Dangerous Melody by Dana Mentink Page A

might be someone else waiting. We don’t know all the players involved.”
    She inched closer. “I’m going in there,” she breathed, causing his body to tingle all over.
    He held her tighter. “Let me. You stay outside with the phone. I’ll yell if I need help.”
    She gave him an odd look. “I wish you would have told me you needed help before.”
    He felt confused. “Idon’t know what you mean.”
    “The pills,” she said, eyes moist.
    He stepped back. “I beat it by myself. I didn’t need your help.”
    “And you don’t need it now?” she whispered. She closed the gap and pressed her cheek to his. “Forget it. I’ll go in and you stay in the truck.”
    He closed his eyes against the softness of her skin, the silken touch of her hair on his cheeks. Raindropson roses. She was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, felt or come near to in his whole life. He pretended for a split second that she was his again, that his heart was whole and clean, cleaved once more with hers. When the feeling became too much to bear, he gently set her back.
    Stop deluding yourself, Tate. Those are just memories of old feelings. Things are different now.
    “Steph...”
    It was a mistake. As soon as he released her, she turned the knob and darted into the silent building.

EIGHT
    S tephanie tried to get her bearings. It was not the dim interior that confused her senses, but the way her body reacted to Tate’s touch. He was an addict, and she could not allow him in her life again. That was clear, but why did her body seem so reluctant to get the message? She took a deep breath and willed her pulse to simmer down.
    Tate stepped in behind her and theyboth stood still, listening. The soft hum of voices startled her until she saw Tate mouth the word radio. They stood in a minuscule kitchen, the sink filled with water and submerged cookware. A rickety table and chair stood off in the corner, littered with an untidy pile of sheet music and a plate smeared with something that might have been dried ketchup.
    The kitchen had two exits. One ledout to the store area, and the other must lead to Devlin’s private room, where the light gleamed from under the slightly open door. She made a move toward the bedroom, but in a flash Tate was in front of her, crouched low, pushing the door open.
    He managed to keep her behind him until he’d poked in his head. Then she pushed past and into the room which housed a cot and small end table, yetanother stack of sheet music, an odd collection of hardware from various instruments and a chipped coffee mug. On the wall was a calendar of famous golf courses of the world, the page set to three months prior. In the corner, an old golf club and a bucket of balls were propped.
    Stephanie was at the desk, sorting through the odd scribbled papers and moving aside piles of bills. “Nothing hereof substance,” she whispered.
    He picked up a mug. “Still warm.”
    Her eyes widened. With an unspoken agreement, they left the bedroom and made their way toward the store. Once again they paused to listen before they pushed aside the door. The air was stuffy, the smell of mildew strong. Tate turned on the flashlight and beamed it around, looking into the spaces large enough for an intruderto hide. Large shapes covered with sheets gleamed back at them. Instruments, she imagined, but looking more like pale beasts in the gloom.
    Tate was sidling around to the counter in the back corner, where they had first met Devlin. It would make the perfect hiding spot for Devlin, or someone else. There was no moonlight to help now, since long floor-to-ceiling drapes covered the front windows.
    She wanted to call out, to ease Devlin’s mind if he was indeed cowering on the dingy tile floor behind the counter. But there were others in the game. Maria was after the prize, and Ricardo was a player who was as determined to find the violin as the Treasure Seekers, a man who might be willing to kill in order to obtain it.
    Tate