Nancy Drew never fainted, Fiona rebuked herself. No matter what she went through—whether it was being tied up and left in the path of a black widow spider or a scorpion, or thrown in an abandoned ski lodge—she never lost her consciousness…or her cookies.

Fiona rolled her eyes, crimping her mouth, disgusted with her own weakness. Having done both last night after seeing the threatening note Helga van Hest found, she knew she was no Nancy Drew—nor did she want to be.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. How do you feel, Fifi?”

She turned her head—which still ached like crazy—to see Ethan. To her surprise and delight, behind him was Diana. The latter walked into the bedroom, and was carrying a steaming pot of tea on a tray with some food.

“Diana! When did you get here?” Fiona asked, struggling to sit upright in the bed. Crashing waves of pain in her temples slowed her movements, and she stifled a groan. “And, actually, bro, I feel like shit. Thanks.” She forced a wan smile.

“I drove up as soon as Ethan called to tell me what happened.” Diana leaned closer and added in an undertone, “He was nearly hysterical and I figured he wouldn’t be much help if he got you all riled up too.”

Fiona managed a smile as her brother looked at them with a wary expression. “Thank you.”

She’d considered—only considered, and only for the space of thirty seconds or so—calling Gideon last night, to tell him what had happened…but no.

It wouldn’t do to begin to rely on him at all. Besides, he might not even be at home. Or alone.

She simply hadn’t wanted to find out that he wasn’t alone at four in the morning.

“You look like hell.” In the no-nonsense way of many of his gender, Ethan blurted out the raw truth.

Though she couldn’t see herself, Fiona was well aware the skin at her wrists, ankles, and jaw was raw and chapped. And from when she was at the urgent care center last night, she knew that the welt on her head gave her forehead an off-balance tilt. No doubt her hair was its usual scraggly mess, and God only knew what the rest of her face looked like.

“Thanks for the breaking news, dear brother,” she retorted as Diana set the tray on the bed next to her. Along with the tea—which smelled like mint and lemon—there were two pieces of toast, a boiled egg, and a small pot of jam. “Thank you,” she added to the other woman in a dry, raspy voice. “I just realized I’m really hungry.”

“And the tea will help your throat,” Diana said, lifting the pot to pour for her. “Orbra told me to put a lot of honey in it.”

“Uh, Fifi, there are a few missed calls on your cell,” Ethan said as he edged closer to the bed and set her smartphone next to the tray. “I dug it out of your bag last night to charge it—how the hell do you ever find anything in there any way? It’s like the depths of hell in that bag. And why do you keep your phone on silent all the time? Do you know how many calls and texts you probably miss?”

Fiona flapped a hand, batting him away as if he were an annoying gnat. Which he was, often enough. “Well, I check it a few times a day. When I remember. Plus I don’t like the sound of the ring. It’s too loud and jarring.”

“You know you can change the ringtone,” Diana said mildly.

“You can?” Fiona’s battered voice cracked. “To what?”

Ethan and Diana exchanged glances. “To pretty much anything you want, Fifi,” he said, fighting a grin. “Any sound, or a song, or a chime—whatever. I can do that for you.”

“Thanks, Ethan.” Then she looked at Diana. “Make sure he doesn’t change it to something like ‘The Bitch is Back’.”

“I was thinking more of something like ‘Ding-Dong the Witch is Dead’,” her brother replied with a grin. Then he sobered, as if remembering the warning note from last night’s break-in. “Look, Fi, this might seem like fun and games—getting pampered in bed and everything—but someone attacked you last night. I think you’re going to really need to amp up your security, and I don’t want you to be there by yourself anymore.”

“Well, duh,” she replied airily—even as the insides of her stomach twisted. “And I didn’t plan to be there by myself last night, anyway.”

“To state the obvious, clearly someone wants something they believe is in the shop,” Diana said, sitting on the edge of the bed near Fiona’s toes. “And I’m certain it’s no mere antique.”

“It’s got to have something to do with the skeleton,” Fiona said, looking down at the cell phone Ethan had returned to her.

