The next day, Darius studied the computer screen in front of him and tried not to think about the woman
a few doors down. She had been holed up in her office all morning and it was almost noon. He would
bet any amount of money she would not be stopping for lunch.
A part of him knew it was really none of his business whether she ate or not, but another part decided to
make it his business. Just as well, since he hadn’t been able to concentrate worth a damn anyway.
Before arriving at the shelter, he had dropped by the refinery to take a look around the area damaged by
the fire, hoping he would find something that had been overlooked previously. He hated admitting it, but
Lance was right. All the evidence accumulated so far was pointing at Montoya, especially since the man
didn’t have an alibi for that night and he’d been seen in the vicinity of the refinery. However, the
evidence was too cut-and-dried to suit Darius—way too pat. As far as he was concerned, if Montoya
wasn’t guilty, then someone who knew about the feud between Montoya and the Brodys was certainly
making it look that way.
Darius stood as he checked his watch, deciding it was time to feed his stomach and satisfy his desire to
see Summer again. He had fought the impulse to drop by her office and say hello when he had arrived at
the shelter. But he couldn’t fight it anymore.
Her office door had been closed, which meant she was either counseling someone or buried knee-deep in
work. She had mentioned getting ready for that meeting tomorrow with Kev. But still, she had to eat,
and he kind of enjoyed that café where they had eaten yesterday. The hamburger had been delicious.
Walking down the corridor, he went to the secretary’s desk. “Is Ms. Martindale in a meeting with
someone?” he asked Marcy.
Marcy stopped thumbing through a bunch of folders on her desk long enough to look up and smile at
him. “No, she’s going over some papers. If you need to talk with her about something, just knock on her
door.”
He returned her smile. “I think I will. Thanks.”
Strolling back the way he’d come, he came to a stop in front of her door, hesitating a moment before
knocking, convincing himself he was only pretending to be a nice guy when in fact, she really didn’t
deserve his kindness.
“Come in.”
He opened the door and walked into her office, closing it behind him. She didn’t look up. “Ready for
lunch?” he asked.
She lifted her gaze from the document she’d been reading to fix it on him. The moment their eyes met, a
slight tremor touched him. And if that weren’t bad enough, he could feel a deep stirring in his gut. He
stood there, fully conscious of the effect she was having on him and not liking it, but unable to do
anything but stand there and take it like a man who wanted a woman, a woman he should have gotten
from under his skin long ago. She broke eye contact with him and looked back down at the document
she’d been reading. “I can’t today.”
You can’t or you won’t? Instead of asking, he said, “Yes, you can. You’ll think better on a full stomach.”
When she looked back up at him without saying anything, as if giving his words some serious thought,
he decided to add, “Besides, that hamburger I ate yesterday was pretty good and—”
“And you probably don’t need another one today. Too much beef,” she finished for him, pushing her
papers aside. “Why don’t you try a salad?”
He chuckled. “That’s rabbit food.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s healthy.” And then she said. “Okay, I’ll have lunch with you, but only if we
walk to the café.”
He felt the amusement leave his face. “Walk?”
“Yes. Walk.”
He noticed she was watching him intently, probably expecting him to back down. He couldn’t help the
smile that touched the corners of his lips when he said, “Fine. We’ll walk.”
“You really didn’t expect me to do it, did you?”
Summer glanced over at Darius. They had been walking for the past few minutes in silence, which gave
her the chance to wonder how, for the third day in a row, she’d been in his presence. He was right. She
shape to do so, but mainly because he didn’t have a pair of walking shoes tucked away in a desk like she
had. He was wearing cowboy boots, and they complemented his jeans and chambray shirt. And he had
grabbed his Stetson off the rack to put on his head, which, considering the heat of the sun, had been a
good idea. He looked good in his Western attire, too good to be walking with her on the dusty sidewalk.
Every so often when someone needed to squeeze by them, Darius’s denim-clad thigh would brush up
against hers, making her very aware of the strength of his masculinity.
“No, I really didn’t,” she said finally. “But you have to admit it’s a beautiful day outside. A perfect day
to walk.”
She couldn’t help remembering the last time they had taken a walk together, late one afternoon when
he’d shown up at her place after getting off work. They had strolled to the neighborhood park and on the
way back had stopped at a corner store for ice-cream cones. That had been a perfect day to walk, too.
She breathed in deeply in an attempt to erase the memory from her mind. For three days, she had
allowed him to invade her personal space and she wasn’t exactly happy with the fact that he’d done so.
She had appreciated his help yesterday, but somehow she needed to get him to understand that being
cordial to each other didn’t mean they had to share lunch every day.
“How is Aunt Joanne?”
