Hot Target

“That was before Ron showed up while we were in bed together,” she spouted back tightly. “That wasn’t in the plan.” Not that she’d had a plan. That was clear.

“We are not children caught by Dad,” he said. “We’re consenting adults.”

He had nothing to lose here. But she had a reputation and a way to pay her sister’s debt off. “I’m here to work, Luke. Not become one of your groupies.”

“Is that what you think this is?” he demanded. “Me turning you into some sort of groupie?”

That was when Ron’s voice sounded from the hallway. “Katie! Luke!”

Luke ground his teeth. “The man needs to learn to knock at the door,” he grumbled irritably as he stalked toward the door.

7

THE RUMBLING of male voices disappeared down the stairs, and Katie slipped on her sneakers, which she assumed Luke must have taken off. She struggled to stand, putting all her weight on her good leg. Dumb knee, not to mention her calf. It hurt worse from having a needle poked through it than it did from the cut. Katie dug her cell phone out of her purse and checked caller ID. Donna had called. Not once, but several times, which meant she had something important to share. But first she had to deal with the current situation.

Katie headed to the hallway, hesitating as she shoved a hand through her messy hair and then over her rumpled clothes. She prayed she looked as if she’d spent hours in the E.R., with no telltale signs that hours in bed with Luke had followed.

She clutched the winding wooden rail of the stairwell and sucked up the pain, ready to get this over with. When she finally managed to reach floor level, Katie followed the echo of voices and found Luke and Ron standing in the kitchen.

Or what was left of it.

“Good grief,” Katie said, pressing a hand to her forehead, appalled at the sight of broken glass, smashed pictures and food products dumped everywhere. “What happened?”

Both men were staring at her; both seemed to be filled with condemnation. Luke, because she’d said she felt like a groupie. Ron, because he thought she was one, given the scene in front of them. The attention from both wasn’t easy to bear, considering her body still hummed from Luke’s touch. Her cheeks were probably flushed. Her lips swollen.

Ron cast Katie a suspicious look, and spoke with a deliberateness in his tone that said she was right—she looked as if she’d just had a sexcapade with his client. “You tell me,” he said. “I arrived here to find the door cracked. I came in and found it like this.”

Katie grimaced at the obvious implication that she had been doing something other than her job, the heat of arousal quickly becoming the heat of anger. She and Ron obviously needed to have a talk in private.

She forced inner calm and focused on her job. “Was there any sign of forced entry at all?”

“None,” Ron assured her. “But we checked the security panels. They’re turned off.”

Luke quickly explained, “When I came downstairs to get ice earlier, I had this weird vibe, like I wasn’t alone, so I checked those panels and they were on.”

Katie frowned, trying to make sense of this in her head. “We’ve only been back from the E.R. a few hours.” Realization washed over her at the same moment her eyes collided with Luke’s, a silent understanding between them that neither of them dared to reveal to Ron.

The kitchen had been destroyed while they were in that bed together. Katie’s hand went to her throat. The bedroom door had been open. Whoever had been here might well have watched them together.

A Spanish exclamation pierced the air as Maria appeared beside Katie, taking in the mess. She charged forward, Jessica right behind her. Jessica brushed past Katie, a distinct chill frosting up the air as she knocked into Katie’s arm.

“I called Maria to clean up,” Ron supplied, glancing between Luke and Katie.

Katie looked at Luke. “I take it that means we aren’t calling the police?” A challenge laced her voice. The police could fingerprint.

“No police,” Luke said firmly. “The odds that they will find anything aren’t worth the odds something will slip out to the press. I don’t need that kind of crap right before my season starts.”

Her eyes locked with his. “We’ll keep it out of the papers.”

“No,” he said, his jaw tense. “No police.”

“I have to agree,” Ron said, his tone as starched as his white shirt. “The last thing we need right now is management getting word of more trouble after I’ve promised them this is handled.” His lips thinned with disapproval, his gaze raking Katie. “Clearly it was not.”

Katie drew her spine stiff, irritated at the obvious jab. Yes, she’d been in bed with Luke. No, that wasn’t professional, and it should not be repeated, but she was downright offended by Ron’s inference that her failure had led to the kitchen vandalism.