Three missed calls…from Gideon.

And two texts.

She felt a swell of something warm bubble in her stomach. Gideon hadn’t spent the night with Rachel. And he’d called her.

Fiona couldn’t help a smile as she sipped from the tea—definitely mint—as relief coursed through her.

“So, uh, who’s this HG3 person who was trying to reach you last night?” Ethan asked, obviously noticing her reaction to the phone. “And this morning?”

Diana’s eyes shot to Fiona’s, and she gave her a knowing smile and furtive nod. She knew.

“Oh, it’s just—”

Ethan’s black lab Cady suddenly exploded into wild barking from somewhere out in the house, and he gave Fiona an exasperated look. “That’s her ‘someone’s here’ bark,” he said, rising from where he’d been sitting on the other side of the bed. “Probably the UPS man. I’m expecting a contract from my agent. We just sold the Spanish rights. Cheers to me!” Ethan was an anthropology professor at University of Chicago who’d written a very successful, mainstream book about death and dying.

“So…” Diana said as Ethan left to check on Cady. She had a wicked gleam in her eyes. “HG3, hm? This wouldn’t be that tall, cool glass of water I met at the shop the other day, would it? The very handsome lawyer?”

“Maybe.” Fiona couldn’t completely stifle a smile.

“The stiff and stuffy Gideon Nath the Third?” Diana teased. “Maybe he’s not so stiff and stuffy after all?”

Despite her headache, Fiona gave a soft laugh. “Let’s just say…he’s only stiff in the right ways, and at the right time…if you get my drift. And otherwise…he’s very, very…warm.”

Diana—who was a little stiff and stuffy herself at times—gave her a shocked, wide-eyed look, then burst into gales of laughter. “Well, well, well,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Nothing like saying it like it is.”

“Yes. But…there’s no need to mention it to Ethan at this point. It’s not serious, and he’ll just get all weird and brotherly and—”

She trailed off at the sound of voices from the hall, and purposeful, heavy footsteps.

“Fi,” called her brother from outside the door. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Diana looked toward the voice and frowned a little. “He doesn’t sound happy.”

“It’s probably the police. Officer van Hest said she’d come by this morning to take my report since we weren’t sure whether I’d feel up to coming into the station.”

“I don’t think that’s—” But Diana’s voice trailed off when the bedroom door opened to reveal Ethan—wearing a scowl—followed by Gideon and a very excited Cady, who immediately charged over to the bed and nosed under Fiona’s hand.

“Fiona.” Instead of appearing horrified at her battered state, Gideon sounded furious.

“Well look who the cat dragged in.” Fiona tried for a nonchalant drawl, but with her raspy voice and surprise at seeing him, it sounded more like a husky invitation to join her in her bed. “Hello, Gideon.” She saw Diana wink and slip out of the room—dragging Ethan with her.

“For Christ’s sake, I leave you alone for two minutes and look what happens,” Gideon said, looming over her like a furious specter. “I thought you were going home. You should have gone home. What the hell were you thinking, going back in that shop alone?”

He stood at the edge of her bed, fists planted at the hips of his neat, designer suit. Dark silvery eyes flashed as he glowered down at her, as though expecting that she would actually respond to such outrageous accusations. His hair wasn’t as neatly combed as it usually was, and his conservative navy tie, half twisted so that its Versace tag showed, was another sign that he was agitated.

Fiona couldn’t resist. She reached out to flip the tie back into place, and responded, “Better fix that before you get back to the office. And, by the way, I feel fine, thanks for asking, Gideon.”

“You look terrible,” he commented, but his voice was soft and bumpy. “Are you all right?” He looked around, then with a shrug settled on the very edge of her bed.

Absently petting Cady, Fiona nodded, warmth swimming through her at the concern in his eyes. “My head hurts, but otherwise I’m doing fine.”

“You didn’t respond to my calls or texts last night,” he said. “I was a little worried.”

