Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide in the bed forever. Not when Griff was knocking on her door at an ungodly hour to say that breakfast had been delivered.
She shuffled out to find a large tray of food waiting next to the window that offered a stunning view of Louisville, as well as several plastic bags that were filled with mounds of clothing from the downstairs boutique. Pulling them open, she discovered that there was everything from casual jeans to an elegant cocktail gown.
To face her family, she chose a sleek black pencil skirt and sapphire silk top. Both fit to perfection. Griff chose a pair of black slacks and a cream cable-knit sweater. More perfection.
A dangerous warmth flared through her heart. Griff had not only remembered her voracious appetite, but he’d sensed that she needed the sort of expensive clothing that would be worn by her relatives.
Like putting on a layer of armor.
Then, in silence they’d ridden the elevator down to the parking garage and taken off in the truck.
Less than half an hour later, Griff was pulling to a halt in the circle drive in front of the two-story white antebellum house with black shutters. The wide front porch was framed with four fluted columns and sweeping steps that led to the double oak doors. The surrounding grounds were swaths of closely trimmed grass with ancient trees that had been there long before George Rogers Clark had created the first settlement that had eventually become Louisville.
It was all graceful lines and elegant pride.
Exactly what a Southern home should be.
But the mere sight of it twisted Carmen’s stomach with dread.
Next to her, Griff released a low whistle. Like most people he could only see the surface beauty. Not the rot that was hidden beneath the superficial charm.
“This is where you grew up?”
She gave a stiff nod. “Yes.”
“Nice.”
“I prefer my grandparents’ farmhouse.”
Griff switched off the engine of the truck, wrapping them in silence. The house was only a few miles from downtown Louisville, but it might as well have been a hundred.
In this neighborhood there were no sounds of honking horns, or buses rattling over potholes. Certainly, there weren’t any wailing sirens or chatter from pedestrians as they hurried to work.
Nope. The only sound allowed here was the occasional purr of a large engine as the Jags and Porsches zoomed past the outer road.
“Obviously, your uncle didn’t share your lack of appreciation for your childhood home,” Griff said, his gaze skimming over the porch that was larger than most apartments. “I did a quick background check. He moved in the day after your parents’ funeral.”
She resisted the urge to sigh. She couldn’t remember being particularly close to her uncle or cousins, but she couldn’t make herself believe they were cold-blooded serial killers.
Of course, her father had obviously been unstable.
Maybe it ran in the family.
She gave a sharp shake of her head, trying to dislodge the horrible thoughts.
“The estate has belonged to the Jacobses for a couple generations,” she explained. “He probably felt it was his duty to move in.”
“Hardly a duty,” Griff protested.
“A big house and lots of grass doesn’t equate to happiness,” she said, her tone sharp.
Griff reached to grab her fingers, giving them a small squeeze. “Are you ready for this?”
“Not really.”
He leaned toward her, wrapping her in his warm, masculine scent.
“If you want to go back to the hotel, I can—”
“No.” She sucked in a deep breath. The sooner they could eliminate her family as suspects, the sooner they could return to the hunt. “I just want to get this over with.”
He lifted her fingers, pressing them to his lips. A tingle of heat spread through her body, easing her shivers.
This man clearly had a magic touch.
A renegade image of allowing those enchanted fingers to explore her naked body seared through her mind.
“I’m going to be with you every step of the way,” he murmured. “I promise.”
The urge to lean forward and snuggle against his chest was shockingly strong. As if her body had suddenly developed a mind of its own.
With a silent curse, she pulled away from his light grasp, and unbuckled her seat belt. By the time she’d shoved open the passenger door and crawled out of the truck, Griff was at her side, firmly grabbing her elbow.
Did he think she might bolt?
Or was he hoping to offer her strength to face her family?
The thought was almost as unnerving as the lust that continued to heat her blood. She’d put a lot of effort into making sure she didn’t need anyone.
For anything.
Still, she didn’t pull away. She didn’t ask herself why not.
Together they climbed the shallow stairs and crossed the planked floor of the front porch. Griff reached out to press the bell, ignoring the heavy gold knocker.
Several minutes passed before the door was slowly tugged open to reveal a middle-aged woman in a starched uniform.
Carmen felt a stab of surprise, realizing that she’d been expecting Ellen to open the door. Ridiculous, considering how many years had passed. The woman could have retired. Or moved from the area.
“May I help you?” the servant asked, her round face flushed as if she’d been forced to run from the back of the house.
Griff took charge. “Miss Jacobs is here to see her uncle.”
The color in the woman’s cheeks darkened with confusion as she shot a brief glance in Carmen’s direction.
Had the housekeeper heard the horror stories? Or did she recognize Carmen from her book? Either way the woman took a hasty step backward, waving them through the door.
“Please come in,” she said, waiting for them to enter the foyer. “I’ll tell Mr. Jacobs you’re here, if you’ll wait in the salon?”
She led them across the marble floor and Carmen’s gaze moved over the walls that were painted a pale peach with crown molding at the top. On one side of the open space a staircase formed a half crescent as it soared toward the second-floor landing. At the back was an opening that led toward the rest of the house.
The servant turned to the right to enter a long room with the same peach walls. There was a bank of windows that offered a view of the front drive, and a large fireplace that had a marble mantel. The floor was wide wooden planks polished to glow beneath the chandelier that hung from the medallion in the center of the high ceiling.
The furniture was created more for style than comfort, with a narrow sofa and matching love seat. The tables were low and delicate with a plethora of ceramic figurines arranged on frilly doilies.
Carmen felt Griff flinch, no doubt worried about whether the sofa would hold his weight and if he could cross the room without knocking over any figurines. But as the housekeeper left the room, she found herself pulling away from his side so she could circle the room.
Now that she was actually in the house, the memories that she’d spent the past fourteen years trying to bury suddenly burst free. Like a dam fracturing beneath the force of flood waters.
Her fingers touched the mantel. There’d once been silver framed pictures there. Of her at her piano recital. Of her parents’ wedding. Of her mother performing Carmen. The silver frames remained, but the pictures were of people she barely recognized.
The pictures, however, were the only thing that were different.
Captured by her memories she headed toward the door. Her fingers continued to touch familiar objects. The table with the crystal vase where her mother kept the flowers her father would bring her after he returned from a business trip. Out into the foyer where Carmen would whoosh down the curved staircase by sliding on the banister. She crossed the marble floor to head down the hallway.
The memories came faster and faster.