She nearly missed a step and felt his hand on her elbow, reaching out to steady her, keeping her from
falling. She stopped walking and glanced up at him. He was standing a scarce few inches in front of her
and met her gaze. Darius had met Aunt Joanne when she had come to Houston to give Summer muchneeded
support during Tyrone’s trial. Her aunt had liked Darius, and Summer wanted to believe that
Darius had liked her aunt, as well, that his feelings toward Aunt Jo had been genuine and not fake—like
the ones he’d displayed toward her.
“Summer, what’s wrong?”
She swallowed and fought back the tears that threatened every time she thought of losing her aunt.
“Aunt Jo died two years ago.”
She saw surprise and then sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry. What happened? Was she ill?” he asked. He
moved his hands from her elbow to her hand, and she could feel him wrapping his fingers around hers.
She shook her head. “No, in fact she’d had a physical the day before and had called to tell me how well
it went, and that the doctor had even joked about her being fifty-five and would probably live well past
ninety-five because she was in such good shape.”
Summer paused a moment and then continued. “On her way home from work one night, she stopped at
an ATM. A guy came up, demanding her money. She emptied her account and gave him all she had, but
he shot and killed her anyway.”
“Oh, Summer, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, pulling her into his arms. And she went without
hesitation, ignoring the fact they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk. She was being given the
shoulder to cry on that she had needed
so badly two years ago. Burying her aunt had been the hardest
thing she’d ever had to do. Less than a year after graduating from college, she’d lost the only person
who’d been there for her consistently.
“That’s it, Summer, get it all out,” Darius urged gently in her ear. “Let it go.” She felt the strength of his
arms wrap around her shoulders, drawing her close.
Summer wasn’t sure just how long she stood there, on a public street, being comforted by the only man
she had ever loved—and who had done her wrong. She wasn’t sure if she could ever forgive him for
breaking her heart.
Pulling herself together, she eased back out of his arms, breaking all physical contact with him. “Sorry
about that,” she said softly.
“Don’t apologize. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She nudged her hands into the pockets of her slacks and glanced down at the pavement.
“It’s still hard for me sometimes.”
“I imagine that it would be, and I really meant it when I said that I’m sorry, Summer.”
The sincerity in his voice as well as the warmth of his tone touched her in a way that it should not have.
She lifted her head to glance back up at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
As they continued their walk toward the café, Summer’s head was spinning with confusion over whether
she could trust this man who had crushed her heart once before but seemed filled with pure compassion
for her. Should she listen to her head, her heart…her body? She suddenly felt like she was nineteen
again, and she didn’t like it at all. Not at all.
Five
“Y ou haven’t been listening to a thing I’ve said,” Justin Dupree complained while eyeing Darius
curiously. The two men were enjoying a meal at one of the exclusive restaurants in town with plans to
drop by the TCC later and play pool with Lance, Mitch and Kevin.
Darius took another sip of his beer and gave his friend an apologetic smile. “Sorry, what did you say?”
A smile touched the corners of Justin’s lips. “I said Monica Cooper has been giving you the eye all
night.”
Darius raised a brow. “Who?”
Justin rolled his eyes. “Monica. You know. Sultry lips Monica.”
Darius couldn’t help but grin as he leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his beer. “No, I don’t
know her, but I’m sure you do.”
There weren’t too many single women with sultry lips that Justin didn’t know. He had a reputation of
being Somerset’s number one jet-setting playboy. Heir to his family’s multimillion-dollar shipping
company, Justin could probably talk a nun out of her clothes. He could also close any business deal he
wanted—he had a reputation of being a tough-as-nails, ruthless businessman. Darius was proud to
consider him a friend.
Justin smiled. “Yes, I know her. Her dad owns a nice spread outside of Austin. She comes to Somerset
every summer to visit her aunt. She seems taken with you.”
Darius didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder at the woman. Instead, he said, “That’s nice.” He
knew Justin had to be wondering why he wasn’t showing Monica, or any woman for that matter, any
interest tonight. Even their waitress had given him a flirty smile. But the only woman he could think
about at the moment was the one he’d had lunch with today. The one he couldn’t get out of his mind.
The one he had held in his arms while she’d cried.
“Okay, Darius, what’s going on in that brain of yours? Lance said you still don’t want to believe that
Montoya was behind that fire.”
Darius studied the contents of his beer bottle before glancing over at Justin. The two of them were best
friends to the Brodys. Justin was Mitch’s best friend like he was Lance’s.
In a way, Darius felt guilty. He hadn’t been thinking about Montoya and the fire, and he really should
be. He had been thinking about Summer. But now that Justin had brought it up…
“I’m just not as convinced as everyone seems to be. Like you, Montoya is a shrewd businessman.
