is he…”

“Dead,” Danny said. “It was fast. There was nothing you could have done to save him.”

“Three bullets in the chest,” Cody said. “Sounds like a professional hit.”

“Let’s leave the investigating up to the police,” Danny said coldly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on my stepdaughter. I’ll take it from here.”

Cody wouldn’t allow himself to be so easily brushed aside. Rue was his ticket to the inner circle, and he wasn’t going to let her get away. “It’s no problem,” he said as he took her arm. “I’ll be happy to escort you over to the ambulance so the EMTs can take a look at you.”

“Really,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering like a leaf in the wind.” He turned up the charm. With a smile calculated to melt butter, he leaned close and whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

Though he recognized suspicion in her gaze, she was too disoriented to object. She trusted him to walk toward the ambulance. Later, she might trust him enough to tell him the family secrets.

TWO HOURS LATER Rue stood alone at the window of a professionally decorated parlor and looked out at the cul-de-sac in front of Bob Lindahl’s house. It was almost five o’clock, and the sun had begun its descent behind the mountains. Streaks of gold colored the sky and glimmered on the faded lawn and shrubs. The bare branches of a honey locust danced in the winter breeze. If there hadn’t been five police cars and a television van parked farther down the street, this view might have been serene.

Most of the other cars were gone. The guests had been interviewed and sent home. The caterer and his crew had packed up and left. She hadn’t seen Cody Berringer leave, and she found herself hoping that he was still here.

Though she had no explanation for why he was so concerned about her, she liked his attention. Who wouldn’t? With his black hair and blue eyes, he was every woman’s dream date. Protecting her seemed to come naturally to him.

With her fingers, she twirled a long curl. Her hair hung loose past her shoulders. After the paramedics had checked her out, she’d run a brush through her hair and splashed water on her face. Though she’d taken off her burgundy apron, she still wore the bloodstained white blouse and black slacks.

Repeatedly, Rue had spoken to various homicide detectives and given her story so many times that the sequence of events was permanently imprinted in her brain. The image that stuck with her was Uncle Bob on his knees with his chest covered in blood.

Danny told her that one of the bullets had punctured his heart. A direct hit. He also told her that the gunman had gotten away without a trace—except for the murder weapon, which he so thoughtfully had left behind.

The door to the parlor opened and Danny stepped inside. He had his campaign manager with him. Jerome Samuels was an athletic-looking blond guy in his thirties whom she’d known since childhood. Politically savvy and ambitious, Jerome was looking forward to being appointed to an important position when Danny took the oath of office.

He gave her a calculated but friendly grin. “You ought to be able to leave in just a few minutes.”

“Good.”

“Here’s the deal,” Danny said. “I want you to come home with me, Rue.”

“Why?”

“Bob Lindahl’s murder looks like a professional hit, and you’re a witness.” Danny never sugarcoated the truth. “Somebody might come after you.”

“I can’t identify him. He wore sunglasses and the hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up. I didn’t even see his hair color.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Danny said. “I have plenty of security at my house.”

There was also a new wife and her young children from a previous marriage who wouldn’t be thrilled to have Rue as a guest. “I have to work,” she said.

“Someone else can do it.”

“No way. I make custom cakes. They’re unique.” Her business was brand-new, and she had a reputation to build. “I have to decorate these cakes myself.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Nothing new about that,” Jerome added.

Usually, she didn’t mind Jerome’s teasing, but he’d changed, taken on an air of self-importance that matched his designer suit and solid-gold wristwatch. Plus she was in no mood to be pushed around. “I’m going home to my house. And that’s final.”

“Think again,” Jerome advised.

“My mind is made up, Jerry.”

He hated being called Jerry. His full name—Jerome—had dignity. Jerry was a cartoon character. His upper lip curled in disgust. “You sound like your mother, Ruth Ann.”

Low blow. Her mother had called three times and was on her way here. “Not even close, Jerry. But you might want to brace yourself.”

“Why?”

“She’s on her way. Ought to be here any minute.”

She turned toward the window again and looked out as a familiar car pulled up and parked. The driver’s-side door flung open and a well-dressed woman burst out. “Speak of the devil. It’s Mom.”

“Your mother?” Danny’s voice sounded as if his lungs were being squeezed in a vise. He turned to Jerome. “See if you can stop her.”

Attempting to control Rue’s mother was like commanding a hurricane to turn the other way. She didn’t envy Jerome.

