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Granger turned back to Katie. “Look at this!” He had been momentarily diverted, but was not ready to be appeased. With a sweep of his hand, he indicated a stream of water splashing onto a case. “That is my laptop computer. If it hadn’t been in its case, it would’ve been soaked.” He picked up the case, moving it out from under the cascade. “Do you have any idea what damage water causes to electronic equipment, Miss Jones? And this—” He pointed to the bed where the indoor deluge was in the process of drenching the pillow. “If I’d been asleep, I would have been shocked awake by a blast of rain on my head!”
“Well, you weren’t asleep so you weren’t shocked awake by a blast of rain on your head,” Hannah said coolly. “And your precious computer was in its case so it wasn’t damaged by water. As far as I can see, there’s no harm done, certainly nothing to warrant this tantrum you’re throwing. What’s a little water anyway? Are you a complainer by nature, Mr. Granger? Would you like some cheese to go along with your whine?”
She had the immense satisfaction of watching his face redden. She knew how very much men hated to be accused of whining! It was the antithesis of the ideal of strong, silent male fortitude.
Katie, however, was aghast. “Oh, no, Hannah!” She gripped her throat, gulping for breath. “Mr. Granger has every reason to be infuriated. I agree with him. These conditions are inexcusable and totally unacceptable! Mr. Granger, I hope you’ll give the boardinghouse another chance to make this up to you. I’ll move you to a new room immediately, and of course, you won’t be charged for today or tonight—or—or tomorrow, either. I am so terribly, terribly sorry.”
“Katie, there is no need to grovel to this man.” Hannah was speaking to Katie, but her eyes were focused on the darkly rugged Mr. Granger. He was staring back at her, his black gaze piercing and intense. “I think he owes you an apology,” Hannah continued gleefully. “He’s behaved rudely, summoning you up here as if he’s some sort of feudal lord taking the servant girl to task.”
Katie choked. “Mr. Granger,” she began placatingly, “please don’t—”
“Who is she and why is she here?” Granger asked Katie, his eyes never leaving Hannah. “If she turns out to be the demented co-owner of this place, I’m checking out immediately.”
Katie ran her hand through her hair in an agitated manner that left it tousled. “Mr. Granger, this is Hannah Kaye Farley who—who owns a shop here in Clover. Hannah, my guest is Matthew Granger. He checked in this morning. And, Hannah, I would greatly appreciate it if you would go back downstairs and make sure the party is running smoothly while I move Mr. Granger to another room.”
Hannah and Matthew Granger continued to stare at each other.
“Since Miss Farley made it a point to stick her elegant little nose into your business, I think it’s only fair that she stay and help you make the room switch.” Matthew arched his dark brows, his expression challenging. Before either Hannah or Katie could say another word, he dumped the wet case containing the laptop computer into Hannah’s arms. “Here, you can carry this.”
Hannah was so startled she nearly dropped it. “It’s all wet!” She felt the bodice of her silver minidress absorb the moisture and knew it would leave a visible damp spot.
“What’s a little water?” Matthew drawled. “Are you a complainer by nature, Miss Farley? Perhaps you’d like some cheese to go with your whine?”
Katie froze, bracing herself for Hannah’s response while mentally reviewing the coverage in her insurance policy.
But instead of flinging the laptop to the floor or on Matthew’s head, Hannah flashed a sudden smile. “Touché, Mr. Granger.”
Matthew was completely disarmed. He studied the sensual perfection of her mouth and had to remind himself to breathe. His heart began to pump faster, making heat surge through him. Her face was exquisite, her complexion smooth and milky white, an intriguing contrast to her raven black hair. Her gray eyes, wide set and framed by dark lashes and brows, shone with intelligence and fire.
He’d been attracted to her the moment he laid eyes on her, when he’d come downstairs to rail at Katie. He’d been too attracted to her. Sensing trouble, he’d looked away, not daring even to glance at her one more time.
But it was happening all over again. The darkly gorgeous Hannah Farley had totally unhinged him. This time he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Her well-shaped, scarlet red lips were made for kissing. For passion. Matthew’s body began to tighten with need.
As a man who prided himself on never losing his head over a woman, on always maintaining control over his emotions in his dealings with the opposite sex, he found it more than a little disturbing that she could command his attention so easily and so completely.
Every primitive male instinct within him urged him toward the shapely, petite raven haired beauty in the eye-popping silver minidress and provocative spike-heeled sandals.
It was the sudden splash of cold water on the top of his head—yet another leak!—that jolted him out of the powerful sensual grip she had on him.