“Oh,” she said, her cheeks warming. “I hardly ever look at my phone because I can’t read it without my cheaters. Ethan was just lecturing me about that.” She forced a smile. “I just now saw that you called.”

“Ethan’s your brother.” It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

Fiona nodded. “For twenty-seven years, in fact. How did you end up finding me here, anyway?”

“Iva, of course. Helga van Hest—she must have been there last night, after you were attacked…” His voice trailed off and the corners of his mouth tightened. “Helga told Orbra, and of course Orbra told Iva, and Iva and my grandfather called me. I don’t even want to know what they were doing together at six in the morning,” he added, rubbing his temples with a thumb and index finger.

Fiona giggled and took another sip of tea. “I have an idea, but you don’t look like you—”

“Fiona, this isn’t the time to make jokes.” An angry line creased between his heavy brows as he sank onto the edge of the bed. The mattress buckled a little, and she tipped slightly toward his muscular thigh. “Fiona, this whole situation—it’s not good. It’s not just a simple break-in. We’ve got a homicide to deal with.”

“Do you think you need to tell me that?”

“Longbow told me about the note they found,” he added flatly. “That was one piece of information Iva didn’t seem to have. Fiona, that’s a direct threat. Toward you.”

The memory of that black, scrawling threat still made her stomach churn, but she said, “You talked to Captain Longbow?”

“Yes. I called him on my way over here and he told me about it.”

“Well, that wasn’t very circumspect of him,” Fiona replied. “You can’t just call up the police and expect them to tell you everything like they do on television. It doesn’t work that way—does it?”

“Well, I think he thought I already knew about the note,” Gideon confessed. “And probably since he knows Iva and the Tuesday Ladies, he figured I’d find out through them anyway.”

“Small town,” Fiona said with a sigh. “What else can I expect?” She picked up her toast to slather strawberry jam on it.

“I did talk to Detective Hinkle—the homicide investigator from the State Police—like you’d asked me to, for an update about the skeleton. The only news he had was that they found traces of lime in the fabric of the woman’s clothes. He wanted me to ask you if you’d had any, or seen any lime anywhere else in the shop.”

“Lime?” Fiona would have frowned, but her head hurt too much.

“Yes—you know, limestone.”

The fog cleared. “Oh, limestone. As in, to help bodies decompose faster—or slow them down decomposing. I can’t remember which.” She sighed and gave a rueful chuckle as she replaced her toast on the tray. “Anyway, I guess my mind is more addled than I thought. No, I haven’t seen anything like that around.”

Gideon took her hand and fumbled with her fingers between his own, touching each of the three rings she wore, and smoothing over the freckled skin on the back of her hand. His breath hissed out when he saw the red roughness around her wrists, and he touched that too.

“I should have made sure you went home last night,” he said finally. “I’m afraid I just didn’t see any reason that a fifty-year-old skeleton would be the cause of anyone’s concern. But apparently it is.”

Fiona swallowed and reached for the tea to moisten her throat. His stiffness and arrogance seemed to have faded, and the warmth emanating from him was so unlike the cool, business-like attorney she’d first met that it threatened to work its way past her barriers.

“Do you think…could it be Brad Forth?” she said. “Or Arnold Sternan?”

Still holding her hand, he shrugged, and she felt the gentle jolt. “Forth’s been sniffing around ever since you opened the place…but, frankly, I think he’s more interested in you than a skeleton or scandal. And I don’t think he’d do anything to jeopardize the election, with it being so close. And as for Arnold Sternan…well, I suppose it’s possible. He did come to your opening. And he was in the back of the shop. I saw him come out from back there.”

“You did?” She gave him a sidewise look. “You never mentioned anything about it.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think anything of it—between Iva and my grandfather meddling in the whole—well, I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. But now that we’re talking about it, I should also state that I saw Rudy and Viola Ruthven coming down from the upstairs of the shop. They were definitely poking around up there.”

Fiona felt sick. “If someone’s broken in twice, they’re looking for something,” she said. “It’s not just a thief. But the first break-in—the night of the grand opening—was before I found the skeleton. Is it possible they’re not related?”

