Page 56 of The Promise
She sucked in a breath, relieved that they were still upright. "This is it."
He braked, the resulting impact enough to have thrown her through the windshield if she hadn't been wearing a seatbelt. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. And hers was instantaneous.Shewas driving them home. No amount of testosterone driven enthusiasm was worth risking her life for.
Michael reached for the rifle. "You stay here."
"I most certainly will not. It's my gallery that got incinerated and I want to be there when you find out what happened."
His eyes narrowed, his face turning stubborn. "I don't want you anywhere near him."
She frowned, feeling mutinous. "Look, I'll be perfectly safe. I'll have you and your guns with me." She gave him her most beguiling look, stopping just short of batting her eyes.
His lips quirked upwards, not a full-fledged smile, but she knew she'd won. "Come on." He swung down from the Jeep, not waiting to see if she followed.
Nick's house was one of those pretentiously pseudo-Victorian structures, built to look old with all the modern conveniences. The porch creaked as she stepped on it, a counterpoint to Michael's staccato hammering on the door.
"Vargas, open the damn door."
Cara reached his side and placed a restraining hand on his elbow. The fury in his face almost made her step back a pace. She'd been right in her previous estimations. This was not a man to mess around with.
"I don't think anyone is home," she offered quietly.
Her words sank in and he stopped pounding.
The whole thing was kind of anti-climatic. Not that she was complaining. She hadn't really been looking forward to a showdown with Nick.
Michael looked calmer and she dared a question. "He's not here. Now what?"
He reached for the brass doorknob. "We go in."
The house was immaculate.Not surprising really. Vargas was the type to be finicky. The hallway ran the length of the house with closed doors indicating various rooms opening off the entry. A large staircase sprang from the back of the hall.
Michael stepped into the house, careful to keep Cara behind him. The lady had guts, but he was determined to keep her safe even if it meant locking her in the closet. He smiled at the picture the thought inspired. Hell, maybe he'd just lock himself in there with her.
He opened a door, and peeked into a parlor. It reeked of some sort of floral scent. He wrinkled his nose and quickly closed the door.
"We shouldn't be doing this," she hissed from beside him.
"Doing what?"
"Breaking and entering."
"We didn't break a thing. The door was open."
"Well, we're entering."
"So we are." He couldn't suppress the laughter in his voice. "Any idea where Nick might keep his secrets?"
"There's a study back this way." She darted around him to lead the way.
He placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Hang on, sweetheart. I know you're anxious to find out what's going on, but I think I'd better go first."
She shot a resentful look at him, but stopped, allowing him to pass her. "It's the door on the right."
He opened the door and stepped inside, moving to the center of the room, so that she could follow. The room was no different than the rest of the house. It looked more like a museum than a place somebody lived.
There was a large, ornate desk straddling the wall in front of the room's only window. On one side there was a large fireplace with two armchairs on either side. The opposite wall was dominated by books. Rows and rows of books. They covered the wall completely, except for an elaborately carved alcove in the center, used effectively to showcase a large urn.
"It looks the same as it always does."