Hannah Farley was dangerous, Matthew decided. She used that smile of hers as a weapon. One flash, and bam! The unsuspecting recipient was disoriented, a willing captive to her sultry Southern charms.
Well, not him. Matthew flicked the raindrops from his hair. The smile she’d almost coaxed out of him rapidly turned into a defiant scowl. He was not here to lust after a teasing little flirt who was oh-so-confident of her appeal. He couldn’t allow anything or anyone to divert him, even temporarily, from the vital mission that had brought him to Clover.
He suspected that Hannah Farley could be far more than a temporary distraction. Becoming absorbed in her might easily become a full-time preoccupation. Matthew steeled himself against her allure. She was tempting but not irresistible. He could and would resist.
“Save it, sweetie,” he growled. “What you’re selling, I’m not buying.”
Hannah heaved an exasperated groan. “Are you one of those vain, tiresome men who thinks that any time a woman smiles at him, she’s coming on to him? Well, let me assure you that I am not, Mr. Granger.”
Matthew watched the warmth fade from her gray eyes as they narrowed to slits under her dark brows, watched her smile turn into a frown as fierce as his own. He was appalled that he felt regret, that he wanted to recall his insult and make her smile at him again. Her spell was potent indeed!
That feminine power of hers refueled his determination to send her on her way. Safely out of his way. She’d made it plain that she resented male condescension; therefore it became his weapon of choice.
“I guess it’s time for me to tell you that you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” He taunted her with his tone, with his expression. “The way you toss your hair, the way your eyes flash—baby, you project the image of glamorous anger as well as any soap-opera queen.”
Only his eyes, hot and intent, belied his cocky attitude.
Katie was right there to catch the laptop case before it hit the ground. She had rightly anticipated Hannah’s next move. “Hannah, please, the party,” she prompted under her breath. “It would be so helpful to me if you would go down and—”
“Throw the unruly mob out into the rain?” Matthew suggested. “I’m surprised none of the other tenants has complained about the noise. When I checked into this place, I thought it would provide the quiet I was seeking. Instead, there is a rowdy party going on downstairs with the Hit Parade from Hell playing in the background. Is this a nightly occurrence, Miss Jones? If so—”
“If you wanted a dark, quiet place, why didn’t you check into the city morgue?” Hannah said crossly. “The accommodations there would be ideal for an icy stiff like you.”
Matthew actually laughed. “Touché to you, too, Miss Farley.”
It was Hannah’s turn to be rendered speechless. Matthew Granger was attractive in a severely masculine way when he was angry and upset but he was absolutely charismatic when his dark eyes sparkled with humor and his face was lit with laughter.
Hannah slid a sidelong glance in Katie’s direction. If Katie had been equally floored by Matthew’s charisma, she was covering her reaction well. Katie appeared more concerned with balancing the dripping-wet computer case than gaping breathlessly at the mercurial Matthew Granger.
Which Hannah found herself doing, much to her own disconcertment. She took inventory of his face—and his body. He was not a classically handsome man but he had interesting features. The sharp blade of a nose and hard slash of a mouth were as compelling as his black eyes, arched by black brows. He was lean and muscular and almost vibrating with a restless energy that she instantly understood because she possessed it herself. A need to make things happen. An edginess combined with a daring need for something that hadn’t been found because it had yet to be identified.
“Mr. Granger, if I may, I’ll set the computer down here.” Katie laid it safely down in a dry spot and wiped her hands on the skirt of her light summer dress. “And I’ll get the key to room 206. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Don’t forget to take your sidekick with you,” Matthew called after her, as Katie fled down the hall.
Hannah folded her arms across her chest. She decided then and there not to do anything to accommodate him. If he wanted her gone, she would stay put. “I won’t conveniently go away, giving you free rein to bully and disparage poor Katie. She obviously needs your business and you’re taking full advantage of that fact.”
“What about you?” taunted Matthew. “According to Katie, you’re a shop owner. Shouldn’t you be patronizing me as a potential customer for your wares—whatever they might be?”
Hannah gave him a dismissive laugh. “I certainly don’t need to cultivate the likes of you.”
“Because you’re a rich girl whose shop is just a diversion until a suitable candidate for your privileged little hand shows up?”
“My shop holds its own, not that it’s any business of yours. And I am definitely not in a rush to marry anyone,” she added, a little too fervently.
“Why not? Every woman I’ve ever known has been burning to find a husband and take that long walk down the aisle, all decked out in white lace and sequins.”
“Good heavens, what kind of women have you been spending time with?”
“Ones with bad taste in wedding attire?”
“Not to mention bad taste in men, if they’re burning to take that long walk down the aisle with you!”