“She’s not going to listen to me,” he said.

He was well-acquainted with Leticia Grant-Harris-Mason-Lopez-Jones-Wyndemere. Adding to his woes, Rue said, “She’s married to a judge now. If she doesn’t get what she wants, she’ll take you to court.”

“Aw, hell,” Danny muttered. “Might as well get this over with. Come with me, Rue.”

They left the parlor and went down the hallway to a grand foyer with marble floors, a sweeping staircase and an ornate crystal chandelier. A couple of the plainclothes detectives were talking to Cody Berringer. As soon as Cody spotted her, he moved to her side.

In spite of everything that was going on—the cops, the danger, the murder—Cody’s nearness ignited a happy little spark inside her. When he took her hand, the flicker became a warm glow.

The front door swung open and her mother stalked inside. Her blond-streaked hair swept back from her forehead. Her crimson silk blouse and black wool suit outlined a slender, expensively maintained figure. She went directly to Danny and confronted him. “I told Ruth Ann that it was a mistake to bake cakes for your party.”

“It should have been a good opportunity,” Danny said.

“Nothing good ever came from Bob Lindahl.” Her blue eyes scanned the opulent foyer. “Although I’ve got to admit that this house is impressive.”

Rue could almost hear the cash register in her mother’s head ringing up the cost of the chandelier and the oil paintings on the walls. Leticia had a sensible appreciation for the bottom line.

She held out her arms. “Oh, Ruth Ann. If anything had happened to you—” Her voice choked off. Her eyes welled. Tears? That was so out of character. Her mother never cried.

Leticia pulled her into a ferocious embrace that went on long enough for Rue to begin to feel a little uncomfortable. Then Leticia held her at arm’s length, studied her and frowned. “Is that blood on your sleeves?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Why are you still wearing that shirt?” She swung back toward Danny. “Couldn’t you find her some clean clothing?”

Cody stepped forward. “You’re right, Mrs. Wyndemere. Rue needs to get home and change clothes. She’s had one hell of a rough day.”

Leticia surveyed him from head to toe. “Who are you?”

“Cody Berringer.”

As he shook her hand, she said, “I’ve heard of you. You work at T&T. Taylor and Tomlinson.”

“That’s correct.”

“A very successful firm,” she said.

Rue wasn’t in the least bit surprised that her mother knew of Cody. Leticia had an encyclopedic knowledge of Denver’s social scene. It was part of her job as a wedding planner—a skill she’d developed when planning her own five marriages.

“And you’re Judge Wyndemere’s wife,” Cody said.

“Small world.” The barest hint of a smile touched her mother’s lips. “How do you know Ruth Ann?”

“We’re going to dinner on Saturday. At Chez Mona.”

Hoping to head off any questions about how long she’d been dating Cody, Rue said, “I’m tired. I’d like to leave now.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom. This is nobody’s fault. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The wrong place.” Leticia shot another glare at Danny. “What kind of mayor are you going to be? You can’t even keep your own stepdaughter safe.”

“We had plenty of security at this event. Bodyguards. Four of the top cops in the city.”

“And a lot of good it did.” She jabbed an accusing finger. “You and Bob used to always get into trouble together. And your other cop buddy, Mike Blanco. Oh, I remember—you called yourselves the three amigos. The three stooges is more like it.”

Rue tightened her grip on her mother’s hand, hoping to rein her in. “It’s okay, Mom. Calm down.”

“I’m taking you home with me, Ruth Ann.”

Danny cleared his throat. “It’s best if she comes with me. I have better security at my house.”

“Why does she need security? Is she in danger?”

Before they could get into a discussion of profes sional hit men, Rue said, “I’m not going home with you, Mom. Or with Danny. I have my own place.”

“Half a duplex in the middle of town,” her mother said disparagingly. “Crime central.”

“Is it? I never saw anybody killed until I came out here to the suburbs.” She looked toward the homicide detective who stood near the door. “Are we done here?”

The detective nodded. “I’ll be in touch. We need to schedule a time for you to look through mug shots.”

It went without saying that she’d do anything to help their investigation. “I’ll call first thing in the morning.”

“There’s one more thing,” the detective said. “Don’t talk to the media. We need to control the flow of information.”

She nodded. “Do you have the keys to my van?”

“I’m sorry, Miss. Forensics is still going over your vehicle. There might be trace evidence.”

