Worth the Trip by Penny McCall Read Free Book Online Page B

years.”
    “Twenty,” she said, “since my mother died. It’s comforting to keep things they way they were. Everyone clings to something from their childhood, good or bad. For me, it’s my home, and it’s not hurting anyone, including me.”
    Trip kept his expression flat, but the way she was studying his face told him he wasn’t good enough to fool her. “I don’t like pity.”
    “It’s not pity. I’m sorry about your parents, that’s all.”
    He didn’t like talking about his parents. He didn’t even like remembering them, but it gave him something in common with Norah—or rather it gave her something in common with him, and he wasn’t above using it. “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” he said, intending to do exactly that to her, in reverse.
    “All business now, huh?”
    “You better hope so, because the people coming after you, the ones who are serious, will be all business.”
    She laughed a little, but there was an edge of nerves. “Why do you feel a need to set boundaries for me? You kissed me.”
    “It seemed like the best course of action.”
    Norah shook her head. “There was any number of ways you could have gotten your message across. Just walking out on that stage and claiming to be my boyfriend would have been enough.”
    “It was impulse.”
    “You don’t do things by impulse.”
    “Not very often.” And he couldn’t tell her he took one look at her in that ugly suit, all cranky because of Hollie, and all his protective instincts rose, along with some not-so-protective ones. Norah MacArthur got to him in a way he didn’t want to understand, let alone explain to her. “I like to make a big entrance,” he said.
    “I guess I should be grateful you didn’t pull your gun.”

    BY TWO A.M. NORAH WAS WISHING SHE HAD TRIP’S gun. Shooting herself in the head was probably the only way she’d get any rest. He’d insisted on sleeping in her bedroom, with her or without her. With wasn’t an option, especially if she expected to get any sleep. Without was no better. The bed in the spare room was comfortable enough, the room was dark and cool, and the blankets were a warm, cozy weight on her, and the house was quiet, secure. And she was still awake. She could all but feel the bags under her eyes growing.
    She’d tried several different relaxation exercises, she’d meditated, and she’d run case studies—boring case studies—and there she was, still wide awake, still staring at the ceiling and thinking she’d give just about anything to shut her brain off for an hour, to stop thinking of James A. Jones, III, sleeping right down the hall. In her house. And she wasn’t doing anything about it.
    As if she could.
    He refused to leave voluntarily, and it wasn’t like she could physically remove him. And if she called the cops he’d probably get some FBI connection on the phone and have them all fired, and honestly? It was comforting having him there, and, okay, no matter how much she’d like to believe otherwise, her attempts to get rid of Trip were half-hearted at best. It wasn’t all about that kiss, though.
    Lucius wanted to get the loot back to the original owners, but if the day she’d just had was any indication, he wouldn’t get the opportunity, not with all the kooks coming out of the woodwork. Bill Simonds and Hollie Roget were no real threat, but the guy in the Lexus was a different story. Having Trip—having someone—in the house helped make her feel secure. And left her mind free to obsess about him, in her bed . . .
    She heard a sound, just a whisper, really, then another and another, footsteps moving softly down the hallway outside her bedroom door. Her heart began to pound, but not because she suspected it was the man from the Lexus. Her brain took her in a whole other direction, led there by her body, and she heaved a sigh because she’d just managed to forget about Trip and there he was, creeping to her room in the dead of night. Except it couldn’t be him. He was