He grinned. “I didn’t say they all wanted to marry me. I said they all wanted to get married. Just like you do, honey. Let me guess. You want some tall, elegant Southern aristocrat who’ll keep you in the grand style you’ve always been accustomed to. Or maybe a good-looking, fun-loving socialite who glides along on his connections and his boyish charm.”
“Been there. Done that.” Hannah feigned boredom, but she was far from bored. There was a current of sexual tension sizzling between them, which energized her, challenged her, too.
“So you’re a lady with a past? I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t be. You’re not my type.”
“You’re saying I don’t stand a chance with you?” He sounded amused, not insulted.
“Not a chance,” Hannah affirmed. She sashayed by him, deeper into the room, taking care to avoid the water dripping steadily from the various leaks in the ceiling.
On top of the bureau lay a big canvas bag, which was half open and crammed full of notebooks, folders and books, both paperback and hardcover. She peered inside, but before she could glimpse any of the titles, Matthew stalked across the room to stand between her and the bureau, blocking both her view and her access to the bag.
“Do you make a habit of barging into people’s rooms and snooping through their things?” His tone was light but his dark eyes were hard and forbidding.
“What do you have in there that you don’t want me to see?” Hannah asked curiously. When she took a step closer, he sidestepped her, continuing to block her view of the bag and its contents.
“Why do you feel the need to know?” he countered.
“I don’t.” Hannah shrugged. “But you’re awfully defensive about it. Are you one of those creepy perverts who travels with his own personal stash of hard-core pornography?”
“You do have an interesting imagination.” Matthew tried but failed to suppress a grin. “But the answer is no. Sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”
Her body reacted to his smile, her heartbeat accelerating as hot little quivers pierced her abdomen. Hannah tried to will them away. “Why are you here in Clover, Mr. Granger?” she demanded sharply.
“I’m a writer.” His eyes held hers. “This bag holds research and reference materials. I’m here to...gather information for the book I plan to write.”
“I checked room 206 and it’s fine.” Katie rushed into the room, panting from exertion. “Shall we get you moved in there, Mr. Granger?”
“I would appreciate that. And please call me Matthew.” He zipped up his canvas tote and grabbed its straps. “Lead the way, Miss Jones.”
“If we’ve moved to a first-name basis, you must use Katie, please.” Katie was relieved that his fury seemed to have abated and that he was willing to be placated. “May I carry something for you, Matthew?”
“The laptop.” Matthew pointed, and Katie scooped it up.
“Katie, did you know he’s a writer?” Hannah eyed him dubiously. “At least he claims he is. He says he’s here to do research for his book.”
“A writer here in Clover?” Katie paused at the threshold. “Are you going to write a book about the town?” she asked him eagerly. “I read a wonderful novel about Savannah a few months ago and—”
“I know the book,” Matthew cut in. “Mine won’t be anything like it. I’m going to describe the insect life of a small Southern coastal town. Clover seemed a likely setting.”
“You’re writing a book about insects in Clover?” Hannah was incredulous.
“I’m sure it will be very interesting,” Katie said diplomatically.
“Will it be like a textbook?” pressed Hannah.
“Like, yes.” Matthew’s eyes mocked her. “I promise to send you both an autographed copy.”
“I don’t believe for one minute that you’re here to write an insect textbook,” Hannah declared boldly. The gleam in his dark eyes was all the proof she needed to know that he was putting them on. Katie was too polite to call him on it, but Hannah had nothing to lose. He wasn’t her tenant. “And I don’t—”
“As long as you’re determined to stick around, you may as well make yourself useful, angel face. Take my shirts from the closet and bring them to 206,” Matthew directed Hannah.
He didn’t wait around to see if she followed his orders. Obviously he expected to be obeyed, just as he had assumed that Katie would follow him upstairs after he’d issued his earlier command. Matthew strode from the room, Katie at his heels.
“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.” Hannah gave a mock salute. The man barked out orders like a general on the battlefield. But it was her curiosity, not any sense of obedience, that drove her to open the closet door.
An assortment of shirts was hung neatly on hangers on the rod, and Hannah draped them over her arm. From the number of them, it appeared that Matthew Granger planned to stick around for a while. There were also two lightweight summer suits hanging there. Hannah decided she could carry them, too.
She felt the hard lump in the inside pocket of the jacket as she added the suits to her load. The same innate curiosity that had prompted her to examine the books inside his canvas bag caused her to investigate the bulge in the pocket.
Hannah’s eyes widened in shocked alarm when she pulled out a small, gleamingly polished handgun.
Two
Hannah dropped the gun back into the pocket as if scalded by its touch. Her heart thumped wildly against her ribs. She hadn’t believed Matthew’s lame assertion about being here to research and write about insect life in Clover, and the sight of this gun confirmed her doubts.