Gideon reached up to tuck a coiling curl behind her ear, fighting internally with himself. He didn’t want to say anything that would put an even greater edge of fear in her eyes, but at the same time, he wasn’t about to downplay her safety. If she was concerned about the situation, she would take more care than to be in the store alone at night.

He ground his teeth at the thought of her lying bound and gagged on the floor of the shop for hours, then forced himself to unclench his fists. “It’s possible the first break-in was a random thief. Last night, though…well, you must have surprised the intruder and we don’t know whether he got what he came for.”

He stroked the back of her hand. If he hadn’t leapt to answer Rachel’s call and dropped everything to help her…

He thrust the thought away. There was no way he could have known Fiona would return to the shop, and absolutely no indication that she would interrupt another burglar. Still…if he’d listened to the message his heart had been telling him, he’d never have gone to Rachel.

Gideon’s stomach churned at the memory last night of the terrible, heart-rending scene that had ensued after he told Rachel how he felt. It had ended with her in a storm of tears, and him unable to comfort her…and all the while, he’d been thinking about Fiona.

“I suppose the reason he tied me up and left me was to scare the hell out of me,” Fiona said in a small voice, breaking into his thoughts and jerking him back to their conversation. “Well, it worked.”

Her eyes, framed by thick, winged lashes, carried the shine of fear, and she fluttered her lids down as though to hide it. “But why scare me? I haven’t done anything.”

“That you know of, anyway,” Gideon agreed. “Fiona, we don’t know what’s going on here—so I want you to promise me that no matter what, you won’t be in the shop by yourself in the evening, or at night—or even early in the morning. Not until we figure out what’s going on, and why you seem to be a target.” The very thought was enough to make his throat close up. “That note was definitely a warning, and it was definitely personal.”

She pulled to adjust herself upright in the bed, exasperation showing in her drawn features. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gideon. I’m not going to be stupid about things—especially now, after this—but I can’t schedule Carl to be there with me every waking hour. He lives in Ann Arbor and only comes out for the weekends.”

He began to talk, but stopped when she pressed two firm fingers to his mouth—which had the added benefit of distracting him as she touched his lips.

“I promise I won’t be in the shop after hours by myself. And I’ve already scheduled to have the security system updated, so I’ll turn the alarms on when I’m there alone. Customers will just have to knock to be let in when I’m alone. Plus, I’m going to get some Mace and have it with me all the time. Unlike my cell phone—which, I promise I’ll try to keep handy. Or, at least, handier. Okay?”

What else could he say? She made sense, even though it left him with a nervousness that would not abate. However, her fingers were still pressed to his lips…and it was rather distracting…

He smiled under her touch, then, with a quick movement, he opened his mouth and let a finger slip in. He nipped it lightly, quickly, and pulled away, grinning at the shocked look on her face. Gideon leaned to press her back into her pillows, covering her lips with his in a gentle, sensual kiss.

She tasted wonderful…hot and lush and exotic. Like Fiona.

A wave of desire washed over him, surging to his groin, and he slid a hand along the length of her neck, tracing over her shoulder to the curve of her breast. Oh…yes….

The rumble of a throat clearing sharply behind him froze Gideon.

Half sprawled on Fiona, he swallowed deeply and with a wry smile, pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed as Fiona’s bloody, interfering brother entered the room.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Ethan said—sounding not the least bit sorry at all, “but Diana thought I should check to see if you need any more tea, Fiona.” He gave Gideon a very cool look.

“Diana did?” Fiona replied with an arch expression.

“Diana did not,” said the woman herself, coming into the bedroom from behind Ethan.

Despite being caught out, Fiona’s brother didn’t waver from his stance in the doorway, nor from the dark look directed at Gideon. Deciding it was time to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, Gideon rose from the bed and turned, extending his hand to the brother.

“Thank you for taking care of her last night,” he said as Ethan reluctantly shook his hand. His grip was probably a trifle stronger than it needed to be, but Gideon gave it back as well. “I’d hate to think of Fiona lying there all by herself all night—and maybe longer.”

