Family Jewels by Rita Sable Page A

trigger a reaction.
    “Not yet. I want to scan the other cars driving by. Especially those already parked here. You never know who might be waiting for you to come home.”
    She sat back stiffly. “But it’s daylight. They wouldn’t try anything now, would they?”
    “You don’t know that. I prefer safety over sorrow and regret.”
    “Better safe than sorry,” she repeated.
    He grinned. “Yeah, same thing.”
    “How do you do this all the time? Keep your guard up and be so wary about everyone?”
    “It goes with the territory. Being an agent, or cop as you call it here, is something you’re either born with or not. I was born cautious and suspicious like my father.”
    “So your father is in law enforcement?”
    “No. My father’s a farmer who also dabbles in politics.”
    She sat quietly, apparently mulling over his answer. That was the most personal information about his true identity he’d ever given out to anyone who wasn’t in his immediate circle. She made him feel entirely too comfortable. He’d have to restrain the urge to let down his guard around her. “It looks quiet, let’s go.”
    On the sidewalk he tucked her inside the crook of his arm again, shielding her as much as possible from the light snow that still fell. By the time they reached the front door to her building, she had a frosty crown on the top of her head. She shook off the snow. Rosy color brightened her cheeks and the tip of her nose making her eyes look large and luminous. She had such classic beauty.
    Keep your mind on your job , St . James !
    “I have my keys in here somewhere.” A slight frown marred her smooth brow while she rummaged in the deep pockets of her purse.
    She opened the outer door and once inside the tiled entry, she headed for a wall of tiny mailboxes. She shoved another little key into her mailbox and pulled several letters and catalogs out of the square metal container. Cynthia took a moment to go through them.
    “Bill, bill, bill, junk, more junk. Oh and a postcard from Mom and Dad.”
    She flipped the card over and quickly read the short message. “Hmm. I’m glad they’re having a great time.” She hugged her mail to her chest. “Ready to go up?”
    “Sure.” He started to guide her over to the single elevator.
    “Wrong way.” Cynthia balked. “I take the stairs. It’s only three flights and one way I get exercise.”
    “Very well.” He took her hand and led her up the stairs.
    The stairwell was narrow, the steps carpeted with thin, brown-speckled fabric that quieted their tread. On the first-floor landing Trevor understood the layout of this building more clearly and how the apartments were arranged. A short, well-lit hallway split off into four separate living quarters. There were no windows that would allow natural daylight in, or give an intruder easy access.
    He continued up to the second floor with her, still holding her hand and leading the way. “How did the guy last night get into your apartment?”
    “Through the window. I don’t know how he got past the bars outside. Or how he climbed up the wall to the third floor. The police should have figured that out.”
    Trevor frowned. More than likely the burglar came down from the roof. Less chance of detection and easier to escape. He leaned over the railing and looked up through the center of the stairwell. “Do you have roof access from these stairs?”
    “Yes. I go up there sometimes in the summer to lie in the sun.”
    That made his pulse jump. He imagined Cynthia’s luscious curves spread out under the hot sun, wearing nothing but tiny scraps and strings to cover the most intimate parts of her body. Being an American, he doubted if she sunbathed nude but the thought of it made his mouth water and his blood run hot.
    She pulled him to her apartment door. Black-and-yellow-striped crime-scene tape with the words “Police Line—Do Not Cross” emblazoned on it still hung from the doorjamb. She ripped it down and bunched it up into