Confession by Carey Baldwin Page A

close a call she’d had.
    She never saw a man get to his feet so fast. “You had a burglar. When was this?”
    His alarm alarmed her. No one else had seemed impressed by a black-­haired man appearing in her kitchen window. Not the uniformed officer who’d taken the report, certainly not Detective Johnson. But Luke stalked across the room, flexing and unflexing his hands, his brows drawn down into a tight V between his eyes.
    â€œLast night, but nothing was taken, so I guess all’s well that ends well.”
    â€œHow did he get in? I didn’t see broken windows anywhere in the house.”
    â€œYou didn’t see any broken windows anywhere in the house when?”
    â€œWhen I was checking out the place.”
    â€œOh.” Her hand went to her throat. It was only natural he would’ve looked around. But most ­people wouldn’t own up to it. Luke Jericho was turning out to be a very forthright man, and she couldn’t make up her mind whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. “I don’t know how the burglar got in. The police say there’s no sign of forced entry, but I’m absolutely certain I locked my doors and windows.” She stared at her fingernails. “I do have a hide-­a-­key, but it hadn’t been moved.”
    Luke had his phone in his hand again. He and that phone seemed tight. Very tight.
    â€œI need a locksmith. I’m at . . .” He looked over at her. “What’s the address?”
    â€œWhat’re you doing?”
    â€œWe need to get the locks changed.”
    â€œWhat do you mean we need to get the locks changed?”
    â€œI’m somewhere on Calle De La Cereza, just tell the guy to look for the limo in the driveway.”
    Her chagrin doubled. This was simply too much. Luke’s profile was making her heartbeat launch into outer space, but she no longer cared. “You made your chauffeur wait outside for you this entire time?”
    â€œGood to know you think I’m a complete ass, but no, another driver picked him up. Left me the limo.” He laid his phone on the coffee table and sat down next to her, touched her hair in a way that had that rocket-­ship effect on her heart again. “You had a break-­in. No sign of forced entry means you either didn’t lock your doors and windows like you say you did, or the intruder had a way in. Most likely he used your hide-­a-­key. Plus you’re renting, right? No telling who has keys to this place.” Without giving her time to respond, he continued, “We’re changing the locks tonight.”
    Her jaw clamped down, and she had to take a few deep breaths before she could open her mouth and respond. “Whether I change my locks is my decision, not yours. You don’t get to just barge in here and take charge of my life.”
    â€œWhat life?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œDon’t think I didn’t have my guys check you out the moment I found out you were my brother’s psychiatrist.”
    â€œYou had no right.”
    â€œI have every right to protect my brother.”
    â€œWell you don’t have a right to protect me. No wonder Dante has a problem with you. You’re an interfering control freak.”
    â€œAnd you’re a stubborn, infuriating woman who doesn’t know how to say thank you when someone offers her help.”
    â€œOh, did you offer me help? Because I must’ve missed that part. So call your guy off. I don’t need your locksmith.”
    He handed her the phone. “Then call your own. Do it now.”
    â€œI’ve already had the locks changed,” she ground out. “And you can’t tell me what to do, Luke Jericho.” Even to her, the words sounded silly. “We hardly even know each other.”
    â€œThat’s about to change.”
    She arched a single eyebrow—­high enough he ought to get the message.
    â€œLook, I owe my