Dying to Please Read online

  “You. You're neat, domesticated, intelligent—”

  “Keep going,” he said.

  “—good-looking, sense of humor, sexy—”

  “And yours.”

  She stopped, her stomach suddenly flip-flopping. “Are you?” she whispered.

  He put the milk in the refrigerator and gave her a wry smile. “Oh, yeah.”

  She took a deep breath. “Wow.”

  “That's kind of the way it takes me, too.” He refilled their coffee cups and sat down. “So that's what we need to talk about. I want more than what we have now. If you do, too, then we need to figure out how to work this.”

  She nodded.

  “Sarah. Let me hear you say it.”

  “I want more,” she managed. She couldn't believe this was happening, so fast, and at the breakfast table on a sunny Sunday morning.

  “Okay. Your job—for now—requires you to live on-site. My hours right now are longer than usual. If weekends are all we can manage, then we'll deal with that, but . . . how long are you on duty at night?”

  “Until they're ready to go to bed or tell me they won't need me for anything else that night. So far, they usually tell me to call it a day right after dinner. I think they like to have their evenings alone, unless they're entertaining.”

  “Are you allowed to have visitors? God, this sounds like Victorian England.”

  She laughed. “Of course I can have visitors during my own time. I wouldn't feel comfortable with you sleeping over—”

  He waved that away. “Sex is secondary. Well, almost secondary. The point is we need to see more of each other than we have since you started work there. It's been driving me crazy, not seeing you. Let's just handle this right now, and later on we'll handle your world tour. Somehow. I won't ask you to give it up, because you really want to do it. I'll just whine a lot.”

  She did really want to have her year of travel, but she really wanted Cahill, too. “I'm a reasonable woman,” she said. “I know how to compromise.” She had always remained heart-whole and free because she'd never before met anyone who was important enough to her to get in the way of her plans. Cahill was that important. She would travel some, but a whole year away from him? No way. She wasn't willing to do that.

  He cleared his throat. “We—uh . . . we'll probably get married.”

  “Ya think?” she asked, then started laughing. She couldn't help it. If the man got any more unromantic, the people in charge of Valentine's Day would put a bounty on him.

  He grabbed her and hauled her into his lap. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “You haven't asked a question. You stated a probability.”

  “Well, then, do you agree with the probability?”

  She might never hear the question, she thought, amused. She'd have to work on him. She intended to be married only once in her life, so she wanted to hear that question. “I agree with the probability.” She gave him a serene smile and kissed him on the cheek. “When you're thinking in more black-and-white terms, we'll talk about it again.”

  He groaned and dropped his head onto her shoulder. “You're going to put me through the wringer, aren't you?”

  “Of course, sweetheart. That's what women are for.”

  He didn't know where Sarah was. When he'd checked early Sunday morning, her SUV was gone, and she hadn't been back to the Lankfords' house since. At the party, casual questions had elicited the information from Merilyn that Sarah's weekends were normally free, but when they entertained on the weekend, she would take a different day off. In this case, when the party ended, she wouldn't be back on duty until Tuesday morning.

  Thinking she might go somewhere, he'd gotten up early and driven by the monstrosity; having already checked, he knew her usual parking spot was visible from the street—just the rear quarter panel, but enough to tell the vehicle was hers. But she must have gotten a very early start, because when he drove by right after dawn, she had already left.

  Did she have family in the area? He kicked himself for not asking. Of course, her family didn't have to be in the area; she could have flown to visit them, and taken the first flight of the morning.

  For a brief moment he entertained the unpleasant idea that she might have a boyfriend—juvenile term—but, no, Sarah had too much class to spend the weekend with some local yokel. The times he'd followed her before, she had shopped and run errands, but never had she met a man anywhere. The problem was, there had been long stretches when he hadn't been able to find her, so he didn't know whom she might know in the area. She was likely visiting family or friends, but he would have liked to have known exactlywhere; he hated not knowing.

  After he took care of Roberts, for instance, he hadn't stayed to watch the excitement because he knew criminals often couldn't resist watching the show and police these days routinely filmed the spectators. When he had driven by the next morning, after the hullabaloo had died down, the driveway had been barricaded and the house sealed off with yellow tape. He had no idea where she had gone. A friend's house, a hotel? The Wynfrey was the most likely hotel, so he'd gone straight there but hadn't seen her SUV. It had been raining, anyway, and he disliked driving in the rain, so he'd gone home.

  After the funeral, she had gone back to the house. She had then stayed there almost all day, every day, so he had relaxed and stopped driving by so often. According to the grapevine, she was getting the house ready to close, packing everything up for the family. Then one night he happened to check, and she wasn't there; there were no lights on at the house. Where had she gone?

  The problem was, there was no place in the neighborhood where he could park and watch for her. If an unfamiliar car stopped, it was immediately noticed. Nor could he continually drive by; he had business to attend to, meetings, phone calls. He had to do all the monitoring himself to avoid the risk of bringing in a stranger who might talk, so he eventually had to accept that he simply wouldn't be able to keep track of her all the time. He didn't like it, but he was a reasonable, patient man; he could wait.

  The most important thing was that he knew she wasn't supposed to be back until Tuesday morning.

  The other time had worked like a charm, so Sunday night he followed the same routine. He drove to the Galleria in the dark blue Ford he had bought only a little over a month before; after all, the Jaguar was so noticeable. The Ford was so ordinary as to be almost invisible. It didn't compare to the Jaguar, of course, but it was perfect for its purpose. But when he called there was no answer. Frustrated, he tried several more times before giving up in disgust.

  The next night, though, he knew the Lankfords were at home, because he'd checked, and there weren't any extra cars in the driveway, either. They were alone. He made the call, and of course Sonny was glad to see him. Sonny was always willing to talk business, and when one owned a bank . . . well, people liked to see him. Sonny was too stupid to see anything unusual in his coming to him, rather than the other way around. The fool was probably flattered.

  The silenced pistol was tucked in his waistband at the small of his back, covered by his jacket, when Sonny let him into the house. The man hadn't even bothered to put on a jacket, he saw with contempt. He was dressed in slacks and pullover knit shirt, and he was wearing house slippers, for God's sake. Totally classless.

  “Where's Merilyn?” he asked easily. People talked to him, told him things. They trusted him. Why shouldn't they?

  “Upstairs. She'll be down in a minute. You said you wanted to talk to both of us?”

  “Yes. Thank you for seeing me tonight. I won't take up much of your time.” Sonny still didn't see the ludicrousness of that statement.

  “Nonsense, it's a pleasure. Would you like something to drink? We have hard, soft, and everything in between.” Sonny led the way into the den; thank God he hadn't taken him into that horrible room with the gargantuan television. There was a television in the den, of course, but it was normal-sized.

  “A glass of wine would be nice.” He had no intention of drinkin