his work in the city. Was this his way of escaping the twelve-to sixteen-hour days?
Was this his hiding place?
Five acres loaded with lots of trees and lush landscaping backed up to Lake Michigan. The main part of the house was large enough but then it winged off on both sides, extending along the manicured grounds, eventually connecting to triple-car garages on either side of the drive, creating a sort of fortress. The iron-and-brick fence was at least twelve feet high and stretched as far as the eye could see, disappearing into the dense woods.
“Lovely.” She made the assessment grudgingly with a heavy dose of reluctance. The house was undeniably, extravagantly attractive. Really, it was. She shouldered her bag and shoved her car door shut as she sent a final glance back at the massive gates that had already closed. Dusk had settled, awakening the discreet and well-placed landscape lighting. Did he have the interior lights on timers as well? Every light in the house appeared to be spilling through the windows to greet her.
“I’d hate to pay your electric bill, Dr. Pierce.”
She exhaled a big breath and decided she’d dawdled long enough. The cobblestone was damp beneath her shoes from the early-evening rain. Three steps up and she was at the front door.
Victoria, her employer, had sensed Bella’s strong reaction to this client. Bella had assured Victoria that she could handle Devon Pierce. The real question in Bella’s mind was whether or not Pierce could handle her. To do her job, she would need his cooperation. Not in a million years could she see him cooperating on the necessary level. He was accustomed to being in control...of keeping his secrets. Pierce was a man who preferred doing things his way.
As brilliant as he was, he couldn’t be the best at everything. If that was possible, he wouldn’t need the Colby Agency’s help now.
A part of her—one she intended no one to ever see—wanted him submissive on every level. Chasing away the notion and bracing for the icy glower for which he was known, she pressed the doorbell, listened as it chimed through the house. The door opened and she stared at the man from her numerous Google searches. To her dismay, he was even hotter in person than he was on the computer screen.
She stood under his scrutiny and felt her temper rising. His gaze roved over her, head to toe and back. She’d taken great care with what she chose to wear tonight. A navy skirt, the hem landing just above her knees, and the matching jacket. Her favorite silk shell with its high neckline in the same dark blue color. She never wore heels. At five-nine, she’d always preferred flats. A good pair of shoes with rubber soles and sturdy straps had served her well.
Deep inside she fully comprehended that she would need every part of her professional armor to protect her from his dark lure. She was well aware that her obsession with him hovered on a very narrow ledge. One wrong move and she would slip.
Even as the warning echoed in her brain, her gaze swept over his handsome face. Square jaw darkened by the stubble of a day’s beard growth, dark blue eyes analyzing her even as she did the same. He wore a tailored charcoal suit, probably silk. A paler gray shirt peeked from between the lapels of the jacket. He had dispensed with his tie and left a couple of buttons undone. The platinum cuff links remained nestled at the center of his perfectly folded French cuffs. Bella suspected this was as relaxed as he allowed himself to be in front of company.
“Ms. Lytle.” He opened the door wider in invitation.
She concentrated her attention on the details of his home rather than on the man. This was the one aspect of Dr. Devon Pierce that remained private. Though there had been plenty of photos of the exterior of the home on the internet, there was none of the interior.
Black and white marble flowed across the floor in a diamond pattern. The walls as well as the ornate trim were coated in an old-world white paint, the aged matte finish an elegant contrast to the glossy floors. A chandelier drenched in crystal hung twelve or so feet overhead. The rich, ornate mahogany table to the left and the cushioned gray bench to the right lent a warm hue to the boundless canvas of sleek black and white.
“I have coffee waiting,” he announced.
She nodded. “Lead the way, Doctor.”
The large entry hall flowed straight ahead. Some twenty or so feet from the front door, the hall parted to the right and left. On each side, a grand staircase led up to the second level. A wide door beneath the staircase on the right provided a glimpse of the kitchen—opulent wood cabinetry, acres of sleek granite and an expansive wall of windows. The double doors to her far left were closed. A library or his office, she supposed.
Moving straight ahead, the entry hall progressed into a truly stunning great room. The whitewashed walls soared to a vaulted ceiling, complete with rustic wood beams that looked as though they might have held up a bridge somewhere in the Mediterranean in another century. The stone fireplace was huge. The marble floors of the entry hall had given way to gleaming hardwood. The furnishings were upholstered in sophisticated burgundies and golds. To soften the hard surfaces, a classic Persian rug was spread over the center of the room, the burgundy and gold yarn so muted it had surely been washed out by decades of wear in a castle somewhere.
Whatever charm the man lacked in demeanor had been infused into his home. The place was utterly breathtaking. Massive and yet somehow intimate. Nothing like the cool, distant man.
Two sofas faced each other in the center of the room. The silver coffee service sat on the cocktail table between them. As Bella settled onto the edge of one of the sofas, she shifted her gaze and full attention to him. Not an easy feat with so many striking pieces of art she’d only just noticed on the walls.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, his voice as terse as it had been when he answered the door. “Do you take cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine, thank you.”
She wondered if there were half a dozen housekeepers and a couple of cooks hidden somewhere in the house. God only knew how many gardeners the property required. She glanced around. Surely a member of staff lurked about someplace. She couldn’t imagine Devon Pierce using his skilled surgeon’s hands to perform such a menial task as preparing coffee.
Former surgeon, she amended. Though his license and hospital privileges and credentials remained in place, he did not routinely practice medicine.
He placed a cup and saucer in front of her, the rich black coffee steaming. Vintage china, she noted. His wife must have been a collector. He poured himself a cup and sat down on the sofa opposite her.
“Victoria tells me you’re very good at solving mysteries.” He sipped his coffee.
“I’m very good at seeing the details others often miss.” The coffee warmed her. From the moment she’d stepped into the house, she’d felt cold. Liar. Meeting the man she’d been cyberstalking had sent her temperature rising. Foolish. “I spent seven years with the Alabama Bureau of Investigation. I never failed to solve the case I was assigned.”
He seemed to consider her answer for a time, his eyes probing hers as if he intended to confirm every word by looking directly inside her soul.
“You graduated from the prestigious University of Alabama with a psych undergraduate degree and a master’s in criminal justice,” he continued. “Two years as a victim counselor with Birmingham PD and the FBI wanted you but you chose the ABI over the better opportunity.”
There it was. That arrogance she instinctively understood would be a part of his personality. She had zero tolerance for it. “The FBI isn’t better, Dr. Pierce. It’s merely larger with a broader jurisdiction. The work I did for the ABI was immensely important. Had I chosen the FBI, I would have spent a great deal of time working toward the opportunity to be a field investigator. Instead, I went straight to the work that I wanted to do—solving crime in the field.”
He set his coffee aside. “I appreciate a stellar résumé, Ms. Lytle, and yours is quite good. But I always look at the person behind the credentials. The heart of the person begins with their roots.”
For