Swell. “That kind of leaves me stranded, Detective.”

Cody stepped forward. “I’ll give you a ride.”

My hero. Once again, he was coming to her rescue. “Thank you.”

She’d go home, get a good night’s sleep and try to forget that she’d had a front-row seat at a professional assassination. She wanted to banish the image of Bob Lindahl, bloody and dying, into the dark recesses of her mind where she locked away all her other bad memories—all those things that were better left unsaid.

Chapter Three

Rue leaned back against the smooth leather seat in Cody’s Mercedes sedan. Compared to the way she bounced along in her cake van, this was like riding on a thick, luxurious, heavenly cloud. If that were true, then Cody must be an angel. Yeah, right.

She wasn’t that naive. Though she hadn’t figured out why Cody was being so attentive to her, there had to be an ulterior motive.

Her gaze slid to the left, and she studied him. His dark-gray suit jacket fitted perfectly. On the cuff of his white shirt, she saw a monogram. These were expensive clothes, tailor-made. Definitely not the flowing robes of an angel.

And he was devilishly handsome. Shadows outlined his cheekbones and chiseled jawline. A lock of black hair fell across his forehead.

He adjusted one of the dials on the dashboard. “Warm enough for you? Should I turn up the heat?”

“It’s fine.” She’d slipped on her black suede jacket over her shirt and slacks. “Nice wheels.”

“Six years old and still running like a charm. One of my brothers is a mechanic.”

“One of them?” And he’d already mentioned a sister. “How many kids in your family?”

“Five. Three boys and two girls. And I’ve already got six, no, seven nephews and nieces. I’m the oldest.”

“Figures. You act like a big brother.”

“How’s that?”

“Bossy.”

“My brothers and sisters would probably agree with you,” he said. “How many siblings do you have?”

She’d need a calculator to figure out the complexities of her many blended families. There were stepbrothers and stepsisters and other children—like Danny’s new stepchildren. Did they count as relations? “Genetically, I’m my mother’s only child.”

“Lucky.”

Though his grin probably wasn’t meant to be sexy, the curve of his mouth elevated her core temperature. God help her, she wanted to kiss him.

To keep herself from grabbing his shoulders and planting a big wet one on his sexy mouth, she laced her fingers in her lap. “Just in case Danny is right and there’s a professional hit man after me, how’s this Mercedes in a high-speed chase?”

“Might be fun to find out.”

“You probably won’t get a chance tonight.” She glanced over her shoulder through the back window. A police cruiser was following them to her duplex in the heart of Denver. “We’ve got a cop escort.”

“When are they bringing your van?”

“Tomorrow.” Not having transportation was inconvenient but manageable. “It’s only five blocks from my house to the shop. I can walk.”

“Not alone.” His clipped tone indicated his disapproval. “That’s a real bad idea.”

“Oh, please. I’m not really in danger.”

“You don’t want to believe anything bad is going to happen,” he said. “Always hoping for the best. The eternal optimist.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being positive. What’s the alternative?”

“Thinking clearly.” At a stoplight, he turned toward her. “Seriously, Rue. Look at the facts.”

“Fine,” she said. “Even if that alleged professional hit man intends to come after me, how would he know where to find me? How would he know who I am?”

“You were wearing an apron with Ruth Ann’s Cakes written across the front. Kind of a big clue.”

“True, but—”

“You chased after him,” he pointed out. “You fired a gun at his car.”

“Okay, he might be ticked off, but—”

“We’re talking about a stone-cold killer. Somebody who placed a direct shot in the victim’s heart. Somebody you don’t take risks with.”

Unfortunately, everything he said made sense. He concluded with, “Therefore, you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“Maybe not.” But she couldn’t bring herself to stay at Danny’s house where she’d be an unwanted intruder with his new family. And her mother lived forty minutes away from her shop—time that Rue didn’t want to spend commuting back and forth.

She directed him the last few blocks through the older part of Denver near St. Luke’s Hospital. In this up-and-coming neighborhood, several of the old mansions had been refurbished as offices, apartments or condos. There was a pride in ownership. Many houses were already decorated with Christmas lights. The four-story condo building on the corner had a neon sleigh and reindeer above the entrance. She pointed out her home, and he parked.

The streetlight reflected off her front window. Two crab apple trees marked the property line between her one-story, blond-brick duplex and the house next door.

