Secretive Stranger

For an instant, she thought the man in the doorway was Jon.

Sophie had long accepted that she was doomed to have more bonkers moments than most, but believing in ghosts was still a stretch.

Yet even after a second glance, she still thought he was Jon.

She yanked off her glasses and squinted seriously now. Jon had unquestionably been a prize-winning scoundrel, but there’d never been any surprise how he attracted women. First off, he stretched to a good six two or three. Add in shoulders made for a tux, posture with a little arrogance and the most compelling blue eyes ever made. Then stir in the tasty stuff.

Jon’s face would have been Adonis-perfect, if not for the French nose, but his skin was Irish-clear, the hair a Nordic dark blond. His eyebrows had a hint of an Italian slant, the chin and bones a Germanic tough cut. And no, Jon couldn’t possibly have all those heritages, but that was the point. He was a universal hunk. Take all the parts, and the whole appealed to any and every woman’s fantasy…except for hers, of course. Sophie figured she was the only woman who ever felt completely safe around him, because there wasn’t a prayer in the universe he’d notice her. Not that way.

Now, though, her heart finally stopped hammering. The longer she scrutinized the intruder in the doorway, the more she realized this was no ghost.

He did look like Jon-amazingly like Jon-but there were interesting differences. This guy’s hair was blond, but darker than Jon’s, more whiskey-gold, all wind-riled-up, and longish. His legs were encased in cords-Jon never wore that nature of casual pants-and these were well-worn cords besides. The chin was scruffy, where Jon never left the house without fresh-shaved cheeks and an expensive aftershave.

And Jon had never once made her pulse bounce like a hormonal puppy…yet this man did. Sophie ignored the tickle of awareness, because she was obviously having a highly emotional week, and her judgment couldn’t be trusted.

While Sophie was giving herself a mental slap upside the head, though, the other women were sizing him up as if they’d just discovered a sale at Bloomingdale’s.

The man was looking over the women just as sharply and intensely. His gaze roamed from one to the other like a bee checking out pollen-except for her. He spotted her sitting on the steps. His attention just immediately passed by her. No surprise there.

All three brunettes were gorgeous, but even besides that, Sophie knew men never noticed her. It was the same reason she’d been safe as a church with Jon. A woman didn’t wear oversize coats and big bags and gloppy hats for nothing. Sophie knew perfectly well she was ignorable.

Her neighbors, however, didn’t have the same life goal of being safe.

“You don’t live here.” Penelope surged past Hillary’s purse and Jan’s boots to extend a hand. “Not that you aren’t welcome.” She gave him a head-to-toe, at the same time he took in her red wool jacket, matching red lip gloss and flip-back brunette hair.

He accepted the handshake. “I’m Cord Pruitt. Jon Pruitt’s brother.”

“Oh. Oh.” Sophie almost laughed as Penelope’s expression changed channels from woman on the hunt to sweetie pie. Suddenly, her eyes were brimming with sympathy. “We were just talking about how much we all loved your brother and missed him. It’s been such a shock-”

Sophie relaxed another notch, now that his identity had been established. For some strange reason, though, he seemed to instantly lose interest in Penelope’s considerable charms-and moved on to Hillary.

Hillary, usually so quiet, seemed to perk up under the stranger’s attention. “Hi. I’m Hillary Smythe. I’m a doctor, on a research sabbatical at George Washington U. I met your brother almost the first week I moved here. We talked quite often. You must be the brother who’s the ultra brain?”

Sophie was amazed. Apparently, a terrific-looking man could coax Hillary out of her normally quiet mode.

“Thanks, both of you,” Cord said to the first two who’d introduced themselves. “I appreciate the chance to meet people who knew Jon. I hope you can find some time to tell me more, sometime over the next few weeks. I have to say, his death was a real shock.”

He had one of those sexy Josh Groban voices, Sophie realized, so it was perfectly natural that she couldn’t think straight. Any female old enough to walk would be mesmerized by that voice. Again, though, she noticed his attention zoomed past Hillary, and suddenly settled with dazzling concentration on Penelope. “You must be Sophie,” he said to Penelope. “So you’re the one who lived across the hall from my brother-”

Sophie was startled to hear her name-even more startled to see how fast he’d forgotten Hillary. No man in his right mind forgot Hillary.

She might be a little quiet, but she was both brilliant and stunning.

Since Cord had specifically spoken her name, though, she felt an obligation to pipe up, “I’m Sophie. And yes, I live upstairs, across from your brother.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped. She was clearly astonished to be passed over, and undoubtedly thought the grief- stricken man had made a mistake, because she homed in in front of Cord faster than a GPS. “And I’m Penelope Martin. I was friends with your brother, too. We all live within a few blocks of each other. You know how Foggy Bottom is. Jon and I loved to talk about the political scene after work on Fridays…and a bunch of us would have coffee early mornings at The Beanery, just down the street-”

Sophie wondered whether Cord needed glasses. Or bifocals. He completely ignored Penelope, too, almost pushing Pen aside to squint down. “You’re Sophie?”

Sophie could smell an insult from a hundred paces. She just couldn’t figure out what the insult was, exactly. For unknown reasons, he seemed surprised to identify her. Shocked, even.

Before she had a chance to respond, he echoed, “You’re sure you’re Sophie?”

As if she wouldn’t know who she was? She cocked a fuzzy-gloved hand under her chin. “Oh, yeah, I’m reasonably sure. And now I can see the family resemblance between you and Jon.”

Now he got the insulted look. Even though he couldn’t possibly know what the insult was, exactly.

Close up, Sophie’s hormones not only perked up, but suddenly stood at military attention. He didn’t just look like Jon. He was about a thousand, million times sexier than Jon. On a scale of one to ten, he scored somewhere around four hundred.

My God, those eyes.

That mouth.

That butt.

Not that his sexiness was relevant to anything.

But at least, for the first time in days, she wasn’t thinking about dead, naked bodies.

Chapter 3

Cord stomped up the stairs behind that tight little butt, well aware he’d completely failed to charm Ms. Sophie Campbell, but hell, he was expecting a looker. A brunette, buxom looker, definitely not a blond, much less a flyaway blond with stick-up cowlicks, an oversize jacket and fresh pink cheeks like a country girl.

Cord kept wanting to shake his head. Obviously, a player came in all sizes and shapes. Honest eyes and baby- soft skin were no measure of character.

It was just really, really challenging to imagine his brother with Sophie-not just as a blackmailing cohort, but as a sexual interest. Particularly when the whole neighborhood seemed crammed with exceptionally attractive brunettes who were everything Jon ever panted after.

“Mr. Pruitt…Cord…you might have heard me say I loved Caviar.”

Yeah, he’d heard a bunch of the women’s chitchat. Initially he hadn’t even seen Sophie, because she was hidden on the stair steps. But he’d heard the other woman identify her, and directly heard that butter-soft voice talking about loving caviar and tomcats and how she preferred her bodies “rich and soft.”

Cord wasn’t passing judgments. He was just hearing exactly what he expected from one of his brother’s sex partners-a shallow, all-about-me personality, with liquid morals. It wasn’t just his opinion, for Pete’s sake. Those were the same personality flaws that made the cops, private and public, believe Sophie was part of his brother’s