Always on top of his game. Smart as a whip. I can’t see him being stupid enough to set fire to his
enemy’s refinery, not when all fingers would point his way. He has no motive.”
Justin shook his head. “Sure he does. You just said it. He and Lance are enemies.”
“But that’s just it, Justin. They have been enemies for years. That’s nothing new. According to Lance,
that goes as far back as high school. Competing against each other every chance they got.”
“Yes,” Justin said, “and they are still competing against each other today, in practically everything. The
only reason Montoya decided to join the TCC was to be a deliberate thorn in Lance’s side. On top of
that, Montoya is friends with Paulo Ruiz, and everyone knows that guy has underworld connections and
is as shady as they come. For all we know, Ruiz may have been the one to arrange the fire for Montoya.”
Darius nodded, but he still wasn’t convinced. “Well, all we got now is circumstantial evidence that
wouldn’t hold up in court. Unless there is valid proof, then—”
“I’ll get it,” Justin said, interrupting Darius.
Darius raised a dark brow. “And just how do you plan to do that?”
Justin smiled. “You’ll find out when I lay all the evidence you need at your feet.”
Hours later on the drive away from the TCC, Darius couldn’t help but reflect on what Justin had said
over dinner. Granted, he didn’t know Montoya as well as the others since he hadn’t lived in Somerset all
his life, but he couldn’t help but admire someone who had worked hard to propel himself from rags to
riches. He’d heard that Montoya had once been a groundskeeper at the club.
And Darius had a hard time believing that someone that driven to succeed would risk losing it all in a
situation where he would automatically be labeled the guilty party. Darius was convinced that if
Montoya had been involved in the fire, he would have done a better job of covering his tracks. The man
didn’t even have a valid alibi, for crying out loud. Definitely not the stance of a guilty arsonist.
Darius decided that before going to bed he would go back over the information he had collected so far,
especially his interviews with a number of employees who had left the company within the past couple
of years on bad terms. He then cursed under his breath when he realized he’d left the file with his notes
back at the shelter.
Darius turned on the radio, deciding he needed to hear some music. He let out a deep breath as he
recognized the song as one that had been playing earlier today at the café while he and Summer had
shared lunch.
The image of Summer sitting across from him as she tried to put the pain of losing her aunt behind her
flooded his mind. He’d liked her aunt and thought it was tragic how the woman had lost her life. He
could just imagine what Summer had gone through during that time. But he really didn’t want to think
about that. Then why was he? Why did he have to constantly remind himself that he couldn’t—and
shouldn’t—care?
He glanced at the clock on his car’s console. It was close to ten. Tomorrow he would spend the day at
the refinery, checking out a few things and questioning a number of the employees, including one who
claimed he saw someone fitting Montoya’s description in the refinery’s parking
lot the night of the fire.
The moment he stopped at a traffic light, his cell phone went off. He quickly slid it open. “Yes?”
“Darius, this is Walt. I got a message that you called.”
Darius smiled. Hearing his old partner’s voice reminded him of working as a detective in Houston.
They’d had some good times together, despite Walt’s miserable attitude. “Yes, Walt, how are things
going?”
“Pretty much the same. I’m sure you heard that Smothers finally retired. We were all glad about that.”
“Yes, I heard.” John Smothers was a tough detective who should have retired ages ago.
“So, what’s up? You said you needed my help with something,” Walt said.
“I’m investigating a case of arson here in Somerset and need you to do a background check on one of
the company’s employees. I heard from another employee that the man used to work for a company that
burned to the ground a few years ago in Houston.”
“Sure, what’s the employee’s name?”
“Quincy Cummings,” Darius said, hoping Walt would be able to obtain information about the guy.
“I’ll let you know something in a day or so,” Walt said.
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“So, what’s been going on with you, Darius? The last time we talked was over a year ago. I thought you
were calling to let me know you had gotten married or something,” Walt said in a joking tone. But for
some reason Darius was annoyed by Walt’s words—they had definitely hit a nerve. It could be because
Walt had been the one to tell him about Summer and the things she had said about him.
“Not hardly. I plan to stay single for the rest of my days,” Darius said, wondering why each and every
time he talked to Walt, his marital status came up.
“Same here, man. Women are nothing but liars. None of them can be trusted. Hey, remember that goodlooking
broad you had the hots for when we were partners? The one who dumped you for some rich old
man when you were out of town? I don’t recall her name but I—”
“Summer,” Darius cut in, trying to keep his tone from showing the irritation he felt.
“What?”
“I said her name was Summer. Summer Martindale,” Darius said, ready to end the call.