That, at least, he and Ethan seemed to agree on, and the brother nodded briskly. “It was only luck that I happened to drive by,” he said. “But you can bet she won’t be doing anything in that shop by herself anymore. At least until this stops.”

Gideon agreed. “She wasn’t supposed to be there by herself anyway,” he said, giving her a chilly look. “She’d promised.”

Ethan lifted a brow at his sister. “She did?”

“All right, you two. I need to get dressed, so why don’t you run on out of here and go do manly things for a while.”

She lifted the bedcovers as if to throw them off her, and Gideon and Ethan both reacted immediately—though likely for different reasons.

“Okay, okay,” Ethan said, holding up a hand as if to block the view of his sister in her scanty sleepwear. “Nath, let’s go do manly things—like throw the ball for Cady or something.” At the sound of her name, and, presumably a word she recognized, the black lab clambered to her feet and began to whine with excitement.

Gideon wasn’t so easily distracted, however. “Why do you need to get dressed?” he asked suspiciously as Diana shoved Ethan out the door behind the dog.

“Well, I’ve got to get to work—”

“To work?”

“Yes. To work. To my shop. To my livelihood. To my—”

“Are you mad?” he exploded, even as she tossed back the covers to expose her lovely body covered by a short—very short—little night shirt.

He was momentarily distracted by the flash of creamy white thigh and the curve of her hip as she climbed out, then he continued. “You need to stay in bed and—”

“Yeah, no.” Fiona padded over to the largest suitcase he’d ever seen, bulging with clothing, and opened it, book-like. A heavy shoe fell out from one of the pockets, landing with a clunk, and a hot pink and lime green scarf fluttered to the floor in its wake.

Gideon tried to keep his irritation in place, but seeing her floating around the room in a tiny scrap of blue silk was enough to get his heart racing again. The tone of her voice indicated that she wasn’t about to capitulate to his demands that she get back into bed, unless…. He shifted gears and decided to try a different, more rewarding tactic.

He slipped up behind her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders as she dug through the colorful, gauzy mass of dresses and flowing skirts that tumbled out of the suitcase she clearly hadn’t taken the time to unpack.

“What’s the hurry?” he murmured in her ear, trying not to wince when he saw her hand pause over a flame-red dress with bead-studded fringe that looked like something a cowgirl/gypsy would wear.

“No hurry,” she said crisply, and chose a long blue sweater, pulling it from the tangle of fabric. She turned right into him, and that was a very fortuitous event.

He slid his arms around her waist, his hands slipping sensuously over her skin with the shift of silk. The dark circles under her eyes solidified his decision that keeping her in bed would be the best thing for her, and that was all he needed to justify the way his mouth covered hers—telling her what would happen next.

When she murmured a protest, he shook his head, smothering her words with his lips.

At the moment, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Ethan Murphy.

* * *

He sat outside, trying to enjoy the musky, musty taste of a Puerto Rican cigar and a tumbler of golden brandy. Sucking hard on the smoke, he held the taste in his mouth for a count of ten, then expelled it in a straight shot toward the twilight sky.

God damn Nevio Valente.

He clenched his teeth, then forced himself to relax. He would find the papers if it killed him…or someone else.

His lips tightened as he thought of that idiot woman who’d interrupted him last night—again. She always seemed to find a way to interfere. The hardness relented into a nasty smile and he set the cigar on the edge of a marble ashtray.

He doubted she’d be around to bother him for much longer. He hoped he’d succeeded in scaring her so much she sold the shop—or at least closed it for a while. All he needed was some time to do a good, uninterrupted search, and he’d be able to find what Valente tried to hide from the world.

Then when he found it, he’d keep it hidden too, of course, except for the money it would lead him to. The money would be his. After all, it was his due.

He tapped his neat, clipped fingernails on the table and imagined how much those bank accounts would be worth now…and his heart began to race. Valente owed him…for all he’d put up with over the years, Valente owed him.