Why would he carry a gun? Was he a police officer? She knew Ford Maguire, sheriff of Clover; just yesterday she’d had coffee with him at the diner, and he hadn’t mentioned anything about a new officer coming to town. And it seemed logical that Katie would’ve mentioned that her new tenant was a cop when she’d introduced him.
Unless Katie didn’t know. Perhaps Matthew Granger was doing some sort of undercover investigation that required total secrecy. But what? Clover was not exactly a hotbed of crime. Oh, there were the occasional domestic disputes, petty larceny and disorderly-conduct arrests, but the downtrodden Polk clan usually figured in most of those. Certainly, no secret agent was necessary to deal with the Polks!
That left the other side of the law.
Was Matthew Granger a criminal who’d chosen to hide out here at the boardinghouse? Laying low until the heat is off, as a movie gangster would say. It occurred to Hannah that the only things she knew about gangsters were from the movies because she had never met a bona fide mobster in her life.
But here was Matthew Granger, dressed all in black, projecting an aura of danger, demanding and insolent and secretive. He definitely had not wanted her to see what was in that canvas bag of his, although why a criminal would take pains to hide his reading material escaped her. Unless the titles offered some sort of clues or evidence against him? Perhaps the books were simply decoys, hiding the real secrets in the bottom of the crammed satchel? Drugs?
Hannah shivered. What else did racketeers do? Laundering money, bookmaking, loan-sharking. Murder-for-hire? She flinched. She did not want Matthew Granger to be a criminal! A telling insight that unnerved her as much as the possibility that he was one.
Nervously, Hannah hung the suits back in the closet. She didn’t want Matthew Granger—if that was his real name—to know that she knew he had a gun. She heard his voice and Katie’s outside the room and quickly slammed the closet door.
“I have your shirts,” she sang out, hurrying into the hall, where she came face-to-face with Matthew. “They go to 206, right?”
“You have amazing recall, little girl,” he growled.
She met his eyes—they were dark and hot and challenging—and a sharp thrill tore through her. What she should be feeling was fear, Hannah admonished herself as she fairly ran down the hall to room 206. She would not be attracted to a gangster! Not even Grandmother, the soul of patience and understanding, would condone such lunacy.
She hung his shirts inside the closet in his new room and turned to see the canvas bay lying on the floor beside the bed. A quick peek assured her that there was no one in the hall, so Hannah succumbed to temptation, pulled the zipper half open and reached into the bag.
She examined the hardcover titles first. Inside the Criminal Mind, a textbook written by a psychiatrist. Three other books on the personalities of serial killers by three different criminologists. Was Matthew Granger a criminologist or psychologist himself, taking a vacation in Clover? If he was accustomed to the crime-infested urban scene, Clover would be a welcome change of pace for him. Her anxiety began to dissolve; she preferred this new, favorable theory.
She next turned her attention to the paperbacks, which were all bestselling thrillers. Hannah recognized the names of the authors but hadn’t read any of the books. She preferred historical novels with plenty of romance. There were none of those in the bag.
Delving deeper, she pulled out a beat-up copy of The First Families of South Carolina, a privately published book that also graced the shelves of the Farley family library, although that particular copy was in mint condition. There was a thick piece of folded paper in Matthew’s tattered copy, perhaps marking a page?
Hannah turned to it. The heading at the top of the page read “The Wyndhams.” That family, who was so important, wealthy and influential within the state that they rated two entire chapters in the book, had a major branch in Clover. The collective Wyndham tribe boasted judges and senators, past and present, along with the usual assortment of attorneys and financiers. All the Wyndhams were well educated and cultured, sophisticated and socially prominent, a credit to their glorious name and history.
Hannah knew them, of course. While the Farley family did not possess the enormous wealth and political power of the Wyndham family, the Farleys were well-bred and well connected and therefore considered worthy to socialize with the grand Wyndhams. Hannah’s oldest sister, Sarah, had gone to school with Esme Wyndham Chase; now their young daughters were friends.
The closed and clannish upper-class social scene had never appealed to Hannah. She stared at the book and wondered why on earth Matthew Granger was reading about it.
Her eyes flicked over the thrillers and the behavioral studies of real-life criminals. One thing was certain; he had wildly divergent tastes in books. And there wasn’t a thing in the bag having to do with insects, either. He had been kidding her and Katie, though he teased so seriously, it was difficult to tell.
And then she saw the map. It had been there all along, although it hadn’t registered until right now that the thick folded paper, marking the chapter on the Wyndhams, was a map. She unfolded it. A map of Clover.