As soon as she stepped onto the curb, the two uniformed officers from the cruiser that had followed them came toward her. Their hands rested on the holsters clipped to their belts. “We’ll accompany you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But you don’t have to kick the door down or anything. I have a key.”

Surrounded by two of Denver’s finest and tall, broad-shouldered Cody Berringer, Rue should have felt safe. But she sensed danger. Could almost smell it. It was like something left too long on the burner.

The exterior of her house looked the same as when she’d left this morning at dawn to work on the cakes for Danny’s party. She’d cranked open the miniblinds on the front window so her houseplants would get some sun, and they were still open. No lights shone from the inside.

On the porch, she realized she wouldn’t need her key. The red-painted door was ajar. Her home had been broken into. Her premonition of danger became reality.

A jolt of fear hyped up her senses. Behind the trunk of the crab apple tree, she saw a hiding place for a man with a gun. The wind through the shrubs whispered a warning. The rush of traffic from Eighteenth Street sounded like an approaching army.

The two officers reacted immediately. One on each side, they rushed her to their patrol cruiser and shoved her into the backseat. Cody was beside her.

“What’s happening?” Her voice trembled.

“They’re making sure you’re safe,” Cody said as he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Calling for backup before they enter the house.”

She clung to the unraveling threads of her self-control. Already today, she’d fallen apart in this man’s arms. Not again. Damn it, not again. She wanted to touch him, but not like this. Not in fear. “This isn’t fair. Why is this happening to me?”

“You said it yourself, Rue. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Police sirens converged on her neighborhood. Her home! Two more patrol cars pulled up at the curb. The officers poured out, guns drawn. It was like watching an action-adventure movie from inside the screen.

She swallowed her fear. “I guess this settles it. I won’t be staying at my house tonight.”

“Where will you go?”

No idea. There were friends she could call. And people who worked at her shop. But the break-in meant somebody really was after her, and she didn’t want to put a friend in danger. “I could get a motel room.”

Very gently, he touched her chin and turned her face toward him. “Come home with me.”

Her first instinct was to throw herself into his arms and shower him with grateful kisses. But the sane part of her mind objected. She barely knew Cody. “I couldn’t.”

“I live in a high-rise with a twenty-four-hour-a-day doorman and surveillance cameras. And I have an extra bedroom. And it’s not far from here.”

She didn’t understand his motivations. He’d already gone well beyond polite support. He was acting as if he really cared about her. “Why are you being so nice?”

“Call it the Christmas spirit.”

“Thank you.” She might regret this later, but right now, staying with Cody sounded like the best alternative. “And when this is over, I’m going to bake you such a huge cake. Big enough for your whole family.”

“Not the low-fat recipe,” he said.

“Pure cream and butter and imported chocolate.”

On the street, a swarm of uniforms approached her front door. She saw an officer escort the people who lived in the other half of the duplex, a young African-American couple, to safety. She owed them a cake, too.

If she dumped enough sugar and flour on this situation, it would have to get better.

AS HE UNLOCKED the door to his seventeenth-floor condo, Cody wondered if he’d gone too far in offering to let her stay at his place. Asking her for a date had been an expedient means to an end—getting close to Danny. That should have been enough. Instead, he’d waited until she was done with her police interviews. Then he’d driven her home. Now she was here at his condo. Step by step, he was proceeding down a path that wasn’t part of his agenda.

The honest truth—something he tried to consider as little as possible—was that he liked being with her. She was quirky and made unexpected moves. Her lack of polish was refreshing.

She dropped her overnight bag and walked across the carpet into the sunken living room, then skipped up the stair to the wall of windows overlooking the lights of Denver and the mountains beyond.

“The penthouse,” she said. “Classy.”

In spite of everything that had happened to her in the past hours, she beamed a wide grin. Most women would be fearful and traumatized, but not Rue.

“You’re handling this well,” he said.

“No point in dwelling on something that can’t be fixed.”

“Your house was trashed. And you’re not scared?”

“When you grow up like I did, moving around and changing families, you learn how to keep your problems to yourself.”

She sure as hell didn’t look like a woman of mystery, but she was an enigma. He wanted to know her secrets and to find out what made her tick.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “Water? Herbal tea?”

“Vodka with a splash of juice. Any kind of juice.”

Again, unexpected.

She followed him into the kitchen where she gushed over his double-sided refrigerator, inspected the inside of the oven and told him exactly how his top-of-the-line appliances were capable of performing.

