Set Up For Love by Lynde Lakes Page A

arm around her and escorted her to the door. Her heart raced and she questioned the wisdom of enjoying his touch so much.
    She handed him her keys and he bent to unlock the door.
    “Did you lock this?”
    Jill stiffened. “I always lock my doors.”
    Dane pushed. The door swung open.
     
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
    “You’ve had company,” Dane whispered.
    Inside, there was only dark, eerie silence.
    “Wait here,” he ordered.
    She grabbed his arm. “No, you wait, Reporter. This is my job.”
    He shook off her hold. “Forget the Bureau machismo, Grayson. You can hardly stand.”
    “I’m trained for this.” Ignoring the pain and stiffness from the crash, she drew her .38 from her purse.
    Jill moved inside, and flicked on a light. Everything was in place. Drawers closed, paintings and valuables untouched.
    “Anything missing?” Dane asked, taking the lead.
    “I don’t think so.” With gun held extended and ready, she stepped in front of Dane and eased down the hallway.
    A small creak stopped her. Dane was so close his heat warmed her back.
    “What?” His hushed tone was as scary as the silence.
    Jill shook her head.
    Cautiously, she stepped into the bedroom. Empty. She pivoted into the master bathroom. She froze. Blood smeared the mirror like the swipe of a windshield blade.
    Dane stopped short. “Damn.”
    He tried to put his arms around her. Jill’s training wouldn’t let her relax and accept his comfort and strength. She stepped away. “I’m fine.”
    Dane stared at her for a moment—something unreadable flickered in his eyes. “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll call the police and a locksmith.”
    Jill nodded, and he left the room.
    Still holding the gun, she sank to the edge of the tub and stared up at the blood. Was it Tess’?
    The killer was going all out to shake her—Tess’ picture in the file, the hit-and-run and now this.
    Dane returned to the room with a camera and snapped several pictures of the mirror.
    “I’ll get these enlarged and magnified. Maybe the lens will turn up something our eyes missed.”
    She rubbed her cold numb arms and glanced up at him. Why was she just sitting here? Shock?
    Like a magnet, the mirror drew her gaze. She couldn’t stop looking at it. Please, God, don’t let that be my sister’s blood.
    The police and her Fed team arrived, each taking their own pictures, lifting their own samples of blood. For a while they scurried around her home like roaches, invading every nook and cranny. Finally, they dusted for fingerprints then departed.
    She stood in the middle of the living room and stared at the fine residue of powder left behind. Windowsills, doorways and furniture covered with the grimy film were a reminder of how easily someone had gained access to her home. Would she ever feel safe again?
    Jill leaned against the fireplace mantle for support. Her knees wouldn’t stop trembling.
    “You shouldn’t stay here tonight.” Dane’s deep voice encircled her like a warm blanket. “I could take you to a hotel. Or you’re welcome to stay at my place.”
    It touched her that he wanted to get her away from the horror of the blood. The offer tempted Jill, but she refused to be frightened out of her home.
    “Tess might call here.” It was a phony excuse. Tess had the number of her cellular and beeper.
    Dane took a step toward Jill, then stopped. She was sharply aware they were alone. His dark eyes drew her into their depths. The brief moment within those warm chocolate pools softened the trauma of the day.
    “You’re the bureau psychologist, not part of some SWAT team.”
    How could Dane’s eyes be so gentle and his voice so hard? “And your point is?” she asked.
    “Do you always carry a gun?”
    The hair on the back of her neck bristled. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Always. I’m attached to a special unit, so we’re all armed. My job doesn’t fit into a neat pigeon-hole, Dane, and I seldom sit behind a desk like psychologists in