The Virgin And The Vengeful Groom. Dixie Browning

want to make that call now or shall we get our personal business done first?”

      “Personal business.” She was stalling, trying to come up with a good story, so he pushed a little harder.

      “We can do this the easy way, or we can fight it out in court. Your choice.”

      “You’re still upset about those papers? I’ve got this fruitcake who won’t let me alone—someone breaks into my apartment, meddles in my underwear drawer, and you’re worried about some papers?”

      Oh, boy. “You want to run that by me again? Your underwear?”

      “It probably wasn’t you, because you were right here at the door when he called, but…but—oh, dammit, I am so tired of this…this harassment!”

      “It’s happened before?” He was inside her door now, automatically sizing the place up. A few nice pieces—way too much clutter. Potted plants, books, papers—bottom line, it looked like a cross between one of those house-and-garden spreads and a city dump.

      “It happens almost every day. Not the…the flower and the awful underwear, but the calls.”

      “The, uh, awful underwear?”

      “Some creep left a rose and a pair of really disgusting panties in my underwear drawer day before yesterday, and then he had the nerve to call me and brag about it. I just want it to stop!”

      “Have you reported it?”

      “Well, of course I’ve reported it, what do you take me for, an idiot?”

      He didn’t think she really wanted him to answer the question, and so he didn’t. “What did they advise?”

      She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Change my phone number, change my lock—go on an extended vacation until the creep loses interest.”

      “And?” Curt prompted. He needed to get on with his own business, but no officer who called himself a gentleman would walk away, leaving a lady in this much distress. Not that he was much of a gentleman—in name only, maybe.

      And not that she was that much of a lady.

      “Oh, I did it all—the works. The caller missed one day, and then he started in again. I hope he fries in hell. I hope he catches an awful disease and rots from the toes up. Slowly!”

      “Remind me never to tick you off,” he said dryly. “Uh, about the other. My boxes?”

      She took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her small but definitely feminine chest. “Look, whether you like it or not, I bought those boxes. They’re mine, along with whatever happens to be inside them, end of argument.”

      “End of defense argument,” he corrected smoothly. “Now it’s my turn.”

      “I’m expecting my lawyer at any moment. If you have anything further to say, you may take it up with her.”

      “All prepared, huh? Lawyer already on the hook. I’d say that’s a pretty good indication of guilt.”

      “Just what is your problem, Mr. Powers? Hearing or understanding?”

      “My problem? I think I stated it pretty clearly, but for the record those papers you took from my storage unit are my property. I lost them through no fault of my own.”

      “The sale was perfectly legitimate. I have a receipt to prove it.”

      He could have told her what she could do with her receipt, but he had better manners. Marginally. Instead, he gave her a smile that would have done credit to a barracuda and deliberately allowed his gaze to move over her, from the crown of her head to her bare toes.

      She was tall?

      He was taller.

      She was tough?

      He was tougher.

      Two sets of arms crossed over two chests. Full battle stations.

      Lily did her best to stare him down, but her best wasn’t working. There was a crude name for this kind of contest. Little boys—and even big ones—were equipped for it. Women weren’t. Even so, if it weren’t for this other thing that had her nerves so ragged that all she wanted to do was run and bury her head under a blanket, she could have taken him, easy. At least she could have run.

      Only she had nowhere left to run. It was all she could do when she thought about that creepy voice not to cry, and she had never been a crier, not even in the bad old days. So she took another deep breath and offered him the smile she had perfected in front of her bathroom mirror. Lily the Diplomat. Lily the Gracious Lady. “Tell you what, Mr. Powers, why don’t you leave your card and I promise I’ll let you have anything I don’t need, once I’ve had time to go through it. Is that acceptable?”

      Smile still in place, she looked him directly in the eye. She knew better than to look a strange dog in the eyes, but as a last resort it occasionally worked on bullies. Having come up through a tough school, she had seen her share of both, including her mother’s so-called boyfriends, one of whom had locked her in the basement and tried to starve her into letting him teach her “a new game.”

      “My card,” he repeated, sounding as if he might actually be considering it.

      Way to go, girl! She lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug, something else she’d practiced in front of a mirror. “Or you can jot down your address and I’ll mail them to you.”

      “Or we can look through them now and I’ll save you the bother of shipping them. My truck’s parked just down the street.”

      Behind her the phone rang again. She froze. “You going to get it?” he asked.

      “The machine will pick up.” It was probably only Davonda, telling her she wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. The creep almost never called twice in the same evening.

      The answering machine cut in. They both listened as the familiar voice began to whisper his filthy insinuations. Lily bit her lip to keep from screaming. She grabbed her cocoa mug and would have hurled it at the phone, but Curt moved swiftly past her and picked up the receiver. “You want to run that by me again, sir? I’m not sure our technician caught that last phrase.”

      Waiting until he heard the dial tone, he softly replaced the receiver. “How long has this been going on?”

      “A-about a week. Maybe eight days?” She was doing her best to hide the tremor in her voice, but her best wasn’t good enough. “The police are working on it, but evidently crank calls aren’t a high priority. They couldn’t even do anything about…about the stuff in my drawer. When I told them I would never in this world buy anything so disgusting for myself, they only looked at each other—you know, the way men can do. Besides, there was no evidence of a break-in.” She lifted a pair of stricken eyes. “Which means somebody—some horrible pervert—has a key to my home.”

      Something inside him shifted, coming dangerously close to sympathy. Being threatened by an unseen, unsuspected enemy was nothing new for someone in his line of work, but for a woman—a civilian—

      He had to remind himself that he had a legitimate beef with her. He would do well to leave her and her problems to the Norfolk PD and get out before she undermined his mission.

      “Lily—Miss O’Malley—I happened to be out of the country when the rent on my storage locker came due.”

      As he’d hoped, the diversion pulled her back from the edge. “Tough. That’s your problem, not mine. Besides, I was told they gave you notice.”

      “Unfortunately, I was delayed. Still haven’t caught up on all my mail. It’s possible I might have missed a payment, but that doesn’t mean—”

      “Try three payments.”

      “Three? That many, huh. Well, the fact remains, the stuff’s morally mine. I can understand why you might think otherwise, but now that we understand each other, I