He prepared the same drink for himself and handed her a tumbler with vodka, ice and orange juice. He held up his glass in a toast. “Here’s to better luck.”

“Being in the right place at the right time.”

When he gazed into her greenish-blue eyes, he saw a glimmer of sensuality. She tossed her head, sending a ripple through her long chestnut hair. Those thick strands would slip through his fingers like the finest silk.

A warmth generated between them. Not cozy or comfortable, this was a purely sensual heat. Acting on this urge would be insanity. He wasn’t really dating Rue and wasn’t looking for a relationship. He didn’t want to lead her on.

Turning away from her, he set his drink on the polished granite countertop that separated his kitchen from the living room.

“I feel safe here,” she said.

“Good.”

“But I’m still angry.” Her tone sharpened, reminding him of her mother. “I want the guy who did this to suffer.”

“I don’t blame you.”

The damage at her house had been mostly malicious—obviously meant as a warning. The intruder had slashed the cushions on her flowered sofa, had pulled books off the shelves and had broken all kinds of glassware. Her closets and drawers had been emptied into a pile on the floor. Some of the fabrics were torn. She’d been lucky to find the long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of jeans that she’d changed into, along with a few other things.

“That creep touched my clothes,” she said. “Even this shirt I have on. I want to burn every stitch so I won’t be reminded. He stabbed my sofa. And you want to know the worst part? The very worst? He used my chef’s knives to do it.”

“Why is that so bad?”

“I use those knives for cooking. Baking cakes is my favorite thing, but I love all kinds of cooking, from vegetarian quiche to rack of lamb. I’ll never be able to touch those knives without thinking of him. Some faceless man in a hooded sweatshirt. A murderer.”

“He won’t get away with it. You saw how fast the cops responded. Every officer in Denver is after this guy.”

“Which doesn’t mean he’ll be caught.”

Cody knew from experience that was a true statement. His father’s killer had never been apprehended. In spite of the efforts of the police, their only viable suspect had an airtight alibi.

Her eyes blazed as she looked up at him. “I don’t ever want to go back to my house again. I just want to move.”

“I know people who specialize in cleaning up after crime scenes. I could contact them.”

“Great idea.” Her anger was replaced by another strong emotion as she took a step toward him. “Thank you, Cody. For everything.”

Now was the time for him to back away. But her gaze pulled him closer. She reached up and placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled him toward her for a kiss.

Unexpected. The soft pressure of her lips punched through his nervous system like a hard right jab to the chin. She knocked him out.

Her contented moan resonated inside him. The tips of her breasts grazed his chest as she arched toward him on tiptoe.

Then, she stepped back. When she raised her glass to sip her drink, the ice cubes rattled. Her hand shook, but her eyes were bold. Her cheeks were flushed with a rosy pink.

A tense silence swirled around them. If he didn’t figure out what to say, he’d be tempted to carry her off to his bed. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.” In that single word was a burst of relief. She went into action, opening and closing kitchen cabinets. “I’ll whip something up. After all I’ve put you through today, you deserve dinner.”

He wanted more than food. The taste of her lingered and aroused him. But he didn’t want to mislead her. He liked her too much.

As she rummaged through his refrigerator, the phone rang and Cody picked up. It was Danny.

“I heard what happened at Rue’s house,” he said.

And he had probably also heard that she’d gone home with him. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“I called for you, Cody.”

He carried the phone into the other room. “Go on.”

“First off,” Danny said, “I want to thank you for taking care of Rue. She’s a great kid.”

Not exactly. Rue was a grown woman who didn’t need or want her former stepfather hovering over her. “Is there something else you wanted to tell me, Danny?”

“The chief of police has been keeping me informed on their investigation. There’s something you should know.”

“Yes, sir?”

“After Bob was shot, the killer dropped his weapon. He just left it there for us to find.”

Cody had no idea why Danny was telling him this. He wasn’t an investigator and he didn’t handle murder cases. He practiced corporate law. In his negotiations, the only blood that was spilled was symbolic.

Danny continued, “The forensic people have run ballistics tests on the gun.”

“Already?”

“Top-priority case.”

Of course, it would be. Danny Mason was the newly elected mayor of Denver. Cody waited for him to continue.

“The gun,” Danny said. “It was the same weapon used twenty years ago to murder your father.”

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