Too Hot to Handle - Nancy Warren

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paint all bubbled and black, all the windows smashed and uniformed firefighters spraying water into her apartment.

      “Emergency crews responded at 4:11 a.m. when a neighbor saw flames coming from the building that houses Alexandra Drake Designs. Ms. Drake’s residence was above the studio.”

      Like a horror movie, she watched as a man rushed to the store’s entrance and had to be forcibly restrained by the police officers standing out front.

      “Carl,” she cried softly.

      Next thing, her friend was being interviewed, clearly distraught.

      “Lexy’s a good friend. We asked her to come out with us tonight, but she said she had to stay in and work. I was walking home and saw the fire truck.” He glanced around frantically. “I can’t find her. Did she get out okay?”

      The camera cut back to the on-the-scene reporter. “Police and fire crews aren’t saying much at this point, only that they will be investigating the cause of the fire, which they are calling ‘suspicious’ and that robbery is suspected.”

      The pictures of the fire crews at work continued to play as the morning news anchor took up the story. “Investigators recovered the body of a woman from the scene. It will be several days before a positive identification can be made of the victim, but at this hour, Alexandra Drake is still unaccounted for.”

      Then there was video playing of her at a gala, taken a few months ago, wearing one of her own necklaces. A jeweled collar. Talking about her work.

      The host continued: “Alexandra Drake was a fast-rising young jewelry designer in New York. Her work appears in the collections of movie stars, royalty around the globe, and has been featured in a handful of recent movies. Her specialty was wedding and commitment rings.” Close-up of Lexy at the gala, speaking. “I believe every love story is unique, so shouldn’t your wedding ring be as personal?” Back to the host. “Alexandra Drake was twenty-eight years old. And in the meat packing district today, a suspicious package in a garbage bag turned out to be—” Pendegraff flipped off the TV.

      “Was? They said was.” Her shock must have shown on her face; she couldn’t have stopped it.

      The man beside her nodded. Looking grim.

      “They said there was a dead woman in my place. Why would there be a dead body in my apartment?”

      “I don’t know, Lexy. We’ll figure this out.”

      She rose. Unable to sit still one more second. “Yesterday my life was so normal. Exciting even. And today, my business and home are destroyed, I have no idea where I am.”

      She glared at her companion. “Oh, yeah, and I’m dead.”

      4

      “YOU’RE NOT DEAD.”

      She rubbed her eyes. “Right. Just kidnapped.” Rage filled her and she welcomed the fiery anger; it was so much easier to deal with than the despair she felt tugging at the edges of her consciousness. Everything she’d worked for, her home, her business, gone. “This is all your fault.”

      “I know you aren’t ready to believe this, but I saved your life.”

      It was the last straw. “You stole from me.”

      “Technically I was reclaiming stolen property. Look, you’ve had a shock. Let me cook you some breakfast and we’ll talk this through.”

      She barely heard him. “I have to call my father. He’ll have seen the news. He’ll think I’m—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Since her mom had passed away five years earlier, her father had become increasingly protective of her, encouraging her to come home and live in the Queens home she’d grown up in. She knew part of his problem was simple loneliness and his years as a cop had put him in contact with too many horror stories.

      She couldn’t allow him to believe she’d become one of them. “Where’s the phone?”

      Pendegraff put a restraining hand on her shoulder as she began searching for a phone. “Until I figure out who is behind this, who set me up and burned down your place, the safest thing you can do is stay missing.”

      “But—”

      “It’s for your own safety, Lexy. Your father wouldn’t want you to put yourself at risk, would he?”

      “You don’t understand. He’s a cop. He lost my mother to cancer … I’m all he’s got left. He’ll go to my place, he’ll think it was me in that fire and he’ll drive himself crazy. I have to get hold of him.”

      He rubbed her shoulder briefly before letting her go. “Give me half an hour to explain. Then, if you still want to, you can call your father.”

      She glared at him, at the flawed emerald eyes, the expensive tough-guy face. How could she trust him? He wouldn’t even give out her location.

      “Where am I?”

      “I value my privacy. You already know too much about me. I really don’t want you being able to summon cops to my door.”

      She remained silent.

      “You’re in the mountains. Still in the States.”

      “Not good enough.”

      Maybe he understood how helpless she felt and how much she needed a little information to help her cope. “Colorado. It’s fairly remote, but the closest town is Aspen.”

      “How did I get here?”

      “Private plane.”

      “Stolen?”

      A slight grin cracked the serious expression on his face. “No. I bought it.”

      “So you’re a pretty rich thief.”

      “I do okay.”

      “Where’s the pilot?”

      “You’re looking at him.”

      Somehow, she wasn’t surprised. “This is like one of those nightmares where you want to wake up, and can’t.”

      “I’m truly sorry about your home and business. This is not the kind of stuff I get involved in.”

      “Right. You’re a gentleman thief, I bet. Somebody Cary Grant would play in an old movie.”

      He smiled briefly. “Sit down while I cook you breakfast.”

      She picked up her coffee and followed him as he strolled to the fancy-schmancy kitchen, pulling down a gleaming steel frying pan with all the confidence of a top chef. She watched as he opened the fridge and began efficiently removing butter, brown eggs, spinach, cheese and some kind of fresh herb she wasn’t enough of a cook to identify. She topped up her coffee and perched on one of the sleek kitchen stools.

      “He cooks, he breaks into supposedly unbreakable safes, he flies his own plane. What other talents are you hiding, Mr. Pendegraff?”

      He turned from his task and the glance he sent her was so full of sexual heat she felt as if her skin would scorch. For a second she couldn’t breathe. “One day, I’ll show you,” he promised softly.

      Instead of returning the icy glare he deserved, she felt a response so strong it shamed her. Heat rushed through her, making her light-headed. Well, maybe he was the sexiest man who’d ever kidnapped her, but there was one thing she was certain of: it would be a cold day in hell before she’d be getting naked with this guy.

      “You’ve got thirty minutes to explain what the hell is going on. Start talking.”

      It was amazing how he could crack eggs, chop herbs, grate cheese and still manage to calmly explain a story that grew increasingly complicated as she listened. Her headache was gone and if she still felt a little fuzzy, she had no trouble following the plot.

      “I

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