He was frowning. “Doesn’t she trip the alarm when she leaves the house?”

“Um.” She took in a deep breath. “The house isn’t alarmed.”

“Jesus.” The frown was deeper, deep grooves between his eyebrows. Heavens, even his eyebrows were gorgeous—thick, black, finely arched. God, how could he be so impossibly good-looking even while frowning and driving a billion miles an hour over ice? And how could she even notice it when she was terrified for Aunt Vera and, frankly, for herself, whizzing at insane speeds on icy roads?

That was when Charity realized how badly sex messed with her head. She was worried sick about Aunt Vera and terrified she was going to die in a car crash. And yet those thoughts faded for a second as she watched Nick’s grim face in the space-age glow of the lights on the dashboard.

The dim glow highlighted his beautiful cheekbones, his strong jawline, the cords in his neck standing out from the tension of driving fast in impossible weather. He was so handsome her heart squeezed as she looked at him.

Even after rolling out of bed and into his clothes, he looked liked he could walk into a boardroom right now. Charity was sure she looked like she’d spent the night sleeping on the floor and that she had those fine worry lines only Uncle Franklin and Aunt Vera could call up.

“Two elderly people living alone in the middle of nowhere and they don’t even have an alarm system?” Nick took his eyes off the road for a second to shoot her a glance. “That’s not good, Charity.”

No, it wasn’t good. She’d asked Uncle Franklin a hundred times to put in burglar alarms, more for Aunt Vera than in anticipation of a nonexistent crime wave. Ferrington didn’t run to burglars, but an alarm would act as a tripwire if Aunt Vera wandered.

Charity sighed. “Uncle Franklin keeps promising he’ll put one in. But he doesn’t get out much and he doesn’t know much about alarm systems.”

“I do.” The muscles in Nick’s jaw jumped again. “I—uh—invested in a security company and when I invest I do my homework, so I know a lot about them. Tomorrow a security system is going in. I’ll order it and oversee the work myself.”

Wow. “That—that’s very kind of you.” Charity blinked. This was entirely new territory not covered by any sex etiquette she knew of.

Casual lovers didn’t take on this kind of responsibility. Certainly not for elderly relatives of a bedmate of three days’ standing. It was incredibly generous of him. Not so much from the monetary point of view—he could clearly afford it—but from the perspective of time spent.

She had no idea how much wealthy businessmen earned by the hour but surely buying a security system, then overseeing its installation, would eat up thousands of dollars’ worth of his time. If Uncle Franklin would accept, which he might not. “I’m not too sure, though, that Uncle Franklin would acce—turn left!” she said sharply.

Oh my God, she’d been so busy mooning over Nick and going over his offer she’d almost missed the turnoff. They would have lost precious time turning around.

Now that they were close to her aunt and uncle’s house, Charity’s heart started thumping. For the first time, she willed the car to go faster, even though it was impossible. Nick was making time as fast as any ambulance could. Faster.

She peered anxiously out the window. If anything, the snow had stepped up during the trip. Great white sheets fell out of the sky in increasingly fast waves. A sharp wind had risen, driving icy particles of sleet against the windshield.

Aunt Vera might well be somewhere in the huge house or outlying buildings. Or she might be out in this weather—alone and dazed.

Maybe dead.

Charity’s throat swelled shut with unshed tears. She opened her mouth to say—turn right—but no words emerged. Her hand waved to the right and Nick understood. They took the corner into the driveway of Hedgewood, her aunt and uncle’s home, Nick driving almost blind.

“Stop,” she whispered. Though she could barely see the house as a dark shape in the swirling night, the sudden dip of the tires where the runoff from the gutters had etched a depression in the ground told her they’d reached the entrance. She swallowed heavily. “We’re here.”

Nick killed the engine instantly. “Stay put,” he growled and before she could object, he’d opened his door and shot out. The door was only open a couple of seconds, but in that time, the warmth in the car dissipated in the icy wind. A second later, her door was opened and Nick was lifting her out bodily.

He had to because she froze the instant she was out of the car. It was instinctive—her body’s unwillingness to face the extreme temperature. Ice particles bit into her cheeks and eyes. She lifted her arm to cover her face. Confused, she tried to figure out where the path to the front door was. It was impossible to make out any directions. The only possible bearings were up and down.

Something strong against her back propelled her forward, a force so impelling she couldn’t resist. She was forced to scramble, her feet slipping on a patch of ice. Before she even had time to scream, she was picked up one-armed and rushed forward.

Nick practically carried her up the big marble steps to the entrance, her feet barely touching the steps.

Uncle Franklin must have been looking out for them because the big front door opened immediately.

“Charity! Oh my dear, you made it!” Uncle Franklin threw his arms around her, and she hugged him back, alarmed at how thin and fragile he felt. The fact that he wasn’t impeccably and elegantly dressed scared her even more. Growing up, she’d never seen him en dishabille. He was such a natty dresser, always immaculately turned out, freshly shaved and barbered, smelling of a special eau de cologne he had made for him in England.

Now he was in his bathrobe, and white stubble marked his thin face. He smelled of fear and sour milk. As she hugged him, Charity could feel his thin limbs shaking.

She stepped back. “Uncle Franklin, this is a—a friend, Nick Ames. Nick, my uncle, Judge Franklin Prewitt.” She needn’t have bothered wondering how to explain showing up with a man after midnight. Uncle Franklin didn’t even notice.

“Judge Franklin.” Nick took his hand in a swift shake. “When did you last see your wife?”

Uncle Franklin blinked. For the first time in her life, Charity could see her uncle at a loss. He shook his head sharply, loose skin around his jowls flapping. Charity stepped in. “They usually go to bed around nine, nine thirty, don’t you, Uncle Franklin?”

He nodded his head gratefully. “Yes.” His voice was papery thin, shaky. “We went to bed a little after nine thirty. I woke up at eleven thirty. I was thirsty. I felt for Vera and she was—she was gone.” He looked up at Nick, the strong young male in the room, as if at a savior. “Gone,” he repeated.

“What was she wearing?”

The old man blinked at Nick’s urgent tone. “Ah, a pink nightgown. Pink slippers.”

“Okay.” Nick nodded. “Did you check all the doors?”

Uncle Franklin looked blank. “No. No, I didn’t think—”

Nick turned to her. “Charity,” he ordered. “Show me all the doors leading to the outside. Fast. If she’s gone out, she’s in trouble. If she hasn’t gone out, if she’s still in the house, she’ll be okay for a little while longer. So we have to eliminate the possibility that she’s left the house.”

Charity led him around the enormous house. He checked each door carefully, then they moved on. The French windows in Uncle Franklin’s study were slightly open, the wind making the thick burgundy curtains sway gently.

Nick turned to her, face grim. “This is where she’s gone out. Stay with your uncle. Make him drink some whiskey; he’s in a state of mild shock.”

Charity gasped with outrage. “I’m going with you! We have to search for her together. I know these grounds intimately and you don’t. And anyway two people are better than one.”