Men Of Honour. Lori Foster

him, she wouldn’t worry about her rummaged apartment or his weapon. “I don’t go anywhere without it.”

      “I should have remembered that.” Her gaze went to his hands, then back to his face. “If you’d found someone in here, would you have shot him?”

      “What do you think?”

      After a second of thought, she said, “Only if you had to.” She shuddered. “But I’m glad you had it, just in case.”

      She was glad? So why, then, did she look so rattled?

      Molly picked up a floral throw pillow from the floor. “As much as I hate to ask this, should we call the police?”

      He hadn’t yet decided. “Why don’t you look around and see if anything is missing?”

      As she did that, she removed her corduroy jacket and the colorful scarf and dropped them over the back of the couch, which was the only piece of furniture that hadn’t been turned or taken apart.

      Arms crossed, she studied the room—and suddenly her eyes widened. “My manuscript.”

      Forgoing concern for her shelves, broken pictures and a dumped plant, Molly launched over and around the mess to race into her bedroom.

      Dare followed right behind her.

      At a large desk, she drew up short and groaned.

      The keyboard hung off the front of the desk, still connected by the cord. Papers were strewn everywhere, and scattered clothes half covered the area.

      But the large flat-screen monitor appeared unbroken and all the cords seemed intact.

      She picked up some papers, saying, “My contracts are all mixed up now.” She set the papers aside and turned full circle to see the room.

      Dare did his own scrutiny, but for different reasons. Now that he knew there weren’t any intruders still lurking about, he realized that Molly’s regular wardrobe included a lot of provocative stuff. Panties in every color were mixed with camisoles and lacy bras. Draped over the open closet door was a skimpy red dress, and at the foot of the bed, a silky purple blouse lay bunched up with skinny jeans.

      Huh. Somehow, he hadn’t pictured her like this. He’d figured her more for a T-shirt and sneakers kind of woman. Basic. Unadorned. Earthy.

      And she could be.

      But he liked the new image in his head a lot.

      In his quick surveillance of the place, he hadn’t failed to notice the claw-footed tub in her bathroom, or the black-and-white tile, brightened with red towels and dishes of potpourri.

      There was a decidedly sensual side to Ms. Molly Alexander. “You surprise me.”

      “What?” She followed his gaze to a floral demi-bra. With a gasp, she snatched it up and hid it behind her back. “You thought I did all my shopping at discount department stores?”

      He sort of had. “You’re adaptable.”

      Her chin came up. “Yeah, so?”

      It amused him that she sounded so defensive. “It’s an admirable quality, Molly, that’s all. Sort of sexy, even.”

      “Yeah, right.” Huffing, she threw the bra toward the bed and went to her knees in front of the desk. “Not like anyone sees me in any of that stuff anyway.”

      He would. Soon.

      He watched as she moved a lot of stuff out of her way to search beneath the desk.

      “What are you looking for?”

      “My flash drive. It was in the computer, because I was working on the book when I …” She went still, shook her head. “I was writing before I took a break and went outside. It should be here. I was going to mesh the papers I’d written at your place into the pages I already have.”

      Would someone have reason to steal her work? Dare took a bundle of clothes from her and put them on the chair. “Did you keep a backup?”

      “The flash drive is my backup.” She pushed aside a box, and a broken dry-erase board.

      Dare cursed low—and Molly said, “Found it!”

      Amazed, he watched as she lifted the flash drive from a narrow space on the floor between her chair and the desk. She closed her fist around it and let out a long breath.

      Sorting out his thoughts, Dare turned to scrutinize the rest of her bedroom. “Involving the police will hinder what I can find out.”

      Now that she’d found her work, she seemed calmer. “Why?”

      “Because I’d be their first suspect.”

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      MOLLY STARED AT HIM, aghast. “What are you talking about? Why would anyone suspect you?”

      “I’m the least-known person in this equation. And it’ll only make the police suspicious if they start digging into my history, because they won’t find much.”

      “They won’t?”

      “I’ve made a point to always cover my tracks.” The last thing he needed was a public profile. “It goes with the security of the job. But cops don’t like that. They see any concealment as a guilty verdict.”

      Molly accepted that without question, but the authorities wouldn’t. And he didn’t want them sidetracked investigating him, instead of getting to the real instigators.

      Dare put his hands on his hips and looked at her full-size bed. The bedding was displaced, her clothes dumped, but otherwise the room seemed okay. “Another problem is that the police have an uncanny knack for forewarning every real suspect. It’s the way they investigate.”

      Molly pushed up from the floor. “What do you mean?” She stowed the memory device in her pocket and began picking up clothes.

      “They’re upfront about everything. They have rules to follow, legal procedures to adhere to.” Someone might have gone through her things in an effort to discover her whereabouts. Had Bishop Alexander put someone up to that task? It seemed possible. “But I don’t.”

      “I hadn’t thought of that.”

      “The easiest way to catch people is to take them off guard. Whoever kidnapped you is a pro with connections. If they were involved in this—” he looked at a dumped dresser drawer “—they wouldn’t leave behind evidence.”

      “Since my door wasn’t locked, anyone could have come in.”

      Dare considered that. “Where do you keep your keys?”

      “In the kitchen on a utility cabinet. I always leave my purse in there, too.” She started that way and Dare followed. The kitchen wasn’t in as bad shape as the bedroom. Her purse had been dumped on the table, and two drawers were emptied of paper and pens.

      Molly looked around but didn’t find the keys anywhere. “They’re gone.”

      “Anyone else have keys to your place?”

      “My sister, and the landlord.”

      Dare opened a few cabinets that held food and dishes, and drawers filled with silverware, pot holders and dishcloths. They were undisturbed.

      That told him a lot. “Whoever went through here was looking for something specific. He wasn’t just trashing the place.”

      Frowning, Molly went back into the living room and looked around, and then back into her bedroom. Dare could tell she was studying the carnage, trying to make sense of it.

      She stared at her desk, rearranged some of the displaced papers. After a minute, she said, “Whoever was here went through my printed notes, and he left my computer on.”

      Dare frowned. “Put the drive in the computer and